Singular Universe: Brave New World -- IC Thread

​

Harley--Harley. She liked the sound of that. Cute. Edgy.

The thumping in Harley's chest was overshadowed only the slightest bit by the rumbling explosion, the rolling heat wave almost a cool breeze compared to the hot excitement under her collar.

Harley's rush suddenly turned to abject horror. A scream caught in her throat. He couldn't do this to her.

"Five minutes ago--No, I wasn't happy with life. I was just an empty aftertought in a decaying city, and I spent my day amongst the abused and downtrodden. I would have been satisfied to have anyone pull that trigger and end it all. Now though--"

Harley paused.

"That smile. I want you to show me how to be that happy. I couldn't leave this world satified if I never got a chance to know who you are, what makes you tick. I saw your handy work on TV tonight. I knew I had to find who that Maestro was. And here you are. It has to be fate. This all has to be fate. So--"

Harley closed her eyes and reached up in a flash, pulling the trigger herself.

*CLICK*

"So, why me? How do you know my name, and what do I call you?"

 

​

They came without warning.

That was usually how it happened, but in the past at least they had expected the unexpected. They had always been on guard.

Now though, Tommy Oliver thought the fight had been over. His part of the fight, anyway. Lord Zedd and Rita Replusa had fled into space, and Zordon had recruited a new era of Power Rangers to take the fight to them. Tommy knew it wouldn't exactly be a retirement for him, bit he was looking forward to some time as an inactive reserve.

The sneak attack by the Putty Patrol had seen an end to that, and a peaceful day hiking in the hills with Kat. She was the only one of the group to stay behind and attend college in Angel Grove as well, and it was comforting to still have a familiar face around.

Tommy pulled himself to his knees and glance over at Kat. The odd angle at which her leg was contorted looked anything but comfortable. It looked like he was going to be in this fight on his own.

Normally a Putty Patrol would be a workout, but no huge problem. The suddeness of the attack, and the sheer numbers though required drastic measures. Thankfully, he still carried another old friend with him. After all these years, he couldn't stand to be without out it.

He reached around to the back of his belt, and pulled the gold morpher free.

[BLACKOUT]"IT'S MORPHIN' TIME!"[/BLACKOUT]



[BLACKOUT]"WHITE TIGER!"[/BLACKOUT]



-

The Command Center
Hidden Somewhere In The California Desert



Energy crackled in the expansive, technologically advanced chamber. A second later, the White Ranger materialized, holding Kat in his arms.



"Aye-aye-aye-aye-aye. It's Tommy!" Alpha-5 squealed in his distinctive synthetic voice. The tiny robot turned around in several excited circles.

At the back of the chamber, behind the line of computers and control consols, a large transparent tube flickered to life. The large blue-gray etheral head that appeared within the confines of the tube looked gravely concerned.

"Tommy, this is most unexpected. What has happened?"

[BLACKOUT]"We were hiking in the hills outside of Angel Grove when we were blind sided by a pretty large Putty Patrol. I was able to fight them off, but they managed to break Kat's leg."[/BLACKOUT]

Alpha had wobbled over and helped Kat to a resting area, and Tommy approached his mentor's life tube.

[BLACKOUT]"I thought we had pushed Zedd and Rita out into space. Earth was safe."[/BLACKOUT]

"This is most serious. That Rita and Zedd would split there forces to fight a two-front attack can only mean they have something diabolical planned."

[BLACKOUT]"What are we going to do? The other's are scattered, and now we're a Ranger down."[/BLACKOUT]

"We must gather all the allies we can. I have a feeling whatever comes next will be exponentially worse."

 

"Oh, me? You can call me... The Joker."

The Joker took a flourish and a bow, then linked arms with Harley and took her on a jaunt down one of Gotham's riverside boardwalks. He tucked the revolver they'd been playing Russian Roulette with into his inside jacket pocket, and drew out another weapon, a submachine gun, which he began merrily firing at screaming bystanders sporadically as he walked, not even looking in their direction as he murdered them.

"Lovely view, eh? The water at night, so romantic. As for you... I know all about you, Dr. Harleen Quinzel. You could say I've been researching you with a most... avid interest. The work you've been doing in Arkham with the city's most deranged denizens is..."

He let the sentence hang in the air, allowing Harleen to imagine the various possible compliments that might conclude it.

"...dull. Boring. A waste of time."

He saw her face fall, and took great pleasure in it.

BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM! More people dead. Never mind them.

"You treat these people like poor little wounded birds for you to nurse back to health, as if only you can see the goodness hidden underneath their disease. How insulting! The truth is that there's nothing wrong with the prisoners locked up in Arkham. They're the only people in this dump who are seeing the world the right way. It's all the insects on the other side of the bars that are the real prisoners, trapped in the worst prison of all... their weak, feeble minds!"

The Joker pressed a finger hard into Harley's temple, his eyes burning into hers.

"Madness isn't something to cure. It's something to aspire to! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

 

​

Harley knew she should have been terrified, mortified. Innocent people slaughtered like so many ants being stepped on. This was sure to attract unwanted law enforcement attention as well. What if she was caught in the middle of this bloodbath? What would Dr. Elliot think? What about her work?

Her work?! He knew her work?! Finally, some real recognition, not just some stuffy suits looking to make a dime off of her life's ambition. She waited, like a giddy child on Christmas morning waiting to rip into the first gift, for him to finish.

"Wh-what?"

A waste of time? He--she was dull? No, no this was her kindred spirit, the man who would help her heal Gotham. They were going to finish her work together. No. No. No no no nononono--

"NNNNNNNNOO[BLACKOUT]OOOOOOOO!!!!!!!"[/BLACKOUT]

Harley fell to her knees, head in her hands.

*"I was going to the top. I was going to save people, change the world."

Wealthy parents, Ivy Leauge education, the brightest of futures.

[BLACKOUT]"Oh, wa wa wa. My boring little life got shot straight to hell. What a whiny little c#*+."[/BLACKOUT]

"What?"

[BLACKOUT]"Wow, it felt so good to say that finally. Feels even better to stretch the old legs."[/BLACKOUT]

"Who are you?"

[BLACKOUT]"I'm you, sweetheart. The real you. You've had me lock in this hell hole of a mind your entire life, just looking for my chance, the tiniest of openings, to make my move. That night you threw your knees behind your head for the first time-ugh, what a loser by the way. He wasn't the wheel man, he just brought them bagels every morning. Anywho, when you cried yourself to sleep that night in shame, when you took that first sweet powdery hit to try and kill the humiliation, I woke up. And I've been here ever since. Every sweet line, every scummy mobster you've had inside you, every suicidal thought, I've been getting stronger. And now, oh God, this Adonis, this Godliest of all Gods. The final, teeny tiny little push and *poof*, here I am. So, Harleen, sugar-It's been nice knowin' ya. Now f*#% off."[/BLACKOUT]*

The quivering pile of broken woman bawling at the feet of the Joker felt her insides burning, the fire escaping in the form of hot tears.

Bloodshot eyes suddenly flew open, lips curled up in a cruel snarl. In an instant, her hands were on the gun in the Joker's hand.

[BLACKOUT]"You sonuva*****..."[/BLACKOUT]

*BLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAMBLAM*

More horrified screams amongst an eruption of blood.

[BLACKOUT]"You beautiful sonuva*****,"[/BLACKOUT] Harley cooed at the Joker, as the family of five she had just turned the gun on slumped in an ocean of their own blood onto the wooden planks of the boardwalk.

God, it all made sense now. Madness was the only true order of the world. Reason? Logic? All arbitray. What was logical to one person was ludicrous to the next. But everyone understood madness, and it didn't discriminate.

[BLACKOUT]"Ugh, what am I wearing?"[/BLACKOUT] Harley looked down at the demure blouse and dress slacks she was wearing. Way to 9-5ish.

And, for the millionth time that night, fate stepped in. Harley noticed the bright flashing neon sign for the tacky party supply store, blinking incessantly, framing the beautiful outfit sitting in the front window.

[BLACKOUT]"Will you excuse me for a moment?"[/BLACKOUT]

-



It felt so good, like slipping out of a false skin, and into her real body for the first time. It hugged every curve, fit perfectly.

She pulled the mask up over her face and smiled, a true genuine smile, for the first time in her life.

[BLACKOUT]"Well, Mistah J, whatta ya think of yer sweety-poo Harley Quinn?"[/BLACKOUT]

 

Billyland
11:40 PM


Vin heard his pulse in his ears. Burke drove the car, Corrigan in the passenger seat. Vin and Flass sat in the backseat, shotguns on their laps and ski masks rolled up on their heads. Kevlar vests tight on their chests. Flass checked his shotgun and quarterbacked the raid.

"Vin, Jim, and I go in through the front. Tommy watches the back door. These men are highly armed and dangerous, so be vigilant. I want to take them all alive if possible. If we succeed then we black bag them and take them across the city line into Gotham City."

Corrigan chain-smoked from the front seat.

"What about the diamonds?"

Flass winked.

"What diamonds?"

Vin mounted a flashlight on his shotgun, racked a round into the chamber. Burke pulled into the Jefferson Oaks Trailer Park. He killed the lights and engine and coasted down gravel roads. Flass rolled his mask on. Vin followed his lead.

They jumped out and ran across gravel. A double-wide with peeling green paint, a USMC flag mounted on the porch. No lights on. Burke sprinted around the back. Vin took the stairs. He stopped by the front door, flicked the flashlight on. A party two trailers over. Skynyrd playing loud. Saturday Night Special blasting through the trailer park.

Flass said go. Vin kicked the cheap door. It bucked. It groaned. It crashed open. Vin went in fast, Flass and Corrigan right behind him.

******​

Billyland
12:24 AM


Sergeant Michael Tork walked through the kicked in door. Lights on, a massacre inside. Four dead men laid out on the floor. Shots to the back of the head on all four of them. Execution style.

Sid the Yid's info got them PC and got Sawyer got the search warrant from a judge. They would have gotten here an hour earlier if the trailer hadn't been in Billyland. Sheriff's territory, sheriff's approval needed to go in. Sawyer, Tork, Daz, and Driver headed to Billyland. They were met by a GCSD captain and a sheriff's department SWAT team. The SWAT team went in first. They found the door kicked open and found the scene inside.

Tork walked through the trailer. A sheriff's CSI team worked the living room where the stiffs were found. Living room walls were covered in USMC memorabilia and souvenirs. Close up on a snapshot: Four jarheads in the desert. Tork made the four Marines for the four dead men on the floor. In the back another tech bagged evidence from a bedroom. Feature: High-powered weapons and colorful masks, wires and plastic explosives. The entire shebang sans diamonds. He walked out into the yard. Driver, Daz, and deputies interviewing neighbors for any details. Sawyer leaned against a car smoking a cigarette.

He said, "My deductive reasoning tells me we have our armed robbers."

"Along with a quadruple homicide. We got the robbers but not the rocks."

Daz came over with his notepad.

"Neighbors don't remember hearing any gunshots. Could have been because they were partying and had music turned up. One of the neighbors saw a black sedan hauling ass outta here not long before we showed up. Multiple people inside, no make on a license."

Sawyer cursed. The GCSD captain waddled over. Near three hundred pounds and wheezing in the late night heat.

"Four dead bodies, what a mess."

Tork grunted. Sawyer flicked her cigarette across the road.

"Murder like this, this is something more your speed than it is ours. We get some murders, but nothing like this. City cops like you have the budget and the manpower--"

Sawyer said, "The murders happened here in sheriff's territory, captain. The investigation--"

The captain smiled widely. "Inspector Sawyer, my close and solve rate for this year is already hovering below fifty. If I take a loser like this, it plummets it down further. Besides, your investigation already has three murders attached to it. What's another four?"

Sawyer cut her eyes. "If the MCU swallows these murders, then I get one favor from you whenever I need it. No questions asked, got it?"

"Deal."

******​

The Rose Hill Motel
12:32 AM

Flass sat on a saggy bed and smoked, blowing smoke rings in the air. The Rose Hill Motel. Twenty years since the city condemned it. A no-tell motel dump before then. Now, rotting slowly all the while Flass used it as HQ. It straddled the line between city and county. Rooms 1-6 were inside Gotham proper, 7-12 in unincorporated county turf. The place was perfect for the needs of the Surveillance Unit.

Corrigan paced the room. Burke shook his head. Gonzales still looked green. The kid kicked in the door and lead them inside the trailer to.. slaughter. The four heisters dead on the floor and the diamonds nowhere to be seen. They tossed the trailer as fast and as quietly as possible. They turned up guns, masks, and explosives but no diamonds. They were bootjacking the MCU, but someone bootjacked their bootjack.

Corrigan said, "Who in the **** could have done that?"

Flass said, "Tell me truthfully, boys, how much time elapsed between your watching the trailer and meeting Vin and myself at the rendezvous?"

Burke and Corrigan traded looks.

Burke spoke, "An hour or so. Once we made sure the guys were in for the night, he went to a nearby bar and got some drinks. We wanted to be loose for the raid. We called you from the bar after a few shots."

Flass stood up. He put his smoldering cigarette on a nightstand. He loomed over Burke. He placed a big hand on his shoulder. Burke's knees knocked.

"There there, Tommy. It's going to be okay."

Flass backhanded him hard. Burke smacked against the wall. Flass grabbed his head, smashed it against the wall again. Blood splattered faded wallpaper. Flass grounded his head against the wall. He bashed it again. Burke squirmed, took it

"What I do, Tommy, I do out of love. I have warned both you and Jim that negligence and dereliction of duty is tantamount to treason in my eyes."

Flass shoved Burke into the lumpy bed. He flopped, bleeding from his forehead. He turned to Corrigan.

"You may think I am mad. Mad is not the appropriate word. Disappointed is more accurate. I am disappointed by your sloppy behavior, and it has cost our unit dearly."

Burke spat blood from the bed. Flass stepped towards Corrigan. Corrigan flinched.

"Jim, I hope that you will see the punishment that I have inflicted upon Tommy as a punishment on you, as well. Having to watch you partner beaten while you yourself are powerless to stop it is cruel, as is the thought that further continued recklessness will only provoke my ire further. Next time, I shall not be as gentle as I was this time and you both shall feel my wrath."

Flass picked up his cigarette.

"We'll resume your investigation into the armored car robbery in the morning. Meet me here at nine and we will work to run down whoever killed the robbers and took our much desired ill-gotten gains."

Flass winked at Gonzales.

"And welcome to the team, Vin, you're going to have a ball."

 

​

*"Another beautiful performance, my agile little robin. You really wowed them tonight."

"I really did a good job, mommy?"

"You did an excellent job"*

*"Another one of Cobblepot's stashes hit last night--"

"And let me guess, another anonymous donation ends up on the doorstep of another city soup kitchen."

"Our Robin Hood vigilante strikes again."

"These costumes. Sometimes I wish they'd just wake up--"*

-

"Wha--?"

"I'm sorry, Master Grayson, but please wake up."

"Alfred?"

Dick looked around. He had dozed off in the cave, feet propped up on a console.

"What time is it?"

"I'm sorry, sir. Quite late. Two-thirty a.m. to be exact."

Dick glanced down at the platform below them. The revolving plate in the middle remained empty. Alred followed his glance.

"Yes, I've tried reaching Master Bruce, but his communications are still shut off. Something of dire importance has come to my attention though."

Alfred switched on a large screen monitor, and tuned it to a local cable broadcast.

"-muderous rampage on the Gotham Riverwalk. GCPD is on the scene, but have been held at bay for fear of injuring any hostages. Casualties are believed to be in the double digits and rising--"

The image in the screen flipped from a live feed of the boardwalk, to a fuzzy image of the perpetrators.

"Are those...clowns?"

"I will keep trying to reach Master Bruce, but this requires immediate attention."

Dick grabbed his mask off the desktop and fixed it in place.

"I'm on it, Al. Keep the channels open!"

 

So... yeah. This is happening.

Before I have time to process what's going on, I'm handcuffed and being led down the stairs. I try to ask the officers -- Maguire and Garfield, as their name tags inform me -- what the charges against me are, but they aren't exactly being forthright. I remind myself to be careful about what I say. If this isn't Spider-Man related -- and it doesn't seem to be -- then I don't want to tip my hand on that front. And, of course, I have to remember that everything I say "can and will" be used against me in a court of law. Mostly, though, I'm just shell-shocked as they lower me into the back seat of their cruiser. I can feel the eyes of curious bystanders upon me, but I don't have the mental capacity to worry about what they must be thinking. I'm just racking my brain trying to think of what this could possibly be about.

Before I know it, I find myself in an interrogation room at the police precinct near ESU. It's every bit as sterile and foreboding as re-runs of Law & Order make it seem. The room is furnished only with a cold metal table, four metal chairs, and a little television cart set up next to the table. I'm staring across at my own reflection in the two-way mirror. Don't look at me. I don't know what's going on, either, I tell my reflection. I rub at my wrists. At least they removed the handcuffs. Maybe that's a good sign?

The door opens, but it's neither of the two officers who arrested me. Instead, I'm greeted by a short, balding man who looks to be in his forties. His red face and panting breaths tell me that he must've rushed over here in quite a hurry. In his arms, he carries a briefcase and a stack of messy papers. He waddles over to the table and drops his stuff down on the table with a clang. While catching his breath, he runs a hand through what little hair he has left and declares, "Good morning. My name is Byrne Mackie, and I am your public defender." He extends a shaky hand.

"Well, it's morning alright, but I don't know how good it is," I answer as I accept his handshake.

It takes him a second, but finally he snorts. "Oh! Right, right. Because of the, uh..." As he trails off, he waves his hand around the room, letting the rest remain unsaid. He pulls out the chair next to me; the metal legs screech as he drags them across the floor. Ignoring my wincing, he sits and says, "Well, you have no reason to worry, Mister Palmer!"

I narrow my eyes at him. "Parker."

"Hm?"

"I'm Peter Parker, not Palmer," I explain.

He digs through his stack of papers. Once he finds the one he wants, he says, "Right! Mister Parker."

Well, this guy doesn't inspire a ton of confidence...

The door opens again, and this time Officers Maguire and Garfield step into the room. They, too, are carrying some notes, but theirs aren't nearly so disorganized. They stare me down as they take their seats, only glancing over briefly at Mr. Mackie. The taller one -- Garfield -- flips open his notes and clears his throat. He locks eyes with me. "Mister Parker. I see here that you've been working under the mentorship of Doctor Curt Connors for almost a full year now," he begins.

I nod. "That's right."

"And you have complete access to his facilities?"

"Everything except what he keeps locked in his office, yes," I answer, wondering where this line of questioning is going.

"So, you were aware of Doctor Connors' recent acquisition of a sealed vial of..." He pauses to check his notes. "... an 'unidentified extraterrestrial virus?'"

"Yes," I reply, "Did something happen to it?"

Officer Maguire snorts. Office Maguire keeps a stone face as he answers, "Well, that's the thing, Mister Parker. It seems someone broke Doctor Connors' office last night and stole it."

Mr. Mackie coughs into his sleeve. I merely lean back into my chair. So, that's what this is about, huh? Someone stole Doc's virus? No wonder they're acting so serious. If that virus got out and went -- for lack of a better term -- viral, it could be catastrophic. That's part of the reason Doctor Connors wanted to secure it so badly. In the hands of a conglomerate as corrupt as OsCorp, who knows what might've become of it? They might've been looking to weaponize it. It certainly wouldn't surprise me. Their last CEO was a psychotic lunatic who tried to kill me and rule all of New York, and I doubt his fill-in is any more morally upstanding.

"So, how about it, Mister Parker?" Officer Maguire finally speaks up. He folds his arms. "Where were you at eleven o'clock last night?"

I feel Mr. Mackie turn towards me, as if he's expecting an answer, too. And the truth is, I know exactly where I was at that time last night. I was downtown, foiling some carjacker's joy ride as Spider-Man. But it's not like I can admit that! "Eleven o'clock?" I repeat, wincing as I hear my voice crack. "Well, I was probably back at my apartment."

Maguire pounces. "Probably?"

Garfield clears his throat. "See, the building's key log shows that someone entered the biology building using your key card at seven minutes past eleven."

Finally. Something I can answer. "Well, it wasn't me. I lost my key card! Ask my labmate, Debra Whitman."

The two officers exchange a glance. Garfield asks, "You lost it?" Maguire reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little plastic baggie. Inside, I see my own stupid face in that awful picture I took. My key card. As Maguire tosses it down onto the table, Garfield continues, "You see, we found that in your bag, back at your apartment."

My bag? No, that's not possible. I checked every pocket yesterday when I was trying to enter the building! I look to Mr. Mackie for some support, but he seems as speechless as I am. He shuffles through his papers; God only knows what he's hoping to find. "There must be some mistake," I declare. "I lost that key! Someone must've... I don't know! Duplicated it or something."

The officers exchange another glance. Maguire steps around the edge of the table and turns on the little television. It's security footage, presumably from last night. Doctor Connors' lab is dark at first, but then the lights flicker to life. A figure steps into frame, wearing an oversized ESU hoodie. The figure crosses to the door to Doctor Connors' office, where he kept the virus overnight. I watch as the figure reaches into his pockets and produces a set of lockpicks. As the man begins to work the lock, he turns his head around to look for witnesses. His eyes meet the camera, and I'm totally stunned.

I'm staring back at my own face.

"Oh," is all Byrne Mackie can say, in what must surely be the weakest support from a defense attorney of all time. He stops padding through his papers and leans over to me, whispering, "If they offer a deal, it might be best to take it."

"So, Mister Parker," Officer Maguire begins, "Why don't you tell us where you hid the virus, and we can discuss your options."

I want to protest, to defend myself, to offer some explanation; but I have none. Anyone with eyes could tell that that's me on the security footage, somehow. So instead of speaking, I merely sit there, dumbfounded. When the silence has grown unbearably long, I'm thankful for the sudden knock on the door. The officers appear confused for a moment, until Maguire crosses the room and opens it.

"Sorry to interrupt, officers," the man at the door apologizes. "Myself and my partner will be taking over as Mister Parker's legal counsel."
​

 

​

It takes fifteen minutes longer than it should to properly redress my wound before I can feel confident enough to gain my bearings and reassert control of The Batmobile's guided autopilot. But by the time I switch to manual control and hit the afterburner, I feel like I should've taken fifteen minutes more. Vision's blurring in and out, feels like I'm burning up from the inside, and I'm having difficulty breathing. Could be a collapsed lung, given how long I remained trapped in that burning building. Minutes could've easily felt like seconds in my state of mind. I'm still trying to shake off the shock of the blood loss, is what I tell myself. But in the back of my mind, I think I know what's really bothering me. And it isn't what I saw down there, or even what I thought I'd heard - though the majority of it is something I'm beginning to grow more skeptical of by the minute. It's how I handled it that bothers me the most.

Reckless is a word that Alfred generally warns is befitting of my nature, but something was definitely off tonight. If not recklessness, there was something else holding me back from attaining full control of the situation. Normally in a scenario involving any number of hostages, I'd have gone for crowd dispersal first, resorting to broken bones and nerve strikes to thin the number of obstacles. But my methodology tonight was sloppy. Overconfident, perhaps, that I could scare the hell out of a man so endowed in superstition that he'd have to relent to me on mere presence. I haven't made that mistake since the first year, and that failed attempt gave me nothing but a bullet wound in the leg and a fistfight with the entirety of GCPD's SWAT unit.

And this was far from an isolated incident. I've been trying to save face for Dick's benefit, given he still needs me to set a standard for how to approach any given crisis scenario, but I've making too many mistakes lately to validate that trust. Few and far between, at first, to the point to where I could alleviate myself from dwelling on it. But tonight was an eye-opener, thanks in no small part to the fact that a man is dead. And I can't help but feel as if my lack of patience is directly responsible for that. True, I didn't put the gun in his victim's hand. But if I hadn't allowed myself to forget even the most basic of possible scenarios...

In any case, the stabbing was enough to justify an immediate return home. But after what happened, I just can't trust myself enough not to botch anything else that comes my way. It's barely past two-thirty, and I wouldn't ordinarily let anything stop me from staying on patrol until four at the earliest, but - and I can't believe I'm saying it - I'm sure that Gotham will be fine for the rest of the night. Re-establishing communications to base, I finally drive past Pioneer's Bridge and out of The Narrows whenever Alfred responds.

"Alfred. Something's come up, I'm heading back. Prepare the first-aid for my arrival. I may need some stitching for a..."

"Master Bruce! Thank heavens,", he replies, without pause. "I've been trying to get ahold of you all evening. You've been radio silent since the very stroke of midnight. Is everything alright?"

There's a sense of urgency in his tone. He's never had the best poker face in the world, even verbally. Something's happened, or is at least currently happening. Trying my best to steel myself and hide any sign of suffering, I keep my hand placed firmly on the wheel of the car. Something tells me The Batcave is not going to be my immediate stop.

"...Fine. A minor cut, but nothing that can't be addressed later. Is Robin still in the field?"

"That's what I wanted to speak to you about, sir. Master Grayson just left, per my request. There's an escalating matter in downtown Gotham that may require the attention of you both."

I hit the afterburner again, but thrust onto the next available exit rather than continue on my current course. I may not be in the best shape, but if Dick needs my help... there's nowhere else I need to be. My partner takes precedence.

"Feed any and all relevant broadcasts into the video uplink in the cowl. I've got Dick on tracker. Heading to his location now."

"Are you certain that everything's fine, sir? You sound particularly exhausted..."

As soon as I see the images of what's happening downtown, my grip on the steering wheel only grows tighter. GCN News is already telling me the tale. Gotham Riverwalk. It's already a bloodbath. Perpetrators wearing disguises evocative of...

No.

With a renewed sense of immediacy, given who I just saw on that video, I watch the speedometer rise as I lower my foot on the accelerator. It's been months since even a whisper of a potential sighting has circulated through the usual channels, but I never expected to see him coming a mile away. He's never been that predictable. Deep down, I always assumed he'd make himself knownonly when it suited him. And deep down, I prayed I'd be wrong.

"On the contrary, Alfred. I've never been more focused."

Switching between channels, I patch through to Dick as soon as I make it to Burton Boulevard. Gotham Riverwalk's about two miles south of his current location. If I can manage to keep ahold of myself, I'll be there in minutes. But I don't want him going in alone. Not this time - not with him.

"Robin, this is Batman. I'll rendezvous with you at the Riverwalk. Do not engage until I've arrived. That's an order."

 

​

"Ah, man."



Robin surveyed the chaos from a nearby rooftop. Bodies were strewn everywhere, the wooden planks stained a crimson red. Gunshots rang out in the distance. Sitting tight was not going to be easy.

"Mom?! MOM?!"

*

"Mom?!"

The snap was deafening, almost like a gunshot going off. Time almost stood still as his heart stopped. And for a moment, it was if she was suspended in midair.

"I can do this. I can do this," he told him self. His arm snapped out, he made a mad grab and clasped his hands tight around-

Air. Nothing but air.

"No no no. Just another inch closer."

And then, he started swaying the other way, and she started plummeting. As desperately as he tried, as hard as he willed himself, he couldn't fight gravity.

"MOM!!"

*

"MOM!"



Robin let out a heavy breath. He hadn't realized he had been holding it. A cold bead of sweat had formed above his mask.

He willed his heartbeat back down to a normal pace, and then spotted him. A small boy, maybe 9 or 10 years old, sprinting around the boardwalk in a frantic zig zag, dodging bodies in terror as he search desperately for his mother.

[BLACKOUT]"Over there! Moving target. Oh, if I hit it do I get a stuffed froggy?!"[/BLACKOUT]

Robin's head snapped around toward the voice. The same direction as the gunfire.

"Oh no. Oh nononono."

"MOM!! MOM, PLEASE!"

"Ah, come on, kid. Quiet down. Hide."

Robin closed his eyes and steadied his breathing.

His orders were not to engage. Nothing was ever said about extraction.



He fired his grapnel gun, and recoiled it at full throttle. He could almost smell the steel cable heating up. He landed on the sidewalk a little less gracefully than he would have like, loosing his footing on the slick blood. A cold shiver shook his core.

"MAH-UMFF."

Robin placed one arm around the child's waist, and the other hand over his mouth. The boy tried to scream in fear, but his eyes exploded into temporary joy once he got a glimpse at who was holding him. The fear quickly creeped back in.

"Y-You're Robin!"

"That's right, big guy."

"Is Batman here?"

"Almost. I hope."

"I can't find my mom."

*BLAM*

Robin recoiled and threw the two of them to the ground. The bullet rocketed past, nicking the hem of his cape as it fluttered in the air. In an instant he picked the boy up and raced in between a hot dog and ice scream stand as a hail of bullet opened up into the spot they had just laid.

"Listen, um..."

"Tim."

"Tim. I'm going to look for your mom, but I have to get you out of here. I'm going to need you to be brave for me though, ok?"

The boy nodded. Robin fired the grapnel gun again.

The hot dog stand exploded into a shower of splinters.

"Crap."

Robin made his decision in a split second. He had no way to defend them if he grappled up with the boy. It would be a shooting gallery. He clipped the gun onto the boys belt, and hit the retract button.

[BLACKOUT]"Ohohoh. It's Bird Boy. That's a jumbo prize, right Puddin'?"[/BLACKOUT]

The red hot barrel pressed into the base of Robin's neck. He bit his bottom lip, trying not to make any sudden moves.

"Double Crap."

 

My name is Barry Allen, and I am the fastest man alive. However, being the fastest man alive isn't just about speed. People like to come up to me and joke, "Boy, doing chores must be a snap for you!" It's a pretty common misconception about my powers. You see, while I can accomplish ordinary tasks incredibly fast, my perception of time doesn't change all that much. From my perspective, doing the dishes takes me the same amount of time as anybody else. It's a neat little side effect of my powers that keeps me from being a red and yellow stain on the side of a wall somewhere. Every now and then, though, this slowed perception can leak into my everyday life. That can be a real drag when I'm, say, stuck in line at the bank.

But for a moment like this one? Time can move as slowly as it wants.

Iris is still asleep. Her alarm won't go off for another few minutes. I've been up for a little while now. Unless I've really been exerting myself, I find that I don't need as much sleep anymore. Chalk it up to that hyper-charged metabolism, I suppose. So, as the seconds seem to stretch into minutes, I take the opportunity just to admire the gorgeous woman in my bed. I knew I loved her from the first day of freshman year at CCU. It took us a few years to finally get the timing right, but the second we did... it was like slipping into an old pair of sneakers. Everything seemed to just fit right.

Some time later -- probably only another minute or two, despite how it feels to me -- Iris begins to stir. As she rolls over to face me, her eyelids scrunch and then flutter open. When she spots me staring with those emerald eyes of hers, she groans and offers a drowsy grin. "How can you be so wide awake without coffee?" she grumbles into the pillow. She turns her head, and her hair falls over her face.

"I guess I'm just sufficiently motivated to wake up and greet the day," I answer. I reach across and brush the hair from her face, beaming gleefully as I see the smirk on her face. Just then, her alarm begins to go off, so I reach across and silence her phone. "Alright. I'm going to start a pot of coffee to enable your addiction, and then I'm going to hop in the shower. You have until I finish to get out of this bed." I lean over and plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Alright, but be quick about it," Iris responds.

I can't help but smirk. Of course, dear.

A few minutes later, I step out of the bathroom and begin buttoning up my shirt. Iris is sitting on the bed, facing the mirror over my dresser and running a brush through her hair. As she sees me walk into the room, she smiles and says, "Hey, so I haven't heard about Wally in a while. How are things going with my little terror of a nephew?"

Now, there's a loaded question if ever there was one. Iris originally asked me to keep an eye on her nephew because she thought he could use more positive male role models in his life. Little did she -- or I -- know that Wally would undergo the same transformation I once did. At that point, I had no choice but to reveal my identity to Wally -- under strict orders that he not tell Iris about either one of us. Since then, he's become my... protege, I suppose?

"Oh, he's not such a bad kid," I answer cryptically. "Honestly, I see a lot of myself in him..."

Iris stands up from the bed and slips into a pencil skirt. While she hasn't "officially" moved in to my apartment, she does keep almost a full dresser's worth of clothes for the mornings when she doesn't have time to go back to her place before work. "Really?" she replies, turning her head to give me a curious look. "I never would have pegged teenage you as a troublemaker."

As I slip a watch over my wrist, Iris walks over to brush lint off my shirt. I shrug as I tell her, "Well, I think you'll find that I'm full of surprises, Ms. West."

Iris smiles without meeting my eyes. "I'm sure you are, Mr. Allen." She looks up at me, and I see her smile soften. We stand there for a moment, looking at one another, until Iris glances at the time on her phone. "Alright, I've gotta run. That expose on corruption amongst city officials isn't going to film itself." She stands on her toes to give me a kiss. "Have a fun day at work. Go catch some bad guys."

I smile. "If I'm lucky."

I'm not in as much of a rush as Iris, so I take a moment after she leaves to enjoy a light breakfast: two bagels with peanut butter, an apple, a banana, six strips of bacon, a bowl of Frosted Flakes, and two Greek yogurts. I wash it all down with a cup of coffee -- decaf, unlike Iris, because caffeine has... odd effects on my body. The first time I tried a cappuccino after getting my powers, I literally vibrated through the floor of my apartment. Luckily my downstairs neighbors weren't home to witness that.

While I'm in the middle of cleaning up the kitchen, my phone gives a shrill beep. Wally is paging me on our secure channel. I press my thumb to the glass and wait for fingerprint recognition to complete. Once it does, the channel opens, and I hear the sound of chaos behind Wally's voice. "Ugh Bar-I mean Flash. Yea, I could use some help," he calls out. Just before his transmission cuts out, I hear an inhuman-sounding roar.

I take my ring out of my pocket and slip it over my finger.

Within seconds, I'm halfway downtown towards the source of Wally's transmission. The morning commute is just beginning, so the streets are a little more congested than usual. It's not a problem for me; I just have to swerve between cars a bit more. Taking a running leap, I easily clear an old Buick the size of a small boat. I land on the hood of an SUV and keep running, skipping across the cars like a stone in a pond. Ahead of me, a man has dropped his newspaper, and the wind is carrying it towards the street. I adjust my course and scoop up the newspaper, returning it to the man's hands.

I've got to keep to subsonic speeds while inside the city, but I'm still moving fast enough to make everyone else seem like they're almost standing still. My antennae pick up the chatter of the people I pass; I smile to myself as I hear them call out in wonder as I streak past. I circle back briefly to high-five a young kid in a Flash t-shirt. He squeals in delight, and my smile grows. That's when I force myself to focus. Wally's in trouble, or he wouldn't have called for backup. He's stubborn that way. And whatever he's up against, it didn't sound natural.

I can see the streaks of yellow from down the block. Wally's running circles around some kind of behemoth. The creature swats absently as one might swat at a fly. It's clear that whatever Wally's doing, it doesn't bother this thing much. I can see him landing blows, but they aren't even so much as staggering this almost-human beast. It reminds me of that "Hulk" creature that Batman and Superman fought in their first "team-up" -- though thankfully not nearly as large.

"Comin' atcha, Kid!"

Let's see how this thing fares against two speedsters, rather than just one.
​

 

"Well, that escalated quickly."

That was an interesting response. The Joker had just planned on toying with Harleen Quinzel for a little while before killing her, and maybe stringing her up somewhere over Arkham Asylum in some inventive, stomach-churning fashion. But this was intriguing. It was rare The Joker was taken by surprise, but surprises were amusing. So long as Harley Quinn could keep him amused, maybe it was worthwhile keeping her around for a bit.

"Delightful, Harley, delightful. You have my attention... let's see if you can keep it."

"What a catch, Harley! It seems you've found us a little baby bird to play with."

With Harley pressing the gun to the back of his head, The Joker paced around in front of Robin, eying him up and down.

"What a lovely, bright outfit, did your Bat-pal pick it out for you? I'm curious, what is he to you, anyway? A boss, a big brother, a boyfriend? A dad? I'm thinking a dad..."

The Joker drew out his own gun, and pressed it under Robin's chin. Then he reached out and unclasped Robin's cape, letting it fall to the ground.

"Such snazzy threads. I'm going to wear your cape as a trophy from now on, Batman will get a kick out of that. So I hope you don't mind me taking it off. Don't want it getting all bloody."

The Joker suddenly kneed Robin in the crotch, dropping him to his knees. Chuckling, he began stroking Robin's hair, the one might pet a dog.

"Adorable, isn't he? Harley Quinn... it's time for an important lesson. You've shown me you can kill. But now it's time to explore the art of killing slowly..."

 

​

"Lesson's over."

Before they can react, both The Joker and his bizarrely dressed new associate feel a miniature electronic disc clamp down onto their respective trigger hands. The discs are just one of many experimental prototypes that Alfred managed to secure from an old contact in MI-6, designed specifically for guerrilla warfare stealth tactics and desert black-ops. Dick used to call them the Electro-Bats, as each model originally held well over 17,000 volts inside compact electrodes. Alfred and I reduced that level of output to avoid any fatalities, but they're effective enough to induce short-term paralysis in any given part of the body. Not to mention one hell of a shock in the process.

Another thing about the discs - they're primed and ready to be armed upon contact. So by the time I begin my descent from the rooftops, I watch in silent satisfaction as both of Robin's assailants feel a jolt of electricity strong enough to send them stumbling back by a few feet, writhing in pain as they momentarily lose all feeling in their hands - leading to the release of their guns, which clash against the wooden paneling of the Riverwalk.



"And so is this game!"

Utilizing the full momentum of my drop, the soles of my boots land squarely onto The Joker's chest, knocking him even further back into a safe distance away from Robin. My attention turns to his accomplice, who recovers quickly than expected and attempts to intervene. A quick toss of a Batarang knocks her off balance in mid-run, sending her hard to the ground.

Both of them are down, but far from out, evidenced by their immediate recovery. Quickly leaping infront of Robin, I assume a fighting stance to allow him time to recover from their attack. I'd have arrived sooner, but I was distracted by guiding the child Dick saved to safety. The boy's father was on the outskirts of the area, frantically searching for his son, so it wasn't hard to get him into the right hands.

What was hard was the choice to let Robin engage The Joker by himself, of which I already regret. I specifically ordered himnot to engage the clown for a reason, but in an odd way, I'm proud of him for standing his ground.

But The Joker is mine. We've been going at this sick routine for the last three years, and so far, I've never been able to bring him in.

That changes tonight.

"Eyes front, Robin.", I quietely instruct. "Don't underestimate either of these maniacs."

 

James Bond​

London, England
0821 Local Time


The black Aston Martin DB9 sped through the rainy streets of London. Traffic on Horseferry road was moving along faster than its normal pace. This time of day in this part of the city, it was very lucky that there weren't twice as many cars out on the road. The weather was potentially a factor. The DB9 sped over Lambeth Bridge. Victoria Tower sat in the distance to the car's left. After a few minutes of driving, the car came to a closed-off parking garage that led downwards into an underground structure. A sign beside the closed metal door said Universal Exports. The car's driver punched in the code to the garage door and drove through after the door opened. The Aston Martin went down into the garage and found a spot marked 7. The engine off, the door swung open and out stepped James Bond. He dressed in a charcoal gray suit, onyx tie, and black leather shoes. He wore a brown raincoat and carried a briefcase in his hand as he walked through the garage. Clipped to his chest was an identification badge that said he belonged in this facility.

He went through the checkpoints and security stops before finally coming out into the office space on the building's fourth floor. Known to the world at large as the headquarters of international trading company Universal Export, this was the headquarters of MI6's Overseas Development Group. The name was for the number crunchers and budget men. Overseas Development Group looked dull and boring. Section 00 could potentially catch someone's eye and raise questions. The building rested only four blocks from Vauxhall Cross and an ideal off-site location to house the 00 agents. There was a shooting range, an armory, and an obstacle course below the garage level to help the 00's keep up their form in times where they were inactive from field duty.

Bond found himself in the middle of such a time. Nearly six weeks since the incident in Switzerland and in that time, Bond acted as head of ODG. The rule of thumb was that one 00 had to always stay in-country to manage the office and consult and offer advice to Six on any ongoing ODG operation happening abroad. Bond didn't mind the time off too much. He whiled away the days and weeks with a Danish woman who was in the city modeling for some boutique fashion designer. Her English wasn't great. It limited their conversations, not that it bothered Bond. He found her stimulating in areas other than conversation.

"Good morning, Goodnight," he said as he approached his office.

"A year in, and I still haven't gotten tired of that joke," quipped the tall and slender blonde woman standing beside his office door. She gave him a kind smile and took his briefcase.

Mary Goodnight acted as Bond's personal assistant, a role she had been given a year ago when Bond had been given 00 status. She was ten years Bond's junior and breathtakingly gorgeous in a natural way. She was the polar opposite of the Danish model Bond that was spending his nights with. Whereas the model spent hours primping and preparing to look good, all Mary had to do was wake up. If she worked anywhere else, Bond would have already made a pass at her. But she was his PA. He recalled a saying he had heard in the Royal Marines in regard to dogs. "Don't **** where you eat," was how it went. Although Bond was a man, he tended to follow the advice. But, Bond thought, seeing as the reputation he had perhaps the metaphor of a dog was an apt one.

"Anything I need be aware of?" he asked as he took his raincoat off and hung it on the coat rack beside his door.

"Overnight traffic from 00's, nothing marked Flash/Urgent. Also, Vauxhall Cross needs to see you as soon as possible."

"Who rang?"

"Miss Moneypenny."

Bond sighed. Moneypenny meant that it was M who needed to talk. He wasn't looking forward to going back out into the rain, but there were an upshot or two. If M wanted to see him, it may mean he was back on field duty. Plus, he would get to see Moneypenny. From where he was sitting, the pros outweighed the cons. He smiled at Goodnight as he slipped his raincoat back on and took the briefcase from her hands.

*****​

"Jakarta," M said in a pensive tone. "It is quite a place."

Bond sat across the desk from his boss, partially amused at the wistful look on the old man's face, the light in his steel grey eyes. Sir Miles Mallory, M as he was known in the intelligence community, was known for many different things. Wistfulness was not one of them.

"Have you ever been, Bond?"

"Can't say that I have, sir."

M grunted and stood from his desk. He walked past Bond and gazed out at his expansive view of the London skyline. The earlier rain had stopped, but the overcast sky still remained.

"I was there all too briefly in the start of my intelligence career. At the time the city had a reputation as being rough and tumble. A city of shadows, a city of duplicity, a city of spies."

When he turned from the window, Bond was almost taken aback at the smile on his face. Who the bloody hell was this man, and what had he done with his boss.

"Forgive me and my sentimentality, 007. When you get to be my age, sentiment is one of the few things you have left."

M sat back down in the chair. And just as quickly as his strange mood arrived, it was gone. He was back to the same blank face and all about business. Not a moment too soon for Bond's taste.

"There is apparently a splinter faction of HYDRA operating around Jakarta. They call themselves Basilisk. Our sources inside the Indonesian intelligence service places their base of operations as a gambling den on the city's westside. Head to Jakarta, get inside that den, and see what's going on. Take no immediate action unless action is required. Understood?"

"Yes, sir,"Bond said, trying to hide the excitement in his voice. Over a month on the bench, and now he was back on the pitch.

"Q will give you a few goodies, and you're booked on tomorrow afternoon's flight from Heathrow. Do be careful, 007."

M rose, buttoning his suit coat. He held a hand out for Bond. The two men warmly shook hands and Bond winked at his boss.

"Always am. I'll message you from Jakarta, sir."

 

​

"<Get to the shelters, go now!">" I say to a panicked family of five, the hundreds of tons of concrete that had trapped them moments before now hoisted onto my shoulders.

The sound of sirens fills the air, which is already thick with smoke and dust. A few large fires and dozens of smaller ones burn in the ruins of homes and businesses. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of people will be dispossessed by the time this is taken care of, and that's just dealing with the immediate emergency itself.

"<There is no more time, be quick now!>"

Admittedly, my Malay isn't as fluent as I'd like, but they seem to have gotten the message, as they nod in thanks and make a break for it, sticking together and staying in the open road, away from potentially falling debris.

Unfortunately, being out in the open puts them in the sights of the enormous predator that crumbled their tenement house to begin with.



*SKRIIIIIT!-----SKRIIIIIIIIIITTTT!*




It's called Kumonga, one of the minor kaiju creatures that's plagued the South Pacific for decades. Typically they're corralled into a single island by the G-Force organization, but every once in a while, one of them manages to give them the slip, and the results can be catastrophic on nearby islands.

This fella made landfall in Madripoor about ten minutes ago, and I've been doing what I can to slow its advance on the capital city, allowing people to either evacuate or take refuge in the complex network of underground shelters built throughout the Pacific since the kaiju threat emerged. So far I've managed to prevent any loss of life, but there's been a good bit more collateral damage than I'd like-- unfortunately, there's only so much that even I can do when going up against animals that have the same classification system as hurricanes.

"Just me and the big guy, now," I say to myself, looking through walls and mounds of rubble to make sure the area is clear of bystanders. "Now I can get serious."

Letting out a high, shrill chirping noise, Kumonga lowers its head and spreads its dripping mandibles wide, preparing to charge at the fleeing family as they try to escape the area. Before it can, though, I swoop past the creature and let loose with a blast of Heat Vision, cutting a pair of angry red lines across its carapace. Kumonga shrieks, and turns its attention towards me....just like I was hoping it would.

"Up here!" I call at it, floating away from it, my eyes still glowing red with heat as I try to lure it towards an emptier part of town. Kumonga obliges, its long spindly legs skittering as it turns at me and chirps another challenge. "Come and get me!"

The beast squats down for a moment, then with all eight of its legs pushing off, it propels itself into the air with surprising speed and agility. Mandibles snapping with hunger and rage, Kumonga bites at me. Rather than move out of the way, I rush to meet it head-on, grabbing a mandible in each hand as the creature tries in vain to crush me in its jaws.

When I first discovered the Fortress in the Arctic, I pored over ancient Kryptonian lore, learning about the stories and heroes of my lost people. One of them was about a distant ancestor of mine, Nic-El, and how he single-handedly saved the city of Argo from a Thanagarian Snare-Beast. According to the story, he rushed into the jaws of the monster, and brought it low, and after sparing its life, the Snare-Beast became Nic-El's devoted companion creature.

Sadly, I doubt Kumonga is looking for companionship as it tries to force me into its slavering mouth, powerful mandibles giving way to sinister, venomous fangs. That's okay with me-- I've got Krypto to keep me company anyway.

With the kaiju's fleshy mouth exposed, I take in a deep breath and let out a jet of air at near-Absolute zero, freezing Kumonga's mouth shut. Still holding onto its mandibles, I heave upwards and over, the air howling in protest as the enormous creature flips over my head and onto its back with a thunderous crash.

The impact kicks up a massive cloud of dust, and the shock causes some of the already damaged buildings to crumble. But the creature is panicked now, disoriented.

Raising its bulbous abdomen into the air, Kumonga squirts out a rope of webbing the width of a Redwood tree. Mixing with the air and meeting wind resistance, the webbing splits and spreads in all different directions, coating nearly an entire city block in a net stronger than steel. This webbing is meant to ensnare and capture Kumonga's prey, meaning other kaiju. Which means it should be strong enough for what I'm hoping to do.

As the creature lets out another spray of webbing, I swoop in and catch the lead glob of the stuff before it can spread in the air, and dive back down towards it. Sticking it to a point on the creature's belly, I hold onto a pinch of it, and begin to stretch it like taffy, flying around and between Kumonga's legs. A few seconds later, I've got him all wrapped up.

"There we go!" I say, satisfied with myself as Kumonga struggles in vain against its own restraints. "Looks like you won't be hurting anyone else today."

I'd like to think my Kryptonian ancestor would be proud of how I handled my own 'Snare-Beast' on Earth, but before I can reflect too long on that, a roar of powerful anti-grav engines announces the cavalry's arrival.

A squat, pill-shaped air vehicle, the Super-X is one of the vehicles employed by G-Force, and inside are no doubt a crack team of anti-kaiju operatives, who operate somewhere between disaster relief, animal control, and heavy artillery. Running in the same kind of circles as SHIELD, G-Force operatives are often the very elite of the elite in their fields--because they wouldn't live very long if they weren't.

As the Super-X touches down near the struggling form of Kumonga, about a dozen people file out of it before it lifts off again. Most are armed soldiers who quickly fan out, securing the area and searching for survivors. Two are carrying some pretty exotic-looking instrumentation, and a third, a young Japanese woman, slowly approaches Kumonga with her right hand out....possibly a psychic?

"Easy, Mika, easy now," one of the two scientists, a young man with his sleeves rolled up and arms covered in kaiju tattoos, "Calm and happy thoughts. Let's not have this big guy freak out on us, okay?"

"Indeed," says the other, still fussing with his instrumentation. "We've had quite enough excitement for one day, between the security breach and the unaccounted intrusion by that extraterrestrial vigilante--"

"It's not really polite to talk about someone behind their back, you know," I say, touching down next to them and causing both of them to jump in surprise.

"Whoah! Oh, um, Superman, wow!" the tattooed one stammers. "This is just, I mean, erm. Lemme start over. Newton Geiszler, K-Science specialist at G-Force. This is my partner, Hermann Gottlieb."

"Pleased to meet you," I say, shaking Newton's hand. Hermann just gives me an annoyed look. "So, since you're the experts in the field here, mind if I ask what's going on and what I can do to help?"

"You can start by excusing yourself," Gottlieb interjects. "Kaiju outbreaks are extremely precarious and delicate affairs, which need to be handled with great care and precision. I'm sure you mean well, Superman, but when you and your ilk swoop in believing you can simply 'wrangle' a Category-2 like John Wayne, you risk the lives of thousands at a time!"

"All due respect, Dr. Gottlieb, I don't risk the lives of anyone," I say. "I'll defer to the professionals when they arrive, but as long as I'm first on the scene, my first priority is making sure no one gets hurt. Thankfully, I managed that here, so now G-Force can handle the rest of your duties."

Dr. Gottlieb blusters a bit, then looks back at Kumonga.

"Did you harm the kaiju in subduing him?"

"Hermann, seriously....did you not see him give an 8,000-ton spider a vertical suplex?! I mean, yeah, that may have been the coolest thing I've ever seen, but--"

"--but it means Kumonga might have suffered serious internal injuries," he says irritably. "Meaning we can't simply release him back onto the Island, lest Anguirus or Rodan pick him off for easy prey."

"Speaking of the Island," I interrupt, "You mentioned a security breach?"

"Yeah, part of the quarantine grid went dark for ten minutes this morning," Newton answers. "That shouldn't be possible, so they're saying it might be--"

"It might be something that civilians aren't supposed to know about, yes, Newton, thank you," Gottlieb cuts him off. "I'm sorry, Superman, but our team can take it from here. Now please, go find some fires to put out or something, if you don't mind."

With an annoyed huff, I take back to the skies, wondering to myself....


G-Force's quarantine grid on Lagos Island is supposed to be impenetrable-- random power failures simply do not happen. Which would indicate the possibility of sabotage.....


.....but why? Who in their right mind would let those creatures loose again?

And what could possibly be gained from the kind of chaos a jailbreak from 'Monster Island' would cause?

 

​

Part I​

Earth, Gotham

Foot steps. Four sets including my own. Unique, however, commonplace. I've heard the sound of boots against the streets of cities all across the cosmos and yet, no matter what system I visit - they still sound the same. I'm no stranger to change. It comes with the territory. But sometimes, it can be comforting to be reminded of the familiar. Even something as subtle as this.

"Sacrifice," the female earthling speaks. She tells me her name is Margaret Sawyer. An enforcer of Earth law in the governmental system known as Gotham. She stands at the forefront of the group. She stares at the obscene scene before us - analyzing every detail. A body strung upside down - nailed to the wall in what the Earthlings call a crucifixion. Strange script is carved into the skin. I know 20 dialects across the stars, and yet, to me this language is alien. A moment's time passes and her head turns to face the rest of us. "Far from human, though," she grins.

Another member of the team approaches the crime scene. A cool breeze comes over my skin as he passes. Not wearing my suit is strange to me. It makes me feel exposed. Not until this case had I realized how attached I'd become to that mask. So much so that I have begun to wonder if time and circumstance hasn't caused me to unintentionally fall into my own mythos. Or, is it a psychosis?

"Agreed, Detective Sawyer. This being may have once been human, but he is far from that now." Jason Blood. I'm told he's the authority on all things supernatural on this planet. I've encountered magic before. Interesting that, just like language, science, religion, and law, each system - each planet - has it's own type. A native way of explaining or understanding another layer of our universe.

"What is he now?"
Blood's jaw tightens. "Nothing."
Sawyer frowns. "Can you give a straight answer for once?"
"Ask the right questions and I will give you the answers you want," he retorts.

"Alright, alright, alright, settle down, crew." The fourth member of our party steps forward to mitigate the brewing argument. He's done this before. He recognizes the signs. He calls himself Booster Gold. He tells me he's from the future. Strangely, I trust his word. After what I've seen, I could believe anything these days.

"Jason, if he is presently nothing, and was originally human, what did he used to be then?"
Jason's tone is cold, almost as much as his aura. "A portal," he tells us.
"I think we found our smoking gun, then."
"No. The etchings on his body. This was an incomplete incantation."
"So they failed to summon the Demon Wizard?"

Jason extends his hand to the head-dress, now fused, to the victim's head. The humans tell me it is the skull of a creature known as a ram. I think I find the swirl of the beast's horns the most fascinating.

"Yes. It seems they were interrupted."
The air tightens as the group's frustration becomes palpable. Another bread crumb. Another body. And it feels as if we're no closer to uncovering the perpetrator than we were when Booster first brought us all together.
"Great, the hunt continues. Let's go-"
"Wait," Maggie says. She grabs a device from her belt and shines a light onto the wall behind the body. As the orb illuminates the brick work, something catches my eye. She turns to me with a grin, "You see it too, don't you?" She asks me.
"Yes."

There's something special about her. Her ability to notice the insignificant details in me that no one else ever sees. It's almost as if we resonate on the same wavelength - a shared plane of reality only we occupy. Another reason I feel naked without my suit - without the mask. Insecure, yes. But my history validates the sentiment.

I pull back the arm of my jacket to expose the power band on my left arm. I press the appropriate pattern and shine a beam of highly excited photons at a resonance the beings of this planet have yet to discover. The energy hits the wall, overlapping Maggie's light, to reveal a pattern hidden from plain view. Together we trace the outline until the image becomes revealed to the group.

A skull. Yellow in tinge. Or, at least the wavelength of light appears that way. It's the face of the being our mystery witch has been trying to summon. The Demon Wizard. A name spoken on our plane of existence by only a handful of individuals throughout space and time. A select few of those enlightened enough to know who he is.

Spoiler

​

"Keldor," Booster breathes his name. He nearly chokes.
"Is he here?"
"No. Not yet."
"How can you be sure."
"If he were here, we would know. He'd make sure of it."

"The witch tried to summon him and failed?"
"No." Jason examines the writings on the body once more - this time more closely. "I was wrong, this was not an attempt at a physical conjuring. This was a conversation."
"So what does that mean?"
"It means Keldor is preparing for the actual ritual. The one that will bring him to this realm."

"What is he waiting for, then?"
"Alignment," Booster says as his jaw contorts to a frown. "There's a cosmic event he needs to come here. I remember it from the universe I watched him destroy before."
"Your world," I utter bluntly.
He nods.

Confused as I may be to the minutae that makes up the living breathing matter of this case, I understand the scaffolding - the skeleton - of this monstrous circumstance that brought us all together.

A Detective from Earth.
A Demon bound to a mortal soul.
A peace keeping adventurer, myself, from beyond the stars.
And a being from another timeline - another reality - who watched it all burn in a hell storm before his eyes a thousand times over as he tried an infinite lifetimes to save it.

Booster says time is like a book. It is relative to the reader which point in the timeline you're viewing. All occurring simultaneously, yet individually to those within it's pages. Most books are already written - it is only our mission in life to play out those tales in what we call a life time. But Booster is a man who has seen the face of the universe. The binding force that keeps everything seen and unseen in balance.

He is an ambitious man. He seeks to find a pen and rewrite his own story. He thinks he can do the impossible. I don't know if I believe him. But I trust him. That's all he asked of me. Each version of me. Versions I've never known.

But as much as I'd like to start at the middle, I have to start at the beginning.

My name is Thaddeus Bach of Eidolon. To the universe, I am known as Space Ghost.

And, allegedly, this is the story of how I helped save the universe.

​

 

​

Part II - It all started 6 months ago outside the gravity field of a Sun...​

Words on a page. Letters, symbols, strung together to create a single meaning; a word. You put a few words together, you have a sentence. You string together enough sentences, you get a story.

That&#8217;s all we are. Letters on a page. Part of a word. All those words put together to create a greater meaning. And it all starts with one letter.

That&#8217;s how he explained it. At the time it made sense. I don&#8217;t think I understood what he meant, though. Not then.

&#8220;We&#8217;re all letters, Thaddeus. The right combination can make a word that&#8217;s stronger than others. That&#8217;s better for the sentence you&#8217;re trying to make. But finding the right words &#8230; it&#8217;s not always as easy as you think.&#8221;

All I could think was, &#8216;what letter am I?&#8217; This group of four - Maggie, Jason, Booster, and I. This strange assortment of minds and abilities. What word do we make?

****
​

Her eyes. Crystal blue like the oceans of Aura. My Elua. My love. My life. I see them plainly. I fall into them like a sea. Tears fall from her eyes and wet my skin. I feel her as I hold her back against my arms. Her body is slightly heavier than I remember. Extra weight. Our baby boy is almost here. Only a few weeks left before he enters our world. My world. My hand moves over the soft skin of her stomach. My fingers flatten against her flesh. I wait for it &#8211; the kick &#8211; my son telling me how excited he is to meet me face to face.

But it is still.
She is still.
And so am I.

&#8220;You poor, poor, fool. Thaddeus, I offered you the world. I welcomed you into my club of the elite. The Wraith was yours for the taking. All I asked was loyalty.&#8221; His voice is like a dagger in my ear. But I keep my eyes on hers. Her iris twitches. I watch it tighten.

&#8220;Elua,&#8221; I whimper. Her pupils dilate. I watch the pools of black expand before her eyelids slowly close over them like a curtain drawn at the end of a play.

&#8220;But you spat in my face, instead.&#8221;

&#8220;Tower,&#8221; I say his name through clenched teeth. I can feel them grinding against one another like the tectonic plates of this planet before an earthquake. A violent storm is brewing within me. The vibrations begin and I know the explosion is imminent.

&#8220;Thaddeus, you took from me. And now,&#8221; he grins like the devils of legend themselves. &#8220;Now I take from you.&#8221;

My mind tells me to rise &#8211; to lunge &#8211; to fight. But I can&#8217;t let her go just yet. Her body is still warm. A symptom of life, heat. It fools me into believing the worst has not yet happened. But it has. And in this moment I realize my fate, my future, was sealed in blood.

&#8220;Tower,&#8221; I say his name and the veins in my neck feel as if they will burst. A bitter taste in my mouth as I enunciate every syllable. &#8220;I will kill you for this.&#8221;

In that moment, my body ignites and I rise to attack. But a deafening noise pierces my ears a millisecond before I act. My chest suddenly burns &#8211; but hotter than it had before from rage. Smoke billows from a hole in my breast, and I look up to see Tower holding a blaster aimed towards me. The barrel is red hot &#8211; the metal scorching from his shot.

&#8220;You&#8217;re already dead, Thaddeus. But that&#8217;s not enough for me. Not for what you did to me. I will erase everything. Every record of you, your name, your record, your LIFE from existence. Eidolon will forget you. The universe will forget you. I want your dying seconds to understand one thing. I have stolen your love. I have stolen your legacy. And I have stolen your past. Time will have no record of you, Thaddeus Bach.&#8221;

My eyes begin to close and the darkness begins to well up in my field of vision. I feel my face hit the ground and it all goes black. All I hear is his voice.

&#8220;You&#8217;re a ghost, Tad. And I pray to the gods that heaven won&#8217;t accept you &#8211; so your spirit may never have rest.&#8221;

Tad&#8230;
.........Tad&#8230;
..........................................TAD&#8230;

Awake.

Timeline: Past. 6 Earth Months Prior to the Keldor case​

I leap forward as my consciousness stirs. Gasping for breath, I take a swing with a balled fist. I feel hands grab my wrist, and I resist.

&#8220;TAD!&#8221; A voice screams in my ear. As the fog of my nightmare dissipates, I realize where I am. Home.
I follow the hands that dig into my skin to my partner, Jayce. Only a boy when I first saved him, now a man at 18 years of age. He&#8217;s stronger these days. Sometimes I forget.

&#8220;Tad,&#8221; he says again. &#8220;You were dreaming.&#8221;
&#8220;Not a dream,&#8221; I mutter as I gain composure. He releases me and I take a deep breath. My hand moves to my bare chest. I touch the scar tissue on my skin. A memento of the past.

&#8220;Are you okay?&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;m &#8211; I&#8217;m sorry, Jayce, I&#8217;m fine.&#8221;
&#8220;We heard you yelling.&#8221; A new voice enters the fray. I turn to see Jan, Jayce&#8217;s twin sister, staring at me from the other side of the bed. &#8220;We had to check on you.&#8221;

&#8220;Yes. Thank you. Just a nightmare, is all.&#8221; That&#8217;s what I tell them, anyway. They don&#8217;t need to know the details of my past. It&#8217;s poisoned me. Why should I let the infection spread? &#8220;I&#8217;m fine now,&#8221; I say with a reassuring smile.

&#8220;Good,&#8221; Jan smiles kindly. Warmth. The sign of life. &#8220;We were worried.&#8221;
&#8220;I know.&#8221;
&#8220;You&#8217;re sure you&#8217;re okay?&#8221;
&#8220;Calm as the gas clouds of Ooolo.&#8221; I try to put on the best face I can to convince him. He buys it. But cheaply. The only two beings I allow to see my face and I&#8217;m quickly reminded why I prefer the mask. It&#8217;s convenient.

&#8220;Well, I hate to jump right into it, but we picked up a signal on the outer rim.&#8221;
&#8220;What kind of signal?&#8221;
&#8220;Distress beacon,&#8221; Jan chimes in. &#8220;Cargo cruiser near Planet Moltar.&#8221;

Strange. Ships usually don&#8217;t venture that far into the solar system.

&#8220;Was it a mining vessel?&#8221;
&#8220;We&#8217;re not sure.&#8221;
&#8220;Hm. Check the ship's designated number with the list of approved commercial vessels in the Alliance database. See if they have approved clearance or if this is another rogue pirate venture who ran into trouble. Get yourselves ready. We leave in five nano cycles.&#8221;

&#8220;Should I radio ahead and attempt to make contact?&#8221;
&#8220;No.&#8221;
&#8220;You suspect a trap?&#8221; Jan asks, her tone almost hoping for a confirmation.
&#8220;Don&#8217;t I always?&#8221;
&#8220;Only because you&#8217;re paranoid,&#8221; she grins.

I smirk. Indulging in the moment to laugh at myself. It&#8217;s brief.
&#8220;I won&#8217;t disagree.&#8221;
&#8220;I&#8217;d like to see you try.&#8221;
&#8220;Get the Phantom Cruiser ready, Jayce. Jan, make sure your invisibility bracelet is charged. Fully charged, this time.&#8221;
&#8220;Come on, Tad, that was one time. You can't throw that in my face every time. I&#8217;m the one who reverse engineered the tech from your gauntlet in the first place. It's not like you know how it works.&#8221;
&#8220;I'm the detective. You're the technomancer prodigy. And once is one time too many. We can't take things for granted.&#8221;
&#8220;Fine.&#8221;

They both make their way toward the door. I want to say something to them. To tell them how much easier they make things at times. If I&#8217;d never rescued them from their dying world 6 years ago, I wonder how much worse I&#8217;d be.

Who would I be? Someone different?
Would the darkness have consumed me completely?
Would I have become the very thing I swore to protect the universe against?
And worse yet, I wonder if I still could become that.

I drift back from my thoughts to see the door close behind them.

The moment is gone.

Oh well. Time moves forward.

And so do I.

 

​

"Holy Ouchy Balls."

Robin clasped his cape back around his . His knees still felt like Jell-O, but he willed himself back up. Get knocked down, stand up tall.

"I'm just all kinds of confused right now. Curvy homicidal skin tight clown leather..."

A batarang appeared in the Boy Wonder's hand.

"What are these two?"

 

​

[BLACKOUT]"Ouch, B-Man! What kinda disrespectful pr**k did yer mother raise, hittin' a dame?"[/BLACKOUT]



Harley shook her hand, trying to regain feeling.

[BLACKOUT]"Yer gonna regret interupptin' me and my new little jailbait boy toy,"[/BLACKOUT] Harley winked at Robin, licking her top lip.

 

Dreams played on a reel:

Christmastime in Gotham. Snow flurries. He stood in the cold. Blood spatter on his glasses. A pump shotgun in his hands. Red, numbing hands on cold gunmetal. Ambition coalesced with absolute justice, opportunity sprung forth. Bold dreams required bold action. Eight people dead. Heinous crimes required swift resolution. Shotgun justice. Shotgun Jim took matters into his own hands.

He's in a courtyard, tied to a pole. Cigarette in his mouth sans blindfold. Rupert Thorne marches in with firing squad in tow. Four men in black and red uniforms goose-stepped with rifles. County Sheriff Scott Andrews, County Administrator Hubert Perkins, Gotham DA Carl Hull, Inspector Arnold Flass. Thorne smiled wiiide. He saw too sharp teeth. He gave the order. The executioners unslung their rifles. The executioners aimed. Four rifles opened fire.


6:23 AM


Jim jerked awake. Nightmare. He felt cold sweat on his forehead. This was the price of bucking the Thirst. Night terrors and old debts accrued haunted his dream. He squinted through the dark of the bedroom. Almost six thirty. Stirring at his side. Sarah rolled away from him. He got out of bed and found his glasses. He started to dress in the dark.

He sensed Sarah waking up. She said, "Leaving?"

"I need to get back home before Barbara wakes up. If she finds me gone, that'll lead to a conversation I don't want to have. Plus, my security detail officer reports for duty at seven. I'm more worried about him finding out than Barbara."

A flash of light in the dark. Sarah lit a cigarette. A red ember danced. He could feel her eyes through the dark. They watched him. They asked the same thing he was asking himself. What did we do? And what are we going to do? Fifteen years since their last coupling. It still was not enough time to kill the heat. He could feel it simmering even now, hours post copulation.

He fumbled and found his tie. he said, "You and Bullock are still going to appear before the public safety subcommittee today, right?"

"That's the plan."

"Well, I'll see you later today."

He groped through the dark, found her and her lips. Careful. A mostly chaste kiss. Something more threatened to reignite it. He walked towards the door, came up short and looked back in the dark.

"Was it... the same as it was all those years ago?"

"God yes... and that's what I'm afraid of. Last time we destroyed your marriage and derailed my career. This time the stakes are so much higher. Our careers and our city are put in the middle of this."

Jim rested his forehead against the door. What he wanted to say: I would gladly sacrifice my office, this city, and everything short of my daughter to be with you. You are my salvation. You are the one who can save me from Shotgun Jim.

What he said: "I know."

Still dark when he stepped out into the morning. Warm and sticky and humid. A hot day coming up. He already felt sweat beading. His car was stashed two blocks away. His idea of being covert and careful. He walked down the sidewalk. A car started up down the block. Jim felt his stomach go cold. He turned, saw a black SUV racing down the street. He tried to snag a plate number. The car had no lights on so no tag lights showing a plate. The car hauled ass down the street and faded in the distance.

******​

MCU Squadroom
Gotham Central
7:15 AM


Renee Montoya stifled a yawn. Paperwork upon paperwork. Chasing paper trails and paper pushing across paper filled tables. She volunteered to work graveyard shift. The rest of the MCU had families and other commitments. She needed busy work to keep her mind at bay. She was between places at the moment. Six months after moving in and she and Daria were on the skids.

No big surprise there. Their thing started ticking the moment they hooked up. Daria was a holster sniffer, one of the few lesbian ones. She prowled for female cop hookups and collected them. She did not love Renee, she loved Renee's badge. She was foolish for believing she could make it work.

More paperwork. Four stiffs found in a trailer officially closed the diamond heist. Marcus Mueller and three former Marines with combat experience build in Afghanistan hoard military-grade weapons and build an IED. They ripoff an armored car and steal millions of dollars in diamonds. Hours later the four heist men get snuffed out by person or persons unknown. Sawyer bartered with the GCSD to take on the murder.

Renee picked up folders stamped with the GCPD seal. Personnel files. One of the guards, the armored car driver, was former GCPD. Daniel Gallagher. Twelve years as a harness bull out in the Northeastern District. Bennett Beach territory. Russians and Eastern Europeans packed in tight.

Gallagher's yearly CO reports: C's and D's all around. A hump by anybody's standards. Cited numerous times for abandoning his post, showing up drunk for duty, shaking down hookers for blowjobs, trying to run a half-ass protection racket through the Beach. He flushed out of the department two years ago after Jim took over as commish and started tossing out dead wood. Thoughts prickled in Renee's scalp. Who in the hell would hire a hump like this to safeguard cash and jewels?

She found the armored car company's file on Gallagher. The prickles went to buzzed. The Daniel Gallagher theyhad on file was a completely different person. Still a dozen years as a harness bull around Bennett Beach, but numerous decorations for line of duty valor. Stellar arrest record, high felony count. No mention of all the sad shakedowns and write-ups.

A forged copy. It had to be. Someone submitted a fabricated personnel file for the armored car people so Gallagher could be hired. She felt her buzz buzzing higher. The wall clock said nearly seven thirty. The rest of the squad wouldn't report until nine. She picked up the phone and dialed Fraud.

"Fraud Investigation. Miller here."

"Miller? Montoya, Major Crimes. I need to snag a list you guys may have on any and all document forgers operating in the city."

She heard Miller sigh. Nightshift almost over. He was watching the clock. New grief he didn't need.

"Can it wait for the day shift, Montoya?"

"No, it can't."

"Alright, alright. I'll see what we have in our records. Gimme your email address and I'll send you a copy."

She gave him her email. She shook her knee up and down in excitement.

"You're a gentleman and a scholar."

******​

Bennett Beach
9:30 AM


The Beach was all Penguin territory. Russian expats and gangsters mingled with the old Jews of the neighborhood. Yiddish and Cyrillic script cohabitated on walls and storefronts. Kosher meat hung from store windows. Dig those Hassidic Jews and those wild beards and hats. ZZ Top meets Run DMC. Feature those Russian bears in six thousand dollar suits. Slavic ****es walked the streets. Beautiful and wearing cheap clothing, but dead eyes underneath all that makeup. Sinister pimps nearby, drinking strong coffee and smoking Polish cigarettes. Operating with impunity in the early morning.

Vin drove the unmarked. Flass rode shotgun. Corrigan and Burke in the back. Burke, all bruised up from last night. Withdrawn and quiet, wearing shades to hide his bruises. Flass gave Vin directions. He parked outside a squat building underneath the subway. The sign in English, Yiddish, Cyrillic: Nikola's
Tea Room.

Flass said, "Jim and Tommy, please stay with the car. Our friend gets a bit antsy in front of law enforcement. The fewer that brace him, the better."

Vin followed Flass in. A dining area made up to look bourgeoisie chic. Lots of red velvet, red lampshades, and soft oranges. Two rough Ruskies by a bar approached them. Flass showed his badge. Vin followed suit. The two Ruskies exchanged words, one of them beckoned. They followed into the back room.

A plush office with an illuminated fish tank. The Chechen sat in a big chair, his feet on a cherrywood desk. Black suit with no tie, goatee and looking as Slavic as the pierogi chow at Abramowicz's Deli down the street. Vin heard the rumors around town: the Chechen was former Russian intelligence turned Russian Mafiya. No, he was a KGB Kommando who had a kill kount in Afghanistan that approached triple digits. No, he fought the Russians in Chechnya. No, Ruskies raped his mother and he slaughtered an entire battalion in the name of revenge. Putin had a six-figure bounty on his head.

The Chechen flashed a mouth of yellow teeth. "Flass. Long time no see. How is tricks, my brother?"

Flass winked. "Tricky. How goes the day to day management of a criminal fiefdom?"

"Trickier. I am middle management. The people below me, they have excuses. The people above me, they want more. Always more."

The Chechen said something in Russian. The door opened. A big Russian came in with a bottle of vodka, three shot glasses. The Chechen banged a shot. Flass banged a shot. Vin slammed a shot. The booze hit his system quick. It warmed his chest. It jacked him up further.

The Chechen poured another shot. "So, to what exactly did I do to bring you back into my life, Flass?"

"Diamonds, my Chechen brother. Diamonds."

"You are getting married?!"

The Chechen hopped up from the desk. He did a Cossack dance beside the desk, squats and flailing arms. Flass laughed and did another shot. He poured one for Vin. They clicked glasses and went bottoms up. The Chechen sat back down, red-faced and sweating.

Flass said. "No, my friend. Wild hearts like mine cannot be tamed. I value my independence. Specifically, I am interested in illegal diamond selling. Bennett Beach is filled with Russian and Jews plugged into international smuggling. It is the perfect staging area to move hot rocks."

The Chechen shrugged. "I do plenty of crime, my brother. I push the drugs, I do the gambling, I loanshark. Diamonds? I do not touch."

Vin finally spoke up. "You know someone that does, don't you?"

The Chechen looked stunned. Flass looked ready to laugh. The Chechen rubbed his goatee. A vein in his forehead went thump thump thump.

"Flass, my brother, who is this &#1089;&#1091;&#1082;&#1072; who thinks he can talk to me?"

"He is my protegee, and a man who could one day take over my part in our arrangement. What he says, he says with my say so. His actions, past, present, and future, are all done so with my fully sanctioned approval. He has a wicked temper, my brother, and it is best if you do not draw his ire."

Flass touched his necktie. The message meant GO.

Vin stood. He cracked his knuckles. The Chechen giggled. Offputting. A girl's laugh on a tough man. The laugh pissed Vin off. He went across the desk. The Chechen swung. A big fist caught Vin flush. He went sideways. The Chechen pounced on him. A commotion from somewhere else. Flass talking loudly. Shouts and smashes.

The Chechen's hands on his throat. Vin pulled him in and headbutted him across the face. A howl from the gangster. Vin shoved him up against the desk. He did a one-two combo to the ribs. The Chechen growled in pain. Vin grabbed him by the neck and shoved his head into the fish tank. Water splashed, the Chechen flailed. Vin pulled him up, spitting up water.

"Alexi Abramhoff! He's the one who ****s with diamonds here on the Beach!"

Vin looked across the office. Flass stood over the two unconscious Ruskies with a blackjack. His hair askew, blood on his shirt and a wide smile.

"Thank you for your cooperation, my Chechen brother."

Vin dunked his head back in the water and kicked him in the ass.

 

​

The Kid handles himself well in the fight. When Wally first gained his powers, he was impulsive, cocksure, and foolhardy. He trusted his speed a bit too much, thought of himself as a bit too untouchable. He had to learn the hard way that even speedsters can get hit sometimes. Still, I could see right away that he had spirit, and sometimes that's enough to build on. Over the year of our partnership, I've tried to instill in him the same values I used to guide myself when I was beginning: alertness, caution, and above all awareness -- not just of himself but of his surroundings. It's why I hold back when I see the passenger inside the thrown pick-up truck, and it's why I'm proud to see Wally respond immediately.

I watch with morbid curiosity as the beast's muscles shrink and its skeleton compresses. The pieces somehow snap back into place and form the shape of a man; bruised and nearly naked, but a man nonetheless. I'm reminded of the few occasions when I've witnessed the Hulk shift back into the form of soft-spoken scientist Bruce Banner. But this... this is different somehow. This is more violent, more... unnatural. "Not in Central City," is the best answer I can give Wally. I zoom into the ruined bank and emerge a second later, used syringe in hand. "I can analyze this back at the Crime Lab. Maybe I'll find a chemical marker which can point us towards a manufacturer."

I turn my attention towards the approaching police cars and then look towards the bank. The entryway is a shattered mess; bits of mortar and broken glass litter the sidewalk and the better part of the street. A vault door -- ripped right off its hinges -- is violently parked inside what used to be an SUV. If this fight had been allowed to continue, God only knows what kind of collateral damage could've been done. It worries me to think that the syringe in my hand might not be the only one out there. If even three or four of those creatures were to get loose inside the Gem Cities...

"I'll assist with the cleanup. You need to hurry if you're going to make it to homeroom on time," I tell Wally with an accusatory finger point. He makes a face, but I don't allow him a second to respond. "This is part of the deal, Kid. You can't shirk your civilian responsibilities. Go to school, pay attention, do well." I uncross my arms. "Escort our friend here over to the police, and then go. I'll contact you later, once the analysis on the syringe is done."

The next few minutes are spent picking up all the little pieces of mortar and glass and depositing them in a dumpster outside the bank. It's tedious work, but I can have it done in minutes whereas it would take a cleaning crew most of the morning. If I had time to spare, I'd assist in reconstructing the building's face, but I'm up against the clock already as it is. I just have to hope the bank owner is insured for this kind of damage. I tell the police regretfully that I won't be able to help with the vault door and advise them to call in a crane. Finally, the street looks halfway decent -- minus the gaping hole in the building -- so I bid the officers farewell and make for the central precinct.

A few hours later, once I've completed my backlog at work -- with a little help from speed-reading and writing -- I get to work on analyzing the chemical remnants in the syringe. It turns out that my Hulk analogy wasn't unfounded. This serum was gamma irradiated at one point during its life cycle. However, beyond that, it's a potent medley of many different chemicals: testosterone, anabolic steroids, anesthesia, and more. There's one compound that I'm not familiar with, and a quick database search confirms that it's my smoking gun. After printing my compiled results, I stash the syringe in the CCPD evidence room.

"I hope your passport's ready," I tell Wally when we meet up again that afternoon. I show him the analysis results. I've highlighted the unknown compound. I see his eyes drawn to it, and I explain, "That right there is a catalyst derived from the roots of a rare tropical flower. On this side of the globe, it only grows in one place: Panama. I figure that's as good as any place to start looking for a manufacturing plant."