EARTH 2:
The Devastated Area,
Manhattan…
“They seem to have the fires under control,” Tatsu said as
she pulled the ragged drapery back across the shattered remnants of the
abandoned fourth floor apartment. It was probably a nice home,
once; a two bedroom condominium that overlooked Central Park and the
Sheep’s Meadow. Now however it was just one of many
apartments evacuated in one of many buildings that had been declared
unsafe after the battle between the Crime Syndicate of Amerika and the
Outsiders.
“Even Ultraman has to give the Fire Department their dap,”
Harper said, barely glancing up from the table where he worked.
Together they had raided various businesses in the area, though she
imagined ‘looting’ a better term; for food and clothing
mainly, but he had insisted on robbing a sporting goods establishment
to replenish his dwindling supply of arrows and quarrels. Now he
sat at what was once the dining room table in the apartment, a pilfered
lantern aglow as he fletched the stolen shafts and modified them for
his own use. “Can’t have his empire burning to the
ground, now can he?”
“I somehow doubt that Ultraman had anything to do with the
efficiency I’ve witnessed outside,” Tatsu Yamashiro
replied, sitting herself on a chair opposite Arsenal and picking up a
whet stone taken as well from the sports store. She then slid her
wagasashi from its spot
slipped through her obi and began running the stone along the
blade’s edge. Unlike her katana, the shorter sword was not
‘gifted’ and would become dull without special care;
sharpening, oiling, polishing. It was a long process, sometimes
tedious and other times calming. Now it was simply
necessary. “All involved in the Emergency Rescue Units
seemed well-trained. Too, I saw several men and women that were
obviously from government agencies, of which I would have assumed there
would be none. I cannot see FEMA being a part of Ultraman’s
greater, overall scheme of world order.”
Arsenal shrugged as he leaned back in his ladder-back chair, nimbly
screwing a metallic arrowhead onto one of his freshly fletched
shafts. Once done he held the arrow up and outright, eyeing its
length for straightness with one eye closed. “So, another
change added to the list?” Satisfied with the completed
arrow he whipped it about and slid its length into the quiver resting
against the table leg at his side. “Like the vanishing
billboards advertising cigarettes and prostitution, and the video
screens running that 24/7 news feed of CSA propaganda. Hell, even
the air’s different.”
“Cleaner.” Tatsu nodded in agreement, slowly and
meticulously running her stone along the blade. More than
necessary it seemed. It was helping her think. Helping her
concentrate. “It is almost as though the entire world has
changed.”
“Almost,” Harper said, picking up a fresh shaft and
sighting down its length. “There’s still the
devastation outside for one thing. And us, and the rest of the
Outsiders, wherever they are now. We remember what happened, and
what was here before. Sure, this world’s changed, for
better or worse remains to be seen, but it’s flawed.
Whatever the Wizard pulled, it’s not perfect.”
Satisfied with the new shaft, Arsenal plucked another razor-sharp
arrowhead from the box on the table before him and began to affix it in
place.
“And just what has he done?” Katana asked. “Why
has he altered this world and its reality? To what purpose?
It makes no sense to me.” Katana set the stone aside and
eyed the edge of her blade. Satisfied, she slipped the short
sword back into the sash about her waist. “You still recall
nothing more?”
“Bits and pieces,” Harper said with a sigh. He
lowered the final completed arrow into the quiver, then started
transferring the few remaining arrowheads to the pockets of the
fatigues and flak vest that he had worn in his guise as Shaft, a member
of the Outsiders. “Psimon and Doctor Psycho alone at least
are more than powerful enough to get past most anyone’s mental
defenses. Working with Raven for years, I had some resistance,
but the two of them together took me down without a whimper. I
remember the Outsiders for the most part, and realized that they were
disguised villains, but at the time I thought that I was as well.”
Tatsu nodded. “My short time with the group yielded little
more, though with the Batman’s information I knew what I was
getting in to. Still, knowing basically who the individuals
probably were did not provide insight on their plans. Their
organizer, Josiah Powers seemed to know more, though he was not
forthcoming, and the Batman’s files did not include anything on
him beyond his most public history. I fear the Wizard was playing
his hand close to the vest as they say.”
“Breast, actually,” Harper corrected, finally setting his
full quiver of arrows aside, trading those for the sidearm that he
carried. He laid a tool kit on the table and deftly began to take
the handgun apart intending to oil and lubricate the inner
mechanisms. “But I know what you mean. From what
we’ve seen though, I think we can make some fairly good
speculated guesses as to what Zard was about.”
Katana leaned back in her chair, watching as Harper dismantled his
weapon quickly and easily as if by rote. She remembered reading
of the youth in bygone days; the brash and arrogant Teen Titan, partner
to the even more so Green Arrow. He had grown over the years,
molded both by experience and personal tragedy, into a man of knowledge
and expertise. There were rumors that he too had a latent Meta
that at least aided in his accuracy and ability with any ranged weapon
that he held. She had seen over the past few days though that he
was indeed dedicated to his craft and did not rely solely on his
‘gift’, if it truly existed at all. “Go
on.”
“Well,” he began as he ran a pipe cleaner through the
barrel of the Desert Eagle that he had ‘acquired’ at the
Sporting Goods store, “It’s fairly obvious that one of
Zard’s goals was to reform the Injustice Society. That
final battle in Opal where all of this kicked off was evidence of
that. And near as I can tell, he’s gathered quite a few of
the old timers, as well as the new kids.
“Now, my info from Checkmate is sketchy as I never really dug
into those files unless they crossed with a case that I was working
on. I do know that the new Mist was involved, since the deaths of
her father and brother, Nash has taken up the mantle and got the power
as well. She was operating with the Underworld in the Opal, as
was Rag Doll, though I don’t have any news on him – the son
that is. Classified rumors in my circles say that Ted Knight
killed the original after some atrocities back in the Fifties. I
know too that Black Adam in his guise as Adam Blakewell was funneling
money into Opal to back the Mist. Of course, he was doing the
same all along the eastern Seaboard, and still is as far as I
know. He was shut down for awhile in Khandaq, when Hawkman
reappeared, but the last I heard he was out and about again.”
“He was not a member of the Injustice Society,” Tatsu
stated, rising from her chair to pour a cup of coffee from the small
pot that they had taken from a looted Duane
Reade.
“No,” Harper continued as he eyed down the barrel of his
pistol. Satisfied he set that section of the gun aside and
started to work on the trigger mechanism. “He, like so many
others were of the same time frame though. One common factor in
the Wizard’s movements was that, whether first or second
generation, everyone involved was a version of the original. With
the exception of Roulette; the granddaughter of the original Mister
Terrific. Her connection to the Gambler has never been proven,
but sources say that she was approached by the Shade at one point and
declined whatever offer he made. Still, the ISA’s stable
includes the likes of Sports Master, Tigress, Icicle JR, Vandal Savage,
the Fiddler and who knows how many more?”
“That coincides with the Batman’s
‘vanishings’. Sports Master and Tigress both
disappeared after a battle in Manhattan against the Black Canary and
Starman. They reappeared in Opal City, along with the others that
you mentioned.”
“And then we all disappeared. Here, to battle the CSA, and
get them out of the way for the Wizard I believe. Common JLA
knowledge is that if the CSA goes to Earth One, or the JLA comes here,
then their counterparts are transferred to keep some sort of Cosmic
Balance aligned, at least according to Zatanna and Fate. I figure
that’s where the Outsiders came in, along with the Spectre.
Zard wanted this world, but he didn’t want the CSA obviously, or
the JLA either. Somehow he used his magic, along with the
abilities of the ISA to change the Laws of… whatever to his own
ends. He’s made – or is still making this world into
a better place. I’m thinking a place like our own world was
back in the Forties when things were simpler; more black and
white.”
Tatsu sipped at her coffee as she resumed her seat, raising a
questioning eyebrow over the rim of her cup. “The cleaner
air?”
“Partially, but also if you’ve read up on your
‘Mystery Man’ history, back in the days of the All-Star
Squadron, things weren’t so complicated. Granted, the world
was coming out of a depression and then at war, but the enemy was
obvious for the most part. And pertaining to Zard and company,
well, their plots and plans weren’t so devastating as in recent
years. Sure they wanted riches and power, but they didn’t
slaughter thousands or cause catastrophes to achieve their goals.
In the end the JSA always roughed them up, but no one got killed in the
process. I think that’s what Zard was trying to accomplish
here; some simpler fantasy world that he remembered from happier
days. A place where him and his friends could fight the bad fight
without serious repercussions.”
“Yet Fate has already died. And according to the papers we
scrounged this morning, so too has the Green Lantern.”
Tatsu reached back to the counter behind her and grabbed the morning
newspapers to splay them across the tabletop. She saw Harper
glance again at the headlines, then smirk.
“Better look again.”
Katana looked down at the top paper, the banner of The Daily News stating that ‘Green Lantern Defeats ISA Upstarts’.
Eyes wide, she spun the paper about to read that the Green Lantern
escaped serious injury while battling Sports Master and Tigress, who
both escaped in an incendiary diversion. “That makes no
sense,” she almost gasped in disbelief. “This morning
that paper exclaimed his death!”
“Enter Per Degaton; Master of Time,” Harper replied rather
smugly. “At the very least I believe he’s traveling
the Time Stream and altering
things towards the Wizard’s ends. As is Savage, and the
Shade, and probably the Thinker too, not to mention Zard himself.
He’s been working on this all for months at least. Probably
since his last battle with the JSA, where Savage disappeared
coincidentally, if not before.”
“The Batman stated that he spent several months as a derelict and
alcoholic before that. I wonder how he rose to power so
quickly,” Tatsu said as she scanned the other papers.
“With help, no doubt. Believe me, crawling out of an
addiction is not easy. Maybe Savage? I dunno, but the fact
remains that he did.”
“The Batman suspects that Felix Faust is somehow involved as
well. Perhaps he is the unknown factor behind Zard’s
rebirth.”
“Maybe,” Harper said as he snapped his gun back together
and tightened the locking mechanisms. He sighted down the barrel
a final time before spinning the pistol rapidly about his finger and
sliding it then into the holster strapped to his thigh.
“JLA records state that Faust disappeared some time ago after a
battle with them and Starman in Oregon of all places. He
hasn’t been heard from since. Not even in the magical
gathering spots that Checkmate knows about, which is odd. Both
Zard and Faust were Lounge Lizards
and barflies at a place called ‘Bewitched’
in the Bay Area in between crime sprees. Not my field of
expertise though.”
“Nor mine.” Tatsu considered all that they had said,
watching as Harper began loading his bandoleers and utility belt with
various weapons; arrow heads of dubious technical nature, spare bullet
cartridges and the like. “So on that assumption, that Zard
is trying to recreate a better past world, why bring the JSA
here? Why not simply take over entirely, after eliminating the
Crime Syndicate?”
“Again, I think he wants to relive his past. He recalls his
former glory and battles and wants that again. Too, Ollie always
said that leading anything – in his case a corporation – is
boring without a challenge. Without someone to fight against
them, the Injustice Society would simply run rampant on this world
without heroes.”
“Surely there were heroes to resist the CSA.”
“Yeah,” Arsenal agreed as he snapped shut the varied
compartments of his bandoleers. “The likes of Alexei Luthor
who the CSA kept around as a joke and punching bag. Ultraman and
his cronies pretty much ruled with an iron fist according to the JLA
files.”
“So he somehow mind controlled the JSA and brought them across,
as well as Superman and Batman?”
“Doesn’t seem too likely does it?” Harper
shrugged, then began stuffing more items into the baggy pockets of his
fatigue pants and the pouches on his boots. “The JSA I can
see. But why bring two BIG guns in, especially the World’s
Finest Heroes?”
“We are obviously missing something.”
“Which is why we should try to find one of the JSA and ask some
questions. Even better if we can break whatever spell Zard has on
them, and get them on our side.”
“I agree,” Tatsu said, nodding. “But
which? And where do we start looking?”
“You forget,” Harper stated, standing and tapping a finger
to his temple. “I have insight. Privileged
information gleaned through years of being a kid-sidekick, then a Titan
and finally an agent of Checkmate. I know the history of the JSA,
as well as their secret identities.”
“On our world.”
“And this one,” Harper said as he donned the flak vest he
had worn as Shaft. He then took up his quiver from the floor and
shouldered it into place as he continued. “I figure
Zard’s going to such lengths to recreate his fantasyland, that
the members of the JSA he’s brought over are gonna pretty much be
doing what they did on our world. I don’t know just how
privy he is to their secrets, but if Psimon and Psycho got to them like
they did me, then I figure Zard knows all that he needs to know.”
“Sound reasoning,” Tatsu said, setting her coffee mug in
the kitchen sink before moving to the apartment’s living room
again to gather her own uniform; the black shades and light armor that
she wore as Whisper within the Outsiders. “So, which of the
JSA do we seek out first?”
Roy Harper smirked again, his grin the last that Tatsu saw of his face
as he slid the black hood of his Shaft persona overhead. He then
picked up the specially crafted hunting bow that the archer used,
barely flexing his muscles as he bent the yew to set the string.
“Another thing Ollie used to tell me. ‘When in doubt,
start small.’”
Avalon
22,300 Miles above Manhattan…
“Guilty!”
Camille glanced to the left, frowning at the barely checked rage
evident on the Wizard’s face. Zard was standing, leaning
forward with his fists on the wide table and staring across its length
at the pair standing at the opposite end. Sports Master and
Tigress seemed unimpressed with his outburst, and even less so with his
verdict.
Despite his protestations to the contrary, Zard seemed to revel in the
authority he now held, not only over the Injustice Society, but the
world slowly spinning beyond the vast view port that made up the roof
of the meeting room. Not quite Emperor Zard, but close enough.
Since she had awakened after the recent battle and swift defeat at the
hands of the ‘Justice Society’, Camille had noted the
change in the Wizard’s attitude. She could understand she
supposed. His ambitions were lofty indeed, but he seemed to be
just shy of becoming a dictator on his brave new world that he and
their fellows were creating. She was happy of course to be a part
of Zard’s Inner Circle of course. It was a definite step up
from her role as flunky in the ill-fated Outsiders. There were,
however, certain drawbacks. Along with his attitude, there were
also Zard’s amorous advances to contend with. Something she
had been suspicious of back when they were both members of the Secret
Society of Super-Villains, and now a definite fact that could be a
potential problem. Her own lust for power aside, riding on
Zard’s coat tails would garner benefits beyond compare, but she
did not reciprocate his feelings. It was a minor thing so far, as
Zard was preoccupied for the most part, but to hear him talk, things
were about to change.
“Guilty.”
She glanced at Vandal Savage, standing aloof and aside as always.
He was still an enigma to her. Camille did not understand why he
would agree to Zard’s mad scheme of reinventing Earth 2 when his
own empire on Earth was so vast and untouchable.
Savage was a billionaire several times over. He dabbled in so
many things; a weapons supplier, information broker, Meta
specialist. Why abandon all of that on a pipe dream of a man who
had a history of losing and failure at everything he attempted?
It made no sense…
“Guilty.”
But of course it made no sense for the Shade to be a part of the scheme
either. As Star Sapphire, she had heard the rumors of the
Shade'’ true power along the criminal
‘grapevine’. He controlled a shadowy energy spawned
in a dark dimension. A supposedly unlimited source of power, and
like Save he was at least long-lived if not immortal. Surely
friendship was not the common denominator. Camille could not see
these men being actual friends, rather simply allies thrown together
against a common goal, most usually the JSA.
GUILTY
Of the Thinker, Camille had no opinion. Whatever that was, it was
certainly no longer human and thus, not worth rational
consideration. The Thinker was in the process of running the
world’s computers, having dominated the Earth 2 Brainiac that had
been in tenuous control of the Crime Syndicate’s version of the
JLA Watchtower. As far as she understood, Ultraman had the system
already in place, and it had been a simple matter for the Thinker to
take over and alter things towards Zard’s goals. Again,
why, she had no idea.
“Per Degaton and the Fiddler vote ‘Guilty’ as
well,” Zard said with a mockingly tired sigh as he slumped back
into his chair. The huge meeting table was circular, but there
was no doubt whom sat at its head. Camille was satisfied to sit
at his right, at least for the time being. “My dear?”
The Star Sapphire looked at Zard and smiled. She, like the rest
sat formally, and Camille was happy as well to be once more in her true
costume; the royal attire of the Queen of the Zamarons. Playing
Witchery in the Outsiders had been a unique opportunity, though the
entire outing had been a sham, and their own goals a hoax simply to
string the unknowing members along. Over that she held a bit of
remorse, and a bit more anger at being played for a simple
lackey. Little had changed in the latter she feared, however, as
she suspected that she was accepted at Zard’s whim alone.
Certainly the younger members of the Injustice Society held her in
contempt, jealous at her appointment to Zard’s Inner
Circle. Granted she had been a member of the Secret Society with
the Wizard, but that held little foundation with the junior members,,
they being the next generation replacements of the original Injustice
Society.
She shifted her gaze to take in those members, all situated at the far
side of the table. Icicle JR, the Mist, Rag Doll, Brainwave JR
and the two accused; Sports Master and Tigress. They were
gathered, the lesser side, all situated together despite their
relations with their predecessors. All seemed held in less esteem
by the senior members of the Society, and Camille had sensed the schism
as soon as she had met the group entirely. Their was resentment
and arrogance on both sides; the air of superiority of experience
earned through decades if not millennia on the side of the elders,
against the brashness and seeming attitude of invulnerability that only
the youth might enjoy. And Camille was caught in the middle.
“Guilty,” she stated, not being a fool. She knew
where the true power lay, at least for the moment.
“This is such a fucking
joke,” Sports Master said, his voice dripping with bile.
“Watch your mouth, boy,” Zard said, slapping his hand to
the table. Camille noted that he held his cane in the other hand,
the crimson jewel on top sparkling minutely. She could just
barely make out the tiny shape within the facets, the semblance of the
true power trapped within the jewel. It was one of two in a set,
the other a dazzling blue or so she had been told, and secreted away in
another dimension. Just where Zard had not said, but she had no
reason to doubt him after some of the stories he had told her. The Luck Stones of Bel he had
called them, explaining Bel to be an Elder God of Thieves, and he had
tricked the Sorcerer Felix Faust into employing the red jewel in his
last attempt to defeat the Justice League. Zard of course had
held the second blue stone, the one that contained the true power,
which had sucked Faust literally body and soul into the gem, trapping
him and transferring his magic to Zard. Just how a sorcerer of
Faust’s power and reputation had been so fooled remained to be
seen, but he had. And now William Zard seemed all-powerful
because of it…
And other things.
Camille knew – she had seen – that the Thinker was
employing various artifacts that were stored safely within the trophy
room of the former occupants, the CSA. Brainiac for one, but also
the Cosmic Rod of Earth One’s Starman. That had been
integral in the initial transfer of the Society between worlds, at
least according to Zard. And there were other things that had led
to his dominance. Old markers called in from the likes of Doctor
Psycho and Grodd who had used their psychic abilities along with
Brainwave to influence the minds of the Outsiders among others.
Using the likes of Doctor Alchemy to create Rocker, a mystical Golem
imbued with the spirit of Beast Boy to be one of his Outsiders.
Using his magic in conjunction with others to enhance the abilities of
the Angle Man and Blizzard, recreating them really into true Meta
beings rather than men with objects of power. All of which was
part of the Grand Scheme…
“Fuck you, old man!” Sports Master snapped, pounding his
own fist on the table. “We went along with your crazy plan
cuz it seemed good at the time. But I’ll be damned if
I’m gonna keep playing second string in this group.
We’ve all proved ourselves as much as you geriatrics have in your
day. I don’t need you keeping score on me. We played
your game and beat the odds. Now we want the trophy.”
Zard sighed again, shaking his head and Camille could see his grip
tightening on the cane hidden out of sight beneath the table.
“You may spout like your father in sports rhetoric, boy, but you
shall never be his equal. You and your sister,” Zard waved
his hand at those assembled at the table’s opposite side,
“all of you have much yet to prove to me, save perhaps
Brainwave.”
“Bull!” Camille shifted her gaze as Tigress spoke
up. She seemed hard and truly without remorse, her eyes cold as
she snarled at Zard.
“This is not what you promised. A new world where
we’d be free to take whatever we wanted. Thrills and
excitement… Power! Battles against the Justice Society
without the fear of going to jail. We had one battle and now you
have us on trial.”
“Because you killed.”
Zard’s voice was hollow and cold as he stared at the young
woman. She however did not seem affected by the timbre in his
tone.
“So?” Sports Master spoke up again.
“What’s one more dead bug-eyed alien? You have
more.”
What?
“That- is not- the point!” Camille could hear the
anger rising in Zard’s voice. He was barely contained, and
the jewel on his cane was flickering brighter. Then as suddenly
he seemed to calm.
“We took this world to create a better place. Free of the
violence and hatred of Earth, we would reign supreme here, challenged
by my Justice Society at our whim. Able to indulge in our wildest
dreams and fantasies. But the two of you could not abide by the
rules and stepped over the line. I told you ‘No
Fire’, yet still Tigress used an incendiary bomb and slew
‘Green Lantern’!”
“He was about to catch us,” Tigress offered in defense, but
Zard would not hear.
“We would have freed you shortly. You panicked, and worse,
abused your privileges. No killing! We left that
behind.”
“Maybe you did, old man,” Sports Master shot back.
“Not us. Killing’s a part of our lives.”
The redheaded youth indicated those seated uncomfortably about
him. Camille noted that Icicle and Rag Doll were trying to look
apart from that group, while Brainwave and the Mist seemed intent on
the debate. She knew that the younger Brainwave was not a killer,
but the others had led harder and darker lives. Rag Doll’s
father was a mass murderer and child molester, while Icicle’s gun
killed if used to maximum effect. And the new Mist was simply a
sociopath, crazed after the deaths of her brother and father.
“We didn’t grow up in the Sky
Box like the rest of you. We had to fight to get every
scrap of respect we could win, and if we had to drop an opponent onto
the benches in the process, well that’s the chance we all
take.”
Zard considered the young man’s words with a cool, steely
gaze. Camille watched as he started to drum his fingers on the
table top, his eyes shifting first to Savage, then to the Shade and
finally back across to her. After a long moment, he seemed to
come to a decision and returned his attention to the members seated
opposite.
“You all feel this way?” he asked somberly, and Camille
seemed to hear almost a sadness now, in his voice. Tigress of
course spoke up in agreement, she of like mind with her brother (if not
lover – or vice-versa).
“Far be it for me to be the voice of reason, boss,” Icicle
spoke up. There was hesitation in his voice, perhaps suspecting
what might be coming. “We grew up in different times.
The world changed in the Sixties for the worse, some say. My dad
never set out to kill, but it happened. I’m not a murderer,
at least where the norms are concerned, but push come to shove I WILL set the Ice Gun to Sub
Zero. If it means twenty to life, y’know?”
“I’ve killed,” Nash said almost immediately.
“To further my own ends, in vengeance, to protect my own.
My brother and father – your friend, Wizard – did the
same. I owe Jack Knight a blood debt, and I mean to
collect. As to your world,” the Mist shrugged,
“I’ll abide by your rules if you hold to your
promise.” Camille saw the youths stare at the Mist, even as
Zard nodded slightly. She wondered just what promises had been
made.
“I just don’t want to go to jail,” Rag Doll spoke
up. “You all do what you want. I got no beef.”
“And no back bone, apparently.” Sports Master sneered
at the gaudily clad villain, then turned his harsh stare back to the
Wizard. “Your call, old man. You’ve heard the
score. Make the call.” Camille watched as the Sports
Master stood, folding his muscular arms across his chest in
defiance. He obviously did not believe that the Wizard would
enact retribution. More the fool.
“So be it,” Zard said, seemingly sagging in defeat.
Camille heard Tigress chuckle, thinking that they had won. Not
the fool, Camille erected a shield against the flare of energy that
erupted from the Wizard’s cane…
Abigo!
There was a flash of scarlet light that erupted within the confines of
the massive chamber. Camille smelled fire and brimstone, heard
the sound of thunder as air rushed in to fill a sudden void.
Despite her shields, her eyes were dazzled with the brilliance and her
ears rang in the aftermath of the sudden explosion. When she
could see again, she noted that the assemblage had dwindled by
three…
She turned to the Wizard and saw that he seemed winded, and suddenly
haggard. She wondered just how thin he was stretching his power
and ability, as it seemed that whatever he had just done had left him
weak and spent. Turning to the far end of the table she saw the
Rag Doll curled up and in upon himself, his buttoned eyes wide with
terror and his painted mouth agape. The Mist seemed only mildly
put out as she stared at the smoldering spot in the now empty chair to
her right. Brainwave stared at Zard.
“Where did you send them, William?” the Shade asked,
seemingly unperturbed by the excitement.
“Back where they belong,” Zard answered, his voice shaking
with the exertion. “They were not meant for Avalon.”
The Shade smirked, glancing at Nash and Rag Doll. “So few
of us are.”
“Which brings us to ten, William,” Savage offered.
“Not quite the magic number we predicted.”
“The others were worse. Corrupted beyond redemption; Rival,
Sorrow, Psycho Pirate… Now we have a core dedicated to the
plan.”
“Of course, William.”
Camille looked to Savage and saw the glint in his eye. He was
plotting already, though what he had in mind she could not
discern. She glanced at the Shade, but his face was as impassive
as the digital image of the Thinker that sporadically popped up on the
room’s monitors. In fact, the only one she did not suspect
of mutiny was the Fiddler, simply because he was overcome with senility
and asleep more than awake.
“Green Lantern has been restored, like Fate. Hopefully
there will be no more ‘accidents’.” The Wizard
almost glared at the Mist and Rag Doll. Nash shrugged, seemingly
unconcerned.
“No problem on my end, boss,” Rag Doll said, quailing.
“Good.” William Zard stood, slipping his cane under
arm like a swagger stick. “Meeting adjourned.”
A sense of relief seemed to wash across the room as Zard turned and
strode towards the door. Camille noted that Savage watched him
intently, and when she glanced at the Shade noted that he was watching
her just so.
And in the background, the computer started to hum and click as the
Thinker thought…
EARTH 2:
Slaughter Swamp,
Gotham…
“Are we there yet?”
“Shut… up!”
Garfield Logan could hear the anxiety in the Owlgirl’s
voice. He knew that he asked too many questions, and that his
jokes tended to rub people the wrong way, but he could not help
it. He was nervous, and when he was nervous he tended to talk a
lot and crack jokes. It was what made him… him.
Still, he tried to curtail his jocularity as the young woman led him on
through the sewers towards God and her knew where. It seemed that
they had been walking for hours, and it was only just recently that the
waters in the old stone tunnels had started to recede. Somehow he
sensed that they had passed under a river, and he had to assume that
was the Hudson. He knew that they were heading roughly south and
a little west, and he tried to remember just where they might be
bound. On Earth he knew that Gotham was roughly that direction
from Manhattan, but he was not sure at all where might be on this
cracked mirror universe world. He trudged on, having nothing
better to do.
He had given up trying to judge the flow of water through the sewer
troughs. He had lost count of the rats and mice and roaches, the
flies and mosquitoes and other bugs. He had lost count of his
steps, though somehow he knew exactly how far he had come and knew that
if he turned about and headed back he could find the exact spot from
which they had set out. It was strange…
He oddly missed what he had been. Obviously he missed being
Human, such as he was with his green skin. Regardless of that he
was still normal looking to a point, and not a walking rockpile.
Now though he seemed to sense things that he had not before. He
seemed to have a weird rapport with the stone about him. He could
sense the weight of the rock and the thickness. In fact he
thought that if he tried he could probably mold it with some
effort. Not something he could explain, really. Just a
feeling, like he had some bond with the stone.
He wondered if that was how Tara felt.
He wondered too what Vic was doing. How was he? Still a
mindless robot, or had he found humanity again? Garfield Logan
could certainly identify with the plight of his best friend now.
Hell, at least Victor Stone still had a little flesh attached.
Logan was rock now, through and through.
“Hey!”
Logan blinked, mentally if not physically. He had no eyelids
after all. The Owlgirl was knocking on his arm though, trying to
get his attention. Apparently he had been day dreaming.
“Yeah?” he asked, answering as she slipped her arms back
beneath her cloak. She turned and he looked to follow her
gaze. They had arrived at the end of the stone causeway that they
had been following, that pipe letting out into a bleak and rancid land
that looked to be just a step above Hell. “Cheese,”
Logan whistled, sort of. “Nice place. What?
Couldn’t meet the mortgage on the Owl Cave?”
Logan stared at the miles stretched out before him. They were on
the edge of a bog, water standing in pools and puddles as far as he
could see. There were trees resembling willows and pine, but
stunted and twisted, dull and gray as though dead or rotting.
There were insects aplenty buzzing in the air, though they were little
annoyance to either; he with his stone skin and she with her Anti-Owl
Insecticide. There was a quarter moon hanging low near the
horizon, the slightest glint of silver reflecting on the stagnant
pools. And there in the middle of everything stood a crooked
shack.
It was small and ramshackle, just a bit bigger than an outhouse.
It leaned woefully to the north, and Garfield recalled the old poem; There was a Crooked Man…
Owlgirl stretched and flexed, then started off towards that very shack.
“Hey!” Logan rumbled, his voice sounding like rocks in a
grinder. Whatever she had been going to say went by the wayside
as she approached the shack, her hand reaching for the bit of wood that
constituted the doorknob. Logan hurried as best as he was able,
shambling up behind.
“Where are we?” he asked, motioning at the shack.
“What is this?”
“Slaughter Swamp,” she said as though that spoke
volumes. The name seemed to ring bells in the back of
Logan’s brain, but before he could figure out why, she shoved
open the door and stepped into the shack. He followed…
Appearances were definitely deceiving Logan noted as he looked about
the room. The area within the shack seemed definitely larger than
the area without, confined by the decaying and decrepit wood slats that
made up the walls. There was carpeting underfoot, and a pale
white paneling on the walls. There was a Franklin Stove
smoldering in one corner of the room, flanked by two doors that could
not possibly lead anywhere. There was a red plush velour sofa
sitting along the far wall, and two easy chairs situated to flank that
at convenient angles. A coffee table sat before the sofa, and a
Coleman Lantern burned brightly on an end table. Paintings hung
on the walls that still appeared crooked; a Van Gogh on one and
Rembrandt on another, and he was certain that the third was Jackson
Pollack. One whole wall was devoted to Warhol’s Marilyn
Monroe…
“What the heck?” Logan gasped, his head reeling.
“Barbara. So good
to see you again.”
Logan stared as a man stood from his reclining position on the
sofa. He rose and rose, finally settling on a height more than
equal to Garfield’s own eight feet at least. The
man’s skin was pasty white, what he could see of it, with hair to
match. He was wearing a black designer suit that had to be Armani, with a tie to match.
His eyes were dark as smoldering coals. Owlgirl did not flinch as
the pasty skinned man bent low to kiss her cheek, then stepped past and
extended a hand.
“Garfield Logan,” the man said, and something clicked in
Logan’s head. He recognized the man, if not the voice,
though he had never met him, that he could recall. He stood there
as the tall albino reached out and grabbed Logan’s stony fist,
shaking it. “Charmed. Truly.”
Logan sputtered. His voice caught in his throat in
disbelief. He heard the girl chattering but could not make out
the words.
“Grundy,” he finally said, and the pair turned to look at
him. The big man smiled, nodding.
“That’s right. Solomon Grundy. Born on
Monday.”
Earth 2:
Gotham…
Jonathan Gardner concentrated, envisioning the giant pair of tweezers
extending and solidifying at the far end of the green beam of energy
that poured from the ring he now wore on his finger. He stared in
disbelief as with sheer will of effort, said tweezers pinched the rear
bumper of the of the old Chevy Skylark and lifted the battered blue car
into the air. Beneath, the GCPD squad cars screeched and twisted
on the asphalt, spinning to collective stops, the black clad policemen
charging from their vehicles. He could barely hear the screams of
the three men in the Chevy, three men that had just robbed the Gotham
First National on Adams downtown over the din…
Kill
them! Crush the car!
“No!” John Gardner shouted, trying to drown out the
dark and stale voice that had been yammering in his brain since he had
been stupid enough to put the green ring on his finger. It had
been talking to him almost non-stop since that day in the park, yelling
sometimes, enticing at others and wanting him to do bad things.
Terrible things…
“I won’t kill,” Gardner said, gritting his teeth as
he eased the car sideways and started to shake it. “They
don’t deserve to die. They only robbed a fucking
bank!”
Gardner shook all the harder until finally the doors on the old Chevy
popped open and, one by one the three bank robbers tumbled out and hit
the street a few feet below. Gotham’s Finest were on the
job, charging forward to arrest the stunned robbers, leaving Gardner
free to finally lower the now empty car back to the ground. With
a sigh, Power Ring let the tweezers vanish.
Coward!
“Shut up.”
John Gardner hovered there for a moment, watching as the cops went
about the task of arresting the three robbers. He knew what would
come next. This was the third crime that he had stopped in as
many days, but his efforts seemed to go unnoticed by Gotham’s
Police. Gotham had a bad history with vigilantes after all.
“Freeze!”
Gardner sighed, raising a thin, translucent shield between himself and
the police spread out beneath him, and more importantly the half-dozen
guns that were pointed in his direction.
“C’mon, guys,” Gardner shrugged, splaying his hands
wide though keeping the shield in place, “I just caught the
villains. Gimme a break, hunh?”
“You just lower yourself down here, boy. We got questions
for you.”
Power Ring stared at the officer that spoke, seemingly in charge.
An old black man with sergeant stripes on his long, black coat.
There was no fear in his yellow rimmed eyes, the dark irises locked and
cold. The others stood unwavering as well, following the older
man’s lead.
Kill
them! Slay them all!
“No,” Gardner whispered, willing the ring to brightness
even as he soared skyward. Green trailed in his wake, like smoke
following the sudden flare that blinded the police to cover his
escape. He shot straight up in the echo of gunfire, the police
shooting blindly at the last space that he had been. He hoped no
one got hurt from the stray bullets.
He stopped finally, two miles above the city, the ring shielding him
involuntarily against the cold and thinning oxygen. He sighed
again, staring down at Gotham City spread out below him, a gray, lumpy
smudge cut by streaks of blue and sparse splotches of green. He
could see the smog; a thin layer of roiling brown that he had never
known existed, yet settled perpetually on the city like a dingy
sheet. Why was it so hard he wondered? In the city of the
Batman and the Green Lantern, why couldn’t he be a hero too?
Because
you’re weak! I rue the day fate dropped me at your feet!
Untrue…
Johnny Gardner blinked at the new voice that invaded his mind. It
seemed soft and wise and full of strength, like his grandfather’s
had before Prostate Cancer had taken the old man. Even better,
the new voice had chased the other away.
I am goin’ nuts…
No,
child. Merely dealing with a harsh and fresh situation in the
best way that you know how.
Gardner spun, slowly, but had barely turned when he saw the man
floating in the thin air just a few yards distant. He was old,
and short with thinning white hair and a huge head. He wore a
thick and bulky red robe with a strange emblem centered on the chest: a
green lantern in a white circle. But forget all that. His
skin was blue.
Yes,
I suppose it is. The old man smiled, glancing down and
examining his tiny blue hands. Hopefully
that will not present a problem.
“N-no. I mean – “ Gardner cleared his throat,
buying a few short seconds to gather his wits. “Who are
you?”
Excellent
question, m’boy, the old man stated, and
one easily answered. I am called Ganthet, and before you ask as
to my purpose, I have a few friends that I would like you to meet.
Power Ring stared at the old man for a minute, then finally shrugged.
He had nothing to lose.
Earth 2:
Manhattan,
St. Vincent’s Medical
Center…
Christina Blaze stared at the cold sterile white of the ceiling of her
room….
There was little else to do, but stare at the ceiling, the walls, the
door. The room had been stripped of everything potentially
flammable, the usual furniture that went with the average hospital
room, such as a dresser, chairs and table, etc. She was not even
allowed a television.
Even her bed was steel framed, with a mattress made of materials that
would not readily catch fire. It would take her best efforts to
light the mattress or pillow, the fire blanket that the nurse had
draped over her after lashing her back down to the frame of the
bed. The walls were allegedly fire retardant. There was no
window, no view. Hell in a confined box of white; ten by fifteen
at best. Maddening.
Christina counted the holes in the acoustical tiles above her
head. She then counted the tiles. She then started over
again, with a groan and a snarl. She could not even scream.
The bitch had crushed her larynx with a simple blow, cutting off all
hope of sound. She remembered the hand shooting out and jabbing
into her throat. She remembered the crushing blow that had left
her mute, cutting off all sound, then air. She remembered
collapsing, unable to breathe, her powers fading as he cops rushed
forward; grabbing and groping, allegedly restraining her. They
had rushed her into an ambulance and away, then to an ER where she had
been stripped, poked and prodded. Then here…
Hell’s waiting room.
Her own Nurse Cratchet on retainer, jabbing her with sedatives to keep
her Meta at bay, herself in delirium until they chose otherwise.
She could not concentrate. She had no will. She just had
the restraints, and the room, and the holes in the ceiling tiles to
count…
126,728…
126,729…
“Life does go on, you know…”
Christina felt something warm flow from between her legs at the sudden
shock of the voice. There had been no one in the room. She
was certain of that, but the voice was near, at the head of the bed and
cold, sudden…
She looked up and saw a vaguely familiar man standing at the side of
her bed. He was tall and thin, dressed all in black from head to
toe and carrying a cane and wearing a top hat. He looked so out
of date as to laugh, but too in a way too he looked far and above the
latest Mod look of the cutting edge Hipster. A novelty
indeed. Christina tried to laugh but choked instead, her throat
constricting in a blaze of fire with her efforts.
“Peace, childe…”
The man in black placed his fingertips on her shoulder and the fit
passed, the hacking and burning fading away. Tears filled her
eyes as peace settled over her. The man smiled, settling on the
edge of the bed.
“You’re not wanted here,” he said, and he seemed
almost sad. “Zard regrets his abuse, but bade me state that
it WAS necessary. His
goals are lofty, and discount those like us in the final scheme.
Still, he is not without regret. He has sent me to rectify his
final outcome, at least concerning you and your fellows.
“The Outsiders are done. I have been sent to send you and
your fellows back. Thrawne has accepted already.” The
man seemed depressed at that, shaking his head. “So too,
Blizzard – Ice Storm. There is nothing for you – any
of you here. I can return you to where you were. Wiser, and
with compensation. I cannot heal your wounds, but you will be no
worse the wear otherwise.”
Christina Blaze let her eyes widen as she shook her head in
agreement. Strange strangled sounds escaped her lips, harsh and
raw and ragged from her crushed larynx. It hurt, but she did not
care. Anything was better than Hell…
The Shade nodded. “So be it.”
Darkness crept from the edges and corners of the room, black seeping
into the sterile white. Christina Blaze watched as the shadows
overwhelmed reality, the temperature in the room dropping until she
shivered in delight. She felt secure and oddly safe. Zard
had lied, but this man she sensed was true in what he said, all that he
promised.
She was going home…
Earth 1:
The Watchtower…
“What the heck is that?”
Boston Brand turned the head of Jefferson Pierce, the dark eyes behind
the darker mask of Black Lightning going wide in confusion. He
scanned the room where he stood with the others: J’onn
J’onzz, the Martian Manhunter, Beatriz De Costa, also known as
Fire, Hector Hall, the current Host of Nabu calling himself Doctor
Fate, and Mister Terrific, AKA Michael Holt; members of Justice all
whether League or Society. And one final member, the room’s
other occupant Hawkman still lay unconscious on the diagnostic table of
the Sickbay there in the cold polished chambers of the JLA Watchtower.
An alarm sounded, echoing through the room and bouncing back off the
slick metal walls and pristine floor tiles cast in silver, slate and
white. There was a flickering glow of scarlet pulsing from a
panel set in the wall by the room’s main door, flashing like stop
light warning.
“The alarm,” J’onn J’onzz announced to
Brand’s question, but even as the ghost turned towards the
League’s leader, a sarcastic reply sputtered on his borrowed lips
to see the Martian turn a paler green than usual and swiftly drift down
through the floor.
“I hate it when people steal my schtick,” Brand grumbled
turning to Fire for explanation. He saw that she was already
headed towards the door, Mister Terrific hot on her heels.
“Hey!” he called out, Black Lightning’s body almost
charging ahead of its own accord when he felt a hand fall on his
shoulder.
The Spectre is the
key, ghost…
“Hah?” Brand goggled feeling a cold shiver run through
Jefferson Pierce, making the man’s skin crawl. He stared at
Fate and saw the mage bathed in a golden glow, the symbol of the Ankh
erupting about his form in blazing flames. The magician’s
voice whispered again, a thunderous boom on bitter wind –
There is victory
in surrender…
“More puzzles, Spooky?” Brand snapped, half shouting over
the claxon of the alarm. “I wish just one a’ you
Higher Beings would spit out the plot an’ plan in simple
syllables sometime.” Brand brushed Fate’s hand away
from Lightning’s shoulder, and even as the mage lost contact the
fiery golden aura began to diminish, the Ankh fading away.
“What,” Hector Hall said, his voice sounding weak, but
normal again. At least as normal as Fate’s voice usually
sounded. Brand saw the golden helmet that supposedly housed the
powers – if not the very being – of Nabu shake and shimmy a
bit, as Hall seemed to be trying to clear his head. “What
happened?”
“Senior moment, son,” Brand said shouting still even as the
alarm finally ceased. He cleared Pierce’s throat and
continued: “You sort a’ fazed out on me Hec. Worse,
ya started spoutin’ like Nelson in the old days, saying the
Spectre was the key, an’ victory in surrender.” Brand
looked at the youth bearing the mantle of Order’s champion and
saw that Hector Hall was weakened and confused. He sighed.
“Don’t got a clue, do ya?”
“Sorry, Brand,” Fate’s voice rang hollowly in the
confines of the golden helm. “Last thing I recall was the
alarm going off. Where-" And as if on cue…
“Fate. Lightning… Deadman. Go to the Hall of
Justice,” the Martian’s voice said over the
Watchtower’s intercom. “We will meet you there.
We have visitors.”
Elsewhere…
Drifting through the very walls and floors and ceilings as easily as
others might pass through the corridors J’onn J’onzz
arrived in the Transport Chamber ready to attack, or defend as the case
might be. He shifted his molecules about, invisibility enveloping
him as the last verdant hues of his skin paled and dimmed rendering him
first transparent, then totally lost to the Human spectrum of
light. He made no sound as he passed the final barrier and
entered the chamber, expecting the worst, prepared for anything.
Invasion by the Injustice
Society. What other goal could Zard have in mind save revenge and
power?
The Martian blinked in surprise.
There on the platform, the raised gray disk set in the room’s
center stood enigma. Two figures that in other circumstance might
be dark reflections of one another. J’onzz recognized both,
almost immediately, though the oddity of the scene before him had given
even his usually stoic demeanor reason to pause.
On the raised platform stood The Batman apparently returned to the
League. Appearances were deceiving however, and J’onzz knew
the truth. Though close and passable at a glance or enshrouded
within the dark shadows of Gotham’s streets, J’onzz could
see that the form of Batman was slighter than normal; shorter, slimmer
and not as brawny in musculature. Ready to strike, like a coiled
snake still the head shifted ever so slightly to take in the unfamiliar
surroundings. In one hand the Martian saw a small remote control,
that which had triggered the teleport mechanism. The other rested
on the back of what appeared to be a normal computer chair, slightly
reinforced and on wheels. A bulging leather bag was slung over
one shoulder.
The Martian Manhunter knew that this was not The Batman. Rather,
not Bruce Wayne in The Batman’s guise. It was in fact
Cassandra Cain, latest in The Batman’s long line of proteges and
formerly the latest incarnation of Batgirl. Wayne himself had
notified J’onzz and the League of his replacement in
Gotham’s defense for an unspecified time. Bruce Wayne had
not gone into detail beyond the fact that he would be away on business,
as well as pleasure, and thus out of touch. Like Superman and
Wonder Woman, recent turmoil in their own personal lives had driven
them from the League, which J’onzz could respect. His own
personal life was questionable, and sometimes he longed to simply
pursue his own goals but somehow he always ended up back with the JLA.
Regardless, Wayne had explained that for the duration, Cassandra Cain
would assume the mantle of the Dark Knight. J’onzz knew
that the girl was a skilled and determined fighter, a fact reinforced
by The Batman’s high praise, which was a rarity in itself.
A bit zealous perhaps, if not savage but The Batman had put his faith
in her abilities and that was enough for J’onzz. Wayne had
said too that he had shown her the access to the Watchtower, though he
had doubted that she would employ it given her penchant for being a
loner. Apparently that too had changed.
In the chair that The Batman’s hand firmly gripped sat a naked
man. He was tightly bound with his arms behind him and his legs
drawn to the chair’s frame. His hair was starting to gray,
and though he seemed in otherwise good shape, J’onzz noted
several bruises and wounds, most evident about his swollen face and
bandaged left leg. This was The Owlman, the Earth Two counterpart
of The Batman, though not Bruce Wayne in the same sense. Indeed a
Wayne, but Thomas and son of Gotham’s Police Commissioner if he
remembered correctly, the shattered reflection of Bruce Wayne’s
father not slain.
And of course it made sense now…
They had seen the battered and beaten remnants of the Crime Syndicate
of Amerika: Ultraman, Superwoman, Johnny Quick, Power Ring, and
J’onzz’ own counterpart; the Martian Man-Slayer trapped
within a sphere of mystical force in that Nexus between the mirrored
universes. The Owlman however was missing, and now J'onzz knew
why. With the Secret Society of Super-Villains invading his
world, Owlman had gone for help from the World’s Greatest
Detective –
“Holy Mother!”
J’onzz turned as the room was suddenly bathed in a radiant glow
of green. He saw Fire in the doorway, her hand slamming the great
red button beside the door that would cancel the blaring alarm.
Too, he saw Mister Terrific directly behind Beatriz De Costa, peering
through the flickering aura of verdant flame that danced across the
smooth skin of her bare shoulder, wanting to push past but unable to
enter the Teleport Chamber with her blocking the way.
J’onzz saw his teammate take a short, halting step forward before
her hands raised up, a blazing ball of green plasma swirling betwixt
her outturned palms.
“Batman?” she asked hesitantly even as Cassandra Cain
tensed, ready to strike or run as warranted. Bound and helpless
in the chair, The Owlman started to scream –
“No! Shit, no! don’t shoot!”
Like a breeze J’onzz shifted to both stand and appear between
Fire and her intended targets. Only his superior hearing detected
The Batman’s own shift of weight and footing, the slightest snap
of a clasp on the girl’s Utility Belt. He raised his arms,
one towards Fire with a signal to stand down, only when she did then
glancing behind to offer the other hand in peace to the girl.
“I am J’onn J’onzz, the Martian Manhunter,” he
said calmly, his voice soft as he used the slightest element of his
mental prowess and power to ease the tension in the room. With a
sigh of relief he sensed Fire’s flaming aura extinguish.
Though not the true element and rather a mystical Meta of sorts, the
flames were still close enough to reality to cause old phobias to rear
in the back of the Martian’s mind. Relieved, he turned his
full attention to the girl and her captive. “You have
nothing to fear. You are among friends here.”
The Martian stood firm, his arm extended with his hand beckoning as
though awaiting hers. A simple gesture, and one he knew she would
not complete, but his objective was to gain her trust. He saw the
slightest flicker of movement as her fingers twitched, the razor sharp,
bat-wing shaped shuriken slipping back, her own defensive stance easing
slightly as finally she nodded.
He heard Beatriz expel her breath in a ‘whoosh’ of relief
as she stepped fully into the room, Michael Holt finally entering as
well to flank the door to his right. J’onzz saw both
scrutinizing The Batman as realization settled. Mister Terrific
said nothing, but Fire was quick to state the obvious.
“That’s not Batman!” she stated, her gaze shifting to
J’onzz. He nodded, shadowed eyes glinting, willing her to
silence. Beatriz cocked a quizzical eyebrow but finally nodded in
compliance.
“It is,” J’onzz said, returning his attention to the
pair on the platform. “I have it on the best
authority.” He strode forward then and stopped at the
platform’s edge, his dark gaze settling on the naked and bound
villain. “And this is Owlman, yes?”
“Yah,” the man almost snarled, his voice slurring past the
swell in his cheek and lips. The Martian noted the jagged remains
of teeth and barely dried blood. The girl’s handiwork no
doubt. He noted too that she seemed to be favoring her left arm,
apparently the result of Owlman’s efforts.
“Explanations are in order then, Owlman,” J’onzz said
to the prisoner. He knew that with effort, Cain could speak if
she so desired, but like The Batman’s praise that was a
rarity. And he knew that The Owlman might possess the missing
pieces of the grand puzzle splayed before them all.
“Mmm bit tied up at the moment, alien.” Owlman
sneered and J’onzz knew that he was working at the bonds at his
wrists.
“You shall be freed and healed as best as we can, once you
explain your presence and purpose. We have our suspicions, if not
hypotheses, but confirmation and truth would be appreciated.
Cooperation would go well in your favor, Wayne.” The
Martian Manhunter stared daggers at the helpless man bound before him,
then finally leaned close, his face twisting and paling as the features
of his visage assumed a new masque. The Owlman blanched at the
sight of Ultraman leering at him. “I have ways of making
you talk,” J’onzz said in the darker voice of Clark
Kent. “Or I can simply rip the memories from your
mind.”
The Martian stood tall, reverting his face to the guise that he
normally wore among humanity. Then he simply waited…
“Awright!” Owlman squealed within a few seconds. The
Martian knew that this Wayne, like his Earth One version probably had
deep and dark secrets that he wished no one might ever discover.
And despite his outward façade of unwillingness, J’onzz
knew that the man had come probably seeking aid. Still, villains
were proud in their own right and way, with reputations to represent
and uphold. A simple matter of coercion was all that was needed
for the man to save face.
“It’s the Wizard,” Owlman said with a sigh, beginning
his tale. He spoke of the appearance of Vandal Savage along with
the Earth Two versions of Lex Luthor and the Joker; Alex Luthor and the
Gleeman. Heroes on that twisted Earth, Savage had convinced them
of an encroaching threat, which gained him not only their loyalty but
also access to the CSA’s satellite version of the
Watchtower. Once there and with Owlman’s help they easily
beat the Ocean Master and Johnny Quick, then went to the
station’s Trophy Room where Savage employed something called the
Star of Destruction.
This gave the Martian pause. He was well acquainted with Earth
One’s Token of Power: the Star of Creation, and if this was some
twisted version of that object, then he could easily see just how Zard
had achieved his goals. The Star of Destruction accompanied with
Starman’s Cosmic Rod and the ‘Luck Stones of Bel’
would lay great power in the Wizard’s hands. Power enough
to rend the very fabric of Reality itself, or so it did appear.
Owlman went on then to describe the battle between the remaining
members of his own CSA and the Outsiders. He spoke of the
Wizard’s apparent betrayal, and the appearance of Arsenal and
Katana in the midst, as well as confirming the identities of the
villains turned ‘hero’. As they had reasoned, and all
so that the Wizard could change Earth Two.
Into what?
The Owlman had no answer, but with the CSA off world and imprisoned,
the tentative balance between the two worlds was no longer a concern it
seemed. J’onzz considered, staring at The Owlman for long
moments, his great mind sifting through a myriad of thoughts; some
overwhelming and others fleeting. Finally he turned to the door
and to the intercom.
“Fate. Lightning… Deadman. Go to the Hall of
Justice,” the Martian spoke into the Watchtower’s
intercom. “We will meet you there. We have
visitors.” He then turned to Fire and Mister
Terrific. “Take Owlman to the infirmary and heal his wounds
as best as possible,” he spoke, though both could tell that his
thoughts were elsewhere. Without turning his arm stretched to
retrieve the bag still draped over The Batman’s shoulder.
Cassandra Cain started, the slits in her mask widening with her eyes,
but sensing no threat she relinquished the leather carryall.
“Then, please, get him covered.”
J’onn J’onzz dropped the bag at Fire’s feet even as
his form once again began to once again revert to solidity.
“Then join the others in the Hall of Justice, and I shall be
along shortly.” Expecting the pair to comply without
question, J’onzz finally turned to The Batman.
“Though I know that like your predecessor our mission will be a
bit beyond your normal venue, still your assistance would be most
welcome… Batman.”
If possible Cassandra Cain seemed to stand a little taller and a bit
more proudly at the Martian’s acknowledgement of her name and
mantle. She stared at him impassively, and he could sense the
mixture of emotions emanating from her being. Finally she made a
simple but quick slashing motion with her hand, negation that was
echoed in the slow shake of her head. J’onzz expected as
much, but still smiled, his own hands flashing nimbly in
‘Sign’ –
Then I thank you for the invaluable
help already tendered. Wayne chose wisely, The Martian
bowed slightly, and I shall tell him
so.
The Batman raised her hands as though to respond, then hesitated.
In the end she dropped her arms to her sides and let them disappear
into the folds of her cloak. Her own head nodded slightly before
she stepped to the center of the platform.
J’onzz smiled as he stepped to the transporter’s control
panel, quickly keying in the coordinates for the girl’s return
trip. Once set he looked up and nodded again, then blinked to
hear a ragged whisper as The Batman faded from sight…
Good luck…
“I fear Luck is on the side of the Wizard this time, Cassandra
Cain,” he said aloud as he typed in new coordinates, then set the
machine to hold until he returned. He then stepped away and
willed his state intangible before dropping through the floor en route
to the Monitor Womb. He had calls to make, and little time left,
he feared…
And even less hope.
Arsenal
