Bruce Banner looked at the scanner in his hands. Trans-dimensional theory wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but Gamma was and whatever the entity had used to break through the dimensional barrier had created the brieftest of Gamma Spikes, and that was something that he could track. He sighed as he walked into the bar. Bruce didn't like the city very much, infact he actively tried to avoid them whenever he possibly could. Gamma Base, deployment and maybe the occasional visit to the Helicarrier or Triskellion. That was enough civilisation for him. He had a bad habit of breaking civilisation whenever he went too it.

Stopping outside of a bar, Bruce shrugged as he pushed his way in. The scanner pointed him towards a tall long-haired blonde man. Raising his voice above the din, he projected it through the bar. "My name is Doctor Bruce Banner. Everyone but the blonde leave the bar." The toughest of bikers had their eyes go wide at the mention of his name, as they all stood up just abandoning their drinks. Some risked going past him out the front door, careful not to touch him or barge past him. Others rushed through the back and out the door. The Bartender was last to leave, casting a cautious glance between the blonde man and Bruce, who walked round behind the bar. Grabbing a glass he pulled on the tap, filling it with beer and sliding it infront of the entity. He then pulled out a can of soda out of the fridge for himself, pulling the tab of the can open it with a crack-hiss.

"So your lack of reaction to my name lets me know that you aren't a regular visitor. Mind telling me who you are and what you're doing on my planet?"

---

"-so the next thing I know, I'm on the Bifrost," Thor drunkenly pantomimed the Rainbow Bridge punching between realities, "Zwoop! And then I'm here. No family, no home, and," he belched loudly, and the bartender refilled his outstretched mug, "And no money." The bartender had let him start a tab, which Thor was immensely grateful for, and the barkeep regretted doing so as soon as Thor had drained his first keg. Still, he continued to serve Thor as he seemed to be handling a lethal amount of alcohol just fine, and his Armani suit suggested they could recoup the funds from him once he reconciled with his parents back wherever he came from.

"What a bastard." Said the man to Thor's right, who had been listening to his sob story and gently massaging Thor's muscular arm all the while. "If your father doesn't appreciate you for who you are, then you don't owe him the time of day."

The bartender added, "I never got on with my old man, neither. He kicked me out at fifteen, I never looked back. I think you're better off, kid." He patted Thor warmly on the cheek, and the God of Thunder merely smiled sadly.

"Is Bifrost a boat or a plane?" The man on Thor's opposite side asked

"It's a," Thor wracked his inebriated brains trying to think of how to possibly describe the Bifrost to these mortals. After a noticeable pause, he made a vague gesture with his hands, saying, "Well, you know."

"Don't you have any other family? Besides your brother that ripped you off, I mean."

"Not really." Thor replied, "Father made my older sister, Hela, regent of Niflheim when I was just a kid, and I haven't seen her since." A small epiphany occurred to Thor, as he began to notice the common theme between his banishment to Midgard, and Hela "ruling" over Niflheim. He wondered if all of Asgard had been told that Thor was now regent of Midgard, and if that had been his father's true intention.

It was at that moment that another man entered the bar, and Thor spared a sideways glance to see who it was. Some mortal, he reckoned, staring at one of those devices that all the other Midgardians never seemed to look up from, even as they were walking around. Thor didn't pay the man any mind at first, but then he called out into the bar, telling them his name was Bruce Banner, and saying that everyone but Thor should leave. Much to Thor's amazement, they all obeyed him, some of them hurrying away like the man was death itself. Thor stayed in his seat and drained what was in his mug, before calling out to the departing men, "Thank you! You're all very kind. Carlo, don't forget to tell your husband hello for me!"

The stranger, this Bruce Banner, stepped around the bar and poured Thor another drink, which he accepted gratefully. This guy couldn't be all bad, he figured. However, what he had to say next was very intriguing to the exiled prince. "My planet," the man had said, a very curious choice of words. Thor stared at him for a few moments, trying to puzzle things out, knocking back another few pints of this thin, watery Earth-beer as he did so. It helped him think.

Once the mug was empty again, Thor belched loudly again before saying, "You must be some new god of the Earth, huh?" He said, rising unsteadily to his feet. God or not, Thor towered over Bruce, his arms twice as thick around as Banner's throat. "Emboldened by the absence of this world's true masters. 'While the cat's away, the mice will play.' No more of that, your rulers have returned. The Allfather conquered this world when you and I were just motes of cosmic stardust, my -hic- tiny friend. As regent of Midgard, I'd be more than happy to conquer it for him again if I need to."

"Right. I need to take this back, relay what I can to Romanoff and figure out what's next-" His phone beeped and he pulled it out of his pocket, groaning as he did so. There was always something else. Fury better have a damn good reason for skipping town. "-right I have to get back to the carrier. I have Vegas to deal with now." He clicked his homing beacon, sending the signal to the waiting quinjet. Steve walked towards the edge of the building, though stopped and turned as he had a thought. "Before you disappear into the night however, how's Grayson doing?"

Ever the conversationalist...

The Batman's demeanor turned cold, having already fallen back into the shadows in the midst of Director Rogers' call. As much as he respected the legendary Captain and all that he'd been able to accomplish in an extensive career, there was apart of The Caped Crusader that strongly felt this particular charade of Fury's had been a waste of both his and Rogers' time. Having dealt with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s continued interest in his own affairs in Gotham over the last few years had already soured Batman's opinion of the global peacekeeping organization by itself, nevermind having been expected to decode more of the Colonel's spy games for stakes that likely didn't concern anyone beyond the usual suspects. For Batman's part, he couldn't be more disinterested in wherever Fury was hiding - at least, as long as he stayed out of his city. There were always more relevant matters to address.

"Nightwing is... fine."

Already having turned his back, ready to disembark on his nightly patrol, Batman stopped for a moment to dwell in the idea that this could be the last time the two men spoke for a while. Gotham had been restless ever since the flood struck last year, leaving hundreds of people homeless. Most had turned to crime, feeling as though they had been given no other options despite a plea from The Wayne Foundation that jobs were to be created following the recovery effort. The resulting few months had left Batman in a state that seemed even more dour. Among... other recent events.

He couldn't imagine that it'd been much easier for Steve, given that the wannabe soldier-turned-living symbol for an entire country had been quickly promoted to the highest position over a network of individuals whose jobs it had been to undermine half of the transparency that Captain America spent his life advocating for. It wasn't an enviable task, though there was little doubt in anyone's mind that Rogers wasn't up for it. Which was perhaps the problem in the long run. No one dared to question whether he had been the right man for it. Least of all, the man who preceded him.

"...Blüdhaven is lucky to have him. I just worry that the city is going to tear into him more than Gotham did to me at his age."

A silence hung over the two for a moment, before Batman glanced over his shoulder.

"Steve. If I could have a word."

The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed genuinely caught off guard by the request, but nevertheless nodded, apparently indicating a 'standby' motion to some unseen craft awaiting him in the clouds.

"You've been apart of every major conflict that this country's seen since World War II. You were at the forefront of The Cold War, Vietnam, The Gulf War... when faced with all of that horror, it would have been easy to become disillusioned. To turn your back on it all and give up."

A sense of melancholy hung on The Dark Knight's tone, as his caped silhouette stood at the edge of the building. He stared out across the skyline of the city he'd sworn to protect. It all suddenly seemed much bigger than he'd ever noticed before.

"And you didn't. Despite it all, you persevered. I just wanted... no, I need to know."

Turning around fully, Batman's gaze was affixed to the man who'd shouldered a lifetime of burdens. A man who was much older than him, but hadn't seemingly cracked under the same mortal limitations that the vigilante was beginning to fear were creeping up on him.

"Does it ever get easier?"

“This is not a good idea,” said Pete Ross.

He and Calvin were in the Rose Garden far away from eavesdropping Secret Service agents and any White House staffers they may come across. Lois was back in Metropolis for the next few days. In addition to her duties as First Lady she served on a few civic boards in various positions. Calvin had held similar positions, but he’d resigned them positions for the presidency. She still had an eye on Metropolis even as Calvin focused on the country and the world. He and Lois talked very little about post-presidency life at this point, but he hoped that one day he could go back to the relatively low stakes of the municipal revitalization committee.

With Lois out of town Calvin and Pete had dinner together with Pete’s latest girlfriend, a junior staffer for a Georgia congressman. She was starstruck by having dinner with the president at the White House, it didn’t really matter that her boss had once called him the devil to a whooping crowd at the Madison County Fair. But Calvin hadn't forgotten. Pete had really scored some points with her for the dinner. And it irked Calvin a little to be used like that. What was next? He’d bring a date to Ft. Superman?

“Your comment is duly noted,” said Calvin.

“I thought we talked about this even before election day. You would let Calvin Ellis be president while Superman continued to be a citizen of the world. Superman has never been a tool of US policy.”

“I like this thing you’re doing, talking about me like I’m not here,” said Calvin. “How can you talk to me about what Superman does and doesn’t do? Furthermore, it’s not like I’m going to the Senate floor in my cape and boots, Pete. There’s a potential terrorist attack forthcoming. Doesn’t matter if it’s Helena, Montana, or Lagos. People are going to get hurt. And I have the power to prevent that. Why shouldn't I act?”

“Let ARGUS do its job, Cal,” Pete said with a sigh. He rubbed the back of his neck and shook his head. “I’m just thinking of the optics of Superman fighting some political group.”

Calvin raised an eyebrow. Pete had always been one of the most savvy political minds Calvin knew. He could always see the angles and consider every point of view and the implications for every decision. It was why he was chief of staff and Calvin’s top political advisor. But this?

“This isn’t just some political group, Pete. ARGUS isn't looking into the local chapter of Greenpeace, you know. These are bad guys, bad bad people who are looking to harm other people. These people already hate Calvin Ellis and all that he stands for, and I can bet you they’re not too keen on Superman either. Who exactly do we tick off with this decision? What kind of allies and support would Superman lose by taking down some Neo-Nazi? And if I did… is that the kind of support I want?”

“It’s just… where does it end?” Pete asked. “Doing what's right for America and what's right for you can clash, and sometimes dovetail into bad decisions. How long before Superman is leading the 2nd Cavalry into Iran.”

“The slippery slope doesn’t work on me,” Calvin said, his arms crossed. “They’ve been saying for years ‘how long until Superman gets bored of saving lives and just living among humans, and he does something crazy like--’”

“Run for president?” snapped Pete. He nodded and spread his hands, “yeah...crazy right?”

An awkward silence lingered between the two men. Pete wouldn’t meet Calvin’s eyes. Calvin slid his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Good night, Pete. The Secret Service will see you out.”

“Alright, Cal,” Pete said finally. “You do what you want to do. I did my part. I advised. It’s up to you to make the choice.”

“And that’s why I’m president, and you’re not.” Calvin crossed his arms. “Good night. See you tomorrow. And the next time you come to dinner in my house, you come alone.”

“So come alone to this house?” asked Pete. “The one the American people are letting you live in for the next four years? The one I'm trying to keep you in for another four years? That house? This house? Got it, Mr. President. Understood.”

---

Calvin walked through the small kitchen in full Superman costume. Joshua Ellis sat at the kitchen table with a bowl of sugary cereal and milk in front of him. He gave his son a passing glance before going back to his bowl.

“Aren’t you a little too early for Halloween?” Joshua asked.

“Aren’t you a little too old for Fruity Pebbles?” Calvin replied back.

Calvin took a seat at the table across from his father. He hadn’t been home in nearly six months, probably his longest time away from the place, and it struck him how little seemed to change. The house was the same as it had always been in the last 40 years. It seemed like his dad had managed to put a new coat on the kitchen cabinets, but that was it. Josh and Mary Ellis called the little two story house on Vermont Street home long before Calvin had literally landed in their lives, and they would continue to call the place home until they died.

“Saw you on the news,” said Joshua. “Saw you at some event in Denver, and then saw you fighting that Atomic Skull guy in Baltimore. It’s like I got two sons… only one of them wears glasses.”

“What’s up with the cereal?” Calvin asked.

“Just a before bedtime snack,” Joshua shrugged. “I’m keeping an eye on my blood pressure and sugar, son.”

“Your vitals are good,” said Calvin. “Next time you go to the doctor see if they can do an ultrasound on your left kidney though.”

“Superman, president, and a doctor. It’s a shame I can only brag to my friends about one of those things.”

Calvin shook his head and laughed. “I’m sure your buddies at the VFW like to bend your ear about the job I’m doing.”

Joshua was a Vietnam veteran and spent plenty of time at the local Veterans of Foreign Wars post with the elderly men who served in Southeast Asia, and the now large group of younger vets of American conflicts in the Middle East. The old breed of WW2 vets were alsmost all gone. Calvin figured Steve was the only one he knew still alive and even he had... a little help with his longevity.

“Yep. I’ve convinced them I’m a member of your braintrust.”

“Is that right?”

“Told them the boy can’t turn out a light without getting my approval.”

“Real power behind the throne, huh, dad?”

Joshua grunted and took another spoonful of Fruity Pebbles. He contemplated something as he chewed. When he finished he swallowed and looked at his son.

“You know, night’s like this I get to missing your mother.”

“I’m here,” Mary Ellis said as she came from the living room. “Your father is just mad because I said he overcooked the spaghetti noodles tonight. Said he wasn't talking to me.”

“Sometimes it’s like I can still hear her….”

Marry kissed Calvin on the cheek and put a hand on his shoulder.

“New suit, Cal?”

“A little bit more lead padding around the edges. I had a run-in with Metallo a few months back and he did a little more damage than he usually does.”

Mary took a seat at the kitchen table next to Calvin and smiled at him.

“How’s Lois?”

“Good,” Cal shrugged. “She’s still adjusting, like I am, to everything. The biggest thing is the schedules and monitoring. Lois has always done her own thing and now she can’t do that. You know the word she hates the most is 'no' and now she's hearing that a lot these days, although a bit more diplomatically phrased. Every move has to be watched and weighed and approved.”

“Yeah,” said Joshua. “We wouldn’t know anything about that…”

Calvin shot his father a look. He knew posted outside the Ellis house was a car containing two Secret Service agents. The Ellis’ had been hesitant to take up the offer of protection, but Calvin managed to convince them. The heated rhetoric around the election and the… passionate discourse over Calvin made him worried for their potential safety.

“I can’t be everywhere at once, dad,” said Calvin. “Even before the White House.”

“You don’t think we can take care of ourselves?” Mary asked her son. “We’ve witnessed a lot of change happening around us, Cal. This city has gone downhill, but we’ve survived.”

“I’m not worried about neighborhood people,” Calvin said with a shake of his head. “I’m worried about someone with an agenda coming in from out of town. Look, will my own parents just do me the favor of listening to me for once?”

Calvin clenched his jaw in and furrowed his brow. Joshua raised an eyebrow at his son and put his spoon down in the almost empty bowl of cereal.

“What’s got you bothered, Cal?”

“That obvious?” he asked.

“Might as well have a neon sign on your forehead,” said Mary.

Calvin sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I became Superman because I wanted to help people with my powers. I became president because I wanted to help people as Calvin Ellis. And it feels like Calvin Ellis can’t help as many people as he wants to, and now I’m being told that Superman has to make decisions with the political future of Calvin Ellis in mind.”

“Why did you become president?” Joshua asked.

“Did… you not hear me? To help as many people as possible.”

“And how do you do that?”

Calvin suddenly felt like he was a child again. “What are you getting at? I guess by doing… good things?”

Joshua nodded his head as Mary picked up the thread.

“Your dad and I always taught you to do the right thing, regardless of the consequences.”

“Do what’s right,” said Joshua. “And the rest will work out.”

Mary squeezed Calvin’s shoulder. “For Superman and Calvin Ellis. You hungry, Cal? I got some leftover spaghetti... the noodles aren't the best, but you dump enough sauce on it I'm sure we can salvage something edible.”

“Woman, you are the devil, you know that?”

---

ARGUS SAFEHOUSE
CODENAME: “BIG SKY”

Jasper Sitwell put in his earbuds and started the “lofi beats to chill and spy to” playlist on his phone. The music washed over him as he began to monitor the torrents of data coming in throughout the city of Helena. Someone from pretty high up the ladder was involved. They dispatched Sitwell from ARGUS’ Denver office with the orders to set up shop in the BIG SKY safehouse.

He had no idea what his bosses were looking for, only that it was serious. He was given full-blown taupe clearance, which was a big deal. No mission Sitwell had been part of ever went full taupe. Every piece of personal communication that went out across a thirty mile radius -- text, phone call, email, drunken snapchat dick pic -- got caught in the ARGUS net for Sitwell and the algorithm to sift through. Privacy rights and laws be damned for the next forty-eight hours.

Sitwell checked his watch after what seemed like hours. Almost twelve hours had passed since first starting the search and so far it was nothing but personal information, nothing that would shake the threat of national security. Well... apparently the local K-Mart in town was finally giving up the ghost and plenty of people on Facebook were sad about it. That was the closest he saw until... now? Stillwell sat up when he saw an influx of communications flashing across the screen. Snippets of texts and real-time transcriptions of phone calls were displayed on the monitor in front of him. The algorithm had pegged them as upper echelon important.

KEYWORDS AND PHRASES: EXPLOSION, BOOM, BOMB.

“A sonic boom?” Sitwell said aloud. “In… Helena.”

More flashing notifications tagged high priority and critical. Texts, a blurry cellphone video, radar information from a nearby USAF base. Something small was flying through the area at a very, very, fast speed. The radar info and other data ended up collected under one tab:

METAHUMAN THREAT

METAHUMAN: UNKNOWN: SPOTTED… FACIAL RECOGNITION… PENDING…. PENDING…

“Superman?”

Sitwell went for his phone. The lofi beats would have to wait. For some reason Superman had shown up in Montana. This had to be what he was here for. He started to call his superiors in Denver.

“Sitwell… what’s going on?”

He let ASAC Gannon continue to talk while Sitwell watched the screen, the phone slumped on his shoulder. The monitor flashed alert after alert of incoming warnings.

SECOND METAHUMAN SPOTTED… FACIAL RECOGNITION… PENDING… PENDING

WARNING!
WARNING!

PERSON OF MASS DESTRUCTION EVENT IMMINENT

“Gannon,” Sitwell finally said. “I think I found what we're looking for…”

"Steve. If I could have a word."

The Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. seemed genuinely caught off guard by the request, but nodded, apparently indicating a 'standby' motion to some unseen craft awaiting him in the clouds.

"You've been a part of every major conflict that this country's seen since World War II. You were at the forefront of The Cold War, Vietnam, The Gulf War... when faced with all of that horror, it would have been easy to become disillusioned. To turn your back on it all and give up."

A sense of melancholy hung on The Dark Knight's tone, as his caped silhouette stood at the edge of the building. He stared out across the skyline of the city he'd sworn to protect. It all suddenly seemed much bigger than he'd ever noticed before.

"And you didn't. Despite it all, you persevered. I just wanted... no, I need to know."

Turning around fully, Batman's gaze was affixed to the man who'd shouldered a lifetime of burdens. A man who was much older than him, but hadn't seemingly cracked under the same mortal limitations that the vigilante was beginning to fear were creeping upon him.

"Does it ever get easier?"

Steve looked down at the ground for a moment. He couldn't lie he had been taken off-guard by the Batmans comment. Always stoic, always unwavering. Steve had never known anyone to be as unflinching as the Batman in his time, and he had known a lot of superheroes over the years. Turning to face Bruce, he tried to make as much eye contact as the man’s mask would allow. "It doesn't.

He sighed as he backed up to the ledge, leaning back against it as he did so. "I'd like to say it does, that as you get older it's easier to get up every day and fight the good fight. I used to want to make the world a better place, to stop the bullies. It wasn't until Japan that I realised that there are bullies all around us, and there will always be bullies. The important thing is that no matter what, no matter how bullies you come across you stand back up to face them. When you get older, all we can ask is that the next generation is ready and all we can do is prepare them as best we can.”

Steve crossed his arms over his chest. "We've done some good over the years Bruce; All we can do is prepare the world the best we can."

He turned away as the hatch of the invisible Quinjet opened, and climbing up onto the ledge of the building he stepped into the back of the craft. Steve shouted down as it began to pull away. "If you ever want to talk, you've got my number, I've got some experience being old."

IN DREAMS
CHAPTER 6

New York City
1939

Wesley Dodds walked through the swanky penthouse party with detached bemusement. Tonight was supposed to be a who’s who in New York high society. The rich and elite were all gathered for one charitable reason or another. Wesley had trouble keeping track of what this season's pet cause was. He couldn’t help but find it funny that tonight's gala would almost certainly cost more than any money that would be raised. Tonight was less about actual charity and more about ego-stroking. Everyone had to be seen out and about, seen that they cared... or at least that they wanted to people to think they cared. He checked his watch and gave himself another half hour before he could politely make his exit.

These events always reminded Wesley that he may have come from the wealthy class, but he was not of it. Not truly. They talked stock options, summer homes, and yachts to each other while on the streets below so many people did without. So much evil went by unnoticed or uncared by these people who had so many resources to fight it. Wesley did as much as he could with his own inherited wealth to donate to charity and give to the needy. What he kept, however, went to fund his other crusade against evil in the world.

“Oh, Wesley Dodds, there you are!”

Margaret Thurston grabbed at Wesley’s arm with a pudgy hand. She started to pull him through the room towards a small gaggle of socialites crowded together.

“You are probably the smartest man I know, so surely you have an opinion on this.”

Wesley noticed one of the men in the group had the latest issue of Time in his hands. On the cover was a masked man with a green cape, a red shirt, green pants, and red boots. The sigil of a lantern was splayed on his chest. He faced the camera with a sort of playful smirk, his left hand raised and showing off a ring on the middle finger. The caption beneath his picture read:



“Oh, yes, I saw that,” said Wesley. “It is actually an interesting read.”

“It’s just so bizarre,” said Margaret. “What makes a person want to wear a Halloween mask and go out to beat up bad guys?”

“They’re lunatics,” said one of the men, a tall and thin gentleman with a waxed mustache. He expelled a column of smoke from his mouth and shook his head. “Some sort of mental defect or attention seekers.”

“This Green Lantern chap doesn’t look too bad,” said another man, grabbing the magazine from the blonde man who had been holding it. “At least it seems he can actually do amazing stuff. Flying and some sort of beam with that ring of his… look at this one...”

He spread the magazine out to show a portrait of another caped man with a giant star on his chest, flying above a city with a glowing rod in his hand.

“This Starman out of Opal City, another one capable of amazing things. I only worry about what they could do if they decided to join the criminals instead of fighting them."

Wesley watched the man flip through the magazine. He came to another drawing, this one cruder than the ones of Starman and the Green Lantern. It showed a man in a suit, hat, and trench coat, the gasmask’s eyes glowing red to make him look more inhuman.

“This is the one that scares me,” said Margaret. “This Sandman fellow? So strange, just the sight of him gives me the willies.”

“He helped police stop a sex murderer last fall,” said the blonde man who originally had the copy of Time. “Among other things. They may be crazy, and they may be… unstable, but they seem to be inspiring a lot of people to do the right thing.”

“I think you’re right,” Wesley finally spoke. “I do not advocate what they’re doing, or how they’re doing it. But we saw several years back that when times are hard, our institutions cannot help us the way we imagined they could. Sometimes you have to help yourself, and it’s easy to fall into apathy. I think these masked men can show people that if they want to really make change in this world, they have to do it themselves.”

“Well said,” said the blonde man. “Mr….”

“Dodds,” Wesley said, extending his hand. “Wesley Dodds.”

“Alan Scott,” he said, taking Wesley’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

---

Brooklyn
Now

Wesley stood in the darkness of the storage unit and waited. By his own recollection he’d been up a little over twenty-four hours since the call that triggered this whole mess. The surge of adrenaline kept him awake. He’d crash when it was all over, but for now he could get through to see his task to the end.

The sound of the elevator’s motor reverberated off the concrete and sheet metal of the storage facility so loudly, Wesley could hear it approaching from four floors below. This facility operated 24/7 with some kind of attendant always present at the desk. He figured whoever was coming up hadn’t noticed the clerk missing as they made their way to the elevator. The night attendant was behind the desk, deep in a sleep that would last until the sun came up.

Wesley approached the closed roll-up door and slipped his gasmask down over his face. Someone on the other side unlocked the roll-up door across the corridor and started to pull it up. Wesley put one hand on the gas gun on his hip. With the other he rolled the door up and stepped out into the corridor. He pulled the gun out and aimed it at the back of the person who was turning around to face him.

“Hello, Frankie,” he said softly.

“...Uncle Wes?” Frankie stuttered. “What…”

“You were always a bit sloppy,” said Wesley. “So was Sandy, but I like to think my old protégé would have at least enough sense to destroy any incriminating evidence before I could get to it.”

“What are you talking about?” Frankie asked. “Why are you here, dressed up in that old outfit?”

Wesley smirked from behind the mask. Frankie had always been a bad actress when she was younger. Sandy tried to turn her into a star as best as he could, but there was nothing there. And it seemed she was as bad a liar as she was an actress.

“I found Sandy’s computer,” said Wesley. “It led to this place and his list of clients. A lot of weird people out there will pay top dollar to have sex with the Green Lantern or Black Canary… or what the fantasy of them. Whose idea was it, Frankie? Sandy was always money hungry, but I don’t see him doing this unless he was really had to. He was beginning to sell off his Sandman collection to help make ends meet before this little venture, so he had to be truly desperate. ”

“I don’t…” Tears started to form in her eyes. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She started to cry. Wesley pulled the trigger on the gas gun just as Frankie started to go for something in her coat pocket. She coughed and stumbled backwards into the open storage unit. A single-shot derringer fell to the ground as she covered her mouth.

“I don’t know if Sandy ever told you about the gas,” he said. “It’s a special blend I concocted almost… a century ago. It blends chloroform and sodium pentothal into a neat cocktail. A lot of it puts you out, but a little of it? Well that just makes you talkative.”

Wesley kept walking towards Frankie as she stumbled backwards. She finally collapsed on the rickety bed in the storage unit. He kept the gun trained on her as she coughed.

“Sandy gets financially desperate so he reaches out to you,” said Wesley. "You used to be a showgirl, I remember. You had all kinds of seedy entertainment connections. Put him in touch with both talent and potential clients. And you get a cut, right? I read Sandy’s emails with his clients. It was all coded, but again very sloppy. This little sex enterprise was getting Sandy -- and you -- a nice little payday. Only problem? Sandy wanted to end it. He was starting to turn clients down, telling him he was out of business… but Frankie -- Dinah Lance, actually according to the code names-- couldn’t have her cash cow drying up.”

“I…,” she coughed again. “I...The things he did to me, Uncle Wes--”

“Just Wesley, please.”

She blinked rapidly a tears poured down her face. “The things… he did to me during our marriage. The running around, the drinking, the abuse. All of that and he left me broken and broke. After twenty years he used me until there was nothing left.”

Her face twisted in some kind of look that was rage and despair fueled.

“And when we finally had a good thing going, he wanted to end it. And you know why?”

She looked at Wes with an expression that was pure hate.

“‘Uncle Wes wouldn’t approve.’ That’s what he said. He sacrificed so much for you, he loved you with all his heart, and you… you broke it. All those years ago, you told him he was less than dogshit and it fucked him up. And even still, after all that shit, he loved you so much he couldn’t bear doing something you wouldn’t approve of. He loved you more than he ever had me. When he said that you wouldn't approve… I just… I snapped. We’d met at this little motel to talk about things and I… I just. I got him drunk, drunker than he had been in years. And when he was passed out… I took his belt and…”

Frankie smiled at Wesley, showing her teeth and no warmth in the expression.

“Sandy’s favorite Sandman case was the Tarantula Killer, did you know that? So… I let him have one more Sandman fantasy. I slipped the belt around his neck like the Tarantula had done to all those girls back then... and I..."

Wesley's dreams. Rough hands on rough leather, pulling desperately and strangling the life out of Sandy.

"Do you think he liked it, Uncle Wes? Do you think he loved it?! DID HE DO YOU PROUD, UNCLE WES?!”

Wesley aimed the gun at Frankie’s face.

“I alerted the NYPD, Frankie. I gave them all the clues they needed. By the time you wake up you should be in their custody. Sleep… and be consumed by your own dark dreams.”

Frankie spat at Wesley as he pressed the trigger and gassed her.

Clint slowly, gingerly raised his hands, his left hand open, letting the bow balance perfectly across his palm in a gesture of complete submission to the moment.

"That's right. Come to a complete stop." The voice echoed through the space.

Clint's hands came to a halt just above head level, the bow stopped gently swaying.

"That's good." The other man's growl confirmed. "Aaaand, we've got you."

Hawkeye's glare slightly squinted, he maintained a laserlike focus on a set point. His back to the man, he got his bearings in the room. Recognised his target.

"What are you waiting for? A 'Go'? You know the exercise starts via motion detector."

Clint's breath came with control, a wry smile started to cross his face, and he waited until the motion detector would pick up on the subtle gesture. It did, and a light changed to green in front of his face, with almost inhuman quickness, his right hand dropped behind him to a fletching from his quiver. His left arm turned and with a twist of his wrist, the bow was aimed. With automatic speed that can only come from the muscle memory of uncountable hours of practice, the right hand snapped the arrow into place, and drew back.

Clint fired off the arrow into the corner of the room in front of him to his left with a release so consistent he could tradmark it, the highly-vulcanised rubber on the polybutadiene tip had the arrow ricochet off the side wall, followed by the front and then soar back towards the man who had just fired it.

Clint jerked his thumbs behind him, gesturing towards the target and swivelled to watch it's trajectory, struggling to keep pace. The arrow struck true on the target with a solid "Thukk!" hitting a pressure panel on the target which stopped the clock, measuring micro seconds next to the green light.

"Perfect." The elderly growl of the man who once went by the name Captain America echoed once more through the intercom speaker. "Now if we could just see you do it once more without the showboating..."

"...Then it wouldn't be as fast." Replied Clint, cutting the elder leader off.

"You don't get bonus points for flair in this business, Hawkeye."

"And I don't get points deducted for it either. If it were your life on the line, would you rather I shave a second from my time turning to draw and face, or would you rather I make the play that gives the least time for the bad guys to get a shot off? The fast play was exactly what I did, and if I consistently make the shot then that's the shot I should take. Or are you trying to tell me you never threw a bank shot with that shield of yours?"

Silence was palpable from the booth.

Clint turned his back on the target once more, and before the exercise could be reset, quickly drew an arrow, fired once more into the corner into the left, drew another and fired into the right corner, and pulled two more from his quiver, turned his bow sideways and with a single shot fired both into each corner.

Without turning around the solid "Thukk!"s of all four arrows gave proof to the result as he walked towards the exit of the training facility.

"Sounded pretty consistent to me. Good practice, El Capitan."

---

H A W K E Y E
H A W K E Y E

_{SEASON ONE Sensation & Wonder}

---

His back hit the meshing of the net one more time, his body falling deeply into the slack of it's extremely gentle tension.

"Again, Barton! I thought you'd been practising! Gambon--!"

"I have been!" The young boy called out, scrambling across the net like a baby spider before finding the edge and expertly flipping out - the trick he'd most had time to learn, since the circus had been looking to train him in the art of the trapeze.

"Well, the Gambonnos keep telling me you could be some kind of acrobat, but I'm seeing a lot of falling! What have you been learning?"

"Ernesto and Luigi are tumblers, most of what I've been learning has been closer to the ground body-control stuff. I don't see them hafta go up and swing, I'm tryin' my best! I never learnt this kinda stuff yet!"

"Well, we're learning it now, Clint! Get your butt back up that ladder, your brother's barely had a chance to get a sweat going!" The Ringmaster called back to him. "Now move your keister, meester!"

This was not remotely true. For whilst it was accurate that Barney had so far had very few opportunities to swing out on his trapeze - waiting and watching whilst Clint had to get his early swings to establish and build up momentum - the lights and pressure of the moment, combined with the height itself to have the older brother sweating bullets. He'd re-chalked his hands a dozen times already and secretly was making silent prayers for his brother to fall, before he'd have to try his own part.

For Clint's part he was to swing through once, return, make a second swing and then attempt to reposition himself so that he could hang by his legs, return, and then it would be Barney's turn. So far, Clint had struggled with repositioning himself, the arms of a young boy seeming to get too tired by the swings for the arduous task of lifting himself up to get his legs right.

Far below a few of the other performers had started to watch on, the young boys had demonstrated early promise operating booths, juggling, tumblework with the Great Gambonnos, now was their chance to not only step up into a future place in the spotlight, but also to fill a need in the circus. Tiboldts Circus had long operated without a trapeze act, choosing to instead take on certain fringe performances less traditionally thought of in line with a circus who were at the very pinnacle of their skillsets. As popular as a trapeze act is, Keibler had found them to be a dime a dozen - half of the draw of a circus, is to offer something astounding that people hadn't seen before. And headline trapeze acts weren't exactly cost-effective, as popular a draw as they could be. No, if he could raise such an act from the ground up - say, from two young orphans who feel indebted and a familial connection to such a circus, it might be possible to create an additional draw at an affordable price.

Clint scrambled up the ladder once more.

"He's getting tired..." Came a voice over Keibler's shoulder. "...and frustrated."

Clint lifted himself onto the platform panting. "Tired and frustrated means he's eizer going to push to do it to spite you, or he's going to get sloppy. Either way, zis won't prove his skill."

Clint took the trapeze in his hands, and glanced down at the pudgy ringmaster standing below and the headliner that stood behind him. He furrowed his brow and with a determined expression he leapt and rode the cable once more. Barney prayed again. Clint swung back, his arms burned. He twisted his hand around the otherside of the trapeze contrary to how he was taught. His technique was broken, flawed, but he refused to fail and hear the bloated blowhard's yelling one more time. It might be ugly, but he wouldn't give Keibler the opportunity - as if that fat load would have a hope in Hell of riding the trapeze himself. He swung through, and Clint scrambled to climb the trapeze, he made it up, albeit looking shaky and then repositioned himself to cling to the trapeze by his own legs.

Far from pretty but he'd done it.

Barney nervously swung out, then swung back, the next pass was the money shot. Barney would release and soar through the sky only to be caught in his younger brother's arms.

Or that was the theory at least.

But their timing was off. Barney's nervousness saw him swing early, the two lines never coming into synch. When Barney released he found only air, and Keibler proceeded to fill that air with expletives and bluster. Clint let go and dropped into the net below once he saw his brother get clear, further angering the ringmaster. So far it had been easier for the smaller boy to get back to the trapeze platform by climbing back up the ladder, than by trying to swing there. It felt much safer, since he could only just reach the trapeze from the platform when on his tiptoes.

Clint bounced across the net and flipped out of it once more, landing once again with perfect balance. The ringmaster threw a swift kick in his direction whilst he ran across for the ladder, which the young boy easily dodged with some fancy footwork whilst flashing a cheeky grin.

The man behind Keibler raised an eyebrow, as he watched the way the younger Barton boy moved. As the two Barton brothers climbed up their ladders, the headliner said something to the ringmaster.

"Are you sure? He'll be your responsibility." The voice of the louder man carried further. "Fine by me, wasting enough of my time here with them any way..."

"BARTON!! You'll be working with Duquesne from now on. Listen closely and pay attention!"

The brothers looked down from their elevated positions.

"Which one?" They both called out at once.

"Clint!" Keibler called back up. The younger brother watched his older brother hunch over in some combination of disappointment and shame.

"Can my brother come too?"

The ringmaster and the dashing French swordsman quibbled for a few moments.

"That's fine. Just get down here."

---

"So it's got John Travolta 'n' Christian Slater in it and..."

"Who's Christian Slater again?"

"He's the guy who played Will Scarlet in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves."

"We just hired that, Clint! I wanna get Executive Decision!"

"What's that one?"

"Kurt Russell and Steven Segal. There's a plane full of some chemical bomb thing and they're trying to stop terrorists from dropping it or blowing up or some junk."

"Oh I don't know if we want to be watching something violent with chemical weapon bombs in it Barney..."

"What Clint wants to get has nuclear weapons in it! And we just hired it the other week!"

"Heee-eey! I liked it! I wanna see it again!"

"Yeah, well I spoke with Andy about it at school, 'n' he says the Government doesn't even call it that when nukes get stolen! They call it an 'Empty Quiver'!"

"So! The movie's still cool, stink-face! Broken Arrow sounds better! Whadda you care?!"

"Why don't we get something nice like Muppet Treasure Island?"

"MOOOOOOO--OOOOOOOOM!"

In his memories, his father's footsteps echo like thunder here. His presence growing an uncanny mass beyond any plausible reality. An impossible weight that would drag the family down to the depths of their destruction.

"Stink-face?! Go to Hell, Butthead!" Replied Barney on delay, lashing out at the younger brother.

The brothers skirmish, the footsteps rumble to a crescendo, the pair find themselves in the growing shadow of a colossal figure. A muscular arm - well grown from the exercise of chopping, slicing and hauling meat in business hours, and pumping beer and bourbon 'n' Cokes as the sun starts to set - broke the fight up by grabbing the older brother and throwing him into a wall. Swearing and yelling followed, which Clint's memory had long since blocked out or forgotten the particulars, but he seems to remember the larger man blaming his son for the recent damage done to the wall by being thrown into it, and kicks him solidly in the ribs.

The man sweeps by the younger boy, who's mouth remains agape, and grabs their mother by the hook of her arm. Clint could swear he could smell Wild Turkey wafting from his very pores. Their mother doesn't struggle, but does crane her neck slightly, trying to check whether her older son is OK - more concerned for his health than the what will follow.

Barney's bruises and broken rib, painful as they were, would not be permanent that night.

The car that was wrapped around the tree and both parents fatal injuries most certainly would be.

The punishment of leaving the boys at home, whilst the parents would choose the selection for 'Movie Night' ironically sparing the children's lives.

If Clint were a more sensitive type he might remember them as the contradictory voices of violence and peace that they were. Instead he remembered them as a saint and an asshole. A tragic loss, and an absolute example of the type of person he would never want to be. A humourless thug, willing to project his strength over the most vulnerable.

Pulling the woman out of the door as she tries to check on her son's well-being, whilst knowing full well the price of open resistence from past experience and still having many of the scars to prove it, the loudest echo of them all is reserved for the slamming of the door as Harold Barton stole their mother on that night.

The second they're gone, the fight is put behind them and Clint rushes to his older brother's side.

The older brother pushes him away, wanting to be left alone after the vicious beating he had just taken.

She-Hulk #0.3 - Parklife
Location - Los Angeles, California

---

2 months previously...

Huff. Huff. Huff. Jennifer felt as if her chest was about to explode as she pushed herself to continue jogging along the paved pathway of the park. The waters in the nearby fountain flowing peacefully brought uncomfortable amounts of attention to how thirsty she was, she licked her dry lips as she tried to shake off her desire to stop. She did not make it much further until she came up to a nearby bench. In a slight overreaction Jennifer grasped onto the armrest of the bench as if she would collapse without it as she bent doubled over her other hand resting on her knee. Sweat dripped from her forehead onto the floor below her, frantically she wiped her forehead with her forearm but to no avail as the scorching heat of the sun above was only adding to the much needed exercise her now overworked body needed.

Exhausted she sat on the bench with her head in her hands. Oh yeah, go for a run without turning into She-Hulk, thanks dad that was a great idea!

Truthfully it had shocked her quite a bit just how unfit she was. After all this time doing anything that would need her to exert herself as She-Hulk, she was used to doing most things without breaking a sweat really. Now, barely 2 laps around a city park and she was almost collapsing, she did feel a little embarrassed at that but also stupid that she was even doing it to begin with.

Why do I even need to train like this? It isn't like I am at a health risk or anything, if anything I could probably do with putting on a few pounds now that I think about it. Jennifer looked around for a moment before standing up and making her way over to a drinking fountain, where she took a long needed drink.

And anyway, say I kept this up? Any kind of physical peak I could reach would just be completely obsolete. She knew that her fathers suggestions was attempts to try and push her to spend more time as 'just' Jennifer Walters, not She-Hulk. But really moments like this only made her wish she could stay as She-Hulk forever, feeling like her helpless, useless, old self from before. She had to admit it was making her a bit frustrated.

"E-excuse me miss." Jennifer was startled by a young, high pitched voice coming from behind her.

"Oh sorry I didn't notice you were there, sorry sorry it's all yours." Jennifer stood aside from the drinking fountain after turning around to see a young girl with shoulder length hair. Upon closer inspection she saw that the girl had a rather distressed look on her face.

"It isn't that miss. I was wondering if you could help me with something?" The young girl fidgeted nervously.

Jennifer knelt down and rubber her shoulder, trying to smile as nicely as she could. "Of course I will, what do you need?" it felt strange that someone had approached her for help. She would have been expecting it if she was She-Hulk, but as regular old Jennifer Walters it just felt, weird...

"My cat, they got stuck up a tree."

Oh you gotta be kidding me...

---

Jennifer stood next to the girl, now under a tall Cedarwood tree with a medium sized white cat sitting rather precariously on one of it's branches. A rather high up branch to boot. The young girl pointed up to the cat. "That's her."

"So, uh. If you don't mind me asking how exactly did she get up there?"

"Climbed up." The young girl put plainly.

"Aha yes, I was asking more if you knew why she climbed up?"

The girl shook her head and shrugged her shoulders somewhat as if to say she wasn't entirely sure what to say to Jennifer. "I went to try and buy a snack and next thing I knew I heard her kind of hiss and yelp and when I came over she was up there. I tried to climb up but I didn't get far then I didn't know what to do."

"Do you not have a parent or guardian, or anyone, with you?"

The girl shrugged her shoulders again.

This is oddly suspicious...

"Well don't you worry now, I will get her down in no time." Jennifer said as she approached closer to the tree.

"Thank you miss... uh what should I call you miss?"

"Jen is fine. I will be just a minute now. She tried to assure the girl as best she could.

How stupid she had been hit her almost immediately as she took her first movements up the tree, grasping for a place to find to latch onto with her hands she cluelessly felt about for a foothold, it was even worse when she started to actually climb. Barely halfway up to the branch where the cat actually was she could feel her untrained muscles begin to waver a bit. Out of breath she stopped for a moment. Whoah now, come on Jen. It's a tree, a tree. Don't let a tree beat you. Straining herself she continued to scale the tree. She felt as if she had begun losing her grip then she almost certainly would have fallen off the damn thing. But thankfully something in the universe must have decided that today was her lucky day because although the process was taxing she did not struggle to keep hold of where her hands were able to grasp.

Now on level to the branch where the cat was stuck on, Jennifer looked over at it. The cat was in fact looking right back at her onto her eyes. Don't tell me it's going to attack me now... She quietly worried to herself as she contemplated her fate following the inevitable fall if the cat started scratching her face up with its claws. Thankfully through it was a rather peaceful cat, cautiously but rather gratefully it approached Jennifer and balanced itself onto her shoulders so it could continue to rest as she carried it back down to the ground.

With sweat once more streaming down her face Jennifer planted her feet on the ground with shaky knees. The cat leaped off her shoulders and started walking away. "Just- Just give me a minute." Jennifer said out of breath, she sat down with her back up against the tree as her muscles ached dully. The cat walked slowly over to the young girl and nuzzled up against her leg. The girl knelt with a smile on her face to pet the cat.

"Thank you Jen! I don't know what I would have done without you."

"Try calling the police, or fire service, Don't they do stuff like this?

"I don't know... I didn't think about that."

Jennifer laughed softly. "Don't worry about that. I am glad I was able to help you."

Waving goodbye the young girl left the park with her cat in her arms. Jennifer felt like it was time to go home and have a nice long nap. Something she was bound to regret later tonight, but then...

It had been several days since she had came to L.A and only now she realized she had not once 'gone out.' Come to think of it when she lived her it was never really something she had done. And since she had gone to the park as Jennifer Walters, dad couldn't be too bothered if she spent the night as She-Hulk. Jennifer picked herself up and smiled to herself as she began to walk her way home, making plans for that evening in her head.

_{"....Barry?....You okay?"}

The warm, calming void of dreamless sleep begins to recede, and little by little, reality reasserts itself. Part of me kind of regrets it-- between my responsibilities to Central and Keystone Cities, my duties as part of the Justice League, and my job with the CCPD, getting a good night's sleep is almost impossible.

The first thing I realize as my senses come back into focus is that I'm on the ground, and I'm shaking. Or rather, someone's shaking me.

_{"Come on, Barry, you gotta get up...."}

For a moment, I can't help but think of my high school days, when Mr. Garrick would have to spend the better part of an hour waking me up to make sure I wasn't late for school after staying up all night. I mean, I appreciate it now, of course-- if it weren't for Jay, I probably would have been expelled-- but in the moment, all I could think about was how annoying it was to have someone jostle you out of a perfectly good dream for--



"Owwww!!!" I yelp as I bolt upright.

"Ah, good, there you are," says a voice with a nonchalance that routinely drives me up the wall.



"Sleeping on the job, *tsk tsk*," Wally shakes his head with the sort of smugness that can only come from a know-it-all teenager. "You're really starting to slack off in your old age, Barry."

Wally West, Iris's nephew. A little over a year ago, he got pulled into the Speed Force, and I nearly scattered my existence into a state of simultaneous omnipresence and oblivion diving deep enough to pull him back out. This had some....weird side effects, not the least of which being that I'm no longer the only speedster in town.

I don't know if I'm the best teacher in the world, but one time I asked Nightwing how Batman trained him, and basically just did the exact opposite. To his credit, Wally's taken to hero training really well-- even though he's not as fast as me, he's come up with all sorts of crazy uses for his speed that I never would have considered.

"'Old age?' I'm twenty-seven, you little twerp," I say as I wipe bits of dust and grit off of my costume.

"Twenty-seven? OOOF," Wally wheezes. "Maybe we can swing by S.T.A.R. Labs and see if they'll make a Cosmic Walker for you."

If there's one thing I'm a little concerned about with him, though, it's this reckless, devil-may-care attitude of his, and his tendency to run his mouth.

No idea where he gets that from. Probably Iris.

"Okay, banter aside, what's the situation?" I say as I get back into 'business' mode.

"Well," Wally starts, "I got a call from Cisco saying you were in trouble, so I took a bathroom break from algebra class-- that excuse is really doing wonders for my reputation, by the way, everyone at school thinks I've got a bladder the size of an eye dropper-- to come bail you out. They filled me in that the Rogues were up to something, and that you were caught in the middle of it."

"You ran into the middle of a Rogue attack?!" I blurt out. "I've told you, those guys are dangerous! And anyway, we already agreed: no super-villains until you get your drivers license!"

"But--"

"No buts, you could have died!"

"And you would have died if I didn't jump in!" Wally shouts back. "I thought the whole 'using your powers to protect people, even if it puts yourself at risk' thing is what you were training me for to begin with!"

"That's--.....actually, you're right," I have to admit. "Iris is gonna kill me when she finds out you ran into a fight with the Rogues, but....you're right. Thanks for the save."

"You're welcome," he replies with a defensive edge still in his voice. "And anyway, it wasn't much. Mirror Master's mirrors only work on one side, so when I saw that he'd surrounded the area, I smashed my way through the back side of one, grabbed you, then ran out before he could make another one. Once I got you to a safe distance, the Rogues just kinda...vanished. Like they'd made their point or whatever."

"Are you sure?" I ask. "The way they were attacking me, they were somehow....I dunno, attacking me remotely, I guess? Their weapons and powers were there, just....no Rogues. Maybe they're still waiting in ambush."

Wally shrugs.

"I went back to try and help evacuate the area," he admits, "But by the time I came back, the coast was clear. Weather Wizard's storm had dissipated, no more cold beams or plasma bolts or killer boomerangs or anything. The only trace that they were even there was the mess."

"Hmmm," I mutter as I look back towards Mercury Square. "The Rogues usually don't like to fight me head-on, even when they've got the numbers advantage. A simple call-out fight just isn't their style. Whatever they're doing, I'm liking it less and less."

"Oh!" Wally exclaims, before zipping over to a nearby table and grabbing a pair of steaming paper cups. "And, uh, one other thing.....when I saw you were asleep, I grabbed some coffee from Jitters. Figured you might need some caffeine to help wake up."

"Oh, uh, thanks," I smile as I take one of the cups and have a sip. At the CCPD, I'm usually the one who has to grab coffee for everyone else, so having a go-fer of my own is a nice perk.

"Well, don't thank me too much," he says with a sheepish grin, "I, erm, didn't want to wait around for the barista to make your order, so I kinda sorta just swiped some drinks from a couple of customers and then placed enough money in their hands to buy another one. With money from, ahh, your wallet."

I roll my eyes.

"Well, at least you sort of paid for them," I say before taking another drink. "Good work, Kid Flash."

He rankles at the name.

"I told ya, I wanna be called Impulse!" he whines.

"You can call yourself whatever you want once you graduate," I grin. "Til then, you're Kid Flash."

"That's so not fair."

"Hey, you're lucky I didn't go with 'The Zoomer' and tell everyone you help me fight people who are 'acting sus.'"

"Uuuuugh, nobody even plays that game anymore!"

"I still play it."

"Exactly!"

"Seriously, though," I change the subject, "I appreciate the save, but until I get a handle on what's going on, I want you to lay low, okay? No need for both of us to be in danger until we know how to beat them. And anyway, I'm pretty sure if you don't get back from that 'bathroom break' of yours, your teacher's going to start to think you fell in."

"Oh, right, yeah!" Wally says with a startled realization. "Mr. Broome is gonna lose it if he thinks I snuck out to avoid today's quiz. I'll catch up with you later!"

With that, he turns into a yellow-and-red streak and blurs his way through the city streets back to Central High. Like I said, good kid. Still don't know where he gets that attitude, though.

As he runs off, my smile fades, and my thoughts start to turn grim.

They had me.

If Wally hadn't jumped in, I'd be dead right now.

And it doesn't make any sense. Snart, Harkness, Scudder, the rest of them, they're not morons, sure....but they're not that smart. None of them have the kind of technological know-how to make something that can project their weapons from another location, and certainly not with enough precision to box me in like that.

Maybe the Rogues started recruiting. I wasn't expecting Pied Piper to be in on the act, so maybe they've got someone who can teleport, or make wormholes, or something?

Who do I know who can make those kind of fissures that accurately, and that quickly?

Maybe investigating the scene of the crime will get me some more answers than just standing here stewing about it. But if I'm gonna look for evidence of super-crime, I'll need the right gear.

Which means it's time to hit up S.T.A.R. Labs and see what they can cook up for me.

Red Robin #4 - Planning
Location - Snowy Cones Ice Cream Factory, Gotham City, New Jersey.

---

Gotham City had become a beacon of industry through the years, and as such, it was no surprise that it would soon find a demand for dairy, specifically ice cream. The Snowy Cones Ice Cream Factory had first opened its doors back in the 60s, initially only producing condensed milk, one of the main ingredients in the manufacture of ice cream, before diversifying further. The owners made millions over the years, with the factory bringing both jobs and the joy of ice cream to Gotham’s residents. That was until the late 90s, where the factory was deemed inefficient and dated, with production being ceased and the operations shifted to more economical facilities. A large number of people lost their livelihoods as a result, with the factory falling quickly into disarray, following suit with the rest of the city.

It was a sad story that could be said for many of the numerous decrepit industries around Gotham. Such struggles were some of the leading causes of crime, and one of the many reasons this city was in such a state.

It definitely explained many of the goons currently working around the factory that Red Robin was currently watching through his binoculars. He’d been there for some time now, assessing the situation. He needed numbers. Entry points. Exit points. He didn’t like going in blind, especially when going against someone as smart as Victor Fries.

It didn’t take long for him to find the answers to his questions though. There were approximately 12 individuals patrolling around the place, not including their icy leader. It would probably be quick work to make his way through them, however, that meant the potential chance of his cover being blown. That meant sneaking his way in. That wouldn’t be much of a problem though. While a further look found that several of the various entrances were either locked or guarded, with many of the windows boarded up, he was pleased to see that such the building wasn’t completely impenetrable.

As Tim map out a plan within his head, a sound from the rooftops around him caught the young man’s attention.

He turned, a look of surprise forming across his face for a moment before Tim furrowed his brow.

“Well, you’re certainly the last person I expected to receive that call.”

There were times when the Quinjets used their stealth systems, disappearing from traditional radar as well as becoming invisible to the naked eye. Then there were times when speed was necessary. Days like today where it was in plain sight for all to see, but at this point, it was all over the news. Bruce was sitting aboard, the bag of his head still stewing about the meeting with Amadeus Cho. The fool boy genius who made himself into a Hulk. Still, Jen seemed to have managed to get through to him. Maybe that would be the end of that.

Bruce stood up, tapping a series of controls on his tablet and a dias raised from the centre of the Quinjet. The 'War Table' as many took to talking about it. It formed perfectly before a hologram appeared above it, showing the current status of Vegas as well as technical and scientific readouts, for those in the jet that was so inclined.

Which was basically everyone except Jennifer. She was mainly there because over the years he had noticed a direct correlation between his friends and the people the Hulk seemed to 'trust'. Despite them being separate entities, his personal feelings towards people seemed to remain constant, if not greater, when he was the Hulk. Bruce trusted Jennifer with his life, and in the past, she had shown some level of control over the Hulk.

"This is what we know, approximately half an hour ago a dome with a radius of twenty miles formed around Las Vegas. As best we can tell every being inside this dome has been turned into a gamma-irradiated monster. S.H.I.E.L.D is attempting to set up a perimeter but the dome seems to be expanding outwards at a rate of a mile every hour. It's slow going, but if our calculations are right based on the radiation levels within the dome if we don't shut it down or find a way to get the people out within twenty-four hours any mutations they have could be irreversible."

Bruce turned towards Parker. "You're going to have to wear a radiation suit. I'd rather not see what you're capable of as a Gamma-mutate."

He then turned his attention to his Gamma-Team-Scientists. "I want all of you on the outside of the dome, based on what you know I want you to try everything within your power to slow, halt or even reverse the growth of the dome. Spider-Man, Jennifer and I are going to head towards the Strat. It's where we picked up the first spike in Gamma Energy."

---

The Quinjet touched down and the scientists went to work taking control of the scene. Bruce had his own equipment in a satchel, he held a scanner in one hand pouring over the data. Without even looking he took out a second scanner and passed it back to Peter. The man was a budding scientist, why he never did anything with that was beyond him. Bruce had tried to recruit him several times. Bruce would certainly put him to use now at the very least.

"The readings are still consistent with the ones we've had earlier. The strongest readings seem to be at the Strat, which still seems to be the epicentre of the disturbance." Bruce turned back and grinned at Jen and Peter. "Well. Into the Green." Stepping backwards through the barrier, he felt a warm sensation burn through him as the gamma tore through his cells. Some dormant part of his brain waking up as his heart rate increased, a familiar stench in the air. Green lightning cracked overhead with no thunder, in the distance pounding could be heard. Most likely as gamma monsters walked through the streets.

Bruce poured over as much of the data as possible as he could feel Hulk clawing at his skin, trying to get as much information as possible. Once Jennifer and Peter were through they could make their plan.

---

Bruce wafted in front of his face as the 'God' burped. Either this guy had some serious mental health problems after his travel through whatever bridge he was spat out off or he was using the guise of being a God to get something.

Or maybe he is a multi-dimensional entity that was once worshipped as a God.

Sadly the last one was an actual possibility these days. "I'm not a god, and you really don't want to fight me. Especially not in a populated city, it uh-" Bruce chuckled nervously. "-wouldn't go very well for anyone. Also, there seems to be some confusion, Earth is a planet, not a country. You can't just take it over, there are hundreds of individual nations and alliances. If I'm remembering my history correctly even Odins reign wasn't global, but instead largely restricted to Scandanavia."

He took a step back from the so-called God. The last thing Bruce wanted to do was provoke him in a small building in the middle of San Francisco. Bruce couldn't be responsible for the destruction of another city.

"How about you come to speak to my boss? That way we can sort this whole thing out, without any fighting. Sound good?"

---

Thor watched with some amusement as this human squirmed under his attention. "Not a god," was right, he was practically a worm. Thor felt almost sad, looking at him as he prattled away about things he clearly didn't understand. The poor man's sense of scope was so small that he thought Odin ruled over a measly few kingdoms on Midgard. It was clear to Thor that the Midgardians had completely forgotten their place if this was how they remembered their ruler and Allfather. The pieces were beginning to fall into place in his mind, he was seeing why Odin had been in such a hurry to send him. Thor's contemptuous gaze returned to the man in front of him, prompting the tiny mortal to take a step back out of fear. Thor could smell the fear in his sweat, and was sorely tempted to unsheathe Jarnbjorn and relieve the man of his head for daring to profane the Allfather.

However, then he mentioned his boss. While Thor wasn't keen on being bossed and led around by Midgardians, he was intrigued to see where Banner would lead him. If there was a hierarchy to whatever was ruling Midgard in Odin's absence, Thor wanted to see who was at the top. It seemed more likely then that he would meet a God, or whoever was currently claiming to be king of Earth, or at least someone that had a better clue of what was going on than the poor fool in front of him. Then, once he met that person and got a better grasp of the situation, he would kill them and take his place as regent. Simple.

"Oh, of course." Thor said, his look of disdain vanishing in an instant, and replaced with a genial grin. "You should have told me you were an envoy first. No sense in getting all riled up at you if you're just a lackey." Thor slapped Banner on the back convivially as he was led out of the bar. "Lucky you said something, I was just about to cut your head off."

---

“Well, you’re certainly the last person I expected to receive that call.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed as he scowled at the former Boy Wonder.

Drake’s comment wasn’t surprising given the two’s particular relationship. Neither of them had let certain things go and had decidedly different approaches. A year ago the thirteen-year-old would’ve scoffed before jumping down into the fray, but Damian stayed put to ‘banter’ as some of his comrades in the Titans would put it, though he kept his eyes on the scene below. He was not one to get distracted.

“It is not something I intend to make a habit.”

Patrol routes. Numbers. Posture of experienced gang members, but nothing too alarming. Drake probably had noticed other things. He was the better detective, though Damian would never admit it out loud.

“By the way, I have a message. From Wilson. She wishes to inform you that she sorely misses ‘messing’ with you and wonders when you’ll be done pretending to be ‘your own man’.” Damian commented quietly in a tone of irreverence. It was meant to get underneath the titular Red Robin’s skin. He wondered if using his former comrades in the Titans would be useful ammo in the future.

Mr. Freeze considered himself many things. A husband. A scientist. A pioneer. A crook. Supervillain. But a caretaker? Now that was an entirely new feeling he was unused to. How strange life rewarded him for his last night's adventure. Indeed, he thought he would never see her again but Gotham was seldom idle in spawning killers and thieves. All it took was a full day for the woman to return to his secret lair but this time, with her daughter in tow. Apparently, there was a murder at her apartment that took place at sunset. A couple was slain in cold blood; the pregnant wife with multiple stab wounds on the belly. What savagery.

"Yet, I fail to see why I have to accommodate your child." Victor gritted his teeth. He had worn his ice suit just for this encounter as the mother's jacket was too light to enter even the first area of his frozen base. Have you forgotten who you are converting with?!



"Do I have to spell it out for you?!" he said rhetorically, "Is there no one else that can substitute your role?"



"Not your own parents?"

"Any companions or babysitters?"

"Surely a husband? A Boy-?!"


Taken back by his own rudeness, Victor can only go silent at the landmine he just triggered. He can already see Nora's disappointed look. Her downcast eyes looking upon him with anger towards his own selfishness.

What would you have me do, my love? What would you have done? I cannot be the Batman and pursue this wretched animal! I cannot stand vigilant over her apartment! My duty is to you, Nora! No one else! NO ONE! So what must be done? What can be done?!

"It's okay, mommy!" The daughter hugged her hurting mother, causing Mr. Freeze to return to reality. "You don't have to cry! I'll be a brave girl! I can keep the front door locked until you get back! The bad guy can't breakthrough!"

You can't be serious, Nora! I just can't...

"Wait!" Victor addressed the woman just when she was about to turn away. "Why me? Why does it have to be me?



"I'm a thief."



"I'm an outcast."



"I'm a villain."



"I'm not Batman!"



With a grunt of defeat, Mr. Freeze extended his gloved hand towards the little girl. "Just ONE night shift, understand?!"

"Agreed." she smiled before kneeling down to be at eye level with her child. "Mommy will pick you up after I'm done with work, alright?"

"Yes, mommy!"The little girl nodded, prompting a hug and a kiss on the forehead.

"Don't let her eat too much ice cream and here's a bag of food for her dinner"

"Wasn't planning on it." He coldly snarked as he took the plastic sack. Already in his mind, Victor conjured up ways to shove his freeze ray so far up the Penguin's ass he'll sneeze out ice cubes. "Young one, let's head back inside." Hopefully that coat of hers is warm enough for his lifestyle. He'll also have to make sure to have his henchmen hide their vices. Yes, don't want bad influence imparted on her mind.

---

"And that's why President Calvin Ellis is secretly Superman!" A goon handed a tabloid magazine to the little girl, letting her see the pictures of the US president and Superman side by side.

After 10 minutes of a situational update among his crew, Mr. Freeze was already regretting letting them socialize with the child.

"What garbage are you teaching her now?" The supervillain snatched the magazine out of the girl's hands and examined it for himself.

Same ears. Same nose. Same skin tone. Same haircut. Same earlobe. Same pupil color. The tabloid even went as far as to compare the teeth whenever the President and Superman smiled. Side by side, they were nigh indistinguishable. It's almost as if...

"You actually believe in this conspiracy?!" Victor fumed, his stare alone chastizing the henchman "I expected better from you! You shame yourself for falling foolishly to such idiotic ideas."

"But they look so similar!" The daughter protested.

"It's just a coincidence. Superman will not handicap himself with the burden of the Oval Office. And that's final!" Mr. Freeze tore up the magazine and tossed it into the trash. "Find something productive to do or go take a nap!"

"You're so mean, mister!" she pouted when she saw how small his employee felt, staring down at the floor.

Returning to his office, Victor went back to his planning. It's already time for a heist to secure more funding but there was only one problem: finding an unspoiled bank. From what his men have told him, almost all the banks, jewelry stores, and museums have been compromised in one way or another. His fellow 'evildoers" and mundane competitors have not been idle while he was locked up. Looks like the man has to search for more unconventional ways to secure money.

Robbing the Cobblepots? As much as he would like to humble the obese don, even the Penguin has a sense of honor that he cannot deny. Robbing the Waynes? Stealing the treasury of Wayne Enterprises? Kidnapping Bruce Wayne himself for a ransom? Doable on paper. That multi-billionaire playboy only knows how to spend extravagantly and attract women like flies to meat.

How life can be cruel sometimes. Victor almost pities the head of House Wayne. Nora may be in an ice capsule but their love will be stronger than any of Bruce Wayne's conquests. Perhaps it's time to part the fool from his money.

Amanda Waller pulled her car into the parking lot of Capitol Lanes. A little past nine at night and the parking lot of the bowling alley was surprisingly full. Well it was Wednesday. Wednesday was dollar beer night, after all. Waller made her way inside the alley. There were maybe a dozen people here tonight, all of them broke down into smaller groups of threes and fours at different lanes. A group of teens played video games in the alley’s arcade section. The attendant behind the desk gave her a nod as she approached the counter.

“Playing a game or two, ma’am?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I’ll need a pair of shoes. Size 16 ½… in women’s.”

The attendant glanced around the bowling alley. The people there were too transfixed in their own worlds to notice him as he pressed a button behind the counter. A hole opened up underneath Waller’s feet and she vanished through the floor. She slid through the tube and came out fifty feet below the building inside her office.

The best kept secret in all of D.C., and by extension the world, were these little suites of offices underneath Capitol Lanes. The unincorporated community of Brandywine in Prince George’s County, Maryland was where ARGUS called home. The bowling alley was some twenty-two miles from Downtown Washington D.C. and was only accessible to those on Waller's approved list. Not even President Ellis could ask for a pair of 16 ½ shoes and get down here. Let SHIELD have their gaudy helicarriers that flew high and wide for all eyes to see. Waller worked best in the shadows.

It was why nobody knew exactly how many agents ARGUS had. Nobody but Waller. The inner workings of the organization were so compartmentalized and balkanized nobody truly knew what they were doing, who they were working for, and what their end goal was to be. Nobody, of course, but Director Waller. Decades of experience as a bureaucrat taught her how to finesse the red tape and black budgets to get what she wanted, and she used every trick at her disposal to make sure ARGUS got everything it needed or wanted.

She sat down in her office with a nightcap of scotch in one hand, a tablet in the other. Her last act after a fifteen hour day was to enjoy a stiff drink, read over any critical reports that may have filtered in through the day, and form an idea on what kind of day tomorrow would be. Her eyes glanced up from the tablet and to the plaque on her desk. In wood and engraved in simple script, it said “Exitus ācta probat” or “The outcome justifies the deed.” She looked past it at the blinking intercom beside the plaque.

“What?” Waller asked as she pressed the button.

“We have something happening out in Montana,” said that night’s analyst on duty. “Something big.”

“The hell,” she said as she finished off her drink. “BIG SKY only went active eight hours ago. What’s going on out there?”

“Reports confirm CENTURION is involved.”

“Oh, shit,” replied Waller. “Okay… patch through BIG SKY’s feed to the commcenter. I’m on my way.”

CENTURION was a codename shared by all agencies in the US intelligence community for one particular individual. Then CIA deputy director Amanda Waller first assigned it 15 years ago to the incredible superhuman who rescued a plane full of hijacked passengers in mid-flight. The world knew him as Superman, but for Waller he would always be CENTURION. And wherever he went, destruction and trouble followed in his wake.

---

Arthur Blackwood took a long drag off his cigarette, held the smoke in his lungs, and expelled it in a long stream out of his mouth and nose. Someone in the bar below put Skynyrd on the jukebox. Blackwood put the cigarette in the side of his mouth and walked across the small apartment to the corkboard mounted on the wall.

The little studio apartment above the bar looked like a militaman’s wet dream. An opened wooden crate was filled with brand new M4s still with the new gun oil sheen on them. Raw semtex in plastic wrap sat on a coffee table beside a couch. There was of course the requisite DON’T TREAD ON ME flag with a US, Confederate and -- strangely for a government separatist hideaway -- a BACK THE BLUE flag hung up on the walls.

Blackwood let the cigarette dangle from his mouth as he looked at the information on the corkboard. These 100 jerkoffs did not play when it came to intelligence gathering. Pinned to the board were maps that showed projected movement of a military convoy passing through the Absaroka Mountains on its way to Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls. The convoy was due to pass through the outskirts of Helena on its way north tomorrow night. Surveillance photos showed a group of eight trucks escorted by humvees and armored personnel carriers. The sixth truck in the convoy had been circled in red marker.

A sudden burst of air pulled Blackwood’s attention away from the board.



“Evening, Mr. Blackwood. Lovely night to plan some domestic terrorism, wouldn’t you say?”

Blackwood swung his fist at Superman’s face. The Man of Steel caught it easily. Superman flashed Blackwood a cocky smile.

“C’mon, this the best you got? Show me how superior you are, Blackw--”

With his left hand, Blackwood formed an energy shield that he bashed Superman in the face with. The force of the blow sent Superman flying through the apartment’s wall. He crashed into the street below. The force of his impact created a small crater in the asphalt. He had narrowly avoided landing on a passing car.

“Okay,” he said softly to himself. “ARGUS didn’t mention what kind of superpowers you had, probably above my security clearance…”

Blackwood leapt from the hole in the apartment wall and landed on the street. Superman got to his feet and looked at Blackwood. He’d now formed an energy sword in his right hand to go with the shield in his left hand.

“You know,” said Blackwood. “I know so many people who would love to be where I’m standing right now.”

“I’m sure they’re just as charming as you,” Superman said, his eyes focusing on the “Make America White Again” tattoo on Blackwood’s neck. “I’m sure there’s plenty of Superman practice targets hanging up back in the old compound.”

“I’m gonna mount your fucking head up alongside those targets when I’m done,” spat Blackwood.

“You know… plenty of people have stood where you’re standing, Blackwood.”

Superman floated off the ground. His eyes glowed bright red as he flew towards Blackwood.

“And they’ve all failed.”

Red Robin #5 - The replacement
Location - Snowy Cones Ice Cream Factory, Gotham City, New Jersey.

---

“By the way, I have a message. From Wilson. She wishes to inform you that she sorely misses ‘messing’ with you and wonders when you’ll be done pretending to be ‘your own man’.”

If there was one thing that Damian Wayne was good at, it was finding a way to get under someone's skin. It was a talent that Tim had been all so familiar with ever since the little twerp had made his way into their lives.

Heir to the infamous Ra's al Ghul, Damian was born and raised within the League of Shadows, trained from birth to be the perfect killing machine. It was only when he was deemed “ready” that the boy eventually met his father, Batman. It was safe to say that his arrival made a lasting impact on the “family” and Gotham itself. The role Tim and his brothers played in protecting this city, was something they had earned, through hard work and loyalty. Tim had proved himself to Bruce time and time again to get to where he was. Damian however expected to simply walk in and take the mantle he felt he had earned. Violent and self-important, his adoption of Robin was unlike anything Tim had ever seen before. It was dangerous.

The last Tim had heard, Damian had become the Titan’s newest nuisance. Bruce and Dick had pushed the idea, thinking that it would teach the boy how to work within a team. The idea made sense; although as Tim had learned from his last call from the team’s current leader, Wonder Girl, it seemed Damian’s attitude hadn’t changed much in the slightest.

This was highlighted again by his comments now.

Bringing up his old teammate, Rose Wilson, the Ravager. Judging him for trying to find his own way. The comments stung. Mostly because it was true. Tim had given up the Titans. He was on a ridiculous quest for identity. Red Robin proved that.

He’d spent years yearning to become just like Bruce. To be the Batman. Yet here, standing before him, was his mentor’s actual son. The true heir. As such, what did that make him?
He wanted to hold his tongue. To not give in to Damian’s taunt. Sadly, that was too difficult to do.

“Well, at least I’m being missed during my leave of absence.” What was the harm in a few insults anyway? It’s not Damian was the kind of person to let it bother him.

He moved away from his shorter companion, and looked down upon the factory once more, as he readjusted his grappling gun.

“Now if you are assisting me with this, we do it my way.” He realized how patronising he must’ve sounded as he spoke, yet Tim didn’t stop. “Freeze isn’t someone I want to just go in swinging against. We could actually help him here.”

---

“Now if you are assisting me with this, we do it my way; Freeze isn’t someone I want to just go in swinging against. We could actually help him here.”

“Tch.”

Damian continued looking over the scene as Drake asserted himself like his presence here was a hindrance.

His assertion that they were some kind of therapist like Gordon likened herself to be was an annoying one. Freeze had gotten out of Arkham consistently and each subsequent time he decided to go back to the exact same pattern. Steal things. Leverage technology. How many times did it take for a criminal to resist their urge? How long until they actually reformed themselves? Would they ever? Questions to be asked for someone else.

“We are here to stop him. Not engage in excessive diplomatic debate.” Damian remarked as he remained in place. “If you have a plan then you better tell me how you wish it to be executed.”

---

Breathe...

...breathe in the air...

...don't be afraid to care...

Leave...

...but don't leave me...

Look around...

...and choose your own ground...

For long you live...

...and high you fly...

...the smiles you'll give...

...and tears you'll cry...

...all you touch...

...and all you see...

...is all your life will ever be...

---

"Ahhhh," The Joker let out a long, satisfied sigh, stretching as he stepped out into the main corridor of the super-max wing of Arkham Asylum, "that first breath of fresh air after being cooped up for so long really is the best, don't you agree?"

_{"I'm gonna fucking kill you, clown."}

"What's that?"

"....nothing."

The Joker rolled his eyes. "Oh, loosen up, will you? We won't be spending much time together, so let's try to enjoy it while it lasts."

Captain Mia Jackson was a ten-year veteran in the super-max wing, and took great pride in her job. She'd seen her way through the some of the most horrific incidents the hospital had ever seen-- the breakouts, the riots, the madness, time and time again. Some people lost their nerve over time, let this place get to them. Mia, though, only grew sharper every time. Nothing could get to her.

Or so she'd thought.

She followed two steps behind the Joker, trembling with impotent rage as he took his sweet time strolling through the open. There were hundreds of sets of eyes on him, both real and electronic, and this wing of Arkham was equipped with at least a dozen different security systems-- both lethal and less-than-- which would render the clown helpless with the press of a button. A button that, sadly, wasn't going to be pressed.

Mia didn't know how he had found out about her daughters. She didn't know what he was going to do to them if she didn't comply. But she knew exactly what she was going to do to him the second this was over.

"You know, I was really hoping some more of the usual suspects would be here today," he remarked, his insufferable yellow-toothed smile tinged with a hint of sadness. "No Harvey today, no Eddie, no Cobblepot. I do love rubbing it in their faces whenever I get out before them. Hope you don't mind me saying, Cap'n, but the security in this place is lousy, lousy looowwww-zeeeee!"

Jackson gripped her pistol, but controlled herself. If she let her temper get to her, Kylie and Maddie would suffer for it. All she had to do was put up with this creep long enough to get to the end of the hallway.

"Ahem," a thin, quavery voice piped up from behind several layers of bulletproof glass, "I hope you didn't mean to overlook me, as I'm still very much here."

The Joker's eyes lit up.

"Johnny!" he exclaimed. "Good old Doctor Johnny Crane, my second-favorite former psychiatrist! How've ya been? Loved your work on the children's hospital last year, by the way."

"Oh, that was...quite a lovely evening," Dr. Jonathan Crane mused to himself, a grin crawling across his face as he stared off into the distance. "Shame it was cut so short, but I suppose one must expect such complications when the Bat-Man is about."

"Ohhh-hohohooo, don't even get me started," the clown chuckled as he leaned against the glass of Crane's cell. "If you're looking to swap bat stories, I've got a million of 'em."

"Hey, wait, no," Mia asserted herself into the conversation, "Nothing in your deal ever said anything about springing the Scarecrow!"

"Oh, I was just talking shop with a fellow artiste," Joker put his hands up innocently. "Buuuut since you suggested it...."

Crane put up a hand to signal a stop in that line of thinking.

"I appreciate the offer," he said, "But I'm afraid I have to decline. I have ideas of my own."

"Suit yourself," the clown shrugged. "I'll be out and about for a while, but do keep in touch. I'm looking forward to seeing what you've got in mind."

"You really don't want to know I've got in my mind, Joker."

"HA! I'll bet," he laughed, then continued to stroll, glancing back at Captain Jackson over his shoulder. "You know, I don't think Scarecrow gets enough appreciation these days. Poor guy always gets lost in the shuffle. I suppose I'm partially to blame, since I've already cornered the market on 'skinny pale guy with gimmicky poison gas.' But it's more than that, it's--ah! Here we are!"

Joker and Mia stopped at one of the junctions between cell blocks, where a pair of metal panels had been bent slightly. Given how much damage this building had taken over the years, some bent sheet metal was so low on the staff's priorities that it barely registered.

"What the hell are you doing, Joker?" Mia asked as she gripped her pistol even tighter, fighting every urge to draw on the monster in front of her and empty the clip as he pried back the thin sheet metal.



"Just picking up a party favor," he answered, rooting around a knot of wires. "When you've been in the game as long as I have, you tend to pick up knick-knacks from all sorts of people. In here, I've got a little gizmo from the Calculator, to shut down any security features in the Asylum that I want without setting off any of the alarms. Can't hack into the systems remotely, since they're on a closed server. Has to be hard-wired into the system itself. Calculator's a real poindexter, but he knows his stuff, I'll give him that."

"How long have you had that thing here without us knowing?"

"This one?" he replied as he dug deeper into the wiring. "I'd say about, oh, three years or so."

"What do you mean 'that one'?" she demanded. "You mean you've got more than one--"

"Oh I've got more than twenty of them," he laughed. "I've got little stashes like this all over the asylum. Makes it so much easier to slip about."

Mia stared at him in disbelief as she heard a hard click from inside the wall. The Joker, now shoulder-deep into the electricals, smiled wide.

"There we go!" he beamed, satisfied with himself. "Just need about ten more seconds and we'll have the whole place to ours--"

"F-f-freeze!"

_{"Of course...."}

Mia wheeled around to see a fresh-faced young man, pistol drawn, a confused and terrified look on his face.

"Clancy, right?" Mia asked carefully, trying to keep one eye on the murderous clown while she talked down one of her fellow guards. "You're new here. This...this isn't what it looks like."

"Are you kidding? Th--that's....that's the Joker!" he stammered. "Wh-why are you--"

"It's...complicated," she answered, her face burning with anger and shame.

"I--....I'm afraid I've g-g-gotta call this in," Clancy sputtered, reaching for the walkie-talkie. "All units, c-c-code red! I repeat, CODE RED! This is not a--"



The right side of Clancy's face burst open, a spray of blood and gray matter spattering the wall and floor as he fell backwards.

Captain Mia Jackson stared in horror at her pistol, its barrel smoking in her trembling hands.

Seconds later, sirens began to blare, emergency lights flashing as the alert went out throughout the asylum.

Neither of them moved. Mia couldn't bring herself to run from what she'd done. And the Joker was in no hurry now.

"Yow-wee, what a shot!" the clown congratulated her. "Remind me not to be on the business end of that thing any time soon, ha-ha!"

"Clancy....he was brand new...." Mia looked back and forth between the new guard's corpse and the gun in her hand. "Just transferred to Arkham a week ago....from Belle Reve. He was...he was still trying to make friends....brought everyone cupcakes on his first day."

"Sounds like a nice guy," the Joker said to himself. "At least it was over quick, right? Never knew what hit him. Didn't linger, didn't suffer, just bang, lights out, that's it."

Mia nodded numbly.

"At least, that's what everyone says," he continued, "but I wonder. I mean, most of his brain is still intact. Unless you manage to vaporize someone completely, I doubt the whole thing just shuts off the instant the gray matter becomes a gray splatter. Those last few neurons, how long do they stay on before fading to black?"

As if on cue, Clancy's body spasmed in a final reflex.

"See what I mean?" Joker gestured with his free hand, "Bits and pieces of his nervous system are still crying out, wondering what the hell just happened and where the rest of him went off to! Sure, maybe the higher functions of data processing and decision making that we think of as our 'mind' is the first thing to go, but those reflexes, those instincts, those little pockets of memory and emotion. They have that extra little moment of confusion, terror, and pain."

A wave of nausea washed over Mia, and she dropped to her knees.

"Of course, that 'extra little moment' is only 'little' to us," the clown kept going. "They say your perception of time slows down as you lose consciousness. So while it may have only been a split-second in real time, those last little bits of Clancy there probably felt that panic and agony for, who knows? Minutes, hours, days, maybe? He's long gone now in real time, but as far as we know, that final horror could have stretched out into eternity for him."

Mia's gun clattered on the ground at her side.

The tromp of boots signaled the coming of more heavily-armed guards.

In response, the whirring of electric motors and hiss of pneumatic pistons told the tale of dozens of cell doors opening, all over the asylum.

"It's pretty awful, when you think about it," he said, more to himself than to the captain, who didn't even notice as he picked the pistol up and pulled back the hammer.

Around them, Arkham Asylum erupted into a war zone.



"Which is why I usually don't think about it at all."

---

Run....

...rabbit...

...run...

Dig that hole...

...forget the sun...

And when, at last...

...the work...

...is done...

Don't sit down...

....it's time to dig...

...another one...

For long you live...

...and high you fly...

...but only if you ride the tide...

And balanced on...

...the biggest wave...

...you race towards an early grave.

---