"It's funny," he said as he reached into his jacket pocket. "You don't look like any of those nutters who wear capes. But I want to thank you for your help."

I gave a chuckle at his comment about the caped crusaders that've been popping up these last few months. "Doubt you'd see many of those costumed guys toting guns, either. I'm not exactly Captain America material," I replied. "And no need for thanks. I'm just doing what I usually do on Wednesday nights: sending crooked bastards like these to the grave."

"That's the man who made me come here today. He did so by threatening my friends and family. You'll find he's an even bigger fish than Garcia, the undisputed kingpin of Los Angeles."

John made eye contact with Castle before smirking.

"Long live the king, right?"

The man passed me the card, and as I held it in between my fingers I looked it over. The name didn't ring a bell, but what reason this guy have to lie to me? We'd only just met, and he probably did something to help get that demon or whatever out of me. Least I could do was humor him. I shoved the card into my pocket, then shook the Brit's hand. "Well 'Sam', it was a pleasure meeting you. I'll go handle this the only way I know how."

I picked up my twin pistols and stuck them in my holsters. I walked out of the garage, giving a thumbs up to the mysterious Brit, before heading into my van and starting up. As I drove away from the autoshop with a destination in mind, I mulled over all I had been through these last couple of months. I'd gone from a boy scout cop with a wife and kids to a cold-hearted killing machine that thrives off of making crooks sweat.

Was I already a bomb waiting to go off back then, looking for an excuse to cut loose and deliver my own brand of justice? Maybe I'm just a psychopath letting out his violent tendencies and masking it as a crusade for justice? Perhaps I really am as good as I like to think I am, and I'm just doing what the others won't? I don't even know anymore. To be honest, I don't even care.

I've been a good man when I can be. I've spared lives when I could. That cook in Fredericksburg, the white supremacists in Hobcaw Point, that assassin in Roscoe Street Station. Maybe I haven't kept in control too well, maybe there were times when I could've picked a better path. But I've done my best. And that's what counts.

By the time I was done reflecting on everything I had done, I had already reached Hidalgo's home in Malibu. It was a glimmering mansion, post modern style. All sharp corners and white paint and glass walls. It had a view of the ocean, and a few guards were posted around the perimeter, looking for people like me who meant their boss harm. They wouldn't stand a chance.

I slipped the suppressor on my Glock and pulled out my knife. I cased the place for alternative entrances while taking out guards as I went, while also being sure to cut the power. There was a wall that wasn't made of glass leading up to a third story window, with a pipe running up to the roof and some other foot and handholds I could use to make my way up there. I began to climb, slowly but surely, and found myself in a dark hallway.

I went down the stairs, heading through every room in the house and taking out the remaining guards. Once I was done, I climbed back up to the top floor, back into the hallway I came in from. There was only one place to go after this. I headed to the end of the hall, towards the master bedroom, and opened the door.

Hidalgo was there, sleeping. I pulled out my pistol and walked up to the foot of his bed, before letting out a whistle. He woke up groggily, blinking his eyes a few times, before they finally adjusted to the darkness and set on me. He reached over to his nightstand, presumably to grab a gun. "Don't even think about it."

"Who are you?"

"I'm the criminal underworld's own bogey-man. You can call me the Punisher." I walked around to the nightstand, taking the little .32 revolver from it and sticking it into one of my vest's pockets. "You're Martin Hidalgo. Biggest, baddest guy in LA. Lucky for you, lots of guys are smart enough to know that trying to go after you is a death sentence." I leveled the pistol at his head. "Unlucky for you, I'm not too smart."

"You don't scare me. I have men all around this house, and I have them check up on my room every five minu-"

"Don't worry about them," I cut him off, "They're already dead." I pressed the gun against his temple. "Do you know the difference between justice and punishment?"

"What the hell are you on about?"

"Good question. Even I don't know." I tensed my finger on the trigger. "The Brit in the trenchcoat sends his regards."

*BANG!*

The Raft, New York

The Surfer sneered in Bekka’s direction. This one he knew of before travelling to Earth. The New Genisisian had survived the master’s purge of her planet by fleeing. Her cowardice was the stuff of legends. Now, motivated by guilt by failing to stand and fight the first time around, the princess looked determined to rectify her mistake. It was a determination that the Surfer was all too happy to meet head on – and break.

She sprinted ahead of the others to meet the Surfer in battle. He stood unmoved by the New Genisisian waving her blade towards him until she was metres from him. The first swing the Surfer parried with the black of his hand as if it were more harmless than a gnat. The second swing was wilder than the first. There was anger in her eyes. This time the Surfer caught the blade between his hands.

“YOU BELIEVE THAT THE UNIVERSE OWES YOU RETRIBUTION. YOUR ENTITLEMENT CLOUDS YOUR JUDGEMENT. YOUR ANGER MAKES YOU SLOW. THE TRINKETS YOU RELY UPON MAKE YOU WEAK.”

A beam of power cosmic from the Surfer’s eyes hit Bekka in the stomach and sent her staggering backwards. Her grip on the sword between her hands weakened. The Surfer prized it from between her fingers. There was a look of shock in her eyes – almost as if the herald should not have been able to possess the weapon. She grew more shocked still when the Surfer broke the blade of the weapon into several pieces of his knee.

“YOUR WORLD WAS DESTROYED BECAUSE IT LACKED THE SENSE TO ANSWER DARKSEID’S CALL. IT WAS A FOOTNOTE IN HISTORY – IRRELEVANT – AS YOU ARE WITHOUT YOUR WEAPON.”

The Surfer scattered the broken pieces of blade on the ground in front of Bekka. His eyes were cold and motionless. With his other hand, the herald opened a portal to the Antarctic. He shunted the New Genisisian through it with a heavy kick and shut it behind her with a grin. The hilt of her weapon, the energy from the Mother Box infused in it weakening, he allowed to slip from his hands and fall to the ground.


The sound of Jaime Reyes’ voice caught the Surfer’s attention. For the second time, the boy seemed poise to unfurl another blast of his cannon in his direction. Was he that dense? Had he not learned his lesson? A smirk, or as near to one as the Surfer could conjure up, inched onto the herald’s face as he prepared to redirect the boy’s energy back at hm – or one of his colleagues.

The Surfer’s had crept up into the air in preparation when he was knocked a step or two sidewards by a sudden barrage of molten bullets.


The Surfer grimaced. The bullets weren’t damaging him so much as annoying him. He sent a blast of power cosmic in the direction of Vigilante’s bike but he seemed to dodge it effortlessly. A frustrated groan left the Surfer’s lips as he readied himself to send another – but felt a sudden tug on his ankle. Vigilante’s infernal lariat had wrapped tightly around the herald’s leg and the vengeful spirit atop the bike was using every ounce of his strength, as well as the bike’s strength, to pull him off balance.

“WHY DO YOU RESIST? ACCEPT DARKSEID AND KNOW PEACE. YOU CLAIM TO SERVE YOUR WORLD BUT EXTEND ITS MISERY.”

It succeeded in knocking the Surfer to one knee. It was a momentary inconvenience, the Surfer thought to himself, as he reached down to free his ankle, only to find one of his hands bound by the webbing of Spider-Woman. She too summoned all the strength she could manage to prize but one of the Surfer’s hands away from his ankle and busy it.

With his remaining free hand, the Surfer sent wild blasts of power cosmic at the heroes, trying in vain to damage them enough to free himself but found their sheer number near-insurmountable. From across the prison, the sound of Jaime's voice stopped the Surfer in his tracks.



There was a loud bang as the cannon unfurled a massive wave of energy towards the herald. It was too late to avoid it. He tugged in vain against his restraints but knew once it had left Jaime's cannon that it was destined to strike him. The awesome power that the Scarab lent the teen was unleashed on the Surfer's silver form. The herald was sent barrelling into the prison and found himself buried beneath tons of debris.

When the Surfer cleaved his way through the stone and steel that had buried him, his silver form appeared to show visible cracks. The power cosmic that seemed to crackle and teem from his every limb flickered somewhat. At first it appeared as if the Surfer's connection to the force had weakened, but from the way his hands balled into fists as he reappeared it was clear that the flickering was not weakness – but rage.


“ENOUGH. WHAT MERCY I HAVE EXTENDED YOU ENDS NOW. PREPARE TO FEEL THE FULL FORCE OF THE POWER COSMIC.”

The very ground beneath the heroes began the shake. What remained of the Raft began to crumble. The ocean around them whipped into a tempest of Biblical proportions. The shaking knocked the assembled heroes from their feet and the Surfer rose atop his board high above them. The lifeless blue eyes began to glow a murderous red as the herald prepared to let unleash the full weight of his fury onto the heroes.

The Raft, New York

Sue Storm sent a blast of hard-light energy at the Silver Surfer that sent him careening away from the prison. The Fantastic Four landed on the concourse at what appeared to be the exact right moment. There were downed heroes scattered around the prison. The Flash appeared to be laid unconscious in a corner and the shattered remains of a blade marked where another hero had fallen. She sprinted over towards one of them, a young boy from the look of him, and helped him to his feet.

There was a throbbing sound that sounded like the unrestrained power of the Surfer’s power cosmic ahead. She looked up, gulping slightly at the sight of the herald in full pomp, and remembered the exchange they had shared at the Triskelion. There was still good in him, she told herself, despite the blast of power cosmic that was sent in her direction. They needed to reach the man inside, not beat him.

“You know, I always thought surfers were meant to be chill,” Johnny said with a smile as he sent a fireball at the herald. “Whatever happened to that? Is that not a thing anymore? When did surfers stop being chill?”

The flames seemed to do next to no damage to the Surfer but it kept him distracted long enough for Ben to throw a large piece of debris at the herald. The impact of it wobbled him slightly but again wasn’t nearly enough to damage him. The Surfer returned the gesture with a blast of his own. It hit Ben squarely in the chest and sent him flying backwards.

A wounded groan left Grimm’s lungs as he fought to his feet. “Old Chrome Dome really isn’t playing around this time. There was enough on that one to flatten me. You’d better keep your heads on a swivel, people.”

“You heard the man,” Reed shouted to the others as he assumed control. “The Surfer’s not pulling his punches anymore. If he hits you, you’re going down for the count. We need to play this one smart. Johnny, Vigilante, I want you to give him something to think about – keep your distance, pepper him with everything you’ve got, but keep moving. Ben, old buddy, I’m afraid you’re going to have to be our tank.”

“Why do I always gotta be the punching bag, eh?” Ben feigned surprise. “Next you’ll be telling me that my career in male-modelling isn’t going to work out.”

The Thing smiled mischievously at Reed before sprinting off towards the Surfer without a moment’s hesitation. There was a loud shout from behind Reed as Grimm and the Surfer traded punches back and forwards. Richards didn’t even turn to look round, instead he continued to assess the situation and the personnel he had available to him.

“Spider-Woman, we haven’t been introduced yet but I believe you’ve met Johnny. He tells me your powers work just like the Spider-Man on our world. That means you have a … what did Spider-Man call it? A spider-sense?”

The scientist didn’t even wait for a response. He looked towards the boy that Sue had helped to his feet. He was young and clearly nervous, but he seemed powerful. “Put … I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, son … put him on your back, keep swinging, use that spider-sense of yours to sense when the Surfer is going to attack, that ought to give your friend here enough time to blast the Surfer again.”

Sweat was pouring down Reed’s forehead. He was still bleeding from his side from the blast that had levelled the Baxter Building and it was affecting him more than he let him – but there wasn’t time to worry about that. There wasn’t time to think about his lost world. There was just enough time to send the Surfer back to Galactus with a stark warning: Earth will not be bullied. They had done it once, they would do it again.

“What about me?” Sue said from behind Reed. “What’s my role in this, oh fearless leader?”


“You said you spoke to the Surfer at The Triskelion,” Reed said as he rubbed the stubble on his chin. “I need you to do it again, Sue. All of this, everyone, I’m still not sure it’s going to be enough. We might not be able to beat him, but we could still reach him. Just as we reached Norrin.”

Sue smiled upon hearing her fiance echo her own thoughts back to her and then gave him a curt nod. “That I think I can manage.”

The couple sprinted towards the battle. The others had already begun acting on the plan that Reed had set out – with varying success – but one thing was certain: no matter how slim their chances were, they were immeasurably better off facing the herald with their allies at their side.

“We’re closed!”

Ray Browder looked up from the book on the desk when he heard the front door open. He thought he locked it hours ago when the store closed. He froze in place when he saw the man at the door. Ray started to cast a spell, but stopped when he felt a powerful force crush his windpipe.

“Ggg--”

He flew backwards and crashed against a shelf of books. Heavy, leather bound books fell on his body as the shelves toppled down around him. His mind was a haze of pain and growing panic as he found he couldn’t breath. He started to thrash and claw as his throat as his oxygen supply began to run short.

“Raymond Jennings Browder,” the man said as he put a boot on Ray’s chest. Emerald colored magical energy danced between his fingertips as he leered down at Ray.

“The Mage Guild sends their regards.”

Ray tried to scream as the man brought down a bolt of energy on to his face.

---

Jack Hawksmoor crouched on one of the many cables strung across the Golden Gate Bridge and looked out across the city of San Francisco. He could feel the city calling to him with reports about everything ranging from the lateness of the trains (four minutes) to the fact that Guerrero Street was badly in need of repaving.

Across the bay a storm was coming, rumbling somewhere south of Oakland and heading north. Jack could see shapes in the clouds, the flashes of lightning illuminating their movements before disappearing. They looked like deformed eels with glowing red eyes and razor-sharp teeth. He felt a prickle at the back of his neck at the sight. He knew those things hiding in the clouds were watching him.They were heralds for something that had not yet come, something that had the power to send this message across time and space.

He stood up while his bare feet remained stuck to the surface of the cable. The things in the clouds let out a roar that sounded like a thunderclap. Lightning flashed again and showed words written in the storm clouds.

HAWKSMOOR
YOUR NEXT

Just like that, the things disappeared and the storm continued unabated. Jack balled his fists as another thunderclap rolled across the bay.

“Learn to spell,” Jack shouted above the noise.

This was an open threat, a prelude to war. He had to let the other intangibles know. He had to call the meeting and prepare them for the fight. He leapt from the cable and dove towards the bridge. A portal opened up just as he was about to hit the ground. He disappeared through it on his way to the next city.

---

Chas Chandler gave the girl at the counter his best smile as he slid his boarding pass over. She scanned it and gave him a polite, but routine smile as she handed the slip of paper back.

“Have a nice flight.”

He nodded and made his way down to the plane. His seat was by the window with the other two seats empty. He’d went ahead and purchased all three, saying sod it to the cost of three tickets. He had more than enough money in savings to afford it. Besides, it was a long flight already and the last thing he needed was a crying baby or some fat wanker stuffed into the seat next to him. If that was the price for comfort then so be it. He settled into his seat and got comfortable.

“Good afternoon,” the flight attendant announced once everyone was in their seats. “Thank you for flying Virgin Atlantic and our non-stop service from London-Heathrow to LAX. Flight time to Los Angeles is going to be about ten hours and twenty-five minutes from wheels up to wheels down. So make yourself comfortable and prepare for the in-flight safety demonstration.”

Chas leaned back and looked out the window. It was overcast at Heathrow. Of course it was, thought Chas. It was always drab and dreary in old England. But he was leaving that behind for bright and sunny California and what was waiting there for him.

---

Pearl Jones watched curiously from the corner of the study while painters worked on the walls. The woman watched from the doorway, a hand on her pregnant stomach. She and her husband bought the home after Mark Preston’s things were cleaned out. They were young and happy and seemed to be in love. The woman was some kind of actress, her husband some kind of businessman. For them to afford the house she had to be a pretty big one. She was cute, Pearl thought, in a sweet All-American way. It reminded Pearl of her favorite actress growing up, Mary Pickford.

Workers had ripped out the bookshelves of the study and carpeted the hardwood floors. They were now in the process of painting the walls blue. Pearl stepped around them and focused on the woman. She was only a few months from giving birth.

“This will be your room,” she said softly to her stomach. “Hayden’s room.”

“Hayden,” Pearl said as she crouched and brought her face up to the woman’s stomach, her eyes wide with insanity as she spoke. “I wonder what it would be like…. To be a little boy.”

---

Charlie Rembrandt surveyed the crime scene inside the little bungalow. While the rest of the cops and crims were focusing on the dead female body in the room, Charlie’s eyes drifted towards the wall. Written in glowing red blood were the words PRESCOTT.

He stepped towards the wall and gingerly put his gloved hand against the words.

“You see something?” Bonnie Young asked from behind him.

“Thought I saw a spatter,” Charlie said as he came away with dry hands. The words remained unphased by his scrutiny. “I saw something in her pile of mail about someone called Prescott. That name ring a bell to anyone?”

“That’s her manager’s name,” Bonnie said after consulting her notepad. “I called him and he said he’s been on the east coast the past two weeks. Why?”

“Just a hunch,” Rembrandt said with a smirk. “Maybe we should look into him?"

---

John Constantine came out of the convenience store with a fresh pack of cigarettes. He stuck one in his mouth and was in the process of lighting it up when he stopped short with the tip of the flame just centimeters from the tip of the cigarette. The streetlights facing the road had started to flicker before the bulbs burst in a shattering of glass. More lights flickered and burst across the parking lot as something came closer and closer.

With the unlit cigarette still firmly in his mouth, John dropped the lighter and the pack and began to conjure up a curse for whatever was coming. He could feel it just out of reach, invisible but very very powerful. He wasn’t expecting what he finally got.

“John Constantine,” the man said as he appeared out of a portal of amber energy. “You’re a hard man to find.”

John shot his hands forward with the curse. As expected, the man easily slapped the basic spell away with a counter curse.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said with his palms raised. It was then that John noticed he was wearing a… cape?

“My name is Strange.”

“Matches your bloody outfit,” John said. He was quietly preparing another curse. This one more loaded.

“I’m the Sorcerer Supreme,” said Strange. “Now I know you know what that is.”

“Yeah,” said John. “Lot of pomp and frills and capes. Just a title.”

“That’s a Hannigan’s Egg you’re preparing in your palm,right?” Strange asked with an eyebrow raised. “I’d counter with a Wall of Jungta.”

“Then I’d do a Mordru Bleeding Spell.”

“Counter with a Paul’s Cross.”

“Then I’d--”

“Enough,” a gruff voice said from behind John.

He turned and didn’t see anything. Then he looked down. A chimp in a t-shirt, jacket, and deerstalker hat was looking up at him with a scowl.

“We don’t have time for the pissing contest," said the chimp. "John Constantine, the Mage Guild have marked you for death and we’re here to save you.”

“Jimmy the Saint, getting his revenge," John muttered to himself before looking at the chimp. "May I ask why I've earned your protection, Bubbles.”

“Because,” the chimp said slowly, showing off his sharp teeth as he enunciated the words. “You are the only hope we have of saving this dimension.”

“That’s the only reason why I haven’t set your blood on fire,” said Strange.

“Or I haven’t ripped your face off,” said the Chimp.

John chuckled before reaching down to pick his lighter and pack back up. He took his time lighting up the cigarette, looking back and forth between the chimp and Strange. When he was done, he expelled a column of smoke from his mouth.

“Well,” he finally said. “Let’s get to work.”

I look the guy in the blue armor up and down, cocking my head to the side, "Okay, time for a piggyback, pal. Don't get handsy. I'll break your hand, I don't care how much armor you have on."

The two of us begin swinging around the battlefield, keeping our distance while everyone takes on their assigned rolls. Johnny is blasting the Surfer with fire, the Rider fires his guns, and Ben throws a few punches when he can. Meanwhile, I try and call out danger moments when the Surfer is going to attack. I've never used my spider sense like this before. Usually it's only when I'm going to get attacked. But the Surfer is so powerful his attacks on others send faint ripples through my mind. I have to concentrate, hard, to sense it. But so far so good.

I call out to my passenger when the Surfer is about to clock one of our allies, which gives him the time to fire an energy blast. The blasts take the Surfer off his game, allowing whoever he was aiming for to get out of the way.

"This is like a really awkward snowspeeder from Empire!" I call back to him, not knowing if he'll have any clue on what I'm talking about.

One thing is for sure though. We may not be hurting the Silver Surfer, but we're keeping him occupied. And none of us have died yet, so that's a plus.

I just hope Reed Richards has something up his sleeve. Because we're not gonna be able to do this forever.

---

---

New York City, New York

Though the blast struck true and the Surfer thrown through a slab of concrete with enough force to vaporize almost anyone else, it proved all for naught. Despite giving it all of the power the Scarab could muster, the herald had risen up again, the only change being a slight disruption in the chrome of his skin and a darkened, serious expression on it's face. It was hard to explain the despair that had weeded it's way into Jaime's gut as he stared the other alien in the eye. That was all he had. He had poured every last drop of power into that shot, and they'd lost Wonder Woman in the process. It had cost them dearly, and yet...it was all for nothing. The Surfer was fine. He was better than fine.

He was just getting started.

With a declaration of no quarter on it's lips, it used the Power Cosmic to quake the entire facility. Massive cracks formed in the concrete as everything shook and shattered around them. Jaime was thrown from his feet, his head smacking painfully against a chunk of broken stone. Splayed out on his back, he was given the perfect view of the rising Surfer and that terrible crimson that had found it's way into it's eyes. "...Damn it all." Jaime breathed a sigh of defeat. He knew what was coming next, and he wasn't sure there was any point in continuing the struggle.

Then the Surfer went flying from his board, and it went careening after to catch him. Jaime's head was on a swivel in search of the attack's source when he spotted a blonde woman in a strange outfit running toward him. "You guys must be the cavalry. Welcome to the party." He tried to hide the wince in his voice when she pulled him up onto unsteady feet. He wasn't sure if he could take much more.

The newly arrived foursome, however, looked fresh and ready to give the Surfer a beating. The massive rock golem and the flaming man in particular looked like a fearsome duo. "You ever been to Cali?" Jaime shot toward the charismatic pyromaniac. "Those guys are all dicks. All of 'em." It was a meager joke, but he was glad he could still summon up the will to make one. It meant he hadn't quite given up all hope yet. Maybe the new blood would help reinvigorate the ragtag group of heroes.

Then the eldest of them began to speak. A tired, ragged looking man that, at a glance, wouldn't amount to much. But when he began to speak, Jaime and the others could do nothing but listen. Captivated by an authority and intelligence that no other man on planet earth could hope to match in that moment. He began assigning roles to everyone with quick efficiency, explaining it all so quickly and so efficiently that it was difficult to be confused by what he wanted.

The man came to Jaime and the Spider-Girl- Spider-Woman- a grim yet determined look on his face. It was an...odd request, to be sure. One that made him glance uneasily at his partner. But there was something about how the stranger in the spandex spoke that made Reyes trust him. "Yes sir." He nodded. "You can, uh, you can count on me." Even as he left and Jaime was left with the Spider at his side, Reyes's gaze lingered on the stranger's back.

'Who is that guy?'

The voice beside him drew his attention away, and he turned to face New York's resident heroine. "My mama taught me to keep my hands to myself, esa. No worries." He was quick to throw his hands up defensively, just to assure her he was harmless. "Sorry about the whole, uh, almost killing you thing, earlier. My bad." He tried to play the apology off as partially a joke, but Jaime wouldn't soon forget that wrenching he felt in his heart the second he saw the bolt headed for her. Even if there was never any intention, and it wasn't really even a mistake, he wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of blood on his hands.

He had another joke about getting to ride Spider-Woman that came to mind, too, but Jaime decided to bite his tongue. 'I'm bad, but not that bad.'

It wasn't the time to consider such things, however; he had a Spider to mount and an alien to shoot in the back. The position was...awkward, to say the least. He hadn't done anything like this since he was a little kid, and it felt like there was little space for him to wrap himself around Spider-Woman. If he was even a little bit taller the whole situation would've been impossible- this would be first time he'd thank his parents for his terrible genes, coincidentally.

Jaime went to work on the Silver Surfer. Each blast from his hand cannons was weaker than the full on beam he'd used before, since he couldn't exactly fire that off on top of Spider-Woman without throwing himself off her back or knocking the two of them to the ground. He was relegated to mostly normal- yet still deadly- bouts of plasma. Each was only loosed when he was sure the Surfer was distracted by one of the other heroes and open to fire. It didn't feel like he was doing much. Spider-Woman even less so. They were mostly just swinging around and hoping someone else would land an actually critical blow.

Then the Spider said something that gave Jaime an idea. "Speaking of Star Wars, you remember what they did to the AT-AT's?" He called forward to her over the sounds of battle. "'Cause you've got some pretty strong cables there, esa, and I happen to have two jet engines on my back. I think we might be able to get take the Surfer out of Silver Surfer. 'Course, that would require you being as strong as they say you are..."

"Tell Lois Lane--.....well, I think she already knows," I say, before I take off, shooting up through the hole I'd made in the Stagg Enteprises building and into the night sky, on a collision course with the missile now heading towards the city.

Ripping open a panel that contains the motherboard of the central computer, I allow Ace to scan it's contents. There's no time to lose. With a nuclear warhead out there and Superman being the only hope of stopping it, there's alot that I'm forced to mentally rectify and move away from in order to focus. That press hound, Lex Luthor, being responsible for a plot that led to Winslow Schott becoming Toyman. Schott attempting to murder hundreds, and now millions of people through the creation of an artificial intelligence constructed of his madness. Superman and Toyman's exchange leading into the reveal that Superman is both not a metahuman, as all previously thought, but comes from another planet entirely. Making him an alien, something which has never been scientifically validated to exist. If it's true, intelligent life could exist on other worlds. It's not just a conspiracy theory anymore.

But I have to let it all go for the moment, because my worst case scenario just went from being very theoretical, even radical in theory, to being an immediate reality. Gotham could be hit by a nuke, annihilating it and everything on the Eastern Coast. Everyone that I've ever cared about could die in minutes. The war could come to a horrifying, abrupt end in which the best I could do to prevent a catastrophic loss of life was dismantle a couple of explosive toy cars. Gritting my teeth, I start ripping away panels of wires and attached circuitry and dig in. There has to be more that I can do. There will be a chance to stop this. I refuse to accept otherwise.



"Ace, see if you can overload the systems that the Toyman A.I. is currently utilizing to remain active."

Attempting a breach now, Mr. Wayne.

As I reach for another set of wires, I notice my hand. It's trembling. Anxiety is taking over my body and rendering me that much more useless to this effort. My eyes close and I take a deep breath. Have to fight it, but it's hard. Truth be told, I don't know if I've ever been as scared as I am now. At least not since a particularly memorable night from my childhood. But the deaths of my parents, the nightmares and hallucinations that followed, the decisions that led to all of this, all that's come about as a result of being Batman, and everything I've done in the lead-up to this moment. It all comes rushing to me again, even more vividly than when I was nearly killed by Freeze. The struggles that I've had to endure rear their head at the most inopportune time imaginable.

There's apart of me that wants to call Alfred, in the event... in the event that Superman can't stop the missile. There's so much that I've left unsaid up to this point. So much that I could never properly express in the time allotted to me. The innumerable things that he's done for me over the years, the sacrifices he's had to make to allow me to begin this crusade in earnest. I've never had the heart to tell him this, but when I lost my true father, he made me feel as if I gained another. He never allowed me to sink into the pit of despair that the loneliness could have pulled me into. If it weren't for his guidance, I don't know what I would have turned out to be. But all that I want to do now is to make him proud. All that I've ever wanted to do, I suddenly realize, was make him and my parents proud.

If we all survive this, I'll become better. I'll be the hero that he wants me to be, instead of just thriving forward as the creature of the night that stalks the guilty and ignores the plights of the innocent. Something that Superman said earlier really struck a chord with me, about how I've turned Gotham as a whole into a city that fears the night instead of only it's tormentors. I deflected that criticism at first, but it's become clear to me that I'm not doing enough to bring about a sense of hope. Looking out for everyone's interests as Bruce Wayne is a decent start, but that isn't nearly enough.

Batman has to be something that isn't hated and feared either, despite what I was willing to let that side of myself become in order to remain effective in cultivating the fear of the Five Families. And fighting the police on a regular basis isn't helping alleviate anyone's opinion of me, as evidenced by what I've experienced tonight. I have to clear my name in regards to Harvey Dent. I need to end the corruption in the GCPD. But most importantly of all, I have to stop this from happening.

Because if I die having been only what I've become up to this point, I'll have lived a life void of meaning. The boy whose parents were taken from him at gunpoint would have only turned out to be a vicious, uncaring, unfeeling wraith upon the city that deluded himself into believing that he was trying to protect it. Batman was created as a construct to channel my rage, to allow me to vent all of the years of frustration with the city's failings. Every bone I've broken has been in outrage over the fact that nothing's become better. But that can't be my legacy anymore.



Error. Toyman program is attempting to counter-breach.

Snapping myself out of it, I activate my wrist-mounted holoscreen and take a look at the finer details of what Ace's error message meant. Unfortunately, it appears that assertion was correct. I can see the foreign trace of Schott's program making it's way into my system's servers, attempting to corrupt everything inside with it's own strain of some sort of self-created virus. My safeguards are all simultaneously failing, and before long, I can see the visage of the marionette avatar that Schott created to outlive himself permeate a section of the screen.

"Ace! Rewrite the defensive programs! Keep him from getting in!"

Error. Too many functions compromised.

Error. Cannot complete requested action.

Error.

Error.



Dammit. I can't afford to shut Ace down, as he's my primary weapon against Toyman's A.I., but if I allow him to continue, he's going to end up as apart of Schott's malicious program. Destroying this equipment by itself wouldn't work, despite Superman's original impulse before leaving to stop the missile. If this A.I. truly has the reach to activate a cache of machines and weapons that are located as far as Metropolis, it can jump to another server with relative ease before anything can be shut down, permanently. Have to think of another strategy to prevent this.

"Ace..."

I prayed that I wouldn't have to ever do this. While I appreciated their help in stopping Freeze, there was no desire on my part to ever indulge this type of behavior or encourage someone to follow in my footsteps by actively breaking the law. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and this is the most desperate I've ever been.

"Contact Oracle."

Error. Cannot comply.

I grit my teeth.

"Contact Barbara Gordon!"

I've suspected for a number of weeks that Gordon's daughter was the mysterious hacker that penetrated my defenses and took control of my equipment in order to intervene on that night in The Narrows. It wasn't too far of a leap to make, in all honesty, due to how pressing the matter of Captain Gordon's perceived deception in the case against Harvey Dent's assassin was to Oracle. Sticking up for the Captain's merits so strongly could have only come from someone who cares for him, and looking into Gordon's file, I discovered that he had a wheelchair bound seventeen-year-old daughter who lost her mother, aswell as her mobility, to crime.

She now works for the GCPD as a mild-mannered filing clerk, but her records for aptitude in computer sciences at Brentwood Academy were more than enough evidence I need to deduce what she was doing with her talents. I just didn't want to admit to myself that I knew, in order to give myself plausible deniability. But we're way past such a thing.

Eventually, I can hear the ringing of a telephone. I breathe a brief sigh of relief. Even in Ace's compromised position, he was able to carry out one last command.

"Uh, hello? This is Barbara. Who is this?"

I make no attempts to downplay the seriousness of this matter in my tone.

"I need your help."

An immediate panic overwhelms her voice.

"Uuuuh... I don't know who this is, but you have the wrong number. Okay? I'm hanging up now."

"Barbara, you know exactly who this is and you know precisely why I'm calling this number. Or would you rather that I just send over the data I found in regards to how you spend your evenings?"

There's a pause, before an eventual sigh.

"Damn it. How did you---"

"It doesn't matter right now. Listen to me carefully."

Continuing to rip away protective panels of the massive central tower that's powering Toyman's A.I, I start to type a few manual commands into The Batcomputer. Ace isn't able to help me right now, so I have to do alot of the legwork on my own to keep Toyman from taking over completely. At least until Gordon can make her way in.

"Are you near a computer? This is an emergency."

"I'm, uh, on my laptop in my bedroom. It's hardly the GCPD server, but it should work."

"I don't need the police's mainframe for this. I need your expertise. There's a crisis happening and my equipment has been compromised. I need you to help me relinquish an artificial intelligence program from the influence of a powerful virus."

Another pause.

"That may be a bit above my level of knowledge. Have you tried shutting down your central programming and giving it a hard reboot?"

"I can't disconnect right now. There are too many lives that depend on this."

I can tell that she's nervous, unsure of whether she's up to the task. But this is the same young woman that managed to unlock a function of The Batcycle that neither I or Lucius Fox even knew existed, and exploit it's capabilities in order to save my life. If there's anyone I can trust to be able to do this, it's her.

"O-Okay. Just give me a minute to hack through your backdoor. I'll need to create a systematic wipe that I can trigger as I go along, to purge my own computer from getting infected and being shut out by the virus."

"Hurry. Time is a factor with this, and I don't know how much we have."

Within a minute, I can see the digital trace of Oracle's systems enter The Batcomputer. Ace's systems are in flux, and Toyman has nearly taken over. She's going to have to pull off one hell of a trick in order to get things to stabilize.

"Oh my god. This is alot worse than you were letting on. Batman, this is... there isn't a word for what I'm seeing right now! Whoever developed this is way smarter than me, I... I can't do this!"

"You can do this. Stay focused. I'll give you all the help that you need, but you have to do whatever you can. Trust me, Barbara. There's a reason I didn't turn Oracle in whenever I discovered the truth. You've got a gift for this that I can't imagine, and if we work together on this... there's nothing to say that we have to stop there."

It may be a futile gesture to appeal to her admiration of what I do, but it's all that I have to lean on. I can hear her taking a few deep breaths, before furiously typing at her own keyboard. Lines of code begin to formulate, then dissipate under Toyman's attack. She tries another set. Once again, it falters. I can hear her slam a closed fist against her desk, but she nevertheless gives it a third try. This time, the code that she inputs isn't immediately taken out. Infact, some of Schott's virus begins to loosen up.



"Okay, I've gotten a little bit of my bearings, but there's still so much to..."

"You're doing it. That's all that matters."

Removing a final panel that lies against the motherboard, I remove a miniature hard-drive expansion box that Waynetech developed and plug it in. Some of the wiring begins to spark, as if Toyman himself is resisting this from the outside, but I avoid the electrical output and take a step back. Unless I'm quick with this, he could potentially fry the device and lock both Barbara and myself out of the system.

"Ace! Can you hear me?"

Ack...

Acknowledged.

Feels... cold.

Can't... focus.

Am I dying, Mr. Wayne?

I stare back at the screen, quizzically.

It feels cold? It thinks it's dying?

What in the hell did Toyman's programming to do Ace?

"You... can't die. You're a piece of hardware. It isn't physically possible for you to experience anything beyond your primary functions. Whatever you think you're feeling, it's an illusion created by the virus. You need to accept that."

Hardware?

Hardware...

H-H-Hard...

Accept?

Accept...

A-A-Ac...

"Ace?!"

"It's no use. Your artificial program is too maligned to be able to do what it needs to do right now. We're on our own. But I think that the door that I opened just gave us a chance to fight back, if you're willing to follow my instructions."

Reluctantly, I comb through the master file for Ace and begin a system shutdown. I don't know if I can do this without it, but if Gordon thinks that we're able to fight back Toyman on our own, I have to put aside any reservations. I made the decision to come to her because of what she could offer. Now that she's offering her help to me, it'd be foolish to question it.

"Alright. I've shut it down. Now what do I need to... ARRGH!"



My systems are overloading. A piercingly loud screech echoes throughout my cowl, hitting a decibel that makes the lenses crack and explode off of my face. Temporarily blinded by the sensation, I fall to my knees in anguish, ripping at the material of the cowl itself to tear away as much of the circuitry that Toyman's attacking before it deafens me.

"Batman?!"

"Hang on!"

Removing my cowl entirely, I drop it to the ground and wince in pain as a circuit board embedded on the frontal plate explodes, melting away part of the front of the mask. The smell of burning leather and plastic fills the air, and Toyman cackles. If I had kept the cowl on just a bit longer, that could have been my face. He was trying to kill me, and Ace was the only thing stopping him from being able to do it.

"Dammit..."

Reaching inside the ruined cowl, I produce the earpiece inside and clip it to my ear in order to maintain a direct line to Barbara Gordon. Since the cowl's off, I'm going to have to mimic the distortion of the voice modulator built inside with my own voice in order to maintain my identity. Which sounds alot easier than it actually is.

"I'm back. Had a temporary setback, but I should be alright now."

"You, uh, sound different. Like you're doing a weird animal growl, or something. It's hard to understand you. Sure you're not hurt?"

Massaging the bridge of my nose, I force back the frustration of having to put upon something that was always provided for me electronically.

"I said I'm fine. Let's stick to the matter at hand. What do you need me to do to combat the virus?"

"Uh, yeah. About that. I have some news you're not gonna want to hear. The virus itself isn't the problem, it's the program that it originates from. You probably can't see it from your user interface, but something's attacking every single system that you have from an outside source. If we're going to beat this, we need to attack the source and shut that down in order to give your system it's stability back."

My eyes widen, looking back at the monitors displaying Toyman's artificial form.

"Is that possible?"

"Not if we sit around doing nothing about it. Do you happen to have access to a terminal that the main program is linked to?"

Rushing the terminal, I begin to try and type commands. But my hand reels back as a spark of electricity erupts, eventually revealing a current going across the entire system. It's not affecting the machinery itself, but it's certainly trying to protect it.

"Can't. The program's got a physical safeguard."

"Alright, then we do this the hard way. You start breaking anything you can, I'll start shutting down every trace of the program that attempts to escape to another server. That sound good to you?"

Allowing a smirk to cross my lips as I look up at Toyman, I begin to crack my knuckles.

"Ms. Gordon, that sounds more than acceptable."

I go to work, smashing my fist into the monitors, as does she by writing a number of codes into my systems, strengthening it's security and attacking the A.I. back. Little by little, what remains of 'Toyman' begins to falter, flanked from two sides in the physical and digital realm. Through it all, I try my best not to remember that if Superman fails, Gotham and everyone in it dies.

Kent Farm
Smallville, Kansas,
Ten Years Ago

"I....I don't understand...." I stammer, suddenly finding it hard to stay on my feet. "I c-...I can't be a....an...."

"You're our son," says Pa, putting a hand on my shoulder to steady me. "You're the brightest boy in your class, you're the first to volunteer when someone in town needs a hand, and you're always there for Pete and Lana when you need them. You're everything your mother and I could have ever hoped you'd be. None of that's changed, Clark."

"All of it's changed!" I blurt out, on the verge of tears. "I--I know I've always been different, but.....now you're telling me I'm not even human? I'm not even from this planet?!"

"It doesn't matter where you're from, son," he insists.

"I'm not your son!"

Pa is stunned for a second, actually takes a step back, then furrows his brow and steps forward to hug me.

"Yes you are," he says. "I don't give a damn if you're from the other side of the universe, or a million years in the future, or the seventh circle of Hell itself. That's not what makes who who you are. I've watched you grow up from before you could even speak. I've watched you struggle with the things you can do. And I've seen you choose to do right, again and again. That's what matters, Clark. You are who you choose to be. And since the day me and Martha found you in that pod, we chose to be your Ma and Pa. And we're never gonna choose otherwise."

I feel my chest start to heave, my eyes stinging with tears.

"...what am I gonna do?" I say between sobs. "I...I can't just go to school and get a job and....and spend the whole time knowing I'm not like them.....it's driving me crazy.....and now.....now I know I'm not.....Dad....what am I gonna do?"

He ruffles my hair and hugs me harder.

"I know it's something every parent tells their kid," he says with a weak chuckle, "that they can do anything, but hell, I think you actually can. I've never been the kind to believe in things like fate, or destiny, or providence. I think it's up to us to make our destiny. But that just makes it matter that much more. I've known you since before you even knew yourself. And I know you're going to choose to do right whenever it matters. Because that's the kind of man I've seen you choose to be."

I sniffle, and turn away to look out at the night sky. The sky over Kansas at night is that deep dark blue, with the occasional vein of purple, that you only see when there's no city lights for miles on all sides. Thousands of stars, some barely visible glints, others bright and powerful fixed points in the heavens, look down on us, casting their light from unfathomable distances away.

"So....somewhere out there," I say, drying my eyes, "there's other people.....other people like me?"

Pa smiles.

"Clark, if I know one thing, it's that there's nobody like you," he says. "But you're right. You even being here means something incredible, something special. It means we're not alone. But you know what else it means?"

"What's that?"

"It means you're not alone, either," he answers. "And you never will be."

---

Altitude 30,000 Feet
10 Miles from Gotham City (and closing)
Now

"Come on, *rgh!*" I grunt as my arms and back begin to ache, trying to push against a missile going nearly the speed of sound. The fuselage itself isn't much compared to some of the things I've moved in the past, but its velocity is great enough that I can barely make it budge. I don't dare just blast the missile apart, for fear of setting off the warhead over one of Gotham's suburbs. But that second wind I got from Lois seems to finally be wearing off. I've only got one real chance left to change this thing's course, or millions of people are going to die, including Lois....including Batman.....and very likely including myself.

It'd be so easy now to just let go. To fly away, to tell myself that I did all I could do, that I've been running on empty for what feels like ages, and I just didn't have it left in me to stop this thing.

To live another day.

Instead, I make the choice I always do. The same stupid, reckless, bull-headed choice that gets me into trouble just as often as it gets other people out of trouble.

I grit my teeth, and I really put my muscles to work.



"GYYAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!"

With a determined, primal shout, I push as hard as I can, feeling metal creak and bend in my hands. Smoke, and steam, and radioactive fallout wash over me, but I feel the missile starting to change course.

A few seconds later, we're not over Gotham anymore. We're over the ocean, getting further out. The missile keeps trying to correct course, but I keep pushing it back away.

Somewhere in the back of my head, I realize I'm not going to be able to get away from this thing in time. Even if I let go right now, I'll still get caught in the blast.

In the moment, I'm okay with it. This is what I choose to do.

And if this is really it, that's fine. Because in this moment, I'm not alone. Pa's here with me, assuring me as always. Ma's with me, too. And Lana, and Pete, and the whole town of Smallville. And Jimmy, and Perry, and everyone else at the Planet. Hell, even Batman's here with me.

And Lois. Oh God, Lois. If there's one regret I have about this, it's that there wasn't enough time for us. Still, at this moment, you're here in my heart.

It's okay.

"I lo--"

The Surfer looked down at the palm of his right hand. There was some curious white substance upon it. It was tacky and he couldn't shake it off. A thread lead away from his hand to the one they called Spider-Woman. She swung around the battlefield with the other teenaged hero on her back as he took potshots at the Surfer. Another web struck his left hand as the other young hero, the one known as Blue Beetle, activated a jetpack on his back and grabbed ahold of Spider-Woman. The two heroes raced around the Surfer, the webbing still clinging to his hands. As they completed loop after loop, the webbing began to encase the Surfer into a cocoon.

He struggled to break free. Whatever this webbing was made of, it was strong stuff indeed. It would only be a few moments until his body heated up to the point to where it would melt away, but even a momentary delay of a being with the power cosmic was a great victory.

"Who are you?"

The Surfer blinked as she appeared in front of him. They had met before and not that long ago. Susan Richards stepped forward until she was just a few feet away. If she was afraid, she showed no signs of it at all. She had that same kind of boldness in their last meeting, but the circumstances were so vastly different. But still she acted as if he were still under lock and key. The Surfer was impressed by her courage.

"You have to be from the Fourth Dimension to handle Wonder Woman's weapon. I thought you were a new version of an old friend, but I was wrong. Who are you?"

The Surfer could feel some deep, distant memory calling to him. A face, a name, a woman with a broad smile. And then... fire and destruction and his deep, humorless chuckle as he sent the Surfer out in the cosmos to do his work. Whatever he had once been was dead, and now only the Surfer remained.

“I AM THE HERALD OF THE END TIMES FOR YOUR PLANET, CHAMPION OF ANTI-LIFE. I AM THE SILVER SURFER, AND I SERVE DARKSEID.”

---

---

---

---

"You'll be back in a Flash, right?"

“_{You just don’t get it Flash. this is my city…}”

“Not God. GRODD!”

“Wally!”

“That’s not the real Barry Allen…”

”.esaelP .hsalF em pleH”

“I love you.”

“^{Keep up}, _Flash.”

“You alright kid?” Iris felt a hand take a hold of her wrist, pulling her up and out of the fog, the images that crowded her mind. Foreign faces, places that she had never been. Fear, joy, happiness. It was as if she saw her entire life laid out before her, and after her. There was everything and yet there was nothing. Sitting up, confusion flowed from her as she found herself sitting in the middle of an empty room. The walls bare, and colourless. The floor cool to the touch, smooth and without texture. Looking up she couldn’t even see the ceiling. IRis wasn’t entirely sure that one existed it was so far away.

Iris groaned as she shook her head, trying to get the images out of her head. Something big was coming, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to face it. Doubt washed through her. “You really need to get that Eobard Thawne out of your head.” It took her a moment to recognise him. Images flashed through Iris’ mind, fighting alongside a man in a metal helmet. Looking after his grandchildren, asking him for a favour. Watching him on his deathbed.

“Jay?”

The man chuckled and laughed slightly. “Yeah, I guess you might say that.” He sat himself down, and indicated to another seat sitting opposite him. Pushing herself up she walked over to the seat and then sat down across from him. “You know, you’re kind of needed out there?” Iris could hear the faint sound of battle. The screaming, the shouting. The chaos. This wasn’t the life that was meant for her, was it? She was a reporter, she wasn’t a superhero.

“I’m not needed out there. Barry is.” The memory faded with every passing minute, the life they had lived once upon a time. Where he had been struck by lightning, fighting alongside the heroes such as those that she now worked with. She had seen the life that she had lived, as the reporter and eventual wife alongside a true hero. A life that had been stolen from them both, a hero that had been stolen from the world.

Jay stood up and spoke with a sharpness that caused her to recoil. “Would you quit feeling sorry for yourself?” Lightning flashed all around as he did. The room turned back to it’s calm state. “Iris West, fastest woman alive. Who seems to be under the impression that she doesn’t deserve anything that comes her way. Just because some maniac told her so.”

“Thawne was from the future. Where Barry was the Flash. I can’t just ignore what he said, that Barry was destined for the lightning. He was the Flash. One of the greatest heroes that ever lived, a world where we were together. We were happy, and now. It’s all gone.”

Jay placed a hand on her shoulder. “Lightning flashes, sparks shower; in one blink of an eye, you have missed seeing." He sat himself back down.

Iris cradled her head in her own hands. “I just don’t know Jay, sometimes I feel like I can barely keep up with everything that needs done. Other times I feel so detached from the rest of the world, it goes so slow in comparison.” The entire room shook, the sound of brick and mortar cracking could be heard. “What’s going on?” She winced as she felt pain in her stomach. Looking down she saw nothing that could have caused it, when she looked down she saw blood seeping through the white shirt she appeared to be wearing. Raising it with a look of concern she was shocked to find no evident damage below it. She looked up at Jay, since he seemed to be the one with answers.

“The fight is still going on out there. Damage is bound to occur.”

“Out where?” Iris stood up, looking all around for some form of exit, some way out of this room that the Surfer had somehow trapped her in. How he had also got Jay here she had no idea, but surely the former Flash could be of some assistance. Jay shook his head and chuckled slightly as she looked around.

“Out of-” Jay placed a finger on Iris’ forehead. “-there.” That made a lot more sense, the detached way in which Jay was acting. The flashes of images, the sounds and the memories all interlaced into one. The Surfer had probed her mind, she had felt that much. This was some form of after effect as she lay out cold. “You’re almost right.” Iris looked up, confused as Jay spoke again. “I’m in your head remember, I know what you’re thinking. When the Surfer attacked you physically, you reacted physically. You countered, or you ran away, or you fought. When he attacked you mentally, you didn’t have any safeguards in place. You couldn’t fight, nor could you counter. So your mind ran away.”

“So where did it run too?”

Jay raised up both his arms. “Here.”

“Where is here?”

He shrugged his shoulders, causing her to roll her eyes. “It’s not really anywhere, but at the same time it’s kind of everywhere. It’s really confusing to explain, and we really don’t have time to explain it all to you. The important thing, is that you need to recognise who you really are.”

Iris stood up, groaned and threw her hands up into the air. “I don’t have time for this, I need to find a way to wake up.”

Jay sat unmoved. Eyeing her before speaking, he seemed to weigh his words very carefully as he did so. Each syllable resonated throughout her entire body, as if it shook her to her very core. "You cannot tell the depth of the river, until you see the bottom."

He stood up and walked towards her. "One cannot travel on the great path, if one does not feel that he or she is worthy" He raised a fist, and before Iris could protest he struck her directly in the middle of the face. Everything went black.

The Raft, New York

Johnny Storm’s eyes widened with shock as he heard Darkseid’s name leave the SIlver Surfer’s mouth. He hovered mid-air for a moment as he tried to process the information. His eyes met with Reed’s on the ground who looked every bit as shocked as he did. Slowly Johnny’s flame began to burn brighter and hotter as his anger rose. The Surfer was working for the Apokoliptian that had murdered their world. It wasn’t their Darkseid, Johnny understood that much on some level, but as his blazing eyes rested on the herald it seemed to make no difference to him.

He shot towards the herald with arms outstretched. There was a loud thud as Johnny’s shoulder hit the Surfer square in the chest and he wrapped his arms tightly around his shoulders. What Johnny was doing was the next nearest thing to suicide, but his rage – and his desire to see Darkseid pay for what he had done to their world – far outstripped any sense of self-preservation the young man possessed.

“You want death? You want destruction? Well buckle up, you son of a bitch, because there’s no coming back from where we're going!”

From far beneath them, Johnny thought he could hear his sister calling out his name. There was no time for second thoughts. If he hesitated now, he’d be dead, they’d all be dead – just like his world. No, Johnny continued sending the pair of them climbing high above the clouds, until The Raft was barely visible, until New York looked like a scattered handful of lights along the Eastern Seaboard, and the air was so thin that Johnny could barely breathe.

He needed to be this high to do what he had planned. Ever since they had left their world, Storm had been storing up the all the rage and the loss that he felt – but he didn’t need to hold it in anymore. Even as they had thought Namor and Hector Hammond, Johnny had found himself holding back, afraid of hurting someone – or everyone. But he didn’t care if the Surfer could take it.

So long as he served Darkseid, the herald could burn alive if that’s what it took to stop him.

Johnny thought of Peter Parker and Clark Kent. He thought of Crystal and She Hulk. Wyatt Wingfoot and Medusa. He thought of all the friends and foes that had been lost to Darkseid’s murderous campaign on his world. He pictured their faces in his mind. Then he pictured all the people they had lost. A whole world destroyed and for what? One man’s greed. He felt the pain bubbling in his chest, heard it leaving his throat as a guttural scream, and prepared to let the flames tear through his every pore like he had never done before.

Supernova, Reed had called it.

The super scientist had surmised that Johnny possessed within him the power to explode into a burst of flames hotter than the surface of the sun – though he could never safely put that theory to test. Now was the time. He gripped the Surfer close to him, despite the herald’s desperate attempt to prize Johnny’s arms free from him, and gave him every ounce of power that he had. His body was shaking with anticipation. His throat coarse with screams he could no longer hear anymore. But he could feel the light.

There was a sudden silence as Johnny released the supernova. As its flames engulfed him and the Surfer he muttered one word. "Sue."

”The Ranchero of Miracle Mesa” - Glitter And Gold: Part Seven

---

---

Vigilante had never given much thought to how The Spirit saw the world. He’d thought it a kinda mess of goods and evils, targeting him to wrongs that had to be righted like some kinda vengeance-seeking-missile. But somehow, he could sense a weight coming off these folks, if it weren’t enough to see ‘em so haggard anyhow. A weight mightier n’ anything Vigilante had ever seen sat on their shoulders; but here they were, riskin’ life and limb against Mr. Crayola Model Magic over there, crazy spandex or not.

“Old Chrome Dome really isn’t playing around this time. There was enough on that one to flatten me. You’d better keep your heads on a swivel, people.”

“You heard the man,” Reed shouted to the others as he assumed control. “The Surfer’s not pulling his punches anymore. If he hits you, you’re going down for the count. We need to play this one smart. Johnny, Vigilante, I want you to give him something to think about – keep your distance, pepper him with everything you’ve got, but keep moving.”

Vig hadn’t figured anyone outside of Jaime’d know who in the Hell he was. Apparently word was gettin’ around. Bout time to live up to the recognition.

”Loud n’ clear, Boss Man! C’mon, Hotshot! Let’s see if he feels lucky.” Vigilante spun his pistol in his hand and began to fire again, giving The Surfer the runaround with his bike. As the drove he spun his whip, pulling out giant bits of concrete that had been knocked from the walls and flinging them at The Surfer.

As he fired, he shot a look at the ‘Johnny’ feller, see how he was handling it. There was a rage building up in that boy. His face was all shock and awe. But then? Nothing but focus and anger. Even from the ground he could feel the flyboy getting hotter n’ hotter -- and he was headed straight for the Surfer.

”City slickers gettin’ into trouble all the gotdang time leavin folks like me to…” Vigilante grumbled to himself, swerving his bike and following the hotshot’s path.

”Hey! What happened to ‘keep yer distance’?” Vigilante shouted up at him. He wasn’t sure if the feller could hear over the roar of his own flames, boiling to a fever pitch.

“You want death? You want destruction? Well buckle up, you son of a bitch, because there’s no coming back from where we're going!”

“Jesus, Mary, n’ Joseph.” Vigilante said, staring up at the wave of fire that burst forth from Johnny Storm’s body, sweeping through the battlefield like a pyromaniac’s idea of a tidal wave. If that wasn’t everything he had in the tank, Vig didn’t know shit from shinola. Kid was probably about to fall like a ton of bricks. And he was the only one outta the fellers still standing that could handle that kind of heat.

”Hold onto your horses, kid! Imma comin’!” Vigilante shouted. He flung his lariat out, dragging up a piece of weakened concrete into a makeshift ramp. He revved the engine and launched himself down the ramp, flinging himself high into the sky, through the fire that was just starting to ebb from the point of impact. Hopefully he could catch ‘im before he had a bad fall, or help him fight whatever came next.

Before Vigilante could catch the free-falling Johnny Storm, a glowing-red hand snagged the unconscious young man by the scruff of his uniform. The Silver Surfer's body still glowed with the energy of Storm's supernova burst. His already shimmering skin was swirling as it appeared to be losing its form. Silver dripped off the Surfer's fingertips as the Power Cosmic began to form in the palm of his free hand.

“ENOUGH.”

He said it without emotion of inflection. It was not a command. It was just a universal fact. His free hand was now beginning to show glimpses of pink flesh from underneath the chrome exterior. The Power Cosmic crackled from his palm as he inched it closer to Johnny Storm's unconscious face.

“HE HAS GIVEN HIS HEART OVER TO WRATH. HE CARES MORE ABOUT VENGENCE THAN HE DOES JUSTICE. HE IS A POOR HERO. HE HAS BEEN FOUND WANTING, AND HE WILL BE DESTROYED IN THE NAME OF DARKSEID.”

The Raft, New York

The light in the sky had been blinding. Though Johnny had flown Darkseid’s herald far out of sight, the sudden wave of energy that knocked the heroes from their feet could only mean one thing – he’d gone supernova. Sue’s heart had stopped the moment her brother tackled the herald. Johnny had always acted first and thought second. When he’d heard Darkseid’s name, he had seen read, and that much was understandable, but there was no way of knowing whether he’d survive that much heat.

Slowly the light began to fade and the heroes began to murmur amongst themselves. Had Johnny done it? Had he achieved alone what all of them could not do together? And if so, had he paid the ultimate price for it? No, it didn’t bear thinking about, Sue gritted her teeth stared up at the sky in the hope her brother might appear before them. But there was nothing.

Until there was.

It was a lone figure falling from the heavens. There were no flames. Johnny looked like a dead weight as he fell from through the sky at a breakneck speed. There was no way he would survive such a fall, Sue thought, her heart pounding uncontrollably in her mouth. She couldn’t lose him. She screaming to the heroes for help when the sound of an engine revving drowned her out.


The flaming biker revved his engines once more and took to the skies swinging his lariat. Sue muttered a silent prayer that he would reach him in time to break his fall. He inched closer by the second, close enough to throw his lariat towards Johnny, when a shock of silver energy announced the appearance of the Silver Surfer.

He looked near broken, beaten almost, the silver coating on his skin was almost at the point of dripping off him, but he was still alive. His fingers wrapped around Johnny’s uniform and snatched him out of Vigilante’s path at the last second.


Floating in the air atop his surfboard the herald seemed to inspect Johnny the same way a predator might inspect its mortally-wounded prey. There was no look of satisfaction to the Surfer’s gaze, only what appeared to Sue to be a detached, almost surgical desire to be done with Storm and the rest of the heroes.

“No,” Sue muttered under her breath as she looked to Reed, Ben, and the others. “He's going to kill him. Please someone do something!”


They sprung into action. Blue Beetle’s jetpack fired into life, Spider-Woman broke to swing in the Surfer’s direction, and Ben balled Reed into a sphere to launch across the open sea to the hovering herald. But there was something in the pit of Sue’s stomach that told her that they would be unable to reach him in time. They were too far out, the Surfer’s exposed pink, fleshy wrapped tightly around Johnny’s unconscious face.


The power cosmic flowed through the Surfer’s hand into Johnny’s unconscious body and he awoke with a blood-curdling scream. His limbs flailing wildly as the incredible power that the herald possessed began to course through him. Sue’s desperate screams echoed around The Raft as she watched on helpless to stop her baby brother’s suffering.

And then she remembered. The pendant.

Her fingers reached for her pockets and she plucked out the artifact she had been given after her visit to the Triskelion. How did it work? Sue’s nervous, sweaty fingers ran over it as she tried to remember what he’d said. All she had to do was say his name and wherever she was, he would be able to reach her.

For the first time in decades, Sue found herself appealing to god for help. Not the god of love or forgiveness, but the God of Thunder. “Thor…”

M A R V I L L E, O K L A H O M A:

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Everything goes dark.

No sooner does The Toyman issue his final, fleeting message of defeat does a power outage sweep the entire building. I can hear static in my earpiece, indicating that my connection to Barbara Gordon has been severed. Must have been Toyman's final act in disabling the electricity. Looking over to the bloated, rotting corpse of the madman once known as Winslow Schott, I sneer before turning my back to it. The authorities will be told through an anonymous tip that there may be a dead man in Stagg Enterprises' sub-basement, and I'll just have to trust that they'll actually do their jobs and investigate. Should be an interesting interview with Simon Stagg, at the very least, though I suspect his PR agents will do a hell of a job trying to distance him from all of this. If word got out that he was even tangentially involved with a terrorist who successfully launched a nuclear warhead towards Gotham, he could be charged on a federal level - but I'm not holding my breath.

Picking up the ruined cowl that sits at the floor infront of me, I look it over and wonder if it could still potentially keep my identity hidden. But it's in too poor of shape for me to even consider it. So instead, I take a length of a steel cable from my belt and wrap the armored shell in it, allowing it to hang from my belt. The melted fabric that covers it goes into an empty section of the belt itself, and I produce a grapple gun. Not nearly as advanced or capable as The Utility Gun, but it's an earlier model that runs on pressurized gas instead of electricity. If my equipment's compromised, this should do the trick to get me back to the surface.

Firing the grapple, I notice that the glow of Gotham outside is curiously dim aswell. Ascending several stories up the abandoned building, I only notice that it gets darker as I get closer. Reaching the top, I climb up and begin to assess the damage. But what I see staring back at me isn't a city - it's a ghost town. Every building in Gotham has been hit by the power outage, to my surprise, and Stagg Enterprises is merely one building in a sea of shadows that I can't see past into the horizon. What I do notice, however, is a faint glow from the far distance. By the time I turn around to see where it originates, my mouth is agape.

The warhead.

"My god... it actually detonated."

My heart sinks into my stomach as I try and weigh out whether or not the blast was averted far enough to avoid any potential hazardous fallout. Judging by the distance and the size of the mushroom cloud now ascending to the skies, there may be a minimal radioactivity hitting the Bay area. But I don't believe anyone in Gotham will be affected, as long as everyone is told to avoid the drinking water for the next few days. My concern for the city shifts away to another matter, as a chill runs down my spine, realizing there's something far more grave to consider.

Superman.

I know that he's able to withstand most forms of conventional harm. He proved that much whenever he took on the drones and Toyman's robots with little-to-no damage, not to mention the smoke and electricity that I levelled at him during our brief misunderstanding in Grant Park. But a nuclear blast? Even his biology is alien in nature and not metahuman, as conventional wisdom previously suggested, I don't know. I honestly don't know if he could've survived that. If he did, he may well be the most powerful being on the face of the planet.

And if he didn't… he died saving all of our lives.

My fears grow into a deeper concern, as I realize that the man I feared - the man I fought - needs to get back up and live for another day. Not just for the sake of Metropolis, but for Lois Lane and the entire world at large. Despite my earlier reservations, he didn't hesitate for even an instant when it came to the potential annihilation of a city he owes nothing to. That doesn't make him a threat, as I'd previously believed. That makes him a hero.

Rain and lighting start to pick up, probably as a result of the blast and the dramatic change in the environment. The lights of Gotham flicker back to life behind me, and the static in my earpiece disappears.

But instead of Oracle's voice, I hear one more familiar to me.

"Batman?! Lad, can you hear me?! I've secured Miss Lane and Dr. Irons at the safehouse, but we all heard what sounded like a massive blast! Are you and Superman... that is to say, are either of you alright?"

I continue staring at the mushroom cloud in shock, unsure of what to say.

"I..."

Clearing my throat, I try and gather myself as best as possible.

"I'm fine, Alfred. A little banged up, but I've had worse. That sound you heard was... an explosion. From a nuclear missile that was headed for the city. We're out of danger now, but Superman..."



"I don't know if he survived."

So much happens in so little time. I land on the deck of the Raft as Johnny Storm grabs the Surfer and the two fly high into the sky, before exploding into a blinding ball of fire. The Rider literally pulls the earth up to form a ramp to catch Storm. He's batted away by the Surfer, who somehow survives the inferno. Then, a rainbow blasts out of the sky, dropping a god on top of the extraterrestrial foe, and the two go blow for blow.

I may be a superhuman, but right now I feel like how the normal people of the world must feel when they see me do anything around New York. This world that I now inhabit is so much bigger than me. It's, frankly, out of my league. I don't belong here. I can't fight people like this. I can barely fight the goons I run into on a regular basis, and here I am trying to take on gods and monsters.

I've seen what Superman and the like can do on TV. But this? Seeing it up close? This is so much different. It's terrifying.

And it's now my life.

A rumble below my feet draws my attention away from my thoughts. As the rest of the assembled heroes watch as Thor and the Surfer trade haymakers, the Raft is coming apart at the seams. A radio tower collapses into the river, sending spray into the air a dozen feet high. This whole place is going to sink into the East River, and it's going to kill hundreds of people if we don't do anything about it.

"Hey guys," I call out to the rest, before motioning towards the fight, "I think we might be on the bench for the rest of this one. We need to get everyone still on this boat off. Now. Or they're not gonna make it."

I think through what needs to be done, not wanting Reed Richards to come up with *all* the plans today.

Pointing to the biker, I start, "You, skull dude. Mind giving me a ride through the Raft? I'll use what webbing I have left to keep any fracture points we find as structurally sound as I can make them. That will give the rest of you time to get as many people out as possible. Sound good?"

---

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Lightning burned through her entire body as the God of Thunder came crashing down. Iris screamed as she shot up. She could feel a level of energy surging through her body that she hadn’t felt before. She had heard about the God of Thunder, a good reporter did her research after all. Chaos ensued throughout the courtyard of the raft. What looked like Reed Richards seemed to be in control, several people in the same ‘uniform’ as his were spread throughout the courtyard. One of them looked like he was seriously out of commission, without a second thought she sped up. Jumping over debris, and sliding between Thor and the Surfer as they crashed into one another she managed to grab the fallen hero.

His body was still warm to the touch, but it didn’t particularly bother Iris at this point. After everything she had been through today this was the least stressful thing she had done. Carrying him as delicately as she could she deposited him at the other end of the bridge, looking up at a couple of paramedics who were stuck behind the police cordon. “Help him.” Then just as fast as she disappeared she turned back around heading back to this prison. By this point the conflict has escalated, Spider-Woman was barking orders to try and save the prison. She shook her head at the idea of her webbing the building together.

“There’s no guarantee that webbing will hold Spider-Woman. If we can get everyone to the other end of that bridge-” she signalled over her right shoulder.[color=#ff9900] “-Then they’re in the clear You know this city better than anyone else here, as far as I’m aware. You’re probably the best one to co-ordinate the evacuation out here. We may also need that webbing if someone gets any ideas” She sighed as an alarm blared, a massive door sliding into place above the main doorway locking them out. “Give me a second.” What had set off the security system now, she wasn’t entirely sure. It could be said however, to have impeccably poor timing.

Iris had no doubt that the big stone man could tear down the door, or even a wall. Doing that though risked destabilizing the whole facility even further. Instead she took a couple of steps back, before sprinting into action. She grabbed the back of the Blue mechanical man and ran straight at the door. Before they collided she concentrated on her, him and the wall. Vibrating their molecules in a way that they passed through it unharmed. As they passed through the otherside Iris pointed at the door control panel. “Get this door open, I’ll be back.” She went to run off again, however stumbled slightly as the pain overwhelmed her. Flashing what was likely the least reassuring grin in the history of reassuring grin at the Blue guy she sped off through the prison corridors in the hopes of finding some form of master control, while also keeping an eye out for anyone at all who was trapped.