The Ultimate DC RPG - Season III

[Batman]

"I have never even seen a plane this big."

As the three of us step out of the limosiene, Priscilla is the first to rush over to the private jet awaiting our departure. Jacob Marlowe nurses a sprained wrist wrapped in a sling as he adjusts the bandages on his head, taking point ahead of me. I watch the two of them with budding interest, watching how they interact with one another, before proceeding to the plane myself.

In the short time that we've been graced with Priscilla Kitaen's prescence, I find her behavior to only be increasingly odd. Though it seems to have barely phased Marlowe, who was attended to at a nearby medical facility for the lacerations recieved in the fight, I cannot help but wonder why he would even want her on this team after what she had done to him. The file that was given to me on the flight here had spoken of Priscilla as a gifted metahuman, able to change her form at will and show an abundance of physical strength when prompted. But the file said nothing about what she had transformed herself into back at the club, or the fact that she seemed particularly adept with the gravitational hold of inanimate objects. The way she allowed that gun to simply come to her - it was fascinating. If not very alarming, given what Marlowe is asking her to do.

What was particularly alarming was what I was able to do. My strength has doubled - perhaps even tripled - since my initial training sessions at the Halo Corporation. The shell of artificial skin grafted to my exoskeleton has hardened suffienciently, able to withstand the impact of a bullet's trajectory. It's unsettling to learn in such a way, as if I'm only just discovering my own capabilities for the very first time. And they are hardly what I'd be able to consider as a gift. If anything, it only further reminds me that I am not made of flesh and bone anymore.

No, that's an inaccurate assessment. I was never made of it in the first place.

"Strap yourselves in. We're due for an immediate takeoff."

After helping Marlowe into his seat, I sit down next to Priscilla and buckle myself in. She's too busy staring out the window to listen, particularly enthralled with the features above her as she gradually notices them. Several minutes pass before she finally finishes testing all of the buttons, finally relaxing herself as the in-flight stewardess hands her a complimentary beverage. She takes a sip and smiles towards Marlowe, who grimaces trying to light himself a cigarette.

"How very quaint. It must be useful. Thank you."

Using the opportunity to ask the obvious question, I wait until we're airbourne to lean forward.

"Sir, if I could ask. Where exactly are we heading to next?"

Priscilla looks over, caught in mid-sip. "You mean he doesn't tell you? Aren't you supposed to be an agent of his?"

Marlowe clears his throat, as I wonder how to respond to that.

"Mr. Colt is also fairly new to the operation, Ms. Kitaen. Infact, you two are the only ones officially signed up for what we have in store."

I shoot Marlowe a curious glance, at the name he just used. Colt?

"And what is that, exactly? You were never given the chance to explain."

"To be honest, that's only because I'm hardly ever thrown through a solid wall. Only a few women have been able to do that to me."

Priscilla smirks, evidently appreciative of the evident sarcasm. Though with Marlowe, it's been difficult to tell when he's not serious. The man looks as if he's constantly carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

"You'll be briefed on that soon, when we've finished the initial recruitment drive. I've been given strict orders to keep your first mission confidential until otherwise noted, and I intend to uphold that obligation."

I start to open my mouth, but he cuts me off before I can say anything.

"And to answer your question, John, we're heading to Southeastern Japan. A very special individual has been cutting cards in the Japanese underworld, and we suspect he may be in need of our help very soon."

John?

I'm starting to see how this works. My new name's been assigned to me, apparently. John Colt.

I guess it could've been worse. But it'll certainly take some getting used to.

"Oooh, a card shark. Color me intrigued."

Marlowe narrows his eyes, taking a hit off of the stick of nicotine. "Believe me, Ms. Kitaen. When you meet him, you'll hardly be as charmed with..."

He suddenly pauses, placing a hand to the side of his ear.

Then momentarily registers a look of shock, before mournfully closing his eyes and sitting back in his chair, contemplating whatever it is that he just learned.

"Sir? What is it? What's happened?"

"Beijing..."

He doesn't look either of us in the eye, as the words come out as barely a whisper.

"Some lunatics just wiped it off of the face of the Earth. I'm getting intel of it right now."

Both Priscilla and I look at eachother, rendered silent in amazement. My databases are already uploading all of the local news feeds into my HUD, only furthering confirming what the top story on everyone's minds is as we speak. But it's Marlowe that's affected the worst, as he leans forward and gives Priscilla a stern glance.

"You asked what the purpose of this operation is, Ms. Kitaen. Now you know. It's to prevent all of the horrible things like this from happening."

The jet ascends into the clouds above, and the rest of the flight is similarly filled with silence.

Whatever Operation WILDCAT is, I certainly hope it's worth all of this secrecy.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald mingles among the crowd at The Iceberg Lounge. For a city that is under siege like Gotham is The Iceberg Lounge is doing very brisk business.

Oswald slips into his private office and being making phone calls to various sources. His last one is to one in the Mayor's office.

Oswald asks his source, "How is he holding up?"

His source replies, "He's holding pretty good so far on camera, but..."

Oswald says, "Go on."

His source replies,"When the camreas are off he is already showing signs of stress and strain. He's even made mention of calling the National Guard of the Federal Govenment for help."

Oswald shakes his head and says, "It's a line. No way he'll do it The ACLU will make an episode out of the Federal Goverment over stepping and if he does anyway I'm sure I can have some local citizen groups step up for a cause such as civil liberties being infringed upon. Not worried keep me posted."

Oswald hangs up the phone and walks over to Titan and being feeding him.

He says, "My friend it might be time to do something rather unpleasant to try and step things up in our favor. Not saying I relish it but if it has to be done it has to be done."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Atom begins diagraming the cellular structures she saw in Cape Town. Once she is done she begins to run them through the Chemical Database on the Justice League's Main computer.

Some of this stuff doesn't exist on this planet. Nothing even close, but some of them. They're synthetic all-right time to find how these came to be. Cellular structures such as the synthetic ones don't just grow on trees, and they're so unique someone has to own the patent on them.

Atom begins jumping on various keys and when the computer is done processing all her data it then details the common thread.

Each one of the synthetic ones were created and owned by Lexcorp. Why am I not surprised? He might as well have autographed the elements. Somehow I knew he was involved in this, but the non-synthetic compounds and so forth also tells me that he has outside help on all of this, and that is what concerns me the most

She then begins to create a file detailing everything she knows. Once Atom is doen with that she floats over to near by table and sits down to catch her breath.

The evidence I have is circumstantal at best and almost invisible. Pete couldn't make a move on this evidence alone, and I have no idea where the rest of the Justice Leaguers are so I can tell them what I've found.

Just then an alert comes through detailing what has happened in Beijing.

Atom feels her heart sink to her feet and she shakes her head.

This has to stop somehow someway.

Atom leaves her evidence file open on the computer in case any Justice League members show up so they can see what she has found. She then calls LexCorp's switchboard and travels through the line right into LexCorp.

Now to find Lex's main office and hope I don't regret it later.

Atom then grows to about two inches and begins travelling through the Air ducts in search of Lex's office.

 

[Andy C.]

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lex Luthor began, in front of throngs of press that he had called for to make a statement regarding the events in Cape Town and Beijing, "In light of recent, tragic circumstances, I feel it is necessary to reveal information which has been, until this moment, known to no one but myself and a very select few."

That 'select few' was, of course, the inner circle of Luthor's Society: Ra's al Ghul, Kobra, Felix Faust, the Ultra-Humanite, and the Queen Bee, who had been elevated into the inner circle after the 'betrayal' of Vandal Savage. Even then, however, much information was kept completely secret even among those who would consider themselves Luthor's equals, knowledge only passed between Lex himself and the extraterrestrial AI known as Brainiac.

"In recent days, the world has been shaken to its very foundation, confronted by the horrors of what can only be labeled as metahuman terrorism," Luthor said grimly. "This 'Legion of Doom,' as they are called, have wrought havoc and devastation everywhere they have gone. Between the assassination of the UN Secretary General, the destruction of the Aswan High Dam and the flooding of the Nile Valley, and today's attacks on Beijing and Cape Town, the results have been nothing short of staggering. While an accurate death toll cannot be made at the moment, even the most conservative estimates total the dead in the tens if not hundreds of thousands. The critically injured, the dispossessed, the missing, likely number in the millions. Entire regions of the world will suffer from the Legion's actions for decades to come."

The somber tone in his voice changed to one of indignation.

"And yet, in light of these horrific tragedies, we find ourselves asking entirely the wrong questions. 'Where did they come from?' 'What do they want?' 'Why are they doing this?' In reality, only one question demands immediate answers, one which no one has had the stomach to ask:"

Luthor's eyes flashed with anger.

"Where is the Justice League?"

The crowd of reporters and correspondents broke out into a tumult of frenzied talk, some loudly agreeing with Luthor, others defending the League. After a precisely calculated allotment of time, Luthor put up a hand, and the crowd quieted.

"According to the League, they exist to prevent global catastrophe, to stop suffering and injustice wherever and whenever they see it," Luthor sneered. "Yet they have been all but completely inactive in the fight to stop the Legion of Doom. Yes, Superman and the Flash have been spotted combating minor threats within the confines of their own home cities, but others, such as the Batman, have disappeared completely. Could it be that they are unprepared or unwilling to face the Legion? That they are afraid of any group that could so openly challenge their own power? Are they simply unable to keep up with the Legion's actions?"

Lex's eyes narrowed, his tone grave and severe.

"Or perhaps, the Justice League has other reasons for sitting on the sidelines," he said. "Let's not forget Superman's actions in Pokolistan. The beloved Man of Steel brought an entire nation to its knees by himself. While they now claim he was under the influence of a telepath, what real evidence to we have to support that, other than his word? Perhaps, instead of assuming control through sheer force, the Justice League is seeking other avenues to power. By letting the Legion of Doom run rampant and unopposed, the need for intervention will continue to grow, until the cavalry finally swoops in and 'saves the day,' and a grateful human race gives them dominion over the Earth!"

This was a major risk, placing his own reputation and influence against the actions of Superman and his kind, attempting to defraud and undermine the Justice League. Many would see his wild and baseless accusation as just that. Many more, however, placed an extraordinary amount of faith on Luthor's word, and with the seeds of doubt planted in the minds of the public, it could grow into suspicion and outright hatred.

"Whatever the reason for the League's inaction," Lex continued, smoothing his voice into the forced calmness of a man who had been overcome by grief and had just said something he didn't actually mean, "The Society cannot and will not allow the Legion of Doom to go unopposed. While weapons and soldiers to directly confront them are still in development, we have put in place certain countermeasures to respond to their threat. The most drastic of these countermeasures you have already seen, in Beijing and in Cape Town."

The crowd murmured with questions.

"Official reports claim that in the middle of the Legion's attacks, both cities were surrounded by a dome of energy, then disappeared without a trace," he said. "This is not entirely true. Neither city has been destroyed or lost. They have merely been.....relocated."

Luthor gestured to the dais next to the podium where he stood, and a trap door in the platform slid open. Rising up from the dais was a pedestal, on which sat two translucent green cylinders, each rippling with the same honeycomb pattern of energy. Incredibly, inside each of the cylinders were what appeared to be miniature replicas of Beijing and Cape Town.

"These are what we call Collector Pods," Luthor said. "They represent the single greatest technological leap humanity has ever achieved. By focusing the infinite energy of the Blue--" he explained, referencing the 'mysterious' energy source that was in reality the comatose and soulless body of Dr. Jon Osterman-- "We have found a way to distort the dimensional membrane itself, to effectively pinch off small pockets of space-time and 'bottle' them in these pods. Their apparent miniaturization is merely a result of spatial lensing. Due to the temporal distortion caused by the bottling process, time progresses differently inside than it does here--a day in the bottle could be years in the real world. What this effectively means is that cities under attack from the Legion of Doom could be isolated, repaired, restored--and, if necessary, quarantined--until the crisis has passed, all within the span of a day or so from the perspective of the victims."

Luthor looked at the pods with more than a small amount of pride--replicating Brainiac's technology had not been easy, but the results were nothing short of miraculous.

"I realize this solution is not exactly ideal," he said. "But until the technology is developed to confront and defeat the Legion of Doom, it is our best chance. The Society will continue to lend aid, disaster relief, and technological firepower to any nation that will have us, so that we may all survive and overcome the current crisis. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen."

Luthor strode out of the conference room amidst a sea of questioning reporters.

Frowning, Vandal Savage switched off the news feed.

"So Luthor wants to make this a two-front war," he said to himself. "Perhaps it's time we bring this 'crisis' to his doorstep..."

 

[Byrd Man]

Justice League Headquarters
Happy Harbor, RI


"Whatcha' lookin' at?" Snapper Carr asked from his seat. He was sitting at the conference table, going to town on a chicken leg.

"The news," I said with a shake of my head. In front of me were reports, videos, and news about the past 24 hours. From Atom's run in with some secret government folks in Cape Town, to the massacre in Bejing, to the Luthor conference just a few minutes ago.

I flopped down in the chair front of the monitor and sighed. "It's getting bad out there."

"Really?" Snapper asked, a chunk of chicken in his mouth. "I thought y'all stopped stuff like that from happenin'."

"I thought so , too."

These events, coupled with my own problems at home, were starting to make me regret ever getting powers to start with. Can't believe I actually would have that thought, but there it is. Is this what John Fox meant when he mentioned I would be put through trials?

"So, why don'tcha stop it?"

"Easier said than done."

"Naah," Snapper said, finishing off the last of his chicken. "It's easy to do. All 'a you can do all kindsa cool ****, but you can't take it to a buncha a-holes with powers?"

"We can, but--"

"But what? It's too hard? Goddamn, son. I been homeless since '98. That's hard. You putting the fear of god into a couple 'a jerks ain't. You're a hero, be heroic."

"... I didn't know you were so passionate."

"I ain't," Snapper said with a shrug. "I just know if you all get killed, there goes my free ride."

I chuckled and turned back to the monitor. I decided to look through the data and see if I can spot any patterns or anything Atom missed. I may not be Batman, but I can find an answer here if it's to be found. Someone has to take it to these jerks.
​

 

[Batman]

"I'm only gonna ask you once, Robert..."

"Who had him released from Arkham?! Who's put him back on the streets?! TELL ME!"

My fist slams into the third-rate apartment's wall, leaving a spiderweb crack large enough for this piece of gutterball slime to tell that I'm not playing games. Robert Etchinson is his name, and he holds a particular interest to me in regards to this case. Namely because of the fact that at one time, he was Arnold Etchinson's brother, and the only one of his entire family to speak on Arnold's behalf during the court hearing for the murder of his father. I know that because I was there, as his pending psychiatrist. Gordon had asked for my professional opinion whenever it became apparent that they were going to go forth with the insanity defense, and I was asked to be witness to one of the trial hearings when I couldn't be sure. The truth is, "The Abbatoir" is definitely insane. But what kind of insanity he has is an infuriatingly complex answer, even when all signs point to the obvious. My sessions with him proved that much.

In the case of his brother, Robert Etchinson fell on hard times whenever the family empire crumbled under the scandal. He got off light, compared to the rest. They have a sister that slit her wrists and died in a pool of her own blood. An uncle that fled the country, never to be heard from again. The mother went into psychiatrict therapy for months before deciding to hide her pain with lavish spending sprees, ultimately bankrupting the fortune of millions and putting the rest out on the streets.

In many ways, Arnold ended up getting what he wanted. He only murdered and cannibalized his father, but his actions destroyed the entire family. That doesn't mean that Robert is entirely clueless about his brother's latest set of friends in high places, though. Even though he's flat broke, Robert's tried to make a little money on the side - by handling small-time shipments of drugs that are out of The Syndicate's jurisdiction. He makes good money, and he has even better connections. Can't imagine he'd want to completely seperate himself from the only family he might have left.

Robert drops to his knees, sweating and pleading. Makes the numbing pain in my fist nearly worth it.

"L-Look, man... I don't... I don't know what happened to Arnie! I-I swear to Christ on it!"

Silently, I size him up, looking for the telltale signs of a lie. And immediately find damn near all of them. Grabbing him by the front of his shirt, I lift him off of the ground and slam the back of his head into his own wall. I know he thinks he's well-intentioned. He just wants to protect someone he loves. But every moment that Etchinson is back on the streets, one less person is safe from becoming another victim. He never got to kill again, but that was only because he was never given the chance.

I've been inside of his head. And it's not a place I ever wanna go back to.

"Listen to me, you lying sack of crap!", I all-but-spit in his face, pressing him hard against the fading wallpaper. "Your brother is a very dangerous man! He's got the mind of a serial murderer, and all he needs are the tools! And now someone just gave him those! He is on the loose and if you don't tell me where he is right now..."

Pulling him by the hair, I bring him level to my face and give a growl.

"I will hold you personally responsible for everyone he kills. You hear me?! If he doesn't go down, you sure as hell will!"

He struggles to say anything, but he eventually grabs my wrists. Not in a hostile manner, but as the broken down man that he really is. "Oh, Jesus... I... I didn't want this to happen! Please, I beg you! Put him back in Arkham! He's not well! I only agreed to give them the information on his case because they hustled me! They said they'd... they'd tell The Roman what I've been doin' for cash."

Finally. We're getting somewhere.

"Who was it, Robert? Who blackmailed you?"

He begins sweating even more, his words devolving into faint whispers.

"It was... she was..."

Wait. She?

*BRAKABRAKABRAKABRAKA!*

Just as he finally starts to reveal who had his brother released from treatment, we're both caught off guard by the sound of Etchinson's window being broken to pieces. Muffled gunfire blasts. At first, I believe it's an attempt to keep him silent, so I throw him to the ground and immediately roll for the window, expecting to find a hitman waiting on the other side. I don't, however, see anyone whenever I glance beyond the broken glance.

A couple of cars are speeding away on the streets, but they don't seem interested in us. The gunfire wasn't meant for me or Robert at all, it was a couple of stray shots. Makes a hell of alot more sense, given the trajectory of the bullets, but what were they shooting at?

Then I see a figure leap across the rooftops, desperately trying not to get caught.

And it's a figure I recognize.

"Oh, you've gotta be..."

Catwoman. Of course it's her, it just had to be the person I wanted to come across the least.

What the hell has she gotten herself into?

"Oh, god! Oh, god! Don't let them kill me! I BEG YOU!"

"Quit your crying, you're safe for now. We'll have to continue this later. But trust me, Robert, if your brother isn't back in a cell by midnight... I will be back for round two."

With that final word, I kick open the glass and leap out of the window, heading into Gotham.

Unbelievable.

My luck, it's just unbelievable.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

The Atom continues floating through the massive air-duct system of Lex Corp.

Even if I was my customary 6 inch height this air-duct system would still be the size of the Metropolis Subway Tunnel System, and I have no clue where to even begin to start from.

Just then she hears Lex giving his press conference.

Well this might be useful to hear. If nothing else it might be good for a laugh.

Luthor's eyes flashed with anger.

"Where is the Justice League?"

The crowd of reporters and correspondents broke out into a tumult of frenzied talk, some loudly agreeing with Luthor, others defending the League. After a precisely calculated allotment of time, Luthor put up a hand, and the crowd quieted.

"According to the League, they exist to prevent global catastrophe, to stop suffering and injustice wherever and whenever they see it," Luthor sneered. "Yet they have been all but completely inactive in the fight to stop the Legion of Doom. Yes, Superman and the Flash have been spotted combating minor threats within the confines of their own home cities, but others, such as the Batman, have disappeared completely. Could it be that they are unprepared or unwilling to face the Legion? That they are afraid of any group that could so openly challenge their own power? Are they simply unable to keep up with the Legion's actions?"

Lex's eyes narrowed, his tone grave and severe.

"Or perhaps, the Justice League has other reasons for sitting on the sidelines," he said. "Let's not forget Superman's actions in Pokolistan. The beloved Man of Steel brought an entire nation to its knees by himself. While they now claim he was under the influence of a telepath, what real evidence to we have to support that, other than his word? Perhaps, instead of assuming control through sheer force, the Justice League is seeking other avenues to power. By letting the Legion of Doom run rampant and unopposed, the need for intervention will continue to grow, until the cavalry finally swoops in and 'saves the day,' and a grateful human race gives them dominion over the Earth!"

"Whatever the reason for the League's inaction," Lex continued, smoothing his voice into the forced calmness of a man who had been overcome by grief and had just said something he didn't actually mean, "The Society cannot and will not allow the Legion of Doom to go unopposed. While weapons and soldiers to directly confront them are still in development, we have put in place certain countermeasures to respond to their threat. The most drastic of these countermeasures you have already seen, in Beijing and in Cape Town."

Well maybe it's time to show that bald-headed jackass that The Justice League is still on the job.

She stops herself when she hears Lex begin to address the recent cities being wiped out.

Okay this I gotta hear. Come on Lex give me something I can use against you!

"Official reports claim that in the middle of the Legion's attacks, both cities were surrounded by a dome of energy, then disappeared without a trace," he said. "This is not entirely true. Neither city has been destroyed or lost. They have merely been.....relocated."

Suddenly she sees the shrunken cities.

Holy Mother of Mercy. That can't be....that...no!

The Atom starts shaking her head.

Lex always wanted to be the big man on the planet. Now he and his Society can do it by making the rest of the planet smaller.

"These are what we call Collector Pods," Luthor said. "They represent the single greatest technological leap humanity has ever achieved. By focusing the infinite energy of the Blue--" he explained, referencing the 'mysterious' energy source that was in reality the comatose and soulless body of Dr. Jon Osterman-- "We have found a way to distort the dimensional membrane itself, to effectively pinch off small pockets of space-time and 'bottle' them in these pods. Their apparent miniaturization is merely a result of spatial lensing. Due to the temporal distortion caused by the bottling process, time progresses differently inside than it does here--a day in the bottle could be years in the real world. What this effectively means is that cities under attack from the Legion of Doom could be isolated, repaired, restored--and, if necessary, quarantined--until the crisis has passed, all within the span of a day or so from the perspective of the victims."

Atom is visbly shaken and feels her blood begin to boil.

If it was anyone else I would say it might be a viable option. With Lex though I have no doubt he'll never restore those cities!

"I realize this solution is not exactly ideal," he said. "But until the technology is developed to confront and defeat the Legion of Doom, it is our best chance. The Society will continue to lend aid, disaster relief, and technological firepower to any nation that will have us, so that we may all survive and overcome the current crisis. Thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen."

Atom shrinks down to less than inch in height and floats above the reporters. Staying close to the ceiling while being mindful fo the security cameras and other security devices she begins following Lex out of the room.

Oh no Baldy there's no way on the planet I'm loosing you!

 

[Spike_x1]

With his pal Superman waiting in his car, Jimmy Olsen makes his way through the city room of the Daily Planet and successfully reaches the exit to the roof of the building without drawing attention to himself. Quickly scrambling up the stairs, he keeps a clear focus on what needs to be done. I know some people come up here for a smoke, so I need to make sure the coast is clear first of all. And Clark said he keeps a change of clothes hidden behind the switchbox for the Globe, so main priorities established: check.

Opening the roof access door and stepping out to see the entire Metropolis skyline and the staggering monolithic buildings all around him, Olsen had to pause for a moment to take in the view. He suddenly regretted not having come up before now.

Is this how Clark sees the city?

"Take a picture, kid. It'll last longer."

Startled back to the present, Jim nearly fell over at the sound of the voice of Lois Lane, leaning against the projector for the holographic spinning globe, barely ten feet away from him and taking a drag on a cigarette. "Lois! Jeez, I... hey, I thought you quit."

Looking down at her cigarette, Lois grimaced a bit before dropping it to the ground and stamping it out under her shoe. "Don't tell Kent," she said, crossing her arms. "I don't want him thinking I took up the habit again just because we broke up."

"...Did you?"

"Shut it, twerp."

"Now I may be just a simple country Hyper-Chicken, but didn't you quit in the first place because you two were dating?"

Lois only shifted her eyes repeatedly back and forth between Jimmy and the nearby ledge, thirty stories above the street. "No jury would convict me." Finally, not seeing any potential avenue of conversation that she'd enjoy taking with Olsen, Lois growled and marched back into the building, shouldering past the kid and slamming the door behind her.

Dumbstruck, it took an minute before Jimmy remembered what he was there for and walked around the giant glowing hologram projected above him until he finally found the switchbox. "Bingo."

I'm not used to feeling so useless. I've always felt most at home when stepping up to a challenge and fighting the good fight, whether I'm in the spotlight and people are watching or not. It's what I try to do, both as Superman and as Clark Kent. It's who I am.

But now I've been forced to hide in Jimmy Olsen's car in a dark corner of a parking garage. Man.

For right now though, what else can I do? I have no powers to take the fight to the Legion of Doom or that purple monster, and I can't exactly walk through my office or my apartment building to get clothes for myself so that I can at least do my part as a journalist and try to figure something out. So I'm stuck and totally dependent on Jim, and again, I'm not used to depending on anyone.

A knock on the car window gets my attention and I turn to see Jim has returned with a knapsack full of my clothes, and eagerly open the door to receive them. "Thank Rao," I say under my breath as I start throwing my shirt on over my uniform.

""Rao"?"

"Hm? Oh, it's a, uh, Kryptonian God of Light, a sort of personification of their sun."

"Right. I keep forgetting the whole alien thing.

Putting my pants and shoes on now. "What?"

"Well, I mean, you're not human and you've probably got your own alien language and culture and stuff."

"It's not really as black and white as that. I value what I know of the planet I came from, and certain lessons I learned from them has influenced me, but in the end I was raised as a human being. Clark Kent isn't a disguise, and neither is Superman. I'm not faking anything when I put on tights and take to the skies, and everything you know about me as a person... as your friend Clark, has always been true. I'm not going to lie to you."

"What about Lois?"

"Lois is the last person I would lie to." Buttoning up my jacket and tying my tie, I begin walking toward the elevator. I really hate to end this here, but I need to check in on the latest updates on the Legion of Doom and the Parasite. "I really can't thank you enough for what you did for me today, Jim. I promise, we'll talk more later and I'll tell you everything you could ever want to know, but I have to go to work."

Without being able to kick my thought processes or typing speed into high gear, putting together the day's biggest story feels like it's taking an eternity, but at the same time the clock is counting down to my deadline far too quickly for my comfort. I guess that I just never thought about how much I use my powers in my everyday life before now, even out of costume. So many otherwise trivial details that I'm not accustomed to, plus it simply feels wrong that I can't keep the back of my mind attuned to listen for cries of help in the city, or any other signs of crimes being committed.

At the very least, however, I still know how to put together a story. With STAR Labs' cooperation, we've found that the janitor who was horribly disfigured and mutated today went by the name of Rudy Jones. It got more interesting still as we dug further and discovered that Jones was really an alias and he was actually formerly known as Max Jensen, an old leg breaker for some loan sharks in Suicide Slum who got tired of the business and reinvented himself, but is still wanted under that name for questioning in regards to several cases of homicide. Described by coworkers as mostly keeping to himself and not especially good at forming new friendships, he was apparently a well meaning individual nevertheless, ironically enough. Jones/Jensen has no known relatives or acquaintances, and by all accounts he was honestly trying to put a decent new life together and distance himself from his criminal past as much as possible before today's transformation.

Assuming that Lois has been able to keep track of Jones' activities since acquiring my powers, even on top of his own, my biographical info should compliment her current events and make for a decent headliner for the newest supervillain to hit town.

*Click* SEND *Click*

I suppose it was only a matter of time before the public found out that Superman has been put out of action, as per our obligation to report the truth and make people aware of the danger being posed to them. I only wish that there was something more that I could do.

~You'll be back and right as rain soon enough, Supey.~

With a sudden jerk that nearly flings me out of my own chair, I spin around in search of the voice that had just spoken to me. What the hell was that? It sounded like a very thick British accent, spoken by someone who knows I'm Superman, but... he was... whoever it was, was he speaking telepathically, inside my mind? His words had a similar ring to them as J'onn's psychic 'voice,' but that knowledge doesn't help to calm me down.

Picking up my coat from off the back of my chair and finishing what's left of my mug of cold coffee, I make my way for the elevator. I need to pay a visit to John Henry Irons.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald sees Gamble walk through the door of his private conference room. Oswald nods towards one of his bodyguards who closes the door and as soon as the door closes all other conversations suddenly cease.

Oswald stands up and looks at those gathered and says, "My fellow associates we're making progress. Gotham is in a state of near anarchy. The costumed freaks are not involved in our affairs neither are the Police."


He begins pacing the table leaning on his cane and says, "We've driven Thorne out of office. We've dealt with a traitor in our midst and things are coming together for our take over very nicely."

Everyone either nods or politely says, "Yes"

Oswald stops and says, "However we have reached a point in our operation where it is time to raise the stakes, and to show that in operations such as this there are always loses."


Everyone looks at one another for a moment and Oswald says, "Tomorrow night to keep suspicion away from anyone in here and myself. The Iceberg Lounge will be hit!"

The room is silent and people are visibly shaken as Oswald looks at each member.

He says, "It's kind of strange that so many buildings and businesses have been affected and yet this one is still standing without a scratch."

Gamble asks, "Any particular way you're looking at Oswald?"

Oswald replies, "Shoot out and a gas line is hit and..." He mouths the word "boom."

Oswald continues, "This is to occur after the close of business. I want zero body count concerning my staff!"

Oswald then glares at the gathered and says, "Any staff member killed or gets so much as a twisted ankle I will personally hold each and everyone of you responsible."

Lau asks, "What if we were not even in Gotham when this happens?"

Oswald takes a step towards Lau and says, "Anything at all I will find you."

Oswald composes himself and says, "Again concerning my staff zero body count. Understood?"

Everyone nods and agrees.

 

[Andy C.]

Out of the blackness, I experience distant hints of sensation. The feeling of being picked up or jostled around. The sound of jet engines. It's all so distant, muffled, like I'm lying at the bottom of a pool, trying to hear someone shouting from the surface.

Eventually, the darkness is penetrated by bright light. I feel a stinging on my eyelids.....

......and I wake up.

"Raven? Starfire?" Is the first thing I say, my eyes darting around the room. It's only when I realize they're not there that I actually take in details about where I am.

I was halfway expecting some kind of prison cell, a grimy dungeon where we'd be tortured for information, or brainwashed to do someone else's bidding.

Instead, the room I'm in is clean, white walls, the room's furniture consisting of a dresser on the far wall, a desk, and the surprisingly comfortable bed in which I'm lying. There's a window overlooking an elaborate garden, where I see people in costumes walking about, talking, reading books. If anything, the place feels less like a prison and more like a dormitory.

I'm somewhat surprised to see that I'm still in costume, with the exception of my boots which have been laid at the foot of my bed, and my utility belt which is nowhere to be found. I'm even more surprised when I try the door and find it unlocked.

[BLACKOUT]"It's good to see you are awake, new students,"[/BLACKOUT] I hear a voice speaking to me from......inside my head? [BLACKOUT]"There is no need to be alarmed, I promise. If you will follow the lights to the main hall, we can begin proper introductions."[/BLACKOUT]

There's a series of lights that run down the white hexagonal corridor, flashing in a sequence to point me down a specific path. I'm skeptical at best, but I don't really seem to have any other options. Besides, I'm not seeing any cameras or surveillance equipment anywhere, so if I do have to make a run for it, it shouldn't be a problem. I follow the lights.

The path takes me to a large chamber, winding staircases on either side leading up to a large set of golden double doors, and a large ornate fountain in the center. Across from me, two other doors open. Out of one steps Raven, eyeing the place warily, surrounded by an aura of black and purple energy. Out of the other is Starfire, who floats around the chamber with a look of timid curiosity.

"Raven! Starfire!" I say, running towards them with a rush of relief. "You're okay!"

Raven raises an eyebrow at me, and I stop my embarrassing excitable run.

"I, um, I mean.....you guys are okay. Cool."

"Smooth," she says, rolling her eyes. "Any idea where we are?"

"I, too, would like some more information as to our whereabouts," Starfire says, still flitting around the room nervously. "Although this place does seem welcoming, the way we were brought here concerns me."

"Same here," I say. "Now that we're all together, we can start looking for some answers about this place, and who's behind it....."

[BLACKOUT]"You could start, of course, by asking,"[/BLACKOUT] says the same voice that had resounded in my mind. Only this time, it's coming from the top of the staircase, spoken aloud by a beautiful woman.

[BLACKOUT]"I am Queen Bee,"[/BLACKOUT] she introduces herself, [BLACKOUT]"Monarch of the Sovereign Nation of Bialya, and founder and headmistress of the H.I.V.E."[/BLACKOUT]

Bialya?!?! We've been Shanghaied to the other side of the world?!

[BLACKOUT]"Allow me to answer a few questions that you may want answered,"[/BLACKOUT] she continues as she practically glides down the winding staircase towards us. [BLACKOUT]"This facility is meant to be a place where young people of extraordinary ability can train and focus their talent, so they may help make the world a better place. Due to public mistrust towards metahumans, our location must remain secret, which is why you were rendered unconscious before being brought here. You will have to forgive Psimon for his rather inelegant methods."[/BLACKOUT]

Her voice is charming and reassuring, and so far I haven't seen anything that would cause me to second guess her. But I can't say I like how casually she brushes off the fact that we were basically kidnapped.

"You knock us unconscious, keeping us under for who knows how long, and bring us halfway across the planet," Raven says, an indignant growl growing in her voice, "And you expect us to just be okay with it?"

[BLACKOUT]"I realize that it is not entirely ideal,"[/BLACKOUT] says Queen Bee in a placating voice, [BLACKOUT]"But you must admit that such measures are at at least very reasonable, yes?"[/BLACKOUT]

At the sound of her voice, any trace of doubt or skepticism I had seems just kind of.....silly. I mean, of course she had to put us under so she could bring us to her secret training facility. It's perfectly reasonable, isn't it?

"I.....I guess," Raven says, the magical aura around her disappearing.

[BLACKOUT]"It is good that you understand,"[/BLACKOUT] she says, satisfied. [BLACKOUT]"Now then, each class of recruits is trained in squads of five. The three of you are now a part of Titan Squad. Allow me to show you to your team's quarters, so you may meet your squadmates...."[/BLACKOUT]

Queen Bee beckons for us to follow, and I'm only too glad to go along with her. Starfire seems happy as well, eager to meet new friends and begin training. Even Raven seems content with our new home.




......wait.......new home? Where did that thought come from? I'm just here to make sure Rachel and Kori are going to be okay here. I still have to get back to Gotham, to find Tony Zucco, to help Mister Wayne--

[BLACKOUT]"Come along now, Robin,"[/BLACKOUT] she says to me. [BLACKOUT]"We don't want to keep your new teammates waiting, do we?"[/BLACKOUT]

".....no.....we don't....." I answer, and follow after her, all of my reservations melting away.

I'm in an amazing school in a beautiful country, studying and training with good friends, to make the world a better, happier place.

You know........I think I'm going to like it here...........

 

[Byrd Man]

Spoiler

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."
​

Carpathian Mountains
Romania

The cargo plane droned 10,000 feet above the Carpathians. Inside the cargo hold, Bronze Tiger, Deadshot, Vertgio, and Nightshade -- Task Force X's field team-- were gathered in a semi-circle around Flag as he went through final preparations. Their specialist, the man calling himself Skinner Sweet, was off by himself, watching the criminals and soldiers talk.

"Ten minutes from now, the door goes open and we jump. I'm lead and I'll have a strobe beacon on my pack and chute. Follow the strobe down to the ground. From where we'll land, it's about a six or seven hour hike to the castle. We'll be getting there just as the sun sets, about two hours before the auction starts. That should give us plenty of time to get into position. Questions?"

"What's up with these bullets, Rick?" Bronze Tiger asked, holding up a clip he'd been given on the plane ride. "Why wooden bullets?"

"Ben, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you. Suffice to say this, Waller says their important and she told me why."

"Who gives a damn?" Lawton asked with a shrug, loading a clip into his wrist mounted guns. "Bullet moving at 4,000 feet per second is gonna do the job, even if it's made of jello."

"Right. Vertigo, you're familiar with the area?"

"A bit," the former Vlatvian prince said as he adjusted the eyepiece strapped to his left eye. "Vlatvia shared a border with this part of Romania until it was carved up by the communists. I have been to this area with my father before."

"Good, you can act as a guide of sorts."

"What about him?" Nightshade asked with a glance over her shoulder. Sweet was lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep drag off of it.

"Mister Sweet's job concerns the castle."

"I've actually been there," Sweet said, exhaling a column of smoke from his mouth. "I know how to get us in undetected. Don't worry, darlin'," he said with a wink at Nightshade. "When you're with Uncle Skinner, you're in good hands."

"Oh, I bet," she deadpanned.

"Alright, enough grab ass. Everyone grab your packs and gear. It's almost time to jump..."


20 Minutes Later


Flag was crouched beside his parachute, tucking the chute back into the pack. His weapons and other gear were to his right. Behind him, the others were doing the same. They were perched in a small valley between two of the Carpathians' shortest mountains.

"Not a bad jump," Sweet said as he approached Flag. "Had rougher."

"So have I," Flag said dismissively.

"Something wrong, GI Joe?"

"Yeah," Flag said, standing and looking at Sweet. "You," he said under his breath, out of earshot from the rest of the team. "If you are... what you say you are, and these people we're going to are the same... then why are you helping us? What do you gain from this?"

"Flag, it's Flag isn't it? Flag, you ever had someone **** you over? I don't mean like **** your girl, take ten bucks from your wallet, I mean ruin your life, your whole reason for being, and leave you for dead?"

Flag's eyes briefly glazed over. For one long moment, he was back in that horrible, cramped cell in Kenya, he was being beaten with nightsticks, electrocuted with cattle prods, and being waterboarded.

"Yes," he said, blinking. "I know what that feels like."

"How far would you go to make the bastards who done it pay?"

"Far. Really, really far."

"Exactly," Sweet said, pulling a sucker from his pocket and unwrapping it. "What's about to come tonight? It's what I'm hoping is the final chapter in a grudge that's gone on for a very long time. And for that chance? Hell, I'd work with whoever I could."

"Is that why Waller was so adamant on green lighting everyone that's going to be at this auction? Was that your stipulation for giving her the intel?"

"Y'all wanna save the world," Sweet said with a shrug. "I wanna get my revenge. Far as I can tell, it's a win win."

Sweet stuck the sucker in his mouth and winked at Flag before walking off. Flag sighed and picked his M4 from the ground. He slid it on his shoulder and turned to Vertigo. "Any of this land look familiar?"

"Vaguely," he said as he looked around. "It's been nearly twenty years since I was here. I did not grow up in this lands, but from what I can remember it is mostly populated by sheep herders and farmers."

"We need to avoid as many people as we can on our way to Castle Dubrinsky. These people could have eyes and ears throughout the country side."

"You have a map, yes? With it, I can create a path for us to follow."

"Good. For now, we need to get as far away from the jump site as we can."

"Flag? One more thing." Vertigo looked up at the mountains all around. "When I was a boy, I heard stories about this Castle Dubrinsky, about how peasants would go there and never return. In fact, this whole area is the stuff of ghost stories. In Romania, it is called: Diavolul trecere which means Devil's Passage."

Flag looked at Vertigo uneasily before turning away.

"Let's get moving, we're wasting daylight."

 

[Byrd Man]

IC: Captain Cold

Johnson's Motor Lodge
Keystone City, KS


"A week now since the events that rocked both cities and left a Central City Police officer dead, and one assailant is still at large. Leonard Snart, aka Captain Cold, is still missing after confronting and fighting the Flash on a frozen patch of the Missouri River. The rest of Snart's conspirators have been captured and are in Iron Heights. Keep in mind that Snart is a metahuman and he is considered extremely dangerous. If you see him, call 911 right away. Reporting tonight for KSCC, I'm Linda Park."

I turned off the TV and tossed the remote control of the motel bed. A few blocks away, a siren rang out in the night and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.

McCulloch, Mardon, and Michelle are all in the clink. No doubt they're all tied down to their beds in some dark hole. It's how the cops are combating the so-called "super criminals." They're doing everything from extreme solitary, to medically induced comas and everything in between. Last time I was in Iron Heights, I heard rumors about shady government types nosing around, looking for people who can do stuff like we can do. They take them down to some fancy prison in the Louisiana bayou and they never come back. What they do with them once they get down there is anyone's guess.

So now I'm on the run, the only one that didn't get knocked out by Flash. They all went to jail, and now the whole goddamn caper has been laid on our doorstep. Dillon, the kid Walker, and that spooky guy we were working for haven't contacted me at all. I've been left out in the cold, branded a terrorist. I won't deny we terrorized both cities, but all that bull**** involving the reservoir wasn't us. There was money in it, and we took money to keep the Flash busy, but that's not how I like to do business. There's no profit in killing civilians. You get a rep for doing that kind of thing, then you can't earn a living.

*Bzzzz*

The burner cellphone on the night stand vibrated. I stood over it, breathing heavily. The caller ID confirmed my fears.

Incoming Call: Blocked Number

I took a deep breath and picked it up, flipping the phone open.

"Yeah?"

"Snart," Dillon said on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"In a safe place," I said nonchalantly. "Laying low. That's all that matters."

"So, Johnson's Motor Lodge out by I-70, right?"

"...What do you want, Dillon?"

"Giving you a chance to come in. Despite how things ended up, you did your job well. My employer is interested in doing more work with you."

"Not interested."

"Why? My money is good. Trust me, Snart, this is your last chance."

"It's not about money. It's about what you are, what you do. Smarmy little ***holes like you have been telling me what to do all my life. I'm tired of working for you, Dillon. I got the powers, I can do what I want. So, tell your boss that the both of you can blow it out your asses."

"Unfortunate," Dillon said with a sigh. "Most unfortunate. I didn't want it to come to this, but the die has been cast, Lenny. Goodbye."

The line went dead and I chucked the phone across the room in anger. The hell does he get off, telling me what to do? Like me saying no to him is the end of the world.

I sat back down on the bed and started to turn on the TV when...


WHAM!

The door to the room burst open, flying off its hinges. Police officers in SWAT gear rushed through the door.

"KCPD!" The officer in the lead shouted, a gun in his hands. "DON'T MOVE SNART!"

I threw my hands up, icy energy glowing off my fingertips.

"That's how Dillon wants to play it?" I said under my breath. "Then let's do it this way!"

I shoved my hands forward, ice blasting out into the air and coating the police officers. Within a few seconds, the half dozen heavily armed men were frozen solid. I reached under the bed, grabbed my gym bag and parka, and bolted for the window in the bathroom. Five minutes later, I was three blocks away.

Dillon thought leaving me out in the cold would weaken me, make me desperate, make me want to give up. Come back running to him with my tail tucked between my legs. That's where he ****ed up. Big time. Out in the cold that's my natural element.
​

 

[Batman]

"GET DOWN!"

Catwoman barely even has the time to react whenever my elbow slams into her spine, knocking her flat onto the pavement of the rooftop. She rolls and hits her shoulder hard against a railing, but it's better to the alternative that comes whizzing above us. A sniper rifle's discharge explodes through the darkness and it's bullet embeds itself deep into the brick paneling of a roof access point, having travelled exactly where a certain someone was just standing. I roll over and lie down on my back, barely even able to breathe. Hauled some serious ass trying to catch up with these clowns that are chasing her. Double-timed it whenever I spotted the glare of the rifle's scope in the distance, a prescence of which the thief was too busy running for her life to notice. Luckily for her, I was here.

Unfortunately for the both of us, we're not out of the woods. Three floors are all that seperates us between a legion of hired killers with an apparent score to settle and certain death at their hands. I can only imagine what she must've done to piss their employer off so much as to tear apart half of the East End - an officially designated war zone after recent events involving the collapse of Gotham's tallest standing structure - just to get their hands on her. My guess is that she stole something valuable, irreplacable. Something that they think is definitely worth spilling even more blood on the streets.

Or hell, I don't know. Maybe she just caught someone in a bad mood.

"Oh, you just picked the wrong damn time!"

Okay, so it seems we've switched roles all of the sudden. Before *I* can muster up a proper response time, the sole of Catwoman's boot collides with my nose, threatening to break it and sending me flying a good few inches across the roof. Even through the pain, I can admit it was an impressive kick - for someone who just blindly and stupidly stood around waiting to get shot between the eyes. Trying not to let my anger override my sense of conscience, I try and hold a hand out to stop her from attacking. But the adreneline's rushing through my veins too fast to allow me to do anything, because before I know it, she's got her hand at my throat and her knee in my groin. I can actually start to feel myself beginning to choke.

Guess the guy that hired those idiots isn't the only one pissed off tonight.

"Whuh... Wuh-ait... Wait..."

I hear the crack of that damn whip and dread what comes next, as it collides hard into my chest. If it weren't for that thick layer of kevlar hidden underneath the shirt, I'd be nursing an open gash. She grabs me by the hair and forces me to watch, as she raises her hand and unsheathes the claws embedded into her gloves. Christ, when it comes to these weird motifs, she's almost as bad as Bruce.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't just rip that tongue out of your jaw! I dare you!"

In an odd way, this is kind of humorous. Here I was, running off and pissed to all hell that I just lost my best and only lead to Etchinson's benefactor at Arkham, and I'm getting the crap kicked out of me by a second rate amatuer would-be vigilante in a leather bondage getup. Whose life I just went out of my way to save for whatever reason. I'd laugh, but I did just take a leather whip to the chest.

The throbbing pain considered, it wasn't really that funny anyway.

"Would you believe you were gonna die if I didn't do that?"

At first, she's ready to go in for the kill. But I manage to point to the point of entry for the bullet, still steaming with heat after it pierced the brick. I see the gears turning in her head as she notices it, instinctively easing on her grip against my collar. But not letting me go completely, gritting her teeth in frustration.

"I'm not in a very generous mood right now, so you better start explaining who the hell you are..."

I lean in, trying to make the color of my mask more apparent. To be honest, I expected a little miscommunication between us because I wasn't wearing the helmet. I just didn't expect the knee to the groin. Which, unfortunately, I didn't bother to wear protection for. Gonna feel that one in the morning.

"Think about it. Fashionably stylish, lacking a certain distinguishable feature. You called me an idiot the last time we met."

She glares at me. "I've called alot of you that."

"Alot of us? What, vigilantes?"

"Men."

I hold my hands up in defeat. "Look, fair enough, but don't make this a gender issue. Besides, I've still gotta make it up to you for the way things ended the other night."

"Wait..."

She squints at me, scanning my face and subsequently analyzing my clothes, letting me go in full as she takes a step back and lets the realization hit her.

"Oh. Oh, no. You have got to be kidding me."

"Bingo."

Massaging my throat, I begin to prop myself up on the ledge, making sure that I don't leave myself open for that sniper to take another shot. We should be in the clear as long as we're standing on this side of the roof. Plenty of billboards and other crap in the surrounding area to keep us out of the line of fire.

"Hell of a kick, by the way. Who taught you that?"

"What the hell are you doing here?! Did you follow me?! Oh my god, have you been..."

Grabbing her by the shoulder, I forcefully pull her away just as she begins to stroll towards the open space that allows for the sniper to make his next shot. Taking the opportunity to cover her mouth while I have her in arm's reach, I wrestle her into a hold so that she'll shut the hell up and pay attention.

"Don't. Go. Over there. That spot nearly cost you your head, remember? Focus on that, not me."

She leers me, mumbling something foul underneath my palm that I simply just choose to ignore.

"And before you even ask, no. I haven't been following you. I've got better things to do with my time than track an amateur thief with one hell of a backwards superiority complex. You can thank the gunners down there for my involvement. They were making a racket. The kind of racket that involves alot of bullets."

Letting her go, we break apart and I fold my arms across my chest.

"Now look, I'm willing to help you with this, but you've gotta fill in a couple of blanks first. What's going on? Why are these guys after you?"

For a moment, she looks off to the side, evidently considering her options.

Then she walks up, raises her hand, and slaps me across the face harder than I've ever been slapped. Which is more than a couple of times, I'll admit.

"OW!"

"That's for touching me against my own will, twice. Do it again and I'll scratch off something even more precious than the tongue."

I hold my cheek, angrily trying to fight back any urge to react with violence, knowing that it'll get us nowhere. Beyond that, I'm not seeing much of an upside.

"And for your information..."

She indicates the people below us. "The only reason I would ever come to you or anyone else with this is because I don't have a chance against the people down there. Those men are working for Carmine Falcone."

My eyes widen, a little surprised by that little revealation. Falcone? That old buzzard's back in the mob game already? I figured he'd lie low for a couple of more months, after the scandal of his release started to die down. He's risking a hell of alot if he's suddenly up and moved back into his old ways. Then again, that's how it always works - a leopard can never change it's spots, and all.

"The Roman? You pissed off the worst known mobster that this city has ever seen? Are you out of your mind?!"

She places her hands on her hips. "I didn't mean to piss him off! Things got carried away, alright?! I was caught... investigating one of his penthouses, he came home earlier than I expected, we had words, he sent his goons on me, I defended myself, fled when I got the chance, and now he's trying to have me killed."

"Investigating one of his..."

"Look, that's not important right now! That isn't the reason he's after me!"

She turns around, taking a few deep breaths to calmly collect her thoughts. Then she sighs, lowering her head. "He mentioned something when he tried to kill me. Something about his son. Mario, or something. I don't keep tabs on the family tree."

Turning back to face me, her expression conveys the severity of her already deathly serious tone.

"Falcone thinks that I had something to do with the murder of his son."

I let the silence drift between us, letting that sink in.

I had heard through the grapevine that Mario Falcone had died under mysterious circumstances. Just last week, I think. Not long after Wonder Tower collapsed and the media was so focused on that, so it was a bit of a surprise to hear that The Roman's favored son had been offed in the middle of a meeting between Syndicate figureheads. But what I never learned was how he died, or why. Some would easily assume it was an argument gone south. Evidently not, if what the thief is saying is true.

"Did you?"

She looks back at me, taken a bit off guard.

"Did I what?"

"Did you murder Mario Falcone?"

Her surprise turns quickly into anger.

"How dare you even... I don't... of course not! Why would you ever think that?!"

"Why shouldn't I? I don't know you. We've barely even become acquainted. And for that matter, there's no reason that I should have to trust anything you've ever said to me."

I walk up to her and sneer. "Yeah, you helped us out big time the other week, and I do appreciate that effort. But at the end of the day, I still don't trust you. I don't trust anything about you and I never should have let you walk out of Wayne Tower the night we met. You're a thief, and in my eyes, that makes you no worse than any one of those idiots working for The Roman."

She gets right up in my face, taking me off guard aswell. "Oh, so now I have to earn your precious trust, too? You're no Batman, pretty boy, so why don't you do us both a favor and get over yourself. You wanted to know the full story, and I gave you the full story. I didn't owe you a goddamn thing when I did, and I definitely don't owe you anything now. Infact, as I recall, you mentioned owing me..."

We both turn to the locked door of the roof access entrance, hearing a loud noise bang against it. No doubt Falcone's band of merry men, waiting to mow us down with a couple of those semi-automatics they used to tear into half of 9th street. I indicate the nearest ledge that leads out to the next series of rooftops.

"You're right. I'll start working on that now. Deal?"

Hesitantly, she looks back at the door and considers what's on the other side.

Then we both bolt for the ledge.

"For the record, I don't trust you either."

"Wonderful. We're off to a great start."

 

[MST3K 4ever]

Oswald and his bodyguards emerge from his limo as Fire-Fighters attempt to put out the fire that hit The Iceberg Lounge in the recent wave of gang violence. The Police are keeping the crowds in check as a group of reporters begin shouting to Oswald who gets as close his he can to the situation.

Impressive Lyons. You really outdid yourself on this one.

With an expression of shock and disbelief on his face as the Fire-Chief approaches and Oswald asks as the two men shake hands, "How did this happen Leonard?"

Leonard responds, "Too soon to tell but if I had to guess the gunfire hit the gas line. Like I said though too soon to tell."

Oswald replies, "Thank you for your time Leonard."

The gathered reporters begin moving closer to shouting louder.

Well time to give them what they want.

Oswald approaches and raises his hands to calm everyone and once everyone has calmed down he says, "Really don't have anything to say at this time. Except to offer my thanks and gratitude to the men and women of our fire department for doing a tremendous job in keeping this fire in check and from spreading to other buildings. And also to our fine Police Force for keeping the crowds at a distance and maintaining the peace at this dark time in our city."

He nods for a moment and continues, "Before this violence broke out Gotham was a jewel in the crown of our state, and now it's tragic what is going on. We sure could use someone like Bruce Wayne again. He would have some brilliant statement to make and Wayne Enterprises would lead the way. Now I fear for the future of our great city simply tragic. I...."


Just then he sees the Lucy the Lounge Manager running over to him visibly distraught.

He embraces and comforts her her as she begins weeping.

Make sure the cameras get a shot of the concerned owner. Looking good Oswald...looking good indeed.

Oswald leads her away and the bodyguards stand between them and the media.

Oswald says, "It'll be all-right Lucy. Everyone stays on salary, the insurance will cover everything. We'll be back up and running in six months."


Lucy looks up and says, "I guess you haven't heard yet."

Oswald asks, "Heard what?"

Just then he sees on the corner a parked ambulance with two EMTs carrying a stretcher with a sheet over a body.

Oswald is now visibly shaken as he says, "Oh no."

As quickly as he can he limps over with Lucy following close by to the ambulance and says, "Wait a minute!"

The EMTs stop and Oswald pulls back the sheet. He sees a badly burned young lady in a waitress outfit.

Oswald uses every ounce of control he has to keep from flying off in a rage.

He puts the sheet back over the body and nods to the two EMTs and says, "Thank you."

As they load the body he says to Lucy, "I want the full story. What happened."

Lucy says, "Her name was Heather. I was in the parking lot getting ready to leave when Heather approached me. She needed to get back into the club to get to her locker. Heather had forgotten a Teddy Bear she had picked up for her son and wanted to get it. I let her back in and then the gun-fire happened and I told her to stay where she was figuring it was the safest place for her. I am so sorry sir I had no idea what else to do."

Oswald strokes her hair and says, "You did the right thing. You couldn't have known Lucy what was going to happen. You did the right thing."

Lucy says, "Thank you sir. I was getting ready to go inform her family. Then I saw you and..."

Oswald interrupts, "Lucy I'll go with you. We will tell her family together. For now though keep this quiet. Her family needs time to mourn and for privacy."


Lucy nods and Oswald says, "My limo is around the corner." He motions for one of his bodyguards who walks over. Oswald says, "Take her to the limo make sure she is not bothered I will be there in a moment."


Oswald approaches the gathered media again who are now asking about the ambulance and Oswald says, "At this time I have no comment about the ambulance except..." He then looks right into a camera and says, "Those involved will answer for the loss of life this evening. That is a promise."


Oswald then leaves with his other bodyguard as they head to limo. His L-phone rings and he sees that it is one of the other mob bosses.

Oswald cuts off his phone off.

 

[Saved]

Alone. Darkness. Pain.

As I look around me all I see is blackness. I lie on a bed in the middle of emptiness. Leaning forward, I rise to a sit. I survey the landscape; nothing here. "Weird," I speak, hearing my own voice for the first time in what seems like months. "Hello? Anyone here?"

No answer. "Typical."
Suddenly, I hear something. Footsteps. "Hello?" I call out. Still no answer, yet the footsteps continue. "Who's there!"

A light above me flickers, and a hospital room comes into focus. As I turn my head toward the door, a figure stands obscured by the shadows. "Who are you?" I growl, balling my fists tightly.
"Hello, Barbara," a familiar voice speaks. "You don't recognize me?"

As the figure steps forward, I see the face- metallic crimson. It's Hood. Red Hood. Yes, the adjective is important ... well, to him anyway.
"Jeez, Jason, you scared the crap out of me," I say, letting out a breath of air. He steps closer as I continue, "Must you always creep around?"


He doesn't answer. He just continues to step closer toward me. "...Hood?" I ask, somewhat disconcerted by his silence. He stops next to the hospital bed. He raises his hands and grips the metal bars on the side.

"How's the head?" As he asks the side of my forehead suddenly throbs. I grab it tightly and a sharp pang vibrates through my skull.

"OW!" I yell in shock. "What the heck? What happened?" I ponder a moment. "And why am I in a hospital?"

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out my mask. It drips with blood, the trail leading back to a tear right above the eye slits. "You weren't careful," he scolds. "Getting into trouble again."

"It's what I do isn't it?" I say, trying to retain some pride. He doesn't respond. He simply stares at me in silence. "Okay, what's the deal? ... and why are you in a hospital room in your costume?" I ask, quickly noticing the strange detail I'd missed before.

"Ooooh, good detective work, Barbara. You always did have a knack for it." He grabs the bars and leans forward. "But, you know the answer to that question. I wear a mask, you wear a mask ... even Batman wears a mask. And why do we all wear them?"
"To protect our identities," I tell him plainly.

"No, Barbara. We wear these masks to hide. To deceive. We wear these masks because we're too afraid to be honest with the people we love and care about."
"...what are you talking about. We wear these to PROTECT the one's we care about."
"Do we? How is lying protection? How does deception and secrets foster anything beneficial toward our families?" In a flash his hand grabs my face, gripping my skin tightly as he tugs at the flesh. "No, Barbara, we wear masks because we like lying. We like the secrets. It's power," he says as I struggle to break free. "Knowing that which others don't. I mean, even now ... you don't know who's behind this mask."

"Like FUN I don't," I whip my elbow to the side of the mask and crack it. He releases my face and he stumbles back as the helmet falls to the floor in two pieces. A loud metal clang resounds, echoing all throughout the empty space. "What your problem, Jason? Dip into your needles a little too much today?"

"Hahahahaha," he cackles. "Jason? Who's Jason?" He lowers his hands from his face and I see the visage of a nightmare I'd long forgotten.

"YOU!" I shout, my stomach sinking inside my gut.
"Yes, ME. It's like I told you, Barbara; masks are LIES. You never know who - or WHAT- is behind them." He charges he and grabs me by my throat, closing around it tightly. "Your mother and James send their regards. But don't worry ... you'll be with them shortly." He pulls out a knife from his sleeve. My eyes widen as I watch him plunge it deep into my side.

"I still can't believe the Comissioner's daughter was playing dress up," he laughs. "I'd like to know where she got such a crazy idea."

"Probably from the Red Hood."​

My eyes roll back into my head and once again my vision is blurred in darkness.

"Aw, what's the matter? You don't look so good. Barbara? What's the matter, Barbara?"

My eyes flash open, and I scream to awaken. I pant wildly as my eyes adjust to the bright hospital room around me. Arms hold my shoulders and I flail, but quickly, I realize that Black Mask is gone. "Are you alright?"

I look to the man's chest to see a badge. Gotham PD. Oh boy... I raise my gaze to a kinder face. He looks at me with concern. "Barbara?"

"Relax, Burke," another voice speaks as it enters the fray. "She's having another nightmare."

"The kid's been through a lot, Dagmar. Have some empathy."
"She chose this," the woman says as she takes a puff of her cigarette. "She's just lucky she has people looking out for her."

"W-who are you?" I stammer. "And where am I?"
"You're in Gotham's east side hospital. I'm Detective Burke, and over there is my lovely partner Detective Procjnow. You took a blow to the head and you've been recovering for over a week."

Blow to the head? The battle - with Question, the Cat-lady and Hood. Oh no. If I'm here ... and they know my name- that means-

"Don't worry, no one knows what happened. You're a lucky girl. The Red Hood told us to keep an eye on you."
"Yeah. You can tell him we're even," the detective mutters.

"Wait a minute ..." I say, still confused. "How do you know ... how'd he..."

"Maybe we should have a talk." He walks over to the door and closes it gently. "A long one."

(Batgirl)
Year 3.1​

 

[Byrd Man]

Previously


​

Spoiler

Johnson's Motor Lodge
Keystone City, KS


"A week now since the events that rocked both cities and left a Central City Police officer dead, and one assailant is still at large. Leonard Snart, aka Captain Cold, is still missing after confronting and fighting the Flash on a frozen patch of the Missouri River. The rest of Snart's conspirators have been captured and are in Iron Heights. Keep in mind that Snart is a metahuman and he is considered extremely dangerous. If you see him, call 911 right away. Reporting tonight for KSCC, I'm Linda Park."

I turned off the TV and tossed the remote control of the motel bed. A few blocks away, a siren rang out in the night and the hair stood up on the back of my neck.

McCulloch, Mardon, and Michelle are all in the clink. No doubt they're all tied down to their beds in some dark hole. It's how the cops are combating the so-called "super criminals." They're doing everything from extreme solitary, to medically induced comas and everything in between. Last time I was in Iron Heights, I heard rumors about shady government types nosing around, looking for people who can do stuff like we can do. They take them down to some fancy prison in the Louisiana bayou and they never come back. What they do with them once they get down there is anyone's guess.

So now I'm on the run, the only one that didn't get knocked out by Flash. They all went to jail, and now the whole goddamn caper has been laid on our doorstep. Dillon, the kid Walker, and that spooky guy we were working for haven't contacted me at all. I've been left out in the cold, branded a terrorist. I won't deny we terrorized both cities, but all that bull**** involving the reservoir wasn't us. There was money in it, and we took money to keep the Flash busy, but that's not how I like to do business. There's no profit in killing civilians. You get a rep for doing that kind of thing, then you can't earn a living.

*Bzzzz*

The burner cellphone on the night stand vibrated. I stood over it, breathing heavily. The caller ID confirmed my fears.

Incoming Call: Blocked Number

I took a deep breath and picked it up, flipping the phone open.

"Yeah?"

"Snart," Dillon said on the other end of the line. "Where are you?"

"In a safe place," I said nonchalantly. "Laying low. That's all that matters."

"So, Johnson's Motor Lodge out by I-70, right?"

"...What do you want, Dillon?"

"Giving you a chance to come in. Despite how things ended up, you did your job well. My employer is interested in doing more work with you."

"Not interested."

"Why? My money is good. Trust me, Snart, this is your last chance."

"It's not about money. It's about what you are, what you do. Smarmy little ***holes like you have been telling me what to do all my life. I'm tired of working for you, Dillon. I got the powers, I can do what I want. So, tell your boss that the both of you can blow it out your asses."

"Unfortunate," Dillon said with a sigh. "Most unfortunate. I didn't want it to come to this, but the die has been cast, Lenny. Goodbye."

The line went dead and I chucked the phone across the room in anger. The hell does he get off, telling me what to do? Like me saying no to him is the end of the world.

I sat back down on the bed and started to turn on the TV when...


WHAM!

The door to the room burst open, flying off its hinges. Police officers in SWAT gear rushed through the door.

"KCPD!" The officer in the lead shouted, a gun in his hands. "DON'T MOVE SNART!"

I threw my hands up, icy energy glowing off my fingertips.

"That's how Dillon wants to play it?" I said under my breath. "Then let's do it this way!"

I shoved my hands forward, ice blasting out into the air and coating the police officers. Within a few seconds, the half dozen heavily armed men were frozen solid. I reached under the bed, grabbed my gym bag and parka, and bolted for the window in the bathroom. Five minutes later, I was three blocks away.

Dillon thought leaving me out in the cold would weaken me, make me desperate, make me want to give up. Come back running to him with my tail tucked between my legs. That's where he ****ed up. Big time. Out in the cold that's my natural element.
​

IC: Captain Cold
Central City, MO

"You shouldn't even be here!" Lisa shouted into the apartment hallway. I looked around, making sure her outburst didn't alert anybody.

"C'mon, Lis. You're making a goddamn scene."

"Damn right I am," she rasped quietly out. "In case you didn't know, you're a wanted felon! For a week now, I've had police coming to my door looking for you! Give me good reason not to call the cops..."

"Thanksgiving 2004," I said, staring straight into her eyes. Her eyes are that cobalt shade of blue. Just like mine, just like mom's. "Dad came at you with a beer bottle. I was faster--"

"Dammit, Len," she said with a sigh. "You're lucky I'm here alone. Hurry up and come in..."

Lisa led me into the apartment. The living room was a bit on the small side, but she had managed to fit in a couch, a few chairs, a TV and shelves lined with pictures.

"Nice place," I said, walking over to the shelves hanging up. "Where's the family?"

"My husband took my little girl to ballet."

On the shelf was pictures of a life I never saw first hand. Photos of Lisa holding up a diploma from Mizzou, pictures of her with her friends partying, photos of her and her husband together, on their wedding day. A picture of Lisa in a hospital bed, holding a baby. Photos of said baby, going from newborn to kindergarten.

"What's her name?" I asked, looking over my shoulder. "Your daughter?"

"Miriam. We call her Mimi for short."

"Miriam...," I said with a nod. "You named her after mom."

"Well, she was the only one who cared about us and she never got the life she wanted. At least this way, I can make Mimi happy like mom never was."

"Uh-huh," I said, turning away from the shelf. Lisa was now on the couch ,watching me like a hawk as I moved. "How about your husband? He's not--"

"Lenny," she said, raising a hand. "David is not like dad. Not at all. If he was, we wouldn't be together."

"Good, good. If there are any problems, you know who to call."

"Oh, you?" Lisa asked with a mocking laugh. "That's right. I nearly forgot how you were. Mister Protector. David tries to rough me up, I can call a supervillain to come save me."

"Watch it, Lis. Don't forget for what I did for you in the past."

"Yeah, you fought the old man off plenty of times... but there were plenty of times when you didn't. Times you were so scared of the old man, you'd hide up in your room while he beat me and mom bloody."

"Shut up," I spat. "We don't talk about that stuff."

"You don't, but I do. I have. What happened with our father was horrible, but you know what, Len? I got over it. I worked through my feelings and I moved on. I didn't run around trying to be a bully in some stupid costume."

"A bully?!" I roared, holding up my ice-coated hands. "I did this. I became this for you! To try and give you better life!"

"Yeah, good job with that," she said with an eyeroll. "Been out of school eight years and I just now paid off my student loans. You sure helped out with my tuition from inside a jail cell."

"I tried, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. In the worst way possible. Face it, Lenny, you became a crook because you wanted to. You wanted to get back at the world for what it did to you. That's why you robbed, and that's why you got those ice power things. You didn't do it for me, you did it for yourself, and you did it to spite dad."

Ever since my transformation, blood pumps through my veins at around 30 degrees Fahrenheit, near freezing levels. Even with that aside, I could feel my blood pumping hot.

"****!" I yelled, slamming my ice-covered fists into the floor. The ice hands and knuckles shattered, coating the floor in shards of frozen water. I fell to my knees, staring at the ice scattered around me. "That son of a *****," I said, my voice starting to get heavy with emotion. "He hated us, Lis. He treated us like garbage. Do you know why?"

"Yes," she said, touching my shoulder. "The eyes."

"Every time he looked at us, he was seeing her." Tears began to run down my face, freezing on my cheeks. "He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand her. He beat her, he beat us. Every chance he could."
"You don't have to be him, Lenny," Lisa said. "You can be better than that..."

"No," I said, standing up. "I had a chance, but I blew it. Got wrapped up in petty **** and look where it got me. You got out. What the **** am I doing here? You got a life away from all of this. I'm just gonna ruin it."

"Look...," Lisa said, worrying the end of her shirt with her fingertips. "David and Mimi are going to be back soon... Take my car."

"I can't."

"Yes," she said shoving a pair of car keys into my hand. "It's insured. Take it. I'll report it stolen in the morning. It'll be enough time to get you out of town."

I held the keys in my hand, looking at Lisa. "I don't know what to say--"

"Don't say anything. Just go."

Lisa reached up and wrapped her arms around me. "Just go and never come back. You're right, I have moved on. I want you to, too."

"Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much."

*****

I-70

Lisa's SUV cruised down the interstate with me behind the wheel. I kept the speed at a steady 70. Fast enough to fit in, not too fast to get pulled over. The city limits are coming up fast. To my right, Iron Heights is looming in the setting sun.

I'm doing what Lisa said, I'm getting out of town. Time for a fresh start, a new beginning.

"KCCR Newstime is 7:12 PM. Earlier this evening, Keystone City Police were stopped in a raid to arrest known criminal Leonard Snart aka Captain Cold. The half dozen officers were frozen by Snart's cyrokinetic powers. Snart is wanted for two counts of terroristic acts, three counts of assault, and one count of murder."

I sighed and closed my eyes for a brief second. Putting on my blinker, I pulled to the side of the road and climbed out my sister's car. Staring at Iron Heights in the distance, it began to gnaw at me. If I leave town, Dillon will win. All that destruction and death falls in my lap, and he gets off free. Worse yet, he'll keep doing it. He'll find someone else to take my place. He'll keep being a prick, and innocent people will end up getting hurt.

I won't let that happen.

I reachedinto the car and grabbed my gym bag from the back. Dillon declared war tonight, sending the cops my way. He wants to do battle with me and all I stand for. If it's a war he wants, it's a war he'll get. I let the car idle on the side of the road as I walked in the field towards the prison.

If I'm going to war, I'll need troops.
​

 

[Saved]

Batgirl
3.2​

Three hours ago i was in a sporadic coma. Seven days ago I was fighting crime with my "partner" the Red Hood. That is, until I got hit with debris from an RPG. Luckily, someone stripped me of my costume and dumped me off here at the East Side hospital where I've been collecting dust. I can only hope it was someone other than Jason who did the ... undressing.

"So, that's about it, kid. Well, as much as I know. Someone took you here after the accident, shortly thereafter I got a message from our mutual friend telling me to get over here and keep an eye out for you. Heh, lucky for you I was in the area."
"What he means is he was recuperating upstairs," his partner says with a grin.
"Like I said," he begins, his voice proud. "I was in the area."

"So," I say as pull my chest up to my legs, wrapping my arms around my knees. "What were you in for?"
"A clown," Dagmar smirks.
"It's not important," Thomas cuts her off. "What is important, is that you're alright."

"I told you, I'm fine. Just eager to get out of here. What'd you tell Essen ... or Montoya for that matter?"
"Lucky for you, Rene got a case that took her out of town. Hood told me the comissioner'd be looking for a replacement handler, so I had Dagmar graciously offer to take the job."
"Like I said, Burke. Hood, you, me? We're all even."
"Essen's been busy herself, so we've been able to keep this all, under the table, as it were."
"So, Detective, you're my legal guardian for a week and I'm in a hospital under an assumed identity with a gash in my head and no one else knows my whereabouts besides two shady detectives and a wanted vigilante. Nice work."

Dagmar grins, amused by my attitude. "I like her, Tommy. She's got her dad's bite."
"I noticed. Look, kid, we had to jump through hoops to keep your secret, so you better be more respectful."
"Sure, sure. So, how long til I'm discharged."
"Normally, I'd say a few more days just to be safe, but ... it looks like you're needed." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone - my cell. "There's a message on here. Hood insisted we listen to it. All three of us."

"The three of us? Why would he care about you two?"
"Gee, thanks, kid."
"The Red Hood and I have a relationship akin to your own. Dagmar kinda got roped into this on a technicality."

I flip open the top of the phone and see the waiting voicemail. I take in a deep breath as activate the message.

"Hello, there," Jason's voice begins. It's almost comforting to hear his haughty voice again. "Babs, if you're listening to this, it means you're not dead. Congratulations. Tommy, Dagmar, thanks again for looking after the kid. That being said, I'm glad you're back to your old self, Tommy. Can't let a near death experience get you down."

"As I hinted earlier, I have an assignment for the three of you. In my investigations over the last year, I've come across something odd going on at Arkham Asylum. The escaped inmates I captured and returned last year were exposed to some kind of hallucinogen. I couldn't pin point anything specific, but I was able to isolate the chemical compound. It's documented along with my personal research in the case file I've made up for you. Look under the chair Dagmar's sitting in."

The three of us raise our heads in surprise. Dagmar bends down and feels under her seat. To her amazement, she pulls out two bound books taped underneath. "How'd he-"

"Dagmar's a smoker, but she's also a cop. Her sense of superiority helps her rationalize that her behavior doesn't have to conform to the typical laws the rest of the citizens must adhere to. Considering hospitals ban smoking, I knew she'd be using the window to smoke out of; hence, she'd take the seat at the rear of the room by the windowsill. It really is a filthy habit, Detective. I'd advise you to quit."

Dagmar frowns while Tommy snickers. I have to admit, Jason's good at what he does.

"Now, I want the three of you to analyze my notes carefully and get to work uncovering this for me. I have no doubt this trail of breadcrumbs leads to something bigger than any of us could imagine. Good luck, my triumvirate. I'm counting on you."

The phone goes silent. Dagmar begins to investigate the present left by our benefactor. "What is this, the Jason Five?" Dagmar grumbles beneath her breath as she begins to rummage through the book.

"Well, technically there's three of us. Four counting him." Dagmar shoots Tommy a piercing stare. "Shutting up."

"This is some bizarre stuff, Burke. I mean, real conspiracy theory nutjob stuff."
"They thought Galileo was crazy," I chime in, defending Jason's honor for some odd reason.
"Alright, I guess we can look into this. He's been right about weirder things before."

Giddily, I let out a squeal of excitement. The noise instantly draws the attention of the two detectives, each giving me their own strange look. "Sorry, it's just ... I'm getting to work with two of Gotham's finest on a criminal investigation. I've fantasized about this since I was five! This is gonna be so cool."

"Well, here," Dagmar says, a nefarious grin coming over her face. "You can write it in your diary." She pulls the second book out from the stack and tosses it to me. Confused, I analyze the book only to realize I recognize it all too well.

"No..." I say in disbelief as I open the book to the most recent entry. There, on the latest page in my diary is a note in the same mocking handwriting I've seen before.

Inside the hollowed out side of your dresser? Come on, you'll have to do better than that. Keep trying, kid. <3 R.H.

"Typical."

 

[Saved]

Batgirl
3.3​

Gotham Heights High School

Well, it's been a week since my accident and I'm finally back in the hallways of education. The noises of lockers slamming and students gossiping in their segregated cliques is a familiar clammer. Of course I'm looking forward to all the homework I've missed. Like I don't have enough of it from my other responsibilities.

"Hey, Babs," my friend Amy says, greeting me as joins me at my side. "Have a fun week off?"
"You know it," I say sarcastically. "You'd think a lot would change in a week's time in the social world of high school. And you'd be right. Jenny's dating Tony, Cristina's running for class president. Alicia and Sara are in a feud that's split the class of '12 right down the middle. I feel like we need an E! news channel just to contain this level of drama."

"Haha, yeah. How'd you find out about all that stuff already?"
"I've been listening to the muffled conversations for the last five minutes. Pure chaos."
"Hahaha. So, how's the head?"
"Better," I say, grabbing my books and closing my locker.
"How'd you do it again?"
"I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing." She has no idea.
"Well, the rumor is you face planted doing a back flip at someone's party."
"Cause I've had the time to go to parties, lately."

"Hey, I don't believe them, I'm just telling you what I heard."
"It's just as well. The rumor could've been much worse, so I'll take it."

"Well, regardless, I'm glad to have you back." We begin walking down the hall as we head toward the first class of the day. AP Psych. "So, did I miss anything interesting in Mr. Welcher's class?"
"Not much," she says initially. "OH, wait. Do you know about the field trip the class is taking tomorrow?"

"Field trip?"
"It's outside school hours, but Mr. Welcher got permission to take a field trip for students interested in a psychology career to go to Arkham Asylum. We get a tour, get to talk to some of the staff. I'm going for sure. After all the weird creepy things I hear going on over there, how could I not?"

A field trip to Arkham? What a lucky break. This could be the opportunity I need to get more information on the case Jason gave the detectives and I. "When's the trip?"
"Tomorrow at 5pm. There's still time to sign up, but you better hurry before you miss the chance to get on the list."
"Alright, thanks for the tip."

"You know, a lot of those eccentric criminals have been getting admitted there lately. You think we'll get to see any of them?" She asks with a grin.
"If you're lucky," I say nonchalantly. "But, trust me, they're not as captivating as you might expect."

"What makes you say that?"
"Oh, just a hunch."

​

 

[Batman]

"We're here. Watch your head when you walk in."

With Catwoman landing on the perch behind me, I slide back the balcony entrance to an undisclosed, privately owned apartment building in the middle of The Narrows. Switching the lights on once we've entered through the privacy curtains, reinforced by a steel gate to ward off burgulars, I begin to make my way towards the rennovated area that was once a kitchen for a spare supply of weapons. I can tell that whenever the thief gets a good look at the trappings inside, she's hardly impressed at it's state of mess, but this place has a bit of history with me. For one thing, I don't technically own it. The entire top floor of this building is owned through a series of dummy corporations unknowingly set up through Waynetech's shareholders - long as Bruce Wayne signs the checks, nobody can really ask any questions. This is his safehouse, and only one of about fifteen that he owns across select portions of Gotham.

More to the point, this is where we would meet back when we were - well, I guess business partners wouldn't be the right term. We were more like co-workers. In our first year on the job, often working at opposite ends of the spectrum, Bruce didn't quite know if he could trust me with all of his secrets, given that I had easily deduced his biggest one. So rather than let me in on the fact that he operated out of a giant cave underneath his penthouse, he at first sold me on the idea that this was to be our headquarters. The neighborhood was hardly thriving, the building itself had only a few tennants on the lower levels, and Bruce brought in more than enough of his own supply of technology to make up for anything it was lacking. So I readily agreed to it's useage.

A little over four years later, and we've long since abandoned both the apartment and our "partnership". But the place always stuck with me as a good halfway point between my apartment, my workspace at Arkham, and the utility shack that I own in the city. If I ever need a quick patchup or a replacement, I've sporadically found myself coming back.

And I do mean sporadically. This place has collected more dust than an attic. Even the computer systems stationed in the living room are outdated at this point.

"Nice place,", she mentions, obviously lying. "Is this the part where I get to meet your parents?"

Rummaging through one of the closets, I avoid the suspicion that she'd want to snag anything while I wasn't looking. None of this crap is worth much on the black market. Just enough to get by.

"Hah. No, but it'll do. If Falcone's men are hunting you, you need a place to keep out of sight, and I need a place to think. Figured this would suite both of us."

She stands in the middle of the room, beginning to quickly notice that there's no real furniture. Mainly a couple of crates that line the walls and a few work benches. Almost everything's low tech and primitive, which is another thing I always liked about the place. It's got a quaint charm.

"So, that's your plan of attack? We're hiding from them until, what, he calls the dogs off? Not exactly the method of payback I was hoping for."

"Well, I wanna punch somebody just as much as you do. But Falcone's got a low-rent army at his disposal,", I explain, lining my jacket with everything that I can - smoke bombs, flash grenades, a couple of skin irritants. The works. "The best way to figure out how to hit him back is to come up with a strategy that we know'll work against his lieutenants. The Roman typically used to hire guys that were dumb as an ox, but just as strong, to ship out his drug cartels. He had consiglieres to crunch the numbers and report back, with corrupt cops acting as guards."

While she isn't looking, I peel the mask from my face and replace the spirit gum so that it'll hold. This is why I hate these things. Never had to worry about adhesives with giant, ****-off red helmet to keep my head intact.

"If that's still the way he does business, then we've got a better chance to strike at him when he's focused on something else entirely."

"Which, going off of his reputation, isn't really a factor when it comes to this guy."

I emerge from the closet, mask reapplied, with a smirk. "You act like this is the first lowlife thug you've come across in this town. Believe me, Falcone's the same. Their reputation is nothing to believe. They talk big, but their priority is always gonna be one thing. Business."

She gives an off-look. "Not all of them. Some can be pretty ruthless, too."

"Yeah. But so can we."

I throw her a tactical belt full of the items I loaded into it. She catches and inspects the pockets, raising an eyebrow and indicating the belt already across her waist.

"Thanks, but I've got everything I need. This wasn't unnecessary."

"You've got burglary tools. You wanna go up against Falcone, you'll need tools for war."

"Who said anything about a war?"

I move past her and over to the computer console.

"Whoever really killed Falcone's son. It was sure as hell a declaration for one."

Turning the system on, I wait for it to boot and sit down, turning back to her as she clicks the belt in place across her chest. It's odd, but I can't help noticing that I've seen that outfit before. The materials and the plating seem familiar.

"You want anything? There's coffee up in the cabinents. Used to pull a few all-nighters here."

She looks back at the cabinents, then looks back at me, even more perplexed.

"Okay, really, what the hell is this place? Your clubhouse?"

I chuckle. "I'll ammend the No Girls Allowed rule, just this once."

She mulls it over, obviously hesitant. Got alot on her mind, given what's happened. Truthfully, so do I. Like whether or not I'm being awfully gracious to a potential murder suspect and a known thief of the upper-class. But hey, it's not like I took her straight to my apartment.

And I'm sure that at the end of the night, I'll know what side she's on for sure. Side of the angels or otherwise.

"I'll take mine with cream. If you've got it."

 

[Byrd Man]

​

Previously

Spoiler

IC: Captain Cold
Central City, MO

&quot;You shouldn't even be here!&quot; Lisa shouted into the apartment hallway. I looked around, making sure her outburst didn't alert anybody.

&quot;C'mon, Lis. You're making a goddamn scene.&quot;

&quot;Damn right I am,&quot; she rasped quietly out. &quot;In case you didn't know, you're a wanted felon! For a week now, I've had police coming to my door looking for you! Give me good reason not to call the cops...&quot;

&quot;Thanksgiving 2004,&quot; I said, staring straight into her eyes. Her eyes are that cobalt shade of blue. Just like mine, just like mom's. &quot;Dad came at you with a beer bottle. I was faster--&quot;

&quot;Dammit, Len,&quot; she said with a sigh. &quot;You're lucky I'm here alone. Hurry up and come in...&quot;

Lisa led me into the apartment. The living room was a bit on the small side, but she had managed to fit in a couch, a few chairs, a TV and shelves lined with pictures.

&quot;Nice place,&quot; I said, walking over to the shelves hanging up. &quot;Where's the family?&quot;

&quot;My husband took my little girl to ballet.&quot;

On the shelf was pictures of a life I never saw first hand. Photos of Lisa holding up a diploma from Mizzou, pictures of her with her friends partying, photos of her and her husband together, on their wedding day. A picture of Lisa in a hospital bed, holding a baby. Photos of said baby, going from newborn to kindergarten.

&quot;What's her name?&quot; I asked, looking over my shoulder. &quot;Your daughter?&quot;

&quot;Miriam. We call her Mimi for short.&quot;

&quot;Miriam...,&quot; I said with a nod. &quot;You named her after mom.&quot;

&quot;Well, she was the only one who cared about us and she never got the life she wanted. At least this way, I can make Mimi happy like mom never was.&quot;

&quot;Uh-huh,&quot; I said, turning away from the shelf. Lisa was now on the couch ,watching me like a hawk as I moved. &quot;How about your husband? He's not--&quot;

&quot;Lenny,&quot; she said, raising a hand. &quot;David is not like dad. Not at all. If he was, we wouldn't be together.&quot;

&quot;Good, good. If there are any problems, you know who to call.&quot;

&quot;Oh, you?&quot; Lisa asked with a mocking laugh. &quot;That's right. I nearly forgot how you were. Mister Protector. David tries to rough me up, I can call a supervillain to come save me.&quot;

&quot;Watch it, Lis. Don't forget for what I did for you in the past.&quot;

&quot;Yeah, you fought the old man off plenty of times... but there were plenty of times when you didn't. Times you were so scared of the old man, you'd hide up in your room while he beat me and mom bloody.&quot;

&quot;Shut up,&quot; I spat. &quot;We don't talk about that stuff.&quot;

&quot;You don't, but I do. I have. What happened with our father was horrible, but you know what, Len? I got over it. I worked through my feelings and I moved on. I didn't run around trying to be a bully in some stupid costume.&quot;

&quot;A bully?!&quot; I roared, holding up my ice-coated hands. &quot;I did this. I became this for you! To try and give you better life!&quot;

&quot;Yeah, good job with that,&quot; she said with an eyeroll. &quot;Been out of school eight years and I just now paid off my student loans. You sure helped out with my tuition from inside a jail cell.&quot;

&quot;I tried, didn't I?&quot;

&quot;Yes, you did. In the worst way possible. Face it, Lenny, you became a crook because you wanted to. You wanted to get back at the world for what it did to you. That's why you robbed, and that's why you got those ice power things. You didn't do it for me, you did it for yourself, and you did it to spite dad.&quot;

Ever since my transformation, blood pumps through my veins at around 30 degrees Fahrenheit, near freezing levels. Even with that aside, I could feel my blood pumping hot.

&quot;****!&quot; I yelled, slamming my ice-covered fists into the floor. The ice hands and knuckles shattered, coating the floor in shards of frozen water. I fell to my knees, staring at the ice scattered around me. &quot;That son of a *****,&quot; I said, my voice starting to get heavy with emotion. &quot;He hated us, Lis. He treated us like garbage. Do you know why?&quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; she said, touching my shoulder. &quot;The eyes.&quot;

&quot;Every time he looked at us, he was seeing her.&quot; Tears began to run down my face, freezing on my cheeks. &quot;He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand her. He beat her, he beat us. Every chance he could.&quot;
&quot;You don't have to be him, Lenny,&quot; Lisa said. &quot;You can be better than that...&quot;

&quot;No,&quot; I said, standing up. &quot;I had a chance, but I blew it. Got wrapped up in petty **** and look where it got me. You got out. What the **** am I doing here? You got a life away from all of this. I'm just gonna ruin it.&quot;

&quot;Look...,&quot; Lisa said, worrying the end of her shirt with her fingertips. &quot;David and Mimi are going to be back soon... Take my car.&quot;

&quot;I can't.&quot;

&quot;Yes,&quot; she said shoving a pair of car keys into my hand. &quot;It's insured. Take it. I'll report it stolen in the morning. It'll be enough time to get you out of town.&quot;

I held the keys in my hand, looking at Lisa. &quot;I don't know what to say--&quot;

&quot;Don't say anything. Just go.&quot;

Lisa reached up and wrapped her arms around me. &quot;Just go and never come back. You're right, I have moved on. I want you to, too.&quot;

&quot;Thank you,&quot; I said. &quot;Thank you so much.&quot;

*****

I-70

Lisa's SUV cruised down the interstate with me behind the wheel. I kept the speed at a steady 70. Fast enough to fit in, not too fast to get pulled over. The city limits are coming up fast. To my right, Iron Heights is looming in the setting sun.

I'm doing what Lisa said, I'm getting out of town. Time for a fresh start, a new beginning.

&quot;KCCR Newstime is 7:12 PM. Earlier this evening, Keystone City Police were stopped in a raid to arrest known criminal Leonard Snart aka Captain Cold. The half dozen officers were frozen by Snart's cyrokinetic powers. Snart is wanted for two counts of terroristic acts, three counts of assault, and one count of murder.&quot;

I sighed and closed my eyes for a brief second. Putting on my blinker, I pulled to the side of the road and climbed out my sister's car. Staring at Iron Heights in the distance, it began to gnaw at me. If I leave town, Dillon will win. All that destruction and death falls in my lap, and he gets off free. Worse yet, he'll keep doing it. He'll find someone else to take my place. He'll keep being a prick, and innocent people will end up getting hurt.

I won't let that happen.

I reachedinto the car and grabbed my gym bag from the back. Dillon declared war tonight, sending the cops my way. He wants to do battle with me and all I stand for. If it's a war he wants, it's a war he'll get. I let the car idle on the side of the road as I walked in the field towards the prison.

If I'm going to war, I'll need troops.
​

IC: Captain Cold

Alex's Diner
Central City, MO
3:12 AM


I sat in the corner booth with my head down, a Chiefs ballcap trying to cover my face from any passersby. After abandoning my sister's car, I high-tailed it to a payphone and called Johnny Jordan, my old fence when I was boosting stereos and TVs from houses. Told Johnny I was in need of some muscle, so he set up a meeting with some specialist.

The bell on the diner's front door clanged as the door opened. I glanced towards the door and saw a thin, red-headed man in a stocking cap and trenchcoat. He watched as he began to walk towards me, his boots stomping on the linoleum floor. My hands were clenched underneath the table, steam rising off the chilled knuckles. He came to a stop in front of me, a smirk on his face.

"You Snart?" The man asked in an Australian accent. "Johnny sent me..."

"That's me," I said slowly, eying him up.

He broke out into a grin and flopped down on the seat across the table from me. "Good to meetcha, mate."

"Name's Digger," he said, holding out his hand. I eyed the hand before shaking my head. "Right," he said, retracting his hand. "Don't wanna catch frostbite in me hand."

"Johnny said you were a specialist. What kind of specialist?"

"Do a bit of this, bit of that. Robbery is usually m' favorite of the bunch. Takin' off armored cars, that kinda thing."

"And I was told you're like me... in a way."

"Right," Digger said with a smirk."I am, my son, the bloody best boomerang tosser in the world."

"That's it?" I asked in disbelief. "All you can do is throw a ****ing kid's toy? What, was Yo-Yo Man sick?!" I spat, my skepticism giving way to rage.

"Calm down, mate,&quot; he said, holding his hand up. "Didn't mean to gobsmack ya with that bit of info. It may sound silly, but Johnny says you're in need of a bit of distraction, yeah?"

"Yes. I need some people looking one way, while I do something the other way."

"Well, that's what I do best. I'm loud and destructive. I'll run those drongos ragged while you do what needs to be done."

"Fine," I said with a slight shrug. "But all I'm asking for is five minutes."

"Five, ten, fifteen. Whatever. What's the target?"

"Iron Heights," I said. Digger's smile suddenly dried up on his face, becoming a mixed look of confusion and fear. "The best part? You'll be knocking on their goddamn door."

 

[Eddie Brock]

Despite my best efforts to relax, I have been consistently and endlessly foiled by the persistence of my new executive assistant, Adrien Rivers. I love the girl to death - in a strictly platonic, non-sexual-harassment kind of way - and she's been a great help, but the go-getter attitude which makes her such a useful assistant is also the same trait which makes her impossible to deal with. I finally caved and hired an assistant because my life as Green Arrow was making it impossible to keep Oliver Queen's responsibilities straight. Now that Adrien's around, it's quite the opposite. If it's not one thing, it's another, and I'm learning that being a CEO isn't all about private jets and sycophants. Adrien's having me believe that running a company actually requires work - something I've tried to avoid for my twenty-six years on this Earth.

"--and the board is insisting that you meet to discuss Q-Core," Adrien continues. "They say that they cannot move forward without your approval, and you must be there in person to sign off one way or another."

I open my eyes and stare out at the upside-down Star City skyline. My arms begin to shake and blood rushes to my head, so I spring out of my handstand and land on my shoeless feet. My penthouse is bathed in late afternoon light, a design feature that I insisted upon. It helps the space feel open and free - two things I always wished I had back when I was sharing a jail cell with another man. "Schedule it for some time when I'm busy," I announce.

"Mr. Queen?"

I pick up my protein shake from the island counter in the kitchen and take a long gulp. It's totally organic, which makes it a bit thicker than I'm used to, but its not like I'm drinking it for the consistency. "Consumer electronics is Wayne Enterprises' bread and butter. I won't be seen marching into their territory while their CEO lays in a hospital bed," I explain. Q-Core is a proposed division of Queen Industries which would produce phones, laptops, tablets, e-readers and the like. It's not a bad idea, certainly profitable, but the timing is poor. "The board may not have scruples, but I do."

"I'll take care of it."

After my second gulp, I've downed the entire shake, and I set the glass back on the counter. "Speaking of Bruce," I begin, "Send him a 'Get Well' arrangement. Something expensive but...tasteful." I owe Bruce Wayne a debt I fear I can never repay. He and I go way back to the boarding school days. When he learned that I had been imprisoned, he reached out to me in a letter to see if he could help. As it turned out, he could. When Connor Hawke tried to take the company public, he was going to sell my shares away. Bruce bought the majority through a number of fronts and shell corporations. The day I was released from prison, Bruce transferred the shares back to me, ensuring that Queen Industries remained in my hands. When I heard of his accident, I grieved greatly. Bruce has been like a brother to me. I owe him more than a floral arrangement, but this is the best I can do. "Anything else, Miss Rivers?"

"That'll be all for now, Mr. Queen."

I remove the Bluetooth headset from my ear and toss it onto the coffee table in the center of the room. With that, my responsibilities as Oliver Queen come to an end, and my responsibilities as Green Arrow begin. I take one last look at the skyline. The sun still hangs high, but soon it will duck below the buildings before its light is exhausted completely.

I make my way into the bedroom, throwing open the doors to the walk-in closet. Along the far wall is a shoe rack. I reach behind the third shelf of shoes and find the hidden compression switch against the wall. The closet begins to transform as the walls peel back, revealing a different kind of wardrobe.

Moments later, I emerge from the closet, adorned in my green leather outfit. I tie a charcoal colored bandanna around my mouth, concealing everything from the nose down. I then pull down my goggles before lifting my hood to cloak the rest of my face in shadow. Grabbing a simple longbow and a quiver of assorted arrows, I head out for the night's festivities.
​

 

[Byrd Man]

Previously

Spoiler

Carpathian Mountains
Romania

The cargo plane droned 10,000 feet above the Carpathians. Inside the cargo hold, Bronze Tiger, Deadshot, Vertgio, and Nightshade -- Task Force X's field team-- were gathered in a semi-circle around Flag as he went through final preparations. Their specialist, the man calling himself Skinner Sweet, was off by himself, watching the criminals and soldiers talk.

"Ten minutes from now, the door goes open and we jump. I'm lead and I'll have a strobe beacon on my pack and chute. Follow the strobe down to the ground. From where we'll land, it's about a six or seven hour hike to the castle. We'll be getting there just as the sun sets, about two hours before the auction starts. That should give us plenty of time to get into position. Questions?"

"What's up with these bullets, Rick?" Bronze Tiger asked, holding up a clip he'd been given on the plane ride. "Why wooden bullets?"

"Ben, you wouldn't believe me even if I told you. Suffice to say this, Waller says their important and she told me why."

"Who gives a damn?" Lawton asked with a shrug, loading a clip into his wrist mounted guns. "Bullet moving at 4,000 feet per second is gonna do the job, even if it's made of jello."

"Right. Vertigo, you're familiar with the area?"

"A bit," the former Vlatvian prince said as he adjusted the eyepiece strapped to his left eye. "Vlatvia shared a border with this part of Romania until it was carved up by the communists. I have been to this area with my father before."

"Good, you can act as a guide of sorts."

"What about him?" Nightshade asked with a glance over her shoulder. Sweet was lighting up a cigarette and taking a deep drag off of it.

"Mister Sweet's job concerns the castle."

"I've actually been there," Sweet said, exhaling a column of smoke from his mouth. "I know how to get us in undetected. Don't worry, darlin'," he said with a wink at Nightshade. "When you're with Uncle Skinner, you're in good hands."

"Oh, I bet," she deadpanned.

"Alright, enough grab ass. Everyone grab your packs and gear. It's almost time to jump..."


20 Minutes Later


Flag was crouched beside his parachute, tucking the chute back into the pack. His weapons and other gear were to his right. Behind him, the others were doing the same. They were perched in a small valley between two of the Carpathians' shortest mountains.

"Not a bad jump," Sweet said as he approached Flag. "Had rougher."

"So have I," Flag said dismissively.

"Something wrong, GI Joe?"

"Yeah," Flag said, standing and looking at Sweet. "You," he said under his breath, out of earshot from the rest of the team. "If you are... what you say you are, and these people we're going to are the same... then why are you helping us? What do you gain from this?"

"Flag, it's Flag isn't it? Flag, you ever had someone **** you over? I don't mean like **** your girl, take ten bucks from your wallet, I mean ruin your life, your whole reason for being, and leave you for dead?"

Flag's eyes briefly glazed over. For one long moment, he was back in that horrible, cramped cell in Kenya, he was being beaten with nightsticks, electrocuted with cattle prods, and being waterboarded.

"Yes," he said, blinking. "I know what that feels like."

"How far would you go to make the bastards who done it pay?"

"Far. Really, really far."

"Exactly," Sweet said, pulling a sucker from his pocket and unwrapping it. "What's about to come tonight? It's what I'm hoping is the final chapter in a grudge that's gone on for a very long time. And for that chance? Hell, I'd work with whoever I could."

"Is that why Waller was so adamant on green lighting everyone that's going to be at this auction? Was that your stipulation for giving her the intel?"

"Y'all wanna save the world," Sweet said with a shrug. "I wanna get my revenge. Far as I can tell, it's a win win."

Sweet stuck the sucker in his mouth and winked at Flag before walking off. Flag sighed and picked his M4 from the ground. He slid it on his shoulder and turned to Vertigo. "Any of this land look familiar?"

"Vaguely," he said as he looked around. "It's been nearly twenty years since I was here. I did not grow up in this lands, but from what I can remember it is mostly populated by sheep herders and farmers."

"We need to avoid as many people as we can on our way to Castle Dubrinsky. These people could have eyes and ears throughout the country side."

"You have a map, yes? With it, I can create a path for us to follow."

"Good. For now, we need to get as far away from the jump site as we can."

"Flag? One more thing." Vertigo looked up at the mountains all around. "When I was a boy, I heard stories about this Castle Dubrinsky, about how peasants would go there and never return. In fact, this whole area is the stuff of ghost stories. In Romania, it is called: Diavolul trecere which means Devil's Passage."

Flag looked at Vertigo uneasily before turning away.

"Let's get moving, we're wasting daylight."

Castle Dubrinsky
10:34 PM

The imposing Castle Dubrinsky sat nestled in the rocky cliffs and bluffs of the Carpathians. The only way in and out the front gate was a narrow, winding that curled up the mountain. At this moment, a line of cars were crawling up the road towards the castle gates. On a bluff a kilometer away, Rick Flag watched the scene through a pair of night vision binoculars. The rest of the Suicide Squad were gathered behind him.

"About a dozen cars coming up the road. The plates on the car imply their rentals."

"Must be our VIPs," Bronze Tiger said from the side. "That means we got about a half hour to get into position before they start the auction."

"Okay, Sweet," Flag said, turning to their guide, Skinner Sweet. "Where's this secret entrance of yours?"

"Off to the side there, right under the road."

"Lawton, what do you see?"

Deadshot held up his sniper rifle and switched the scope over to night vision. "I see two mooks near the entrance. Guards."

"Dammit. They must have gotten wise since I was here."

"I got a clear shot from here..."

"No. Eve," Flag said, turning to Nightshade. "We need to shadow walk. You up for it?"

"I can do it," she said, dark energy flowing from her fingertips.

Sweet watched the energy dance around her fingers before he looked up at Nightshade and flashed her a smile."Well now, little lady, what's the story behind that?"

"I could show you the truth," Nightshade said calmly. "But it would cause your feeble brains to leak out from your ears."

"Always was up for a little foreplay," Sweet said with a wink.

"Eve, ready?"

She nodded. Suddenly, the six members of the Suicide Squad were cover by Nightshade's dark energy. Their bodies faded from sight, only their shadows remaining.

*****

The air inside the castle's wine cellar stirred slightly. The cellar's dusty shelves stirred as six long shadows fell on the floor. The owners of the shadow could not be seen. Slowly, the members of the Suicide Squad came into view inside the cellar.

"Alright," Flag said, slinging his assault rifle from his shoulder. "Ben, you, Lawton, and Vertigo are on demo duty. Set the C4 charges in key points inside the castle. Lawton and Sweet, you're on me. We're ambushing the auction. Let's move out."

Flag, Sweet, and Deadshot headed left towards the cellar steps while Bronze Tiger and his squad headed right towards the archway that led deeper into the castle.

Flag walked point through the stone corridors of the castle, the M4 in his hands. Sweet walked behind him, while Lawton brought up the rear. "Where's your guns?" Lawton asked Sweet. "Figures a guy like you likes to pack."

"Oh, I pack alright," Sweet said with a smirk. "Just not a pistol... Well, I do pack a pistol. But not that kinda pistol."

"Probably more like a squirtgun."

"Your momma didn't complain last night..."

"Focus," Flag said with a scowl. "And maintain silence. Talk again, and I'll--"

A hissing noise cut through the darkness. A figure pounced on Flag from the shadows, slamming him against the stone wall. A tall, balding man barred his razor-sharp fangs at Flag. Flag struggled against the man's strong grip, fighting fruitlessly against his powerful embrace. The monster went in for the kill, moving his teeth towards Flag's neck. Suddenly, he stopped. Razor sharp claws dug into the man's back and caused him to snarl in pain. He dropped Flag and turned to his attacker.

Before the man could respond, Sweet flicked his wrist and disemboweled the man in one swift move with his claws. The man fell to his knees and Sweet slid his claws across the man's neck, slicing his head from his body. Laughing and licking the blood from his fingers, Sweet turned to the shocked Flag and Deadshot.

"Well?" He asked, staring at the two men in his monstrous form. "The **** are you boys waiting for? Let's go kill some more goddamn vampires."
​

 

[Saved]

Batgirl
3.4
​

I sit in the passenger seat of my friend&#8217;s car as we travel down the dark and grim streets of Gotham. Stephanie Brown, friend of the family, close BFF to me, and my current host/bunk-mate drives the vehicle smoothly down the narrow road cluttered with parked cars.

&#8221;Thanks for picking me up again, Steph.&#8221;
&#8221;No problem,&#8221; she says kindly. &#8220;How&#8217;d you miss the buss again?&#8221;
&#8220;I was signing up for a field trip we&#8217;re taking to Arkham Asylum tomorrow for the Psychology club.&#8221;
&#8220;Since when did you take an interest in the human psyche? This doesn&#8217;t have anything to do with &#8230; you know.&#8221;
I bite my tongue as I do my best to keep myself from getting emotional. It&#8217;s only been a year since my brother&#8217;s passing at the hands of a psychotic freak and it&#8217;s still not any easier to accept. But, with time, the wounds are closing. Slowly.

&#8220;No,&#8221; I tell her as I gain my peace. &#8220;But I need psychological practice if I ever hope to join the force. I figure this is good experience.&#8221;
The car slows a bit as she turns her head to look into my eyes. &#8220;Babs, you&#8217;re not really still planning on becoming a police officer here, are you?&#8221;
&#8220;No. A detective.&#8221;
She grunts as her grip on the steering wheel tightens. &#8220;This city&#8217;s corrupting you just like everyone else.&#8221;

&#8220;What does that mean?&#8221;
&#8220;Babs, this city is a dangerous cesspool of evil! Once I get enough money, I&#8217;m heading to Metropolis. As for you? You&#8217;re a trouble magnet! The longer you stay here, the better your odds are to-&#8220; she stops herself, exercising restraint I highly appreciate at this point. &#8220;Look, Babs, all I&#8217;m saying is, you&#8217;ve been through a lot this last year &#8211; and as for recent examples? That bandage on your forehead. Don&#8217;t expect me to believe it was some gymnastic mistake gone awry. We BOTH know I&#8217;m not that stupid. And, if Montoya weren&#8217;t on assignment, she wouldn&#8217;t either. I kno-&#8220;

A car suddenly pulls out in front of us as it obstructs the lane. Steph slams her foot on the break and the car slides to an abrupt halt. &#8220;What the heck?&#8221; Men in ski masks suddenly exit the car in front of us. From behind parked cars, more figures appear. They pull their hands out of their jackets to reveal an assembly of weapons as they approach the car. Steph screams as panic sets in. The two men in front brandish their pistols as the side doors are jerked open, leaving us exposed.

&#8220;Steph!&#8221; I shout, grabbing her arm as tightly as I can. &#8220;Whatever you do &#8211; stay DOWN!&#8221;

Normally, I&#8217;d be passive. I&#8217;d hide behind my civilian mask to keep my identity and secret veiled. But the symbol on the ski mask of each thug confirms their alignment. The Sprang Bridge Soldiers, one of Gotham&#8217;s most ruthless gangs. They don&#8217;t take prisoners so I won't be holding back.

As we&#8217;re pulled from the car and thrown to the ground, I see Steph curl up into a ball as I peer under the vehicle. Good girl. That&#8217;ll make this easier.

I rise to my feet, fighting against the muscle and strength of the attackers. &#8220;What do you think you&#8217;re doing, girl? Just stay down!&#8221;

&#8220;I don&#8217;t think so,&#8221; I tell him proudly. Before I even finish my breath, my foot flies vertically into his jaw. Spit flies from his mouth as he falls backward to the ground. I flip back onto the hood of the car, evading a gang member&#8217;s knife I didn&#8217;t realize was there. My shoes screech across the smooth metal of the cartop. Up here, I can better survey the threat. It&#8217;s grim. Seven armed men; six now. Most with guns.

&#8220;Who does this chick think she is? Blow her away!&#8221; Their guns cock in a symphony of clicks. I hear the bullets drop into the chamber and I know my time is short. My only regret at this point? I wish I was wearing a pony tail.

I slide my feet together and propel myself forward into the fray. As I land, I throw my elbows into two of the men&#8217;s heads. I hear him drop his weapon, and I slide my foot around to trip him.

&#8220;You little-&#8220; a man points his gun directly into my face. I tactfully use my momentum to slide under his legs as the bullet leaves the chamber and embeds itself in the asphalt. &#8220;Witch!&#8221; Before he turns I bring my leg around to his shoulder- instantly I feel the pain vibrate up my bone.

I missed; I was aiming for his neck. Less muscle to protect him there. Stupid mistake.

I roll onto my back as I bite my lip, ignoring the pain. He&#8217;s turned around by now, no doubt taking aim for a second shot. As my hands touch the ground behind me, I find one of their knives. I grab the metal end and hurl the blade forward. Just as planned, the hilt nails him right in the center of his forehead. His eyes roll back and he collapses just as his finger slides across the trigger. He fires a single shot on his way toward the pavement. Luckily, the shot misses, but I still feel my heart skip a beat. One of the men shouts behind me as the bullet finds its way into his thigh. He drops down, clutching his wound in agony.

I leap into the air before I survey the remaining opponents. I can&#8217;t take chances, not now. Without Jason I have no back up &#8211; coupled with the fact that this was an ambush, I am at a complete disadvantage. Add in Steph&#8217;s safety as a factor, this has become a probability nightmare.

I slide across the hood of the car and thrust my feet into an enemy&#8217;s side. As I land next to him, I see Steph look up to me, her eyes wide in awe. &#8220;Are you alright?&#8221; I ask her, opting out of my usual witty banter.

&#8220;BEHIND YOU!&#8221; She screams suddenly. I feel a fist connect with my spine; it knocks me off balance and I fall to my knees. My reaction happens without thought as I flex my arms and raise my legs swiftly. My heels connect with the man&#8217;s jaw and he stumbles back. I regain an offensive stance and charge him. My feet leave the ground as I take a jump, landing on his chest and driving his body into the street as I back flip. I take a three point stance at Steph&#8217;s side as I try to catch my breath.

&#8220;So, like I was saying &#8230; are you alright?&#8221;
&#8220;Y-yes,&#8221; she manages to reply. &#8220;But &#8230; how&#8217;d you do-&#8220;
&#8220;Do that?&#8221; I pant heavily. &#8220;Oh, you know. Just a mix of my gymnastic skills and dad&#8217;s martial arts. Must be that *pant* fight or flight response.&#8221;

&#8220;YOU LITTLE PUNK! I&#8217;ll kill you!&#8221; I hear his footsteps pound the ground as he rushes me from behind.

&#8220;Excuse me,&#8221; I tell her as I form my hand into a fist. I drive the ball of my foot into the ground and pivot my body. I plunge my fist into the man&#8217;s stomach just as he comes within range. It&#8217;s a pressure point, and his consciousness fades in and out. His switchblade drops to the ground with a repetitive clang, cueing me to my next strike. With a roundhouse kick I give him a much deserved nap as he flies backward into a wall, slumping into an odd conformation.

&#8220;That was seven, right?&#8221; She doesn&#8217;t respond. &#8220;One &#8230; two &#8230; four &#8230; six- Yep, yeah. That was seven. Last guy kinda threw off my count there.&#8221;

&#8220;Babs, how did-&#8220; She stops herself, the shock of seeing me take down seven men beginning to dim within her consciousness. &#8220;We have to call the police.&#8221; She pulls out her phone and begins to dial. I grab her arm and snatch the phone from her fingers.

&#8220;Don&#8217;t do that,&#8221; I say smoothly as I reach into my pants pocket. &#8220;I&#8217;ve got a guy.&#8221;

I hand her the phone back as I dial one of the new preset contacts in my phone. It rings for a moment before I hear someone pick up on the other end.

&#8220;Yeah, Detective Burke? It&#8217;s me. Look, we&#8217;ve got a clean up on Dixon Street. Some detained Sprang Soldiers, nothing much. &#8230; No, they tried to carjack my friend and I. &#8230; Yeah, we're fine. ... Nope, no. No idea. ... Yeeeeeaaap. SUPER awkward. Alright, I'll talk to you later. Alright, bye.&#8221; I close the phone and slip it back into my pocket.

&#8220;Come on, we&#8217;ve gotta go before the police show up. Too many questions.&#8221; Steph just stares; she&#8217;s still stunned from the encounter. I pat her on the shoulder and leap across the hood of the car to the passenger&#8217;s side. &#8220;You drive.&#8221;

I try to play off the awkwardness of this scenario as best I can, but deep down I know the truth. This is going to be one really long and incomfortable conversation. And as for my secret identity? Well, I can add at least one more name to the list of people that no longer applies to.

 

[MST3K 4ever]

It had been 12 hours since Heather's funneral. Oswald sat in his darkened penthouse overlooking the city skyline. Seeing the twinkling of the lights and the city not lit up by gunfire should've brought a sense of peace to Oswald but it didn't.

He was on his 8th scotch and soda, and for a man who had always prided himself on being in control and disciplined Oswald was starting to feel tipsy, and at this moment he didn't care.

Oswald offered Heather's parents a financial gift for their loss. They didn't take it, because they felt they would be profiting off of their daughter's death. However they did accept the insurance settlement from their daughter's insurance policy from work. Oswald made sure that the settlement was higher than usual, paid for the funeral, and set-up a scholarship for Heather's son. Any college anywhere this kid would be set for all four years and Grad School if he wanted it.

How could I have been so stupid? I played with fire and a poor child got burned. Now a little boy is without his mother and a mother and a father did the most un-natural thing in this world they buried a child. My fault all my fault. I believed that if I didn't get directly involved or had no knowledge of what happened after I sold the guns or whatever else it wasn't my fault. It's all in the name of commerce I've always told myself.

Oswald takes a look in the mirror and sees a somewhat tipsy man in a tuxedo that he has been in for 12 hours and it shows.

He yells, "You dillusional son of a *****!" Oswald throws his drink into the mirror as it shatters into dozens of shards.

Oswald slumps onto his couch and looks out at the nightsky.

I not only have her blood on my hands, but the blood of so many others. How could I've been so blind and careless with the lives of others? What was I thinking all these years?

Oswald looks at his voicemail icon and sees dozens of messages from the other members of his syndicate. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He opens his eyes and stands up.

He walks over to his bar and puts away all the booze he had gotten out and been sipping on all day.

Oswald then puts on a pair of sweats and cleans up the broken mirror. He begins remembering his command of zero body count and how some of them looked at him as if to say, "Or what'll happen?" They dared to challenge The Penguin. When he is done for the first time in days feels his fire and focus returning.

He opens up a bottle of water and begins to sip on it. Oswald then crosses over to Titan and begins feeding him.

Oswald says, "Titan my friend we will now settle everything. They will find out what happens when they cross The Penguin. "

Oswald sends out an e-mail on his secured network:

Ladies and Gentlemen,

Meet at my estate in Gotham Hills. 10 am tomorrow.

Anyone who is not there my bodyguards will find you, and when they are done no one else will.

Penguin.

 

[Eddie Brock]

Officer Eddie Fyers is a good man. After our encounter on the rooftop long ago, where we came to an unspoken agreement to help each other, I've taken it upon myself to learn more about the man. He's a lifelong native of Star City. He was born here, went to school here, dated his high school sweetheart here. He may even know the city better than I do. He's ex-military, though I still don't know which branch. Army, I believe, but I'll have to ask him. In fact, his only vice - so far as I know - is a nasty smoking habit. When he works nights at the station, he always gets up to have a smoke break, always at the same time. That kind of clockwork makes it easy to find him.

I watch in silence as Officer Fyers selects his cigarette with care and brings it to his lips. It takes him two strikes on the lighter to get it lit, after which he meanders over to the edge of the rooftop. The roof of the police station is quiet, isolated. Works wonders for my purposes.

"Officer."

Fyers spins, hand reaching instinctively for his gun. I see his eyes widen behind those horn-rimmed glasses of his. The lit cigarette dangles limply from his mouth as he sputters off a round of profanities. "Trying to kill me?" He shakes his head. "You shouldn't be here. Official policy is still--"

"To arrest Green Arrow on sight," I finish for him. "I know." I step out of the shadows. "No one else comes up here at this time of night. Unless you plan on making an arrest?"

Fyers scowls. He's annoyed at my little prank, but how else could I approach him? I figured this would be better than surprising him at home. He might've actually shot me if I pulled that stunt. "If I'd have wanted you arrested, you'd be arrested."

I smirk. "Let's agree to disagree on that." I step up next to him as we both look out over the twinkling lights of Star City. "Any leads on Shado?" After Shado betrayed me and killed Kazuo Takumi in cold blood, I came to Fyers. I left out a few details - like the fact that I was the one who trained Shado how to shoot - but I told him that there was another archer responsible for Takumi's death. I'm glad he believed me, because I doubt anyone else has.

"Nothing, kid." He calls me "kid." It's almost endearing, in a way. "If your girl exists, she's vanished into the night." He glances at me with a knowing look. "And without any evidence that there was a second archer, you remain the top suspect in the case."

Of course. Yet another crime on my head. Just as I draw nearer to clearing Oliver Queen's name, Green Arrow becomes suspected of murder. Oh well. As Fyers is quick to remind me, Green Arrow is a wanted man. Being a murder suspect just means that they're going to be more aggressive in pursuing me. As if I didn't already have a headache from the Yakuza's backlash to Takumi's death. It's enough to make a guy feel unwanted.

"What about this 'China White?'"

Fyers nods. The police are as concerned about this situation as I am. The violence propagated by the Yakuza was bad enough for Star City. Now that the Triads are trying to move in, it's started a bloody gang war which threatens to engulf the western coast of the city. "Real name's Chien Na-Wei. Took us two months to learn that much, and we don't know much more." He drops his cigarette and crushes it with the toe of his shoe. "She took Star City by storm, undercutting the Yakuza's drug running business with a huge supply of heroin."

"How do I get to her?"

"You don't," Fyers replies plainly. "But you might have better luck if you focus on her right-hand man, Hackett."

"Hackett?"

"He's a British ex-national. We believe he's White's financier."

A distant siren catches both of our attentions. I turn back to Fyers. "You should get back before people start to wonder where you've gone. I'll see what I can do about China White." I fire a grappling hook into the night. A British financier? This might actually be a job for Oliver Queen...
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