John Constantine: Hellblazer
Chapter 1, III

Gotham. You could smell it from the air. It had invaded John's senses even before the passenger jet had touched down, and now, packed into a tram car, piss and beer soaking a vacant cushion, the sweat of labour-men creating a thick musk, and paint fumes giving everyone a free buzz, he could tell you that Gotham stank. Even without his Other Sight, John could feel that stench, the basic corruption of the everyman sloughing off the citizens. There were no innocents in Gotham. It was not a place men with clean hands lived in; it was not a place men with clean hands visited. Constantine and his half-breed companion belonged here - John could feel the city beckoning with oozing claws, beckoning to him. Leave Chicago. Come to Gotham. Wade amongst the filth. John resisted. The black stain on his soul would grow for each day he remained until it was all that was left of him. Constantine belonged in Gotham, but he didn't belong to Gotham. Hopefully, he never would. He'd seen what this city could do to people. What it had done to people. Good people, just trying to help. Gotham did the same thing to those people that John did. The tram stopped, the doors hissed, and John stepped out onto the monorail platform. Zee followed him. Downtown. Zatanna should be here.

"Downtown?" Zee asked, incredulity on the edge of his voice. Getting braver, John thought. "No houses down here - none that anyone would want to live in, at least. Why downtown?"
John smiled as they walked through the bustling crowds that haunted the sidewalks.
"Downtown's entertainment. And entertainment has...stages." John finished his sentence as he stopped in front of a theatre, ticket booth swathed in red light and gold paint that had recently been re-painted. On the side walls of the lobby were posters - a couple plays, a singing act, and a magician. The best magic act in Gotham - probably because it wasn't an act. Zatanna Zatara, Sorceress Extraordinaire, come to dazzle Gotham with her magic and her smile. A large 'SOLD OUT' banner had been pasted across the poster beneath its frame. John wasn't surprised. He'd seen her abilities first-hand; socery of that caliber impressed, and combined with a good amount of showmanship and a subtle, magical, implantation of joy and wonder, it was guaranteed that recommendation would spread like a virus. The theatre was happy, Zatanna was happy, and the people were happy. And then in came John.
"Come on. We'll use the stage door."

Backstage. John hadn't been here in a long time; he hadn't needed money that bad. These days he made do on magic, theft, and what he got from taking cases. Sure, he'd saved England - maybe the world - a couple times, but in secret. Truly, the worst way to save the planet. Up front and glorious, like the blue-and-red in Metropolis. What a bloody lark-about. Down here, in the real world, with the real people and the real problems, it got real dark, and real deadly. Magic was wonderful, but it was dangerous, and it corrupted. It corrupted easily. John walked that line every day, and even though he hadn't fallen yet, he still had a dark taint on him, where he'd had to let it in, open himself up to black hands. Magic. It got everybody.

They'd gotten to the dressing room before being stopped, and John was surprised it had taken that long.
"Hey, trenchcoat! Staff and stars only back here, bud. You an' greasy there gotta go." Some burly bouncer with a teeshirt and no hair. Gotham's finest, clearly. Not on mob payroll, though John could feel a loose connection. Freelance enforcer, most likely. Repo. Punishment. Physical jobs, nothing that required thought. Outmaneuver this one, then.
"Staff or star? Take your pick, mate. I'm a colleague of Zatanna's. Magician myself. Part of the club - magical elite, we are. Worldwide. Come to chat about an enterprisin' opportunity. All very hush-hush, just the way we are I suppose, but generous folk." John spoke fast and friendly, putting on a cockney accent to endear himself - it worked, don't ask him why- and he noticed the attention when he got to 'generous'. A button to push. Easy. "So look, we have our little chat, talk some business - league business - you get paid off for silence and bob's your uncle, I'm gone, my assistant with me, and everyone's happy and with fatter pockets. Alright, lad?"
The bouncer paused, catching up with Constantine's fast speech. Zee himself was a little lost. A moment passed and John felt something in the air click. The bouncer nodded sharply. John smirked. Easy peasy.
"Atta boy. Look, we'll wait in Z's dressing room and you jus' let her know a guildmate's waiting for her. Can't be long 'til her intermission I'm imagining. Me and Zatanna go waaaaay back, so it'll be no trouble." John flashed a smile, but the bouncer wasn't looking at him - he was looking past him, over her shoulder. John felt her before he heard her. Shit.

"JOHN CONSTANTINE." Zatanna yelled, and John heard her stomp down the stairs. He pictured those heels, the fishnet tights, the leotard with the blazer and the top hat, and savoured the image before he turned and faced an extremely angry, incredibly powerful mage who he never managed to enjoy the company of without either fucking something up or letting people die. He gulped. Her face was fury. She wasn't even wearing the top hat.
"Where the fuck do you get off showing up here? Hobbs, toss them. Him and his greasy 'assistant'." Zatanna saw through the glamour too - you couldn't help it when you wielded magic like she and John did. He was half-surprised she hadn't smited him on the spot. She might have done if the bouncer hadn't been there to witness. Speaking of which...

John felt heavy hands fall on his shoulders. Hobbs, what a name. The hand clenched and there was pain in John's shoulder as he squeezed the muscle and the bone underneath, forcibly steering John toward the door he'd come in by. John thought fast.
"Zatanna, come on! I need your help!"
"You always need help, Constantine, and every time you fuck things up. I'm done with helping you, and I'm done with your fucking crusades."
"This is serious!"
"It's always serious, every fucking time it's serious. People's safety is serious, John. People's lives are serious."
"This is different. This isn't like that! This is redemption!" John frantically tried to weave magic to stop Hobbs, desperately trying to reason with Zatanna.
"You might be the greatest conman alive, but I'm a Zatara, and you've fooled me enough times already."
"It's about ASTRA!" John yelled, finally giving in. "I've FOUND her!"

"Stop." Zatanna said, quiet but powerful. Hobbs stopped. John's heart beat in his throat. "Let go." John felt the pressure ease on his shoulders, and then disappear completely. "Leave." Hobbs left. John turned, and Zatanna's furious gaze burnt through him.
"Come with me."
There was no disobeying. John would have followed even if Zatanna didn't outclass him in sorcery.

Somewhere amidst the many rows of vacant housing on Chicago’s Southside there was a whirring. It was gentle at first, quiet, but with time it grew until it was deafening loud and there was a sudden flash of white light. Once the light faded the Time Sphere with its passengers, Booster Gold and Skeets, appeared in the middle of what appeared to have once been a living room. Booster kicked open the door to the Sphere and stepped out and his trusty robotic companion followed after him.

“It would appear we have arrived at our destination, sir.”

“Great.”

It was clear from Booster’s voice that something was wrong. Carter had grown up dreaming of sharing the skies with the like of Superman and the Martian Manhunter but now that he was here he didn’t seem at all pleased.

“Is something the matter?”

“I don’t know, I guess I don’t feel too good about the way we left Rip high and dry back there,” Booster said with a heavy sigh. “Maybe we should have stayed and helped him. What if he didn’t get out in time? God knows what those guys could be doing to him.”

Skeets hovered in front of Booster reassuringly.

“I have known Master Hunter for many years, sir, he was my creator after all. In that time I have known him to be as resourceful and cunning as any man that has walked this Earth. If anyone could have escaped in time, it would be him, sir.”

Booster shrugged.

“I guess so.”

“We mustn’t dally,” Skeets said abruptly. “Master Hunter left us strict instructions. There is a ‘Daniel Carter’ we must seek out, a distant relative of yours if the records are to be to believed, he’ll give us shelter for a time.”

Booster pointed towards the Time Sphere sat in the centre of the dusty room. He knew it only had enough energy for the trip there but even he knew that someone stumbling upon technology that wasn’t meant to exist for another four hundreds years could only end badly for them.

“What about this thing? We can’t leave it here like this.”

Skeets ran a quick scan on the Sphere.

“The Time Sphere’s cloaking system was damaged during the journey.”

Out of the corner of his eye Booster spotted a worktable covered in tarp and dragged it free from the table, leaving the things atop it unmoved. He grinned at having achieved it and glanced towards Skeets as he threw the tarp over the top of the Time Sphere, barely covering it.

“Tarp it is then.”


It had taken them the best part of an hour and a half to find the Carter household. It would have taken them ten minutes, Booster had insisted, if Skeets had let them fly there but the robot shot that idea down as quickly as it left Booster’s mouth. Hunter had suggested they track Daniel Carter down so that they could lie low for a while after they had arrived and blazing across the Chicago sky at night seemed like a surefire way to attract unwanted attention. Now Booster sat in Daniel Carter’s living room with Skeets wrapped in a blanket on his lap whilst Carter argued with his girlfriend Rose Levin as if he weren’t there.

“It’s just for a few days.”

Rose shook her head.

“First you lose your job and now this? You’re inviting strangers into our home to spend the night? I must be imagining this. I must be imagining it. I know the Daniel Carter that I live with, my boyfriend Daniel Carter, would never be stupid enough to let a complete stranger come into our home and promise to give him room and board.”

Daniel Carter grimaced and lift his hands in the air as if to reason with Rose. It was uncanny watching him speak, he was almost a perfect doppelganger for Booster if not for being an inch or two shorter than him.

“I understand you’re angry, Rose, and I understand why too but Michael says we’re related. That means we’re family and that’s meant to count for something. What do you want me to do? Turn him away? Make him sleep rough?”

Rose pointed at Booster and he tried his best to avert his gaze from the pair of them.

“He could be a psychopath for all we know.”

“For what it’s worth,” Booster said with a disarming smile. “I’m not a psychopath. I mean, I know that’s exactly what a psychopath would say if he wanted you to think he wasn’t one, but I’m really not one.”

“Please, Michael, stop talking,” Daniel said with a sigh. “I know you think you’re helping but you’re really not helping.”

Rose shook her head vociferously and it became clearer that she was beginning to soften to the idea. That didn’t mean she liked the idea any more than she had to begin with. All of a sudden she felt a newfound empathy with Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. This was madness, Rose knew that much, but she loved her boyfriend enough that she was beginning to consider it.

“Do you know how insane this is?”

“It’s just a few days, I promise.”

“Fine,” Rose muttered as he turned to face Booster. “But if you try anything, if you so much as sneeze in my direction, I swear to God I’m going to taze you to death. Am I understood?”

Booster lifted his hands in the air and smiled.

“Loud and clear, ma’am.”

With that Rose marched out of the room and back to the bedroom she and Daniel shared, slamming the door shut behind her so loudly that both Daniel and Booster shuddered.

“Well, that went about as well as I thought it would,” Daniel said with a shake of his head. “So now I’ve done you a solid, are you going to level with me? You’re a superhero or something, aren’t you? Do you have something to do with that Blue Beetle guy? You must be dressed like that.”

Booster’s eyebrow cocked. Despite having an encyclopedic knowledge of twenty-first century superheroes had no idea who the hell Blue Beetle was, but he also knew that there was no way that Daniel Carter should know what a superhero was. There were no superheroes. At least not yet.

“Wait, what?”

Carter smiled.

“Come on, you must have at least met Superman.”

Booster grabbed Daniel by the shoulders.

“Superman? Why would you say that name?”

“Everyone knows Superman,” Daniel said with a shrug. “Where the hell have you been for the past five years? The Justice League have saved the world more times than I can count.”

“Look, I know this is going to sound like a pretty crazy request and I know I said I wasn’t a psychopath, and I meant it, but I need you to tell me what year it is.”

“What? It’s 2015.”

Slowly Booster let go of him and one of his hands rose to his mouth as the information began to process. He was five years too late. Rip had promised to send him back to before the formation of the Justice League, before Superman had even appeared, Booster was meant to be the first superhero Earth had ever seen. There must have been some mistake. In the attack Rip must have hit the wrong button somehow and sent them five years ahead of where they were meant to be. Booster’s thoughts went back to the faulty Time Sphere sat in that Southside vacant. He was stranded here.

And worst of all, he was still a nobody.

Clark landed in front of the LexCorp facility on the dark side of the moon. Or, rather what used to be a LexCorp facility. The entire complex was destroyed, large chunks of the metal walls floated in every direction and the complete silence gave off an eerie feeling. In the center of the destroyed complex was a massive cube that stood on its side. The cube was haphazardly put together with chunks of the facility's walls. The edges of the strange structure were jaggedly pointing out of the sides. There were no signs of the science crew that worked the facility. No bodies. No one living.

As Clark approached, he used his x-ray vision to examine the interior. On the inside lay a pale man wearing purple. Clark couldn't make out who he was, however he was the only other living being in sight. Clark walked slowly around the structure until he found a small circular door way with no actual door. He stepped inside the cube, causing it to shift on the ground.

The man in the center of the huge room looked up. At the sight of Clark an evil smile appeared on his face. The creature was ugly, yet somehow seemed familiar. Despite the familiarity, everything about him was wrong. His skin was a dull grey, his smile hideous, his muscles uneven, and he seemed to look like an extra on the Walking Dead. Clark noticed something even more strange when the man stood up. He wore a perverted version of the El family crest on his torso.

"Well aren't you ugly." Was the only thing Clark thought to say. Strangely the creature began to laugh. It sounded... evil.

The beast opened its mouth as if to speak, however a red beam of heat exploded outwards and connected with Clark dead center sending him flying through the makeshift wall and back to the moon's surface. The creature followed at an incredible speed landed his knee into Clark's face. The monster stopped behind him and shot another, more sustained, heat attack at Clark. Superman rose to his knees and caught the beam with his arms crossed blocking it from hitting him in the face.

"Alright asshole, that"s enough." Clark exploded forwards and punched the creature in its enlarged jaw. He followed with a knee to the chest and an elbow to the back of the head. The creature returned with a powerful uppercut that sent Clark flying backwards and into the cube. The impact destroyed the makeshift structure.

"I Bizarro"The creature yelled as it sped int Superman's direction. Clark returned with his own heat vision. The attack stopped 'Bizarro' in his tracks.

"Tell me you aren't the clone."Clark said after sending another punch into the creature's face.

"Bizarro powerful more! Bizarro Superman kill!" The two of them exchanged dozens of punches and kicks as well as Superman's heat vision and Bizarro's heat... breath?

"Bizarro grammar lessons needs." Superman barely had time to laugh at his own joke before the monster struck him in the side with one of the many large metal pieces of wall. Clark began to attack again but two streams of frost coming from Bizarro's eyes captured him in a block of ice. "You've got to be kidding me"

"Bizarro mind change. Superman prisoner be!" The monster said before jumping around like an excited school girl.

"Superman think so don't." Clark returned as he began to use his heat vision to melt the ice. "Or Superman no think so. Superman no likey. Superman ass kick.. uh Bizarro." The creature laughed again. His amusement seemed... wrong. Clark busted out of the ice and shot the creature with his heat vision again. Finally a larger heat beam knocked Clark backwards. The creature began to retreat. Towards Earth.

Arthur entered the water, and all his doubts and fears subsided. They didn't disappear entirely, but they did lessen considerably. It was always this way for him, his problems slipping from him as soon as he began swimming, as if he was capable of doing anything once submerged. That said, he was going to need that confidence considering he was about to match his brawn against two score hungry flesh rippers. Hell, he'd need every advantage he could get.

The Atlantean prince edged slowly around the Reef Raider, careful not to give away he position to early. Not that he needed to worry unduly. The Trench were single-minded in their determination to get at any prey, their attention fully fixated upon Vulko and Mera in the vessel. The voracious little monsters would be hurling themselves at the front observation window, heedless of injury to themselves. That crack in the glass would spiderweb out, and like a spiderweb it could spell only doom for the Atlantean's trapped inside. They had only one hope now.

He could see the shoal now, though they still hadn't spotted him, hidden in the shadows of the Reef Raiders contures. Thankfully they were still outside the Raider, though he didn't think he would have long. He gripped his hook blade tight, readying himself for the work at hand.

If there was one thing a lifetime of fighting had taught Arthur, one golden rule that he held above all others, it was this; When the time comes hit the other guy hard and hit him fast, preferably before he even knows he's in a fight. Maybe not the most honorable advice, but then he'd never seen honor stop a Trench from tearing a man's throat out and eating their entrails. Nah, let the poets and storytellers worry about who had honor. Let the warriors worry about how to survive. Hit first, always hit first.

Without waiting any longer to second guess himself he took off, swimming faster than a torpedo fired at an unsuspecting target, aiming for the center of the Trench shoal. He was on them before they knew he was there, swinging the hook-blade this way and that, staining the water with their brackish blood. Three were dead before they had realized what was happening. You fight a reasonable opponent and put down three of them all sudden like without them mounting a defense then they might be less inclined to attack you, might even be halfway convinced to turning tail themselves. Not the Trench though. They were anything but reasonable. All they understood was the hunger.

They fell on him en-masse, getting in each others way in their eagerness to sup on this easy meal that had delivered itself to them. He used the confusion, striking out at one with his free hand, damn near caving its skull in, then swimming free through the gap in the Trench lines. They were hot on his tail, though with any luck a few of their number would stop to devour the bodies he had left in his wake. The legendary hunger of the Trench didn't allow them to stop and discern what they were eating, be it fish, Atlantean or other Trench.

Now Arthur's second piece of invaluable advice comes into play. If that first hit doesn't put the other guy on his arse straight way, don't be afraid to run. After all, running meant living to fight another day. Many a young warrior had ignored that, and ended up a dead warrior because of it. Usually that whole 'honour' thing getting in the way again. Besides, here he wasn't making a full blown retreat, just getting himself some breathing room, with the added benefit of drawing the flesh rippers away from the princess and Vulko.

He was opening a lead on the Trench now, none among them able to keep pace with the Golden One. If he was of a mind he could keep running, string them out until the fastest of them was so far ahead of the slowest that he could end them piecemeal, one at a time at his leisure. He still had a few tricks up his sleeve before it came to that though, and he'd rather get this over with quick as possible. When there's one Trench shoal in the water there's usually more, and he didn't want to inadvertently run into more.

He stopped his flight suddenly, and turned a one eighty on a pinhead. The first few Trench behind him proved less maneuverable than the Prince, their momentum carrying them careening past. He caught one, hooking his golden chain under it's chin, holding it tightly around the neck and man-handling it in front of him like a shield. No sooner had he done so than another of the flesh rippers came hurtling for him, talons outstretched and teeth bared snapping. It's jaws crunched down on it's captured kin's shoulder. The captive squealed, then began swiping at it's aggressor. Arthur let them both go, and the two began tearing at each other, their common foe forgotten as they're primordial hunger made them feast upon one another. The Trench really weren't known for their brains.

He ignored them, charging at the oncoming shoal. His hook jabbed and stabbed, trailing dead and dying flesh rippers, and were he left bodies other Trench forgot the battle and began feasting on their brethren. The Prince never stopped, continuing on through the flesh rippers, and swimming on into open ocean. If he tried to face them head on their numbers would eventually wear him down. No, this would be a game of attrition, fall back a short while then attack. He'd repeat that until the job was done, or the Trench learnt their lesson and he had to shift tactics. More likely the former than the latter though. The Trench made poor students.

He pulled it off two more times, slowly whittling down the Trench numbers while earning himself only flesh wounds in the process. He began to allow himself hope that he might actually pull this off. It was on the third pass that things went sour.

He was deep in the shoal, moving and cutting, never presenting a static target. The Trench were getting in each others way, each as desperate to sink their sharp little teeth in his as the next, not a thought spared to teamwork. Then it loomed in front of him, rising up like an abomination of the deep. The daddy of all Trench, some unholy work wrought in the deep places of the world, come to plague the works of man and Atlantean. Seven feet tall if it stood upright, it was as perfectly formed and heavy with muscle as the regular Trench were ill-formed and gangly. Bone plates and spines adorned his frame, gifting him a natural armour. It would take some doing to drive a blade through those. His eyes were small and beady, orbs of red that possessed a base cunning the other Trench lacked. Arthur could have sworn his mouth, filled with those sharp, needly teeth, was fixed in a mocking grin.

The Prince didn't like this, not one bit. In all his years he'd never heard of a creature like this strange Trench, and when unknown monsters like this appeared it usually meant something bad was on the horizon. Nothing for it now though. Swallowing his misgivings he streamed forward, letting the hookblade lead the way, aiming for the monsters belly, less heavily armoured than the rest of his body. The beast waited until the last moment, the sharp golden edge mere inches from his flesh, before flowing under the blade, showing an understanding of combat beyond the standard Trench 'attack, attack, attack'.

Arthur reversed his grip on the hookblade, point held downwards like an assassins knife, and slashed again, and again the big Trench floated just out of reach. His speed was amazing, and yet so casually utilized that Arthur was assailed by the uncomfortable thought that he was being toyed with. Things got a lot more uncomfortable when one of the regular Trench sank it's teeth into the back of his thigh.

The Prince squawked, more surprise than pain. His skin was tougher than other Atlantean's, making him a tougher chew than what the flesh ripper was used to. Still drew blood though, just wasn't crippling. The Golden One tried to shake the Trench off, but the little monster held tight. Before he could get rid of his 'passenger' the rest of the shoal caught up with him, clutching at him, clawing at him, tearing at him. Even as tough as he was he couldn't last long. Already he could feel their paralytic toxin's trying to overcome his constitution, his efforts to shake loose becoming more and more sluggish. He spat and cursed, wailed and flailed, but he just couldn't get loose. Couldn't even see the open water anymore, too many Trench. Just a grey scales, sharp teeth and black eyes. Behind it all he could swear he could hear a grating chuckle, a sound full of malice and hatred. But that couldn't be right. Trench didn't chuckle.

Suddenly the chuckling was replaced by a 'whooshing', getting louder and louder. Shortly later the sound of great force striking soft flesh, the breaking of bones and the squeeling of injured Trench. Then something hit him, sending him careening through the water, spinning head over feet, losing all sense of direction. The last of the Trench still holding him lost grip, and when he finally righted himself he had lost his aggressors. Turning back to the battle he seen the one thing he really hoped he wouldn't.

Mera.

She was there, outside the safety of the Reef Raider, red hair haloed around her head, looking like some divine Goddess of retribution, directing furious torrents of water at the flesh rippers, jet-steams so powerful that it sent them rag-dolling through the deep. She'd taken them by surprise, just like he had earlier, and just like earlier the Trench were marshaling themselves, charging heedless for the Princess from all directions. She couldn't stop them all, and when they reached her they would tear her apart.

"Mera!" He croaked, swimming towards her, though he knew he'd be too late to help. He was too hurt, too slow, the Trench's poisions thick in his veins. She was going to die, and he'd be forced to watch. At least he wouldn't have long to live with the shame, as he'd be next on the menu.

"Back, back you monsters!" He could hear her command, though they took knew heed. One came on her from behind, and though he urged his muscles to propel him faster he knew there was nothing he could do, save watch as those jaws clamped down on her unprotected neck. To his surprise the flesh ripper merely gripped her with it's webbed hand, and began dragging her backwards. She tried to fight it off, but soon more Trench joined it, all of them attempting to drag the Princess away. The whole thing was so un-Trench like that he almost slowed in confusion, before realizing this was the opportunity he had been waiting for. If they weren't killing her then more fool them, because he wasn't going to give them the same chance when he caught up.

But he'd forgotten about the big Trench, the monster that had heralded his down fall. It came from behind, wrapping it's big, musclebound arms around his neck before he realized it was upon him, legs locking around his torso. It began squeezing, lowering it's mouth to his ear, ready to tear his throat out. He tried to struggle, tried to throw it off, but it held fast, squeezing all the harder. Hard to think how he was going to get out of this.

"Confused, Atlantean?" It whispered in his ear. "You should be. Dark days lie ahead, and at the end of them waits your doom. The doom of Atlantis. And there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Whaaa...?" Arthur stuttered, his struggling ceasing almost immediately as he went limp with surprise. Trench don't speak, Trench never spoke. They were hunger made flesh, no reason and no intelligence. "What are -"
He never got to finish before his world exploded in white and pain, before fading to black.

Eastern Gotham
6:38 AM

Drizzle hit the windshield. Driver behind the wheel of the unmarked. Harvey Bullock rode shotgun. The MCU spread out working the triple 187. Allen and Fields in the neighborhood of the murder canvassing and recanvassing for eyeball wits. Montoya at the morgue, waiting for the ME's report. Bullock and Driver were bound for the Eastern District station. He sipped coffee from a styrofoam cup while Driver cruised east, clean and shiny downtown fading away with each block. The big buildings went small and dilapidated. Banks and department stores disappeared, replaced by liquor stores and check cashing places.

Bullock watched the rain. It brought him back to the dark days. "Shakedown" Harvey they used to call him. A nickname he earned in full. He'd worked Narco back then, shaking down small time dealers for anything he could take. Coke, pills, weed, even the odd tab of ecstasy. He mixed drugs with booze and made an oblivion cocktail that made entire days and weeks nothing but blurs. Then Schoolboy Jim came to Narco. A newly minted Major, James Gordon had to battle his own demons. He was a former lush who recognized Bullock as one of his own. They talked it out and Bullock went cold turkey. Gordon got promoted to the top job and Bullock showed he was a decent cop after all. Five years since and no booze or drugs. It wasn't easy. He pined for it every day. He could smell the liquor on Driver and it made his mouth water. There were times where he felt like he would beat his own mother for a line of coke.

Driver led him through the district station. Quiet this early in the morning. Two hours until shift change, night shift still on the street and day shift still in their beds at home. Cops there gave Driver an earful. He got hisses and catcalls. "Downtown in the house," one turnkey called to him. The district narco office: four desks amid clutter and files. Calendars with cheesecake girlies tacked on the wall. Two fat detectives on duty, one snoozing and one flipping through a skin mag and drooling.

Driver said, "Rise and shine, assholes!"

The one with the porno mag tossed it aside and smiled.

"The prodigal son returns. I knew downtown would bounce your goldbricking ass as soon as possible."

Driver and the cop shook hands. The sleeping one kept on sleeping. Driver made introductions. The fat man was Frank Maxwell, long-suffering narco dick in the Eastern District. He and Bullock knew of each other, but had never met. The sleeping cop snored. Maxwell rolled his eyes and led Bullock and Driver out to the parking lot. They stood amidst the drizzle, smoking cigarettes while Driver and Bullock gave Maxwell the skinny on the triple murder.

"Someone finally clipped Lil Walter? Can't say I'm surprised. He had it coming for a long time."

Bullock blew smoke and said, "Driver told me there was a rumor floating around that Lil Walter was working with GCPD consent."

"Yeah, it's a rumor only because we never heard Lil Walter out and out say that. The fucker was always so smug when we tried to run him in. We'd scope out a stash house or a place where his dealers were working. We'd go in and find jack shit aside a few kids with dope, never enough to get anything but simple possession. Five years we targeted that bastard and we never even got close to him. He had to know what was coming in advance. Somebody was tipping him off, it had to be. When Essen took over the Eastern District, she ordered us to go hard on all dealers. Two days before the sweep, Lil Walter and his guys up and quit selling and we get everyone but him."

Driver blew smoke and asked. "So enemies?"

Maxwell shrugged and flicked his cigarette into the parking lot. "All the rival eastside drug dealers, stick-up boys with a hard-on for good coke and dope, a dope crew of fiends with shotguns, or just someone who was pissed. Take your fucking pick. I can give you a list of KAs we have on Perkins, but it's the best I can do."

Bullock flicked his cigarette and said, "Finding a needle in a stack of needles."



The Rose Hill Motel
7:00 AM

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

Surveillance sounded innocuous. It sounded boring and sterile. It was anything but. The truth: Flass led A six man roving unit that did the PD's dirty work. Goon work, black bag jobs, shakedowns, frame-ups, set-ups, and just plain old muscle jobs. Every commissioner from O'Hara to Loeb used the Surveillance Unit for handling the unpleasant nature of police work. The closest thing the commissioner had to a secret police was in the Surveillance Unit. With the right commissioner, it could be a weapon they could wield to assure long-term power and control of the PD. Now Whiskey Jim was trying to do away with it. Bureaucratic resistance and Flass' own political clout helped tie Gordon's hands. But it was a stalling tactic, Flass knew. The real key to keeping the unit was to oust Gordon post haste.

Parker walked in. He had blood on his shirt and a sap in his hands. Flass raised an eyebrow.

"I think he's ready."

Flass stubbed out his cig on the bed post and stood, donned brass knucks, and went into the adjacent room. A young black man tied to a chair looked up at him. His face streaked with blood and sweat. Flass cracked his neck. He was six foot six and towered over the sitting man. He flashed the knucks and let the man know he meant business with a short shot to the kidneys. He groaned in pain and Flass smiled. The man tried to look away, Flass snatched the back of his head and made him look him in the eyes. He got in close and talked softly.

"Kenny, you are a known associate of one Walter Perkins, a recently murdered drug dealer. We tried asking nicely, but you chose to insult Detective Parker and his wife. For that, you were given a punishment befitting your infraction. Now, we know the late Mr. Perkins had enemies. A drug dealer accrues enemies the way money accrues interest. Now, Kenny, tell me all you can about Walter, his friends, his enemies, and anyone who might wish to do him harm. Be truthful and choose your words carefully, for I hate people who are liars and repetitive."

Flass stepped away and listened as Kenny rapidly revealed secrets to him.

Gotham City
Last Night

Why did it have to rain so much, Tim wondered as he exhaled a fog into the night air. It was coming down hard, uncharacteristically so. He wondered if it would flood, briefly considering it unnatural, perhaps even supernatural. But he let the thought subside as he spotted a certain hooded jacket, complete with snags in the right spots. His eyelids narrowed, zooming in on the young woman entering a boutique across the street.

"Hey Tam!" he yelled, completely drowned out by the sound of the busy streets and people on their cell phones. He began to reason, she'll never know who I am without the mask, yet his legs scurried in her direction anyway, forgetting who their master was as his disobedient heart hammered his blood through his veins.

We're both high society in Gotham High School, she's bound to at least know my name, he hoped.

He trampled into the shop she'd entered, scooping his own hood off his head and tightening the straps of his backpack before shuffling in her direction. But the only problem was what he'd actually say, and why he's in a beauty shop. But, he didn't think of that fast enough.

"Hey, Tam, how's it going?"

"Do I know you?"

Worst case scenario, it was his worst case scenario! His eyelids flashed apart and his bottom lip slacked as he came up with something to say. More accurately, it slacked as he tried to figure out what to say.

"Ehyeahh... well you might," he motioned with an upward palm, "It's-I'm Tim. Tim Drake; we go to school together and I just figured I'd say hi." He took a step back, "So Hi," he nodded before backing away.

Tam eyed him curiously before shrugging her shoulders and saying "Hi" in return.

At that, Tim decided to abort the conversation before going over to one of the shelves and snatching a trio of distinct perfumes, Halle Berry's 'Purrfect' among them.

"Good choices, are you buying these for your girlfriend?" the cashier, a twenty-something blonde beauty queen asked.

"Nah," he smirked, "nothing like that. Just for my mom." Telling her the truth, 'I'm going to use them to mask my scent so I can escape detection of an acrobatic vigilante, but I actually just came to say Hi to a pretty girl' seemed too awkward to explain.

It was hard to say whether or not she was actually embarrassed. Of course, the moment Kara Connors arrived to work in the morning...that got a lot easier to say. Especially when it was Carl Lundgrum, a fifty-something that had always seemed as ignorant to Kara as he was rude and short, that appeared at the desk in her small little office to throw the paper down upon her desk calendar--as if the man were throwing down a gauntlet. He looked irritated, though somehow remained that smug, secure, attitude that seemed everpresent about the man.

"Did you two talk terms later in the evening? Or was your mouth...too busy?"

There were times that working with the type of human being that populated the higher management tiers of Lex Luthor's Presidential campaign was painful. Almost as painful as watching your home, family, and friends being liquidated in a spectacle of fire and blood. Most of the time they were fine; but they had their issues with women. Especially strong, intelligent, silent women like Kara. She'd already had more than her fair share of standoffs with political dick-swingers; and every time she stood toe to toe with them and never blinked in the face of whatever hack argument they were making, she felt as if they grew a little more resentful towards the pretty young blonde girl who went from college sophmore to chief political pollster for their campaign.

Briefly, as she hung up her coat and set down the leather red backpack that had been slung over her shoulder, Kara peered down at the newspaper thrown down upon her desk. The photo was of Lex walking with, hugging, and then dining with a blonde girl in heels and gown. The way Lex had hugged on her, then stayed so close to her...the man wasn't dumb. It wasn't an accident. He'd WANTED the two of them seen together. He wanted himself to end up both in the gossip column, and front page of the Politics section.

"Thanks for the early morning sexual harassment, Carl. Terms for what?"

The man huffed. "My job."

Kara paused as she sat in her desk chair, and let her blue eyes go icy in the rude Republican American human's direction. "Ew, Carl. I don't want your job. I don't want a West Wing office."

"Guess if he married you, you wouldn't have to ever work again?"

"...again, ew. Don't confuse your fantasies with mine, Carl."

"And what are YOUR fantasies, blondie?"

Without looking up from the collection of missed call notifications left upon her desk in post-it note fashion, Kara almost smiled. "Kicking your ass is pretty high on that list right now, Carl. Although I'd settle for your eyes staying off me next time I wear a pencil skirt to work, since we're talking fantasies." After that, Kara did look up at him.

And she did smile. Big.

"You're the man's pollster. You know how woman view him."

Kara pretended to sigh. "They're not comfortable with a playboy bachelor for a President, but I don't think Lex dating a young twenty-something college student turned political staffer is really going to help that."

"...too Brad and Angelina for women?"

What the hell does that even mean? Kara ignored the man who was many times over her boss on the campaign. Not that it mattered. After last night, it was all over. Sanctuary reported the boys had been successful, even if they had to improvise towards the end. They'd been more than worth the stolen human currency that it had cost her to get Sanctuary a real look at Lex's private servers. A criminal act to investigate a criminal...was surely a virtuous act. All those Batman stories had taught Kara that.

"He worried about Queen?"

"We didn't talk about it, Carl." She said, again without looking up to him, her eyes trained on the screen of the laptop that had been assigned her by the campaign's IT department. "But if you're worried: he didn't seem concerned about anything. At all. That was a little concerning, for me."

"You're the pollster; you know he's the odds on favorite right now."

"Is it over?"

Carl Lundgrun, all near three hundred pounds of him, shrugged his massive shoulders in a half-roll. "Not yet."

"Then maybe he's got something to worry about...unless there's something I don't know?"

That time, Kara did look up at Carl. The smug man only stayed smug, and quiet. Did Carl know Lex had the game rigged?...Kara doubted it. Carl was too unimportant for that. Too much of a bystander. A victim. But Sanctuary was convinced; somehow, Lex had the election rigged. Sanctuary was still working on exactly how, but Kara hoped that to be no more than a matter of time.

"Hey Carl, is Gemma outside?"

The big man struggled to turn his body, lean back, and look. "...the dark haired girl with the ass? Yeah, she's out there."

"Fantastic." A quick strike of the 'Enter' button, and Kara logged off the laptop, then stood, collecting her bag and coat. "Carl, you're an asshole, and I quit. Good luck spinning this one."

Kara left with a quick pat on the big man's shoulder, and immediately walked out to the endless rows of desks. There, at the desk nearest her former tiny office's door, Kara found Gemma. The Wisconsin born girl's eyes got big at the sight of Kara, but the Kryptonian shushed her immediately, motioning for her friend to follow her. "I'm quitting."

Gemma stared. "...because of the pictures?"

"Oh, yeah. I'm horribly embarrassed about those." It was a most convenient lie, but there was no denying that part of her was, in fact, a little humiliated by Luthor. Maybe Lex would understand, when he learned the girl he used in some trivial little plot simply walked out on he and his campaign--successful as it was sure to be. "It's okay, you stay, work. I'll talk to you tonight?"

The girl frowned, but Kara smiled right at her, inspiring Gemma's own attempt at a smile. "Yeah, absolutely, if you're sure you're alright?"

"Oh, I'm perfect. I gotta head out, but we'll talk to tonight."

Gemma yelled after Kara to call her later, and Kara yelled back a promise. The Kryptonian girl filed it away in her mind for later, and kept her attention glued to the smartphone that Sanctuary had made for her. It appeared a rather normal, if gold and glitzy, iPhone. It was anything but; feeding Kara information and speaking to her in a manner of 1's and 0's, simple langauges Kara learned when she was a child playing at science and computing. For a superhuman, a taxi ride home was painfully long, and it helped to keep her mind busy.

The moment the taxi stopped, Kara paid and slipped out and up the stairs to her apartment. There it was a few micro-seconds for changing and Kara was gone out the sunroof, fast enough to ensure she wouldn't be tracked using visible light, at least. It took about the same time for Supergirl to make it Gotham City as it did for the taxi to take Kara home, but once Supergirl lowered out of the clouds...she stopped, and stared.

Gotham City, in the day, looked almost like any other city. Like D.C., it had it's obvious "bad" areas. Unlike D.C., it had a Batman. "Sanctuary, I'm here."

"Initiating the tracking program, Kara. I will need you lower in the sky, and closer to a centralized point."

"You want me low enough for cameras to spot me in the sky?"

"Only if you want the tracking program to succeed, Kara."

"...this sucks, Sanc. If some crazy vigilante comes at me, I'm totally blaming you."

"Gotham City vigilantes operate in night time over 65% of the time, Kara."

"Oh, that's comforting to a girl in bright blue and red floating over a city..."

But there was no other way. Kara descended to merely a few hundred feet above what Sanctuary was labeling "Old Gotham", and a clocktower. She floated, she waited...and she listened...for some damn Bruce Lee ninja in a cape to come throw ninja stars at her. It took only about twenty minutes of waiting for Sanctuary to complete the track, but of course, by then, Gotham's Channel 9 News chopper was already in the sky, pointing a camera right at her. When it got close enough, Supergirl smiled, saluted the helicopter...and disappeared in a blur of blue and red. The blur went skyward. But Supergirl doubled back towards the city.

And back to the clocktower. This time, breaking in through a mid-floor window. The inside of the clock tower was quiet, dark, spooky. For a few moments, Kara thought Sanctuary had simply screwed up, until her red booted feet climbed a final set of stairs in the building, her X-Ray vision finding a secret door, and yet more stairs. Stairs that led her the space behind the clock face on the exterior of the building.

Stairs that led her to a private hacking den.

"Sanc...is this it?"

"This is where the signal came from, Kara."

"Good. I'll just....uh, wait. I mean, Who doesn't like unwelcomed visitors into their super secret hacker home?"

One Less Evil

Green Arrow Brings Down Slave Trading Ring

_{Photo by H. Fyff}

BY NAOMI SINGH
February 3, 2016

---

Money laundering, extortion, murder, and slavery are only some of the felonies in the Solntsevskaya Bratva’s repertoire. For years they’ve evaded the law, slipping out of the grasps of the police, FBI and Interpol, not one crime accounted for. This all changed late last night, all thanks to Star City’s own Emerald Archer.

The Bratva has run a slave trading ring out of the city for years now. Mainly focusing on children, they would steal women and minors from the streets, selling them to the highest bidder. This would be done with little to no remorse. Survivor, Jessica Warwick, said, “They gagged me from behind and carried me to their van. Every time I tried to fight back, they’d hurt me ten times worse. They took me to the city docks, the shipyards, and put me in a container. There were four other girls in there, and only a bucket between us. They all looked so hurt. So weak.”

Such mistreatment did not go unnoticed by Green Arrow. Following the rescue of eight-year old Connor Hawke, the Battling Bowman and his sidekick, Red Arrow, set their sites on the Bratva’s operation, attacking multiple sites in the Star City Docks, and apprehending the head of the dark enterprise, Alexi Leonov. Twenty-eight women and children were freed. The SCPD estimate that another ten are still being held within the city, with an indeterminable amount already sold and shipped overseas.

Detective Quentin Lance, who was present at the scenes, had this to say about the matter: “I don’t know much about Green Arrow, but I do know this: he's just getting started. When that man sets his mind on something, he won't stop 'til he sees it through. Freeing these people, that was just the beginning. He and the SCPD will do everything in their power to bring the Russian mob down. That, I can promise you.”

The Bratva have been a constant presence in Star City, tainting its name with their horrid crimes. Could this be the beginning of their end? With Green Arrow on their tails, it just might.

---

Iron Heights Penitentiary
10:38 PM

A concrete cell was the last place Alexi Leonov expected himself to be. Dirty and bland, it was a far cry from the loft he’d resided in prior to his arrest. It was five by five feet, a steel toilet and wash basin crammed into one corner, a concrete bed in the adjacent side. Alexi sat on the slab, fidgeting with his hands. There was nothing he could do here. Nothing but wait for the inevitable; for his death.

He’d had a good thing going. He would send his men to take women and children, and he would ship them off at the docks, delivering them to his employers and earning a shitload of money in return. It was a good business, very profitable, and the buyers were very generous, often paying double the demanded amount. But they weren’t ones to be angered. No, they made it very clear that if he should fail, the consequences they dished out would be far more severe than that of the law’s. When they first told him so, he laughed in their faces. “You threaten me,” he’d said, “You threaten the Bratva.” It didn’t take him long to realise that he didn’t intimidate them. And that worried him. Fast forward a few months, and the Green Arrow, the Zelenyy D’yavol, had stopped some cargo from being delivered, a small boy by the name of Hawke. Alexi’s employers had contacted him instantly, demanding to know why it happened, and he’d assured them, swallowing past the lump in his throat, that it won’t happen again. One night later, the archer had dismantled his entire operation, and now he knew that nothing awaited him but death. His employers were not ones to be angered.

Alexi heard him before he saw him. He was whistling; a slow tune, ominous. It told of terrible tragedy, rife with sadness and loss, its notes empty, like one’s lost soul. His footseps echoed down the hallway, brisk and deliberate, waking any inmate who might have been asleep. When he reached Alexi he stopped, smiling, bright white teeth glinting in the low light. He was dressed in a guard’s uniform, complete with a baton, but he wasn’t one. Alexi could feel it. Spikey red hair, shaved at the sides, adorned his head, and massive tattoos of red and black swirls ran along the entirety of his neck and arms, barely leaving a clean patch of skin. He would have been a handsome man, Alexi guessed, if not for that creepy, almost sadistic smile, or the strange green device implanted in his forehead, pulling at his skin from all sides. He was no guard. He was an assassin.

“Alexi Leonov?” he said, a heavy Eastern European accent distorting his words. “Hmm. I thought you’d be more impressive.”

“Who are you?” asked Alexi. “What do you want?”

The man chuckled. “Oh, I think you know what I want. Or rather, what they want.” Despite himself, Alexi paled. He was going to die. He was going to die. “You know, you’ve made them really angry, our employers. They trust you do one thing– one very simple thing, I must say –and somehow, you manage to screw it all up.”

“I-it– it wasn’t my fault! It was Green– ”

“ –Arrow, yes, they know. The fact that your operation got undone by that bat with a bow is what pushed them over the edge, really. All you had to do was send them their cannon fodder. And now, you’re going to die. Any last words?”

“No! NO! PLEASE! DON’T KILL ME!”

The man’s smile was wider than the sun. “So much for dying with dignity. The Light send their regards.”

And then the green device in his head lit up, and the pain of a million knives filled Alexi’s head, he couldn’t tell which way was up, which way was down, he was off balance, the world was swirling and blurring and it felt like it was all going to end–

And it did.

---

Star City
8:01 AM

Oliver was speeding and he knew it. At eighty miles an hour, he was already well over the fifty mile limit, but this mission was important. Screw the law, someone’s life depended on him. He was still in his business clothes; after pulling an all nighter at the office, he hadn’t had time to change when he decided to undertake this operation. His motorcycle swerved left and right as he dodged between vehicles, their drivers beeping their horns at his recklessness. They knew as well as he did that if he had an accident at this speed, he would die. Oh well. At least he had a helmet on.

“Oliver,” said Diggle, his voice transmitted through Oliver’s earpiece, “Are you sure you don’t want backup?”

Ever the concerned bodyguard, John had already asked that question well over thirty times. Oliver appreciated his disquiet, but this was serious business, and serious business gave no time for appreciation. Only action. “Yes, Digg. I have to do this alone.”

“Okay, man. Be careful.” At that, the comm-link went quiet.

He arrived after five minutes of frantic driving. The house was a small one. Nice and homely, its exterior was painted a pleasant white, providing a very pleasing contrast with the bright green grass, the front lawn no larger than five yards. All in all, it looked very inviting. But Oliver knew better. For inside lay his greatest fear: responsibility.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he removed his helmet, placing it on the bike’s seat, and walked up to the house, knocking on the door three times. Within seconds it opened, revealing Sandra Hawke, looking as beautiful as ever. Upon seeing Oliver she rolled her eyes and sighed before slamming the door in his face.

He stared at it for a while. It was a pretty door. Smooth and symmetrical, made of particle board and wood veneer, it was probably handcrafted. Oh, who was he kidding, it was most likely carved by machine. No-one had an appreciation for the arts these days. It was such a shame–

–Oh, right. The mission. He took another deep breath before knocking on the door once more. “Come on, Sandra, please. Give me a chance.”

This time it took a bit longer for the door to open. When it did, it opened slowly; Sandra’s apprehension showed in more than just her face. “What do you want?”

“A chance,” he said, exhaling shakily, before continuing. “What you said about me yesterday… It was right. All of it. And I’ve thought about it long and hard, and I realised that I don’t want to be a shadow in Connor’s life. I want to be a part of it. I was a…” he chuckled, “I was a lousy person. Before the island, I was a really lousy person. I was with Di, but I was unfaithful. I was a cheating, pathetic excuse for a man that was more of burden on the people that loved him than he cared to admit. My affairs cost me Dinah’s love, her father’s regard and my best friend's respect. But they also gave me a son. I don’t want him to grow up without a father.”

Tears welled up in her eyes. “I loved you.”

“I’m not sure that I can say the same. But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I really am. Sandra… I want to see Connor. Please. I want to see my son.”

For a long time, she just stood there, staring at him, searching for something. Then, head bowed, she stepped aside, clearing the doorway for him. “Okay.”

A grateful smile on his face, he leaned in to plant a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you, Sandra.” He then entered the house, about to meet Connor for the second time; but also, in a way, the first. Because this time, he wouldn’t be Green Arrow. He wouldn’t be a guardian angel. He would be Oliver Queen. He would be a father.

The night was still and unmoving, polluted with the unnatural glow of the city below. Above the night a cascading symphony of motion and barely blinking lights in the low orbit of the planet. Above that the fewer and slower moving blinking lights of those in high orbit. Beyond that the planet's moon, every second of forever being further pushed away by the tidal forces of it's host. Beyond that, the ever unfolding infinity of the cosmos. Even the light of a planet extinguished, even if it's light yet survived as some bygone spirit.

For now, it was below that remained her focus. The planet that served as her shelter after the storm. For now. Clark Kent doubtlessly called it Earth. But Kara Zor-El was no native. Kryptonian born, and raised. In truth her temporary shelter was a planet of countless names. Roughly 20% of the planet's population named it Dìqiú in Mandarin-Chinese, yet another 17% of the population knew it as prithvī in Hindi. The remaining 63% of the world's population spoke one of 200 different languages; each with a different word for the planet.

Her favorite name for the planet so far was something she'd caught while scrolling through late night cable: Third rock from the sun.

At the moment, Earth would do. It wasn't only the chosen name of it for 'Clark', but one Kyle Kayce. Talking herself into the evening's plan should have taken days. Weeks. In reality, it took a thought and a feeling. Both came within a matter of moments; mere heartbeats. Considering the chance she was taking, and the dangers that came naturally with it. But there was no telling herself that tonight would be too dangerous. It was time for the first. Gemma would probably cry, and that was the only other human that had been considered. Was Kyle too dangerous because of prior allegiance?

Her target was an apartment building. Taller than her's, and newer besides. Late as it was, most the apartments that faced the east were already darkened. There was only one apartment north of the tenth floor that was fully illuminated from within; his. There were no practiced speeches, no thought out plan of how it would all go down. Her heart still beat so wildly she felt as if maybe it had beat it's way all the way up into her throat; but that was just a sign she was nervous. Apprehensive. An internalized sign, at that, as there was no companion to her exterior. Even in the reflection of a sliding glass door, she could see the calm on her face.

Kyle passed by the suddenly opened door, and barely gave it a thought. It nearly made her smile. "Kyle."

The man froze in his living room, a mess of paper and books and notebooks spread before him on his coffee table. When he looked up and his eyes saw her, she nearly had herself a shortness of breath. It wasn't until he finally spoke that she was able to breath out, rising from his seat, every sliver of energy and focus the man had suddenly on the girl that appeared in his apartment.

Wearing a cape.

"Oh...my God. You're...?"

She picked up where he left off, nodding slowly. "Yes, I am."

"This why we broke up?"

Her blue eyes gave him the answer he feared; yes. "I'm...not human, Kyle. I wasn't even supposed to be dating; it's potentially very dangerous for the human I come into physical contact with. I could have broken your leg, your hand, your spine."

For reasons Kara felt she would never understand, the southern man just smiled at her as she continued to speak. "Yeah. You want anything? I've still got a few of those glass cherry cokes, huh?" He waited until she nodded at him before he zipped past her and into the apartment's small kitchen. It was a kitchen she knew well enough, just like she knew the living room, and the couch, and the funny way his television remote acted: changing the channel might turn up the volume, or selecting a DVR recording might just put up Telemundo.

Memories of nights spent in this apartment, with that human man. Of all the things Kara Zor-El had prepared for...for her heart to feel so heavy all of sudden had not been one of them. "Thanks," and a smile was how she took the drink from him, sipping at it as she stood. For a moment she forgot about him, enjoying the heavy flavor of the cherry coke until her blue eyes danced this way and this--finding him near, his eyes on her. "...what?"

He laughed at her, gently. He always liked to laugh at her. "You're beautiful in that...power suit."

"In this?" It made her chuckle. "It's not a super or power suit."

"What does Superman call it?"

That made her pause. "I...don't know, actually."

He only seemed to chuckle at her more. "You two aren't a team, or anything? Got the same look...even the same symbol."

"Yeah," she said it softly, her fingertips of her available hand tracing the 'symbol' on her chest absently, like she used to when she was a child forced to wear it. "He's my cousin."

That left Kyle blinking. "But you don't know what he calls it? How's that?"

"We come from a planet called Krypton. There was..." How did she explain it? You see, Kyle, the end of days came, and Kal and I got stuck in stasis and shot off towards a yellow sun. What human wouldn't be able to relate to that?...besides all of them. "Krypton was destroyed. Natural causes compounded by our own failure to believe that we, the enlightened scions of ancient Kryptonian knowledge, simply missed the end coming. I was 17 when it happened. The future generation, robbed of our future. The being you call Superman was a baby, an infant. I was supposed to protect him and ensure he was still raised like a Kryptonian, or as close as we could manage."

"You sound like you failed."

It was enough to make her down the remains of her cherry coke. Small comforts, and all. The bottle was set down on his table, before she took a seat at the corner edge of his couch. "Yes. Well, I didn't fail. The plan failed. The astrocartography failed. Along the way my craft hit something, and I was delayed."

"Delayed by how long?"

"Twenty-seven years."

Maybe it was the way she said it. Maybe she had spent enough time with the man, that he just knew her well enough. Whatever the reason for it, suddenly the American born Earthling was next to her on the couch, and taking her hand. It almost made her smile, if it weren't for the reason she was here in the first place. To leave him behind.

"Were you going to try and go back?"

Her head shook, her body numbed. "Nothing left to go back to."

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

His words were spoken so sweetly, it forced her eyes to jerk up and at him. "And what could a mere hew-man do for a scion of Krypton?"

"No clue. But I always had a few ways to make Kara feel better."

Despite herself, she smiled, her sight drifting down to his large hand with wisps of hair along his knuckles holding her own smaller, infinitely stronger, hand. "I'm sorry, Kyle. I like you, a lot, you know."

"Yeah?" His eyes perked, even if it was more of a gentle tease than anything else. "I think I was starting to fall in love with you."

"What happens when I accidentally break your arm?...when you wake me up by surprise and I sear you with heat vision? Or crush your ribs by blowing you across the room?" He had no answer. Just like her. "That's why..."

He shrugged. "It was never about sex with you, Ace. I was just happy to get all your free time."

Of all the reasons she allowed Kyle Kayce to be her first attempt at normal male-female human relations, his patience with her and wisdom beyond his years had been just as important as his cute face, or the way he always seemed capable of making her laugh, or smile. Now it just made her heart feel heavier. "You deserve a normal life, Kyle."

"I'm an intelligence officer in the United States Navy. I passed on a 'normal life' long ago, and many life decisions ago."

She brought his hand up to her lips, and kissed the back of it. "Yeah. I don't suppose I have to ask you--"

His head shook, firmly. "--torture couldn't get me to reveal what I know about you."

"Good. If people knew, you'd be a target. You can't even trust your own goverment when it comes to me."

It wasn't fair. No tear would be allowed to fall, until she felt his lips on the top of her head. Felt his warmth, heard the beat of his heart, the smell of him. "I promise, Supergirl."

Silent tears lined her cheeks as she rose. A tug on her cape had her turning back to him, into the kiss he kept pulling her into, and she kept leaning into. In a heartbeat it was over, and his sad eyes met her sad eyes. "Stay safe."

"Don't be a stranger."

A gust of wind, and she was halfway to the moon.

Rain seemed to perpetually fall on Blüdhaven, the smell of sewage and burning coal mingling in the wind as it washed over the dark city. Sirens echoed in the darkness as the streak of black made its way from roof top to roof top. Heading North East across the city, Nightwing found himself assaulted by the cold damp wind as even the insulated suit did little to stop the chill from reaching his bones. Landing on a roof top, Nightwing came to a stop as he peered down over the commercial harbor. A few overnight workers wandered the docks while the sound of a fork lift moving crates could be heard in the distance but no ships were currently being unloaded. Cursing underneath his breathe, Nightwing realized he was too late, he had missed Zucco's activities again. Sighing as he swung his legs over the edge of the roof, Nightwing took a seat before checking the time. It was late, or rather early being nearly six in the morning. That said, he knew there was no where he was going to get any sleep without making some progress. Looking North towards Gotham, Dick's eyes isolated Babs' clocktower from the city's skyline, perhaps a visit to his favourite girl may reveal some sort of lead.

Flipping back onto his feet, Nightwing ran to the edge before firing a line and swinging across the gap. Using the momentum, he ran alongside the face of another building before leaping into the abyss again. It was at these times he remembered performing without a wire, the thrill of the circus, the only thing that could have made it better was if he had an audience. Tucking his legs into a roll, Nightwing fired another line using his body like a pendulum as he fired himself above the city's skyline before landing on a roof top and running across it. Below the steady sound of wheels against a track caught his attention and he made his way towards the edge of the building and dove onto the train below.

The train took Nightwing most of the remainder of the way as he quickly completed the rest of the trip on foot climbing up the clock tower as he gave a gentle rap on the window which no doubt would startle Babs as she sipped away at what was no doubt the first of many coffees for the day.

"Heya Beautiful." He called with a smirk.

"There is a door." Barbara called back from the kitchen. If she hadn't been in a wheelchair she might have jumped. But then again, she was used to Dick. Anyways, not many people could get past her security system. Which left the count at two. And Bruce wasn't the type to bother. He used the door. Well, he used it most of the time.

Oracle slipped her coffee into the cup holder and pushed her chair backwards out of the kitchen.

"Doors are over rated." Dick said as he climbed through the window, closing it behind him as he removed his mask.

"They might be that, but they're also convenient." The redhead pointed out.

"Door didn't seem very convenient from the roof top." Dick retorted with a smile.

Babs rolled her eyes as she corrected her chair, wheeling it further into the room. "You never could keep your feet on the ground could you?" The smile she had on her face was fond as she looked at her friend. He looked tired, but good.

"Wouldn't have gotten anywhere in life if I did." Moving into the kitchen while calling back to Babs, Dick inhaled deeply as the strong scent of coffee wafted towards him. "Don't suppose you have another cup ready?" He asked with a smile leaning back against the counter. "I have to admit, I wish this was a friendly visit unfortunately I'm still working." Deciding not to wait for Babs' answer about the coffee, Dick helped himself to a cup from the pot before continuing. "Tracked down Zucco's thugs earlier tonight, they threw me a damn red herring. Zucco has friends on the 'Haven city council, friends who help him smuggle his arms into the city. Anyway you can help me figure out who his friends are?"

"Arms Smuggling, Council Sitting, Friends of Zucco?" Babs turned towards her computers with a thoughful expression. "You've come to the right place." She reached out and turned the computer screens on with a key stroke.

Barbara's green eyes glossed over her running programs. Luthor's snoop was beginning to poke back at her. That was interesting. She mentally added another level of intelligence to the hacker. They were even better than expected to notice her. But Dick was priority so she minimized the program.

She pulled up the BPD's data base and keyed in a false ID. Within a few moments the system was open to her. She opened everything they had on Zucco, any arms smuggling operations and the council.

Oracle paused and looked up to find Dick still there. "Are you just going to watch, or do you want to help?"

"What can I do?" Dick asked in reply as he leaned over Babs, his cheek just hovering above hers. This close to her, he could smell the familiar perfume, the same one she used to wear when they were out patrolling Gotham together. It took him a moment to snap back to the matter at hand as he found himself lost in the sweet scent.

Babs tilted her head slightly away, but not too far. "Well, how about you check over what I give you and see if it's relevant." She pointed to a spare monitor. "Use that one." With that she turned back to the computer. She gazed over the files, looking for key points before beginning to dig further, or to flag for Dick. After a long while, long enough for her coffee to get cold. Long enough for her to realize this wasn't going to be fast.

She leaned back in her wheelchair and rubbed her eyes. She took a moment's reprieve to check some other news worthy items. Just to give her brain a break. Then she frowned. BPD had found a foot. A foot missing a body. Babs quickly pulled up the file and skimmed it. She then pulled up the GCPD file about her ID-less body (sans foot). She quickly compared the DNA on both. Minutes later her computer deemed them the same.

"This might be something." Oracle said as she double checked the ID. "You had a foot come up last night in your town. GCPD found a body, sans-foot. Same woman. Stephanie Hill. On Blüdhaven's City council. Or was on. Forty-seven years old. Last marriage ended in May, badly. No kids. Nearest family is upstate. No recent contact."

With a few taps of the keys the crime scene photo appeared of the foot. "Not quite Zucco's style though." Her lips were white as she mentally added to herself. Too Joker-ish. "What do you think?" She asked mainly to get her mind off of the thought.

"Looks like we have a concern for escalation. Someone is looking to make a mark, and they're seasoned." Dick said with a grim tone to his voice. "A first kill wouldn't be so methodical. The police likely believe it to the be work of a disorganized killer, but the crime scene is designed to look chaotic, it throws off any clues. This is in fact very well thought out, pre-meditated and full of thought." Studying under Bruce had honed Dick's skills of deduction quite well. That said, he wasn't 'The World's Greatest Detective' but he could hold his own. "This won't be the work of the Joker." Dick added, his gift for reading body language had seen Babs tense up, no doubt the haunting memories of the past coming back too vividly upon viewing the crime scene.

Babs ignored his last comment. "But is it connected to Zucco? We know he's in with some council members. Was Ms. Hill one of them? I don't like coincidences."

"Does Hill have any claims on commercial property? A warehouse for example?" Dick asked as he began to type up his own search. While no slouch with a computer, he was also no miracle worker like Babs when it came to this stuff.

Oracle mentally ran through what she had looked up on Ms. Hill. She hadn't found any, but if she was dirty, she would have hidden it. She typed quickly and her computer bleeped. A few minutes later there was another beep.

"Two places." Babs sent the locations to Dick's HUD before she turned to him. He looked tired. "You look beat." She brushed a stray lock of hair back into place. "It's nearly lunch time. Why don't you go get some rest?"

"You offering your bed?" Dick asked with a playful smile and a cocked eyebrow.

"Seems to me yours would be better. Plus," Babs paused and smirked. "You have a guest waiting."

"I do?" Nightwing said with a pause before placing a palm to his forehead. "Tim's running the Gauntlet tonight isn't he?" With a slight sigh, Nightwing looked out at the sun now brightly shining over Gotham. "Well looks like I do need to get home, but I don't think this is going to cut it. I don't happen to have a spare change of clothes here do I?"

Barbara sighed. "Second door, closet, upper shelf." She shook her head. "I figured this would happen, Boy wonder."

"I figured it would be after a slightly more fun evening." Dick teased as he headed towards the bedroom. The sound of the closet door could be heard as he rummaged inside. Pulling the shirt over the skin tight outfit, Dick called to Babs as he pulled his pants up. "Who has the pleasure of seeing you in the little purple number? That's not for comfortable sleeping." He smirked emerging from the bedroom.

Babs had turned her back to him so he couldn't see her answering smirk. "Only the mirror Grayson. Only the mirror. And for your information, it's not for sleeping in." She turned slightly to him, face now serious. She made a come here motion.

"And how am I going to sleep now?" Dick asked as he walked over to Babs. She reached up and adjusted his shirt so the collar for the nightwing suit wasn't visible.

"Not my problem." She told him as she patted his cheek. "Go. Sleep. Play with Tim and be nice. I'll let you know what I find later."

"Thanks Beautiful!" Dick replied with a peck on the cheek as he ran towards the window only to come skidding to a stop. Sheepishly ruffling his hair, he spun on his heel and walked towards the proper exit. "Doors, right." He muttered.

"Looking forward to next time Babs!" He said as he disappeared out the door. The only answer was the sound of laughter.

Los Angeles

Lunch Time

As usual something bad happened whenever Bekka tried to do something considered normal for humans. It was either some villain wanting to make a name for themselves or a criminal trying to prey upon the weak. She was off getting lunch at a local shop and that’s when she heard cries for help forcing her to leave the business.

With a quick command to her Mother Box the device changed her into her Wonder Woman costume in a flash of light. She drew her sword and took off into the air in search of the cause of the pleas for rescue. Her New God eyes spotted a bank robbery going on and she could hear the sounds of gunfire.

“Typical of these earthlings, always causing trouble at inconvenient times” she said to herself as she closed in on the crime scene and landed gracefully next to an police officer trying to keep the situation under control. He was startled by her sudden appearance, but was relieved to see her.

“Wonder Woman, thank goodness you’re here. They’ve taken several hostages and several of their goons started to open fire on us, but if they told us that if we try to enter the bank then they would start killing the hostages. I hope you have some rescue plan” he said to her as he wiped sweat off of his head.

“Don’t worry I’ll see what I can do” Bekka tried to reassure him. She didn’t really have a plan, but she looked around at the building trying get a sense of what would be the best course of action.

“Mother Box, how many hostages are in the bank and how many robbers are there?” she asked her device.

“Scans show that there are six hostages and ten felons” the Mother Box replied.

“Are the hostages all together or separated?”

“They are huddled together in one group with at four guarding them.” Bekka almost smiled at the answer, this would make it slightly easier for her and she quickly thought out a plan.

“I’m going in, try to keep them focused on your men” she said to the officer and the man nodded understanding. Bekka made her Mother Box open up a Boom Tube inside of the bank and she lunged through with her sword held firmly in her hand. The portal had appeared right beside one of the criminals and its sudden appearance startled the man, but it wasn’t as much of a shock as Bekka suddenly lunging out of the Boom Tube and slaming her fist into the mans chest.

The force of the blow caused the bank robber to fly straight into his comrades causing them to tumble over and made a couple of them drop their weapons. Bekka moved quickly and used her sword to free the hostages from their binds. Some of them thanked, but she just ordered them to get out of there as quick as possible. The felons get back up on their feet and began firing wildly at her.

Thankfully her superhuman durability made the bullets bounce off of her skin and she went on the attack. Bekka sliced through the gun of one criminal and then proceeded to chop off the weapon hand of one of his comrade causing the man to scream in agony and fall to ground moaning clutching at the bloody stump that was his hand.

She slammed her knee into a guy’s face shattering his jaw and breaking several of his teeth. Bekka then broke another man’s leg with a strong kick to it and was in frenzy-mode while fighting her enemies. They didn’t even stand the slightest chance, her training as a warrior of New Genesis had made her one of the deadliest fighters in the galaxy. Soon the bank robbers were down and out and she was victorious.

She came out of the bank to people cheering thanks to her and few people held up signs with the words ‘you rock Wonder Woman!’ on it. Any normal person would have been flattered by the praise she was getting, but she was not. She had saved lives, but she couldn’t get what she wanted most, which was to go home to New Genesis. Bekka had to hold back tears to keep the public from seeing her look weak.

Not wanting to speak with the news media, she took off into the air and left the crowded area far behind. She decided to head to the mountains where people wouldn’t find her. Once on the top of a mountain she sat down to look at the surrounded scenery. With no one watching Bekka let her tears roll down her cheeks and buried her face in her arms.

That was one thing about being Wonder Woman and a god among mortals; no one would guess that she could be emotionally broken just like any normal human. Bekka sometimes would hear people ask where she was from and if she had friends or family. She wanted to say yes she did, but her warrior side wouldn’t allow her to open up emotionally to others. And so she only allowed her true emotions show when no one was watching.

Gotham had been quiet long enough that someone who didn't know it might have made the mistake of thinking that the worst was over. That the cities worst side had gone to sleep, to leave the decent, well meaning citizenry in peace. Anybody that did know it would have known it was just a ruse. Gotham doesn't sleep, Gotham bides it's time, silent and patient, waiting for the best time to strike.

Now it was agitated, causing trouble and apt to cause more, like a bad tempered mutt rousing itself from a fitful rest, growls still fresh in it's throat and hackles on the rise. It was often like this, the city, going months with barely uttering a peep before finally, with no warning, exploding into violence, like she was just waiting for you to let your guard down, waiting until you exposed your throat.

The Kush brothers, died after being introduced to a new and deadly bio-toxin. Triple homicide on the East side, signs of a gangland execution. A young Jane Done found lying in a motel room, missing a face. The body of a Bludhaven city councilwoman appearing, sans one foot. Rumblings of a rumor, the Maroni's planning a homecoming, their old soldiers already laying the groundwork. A new drug on the streets, leaving a trail of bodies in it's wake.

Business as usual for the Batman.

The MCU were already on the triple homicide, and Batman trusted Bullock's hand-picked squad to take care of that efficiently, or at the very least keep the mess to a minimum before he could intervene. He'd set Robin to investigating the Maroni matter, working the streets, trying to see if he couldn't make something more solid out of the whisperings. 'Matches Malone' had already been utilized in the hunt for information concerning the new drugs, putting the word out that he was looking to buy in on the drug trade, but was only interested in the hottest stuff on the market. Now it was just a waiting game. The Bludhaven councilwoman was Dick's territory, and Batman knew just how welcome he was there. He'd mention the discovery to Oracle, see if she couldn't pass on the information, though chances were high that she'd done that already.

Now it's just for me to decide whether I deal with the Kush's or the Jane Doe. But that was no contest at all, not if he was being honest with himself. The Jane Doe was an unknown, a potential innocent, certainly a victim. The Kush's were a different matter entirely. While also victims they were certainly not innocents, being scum-bags of the highest order. They'd been on his radar for a while. It was a shame someone had gotten to them before he had, and an inexcusable crime that their punisher had killed them, but Batman couldn't stop that small voice at the back of his head that whispered they had earned their fate. While both crimes merited his attention, he would seek justice for the Jane Doe fist, if only because he sympathized with her more easily than he did with the Kush's.

Jane Doe had been discovered in Saint Julian's Hostel, Gotham Village. Batman contacted GCPD Central to inform them that he would handle this one, and not to send any other officers that might get in his way until he had performed his own investigation. One of the perks of know longer being an 'urban myth'. I don't have to sneak around crime-scenes anymore while worrying about nervous patrolmen taking shots at me. The Car made quick time through the mostly deserted streets of Gotham. He knew his city well, and could traverse it's streets faster than just about any man alive.

Saint Julian's was named after a small town in Malta, the birthplace of the Hostel's original owner. While not the cleanest, best staffed, or even top located of tourist accommodations, it did boast cheap boarding, and for that reason alone it attracted dozens, if not hundreds, of residents a week. The victim had been discovered in one of Saint Julian's few private rooms. The room had been paid for in advance, in cash, with a policy of do not disturb requested. The staff had acquiesced, at least until the advance had run out, then they came knocking, looking for more money. No one had answered, so they had unlocked the door and let themselves in. It was then they found the body, sealed the door, and contacted GCPD.

He parked the Car a couple blocks away, hiding it down an alley way, before using the roof tops and a fire escape to gain access into Saint Julian's. He entered through a window on the hallway that lead to Jane Doe's private room. There wasn't any uniformed officers guarding the door in the hallway, as there might be in other cities. Instead they were all stationed on the lower levels. Gordon's orders? Making it easier for me to get in unnoticed, preserving my mystique, or just the uniforms showing their own form of respect? He wasn't sure which, only that he didn't need the concession being made for him. Then again, it might be because of general incompetence. With Gotham police you just never knew, even after Gordon introduced his more stringent recruiting policies.

Entering the private room he took the scene in quickly. About 6' by 6', the room had just enough space for a single bed, a wash basin, and a foot locker. There was a window facing the street, an all night bakery across the way.

Jane Doe lay upon the bed, cover's neat underneath her. One look could inform even the casual observer that she had been carefully posed, stripped naked, legs tight together, hands folded upon her chest, just above the heart, faceless head left at just the right angle for the outside streetlight to bathe it in light through the night. Killer took a great deal of effort to ensure she was found like this. Batman stepped in for a closer look.

Obviously the first thing he noticed was her lack of a face, the skin peeled back and removed. The cut, starting just under the jaw tracing around her ears then under her hairline before looping back around, was steady, no undue tearing caused by a shaky or rushed hand. One could almost describe it as professional. Killer is a doctor, a surgeon, perhaps? Regardless, he's done this sort of thing before. There was enough blood around the wound to indicate she was still alive when her face was removed, though the preciseness seemed to indicate that she was unable to struggle against him at the time. No signs of restraints used. Probably unconscious at the time. Toxicology report should sign some light on the cause.

The wound that killed her was a single stab to the chest. Small puncture, right under the left breast, probably used a stiletto knife. Went in between the third and fourth rib, straight into the heart. He'd already had his fun with the face. This was quick, efficient. Killer was a pro. Knew what he was doing. From the surrounding blood splatter it was logical to assume she'd been killed in the room.

By inspecting her body it seemed she was in her late twenties to mid thirties, fit, athletic. She was toned with muscle, especially around the shoulders and arms, her tanned skin criss-crossed with old scarring. Her knuckles, knees and elbows bore heavy callousing, more evidence of a violent life. A fighter then. Perhaps she fought back against her murderer. While there was some heavy bruising on her torso and upper legs there was no sign that she had retaliated, so he was forced to conclude she'd been taken unawares, either that or she knew her assailant, let them get in close enough so they could surprise her without struggle. No other identifiers upon her skin, no tattoos or birthmarks.

Her hair was a mousy blonde, cropped close to the skull, her nails well trimmed. More evidence she was a fighter.

Preliminary investigation complete, he retrieved some small tweezers, swabs and vials from his belt pouches that he would use to collect hair, saliva and blood samples that would be studied more thoroughly later, see if he couldn't find an identity to match the woman.

An anger was building up inside him, cold and smouldering, under control for now but building fiercer by the minute. This woman had been mutilated and killed, murdered in what Batman was willing to bet his fortune's on was a strange city, in a dingy little hostel room. Dozens of tourists slept mere yards away in the next dorm, and yet she hadn't even been able to call for help. Her body then lay there for at least eight hours, waiting for staff to break in, demanding more money or meaning to see her tossed into the street, all just to send a message. Because that was what this was, a message, but for whom and what it said he just wasn't sure yet.

But I will find out. That I promise. And when I do someone is going to pay!

The Juicy Fruit Gentlemen's Club
7:08 AM

Montoya eyeballed the strip club from across the street. She sat in her unmarked and smoked. Strippers came out in street clothes. It was an easy make. Smeared makeup, that glitter paste still clinging to their faces. Hard as hell to get that stuff off. Montoya knew from experience. Her last hookup had been with a stripper. Sinful Cindy. Red hair and long legs. Montoya walked around for days with that glitter shit on her neck and around her mouth. She wore it like a badge of honor.

She blew smoke out the cracked window and waited for Allen to show up. It was frowned upon to smoke in PD cars, but it was too cold outside and she needed the smoke to get the taste and smell of the morgue out of her mouth. The place smelled like death and antiseptic. She watched the ME do autopsies on their three DBs. Six years in the detective bureau, three in homicide before coming to the MCU, and the morgue still made her queasy. It was the way they popped the skulls open to look at the brains. They used a bone saw and a crowbar to snap the top of the heads off. If it caught her on the right day, that loud pop would make her retch. The ME's report revealed nothing hinky. He agreed with her and Allen's summations on the chain of events. Walter Perkins and his two friends are captured and bound, Walter and his muscle Kendrick Taylor are beaten and tortured until they and Perkins paramour Tasha Tatum are all shotgunned in the back of the head. Straight dullsville there. No new info, no new insight.

The MCU moved to KAs and potential enemies. The strip club served as base for one of those potential enemies. She was leaving the morgue when Bullock texted her and Allen the details. Vinnie Lagotti ran the Juicy Fruit for the Gotham mob, or what was left of it after Batman hammered them. Lagotti and his men pushed dope and whores from inside the strip club. Once upon a time it was the prime spot east side to get whatever you needed. With the mob waning in Gotham, it was just one of many competitors in a steadily crowded marketplace.

Allen's unmarked rolled up and parked behind her. He got out smoking his own cigarette. She got out and started walking to the club with him.

"How'd it go at the morgue?"

"They didn't tell me anything we didn't already know."

Allen tossed out his cigarette and said, "How do you want to play it with Lagotti?"

"Straight up as possible. You know how these mob guys are. If they know something they'll be as cagey as hell, popping off at the mouth."

"They do call them wiseguys for a reason."

They went in through the door. Six men sitting around a bar and drinking. Fat Italians, old Italians, young Italians, Italians all. They stopped shooting the shit and gave Montoya and Allen hard stares. They flashed their badges, got more hard stares.

An old wop behind the bar smirked and said, "You want a job, honey, you're gonna have to come back tonight. Tell your little pal here we don't hire guys. This ain't that type of club."

Titters from the rest of the guys. Montoya locked in on the old man as Lagotti.

She said, "You don't want me stripping here. I'll end up bagging all your girls. Won't be too much money in a bunch of lesbian stripper-hookers."

"Ah." The old man grabbed his crotch and waved it in Montoya's direction. "This has been known to turn quite a few girls."

Montoya winked. "I know. And let me speak for the lesbian community as a whole when I thank you for all those women you turned gay."

The mob men fought like hell to bust out laughing. Ligotti scowled. Ligotti's face went coronary red. He shot daggers at Montoya. Allen stepped forward to play good cop.

"Where were you guys last night, six to midnight?"

One of the men said, "Fucking your mother."

Montoya started to move in. Allen held a hand out and stopped her.

Allen smiled and said, "Charming. Montoya, got a joke for you. How does an Italian get into an honest business?"

"He breaks in through the skyline."

The two detectives yukked. Allen said, "Tell you what, though. If I don't get a valid alibi in a minute, I'll call downtown and all of you are going to take a ride with us to Gotham Central. Three people were murdered last night. So, where were you?"

Ligotti said, "We were here all night. All of us. Plenty of people who work at the club can confirm that. We didn't kill no shvartz drug dealers."

"So you heard," said Montoya. "Walter Perkins was one of your competitors here on the east side. Word was he was kicking your ass in drug sales. That would piss some people off."

Ligotti shook his head. "Not us. We love plying our trade on the free market. God bless America. And that's all I gotta say about that."

Allen said, "What about--"

"No. Nix. Nein. Nyet. We got alibis and we ain't done nothing, so get the fuck outta here and don't come back til you got a warrant."


Eastern Gotham
7:23 AM

"5-0!"

Teenaged and prepubescent drug dealers scattered. The unmarked cop car jumped the curb. Bullock, Driver, and Fields came out of the unmarked booking towards the fleeing kids. Fields got his mitts on a six-year-old, Bullock pushed a thirteen-year-old into a brick wall and pinned him. Driver ran towards the oldest looking boy, all of sixteen, hauling ass down a side alley. The boy jumped a wooden fence. Driver crashed through the wood and tackled him. The kid squirmed and flailed. He hit Driver in the face. Driver slung him to the ground and kept him there.

"Let go of me, you asshole!"

He pulled the kid up by his pants and hauled him back to the corner. Driver pushed him into the car hood and gave him the third degree.

"You run this corner?" Driver asked. "This drug crew running out here, it's your crew."

"Fuck you!"

"You work this corner for Lil Walter, right? Newsflash, kid, Lil Walter is downtown at the city morgue, half his goddamn face missing. He got murdered last night. Tell me what you know."

"Fuck you, I ain't no snitch!"

Driver smashed his fist into the car hood. It dented it. The kid squeaked out something. Driver smelled piss. A trickle ran down the kid's pant leg.

"Tell me what you know, kid!"

"I ain't... I ain't ending up like Kenny, man!"

Bullock from behind Driver said, "Who is Kenny?"

"Like you don't fucking know! Police snatched him up last night and we still ain't seen him."

Bullock again, "What cops?"

"That big tall cop with the blonde hair. The scary looking one."

Driver and Bullock's eyes met. They said it at the same time. "Flass."

"Shit," said Bullock. "Look, kid, we ain't like Flass and his boys. Talk to us and we'll let you go."

The kid talked fast, almost too fast to catch. "Couple of guys been coming around here for the past few weeks now, trying to shake us down and claiming to be cops. They'd take our shit and leave, never arresting us and never showed a badge. We told Lil Walter and he said he'd put that blonde guy and his people on to, get payback for us. That was last week and we ain't seen them since."

The Juicy Fruit Gentlemen's Club
8:11 AM

The strip club's window shattered. Vinny Ligotti crashed through it and on to the street. Lagotti spit glass and teeth and blood. Commotions from inside the bar. Fights and yelling and sounds of chaos. Someone inside screamed in pain. Vinnie groaned. He heard footsteps on broken glass. Rolled over and saw Arnold Flass upside down, looking down at him with a sap in his hands.

"What did I say about that smart mouth of yours, Vinnie?"

Flass yanked the old man on to his feet. Hit him in the belly with the sap and dropped him to his knees.

"A key informant has supplied my squad with intelligence. Per the informant, a pair of men have been rolling through the eastside claiming to be cops and shaking down drug dealers. We think this is tangentially connected to a triple homicide from last night. These men are operating in my territory without my knowing of it. Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent."

Flass sapped Lagotti in the stomach one more time. He retched blood.

"I'm hoping you can supply me with that knowledge, Vinnie."

Rip Hunter sat at a workbench in the dark with a gold-coated robot on the bench in front of him. His name was Skeets and he would be Michael Carter’s companion through time, a guardian of sorts, there to stop Booster from altering the timeline irreparably in pursuit of fame. For years Hunter had allowed Skeets at his side whilst he trained him for the day he would leave for the twenty-first century with Carter and now that day was less than a week from them. If he were being honest Rip would have to admit there was a part of him that still had reservations about what would need to be done, but given what would happen if it weren’t to happen he knew he had little choice. Finally he put the finishing touches on the tune up he was giving Skeets and shut the lid atop the robot’s head with a heavy sigh.

“Whatever happens, Skeets, Michael cannot be allowed to travel back to his desired time. This Booster, as he is, is not yet the Booster that the universe needs and if he successfully travels back to 2010 he will never become it. Do you understand?”

Skeets stared up at Rip silently for a few moments. The pair had spent enough years with one another that Rip was capable of telling when Skeets wasn’t comfortable with something. Whilst he had designed him to be little more than a living, breathing encyclopedia for Booster on his travels, Skeets had transformed into so much more throughout his training. He was more human than Rip had ever intended.

“I understand, sir, but is there not some way we could tell Mr. Carter? I’m not quite sure I take to subterfuge quite as naturally as some other things.”

“I wish there was,” Rip said with a heavy sigh. “And I know it seems cruel now to deny him what he wants. Superman? The Justice League? Their achievements will be unto nothing next to what Booster will achieve once he’s ready to become the man we need him to become. He’ll get what he wants, Skeets, but it’s going to take some time.”

Again another pained silence hung over the two of them.

“I understand.”

Rip stood up from the workbench and lifted Skeets into his hands. It was a difficult burden that Skeets would have to carry, knowing that he would have to live for Booster forevermore, and his being so human had made Rip wonder whether he was capable of carrying it. As he stared down at his creation he knew that his being human made him more capable of carrying it, not less, and he was thankful Skeets understood the emotional ramifications of the decision they took. Booster would need a friend where he was going. A better friend that Rip could ever be to him.

“You know I would never ask this of you unless it were necessary, old friend.”

“The world,” Skeets said gently. “Will they ever know?”

Rip shook his head.

“No, Skeets, I’m afraid not.”

There was a loud beeping noise and on the screen appeared Michael Carter wagging his tongue in the direction of the camera. Rip let go of Skeets and the robot hovered in front of him silently as the pair watched on as Michael made a series of silly faces into the camera, each less mature than the next, before eventually he shouted for them to let them in. Hunter reached across the workbench for a button and the doors slid open and Michael Carter strode in with a broad smile across his face. He was excited, Rip thought, so excited, but his excitement would turn to despair once he found out. He only hoped that Booster would forgive him when he found out what he had done.


A few minutes had passed since Booster Gold had found out he had been marooned in 2015 against his wishes. He had passed through the first two stages of grieving in the blink of an eye and had begun bargaining in the hopes of finding some way back to his own time. His robot companion, Skeets, had spent the time attempting to reason with him and explain that there was no way back for them. The pair argued amongst themselves for a time before a bemused Daniel Carter lifted his finger lazily and pointed at the gold-plated robot that hovered harmlessly in front of Booster’s face.

“What the hell is that thing?”

An exasperated Booster rolled his eyes as if he were having to explain the most painfully obvious thing of all time.

“That thing is a he and his name is Skeets.”

A titter escaped Daniel Carter’s lips.

“Wait, what? Did you say Skeets?”

“Yeah,” Booster said with a frown. “What's funny about that?”

Slowly Carter’s titters turned into a giggle, then gentle laughter, until finally he was folded over laughing until his stomach hurt. Booster watched on unimpressed, Skeets hovering beside him impassively, until eventually Carter managed to get his laughter under control and regain some composure. His face was flushed red from the laughter and his cheeks were wet from the tears that had been rolling down them but a moment beforehand.

“Trust me,” Daniel Carter smiled as he wiped a tear away from his cheek. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

“Whatever,” Booster said with a shake of his head. “Skeets, did you hear what he said? It’s 2015. Whatever happened back at the Time Lab must have caused the Sphere to malfunction and send us five years ahead of where we ought to have arrived. We need to get back.”

Skeets hovered in front of Michael Carter and stared in his direction impassively as if he were deliberating something. His thoughts drifted back to that day in the Time Lab and the promise he had made to his creator Rip Hunter and suddenly he found his voice.

“Back, sir? There is no back.”

Booster ran his hands through his golden hair with frustration.

“What? Don’t you get it? Unless we go back we’ll be stuck here for good. We’ll have to spend the rest of our lives here, Skeets.”

“The only man capable of repairing a broken Time Sphere is Rip Hunter, sir, and given how our last encounter with him ended it’s better that we operate under the presumption we’ll never see him again.”

Booster’s face dropped completely as if any hope he might have had was destroyed by the robot’s comment. Inside himself Skeets could feel the doubt creeping through his body with every second he looked upon Booster’s distraught face. The promise, he reminded himself, he had to keep the promise he’d made. Booster would get what he wanted in the end, he’d become the greatest hero that ever lived, even if no one would ever know about it.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

Booster began to pace up and down Daniel Carter’s lounge as if he were thinking of some solution to their problem. To anyone with any knowledge of the man beneath the costume it would have been absurd and endearing in equal parts. Michael Carter was far from the sharpest tool in the box, something he was never shy about, and though he possessed a genius intellect relative to the average twenty-first century citizen, he could spend a thousand years attempting to fix the Time Sphere even with the right technology and he’d never be able to do it. Science wasn’t exactly Michael’s thing and it never had been. Throwing the pigskin? He was more than capable at that. Staying on his feet after ingesting more overpriced alcohol than any human ever ought to? Sure. Science? Less so.

“Can’t you fix the Sphere? I mean, no offense, you’re a robot. Aren’t you meant to be good at these things?”

An awkward silence settled on the room that even Daniel Carter felt as the sentence left Booster’s lips.

“That highly presumptuous comment aside,” Skeets said bemusedly. “The technology needed to even begin attempting to repair the Sphere hasn’t been invented yet and won’t be for at least another two and a half centuries. Were I to attempt to use twenty-first century technology to do so we would more than likely result in our untimely deaths.”

Booster continued to pace up and down the room.

“There must be someone that can fix it.”

“I am afraid not, sir.”

Names began to filter through Michael’s brain as he strained to think of someone with the intellect to fix the Time Sphere. Suddenly he wished he’d paid more attention in history whilst at school.

“What about Bruce Wayne? I mean, if the guy’s capable of hiding the fact he’s B-” Booster’s eyes opened as he remembered Daniel was stood beside him. “What about Lex Luthor?” He has enough money to buy the world twice over, surely he’d be able to help us out on this one? Help me out here.”

“I'm sorry, sir.”

Daniel Carter cleared his throat and interjected into the pair's exchange. He had little to no idea what was going on, but as he prepared to speak it was clear from his face that he felt confident he had the solution to their problem.

“What about Ted Kord?”

Booster cocked an eyebrow at the name.

“What? Who the hell is Ted Kord?”

“Kord Omniversal are only the biggest company in the Midwest,” Daniel Carter said with a nonchalant shrug. “They say he’s the cleverest man in America. At least, some people say he’s the cleverest man in America. If anyone can fix this Sphere thing of yours, it’s probably him.”

“Skeets?”

The robot stared in Booster’s direction as he beamed with optimism. Silently Skeets ran Ted Kord’s name through every database he had access to as he weighed up the likelihood of his being capable of fixing the Sphere. As with Wayne, Luthor, and every other name Booster had thrown out, the chances of Kord fixing the Sphere were impossibly small. But there was something else there, a slither of information that caused Skeets to pause, something that might give Booster Gold hope. He had lied to Michael Carter, time and time again, because Rip Hunter had told him it was necessary and he had no doubt it was. He had told Skeets not to tell him. He had said nothing about providing him with hope.

“There is a small chance,” Skeets said. “But I must stress that it is a very small chance, sir, near infinitesimally so.”

Booster strode across the lounge and grabbed Daniel Carter by the lapels, pulling him into him, and placing a forceful kiss onto his lips. Carter struggled against Booster for a few seconds until the latter let go of him and wiped his mouth dry with his sleeve.

“You genius,” Booster said with a broad smile. “You absolute genius.”

After a second it sunk in to Booster that he’d just open mouth kissed the man that was likely to be his great, great, great grandfather and he frowned for a moment. Then like a magpie catching sight of a shiny object in the distance his attentions were drawn back to Ted Kord. Booster didn’t care how low the chances were, he didn’t care how unlikely it was, if there was a way for him to get home he was going to pursue it until his dying breath.

“Ted Kord, whoever the hell you are, we’re coming for you.”

Ted Kord was currently having a really bad day. Emphasis on the bad. What had started with what he had initially thought would be a simple case of rescuing people from a burning building, had dramatically turned into Ted being knocked down by a mad man with a bucket on his head. Firefist was what the loon seemed to call himself, with the man repeating his name constantly as he droned on in great detail about how this would be the end of the mighty Blue Beetle of Chicago. Or something along those lines. Honestly Ted had zoned out within the first couple of seconds of the man's speech, with him attempting to recover from his current situation.

Drawing both his legs anterior to his chest, the Blue Beetle pushed forward against the floor with his arms, thrusting himself up into the air and quickly onto his feet. Before the villain could react, Ted darted forward and kicked out. His foot impacted heavily against Firefist’s chest, a short cracking sound indicating that Ted had broken one of his ribs. The impact of course caused the armoured man to stumble back, before hunching forward in pain.

“What’s wrong big guy?” Ted taunted moving closer. “I’m having a cracking time here!”

“That was honestly awful Ted.” Tracy’s voice buzzed in his ear briefly, with her evidently ashamed by Ted’s attempt at smack talk.

“I’m trying, okay?”

Firefist obviously agreed with Tracy, with him roaring in rage. He swung out his arm in an attempt to hit the hero, instead missing and smashing it through a wooden support beam. The ceiling lurched slightly, causing debris to fall around them. It took Ted to have to avoid a falling piece of wood in order for him to remember about how literally everything around him was burning. He had to finish this. Fast.

He swooped backwards as Firefist sent another rage fuelled fist in his direction, avoiding the hit and probably what was likely to be another trip to the floor. Using the fact that the arsonist was currently off balanced with the recent swing, Ted got in close, pummelling him. The repeated blows kept the villain at bay, leaving him unable to respond, which just enabled Ted to continue. Swinging round his arm for one last hit, Ted launched it upwards, his hand colliding with the button of his helmet. The punch caused the helmet to launch into the air off of his head, leaving Firefist to tumble helplessly to the floor. That was when Ted saw his face.

It was easy to understand why the man wore the helmet. Scars covered the entirety of his face, with Ted realizing instantly that they were burn marks. Two pale eyes stared back horrified at Ted, with what appeared to be tears beginning to stream down what remained of his face.

“Don’t look at me, you… you freak!” Firefist cried, making a grab for his helmet.

Ted stepped forward to help, only to find himself knocked down to the floor again, with Firefist swinging his arm out quickly in his panic. From his position on the floor, Ted watched helplessly as the arsonist covered his burned face with his helmet, with him giving the hero one last look with his terrified eyes, before he turned and ran straight towards the room’s wall. Or well what was left of it anyway. He charged forward, smashing his way through with his fist, before jumping out of sight.

Grimacing Ted got up to follow, however Tracy’s voice in his ear stopped him.

“As much as you need to catch that guy, we still have someone else left in there with you.”

Ted nodded to himself, remembering. “Right.”

Pressing forward, the Blue Beetle attempted to navigate himself through the burning building, his left hand covering his nose and mouth due to him breaking his gas mask during his confrontation previously. He didn’t let that stop him however, with Ted continuing his journey through the apartments. He managed to make his way down a few flights of stairs when a cry caught his attention over the roaring sound of the flames. Realizing he was close, Ted pressed harder, the crying getting louder the closer he got.

Kicking down the remains of a door, Ted encountered her. The girl was probably only around five and was obviously cowering underneath her bed. Well it was only obvious due to the extremely loud crying. Crouching down next to her, he smiled in an attempt to calm her down, despite the face the walls around them were falling apart.

“Shh… shh… it’s ok!” He coughed, with Ted attempting to put on a brave face.

“You’re him!” She cried, her eyes seemingly lighting up at the site of the blue hero.

“Indeed I am.” Ted gave her a smile, sweat pouring down his face under his mask.

“Beetleman!”

“Yeah… sure, I’m Beetleman” He said, realizing that now was probably not the best time to give her a lesson on Chicago’s number one hero. “Don’t worry, I’m getting you out of here!”

Pressing a small button on his glove, Ted caught hold of the wire from the Bug as it descended down to him among the burning wreckage. Pulling the child in close, he activated the Bug’s winch by clicking the side of the handle on the wire. The two were pulled up into the air, the girl holding Ted tightly as they passed through the debris. Before long, they were finally out of the heat and above the crumbling wreck.

It didn’t take long for Ted to return the girl back to her parents, with Ted lowering the Bug towards the ground. It had been a magical event, watching her parents reuniting with their daughter. There face’s so full of joy and hope at just the mere sight of her. That’s what Ted loved most about being a hero. The little moments like that.

It wasn’t over however. After congratulating the fire fighters for their hard work and telling the press that it was them, the everyday people, that were the true heroes, Ted returned to his seat in the Bug and took to the skies once more.

“Tracy, I’m going to need you to run a scan through the records of Mercy Hospital and all the other medical centres in Chicago.” He instructed.

“What am I looking for?”

“A burn victim. A severe one at that.” Ted replied, steering the Bug back towards Kord Omniversal.

///The Light//

Monday, 8 February, 2016

---

’Eth Alth’eban
Somewhere in the Middle East
11:00 AM

Swords clashed with mighty clangs as the assassins fought in the sands of the pit. Surrounded by walls of sandstone, their movements were severely restricted, forcing them to use every bit of their training. Their footwork was flawless as they ducked and weaved between each other’s blades, their swords glinting in the sun as they missed their target by a hair’s breadth. Each strike was deadly, each one purposeful, a part of sick, graceful dance, the performers instruments of death producing music that would stop one’s heart. Neither man made a sound as they clashed, their faces set in expressions of stoic calmness.

Ra’s al Ghul watched from above, standing on the arena’s balcony. He couldn’t care less about who survived the battle. The worthy would endure. The unworthy would not.

Al Sayf, the taller of the two warriors, managed to block his opponent’s stab with his own blade, grabbing the man’s wrist with his free hand and striking him in the face with the hilt of his sword. Without hesitation, al Sayf positioned his blade on his dazed comrade and in one quick motion, slit his throat. Gore seeped into the sand as the man slumped, clutching his neck tightly as he choked on his own blood. Al Sayf had triumphed. He was worthy.

The victor turned to face Ra’s, bending down to one knee, head bowed. He awaited judgement.

“Despite your failures, you have proven yourself worthy to serve for the League. Rise, al Sayf, and rejoin your brethren,” commanded Ra’s.

Without a glance at his master, Sayf rose and exited the pit, the blood of his brother staining his uniform.

“There's no need to hide in the shadows, Mr. Savage. You've come to talk?” asked Ra's with a sigh, turning to face the only man to have lived longer than he.

Vandal Savage was an impressive sight to behold. Standing at 5’ 10”, his strength was evident, from the way he held himself to the muscles that bulged through his undoubtedly expensive clothing. His face seemed to be carved from stone, its sculptor a master, only marred by a single scar that ran through his left eye, where the chisel had missed its mark. His black hair was slicked back, his beard well groomed. But what stood out the most were his eyes; the only parts that showed his true age. For upon looking into them, one could truly understand just how much he had seen; just how much he had done; just how much he was going to do. He was a man of ambition. He was a man of power. He was superior.

Vandal Savage was not to be trifled with.

He stepped out from the shadows which obscured him, smiling gently at his ally. “Isn’t it a waste of soldiery to commit them to such gladiatorial acts?”

“They had both failed to complete their missions,” replied Ra’s, “They were obliged to a trial by combat. The victor proves himself worthy of a second chance. His opponent is cast into the fire. To allow both to roam free would be a far greater waste than subjecting one to death.”

“I see,” said Vandal, nodding. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Bratva’s failed endeavour?”

“I have. A shame, but it was inevitable. What of Leonov?”

“Found dead in his cell with haemorrhaging to the brain. It seems Mr. Zytle was quick to dispose of him.”

“Good… This archer, the Green Arrow. He has proven to be quite the nuisance.”

“Prometheus has promised of a quick disposal once we launch our attack.”

“Which is when, exactly?” asked the Demon’s Head, irritated.

“Soon, my friend. You must be patient. When one has lived for as long as I have, you truly learn what it means to have it. You’ve lived for centuries, Ra’s… I’ve lived for an eternity. Soon you will learn, just as I have.”

Ra’s glared at him. He did not appreciate being patronised. “And what of the Man of Steel? The detective? They are much larger threats to our enterprise than Queen ever will be.”

“Mr. Luthor and the Court have both proven to be firm allies. They will see our cause through, I have no doubt about it. And neither should you." The threat was evident in his voice.

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Mr. Savage,” Ra’s said, eyeing the man, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

It was late. Out of one of Chicago’s many bars stumbled a heavy-set man in a crumpled suit. He stepped forward clumsily, clearly drunk as a skunk, and bent forwards and forcefully emptied the contents of his stomach into the drain in front of him. Passersby laughed at the scene but the man was far too drunk to care about having earned their derision. He wiped the sick from his mouth with the back of his hand and stared up at the sky for a few seconds whilst he tried to regain his balance. Suddenly a gold streak tore across the Chicago skyline and the man’s eyes widened with shock. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief and looked up at the sky once more to find the gold streak had disappeared. Confused, the man shook his head, steeled himself to attempt to walk, and then made his way back inside.

At the centre of the streak was Booster Gold. Behind him his robotic companion Skeets attempted to keep pace with the man he had been charged by Rip Hunter to watch over but was visibly struggling, something Booster was completely oblivious to. The second booster had found out that Ted Kord might have been able to fix the Time Sphere had had been set upon tracking him down. Finally he had settled upon simply showing up at The Kord Omniversal Building and figuring out the rest once they were there. Skeets wasn’t so keen on the plan.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, sir? From what I understand of twenty-first century customs, it’s not exactly considered polite to appear uninvited at a person’s place of residence. Perhaps we ought to come back at a more appropriate time.”

“For once in your life could you stop being so goddamned sensible, Skeets?” Booster said with a shake of his head. “Who cares if this Kord guy is in his pajamas? You said he could fix the Time Sphere. That’s all that matters.”

It was moments like this that Skeets wished he had teeth he could grit. Rip Hunter had seen something in Michael Carter that seemingly everybody else had missed. He was vain, petty, self-interested, and arrogant at the best of times, but all these things Skeets could forgive. It was his propensity to hear what he wanted to hear that wore on the robot’s patience.

“That’s not exactly what I said, sir.”

Booster waved his hand in the robot’s direction dismissively and continued to fly.

“Look, let’s not get caught up in the details. The sooner the Sphere is fixed, the sooner we can get home, and sort this whole mess out. Why wait a second longer than we need to?”

Skeets could think of hundreds of reasons. Not that any of them would have changed Michael Carter’s mind at this point. It was becoming clearer and clearer by the second that once it was made up there was little Skeets could do to change it. Whilst Rip was around there was still some hope Skeets would be able to see sense but now there was no one else it was almost always a lost cause. Since they’d arrived in the twenty-first century he’d gotten a lot better at recognizing that.

“I’m not going to be able to convince you, am I?”

Booster smiled.

“No.”

Finally the pair pulled up to a building that towered over the rest. Even amongst Chicago’s storied skyline it stood out. One day the world would come to know and respect Ted Kord for the good that Kord Omniversal would do the world over. Though less celebrated in his own time his inventions would change the lives of millions, his kindness would be remembered long after his passing, and the world would owe him a great debt for his many efforts to improve it. Skeets marveled as the pair floated before the building in front of them, aware of all the history that would be made in the building over the coming years.

“This is it,” Skeets purred reverentially. “The Kord Omniversal Building.”

Booster’s tone was far less reverential.

“Whoa, this is where this guy lives? Pretty sweet digs.”

“Do we have a plan of entry, sir?”

There was a flash of light as Booster went flying towards the building without warning. Skeets hovered in place, watching Carter as he grew closer to the building by the second, and let out a robotic sigh. Sometimes he didn’t know why he even bothered asking.

It didn’t take Booster long to find his way inside the building despite its sophisticated security system and he prowled through its corridors in an attempt to find some way to access the penthouse atop the building. He had no reason to believe that Ted Kord lived in the penthouse, nor did he have reason to believe Kord would even be in, but he figured the penthouse would be the place he’d be if he were a billionaire. Who hasn’t a penthouse and doesn’t use it? Booster smiled as he turned a corner and a set of heavy doors came into view at the end of the corridor.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted a young woman seated at a desk a few feet before the doors leading to the penthouse. A receptionist, Booster thought to himself, and an attractive one at that. In his years on the road in the twenty-fifth century he’d bagged plenty of receptionists and he knew that confidence was the key to getting what you wanted with them. Act like you belong, act like you know what you’re doing, and they’ll be putty in your hands. At least that's what Booster told himself as he strode by with his chest puffed out like a peacock.

“Excuse me, sir? Sir? Where do you think you’re going?”

Booster stopped in his tracks and smiled in the woman’s direction.

“Are you talking to me?”

“Of course I’m talking to you,” She said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re the only one here. Although I’m not exactly sure how you got past our security system.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Booster said with a smile. “Ted and I are old friends, we went to college with one another, I thought I’d drop in since I was in town to have a chat with him.”

The woman shook her head at disbelief at the comment. They’d only been speaking for thirty seconds and she already knew everything about him. There was no way this guy went to college with Ted and if he somehow managed to it was probably on an athletic scholarship.

“You went to college with Ted? Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

Booster’s pressed a hand to his chest and feigned shock.

“Has anyone told you that you’re kind of rude, lady?”

“My name is Tracy,” She said firmly. “Remind me, what college did Ted go to? You ought to know since you’re old college friends.”

Tracy placed her hands on her hips and waited whilst Booster contorted his face as he attempted to pluck the right university out of his imagination. He looked around what he could see of the building in the hopes of figuring it out and attempted to sound his way through universities until he landed on the right one. Unsurprisingly Tracy seemed less than inclined to help him out.

“Ha… Ya… Br… Stanford?”

“MIT,” Tracy said with a smile. “Nice try though. Whoever you are you’ve got exactly thirty seconds to find your way back out of the building before I call security and they force you out.”

Booster lifted his hands into the air and began to walk away from the penthouse entrance.

“Skeets! Let’s go!”

Suddenly as if out of nowhere Skeets came whirring round the corner and the pair of them sprinted towards the entrance to the penthouse. Tracy leapt from her seat and ran after them, attempting to grab a hold of one of Booster’s arm, but he thrust her away with a stiff arm so picture-esque that John Heisman would have been proud.

“Hey! Hey! You can’t go in there.”

The doors to the penthouse burst open and Skeets and Booster came skidding to a halt as the ceiling began to open. Through it a beetle shaped aircraft hovered down, landing in front of them, and a man dressed in a peculiar blue costume stepped from the mouth of the craft. The man’s mask was down and in his mouth was a half-eaten hotdog.

It was Ted Kord.

Blue Demon/Ruby collab

Supergirl rationed her breaths, her eyes staring out a window, at the golden glow of the yellow star called the Sun. She'd heard the woman down the hall, heard the sounds that were strange and alien to the extra-terrestrial until the young human entered upon the wheel chair. Kara Connors had come across a few handicapped humans; most of them at M.I.T. Most of them in the apparent vein of the human before her now: handicapped, yet seemingly more capable than most of the humans wasting their lives in a rinse/repeat of just going through the motions, waking up, and doing it all over and over again.

"No one." The hacker, a woman in a wheelchair voiced her opinion on her visitor's earlier question. Barbara had come from down a hallway, after her proximity alarms had alerted her of her new visitor. She looked relaxed in her wheelchair, apart from the weapons in her hands. Two escrima sticks, held at the ready. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I found traces of your system trying to break into Lex Luthor's private intranet." Her head turned to the young human, then, blue eyes so distant Supergirl might as well had been floating miles up above in the clouds. "It wasn't an easy trace. I doubt any human with terrestrial technologies could have found you."

Her shoulders followed her eyes, and soon Supergirl was calmly making up the distance between them; one step after another. She gave only a curious, half-look at the weapons, her lips hinting at a smile the way pre-dawn hours hinted at sunlight. When her upperbody stirred, it was her left hand slipping out from under the cape, and producing what appeared a metallic flashdrive, the symbol of House El adorning it's blunt end.

"This is all the raw data I stole from Luthor's private servers. It's a lot, and most of it still encrypted." Instead of hand it over to the human, the alien girl paused, her eyes stealing another side glance of the young human woman. "Should I determine you are trustworthy, I would exchange what I have with you, in hopes our systems combined could divine what's in Luthor's data faster than my system alone, as I'm certain the hew-man is up to no good."

When she got irritated, there was an alien accent to the word 'human', turning it into the prolonged syllables of hew-man.

"I've been on your planet for a very short amount of time, so please don't think me rude...but...I have my questions." Many and more than I'd dare ask aloud, a paranoid thought for a paranoid alien. But there had to be a starting point. This seemed as good a place as any. "Who are you, outside of the basic information my system has pulled up based on your facial recognition profile, Barbara?...who do you work with? And, maybe most importantly:...who taught you how to use those...sticks?"

She said, nodding to the escrima sticks.

Barbara has tensed up with every word and step. Only bluster kept her in her seat. And the calm acceptance that the uniform she was wearing stated clearly that running would do nothing. Still, the similarities between Superman and this women nagged at her. She had neglected a lot after her incident. Which was coming back to bite her now. Did Superman know about her? Heck, did Batman?

"I'm surprised you found anything about me on public files. Yes, my name is Barbara, last name Gordon." Barbara said as she studied the woman and the flash drive. Batman was a paranoid S.O.B. He had helped her wipe out a lot of their information. But apparently not everything. When the woman nodded to the weapons she gave them a small twirl. "And a friend taught me." With that Barbara slipped them back into their holsters on her chair. They weren't going to do her any good. "To steal your words, please don't think me rude for not telling you, but I don't trust you either. Does Superman know about you?" She added on casually.

"Oh, they weren't public files." The only time Supergirl truly flinched, was when Barbara asked about Kal. After the momentary reaction, she offered a small shrug. "You're an Earthling. You shouldn't trust anyone. To answer your question...he probably knows I existed. This," her index finger jerked towards the shield on her chest, "is the ancient seal of my House. The rest is a private matter for now." Maybe forever.

Babs got the hint about the crest. Touchy subject, not that she had asked. But it probably wasn't best to point that out. "Alright." Oracle agreed easily. "But why come to me? From what I know Luthor's a thorn in Superman's side. I'm sure he'd be willing to help you."

"I was afraid he would ask too many questions." Supergirl didn't bother to hide her grin; a grin that teased Gordon. But it came and went like a reflection of light on a wall, bright and gone in a blink. A more focused look replaced it upon her face, gold flecked eyes the size of saucers trained on the human, and her reactions--both on the surface and below it. "And now for all the money: are you in the business of hacking for profit, or do you have other motives?"

Babs would have tensed at the woman's words. It it hadn't been for the brief smile, she was sure she didn't see. As it were she eyed the blonde then sighed. "I don't get any money out of it no." She wheeled her chair further into the room. "Take a seat, looking up at you is giving my neck a crink." She made a small shooing motion with her hands in an attempt to herd the woman to the sofa.

It was strange, being an alien: the simplest, smallest, things can bring up a tiny explosion of emotions. When the hew-man woman voiced a concern over her neck, Supergirl immediately 'sat' traditional style--more floating off the ground just high enough to be eye-level with the young woman. But the first time a college friend told Kara to sit 'Indian style', all she could do was blink.

A good thing Kara wasn't worried if her response seemed weird, or alien to 'take a seat' was, "Why is it called 'Indian' style? Which sort of Indian, the popular American-English language has several?...is there a Chinese style? What would a English style look like? Would tea be involved?"

In a snap, Kara shook her head in mild frustration with Earth and it's idiosyncrasies. Like that, the cooler and more contained exterior of Supergirl replaced the lost alien girl, her hand rising up, palm up and out, to offer the storage device to Barbara. "Take it. You, and any friends you might have, should start working to unlock the files immediately. I'll have my system share it's current progress, so resources can be pooled and this task can be completed faster. Don't worry about setting up a connection, my system is ran by an advanced A.I.: it will contact you and advise on secure networking options given the whatever pathway you two choose. 'Her' name is Sanctuary, developed by..." she paused, before she spoke a name perhaps she ought not, "a very wise man in the last days of the planet I come from. Once it's decrypted and analyzed we'll meet up again, look at where we stand."

Supergirl began to rise in the air, but got only a foot before slowly to a pause. "And maybe it goes without saying, but...Lex is very dangerous. He is the most dangerous un-altered human I have come across yet. Be careful. Check your security, digital and physical. His secrets are written in blood, I've no doubt."

Oracle tried her best not to openly stare as the woman floated. She was happy to use the flash drive as a distraction. She was careful not to touch the woman as she took the drive. She half listened to her as she examined the drive. But paused at the mention of an A.I. An advanced A.I. Which explained why her mysterious hacker was so good. It was a computer program. Fascinating. She may have even murmured that part aloud.

"Lex is formidable." Oracle agreed as she turned to her computer and started minimizing programs she had been running for Nightwing. She also made sure to turn off her secondary alarm. The one that alerted her allies if it wasn't turned off and the OK given. She then plugged in the drive; in safe mode of course. At almost the same time her computer alerted her of an intrusion. She typed rapid fire and discovered it was the aforementioned A.I., Sanctuary. For a brief moment Barbara had a flash back to late night movies with Dick, where they watched Logan's run. A smile tugged at her lips.

There is no Sanctuary.

Oracle turned her attention back to the drive and the information it contained. The Superwoman had been right. A lot of it was encrypted. Hard to believe this was all on his private server. Something she had been dying to get her hands on. She eyed the codes then set about pulling up her state of the art decryption programs. The CIA would be jealous.

Oracle turned back to the woman. "This might take a while." Her mouth quirked up more at the added memory of telling Dick just the same only an hour ago.

Supergirl's mouth fixed into a crooked little smile. "Yeah, I thought it might. I'll be in touch."

If there was any real surprise when she left, it was that she simply landed softly on her feet, and walked out using the front door.

“So, there’s bad news, Ted” Tracy’s voice rang through the cockpit of the Bug, jolting Chicago’s number one hero, the Blue Beetle, back into focus after a brief excavation of his nose with his finger. Wiping away the booger, the blue clad hero hastily replied.

“I’m all ears! Well actually I’m not literally made entirely of ears but I’m listening.”

Silence followed the hilarious joke, followed by a deep sigh from Tracy’s end on the communicator. Thinking nothing of It, Ted waited gleefully.

“Ok.” Tracy continued, obviously making an effort to keep her voice calm. “I’ve run through all the record of Mercy Hospital, like you asked, and guess what I found?”

“Nothing?”

“The opposite actually. Take a look.” At once the screen in front of Ted sprung into life, with what appeared to be a stream of what Tracy was currently doing on the Beetle Computer appearing. Ted watched as Tracy strolled through the records, which displayed a whole range of scarred and disfigured faces. Ted instantly understood what she had meant. There were too many to count, and with no way to refine the search, they would have to spend hours reviewing each individual burn victim. Even then they may not even find this crazy Firefist guy.

Ted groaned in annoyance as he switched off the monitor. Honestly he had thought that this was going to be a simple mission. Save the people from the burning building; job done. It seemed however that unless he did something, more people could possibly be in danger. His mind shot back to the little girl he had rescued minutes prior. He remembered her screams in the building. Her crying. No, he couldn’t let that happen again.

“Thanks, Trace” He replied, trying to sound optimistic. Ignoring her comments about not calling her Trace, he continued. “I’m going to go grab dinner and as soon as I get back, I’ll get to work on search for our new pal!”

Smiling to himself, Ted deactivated the ships autopilot, steering to the left towards the coastline. It was hot dog time!

---

As the Bug neared the Kord Omniversal building, Ted took another bite of his hot dog before flicking a switch to his left. At once a short hum echoed through the cabin; otherwise known as the sound of the camouflage system activating. In other words the retro-reflective panels on the hull activated, rending the vessel invisible from the ground below. The Bug slowed over the Kord building’s roof, stopping above a now opening circular hole in the room. Pulling down on the controls, the ship descended, the blue light of the “Beetle Cave” washing through the cockpit.

Not witnessing the commotion taking place in the penthouse in front of the ship, Ted made his way out, hot dog still in his hand.

“You really need to try this Trace!” He exclaimed as he strolled out of the Bug and into the room. That was when his eyes lay upon the sight ahead of him. Next to a now face palming Tracy stood a very peculiar dressing man.

“Hey, you’re Green Lantern!” Ted managed to shout, despite his mouth being full of sausage and bun. Then he began to take in further details on the costume, causing him to swallow his mouthful in confusion. “Wait… you’re yellow. Shit.”

Ted took the whole guy in, from his golden and blue suit, to the golden toaster that hovered in the air next to him.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Green Lantern? Green Lantern? Are you kidding me? I’m Booster Gold.”

Ted stood, hotdog still hanging out of his mouth, with a notably unimpressed look on his face. It took him a few moments but finally Booster recalled that no one knew him here. Not that much different from back home he thought with a grimace. But he was going to change that, even if it meant going through this guy to find Ted Kord.

“Who the hell are you? And where the hell is Ted Kord?”

Skeets cleared his throat politely and leant towards Booster.

“That is Ted Kord, sir.”

In a matter of seconds Carter’s face shifted from bemusement to complete disappointment. To put it politely, the man stood before him with hotdog relish dripping down his chin was definitely not what Booster had in mind. He was expecting someone that at least looked the part. Lab coat, bow-tie, tweed trousers on, anything but the blue jumpsuit Kord was stood there in. Was that too much to ask?

“What? This is the guy that’s going to get us back to the twenty-fifth century? No offense, Skeets, but you must have a virus or something. This Phantom knockoff doesn’t look like he could invent his way out of a tin can.”