The "Ultimate DC Universe" RPG, Season 3.0

[Eddie Brock]

Let me make one thing clear: Lew Moxon doesn't need his money. The lying, cheating scumbag has taken all that the innocent people of Gotham can offer, and still he demands more. On the broken dreams of many, Moxon has made his illegal fortune. His greed, his arrogance, and his emotionless cruelty know no limits. He gets from Point A to Point B in the cheapest, easiest, and most underhanded way possible. And he does all of this unforgivingly. No, he doesn't need his money.

Some of us, however, do. And I know how to make that a reality. It's only fair. I'm just one of the many nameless victims to Moxon's inhumanity. He was the owner of the theater where I almost made my "break." The theater where I was promised my wildest dreams. The theater where the producers expected me to hike up my skirt in return. In short, the theater where my dream died. Well, I know Moxon's dream - financial and political power - and I'll be damned if I let his live.

Moving daintily through Moxon's penthouse, I examine his many priceless pieces of artwork. Artwork he purchased, I imagine, through the blood, sweat, and tears of others. I don't have much of an eye for art, but I know how much money this stuff can fetch on the Black Market. So I grab as many pieces as I can carry. Those that I either can't carry or don't want, I destroy. It's only fair.

Multiple paintings under my arm, precious jewels around my neck and wrists, and assorted items tossed into the duffel bag over my shoulder, I make for the open window. There, my whip waits obediently - anchored to the roof of the building across the way. A careful walk along the tightrope - above a busy Gotham City street - and I'm thousands of dollars richer. Plus, I get the satisfaction of knowing that my vengeance on Moxon has begun.

However, I've learned that simple jobs are never simple.

"FREEZE!" a man shouts. I slowly turn around.

"Mrrrrrow?"

"Uhh...put down...put down the artwork!" he stammers, clearly taken aback by my presence - and appearance. Men are so easily manipulated. Perhaps that's why I enjoy it so much.

I purr, "Sorry. Better luck in the next lifetime?" And while tightening my grip on the artwork I'm carrying, I quickly grab the end of my whip and leap from the window. Mid-fall I crack the whip again, wrapping it around a gargoyle's head. Looking over my shoulder, I see the bewildered security guard standing by the open window at Moxon's penthouse.

Lew Moxon doesn't need his money.

 

[Johnny Blaze]

The flames ignited and roared to life. The Manslayer's once murderous demeanor quickly turned into one of terror as the fire danced around his cage.
The White Martian howled in torment as he slowly curled up into a fetal postion on the ground of the cage, not moving.

All the while, J'onn was struggling to remain calm through the whole event. He wanted to look away, to turn around and flee. It was as though his mind went strictly to it's base desires and instincts.
The Martian Manhunter was visably shaking as beads of sweat dripped from his brow.

Enough.

J'onn fought against it, but found himself falling to a knee as he tried his best to keep his fears at bay. But it was a struggle he was quickly losing. His teeth were beginning to grow sore as he ground them against each other, and, in the back of his eye, a light, like the spark of a small flame, began to flicker.

"That's enough."

 

[Batman]

Jim takes off his jacket, and throws it over the back of a chair in the room. He walks over to his desk, and places his keys and phone on top of the many papers litering his desk. He hears a noise behind him, and turns quickly. As he looks, he hears the familiar sound of the fax machine start, printing the documents he requested. Paper slips out of the machine, and falls into a bin below.

Gordon turns back, and puts his finger on the lamp on his desk. He turns the knob on it, and the lamp's bulb illuminates, casting a dull light onto his desk. "At least that works." Gordon says with an irritated tone. Suddenly, Gordon perks up, standing tall. His body quickly loosens, and a weak smile comes to his face. "I should've known you'd be waiting for me."

"After tonight, nothing is to be expected."

After looming in the darkness long enough to make sure we're alone, I step out of the shadows. Contrary to what he could possibly guess, I've been monitoring Gordon's outside conversations through my cowl's transceiver. What I heard only confirms my suspicions - The entire MCU, save for the Captain himself, has been spread across Gotham by the attack. While I can't be certain why, my intuitive instinct tells me that it was Two-Face's intention. The farther spread, the least likely any will make it back to examine the evidence. And I'm almost sure that by now, Dent expected me dead, given how desperately Freeze, Ivy, Crane, and Black Mask fought

Which leaves me with even more questions: What is it that he doesn't want to be found? Or is it a case of something else? Perhaps it's something to do with The Joker. Were I ever in Dent's position, the last thing I would want is to easily place my trust into someone as notoriously unpredictable. Even if they're both criminals succumbed to madness, Two-Face may still retain a part of his psyche that used to be the basis of Harvey Dent's sanity. If that's the case, he's playing it smart. And by all accounts, that means I have to play it smarter.

"I've examined the structural damage outside your office. Given the amount of firepower that was likely at his disposal, The Joker's escape wasn't a pure case of luck. Everything about tonight was pre-meditated."

My eyes veer to the fax machine, as Jim turns to it too. I think both of us know that the answer to the evening's chaos lies somewhere in the piling evidence. "For now, let's see what we can find."

 

[Batman]

"And we're live in... Five. Four. Three. Two. One!"

Reporter Mike Engel adjusted his tie as the dimmed lights of the news set's soundstage soon brightened around him in an automated circle. Already annoyed by the commotion around the city throughout the past few hours, Engel had been taken by unpleasant surprise when he reached the freeway, seeing traffic backed up on the opposite side of the road, heading just out of Gotham City. The panic instilled throughout it's citizens stemming from reports of multiple buildings being attacked by psychotic criminals, aswell as the breakout of Blackgate Prison, was felt around the entire area as Engel spent two hours driving from his home in the Western Coast to the mainlands; a usual thirty minute drive. But on this morning above all mornings, people needed to hear the news, and Engel couldn't think of a bigger time to put himself on the map of journalism.

So with a forced smile, followed by a low brow as the cameras rolled, Engel cleared his throat and prepared the early morning broadcast, as a record two point eight million of Gotham's population tuned in.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we begin this morning's special edition of our program on the heels of a staggering citywide attack." He began. "A record thousands were reported already evacuating the city just earlier this morning, following a strange phenomina that many witnessed occur at the Gotham City Courthouse. While not yet confirmed, several cite the attack as a result of former physicist and chemist turned dangerous criminal Victor Fries, aswell as bio-surgeon and activist Pamela Isley. At the time of this attack, several other reports were describing similar disturbance at Mayor Oswald Cobblepot's private office, aswell as Blackgate Island, home to the city's prison district. Yet in spite of all this, many of Gotham's citizens remain unaware of the horrors that plague the city well into the morning hours. What are city officials saying about these disturbances? Who is to blame? And what citizens remain missing in the wake of the traumitizing chaos? I'm Mike Engel, and we join you live at six. This is Gotham Tonight."

Engel adjusted the papers on his desk, as the musical cue and title played, preparing for the main broadcast. Turning to the second camera, Engel peered at the cue cards before continuing.

"Good morning, and welcome to a special edition of Gotham Tonight, continuing GCN's live and late breaking crisis coverage following the citywide attack by several infamous Gotham City criminals.", Engel gravelly continued, making a point to stress the importance of the situation by the tone of his voice. "We begin our coverage with an hour-by-hour anaylsis of the Courthouse attack, the first reported act of several that are widely speculated to be connected by Gotham Officials. For this, we turn to GCN's own Vesper Fairchild, coming to us live on location just hours following the hostage crisis. Vesper, can you give us a brief summary of the events leading to the event?"

The screen on the monitors intercut into two parts, one showing Engel, the other showing Fairchild from the steps of the Courthouse, a microphone in hand as several medics passed the screen behind her.

"Mike, the status of the Courthouse now is nothing short of pandemoniem, even after police and forensics have left the scene.", Fairchild began. "From what our sources tell us, a late and final trial was just coming to a close, involving the assault charges of one Mario Del' Rizzo, a rumored player in the Maroni crime family camp, and District Attorney Rachel Dawes. Reportedly, at just after midnight tonight, all involved parties were exiting the building just following an undisclosed verdict, when the entire front entrance of the building was overtaken by a... thickening sheet of ice."

Engel nodded. "Which would indicate Victor Fries' involvement."

"Yes, we're told that Fries and his accomplice are now in custody.", She responded. "Several sources also say that there was a standoff that lasted a period of one hour, with Fries and his partner, Pamela Isley, demanding ransom for the life of Rachel Dawes, who was held captive by Isley's bizarre ability to control vines. Though at this stage, much of this is speculation, but Gotham Police have yet to deny any fabrication as false."

"Interesting,", Engel stated aloud, curiously. "For those viewers who aren't aware, Victor Fries and Pamela Isley are both escaped convicts of the Arkham Institute of Mental Health, following brief stints as some of the city's budding population of superpowered criminals. Fries, known under the alias 'Mr. Zero', and Isley, with the alias 'Poison Ivy', were both the subject of a recent bid by Mayor Cobblepot to control Gotham's criminal population, citing the city's mysterious masked vigilante known as 'The Batman' as a particular influence to this rapidly growing trend of crimes."

Fairchild nodded back in response, quickly continuing. "It is interesting that you mention that, Mike, because we actually just recieved word from eyewitness testimony that The Batman himself was involved with either the attack or rescue of the District Attorney and other hostages. While police are giving no comment on his involvement, several seem to believe that the vigilante either interjected or aided in Fries and Isley's attacks, most indicating the former."

Engel raised an eyebrow.

"But The Batman was involved, in some way?"

Fairchild tried her best not to shrug.

"At this point, it seems likely, but nothing is confirmed yet. Whenever GCN tried to get a statement from Rachel Dawes' representatives, all we could learn was that the D.A. is now recuperating for minor injuries at Gotham General Hospital."

"Well, that's good to hear, and we wish her a speedy recovery.", Engel acknowledged. "Thank you for that report, Vesper."

The screen intercut to the next camera, as Engel turned, stacking a new set of papers infront of him.

"And we'll return to our coverage of the crisis as more information arrives,", He continued. "For now, we take a look at which prominent Gotham citizens are currently aiding with the relief effort in light of this tragic attack that has sent a panic throughout the city. First is Mayor Oswald Cobblepot, who in a statement to GCN, stated that estimated funds from his own personal estate will go towards the construction to rebuild both the Courthouse and Blackgate Prison, aswell as elevate security measures for the latter. When asked about the attack on his own private office, Cobblepot's camp declined to divulge details, simply stating that 'wild accusations' were the cause of the disturbance, contrary to many reports of gunfire erupting from the building."

​

"And in related news, Celebrity socialite and former CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne, released a joint statement through representatives of his newly established Wayne Foundation, saying 'It is a tragedy that our city has fallen to the likes of such criminal activity. The Wayne Foundation will undoubtedly be hard at work in the coming months ahead to help ease the pain of it's victims'. Wayne himself was unable to comment at the time, his assistant citing food poisoning and accompanying sickness as explanation for his absence to begin relief efforts."

Engel turned to the other camera once more, as a side image of a Gotham City Police badge appeared.

"While many Gotham residents remain missing as a result of the chaos, rumors are circulating that Police Commissioner Jillian Loeb is indeed among them. Authorities declined to comment, but one insider has stated that Loeb has not only disappeared, but has actually been abducted in wake of another reported attack, this time on Gotham's Central Station, by the serial killer known only as The Joker."

The side image morphs from the badge, to a particularly haunting image of The Joker.

"By coincidence, tonight marks the one month anniversary of The Joker's brutal massacre in Robinson Park, resulting in the casualties of at least twenty random bystanders, though several more were estimated by the time the murderer was taken into custody by police. While the circumstances of The Joker's escape are largely unknown, it was controversially publicized information that the criminal was being held in MCU while awaiting a court hearing for several counts of manslaughter. Several speculate this was for a number of reasons, from lack of willing testimonials by Gotham City officers, to an undetermined amount of victims, ev-"

Suddenly, the screen pauses. Engel's face is generated, mid-sentence for a moment, before slight static. To many watching the program, it's a simple glitch brought on by faulty cable. But as the interruptance continues, many can almost swear to hearing a faint laughter in the background. Seconds later, it returns to the broadcast, as Engel stares, confused by what happened.

"...even, uh... even irregularly prolonged psychiatric evaluations, which have raised several remarks by critics of the MCU's tactics.", Engel hesitantly continued, trying to ignore the disruptance. "Such critics accused Commissioner Loeb of 'cashing in and capitalizing' on the media frenzy surrounding speculation to The Joker's undetermined true identity by keeping him jailed rather than committed to Arkham, but it was Captain James Gordon, head of the MCU, that was quick to squash those rumors, stating to media outlets that the Gotham police force was doing everything in their power to relocate the criminal before his trial. Even so, many still ask-"

The frame froze again, this time for a second longer, as Engel stared blankly at the screen. By some sort of computer generated animation, two black dots covered his eyes, and his lips were scribbled red. The animation's final result stayed for several more seconds, as the laughter that many had questioned ever existed in the first place continued to build, amongst static between shots of Engel's digitally vandalized face. Finally, the broadcast again resumed, as Engel looked around, past camera.

"Are we back on? Are we-", Engel asked, before turning to the camera. "Ladies and gentlemen, it appears we're having some technical difficulties. We're going to go to a quick commercial break, before we resume our coverage of-"

And then, the screen went blank. More static seemed to follow, in between a live home video camera feed of the inside of a vacant building. Several watching the broadcast tried to turn the channel, but to their surprise, it was on every station. More static erupted, obscuring the building, until an empty chair appeared. More static, and someone appeared in the chair, bound and gagged. A few second passed before anyone realized that it was Commissioner Loeb herself, bleeding out of the shoulder with a bizarre lipstick painted over her face, deliberately to resemble the vandalization of Engel's face. Startlingly, though, the laughter continued... until the camera turned onto a yellow toothed grin, enveloping the screen.

"Don't you just hate the news?"

The camera zoomed out, as The Joker peered into the screen, his murderous eyes fuming with hatred and malice. But even so, he retained the grin, shaking the camera violently as he continued through the building.

"I mean, really! Think about it. Everytime you tune in, it's either 'murder' this, or 'chaos' that. Really, what is the world coming to, these days? Everything's all crazy!"

The Joker madly cackled, before pulling the camera out even further, in order to show Loeb in the background. "You know what I think? I think we should show a lighter side of the world, in our media. I think... we should put on a happy face. Don't you agree, Gotham?"

As if waiting for a response, The Joker stared for a moment, before flipping the camera around, and pointing it directly towards Loeb herself, muffling words of desperation from behind her gag.

"Take dear Jillian, here.", The madman began. "She's so stressed, that even when the chance comes along, our dear Commissioner doesn't even have the energy to smile. I should know, because I gave her plenty of opportunities. Remember that time I cut open my cellmate's chest cavity, Jillian? Remember how he just squirmed as I ripped out his entrails, and nibbled on his heart? You were there. I remember it. You were there, and you didn't even give the sight so much as a giggle!"

The camera furiously spun around once more, as The Joker stared down into it. "You'd think she didn't have a sense of humor. And she's not alone, Gotham. Oh, no. She's only one of the many in this society that has yet to see the comedy in our terrible, twisted little world. But never fear! That's about to change."

Turning the camera back around, the image stilled as The Joker sat it down upon a table, and strolled in front of it, circling Loeb's chair before he came to a stop infront of her.

"You see, Gotham, your dear old Joker has found a convieient cure for those who remain farcebly challenged. It's a wonderful little thing that I like to call madness. Perhaps you've heard of it?", He asked, mockingly serious.

"Oh, I'm sure many of you have! Take tonight, for example. Two lunatics attack the city, and everyone just loses it. I mean it, just balls-to-the-wall freaks out. And I'm not even going to tell you what happened when those other hotshots attacked a... prison, or something. But you know what? That was their fault. They're the reasons that the city's gone so crazy. Because none of them understood... none of them reacted appropriately. They tried to shun away the madness, and abandon it. Well I say, embrace it! Because like it or not, it's here to stay. Gotham City just became the looney capital of the world!"

With vicious laughter, The Joker wiped away a tear from the eyeholes of his jester's mask, before proceeding.

"You think I'm full of it? Take a look outside. Go on, I'll wait. Take a quick glance outside your windows, out of your doors, and just look around and tell me you see the embodiment of a sane city. Well, if you're getting this in Metropolis or Coast City, sure! Children are smiling. Couples are romancing. The elderly are playing checkers in the park. But Gotham? We do things a bit differently. And that's the point I've been trying to make since day one. You wanted to lock me up for that, you hypocrites?", The Joker accusingly spit.

"Oh, of course you did. Anything to make the peanut gallery pleased. You leave the flying rodent to scurry along your rooftops, but when it comes to one, innocent little clown, it's different. He kills a few people, and suddenly he's the monster. Where's the justice in that, Gotham? You make a hero out of one freak, but the other one gets treated like filth. Well, no more, I say! Tonight, me and The Bat are on equal terms."

With a reach, The Joker snatches the camera, and points it towards Loeb once more. She's closing her eyes, trying not to look at her horrifying captor. But this only seems to add to The Joker's manic behavior, as he giggles to himself before continuing.

"I issue a challenge to Gotham City's police force. No doubt, you want your sniveling Commissioner back, so you can resume locking up the only sane people that this city has left. Well, I'm going to make that easy for you. As we speak, there's an envelope being sent to the Major Crimes Unit with directions to where I'm currently keeping miss Jillian. It shouldn't be hard to figure out... I even drew a map. But there's one catch to this little game of hide and seek: none of you can come for her. Only The Batman can personally pursue me to try and save your Commissioner. And I have men looking out as far as the eye can see, so if any cop comes near the area, I'll know first. And I'll kill her. Along with any chance Gotham had of being a saner, safer place."

The camera spins once more, as The Joker leans down, intimately peering into it.

"You hear that, Batman? You and I are going to mold Gotham's future. Either it becomes a city full of crazies like us, or you get to save the day again. You have until midnight, tomorrow. And if you don't show, I'll kill her anyway. Then who's to blame for being the monster?"

The Joker leaped up, ecstatically, twiddling his fingers together in glee.

"See? This is news I can live with!"

With another cackle, the screen went blank. And the panic in Gotham City rocketed skyhigh.

 

[Andy C.]

ex Luthor​

Senator Ross had parted as pleasantly as he always had, and Luthor was left alone in his office again. His mind was so distracted by all of this Despero business that he had almost forgotten to check on his other plans.

Fortunately, the Joker's pirate broadcast in Gotham had jogged his memory.

Lex was utterly fascinated by the Joker, how the man became a literal personification of everything he believed. He claimed lunacy, but whatever brain lurked under his ghoulish clown getup was exceptionally brilliant. He wasn't crazy, he was committed to an ideal, and that ideal was that the world was going mad--even moreso with the arrival of all the freaks in capes. Lex saw almost a kindred spirit in that sense, but Joker was wrong on two levels.

First and foremost, Joker blamed Batman for the insanity in Gotham. Regardless of who's behind the mask, Luthor knew that none of the other 'heroes' would have been allowed to operate in the public if Superman hadn't brainwashed the populace first. He had seen the two working together in Metropolis during the invasion; their methods and appearances were different, but their motivation was the same. Superman had started the plague of caped fascists, and Batman was just a symptom.

Secondly, the Joker was only interested in bringing society down. Luthor knew that the only reason to take something apart was so one could put it back together better than it was before. The clown would be excellent in his role, but it would have to be cut short before Lex could complete his.

Mr. Luthor, sir, L-Soft chimed in, your packages have arrived.

"Excellent. Send them in so I can get a good look."

The following weeks and months and years to come would be very busy, indeed. Today, though, Lex Luthor had finished most of his business, and was content to watch someone else take on humanity's true enemies for a while.

After all, Joker didn't know it yet, but this was his job application. And a rehearsal for a much, much bigger production.

"Best of luck, Joker," Lex said, lifting a glass of Dom Perignon in a toast to the television screen. "Here's to leaving your mark on Gotham City."

His office doors opened, and in walked three men, wheeling three large metal suitcases behind them. Displaying the cases to Lex, a fourth made a show of holding an instrument up to each one....letting the room fill with the anrgy hiss and clicks of a Geiger counter.

And every city on Earth after that...

 

[Blacklight]

​

"Uuuuggghhh..."

My head was spinning as I tried to open my eyes. The throbbing all over my body made it tough to move. I was lying against the wall and couldn't move my hands, and telling from the grapnel line around my wrists, this was his doing...

The Batman...

After saving his life and helping him out, this is how he repays me? Leaving me for the cops to drag away while he gets to get off scot-free because he has Gordon in his back pocket?

No matter. He underestimated me if he thinks this line can hold me...

SNAP!

I had quickly rose to my feet, slowly approaching the nerby window, taking out my grapnel crossbow, and taking aim for a nearby tree in which my cycle lied underneath...

ZIIIP!

I then jumped off the line and vaulted on to my bike, and I revved the engine back on to make a quick getaway before the sounds of sirens blared any louder...

* * *

As the sun began to rise, I looked down at this city I call home. I don't know if Black Mask is really dead, or if he managed to survive, but if it really was the former, than how could I blame the Batman for leaving me to my arrest? I might have just taken a life tonight. And in both our eyes, that wouldn't make me any better than the scum I take down...

But then I look at people like Black Mask. The Joker... people who won't stop until they die at someone's hands. So why shouldn't those hands be mine? Would I still not be a hero? Even Heracles had to slay the hydra in order to be named a hero. What makes these situations any different?

It's simple. We don't kill. That fact is what seperates the vigilantes from the criminals... the murderers.

Like him.

"Mandragora..."

I know he's back now, and let it be known that if I ever find that bastard, not even god can help him to escape my wrath. He killed my parents, and for that, he will pay.

"I'll make him pay..."

And you know what? No one will stop me. No one...

 

[Catman_prb]

edit

 

[Catman_prb]

Some Months Ago...

"Sinestro," the call came over the silent hall. Sinestro looked up slowly, a grin spreading over his pinkish face.

"Katma Tui," he said "I wasn't aware that I would have this honour,"

"I have been suspicious of your actions for some time Sinestro. I shall inspect your operations, then report back to Oa," Katma said, taking a step towards him, power ring starting to glow.

"You are the leader of the Korugarian rebels, Katma, you are not Green Lantern material," he said, an icy tone in his voice.

"The Guardians seem to think differently, Sinestro," Katma hissed.

"The Guardians are deluded fools. They will soon know a taste of true power," Sinestro said, standing.

"Do you wish to challenge me Sinestro? Because I promise you, you shall not succeed," Sinestro's replacement shouted.

"Did they not tell you my position in the Corps? I was in command of the Black Ops division. And I still am," he screamed. A number of men and women of varying species stepped forwards from the shadows, faint yellow glows emitting from their hands. Katma Tui's mouth dropped slightly as she looked at each of them in turn.

"Kill her," he ordered abruptly. Various long, sharp implements extended from the yellow rings on the Lanterns' fingers.

"Traitors," she whispered. And then the screaming started.

 

[Noon]

​

Barbara sat listlessly, running her hands over the stainless steel rims of the wheelchair, feeling the rough tread of the tires and gently moving them back and forth. It bumps into the whitewashed wall behind her, leaving little dints and black marks.

"Barbara Gordon?" A nurse appears with a clipboard in her arms and speaks her name into the air.

She stood quickly; the nurse noticed her and returned through the door she came from, holding it open for Barbara to follow. The wheelchair rocked gently behind her in the hospital hallway.

"Dr. Blake will be with you in a moment, you can wait in his room."

She knows the way and passes the nurse with minimal acknowledgement. The room is musty with old books and men's cologne, and she sits on the edge of the couch. It's not like a doctors office, starched white and sterile smelling. The plush leather chair and the book lined walls make it seem like a room in fancy house.

Dr. Blake hurries into the room, his arms full of papers. He barely seems to notice Barbara perched on the edge of his couch when he sits behind his desks, the papers scattering across it's surface as he drops them carelessly.

"So Barbara, how have you been this month then?" He only looks up at her as he finishes speaking, his bright eyes never still behind his spectacles.

"I've been good. Keeping myself busy mostly. Handed in my term paper early and the team have a gymnastics contest coming up so I've been scripting most of the routine. I think we have a shot at winning, too. So that's good." She fidgets while she speaks, perched delicately on the edge of the seat.

"That's all good Barbara. And what about your father? Will he be attending this competition?"

"Mmhhm...He’s busy. Crime doesn't sleep and all that. He doesn't care about some stupid competition..."

"We've discussed this before, haven't we Barbara?" The way he keeps repeating her name grates her nerves. "You can't project feelings into other people. Have you asked him if he would like to come?"

The discussion continues for another hour, her allotted time to talk about her insignificant problems. When she leaves she feels the same as before, incomplete.

 

[Eddie Brock]

DETECTIVE JOHN GRAYSON

My hand wrapped around my holstered gun, I take shelter behind a shipping crate. Luckily - or unluckily, depending on how you look at it - my hunch was right. The unmarked black sedans were heading towards the docks. In my overzealousness to pursue them, I forgot to think about what I would do once I got to the docks. However, as an officer of the law, I have to do something.

Both from the mugshots I studied and what I can pick up from their conversation, I have deduced that these are Zucco's men - as I suspected. Their conversation and actions, however, lead me to believe that they aren't here to pick up one of Zucco's shipments. Stealing is the mobster's way of life, so it's no surprise that rival gangs steal from each other. That said, it makes my position all the more uncomfortable.

As if the Fates have decided to give me the worst day possible, my cell phone starts ringing. I freeze in place, desperately hoping that it will make the sound go away. In the distance, I start to hear Zucco's men talking worriedly. I look at my cell phone and see that it's the MCU calling. Not the best time, Gordon.

"The Hell is that?"
"Go check it out!"
"I don't like this, man."
"Shut the f*** up!"

CLICK.

I've been a cop long enough to recognize the sound of a .9mm magazine locking into place. For some unexplainable reason, I take comfort in the fact that they aren't packing anything bigger. It still doesn't mean that I'm safe, though. As sounds of slow footsteps on the gravel draw nearer, I draw my gun and back away from the corner of the shipping crate.

Watching the elongated shadow of the approaching mobster on the crates directly across from me, I quickly formulate a plan. I take a handful of gravel and wait for the right moment. As the barrel of the .9mm stretches out past the edge of the shipping crate, I toss the gravel. The resulting sound causes the mobster to jump and turn his back to me. Approaching him from behind, I slam the handle of my gun into the pressure point on his neck, and he goes down hard.

Almost immediately, the gunfire begins. Unfortunately, my little maneuver has given away my position. It looks like I have no choice but to return fire and hope that I can get a large enough window to make a break for it. Taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat off my forehead, I crouch low and turn the corner. The group is larger than I anticipated.

Within moments, I've been hit through the shoulder. I have no choice but to run now. If I can't tend to this wound, I'll bleed out for sure. Holding my shoulder while firing a few more stray shots, I stay low and run as fast as I can. As I'm running, I hear the commotion behind me.

"Joey?! Jesus, he hit Joey!"
"Where'd he go!"
"He went that way!"
"You f***ing idiot, he went that way!"
"Oh Jesus, Joey, hang on!"
"That f***ing cop is dead! You hear me!"

I have no time to stop and listen. I'm already starting to feel a little faint. I need to get as close to a hospital as I can. Failing that, I need to find a safe place to lie down and make a tourniquet out of my jacket. Either way, Zucco's men are going to have to wait.

This is what happens when you try to be the hero, John.
​

 

[trustyside-kick]

"His own arrogance will be enough to stir the Old God's hatred! He must be forced to leave Poseidonis!"

Yelling and shouting fills the room within seconds. Much of the Council calls for the execution of this man, the rest call for his freedom. Daus returns to his seat, one of the two who remain quiet in the Council. The entire time, he and Vulko stare at one another; a smirk upon Daus' face. Vulko picks up his gravel, and smacks it down, restoring order.

"Place him in the dungeons."

Two Atlantean guards walk out to Orin, grabbing him by the arms. As Orin leaves the building, behind him is the both the celebration and lamentation of the Council.

Orin has remained silent within his caged cell the entire duration of his visit. He did not lash out against the guards, when they grabbed him and forced him to his cell. Nor did he curse back at them, as they spoke foul and harsh words to his face. It is for reasons like those, that has caused Nuidis Vulko to visit the silent prisoner of the Atlantean dungeon. It is for reasons such as those...that Orin has his first visitor.

"I shall only be a minute with him. If Daus wishes to know the purpose of my visit, as I know he will...I am merely here to question the prisoner."

The guard nods his head in agreement with what Vulko has said, and lets him pass. Vulko walks over to Orin's cell, the coral-carved bars being all that separates the two. And of course as Nuidis Vulko expects, Orin remains idle within his cell and tranquil.

"You do not diserve to dwell in such a place. Such a place isn't fitting for heroes."

"If I am but a hero, then why have I been condemned to such a place? It is because of you that I am in my current predicament."

Vulko looks around, two guards at the both ends of the hallway, and leans in towards Orin's coral-carved cell.

"While I remain the Head of the Council, I am just a citizen of Poseidonis. And as such, I must follow through with the decree of those around me. Daus was stirring up such commotion, I had to do whatever I could to get you out of his...his circus of blasphemous accusations."

"This Daus...bears much hatred against me. Or rather...someone he must have me confused with. I have never heard of this Kordax and Cora."

The old Atlantean looks at Orin confused, raising his eyebrow. Again he looks to his left and right, making sure the guards are not growing overly curious as to what is being discussed.

"You...truly haven't? Are you not their son?"

"No."

"I...I thought you were merely toying with Daus...instigating his anger and fueling his rage. What, especially when you mentioned your father and mother being Oceanus and Tethys."

"I...my father and my mother...you see..."

Orin struggles with his words, and sits up against the wall of the cell. His eyes show an uncertainty within himself, and one can only wonder what goes through the course of his mind. Finally, Orin takes a deep breath for a moment, his eyes meeting Vulko's own.

"I have no memory of them."

"No memory? And...your home? Where did you live?"

"No where...and everywhere."

"But...your armor! Your...your coral sword! I would've thought you were a member of one of the other tribes. Which one...that I could not tell."

Orin touches his chest, which was once adourned with the scale-plated armor Nuidis Vulko speaks of. His other hand reaches down to his side, where the coral-carved sword was once strapped to his waist.

"There was a battle...I lost a lot of blood. This...beast, it. It had like six heads...maybe more. The more heads I ripped off, the more seemed to grow. It was an uncanny creature of the deep. I fought the best I could. I drove the creature off, and in my victory fell unconscious...and just floated along with the tides. When I woke...I woke to unfamiliar guests."

"Unfamiliar guests?"

"Yes...I was in a grotto, with an ensemble of sea creatures at my side on the surface of the water, and when I awoke...the glittering armor was there waiting for me. Dug into the ground of the grotto on a rock, lied the coral sword."

"Then it is true...the creatures of the sea do heed to your call. But, you did not even call to them! You were unconscious...fascinating. To think--"

Both of the guards approach Vulko from each sides, and Vulko stops in his trail of speech, standing up.

"I am sorry to interrupt, Lord Vulko, but the Council requests your audience and wishes to know your whereabouts immediately."

"We did not tell them you were here though, milord. So you better get moving."

"Very well."

The guards walk off, and Vulko waits a minute before he leaves himself. He waits for the halls to be clear, and looks back over at Orin.

"We shall talk again, my friend. Every bone in my body tells me that Daus is wrong about you. I cannot quite explain it. Just a feeling I suppose...but know this: nothing is going to happen to you. Not while I'm here to oppose Daus' madness."

Orin doesn't say a word, merely nodding at Vulko just before the old Atlantean walks off.

 

[Green Lantern]

Minutes later, Barry woke up, still breathing heavy at the words he had heard.

"How? How is this possible?"

Barry stood up and looked around the room. It seemed somewhat different. Things he didn't remember were scattered throughout the apartment, things he remembered were missing, but everything felt both oddly similar and oddly dissimilar at the same time. He stepped over to his closet and threw it open, eyes going wide at what he saw. Hanging in the closet were not his red Flash suits, but an ugly carbon copy in black and yellow.

What in the hell is going on here?:

Barry pulled one of the black suits off the hanger and quickly put it on. It fit him like a glove, though it felt wrong.

Something is off here, and I'm going to find out what.

Barry ran out the building, and through the streets of Keystone. He came to a dead stop at the building that Iris had lived in. Barry was too intent on getting to Iris's room to notice the fearful looks he was getting from most everyone.

He knocked on the door, not really expecting an answer.

"Coming!"

For the second time in less than an hour he was floored to hear a voice that only plagued his memories. I must be dreaming. Still knocked out from a fight. Thats the only answer.

The door opened and like a fresco painting, there in all her beauty stood Iris. His Iris. Alive. Breathing. Maybe it had all been a bad dream, maybe Zoom doesn't even exist. Before she could say a word, Barry had the bottom of his mask pulled up, and he pulled in his love and kissed her, deeply, passionately.

She recoiled and he felt the slap through the mask.

"WALT! What the hell do you think you're doing? Get away from me!"

Barry was stunned by the response, the slap hard enough to draw tears. The emotional sting enough to draw even more, before his mind put together everything she had said.

"Walt? You mean that annoying nephew of yours? What the hell would he show up and kiss you for?"

"Real funny Walt! You know Wally died several years ago. You're the one that caused it, remember? And you know that that's when we broke up, you bastard."

"Why do you keep calling me Walt? It's me Iris, Barry."

"STOP being an ASS Walt. Barry died when you got your powers. You know how much I miss him."

Now Barry was completely confused, and dumbfounded. He did the only thing he could. He took off his mask.

"I swear to god, its ME, Iris. I don't know what the hell is going on here, but I'm going to figure it out."

Iris couldn't believer her eyes, there before her was the long dead love of her own life.

"Barry? Its really you?"

"Yes, can I come in? I think we need to talk."

She opened the door fully and Barry and her sat down on the couch.

"Explain. How are you back? Why are you in Walt's costume?"

"You first. Who the hell is Walt?"

"...Walt was your best friend... He.. god, you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"You two were working on your alertness drug, and well, Walt was jealous of you. You were the better scientist, you were a successful athlete, you had the girl of his dreams. He uh... Sabotaged your experiment. It blew up on you. Left you critically injured, put Walt in the hospital. You... you died there Barry. Walt was out in days. I had no idea that he had done that. He courted me... we started dating. He revealed that he had powers. Could run really fast. My nephew... Wally... he came to visit. Annoyed the piss outta Walt. Walt took him to the lab. Told him to drink something. Another prototype of the drug. It worked, but too well. Wally's metabolism sped up and within a week he wasted away to nothing and died. Thats when I noticed something in Walt I never did before. A kind of bloodlust in his eyes, a cruelty. He made himself a costume... the one you're wearing now... Started to commit crimes. No one can stop him either, calls himself the Rogue."

"Then why'd you call him?"

"Well... he... he... raped me last month. When I told him again that we wouldn't be together. And..."

She started sobbing.

"I'm pregnant, Barry. With that bastard's demon spawn."

She continued to sob, head buried into Barry's shoulder.

He patted her back, trying to ease her crying.

"Shh... It'll be okay Iris. I'm here for you now. I'll make it better."

"How?"

"By doing what no one else can. By making him pay."

"How? He's not stoppable."

"Yes, he is. By me."

Barry set her back against the couch, and rose, looking more powerful than he ever had before.

"Iris, from what I gather we're from different timelines, or different universes. That doesn't stop the love I feel for you in my heart. In my world you've been dead for a long time, killed by someone like who you describe Walt to be. Seeing you brings back warmth to my heart, and hearing what the psycho did to you fills it with rage. In my world, I am the one with the powers that you described Walt as having. I'm the Flash. The fastest man alive. And Walt is going to pay for what he's done."

 

[Noon]

Stepping out of the shower, Barbara wraps a crisp white towel around herself and steps to the sink. She gazes at the blurry reflection of herself in the steamed up mirror. With one finger she draws a line through the condensation, a little figure of eight that circles her eyes. She stops for a moment to contemplate her eyes surrounded by the faux mask before swiping her hand across the whole mirror, erasing it with a sigh.

After she had dried her hair and dressed she headed out into the city. The streets were almost empty, either because people were afraid after what had happened at the courthouse or because they had been evacuated. Barbara had opted to stay. Her dad was a cop, and she wasn't about to run off while he was in the line of fire. She could look after herself on these streets.

She wore calf high military style boots, tightly laced, urban camo trousers tucked into them and a long sleeved polo neck top, black. Her red hair was neatly pulled back into a pony tail. She didn't look like a target, a victim. She was short and slender and had quickly adapted her dress style to be able to walk the streets of Gotham without being hassled.

Not that it mattered today; she passed four people at most, only a few cars driving on the roads. She quickly reached the police station and nodded to the officer at the front desk as she went in. The cops knew her and didn't question her wandering into the main offices.

Up a couple of flights of stairs and along a corridor painted nicotine yellow was the door to her father’s office. The pane of frosted glass had black printed letters 'Captain J. Gordon'. She reached for the handle, but stopped when she heard voices inside, muffled through the door. Peering in she was sure she could make out a figure in the room, too tall to be her father.

She knocked instead of just walking in and waited for a response.

​

 

[Batman]

Jim and I freeze, just as a soft knock hits the door. My eyes immediately dart to it. Infared lenses are picking up the small frame of a female, as it's further illuminated through the glass. The right height for any number of usual suspects. The secretary. Jim's wife. One of the female officers - Montoya, Sawyer. Or maybe...

"Dad?"

...Or maybe his daughter.

Jim looks to me, unsure of what to do. He's almost in a state of panic. Given that reaction, it's safe to assume that his daughter would remember her last encounter with me, and in less than a fond light. I quickly glance down at my armor, realizing in addition to that, I'm a mess. The prisoners of Blackgate did a number on me - a sheet of my own blood is practically coating the suit. And Gordon's daughter... she's just a teenager. Even if she's witnessed something like this before, with her father being a police officer, I can't subject it to her in good conscience.

Instinctively, I swipe the contents of the fax machine and indicate the outside window ledge, just out of view of any of the office's inhabitants. Gordon looks to it, and back to me, before hesitatingly nodding as I rush to the window. With a calm sigh, he walks over to the door, and twists the handle, looking back to make sure I'm scarce. But long before that, I'm already out of sight.

Crouching in the shadows, I peer down, looking at the files in my hands. Okay, Joker. You've played your game with the cops. You've killed countless in the name of your glorified method of chaos. But if there's one thing I've learned about you, it's that you crave the attention that comes with every act of injustice you commit. You've left something here for me to find... I'm sure of it. Now, to find out just what that is...

 

[Green Lantern]

DETECTIVE JOHN GRAYSON

My hand wrapped around my holstered gun, I take shelter behind a shipping crate. Luckily - or unluckily, depending on how you look at it - my hunch was right. The unmarked black sedans were heading towards the docks. In my overzealousness to pursue them, I forgot to think about what I would do once I got to the docks. However, as an officer of the law, I have to do something.

Both from the mugshots I studied and what I can pick up from their conversation, I have deduced that these are Zucco's men - as I suspected. Their conversation and actions, however, lead me to believe that they aren't here to pick up one of Zucco's shipments. Stealing is the mobster's way of life, so it's no surprise that rival gangs steal from each other. That said, it makes my position all the more uncomfortable.

As if the Fates have decided to give me the worst day possible, my cell phone starts ringing. I freeze in place, desperately hoping that it will make the sound go away. In the distance, I start to hear Zucco's men talking worriedly. I look at my cell phone and see that it's the MCU calling. Not the best time, Gordon.

"The Hell is that?"
"Go check it out!"
"I don't like this, man."
"Shut the f*** up!"

CLICK.

I've been a cop long enough to recognize the sound of a .9mm magazine locking into place. For some unexplainable reason, I take comfort in the fact that they aren't packing anything bigger. It still doesn't mean that I'm safe, though. As sounds of slow footsteps on the gravel draw nearer, I draw my gun and back away from the corner of the shipping crate.

Watching the elongated shadow of the approaching mobster on the crates directly across from me, I quickly formulate a plan. I take a handful of gravel and wait for the right moment. As the barrel of the .9mm stretches out past the edge of the shipping crate, I toss the gravel. The resulting sound causes the mobster to jump and turn his back to me. Approaching him from behind, I slam the handle of my gun into the pressure point on his neck, and he goes down hard.

Almost immediately, the gunfire begins. Unfortunately, my little maneuver has given away my position. It looks like I have no choice but to return fire and hope that I can get a large enough window to make a break for it. Taking a deep breath and wiping the sweat off my forehead, I crouch low and turn the corner. The group is larger than I anticipated.

Within moments, I've been hit through the shoulder. I have no choice but to run now. If I can't tend to this wound, I'll bleed out for sure. Holding my shoulder while firing a few more stray shots, I stay low and run as fast as I can. As I'm running, I hear the commotion behind me.

"Joey?! Jesus, he hit Joey!"
"Where'd he go!"
"He went that way!"
"You f***ing idiot, he went that way!"
"Oh Jesus, Joey, hang on!"
"That f***ing cop is dead! You hear me!"

I have no time to stop and listen. I'm already starting to feel a little faint. I need to get as close to a hospital as I can. Failing that, I need to find a safe place to lie down and make a tourniquet out of my jacket. Either way, Zucco's men are going to have to wait.

This is what happens when you try to be the hero, John.
​

The office is dark, Zucco's head on his desk, he didn't want to go home tonight, too much to do with the shipments. That and Gordon's team was scaring him. Not that he'd admit that. The phone on the desk rang, Zucco shockingly bouncing his head from its restful slumber, nearly firing the shotgun that had been sitting on his lap.

Before answering the phone, Tony dumped a handful of pills into his hand and washed them down with the whiskey on his desk.

Damn anit-anxiety meds don't do nothin worth a damn. Not when you got two familias to worry bout.

"Gotham City Sanitation. Tony speaking, how may I help you?"

One of the family's soldiers answered, Tony couldn't remember the boy's name.

"Boss, those goddamned cops got Joey. Winged him good. Doc says he probably won't live."

"Who was it? One of that damn N******'s?"

"Yeah boss, name was Grayson. He's one of the apeman's alright."

"That f**ker. We got anythin' else on him?"

"Wife just died. Got a small kid at home. Name's Richard."

Tony hung up on his soldier and finished off the whiskey on his desk. He pulled out the phonebook from his drawer and flipped to the G's. Grayson would pay for what he did, so would Gordon. But Grayson first.

Tony dialed a number, and it rang, and rang. No one answered, until the machine picked up.

"This message is for John Grayson. This is Tony down at the daycare. Haven't seen little Richard down here in awhile. Hope he's alright. Hate for anything.... unfortunate to happen to him."

 

[Catman_prb]

Spoiler

Tommy stepped out of his car, and locked the door. Yesterday night a young boy boy had been bled to death in the clocktower the school that he attended. The boy had been identified as fifteen year old James King. The reports he had carried out himself identified that cause of death was due to a lack of blood in the body, combined with severe trauma caused by the series of wounds he had recieved. The disembowelment had been carried out after he died. King's major organs had been extracted and, one could assume, eaten by the murderer. This could be put down to the half eaten kidney at the crime scene, though it did seem odd to Tommy to leave such important evidence there.

He turned up the collar of his trenchcoat as the rain started to fall in earnest. It seemed that due to extreme circumstance, such as the disappearance of Loeb and the violent attacks by the Joker, that the case seemed to have fallen into Elliot's hands, even though he wasn't technically qualified to be in charge. Still he wasn't complaining, and neither was anyone else it seemed. He splashed through a large puddle that soaked his trousers and through his shoes. He cursed quietly and pulled the trenchcoat closer around him.

"Where's the body," he asked the officer who stood next to the police tape that cordened off the docks.

"Down at the end of pier one," he said, taking a deep drag of his cigarette. Tommy glared at him, and plucked it from his mouth, dropping it onto the ground and stepping it into ash.

"Those things'll kill you," he muttered, stepping over the police line and into a small puddle of blood. That was the second time in as many days. If his shoes were stained red after this, there would be hell to pay.

A trail of darkening blood led to pier one. Tommy had to follow it with his torch in the twilight. The wet wood was slippery and he had to steady himself more than once. He had reached the very end of the pier when he found the body. She looked eighteen, maybe younger. Her eyes were glassy, but plastered with shock. She was naked, but that didn't make much difference. She was covered in blood. And her limbs were missing. From the look of it, they had been sawn off. Tommy turned away, bitterness etched on his face. He walked back up to the officer who was standing next to the tape.

"This is sick," he spat.

"We found this," the officer said, handing Elliot a calendar. Tomorrow's date was ringed in red. Tommy's eyes flicked up.

"You shouldn't have moved this," he mumbled "I'll take this back to the lab and run some tests. A team'll be down in half an hour to collect the body,"

Tommy sat at his desk covering his face in his hands. A photo of his wife and daughter was sitting next to his computer on which the screensaver had popped up a few minutes ago. It was an image of the GCPD badge whizzing around on a black background. He heard a knock at his door, and looked up to see Detective Marcus Driver standing there looking hesitantly around the office.

"Yes Detective?" Tommy asked quietly.

"I was wondering how this calendar murderer case is coming along?" Driver said.

"Awful," he spat "It seems there's a reason I stuck to CSI,"

"That bad, eh? I can always take it off your hands," he said casually.

"No, I've almost got it. I can feel it," Tom said through gritted teeth.

"Tom, you're forensics. You shouldn't be in charge of the hunt for a serial murderer. No one would think any less of you if you transfered it,"

Elliot looked up and met Driver's eyes.

"I would," he said quietly.

He looked down at his desk which contained the pathology reports for the two victims and the two calendars. He flicked between them, looking thoroughly at each one, waiting for something glaringly obvious to jump out and reveal itself to him. Quite to his surprise, it did.

"Oh ****," Tommy said, his mouth dropping open.

"What is it?" Driver asked, concern etched over his face. Tommy had leapt out of his seat and was pulling his greatcoat on, pistol strapped over his shoulder.

"Something that you, or Jim Gordon, or a real detective would have worked out in about five seconds," he shouted, running out of his office.

 

[SenseiofCheese]

Enough.

J'onn fought against it, but found himself falling to a knee as he tried his best to keep his fears at bay. But it was a struggle he was quickly losing. His teeth were beginning to grow sore as he ground them against each other, and, in the back of his eye, a light, like the spark of a small flame, began to flicker.

"That's enough."

Hal looked up to see J'onn grow a lighter shade of green. The Martian looked weak, almost trembling.

"Woah, woah." An emerald blanket shot forth from Hal's ring, and covered the flames, snuffing them out like a candle, before morphing into a strait jacket that latched itself onto the unconscious Martian Manslayer.

"J'onn, are you okay?" Hal asked, extending his hand to the Martian Manhunter, who was beginning to regain his composure.

 

[Blacklight]

Ultimate
STATIC​

The Rebirth of Cool pt.I


Every sunday, me and my pal Richie Foley always go to the local comic shop in Dakota Square, and every time we'd play a simple game of HeroClix. For the most part, he mostly wins, but today, I've got an awesome team.

"Damn, V. That's a sweet team you got there..."

"I know. I managed to get this puppie here in a 'Buy it by the brick' deal..."

I showed him my awesome new Venom clix, courtesy of my twelve pack of 'Sinister' boosters.

"Nice. You got Venom, Captain America, Iron Man and Black Spidey. I'm gonna have a tough time beating that..."

I chuckled. He's right. Somethin tells me Richie ain't winning this HeroClix match. After all, I just got Iron Man number 1 on my way here, so I'm feeling lucky.

"Although it might be easier to beat you if I have this..."

Then he pulled out a 300pt. Unique Korvac clix from his lockbox, and I think a piece of my soul just died...

"Son of a..."

"Don't worry, V. I'm sure this time you'll last longer than five minutes..." he said with a wide grin.

"Shut up and roll the dice..."

 

[Saved]

Gordon opens the door slightly, staring at his daughter as she stands outside the door. "Hello, Barb," he starts, his voice hesitant. He turns around and looks over his shoulder, scoping the room. As he searches the shadows for his costumed ally, he sees no trace, and lets out a sigh of relief. Good, he thinks, his body loosening up slightly. That was close.

Gordon opens the door wide and stands in the opening, staring at his daughter as she looks up to him. "I'm working on a case, here, Barbara." He tells her, still flustered. "What's the matter?"

 

[Catman_prb]

Sinestro decended towards Oa, an extended yellow bubble protecting him from the ravages of space. He could still see the damage that the Manhunters had caused on the planet's surface.

:IDENTIFY:

A loud voice boomed inside his head. He winced slightly; the Guardians were never famous for their subtlty.

"Sinestro, Commander of Y Division," he declared. There was a slight buzzing sound, like static, in his head, and he took it to mean that he was free to land. However, before he could move any further, he found himself standing in the Guardians' audience chamber.

"Sinestro," one of the Guardians boomed. He couldn't tell who, they all looked so similar "How can you explain your absence in Oa's time of need,"

"There was a large-scale battle in space, sirs. Katma Tui was killed by space pirates, and the rest of Y Division are hunting them down. By the time we got the message about the attack, we were halfway through the fight. There was nothing we could do," he said, hanging his head and concealing a smile.

 

[Johnny Blaze]

J'onn blinked as he shook the panic from his mind that just seconds ago clouded his thoughts.
But there was something else there when he saw the fire. Something burried deep in the back of his subconcious. It was small, like the tiniest of embers...

"I'm fine", replied J'onn as he accepted Hal's hand and was once more on his feet.

J'onn's gaze then fell on the unconscious form of the Martian Manslayer. His evil counterpart on this twisted Earth that Despero had sent them to.
He was a White Martian, a bloodthirsty savage...but he was J'onn.

Was it a sign? Of what could have been? Or of what still can be?

J'onn was not a White Martian, but he had felt the urges before, deep in his gut. The primal desire to punish the wicked, and enforce his sense of justice.

J'onn shook his head and let out a long sigh.
There'd be time for self exploration later. Right now there were other heroes out there that needed their help.

Walking up to the Manslayer, J'onn knelt down and placed his hand on the Martian's forehead.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds and then stood on his feet.

"His mind is...chaotic...bestial. Difficult to read. I was only able to pull a few names and images from it. The Rogue. Superiorman, and Warrior Woman."

As J'onn spoke the names, the images of each counterpart to their world's heroes flashed in the minds of Superman and Green Lantern.

"This won't be easy, but together we should be able to stop these scum and free this world from their control."

"As for him", J'onn spoke, practically spitting the last word, as he looked down on his evil twin.
"You can put him someplace out of the way. With his defenses down, I was able to shut his mind down. Putting him in a sort of...hibernation. He will not bother us again."

 

[Spike_x1]

As J'onn and Hal conversed about the Martian Manslayer and the rest of their villainous counterparts on this world, Clark listened intently and slowly descended to the ground, albeit with a little less grace than he would have preferred.

Still gripping his painfully throbbing chest tightly, Superman gently touched down and walked towards the others. "Did you find out where they are, J'onn?" Clark took another few steps forward, finally coming within arm's reach of the White Martian. Watching the smoke trail off of the unconscious alien body, and hearing the soft sound of the sizzling flesh cooling down, Superman almost felt sorry for the Manslayer and the pain that he had put it through. Almost.

 

[SenseiofCheese]

DAMAGE

"Come on, come on, come on!"

Grant Emerson gripped the stearing wheel tightly as he forced the gas pedal down as close to the floor as it allowed him. The car sped along the desert terrain, violently bumping and shaking with every piece of rock or sandy hill it demolished. The panicked and shrill beeping of the countdown timer on his watch screamed for him to go faster.

The beeping grew louder and more frantic as he slammed his foot down on the brake, the car coming to a grinding halt as if some invisible force was yanking it back. Gripping the door, Grant swung it open as hard as he could and stumbled out of the car in a hurry. Sweat dripped down his face as his bare feet touched the rough sand. The car wouldn't survive.

It was always peaceful right before it happened. The ever present pain coursing through his body would stop, the build-up of agony completely disappearing. This was his usual spot.

Kneeling down on the ground, Grant looked up into the sky. It was blue. Clear.

beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEEEEEEEEEEEE EE

He closed his eyes.

 

[Catman_prb]

The Statue of Gotham is located on a very small island just off the Gotham shore. It depicts Lady Gotham, a blindfold over her eyes and a sword and scales in outstretched hands. Critics call it a tasteless copy of Lady Liberty. Gothamites tell them to shove it where the sun don't shine. And such is the way of all criticism on the Gotham way of life. A ferry runs every hour between the island the statue is on and the mainland.​

At ten o clock that night Thomas Elliot of Gotham Central CSI, and sergeant Charlie Fields crossed the small gap of water on the regular ferry. They disembarked the boat with a group of japanese tourists. Sergeant Fields tried to convince them to get back onto the boat, but they spoke very little english and he gave up with a shrug. Tommy looked up at the extended arms of Lady Gotham, both with runways along each side so the tourists could get a full experience. With a surfacing dread, he saw two figures at the end of the hand holding the scales.​

"****," Tommy muttered under his breath, before turning to Fields "Charlie, get an armed response unit down here right now,"​

The sergeant nodded, and Tommy ran towards the stairs, drawing the small pistol from his trenchcoat. There was no blood on the steps, so there was still a chance the Calendar Murderer's latest victim was still alive. Still a chance to make up for the stupid mistake that had cost the young girl at the docks her life. When he reached the top of the statue, he ran along the right arm, pistol stretched out in front of him.​

"FREEZE!" he shouted "GCPD!"​

The murderer looked up. Tommy was struck by how ordinary he looked. He had a patch of straw coloured hair and a short, round nose. His eyes were full of mild bewilderment, and Tommy couldn't help but feel a pang of pity for the man before him. What kind of life did he face ahead of him? And then the man bared his teeth and growled. It was an animalistic noise, and the CSI officer was sickened to see that his teeth had been filed to a point, and they were covered in blood. In his hands was a young blonde boy, who couldn't be twelve at the most.​

"Who're you?" the monster hissed.​

"Doesn't matter. Let the boy go and take a step towards me," Tommy said, staring at the man.​

"How did you find me?" the Calendar man asked.​

"Your clues were too easy. Each calendar you left behind showed the location of the next murder," he said slowly "Any decent detective would've tracked you down in minutes,"

The killer smiled, a pointed, wicked thing.

"And yet I managed to kill the girl. How does that reflect on you, officer?" he spat.

"I'm no detective. I'll be the first to admit that. Now put the boy down," Tommy said coolly.

The killer grabbed the little boy by the scruff of the neck and hung him out over the side of the arm. Tommy moved forwards a step, wobbling on the shakey ground.

"Let the boy go and step towards me," Tommy said again, his voice croaky with panic. He could hear the sirens of police cars in the distance. The killer grinned.

"Guess which was the wrong word there?" he said, and released his hold of the boy. The twelve year old fell, spiralling down into the darkness below.

"NO!" Tommy screamed, and brought the pistol up in both hands, firing blindly. The first bullet struck the killer in the shoulder, knocking him off balance. The second hit him in the neck, and the third the chest. With a gurgle, he staggered backwards and fell over the side of the statue. Tommy ran to the spot where he'd fallen, and looked down at the screaming mob of japanese tourists, white flashes of cameras going off.

"No," he breathed.
​

 

[Johnny Blaze]

J'onn closed his eyes, his mind reaching outward across the planet. Concentrating as hard as possible, looking for the needle trapped in the haystack...there.


"Keystone City", J'onn stated as his eyes shot open.

"It's the Flash. And he's going to confront his double."