JLU 2001 Fanfiction -World's Finest 6

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The World's Finest Team...

JUST ANOTHER MUTHA-$%@&!-ING TEAM-UP STORY

World's Finest #6 - December, Year Three by Bertram Gibbs

BATMAN

SUPERMAN

APOLLO

MIDNIGHTER

SIX

Gotham City

    “He’ll probably have his little army at the ready,” Batman said looking over the roof of the old abandoned toy warehouse.

    “Shouldn’t be a problem,” Apollo said smiling and cracking his knuckles.

    Batman did not respond, he simply dropped silently to the ground in front of the chained door. Apollo landed softly behind him. Batman took out his laser torch and began to melt the lock.

    “Allow me,” Apollo said gallantly. His eyes glowed and twin beams hit the lock and dissolved it like butter.

    “Good to have you around,” Batman said. “Saves time.”

    “You think so?” Apollo asked.

    But Batman had already dashed silently through the door where he was swallowed up by the darkness. Apollo lifted a few feet into the air and followed.

    Batman had his night vision lenses on and could see the cobwebbed crates and unused metal racks. But the center was strangely open and void of boxes and even stranger, clean. His senses buzzing, he switched off the lenses and snapped his eyes shut just as the room was lit by high wattage lights. Apollo came up short behind him, his eyes squinting and trying to adjust. Batman slowly opened his eyes and saw the Joker, calmly sitting on a crate, surrounded by more than a dozen burly men. Most were armed with high-tech automatic weapons, but some went for the simpler times and were holding knives and tire irons.

    “My, my, my!” giggled the Joker. “Looks like someone watched a few episodes of ‘Queer Eye’!” He released a shrill high-pitched cackle. “The long silver locks are a lovely touch, Supes; and gee, I’ll bet your hair smells terrific, but stealing Power Girl’s design is tre' gauche! But I’m sure you’ll turn many a head! Boys?”

    On that single word, the armed hoods ran at Batman and Apollo.

    Batman leapt over the man in front and shot out a foot to the back of his head, sending him face first into Apollo’s hard chest. Apollo swatted him away and glided forward, inches above the floor.

    “Was that supposed to mean something?” he asked Batman.

    Batman’s mind focused on the man with the nine millimeter on his left and the one with the machete on his right, calculating each man’s next move. He moved forward, spun on his heel and slammed his hand back into the man on the right, grabbing the hand holding the razor sharp blade in a vise like grip, raising it sharply and bringing it down on the man on the left’s weapon. The nine mil went flying and Batman shot out a hard heel to the surprised gunsel’s chin, twisted the hand holding the machete, snapping the wrist, and rammed the back of his head into the man’s face. Before either man could hit the floor, Batman had leaped at another.

    A man with a very large and ugly knife dove at Apollo. Apollo easily caught the man by his outstretched hand, broke his arm in three places, then, using that arm, swung him into two oncoming hoods.

    Batman did a neat leg sweep and knocked the hood with the Uzi into the man with the stiletto. As he looked up to see a hood grinning at him and holding a .45 Magnum, he made a mental note to mention to the silver haired hero about his need for extreme punishment. About a second later, Batman would have to amend this note because the entire midsection of the man suddenly vaporized leaving an opening you could pass a Thanksgiving turkey through. Everyone spun in the blast’s direction, faces frozen in shock and horror, and saw Apollo floating there, his eyes still shimmering from his solar blast.

    After a few seconds of silent paralysis, Batman broke the silence by screaming, “What did you do?!?!”

    The remaining eleven hoods watched their comrade, his face frozen in a rictus of nightmarish shock, toppled backwards and strike the floor with a loud thump. Either out of fear, or the sudden realization that this wasn’t covered under the Joker’s health plan, the men ran for all available exits.

    “WHAT DID YOU DO?” snarled Batman, grabbing Apollo by his collar and dragging him down to eye level.

    “He was going to shoot you,” he replied simply. “I saved your life.”

    As the Dark Knight’s mouth flapped open, the Joker slowly walked towards them, his face registering shock.

    “What the hell is wrong with you!” he whispered. “You don’t do that! You don’t kill! That’s the regs! That’s my job. I’M THE BAD GUY!” He snapped his attention to Batman. “Is this sort of Red Kryptonite thing?” he asked. He snapped back to Apollo and regarded him warily. “Oh, yes,” he said nodding. “It has to be. Big Blue don’t walk in here dressed like one of Siegfried and Roy’s towel boys and kill and maim people unless he got a dose of the red.” His face began to harden as he stared at Apollo, yet his smile widened. “Look, you idiot!” he spat, “You do not kill anybody! You. Are. The. Good Guy! You don’t do that. You make my job more difficult; you realize that, don’t you? I kill, then you kill? How do you top that? Increase the body count? Make the deaths more heinous? You do not kill anyone! You got me?”

    Apollo’s golden face darkened. “Where’s Spazinski?” he asked.

    “Now you’re changing the subject,” the Joker scolded. “Do we have an understanding of our job descriptions? I, as the bad guy, maim and kill people, threaten their existence, destroy public property, and cheat on my taxes. You, as the hero, do not come in dressed as a chorus boy in La Cage aux Folles 4: The Vegas Experience, and defy the natural order of things!!!”

    Apollo’s eyes flared. “Clown,” he said. “You’re talking shit. We do not have the fucking time for this! Maybe this you’ll understand.”

    Batman had noticed the hero’s eyes and dove at the Joker’s midsection, bringing him crashing to the floor as the solar beam fired over them. Both realized that the beam would have blown off his shoulder, his neck and probably part of his face.

    The Joker’s head struck the floor hard, sending stars (and a cartoon bird being chased by a mangy cat) floating before his eyes. He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and looked up at the seething Apollo. His faced scrunched into a frown as he craned his head back to see where the twin beams of light went. The Joker’s eyes bulged when he saw that the energy beam had struck the wall several feet behind him. The wall that was composed of cinder blocks and steel.

    The wall that had melted.

    His face shifted to an expression of one of being slightly perturbed. He looked over to his side and did a double take seeing Batman crouching next to him, staring. Both men stood and adjusted themselves, the Joker brushing dust from his lapel. He pulled down the jacket and smoothed the material and looked at Apollo and then his eyes slid towards the Batman.

    “Can I speak to you for a minute?” he asked in a friendly voice. He looked up at the face of Apollo, who regarded him in executable vermin terms. “Please stay right there,” he said. “We need a moment,” he added, scrunching his nose. He walked past Batman who followed at his heels. When they were an appropriate distance away, the Joker turned and dramatically straight-arm pointed a gloved finger at Apollo.

    Apollo couldn’t hear much of the conversation, but he observed the Joker’s body language.

    First, he was nearly jumping out of his skin, his arms flying in all gesticulating directions. In comparison, Batman was a statue. Then his movements slowed, obviously due to something Batman was saying. His head snapped in Apollo’s direction, and his eyes were as wide as saucers. His bulging eyes slid slowly towards the Batman, then his head followed. His arm rose limply and he pointed at the extremely ventilated body of his very ex-employee. Batman’s head dropped slightly and angled back to where Apollo hovered. He said something to the Joker, who nodded. They both walked back. The Joker stood in front of Apollo and eyed him with unchecked loathing.

    “I’m sorry,” he said politely. “What was your question?”

    Apollo’s hands shot out and grabbed the Joker by the lapels, crushing them in his hands.

    “Where’s Spazinski?” he asked in a hard voice.

    The Joker stared back impassively.

    The Batman’s hand was on Apollo’s wrist and Apollo followed the hand to the masked face. He looked at Joker.

    “You two have a history,” Apollo said releasing his hold on the Joker.

    Batman ignored him and looked at his mortal enemy. “Where is he, Joker?” he asked. “We don’t have much time.”

    Joker smiled and he inhaled deeply and released it in a sigh.

    “Let’s see,” he said absently. “Spazinski. Spazinski. The name sounds familiar, and dang it all if the word multiverse don’t follow.” He folded his hands behind his back and paced back and forth in front of them. “Spazinski. Spazinski,” he repeated. “Dorky looking guy? Looks like a bad version of that character in the better Nutty Professor?” He stopped and frowned. “Oh, GAWD! I hate remakes! Note to self. Visit La-La-Land. Torture producers. Now where were we? Oh, yes. Some hackneyed plot to take over the multiverse? That Spazinski?”

    Apollo took a step. It was a little unsteady.

    Batman stopped him with a hand that felt like rubber. “Yes,” he said, but his voice sounded like it was coming from miles away.

    The Joker’s face contracted in thought for a few seconds, then he shook his head. “Never heard of him,” he replied.

    Apollo took a quick step forward and fell to the ground. Batman hand was on his rebreather but he couldn’t lift the device to his face. The Joker stepped forward and slapped it out of his hand. Batman fell forward, landing on top of the fallen Apollo.

    Smiling, the Joker pressed a button on his belt. From the ceiling dropped a large steel X tethered with thick link chains to the floor behind him. Strapped to it spread-eagled was Myron Eugene Spazinski, his scrawny body a collection of bruises and lacerations. The Joker had removed his blue uniform revealing baggy boxers with lewd depictions of a cartoon genie performing humanly impossible feats with an Arabian princess. Spazinski had confessed (after about ten minutes with the egg whisk) that it was his ‘lucky boxers’. The Joker replied he would temporarily leave them on to gauge how lucky he would be.

    “Now someone was a little less than forthcoming about being followed,” he said over his shoulder.

    “I’m . . . I’m sorry,” gasped Spazinski. “I thought if I told you, you wouldn’t help me!”

    “Ah, ye of little faith, Myron,” said the Joker turning around. “You piqued my interest! Of course I would help you!” He glanced down at the fallen heroes. “Good thing for you my Joker gas was strong enough to take out Muscle Beach Party. Not that I would have let him capture you, Myron. I’d kill you before that happens, old buddy, old pal.”

    Myron Eugene Spazinski cried out on the giant X.

    The Joker’s eyes narrowed as he walked closer. His hand stretched out and caressed Spazinski’s face. Myron Eugene Spazinski’s body recoiled as if touched by a live wire, but his head was held in place by a thick leather cranial harness.

    “My question is, if we have a . . . different version of Superman, that would stand to reason that there is a equally diverse version of Batty!” he said. His eyes narrowed and moved closer. Myron whimpered like a whipped dog. “And Bats don’t do team-ups unless he has to.”

    “Yes!” cried Myron. “YES! He has a partner called Midnighter! He’s like your Batman, but more brutal!”

    Joker’s eyes canted to the hood with the open occupancy. “Yes,” he said. “I can see where he gets that.”

    “And because I needed help to rule the multiverse,” Spazinski screamed, “I used a device I made to split me in two so I could not only see you, but also see . . . “

    “Lex Luthor,” the Joker finished.

    “You knew?” he said, his already pale skin reaching translucent levels.

    “Who else would it be?” sniffed the Joker. He smiled. “Well now,” he said rubbing his hands together, “It seems we have more than enough for contact bridge! We’ve got Batty, of course! We’ve got the Superman with anger management issues. We’ve got Big Blue. And we have Batty’s evil twin.” His smile drooped. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered sourly. “We’ve got Baldy, too.”

    “So you’ll let me out now, and we can work together?” Myron asked hopefully.

    The Joker was thinking, and facing away from Spazinski as he did, but that last question got through. He turned slowly and smiled darkly at Spazinski, dashing all hopes that his request would be granted.

    “Myron, Myron, Myron,” the Joker said in a lilting voice. “You’re so naive!” He paced (or rather skipped) back and forth in front of him. “The thing about controlling the multiverse is there’s a lot of traveling. Think of what condition I’d be in suffering from universe-lag! Not to mention a lot of planning to make sure each universe is under your control by killing a beloved figure (or figures, or innocents) as an example, and far too many personal appearances, doing the same speech over and over again, blah-blah-blah-BLAH!” He spun and leaped onto the cross and shoved his face next to Myron’s. Because the harness around his head was attached to the metal structure, he didn’t get far.

    The cross rocked back and forth like a pendulum giving Myron a surreal picture of the Joker’s face grinning at him while the world tilted and shifted in the background. “And lemme tell you,” he whispered in his ear. “I’m tired just thinking about it!” He hopped down and put his hands on his hips. “Tell ya what we’re gonna do!” he said in a showman’s voice, clapping his hands together for emphasis. “You and I are going to each n’ ev’ry one of these here mul-tee-verses and blow the holy hell out of them! Dee-stroy ‘em all! Dagburn no-accounts anywho,” he added in a snarling redneck mutter and spat on the floor.

    Myron Eugene Spazinski stared at the Joker, his jaw dropping to his narrow chest. His mouth moved several times before any sound could come out.

    “D-destroy the m-multiverse?!?!” he cried. Within the narrow expanse of Spazinski’s chest, the realization that his lifelong dream was crashing and burning at his feet burned deep. And coming out of chute number three was the understanding that his undoing was his own fault.

    Regardless of the emotional tsunami, his scientific mind went into overdrive, calculating the effect of destroying each segment of the multiverse. The combined answer to his question and the feeling of ultimate failure made his anemic blood boil and he writhed and spat in an uncontrollable rage, “You crazy bastard! You’re out of your mother-fucking mind! You stupid piece of shit! Don’t you know if you destroy singular universes in the multiverse, you’ll cause a chain reaction that will destroy all the universes?!?! It’s like breaking at a game of pool, except when the cue ball hits the group of balls, it activates the Big Bang! You can’t do this! And I won’t be a party to it!”

    The Joker stared at Myron Eugene Spazinski. There was no humor in his expression, nor was there madness. It was a blank visage. He took a step towards Spazinski, who, emboldened by his personal and scientific outrage, did not flinch this time. The Joker shoved a heel at the base of the cross, making it swing towards him, then away from him. He folded his hands behind his back and tilted his head from side to side, inspecting Spazinski face. After a few seconds he shrugged and sighed. When Myron swayed towards him, he shot a hard right cross against the man’s jaw. The fact that brass knuckles were around the fingers of his gloved hand did not improve matters. The other fact that Myron’s head was held in place only secured the fact that his jaw was now shattered. The Joker stepped back, then on second thought came back and delivered a hard left to Myron’s jaw, his hand wearing the right’s brass mate.

    “Feel better now?” asked the Joker. “You’ve got all that out of your system? Right? Good. Now it‘s my turn.”

    He did an about face and marched over to the boxes and pulled out a very nasty looking cattle prod. He shouldered it and turned on his heel, marching back to his original spot. He flipped a switch on the prod and it released a deadly bass hum, sounding like a swarm of angry bees.

    “You will help me destroy the universes, and each world – prior to its mind shattering KA-BOOM - will know you are to blame,” he said softly. “Undoubtedly, that world’s version of you is going to be in hot water, but them's the breaks! And for your information, I did know that there is a real neat chance that in taking out a few universes, my own could be in jeopardy. But I look at it this way; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs!” Joker released a loud guffaw and stuck Myron in the side with the cattle prod. Myron Eugene Spazinski screamed at the top of his lungs. His body jittered on the X.

    “And before we go out and locate your ‘better half’ and Baldy,” said the Joker, “you and I are going to have a long discussion on your language. We do not allow potty mouths in this world.” His hand thrust forward and the prod touched Myron’s chest, sending another scream through the warehouse.

    “And lastly,” said the Joker. “I can do. Anything. I. Want.”

    He moved in closer with the cattle prod and raised it in front of the man’s face. The Joker waved it slowly in front of Myron’s eyes, allowing them to follow its blunt humming end. The slow back and forth movement was as hypnotic as it was terrifying. When the prod was lowered, Myron Eugene Spazinski dropped his eyes and found himself staring into the Joker’s mad gaze. Seeing the man’s insane grin, Myron felt cold rivulets of sweat drip down his back.

    “Here,” the Joker said seductively. “Let me show you.”

To Be Continued…