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The
World's
Greatest Superheroes.....
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JLA
#39-
June, Year 5
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by Curt
Fernlund |
“I don’t like
this.”
The cold stone echoed slightly at the deep voice of Nathaniel Adams,
lost only in the click-clack of heels on the gray tiled floor.
Dim light chased the shadows from the corners only slightly, giving the
guards a sinister appearance as they snapped to attention at the
passing of the group; four Metas and a woman, perhaps the more fearful
of the quintet.
“At ease, Captain,” Amanda Waller said as she strode at the
group’s head. She did not raise her eyes from the files
that she was reading, knowing full well that the Captain would do as
she said. At least in this instance. Just why the man had a
hard-on for the League she was not sure, though she had a few
ideas. His term with the JLE and JLI were well recorded and less
than spectacular. “Put your prejudices aside and
we’ll deal with this. The League’s saved the world a
hundred times over, and we want to be one big happy Meta
community. They want to talk to these losers they sent us, fine
by me.”
She heard Captain Atom sigh as he fell back in step behind the trio of
VIP visitors. She could imagine the look on his face; one of
disgust at least, and one that she was not too far from donning
herself. Amanda Waller had no love for the League – or any
Meta for that matter – but she could not deny that in this day
and age, they were an essential fact of life. One that she, and
everyone under her had to live with.
She did not have to turn to see the JLA members that had visited Belle
Reeve either. She could picture them perfectly in her mind as
they strode the twisting labyrinth of hallways, following with
determination, wonder, and boredom…
The first belonged to Jefferson Pierce, the Black Lightning. Of
the three, he was the one that she had the most respect for, or rather
maybe, the least contempt for. He had fought his way out of
Suicide Slum in Metropolis, winning Olympic gold and a name. He
had returned to the slums to become a teacher, and at the same time a
hero, going up against the 100 and actually doing some good. He
had been one of the Bat’s original Outsiders, but he had refused
membership with the League on more than one occasion. Waller had
to admit that she was a bit disappointed that he was working with them
now.
Next in line came clacking Fire. Waller had no bit of
consideration for that one. The woman’s file was thick,
both as Beatriz De Costa and as the JLI/JLE/JLA member. The woman
had been recruited into the Global Guardians at their inception, and
after that failed attempt, had joined the Justice League International;
yet another attempt at a unified Meta organization that encompassed the
globe and failed miserably. Waller had written Fire off with the
death of her friend, Ice, however if anything, De Costa had become even
more determined to make a name for herself in the Meta community.
She was persistent, Waller would give her that, but that was about all.
Bringing up the rear was the latest incarnation of the Hawkman.
Waller shook her head as she closed the thick file that the various
government agencies had been compiling on that one since the early
forties. How many personalities, not to mention sub files;
Hawkgirl, Hawkwoman, Golden Eagle? How many identities did the
man have? Alien? Resurrected Pharaoh?
Scientist? Museum Curator? The list was endless.
And this latest seemed the worst of the lot. Heavy handed and
undisciplined, he seemed to have little regard for his victims, or even
those innocents that invariably got caught in the crossfire when Metas
met. Oddly, if not for his arrogance, Waller might have
appreciated the man’s efforts, if not his approach. It was
obvious that Captain Atom appreciated neither…
“How does it feel to be a lackey for the government,
Captain?” the Hawk asked, obviously bating. There seemed to
be no love lost between the two men, and Waller knew that it was
because they were both so similar, not that either would ever admit it.
“I’m a soldier, Hawkman,” the Captain
responded. Waller could hear the fire barely contained in his
voice. He was trying at least. “My teammates and I do
good work. Things that you and your League – “
“Captain,” Waller said in a low voice, not looking
back. She could almost feel the heat radiating from her field
commander.
“We do good work, Hawkman. More good than we accomplished
in any League that I was a member of.” Atom was barely
constrained. Waller picked up her pace just a bit.
“Hah!” Hawkman snorted. “Beating up on
women. Invading a devastated island? Perhaps you might like
annihilating the survivors of Khandaq next?”
“You son of a – “
“Captain!”
Amanda Waller finally stopped and pivoted on a heel to face the two
would-be combatants. She saw atomic fire crackling from Captain
Atom’s clenched fists. His silver face was creased with
anger, a strange mirror image of the Hawk, equally enraged. The
Hawkman was brandishing a huge, studded mace, ready to attack or defend
as needed. Where he had concealed the thing she had no idea, as
he had been frisked by her best before entering the prison
proper. She made a mental note to adjust the bird man’s
files.
“Stand down, Captain,” she ordered, striking a wide, if not
somewhat heroic pose. Both Fire and Pierce stepped to the sides
of the hall, allowing her a clear shot at the two bringing up the rear.
“Hawkman – “ Fire said, started to say, but he cut
his teammate off abruptly.
“Shut up. Make your move, Captain. Take your
shot.”
“Believe me, I’ll – “
“Dismissed, Captain!” Waller’s voice thundered
through the hallway, loud and clear. Both men glanced at
her. She seemed neither complacent nor intimidated as she
strolled towards the pair. Both eyed her, and she returned their
gazes sternly, fiercely and without batting an eye. To his
credit, the Hawkman did not flinch, though Atom did after a
moment. "We are not here for the two of you to dredge up old
animosities, gentlemen. You are a guest here, Hawkman,” she
said, turning to the burly man and staring up into his eyes, “and
I would appreciate it if you acted accordingly.
“And you, Captain,” she continued. “I seriously
doubt that I’m in any danger from the Justice League, or anyone
they care to interrogate. You ARE dismissed.”
Captain Atom glared at Amanda Waller, his eyes crackling with
anger. She knew that if he so chose he could fry her where she
stood. She was betting that he wouldn’t of course. He
was arrogant and rash, but he WAS a good soldier. She knew that
she simply had to stand her ground – like showing no fear before
a snarling dog – and he would eventually back down.
“Fine!” he finally snapped, waving his hand with a chopping
motion of dismissal as he turned away. Waller saw him glare at
the Hawk as he passed, heading back down the hallway, and the Hawkman
in turn smirking. Something was whispered, and Atom’s fists
clenched, but he left as ordered. Good soldier…
Waller did not return her attention to the Leaguer until Captain Atom
passed around the far corner, out of sight and mind. Her dark
face was clouded with a barely contained rage as she looked the man up
and down. “You do NOT come into MY house with YOUR
shit. I don’t care if you’re Superman hisself.
You WILL show me the respect that I deserve. Both me AND
mine. Is that clear?”
The Hawkman simply folded his arms across his massive and hairy
chest. The mace dangled from the strap wrapped about his wrist,
the weight apparently negligible. He returned her stare for a
time, a count of twenty at least until he finally nodded.
“Of course.”
And that was it. Amanda Waller knew that that was the best that
she was going to get, so with a sigh she turned and continued on her
path. She did not look back, and quickly enough she heard the
footfalls of the League members following suit. She rolled her
eyes and sighed again, hoping that the worst was past.
Somehow she doubted it…
J'onn J'onzz
|
Black Lightning
|
Hawkman
|
Fire
|
"The Way We Were"
An EARTH
2 Event
based parttially on concepts by Will Short
The Watchtower…
J’onn J’onzz smiled to hear the exchange between Captain
Atom, Hawkman and Amanda Waller. There was little doubt in his
mind just how the encounter would end. Still, it was entertaining
to ‘see’ Waller ‘throw her weight around. No
pun intended.
Well, perhaps a bit.
He kept the audio on low as the speaking died out, the group heading
through Belle Reeve staying quiet, at least verbally. Beatriz was
near babbling however, in his head, and it took some will to tone her
down and still keep her in mind, so to speak. There were other
things to consider after all.
Zatanna had contacted him earlier, sounding near hysterical in the
process. She seemed worried over some magical flux in the
ether. J’onzz of course was not adept. He accepted
magic in all of its forms, though he could not grasp the concept beyond
a unique form of science. It had its shades and sounds, its own
signature, but he had never been able to fathom its convoluted
tapestry. Still, Zee had sounded sincere in her worry.
There was something wrong. Something had ‘touched’
her, and others of her ilk apparently, and she was simply giving him a
head’s up…
There was the gang war blooming in Bludhaven to consider as well.
He was keeping a close eye on that, watching over Nightwing, through
reports from Oracle, hoping to contain the slaughter and keep the Venom
Patches localized. That had been Batman’s suggestion,
before he vanished. Still, Richard Grayson had proven his worth
long ago, first as the Dark knight’s partner, then as leader of
the Titans, and most recently as Bludhaven’s own defender…
The crises confronting both Themyscira and Atlantis seemed to have
– if not been sorted – stalled for the time being.
J’onn had no concern over the abilities of either the Amazonian
Queen Diana, or the King of Atlantis, Arthur, and knew well enough that
both would deal with whatever problems arose in their respective bids
for their countries to gain status and respect within the United
Nations...
Superman was involved with the trial of Lex Luthor, and as such
unavailable. Metropolis remained safe of course, but the outer
perimeters needed reinforcement at his absence. Luckily there
were others of near equal power to fill the void…
Captain Marvel for one. He watched as the Captain fought
valiantly against a giant robot in the heart of Fawcett City.
Marvel seemed unperturbed as the automaton sent a series of missiles at
the Captain’s all but invulnerable form. Marvel actually
smiled that gleaming smile of his as he adjusted his flight and
rocketed towards –
AHHHHH!
J’onn slumped back into the Monitor chair within the Womb as the
strange wave of…
What?
Passed. He had not seen it coming, but he could see the after
affects dancing across the globe, like a wavering mirage on a dark
desert highway. It was hard to focus. He was
sweating. His head was pounding. What…
J’onn!
Zee?
His mind was in turmoil as the hundreds of thousands of voices started
screaming. He felt the agony, something to focus on as countless
souls screamed, as though they were being ripped apart…
Separated…
And then he saw the hand.
It was huge. Gigantic and all encompassing as it flexed to
envelop the Earth. All too familiar, but…
“The Spectre,” J’onzz whispered, recognizing the
imagery immediately. It was not real of course, but a
representation that his mind created to accept whatever action the
Ghostly Guardian was enacting. He had seen it before it
seemed. But where? When?
If the Spectre was involved however, J’onn knew that it was
important; something that would doubtless involve major repercussions
to echo around the world, if not the universe. J’onn
reached forward, his hand on the communications console, fingers
dancing across the keypad to direct a link with the Justice
Society. Odds were that if the Spectre WERE involved, they would
be as well.
Static…
J’onn upped the gain and rebroadcast, his hand straying to the
Troubalert as well. Waiting, he brought up the current
whereabouts of his comrades; members of the League and friends as
well. He watched the various monitors that displayed the gigantic
hand, watching as the massive fingers closed, slowly, as though
preparing to crush the Earth –
“Yes! Hello?”
The Martian Manhunter recognized the voice immediately as belonging to
Mister Terrific. A good and intelligent man, and proper heir to
the mantle that he had chosen to uphold. There was an edge to his
usually calm voice however.
“This is the Martian Manhunter, Mister Terrific. We have a
problem – “
“You’re telling me? Members of my team have just
keeled over, J’onzz. No warning whatsoever, they simply
gasped and fell. Midnight’s examining Garrick now, but we
have Sentinel and Wildcat out of commission at the moment too.”
“Interesting,” J’onn said as his mind cycled the
information. “I had assumed that the current problem was
magic based, but if Wildcat was affected in such a way,”
“What problem?” Terrific asked. Obviously he had not
seen.
“Step outside, or simply look out a window to the skies.
The Spectre – “
“Good God…”
“We can only hope. I had hoped that your group might
provide some insight on the situation. You’ve worked more
closely with the Spectre than we have.”
“We haven’t seen the Spectre in ages. J’onn.
Sorry. I know vaguely that there was some problem with his Host
recently, but he never came around to clear that up.”
“I recall,” J’onn said, punching keys swiftly and
bringing up the most recent files on the Spectre. “We have
some data, submitted by Colonel Valentina Vostok, formerly of the Doom
Patrol, currently with the Russian State. I – “
GAAAAHHH!
J’onn J’onzz heard the final, piercing scream in his head,
reverberating through all the psychic channels of his mind as a million
souls cried out. It was horrific, the death gasp of humanity, the
plea of doomed the world over calling out for justice and
reprieve. It overwhelmed, like a tidal wave, a tsunami crashing
in on his being. He was thrown from the chair in the womb by the
sheer force and volume of the mental cry. He fell, finally
crashing to the floor, his head throbbing as his body lost its human
form, reverting and melting to its Martian, elongated state, naked and
helpless…
“J’onn?”
“J’onn!”
Wayne Enterprises Corporate Jet
Somewhere over the Atlantic…
Bruce Wayne stifled a yawn as he scrolled down the lines of text on the
screen. It had been a long and dull flight so far, but no better
time to go over weeks of backlogged agenda concerning the holdings of
Wayne Enterprises. He had hours to kill. Long, boring
hours…
Usually he left the mundane task of running the day to day trivialities
of the Wayne Empire to Lucius Fox. He was a good man and well
trusted. Nothing ever to worry over. Still, Bruce needed to
have his hands in the corporation as well. Despite his work as
the Batman, important as that was, the running of Wayne Enterprises was
just as important. If Wayne crumbled, the Dark Knight would fall
as well.
So, when he had the time, he got caught up on the paperwork, as it
were. Even though there was actually little ‘paper’
involved anymore. And truly, there was little to catch up
on. Lucius was on top of everything, as always.
Shifting files, Bruce entered his Password and PIN, directing his
electronic signature to the proper spaces. He stifled another
yawn as he waited for his Laptop to cycle and refresh.
GAAAHHH!
Bruce Wayne slumped back into his chair, head suddenly pounding as a
wave of dizziness washed over him. He saw images, memories of
things that seemed vaguely familiar, but somehow not, dancing through
his mind’s eye in a dream like fugue…
There was a woman dressed in gold and red, a Bat-motif in her cape and
mask…
He saw the Joker, aged and almost decrepit with silver streaking the
once garish green of his hair. He was on scaffolding, high above
Gotham, but a different Gotham, old but clean in an odd way.
Lightning flashed and the Joker fell, laughing all the way to the
street…
Dick was flying…
Dick was old and wearing a strange
costume that was a cross between his Robin uniform and that of the
Batman…
He saw Selina…
“Mister Wayne?”
Bruce Wayne looked up, blinking and trying to focus. He was
sweating, his hand going to his tie and pulling it roughly from about
his throat. He stared at the attendant, trying to recall her name.
“Are you all right, sir?” she said with a smile, but he
could see the sudden worry creasing her brow as her dark brown eyes
scrutinized him. Her gaze eventually settled on the empty plastic
goblet sitting on the tray of the seat to his left. “Can I
get you anything?”
“I’m fine,” Bruce said, taking the handkerchief from
his breast pocket to wipe his brow. “Just a bout of
dizziness.” He grinned, nodding towards the empty
cup. “It’s been a long flight.”
The attendant grinned. “I see sir. Just let me know
if I can be of assistance.”
“Of course.”
He watched as the attendant strolled down the aisle, her shapely hips
swaying just a bit too much. Bruce waited until she vanished back
into that area where the crew worked, hidden from view by a thick
curtain, and then he reached out…
“J’onn?”
The scream that he had heard had been the Martian Manhunter. He
was certain of that. There was something wrong, and though he had
left the League behind – at least for the time being –
J’onn was still a comrade and friend.
“J’onn?”
Nothing.
It was then that Bruce Wayne glanced out the window and saw the
gigantic green hand encompassing everything.
“Mister Wayne!” the pilot’s voice filled the
compartment, sounding worried. “We have a situation.”
Bruce considered. They were well beyond the halfway point, closer
to destination than starting point. He had no idea what was
happening (and hated that in itself), but he knew that at the moment,
with no information there was nothing that he could do. Press on
or turn around?
“Get us to Heathrow,” he said, picking up the In Flight
phone and dialing a number as he stared out the port, watching the
gigantic fingers close…
Metropolis…
Kal-El stared at his reflection in the mirror as he wound the silken
bit of cloth about his throat and under the collar of his white pressed
shirt. He snugged the knot, considering…
“Power tie Smallville?” Lois Lane-Kent asked as she stepped
from the bathroom, cocking her head and slipping the posts of her
earrings through the tiny holes in her lobes. Satisfied she shook
her head, letting her hair fall back into place as she strolled
forward, wrapping her arms about the man that she loved.
“Blue suit and red tie,” she said with a smirk, planting a
kiss on her husband’s neck. “We’re going to a
funeral – hopefully. You should wear black.”
Clark Kent glanced at his wife’s reflection in the full-length
mirror, his gaze raking her and her own attire; black dress and shoes,
dark hose and no jewelry besides the wedding ring. Her hair was
coifed to perfection, and her make-up was sparse but perfect.
Gorgeous…
“I don’t know,” Clark said, reviewing his reflection
again. “It seems appropriate somehow.”
“Meet me halfway then,” Lois said with a sigh.
“The black and gray pinstriped?”
“This is an important day, Lois,” Clark said, his hand
drifting to hers, caressing where she touched his shoulder.
“We have a chance – a real chance to take Luthor
down. It has to be right.”
“It will be, Clark,” she replied, kissing his cheek.
“If it was meant to be…”
GAAAHHH!
Clark Kent staggered as the psychic scream wracked his brain. He
recognized the voice of course, if not the agony behind the pain and
terror. He felt a short wave of dizziness wash over him as he
stumbled backwards, felt Lois’ support behind him.
“Clark?”
He saw Kara – Powergirl
crushing an emblem that appeared too close to his own…
He saw his daughter, dressed in
white, red and blue, her long dark hair flowing and looking so like
Lois, as she slammed hard into the Ultra-Humanite – a huge white
gorilla…
A mountain of Kryptonite rose in the
distance…
He felt pain and loneliness, standing
before a casket draped in lilies…
“Clark?”
Kal-El blinked. He staggered, his body swathed in sweat.
His pulse was racing as he looked about and saw the giant green shade
hovering beyond the window, encompassing the horizon.
“Great Rao…”
Keystone City…
Life was good.
Wally West smiled, easing forward in a flash and plucking the spiraling
football from the sky, just as swiftly raising the ball and hurling it
back where it came from. The gaggle of kids stared, frozen for a
heartbeat or three, then started screaming as they ran to intercept the
long pass. Wally laughed…
“Show off.”
Wally felt the old urges as Karen Starr looked up at him, her hand
sliding into the back pocket of his khakis, her fingers digging into
his ass. She squeezed, just hard enough to make him whimper
before he vibrated out of the grip, his face crimson none the less.
It had been a long year – longer. After the real League had
broken up, after he had called it quits and said ‘screw
you’ to the Bat and Big Blue, when they had wanted to put him on
probation for what he had done in Keystone/Central City. Fuck
that. He was just trying to do the right thing. Not his
fault that they could not see that.
He had eliminated crime. He was there. Everywhere all at
once, doing what they couldn’t. Maybe they were
jealous…
Doubtful. It was Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman for crying
out loud. They knew what they were doing, had their own
agenda. They did things different. If they didn’t
approve…
“Hey!”
Wally glanced right and saw Karen Starr smiling at him.
“Penny for ‘em.”
“Not worth the price,” Wally said with a patented
smirk. He draped his arm about the woman at his side as they
strolled (at an agonizingly slow pace) through Carmine Park, just
enjoying the day. Another day, like the one before, and tomorrow.
He felt bad at times, guilty in a way that he was letting Barry down by
simply quitting. He was letting the legacy of the Flash die he
supposed, but it seemed that no matter how hard he tried, no one
respected his efforts or took him seriously. Not the League
certainly, and not even the Rogues. It always seemed that they
still considered him the kid-sidekick, trying on the old man’s
uniform. Trying to fill boots that were way too big for him, and
would never quite fit.
It rankled, to be sure. Trouble was that there was no one that
could relate. Barry Allen had died a hero’s death, giving
his ultimate and all to save the universe. The world had lost one
of its greatest heroes that day, and Wally had lost a friend and
mentor, almost a father. How was he supposed to live up to
that? And who would understand.
Maybe Roy, but that was hardly the same. And Kyle, but he was
dead now too. Maybe he should pay a visit to that Connor kid
–
“Ohhh…”
Suddenly Karen was staggering, almost dead weight in his arms. He
wrapped his arm about her waist before she could fall, cradling her as
her head lolled back. Her eyes were closed, but she was not
unconscious.
“Karen?” he asked tenderly, caressing her cheek with his
free hand. Her eyelids fluttered.
“Wally? What…”
“You tell me Sweetie.”
Karen Starr moaned, shaking her head. “I dunno. I
felt dizzy all of a sudden. I’ve never… Oh
God!”
“What?” Wally asked, seeing her big blue eyes widen in
terror. He had never seen such a sight in her before.
Slowly she raised her arm, her finger pointing skyward. He
followed her direction, his own eyes going wide as he saw the giant
green hand that was engulfing the sky…
Manhattan…
Queen Diana of Themyscira stared out at the East River, watching as a
garbage barge plodded its way upriver against the current. There
was a haze settling over Queens across the river, thick enough that she
could barely see the Globe and Towers of the old World’s Fair
still standing in Corona Park. The city was alive though, teeming
with people going about their business, oblivious to her own.
Diana sighed.
Turning from the window she strolled across the room that they had
given her. The General Assembly was in debate over whether to
admit Themyscira to their hallowed ranks, or not. After the
recent assault by Phobia she had little doubt of the outcome, but there
was always a shadow of possibility. Obviously the United States
saw the benefits of having a race of warriors and scientists situated
just off of their borders, and of course Canada and Mexico would fall
in line. It was Europe and the Eastern Block that was showing
resistance. But of course, there was nothing that she could do
but wait. She had presented her case, and Superman had backed
her. And J’onn, and even Waller, rumor had it.
Nothing to do but wait, and consider all that she might have done
better. All that she had done wrong –
GAAAAHH!
Diana staggered at the sudden, unexpected psychic assault. She
gasped, trying to gather her wits as she reached out, responding.
She knew the voice of course, almost as well as her own.
“J’onn?”
She felt a wave of dizziness as her vision blurred. She reached
out, her hand pressing into the wall lest she fall.
There was a blonde woman dressed as
royalty of Themyscira, holding a newborn child high before the rising
sun…
She saw a dwarf, rotund and with
blazing red hair…
A handsome blonde man dressed in US
military attire, climbing from a smoldering plane…
She saw the Cheetah, slashing with
her claws…
Wonder Woman looked to the window and saw the gigantic green hand
stretching to the horizon.
“Hera help us…”
Elsewhere…
Dinah Laurel Lance stared skyward as the gigantic green hand flexed,
started to draw its huge fingers into a fist. She had seen enough
magic in her day to know that the hand was not real, but some sort of
symbol of something that was happening beyond the ken of the
mundane. Maybe Zatanna or Fate could explain it, or even
Constantine.
She turned back from the window, adjusting the sheet that she had
draped over her trim and taut form when she had stepped from the
bed. Surprisingly the sheet smelled clean, a hint of rose petals
and a sharp contrast from the rest of the Mid-London flat that was
little more than a weigh station of squalor. The windows were
slick with a filmy grime of nicotine, as were the walls and
ceiling. The floor tiles were stained with garbage, wax droppings
and a few spots that she assumed to be long dried blood. The
sparse furniture looked old and decrepit, the refrigerator archaic and
empty save for things that had long ago turned towards rebirth.
The sink was piled high with every pot, pan, dish and utensil from the
barren cupboards. It was horrible, but somehow fitting, knowing
the flat’s renter.
A flare of light and stench of sulfur caught her attention, turning her
from her reveries. She stared at the pale, skinny form of the man
that she had spent the night with; his unshaven face, his spiky hair
flat on a side as he took a long, hard drag from his cigarette.
He looked up at her, leaning back against the headboard of his bed as
he exhaled.
“Troubles, luv?” John Constantine asked as he took
another drag, then held out the fag towards her. She took it as
she sat on the edge of the bed, taking a quick inhale herself before
passing it back. She grimaced, not liking the taste of his Silk
Cut, but it did relax her just a bit. “Can’t sleep,
or are ya getting’ horny again?”
“Something’s happening outside,” she replied, curling
up on the bed beside him almost too casually. There was a part of
her that wanted to investigate, but after so much had happened to her
and her friends over the past months, she had opted for a long
rest. Her time with the JLA, the battle with the Avengers and
then Darkseid, as well as her time with the Birds of Prey. Unless
she randomly stumbled upon something simple, like a mugging or robbery
she wanted to stay out of the hero game for a time. Let the Big
Guns handle the crises. “Magical I think?”
“Oh, yeah,” Constantine said with a smirk.
“It’s your old mate, the Spectre.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I dunno what he’s about, but he woke me with
his Holier than Thou
bit. Ringin’ me ‘ead it was.”
GAHHH!
“J’onn!”
“Yeah?”
The Black Canary glanced at Constantine, her eyes wide at the screech
of pain that echoed through her mind. J’onn J’onzz
was hurt. She had to go.
“Not you,” she said, rising from the bed, letting the
covering sheet trail in her wake as she dashed across the cool floor
towards her clothes. “The Martian Manhunter.
He’s hurt. I need-“
Dinah Lance stumbled as a wave of dizziness washed over her, sweat
sheening her skin despite the chill in the mage’s
apartment. She staggered, almost going down but for the back of
the rickety chair where her costume was draped. And the strong
hand of John Constantine at her elbow…
She saw her mother then, dressed in
the original costume of the Black Canary, domino mask and stiletto
heels as she confounded Johnny Thunder and her father, Larry
Lance…
She saw the Justice League and the
Justice Society gathered at a funeral. Oddly, there were two
Supermen…
She saw Oliver and Roy fighting
alongside the likes of the Shining Knight and the Crimson
Avenger…
“Dinah?” Constantine asked softly, holding on tightly so
she would not fall.
“I’ve got to get back.”
Nowhere…
Boston Brand blinked, then blinked again as he sat hovering and
cross-legged in the miasmic void that was next to Limbo. He
scratched at his head, his red-gloved fingers actually sinking into the
pasty white of his deathly skull.
“Now there’s somethin’ ya don’t see everyday,
Chauncy,” he said to no one in particular. The ghostly
wraiths that wandered the In-Between places were not known for their
conversation, let alone their humor.
Still he stared, watching in confusion as another odd entity appeared
in a blink and swirl of ectoplasm, glanced about and just as swiftly
vanished with an almost harmonic pop. In all his years, the
Deadman had never seen the like.
There was usually a blaze of heavenly light or a shudder of
darkness. There were horrific screams or fanfares of glory, or at
least the soft voices of those beyond calling and pointing the
way. This was strange though; weird. It was like these new
souls – and he was certain that they were souls – were
being teleported by outside means. Probably magic.
He waited, watching. How long he did not know really. Time
had no meaning In-Between, and he had all the time in the Heaven and
Hell as far as he knew. If it was important enough, Rama Kushna
would tell him to get involved. If not…
They also serve…
Everywhere…
In Manhattan, Adam watched as the gargantuan hand seemingly tried to
crush the heavens….
In Metropolis, Luthor stared through the bars of his cell, feeling his
bald scalp seemingly bristle and itch…
In Chicago, Penny Powers found the man that she loved a sloppy puddle
of plastic on the kitchen floor…
In Berlin, Madame Xanadu felt the surge of power, like a river raging
at flood tide towards… where she did not know…
And across the face of the world, the people faltered, feeling as
though something had been cut from them, mind, body and soul…
Belle Reeve
Amanda Waller keyed the final lock, typing her security code into the
keypad, submitting to the Retinal Scan as well as the Palm ID.
She waited as security cycled. Beyond this final door was the
Holding Cells containing those recently transferred to the
penitentiary. Beyond was Hardsell and Firefly, whom Black
lightning, through the League wished to interrogate. Matters
concerning the 100 they had said, though she suspected that Black Adam
was involved in the end.
The man had his hands in everything illegal lately it seemed, though of
course no matter the best efforts of her division and Task Force X,
nothing could ever be directly linked to him or his holdings, or his
Pyramid Club. It was annoying at least, but Waller knew that with
dedication and perseverance, she would eventually nail the ass.
Just a matter of time.
The final door hissed and cycled revealing the hallway beyond. It
was stone, barren and dimly lit, doors lining either side as far as the
light allowed. She glanced at the ceiling and saw that the
inhibitor beacons were functioning; blinking at least like a smoke
detector. She noted too the guards stationed at the far end, even
now positioning to meet their entry.
“Your powers will shut down now,” she said, motioning at
the Inhibitors. “The cells are designed to stifle powers,
but the hallway too, just in case. No lightning, no fire,
no…”
She glanced from Fire to Black Lightning and then to Hawkman. He
smirked again, slipping his huge mace into the strap at his belt.
“I have no ‘powers’ to sap,” he gloated,
flexing. “The Nth Metal that allows me to soar with the
eagles is beyond your ability to control. I’ll comply
though.”
“Wonderful,” Waller said as she stepped through over
the threshold. She felt the slight tingle as the Inhibitors
scanned her, and finding nothing, let her pass. Lightning
followed, and she saw Pierce almost sag with the loss of his
Meta. She had heard that it was a disheartening experience to say
the least. They both then looked at De Costa, but she seemed
hesitant.
“J’onn?”
The Hawkman screamed and fell to the floor. Waller’s eyes
widened as the man seemed to writhe for a moment, his body and massive
muscles especially quivering as he thrashed about on the cold
stone. He seemed hysterical, harsh screams escaping his lips,
twisted and garbled from his throat, shifting between speech
and… bird calls.”
“What the fuck?”
Amanda Waller stepped back through the opening to stand over the
Thanagarian. She heard Fire calling ‘J’onn’
over and over, assuming that she was trying to contact the Martian
Manhunter.
“His link is gone. Just chopped off,” she said, her
voice sounding high and worried. “I’ve never-"
There was a flash, a flicker of pale light that seemed to swell and
swiftly vanish skyward from the body of the Hawk. It looked
almost human, though a shade, and familiar, like the Hawk but with a
golden cowl emblazoned with a red hawk emblem. The specter seemed
to flex as it soared upwards, its wings unfolding to wide berth as it
took to the air. Those wings flapped, and it was gone…
“What the hell was
that?” Waller said, standing over the form of the Hawkman.
He was still on his back, but rolling slightly, his breathing shallow
but steady and strengthening. His eyes seemed vacant, or rather
focused on something far, far away…
“J’onn!”
“What are you on about?” Waller asked, tired of the
green’s screeching.
“The Martian Manhunter,” Beatriz said, her face lined with
sudden worry as her green eyes looked skyward. “I lost
contact. His Psychic Link-"
“Me too,” Jefferson pierce said as he stepped back to the
threshold. “I figured that it was your Inhibitors, but
Fire’s still on that side so it must be something else.”
Waller winced as her earpiece started buzzing, a wail of noise that was
a flurry of panicked voices calling for direction. She heard a
dozen men and women calling in, asking for orders concerning a giant
green hand that had appeared in the sky.
What…
“Not to worry…”
Amanda Waller turned at the cold, edged voice that reverberated
throughout the stone hallway. She glanced to the Leaguers, but
they were in turn staring beyond her. She followed their
collective gaze.
The Hawkman was rising to his feet, the Nth Metal within his wings and
harness allowing him to simply will himself to a standing position,
rather than struggling to a standing position. He had his mace
back in hand, and was slapping the thing into his palm. She also
saw that a sword dangled from his belt and a small golden shield hung
from his left arm. He did not look happy, and in fact his cruel
grin actually sent a shiver down her spine.
“I’m here. We need information, Wall,” he said with a
sneer. “I’ll get it. Just step aside.”
Amanda Waller licked her lips as she stared at the Thanagarian.
Something was different. Something within him was gone, whatever
inhibitions that had previously held him back. She saw nothing
but malice and blood in his cool gaze. She shivered again.
“You won’t get past me,” she said, almost pissing
herself as the Hawkman chuckled. Cold and cruel, there was no
remorse in his voice, no pity.
“Yes, I will.” He slammed his mace into his palm
again, striding forward without a care.
“Fuck!”
To be continued…
Next
Issue: The story continues in Task
Force X as Hawkman VS. The Wall, along with Fire, Black
Lightning and Captain Atom! It’s a guy with wings
right? What can he do? Find out Next Update in Task Force X #7, then be back here
soon as the JLA gathers to confront the crisis as JLU: 2001 spirals deeper into Earth 2!
Author's
Notes
The Story that should have
appeared here has been temporarily put on hold. Due to unforseen
circumstance, Will Short had to bow out of JLA for a time.
Hopefully before too long he will be back to continue his story
involving Black Lightning and the 100.
We're all with you Will...
Curt Fernlund 7/04/07
Send
Reviews, Comments, and Other Mail to Curt Fernlund
Story © 2007 Will Short
and Curt Fernlund and may not be reproduced without permission.