The Ultimate DC RPG - Season III

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald read about the latest happenings in Gotham and shakes his head.

I wonder if this is all worth it. This war that I helped create, the costumed freaks running around, and the other chaos, sooner or later I'll have a lot to answer for but for now I'll just let the chips fall where they may.

He sips his tea and feeds Titan when a phone call comes through on his L-Phone.

He says, "Ahh Mayor Thorne what seems to be on your mind?"

Thorne replies with a broken spirit, "You won Oswald. You've won."

Oswald asks, "What Mayor Thorne? Won what?"

Thorne says, "The destruction of the Wonder Tower. You made your point."


Oswald replies, "Mayor Thorne I had nothing to do with that. Nothing at all."

Thorne replies, "Don't give me that Oswald! A dramatic show of force!"

Oswald says, "Mayor Thorne in all the years you've known me have you ever known me to do something that theatrical?"

Thorne replies, "It doesn't matter anymore. You want this stinking crime ridden landfill you and whoever wants can have it. I'm resigning and moving to Metropolis there will be a press briefing at noon today. Deputy Mayor Linseed will take over then."

Oswald says, "All-right then. For what it's worth we were friends once, and I'm sorry that it came to this."

Thorne replies, "So am I Oswald. So am I. Goodbye my friend."

Oswald says, "Enjoy your life my friend."

Oswald hangs up and says to Titan, "I suspect who blew up the tower, and if he wants Gotham he can have it. As long as I get Wayne Enterprises."

 

[Batman]

"True. I think leveling one building a night is a limit for most folks."

I unloosened my tie knot and rubbed my neck. "I've been in this suit too long. And I need a shower... really, I need a shower ASAP."

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

We take a moment to shake hands and give eachother a knowing nod. It's the closest to a "thank you" or "good work" that I can manage after everything that's happened tonight. Every part of my body is aching, and my mind isn't much better off, still reeling from Bane's escape. I can tell that I'm in desperate need of a few hour's rest, since I know I won't be able to sleep in the whole day. Being Head Psychiatrict at Arkham --- well, Blackgate Island doesn't really allow for alot of paid-time off. Even if I could use the time to reorganize and get a fix on where to strike next, Crane isn't about to let me slip up because chances are we're about to see a couple of new patients as a result of this.

Frankly, I'm more worried about having to see Harley again. She's been giving me the silent treatment for a month, after the way we left everything, and it's got to end eventually. When it does, it'll probably get ugly - words will be exchanged that I'm sure both of us are going to regret. And not that I don't deserve every bit of it, but after tonight? I could stand for a bit more of the silence.

"Be sure to get some rest, too. After tonight, we're all gonna have to step up our game. As bad as Gotham used to be..."

"I think it just got a hell of alot worse."

On that rather unpleasant note, I take a step forward and leap out into the night's sky, grabbing onto a flagpole and vaulting ahead, working my way across the next few gaps. My own words are still ringing in my ears as I venture even further into Gotham. We're all gonna have to step up our game. The question is...

How are we supposed to do that?

"Control, this is Wilson. I've got a few things to report."'

From the viewpoint of an infared scope imbedded in his helmet, Slade Wilson watches both vigilantes known as The Question and Red Hood depart from the scene of their crash landing. He had been watching their progress in the East End for hours, using a sniper rife's scope to cover all of the action atop of Wonder Tower. Apparently, there was a new power player in the city, and one that intended to play for keeps. The act of destruction was easily akin to any number of terrorist attacks in recent years, but that wasn't what had managed to attract the assassin called Deathstroke's attention.

It was the lack of a certain other vigilante's prescence during all of this.

"Has the target been neutralized?"

Slade bit his tongue, knowing for damn sure that his answer to that question would determine whether or not he could secure the pay. But after everything that happened tonight? It almost didn't matter. Things in Gotham City were starting to get interesting.

"Negative. That's why I called. The Bat hasn't shown himself in the five hours I've been scoping out the place. And believe me, he would've at least done that after what just happened."

"That's very unfortunate, Mr. Wilson. However, you don't seem to be particularly dissatisfied. Care to mention why?"

"Because I don't think he could have shown. All hell broke loose in his town, and contrary to his reputation, there wasn't even a hint of pointy ears. Which means that your Bat problem has already been taken care of. Somebody else must have got to him,"

Underneath his mask, a smile brimmed across Wilson's lips, shifting his attention from two to one of the masked vigilantes who did manage to show tonight. Revenge was certainly about to be coming his way, if he played it smart and bided his time.

"If that's really true, then I have an ultimatum to present. Because I think I just found the guy next in line for the throne..."

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

Bishop Laboratories

Keystone City, KS


As contractors to the US government, Bishop Laboratories housed many a top secret project. As such, security inside the facility was the highest. A dozen armed guards patrolled outside the facility. An electric fence surrounded the compound and the lab itself had three feet thick, steel reinforced walls. For all its security measures, all it took was one man's powers over Mother Nature to make it all crumbling down. The electric fence had been shattered to ice shards, the armed guards frozen and encased in blocks of ice. And now, ice was eating through the secure walls and eroding away the reinforced walls.

WHAM!

A frozen chunk of wall came crumbling down, allowing a perfect hole. A figure walked across the frozen rubble and entered the lab.​

"Captain Cold to Top. I'm in."

"Proceed to lab 4F," the voice of Dr. Roscoe Dillon said into Cold's earpiece.

Snart acknowledged and came to a stop outside a sealed door marked 4F. A quick blast of frozen energy knocked the door down. Cold walked inside the lab where a box was sitting on a table. He popped open the box and looked inside at three vials, one filled with red liquid, one filled with green liquid, and one with blue liquid.

"I found it," Cold said into his mic. He picked the box up and looked at it. "What is it?"

"Need to know only, Snart. Now--"
"That," a deep, calm voice crackled across the line. It was a voice that Snart had only heard once before. The time he had met Dillon's boss. The Octopus. "That is how I take the Twin Cities for all they're worth."
​

Axis Chemicals-Kansas
Keystone City, KS
12:12 PM

I skidded to a stop outside the chemical factory. Flames covered the building's roof and licked the sides and exterior walls of the facility. The intensity and heat coming from the building suggested it was a chemical fire. That'd be harder to put out. But before I could deal with the fire, I had to worry about the people probably trapped inside the building.

I took off into the burning building, speeding through the factory to find any survivors. I came to a stop in front of a burning vat of ammonia, coughing and covering my mouth from the fumes.

WOOOOOSH!

A column of flames erupted from the fire and twirled towards me. I quickly dodged the flames. While the fire was out of reach, the heat irradiating off of it heated up my cheeks.

"I missed," a voice said from the flames. A figure emerged from the fire.

"I don't miss twice."

Heatwave leveled her guns at me and shot full bore. I frantically twirled my arms to counter, creating a whirlwind that blew back the fire from her flamethrowers.

"How about now?!" I said as the fire reached her and began to cover her suit. I began to look around while she furiously patted out the flames on her fire-******ant suit. "This place is too hot for your boyfriend,"I said, sweat beginning to drip from my cheeks. "I know you two like to travel in a pack. So, where's Snart?"

"Wassa matter?" A voice with a thick Scottish accent asked from somewhere close. "He yer girlfriend or somethin'?"

I looked around everywhere for the voice's owner.

"Show yourself, McCulloch!"
"How about ye find me?"

Suddenly, four different Mirror Masters appeared beside me. All of them had their hands on their hips, McCulloch's annoying grin on their faces.

"Would ya look at that," they all said in unison. "The wee lad McCulloch's learned a few tricks. Me mum would be so proud. Now, which one of us is the real--"

I took off, bursting the glass projections into shards with super-excelerated punches. In just a few micro-seconds, I had the real Mirror Master in my hands. "Nice trick, McCulloch, but you need to--"

Suddenly, the man cracked and shattered into hundreds of shards of glass, slipping through my fingers and landing on the floor.

"I need to what? Get better? Oh, aye. On that, I agree with ye, lad."

The shards rapidly assembled themselves again, presenting a full-grown Mirror Master in front of me. His right hand shifted and turned into a glass sword. "Better, see?"

McCulloch swung wide at me, aiming for my neck. I stepped back quickly to avoid it, just in time to be knocked to the side by a fiery blast from Heatwave.

I fell to the ground, rolling my body on the ground to kill the flames while the two rogues loomed over me.

"Burn," Rory said through the comm system on her mask. She pointed her guns straight at me and pressed the triggers.

BOOM!

Before Heatwave's fiery blast could hit me, the entire warehouse shook and rattled as a vat of chemicals exploded. Her aim was thrown off by the shaking, allowing me a tiny window to rush forward and tackle her with the force of a brick wall hitting her. Rory struggled to catch her breath as she fell to the ground. The walls of the warehouse began to shudder and groan.

"The whole place is coming down," Rory moaned from the floor. I turned and saw McCulloch darting into the mirrored surface of a hydrogen tank.

"**** this, I'm out!"

I looked up and saw the support beams beginning to crumble and fall. I took off, scooping Rory up as I ran. The chemical plant collapsed in on itself as I skidded to a stop in the parking lot outside, a dazed and confused Heatwave in my arms.

"What's going on?!" I shouted at Rory as I ripped her visor off. "Where's Snart?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she hissed out.

"First that break in at the labs last night, then Mardon, and now you two clowns. What's his game?"

"Find out for yourself!"

She moved fast, whipping her flamethrowers into my face. But, as always, I was faster. She pressed the triggers on her guns.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

"Can't start much of a fire without fuel," I said as I held up the disconnected fuel lines that ran to her flameguns. That was when I noticed the mirrored glare in the visor in my hands.

"SUCK IT!" Mirror Master cried out from the reflection. He jumped through the mirror and towards me. He missed hitting me, but was met with a sped-up fist to the face. "Umph," McCulloch grunted as he fell to the ground. I stood up and looked down at two dazed criminals. I turned and saw fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars pulling up at the scene. McCulloch nursed his face, grunting in pain. "My 'aw, ye 'roke my 'ucking 'aw, ye bawbag!"

"Where's Snart," I asked Rory. I reached through the open hole in her suit and placed my index finger on her forehead. I started to slowly trace a circle in her forehead, picking up speed with each complete revolution. "Talk or I go faster and faster. Soon enough, I create enough speed and friction to bore through your head like a drill... You've always liked fire, right?"

"The river!" She shouted. "He's at the river."

I winked at Rory and disappeared, only a slight red circle etched into her head.



Central City
12:15 PM

"C'mon, c'mon," Ralph Dibny said into his phone. He was in the passenger seat of a CCPD car, Denny Colt was behind the wheel. "Went to voicemail again. Bart's not picking up, same with Jay and Barry."

"If you haven't noticed, both cities are in chaos right now," Denny said. He took a left at the next turn and sped down the street. "They need me at the hospital, and I'm sure Captain Garrick and Lieutenant Allen are dealing with problems here. Why do you need to talk to Bart? He's just a labrat."

"I just need to," Ralph said with a sideways glance towards Denny. "Do you have a map of the area?"

"Look in the glove compartment. What are you looking for?"

"Sewer treatment plants, reservoirs, any place where there can be significant run off."

"Why, exactly?"

"That break in at Bishop Labs last night? Something serious was stolen. Three different types of chemicals. Alone, they're harmless. But mixed together? They create a powerful nerve agent. Someone puts that in the drinking water, then the twin cities are done for."

"And you know this because?"

"I'm a PI, and Bishop Labs hired me to get it back."
Ralph had the map out and was scanning it.

"Here," he said, pointing to a spot in the map. "Starr Hill Reservoir. I think that, whoever is behind all this chaos today, they're planning something. We need to get there now."

Denny looked at Ralph then back at the road. He took one hand off the steering wheel and tossed his cellphone to Ralph.

"I'll get us there. Call or text Commissioner Dolan, Jay and Barry and tell them what's going on."

"And Bart," Ralph said, flipping open the phone. "Gotta let Bart know what's going on..."


Missouri River
12:18 PM

Lenny Snart was walking on water, well more like ice. He had his hands out and creating a path of ice as he walked across the river.

"Rory gave it up, just like we asked her to," Roscoe Dillon said into the earpiece wedged into Snart's ear.

"She better be okay, dammit."

"No need to worry. A little roughed up, but I think Mirror Master is in worse shape. Flash is on the way."

"Alright. Captain Cold, out."

Snart disengaged the line and began to freeze the water of the river, slowly spreading out until the whole patch of river was frozen from bank to bank. He stepped back and smiled as he saw a red figure streaking towards the riverbank.

"Time to kick some ass."

 

[Batman]

"Oracle, if you'd be so kind. I'd like to have a word."

It feels so bloody odd to be saying those words, at a time like this. But the fairly inactive computer system acknowledges my command and the complies accordingly, activating the secondary generators that Mr. Wayne had installed by hand to light the dark caverns that once housed a proud warrior. Looking at it all now, with the systems covered in tarp and the computer grid collecting dust, you'd think a lifetime had passed since any of it were put to use. For me, it's rather difficult to take in. Because it only serves as a reminder that while I've tried to do everything in my power to honor the life Bruce Wayne these past few weeks, his existence as apart of these sordid dwellings is one that I've remained less than faithful to. Not that I was ever particularly supportive of the path he'd chosen for himself in the first place. He is my closest friend, and to see himself willingly endure a constant stream of torture on a nightly basis was maddening.

Only when he was finally free of it all did I realize just how important it all really was. My eyes drift out into the dark corners of the armory, catching the faintest glimpse of a glass case that houses that infernal cape and cowl. Untouched and unworn by it's owner, acting as merely a shell of the man that Gotham needs now more than ever. Perhaps I misjudged it, after all these years. Maybe it wasn't torture. Maybe, underneath the pain that's burdened him, it was his only true method of catharsis.

"Oracle Systems Online. Welcome, Mr. Jarvis."

My attention is brought back to the grid, startled by the familiar - yet sorely missed voice of the module. I must admit, it is somewhat relieving to hear it once again. A fact of which leads me to only silently wonder what that says about these appauling circumstances.

"Beginning Manual Diagnostics. Automatic System Update Required. Do I Have Authorization?"

"By all means, have at it. I'm certainly in no sort of hurry."

While it continues to do whatever it needs to do, I quietly look around and stroll over to one of the nearby tables. Covered in tarp, like everything else. After Mr. Wayne's - well, accident - I had taken the liberty of covering everything up to preserve as best that I could. But the action was an afterthought, at best. I took no interest in what I was actually concealing beneath these sheets. Carefully, I grab at the fabric and pull it from the metal stand, assaulted by an onslaught of dust that causes me to recoil and begin a choking fit.

"Damndable... *cough* machinations!"

By the time I've recovered, My eyes glance back over to see what I've uncovered. And to my surprise, it's a series of different little things. Tools, of sorts. Partly built or improved by Mr. Wayne himself, in what little time he could ever spare for it. I look closer, realizing that there are even plans and blueprints beneath each piece, left open from when he was last actively working on them. Slipping a page out from beneath what looks to be a small, commercial hand-held cannon of some sort, I read over the instructions and notes.

My word. With a bit of time, I could actually finish some of these for him. It seems simple enough to really...

"WARNING! Priorty Eight Active! Priority Eight Active! Switching To Manual Commands!"

My attention vexed between the plans and Oracle, I turn back towards the grid and type the first few keys. It recognizes my signature DNA, but it seems rather - unresponsive, at best. I try to bypass whatever it's going on about, this "Priority Eight", but it refuses to allow me to guide it away. Eventually, I start to become frustrated.

"Unable To Comply."

"Oracle, what is the meaning of this? I don't bloody know what a Priority Eight is!"

"Priority Eight Override!"

"Yes, I already know that! What is Priority Eight?"

"Priority Eight Override!"

Stunned by the absurdity of this, I rest my head into my arms and defeatedly beat on the control panel. I've never pretended to understand this bucket of bolts, and I have no intention of learning how to use it. I simply wanted to help Mr. Wayne by seeing if there was anything I could do to use his technology in the aid of Gotham's citizens. But it seems that it was a futile gesture - this damned thing isn't about to let me!

"Oh, bullocks to this!"

"Password Accepted. Beginning Priority Eight Interface."

My eyes dart up to the screen, unsure of what I just heard.

"I beg your pardon?"

It needed... a password. A password of something only I would have ever been liable to say.

What in the good lord above's name is Priority Eight?

"Priority Eight Interface Complete. Uploading..."

Before my very eyes, a series of lines begin to form infront of me. Each one of them forming a series of text, creating sentences. They're instructions. Written by Mr. Wayne, dated back to at least thirteen months prior. I stare back at them, amazed, slowly beginning to read what's been left for me. If my voice was the only one able to open this, he obviously intended for this to be read while he was away.

And a few sentences in, I begin to understand why.

"My god."

It's a last will and testament.

Bruce wrote himself a last will and testament. Just a little over a year ago, no less. Specifically giving me instructions on what to do if he should never return, following his many journeys into the night. Why would he ever feel the need to write this? Could he have doubted his own abilities that much? There's so much about this that leaves me thrown. How could this have existed without my knowedge, being the key question on my mind as I continue to read.

Of course, what I find listed first is obvious. He lists a number of very detailed descriptions of how to split apart his inheritence, starting with Master Dick, then gradually working it's way towards Harriet, Helena, Mr. Todd and myself. I almost want to smile, but he knows I would never accept it.

Then I get to his corporate concerns. Apparently, he planned to use all of his shares of Waynetech's stock towards something. A file he entitles "WynFndtn", which I assume is located somewhere on this system. I'll have to give that a look in time.

Then I finally stop on the third item.

And my eyes go wider than they have in quite some time.

"...My god."

So that's what Priority Eight really is. It isn't a last will and testament...

It's a plan of action.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

"I'm not going back," Flag said. "I got a seriously injured man, a man with valuable intel on the people who did this. We're going to get him out of here ASAP. You want to stick around? Nightshade can get you on the ground. Either that, or the parachute in the back. Be my guest."

A wounded man!

Atom may be Superhero but Rhiannon Palmer is a doctor of Medicine as well and that takes priority.

Atom looks at Flag and says, "Where is your wounded man? I can help."

Flag looks at Atom for a momnet and she says, "I'm a doctor I can help him right now. If you're not sure call Waller and she can verify me."

Atom floats to the back of the plane and with her back turned to Flag she transforms back into Rhiannon Plamer. She then grabs a towel and wraps it around her head so only her eyes are showing.

She says, "Show me where he is and I can get to work right now. You have a med kit here on board and I have seen other items on here that can help."

 

[Byrd Man]

​

A wounded man!

Atom may be Superhero but Rhiannon Palmer is a doctor of Medicine as well and that takes priority.

Atom looks at Flag and says, "Where is your wounded man? I can help."

Flag looks at Atom for a momnet and she says, "I'm a doctor I can help him right now. If you're not sure call Waller and she can verify me."

Atom floats to the back of the plane and with her back turned to Flag she transforms back into Rhiannon Plamer. She then grabs a towel and wraps it around her head so only her eyes are showing.

She says, "Show me where he is and I can get to work right now. You have a med kit here on board and I have seen other items on here that can help."

"No," Flag said with a shake of his head. "We have him stable condition, but he needs surgery. I don't care if you're the reincarnation of Hippocrates himself, you're not touching him. I already lost one man to a costumed freak, I lose him and that sacrifice was for nothing. You want to help someone, lady? Go save a cat in a tree."

Flag fixed Atom with a steely gaze. "Nightshade? Create a portal. It's time we show the Atom the door."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

"No," Flag said with a shake of his head. "We have him stable condition, but he needs surgery. I don't care if you're the reincarnation of Hippocrates himself, you're not touching him. I already lost one man to a costumed freak, I lose him and that sacrifice was for nothing. You want to help someone, lady? Go save a cat in a tree."

Flag fixed Atom with a steely gaze. "Nightshade? Create a portal. It's time we show the Atom the door."

Rhiannon transforms back into The Atom and meets Flag's gaze with one of her own.

She says, "That's right Colonel! All costumed freaks are the root of evil! Forget the fact that I came to help where I could WITHOUT being asked and don't think I'm naive! I know exactly how agencies like yours run!"

She is now in full voice when she says, "God Forbid you're acctally wrong about those of us who wear a costume! We may have certain metahuman abilities but we are trying to make a difference! I have seen crap you cannot begin to imagine! You think your the only who has suffered loss and been betrayed by those you once trusted? You think because I wear a mask I'm immune from loss and pain? DO YOU? I've buried a Husband and a son and I have lost everything I held sacred in my life at one point! I didn't ask for these powers but I have them so I choose to try and make a difference."

Her jaw locks as she growls, "Yes we have those who are like Giganta! Who abuse their powers but there are those of us who give a damn about humanity and are trying to help! You got a chip on your shoulder about us! FINE! But don't lump all of us in the same group! Imagine how screwed up this planet would be if Star'ro had won! What stopped it? The Justice League! You think you and your unit could've stopped it? You all make a difference that cannot be denied, but don't think because you carry a gun or can rip someone's throat out a dozen ways that makes you better than the rest of us who are trying to make a difference!"

She looks over at Nightshade and says, "If you want a portal fine. Make it close to the scene of our pull out!"

She looks back at Flag and says, "Peice of advice! Not all villains wear costumes! Watch your boss I know Waller better than all of you I have dealt with her directly! She has tried three times to destroy my life and my family! A leopard never changes it's spots Colonel! Eventually Waller will screw you over worse than you could ever imagine!"

 

[Byrd Man]

She looks back at Flag and says, "Peice of advice! Not all villains wear costumes! Watch your boss I know Waller better than all of you I have dealt with her directly! She has tried three times to destroy my life and my family! A leopard never changes it's spots Colonel! Eventually Waller will screw you over worse than you could ever imagine!"

"She's a *****, no doubt about that," Flag said as the air behind Atom began to ripple, a portal growing behind her. "But at least she's a ***** that can be put down with two bullets to the head. Wish I could say the same about the people in your crowd. Fact of the matter is this: we're not here to make this world a better place, we stop it from being a worse place. The people I work with are scum."

"Thanks for the encouragement, boss."

"But they're scum I can keep in line by force. You and your buddies might mean well, but who the hell will be there to stop you if and when you snap? Nobody, and we'll just take it. Like that tiny country Superman tore to shreds with his bare hands. You do good, no doubt about that... but it's what you might do that I don't like."

Flag looked through Nightshade's portal at the crater where Cape Town had been.

"All things considered, thank you for your help. You saved my life."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

"She's a *****, no doubt about that," Flag said as the air behind Atom began to ripple, a portal growing behind her. "But at least she's a ***** that can be put down with two bullets to the head. Wish I could say the same about the people in your crowd. Fact of the matter is this: we're not here to make this world a better place, we stop it from being a worse place. The people I work with are scum."

"Thanks for the encouragement, boss."

"But they're scum I can keep in line by force. You and your buddies might mean well, but who the hell will be there to stop you if and when you snap? Nobody, and we'll just take it. Like that tiny country Superman tore to shreds with his bare hands. You do good, no doubt about that... but it's what you might do that I don't like."

Flag looked through Nightshade's portal at the crater where Cape Town had been.

"All things considered, thank you for your help. You saved my life."

Atom softens her tone and says, "The tiny country and Superman. Long story and yeah you got a point can't argue that one. A long story that's not for public knowledge, but I understand and I see your point. Concerning Waller you might actually have better luck with a steak through the heart."

She starts to head for the portal and says to Flag, "Keep up the good fight Colonel. You got what it takes to hold the line."

With that Atom flies through the portal back to Cape Town.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Atom softens her tone and says, "The tiny country and Superman. Long story and yeah you got a point can't argue that one. A long story that's not for public knowledge, but I understand and I see your point. Concerning Waller you might actually have better luck with a steak through the heart."

She starts to head for the portal and says to Flag, "Keep up the good fight Colonel. You got what it takes to hold the line."

With that Atom flies through the portal back to Cape Town.

The portal closed behind the Atom and Flag headed up to the cockpit where Nightshade was back in the pilot's seat. He sat down in the co-pilot's chair and looked at the pale, dark haired agent.

"Alright, Eve, there's a US military field hospital in Somalia. Fly as fast as you can."

"You got it, Rick."
"Good work with Atom, Flag," Waller said in his ear. "Sounds like I'm rubbing off on you."

"God help me, I think you might be."

"And Rick? I overhear you calling me a ***** again, I will have you taken out behind Belle Reve, lined up on the wall, and I will shoot you myself. Understand?"

"Roger that, ma'am."

"Good. Call me when you're in Somalia and Nemesis is in surgery. Sarge, Calculator, and I are boarding a plane. We're going to debrief Nemesis as soon as he wakes up. Waller out."

The line went dead and Flag leaned back in the chair and looked out the front of the jet as it picked up speed and altitude, the horrors of Cape Town fading fast in the plane's wake.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

BOOM!

Before Heatwave's fiery blast could hit me, the entire warehouse shook and rattled as a vat of chemicals exploded. Her aim was thrown off by the shaking, allowing me a tiny window to rush forward and tackle her with the force of a brick wall hitting her. Rory struggled to catch her breath as she fell to the ground. The walls of the warehouse began to shudder and groan.

"The whole place is coming down," Rory moaned from the floor. I turned and saw McCulloch darting into the mirrored surface of a hydrogen tank.

"**** this, I'm out!"

I looked up and saw the support beams beginning to crumble and fall. I took off, scooping Rory up as I ran. The chemical plant collapsed in on itself as I skidded to a stop in the parking lot outside, a dazed and confused Heatwave in my arms.

"What's going on?!" I shouted at Rory as I ripped her visor off. "Where's Snart?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," she hissed out.

"First that break in at the labs last night, then Mardon, and now you two clowns. What's his game?"

"Find out for yourself!"

She moved fast, whipping her flamethrowers into my face. But, as always, I was faster. She pressed the triggers on her guns.

CLICK! CLICK! CLICK!

"Can't start much of a fire without fuel," I said as I held up the disconnected fuel lines that ran to her flameguns. That was when I noticed the mirrored glare in the visor in my hands.

"SUCK IT!" Mirror Master cried out from the reflection. He jumped through the mirror and towards me. He missed hitting me, but was met with a sped-up fist to the face. "Umph," McCulloch grunted as he fell to the ground. I stood up and looked down at two dazed criminals. I turned and saw fire trucks, ambulances, and police cars pulling up at the scene. McCulloch nursed his face, grunting in pain. "My 'aw, ye 'roke my 'ucking 'aw, ye bawbag!"

"Where's Snart," I asked Rory. I reached through the open hole in her suit and placed my index finger on her forehead. I started to slowly trace a circle in her forehead, picking up speed with each complete revolution. "Talk or I go faster and faster. Soon enough, I create enough speed and friction to bore through your head like a drill... You've always liked fire, right?"

"The river!" She shouted. "He's at the river."

I winked at Rory and disappeared, only a slight red circle etched into her head.



Central City
12:15 PM

"C'mon, c'mon," Ralph Dibny said into his phone. He was in the passenger seat of a CCPD car, Denny Colt was behind the wheel. "Went to voicemail again. Bart's not picking up, same with Jay and Barry."

"If you haven't noticed, both cities are in chaos right now," Denny said. He took a left at the next turn and sped down the street. "They need me at the hospital, and I'm sure Captain Garrick and Lieutenant Allen are dealing with problems here. Why do you need to talk to Bart? He's just a labrat."

"I just need to," Ralph said with a sideways glance towards Denny. "Do you have a map of the area?"

"Look in the glove compartment. What are you looking for?"

"Sewer treatment plants, reservoirs, any place where there can be significant run off."

"Why, exactly?"

"That break in at Bishop Labs last night? Something serious was stolen. Three different types of chemicals. Alone, they're harmless. But mixed together? They create a powerful nerve agent. Someone puts that in the drinking water, then the twin cities are done for."

"And you know this because?"

"I'm a PI, and Bishop Labs hired me to get it back."
Ralph had the map out and was scanning it.

"Here," he said, pointing to a spot in the map. "Starr Hill Reservoir. I think that, whoever is behind all this chaos today, they're planning something. We need to get there now."

Denny looked at Ralph then back at the road. He took one hand off the steering wheel and tossed his cellphone to Ralph.

"I'll get us there. Call or text Commissioner Dolan, Jay and Barry and tell them what's going on."

"And Bart," Ralph said, flipping open the phone. "Gotta let Bart know what's going on..."


Missouri River
12:18 PM

Lenny Snart was walking on water, well more like ice. He had his hands out and creating a path of ice as he walked across the river.

"Rory gave it up, just like we asked her to," Roscoe Dillon said into the earpiece wedged into Snart's ear.

"She better be okay, dammit."

"No need to worry. A little roughed up, but I think Mirror Master is in worse shape. Flash is on the way."

"Alright. Captain Cold, out."

Snart disengaged the line and began to freeze the water of the river, slowly spreading out until the whole patch of river was frozen from bank to bank. He stepped back and smiled as he saw a red figure streaking towards the riverbank.

"Time to kick some ass."

Missouri River
12:19 PM

Cold's icy punch sent me flying. I tumbled through the air until I fell hard on the frozen river, the ice cracking underneath me.

"H... H-" I said through chattering teeth.
"How?" Snart asked as I picked myself back up. He flashed a smirk and held his frost covered fist up. "I've been practicing. Hell, we've all been practicing. You embarrassed the hell out of us a few months ago. While you were out there running around with your buddies in tights, me and my friends were biding our time and getting better."

I moved to charge towards Snart, running as fast I could at him with my fist cocked. "Time to take out the-"

"The garbage? Oh, I agree."

I was knocked back by another blast of freezing energy from Snart's free hand. Ice and frost covered my whole body as I tried to quickly recover.

"You're slower because of me. My aura is irradiating freezing energy out into the area. On both sides of the river, it's a lovely spring day and the temperatures are in the seventies. But here on the river? Thirty below zero. Hard to move fast when the air itself is fighting you, ain't it?"

Cold cracked his frozen knuckles and began to walk towards me. With my breath steaming from my mouth, I began to vibrate my body. I started slowly at first, picking up speed quicker and quicker.

"I'm moving my whole body now. Every molecule rubbing up against atoms and microscopic particles, creating friction. Know what friction creates?"

I jutted my arm out at Snart and spun it as fast as I could.

"Heat!"

Cold was knocked back by the gust. I was up and racing towards him as fast as I could. I was going much slower than I usually ran, but it was faster than Snart could handle. He was back on his feet, swinging at me with his iced-cover fists. I dodged and knocked him to his knees with a hard punch to the stomach.

"You, Mardon, Rory, and McCulloch have terrorized this city for over twenty minutes now. Countless lives at risk in both cities...

I stood over Cold with my fist cocked, ready to strike.

"Tell me!" I roared. "What were you doing?!"

"Heh," Snart said as he looked up at me, his glasses astray. "We were running interference, sleight of hand. We were distracting you."

"Why?" I asked. "Tell me now, or so help me--"

"Pfft!" Snart spat, striking me in the face with a icy wad of spit. "Kiss my ass, Flash. I ain't telling you a thing. Take me back to Iron Heights."

BEEP!

The sound of my phone beeping through my suit grabbed my attention. With Cold still on the ground, I stood and pulled my cellphone out. Twelve missed calls, eight text message. All of them from Ralph, all of them concerning the same thing...

"Oh, my God..."

I looked down at Snart and narrowed my eyes. He smiled and winked at me. And like that, I was gone and racing to the outskirts of the city as fast as I could.

 

[Batman]

"Attention! Gotham City Metro-4, heading to The Narrows, is now boarding. Repeat, passengers may now board Gotham Metro-4."

There is something very different in the air, on this ordinary night in Gotham City. Everyone at the Tram Station could feel it lingering in the distance, like a dark cloud looming over their heads. But contrary to what one might equate with such a feeling, it was an oddly comforting and pleasant sensation that only helped to ease the minds of the passengers readying to take the next tram into The Narrows.

Following the fall of Wonder Tower just one week ago, several hundred of the East End's inhabitants had been forcefully evacuated from their homes in order to make way for the clean-up and reconstruction efforts that would surely take months to complete. As a debt of thanks for their cooperation, the last act of resigning Mayor Rupert Thorne was to give the people who had lost their homes vacancy at a series of hotels that had been rented out under the city council's budget. Several saw this as an attempt to put an end the outcry and public scrutiny following the GCPD's lack of coordination during the devastating and violent events that led to the Tower's fall, but few were actually complaining when the day to move came to pass.

The only downside was that, with the West and Financial Districts occupied, and nowhere to stay in Chinatown, the only viable option was for the civillians to be moved to The Narrows - the island housing among some of the worst neighborhoods that Gotham had to offer. Which, for a city that had just suffered one of the worst acts of modern terrorism only after a rampant crimespree had devastated an entire portion of it, was saying quite alot. Several families hauled their belongings to the monorail's many waiting trams, hoping to start anew after all of the chaos.

What no one seemed to notice was the prescence of a woman in the crowd, with skin so very fair and beautiful and hair that was as deep a red as the most radiant flower. Silently, she advanced ahead and acknowledged no one, keeping to herself with seemingly no belongings to offer. Her face was practically invisible from sight, hidden in shadow from a high-collared dark trenchcoat that she seemed to be making a concentrated effort to keep close to her skin.

Quietly, she thought to herself about what was to transpire this evening. What unimaginable horror that would be inflicted upon the people of Gotham once the seeds had been planted for a hostile takeover of unimaginable scale. Many would die, and few would be able to resist it's hold.

Even still, she felt no remorse. And even smiled at the thought.

"Un-freakin' believeable!"

Nathan Gambol had been risen up the ranks of The Syndicate through the past few months, taking hold of the East End's narcotics trade whenever it seemed as though it were up for grabs. Though he had found no real form of opposition from his follow crimelords, with Syndicate underboss The Chechen holding majority control over the West and the others focusing on the remaining outlets, such as murder for hire and smuggling operations, there had always been an uncertainty among the group that Gambol was the man for the job of keeping the drug trade thriving and discreet in these particularly stressful months.

Even so, it was a surprise for Gambol to be given the news that he was to be replaced. After a unanimous decision that he was never meant to be apart of, The Syndicate had called him to their undisclosed place of meeting to discuss the terms of his organization's move from narcotics to racketeering. But less than ten minutes into the meet, and Gambol soon realized what was clearly evident from the start. There was no discussion to be had.

"You mean to tell me, what... I just gotta hand over my cut of the profit from last month's haul to some new guy?! I already paid enough to this freakin' group to last me a lifetime, I ain't gotta hand over another cent!"

The bosses that usurped Gambol's authority were unsurprised by his unwillingness to cooperate, but still far from pleased at his blatant disrespect. Particularly, Mario Falcone seemed to take offense at Gambol's tone, being the first to speak up.

"With all due respect, Nate, we've cut you plenty of slack in the past. Remember that supply that the GCPD seized after Gordon's broad had a sting operation planted? You promised us that you'd deliver to make up for the losses, and we've yet to see any of that money."

"But we put much into your word,", The Chechen added. "Profits continued uprise. You were allowed free reign. Now we have tired of lack of initiative."

"Initiative?! Have you forgotten who the hell you're talkin' to?! What about the last clown you guys hired! He sure as hell didn't own up to his cut!"

"We do not talk about him. Not tonight. We talk about you."

Gambol sneered. "Yeah. Yeah, I see that now, Russian. Bet you guys talk about me all the time."

Falcone cut into a freshly delivered cigar, waving off Gambol's assertions as he lit it and inhaled.

"Enough. We ain't the bad guys here, you know that. But things have changed in the six months you've been runnin' things. After my father got outta the pen, he's been waiting for the opportunity to get back into the business he started. A business that nobody in this room would be in if not for him. We owe our livelihood to the man, and I intend to see that his intergration as head of this Syndicate goes as smoothly as possible. Which means cuttin' a few of our losses,"

Enraged, Gambol slammed both hands on the table and stared Falcone down.

"So that's what this is about?! You want me to just roll over for daddy?! Give me a goddamn reason why I should!"

"You don't need a reason."

Falcone smiled behind the cigar. "This is how it works, Gambol. You play ball with us, you might still get to operate in this town. You don't, then I'm afraid I'm just gonna have to---to---..."

Suddenly, Falcone's eyes widened. The entire room turned to him, as he removed the cigar from his mouth and began to violently cough. Gambol turned to the others and indicated him, only further annoyed.

"What the hell's his problem?"

"He is fine. Too much of good stuff. Now, let us get back to..."

But despite their resolve to move on, Falcone's violent coughs didn't end. Infact, the more that he choked and banged on the table, the more that it became clear that something was very wrong with him. Buzz Bronski, a longtime associate of the Falcones, ran over to help Mario and offer his hand.

"Mario? Hey, this ain't funny no more. You okay? You need me to get you something?"

Mario Falcone replied by spewing blood all over the table, as if he were projectile vommitting. Several of the bosses grimaced and backed away, watching the bizarre fit only escalate as Falcone suffered through every agonizing second of pain. Just as someone prepared to speak to offer the suggestion of getting him to a doctor, Falcone's body violently began to shake. After a brief stand, he fell face-first onto the table, beginning to display the signs of a seizure.

Even Gambol seemed to become worried, despite his earlier hostility with the man.

"Jesus. Ain't nobody gonna help him?"

"Look!"

The shaking stopped, but Falcone's eyes rolled over and the blood began to pour out by the gallon. If he wasn't dead, then he was certainly never going to be the same man ever again. Bronsky grabbed his arm and checked his pulse, becoming instantly pale in the face.

"Oh, god..."

"No. Can't be. Surely you make mistake?"

What became a horrifying and sudden death for Carmine Falcone's favorite son only gradually became worse, as something began to appear from within his throat. Something green, and growing at a rapid rate. Gambol leaned in, squinting.

"Are those... plants?"

Somewhere far away, the woman on the Tram began to laugh.

The Syndicate would only be the first to feel the wrath of the future Queen of crime.

"Ugh,"

I awaken to the sound of my own alarm clock, blaring at an obscene rate for this hour of the night. Quickly manage to shut it off with a careful slam of my fist, struggling with my sheets to straighten myself out. Head's throbbing. Still feeling a little hungover from last night. Tried to have a quiet evening to myself, and I only ended up visiting my old stomping grounds at the Iceberg. For many reasons, it was not the best idea I've ever had. Hell of a week to be drinking my problems away.

*BZZ! BZZ!*

My eyes flutter open and I glance over at my nightstand, seeing my phone's Caller ID lighting up the dark of the room. Doesn't even take one guess to figure out who it is, as I grab it and inspect the number. Of course he'd be calling me right now. Frankly, he's the only one to be doing that, lately.

Clearing out my throat, I sit up and hesitantly decide to answer. Gonna regret this, I know it...

"Professor Crane,"

"What can I do for you this time?"

He pauses for a moment, before answering. I can tell that I've annoyed him. But I honestly don't think he's capable of showing a hint of genuine emotion beyond his usual tone.

"On the contrary, Doctor Todd. There's something that you can do for me. Considering he's one of your former patients, I'm to assume that you remember the Arnold Etchison case?"

Etchison. Of course I remember him. Paranoid schitzophrenic who believed his family was "out to get him", and solved that dillema by burying a hacksaw into his father's skull, partially consuming a section of his frontal lobe before police would find him. You don't really get to forget a case like that.

"It sounds familiar. Why do you ask?"

"Well, it's fascinating, to say the least, to find out that the court has ordered him to be released from our care after three years with little progress. I would protest the matter, of course, but that would mean taking it up without sufficient grounds. Unless his doctor were to make the case for me..."

My eyes widen, becoming fully awake at the sound of that.

They actually want to release that lunatic? After all of the incidents in court that led to his insanity plea in the first place? For godsakes, they're still calling him the Abattoir in the papers...

"...I'll be there in an hour."

"That would be a wise course of action, Doctor Todd. I would certainly hate to see such a mad dog killer go free on the streets..."

Shutting my phone shut, I advance to my closet in order to grab a fresh change of clothes. Only to back away after a red helmet drops from the closet, still damaged from the fight a week ago.

Meant to work on getting that fixed. No time right now, I guess.

It's what I get for a night to myself.

Damn it all.

 

[Byrd Man]

Personnel Files

From the files of Dr Simon La Grieve

Chicago Police Department Incident Report
Dated 11/21/87

​

Around 0300 hours, Officers Patrick and Jones were dispatched to the Cabrini-Green Housing Projects to respond to a call of a dead body. They found the body of teenaged female in the courtyard, lying prostrate on the ground. Officers discovered a picture ID on the body that identified the female as Jessica Amelia Waller, age 16, a resident of the housing projects. The cuts, bruises, and torn clothes indicated she had been in a severe struggle prior to her death.


Detectives Morales and Peters informed the deceased family shortly after arriving on the scene. The victim's father, Joseph Waller, promptly left the apartment while the victim's mother, Amanda Blake Waller, calmly thanked the detectives for informing her before she left the room to inform her other two children.

Detectives are currently interviewing members of the housing project and establishing a timeline for the victim on the day of her murder.

Update: 11/23/87 Detectives were on the way to arrest Antonio A. Brown for the sexual assault and murder of Jessica Waller when a report of shots fired came from Brown's residence. Once officers were on the scene, they found both Brown and Joseph Waller, the victim's father, dead from gunshot wounds. It appears that Waller broke into Brown's home with a gun, seeking vengeance for his daughter's murder. He was discovered by Brown and a shoot out then commenced between the two men. Brown has been posthumously charged with the murders of Jessica and Joseph Waller and the case is closed.

*****

Confidential memo sent from unknown recruiter/trainer to Langley, VA
​

Final Candidate Assessment:
Amanda Blake Waller


Mrs. Waller has completed her introductory training, both classroom instruction and field exercises. After reviewing her work, I believe she will make an excellent intelligence analyst. She may be a bit older than our usual recruits, but I believe that should be a testament to Mrs. Waller's willpower. She continuously worked alongside recruits ten years younger than her, and never once fell behind. While her physical training was impressive for her age, her analyst and intelligence tests were exceptional. Mrs. Waller appears to possess a razor-sharp mind and has an uncanny ability to anticipate other people's thoughts and upcoming actions very well, with very little information needed. If she can get her hands on some of our intelligence reports, she could work wonders.


With her training done I recommend she be assigned to an intelligence post at Langley as soon as possible. She will be an analyst of the highest caliber.

[BLACKOUT]***************[/BLACKOUT]
06/04/90

*****

Personal letter, dated 5/1/93, sent via the Pentagon to CIA Headquarters in Langley, VA.


Mrs. Waller,

I want to commend you on your excellent work with the Company. I only work with intelligence officers in advisory capacity, but I've heard good things about you. So good, in fact, I want you to come work with me at the Pentagon.

In response to the bombing of the World Trade Center two months ago, the Joint Chiefs have given me approval to start my own special counter-terrorism unit. The unit will be made up of the best soldiers I can find in all the military branches: SEALs, Delta Force, Marines, Air Force all working together under the banner of Longsword.

In addition to fine soldiers, I need the best support staff I can find. I need an excellent intelligence officer, and I've been told by people I trust to look no further. I know you have your family in Washington to worry about, but there's no need to worry. We will work out the Pentagon, and your office hours should be normal.

If you're interested, contact me as soon as you can. If not, well I'll know when you never get back to me.

All the best,
Colonel Wade Eiling
​

*****

Personal memo, dated 1/16/94, sent to A. Waller from J. Johnson, Deputy Director of Intelligence.


Amanda,

Although your cryptic message raised more questions than they answered them, I see nothing wrong with you coming back here to Langley. We could always use you. I've reached out to the Pentagon and they have informed me that Colonel Eiling has already approved the paperwork to transfer you here back to the Company.

With your work in Longsword, I'm assigning you to the Middle Eastern Affairs Bureau. Report to Langley next week and we'll go about issuing you new credentials and classifications.

Welcome back.

*****

Top secret email, sent to unknown to classified recipients
​

Confidential Memo #40591-01

WARNING:
CLASSIFIED AND SENSITIVE INFORMATION
NOT FOR CIRCULATION
​

To:
[BLACKOUT]________ [/BLACKOUT]Director, Central Intelligence;
[BLACKOUT]__________ [/BLACKOUT]Director, Federal Bureau of Investigations;
Gen.[BLACKOUT] ________[/BLACKOUT]Chairman of JCS;
[BLACKOUT]_________[/BLACKOUT]National Security Advisor;
[BLACKOUT]___________[/BLACKOUT]Director, Middle Eastern Affairs;
[BLACKOUT]___________ [/BLACKOUT]FBI Speial Agent in Charge, Counterterrorism Center;
[BLACKOUT]___________ [/BLACKOUT]Special Agent in Charge, FBI New York Field Office;



It's come to my attention that our analyst [BLACKOUT]**************[/BLACKOUT]and her "friend" Special Agent [BLACKOUT] ___________ [/BLACKOUT]of the New York field office have been trying to drum up support on a piece of faulty intelligence. The CIA is committed to its sources inside the radical Islamic movements and can guarantee that the so-called threats concerning a fall plot against New York are nothing but rumors. If there was any kind of serious plot, our sources and intelligence would have indicated any sort of sleeper cell within the United States. There is no intelligence to support their claims that a terrorist attack on New York City is imminent.

Mrs.[BLACKOUT]_____[/BLACKOUT] and her claims will be dealt with by myself, and the FBI will deal with Mr.[BLACKOUT]____[/BLACKOUT] in a manner they see fit. For now, do your best to stop further spreading of this rumor that's being passed off as credible intelligence.

With regards,

[BLACKOUT]
*********************
[/BLACKOUT]
Deputy Director of Intelligence
Central Intelligence Agency
07/21/01

*****

Email from National Security Advisor Chatham
Dated 5/6/07


Mrs. Waller,

Ran your proposal by the President today and he loved it. He signed off on it right away. With the influx of superpowered people and criminals over the last eighteen months, this new team you want to start makes sense. I do agree with the Joint Chiefs when they say that a military man should be involved in heading up the team. These recruits have sketchy backgrounds, and a real military commander would do well. Your old pal, Eiling, sent over a list of potential candidates. You can find them and their service affiliations below:

Lieutenant James Tork, Marine Corps (Marine Special Operations)
Master Sergeant Jonas Blaine, Army (Rangers)
First Sergeant Benjamin Turner, Army (Green Berets)
Lieutenant Commander King Faraday, Navy (Navy SEALs)
Captain Thomas James, Air Force (Special Operations Command)
Major Richard Flag III, Army (Delta Force)


Forward me your list of prisoners and we'll begin to process of setting them up at Belle Reve. From there, you can choose your field leader and the project is all yours.


​

*****

Transcript of session with A. Waller


Dr. Simon La Grieve: Thank you for coming in for this session.

A. Waller: I'm only doing it to shut you up.

LG: I just feel like you've been too tightly wound, Amanda. Looking at your file, you've never had any kind of counseling.

AW: Nope. That's just how I like it. I don't want any weeping headshrinker holding my hand.

LG: It's more than that. We all need to talk to someone every now and then and I know how the work you do can make you internalize everything.

*silence*

LG: Fine. *papers rustling* Mrs. Waller, tell me about Miles O'Brien?

AW: How the hell do you know that name?

LG: It's mentioned in your file, what little I could get. A former FBI agent, killed at the World Trade Center on 9/11. You and him tried to convince everyone that 9/11 was going to happen.

AW: How did you get that information?

LG: I don't--

AW: Tell me right now before I have you thrown into a jail cell!

LG: Fine. *sighs* I got it from Sarge Steel. He gave me a few items of information to look over, he wanted me to come up with an idea of how you were.

AW: Uh-huh... and why didn't he come to me with this? Sarge and I have been tight for fifteen years.

LG: Maybe it's because of how you are, Ma'am. You deal in secrets, they become your nature. You compartmentalize information, only revealing a little bit. Perhaps mister Steel needed a clearer picture.

AW: How much do you know?

LG: About you? A few things. I know about Special Agent O'Brien, some of your work with the CIA, and some of your life before the Agency.

AW: And Chicago? The incident with my daughter and husband?

LG: Yes, I know about that. Reading the report, I noticed you seemed to be distant when the police informed you of your daughter's murder. In my professional opinion, I believe you changed then. You became a different woman than the one you had been up to that point.

AW: You're damn right. I was fifteen when I got pregnant with Jessica. Joe and I got married and let him take control. I always wanted to get out the projects, but he loved it there and I loved him for it. The fool that he was, he actually thought killing that piece of **** would bring Jessica back and he got killed for it. I should have stopped him, I should have said. I should have taken control of the family sooner. See, Doc, people call me a control freak and a *****... but when I'm running the show, things go smoothly. That was the case with my family, my responsibilities with the Company, and with Task Force X.

LG: What about the events leading up to 9/11? Nobody seemed to believe you.

AW: And you saw what happened. Everyone was too wrapped up with petty jealousies between the services to look hard enough... everyone but Miles and I.

LG: From what I read, there was an implication that your relationship with Agent O'Brien was romantic. Was that the case?

AW:... Woman's got needs. That's all I'll say about that.

LG: Did you feel responsible for his death, like you did with your daughter and husband's deaths?

AW:... Next question.

LG: What is... *papers ruffling* this unit Longsword you were part of? I can see that it was a counter-terrorism unit, but you were only with them seven months. What happened, exactly?

AW: Classified. With that, I gotta go take care of something.

LG: Alright. If you don't mind, I'd like to schedule a session with you again sometime.

AW: In twenty-two years of government service, this was my first counseling session. Tell you what, let's wait another twenty-two years. Make a grand tradition of it.

End of transcript.
​

 

[Batman]

Recognized:
Todd, Jason - Clearance Level Five
Welcome, Doctor

I run my access card through and cross into the Penitentury, where they're holding Etchinson while he's being processed. Still haven't gotten used to the automated protocols around here - well, actually, there's alot around here that I haven't gotten used to. Crane as Director was a given after Jerimiah's breakdown, but everything he's brought with him into his bid to change the foundations has me on edge. Automated alarms and digital security mainframe supplied by Waynetech, in a joint partnership of which I'm sure Bruce would have never been particularly happy with. Complete renovation of the Arkham Library, with a round-the-clock effort to transcribe every physical record into a brand new database that Crane himself oversaw the design of. More than tripling the capacity in the Penitentury - a fact of which makes itself abundantly clear, as the noise becomes louder upon approach - to house the Blackgate Prisoners in the merger.

It rubs me the wrong way. Not that Crane himself has been much of a delight, especially after it became clear that Harleen and I weren't seeing eachother anymore. I've seen the way he looks at her, and it shouldn't bother me the way it does. It's like he sees her as just another test subject, or something. I can't really explain it, but it's just... troubling. Not that I can really say anything about it, given that I would have never even touched this promotion under Jerimiah's watch. Crane gave me the opportunity to make a real difference around Arkham---

No. "Blackgate" Asylum. Another change I could have lived without.

"Be careful with him, he can be extremely agressive..."

By the time I make it to his cell, Etchinson is being wheeled out in a straitjacket on a gurney. Seven heavily armed guards are surrounding Crane, protecting him with trained laser-sighted rifles directed onto my patient. My fist only tightens as I approach, realizing what an unnessecary show of force it all is. Then I relent, seeing the look on Etchinson's face - because frankly, seeing that, I'd probably want the extra security aswell.

Crane eventually notices my prescence and steps through.

"Ah! Doctor Todd, I'm glad you came. I wanted Arnold to see a familiar face before his leave of the premesis."

I glance over at the men wheeling Etchinson out of the cell. I don't recognize either of them, and the cut of their suits suggests they're not any sort of psychiatrict staff. These clowns are working for someone with money. Someone - I'm sure - that organized the release of a convicted murderer who is just as insane as the day he was admitted.

Being bumped as they pass, I shoot a stare at the men and walk with them to processing.

"Gentlemen..."

"Doctor Todd was Mr. Etchinson's former psychiatrist, gentlemen. If you have any questions about his condition, he is the man to ask."

Current psychiatrist. Not former.

"Our employer already knows what he needs to, Professor."

"I sincerely doubt that, and with all due respect, who is your employer?"

There's a pause followed by momentary silence. Even Crane's eyes shift.

"That's none of your concern, Doctor."

"RAAAARGH!"

We all jump, as Etchinson begins to violently thrash around in his restraints. The guards around Crane tighten around, guns raised, and I try to push myself between them and the man I was sworn to nurse back to health. A man that, despite multiple sessions that cut into my nightly activities, I never got even close to a breakthrough with. He's simply too far gone.

"He's fine! He's fine. Aren't you, Arnold?"

Etchinson growls, but steadily nods, and they continue to wheel him down the corridor. The guards go ahead, flanking both men that accompany him to ensure a safe transit. They're instructed to do so as protocol. But just as Crane continues ahead, I step in his path.

"I'd like a word."

"Doctor Todd, I'm sure that we can talk when..."

"I'd like a word now, Crane."

He's hardly phased, and definitely not intimidated. He even seems amused at the tone, giving me a small smile as we head over to the right of the hall.

"What the hell is this? Where are they taking him?"

"Doctor Todd, I realize that this is extremely unorthodox..."

"You're damn right it is!"

The doctors roaming the halls stop, and turn to us, caught off guard by my tone. Crane attempts to rectify the situation by leaning in.

"Jason, these men represent Etchinson's new legal handler. Custody was transferred by the courts this morning. I wish there were more that I could do, but Gotham's legal systems can be quite - shall we say, tenacious with matters involving the elite?"

"What elite?", I ask him, angrily. "Who the hell is he being given to?"

Crane narrows his eyes, glancing back at the men down the hall.

"I'm sorry, but this is beyond you. It's beyond me, even. I wish I could stop this, I truly do, but we're a psychiatrict hospital. We hold no real authority in the span of things."

I stare back at him, appauled. Then begin to undo my tie, storming off so enraged that I can't even see straight.

"I can see that now!"

Crossing into the offices, I find mine and slam the door behind me. Crane won't take any disciplinary action against that outburst, I know that. He likes having me around to stir the pot so that he can seem even more authoritative when I cross the line. Which I won't, I can assure you.

Someone just stole a patient - my patient - right out from under us. Had to be a bribe, that's the only way that the courts in this city act as ungodly fast as they did with this. The only question is who it was. Money was involved, so that could suggest mob influence. But what would they have to gain from a mad dog killer like Etchinson? They have access to every glorified hitman in the tri-state area. Which in Gotham, is about a fourth of the population.

Opening a compartment in my desk, I remove one of my spare jackets, boots, gloves, and the only form of identity concealment I still have intact - a red domino mask outfitted with starlight night vision lenses.

No, it wasn't the mob. I can see that now.

But that doesn't mean I can't go and start asking around.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

"And the little guy?"

"Name's Issac Bowin, he was a concert violinist and talented. A few years ago, he was in a car wreck and busted his leg up. Bowin got addicted to pain pills and his addiction ruined his career. A few months ago, he killed a drug dealer because he wouldn't give him some pills."

"So what can he do?"

"Nothing yet," Waller said, turning away from the monitor. She led Flag to a table where a violin case was sitting in the middle.

"Tell me, Colonel, what do you know about the superhero boom in the 30's and 40's?"

"Not much," Flag said with a shrug. "I know about the Minutemen and the Justice Society, but that's really it."

"Well, there was a hero from the midwest named Mercury. He had superspeed, kind of like the Flash. Well, Mercury used to lock horns with some fool called the Fiddler. He had this violin that could do all kinds of crazy things. He died in a fight with Mercury and the government managed to recover his violin. This is it."

Waller popped open the case and carefully removed the violin from its case.

"Government has tired for years to get people to play it and use it like Fiddler did, none of them could do it. Before he got the monkey on his back, Bowin was arguably the best violin player in the world. If anyone can get it to work, it's him."

​

​

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana


Issac Bowin was in his tiny cell in Belle Reve's basement. He was standing, and he held the mahogany violin in his left hand, a bow in his right hand. It had been six months since he had held a violin, six months since he had pawned his violin for drug money. Even when he had his violin, the addiction had been so bad he could barely play. He was afraid he had lost his gift, the thing that made him special, the thing that had made his fame. It was because of his playing that he had traveled the world, playing in front of heads of state, nobility, and religious leaders.

Now, here he was, in some swamp prison, in some odd unit exchanging work for freedom. All they asked of him was a seemingly simple task: play his violin for them. Issac held the violin in position, pressing against his chin and the bow on the violin's taunt strings. He took a deep breath and began to play...

[YT]pQ6fwTLuI9s[/YT]
​

The music ebbed from the instrument, echoing off the walls of the cell. Although he was by himself, the violin produced the sounds of multiple strings. His fingers made their notes with quickness and ease. While he may have been out of practice, the fingers never forgot the work. His life may have been ruined, his family and friends disowned him, his wealth gone, but the music... the music would never abandon him. He began to spin around as he played, his eyes closed. Unbeknownst to Issac, energy constructs in the form of musical notes began to float out the violin and spin around the room in time with the music.

The constructs vanished as he finished the song. Issac's heart was racing, his face had a wide grin on it. It was the first time he had smiled in nearly a year.

"Bravo," a voice said from the cell entrance. Werner Vertigo stepped into the cell, small smile on his face. "You play beautifully."

"Thank you," Issac said, looking down at the ground. "Although I am a bit rusty."

"You still sound as lovely as you did when I saw you in concert in Munich."

"You were in Munich? Did you live there?"

"Briefly, at least until I cleaned out all the Rembrandts from their art gallery."

Both men laughed and then Vertigo held his hand out.

"Count Werner Vertigo, Prince Regent to the Kingdom of Vlatvia."

Issac shook Vertigo's hand and shrugged. "Uhh... Issac Bowin, Salutatorian of the Juilliard School."

"Hah. Well, Issac Bowin, we're needed in the briefing room. The Wall has a mission for us."

"Oh, okay. Should I bring my violin?"

"No need. Let's go."

The two men left Issac's cell and walked down the corridor to the Suicide Squad's next briefing.

 

[Batman]

IC: Selina Kyle

Now this is what I'm talking about.

The rope silently slid down into the dark penthouse suite, once she had finally been content enough to trust her intuition that the premesis were devoid of any signs of life inside. Adjusting the temporal settings embedded into the state-of-the-art nightvision lenses she wore across her face, she gave a slow and steady glance back and forth to avoid any potential trigger beams or motion sensor alarm systems. She knew that she had to be crazy to pull off such a huge score, but the timing seemed so opprotunistic that she revelled in the excitement of her challenge. Finally ready to descent, she effortlessly slinked her body through the glass skylight of the deck and worked her way down, anchoring herself so gently that even a trained watchdog wouldn't be able to tell there was something amiss. Luckily for her, the so-called victim of this unseen heist wasn't very keen on forethought when it came to such matters. And after what had happened just a few days ago, he'd be far too preoccupied to let a silly thing like precious jewels become his immediate priorities.

Unhooking the harness attached to her form-fitting outfit, she crept into the shadows and placed her ear to the wall, listening for noises that could indicate her intuition wasn't meant to be trusted. But no, there wasn't a peep. Selina Kyle, better known these days around Gotham as the Catwoman, let a satisfied smile creep across her lips. Tonight was going to be one remembered. After all, it wasn't every day that a girl could force her way into the home of Carmine "The Roman" Falcone.

Hurdle avoided. Now for the tricky stuff.

Once again tapping the side of her cowl, Catwoman's eyes were coated in a thick sheet of light, acting as a thermal flashlight. She made a mental note to thank the scientific pioneers at Waynetech for that one, casually strolling through the room and taking a quick look at everything - not limited to fine Italian paintings, statues, busts, and all sorts of priceless artifacts kept behind a thick sheen of wall-mounted glass. Had her targets not been specified, Catwoman could do more than wonder what it'd be like to haul off the load of this junk with her into the night. It would definitely be worth a few million, at least.

But her mind was set. This was supposed to be an easy score for a big payoff. It was all she needed to help keep a low profile for the next few months and re-evaluate her life for the better part of that time. Everything had gotten so crazy in such a short few weeks that it was becoming more dangerous by the day to operate in Gotham. Ironically enough, only when the scariest parts of the city were stripped away - the rampant mob influence and the obtuse corruptuon - did the city hit rock bottom and reach it's worst point in years.

Selina wasn't determined to be apart of it. She'd take the money from this, take Arizona with her out of the city and leave it all behind for awhile. At least until the heat died down.

Oh, baby. What do we have here?

She immediately paused and gave a sly grin, happening upon a giant painting of one of Falcone's many ex-wives. Reading the inscription, which read "Beloved Lucia", Selina peered closer at the plaque and noticed something peculiar - which was exactly what she had been looking for. The plaque had far too many traces of fingerprint smudges to ever be a simple painting. And if it were such a beloved piece, Falcone would have never stood for that. This painting concealed something. And if she was in Vegas, she'd put it all on it being exactly what she was looking for. Falcone's collection of rare sapphire necklaces would be her's in a matter of moments.

Breaking out the contents of her belt, she sat an assortment of hooks down on the floor and snatched them up one-by-one, placing each three on one of the four sections of the painting's marble frame. Wiring a line between each hook's loop, she produced a small hand-held device from the back of her belt and connected the lines into a port, snapping it shut and effectively connecting the lines - and subsequently, the hooks.

Here's hoping that lady luck isn't frowning.

Pressing the button on the side of the device, a small beep was heard. Then immediately, the lines reeled themselves back, instantaneously - but more importantly, easily and barely making any sort of noise - ripping the painting from the wall and revealing what lied behind. And sure enough, it was a steel safe mounted into the wall. Taking both sides of the frame, Selina propped the painting against the bar and practically sprinted over to the safe. If it weren't the city's most notorious mafia don in a long history of dons, she'd almost feel guilty about robbing him blind so easily.

That's it, babies. Come to mommy.

Placing her ear to the safe, Selina let the subsonic sensors in her cowl's ears do most of the work as she twisted it's knob, listening for just the right combination of tumblers to fold. It took several minutes to find the right sequence, but eventually, it all started coming together. Until the magic moment happened, when she finally found the last correct dial and felt the door itself loosen from it's hinge. Catwoman stepped back and pried it open, revealing - at long last - the precious stones held together around the neck of a display.

"Beautiful."

"Yes, I imagine they are."

Eyes widened, feeling her heart practically rise into her throat, Selina spun around and prayed that what she just heard was a figment of her imagination. But once the lights turned on and the origin of the voice revealed himself in full, surrounded by three heavily armed personal bodyguards, she knew that the cat had just caught the preverbial mouse stealing it's cheese. Except in this rare turn of events, she was the hapless rodent.

"I would not bother trying to run from this. My men are expert marksmen, and it is a twenty foot run to the balcony. You would be my wall's latest decor in a matter of seconds."

It was him. The Roman. Gotham's most feared and most infamous mafioso was staring her down, in the midst of a heist of his valuables, and all that Selina could think was that she could risk the twenty feet if she were wearing better boots.

"Okay. I'll bite. How the hell did you manage to know I was here?"

"You would really care to know such irrelevent details?"

She sneered. "Call it curiosity."

The Roman's stone-faced glare did little to hide his irritation with her.

"My son's funeral was this evening. I was in attendance, but my health is not what it once was. I would wish to have mourned my beloved boy alongside the visage of his mother, my Lucia..."

Falcone took a moment's glance at the painting that Catwoman had removed from the wall, carelessly propped on it's face. "...But it seems I will have to wait to do even that."

"Oh, you're free to do it. Just give me a few more minutes and I'll be out of here."

Narrowing his eyes on her, Falcone stepped forward along with his men, whose guns were raised high. "And make off with my jewels? How very unappealing. Tell me, just what did you have to go through to make sure that I would be away in order for you to accomplish this? Did you have help? Perhaps an inside man?"

She practically felt his breath on her as he angrily spout his next few words.

"Or perhaps it was all a matter of a certain distraction to keep my attention misplaced!"

Even she had to admit, for a woman who wasn't the least bit afraid of any man that Gotham had thrown her way, there were several other places that she would have rather have been in this moment. But rather than shrink and cower under the big bad man's assertion, a fire in her eyes prompted it's way out, as she shot a stern glance back.

"Your lunatic of a boy being food for the worms is hardly my problem."

Visibly having to restrain himself from beating the life from her for such an insult, Falcone instead snapped his fingers and instructed his men to step forward.

"Grab her. I'm sure that she'll be more willing to talk in the room downstairs."

Pinning herself to the wall, Catwoman prepared herself to fight back at the men approached.

This was hardly going to be a walk in the park get away from. But if she failed, she might aswell have been ready for eight of her nine lives to come to an immediate end. Carmine Falcone was once considered the most dangerous of all of Gotham's scum. And contrary to belief, one never really stops being considered such a thing.

"Call it curiosity."

 

[Andy C.]

"Well, this is the place," I say to myself, perching on a rooftop overlooking the old Gotham City Cathedral. This is where Starfire said to meet Jinx, in response to her offer to attend the H.I.V.E. school. I still have a bad feeling about the whole thing, but both Starfire and Raven are dead-set on it, and I'm not going to abandon them.

I left a note in Miss Cooper's penthouse, explaining that I had been invited to stay with a cousin for a while, and I wanted to get better acquainted with my biological family. I'm sure that's going to hurt her, and I feel horrible about it, but it's better than just running away with no explanation. The only person I've told the truth to is Mister Wayne, who's not really in any position to do anything about it.

I've got most of my gear on my person, heading to the rendezvous point in my full Robin attire. Anything I couldn't fit in my utility harness I've got with me in a duffel bag, as well as several changes of clothes. In case things go south, I've got a GPS tracker linked directly to the Cave, and to Mister Wayne in the hopes that he recovers. I don't know if these H.I.V.E. people will search me or not, so the tracker itself is hidden in a very.......uncomfortable.....location. I'm hoping that wherever we're going, the trip won't involve much sitting down.

Looking through a pair of high-end binoculars, I scope out the location. No signs of anyone else arriving before me, no signs of any kind of trap. So far, so good. It isn't long until Raven comes into view, flying below rooftop level before touching down on top of the old cathedral.

Confident that the area is secure--and that even if it isn't, our combined abilities can overpower Jinx--I fire a zip-line down to the cathedral's roof and land next to her.

"Hey," Rachel says, the casual tone in her voice belying the nervousness plain on her face.

"Hey," I respond, retracting the zip-line and placing it back on my belt. "So, um.....do you have everything you need?"

Raven nods, holding up the suitcase in her hand.

"Spellbook, extra clothes, toothbrush, the works," she says. "Everything I need to say goodbye to Gotham City for a long time."

"And your mom is okay with this?" I ask. "I mean, did you--"

Rachel shoots me an angry look, one that tells me it would be better for everyone if I didn't finish that question.

"My friends!" Starfire shouts happily as she swoops down from the sky. "It is most joyous to see that you have come!"

"Well, yeah, we said last night that we would," Raven says testily.

"Yes, and I am very happy to know that you are both true to your word," she says, smiling brightly.

"Well, we're all here," I say. "The only one we're waiting on now is that Jinx person."

"Present and accounted for," says Jinx, sitting on top of a gargoyle, waving down at us.

"I combed over every inch of this place before the others got here," I say skeptically. "How did you--"

"Ah-ah, a girl's always got to keep some secrets to herself, right?" Jinx says with a giggle before hopping down to the rooftop. "Now, on to business. Your friend gave you the pitch, so.....are you in, or are you in?"

I look at Starfire, who is practically bursting with enthusiasm, then over to Raven, who as usual is just about impossible to read.

"We're in," I say.

"That's good to hear," comes another voice from behind us. Out from behind one of the cathedral's spires steps a pale, sickly looking man with a transparent dome where the top of his skull should be.

"Because to be honest.....'no' wasn't really an option for you."

Before any of us can react, the world starts spinning, a nauseating dizziness sweeping over us. I make it two or three steps towards the man before I see Jinx snap her fingers, and the old stonework of the roof crumbles under my feet, sending me tumbling to the ground.

I see Rachel drop to the ground, unconscious. I reach my hand out to her.....

.....and then it all goes black for me.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

Missouri River
12:19 PM

Cold's icy punch sent me flying. I tumbled through the air until I fell hard on the frozen river, the ice cracking underneath me.

"H... H-" I said through chattering teeth.
"How?" Snart asked as I picked myself back up. He flashed a smirk and held his frost covered fist up. "I've been practicing. Hell, we've all been practicing. You embarrassed the hell out of us a few months ago. While you were out there running around with your buddies in tights, me and my friends were biding our time and getting better."

I moved to charge towards Snart, running as fast I could at him with my fist cocked. "Time to take out the-"

"The garbage? Oh, I agree."

I was knocked back by another blast of freezing energy from Snart's free hand. Ice and frost covered my whole body as I tried to quickly recover.

"You're slower because of me. My aura is irradiating freezing energy out into the area. On both sides of the river, it's a lovely spring day and the temperatures are in the seventies. But here on the river? Thirty below zero. Hard to move fast when the air itself is fighting you, ain't it?"

Cold cracked his frozen knuckles and began to walk towards me. With my breath steaming from my mouth, I began to vibrate my body. I started slowly at first, picking up speed quicker and quicker.

"I'm moving my whole body now. Every molecule rubbing up against atoms and microscopic particles, creating friction. Know what friction creates?"

I jutted my arm out at Snart and spun it as fast as I could.

"Heat!"

Cold was knocked back by the gust. I was up and racing towards him as fast as I could. I was going much slower than I usually ran, but it was faster than Snart could handle. He was back on his feet, swinging at me with his iced-cover fists. I dodged and knocked him to his knees with a hard punch to the stomach.

"You, Mardon, Rory, and McCulloch have terrorized this city for over twenty minutes now. Countless lives at risk in both cities...

I stood over Cold with my fist cocked, ready to strike.

"Tell me!" I roared. "What were you doing?!"

"Heh," Snart said as he looked up at me, his glasses astray. "We were running interference, sleight of hand. We were distracting you."

"Why?" I asked. "Tell me now, or so help me--"

"Pfft!" Snart spat, striking me in the face with a icy wad of spit. "Kiss my ass, Flash. I ain't telling you a thing. Take me back to Iron Heights."

BEEP!

The sound of my phone beeping through my suit grabbed my attention. With Cold still on the ground, I stood and pulled my cellphone out. Twelve missed calls, eight text message. All of them from Ralph, all of them concerning the same thing...

"Oh, my God..."

I looked down at Snart and narrowed my eyes. He smiled and winked at me. And like that, I was gone and racing to the outskirts of the city as fast as I could.

Central City
12:15 PM"Do you have a map of the area?"

"Look in the glove compartment. What are you looking for?"

"Sewer treatment plants, reservoirs, any place where there can be significant run off."

"Why, exactly?"

"That break in at Bishop Labs last night? Something serious was stolen. Three different types of chemicals. Alone, they're harmless. But mixed together? They create a powerful nerve agent. Someone puts that in the drinking water, then the twin cities are done for."

"And you know this because?"

"I'm a PI, and Bishop Labs hired me to get it back."
Ralph had the map out and was scanning it.

"Here," he said, pointing to a spot in the map. "Star Hill Reservoir. I think that, whoever is behind all this chaos today, they're planning something. We need to get there now."

Denny looked at Ralph then back at the road. He took one hand off the steering wheel and tossed his cellphone to Ralph.

"I'll get us there. Call or text Commissioner Dolan, Jay and Barry and tell them what's going on."

"And Bart," Ralph said, flipping open the phone. "Gotta let Bart know what's going on..."

Star Hill Reservoir
Blue Springs, MO
12:07 PM

The van pulled up to the reservoir at the top of the hill. The reservoir was far away from the city that the storm clouds, lightning, and funnel clouds that were tearing into Central and Keystone could be seen. Two men stepped out the van. The driver, a tall and heavyset man, pulled a pistol from his waistband. The passenger, a short and bald man, had a briefcase in his right hand, a walkie talkie in his left hand.

"Cobra to Top," the short man said into the walkie talkie. "Mortez and I are in position."

"Proceed as planned," Dillon's reply crackled through the channel.

Cobra tucked the walkie talkie into his waistband and turned to his cohort. "Let's go."

Mortez nodded and cocked the gun.

Star Hill Reservoir
12:16 PM

Doctor Cobra was behind the water controls, opening the reservoirs flow controls. On the catwalk above him, Cobra's assistant Mortez was carrying a box in his arms. Inside the box were three vials of liquid. Alone, the vials were harmless. Together, they made a power paralytic agent.

"Cobra to Top," Cobra said into a walkie talkie. "We're ready."

"Good. Standby."


Central City
12:17 PM
Inside an office in the Fox Building, the same building the Flash had run up to take on the Weather Wizard, Roscoe Dillon -- codenamed the Top -- sat with hacker Axel Walker. Walker was immersed in the laptop propped on his lap. A figure was behind the two men, watching them from the shadows with his face obscured.

"Sir," Dillon asked with a glance back behind his shoulder.

"Trickster," the Octopus said. "Make the call."

"You got it," Walker said. "Starting the skype call, and putting it on speaker." He started the program on his computer. A phone call was sent out, its IP address being routed and rerouted through a dozen different locations.

"Hello?" A voice asked through the laptop's speakers.

"Mayor Waid," the Octopus said in a cordial tone. "This is the Octopus. How are you this afternoon?"

"Dammit, James! I don't have time for prank calls. The city is in a goddamn panic--."

"Yes it is... and it's about to get worse. I currently have people in position to poison both Central and Keystone Cities with a nerve agent... that is, unless you pay the cost."

"Jesus... you're serious?"

"Very, very serious. And, if I don't get a hundred million dollars, I'll get even more serious. Genocidally serious.You have my demands, I'll be in touch."

Trickster cut the call before Waid could respond.
"Mister Dillon, inform Cobra and Mortez to proceed with the poisoning."

"Sir?" Dillon asked with a scowl. "I thought the plan was..."

"See, that's the problem, Roscoe... you thought. You didn't know. Only I know. As big of a payday we can get from this, we'll get even more money when we sell these chemicals to the Jihadists overseas after a successful test run. Tell Cobra to go ahead."

"Top to Cobra," Dillon said after a moment of consideration. "Begin injecting the chemicals into the water supply."


Star Hill Reservoir
12:19 PM

Denny Colt walked through the reservoir, his service weapon out and ready to fire.

"I still say I should have gotten a gun,"Ralph Dibny said from behind him.

"I only have one. Besides, you don't have a license."

The two men stepped over the dead body of a reservoir worker, his body riddled with bullet holes.

"And I'm sure the guys who did that had a license..."

"Shh," Denny said. Voices, two of them, were talking to each other a short distance away.

"Okay, Top gave us the green light. Start mixing the chemicals."

"Yes, sir."

Denny and Ralph crept towards the voices. Hunkering down, they spied a short, bald man working the water controls while a muscle-bound, Latino man worked on something on the catwalk above him.

"That box that guy has," Ralph whispered. "That looks like the package Bishop Labs showed me. That has the chemicals in it."

Denny nodded and began to work out a plan. "Okay," he whispered. "You go stop the short guy while I get on the catwalk and stop the guy with the chemicals."

"But I don't have a gun."

"And that guy's like 4'11. You can take him. Let's go."

Denny started to sneak towards the two men with Ralph following.

"Cobra," a voice crackled through the walkie talkie. "I'm watching the video feed. You got two straggles behind you."

Cobra and Mortez turned around and saw Denny and Ralph. Denny sprung to his feet, his gun out. "Central City Police! Freez--"

He was cut off by automatic fire from above. Mortez, having put the case down, was firing off rounds with his automatic pistol. Ralph ran for dear life while Denny charged towards Mortez, running in a zig zag pattern to avoid fire. He jumped on to the catwalk and aimed at Mortez just as Mortez drew a bead on him. The two men fired, striking each other in a hale of bullets.

"NO!" Cobra cried out as the bullets shattered the box carrying the chemicals. The chemicals went flying, covering the catwalk and the two bullet ridden men. While he was yelling, Ralph came in with a solid punch to the jaw. Cobra fell to the floor, dazed and barely conscious.

"Denny!" Ralph yelled. He climbed on the catwalk and found Denny, on his back in a pool of chemicals and his own blood. He had three bullet wounds across his chest. "Denny! Talk to me!"

"Damn," he said weakly. "That... stung..."

"Listen, everything's going to be okay. You hear me? I can hear sirens and stuff. Back ups coming. You did it, man. You saved the city. They're gonna give you a medal for that."

"Good," Denny said, his voice thick. His eyeballs fluttered and he coughed, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth. "Maybe now I can finally make detective..."

Against Ralph's protest, Denny closed his eyes. His shoulder spasmed as he gave in to the darkness. On the catwalk at the reservoir, in Ralph Dibny's arms, Denny Colt died.

*****

Running away from the river banks, I streaked down the roads and up the hills towards the reservoir. I passed by a fleet of police cars on the way. I ran through the facility before coming to a stop in front of Ralph and Denny.

"Ralph! What's going on?"

"He's dead," Ralph said solemnly. "He died saving the city... and where were you?"

"I've been trying to save the city, too! Running all over both towns, fighting Snart and his men. Ralph, dude, you don't... they did an end run on me. Kept me distracted while they did this."

"I thought you were fast," Ralph said, fighting tears. "You still should have been here."

"Freeze!" A voice barked from behind. I turned and saw Jay and Dad with a half dozen police officers, all guns pointed at me. "What the hell did you do?"

"Barry," Jay said, looking down at Denny's body and then back up at me. "Let him explain."

"No! I've had it with this clown's antics, and now a cop is dead because of him. Regardless of his excuse, he goes into custody now!"

I took a deep breath and kicked it into high gear. I sped past Dad before he knew what was going on. While I was faster than almost everyone else, Jay's eyes fell on me. He watched me as I ran away from the reservoir, tears starting to well in my eyes.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Belle Reve Federal Penitentiary
Terrebonne Parish, Louisiana


Inside the briefing room, Amanda Waller stood in front of everyone, a file in one hand and her reading glasses on.

"Alright, people. I got out newest mission, hot off the DoD presses. We're headed to Eastern Europe. Sarge?"

Sarge Steel nodded and stood. He pressed the clicker in his hand and a projecter in the back of the room activated. A grainy surveillance photo of a castle was illuminated on the wall.

"Castle Dubrinsky, situated in the Carpathian Mountains. Castle Dubrinsky is a retreat of the Wallach Group, an international conglomerate that annually ranks in the top ten of the Fortune 500. They're almost as old as the East India Trading Company. We have it on good authority that the Wallach Group has gotten their hands on chemical samples of weaponized smallpox, anthrax, and Ebola. In 48 hours, they're auctioning off the viruses to the highest bidder. The Wallach Group's board, as well as high ranking members of the world's top terrorist organizations will be there."

"This is a slash and burn mission, people. Nobody leaves Castle Dubrinsky alive. Colonel?"

Flag cleared his throat and stood. "The plan is to airdrop into the mountains in 40 hours. From there, we'll infiltrate the castle and move into position. When the auction starts, that's when we go to work. We kill as many as we can, then we set charges in castle the foundation. We'll be extracted just as the castle is imploding from the inside out. Now, Mrs. Waller has additional information to brief us with... I trust it's one of her nasty little surprises."

"Aww, Rick. You know me too well."

"The team for this mission will be Bronze Tiger, Deadshot, Vertigo, Nightshade and myself."

"And another member. There's a specialist working with us on this one. He's out in the hallway. Come on in."

The door swung open and a man slowly walked in, relishing the fact that all eyes were on him.

"Howdy..."

"... Let's go **** some ***holes up."
​

 

[Batman]

"Welcome back to Generation Lord, America's #1 source of integrity. If you're just joining us, the crisis in Somalia continues to worsen as both US and Somalian military attempt to negotiate the release of over forty-six civillians taken captive by an unknown terrorist organization. While details of the kidnapping against the inhabitants of a private school outside of Mogadishu are still scarce at this time, representivies for both countries fielded questions from the press today regarding a plan of action against the extremist group, who have yet to issue demands. Primary among the concerns were---"

"Shut it off."

The holographic television screen faded into silence as Jacob Marlowe placed his tired eyes into his hands, massaging his temple as he sat in the darkness, alone. The hostage crisis in Somalia had continued for over three days, but contrary to what the media personalities like Maxwell Lord were telling everyone, the United States government knew exactly which group had perpetrated the crimes behind the situation. He had the intel to prove it right across from him, sitting in a folder that he had barely touched since it was handed to him a little over six months ago. But despite the fact that it could easily be put to use to properly inform the concerned parties whose loved ones were being held at gunpoint by a group of terrorists at that moment, Marlowe knew that he didn't have the authority to leak it to them himself. Until the crisis solved itself, they were on their own, worrying themselves to death as each day grew darker and more hopeless.

They were called The Cabal. No one knew when or how they originated, whether they were connected to any other terrorist cells such as Kobra and The League of Assassins, or what their ideals truly were, but they had proven one thing to the world at large: They were just that much more unpredictable than the rest. Boasting a supply of state-of-the art energy weapons, the likes of which no military had ever encountered before, The Cabal's first act of resistence to the Somalian government was to use one in disintegration of a tank. Man-made and fashioned from the strongest steel imaginable, and it was rendered to dust in seconds. From then on, the world took the organization seriously, despite their apparent anonymity from the public at large.

With a heavy sigh, Marlowe stared back at the envelope, wishing he had never chosen to get involved in such a dire struggle. He wasn't a soldier anymore, and hadn't been for the better part of thirty years. He was meant to be a scientist, dedicated to change the world as we knew it. But there was still that part of him - that spark, as it were - that couldn't refuse an offer to serve his country and still try to make peace with his obligation towards the world's betterment.

He didn't know if he could do it. But he wasn't about to waste time debating whether or not to try.

Picking up his phone, Marlowe immediately dialed the number to the Halo Corporation's top scientist and one of his closest friends, Doctor Jerome "Jerry" Stone.

"Jerry? It's Marlowe. We just got the go-ahead. I'm issuing a class-five activation right now."

He listened to his friends pleas, warning him that it wasn't ready for deployment. But Marlowe readily waved off his assertions, realizing that neither of them had a choice in the matter. The Government wanted it's own Justice League ready within the month, and The Cabal had forced his hand. They were going to get them.

"I know, and I don't care. We've waited too long. I'm heading down there myself."

Clasping an old framed photograph, the only photograph resting on his desk, Marlowe looked at it with somber eyes. Then turned it over, realizing he had to let his own reservations go just as readily.

"Wake him up."

"Project Spartan. Can you hear me?"

ACCESSING:

Somewhere in the outskirts of Reno, Nevada
March 29th, 2012 - 11:58PM
The birth of Project Spartan

It's not like I could have known I'd begin my life through a stream of data.

While it's true that no human actually remembers their own birth, even at a young age, my genesis as a creation did not begin with conception within an embryo after two individuals came to mate. My birth - the beginning of my life, and my creation - began with the scribblings of a scientist on a piece of scrapping paper. My first words were always going to be a sequence of numbers, not fully-fledged letters combined into something of meaning. My first memory? It would always be as crisp and as clear of a recollection as the present. Like it were always happening infront of me, rather than a distant flash of something that either could or could not be accurate. Even the concept of parentage is a limited and radically different concept when applied to my existence, compared to that of humans and animals. In my relatively short lifespan of twenty-six days old, I've always had more in common with a plant than a living organism. I've been told that this is an accurate perception of self.

And that, as impossible as it may seem, terrifies me.

The metal coils around my wrist begin to slide back, and the darkness is replace with an intense light. I am being held within what they've called "The White Room" - a place of solitary confinement, for some. But given that I can hear through these walls, I have come to realize that this is not confinement for me. This is storage. I am merely considered a tool to them, at this stage of my existence. To be put away whenever they deem me worthy of use. It doesn't matter to them that my first three days on Earth were spent within a psychiatrict ward, processing the fact that I was not the man I woke up believing myself to be. I am not Jack Marlowe.

I don't even have a name.

"And how are we feeling today?"

My head tilts upward at the voice coming from the intercom. The intercom, they call it. Not simply the walls speaking to me, as I suggested on the first day. At first, I don't know how to react. I simply stare back, wondering if this is another one of their tests. It doesn't even occur to me to stand up from the metal slab that I was placed upon after the training seminar - the one where I decimated everything in sight and apparently destroyed thousands of dollars worth of equipment.

I'm still getting used to the idea that I even have the capability to destroy.

"I..."

The question intrigues me. Feel. How do I feel?

I could say I feel nervous.

Angry.

Saddened.

Relieved.

Any number of emotions.

But I look at my arm and notice that beneath the artificial skin, I can still see portions of a metal exoskeleton. It is no less real than the claim that I am a living man. Would admitting to these emotions be just as artificial as the face I'm wearing?

"I cannot."

From behind the wall, a door slides open and a well-dressed elderly man steps forth. I have to lie to myself to be able to not be overcome with emotion. This man, I once believed, was my brother. Instead, I have been taught that he is simply my handler. The maker of my destiny, of which I have no control.

"Congratulations,", Jacob Marlowe tells me, trying to hide the disdain in his voice. "You've passed the first test. You've realized what you truly are. Now we can begin."

I don't smile. I don't frown. Infact, I don't react at all.

The man is lost. I've become the machine.

I've become Project Spartan.

"Begin what, sir?"

Marlowe leads me out of the room and into the Intelligence center, which they've slowly begun to build. I can tell that the Halo Corporation never intended to be a military operation of any kind, but they've been trying to adapt to the role as best as they can. I guess in that sense, we're very similar. It feels like my entire life so far has been just that - trying to adapt.

"Look at this screen."

He indicates a television to my right, showing me a news broadcast. The sensors built into my eyes begin to go wild and start taking everything in, not just in words, but in pictures. Images and dialogue. It's all translated and encoded into data for me to process in a matter of seconds.

"Your sensors are working perfectly, it seems. Tell me what you saw."

Without a beat, I begin speaking with words that I can't even recognize as my own.

"Somalia. A hostage crisis. Fourty-six in imminent danger, United States and Somalian military unable to negotiate."

He turns the television off, raising an eyebrow.

"And all from six seconds of footage. Impressive."

"If I'm to understand, sir, this is what I've been trained for. You're about to ask me to intervene in the crisis. To fight against The Cabal."

He nods, never attempting to look me in the eye. "Yes, that's exactly why I came down here. Your training period is to be put on hold. You and I are about to go on a trip to Venezuela."

I simply follow him as he leads me out of the room, walking towards a team of his scientists. They seem to be carrying a set of clothes. Am I the one supposed to be wearing all of that?

"Why Venezuela?"

He steps aside and indicates the scientists.

"You'll be debriefed in full on the flight there, but it's where we're going to find the first recruit."

With a final scowl, he walks away. Leaving me to be assessed by the others.

"We're putting together a team, Spartan. You're not going in there alone."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald cuts on his plasma TV in his office as he watches Mayor Thorne begin his resignation announcement.

Throne says, "My fellow Gothamites. When I was entrusted with this office one of the things I promised to do was to bring Law & Order to Gotham. In recent weeks that promise has become more and more difficult. I find that at times our police are hamstrung by the very laws they've sworn to uphold. It seemed as though for a while that The Batman could be an ally in this area. Now though he is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps even he to realized that this city was descending into a war zone."

Thorne takes a deep breath and says, "I've done all that I can allowed by law and nothing seems to be deterring the rise in the Mob Warfare or the recent attacks in other areas of the city. I've determined that what is needed is a new perspective on the situation. A new voice a new leader. Therefore effective immediately I am resigning as Mayor of Gotham City. Deputy Mayor Linseed will be taking over as Mayor as of this moment."

Thorne's voice begins to shake as he says, "I failed all of you and I am so sorry."

He is now weeping as he says, "Goodbye and God Bless."

Oswald turns off the TV and dials on his L-Phone several of the local bosses and says, "Time to welcome our new Mayor appropriately."

Oswald lights a cigar and says, "Step up the attacks. I've met our new Mayor. He's a jelly fish. Within a week he will be begging for outside help and that is when we will make our move."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Atom descends upon the area where Cape Town once was.

It's so recent the Government Investigators haven't even gotten here yet. Which will give me enough time to snoop around before they start having fun. I sitll can't believe what happened here. No remains, no destroyed structures, nothing. Just like someone literally erased the place of the map.

She begins to float around making mental notes of what she is seeing. Which currently isn't a whole lot.

Time to take a closer look. One thing I've learned about being a scientist is that there is always something there you just have to go a little further.

Atom shrinks to almost microscopic size and sees several molecules and residue from the energy web.

Already looking at these compounds and protein bonds this was something man-made. Need to be careful though. The last time I got to close to something I wasn't sure about I got sucked into another Universe.

Just then the ground begins to rumble.

Something tells me the Government and other agencies are about to hit this place like a ton of bricks. I got enough information time to head home.

Atom returns to 6 inches in height and floats onto a tree branch. She waits as one of the investigators sets up a lap-top with a wireless conneciton.

And that is my ticket home!

When the investigator leaves The Atom floats to the lap top and accesses her computer at home and rides the signal all the way home. When she arrives at home she severs the connection so the signal cannot be traced.

Now to get back to Happy Harbor for some more analysis on what I saw.

 

[Batman]

SPARTAN​

<"Priscilla! Show's on in five, gorgeous! Be ready!">

Priscilla Kitaen knew what she wanted out of life.

Of course, that was an easy thing to be able say whenever you were the main attraction of the Voodoo Gentlemen's Club. Host to private parties consisting only of the elite and famous, the high-class chain of facilities running throughout the coast of Brazil had garnered a reputation for specializing in only the best of adult entertainment and erotic pleasure that anyone with the serious cash to spend could hope to afford. To be chosen as one of the chain's dancers was not only considered the one of the highest compliments to any woman living in South American, but also a quick way to make anyone chosen to become obscenely wealthy in a matter of weeks. For Priscilla, it wasn't about the money. Knowing that she had what it took to capture the minds of every man in a room of hundreds was a source of empowerment that she wouldn't trade for the world.

But then again, Priscilla wasn't an ordinary woman. Unknown to her co-workers or wealthy employers, she was a metahuman in disguise. The form she had chosen to be able to do this line of work was simply the portrait of the ideal female form in the minds of any male suitors - her body looked to be cut out of stone, yet her skin was designed to be perfectly supple and smooth. Her eyes, while uniquely the deepest shade of purple, were intentionally shaped to convey an innocence that was hidden by her mysterious gaze. Her hair was as dark as night, only able to glow within vicinity of the strobe lights on the main floor.

In short, she had made herself every man's fantasy and every woman's envy. For that, life was good, and she prided herself on desiring nothing more. She already had it all.

Yet as she ran the stick of lip balm across her bottom lip and squeezed them together, she caught a fleeting glimpse of herself in the mirror that said otherwise. Priscilla didn't think much of it, but it was still there every night that she performed. It was starting to annoy her, because every time she tried to look, all that she saw was the form that she had taken on staring back at her. And not the real Priscilla that lurked underneath. It wasn't as though she hated what she had become - far from that, she loved the attention. She craved it, infact, so much so that she'd often travel coast-to-coast just to perform in two Voodoo clubs at a time. But to know that her life was still unfulfilled after everything she had accomplished to make it her was troubling, often making itself the last thought on her mind before she went to sleep.

What?, she asked herself, putting the finishing touches on her hair. What the hell are you staring at all of the sudden?

Content with her appearance, she grabbed the feather boa that was meant to be apart of the show and threw it around her neck, preparing to head for the curtain down the hall. But just as she had finally stepped through the door of the dressing room, one of her co-workers hurried in, stopping her before she could move.

<"Pris! Pris, don't go yet! There's someone here that says he wants to see you!">

Priscilla smirked, starting to make her way past. <"Well then tell the nice gentlemen that he'll have to book a private dance, like everybody else. I don't do exclusives.">

<"Not that kind of man, honey. This one looked serious. An American.">

The thought intrigued her enough to pause, but she nevertheless waved it off, beginning her walk towards the stage. <"Well, the American will have to wait, then. I'm about due for another---">

Suddenly, her employer stepped through the curtain, physically blocking her from crossing into the outside ballroom. Priscilla looked at him, stunned for a moment that he would defy her from doing her job, then folded her arms across her chest, annoyed.

<"You said I have a show in five, Marco. Get out of my way.">

Marco held up a credit card in his hands, narrowing his eyes at her.

<"That was before someone walked in with a card from the Halo Corporation.">

Grabbing the card from his hand, Priscilla inspected it, only further agitated.

<"The what? I've never heard of that.">

<"Then allow me to educate you. That card there, the one that you're holding in your hands?">

Marco's tone became much more serious as he spoke. <"It just paid your salary for the next five years.">

The look on Priscilla's face was just as priceless.

"You're the American, yes?"

Jacob Marlowe had just finished his drink as Priscilla Kitaen, the woman he had travelled thousands of miles just to see, stepped through the curtain of the private lounge at the back of the club. Never one for pleasantries, he didn't exchange her smile as she stepped into the room, but nevertheless offered his hand. Something of which caught Priscilla off guard, given that her clients usually didn't give such a formality. She waved the hand off with a wag of her finger.

"Sorry. There is still a no touching rule. That counts even for this."

Placing his hands back into his jacket pocket, Marlowe took a hit off of his cigar and buried it into the ashtray. "Fair enough, Ms. Kitaen. Must've forgotten my manners."

She tried to seem as if the mention of her real name didn't phase her, but it had definitely struck a chord.

"I am sorry, but what did you call me? My name is,"

Marlowe cut her off as she spoke. "Voodoo Child. Queen temptress of the Voodoo Club. Yes, I've heard all about that. But if I were here to see her, and not Priscilla Kitaen, I wouldn't have used that card to get your undivided attention."

No longer willing to play nice, Priscilla placed her hands on her hips and stared Marlowe down with considerable anger. "How did you learn about that? No one knows of my true last name, not even my employers. So they could not have told you."

"No, they couldn't have. But I'm not one of your employers. You see, Ms. Kitaen, I represent the Halo Corporation."

"Ah, yes. So I have heard. That does not explain how,"

Marlowe stood out of his chair, facing her eye-to-eye. For a man with such a commanding prescence, Priscilla noticed almost immediately how level their height was. And given she was considered short by the standards of many of the other dancers, that was saying alot.

"But for the time being, I also represent the United States military. Have you ever heard of The Justice League, Ms. Kitaen?"

Raising her brow, Priscilla sized the man up and looked back.

"Do not tell me. You are the Superman."

If Marlowe felt he could laugh in a situation like this, he would have. He simply disregarded the comment and continued.

"The United States are willing to create a Justice League of their own, and they're looking for specially equipped individuals to fill up the ranks. We've been looking into your past and have noticed a certain amount of irregularity, such as the fact that everywhere you go, your appearance considerably changes and you often change aliases."

Producing a set of photographs from his jacket, Marlowe held them up so that Priscilla could plainly see what they were of - her past identities, from different nations, and several of those photographs being mugshots. She had a troubled history, no doubt, but she had thought that she covered her tracks.

Evidently, she hadn't covered them well enough.

"To put it simply, you know how to blend into a crowd. We think that such a skill could be of some considerable use to our operation, and we're willing to compensate for the time you would devote to us. If you're willing to be apart of this, that is."

Looking at the photographs of her past lives, and then at Marlowe, she thought for a moment. Then decided to turn around, heading towards the entrance and as far away from the man as possible.

"Not interested. Never come here again."

Marlowe sighed to himself, expecting that it would have had to come to that.

"Very well. Then tell me, Ms. Kitaen..."

Priscilla was very nearly out of range when she heard the words come out of the mystery man's mouth. "...how do you think your employers would react to knowing that you're not only a shapeshifter, but a telepath aswell?"

And just for a moment, Priscilla considered the idea that she could keep on walking.

Then smirked to herself, knowing that there was another option right infront of her.

<"OH MY GOD! THE WALLS ARE COMING APART! RUN! RUN!">

Curious.

One moment, I was attempting to order a drink at the bar just to make myself feel like I belonged in the crowd. I can't bring myself to feel any sort of excitement towards my surroundings, even though the men around me don't share the sentiment, heavily invested in the women that are leaving themselves open for display. But just as I paid for my drink and turned back towards the floor, I could see - and hear - a violent thumping noise coming from the back of the building. Evidently I noticed it before anyone else, because the screams in the crowd didn't start until now.

And seeing the stage area nearly collapse onto itself, I can see why. The walls ahead of us suddenly explode with brick and rubble, bringing with it the crashing form of Jacob Marlowe, the man that brought me all the way out here. The sensors inside of my head quickly assess the situation, scanning Marlowe's body for vitals, but I'm more concerned about what caused this in the first place. Several people run in the opposite direction out of fear, but I can tell that whatever's walking towards Marlowe from the hole is the source of the disturbance.

Judging from my scans, it isn't human. Infact, nothing in my database can properly describe what it is. All that I know is that it's acting as a hostile, grabbing Marlowe from the floor and effortlessly tossing him through the stage. Marlowe bleeds, of course, but his vitals are nevertheless stable as he approaches.

I don't understand. Am I supposed to intervene?

"Threatening me with blackmail, American?! You should have thought this out more carefully!"

Marlowe spits out a wad of blood before hurriedly grabbing the service revolver from his torn jacket. The creature hisses at him and leaps forth, slashing it from his hands and forcing him back.

"ENOUGH! You have outlived any use you could have had to me! I will never be caged by the likes of you! Not after what they did to me!"

Marlowe holds himself together, struggling to keep himself up.

"Pris... Priscilla..."

Priscilla?

That's Priscilla Kitaen? The one that Marlowe told me about on the flight over?

I certainly hope the other recruits aren't going to react like this.

"BE QUIET!"

After a moment of concentration, her physiology shifts and she begins to resemble a normal human female. Abiet one more physically attractive than most, stepping over the debris and caring little for the fact that she's discarded all of her clothing in the midst of her prior transformation.

"You American pigs are all alike. Thinking that you can control others with a passing glimpse at real power, believing it will somehow make you superior. I have encountered your kind before, and it makes me sick to know that you are no different. You want to see real power?"

Suddenly, Marlowe's service pistol rises off of the floor and floats into her hands, prompting her to pull back the hammer and place her finger on the trigger, aiming directly for Marlowe's head.

"I will show it to you."

She pulls the trigger. The gas chamber releases. The bullet is fired.

And it bounces directly off of my skin, as I step between her and Marlowe. My eyes narrow at her as she looks at me with an emotion I have encountered several times since I awoke from the stasis of my cybernetic programming: Amazement.

"No. You won't harm him."

I seize the weapon from her hands and crumble it in mine. It takes only a simple squeeze.

How am I doing all of this?!

"Not today."

Priscilla Kitaen stares back at me in silence for a moment, as Marlowe helps himself to his feet.

Then, with an impressed smile, she steps forward and walks past Marlowe. Leaving us both to wonder what exactly just transpired, and where her apparent anger went.

"You did not tell me about him. This changes it."

Stepping onto the platform of the main floor, she walks past the curtain and calls out to us.

"Let me get my things."

As I said.

Curious.

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

Star Hill Reservoir
12:16 PM

Doctor Cobra was behind the water controls, opening the reservoirs flow controls. On the catwalk above him, Cobra's assistant Mortez was carrying a box in his arms. Inside the box were three vials of liquid. Alone, the vials were harmless. Together, they made a power paralytic agent.

"Cobra to Top," Cobra said into a walkie talkie. "We're ready."

"Good. Standby."


Central City
12:17 PM
Inside an office in the Fox Building, the same building the Flash had run up to take on the Weather Wizard, Roscoe Dillon -- codenamed the Top -- sat with hacker Axel Walker. Walker was immersed in the laptop propped on his lap. A figure was behind the two men, watching them from the shadows with his face obscured.

"Sir," Dillon asked with a glance back behind his shoulder.

"Trickster," the Octopus said. "Make the call."

"You got it," Walker said. "Starting the skype call, and putting it on speaker." He started the program on his computer. A phone call was sent out, its IP address being routed and rerouted through a dozen different locations.

"Hello?" A voice asked through the laptop's speakers.

"Mayor Waid," the Octopus said in a cordial tone. "This is the Octopus. How are you this afternoon?"

"Dammit, James! I don't have time for prank calls. The city is in a goddamn panic--."

"Yes it is... and it's about to get worse. I currently have people in position to poison both Central and Keystone Cities with a nerve agent... that is, unless you pay the cost."

"Jesus... you're serious?"

"Very, very serious. And, if I don't get a hundred million dollars, I'll get even more serious. Genocidally serious.You have my demands, I'll be in touch."

Trickster cut the call before Waid could respond.
"Mister Dillon, inform Cobra and Mortez to proceed with the poisoning."

"Sir?" Dillon asked with a scowl. "I thought the plan was..."

"See, that's the problem, Roscoe... you thought. You didn't know. Only I know. As big of a payday we can get from this, we'll get even more money when we sell these chemicals to the Jihadists overseas after a successful test run. Tell Cobra to go ahead."

"Top to Cobra," Dillon said after a moment of consideration. "Begin injecting the chemicals into the water supply."


Star Hill Reservoir
12:19 PM

Denny Colt walked through the reservoir, his service weapon out and ready to fire.

"I still say I should have gotten a gun,"Ralph Dibny said from behind him.

"I only have one. Besides, you don't have a license."

The two men stepped over the dead body of a reservoir worker, his body riddled with bullet holes.

"And I'm sure the guys who did that had a license..."

"Shh," Denny said. Voices, two of them, were talking to each other a short distance away.

"Okay, Top gave us the green light. Start mixing the chemicals."

"Yes, sir."

Denny and Ralph crept towards the voices. Hunkering down, they spied a short, bald man working the water controls while a muscle-bound, Latino man worked on something on the catwalk above him.

"That box that guy has,"Ralph whispered. "That looks like the package Bishop Labs showed me. That has the chemicals in it."

Denny nodded and began to work out a plan. "Okay," he whispered."You go stop the short guy while I get on the catwalk and stop the guy with the chemicals."

"But I don't have a gun."

"And that guy's like 4'11. You can take him. Let's go."

Denny started to sneak towards the two men with Ralph following.

"Cobra," a voice crackled through the walkie talkie. "I'm watching the video feed. You got two straggles behind you."

Cobra and Mortez turned around and saw Denny and Ralph. Denny sprung to his feet, his gun out. "Central City Police! Freez--"

He was cut off by automatic fire from above. Mortez, having put the case down, was firing off rounds with his automatic pistol. Ralph ran for dear life while Denny charged towards Mortez, running in a zig zag pattern to avoid fire. He jumped on to the catwalk and aimed at Mortez just as Mortez drew a bead on him. The two men fired, striking each other in a hale of bullets.

"NO!" Cobra cried out as the bullets shattered the box carrying the chemicals. The chemicals went flying, covering the catwalk and the two bullet ridden men. While he was yelling, Ralph came in with a solid punch to the jaw. Cobra fell to the floor, dazed and barely conscious.

"Denny!" Ralph yelled. He climbed on the catwalk and found Denny, on his back in a pool of chemicals and his own blood. He had three bullet wounds across his chest. "Denny! Talk to me!"

"Damn," he said weakly. "That... stung..."

"Listen, everything's going to be okay. You hear me? I can hear sirens and stuff. Back ups coming. You did it, man. You saved the city. They're gonna give you a medal for that."

"Good," Denny said, his voice thick. His eyeballs fluttered and he coughed, blood leaking out the corner of his mouth. "Maybe now I can finally make detective..."

Against Ralph's protest, Denny closed his eyes. His shoulder spasmed as he gave in to the darkness. On the catwalk at the reservoir, in Ralph Dibny's arms, Denny Colt died.

*****

Running away from the river banks, I streaked down the roads and up the hills towards the reservoir. I passed by a fleet of police cars on the way. I ran through the facility before coming to a stop in front of Ralph and Denny.

"Ralph! What's going on?"

"He's dead," Ralph said solemnly. "He died saving the city... and where were you?"

"I've been trying to save the city, too! Running all over both towns, fighting Snart and his men. Ralph, dude, you don't... they did an end run on me. Kept me distracted while they did this."

"I thought you were fast," Ralph said, fighting tears. "You still should have been here."

"Freeze!" A voice barked from behind. I turned and saw Jay and Dad with a half dozen police officers, all guns pointed at me. "What the hell did you do?"

"Barry," Jay said, looking down at Denny's body and then back up at me. "Let him explain."

"No! I've had it with this clown's antics, and now a cop is dead because of him. Regardless of his excuse, he goes into custody now!"

I took a deep breath and kicked it into high gear. I sped past Dad before he knew what was going on. While I was faster than almost everyone else, Jay's eyes fell on me. He watched me as I ran away from the reservoir, tears starting to well in my eyes.
​

Wildwood Cemetery


I stood at the back of the small gathering with Wally. Mom and Dad were upfront with Jay, Commissioner Dolan, and Ellen. Everyone was somber and silent as the coffin was lowered into the grave. In accordance to his wishes, Denny was buried without being embalmed, the day after he was killed saving the city.

While I took out most of Snart's band, everyone but Snart himself is back at Iron Heights, I still had no idea who he was working for and who exactly wanted to poison both cities.
The memorial for Denny was a few hours earlier. Held at St. John's cathedral, it was packed with people from both Central and Keystone, both cities cops in full dress uniform, reporters, and just morbid thrill seekers. Mayor Waid spoke about how Denny saved hundreds of thousands of people with his actions, showing that you didn't need a mask and cape to be a hero.

Commissioner Dolan's speech was the hardest. Although Denny wasn't his biological son, Dolan and his wife had raised him from the time he was 13. Dolan talked about how he had always saw a spark in Denny, he knew he was destined for greatness. He had achieved that greatness, but to Dolan it wasn't worth the cost.

I turned around and walked away, headed for my car. I was a few yards away when I heard footsteps.

"Where you going?" Jay asked. I turned around and saw him standing there in his full police dress.

"I can't do this," I said, making sure I was out of earshot from anyone. "I can't watch."

"You need to watch. You need to watch and remember."

"Remember what, exactly? Failure?"

"Yes. Exactly that. You messed up and it cost a man his life."

I shook my head and turned to leave. Jay gently placed a hand on my shoulder to turn me back around.

"Don't walk away, Bart. That's the easy way out."

"Isn't walking away exactly what you did? Just gave up on being Mercury?"

"That's different," he said with a shake of his head. "We're not the same. You're better, you're faster."

"But I wasn't fast enough..."

"Learn from this, Bart. Don't let Denny's death be in vain.

"What lesson is there to learn?" I asked with a shrug. "Be perfect? Don't mess up? Falter once, and someone you care about with suffer?"

"Yes," Jay said, staring into my eyes. "The stakes are that high. You're not a kid playing superhero anymore, Bart. Nobody's perfect, that's true, but do what you can. Just one mistake can be the difference between life and death. Remember that, every time you put on the suit. It's not a game."

I looked at Jay, then down at my feet. "Okay," I said. "Let's go back."

*****


​

Epilogue

8 Hours Later
Wildwood Cemetery


Rain was falling on the fresh dirt of the grave of Denny Colt. Lightning flashed across the sky and thunder rumbled through the clouds. A small speck of dirt shifted. Then another chunk. Then a bigger section. Suddenly, a hand jutted from the dirt that turning into mud. Another hand broke from the ground and slowly, the person pulled themselves from the grave.

Panting and his suit covered in mud, Denny Colt laid on the ground with the rain washing over him. Denny suddenly bolted upright and tore off the suit jacket and button up shirt he was wearing. His hand went to his chest. Where there had been bullet holes, only the fainest indication of scars was there.

"What happened?" He whispered to himself. "Why am I still alive?"

 

[Andy C.]

Beijing



Mother of Champions was the first to die, her throat torn open in the opening seconds of combat by an orange blur. Cheetah had purred to herself, licking the fresh blood from her claws-- the first kill of the day was always so satisfying.

Immortal Man-In-Darkness had teleported to the cockpit of the Dragonwing, the most advanced aircraft ever built by human hands.....only to discover it was not obeying his commands. The pilot screamed in frustration and then in terror as Professor Ivo's nanomachines spun the Dragonwing end over end before driving it at full speed into the Eight Mile Bridge.

Celestial Archer fired mystical arrows from the Bow of Yi, each piercing the vital organs of Vandal Savage, but the archer's eyes grew wide as every absolutely lethal wound closed up in seconds, and before the shock could wear off, the immortal man rushed him, snapping his neck.

Within the very first minute, the Legion of Doom had brought down three of the Great Ten.

"You will die for your acts of evil!" shouted Ghost Fox Killer, her voice trembling with righteous fury, as she circled the massive form of Solomon Grundy in the panicked streets of Tianmen Square. "My touch alone brings instant death to evil men such as you!"

She sprang forward, attempting to rob the life from the pale brute.....

....and gasped when her touch had no effect.

"How can this be?!" she asked.

Grundy looked down at Ghost Fox Killer with cold, soulless eyes, then swung an enormous fist. There was a loud wet CRUNCH as the assassin's torso burst from the impact, and her body tumbled hundreds of feet, trailing sprays of blood and pulped organs before coming to a rest at the foot of the shattered Monument to the People's Heroes.

"My, my, you don't seem to be doing very well," Savage said mockingly as he casually rolled and spun between the Seven Deadly Brothers, the man's multiple forms using their complete mastery of the seven styles of Kung Fu to their fullest extent while the immortal practically danced. "Then again, rigid adherence to form leads to predictability, to stagnation. It doesn't allow room for the unexpected."

Savage ducked under a Mantis-style claw, then popped upwards, bringing the heel of his palm into the multiple's nose, forcing the cartilage into his brain. The remaining six staggered as the seventh flopped dead to the ground, allowing Savage to wrest away the Shaolin sabre from one and the Wudang straight sword from another, then slash and gut the remaining six Brothers down in a whirlwind of flashing steel and spraying blood.

"Bow down and know your betters, heathens of the East!" boomed Maxie Zeus, hurling bolts of lightning towards Thundermind and Shaolin Robot in the wreckage of the Beijing National Stadium. "Your false idols shall not stand against the awesome might of a god of Olympus!"

As if in perfect response, Shaolin Robot, an automaton from the First Empire, leaped towards Zeus, absorbing a tremendous lightning blast with little effect, and drove its blade through the madman's chest. Zeus sputtered in disbelief for a moment, crimson dribbling from his mouth, then fell dead among the rubble.

"Well done, friend," said Thundermind, "Now we must rally the others, and--"

Before he could finish his sentence, rays of pale blue washed over them both, encasing the two heroes in thick layers of ice. Killer Frost smiled at her handiwork. She could have interfered earlier and saved Zeus, but to be honest, she never liked him to begin with.

"Been waiting a long time to get my hands on red scum like you!" said the Atomic Skull, his death's-head visage wreathed in violet flames as he grappled with Socialist Red Guardsman.

"Your kind sicken me, capitalist swine," the Guardsman snarled, the brilliant green of his radiation channeling through his cybernetic containment suit and into his enemy. The Skull went tumbling, and Socialist Red Guardsman stalked towards him for the kill. "Now let us see how the boastful American meets his fate, under the fist of the People's Republic!"

Pulling himself to his feet, the Atomic Skull focused all of his power into a radioactive blast at a single joint in the Guardsman's armor, tearing it open.

"No!" he said as green light poured from the gash in his containment suit. "NOOOOOOO!"

Atomic Skull bounded forward and struck Socialist Red Guardsman with an uppercut, his strength enough to rival possibly even Superman himself. Guardsman was sent flying through the air, before the sky erupted into a blinding light.

This was followed by a roar that shattered ears, a blast of heat that charred flesh, and a wall of force that obliterated buildings. The fighting had ceased, as the Legion of Doom and the two surviving members of the Great Ten sought cover to survive the explosion.

Several minutes passed before the blinding light and deafening sound subsided, revealing a blackened sky, into which rose a mushroom cloud that blanketed several blocks.

Socialist Red Guardsman had erupted, taking out untold thousands of his fellow countrymen with him.

"How can this--" Accomplished Perfect Physician asked to himself, his question cut off by the Cheetah's claws severing his spine.

"MONSTERS!" bellowed August General In Iron, boiling with inhuman rage as he lashed at Cheetah with his spear. The super-fast murderess dodged each killing thrust with ease, but when she countered with her own claws, they scraped harmlessly against the man's impenetrable skin.

Cheetah withdrew, allowing Solomon Grundy to charge forward, swinging at the General with a blow that could cave in a mountain. August General In Iron ducked low and jabbed his spear into Grundy's thigh. The undead hulk howled in pain, the weapon the first thing that had ever actually hurt him, and the General withdrew the spear to thrust again, this time at Grundy's heart.

The blow, however, was deflected by the hand of Vandal Savage, snaking himself between the hero and the monster.

"You've been an entertaining warm-up for our battle with the Justice League," he said with a smirk, "but now it's time we finish it."

"You will all die by my hand, monster," August General In Iron growled. "My skin is impenetrable, and my spear can pierce any armor. There is nothing that will stop my vengeance upon you!"

Savage paused as if to consider the statement, and in that moment of hesitation, August General In Iron drove his spear through Savage's heart.

The leader of the Legion of Doom fell to his knees, eyes wide in deathly agony.......then he smiled.

"A word of advice, from someone who knew the Art of War millennia before your Sun Tzu," he said, grabbing the shaft of the spear and pulling it out of him. "If you have in your possession a weapon capable of killing you, then the last thing you ever want to do is tell your enemy about it."

With that, Vandal Savage, spun the spear around, and drove its point into the General's face.

The other members of the Legion of Doom grinned triumphantly, staring over the wreckage, the devastation they had wrought. Yes, they had lost one of their own, but had also slaughtered ten of the most powerful heroes on the planet. And now Beijing was theirs for the taking......

.....or at least, it would be, were it not for the web of green hexagon shapes that climbed into the sky. Someone was building a force field around the city, trying to trap the Legion inside of it.

"This is Luthor's doing," Savage said with a frown. "Ivo, get us out of here. Lex and I are going to have to have a very long talk."

The surviving six members of the Legion were bathed in sickly green light before blinking out of existence.

A few moments later, the honeycomb web closed over the city in a gigantic dome, and it too vanished. All that remained of the capital city of China was an enormous crated. As if Beijing had never been there at all.