Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok of the Russian Federation Army sighed, staring about the carnage that had once been Mission Control. The emergency lighting had been restored after the brief power loss, casting everything in an eerie red glow that reminded her not just a little of Dante’s Hell. Red, it was so fitting.

The color of the old guard, the country…

The color of blood…

There was plenty of that, no short supply. The medics were hard pressed to gather the bodies, the parts of bodies that had died- gloriously of course- in battle. Soldiers, technicians, janitors, all were the same, and would be treated the same in her final reports. Whether the High Command agreed or not was something she had no say in at all, however. Since her return to the Mother Country she had reconciled that she would be forever simply be a low rung in the ladder of the hierarchy. Despite all she knew, and all that she had seen- and become- in the West.

At least they had disconnected the damn alarms.

Valentina Vostok watched as her direct superior, Colonel Wut directed his troops about the disaster area. That is what it was, after the creature that looked like Doctor Fate of the JLA and JSA had breached their defenses and attacked the lower levels of RDC. The man- and she was not certain if the term applied- had rained destruction throughout the complex, killing any that caught his fancy or stepped in his way, destroying expensive machinery and wall alike in his quest for the lowest depths and apparently power.

The images she had seen on Rajas’ monitors had showed the final defeat of Red Square, the Federation’s answer to the Justice League of America and the base’ last line of defense. It had taken the creature no effort at all to decimate Russia’s finest. Crushing the hammer and sickle had broken the essence of the people, that ghost made whole that had been the arrogance, Bjorn. A simple matter to shatter the body of Red Star, though Leonid had fought savagely, heroically to the end. Despite his Meta, he was still only human after all. Even easier to destroy the cyborg body of Rocket Red in an explosive shower of metal and plastic. The robot would be rebuilt of course- eventually, or perhaps if funding could be diverted the Federation might re-institute the Rocket Red Brigade since Rajas was dead, finally. Apparently whatever had been done to the cyborg, the backlash had been too much for the metallic mentalist. His ability to control machines had been too little against the magicks of the Fate creature that had named himself Nabu.

Vostok had heard of Nabu of course. One could not exist in the Western hero community without hearing all the tales of the ‘good old days’. Cliff Steel could not shut up about it. Nabu had been the power behind Doctor Fate throughout the decades, the hero actually just a host for the magical essence. When she had been a hero, it was still Ozzie- no- Kent Nelson that had been Fate. Now apparently Nabu was the dominant personality, the body simply a shell to house the being.

Nabu had arrived at the RDC seeking the mysteries stored in the Vaults far beneath the streets of Moscow. He had attacked Mission Control and decimated the rank and file, destroying the complex in his quest, finally defeating Red Square- most of them at any rate.

Poor Mysta he had taken under his wing as one of his own.

Like Rajas, the girl had been a victim of Chernobyl- a survivor. Where the scientist had been burned and crippled, the radiation sparking his latent Meta, his ability and telepathic rapport with machines, her body had been altered becoming a construct of solid light. She had been just a child when the Union had found her, trained her, and now a young woman using her control of ambiance for the Federation. Oddly she had retained a zest and zeal for life. Her tragedy had not corrupted her, making her a cold and uncaring soldier to the ‘gentle’ touch of the Russian military that had turned so many over the decades. Mysta had been full of life and hope, and perhaps that had been her downfall. Where Nabu had shattered the others of Red Square, he had taken Mysta in, turning the light to darkness, creating his own chaos of her purity. She had left with the magi, his lackey and follower- his disciple and slave.

“Vostok!”

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok jumped to hear the gruff voice growling her name. She turned, stepping aside as a team of medics passed by with another body, glancing up at Colonel Wut as he too watched them pass. He seemed impassive to the death and destruction, just another day in the trenches for him as he glared at the woman. She brushed a stray strand of blond hair from her face, unconsciously pulling down on the hem of her lab coat to straighten out the wrinkles.

“Sir?” Vostok said, half coming to attention. Her status in RDC as Rajas’ most recent companion had given her some leeway in the protocol of military hierarchy, but with Rajas dead now she was not certain as to her current standing. She was a soldier of course, as well as a scientist and something of a medic, but she knew that Wut would not give a whit about the latter. He demanded respect above all else from his subordinates.

“Red Star has been extricated, so I want you to go to the Vault with the recovery team and catalog all that has been stolen,” Wut commanded, his teeth grinding on his cigar in annoyance. They both watched as sparks flew from a lighting board, a technician screaming in the shower of unexpected light.

“Nothing has been stolen,” Vostok said returning her attention to the older man before her. He looked pristine in his uniform, despite the devastation of Mission Control, as though he somehow shrugged off the filth with sheer arrogance. He puffed up-

“And you know this because?”

“I was watching the Rocket Red monitors when all… when this happened.”

“Ah,” Wut grinned, a horrid thing. “I thought perhaps your vaunted Meta had returned, Lieutenant Colonel. I thought perhaps you had somehow become omniscient with the catastrophe. Monitors can be fooled, woman. I want you- personally- to catalog the inventory of the Vault to see what remains, and what might have been affected.”

“He only took the Spear,” she said, “and that he apparently drained. I-“

“I know nothing of these Meta abilities,” Wut grumbled, plucking his cigar from his lips and rolling it between his fingers. “Draining, stealing, it’s all the same to me. You have your orders, Lieutenant Colonel. Carry them out.”

“Yessir…”

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok saluted as her commander turned on his heel and strolled away, not returning her recognition of his authority. The man was overbearing and arrogant to the point of vain, but he was in command of the complex and there was nothing she could do but follow his pointless orders. He was old guard, a throwback of the days when the military and the KGB ruled Mother Russia. Now, with a new day and age those old men had been forced into the shadows. If only the world knew the truth…

If only she still had her Meta, perhaps none of this would have come to pass. She had rank over Leonid, despite his press and pomp he was still technically a civilian; one of the masses. They had made him a hero, while she had been a traitor. She had defected, only returning when her life had crumbled, after Trainer had taken the power back. She had been glad in a way. The power had been a hard price to pay, her life a shambles with her body swathed in bandages in the end, broken and cold. Still…

“They also serve those who stand and wait.”

Valentina Vostok yelped at the sound of the cold, cruel voice that cut through the din of catastrophe. She spun about, her hair spilling from the wrappings of the tight bun, lashing at her face. She gasped, staring at the shadowy corners of Mission Control-

Shadows seemed to swirl about the tall dark figure, his cloak flowing about him. His face was lost to the darkness, his wide-brimmed fedora shielding his features save for his dark, piercing eyes. He seemed out of place in the midst of disaster, and yet oddly at home as well as he strode forward, a thin smile on his lips. Too, he looked familiar, one of those that Steel had spoken of time and again.

“I know you…”

His eyes seemed to widen as his smile grew, a sparkle in his cold eyes. “Really,” he whispered, almost embarrassed, “then you are one of the few, Valentina Vostok, for to most I am at best… a stranger…”

The Phantom Stranger! Cliff Steel had spoken of him, a mystic of some sort, ‘a pain in the butt’ actually had been the quote. He worked with the JLA, only appearing at times of direst need. This qualified she imagined, but what did she have to do with that. She was nothing.

“You are far more than nothing, child. You should give yourself more credit. You have been as much a hero as any before you can claim.”

“But now I am nothing,” she said glancing at Wut. She eyed him queerly, seeing that he appeared frozen, even the smoke from his cigar stuck in mid-billow. “What-“

“You are needed, child,” the Stranger said stepping over the remains of one of the technicians yet to be gathered. “Rajas will need guidance. He will need your calming influence.”

“Rajas is dead,” she said staring at the empty chair that once held the cripple. She had seen him die, declared him deceased herself. The Stranger almost grinned-

“Of course,” he said, his white-gloved finger wiping the dirt from the console that once sat before Rajas. He rubbed the grit between his fingers. “That does not mean that he is through. His mission has only just begun."

“I don’t understand.”

“You shall. Simply accept. Remember all that Steel taught you and the others.”

“Cliff?” The Stranger nodded slightly-

“He loved you, which gives you the temperance that will be required…”

“Cliff?” she asked again.

“Rajas,” the Stranger said shaking his head. “Vengeance needs balance. SHE knows that. That would be you.”

Vostok’s blue eyes widened, then her brows knitted in confusion. She motioned at the devastation about them and the Stranger simply sagged.

“Vengeance against Nabu? There’s nothing I can do.”

“You will understand, but there is little time. The corruption of Chaos personified moves beyond the Speed Force. You must be there, ready…”

“Where?” she asked, her head spinning. “I don’t-“

“Follow your heart, child,” the man said gesturing at the thick door that led towards the long, metal stairway that in turn led to the surface. The door swung open with a creak, the darkness beyond beckoning. Vostok licked her suddenly parched lips, staring at the Stranger and the portal all at once-

“Where-“

“To descend leads to your duty. To ascend leads to Destiny…”

“Dammit!” Valentina Vostok cursed, her hands balling into tight fists. “I hate this! I thought I had left it all behind.”

“You cannot turn your back on Fate, child,” the Stranger smirked, “or Destiny as the case may be. But it is your choice. Up or down, you must decide…”

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok stared at the open doorway, the yawning, gaping portal that roiled darkness and confusion. She could not begin to comprehend the Stranger’s mysterious pondering, but she did know that if she stepped through that doorway her life would be set, etched in stone and changed forever.

Up or down…

Right or wrong…

She knew what lay below. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions…

Lieutenant Colonel Valentina Vostok of the Army of the Russian Federation swallowed her pride, the lump in her throat and stepped into darkness. Her foot hesitated only an instant before she stepped down, one foot on the path…

To Destiny!

Rajas opened his eyes, instantly regretting the action.

His vision blurred against the glaring white light that flooded his sight. He felt tears welling from the burn as he tried to focus- tears of pain and something more…

Purity.

He raised his arm to shield his eyes from the overwhelming light, stopping only when he realized what he was doing. Moving… No pain…

He stared at his arm, blinking in astonishment.

No cuts. No abrasions. No festering sores oozing puss. What-

“Easy, son,” the voice said from somewhere behind, cool and sure, calming. Rajas spun about, his mind reeling at that simple act, that he could even move was a miracle.

The skinny man was all bones, flesh draped over a skeletal frame swathed in red, his face barren and gaunt and pasty white. He wore a stylized ‘D’ on his chest as he hovered there above in the glow, sitting cross-legged in the emptiness. He raised his hand in greeting-

“Yo,” he said, his voice cold as he waved. Rajas stared in disbelief. The man stood-

“It’ll take a moment to get situated. Just relax. Death’s a funny thing.”

“Death?” Rajas repeated, trying to stand on shaking legs. His body quivered, whole and unblemished, free of the decrepit sickness that had scarred him. He was as he had been, before Chernobyl, before he had become simply Rajas, lackey of the Federation. He did not understand.

The man in red stared off into the bright light, that sparkling tunnel that seemed to beckon, to tug at him. His gaunt white head swiveled oddly on his neck as he returned his attention to Rajas-

“I dunno what’s the problem. Guys like you usually head right through. Hero, right? There’s a seat for you in Valhalla.”

“Who are you?” Rajas finally said, his hands curling into fists and out, so simple a thing that he had forgotten.

“Boston Brand,” the thin man said, his chest puffing up with pride. “The Deadman! Aerialist extraordinaire!” The man stared at Rajas, expecting recognition, finally shrugging. “We didn’t get outta North America really. Had a nice run down Tijuana way and a couple stints in the Great White North. Never got to the Continent. Guess you hadda be there.”

“What is this?” Rajas finally said, his voice cracking, but not raspy, free of the cigarette smoke that had destroyed his lungs.

“The after life, son,” the Deadman said with a twisted, mockish grin. “Last stop on the road to Perdition. I dunno why the hold up but-“

The Deadman looked up and about suddenly, his pale, blank eyes widening as he stared into the light-

“Oh, shit…” he looked back at Rajas, looking him up and down. “I had no idea…”

“What?” Rajas said, staring at the glaring light himself as it started to swirl and congeal. There was something within. Something that he could not quite focus on, like the filament of a bulb.

“Sorry, dude,” the Deadman said, starting to flow away, floating up, vanishing into the swirl of white. “I thought you were just lost. I didn’t know…”

“What?” Rajas said again, the swirl starting to take shape, glowing even brighter if that was possible.

“Yer on yer own, pal,” the Deadman said, finally vanishing into the murky white fringes, his voice echoing coldly. “Good luck…”

Rajas watched as the red faded away, pink then pale white, finally vanishing altogether. He was alone in the white, the void, cast in the glare. Though he did not feel alone, oddly…

He felt…

What?

Rajas blinked, the new voice there… everywhere… all about…

“Who?”

“No,” Rajas whispered, spinning about. He was cold suddenly.

Rajas stared into the light, the source of the Voice. He could not believe. He was Agnostic. He should believe, but…

“You are… God?”

“I-“

Rajas knelt, his limbs suddenly numb and useless. He bowed his head in reverence.

“Vishnu…” he whispered, groveling before the voice. “Kali… I am not worthy…”

Rajas looked up, tears in his eyes as he looked upon glory. The white was swirling, twisting…

There was a glow- golden- fire…

Rajas screamed as the glow enveloped him.