FRIDAY – 11:15 PM

He looked out of the window of his Olympic-sized office on the 100th floor of the LexCorp Building, a cup of piping hot espresso in his hand.

The room was lit low and classical music played softly. A small fire burned in the office’s massive fireplace. The atmosphere was relaxed, which is exactly how the tall man in rolled shirtsleeves felt at that very moment, one fist poised on his hip, the other lifting the cup to his lips for a sip.

He cast his eyes dreamily across the sea of concrete, steel and glass. The city. His city. His home. He smiled broadly, but a frown suddenly covered his eyes and the corners of his mouth dipped south.

He secretly hated moments like this. He would scan his city, feeling what an Egyptian pharaoh must have felt, seeing testaments to his genius spread before him; verification of his superiority seen in his own lifetime. Then the vast accomplishments would shrink before his eyes and their importance would diminish in stature. And he would want more. He would get more.

His computer showed a global map with little red L’s in each section of the world that he dominated. In certain sections of the globe, the L’s had blotted out the entire country. He looked at the army of flickering L’s and was filled with pride and satisfaction, but a little voice would repeat in his head, What about that spot, right there? Then the craving would begin again.

He hated moments like this.

He swallowed the contents of the cup in one gulp and strode across the floor to his expansive (and expensive) black glass and high-polished chrome work center. His fingers flew across the keyboard, accessing his database, his eyes scanning the screen for something, anything to fill the gaping void within him. He was so focused, he jumped when his intercom buzzed.

“What!” he barked.

“The professor from S.T.A.R. Labs just arrived,” Mercy said from the outer office.

Green eyes shimmered in the glow of the monitor.

“Please escort Professor Kingston in. Bring Hope,” he added.

The intercom clicked off. He didn’t require a reply. Mercy would do exactly as he asked, without question. Hope as well. As close as the two women were, each had a dark secret from their past that no one knew. No one except Lex Luthor. It was Luthor’s knowledge of this secret and his lifting each woman from their own private circle of Hell that secured their loyalty, and it was the reason they served him personally.

“Lights up twenty-five percent,” he said and the room’s illumination increased. He leaned back in his high-back chair and crossed his legs. He knew why Kingston was here. He was just curious as to how much the professor was going to ask in return this time.

The large double doors opened and a tall well-built brown haired man walked in followed by two women of Amazonian proportions. The women wore identical gray suit jackets, identical (and dangerously) short black skirts, flat black shoes and dark glasses. Both had their long hair pinned up, and were absolutely, positively, and incredibly beautiful, but that was where their mirror image ended. While Mercy had flaming red hair and a soft creamy complexion, Hope’s hair was jet-black and her skin a mocha brown.

“Professor Kingston!” he called from his seat, not rising to meet him, elbows on the armrest, his fingers pyramided in front of him. “To what am I indebted to a visit at this time of the evening?”

Henry Kingston grinned an easy well-practiced grin, one that he had worn for the cameras on many occasions when receiving awards for this discovery and that piece of equipment created to benefit mankind. “You know why I’m here,” he said sitting in the chair in front of the large desk, “and you knew this was the only time I could see you, so why pretend?”

Luthor smiled. “And?”

“Two-hundred million,” Kingston said.

Luthor’s eyes narrowed. “Two hundred million?”

“Not a penny less,” said Kingston confidently. “We have an arrangement. I bring you programs and apparatus that make you money. Money from which a percentage is deposited into my account.”

“You are repeating the obvious, Professor,” he said. “Please get to the point.”

“The point is, for this device, I do not want a percentage. I want to sell it outright,” he said in a very serious tone. He smiled. “Don’t worry. It is worth more than what I’m asking for.”

Green eyes darkened slightly. “And I get what?”

Kingston eyed the chair to the left of the man, who nodded.

“We call it the GeneEx Device,” the professor said, taking the seat.

Both men stared at each other.

“It does what, Professor?” Luthor asked, feeling suddenly tired.

“It destroys diseases on a molecular level. The beauty of it is it eliminates the need to waste valuable time rounding up the population and individually inoculating them, in turn allowing the disease to spread and/or mutate into something far more dangerous. The GeneEx Device can be entered into their drinking water, or better yet, through a mist that can be sprayed through the air. It sends replicating nanoprobes into human DNA, where it would not only destroy the disease, but would modify itself to combat any reoccurring strain.”

Luthor said nothing, but his mind was working.

“And?” he said finally.

The professor’s ready smile wilted. “And . . . what?”

“And what else?”

Kingston shot forward in his chair. “What do you mean, ‘what else’?” he said, voice rising an octave. “Look at what the device can do! We can stop disease on a wholesale level! We can end human suffering! What more do you want the thing to do?”

Cold green eyes locked on the professor’s.

“What. Else. Does. It. Do?”

Kingston slowly sat back, his forehead now slick with sweat.

“I, I don’t understand,” he whispered.

Luthor tapped a few keys and angled his head to read the screen better. “The GeneEx Device is scheduled for destruction in a week’s time, Kingston,” he said in a mild tone. He looked up from the screen and locked his eyes on the professor’s. “So I will ask you once more, and you know how much I hate to repeat myself, what else does it do?”

Kingston’s lower lip quivered.

“Or, better question, why is such a beneficial device being destroyed?”

The professor’s shoulders went back and he paled considerably.

“Hope,” Luthor said, “please bring the professor a glass of water. Mercy. Please bring the professor a glass of water.”

The repeated request made Kingston turn to Hope, who was coming towards his right. As he turned, Hope spun on her heel and swung a wheel-kick into the man’s jaw, sending him flying out of the chair and crashing to the floor. As Kingston lifted his head the toe of Mercy’s shoe caught him under the chin, sending him flat, the back of his head slamming into the floor. Kingston fell unconscious. Mercy and Hope stood over him and poured the contents of the glasses they held into his face, waking him up. Each woman grabbed him by the shoulders of his jacket and dragged him back to the chair, where they both lifted and dropped him. They moved back into place a few feet behind the chair, both sets of hands clasped behind their backs.

“Well, Professor?” he asked kindly.

“The device . . .“ Kingston said weakly, “. . . can be altered to eradicate the person’s immune system, virtually killing the individual on a molecular level. All body functions will gradually malfunction and shut down. Irreversible.”

“Hmmm. Very interesting, Professor.” The man stood and paced in a small circle for a few seconds. “Tell me professor. One question. Could this device be altered to destroy a particular DNA type?”

Kingston’s head lifted like a puppet’s. His jaw was discoloring and swollen, his lip cut deep where his teeth dug in, wet hair hanging over eyes that were staring in disbelief. “You’re talking genocide!” he gasped, his face paling. “You wouldn’t . . . ?”

Luthor looked at the professor with a mixture of surprise and mock hurt. “Me, Professor? Why you hurt me to the quick! Yes, I am a businessman, but first and foremost, I am a humanitarian, which we all know! I would never contemplate such a heinous act! That is not to say there are other countries in this wonderful world of ours who might.” He lowered himself into his chair and leaned back. “And as long as the device is under my control, I would never let it fall into the hands of a terrorist.” He leaned forward and laced both hands flat in front of him. “You’ve sold me, Professor! We have an arrangement!”

Kingston’s eyes glazed over. “Two-two-hundred million . . .“ he whispered.

The man behind the desk frowned. “Two-hun . . . ?“ He suddenly grinned. “Oh, that! No, Professor. You’re going to be at S.T.A.R. Labs on the day of the GeneEx Device’s destruction and bring it here. In return, I won’t report your massive gambling losses, your extensive loans from less than savory individuals, the procurement and sale of other S.T.A.R. Labs secrets, also to less than savory individuals, and your marital infidelities. That, dear Professor, is the arrangement.”

“But, I won’t . . .“ Kingston began, drawing himself up in the chair.

“Mercy? Hope? Please escort Professor Kingston to the exercise room and inform him of what might happen should he not come through with his part of the arrangement.”

“Yes, Sir,” they chimed in chorus, and grabbed Kingston by his arms and dragged him to the double-doors.

“And what could happen to his wife, Christine, his son, Seth, his daughter, Angela, his parents, his wife’s parents, your grandparents, your aunts and uncles, and . . ..” He paused to check the information on the monitor. “And Angela’s hamster, Mr. Filbert.” Luthor grinned. “Oh, and Kingston?” he said. “I want it by ten-thirty Friday morning. No later.”

Kingston was dragged away screaming his name. The doors closed and the room filled with the uninterrupted sound of Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. He lowered the lights and poured himself another Espresso. He tapped a few keys and stared at the screen, showing a painfully familiar face with that wholesome smile that made his teeth ache. He tapped a few more keys and scanned the section labeled, DNA. He tapped the face with the tip of his finger and smiled.

He returned to the window and looked over his city, smiling at the full moon.

It almost seemed to be smiling back at him.

	NOT The World's Greatest Superheroes.....
JLI: The Return of BWA-HAH-HA! #1 - June, Year 1	by Bertram Gibbs

Active Roster

SUNDAY - 6:30 PM

J'onn J'onzz, Martian Manhunter, strode majestically across the reflective tile floor of the Watchtower, the headquarters for the Justice League of America, hidden in a crater on Earth's Moon. He sighed, with a deep satisfied expression on his dark green face. In one hand, he held a tray of Choco cookies: his favorite brand of cookies. He held it with the reverence one would hold an ancient religious artifact. Cookies. Two scrumptious chocolate wafers flanking a thick sweet mouthwatering layer of vanilla cream. Cookies that instantly melted in his mouth, tasted so delicious, and began his craving for more. Though J'onzz performed that very human custom of making a New Year's resolutions to cut back substantially on his intake of the delectable cream-filled cookies (a custom which he studied and reviewed very closely), he reminded himself that he was, after all, a Martian, and his people are not bound by such confines.

He had also found that the most common of human traits was to break those resolutions.

Besides, he thought to himself, I haven't had a cookie in . . . a week and a half. Actually, a week, two days, six hours, and thirty-seven minutes (by the Watchtower's ever-accurate clock), but that was a moot point, since he had the tray in hand. He was on watch tonight and from all readings on the JLA computer, all appeared quiet. This was downtime.

He placed the tray gently on the attachment he had specially built for the chair. The four ten-inch towers of cookies didn't even wobble. He inhaled slightly and his body slid through the floor and down three levels to the Watchtower's kitchen area, where he removed a tall pitcher of ice-cold milk from the refrigerator. His eyes canted to the teleporter, then he shook his head and took the elevator to the Watchtower's observation deck.

As he approached the console J'onzz's eyes scanned the readings from United States, Europe, Asia, the former Soviet Union, as well as the other countries that were displayed. Nothing major happening, or nothing that the country's local constabulary (or resident super-hero) could not handle. Nothing monumental that required the assistance of the JLA. It was only when he verified this information, that he gingerly placed the frosting pitcher of milk next to the tray of Chocos and sat down.

The Manhunter poured the milk into a tall glass with his initials on it. He took a cookie and placed it lovingly on his tongue, feeling the chocolate wafer disintegrate and attack his taste buds. He chewed slowly, almost passionately, then he swallowed. A euphoric rush filled him from head to toe, causing him to shut his eyes in bliss. He took two cookies and placed one on the left side of his mouth and the other on the right. He allowed his tongue to run across the cookie's surface, closed his eyes and began to chew. A deep rumbling sigh echoed in the room. His large hand was about to close around the glass of milk when a tiny beeping sound came from the console, followed by a female voice, "Incoming audio message".

J'onn's red eyes narrowed as he tapped the tracking button. The message was coming from the far reaches of space. A small red and yellow S blinked on and off on the screen in front of him. J'onzz smiled.

"J'onn?" called a familiar voice. "I need . . ."

"Good evening, Kal!" J'onzz boomed in a friendly sub-basement octave. "What may I do for you on this uneventful evening?"

The silence that returned caused J'onn's hand to reach for the dial that enhanced the audio.

"You're at the cookies again, aren't you?" the voice asked.

J'onzz's hand pulled back, and he wiped the crumbs from his mouth as if Superman could actually see him. Well, he probably could. He was . . . Kal. He thought that thought over again and began to dust the Choco crumbs from his chest.

"No . . . I . . . well, you see . . . uh, yes," he ended in a smaller voice.

"Need a favor J'onn," Kal said (J'onn could hear the broad smile in his voice). "Received a message from Professor Hamilton at S.T.A.R. Labs. He asked me to investigate an anonymous message he received. Something about Luthor going to appropriate something that the Lab has."

The left side of J'onzz's overhanging brow went up an inch. "Something about something and Luthor's involved. Sounds very vague, Kal. Are there any specifics?"

"Hamilton didn't get any," he answered. "The message was about Luthor stealing something from the Lab, but what that something is, is presently unknown. The only additional information is that we need to find out what it is by this Friday, and stop him if need be. I would investigate this matter, of course, but Adam Strange is in town (so to speak) and he and I are working on a project for a few days, so I need you to contact some of the members and see that they do the primary footwork until I return."

"Emergency?" J'onn asked, his eyes on the tray of cookies.

"No," Kal said. "Not yet. Just need a little investigative work and a little surveillance performed. I need you to coordinate the operation. See if Wally is busy. I contacted Oracle, but as much as she'd love the challenge of deep hacking the LexCorp system, it would mean she would have to dedicate more time than she has. So I called Ted Kord. He should be at the Watchtower shortly."

J'onzz's hand, which was hovering over a delectable morsel of chocolate and cream, came to a halt. "Kord?" he asked flatly. "You called the Blue Beetle?"

"Sure," answered the voice. "Ted has been inactive of late, but he is still our foremost computer whiz, and you're going to need someone of his talents to hack into the LexCorp computer system. He said he needed a break from running Kord Industries anyway. And Wally, well, when it comes to surveillance, he can be in and out of there in . . . "

"Please do not say, 'in a flash', Kal."

"I was going to say, 'in seconds', J'onn."

"Oh." J'onzz cleared his throat. "I'll take care of it, Kal."

He didn't answer. He was thinking. J'onn, even without being a telepath, knew what Kal was going to say.

"J'onn?" Superman began. "You're okay with this?"

"I am fine, Kal," J'onn replied in a calm tone. "I will inform you of their findings upon your return."

"Thanks, J'onn. Superman out."

As soon as the red S blipped out, J'onzz stuffed three cookies into his mouth.

The red S lit again.

"J'onn? Go easy on the cookies, okay?"

The red S went out.

The Manhunter from Mars was about to release a series of quaint Martian curses, then thought better of it when he remembered the Man of Steel's super-hearing. He chewed quietly and was about to hit the JLA signal, but since this wasn't an emergency, he opted for a telepathic link to Ted Kord. Maybe he could telepathically link him with Oracle and, between the two of them, perform the surveillance from their respective locations. Or . . .

"Hey, J'onn!" Ted Kord called, stepping off the teleporter platform. He gave the Martian a full grin, his hand extended in greeting. His eyes dipped south for a second. "How are . . . CHOCOS!" he cried seeing the tray, his claw-like hand guiding him.

J'onzz stood to his full height, towering over the smaller man dressed in jeans, sneakers and tee shirt.

"Touch one and I will put you in the heart of the Sun."

Kord backed away and quickly became interested in the JLA computer. He began to whistle the tune from the cartoon, Mighty Mouse.

J'onn turned slowly towards him, his red eyes flaring. Kord stopped in the middle of, 'Here I come to save the day!'

"Please be quiet," J'onzz said in a soft rumble. "I have to contact Wally."

"Hey, J'onn!" piped Kord. "That reminds me. I wanted to tell . . . "

"QUIET!"

Because J'onzz used a telepathic blast versus audible communication, Kord fell to his knees, both hands holding his head in place.

"Sorry," J'onzz said out loud, a small smile creeping to his lips.

He popped another Choco and contacted Wally.

THE FLASH

A Tom Hanks/Meg Ryan film was playing on the VCR (doesn't matter which - they're all the same anyhow), while Wally West and his girlfriend, Linda Park, wearing terrycloth robes (and a whole lot of nothing else) were sprawled on the couch. He had his feet on the coffee table, she had her head resting on his chest. Wally's fingers drummed on the arm of the couch at about 60 M.P.H.

Linda sniffed. "You're setting the arm of the couch on fire again, Wally," she warned.

Wally slipped out from under her and was back with a wet sponge before she could finish saying his name.

Wally crossed his legs at the ankles and began to tap his feet together. Very fast. Linda sat up and pressed the pause button on the remote control. She sat up and leveled him with a look that made Wally shrink back into the couch cushion.

"Okay," she said, "let's get this over with now. What is bothering you?"

"Lin," he asked sheepishly, "couldn't we watch a film with a faster pace?"

"Wally," she said with infinite patience, "love of my life. Man of my dreams. Pain in my butt . . . "

"And a very nice . . . "

"Don't change the subject!"

"Yes Ma'am," he whispered, sinking lower.

"The film 'Speed' was too slow for you. Now, if I must remind you, you promised me a night of dinner, a movie, and us, with no interruptions, I might add."

"But Lin . . . "

"Don't 'but Lin' me, Mister West! I have gone along with your world saving missions keeping us apart for a while now, and have I complained?"

"Well, you did say . . . "

"I'M TALKING HERE!"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Now until the world is actually coming to an end and your speedy assistance is required to save the proverbial day, your place is here, with me. Got it?"

"But, Lin . . . "

"Didn't you promise me, Wally?"

"Yes, Linda."

Her glare changed to a beautiful smile. "So, let's enjoy our evening."

She tapped the play button and returned to West's chest.

(Wally? J'onn here)

West's eyes opened wide in their sockets.

"Something wrong, baby?"

"No, Linda. Everything's fine."

(Can't do it, J'onn)

(I haven't even told you . . . )

(Can't do it, J'onn)

(Kal asks . . . )

(Is the world coming to an end, J'onn? Please tell me it is! Tell me Darkseid is sending Parademons to Earth to destroy everything in sight. Brainiac has upgraded again and is going to level New York. Tell me it's that important! Please!)

(Well, no. Kal needs you on a surveillance mission)

(Then I can't help)

(Is there a problem?)

(Yes! No. J'onn, I've got a girlfriend)

(This fact is known, Wally)

(You were married! Your wife ever asked you for a night off and you promised her you would take a night off and you're stuck doing something incredibly boring? I remember you saying that there were twelve words in your language for 'husband'. How many words are there for 'really nasty bitter divorce'? I mean, Supes is married - and how he hasn't been in divorce court years ago is a miracle in itself. And Aquaman! He isn't married, but he's shacked up with the undersea version of Nicole Kidman, so I don't . . . )

(Thank you, Wally. I understand. Have a pleasant evening)

(J'onn! Tell me that there is an asteroid the size of Big Barda's butt heading for Earth! Tell me that Doc Polaris is off his meds! J'onn. You've got to get me out of here. I'm losing my mind!)

(Goodbye, Wally. J'onn out)

Wally West sighed. Linda looked up.

"Everything okay, darling?"

"Everything is wonderful, sweetheart."

AQUAMAN

He called out to several whales to push the opening crevice together while Dolphin and Tempest worked to seal it shut.

(Arthur?)

(Make it quick, J'onn. We're having a massive quake down here and we have to do what we can to stop it)

(I see. Kal . . . )

(J'onn, no offense, but Kal is a big boy and he can handle things without my assistance)

(Arthur . . . )

(Dammit, J'onn! I am a king and these are my people. They come first. Aquaman out)

WONDER WOMAN

(I'd love to help Kal in any way, J'onn. You know that. But Circe is on Paradise Island and that takes precedence)

(Are you in need of assistance?)

(No, J'onn. Thank you for asking. Everything here is under control. At least for now, anyway. If I need, I will contact you)

(All you need do is ask, Diana. J'onn out)

STEEL

(Sorry, J'onn. I am headed out the door for a conference in Sweden. Love to help Big Blue, but I am outta here! Irons out)

GREEN LANTERN

The drafting table was strewn with drawings, and the wastebasket overflowed with crumpled discards. Kyle Rayner stomped around the room in stocking feet, unshaved, unwashed and unkempt. He returned to the table, took out a fresh sheet of paper, a sharpened pencil and began to sketch, stopped, stared at what he started, then crumpled the paper into a tight ball and flipped it over his shoulder. He reached for another sheet of blank paper and began to draw with a pencil.

(Kyle?)

The pencil snapped in his hand. He reached for another.

(Not now, J'onn!)

(Kyle, I . . . )

(NOT NOW, J'ONN!)

(You seem highly stressed, Kyle. Is there a problem?)

(PROBLEM? PROBLEM!?!?! WHY SHOULD THERE BE A PROBLEM, J'ONN! I AM ONE OF THE MOST POWERFUL BEINGS IN THE UNIVERSE! I CAN CREATE ANYTHING WITH MY IMAGINAITION! I . . .)

(Maybe you wish to discuss it?)

(I . . . oh, crud, J'onn! It's this new gig of mine. I have a deadline I have to meet and I'm behind. That's all)

(Maybe you should start to pace yourself better, Kyle)

(PACE . . . pace myself, J'onn? Every time I start, the JLA is called to action. And it is never an hour here, an hour there. Crud, J'onn! I'm gone days, weeks at a time! Every time I begin, that freakin' JLA signal goes off and . . .)

(Why do I feel that it isn't the deadline that's upsetting you, Kyle?)

(Don't you go diggin' in my head, J'onn!)

(I would never do that, Kyle. That would be a violation. Hence the reason I am asking you what the real problem is)

(Sorry, J'onn. And I know you wouldn't. It's just . . . look here. You can be anyone you wish to become, so you always have a gig to fall back on. Blue has a job, and is respected in his field. Bats; yeah, he has more greens than Conner Hawke has arrows, so he's secure. Even his Royal Highness, Mr. Limpet has a job! He's king for criminy sake! And . . . )

(Kyle)

(As much as I love the super-hero thing, I just don't want to be doing this for the rest of my life. I want something to fall back on, like Big Blue has. I'm not like Alan, where my aging has slowed. Or like Wildcat, who has nine lives and is always in great shape. I'm just afraid . . . )

(Of what, Kyle?)

(Of running around in less-than skintight spandex when I'm past my prime with an FTD helmet on my head)

(You're speaking of . . . )

(I didn't mention any names, J'onn)

(That is correct, Kyle. You didn't)

(It's money too, J'onn. That stipend the JLA gets, well between you and me, it don't pay di . . . It doesn't pay all that much, J'onn. I need this gig and I need to start saving a few bucks and I need to finish this deadline, so buh-bye. Kyle out. And J'onn?)

(Yes, Kyle)

(Ix-nay on the Royal Highness, Mr. Limpet line, okay?)

(Yes, Kyle)

BATMAN

(WHAT?!?)

(Well, Supe . . . )

(He can handle his own problems, J'onn. Batman out!)

(But . . . )

(I SAID, BATMAN OUT!)

J'onzz reached out for a Choco, but found his fingers touching an empty tray. His eyes canted toward Ted Kord, who was staring wide-eyed at two naked and highly endowed women mud wrestling on the computer. J'onn's Choco-crumbed fingers pressed against his temples. One red eye popped open. The League Alternates! He would call them.

Dibney, the Elongated Man, was a professional investigator and was well-versed in surveillance. Captain Marvel; he would be sure to help. Ray Palmer, the Atom. Yes, J'onzz thought, a grin forming on his face. That's it!

He closed his eyes and sent out a simultaneous request to all the alternates and waited for a response.

Kord looked up from the monitor to see the Martian Manhunter sitting up high in his seat and smiling, only to watch his face turn stony and his shoulders slump farther and father downward. After several minutes, J'onn stood and walked slowly past Kord and pressed the elevator button. One finger tapped against the empty tray he was holding.

"Couldn't find anyone, J'onn?" Kord asked.

"No."

"J'onn?" said Kord, his hand raised like he was in school. "May I say someth . . . ?"

"No."

"But . . . "

"No," he repeated as the elevator door opened.

"J'onn . . . "

Before Ted Kord could blink, J'onzz was standing over him, his red eyes pulsating, every muscle in his massive shoulders bunched. Ted began to whisper, 'Homina-homina-homina'.

"Theodore," J'onn began in a patient, murderous tone, his bass voice rumbling each syllable like the aftershock of an earthquake. "You are a very educated man. Few things are able to escape your vast understanding. In certain subjects, you run rings around us and we nod to your expertise."

Kord flushed crimson. "Well, thank you, J'onn," he said, casually waving his hand. "But . . . "

J'onzz's deep green face suddenly moved incredibly close to Kord's. Close enough for him to feel a heat radiate from the Martian Manhunter.

"So why is it you are having a difficult time understanding the word, 'no'?"

"You want me to be very quiet?" Kord whispered in a voice so small it would make the Atom jealous.

"It would be wise," came the quiet retort.

J'onzz stood to his full height, turned on his heel and entered the elevator car waiting for him. As the doors closed, he lifted a stiff index finger to his pursed lips and tapped them twice.

Three minutes later, Ted Kord moved his first muscle.

J'onn J'onzz, Manhunter from Mars, founding member of the Justice League of America, wiped the Choco crumbs from his lips and opened a fresh box. Six empty boxes (which were savagely ripped into) littered the floor at his feet. He stared at the Choco between his fingers and sighed. He put it on the tray and emptied the box's contents behind it. He debated assembling towers, as he did before, then shrugged and went to the lift, grabbing a fresh pitcher of ice-cold milk on the way.

He pressed the lift button.

One of the Legion of Superheroes, he thought. Yes, they were in the 30th century, and the reason to do so would be because there was no alternative, but someone was needed that he could depend on.

The lift door opened and he entered, the door sliding shut behind him.

It was not that he didn't trust Ted Kord; he did. He had complete faith in his expertise. It was just that Kord, no matter how dedicated to the mission he was, always had this streak of immaturity running through him.

Odd, the small voice muttered.

A streak as wide as the Nile River when Kord teamed up with his best friend and partner . . .

The lift door opened in time for J'onn to hear the teleporter pad turn on, signaling the arrival of a member. J'onn quickly deposited the tray of Chocos and the milk to his tray and stood eagerly awaiting the arrival.

"Bay-bee Doll!" screamed Kord. "Give Poppa a hug!"

J'onn's attention, which was diverted to Kord's outburst, returned to the teleporter pad to see the one person in the world he would have endured Hell's flames not to.

"Booster Gold," he whispered.