Vanity.
Not only is it considered one of the seven deadly sins and a form of self-idolatry, but it also serves as the name of a very distinct city in the northwestern United States. What makes the city of Vanity unique is a combination of its bizarre architecture, neighborhoods apparently named after convicted murderers, and the highest suicide rate in the nation.
Anyone who spends a long stretch of time in Vanity, regardless of how noble they may be, eventually becomes corrupted in thought and deed. It’s an affliction the young man named Uno hopes to avoid.
Raised by the mysterious and influential Q-Society, Uno became indoctrinated since birth and spent his life preparing to serve as the champion of the Aztec god, Quetzalcoatl to eventually battle Tezcatlipoca. He came to Vanity to prepare himself for the oncoming battle, taking over the identity of the deceased Dr. Curt Falconer.
Most nights working in the emergency room are troubling for the inexperienced doctor. Although the Q-Society’s training and memories allow him to serve as a competent doctor, there is a great degree of difficulty when he lacks the actual, hands-on experience. What Uno had not expected, however, was the latest admit.
Paramedics pushed a gurney through the doors and Uno heard his adopted name called out. “Curt, get a move on!” The call came from Julia Frostick, one of his colleagues at the hospital.
Uno ran after his fellow doctor, but stopped short in his tracks once he got a look at the patient. A man with pale skin, some sort of strange armor on his body and giant, feathered wings connected to his back. His body, however, badly burned.
“What the hell…?”
Julia’s sentence echoed Uno’s own thoughts. The man was obviously a metahuman, although one Uno had never before encountered, either in person or through any of the media he studied. The man bore an obvious resemblance to Hawkman, but there was something different about this meta. He had a certain… regal quality about him. His very presence seemed to inspire hope, but at the same time, his present condition brought about a feeling of despair.
“What happened to him?” asked Uno.
“He fell from the sky in a ball of fire,” said one of the paramedics. “Firefighters put him out and we rushed him over here.”
“Any ID?” asked Julia.
“Guys like this don’t usually carry wallets,” said another paramedic.
“I know that, but does anyone recognize him?” she asked.
Looks of confusion passed over every face.
“That’s not important right now,” said Uno. “We need to—”
Uno’s words died in his mouth as the metahuman grabbed his wrist. Uno looked down at the pale man in surprise, whose eyes were now open, and had an unearthly crimson shade to them.
“You…” he said. “You are the one…”
His hand went limp and his head fell back on the gurney. Passed out. Unconscious.
Julia looked at Uno with curiosity. “What did he say to you?” she asked.
“I—I don’t know,” he lied. “I think he’s just delirious.”
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The World's Greatest Superheroes!
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| JLA #42 September, Year Six |
by Dino Pollard | ||||||||
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Ailo Iari rocketed through the cosmos. He knew the threat that loomed and he knew he had to reach Sector 2814 (as defined by the Guardians of Oa), to warn them of an impending danger.
The Green Lantern Corps were no more. The Green Lanterns were no more. Not a single one still existed in this universe. Iari knew he had to reach Earth. Find someone who could stand against what was in the pipeline.
PROXIMITY ALERT! PROXIMITY ALERT!
His ship’s sensors began to blare their warning. Iari knew they were gaining on him. His hand slipped to the thruster, kicking into full-gear, pulling ahead. He had to jump ahead, had to try and escape their pursuit.
The entire ship started to violently shake and alarms went off. The heads-up display told Iari that his tail had been struck by a stray blast. Another blast took out one of his engines, rendering it inoperable.
He pulled towards the right, breaking through the atmosphere of a nearby planet. The ground grew closer and Iari prepared himself, trying to pull up as much as possible. With a thunderous CRASH his ship struck the ground and bounced. It bounced once again, then again, and a final time before it skidded to a stop, leaving a deep ditch in his wake, like a gash across the planet.
The smoking hull opened with a hiss and Iari crawled forth from the ship. He had no idea what planet he was on, whether it was inhabited or not, or even if he could find the means to repair his ship or find a way to contact Earth.
Several pairs of blue-clad feet touched down on the hard soil. Iari heard their approach, like an army on the march. Their faces were expressionless, devoid of any form of empathy or humanity. One raised its arm and the hand began to crackle with a bright, green energy. It spoke with a cold, metallic voice, just as hard as its shell.
[ No man escapes the Manhunters! ]
End interlude
384,403 kilometers from the Earth is the moon and on the surface stands the Watchtower. Constructed of a near-indestructable metal called promethium, the facility is a hybrid of Martian, Kryptonian, and Thanagarian technology, the only facility like it anywhere in the known universe.
In the past, it has served as the headquarters of the Justice League of America. Unfortunately, that organization has since found itself disbanded. After traveling to a parallel universe populated by a completely different group of heroes called the Avengers, the JLA lost one of their own—Kyle Rayner, the latest Green Lantern.
The team disbanded in the aftermath and J’onn J’onzz, the Manhunter from Mars, attempted to keep the League afloat by forming a new team, one consisting of some arguably lesser Leaguers. But in the time that followed, only one other member of that temporary team remained—Jefferson Pierce, Black Lightning.
J’onn sat in the Watchtower’s monitor womb, observing various broadcasts from across the planet. He kept tabs on other former Leaguers, monitoring their individual progress in their shared war on injustice. He wanted to reach out to them, but he feared the time might be too soon. One thing was certain, though—the world needed the JLA.
A small, metal object landed on the Martian’s lap. He looked down at the tiny round coin, a Lincoln-head penny.
“I’ve paid for your thoughts, might as well share ‘em.”
J’onn turned and saw Black Lightning leaning against the doorframe. The Martian allowed a slight smile to appear over his alien features. “Just contemplating our current situation.”
“Not the best of times for the League,” said Jeff. He walked towards his newfound teammate. “Consider speaking to any of them about it?”
“The thought had obviously crossed my mind, but I don’t feel they are ready,” said J’onn. “I’m confident the League will return at some point. I’m just not sure when. And I fear what may happen in the interim.”
A sound alerted the pair to an incoming message. J’onn leaned over and depressed a glowing button. “Go ahead, Oracle.”
An image appeared on the screen of a computer-generated head, which served as the avatar of Oracle, an information gatherer who utilized her skills to assist a network of superheroes across the globe. And, unknown to almost all of them, she was a former hero herself, the vigilante called Batgirl.
“Hope I’m not interrupting anything, but I’ve just been alerted to something I thought you might want to know about.”
“What’s that?” asked J’onn.
“A metahuman was admitted to a hospital in Vanity, one with giant wings.”
“Hawkman?” asked Jeff. “I thought he said he was going to take time to recuperate before jumping back into the thick.”
“He did,” said J’onn.
“I don’t think it’s Hawkman,” said Oracle.
“What makes you say that?” asked Jeff.
“Well, I could be wrong, but last I checked, Hawkman didn’t have glowing red eyes or chalk-white skin.”
“No, he doesn’t,” said J’onn. “Thank you for the notification, Oracle. We’ll look into it.”
“Anytime, J’onn. Oracle out.”
The line went dead and J’onn stood from the chair.
“I can handle this alone, no reason for us both to go,” said Jeff.
“No, I’ll go,” said J’onn. “That description is a familiar one, so I feel I should look into it. Besides, I think getting out of the Watchtower and going planetside for a bit would be good for me.”
In the Vanity hospital, the man who wore Dr. Curt Falconer’s ID badge entered one of the hospital rooms. His patient lay in darkness, although Uno was unsure what to make of the metahuman. No vitals were detected, so the only thing they could do was treat his burns and keep them bandaged.
It had only been two days since the metahuman was admitted and in that time, the tabloids had gotten word that an “angel” fell from the sky. The hospital’s position was one of complete denial, which suited Uno just fine. He didn’t want too much attention drawn to his secret identity.
He removed some of the bandages and found a shock: the burns were completely healed. No scar remained. As if the metahuman hadn’t even been touched. Uno checked the other bandages and found the same thing.
“I heal fast.”
Uno looked into the metahuman’s red eyes and the winged man smiled at him. “One of the benefits of being an angel.”
“An angel?” asked Uno. “I find that a little hard to believe.”
“Even for Quetzalcoatl’s champion?”
Uno shifted his gaze, trying to act as if he was examining the angel’s wounds. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t insult my intelligence, Uno. Or do you prefer Aztek? That’s what the papers here call you, isn’t it?”
“My name’s Dr. Falconer,” said Uno, pointing to his badge. “I think you have me confused with someone else.”
“I don’t think so,” said the angel.
“So what is your name, then?” asked Uno.
“Zauriel.”
“So what brings an angel to Vanity, Zauriel?” asked Uno.
“It wasn’t by choice, I can tell you that much,” said Zauriel. “There’s something festering inside this city, a hopelessness I can’t describe.”
“I know,” said Uno.
“You’re preparing for the coming of Tezcatlipoca, aren’t you?” asked Zauriel.
Uno shook his head. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t,” said Zauriel, smiling.
“So what brought you here?” asked Uno. “Were you assigned here by Heaven or whatever?”
“Not quite. I was attacked.”
Uno raised an eyebrow. “By…?”
“Halflings,” said Zauriel. “Under orders from someone more powerful.”
“What do you mean by halfling?”
“A halfling is the product of a demon and another entity.”
“And who were these halflings?” asked Uno. “Why were they after you?”
“If I knew, I would tell you,” said Zauriel. “Unfortunately, I don’t know. What I do know is that it has something to do with powerful forces in Hell.”
“Of course it does,” said Uno. “Well, your wounds seem to be completely healed, so there’s no reason to keep you around. You can be released as soon as possible.”
“Good,” said Zauriel.
“Dr. Falconer?”
Uno turned and almost fell back at the sight of a tall, green-skinned man who wore a flowing, blue cape. Of course he recognized the Martian Manhunter, but seeing him on television and seeing him in person were two completely different things.
“My name is J’onn J’onzz,” said the alien, extending his hand. “Of the Justice League.”
“I know, no introduction necessary,” said Uno and shook the hand offered to him.
“If you don’t mind, I would like to speak to Zauriel alone,” said J’onn. “I fear it may be an urgent matter.”
“Of course, go right ahead,” said Uno. He left the room, although he had no intention of staying out of the conversation. Instead, he ducked away into the locker room, where he kept the uniform given to him by the Q-Society. He quickly donned it and with the helmet on, he accessed the four-dimensional mirror that granted him his powers. Curt Falconer wouldn’t have been able to remain in the room, but Aztek could remain invisible and sit in on their conversation.
“Hello Zauriel,” said J’onn. “You’ve seen better days.”
“I know,” said Zauriel.
“Who did this to you?”
“Wish it was easy to tell. Unfortunately, I left my supervillain bestiary in Heaven.”
“What can you tell me about them?” asked J’onn.
“There was two of them,” said Zauriel. “They were both half-demons. Both with an obvious connection to Hell. I could tell they were working for some third party.”
“Neron perhaps?” asked J’onn.
Zauriel shook his head. “I doubt even Neron would be so brash as to attack one of the Pax Dei. At least not without provocation. He’s much more calculating than that.”
“Let me see into your mind,” said J’onn.
“You’re welcome to try,” said Zauriel.
J’onn gently laid his palm over Zauriel’s forehead. The Martian Manhunter closed his eyes and established a psychic connection. He tried to sift through the angel’s mind, but found it extremely difficult. There was far too much in there, far too much to see. He tried to probe into it, but the way Zauriel viewed the fabric of existence, the way his thought process worked, it was all so completely foreign to the Martian. J’onn felt his own mind begin to throb in pain as he tried to peel through the layers of Zauriel’s mind and he felt a backlash before collapsing on the ground.
“J’onn!” Zauriel called out, hopping out of the bed and helping the Martian to his feet. “Are you okay?”
“I will be, yes,” said J’onn. “Your mind… it’s organized in such a chaotic fashion, I—I don’t understand it. Yet there’s an… order to everything as well. So many different concepts and philosophies co-existing at once…”
“It’s tough to get a lock on it,” said Zauriel, helping J’onn to sit on the bed. “I keep forgetting that you ‘mere mortals’ have a completely different concept of time and space from those of us with a direct link to the Presence.”
J’onn’s head snapped to attention. “I’m detecting numerous thought patterns in the room.” He unleashed a psychic attack and a man clothed in white and gold suddenly flickered into view, down on his knees and clutching his head in pain.
The Manhunter from Mars was on the new arrival in an instant, clutching him by the neck. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“A-Aztek,” said the man. “Relax, we’re on the same side.”
“J’onn, leave him be, he’s right,” said Zauriel. J’onn examined Aztek for a moment before setting him down. The Martian’s brow furrowed.
“Why am I detecting numerous thought signatures?” he asked.
“My helmet contains the memories of all the previous bearers,” said Aztek.
“Why were you spying on us?” asked J’onn.
“Curiosity. When an angel falls from the sky in a ball of fire and crash-lands in my city, I tend to want to get the story behind it,” said Aztek.
J’onn nodded. “I apologize for my reaction. However, next time, just ask.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” said Aztek. He rubbed his neck. “Good grip, though.”
J’onn turned back to Zauriel. “We should get you to the Watchtower. If someone’s after you, I want to find out who.”
“Understandable,” said Zauriel. He donned the golden armor and slipped his helmet on. “I’m ready when you are.”
“Hold on just a second,” said Aztek. “I may not be an old hand at this like you, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that an angel falls into my city and knows who I am and what my mission is.”
“He’s got a point, J’onn,” said Zauriel. “I don’t know much about Aztek’s role, but I do know it will be an important one. Everything is connected here.”
“Very well,” said J’onn. “We had better—”
The wall before them suddenly exploded from a massive fireball. J’onn stepped to the fore, his eyes beginning to glow. Zauriel’s flaming sword manifested in his hand and Aztek readied himself in a fighting stance.
“Step aside, Martian,” said a deep, throaty voice. “We only want the angel.”
Two beings hovered outside the remains of the hospital room. A male and a female, both with red skin and horns. The male was extremely bulky with a Roman-style helmet. The female was almost the complete opposite, thin and emaciated. Both of them had flames in the palm of their hands.
“Blaze and Satanus,” said J’onn.
“You know them?” asked Aztek.
“Unfortunately I do,” said J’onn. His hand went to a small badge clipped onto his cape, a signal alerting the Watchtower to a JLA emergency. Although only Black Lightning would be able to respond, J’onn knew they would need all the help they could get.
“You escaped us last time, angel. But now, you will suffer!” said Blaze.
“Bring it on,” said Zauriel with a calm, steady tone as he brandished his flaming sword.
MONITOR DUTY
I don’t know what I’m doing here.
Seriously, I don’t. Which has been par for the course of everything I’ve done at JLU to date, dating as far back to my horrible but thankfully short-lived tenure on Superman and continuing through Nightwing, World’s Finest, and now, JLA and (soon) Outsiders.
I’m not very familiar with DC. If you look at my comic collection, you’ll find that it’s overwhelmingly tilted towards Marvel. That’s not to say I don’t like DC or the characters, I like them quite a bit. But growing up, I was a Marvel guy through and through (with the usual exceptions of Superman and Batman). So it’s interesting to tackle the DCU and sort of feel my way through it with fanfic.
The response has been pretty good so far. People seemed to enjoy my run on Nightwing and the first issue of World’s Finest has gotten favorable attention, plus my spirited-yet-futile efforts with DC Omega. And it’s a trend I’m hoping to continue with JLA.
I don’t even know what it was that spurned me to take a stab at this book. Someone, it may have actually been Curt, mentioned once that I should try my hand at JLA and I kind of laughed it off, just like I’ve laughed off numerous projects that I later came back to (the lesson being that you should always try something you laugh off).
Then one day, I went to JLU’s site, intent on doing some research for Outsiders. When I noticed JLA had a “title is open” message beneath it. I thought, “hey, I should give it a shot.” So I hit the books and started doing some research.
I reread Grant Morrison’s entire run on the book, and if you know anything about me, you know I’m a huge Morrison fan. You can tell from this first issue that I’m taking a big cue from his work, bringing in creations of his like Aztek and Zauriel (two excellent but sorely underused and underrated characters).
Taking a cue from what Will established in the early issues of this title, the book will have a twelve-member roster. Not every story will feature all twelve members because I don’t want to give myself a brain aneurysm trying to juggle all that.
As Curt mentioned in his note at the end of the last issue, I’ve got some big things in store for this book. Hopefully I’ll be able to live up to the expectations set by Will and Curt.
Dino Pollard
February 2008
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