P A S T

---

F R A N C E

---

Jay couldn’t get used to the feel of the military fatigues. He had argued against them, though he wasn’t exactly in the position to anymore. It had only been a matter of time before he was conscripted one way or another, this way at least he was entering the war on his terms. He had been tasked with trying to hunt down and find other individuals like him to join a special operations task force, his first port of call would obviously be Shazam. The concept of super strength and flight was something that couldn’t really be passed up, as soon enough the entire world would be at each other's throats.

France, was just a long detour. While he knew that Shazam’s trail would start in London, as that was where Jay had last seen him with what was going on in France he had been tasked to do a brief survey of all major rail links. After all with the United States contemplating involvement, the status of French infrastructure was an important thing to know. As France was likely to be the beachhead to any potential counter-attack in Europe. He was currently running along a line that, if his brief study of French railways had him right, would lead him over the Ain Gorge.

Despite the speed at which he tore through the air he heard the train coming as he approached a rail bridge, he also noticed a figure standing in the middle of the rails. Increasing his speed he stopped as he noticed that the man’s fist started… it started to glow yellow.

As the train bore down on the now glowing figure, he showed no signs that he would get out of the way, instead winding up for a punch with his glowing fist. There was an explosion of sound and fire and twisting metal and then the bridge began collapsing. Orson swore to himself as he got caught up in his own blast-wave. It had been too long since he’d used the Iron Fist and apparently he’d more than overdone it.

Orson’s head was spinning even as the bridge fell around him, though he got at least a little bit of grim satisfaction out of the fact that he’d at least completed his mission and made sure that nobody would be using this bridge any time soon. Well, it was a better death than wasting away in an opium den, anyway.

As the bridge exploded and the figure appeared Jay sped towards the bridge, he could see the flames erupting from where the engine of the train had once been. The bridge started to shake and crumble, he jumped from one segment of the bridge to another able to jump on them without losing balance and only staying on each piece of debris long enough to jump on to the next.

Debris fell around him in slow motion, the train it seemed from the wreckage falling around him appeared to have been carrying German arms. He scanned around the debris looking for the individual who had done all this, he’d be a perfect addition to the team he was being asked to form. Assuming he was actually fighting against the German war machine and didn’t just have a death wish, or wasn’t trying to rob the train.

He caught sight of the man among the falling debris, looking oddly serene. He jumped to a nearby bit of debris and into the air, hooking his right arm under the man's shoulders and his left in the back of his knees. Turning around he kicked off and again hopping from one piece of debris to another. Jumping to the top of where the bridge once was he put the man down and turned to face him, tipping his helmet. “You’ve got one hell of a punch.”

To his surprise, Orson was suddenly not dead. Instead he found himself sitting down at the top of the gorge, coughing out what felt like an entire lung’s worth of bridge dust and smoke but otherwise unharmed. A man was standing in front of him and, as impossible as it seemed, Orson was pretty sure he’d been plucked away from the collapsing bridge at high speed. Even more surprising, the man spoke English and wore military fatigues.

“Heh, you have no idea. I’m guessin’ I owe you for pulling my ass out of the fire, soldier boy. Figures Uncle Sam would hafta find out about me eventually. So what’re you doin’ here?” He seemed to remember something after a minute “They makin’ another Freedom’s Five? Some new group of Mystery Men to fight the Huns again?”

Freedoms Five? Mystery Men? Those guys were real? Jay had been in the military only for around a week and already he was fed up of not being filled in with every little detail. “From what I can gather, something like that. Also…” He tried to phrase this delicately, after all he didn’t want to aggravate the person who just blew up a bridge with a punch. “... I don’t think we do know about you, I actually found you by accident on my way to find someone else.”

Jay tilted his head slightly as he eyed him. “I don’t think I need to tell you how important it is, that people like us use our abilities to try and end the bloodshed sooner rather than later. If you’re willing to expand the level of crazy in your life, well. I guess I’d have an offer for you.”

Orson couldn’t help but start laughing, though it caused him to hack and cough from the bridge dust he’d inhaled earlier all over again. It was crazy. He thought he’d just be helping the French, part of a small effort, but a worthy one. But here he was again, called back into the war at large, asked to be part of a team again through sheer coincidence. Hell, this guy, this green-looking recruit, he was right about needing to end the bloodshed as soon as possible. Wasn’t that why he’d gotten involved in the first place?

“Hell, my life’s been missing that level of craziness lately. I’m in. Name’s Orson, Orson Randall. So, what comes next?”

Jay offered his hand to the man, now identified as Orson. He wasn’t quite expecting the laugh, and wasn’t sure what to do about the coughing so waited to let it pass. “Jay Garrick, I’d give you my rank but the military hasn’t quite decided what to make me yet so-” He just shrugged. “In all honesty, I can give you a run back to France or over to the UK wherever you want, so long as I know where you are. I need to go recruit a man called Shazam as he was who I was initially sent for. The guy can fly and has super strength if you can believe that.”

He paused looking at the man. “That said, I can’t help but think you’ve got a bit more, experience in all of this than I do. So if you have a better idea, lay it on me.”

Orson took Jay’s hand and the help up that came along with it.

Fishing Vessel Xingyun Long
121 miles off the coast of Madripoor
Saturday, February 12th, 2017
02:46am ITC

"Damned useless weather app," Zhiao cursed as he wrenched hard on the helm, struggling to keep his footing as the Xingyun Long lurched starboard. "'Calm seas,' my ass."

In fact, the sky was clear, the moon bright and not a single cloud obscuring the glittering stars above. The sea, however, had grown unusually turbulent, swelling and crashing as if in a typhoon. It battered down on the small fishing boat, slamming against the sides and threatening to capsize her more than once. While deckhands scrambled to make sure everything was secure, captain Zhiao Sun Fan fought to keep them all above water. He could not explain why the seas were so rough, so for now, he would settle on blaming the new LexCorp Global Weather app he had installed on his GPS system to tell him what to expect. With the latest and greatest of modern technology failing him, Zhiao had to rely on his instincts and his years at sea to ride out the.....well, he would say 'storm' were there a storm at all.

"Captain!" shouted Hu Shin, his first mate, "The port engine's out!"

"I know, I know," grumbled Zhiao, cursing the half-hearted job his mechanic had done before they set sail. 'Doesn't matter,' he'd said at the time, 'the money we get from this next catch will be enough for a whole new one.' But the fishing had been bad the past few days, nets either coming up empty or full of fish that were strangely already dead. Zhiao was never the type to believe in omens and signs, but between the nets of dead fish and the roiling sea under a calm sign was enough to make even the most skeptical man start to wonder.

Over a hundred miles between the ship and home, only one working engine, and a sea that was determined to bring them down. Still, the old sailor thought as he gripped the helm so hard his knuckles turned white, there was no boat he'd rather be on in the situation. His father's boat, and his father's father's boat before that, and it had survived everything from monsoons to World Wars. This moldy old pile of junk had more than earned the name Xingyun Long-- 'Lucky Dragon.'

"Get everyone below deck," Zhiao shouted over the crashing waves to Hu, "I'm going to get us out of this mess!"

Hu nodded, and began shouting to the deckhands to drop what they were doing and get below to safety. Meanwhile, the old captain gritted his teeth, and turned again hard to starboard, trying to turn the ship back south towards Madripoor.

A large swell rolled over the deck, water splashing into the cabin. Zhiao's concentration broke when he heard the water hissing, steam rising from the floor. In fact, the usual mist of choppy water grew thicker, as more steam churned in the air above the rolling sea.

No.....not rolling, Zhiao thought. Boiling.

On the port side, Zhiao noticed another swell coming, this one far larger than anything they had seen before. There was no crest, no break in the wave, just a rolling rise in the water like an enormous hill. As if something were moving just underneath the surface......a submarine? No, something else....

....something impossibly huge....

From within the watery hill, Zhiao saw a faint blue glow, barely illuminating the dark mass beneath it. The glow became stronger, and Zhiao became aware of a low humming sound in the air, one that grew louder and higher-pitched as the colossal shape beneath the waves approached.

Vaguely, he remembered hearing an old friend of his father telling stories that Zhiao wasn't old enough to hear at the time. A low hum, a blue glow, things that his father's friend had seen before....in Tokyo.....

"No," he heard himself say, the word a kind of powerless denial that utterly disintegrated in the face of an unimaginable reality.

The old fisherman had been in some tight scrapes in his life before, and on more than one occasion he'd confronted the possibility that he would die. Never, though, had it ever been more certain to him. Never before had it been such an immutable, horrible fact that froze his blood and seized every muscle in his body. He could not even bring himself to scream.

The top of the watery mound broke, pierced by what looked like giant crude blades that sliced through the ocean in three uneven rows. The blue light, now searing to Zhiao's eyes, emanated from these jagged fins, and the low hum had become a frantic buzzing, like a thousand high-voltage wires brimming with power.

For a moment, Zhiao could see two points of red. Two monstrous, hateful eyes peering at him from the boiling waves. He knew that no turn of luck, no act of any god, could save him now. The devil had risen to take him.

There was a flash of white light, and for a split-second, everything was heat and pain and terror.....

......and then there was nothing.

P R E S E N T

---

C H I C A G O

---

"I still don't see why you're going there, Ted."

"I've explained it before, Tracey, I owe it to these guys! It's a whole 'forgive your attacker thing' and it's kinda the least I can do after the company ruined most of their lives. Now, how we doin' on the preparations?"

Tracey sighed on the other end of the line, while Ted focused on driving over to the K.O.R.D. specialty containment facility. She was Ted's number one confidante, with almost as good a mind as his in quite a few areas and considerably more business savvy than Ted himself. Better still, she was one of the few civilians Ted trusted with the full truth of his Blue Beetle identity and well, she was basically the glue holding his life together.

"The Bug's new windshield isn't going to come cheap, it's not easy fabricating a transparent glass-like material capable of withstanding the pressures of the ocean floor and the vacuum of space. We'll get it done without any problems, though. That big piñata you ordered shaped like your head should be here in time for the party, but I'm going to need you to confirm our order went through on the cake, Carapax's hacking seems like it might've screwed it up."

"That fiend! It's his most diabolical scheme yet!"

Ted was rewarded with a laugh that made him grin to himself despite being on the way to prison.

"Well, you'll be happy to know that all of our systems seem free of any trace of him, and the upgraded containment unit for him is online as we speak. Even if we did have to spend all of last night working on it."

Ted tapped a staccato on the steering wheel "I promise I'll make it up to you. On the plus side, you still look beautiful by the light of an arc-welder!"

Another burst of laughter, another tiny victory. "You're the heart and soul of romance, Ted."

"What can I say, I was an English Major, it's the poet in me. I'll call ya back, Trace. I'm here."

Here, specifically, was the Kord Omniversal Primary Holding Facility. It sounded like a place where stuffy businessmen met to discuss company stock options and investment strategies. The reality was more grim. It was a stark white, walled-in building with only one entrance past a manned checkpoint-slash-control room, and Ted had built it in cooperation with state and city officials in order to serve as a prison for his most diabolical foes.

Sure, most of them weren't Batman caliber villains, but the occasional heavyweight oddity slipped onto the list. Promethium Man alone was indestructible, super-strong and capable of super-heating himself to the point that he could just walk through the walls of most prisons. Doctor Polaris required a completely non-metallic cell with the ability to be heated to high enough temperatures to destabilize his powers in an instant. Heck, containing Chronos the Time Thief meant creating something that imprisoned him in both space and time, just so future versions of himself didn't pop in for a jailbreak.

Designing the place had been a fascinating and entertaining intellectual challenge. Visiting it was an entirely different matter. Ted parked a fair distance away and approached the checkpoint on foot, giving the more likely than not lonely guard a big toothy grin he could see from the window. The man on duty looked more than embarrassed at what he must've assumed was a surprise inspection after the other day's unpleasantness.

"Look, Mr. Kord, I'm sorry about the breakout the other day, but only three got away and-"

Ted interrupted, waving his hands in an almost wildly placating gesture

"Don't worry about it, John, don't worry. It wasn't your fault anyways, there were bigger factors at play. I'm just here to check out our most newly returned convicts."

The guard sighed and sagged into his chair in relief, a dopey sort of 'Thank God' grin slipping onto his face.

"In that case sir, it'll be all the usuals to get into the building."

He pressed a little button out of sight and a series of little panels opened up on the guard box exterior to reveal a microphone, a retinal scanner at eye height, and a handprint scanner plus thermal recognition. Ted put first his eye and then his palm up to the little machine to get cleared through, then leaned in close to the microphone

"Ted Kord: BWAHAHAHA!"

Recognized: Theodore Stephen Kord. External Security Measures Disarmed. Front Gate preparing to open. Have a Nice Day.

Ted waited patiently for the massive Promethium alloy gates to slide open a service entrance for him, tapping his foot to some improvisational jazz number he made up as he went along.

"Mr. Kord? I know it's late and all, but happy belated birthday. I just wanted to thank you for the job, after everything you've done for me and the family, even if it is isolated out here."

"What? Oh, thanks John, but call me Ted!"

Ted walked through the passageway opening up through the big blocks of ultra-strong and precious metals that his company was easily able to afford and made a mental checklist for each of the different scanners he was passing. The huge quantities of Promethium only reminded him of why he was here.

It was time to pay for his mistakes.

---

"Curt, if you're finished now, I'd just like to tell you that I've made some serious developments the work towards your cure."

Curt Calhoun, known to the world at large as Promethium Man, sagged against the force field that coated his cell. He'd launched into a furious attack against Ted as soon as he'd seen his former employer, but every blow against the energy matrix served to strengthen it until he'd been tired out.

"I don't care anymore. What life is there for me outside of this stupid hellhole of yours? I'm a criminal thanks to the mob and thugs like Overthrow helping me take a shot at you. Half of them want me dead now, for not finishing the job. My wife left the city after I got pulled into my first failed attack on Kord Omni, said she couldn't take the shame of what I'd become. My face gave my son nightmares after the first time he saw it, and I'll probably count myself lucky if he doesn't even remember me. I have no sense of touch anymore, haven't felt a single thing in nearly a decade! Do you have any idea what any of that's like!?"

Curt slammed the barrier again, glowing white hot for an instant as sparks rebounded off his fists before falling to his knees. His metallic face was pressed up against the barrier and twitching, as if struggling to project his anguish onto a silver mask. It broke Ted's heart, not least of all because he really was responsible for the accident that had turned one of his own factory foremen into this pained creature, if only through negligence.

"Curt, you may have given up hope but I promise you, I never will. We're so close to a cure, I've even mapped out your pre-mutation DNA. I just need time but you will be able to feel again. I might not be able to fix everything, but I'll start there. I've kept a stipend for your family in your name, too, every month. You're still taking care of them, Curt, and they know that."

Ted reached into an inner pocket of his suit and pulled out a small stack of envelopes, using a hand signal to a camera to get them to open a small slot in the forcefield for him to slip them through to Curt. His son had to be about thirteen or fourteen now, and he'd just started writing to his dad. Protocols for the facility meant that no communication went in or out other than through personal visits, a necessary precaution after Chronos sent letters to himself with paradox-causing ramifications. Ted turned to leave, figuring that it would be better to leave his former employee in peace for now.

"Mr. Kord?"

It was the first time in ages that Curt Calhoun's voice hadn't rang with hatred for him, and as he turned back around Ted noticed that his former factory manager was in serious danger of developing rust stains on his cheeks.

"Thank you."

C A M E L O T
The Kingdom of the Britons | The Year of Our Lord 536

The banners were streaming from atop the parapets.

The sounds of minstrels and the singing of bards punctuated the celebrations on this, the Feast of Stephen. The courtyards and markets brought alive by the tourney that had sprung up around the castle walls to celebrate the hallowed festival of the martyred saint.

The sound of dense wood smacking against wood beat the rhythm of the war drums of child's play. A small gathering of knights and squires surrounding where a pair of boy's sparred in the round. Of the audience, they were the legends. Gods of war in this era and every era since. Sir Galahad, the Knight of the Grail. Jason of Normandy, the Knight of the Blood. Sir Gawain, the Maiden's Knight, greatest of the Knights of the Round Table.

The larger of the boys was Anduin, squire to Sir Jason. A true Briton, of Roman ancestry. His tunic was overlaid in a short coat that was a field embroidered with the likeness of a gold lion - the colors of his knight.

His opponent was a bastard of the Gaels. His Welsh heritage bespoken of by the fair hair and blue eyes that cast a likeness to the king himself. His tunic shifted about his body, cinched at the waist by a double-wrapped Celtic belt. His feet pressing into the moist earth, clad in a pair of caligae that - like his tunic - were largely unchanged from the days when Roman soldiers had marched upon Hadrian's Wall. A time which, for them, was but a few decades earlier. His tabard was two-toned, sewed together of equal parts of white and red.

The colors of the Silent Knight.

Anduin started forward. His size making him like a Goliath moving upon David and fueling an overhead swing that threatened to overpower the smaller page. But the Welsh bastard was fleet-footed, his movements like that of a dancer as he stepped off t the side. His wooden sword angled back as he brought it up in a watershed block that pushed Anduin's blunted blade aside.

It created an opening, into which he neatly stepped through. His wooden sword brought around and then forward, an overhead strike as he pressed the advantage. The attack drove the larger boy back, his desperate leap robbing him of balance as he careened into the audience behind him, stumbling and falling arse-over-backwards. The sight of which sparked the men to laughter.

Still clutching at his wooden sword, the Welsh page had watched the scene transpire with a kind of detachment. His throat warm as he sucked in breath, felt his heart racing inside his chest.

A hand reached out, grabbing his wrist and pulling his sword arm up into the air. As the boy's gaze turned upward, he saw his knight smiling over him as the man raised the boy's arm in a triumph that signaled the end of the match. There was a small smattering of applause, while a others helped Anduin back to his feet.

For his part, the Welsh page was confused. This was his first time taking part in a tourney such as this. Or even seeing such a thing as the Feast of Stephen on the lawn of Camelot.

The confused only deepened as he felt himself seized and lifted up, then spun around. Tankards of mead were raised, as the knights began belting aloud a song of Caedmon. Hugging onto his knight, the page saw the world turn. A merry go round of revelry and good cheer. The minstrel's ballad inciting people to dance.

Shifted around, he found himself feeling somewhat weightless as he went upward. He settled a moment later on the shoulders of the Silent Knight. A man who stood there, wordlessly, as he expressed his gratitude in a language without words for a tankard of mead.

Stood there.

The two of them.

In the shadow of Camelot. From atop the man's shoulder's, the boy looked up and saw the Kent banner flying beside all of the banners. Not least of all the standard of Pendragon.

His mother told him that he would be a king.

To be honest, there was nothing more he wanted so much as to exist in moments like this one. Sir Galahad speaking to Sir Jason. Sir Gawain regaling the maidens fair with stories that were both adventurous and bold. And the Silent Knight, a voiceful member of the company even without uttering a single word.

Maybe he should want to be a king. But to be a knight... to be a knight of the round table... that seemed a far more magnificent thing to him.


THE REALM OF ANNWN
The Mystic Isle of Murias | Present Day

He woke with a start.

Part of him still dreaming, he reached out. Reaching, as though expecting the Silent Knight to be there. Part of him, the part not yet awake, wondering why he wasn't.

And then he remembered.

And wished very much that he didn't.

Dreams. Vile, wicked things. Like honey-lipped demons with butterfly wings, they pulled from memory the sweetest moments... only to pull them away again with the waking. The realization that yesterday was no more, and today was not what it was supposed to be. The promise of so many tomorrows. So many lies.

This a new day surely would birth still more.

He sat up, his eyes exploring the inside of a room within a castle that time had forgotten. Stone hewn walls with small, arched windows that offered an enviable view out over an emerald isle. He rose from out of the bed, the simple shift that was his nightgown falling just shy of the tops of his feet as the bed-headed young page stumbled from out of the bedroom in a kind of sleepy-eyes stupor.

The search for a chamberpot took him through the interior of a fortified mansion that seemed to date somewhere back to the 11th Century, though some of the tapestries and armors spoke of some time later. Strange, then, when he ducked into a room off from the hall and flicked on a light switch. Fully illuminating a modern bathroom, complete with a western toilet.

When he'd emerged some moments later, stretching with a large yawn, the boy started down toward the kitchens. He passed through the foyer. He passed through the great room. He passed through the library. Each progressive step sending a certain feeling of unease through him. "Mother?" the question echoed as he voiced it aloud, giving form to the slight anxiety of being in a large house, alone.

The kitchen, like the bathroom, didn't seem to make sense within the period castle. A modern refrigerator aglow with electricity as the boy tugged on the door. Pulling out a container of orange juice, he ventured next toward the cupboard. "Mother?"

Silence there, and nothing more.

A wooden cup and a poptart encased in silvery foil came away as he withdrew his hand from the cupboard. He moved to sit at the servant's table, there in the kitchen, with his breakfast of juice and a poptart.

Alone.

"Calm down, Smallville, I'm going to be okay," Lois says as she folds another pair of slacks into her suitcase. "I already checked to make sure I'm safe to fly; Doctor Jurgens says it won't be any danger to the baby until I'm 28 weeks in. There's nothing to worry about, honey."

I lean against the doorway to our bedroom, arms folded, shaking my head.

"I thought you said you were going to take it easy while you're expecting, Lo," I say to her, which she casually waves away with her hand.

"I am taking it easy," she responds. "It's not like I'm digging up dirt on LexCorp or going undercover to expose Intergang again. I'm just flying out to cover a conference where a bunch of dignitaries bluster at each other, get a couple of man-on-the-street interviews, and then I'll be home by next Tuesday."

I nod, conceding her point. She's flying out to cover an international conference regarding a string of mysterious radiation leaks in the Pacific. Ambassadors from the US, China, Russia, Japan, North and South Korea, Madripoor, Singapore, and Australia have all been up in arms, claiming everything from irresponsible dumping of nuclear waste to secret undersea weapons testing. There are rumors that Atlantean officials may arrive as well, but nothing's been confirmed. I'll need to speak to Arthur about the situation and see what he makes of it.

"I still don't like the idea of you traveling alone in your state," I say, meekly.

"Clark, seriously," she says, her patience running a bit thin. "It's Tokyo. Not Gotham City. And I'm not going alone. Jimmy's coming along, too; said he needs to stock up on his manga collection."

She rolls her eyes at that a bit; Jimmy's a great guy and one of the best photographers in the business, but he's drawn to pop-culture and collectibles like flies to--

"I've handled mobsters, terrorist leaders, corrupt CEOs, and invaders from other planets before," she says as she sorts through her travel bag to make sure everything is in its place. "Seriously, why are you so nervous about me covering a meeting?"

"Because I know my wife," I answer, "And I know Lois Lane wouldn't fly halfway around the world to sit in on this kind of meeting unless there was something else going on."

There's a long pause as she considers her response. Lois is the one person on Earth who never ceases to surprise me, but there are some things about her that I can read like a book. The way she purses her lips and shifts her weight to one leg tells me her first instinct is to go on the offensive, maybe accuse me of being paranoid or not trusting her. But she then looks down and away, very slightly shaking her head to dismiss the move. For a few seconds she closes her eyes and furrows her eyebrows, running through a dozen other responses, before she finally shrugs.

"Okay," she says, "No sense in being secretive about it. I've been doing some digging into the radiation leaks, and I think there's a lot more to it than people are letting on. In the past three weeks? Six commercial fishing boats and cargo ships have gone missing in the area. It hasn't hit the major outlets yet, but some of my sources told me a Russian nuclear sub has gone missing, too, which is why they're suddenly calling this meeting. It's not just the water being polluted, Clark; I think people are dying, and there's an effort being made to cover it up."

"This is still you taking it easy?" I say with a raised eyebrow. She gives me a sour look, which shuts me up.

"There's more to it. I've been studying the guest list for this conference, and you know whose name I found on it? General Yuri Malenko. JSDF Minister Rei Yanada. And our old friend Secretary Calvin Swanwick. If this is supposed to be an environmental issue, what the hell is the Secretary of Defense doing there with the Russian and Japanese Defense Ministers?"

"You think there might be something to that weapons-testing theory, then?"

Lo shakes her head.

"I think it's something else," she says. "I started probing the deep end of the web for any and all communications regarding the missing vessels in the area. While there aren't any official stories, I turned up a good bit of anonymous encoded chatter that was intercepted around the time of the radiation leaks. I'm not even going to pretend I can crack the codes that these messages use, but at least one guy out there managed to decipher a key word, being used over and over in these messages: MONARCH."

"Monarch...." I repeat, mulling over the word. That's not a lot to go on, but it definitely suggests either actual royalty or someone of extremely high stature. Then again, a codename could just be misdirecting gibberish. "Lois, if this is as serious as you're implying, please don't stir up trouble. For the baby's sake, at least?"

"I'm not going to go start a world war or get myself shot over a story, Smallville," she says, putting a reassuring hand on my cheek. "Not to mention, I know that at the first sign of trouble, you'll be there in about two seconds. Baby or not, I've still got a job to do just as much as you do. And hey, maybe this whole conspiracy-theory thing turns out to be nothing. That'd actually be a nice change of pace for us, wouldn't it?"

"And if it isn't?"

"Then we do what we always do," she says with a grin. "I set 'em up, and you knock 'em down. Truth and Justice and all that good stuff."

She gives me a quick kiss, just long enough to leave me wanting more, before pulling away and checking her phone.

"My ride to the airport just pulled up," Lois says as she closes her suitcase. "And you've still got to finish that story on the Boardwalk remodeling this afternoon. Don't worry, Clark; we'll be fine. A few days in Tokyo and an international powderkeg isn't anything I can't handle. Now be good, don't run off with any bug-eyed monsters while I'm gone, and I'll bring you back a souvenir."

"Okay," I say, giving her one last kiss before she heads for the door. "Just not another postcard of me lifting up Mount Fuji, okay?"

She laughs, and steps out the door, pulling her suitcase behind her. As soon as she's gone, my smile drops.

Lois is one of the most capable people I've ever met, and I know she knows well enough not to get herself and Jimmy in any serious trouble. But I can't help but be worried. I hate getting involved in politics and international affairs; it's so easy to get swept up by powers that you can't confront by just lifting heavy things or shooting lasers out of your eyes. And while Tokyo is still just a few seconds away if I really open up the throttle, it's still far enough away that seeing and hearing things there is going to be murky at best.

And I don't like the sound of these encoded 'Monarch' messages. Paranoia is usually something people associate with Batman, but given how many powerful and influential people have come after me in the past, you learn not to brush things off too lightly. I might want to talk to Bruce about it and see if he thinks it's worth pursuing.

But like Lois said, I still have my own story to finish writing today. And, barring any unforeseen catastrophes, I might just enjoy a relatively quiet day. These days, that would be a heck of a gift in and of itself.

He was hungry, more hungry than he could bear.

Here, in the cold and deep water, the constant burning of his insides and the crushing and tearing of his body against its own weight was soothed to a point where he could rest, could be at peace. He had been to the surface, and found it a place of noise and pain and madness. Up there, everything hurt, but he could not die. Down in the cold and dark, he could rest, he could be left alone, he could sleep away the rest of his miserable days.

But now, he was hungry.

Not hungry for meat or blood, though he had tried to slake his hunger by attacking the swimming things near the surface. Even the bigger ones were too small to fill his gullet, and some had hard shells with no meat inside, filled instead with tiny two-legged creatures that screamed when they died. There was no food in the world that could satisfy the hunger he felt.

Instead, the hunger was for something else, for more of the burning pain inside his gut. He could sense other sources of it, like a trace of blood in the water, up towards the surface. He wanted to ignore the scent, to retreat back to the depths and return to his sleep. But the hunger was greater even than the burning, crushing pain of the surface.

He was compelled, forced by sheer instinct to hunt for the burning fuel to quench his hunger. There was no room for other thoughts in the simple, primal mind that urged him onward.

He knew going to the surface again would be agony. He knew it was infested with the little two-legged creatures and their sparkling noisy hives, full of things that burn and sting and choke the air. He knew once he reached land, all would be madness and pain again.

He didn't care. He was too hungry to care about anything.

The burning scent and maddening hunger propelled him forward, instinct driving him to follow old paths......

.....to swim towards familiar waters.......to the territory he had claimed as his own.

“You’re under arrest for Tresspassing and Attempted Robbery, you have the right to remain silent…anything you say, can and will be used…”

This shit again.

Hannibal White always found himself at the end of this. It was never immediate, nor did he ever correctly predict the exact events of his various arrests, but he was always at the edge of this. As the leader of the Force Syndicate, it was something that he expected. The law was something he understood at one time he was studying to be a lawyer, it was a childhood dream of his after all. However, even he could not ignore the hurdles that brought. His life since then was numerous confrontation with said law enforcers. So as his head was slammed into the cop car as he stared at the billowing fire from the now destroyed pier facility. He focused on his family and his enemies.

Here they are were, suffering from the same hands of so called justice. They were all the same weren’t they, under the eyes of the law? Gang Members, not lost children attempting to find a sense of family. Men trying to garner acceptance in a world that did not want to or wish to understand them? What even lead to the Bloods and the Force Syndicate fighting anyway? An attempt to one up another, A Misunderstanding based on a body found hanging from a high rise? It had been so long and pointless he wasn’t even sure anymore.

He was sure however that this must end.

As Hannibal was lifted off of the head of the police car, and set to be dragged into the vehicle, his eyes turned toward what seemed to be a small Dominican teenager, Could he no older than 15. He was wearing what seemed to be a dark colored vest and slacks. He was probably coming from a dance or a prom, It was hard to identify. What wasn’t hard to identify was the amount of force the officer was using. As the kid struggled under the weight. He wasn’t part of the gang attempting to rob the place, that much he knew, he didn’t wear the colors, no tattoos, no weapons, Nothing. Wrong place wrong time. Was probably just walking home from work when this happened.

This much end.

The kid was screaming for help, desperate and confused, he managed to attempt a small breakaway, getting away from the officer whist still handcuffed. He only made it a few feet before the officer Tackled him. It would seem the officer was not happy at the sudden defiant attempt to resist him, and took it out on the boy, by slamming his pavement into the concrete, He counted three times, before the officer stepped on the back of the boys head with a sickening smile before asking.

“Going to resist now, you fucking punk?”

This much end.

On the other side of the pier the few of his brothers that weren’t dead were being restrained. Marta, the Queen Bitch as she was called. Had to be restrained not with the standard handcuffs but what seemed to be new age steel full cuffs. He had only seen them used in Gotham. She was strong, and scarily so. So much that it scared him. But her struggles not to gather another arrest, shook him. He knew what she had at home and why she was with the rest of the gang that night. Her son, Malik needed diapers after all, and McDonalds only paid so much. Her attempts to resist arrest was only highlighted by the fact that she…just didn’t look the same. As big as she was, she was still a beautiful black woman, but now…her skin had seemingly changed hard as rock, along with the rest of her body. As she flailed in an attempt to resist her arrest, the Nightsticks came across and the officers in charge of surrounding her, proceeded to point the weapons onto her, only for them to bounce off.

What did they do to them?

Another one of Hannibals commands, Rolando, was also being restrained, though he was surprised he wasn’t first. Guns were…a passion for him, and his restraint was also gathered with repeated stripping of his firearms. Most of them illegally modified along with obtained. He was set to go down to, probably longer than all of them. His former Military credentials and medal of honor be damned. His signature weapon, a Tec-9 Sub Machine gun was still strapped onto him, and as the officer attempted to pull it off, he found it was impossible.

Maria was the new recruit and while they were normally not be apart of big deals like this, they needed to bolster their number, her face was drenched as she had recently attempted to escape from the water…Wait…was she drenched? No…She had somehow BECOME it, Her blond highlighted hair, petite and light skinned form was now transformed into clear translucent water. The officers attempt to arrest her failed, with nothing to restrain her in. he was forced to use his brain, and unsheathing a taser proceeded to electrocute her, her body reacting violently to the introduction of electricity in her now 100% water form.

That was the last of it.

Criminals or not, this treatment was the last straw. Hannibal backed his head up into the officer that had attempted to restrain him. Causing the officer to back up. He turned around and gave a snarl at the officer who now reached for his gun. Without question, the Officer fired at Hannibal, center mass, in an attempt to take the man down.

This did not work.

Hannibal stared at the middle of his chest in shock, the bullet just…bounced off. Nothing hurt. There wasn’t even a sense of a burning feeling from the bullet, it just didn’t faze him. The officer stared in shock. However, Hannibal grinned knowing exactly what this meant. He looked down at his handcuffs and attempted to pull them apart, which was successful causing the chains to break away. Hannibal had enough he began to slowly walk toward the officer.

“This will end…even if it has to be by my hand…”