The New Ultimate DC RPG

[Mr. Majestic]

“Please just let me go I won’t tell a soul what I seen.”

The young woman was slowly walking backwards scared for her life. When she spoke it displayed her fear and even now her body does the same.

“Look at her man, her body won’t stop shaking.” One of the thugs said as he watches his partner moving in closer to the frighten female.

“I know you’re not going to tell anyone, because you won’t have a beating heart once I’m finish with you.”

Her attacker reaches in behind his back and pulls out a decent size knife. The man then closes the distance between his self and the woman. He places his free hand around the woman’s neck. He then pulls back his arm that’s holding the blade and then goes in to strike the ladies throat. At the last moment before the knife impact the woman’s throat an unsuspected arrow went into the man’s hand forcing him to drop the blade.

“AHHH ****!” The man screams in pain as he holds his hand.

“****’s that man? An arrow? How the hell an arrow got in your hand?”

The other fellow goes to his partner and snaps the arrow before pulling it out. He screams as it exits his hand. Afterwards the uninjured hooligan pulls out a gun aiming it fanatically in the air.

“Who’s there? Show yourself.”

These ruffians must not be serious. To reveal myself would be unintelligent I have the element of surprise. A well good advantage to have when you are faced up with two well arm men.

While both of the men are wasting there time looking up at the rooftops they were unaware that the new archer vigilante is now on the ground with them.

“Leave now.” A voice said from the shadows.

After hearing an unknown voice not knowing where or who it was one of the men acted by fear and aims his gun at the young woman.

“If you don’t show your self I will shoot the woman right here.”

After hearing the thug’s threat the new green archer pulls an arrow out of his quiver while in the shadows and aims it at the man holding the gun. The archer stood there engulf in darkness the only thing revealed by the light was the tip of the arrow shinning due to the one light beaming in the alley.

“Hey man what’s that over there?” The guy asks as he sees something reflects some light in the distance.

Before they could realize what it is, it was too late, the arrow soars through the air and finds it mark right between the gunmen knuckles. He drops the gun as he looks at his hand with the arrow resting in between his fingers.

Now that both of the ladies attacker’s stand wounded Connor steps out of the shadows but not as himself but as Arsenal.

“This is the time you run.” Arsenal tells the thugs as they both look at each and run for their lives.

As the men ran Arsenal made his way to the lady.

“Do not fear they will not do you any harm.” He tells her trying to comfort her.

“You don’t know what you done. They were not alone.”

“If that is the case you should run off as well before they bring reinforcements.”

She wastes no time from getting up and then making her way out of the alley. Connor then walks over to his broken arrow and bends down and picks it up.

“It’s a good thing their wasn’t more I only have three arrows left. Today was only post to be a day for learning.”

As Arsenal stands up to his feet the young woman makes her way back to him.

“Why have you returned?” Arsenal asks with haste.

“They’re coming back.” She shouts as she runs to Arsenal’s side.

“Stay behind me.” He orders.

Arsenal slowly begins walking backwards as he could sense more violent criminals making there way near his location.

Couple of seconds pass and the two thugs Arsenal just stopped earlier arrivals with eight more guys.

“This is the guy who did this to you?” One of the men asks.

“That’s the guy.” The one gentleman with the arrow still in between his fingers replies.

Arsenal quickly calculated the situation to prepare himself for what’s to come.

“Guys no guns, remember this isn’tGotham the cops will show up here in no time."

Arsenal looks back at the woman. “Stay behind me and no matter what happens stay there.”

Arsenal slowly takes steps backward as the men begin to approach. His main concern is the lady’s protection. He will need to fight these thugs off without her getting harmed, even with her standing behind him there is a chance that they might try to attack her instead of him to cause an distraction.

While stepping back out of the corner of his eye he sees a dumpster. He swiftly picks her up off her feet.

“Please forgive me for what I’m about to do but it’s for your protection.” He tells her as he makes his way to the dumpster.

As he gets closer to the dumpster he lifts her higher and places her inside.

“What are you doing to me?” She asks in fear.

“Please stay down I’ll get you out once this situation is taken care of.” Arsenal tells her as he closes the top.

Knowing that the woman will be safe the only thing left is for him is to get rid of the thugs. In order to do so he must equal the playing field.

He then turns his attention to them. Arsenal reaches in his quiver and pulls out an arrow. At the sight of the arrow the guys stop for a moment scared to step any further.

“Are you guys kidding me? He only has one arrow, and we have 10 guys. Only one of you is going to get hit. Take one for the team.” One of the men says with a smile.

It is true Arsenal only has one arrow to their 10 men but they are not his target. He aims his arrow up above the gang’s heads and fires the arrow. As the arrow soars through the air it comes to a stop once it hit its mark, the street light. Now with the light taken out the equation the alley is now in darkness giving Connor an advantage. Since he was trained to fight blind folded this is a piece of cake.

The the leader of the group pulls out a cigarette and places it on his lips.

“Nice plan.” He says as he pulls out a lighter and lights his cigarette. “Get em”

Two guys run in towards Arsenal blind, even though the moonlight is shinning down on them it’s not enough light for them to see properly. The guy on Arsenal’s left throws a right hook. Arsenal observes the attack and knows right away that his attack is to far away to connect. Meaning the attacker can not see making it hard for him to know his attack distance. Shame the same thing can not be said for Arsenal. As the punch passes Arsenal’s face he then steps forward and deliver a devastating left hook to the body. He feels a few of the man’s ribs crack on impact. Normally Connor wouldn’t use so much overwhelming power in his attacks but this is a situation he can’t afford to take it easy on his opponents. He has to make sure that every blow is a knock out.

As the first aggressor falls to the ground Arsenal quickly makes his way to the other one. Before the guy could even react Arsenal leaps towards is foe and while in the air he places his hands behind the man’s head and slams his knees into the thug’s face. As he lands he jumps back into the air and legs scissors around his opponent’s head. He then drags his opponent into a forced somersault as the thug falls on the ground.

As the two lays motionless at Arsenal’s feet three more guys ran in to attack. Arsenal runs forward as well. As the one leading the guys draws back to make a left punch Arsenal heads to the right and runs along side the wall and jumps off of it and delivers a spinning jump kick to the back of the mans head. The second guy goes in for a hit as Arsenal lands from his attack. He throws a punch and at the last second he senses the blow coming so he avoids the attack by ducking backwards. As the punch is passing by he grads the man’s wrist and maneuvers himself behind the guy with the arm twisted press behind the man back. The third guy strikes at Arsenal from the back but at the last second Arsenal turns the thug he has in a hold around and jumps out the way and causes the third man to take out his own guy. When he realizes what he has done Arsenal sneaks beside him and does a bicycle kick to his chin. As he lands from just executing his attack he gets into a fighting stance as the fifth thug hits the ground landing on the back of his head conscious.

“If you wish to not end up like the ones who lay on the ground behind me, I’d advise you to join the two that left.”

After seeing the first five guys getting taken out the two thugs Arsenal first encounter made a run for it.

It is very obvious that Connor is a very capable fighter and he should be since he has been training for 8 years. If these gangsters had any kind of sense they would have been made their exit but it doesn’t seem like they all are going to leave just because someone in a green costume told them to. Instead they went on the attack

The two out of the three left, went on the attack as their boss stood in watch. These two were different from the rest just by looking at their stance Connor knew right away they knew how to fight. One of the guys throw a right punch that lack power, Connor could tell that it was a faint or better yet a decoy. The second guy came from above with a flying kick. Only action Connor could do is block so he did so by crossing his forearms above his face so they could absorb most of the blow. The power of the kick force Arsenal to stumble backward but he made it a point to stay on his feet. Before he could catch his balance the other two were in front of him. First guy throw a left punch but before it could get close Arsenal used his right foot to kick it away. The second guy on his left side throws a kick but Arsenal quickly goes to avoid the attack by going to his right. As he did so he senses something coming at his face. Without even thinking he went back to the left to avoid whatever it was that was being thrown at him and got kick in the face by the attack he first went to dodge.

After getting hit Connor takes a couple of steps back to collect himself. He looks to his side and sees a cigarette on the ground. The thing he sense coming his way was the leader’s cigarette. He figured Arsenal would try to dodge the attack so he flicked the cigarette forcing Arsenal to jump right back in the line of fire.

As the fight is about to continue police sirens begin to sing down the nearby streets. The two stop and look back at their boss.

“Let him be we will continue this another time.”

“Boss what about the others?”

“Leave them, they have shown me that they are not useful.”

The three of them turns around and runs out of the alley. Once they left Connor drops down to one knee and hold the side of his face. The kick affected him more than he wanted to put on. He was a little dizzy but he knew he had to push himself through it. He gets back up and makes his way to the dumpster. He opens it and reaches his hand inside to help the lady out.

“It’s safe to come out now the police are coming.”

“I know, while I was in here I figured I could help you out by calling them.”

Arsenal helps the young lady out. Now that she is safe and the police are on their way he himself needs to make an exit. While she was looking at the guys on the ground amazed that one person had done all this Arsenal climb up the nearest fire escape. Once on top of the roof he waited for the police to get there before he left.

 

[Byrd Man]

Previously

Spoiler

Another bolt of lightning tears into the house, blast Ralph and I back off our feet.

"You think this is a game? You think you can break into my house without any consequences?!"

Ralph and I pick ourselves up off the floor and dash away. Mardon chuckles and floats through the ruined house.

"Run all you want. You can't hide from me."

"I know how we can get out of this," I whisper to Ralph as we duck down in the hallway.

"How?"

"Okay, but it involves you keeping a very big secret."

"I'm an expert at that. I mean, c'mon, Bart. I never told anyone about the time I walked in on you with that bar of soap with the hole-"

"Alright, point taken. I'm about to do something nobody has seen me do. Take a deep breath."

Ralph inhales deeply, and I go. Grabbing him at superspeed, I run the both of us out of Mardon's house. I'm dressed in my full gear when I come to a stop a half-mile away from the house.

"What the hell was that?! Bart, why are you dressed like the Flash?"

"Because I am...him."

"Oh, my God! This is so awesome! You're the Flash?! I can't believe it! It all makes sense now! I was beginning to think you were a serial killer!"

"Wait....what?"

"Doesn't matter now, you're a superhero! Now go back and kick Mardon's ass!"

"That's a big 10-4."

I turn to leave, stopping as Ralph places a hand on my shoulder.

"You know, I never said thank you."

"And you'll never have to."

"....I think I just had a nerdgasm. They ever make a Flash movie, that totally has to be in it!"

"Very much so. Now, if you'll excuse me...."

"I've got some work to do."
​

Lightning and thunder crackles around the Mardon house. I can feel my hair stand on end as I pass through the static electricity fields that Mardon has created.

"Alright, Dude," I say as I come to a stop in front of Mardon. "Time to pack it up. You killed your brother. That wand thingy in your hands is proof."

"Come and get it, kid," Mardon says with a sneer. With a swift movement of his hand, I feel the static electricity cover my body again.

"Oh, sh-"

BOOOOM!

A bolt of lightning strikes inches away from my body, tossing me back out of the house and on to the lawn. Skidding to a stop on the patio, I pick myself up and shake my head to try to get rid of the ringing in my ears.

"That thing's like a Wii-mote from hell."

"It does have its advantages, doesn't it?"

A swift wind kicks up, picking up Mardon and levitating him out of the house and right in front of my on the lawn.

"Me and Clyde were always fascinated with weather. You can't really blame us. Dad ran out when Clyde was three and I was just a baby. Mom was never around, our grandma was more of a mother than she ever was. We'd just stare out the window of our house and watch the weather. We were terrified of the thunder storms, and loved the winter blizzards that came through town. To us, weather was the only thing that made sense."

"So why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't kill him!"

Pointing the device at my head, he smiles. "You've asked one question too many, Flash. Maybe it's time for you to cool off."

That's when the wind hits me. Freezing wind with flakes of ice in them. Covering my eyes from the blinding wind, I can feel my whole body begin to shiver as snow accompanies the freezing winds. In a minute flat, my whole body goes numb and I'm looking out at the world from inside an icy prison.

Frozen solid and helpless to watch as Mardon looks on and smiles.

From Fastest Man Alive to Flascicle in a minute flat.

Way to go, Allen.

 

[Eddie Brock]

SUPERGIRL

"So if you're not using a wig anymore, how are you going to hide your identity?"

Tara Conners, my best friend and official confidant. Outside of my family and Officer Maggie Sawyer, she's the only person who knows that I'm Supergirl. It helps to have a friend to talk to when it comes to this kind of stuff. I mean, it may seem like I'm in control, but really I'm in way over my head here.

"I'm not going to draw attention to myself," I explain. I get up and walk over to my nightstand. Opening the drawer, I pull out a pair of round glasses. As I put them on, my eyes take a moment to adjust, but since I can see through walls, this isn't really a problem for me.

Tara snorts, arching an eyebrow. "Glasses? Yeah, that'll fool 'em."

"It's not just glasses." I grab my hair and hold it up behind my head. "I always keep my hair up, I dress conservatively." Dropping my hair, I look at myself in the mirror. Admittedly, I'm not entirely convinced this'll work. "You'd be amazed what people don't notice when they're not looking for it."

I take off my glasses and sit them down on my bed.

"Besides, in a few months, I'll be going away to school where no one knows who I am. A fresh start is just what I need."

There's silence for a few moments. Tara and I both recognize that we're probably not going to the same school, which means that we just have these last few months together. It's sad, but I really am looking forward to going somewhere new. I'm still trying to figure out who I am, and I'm just held back by all this baggage here in Keystone.

Thinking of a way to break the tension, I announce, "Oh! I didn't show you my new costume, did I?" In a flash, I run into my closet and get changed, rushing back out to show it off.

"That's certainly...revealing," Tara remarks.

"Yeah, well, if they're staring at my stomach," I begin, "Maybe they won't remember my face."

Tara laughs.

"Hi, Mrs. Danvers! Is Linda home?"

"Mae's here," I announce. "I can hear her at the door." I quickly get changed out of my costume and back into my regular clothes. Throwing my hair into a bun, I put on my glasses right before Mae walks through the door.

Mae looks at Tara, who's sitting on the floor. "Hey, Tara." She looks at me and pauses for a second. "Hey, Linda. Since when do you wear glasses?"

I glance at Tara, and she stares right back at me. Shrugging, I say, "I always do. Oh, well, I mean I always wear contacts, but they've been bothering me lately. I think I'm just going to stick with glasses for a while." Impressed, Tara nods behind Mae's back. I've gotta admit, that wasn't a half-bad story.

"Oh, okay. Well, go for it, then. They look awesome."

"Thanks."
​

 

[Mr. Majestic]

“Jim why aren’t you here?”

“Because I flew into a little problem, I’ll be there once I’m finish, I got to go.”

As Jessica is about to say something Jim hangs up the phone. She’s upset with Jim for saying he is going to come to Elijah’s game but he is no where to be seen. He would have been there on time if NASA wasn’t testing flying a new plane project and an accident didn’t occur.

While sitting in the stands Jessica couldn’t help but play the conversation in her head she just had with Jim plus the others ones during pass few days. It has become obvious to her that Jim has been acting different. He has been nice to her and a lot nicer to Elijah as of late. At first she thought his change might have been cause there friend Ellen, Elijah’s mother got hurt. But she knew it had to be more than that and she is right.

After Luther took it upon himself to re-rout the way the electric pulses operate in Majestic’s brain, he unknowingly did more than that. Kherubim's and Earthling's both have similar brain structure. Even though the structure is similar there are important differences between them. Luther and Majestic did not realize this was not the first time his brain had been scrambled. In scrambling Majestic's brain Luther had undone the seal on his hidden personality. The personality that made him more…human.

 

[Bounce]

​

Lor hovered in the center of a white room filled with scientists, at eye-level to the man who had been introduced to him as ‘Doctor Michaels’. The astronaut physician took out a light pen and held up one finger as he leaned in close to the boy’s face. “Follow my finger with your eyes,” the man directed softly, as a pin-light was shone across the faun brown irises. The light and the finger moved separately for several moments, before finally the man paused what he was doing to scratch some remarks down on a chart that rested beside him. When he’d set aside his pen, the man picked up a thin stick. “Open your mouth and stick out your tongue. Then say ‘ah’.”

The boy complied, giggling slightly at the rather bizarre exercise. “When was the last time you saw a doctor, Superboy?” the man inquired as he put away the small stick and jotted down more of the unfamiliar markings on the paper.

“What’s a doctor?” Lor asked with an honest curiosity that made the man do a double-take. Leaning over the man’s shoulders, the child stared at the scratch marks the man had just made on the paper. “Is that how English is written?”

The man hesitated for a moment. “Yes, it is,” he remarked finally, flipping the paper over and making a series of marks along the back. “We make use of 26 basic symbols, which we call letters, as well as 10 basic numbers for counting. Can you give me an example of your language?” he added, holding the pen and paper up for Lor to take.

It seemed an easy request. Taking the pen, the child leaning down and began making a serious of symbols, some of which seemed almost like Asian writing and others of which were more akin to hieroglyphs or runic writing. “What is that?” Albert finally asked.

Setting the pen down, the boy pointed toward the left side of the paper. “Well this is, like, our basic alphabet. The symbolism can be really complicated, so I don’t know all of that yet, just what Non taught me,” Lor provided proudly, obviously eager to show off like a kid showing off his homework to his parents. “And this is our numeral system.”

Albert just nodded, pretending to understand and follow along. Taking the paper from Lor and gazing at it approvingly, the man casually asked, “And who is ‘Non’?”

The boy looked up sheepishly, as though realizing he’d said something he shouldn’t have. Finally, though, he explained, “Uh, he’s kinda like my teacher.”

“Is he here?”

“No, he’s back on my father’s ship,” the child answered simply.

The comment drew a blink from the man. “A ship... in space?”

“Uh huh,” Lor answered nonchalantly, reaching down to pick at the stethoscope that hung around the man’s neck. “They were in orbit of another planet when I left. Apookalips... I think,” the boy added, inspecting the bell-shaped instrument at the end of the stethoscope.

“I see,” the man remarked, reaching up to gently take the end of the instrument away from the child’s hands as he explained, “Well, a doctor is someone who studies the practice of medicine. We help people take care of their bodies and make them better when they get sick. I’m going to do a physical exam on you so that we can get your vital statistics and an overall idea of what kind of health you’re in. Okay?”

Lor just looked at the man for a moment and finally shrugged. “Okay,” the boy conceded hesitantly. “Is it going to hurt?” the child asked in a low tone.

Albert just laughed at the question. “I don’t think that’s possible,” the man offered cryptically, reaching out to feel beneath the boy’s chin and along his neck. It was like performing an exam on a piece of quartz or granite. The child’s body felt entirely solid. Albert couldn’t tell if that was just the skin, or extremely dense muscle underneath. Or both.

“You can’t fly, can you?” The question obviously caught Albert by surprise, as the man looked up to find the child staring at him. No, it was more like Superboy were looking down at him. “Not like I can. That’s why those people were riding in that metal bird,” the child observed.

Albert’s mouth dropped open for a moment as he found himself speechless and a pit of anxiety forming in his stomach. It was sounding as though Superboy were beginning to realize his status as a god among men. That was frightening enough to think about with the man in the blue tights. A child facing the same reality... Clearing his throat, Albert fostered a slight smile as he explained, “Those are called ‘airplanes’. And no, no we can’t fly like you. You and Superman appear to be capable of lot of things that normal people can’t do.” Reaching out his hands, Albert examined the dark tunic that the boy wore, cinched together by a metallic pin that bore a crest that was similar in form to Superman’s crest. “We’ll take this off for the exam and find you something else to wear while we get this cleaned,” Albert explained, removing the pin and helping the child disrobe.

As the vest was handed off to another of the scientists, Lor hovered nude in a room of strangers. But rather than embarrassment, the only emotion he displayed was one of curiosity. “What is Superman’s job on your planet?”

Michaels looked up, speechless for the second time as he found himself confronted by a question he hadn’t anticipated. And wasn’t sure how to answer. “His... job? I don’t know that he has one,” Albert commented, taking hold of the boy’s arms and lowering him down an inch. “Some people think of him like a... a hero I guess. Others see him as a nuisance, and some people see him as a threat because of what all he can do,” the man stated, raising the stethoscope toward the child’s chest.

“Would that make me a threat too?”

The innocuous question and the innocent look in the boy’s eyes left Albert with no answer to a question he’d been trying not to weigh himself. Simply smiling, the doctor pressed the stethoscope’s bell against the boy’s chest and said, “Take a deep breath for me.” As Albert guided the boy through a number of such exercises, the conversation fell by the wayside. Either abandoned by Superboy or else the child was sensitive enough to realize the topic had become one that the man didn’t want to speak of.

Dropping the stethoscope, Albert picked up his chart again and began marking furiously on it. “Alright, next we’ll get your height and weight,” the man mused aloud, tossing the chart aside and picking up a thermometer, which he swiftly tucked under the child’s tongue with instructions not to bite down. “But first, let’s get temperature and blood pressure,” the man commented, as he wheeled over a sphygmomanometer and wrapped its inflatable cuff around the boy’s arm. Switching the machine on, the man moved away to prepare the scale.

Beside him, Lor watched as the machine attached to the strap on his bicep begin to struggle as it attempted to tighten around his arm. The motor beginning to grind and whine. And then exploded in a plume of black smoke.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
​

“We are live from the Kennedy Space Center, where the Space Shuttle Excalibur has just launched. Regarding this unscheduled launch of the space shuttle, we’re now hearing from unconfirmed sources that this is possibly due to what some are calling a meteor impact on the International Space Station, which is thought to have occurred two days ago. If that’s true, and we’re still waiting for officials from NASA to call a press brief regarding the launch, then we’d expect the mission to involve a spacewalk to inspect and repair...”

Dabney Donovan sat in the lounge, his body sinking down into the sofa as exhaustion began to set in. Everything he’d seen was making his head spin with theories. Probabilities waiting to be tested. But there was nothing for him to do now, just wait for Michaels to do his thing. Dabney needed hair, tissue, blood samples. They needed controlled tests of physical abilities, body rhythm. And then be able to diagnose the mechanics behind them. The days ahead were going to be long indeed... but the theories... they could unravel everything science thought it knew. Leaning his head back, the man allowed his eyes to drift closed...

His head snapped up a moment later at a loud clatter from a binder being thrown down on the coffee table. Blinking, Dabney glanced up from the table and found Albert standing in front of him. “You don’t want to hear it, but I’m going to say it anyway: The kid’s an honest-to-god-damn alien,” Michaels snapped assertively.

Blinking rapidly, Dabney was struck - and not for the first time - with the idea that their psychiatrist was in need of a check-up from the neck up. “Albert. ALBERT. There’s no such thing as aliens,” Donovan spat flatly.

Michaels just shook his head, turning away as he muttered a string of obscenities under his breath before glancing back at Donovan. “All right. All right, Dabney, let’s assume for a minute that you’re right and the kid’s just got a vivid imagination and better acting skills than Haley ****ing Joel Osment. Then how do you explain this?” the doctor demanded, jabbing a finger down toward the binder.

Giving a sigh, Donovan leaned forward to grab the document off the table. Flipping through the pages, the geneticist found himself confronted by confused and conflicting chemical composition reports. “This is just gibberish. The only thing on here I can make out is carbon.”

“Its the preliminary lab report on the material the vest the kid was wearing is made out of,” Albert commented snidely. “The reason it reads like that is because carbon is the only thing we can identify.”

“The equipment’s malfunctioning,” Dabney quipped, tossing the binder aside.

“Bull. That vest is made of something that’s not on the table of elements. Same with that metallic symbol when we tested it,” Albert retorted, clearly aggitated now. “Now, the kid’s not an alien? Then explain that to me. What? He just crawled out of some project closet back at LexCorps or Wayne Industries?”

Dabney was on his feet before he even realized what he was doing. Or saying. “I don’t know, damn it. But I do know that the answer is not extraterrestrial life!”

“Mister Donovan?”

The interruption spun Dabney around, both men finding themselves in the company of a rather severe looking woman in a dark pantsuit. Clearing his throat, “Doctor, please. And yes.”

“Fionna Ross, Metahuman Affairs,” the woman stated, flashing a badge. “Under jurisdiction established by Executive Order 15307, I’m here to assume custody of the metahuman that you’re housing.”

 

[Batman]

"The things that made Abin Sur so great were his courage, his convictions, and his judgment. He was the wisest man I may have ever known. If he chose you, then he did so for a reason. Just what little bit I've shown has told me that you're raw, brash, and almost foolhardy... that is the stuff Lanterns are made of. You have the potential. You're a lump of coal. With the correct amount of pressure and focus, you'll become a diamond."

Jordan smirked, with an off-look to hide his gratitude. Sinestro didn't strike him as the type of man-... thing, or whatever to hand out compliments on a daily basis. So to receive one that was arguably the nicest thing anyone had said about him in his entire life was more than humbling. It was the first time Hal had actually heard that he was capable of being something more than a disgraced airman.

"Yeah, well. Guess we'll never get to find out. Soon as he can spare one, Ganthet told me that one of the Lanterns that survived are gonna take me back to my world, where I can live out a wholly boring life again."

Looking back at the Great Hall, Jordan's expression turned to one of somberness. "He didn't mention anything about Oa, though. Even if it's rebuilt, how will order be able to be maintained? None of the other imps can help him dictate things anymore. How's he and the Lanterns gonna reign in another one like Atrocitus, or Hand?"

 

[Spike_x1]

STAR Labs looks like an equally amazing place as LexCorp, although they don't have quite the same kind of funds to spend on the extravagant architecture that almost looks like it came out of a Star Trek movie. The receptionist was pretty helpful and gave me the directions to the R&D lab where Dr. Emil Hamilton is supposed to be right now.

God, these hallways are filthy. How hard is it to use a mop?

As if to answer my question, I turn a corner and there's the janitor. Big guy, taller than me and built like a house. He has a pretty mean look to him as well. Wouldn't surprise me if he was an ex-con. According to one of Ron Troupe's stories, STAR Labs has an outreach program meant to give guys like that a second chance. It's admirable for someone to work to rebuild their life and--

"Keep it moving, pal," he grunts at me.

"Sorry, mister..." look at his nametag, "Rudy. I'll try not to ruin your mop work."

"**** off."

Getting back on track. The R&D lab is at the end of the hall and I can hear what sounds like electricity crackling from a number of different sources in there. Stepping inside, I see the back of a man as he's bent over the open panel of an elaborate machine.

"Dr. Hamilton?"

The sound of my voice seems to startle the man as he instantly drops his work and spins around. "Oh!"

"Sorry, I didn't mean to surprise you. I'm Clark Kent from The Daily Planet. I believe you spoke to my partner about getting your thoughts on the whole "Silver Banshee" dilemma."

"Certainly."

After spending a few minutes going over my notes with Dr. Hamilton and discussing Lex Luthor's theories, he simply nods in agreement with Lex's assessment. "That sounds reasonable enough, based on what we've seen of the Banshee."

"All right. Do you have anything that you might like to add or elaborate on?"

"Nope."

As he turns back to his work I step closer to Hamilton to regain his attention. "I, er, I honestly expected a little more, Doctor. My partner spoke pretty highly of you." Suuure she did.

"She did, did she?"

The compliment seems to have at least caught his attention. "Would you have any ideas on how Superman or the authorities might be able to disable the Silver Banshee?"

"I'm sure I could come up with something to satisfy yourself and Ms. Lane (your partner certainly has a nice bum, don't you think?)." Sooner rather than later, please. "Even though the Banshee's abilities apparently originate outside of the realms of our understanding of science, she is still bound--at least in some ways--to our laws of physics. She still occupies the same earthly space as we do, she can affect the things around her that don't hail from such extra-dimensional origins, and her voice--powerful though it may be--presumably still travels through the air like yours or mine." He smiles at me and shrugs his shoulders. "I simply don't have the data to make a more in depth analysis or discuss any further theories."

"Get the SCU! You over there! Yeah, you! Call a radio station or something and get the word out that we need Superman here right-freakin'-NOW!"

"That's fine, Dr. Hamilton. I'm going to have to run now anyway. I think I hear Lois calling for me."

"I didn't hear your phone go off."

"Uhh, it's on vibrate. Yeah. Anyway, gotta go. Thanks a lot!" I quickly jog out of the lab, and as soon as I'm in the hallway I break into a run.

"Say hi to Lois for me!"

After waving at the grumpy janitor and the friendly receptionist on my way out, I kick into superspeed and hope that Mom won't get angry at me when I ask her to put the buttons back on to another shirt.

I should really get her to teach me how to sew one of these days.

 

[Byrd Man]

Jordan smirked, with an off-look to hide his gratitude. Sinestro didn't strike him as the type of man-... thing, or whatever to hand out compliments on a daily basis. So to receive one that was arguably the nicest thing anyone had said about him in his entire life was more than humbling. It was the first time Hal had actually heard that he was capable of being something more than a disgraced airman.

"Yeah, well. Guess we'll never get to find out. Soon as he can spare one, Ganthet told me that one of the Lanterns that survived are gonna take me back to my world, where I can live out a wholly boring life again."

Looking back at the Great Hall, Jordan's expression turned to one of somberness. "He didn't mention anything about Oa, though. Even if it's rebuilt, how will order be able to be maintained? None of the other imps can help him dictate things anymore. How's he and the Lanterns gonna reign in another one like Atrocitus, or Hand?"

"New Guardians will have to be chosen. I am not sure of the process, but the best and brightest of the corps will be chosen to be our leaders. When a threat comes, we will be ready."

Clearing my throat, I turn back to Jordan.

"What is this I hear about you leaving the corps? I find that unacceptable, Jordan. Did you not hear what I said not even a minute ago? I figured my compliments would boost your already engorged ego. You have the tools to be the greatest, and yet you shun your gift to live an ordinary life on your home planet? That is very unacceptable. To me, the corps, and all the countless people you can save with your skills."

 

[Bounce]

​

“Fionna Ross, Metahuman Affairs,” the woman stated, flashing a badge. “Under jurisdiction established by Executive Order 15307, I’m here to assume custody of the metahuman that you’re housing.”

Silence laid across the room like a blanket of pure tension. Dabney Donovan’s eyes held the woman’s own steely gaze for a long moment, then flicked over to the badge she produced. The scientist’s mind was going into overdrive, the various shades coloring his face gave the impression that steam might come out of his ears at any moment. Finally though, Dabney assumed a disarming smile as he glanced back to the woman and politely said, “I’m sorry you’ve come this far for no reason then.”

Folding her credentials up and tucking them away, the woman produced a small pad and a pencil. “Can I take that as your refusal to cooperate, Mister Donovan?” she asked with reporter-like detachment.

Dabney didn’t speak at first. Turning his head, he looked back at Albert Michaels for a moment and then turned back to their ‘guest’. “Ah, well... you see, you keep saying ‘human’. And my colleague here - Doctor Albert Michaels, NASA’s top medical doctor and a globally renown psychiatrist on the frontier of the field of space psychiatry. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?” Dabney blathered, stammering over himself as ideas struggled to come together. He was making this up on the fly. And he was too tired to be pitching lies. “Anyway, my colleague here has reason to believe that, in his expert medical opinion I should add, this child - or, at least child-like - individual we have... Well, there’s a canine-like creature as well. But, I digress...”

“Indeed. I’d appreciate it if you would be so kind as to get to the point... so I can phone my superiors and have you removed,” Ross quipped dryly.

Stroking his mustache, Dabney seemed as though he were considering what the woman had just offered, then glared down at her. “I imagine that would spark all sorts of interesting debate. We may be dealing with an extraterrestrial lifeform. If I’m going too fast for you, Miss Ross, that would be what is colloquially known as an ‘E.T.’ or alien. Are non-humans, particularly those with extraterrestrial origin, within the mandate of Metahuman Affairs? Because last time I checked, NASA was the nation’s lead agency for all matters related to space,” Donovan declared assertively, making a dismissive wave with one hand as though clearly marking that the woman had no business here. “Secondly, what is a bureaucratic watchdog agency - newly created out of paranoia, misunderstanding, and fear about the appearance of individuals with unusual abilities - going to do with a hyperactive little boy? How are you going to care for him? What plan do you have in place to stimulate his educational and developmental needs or creativity?”

Dabney let that question linger in the air for a moment, masking the smirk at the look of confusion now plain on the woman’s face. “I only ask because I’m sure those will be the very first questions from the parent and children’s advocacy groups after I call them.”

If the argument had caught her off guard, Fionna recovered well. “I won’t argue politics with you, Mister Donovan. The mandate of DMA is to come to a better understanding of these individuals, in order to promote social welfare with them living among those of us without such talents,” she tossed back in retort, pointing the back of her pencil at him. “But let’s get back on point, shall we? One bureaucratic agency to another, Mister Donovan? What are you going to do, slap the kid on the back of a shuttle to teach him Newton’s theory of gravity? Last time I checked this was a research facility, not a day care. So I don’t care for the idle threat.”

The way in which he smiled told the woman that she’d just stepped into the proverbial fly trap. “Well, then you’re sadly misinformed about our resources, Miss Ross. As a fellow government employee, I must express my disappointment that an upstanding member of your organization would comport herself with such gross incompetence,” Dabney commented snidely, crossing his arms as though he had already won the argument. “Since the 1980’s NASA has stimulated children’s minds in the areas of math and science with our various Space Camp programs. Where we’ll be able to not provide an age-appropriate setting designed to foster education and development, but also to tell him about our planet while we have the opportunity to learn about him at the same time.”

The blanket of silence returned like a coating of ice upon the air. Ross and Donovan staring one another down. Finally Ross broke the stalemate. “All I needed was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ regarding whether you would cooperate with the transfer of custody,” the woman stated flatly, tucking away the pencil and pad before looking back up at Donovan. “I’ll be taking that as a ‘no’. And my superiors will be getting a call shortly. I’d expect a call from your own superiors shortly afterward, Mister Donovan.”

“Do have a nice day, Miss Ross,” Donovan offered congenially with a bright smile. As he watched her turn and leave, the man counted three steps before he added, “Oh, and I’ll thank you to know that... I don’t make idle threats, Miss Ross.”

The woman just paused for a moment, not turning back, before she continued her way to the door.

“I thought you didn’t buy the alien line?” Albert commented, as soon as she was out of the room.

“I don’t. You do.” Dabney deadpanned seriously, turning around to face Albert again. “And I need you to keep feeding me things I can spin like that, because I am not letting go of the biggest shake-up in genetics research since Darwin!”

“And so you came up with Space Camp? Seriously?”

Throwing his weight back down on the sofa, Donovan leaned his head back once more. Tried to relax, to will his muscles to unwind. He needed a drink. If not two. After a minute, he spoke again. “You know, Albert, I’ve never believed in metahumans either. I always figured Superman and the others were a hoax. That there was... some high-tech jet pack underneath the cape. But you saw the kid, naked as the day he was born and floating in mid-air,” Dabney commented quietly, finding himself staring at a point somewhere beyond the ceiling as he added, “He can really fly, Albert. I want to understand how he does it.”

The commentary that followed seemed far from supportive. “By sending him to Space Camp?” Michaels tossed back, tucking both hands into the pockets on the white lab coat he wore as he just stared at Donovan. “We’re going to have to cash in every favor anybody’s ever owed us to get upper management to back us up on this, you know.”

Donovan just closed his eyes. “They’re politicians. And this is a kid. Kids are cute. People like to show they care about kids. We just need to keep that emotional watershed out in the forefront of people's minds and convince them that DMA won’t know what to do with him.”

“And we do? Like you said, he’s a kid. And the truth is, Dabs, kid’s are not cute. They’re needy. They have tantrums,” Albert rebutted candidly, pausing before asking the real question on his mind. “If this kid is really cut from the same cloth as Superman... what are we going to do when he decides to throw a fit?”

It had been something Dabney had wondered himself. And come up with something else entirely. “A better question might be, what are we going to do if Superman comes to take the kid?” Donovan posed quietly, letting the question linger between them before he added, “I don’t have an answer for either. But that’s the thing about the kid, Albert. There are all these questions swirling around him without answer. And I want answers. This is the only way I’m going to have a chance of getting any.”

The two men both fell silent, the television filling in the background with the commentary on the Excalibur launch that was taking place down in Florida. Then, suddenly, Dabney broke the silence with a single word. “We.”

“Hmm?”

“You said ‘we’ a minute ago,” Dabney noted, raising his head up to stare back at the psychiatrist.

Albert just held the man’s gaze stoically for a moment. “Dabney, I’ve been a doctor for a long time and I’ve seen damn near everything. But I can’t tell you the first thing about the kid’s anatomy because his body is about as soft as a diamond and X-rays won’t even penetrate it,” the doctor commented dryly, before asserting, “You know damn well I’m not going to hand him off to some other research doctor.”

Smirking, Donovan leaned his head back. “And here I thought you were just excited about Space Camp.”

"Are you arguing about me?"

The two men were spun around a second time, this by the appearance of the young Superboy in the doorway. He wore a NASA t-shirt that was several sizes too large for him, hanging off his small frame like a nightshirt. Dabney had sent a junior research scientist to Target to pick up some clothes and other things for the boy, who had been playing with his dog before Donovan had retired to the lounge... The way the boy comported himself it seemed clear that he'd heard the conversation.

"She didn't look like a very nice person," Lor added, turning his head in the direction that Ross had departed in.

"I won't argue that," Dabney quipped dryly, then paused to consider the child's comment. Shaking his head, Donovan tried to force himself to relax again. Clearly, Superboy had passed the woman in the hall on her way out.

For a minute there, Dabney had almost thought the kid had X-Ray vision.
​

 

[Green Lantern]

As he slunk home after his encounter with the Corinthian, Dick kept going over events in his head. I should have been there faster. I should have saved her. God, why didn't I save her? He got to the tower, and grabbed the back pack with civvies concealed under the mail drop box on the corner of the street. He ducked into the alley near the tower and changed back into his normal clothes, before heading to the top floor. He had thought of nothing but the poor woman he couldn't save all the way home. Who was this "Morpheus" and what did he have to do with Chinatown?

 

[Batman]

"Well, gentlemen, don't mind me. My job is to make sure you can go about your business as usual."

Easier said than done, I think to myself as I give a smirk to Alfred and wave him off. But even under the circumstances, in the midst of the 'act', he can easily discern the irritation lurking behind my gaze. This is becoming more troublesome for me with every passing moment - I feel like nothing less than a prisoner in my own home. If she weren't here, I could easily fire up Oracle's systems from my phone and be heading down to the cave in seconds. But with Selina Kyle in my midst, watching my every move to make sure that I remain safe, I'm in need of a different strategy.

Need to play it casual. Make her think that I've no interest in going back into the city, and sneak my way there once she's let her guard down. The only question is, how? Surely, she'd notice an absence. And it's not like I can provide enough of a distraction to keep her busy the entire night. Unless...

Giving her a smile as I approach, I begin to remove my jacket.

"Don't let Alfred fool you. He's quite a party animal,"

As I continue, what she doesn't notice is that while my jacket is bunched around my wrists, I slip my cellphone out and manually begin to text Alfred's phone from across the house. It's come to a point that I need only to remember which buttons to push in which sequence, given the amount of times I've needed to get his attention with a certain... discretion.

Secure line.
Call my cell.

-B

Placing it back in my pocket before she can notice I still haven't taken off my jacket, I remove it and wrap it over my arm, focusing right back on the story between sentences. "Infact, between the two of us, I'm honestly not sure who brings home the most women. There've actually been nights where I've had be his designated driver."

I laugh, to hide the fact that I've began holding my breath for Alfred's eventual call. While realizing that this elaborate deception might not work, if I manage to screw it up.

"You know, you really don't have to stand there all night. There're plenty of guest bedrooms upstairs, and Alfred can get you whatever you need in the meantime. I'm sure the man who tried to shoot me has long since left Gotham, maybe even the state entirely. Unless he's really persistent."

 

[Eddie Brock]

Easier said than done, I think to myself as I give a smirk to Alfred and wave him off. But even under the circumstances, in the midst of the 'act', he can easily discern the irritation lurking behind my gaze. This is becoming more troublesome for me with every passing moment - I feel like nothing less than a prisoner in my own home. If she weren't here, I could easily fire up Oracle's systems from my phone and be heading down to the cave in seconds. But with Selina Kyle in my midst, watching my every move to make sure that I remain safe, I'm in need of a different strategy.

Need to play it casual. Make her think that I've no interest in going back into the city, and sneak my way there once she's let her guard down. The only question is, how? Surely, she'd notice an absence. And it's not like I can provide enough of a distraction to keep her busy the entire night. Unless...

Giving her a smile as I approach, I begin to remove my jacket.

"Don't let Alfred fool you. He's quite a party animal,"

As I continue, what she doesn't notice is that while my jacket is bunched around my wrists, I slip my cellphone out and manually begin to text Alfred's phone from across the house. It's come to a point that I need only to remember which buttons to push in which sequence, given the amount of times I've needed to get his attention with a certain... discretion.

Secure line.
Call my cell.

-B

Placing it back in my pocket before she can notice I still haven't taken off my jacket, I remove it and wrap it over my arm, focusing right back on the story between sentences. "Infact, between the two of us, I'm honestly not sure who brings home the most women. There've actually been nights where I've had be his designated driver."

I laugh, to hide the fact that I've began holding my breath for Alfred's eventual call. While realizing that this elaborate deception might not work, if I manage to screw it up.

"You know, you really don't have to stand there all night. There're plenty of guest bedrooms upstairs, and Alfred can get you whatever you need in the meantime. I'm sure the man who tried to shoot me has long since left Gotham, maybe even the state entirely. Unless he's really persistent."

To be polite, I pretend to listen to Wayne. What he's actually saying about his assistant is of little importance to me. I can't help but notice, though, that he's feeling awfully chatty. Sure, I could write it off as nerves. It's not every day that someone tries to kill you. (I should know.) But there's something about his act that seems...off.

Who really knows? Maybe I'm painting him into a box because I want to believe that he's who I think he is. Maybe he's every bit the womanizing playboy from the papers, and he's just trying to charm me.

Or maybe he is hiding something.

"I'll keep watch for now," I explain. "This--" I wave in the general direction of his penthouse, and really this entire building. "--isn't exactly laying low. Whoever's trying to kill you has connections. Otherwise, your would-be assassin wouldn't have been able to get so close to you tonight." I look right at Wayne. "Maybe I'm being overly cautious, but I think it's better to be safe than sorry, don't you?"

 

[Byrd Man]

Downstate Correctional Facility
Fishkill, New York

The metal door opens with a creaking of the hinges, revealing the man who's at the heart of the whole Holiday case.

Lew Moxon.

Would-be drug pusher who decided to set up shop in a town where cops protect the mob. He was caught on the Gotham docks with 18 kilos of pure heroin and 15 kilos of uncut cocaine. All told, about 1.5 million in drugs. The hero cops that brought him down? James Gordon and Arnold Flass. The papers called it "White Christmas" and it gave Gordon the profile that would get him named Commissioner a few years later. Fast forward almost 14 year, and this case turns out to be the missing puzzle piece in Gotham's latest serial killer.

"This **** in Gotham has been going on for nine month," Moxon says with a smug look on his face. "Took ya long enough."

"Have a seat, Lew. I'm Detective Sage, GCPD."

"Yeah. I seen your name in the papers. You're the one they got on the Holiday case."

"You seem to know an awful lot about the case. Care for a smoke?"

"Naah," he says with a wave of his hands. "Giving it up. Don't look like I'm getting out. That last felon happened to be my third strike. Swing and a miss," he says as he mimes swinging a baseball bat. "Three strikes and your out, right?"

"That make you mad, Lew? Being stuck in jail for the rest of your life while the cops who busted you turned out to be just as dirty as you?"

"At first? Yeah, I was pissed. I did something a bit....rash."

"Such as?"

Moxon looks around, unsure of what to say. After a few seconds, he shrugs his shoulders. "What the ****? I got life, right? Might as well tell you. I sent my boy, Julian Day, to settle the score with Gordon and all of them."

"And by 'all of them' you mean?"

"His whole goddamn corrupt unit. They were thugs with badges."

"What happened with Day? Why didn't he kill them?"

"I was in jail at the time that this all happened. It was Christmas Eve when Julian made his move. But something happened. He was stopped short by the mob. They told him not to go after the cops. Seemed their protection racket worked both ways. They were muscle for each other."

I lean in, hooked on Moxon's every word. "What'd happened after that?"

Moxon flashes a grin. "They offered up an alternative. They gave Day the name of a man, a member of the Narco unit. They told Day he was the man pulling Gordon and O'Hara's strings. Poor Julian. He was never the sharpest tool in the shed. He bought the mob's bull**** and killed the man's family to send a message. They all bought it on Christmas day, too. What a shame. This guy didn't have anything to do with their racket."

This guy? The cop leaving the 4th of July crime scene??? His family killed on Christmas. A good enough reason to kill people on holidays if I ever heard one.

"Who was he? Was he a sergeant in the GCPD?"

"Maybe," Moxon says in a reluctant tone.

"Lew, what was his name? Tell me?"

"No...I can't?"

"What? Why not? You were happy to tell me how corrupt the current GCPD Commissioner is! You already got life. What's the worse they can do to you? Why stop?"

"Because....," he says as he surveys the room. "He can still get to me. Even in here. You don't realize it."

My hand comes down hard on the table. "Tell me, goddammit!"

"No! I can't. GUARDS!!"

A pair of correctional officers run into the room, coming between Moxon and I.

"That's enough questions, Detective," one of the COs says.

"Tell me what I need to know, Moxon! Tell me!"

"I can't!"

The guard blocking me is short enough just for my eyes to catch Moxon's as the guard leads him through the metallic door. With another loud creaking, the door shuts behind him and locks. Nygma's words ring through my ears.

Find something new, for your sake as well as mine.

That's what I'm trying to do. And I may have found some relevant information.

Holiday's family was murdered on Christmas Day 1996.

Time to check the obits at the library.

 

[Bounce]

​

The blanket of silence returned like a coating of ice upon the air. Ross and Donovan staring one another down. Finally Ross broke the stalemate. “All I needed was a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ regarding whether you would cooperate with the transfer of custody,” the woman stated flatly, tucking away the pencil and pad before looking back up at Donovan. “I’ll be taking that as a ‘no’. And my superiors will be getting a call shortly. I’d expect a call from your own superiors shortly afterward, Mister Donovan.”

“Do have a nice day, Miss Ross,” Donovan offered congenially with a bright smile. As he watched her turn and leave, the man counted three steps before he added, “Oh, and I’ll thank you to know that... I don’t make idle threats, Miss Ross.”

The woman just paused for a moment, not turning back, before she continued her way to the door.​

​

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
​

National Aeronautics & Space Administration
Pike Island Research Facility, Metropolis

He had a pack of cigarettes open in his hand, one unlit that was already dangling from his lips as he passed through the lounge toward the exit where he could smoke outside in peace. Dabney Donovan had quit smoking ten years ago and never looked back, but in the last several hours of his life he’d been waging an all out war over the telephone. It seemed Fionna Ross had made good on her threat. As the chief administrators of NASA and Metahuman Affairs wrestled over their administrative turf battle, the Departments of Defense and Homeland Security had even chimed in. Michaels had already raised the white flag and gone home to update his resume. When the smoke cleared, it was looking as though Superboy might be classified and carted off to some ‘undisclosed location’ for projects sealed on a ‘need-to-know’ basis for ‘national security’. Every politically savvy buzzphrase imaginable had been tossed up, reiterated, and repeated so many times that Donovan wasn't certain whether anything else had even been said. He’d found a pack of cigarettes in a co-workers desk along with a lighter that now filled a void he realized he’d been missing for the last ten years, the sensation of it rubbing against his thigh from within the pocket of his trousers.

“Vegeta, what does the scouter say about his power level?”
“It’s over NINE THOUSAND!”
“What, nine thousand?"

The sound of the television drew the man’s attention over to the front of the lounge. Someone had turned it from CNN to Cartoon Network. Peering over the sofa, Dabney found the much debated weapons of mass destruction. He was curled up on his side, head resting against the body of the canine that was also curled up on the seat cushions. It was only now that Donovan realized he’d been so wrapped up in the conference calls that had subsumed the late hours that he’d not only lost track of the time, but also lost track of what the boy had been doing. Had anyone fed him dinner? It was a question that seemed moot now.

Donovan bent down, carefully slipping his hands underneath the boy and lifting him up off the sofa. The child sagged as dead weight in the man’s arms, lost in a sleep so perfect that he never stirred once as he was picked up. Straightening back up, Dabney adjusted how he held the boy and allowed the weight to settle against his body. The boy’s head rolled down against his shoulder and Donovan looked down to see a mass of unkempt brown hair atop a face of pure innocence. All evening long, Dabney had argued about the child. Arguments sparked and fanned by mounting fears of his abilities and what someone with a juvenile’s lack of maturity or responsibility could be capable of, even unintentionally, with them. Or more of a fear that they, as adults, would be helpless to stop him were he to get out of hand.

Superboy was dangerous. They all saw it, from the carefree manner in which he defied gravity to the incredible invulnerability he displayed in picking up the burning flare. Yet the same qualities that made him dangerous were also what made him so interesting to them as scientists. He was like the child of a god, so Donovan was astonished at how lightweight the boy was. Perhaps it was easy to fixate on the ‘super’ and lose track of the ‘boy’. Looking at him now, Dabney saw the monster at the heart of all their debate and found that indestructible Superboy surprisingly vulnerable, sleeping in his arms.

There was a low whine. Looking back at the sofa, Donovan saw that the dog had raised its head up with a yawn that displayed its teeth. Stepping down from the sofa, the canine shook its body and then looked up at Dabney with a wag of its tail.

Moving quietly out of the lounge, the man made his way to the room that had been prepared for the child. Laying him on the bed, the man tucked the boy in as the dog hopped up and stretched out alongside him. Looking back as he exited the room, Dabney paused in the doorway to re-consider his perceptions. Looking at the softly sleeping form, it was hard to imagine that the child were anything out of the ordinary.

He didn’t look like a monster now.

And they, the adults, arguing over which of them had the most right to lock him away from society, and then put him under a microscope so they could dissect, deconstruct, and reverse engineer what made him different. What made him super.

Who was the real monster?

The question made Donovan pull the lighter from out of his pocket. He’d lit the cigarette before he’d taken even four steps down the hall.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
​

“Control, this is Excalibur. Now in stable orbit approaching ISS.”

The white craft broke the plane of Earth’s shadow, silhouetted against the sun as it crossed the great expanse of space to where the international space station drifted in its circle around the planet below. At the controls, a brunette in the signature blue flightsuit of NASA handled the craft with discipline and precision. “Better suit up Micah,” the woman called, rolling the space shuttle just slightly to the right as she paired its axis with the orbital plane of the station. “You’re up.”

“Already there.”

The domed cargo bay doors which formed the ‘roof’ along the backside of the shuttle parted, a mechanical arm lifting a lone astronaut out onto what could only be described as a diving board out into an endless sea of stars. With a single step, the man was adrift in space. With only the large maneuvering and life support pack on his back to keep him where he needed to be. With short, subtle nudges from its directional jets, the man eased his way over the nearest arm of the space station, its horizontal plane reflected in the curved glass of his helmet. And there, beneath him, he saw the gaping maw. The snapped pylons and shattered antennae. The pits and breaks in the metal.

“It was definitely a meteorite,” Micah announced, drifting downward toward one hole in the station. Starlight was reflected in something there. “I can see pieces of it lodged in the damaged section,” the man added, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the side of the space station. A thickly gloved hand stretched toward the jagged maw of metal, coming back a second later with a handful of the shiny matter.

“It doesn’t really look like rock,” the astronaut reported, staring down at the shards in his hand. Tucking those away in a lead-lined pouch on his belt. The man turned and saw a large shard jutting out of the side of what had once been a beacon light. “It’s like a... a green quartz.”

“Quartz?”

The question from the shuttle crew was the last thing Micah heard, his hand reaching for the large shard. Fingers glossed across the surface, wrapping around it as the light suddenly erupted from within. Micah felt something like electricity shoot through his body, the jets on his maneuvering pack gone wild as he slammed hard against the side of the station.

And all he saw was darkness.

 

[Red_Robin77]

The jet soured over the Pacific Ocean, the dazzling Sun above gleaming off of the exterior of the jet. Within, Thomas Blake sat with his eyes shut, when something vibrated within his pocket. Eyes still closed, Blake slips his hand in his pocket and retrieves his phone, answering it.

"Blake. Who is it?"

"It's Scandal. Who else calls you?"

"You'd be surprised. What've you got for me?"

"Dr Niles Caulder is a revolutionary scientist, and has set out a bounty to find an experiment of his."

"What's the experiment?"

"Confidential, but apparently you'll know it when you see it."

"Woah, that's helpful."

"Everyone else on that jet is on the team assembled to find the experiment. You're on the team."

"Goody."

"You're landing in 5 minutes, Blake. Get yourself ready, the island you're going to is a hell hole."

"This better pay well, Scandal," grunted Blake, as he hanged up the phone, and put it back in his pocket.

He peered out of the window, and looked down upon a beautiful island, sprawled beneath the aircraft. Lovely. He grabbed his bags, and started preparing his weapons, for the long day ahead.

 

[Spike_x1]

"I met your master several times, years ago and far away from Gotham. She had students back then as well, wearing very similar tattoos. To my knowledge, none of them survived. To Shiva, your survival after successful missions are proof that you deserve to live to fight again. It is a philosophy that I agree with." The last of the bar's patrons finally falls down dead, succumbing to the massive head trauma that I inflicted on him. "Shiva is working for the Yakuza now? I am not surprised. Her sadistic sense of honor seemed to mirror my own, and without a driving hunger for vengeance as I have, one must do what they can to find their way in the world."

"Still silent, eh?" Turning to the girl, I see a mixture of rage and fear in her eyes as she looks up at my mask. I am towering over her and, having displayed a small portion of my skills, she knows that I could swiftly kill her with ease. "I know my words to be true. I simply wonder why you were sent out to this unsightly establishment tonight. It's not a nice neighborhood."

"Was this a test for you? You were to come here and collect protection money from the owner tonight, or something similar, weren't you? However, you overestimated your own skills and were overwhelmed by the owner and his friends before I arrived and saved you." I can see the tears welling up in the girl's eyes and I put her back down. "They were going to violate you." She cries. If I were capable of it, I might even join her. "Having failed your test, you're now faced with two choices. You can return to Lady Shiva as a failed student, where she will likely take your life. Or you can run as fast and as far as you can, and hope that it will be far enough. Either way, you should be thankful that you will not have to lead such a life as Shiva or myself."

Her tears mix with blood on the broken floor, and I can't help but wonder if that is indeed the perfect metaphor for Gotham City.

Within moments the girl is gone and I am alone, surrounded by the bodies of the broken and beaten. And that is a good thing, no? I can't stop going over those words in my mind. I should kill the few remaining survivors and burn the building to the ground. I cannot afford to leave any evidence behind. A scene like this is certain to involve the authorities to at least some capacity. I must keep their knowledge of the true extent of my existence restricted to my terms. Rumors of a "bogeyman" cutting his way into the various mobs is one thing. A massacre like what happened tonight is a different matter.

It takes less than a minute for me to finish off the surviving victims of the beating that the girl and I inflicted on the men. It takes marginally longer for me to pour the alcohol around and set it alight before retreating from the building and making for the rooftops. There I pause and watch the growing flames. Before long I can hear sirens in the distance. I am also no longer alone up here.

"What you've done this evening is frustrating, Bane."

"Shiva. So, you've heard of the name that I chose for myself to use here in Gotham?"

"Of course. You're not quite as much of an urban legend around here as you believe yourself to be. People are taking notice of you."

I can see the way that Shiva's body is at the ready, even now. She is talking calmly and is conducting herself in a proper manner, but she also is prepared to instantly jump into action. To be honest, I don't know for certain whether I could match her in combat or not. I am not prepared for a confrontation with such a skilled opponent right now.

"It doesn't matter."

"Oh?" Her face does not change in the slightest.

"We've known each other a long time, Sandra. Although we have never been teammates per se, we respect one another. Our work in Santa Prisca had many benefits." I now stand fully upright and look down at Shiva. Neither of us are fooled by my larger size into thinking that it would have any effect whatsoever if a fight broke out between us. "Let our friendship carry from the past into the present."

"You burned down a business that owed my employer money, and you drove off a failed student of mine." She scowls at me, but her posture is unchanged.

"The owner of the bar wasn't going to cooperate with your demands. Now that he's dead and his establishment is in flames, he serves a much better purpose as a warning to others who won't see your employer's way of doing business. You and the Dragon are welcome." The wind has shifted and the smoke from the burning building has begun to drift this way. It's long past time to leave. "As for the girl, she should be of no concern to you. Regardless of whether she's alive or not, the fact is that I have weeded out weakness from your organization without necessitating that you or your boss get blood on your hands."

"...You had all of this planned out from the moment you realized who the girl was and what she was doing, didn't you?"

I know that Shiva can read the smile under my mask. "Have a good evening, Sandra. Consider my actions tonight as a show of good faith between your employer and I, with our friendship as the foundation for it all. I ask only that you--"

"Stay out of your way for whatever mission it is that you're on? Done."

"My thanks."

 

[Byrd Man]

Previously

Spoiler

​

Lightning and thunder crackles around the Mardon house. I can feel my hair stand on end as I pass through the static electricity fields that Mardon has created.

"Alright, Dude," I say as I come to a stop in front of Mardon. "Time to pack it up. You killed your brother. That wand thingy in your hands is proof."

"Come and get it, kid," Mardon says with a sneer. With a swift movement of his hand, I feel the static electricity cover my body again.

"Oh, sh-"

BOOOOM!

A bolt of lightning strikes inches away from my body, tossing me back out of the house and on to the lawn. Skidding to a stop on the patio, I pick myself up and shake my head to try to get rid of the ringing in my ears.

"That thing's like a Wii-mote from hell."

"It does have its advantages, doesn't it?"

A swift wind kicks up, picking up Mardon and levitating him out of the house and right in front of my on the lawn.

"Me and Clyde were always fascinated with weather. You can't really blame us. Dad ran out when Clyde was three and I was just a baby. Mom was never around, our grandma was more of a mother than she ever was. We'd just stare out the window of our house and watch the weather. We were terrified of the thunder storms, and loved the winter blizzards that came through town. To us, weather was the only thing that made sense."

"So why'd you kill him?"

"I didn't kill him!"

Pointing the device at my head, he smiles. "You've asked one question too many, Flash. Maybe it's time for you to cool off."

That's when the wind hits me. Freezing wind with flakes of ice in them. Covering my eyes from the blinding wind, I can feel my whole body begin to shiver as snow accompanies the freezing winds. In a minute flat, my whole body goes numb and I'm looking out at the world from inside an icy prison.

Frozen solid and helpless to watch as Mardon looks on and smiles.

From Fastest Man Alive to Flascicle in a minute flat.

Way to go, Allen.

You know, it's a funny thing, being frozen solid. For starters, it's really cold. I mean, really cold. You know how that kid in the Christmas movie got his tongue stuck to a frozen flag pole? Imagine that happening to your whole body. You know, that kid does porn now? I guess he's putting his tongue against more than a flag pole now.

Focus, Allen!

From inside my icy prison, I can see Mardon staring at me with a smug grin. He's got something in his hands. Is that....a sledgehammer?

Holy crap, he's going to try to break me apart!

How do I get out? Wait for it to melt? Wait a minute, friction can cause enough heat to melt the ice. And how do we cause friction? By vibrating! See, I can follow a chain of events. Dad will be happy to know that my expensive college education taught me that heat can melt ice.

"This is where you go bye-bye," Mardon says as he raises the sledgehammer high. I'm too late, he's already started swinging down. I can't melt this ice and get away from the blow fast enough. My headstone will read Rest in Pieces. Yep, my whole life reduced to a bad pun.

WHAM!

Mardon drops the sledgehammer on the ground and falls sideways in the grass. Ralph stands over him with a tire iron, giving me the time I need to vibrate and melt the ice.

"I may not have superpowers, but I just kicked your ass!"

Mardon looks up with glazed eyes, partially unconscious. I finish what Ralph started with a punch to the face. Mardon's eyes roll back in his head and he finally passes out. I kick the weather controller out of his hand and make sure it's out of reach, in case he wakes up. Sirens are ringing in the distance. Someone should have noticed the scene by now to call the cops.

"Let's go, Ralph."

"Dude, why? We just cracked the case! I want my recognition."

"We cracked the case by breaking into his house, which is a felon. I have a secret identity to protect. I don't do this stuff to get kudos. Also, don't forget Dad and Jay will be responding to the scene once they find Mardon has his own murdered brothers invention in his possession. They'll know who I am right off the bat. I stay here, I'm dead."

"Alright, fine," Ralph says in a crestfallen tone. In the blink of an eye, we're back on the lawn at his house and my Flash gear is nowhere to be seen.

"If your parents or mine ask, we were playing PS3 all day. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it. I still can't believe it. You're the Flash! How awesome is that?!"

I let a slight smile show on my face. "Yeah. It's pretty cool, huh? Look, I gotta head out. I'm meeting Val later to tonight and Mom wants Wally and me to help her paint the living room."

"Yeah. Man, you're the Flash! Central City's own superhero is my best friend!"

"Well, just try to keep in on the down-low. I don't want Captain Cold busting into my house during dinner time."

"You got it, man. I'm like a vault. I'm on lock down."

"Yeah. What about that time you told the entire senior class about the time I peed in my pants in third grade?"

"That was different! We were on the senior trip and I was bombed on tequila."

"Right. So, as long as Heatwave doesn't offer you shots, my identity is safe?"

"Bingo."

I shake my head and look at my friend. "I gotta go, man. You know how to contact me."

"I use the Flash Signal?"

"Sure. But texting me might be more efficient."

"Noted."

Without another word, I speed off Ralph's lawn and race towards my house.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Central City, Missouri

About a week has passed since the whole mess with Mark Mardon, or Weather Wizard as the press dubbed him. He's safely behind bars in Iron Heights, awaiting trial for the murder of his brother and the theft of the weather controller. Meanwhile, yours truly has been studying his butt off for final exams, hanging out with my best buddy, and having a ball with Val. I tell ya, I may actually be in love. On the flipside, while Bart Allen has been living it up, the Flash has been doing a lot of good work in Central and across the river in Keystone.

Case in point:

A major industrial accident at a chemical plant in Keystone has triggered a chemical fire through the building. I'm currently racing towards the plant's entrance, going as fast as I can without sucking all the pedestrains into my slipstream and blowing them away.

I'm up the steps and into the plant within a few seconds, searching around frantically for people caught in the fire.

Just another day in the life of Bart Allen. College student, good son, dynamite lover adequate lover, and superhero extraordinaire.​

 

[Eddie Brock]

SUPERGIRL

Setting my glasses down next to my keyboard, I type in www.metropolis.edu. Seconds later, the Metropolis University homepage comes up - complete with their cheesy slogan, "Building the Men and Women of Tomorrow." MetU is one of the top public universities in the world, though, and Metropolis is an amazing place to live. I can't wait to start there in the fall.

Oh, and, of course, it doesn't hurt that this'll bring me closer to Superman.

After typing in my user ID and password, I'm taken to a screen that reads, "Welcome back, LDanvers." I scroll down to the Scheduling tab. I've still got time to shuffle my classes around, so I really want to make sure I take the right ones.

NEW COURSE AVAILABLE: INTRODUCTION TO ASTRONOMY (PHYS 10350)!

Astronomy, huh?

I click on the link, taking me to a page that details some aspects of the course.

"--WEEEEOHWEEEEOHWEEEEOH--"

My hand releases the mouse. I've trained myself to listen closely for sirens - not an easy thing to do in a city, mind you - and that is most certainly a fire engine in the distance. In fact, I can hear more than one. This must be serious. Bursting out of my chair so quickly that it starts spinning, I'm out the window before it even comes to a stop.

I arrive on the scene to find a chemical plant ablaze. Wow, this is serious. The firefighters blast away with their hoses, but they're clearly fighting a losing battle. This has grown wildly out of control. "Look, it's Supergirl!" one firefighter announces upon finally seeing me.

Giving a half-hearted smile - this is hardly the time or place for it - I turn my attention to the massive blaze in front of me. No problem, right? Taking a deep breath, I blow as hard as I can in the direction of the building. The fire falters for a moment, but then it seems to burn even stronger.

I'm just fanning the flames.

I've never tried this, but maybe my superbreath works in reverse? No oxygen, no fire. I take as deep a breath as I can possibly muster, and I feel my lungs filling to capacity. I stare wide-eyed at the building as the flames seem to die out.

"Not bad," I say, letting the air out slowly with a sigh.

No sooner have I said this than an explosion rocks the plant from the inside. Just as quickly as they died out, the flames are burning just as strong as they were before. It's never that easy, huh?
​

 

[Byrd Man]

I've evacuated half the plant when a very odd sensation happens. All the oxygen in the room is sucked out, stopping me short and gasping for air.

"Hhhhhh," I gurgle as I fall to my knees and grab at my throat. Well, this is it. I'm dying. That explains the white light that just flashed and the roar filling my ears....wait a minute. That's not heaven. That's...

BOOOM!

The explosion sends me flying through the air and bursting through a window. Landing on the pavement and skidding against a parked car, I left the sweet, sweet air fill my lungs.

"Anyone catch the number of that train?"
​

 

[Eddie Brock]

I've evacuated half the plant when a very odd sensation happens. All the oxygen in the room is sucked out, stopping me short and gasping for air.

"Hhhhhh," I gurgle as I fall to my knees and grab at my throat. Well, this is it. I'm dying. That explains the white light that just flashed and the roar filling my ears....wait a minute. That's not heaven. That's...

BOOOM!

The explosion sends me flying through the air and bursting through a window. Landing on the pavement and skidding against a parked car, I left the sweet, sweet air fill my lungs.

"Anyone catch the number of that train?"
​

A wall of heat from the explosion hits me, making me cringe. When I open my eyes again, I see a red figure falling out of the sky. Try as I might, I'm not fast enough to catch him, and I'm forced to simply watch as he collides with the pavement. Oh my God. Please, no...

My heart stops until the figure starts to move. Looking to the sky, I announce happily, "Thank you, God!" Whoever he is, he's alive. My record remains spotless. Flying down, I'm hit with another surprise.

"The Flash?!"

I've heard of him, of course. Central City's own superhero. He operates right across the river from me, but amazingly we haven't crossed paths so far. Well, this certainly explains how he was able to survive that fall.

Lowering myself down so that my feet hover mere inches above the pavement, I ask, "Oh my God, are you alright? I didn't know you were in there."

 

[Bounce]

“It doesn’t really look like rock,” the astronaut reported, staring down at the shards in his hand. Tucking those away in a lead-lined pouch on his belt. The man turned and saw a large shard jutting out of the side of what had once been a beacon light. “It’s like a... a green quartz.”

“Quartz?”

The question from the shuttle crew was the last thing Micah heard, his hand reaching for the large shard. Fingers glossed across the surface, wrapping around it as the light suddenly erupted from within. Micah felt something like electricity shoot through his body, the jets on his maneuvering pack gone wild as he slammed hard against the side of the station.

And all he saw was darkness.

National Aeronautics & Space Administration
John F. Kennedy Space Center, Florida

Senior Operations Supervisor Joe Mitsubame sipped a cup of coffee, standing in the middle of the busiest floor outside of Wall Street. Monitors lined the walls and ceilings, tracking every astronaut, every computer system on the space shuttle. No astronaut breathed, ate, or even flushed the toilet without it being recorded for all posterity on no less than three monitors. Not when a shuttle was in operation. Everything was double and triple checked. Every computer component capable of full remote control from the uplink with Kennedy, Houston, or White Sands. Back-up systems were the same. And if those failed, there was a back-up for the back-ups on all the critical systems, such as navigation and maneuvering controls.

“It’s like a... a green quartz.”

“Quartz?”

“Sounds like we’ve got something new,” a voice pipped up from Joe’s left, the man just taking another sip of his coffee without comment. “Should we get the boys at Pike Island on the phone?”

The man lowered the coffee mug, never taking his eyes of the central status monitor. “Are you kidding, they’ve got everyone from the Pentagon to White Sands to the White House pissed all to high heaven,” Joe cracked snidely, choosing to hold his tongue in check before he could add any further commentary by bringing the sweet nectar of black gold back to his lips. Albert Michaels was a damn quack. He knew it, NASA knew it, everybody knew it. What the hell was space psychiatry anyway? And now aliens? E.T. had landed in Metropolis? What a load of bull. And Dabney Donovan wasn’t any better. Egotistical maniac with a tad too much personality for a scientist. Gotten ahold of some poor little freak and that head case Michaels and was spin doctoring some space camp publicity stunt. Probably to get a larger budget for Pike Island.

Like hell Joe was going to accept a budget cut for Kennedy so Donovan could open a NASA day care. When he lowered the mug again, he took a breath and simple said, “No, we should turn this over to...”

All across the room, the monitors went blank.

Everyone was quiet. Joe’s voice the only one heard as he picked up a red phone which rested immediately to his right. The voice circuit was connected to the intercom, booming across the floor as he spoke. “Houston, this is Kennedy. We have lost signal from Excalibur. Repeat, we have lost signal from Excalibur. Do you have signal?”

“Kennedy, this is Houston. Confirm signal lost. White Sands, do you have signal?”

“Houston, this is White Sands. Confirm signal lost.”

Joe swore loudly, lowering the receiver down to his shoulder. “Get the administrator on the phone,” he barked at the aide on his left, before peering across to one of the control technicians. “Do we have visual from ISS?”

“Negative. ISS link is still down.”

“Satellite imagery,” Joe barked, shifting to the next alternative. “Get me eyes on that shuttle!”

The man worked furiously at his station, several monitors lighting back up on the wall as the computer began tracking a satellite in orbit near where the shuttle and ISS were last reported. “Re-positioning orbital satellite. Eyes on target in 1 minute.”

The seconds ticked by, everyone holding their breath as the tension stifled the room until finally all the monitors lit up with a view of the international space station. It took a moment for anyone to make out the space shuttle, it was flipped over so the black heat shield was showing.

“She’s in a flat spin,” Joe noted sharply, his eyes tracking the roll and yaw. “Let’s hope they still have manual control... Calculate their orbit decay,” he demanded, voice snapping like a whip.

“What’s that?” a voice asked.

That was when Joe saw it. A small white speck. “That’s Micah Flint,” the man commented, his throat suddenly dry. “Freefalling into Earth’s gravity.”

“I’ll... get the administrator on the phone.”

Joe simply took another sip of his coffee. “Three-way the call and dial Pike Island,” the man stated flatly. Never even so much as blinking as he added, “I want to speak to them about this ‘Superboy’.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
​

The men and women of NASA’s space shuttle program went through years of training before they ever made it onto an actual mission. Simulation after simulation prepared them for every possible eventuality. What was happening now was the worst case scenario, an event who’s statistical probability of occurring was but a fraction of a percentile because of three layers of redundancies built into the shuttles in order to prevent just this sort of disaster.

Catastrophic power failure. Computers down. Circuits blown out. Shuttle control lost.

“We’ve got atmosphere in five!”

The news was hardly surprising, but it certainly put the disaster into perspective. Three hundred seconds in which to resolve the problem, or else join the vaulted memories of the two other crews who had gone quiet into that good night. “Primaries dead. Secondaries are shot to hell,” the mission commander noted beside her, turning to the brunette as he asked a question to which he already knew the answer. Desperation drove him to ask it anyway. “Can you fly?”

The woman shook her head, frustration and panic showing in her eyes. “The back-ups still haven’t kicked in. That last ohms burn put us in a flat spin, I can’t get us out of it!”

“All right...” the commander stated, running back through the various checklists in front of him. Seconds ticked by, the countdown running in the back of his mind. Swallowing a final breath, he turned his head and directed his eyes toward the cockpit windows. Through the nauseating spin were brief glimpses of Earth. The man imagined he could see Tennessee. He would like to have seen home one last time. Cracked lips parted in what he imagined could well be the last breath he ever took. So he said the only last orders that he could imagine giving. “Pray if you got’em.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
​

National Aeronautic & Space Administration
Pike Island Research Facility, Metropolis

The sound of a door being thrown open and light suddenly illuminating what had been a darkened room shook the young Kryptonian from out of his deep slumber. Brown eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as the child sat up in the bed and teetered on the edge of consciousness. Beside him, Krypto gave a whine and a snort. “Wha’s wrong?” the boy mumbled sleepily, rubbing at his eyes with one hand as he squinted at the silhouette framed against the doorway.

The only response that came were two articles thrown onto the bed. A pair of jeans and a red t-shirt. The shirt was emblazoned with the black outline of the Kryptonian symbol for hope, the stylized S-shield which had become associated with Superman on this world.

“You said your name is Superboy,” the Dabney Donovan commented simply, his eyes never leaving the boy’s. “How would you like the chance to prove it?”

 

[Byrd Man]

A wall of heat from the explosion hits me, making me cringe. When I open my eyes again, I see a red figure falling out of the sky. Try as I might, I'm not fast enough to catch him, and I'm forced to simply watch as he collides with the pavement. Oh my God. Please, no...

My heart stops until the figure starts to move. Looking to the sky, I announce happily, "Thank you, God!" Whoever he is, he's alive. My record remains spotless. Flying down, I'm hit with another surprise.

"The Flash?!"

I've heard of him, of course. Central City's own superhero. He operates right across the river from me, but amazingly we haven't crossed paths so far. Well, this certainly explains how he was able to survive that fall.

Lowering myself down so that my feet hover mere inches above the pavement, I ask, "Oh my God, are you alright? I didn't know you were in there."

"S-Superman?" I ask, picking myself up off the pavement. "Wait...you're not Superman, unless you had a sex chance. If you did, I'm impressed. I didn't realize they could make you look so....hot."

Another explosion shakes the factory. I turn to look at the newest arrival.

"Sounds like they're calling our song. If you can live up to that S on your chest, want to help me out?"

 

[Eddie Brock]

"S-Superman?" I ask, picking myself up off the pavement. "Wait...you're not Superman, unless you had a sex chance. If you did, I'm impressed. I didn't realize they could make you look so....hot."

Another explosion shakes the factory. I turn to look at the newest arrival.

"Sounds like they're calling our song. If you can live up to that S on your chest, want to help me out?"

I stare at the building. X-Ray vision shows twenty-three people still trapped inside the plant. "You go low, I go high?" I ask Flash. He nods before disappearing in a red blur. I follow suit, flying as fast as I can over the building. Dropping down through a hole in the collapsing roof, I scan the upper floors with my X-Ray vision again.

Spotting a struggling plant worker, I duck under an exposed support beam while simultaneously dodging a flare-up. I find the plant worker trapped under a metal beam. Slipping one hand underneath it, I lift and pull the man out from under it. He's barely conscious.

There's another explosion ahead, and the room lights up like a Christmas tree. It takes a lot to make me feel uncomfortable, but even this is too hot - which means that the plant worker definitely isn't safe. A quick blast of arctic breath extinguishes the flames, letting me tuck the man under my arm and fly him through the roof.

From above the plant, I can see a red blur dropping off rescued plant workers. He does move quickly. Adding my newest rescue to the group, I fly back into the plant to find the rest.

About five minutes and eleven plant workers later, I've cleared the upper floors. Predictably, the Flash is already done clearing his half. Frowning, I examine my cape. It took the worst of the damage for today.

"Several of these workers suffered serious smoke inhalation - a handful of burns, too - but all in all, it looks like everyone's going to be okay," I announce as I approach the Flash. Smiling, I add, "Thanks to you." I pause. "Thanks to us, I guess."

 

[Byrd Man]

I stare at the building. X-Ray vision shows twenty-three people still trapped inside the plant. "You go low, I go high?" I ask Flash. He nods before disappearing in a red blur. I follow suit, flying as fast as I can over the building. Dropping down through a hole in the collapsing roof, I scan the upper floors with my X-Ray vision again.

Spotting a struggling plant worker, I duck under an exposed support beam while simultaneously dodging a flare-up. I find the plant worker trapped under a metal beam. Slipping one hand underneath it, I lift and pull the man out from under it. He's barely conscious.

There's another explosion ahead, and the room lights up like a Christmas tree. It takes a lot to make me feel uncomfortable, but even this is too hot - which means that the plant worker definitely isn't safe. A quick blast of arctic breath extinguishes the flames, letting me tuck the man under my arm and fly him through the roof.

From above the plant, I can see a red blur dropping off rescued plant workers. He does move quickly. Adding my newest rescue to the group, I fly back into the plant to find the rest.

About five minutes and eleven plant workers later, I've cleared the upper floors. Predictably, the Flash is already done clearing his half. Frowning, I examine my cape. It took the worst of the damage for today.

"Several of these workers suffered serious smoke inhalation - a handful of burns, too - but all in all, it looks like everyone's going to be okay," I announce as I approach the Flash. Smiling, I add, "Thanks to you." I pause. "Thanks to us, I guess."

"Yeah, that was pretty sweet."

Ambulances and fire truck sirens are starting to fill the air. They're a few minutes out.

"Surprised we haven't met before. I run through Keystone as much as I do Central. You just start up or what?"