AndyC

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

"This is stupid," I say to myself over and over as I'm dragged by the hand through the night sky, "this is stupid, this is stupid...."

"I am perplexed as to how a set of circumstances can be lacking in mental acuity," says the orange-skinned beauty queen dressed in what looks like a futuristic cheerleader's uniform, one hand holding onto mine, the other flinging bolts of green fire down at the black SUVs down below that are chasing after us.

"Because it's not real," I say, the initial terror and confusion of the situation having given way to a flat denial of it. "I got hit on the head, or drugged, or something. I did not get rescued at the last second by a magical flying space-girl. Chances are I'm actually being hauled away by those HIVE guys right now, and this is all just an elaborate fantasy in my head to escape from the trauma."

"I fail to see how that is preferable to rescue."

".....I guess it's not," I admit.

"Then if being rescued is the more desirable outcome, may I continue rescuing you?"

I sigh with resignation, and give in to the ridiculous hallucination. "Sure. Ohh, thank you so very much for saving me, magical space-girl."

"My gift of flight is due to a complex set of nerve endings and glands that generate graviton particles around my body on command," she explains, quickly juking to one side to avoid a burst of gunfire, and retaliating with another flung bolt of fire. "And my ability to superheat the air in compressed gravitational fields and project them as Star-bolts is due to the work of the Tamaranian Gene-Weavers when I inherited the title of Starfire, Protector and Champion of the Innocent. None of my abilities are 'magical,' if that helps."

"Oh yeah," I say between gasps, trying to hold onto my lunch. "I feel better already."

"Wonderful!" the girl exclaims, performing a celebratory barrel-roll that drags me along and makes my guts heave. "Once we have eluded our foes, I will--"

BOOOOM!

Everything goes black for a moment, and when my senses return, I wish they hadn't.

The world is tumbling head-over-heels, everything a blur of motion. My ears are filled with the roar of wind, my nose filled with the smell of smoke, and for the second time tonight, my body hurts all over. I'm falling.

I'm vaguely aware of magic-space-girl tumbling through the air beside me, her body covered in ash and trails of smoke. Whatever they hit us with, she's out cold, and we're both plummeting through the empty air. We must have been at least a hundred feet up, now much less than that. Part of me wants to scream, but it feels pointless. Screaming is something you do to call for help, and there's nothing that can possibly help either of us now.

Instead I force my eyes shut, grit my teeth, and in one last futile gesture, brace my body like it will keep me from being splattered on the asphalt.

"Oh God, oh Jesus, oh Azar," I hear myself spouting out to whoever or whatever might be listening, "I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't--"

......the falling stops, and I feel nothing. Which I guess is what you should expect at the end of a fall that turns your body into a mess of red paste. So why can I feel my teeth chattering?

I open my eyes....and I see darkness. Not darkness as in nothing, like I'd kept my eyes closed. Darkness like the living, ink-like shadow that had burst from my body the night Sebastian was going to kill me. And not just see it, but I can feel it. There's a strain to it, like stretching or flexing a muscle for too long.

That shadow, it's....connected to me. No. Not connected to me. It is me, somehow.

Looking around, I see the rest of the world, and start to regain my bearings. I'm upside-down, an arm of my living-shadow-self propping me up off of the ground. I'm holding out one hand, and from it, another tendril of shadow has shot forth, and is holding space-girl, who seems barely conscious. With effort, I turn the both of us rightside-up, in time for three of HIVE SUVs to pull up.

The guy with the shades pops out of the top of the lead SUV, holding what looks like a large machine gun and setting it up like a turret.

"Targets have been grounded," Shades says into his earpiece. "Preparing to neutralize."

"Get the hell away from us," I snarl, feeling the shadows swirl around me.

The rest of the HIVE goons surround us, guns at the ready, eager to shoot us full of holes if we don't play along.

"Okay, little girl, you've had your fun," he calls out, venom in his voice, "but it's over. I tried to be nice last time, I gave you to the count of three. Now you've got to the count of one to stand down, or be put down. Whu--"

"I said GO AWAY!!!!"

The shadow erupts from me again, like a tidal wave. The SUVs go flying like toys, Shades and his HIVE henchmen pinwheeling after them. I try not to kill them, but admittedly, I don't try all that hard.

When the smoke and dust settles, I see a few of them struggling to their feet, and begin to flee. I'm sure they'll be back, but it looks like they're at least going to leave us alone for the time being. Turning back to space-girl, I see she's fully conscious now, and staring at me moon-eyed.

"You have gifts of power as well?" she asks. "Why did you not inform me you were a Champion of your world?"

I let her go, and the shadows flitting around me dissipate like wisps of smoke.

"Because, ah, I didn't really know if I had them," I admit. "And I'm not any 'Champion,' I'm just....different. And I think those guys wanted to capture me or cut my brain open or whatever, to see just how different I am. This whole thing is....a lot to take in."

"I see," she nods, before extending her hand. "You have my gratitude for rescuing me from a fatal fall. In exchange, I will keep you under my protection to prevent any cutting of your brain."

"Thanks, but I don't need to be under anyone's protection," I say, leaving her hand hanging. "Especially from someone whose name I don't even know, and whom I'm not really convinced is actually real."

Space-girl's eyes widen in surprise. "Oh! My apologies! I have not yet made a formal introduction!" She gives a flourishing curtsy. "I am Princess Koriand'r, scion of the Royal House of Tamaran, Watcher of the Seals of Xhaal, Commander of the Grand Armada of Tamarus, and bearer of the title Starfire."

_{"Of course you're a princess, why wouldn't you be,"} I mutter to myself, before returning the curtsy. "Okay, um, Princess Starfire, I'm Rachel, runaway ex-cultist who works part-time in a bookstore with no customers."

Starfire gives me a big smile. "Well met, Friend Rachel! We must celebrate the dawn of a new and glorious friendship, as well as our first victory together!"

She comes towards me, arms wide and lips pursed for another kiss, but I push her away. "Hey, no, that's not okay--"

There's a quick burst of darkness as the shadows put up a wall of tendrils between her and me, and Starfire backs away.

"....I have offended you with my affection?" she asks, confused and sad.

"No, it's just...." I let out a sigh of exasperation. "You need to learn about personal boundaries if you're going to stick around here."

Starfire nods. "I see. There are many things about this world I must learn. First, however, I must seek asylum. Can you bring me into contact with your ruling class so that we may begin the diplomatic negotiations?"

I raise an eyebrow. "'Take me to your leader?' Really? I don't know if that's the best idea. But that's something you can deal with later."

"For the later then, yes. What, then, shall we do in the now?"

"Right now, it's late, and I'm tired, and I'm still pretty positive this is all some stupid hallucination," I say, beginning to walk down the street towards the bookstore and my loft. "So I'm going to go home, take a shower, go to sleep, and when I wake up back in the real world, I'll forget all about this and go on with my day."

"May I join you? I currently have no place to do the washing and sleeping."

I shrug. "Sure, why not, this isn't real anyway. I've got a futon you can crash on while I'm still imagining all of this."

"Then I look forward to seeing this 'foo-ton.' If you will help me acclimate to this world, then I will help you with your hallucinations. This will be wondrous!"

"I'm sure," I say as I make my way down the sidewalk, my imaginary friend floating beside me.

---

"....underestimated the target's capabilities, sir. Two of my men are in critical condition, the rest with light to moderate injuries. Both targets managed to escape. Sir, if we're going to go after them, I request that we--"

"Request denied. For the moment, you are strictly going to observe and report their activities. We must have a greater understanding of their abilities before we strike again. The Roth girl is clearly more than a standard Empath. And the other is a complete unknown for the time being. Find them, Sergeant, but do not engage. When we have sufficient data on the two..."

"....my students and I will deal with them ourselves."

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

Me, waiting on OOC.

@DeadDrop

It'll probably be up Monday-ish.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

Movement is done through "zones"-- for the sake of simplicity, generally speaking one room (or in the case of something large like a hangar bay, one corner of the room) equals one zone. Characters can either move once from one zone to another and take an action, or sprint to move twice. Melee range is within the same zone as an enemy, Close range is the next zone over, Medium range is two zones, and so on. You still need line-of-sight to be able to shoot things at range, obviously, but stuff like Motion Trackers can work at Long or Extreme range without needing eyes on the target.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

It'll all be done over the Guild; thankfully, the dice mechanics in Alien are ridiculously easy. Your character will have four Base Stats (Strength, Agility, Wits, and Empathy), equal to a number between 2 and 5, then a few skills that add onto that (so let's say I have Wits 4, ComTech 2, for a total of 6). That number is simply the amount of d6 dice you roll. A skill check succeeds if any of those dice come up as a 6; otherwise, it fails.

If you do fail a dice roll, you can choose to Push your Roll, letting you re-roll those dice, but raising your amount of Stress Dice by 1. When you roll a skill check, you will then also roll separately for your Stress Dice (again, 1d6 per level of Stress) A 6 still succeeds, so having some Stress actually increases your chances of success, as you'll typically be more alert. However, if any of your Stress Dice come up as a 1, you will then have to roll for Panic, equal to 1d6 plus your current Stress Level. The GM (me) has access to a Panic Table that has all of the various effects of Panic listed, but generally speaking, the higher that total is, the worse it is for you.

There are other modifiers, as well as various charts and tables that the players don't have to worry about because it's all behind the GM screen, but generally speaking, if you want to do an action, you'll just go into the forum dice-roller, roll some d6, try to hit 6s and avoid 1s.

Character stats are pretty simple as well. I'll go over the full rules for character creation in OOC, but an example character would be something like this:

RIPLEY

---

IDENTITY: Warrant Officer Ellen Ripley, USCSS Nostromo
CLASS: Officer
STRENGTH: 3, AGILITY: 2, WITS: 4, EMPATHY: 5
HEALTH: 3
SKILLS:
Mobility (AG): 1
Ranged Combat (AG): 1
Observation (WIT): 2
Comtech (WIT): 1
Command (EMP): 3
Manipulation (EMP): 2

TALENT: Influence (You may Push any Skill roll based on Empathy twice rather than once)

GEAR: SpaceSub ASS0-400 Harpoon Grappling Gun, M240 Handheld Incinerator Unit

SIGNATURE ITEM: Jones, the ship's cat

PERSONAL AGENDA: Your family life back home is in shambles, so you've become more protective of the family you've chosen aboard this ship. Protect your friends at all costs.

BUDDY: Dallas

RIVAL: Ash

---

There are a few other things to go over, but as you can see, it's pretty streamlined.

Gameplay will effectively be me taking turns as the GM describing the scenario, then each player will have one 'round' to post a response to the current situation. Decide which action you want to take, then roll the dice accordingly in the forum's dice-roller (copying the link so we can see it's legit), then describe how that action succeeds or fails based on the outcome.

A L I E N : Tales from the Frontier

That's three players, plus myself as the GM. I'd love for a total of five players, but if we get one more, I'll start up the OOC/Sign-up and go over the rules.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

<Snipped quote by Retired>

"trying" is the keyword here as I still don't completely understand how all of the reincarnation stuff works

@Natty

That's okay; DC doesn't understand it either.

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

Oh, shit. Someone's actually trying to do a Hawk.

@Retired

OH SNAP

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

TARGET PLANET: M-CLASS, SPACE SECTOR 2814
GRAVITY: 0.62 TAMARANIAN STANDARD
ATMOSPHERE: 78% NITROGEN, 21% OXYGEN, REMAINING 1% ARGON, CARBON-DIOXIDE, AND TRACE ELEMENTS
DOMINANT SPECIES: BIPEDAL, OPPOSABLE THUMBS, ESTIMATED SIXTH-LEVEL INTELLECT ON AVERAGE
TECHNOLOGICAL LEVEL: 1. INTERPLANETARY CONTACT: MINIMAL TO NONE.

PROGNOSIS: MOSTLY HARMLESS

TARGET LANDING ZONE ACQUIRED. DECELERATING TO DESCENT SPEED. WILL BREACH ATMOSPHERE IN 30 MILLICYCLES.

ENGAGING STEALTH FIELD. DEPLOYING ELECTROMAGNETIC PULSE TO DISABLE DETECTION IN 3....2....1...

---

The lasers, strobes, and unbearable music suddenly cut off, and the park is plunged into darkness. There's a collective "AWWWWW" from the crowd, and people begin booing, as if the blackout was part of the show.

"Ohhhhh darn," I say amidst the din, "I guess I'll have to go home now without seeing the rest of the show. What a shame."

The cops and those burly HIVE security guards begin funneling people out of the park, some of the more colorfully-decorated kids in the crowd navigating with the glow-sticks they had been twirling with the music. I notice one person leading a group out with what looks like a plastic sword lined with LED lights-- that Alex kid from earlier. I should probably apologize for snapping at him, but now's not exactly the time for it. Besides, I heard what he said under his breath, so I'm hardly brimming with sympathy.

"Don't forget to keep your wrist-bands!" a pimply-faced member of the event staff shouts, his voice cracking several octaves in both directions. "So we can let you back in when we start again!"

"Don't worry about it," I tell him as I peel the wristband off and drop it into the trash can beside him.

---

TARGET LANDING AREA IS CLEAR.

BEGINNING FINAL APPROACH.

---

The walk home is only a few blocks, but with all of the lights out and the crowd seeming to disperse down every street but mine, it feels like miles.

What a complete waste of an evening. I could have spent that time reading, or going through some old notes, or.....hell, counting the cash register again just for the fun of it. Anything would have been a better time than--

I feel it. A powerful wave of feeling, surging as it gets closer. A hunger. Not hunger like you feel in the late afternoon well after lunch but before dinner. And not hunger like someone who's lost everything and doesn't know when or where their next meal will be. Hunger like a wolf that's closing in on a deer. An excited, predatory sort of hunger.

"Excuse me, Miss?"

An SUV slows down to roll alongside me, without its running lights on, engine barely making a sound. Leaning his head out of the driver's side window is an older man wearing shades, a black "tacti-cool" top, and a ball cap with the word HIVE embroidered on the front. "We'd like to have a word with you, can you stop for a moment?"

Why would some rent-a-cops want 'a word' with me? I didn't do anything illegal-- last I checked, there weren't any laws about hearing voices in your head. Or hating crappy music.

Whatever they want, it's not good. Keep walking, Rachel.

"Miss, we just want to--"

"Last I checked, the park was that way," I point behind me, "And that's where your jurisdiction ends. If I did something I wasn't supposed to, take it up with the actual cops."

Shades frowns. "We saw your 'episode' at the concert, Miss," he says, more authority in his voice. "The readings you were giving off were off the charts. We have some questions--"

"And I have an answer," I cut him off, not even looking as I raise my middle finger.

'Readings?' What kind of 'readings' are event security--

SKRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEECH!!!

The SUV heaves forward, then swerves to cut me off. Shades steps out of the driver's side, and three more big guys in tactical gear step out. Two of them have tasers, the other two have guns.

I start to take a few steps back. "B--....back off," I say, trying to keep a brave face. "You....you don't kn-know what y-you're dealing with."

The four of them start to laugh, but I'm telling the truth. They have no idea what I'm capable of.

And neither do I.

A month ago, Sebastian Blood tried to kill me. He and a few dozen followers had chained me to an altar in the bowels of his Hollywood mansion, and proceeded to do all sorts of obscene things to each other in the name of some entity they called "The Great Trigon." Sebastian said I was the "gateway to the infernal realm," and that sacrificing me to his great big evil master would get him honors and glory in the world to come. From what I gathered, the saying "there's a special place in Hell for you" wasn't a threat to him, but a promise.

Just as the dagger was coming down, all my fear, all my anger, all my confusion, just....erupted. I heard the cry of a bird, and then a shadow poured out of me, washing over the room like a geyser of ink. It tossed Sebastian aside like a ragdoll, broke my chains like strands of tissue paper, smashed tables, pounded holes in the walls, and left his band of cultists in heaps of broken limbs and spinal trauma. I don't think I killed any of them, but I won't shed too many tears if I did.

All well and good, but I don't know how the hell I did it. I was scared and confused then. But I'm scared and confused now, and I don't seem to be throwing these jerks into the river yet.

"Now I'm going to ask you to be a little more polite, young lady," says Shades with an eager sneer as he clicks the safety off of his pistol. "You've got until the count of three to apologize for being rude, and come with us, or else we'll have to show you some manners. One.......two........"

NNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNYYYYYYYYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

EEEEEOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW---

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!!!

---

.......my senses reel. The world begins to spin as I stumble forward.

...the world?.....a world, perhaps. Not my world.

Strewn about me are bodies, knocked unconscious by the force of the landing. One of them, on the ground before me, begins to stir, and scrambles to its feet.

My head swims, as the creature speaks.



I do not know its language. It does sound like any variation of Interlac I have ever heard.

"Where am I?" I ask. "What is this place?"

The creature-- a female, by appearance, though I may be mistaken-- babbles an answer.



For a moment, I think of attempting to communicate with hand gestures, find something with which to scribe, starting with the universal language of mathematics.

Then I see the others begin to stir, and reach for what appear to be weapons.

"I apologize, but we have little time," I say, and approach to initiate a psychic meld through the most direct means I can manage.

---

My head hurts. My back hurts. My bones hurt. Everything hurts. So on the bright side, that means I'm not dead.

I open my eyes, and as I stagger to my feet, I see....something has crashed down on top of the HIVE goons' SUV. It's like a big, silver egg, encrusted with gems and lined with gold lace. It looks like something out of either a fairy tale, or a bad SyFy movie, I'm not sure which.

Stepping out of the egg-thing is a girl. Slender, with long flowing red hair, tanned skin, and bright green eyes-- bright as in literally, glowing green. She stumbles and staggers, and by instinct, I call out to her.

"Hey, are you.....okay? What.....what is that thing?"

I know what that thing looks like. It looks like a crashed UFO.

But it isn't. It can't be. Because that would be stupid.

The girl turns her eyes to me, and speaks.



It's pure gibberish, not even remotely sounding like any language I've ever heard.

"I'm sorry, I....don't know what you're saying."

There's a pained groan, and I see Shades and his friends are regaining consciousness....and going for their guns.

The girl from the sp---the whatever-that-thing-is, not an alien spaceship, that would be stupid-- sees it too, and walks toward me.



She cups a hand to my cheek....

"Hey, wait, what are you--?!"

Her lips press against mine, and my mind explodes.

Images of a lush tropical world, three vibrant colored moons hanging in the sky like ripe fruit.

Muscular men and statuesque women, all with bright red hair and luminescent green eyes, living lives of wonder and adventure.

A happy childhood. A loving mother and father. A sister who never opens up and says what's bothering her.

A betrayal.

A war.

A desperate escape.

Words, feelings, memories, slam into me with the force of a hurricane.

Then she pulls away, breaking the kiss, and I'm back in what passes for the real world.

Taking a few steps and a deep breath, I manage a .......what?!"

"I apologize for the sudden intrusion into personal space," she says, suddenly speaking fluent English, "But direct contact between high concentrations of nerve endings is the best way to achieve a psychic meld. And this was the best way I could make learning of the language occur with the most of fast."

.....well, fluent-ish.

".......WHAT?!"

"Nnnnngh," Shades pulls himself up, and puts a hand to his ear as he calls for backup. "Attention, attention, a second target has appeared. Inform Doctor Johnson. Requesting Class-3 backup."

"Come," the orange-haired girl says as she takes me by the wrist, "we must find a more defensible location if we are to be the victors in the combat!"

She snaps her fingers, and the giant silver egg sitting on the ruins of the SUV shrinks down into the size of an actual egg, then gently floats into the palm of her free hand. Then she begins to.....drift upwards, floating into the air.....taking me with her.

".........WHAT?!?!?!"

Andy C's Trial Grounds, Drawing Board, and Graveyard of Ideas

T H E B E S T N I G H T O F M Y L I F E
CHAPTER TWO

".....removing their Title 238 protections, which will allow us to finally expand renovations into the Narrows," Mayor Hill explains to Mister Bruce over cocktails, while a string quartet in the far corner meanders through some Schubert. "We're predicting the new commercial center should bring in a half-billion in new business per quarter in the first year alone. Over time, well, the sky is the limit, and I believe Wayne Enterprises would do very well to get in on the ground floor, so to speak."

"Hm, it's definitely worth considering," Mister Bruce says, sipping his martini. Mayor Hill's "Gotham of Tomorrow" initiative sounds nice enough on paper-- renovate and rebuild the crumbling infrastructure and overcrowded housing projects in the Bowery, shaping Gotham to be closer to its 'Sister City' Metropolis. Mister Bruce has been skeptical about buying in, however-- too many questions about where the money is being spent. Or who is being contracted to carry out what project. Or what happens to all of the people whose homes would be demolished in the name of progress. "What do you think, Dick? A few new shopping centers, maybe a nice big WayneTech electronics store on Park Row?"

"....huh?" I glance up from my phone. "Oh, um, yeah, sounds.....sounds really neat."

It's a simple enough code. Mister Bruce chats it up with the Great and Good of Gotham while I break into their devices. After a few minutes, he asks for a progress report. If I say "neat," it means I've gotten the information I need and we can move on to the next target. If I say "cool," it means I need him to buy me some more time. If I say "interesting," it means I can't crack it, and I need to send it to our mysterious hacker friend, the elusive 'Oracle.'

So far, we've had four 'neats,' three 'cools,' and only one 'interesting' in Mister Cobblepot. It's honestly a little concerning how easy it is to get information off of these people; a more nefarious hacker with similar equipment could cripple the city's economy over an afternoon.

Mayor Hill gives me a disapproving frown, and Mister Bruce gives him a placating smile in return. "It's impossible to get him away from that phone. My fault, I'm afraid. I should be giving him stricter limits on screen time. Come on, Dick-- I know civics isn't the most exciting subject, but when you're older you'll appreciate its importance."

I roll my eyes, and Mister Bruce's gentle smile turns sour.

"Manners, Dick," he says, "what have I told you about acting up in public?"

I let out an irritated sigh. "That if I don't want to join in on society, I shouldn't be surprised if society doesn't want me."

"That's right," he says, a lesson we both agreed was appropriately stern-sounding and completely out of touch, the perfect thing for a spoiled rich socialite trying to play at being a parent. "Now why don't you go get some fresh air and think about that for a while. We'll talk on the ride home."

I slump my shoulders and walk away with a dejected look, while Mister Bruce turns back to Mayor Hill with an apologetic shrug. "Kids, right? Have to be fair but firm, like my old man...."

It's hard to keep from grinning. Now that I've been summarily dismissed and the norms of polite society dictate everyone shun me for a few minutes while I contemplate my faux pas, I can enact the second phase of our plan without anyone bothering me.

I step out onto the balcony, a rush of cool summer evening air tussling my hair and the echoes of passing cars resounding back and forth between the buildings from below. The street lights and gaudy neon signs wash the view beneath me in a thin orange haze, contrasted against the deep blue and purple of the night sky above. From up here, the city's almost beautiful.

No time for sight-seeing, though; I've got work to do. I open up the phone, and once I'm sure the coast is clear, I connect it to the WayneTech satellite in high orbit above the city. Furiously tapping and swiping at the screen, I navigate through the labyrinth of authentication codes, passwords, and fingerprint scans before Mister Bruce's computer network HARDAC lets me in. The security settings on HARDAC's internal AI are somewhere between 'vigilant' and 'paranoid delusional'-- if I so much as misplace a single digit or give it any indication that the line isn't secure, it will block me out permanently.

"Little John, Alan-A-Dale, Will Scarlet," I say, speaking the code words for today. It repeats back GUY OF GISBOURNE, ROBERT DE RAINAULT, PRINCE JOHN.

I speak the final code word, staring into the phone's camera to get a retinal scan. "Robin of Locksley."

ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME, AGENT ROBIN.

I feel a swell of pride and excitement. My own code-name! I'm not just helping out on a job; I'm actually part of Mister Bruce's war now. Agent Robin. Helping Batman.

Batman and Robin.

INCOMING MESSAGE FROM AGENT ORACLE.

"Put it through," I say, like the Captain of a sci-fi starship answering the hail from an alien vessel. Maybe a bit silly for Dick Grayson to do. But Robin, well, who can blame him for being a little dramatic?

Welcome aboard, Robin. The Big Guy has been telling me about you. Your skill-set, anyway; your identity is still secure. Looking forward to seeing what you can do.

Thanks, I type back. Are you ready to bust this city open?

Easy there, cowboy, Oracle responds, This is just a milk run; HARDAC is going to be doing all the heavy lifting; we're just here to troubleshoot in case something comes up.

Right. Okay. So....what do I do?

Just keep the line open and don't get caught. This shouldn't take more than five minutes.

Acknowledged, I type, and then regret sending because it makes me sound like a space cadet again.

HARDAC begins downloading the information I've scanned from all of our targets, and I place the phone along the balcony rail. All I have to do is pass the next five minutes without incident, and I'll have completed my first mission.

"All right....no problem," I say to myself. "Just.....play it cool. Stay still. Stop fidgeting. It's only five minutes."

My nose itches.

I scratch it, then notice my tie is crooked. Without a mirror, getting it straight is tricky, but eventually I fix it.

Then I feel something stuck between my teeth. A string from a piece of celery, maybe? I start to work it away with my tongue, and then I feel that my boxers are starting to bunch up in the front, and begin trying to fix it without just sticking my hand in my crotch to pick them out.

It has to have been, what, three, four minutes now? I've got to be coming up on the finish line soon. Occasionally someone inside glances out at the balcony. Have I been found out? Did I blow it? Come on, just a little bit longer and--

I check the timer on the phone. It's only been fifteen seconds.

"Ohhh, come on," I groan. This is no good-- I need to do something with all this nervous energy.

On one of the unattended dining tables, I notice the cloth napkins are decorated with those unnecessary plastic ring things, each one round like a ball with a hole bored through to place the napkin. I pick one up, and I'm surprised by its weight, almost the weight of a baseball. Must be expensive-- an awful lot of effort for something that only exists to put an extra step before wiping your face. I pluck the napkin out of the holder and begin tossing the ring back and forth for a moment. After a few tosses, I grin to myself and pick up two more.

When I was traveling with Haly's Circus, we did a lot of easy street-performing acts before a show to get people's attention. Some of us would do sleight of hand, or freak-show tricks like hammering a nail into your nose. While my parents and I were acrobats, you can't exactly set up a trapeze set in the middle of the street, so we found other things to do to bring in customers. Myself, I learned how to juggle.

It's something I haven't done in a long while, not since coming to Gotham City. Juggling reminds people of clowns. And people in Gotham don't like clowns very much. But I've got to do something with my hands while waiting for the timer to run out.

I start with a simple three-ball cascade, which transitions easily enough into a 4-2-3 and a W-pattern, then I finish off that pattern with a Georgian Shuffle.

My feet need something to do, so I start walking back and forth as I go.

From there, I play a few passes of Juggler's Tennis, one ball arcing back and forth over the other two, which morphs into a Half Shower.

Still not enough. I step up onto a chair.

I go into the Columns, the Yo-Yo, and Al's Slide in quick order, and the Factory.

I walk forward, stepping up again. Now I'm feeling it.

A few rounds of Windmill, which I start alternating from side to another until it becomes the Mills Mess, then a high-arcing Full Shower. One more high toss, with a 360 spin to finish it off, aaaaand--

"What are you doing?"

My hand misses the napkin ring altogether, and it goes plummeting down to the streets below. It's only then that I realize I had stepped up onto the balcony railing, effectively tightrope walking thirty stories up.

"Oh! I'm uhhh," I stammer as I hop down from the railing. "I was just, y'know.....bored."

The girl who came out onto the balcony with me looks about my age, maybe a year or two older. She's slightly pale, which isn't unusual in Gotham, but has fiery red hair, a spatter of freckles across her cheeks and nose, and bright green eyes. She's....really pretty, but not pretty in the way that makes you feel dirty afterward, like Catwoman or that Poison Ivy lady. Pretty like the kind of girls in the crowd I would try to make laugh and smile as I winked at them from the trapeze.

"You were 'bored,'" she repeats, "so you decided to start juggling while balancing on the balcony railing of a skyscraper. You do realize how stupidly dangerous that is, don't you?"

My cheeks flush and a thin film of sweat beats on my forehead, but I try to play it cool. "I mean, it's only dangerous if I fall outward. If I fall in, it's just embarrassing. I mean, once you know how to do it, a balancing act is the same trick six inches off the ground as it is six hundred feet off the ground."

She gives me a skeptical look, then her eyebrows raise in realization. "Oh, that's right! You're Mister Wayne's ward, the one from the circus, right? My dad told me about what happened. I, erm.....I'm sorry about--"

"Don't be sorry, you didn't do it," I cut her off. "Sorry, I just...I don't really like to talk about it. It happened, and I just wanna, well...."

"Right, right," she says.

"So.....what were you doing out here?" I ask.

"Just checking something on my phone," she says, quickly pulling it out of her purse and glancing at it. I can't help but notice she's got the same model phone as mine. "It's nothing important."

"Ah, cool," I nod.

"Yup," she nods, and for a few seconds, neither of us really knows how to fill the gap in conversation. Finally, she pipes up again. "So you and Mister Wayne....is there....something weird on there? Because my dad's a cop, and he can--"

"What? No! No, no, it's nothing like that," I answer. "I think it's just, I dunno, he saw me going through what he went through and wanted to help me out. I mean, I know it's not exactly conventional, but no, there's nothing like what the tabloids were saying."

She turns to me and looks me dead in the eye. "You're absolutely positive. Hand to God, swear right now, there's nothing funny going on, and I'll drop it."

I can't really tell her that there's "nothing funny going on," because that would be a lie-- most people would probably consider a vigilante training a twelve-year-old to wage war on gangsters and terrorists to be 'something funny.' But I do look her in her eyes-- those piercing, emerald green eyes that I could just get lost in-- and I tell her the truth.

"Absolutely positive. Hand to God. Bruce Wayne is one of the good guys."

She returns the stare, like she's trying to search into my soul, then says "Okay, cool."

"Ummm, yeah," I say, finally having to pry myself away from her eyes. "So, uh, that was.....kinda personal. And we haven't really introduced ourselves yet. I'm, erm, Dick. Dick Grayson."

She gasps in embarrassment. "Oh! Oh God, I'm sorry, I'm just....I'm Barbara. Barbara Gordon."

She sticks out her hand, and I shake it. Her embarrassment gives way to a smile, one that I can't help but share. "Nice to meet you, Barbara Gordon."

DC Universe: Genesis - Justice For All

"Well," I say to myself as I'm herded toward the large stage in the middle of the park, my words completely drowned out by thumping bass that makes my intestines rumble, "So far everything about this is awful. So at the very least, I was right."

From what I've gathered on my very few trips outside in the month or so I've been in Jump City, it's that the people here are massive neophiles. This close to Silicon Valley, and with a few of the biggest video game developers in the world setting up headquarters here, they get first access to the latest gadgets, the newest games, the hottest toys before everyone else gets them. And they've been conditioned to eat it all up, kids and teenagers and young adults throwing billions of dollars at big tech corporations who lure them in with gaudy, flashy events like....well, like this one. Trained like a city full of Pavlov's dogs. Ring the bell, and watch them all salivate.

I'm here out of obligation, because Mister Abel more or less guilt-tripped me into trying to have "fun" with other people my age. Having grown up around cultists who think that melting their brains with psychotropic drugs is the same thing as contacting higher dimensions, and then having a completely different group of cultists kidnap and try to murder me, I'm not exactly jumping with excitement over the prospect of being surrounded by a bunch of....normal people. I'm just here to take a picture or two for photographic evidence and buy one piece of overpriced merchandise to prove to Mister Abel that I had a "good time."

For as much as I absolutely do not want to be here, just getting in was an ordeal. I was stopped at three different checkpoints: once by the event staff to make sure I didn't have any symptoms of the crud, a second by the JCPD to turn my backpack inside out to make sure I wasn't sneaking in a gun (or worse, food or water that isn't from the concession stands), and a third by some private security goons called HIVE who frisked me for reasons they didn't bother disclosing. Those last guys in particular seemed to take their time in patting people down, and even inside the event, they have guards patrolling around the stage like they're overseeing a maximum security prison.

Speaking of the stage, two massive screens show off the new Control Freaks console and a clip-show of what I assume are the upcoming games, while on the stage itself, some technicolored thing fumbles through the worst music I have ever heard. A throng of people-- most of whom look to be about my age, barely old enough to have a driver's license-- gyrate and dry-hump amidst a storm of seizure-inducing lasers, strobes, and fog. If they're not drunk or high, then they're doing a good job of pretending to be. For a second, I'm reminded of the degeneracy I saw at the party my "father" Sebastian took me to in Los Angeles the night he tried to put a knife through me.

And to think, this is all just to sell some crappy--

God, Allie is so hot in that dress. I've gotta--

--can't believe I let them talk me into this, but--

--see him around Jackie again, he's fucking dead, I'll--

--guess another drink couldn't hurt, as long as I don't--

--anyone actually like this guy's music? How do you--

--can't believe this is what my career has come to. I was Hamlet at Juliard, for God's sake! Now I'm up here peddling this puerile dreck for--

--best song I've ever heard! How can anyone not like--

"Nnngh! What....what the hell?!"

Voices, all around me, come crashing in. At first, I think it's just a part of the music. But I know better. I've had...'episodes' for the past few weeks, ever since Sebastian and his band of creeps first came for me. I'll think someone's talking to me, but they won't move their lips. I'll suddenly have picture-perfect recollection of places I've never been, people I've never met. Someone will start shouting down the block, and I'll be the one who starts to feel angry or afraid.

Internal monologues, half-formed prototypes of sentences, bits of songs, images of memories and fantasies and secret fears. It's pushed by a wave of emotions, raw and unchecked by rationality, strengthened by the hormones of a few thousand excitable, horny, angry, tortured, oblviously happy, and terminally insecure teenagers. A pure, unfiltered deluge of thought overwhelms me. It's all I can do to stay on my feet.

A voice that sounds like an avalanche roars over everything.

"....who.....what are you--"

"I, uhhhhh, I said my name's Alex," says the boy standing in front of me when I open my eyes. He's grotesquely overweight, with long stringy red hair done up in a top-knot, a patchy beard with bushy mutton-chops, a long black trenchcoat, and an ill-fitting T-shirt with the logo of something called 'Pretty Pretty Pegasus' on it. "But, erm, online I go by Count Del Freako."

"....uh-huh....," I nod, barely giving him any attention as I struggle to get my bearings.

"I, well, uh, I saw you looked like you could use some assistance," he says, "and I thought I could see if there's, uhhh, anything you need?"

I take a few deep breaths, then shake my head. Mister Abel said I should try to make friends.

"It's...fine," I say. "Just a migraine. So, um.....'Count Del Freako'......do you play video games?"

Even if I didn't just have another episode, I am still awful at small talk.

"Yeah, I mean, I'm a pretty big gamer, I guess," he says, trying to play it cool. "I've had all the Control Freak consoles since first-gen. I'm ranked number one on Freak Fest All-Stars Melee for the region, won a couple of big-money tournaments, so my mom lets me pretty much do whatever I want now. I mean, it's not a big deal or anything, I could teach you--"

There it is again. The voice like the ground splitting open. Like Hell opening up wide. It's in my head.

"--cus, like, All-Stars Custom Brawl was basically made for babies and casuals, the kind of losers who play with items on. But, I mean, if you like it, it's cool, I just like the more technical--"

Shut up......

.....shut up......

YOU ARE MINE

"SHUT UP!!!!"

"....okay, sorry. I'll.....I'll leave you alone," Alex shrinks away, before muttering to himself "_{....fuckin' bitch, why don't girls like nice guys like me?}"

I stagger away, trying to find somewhere to clear my head. Everywhere around me, there's more brain-dead guys and vapid girls spewing their triteness into my thoughts. Those armed guards from HIVE patrolling around the stage keep staring at me. And that godawful music won't stop. It's too much.

Finally, I stagger into a bathroom, and splash some cold water on your face.

"....calm down," I say to myself, "You're going to be okay.....you're going to be okay....."

".....everything's going to be okay....."

---

Kathas and Palamar have fallen. Myrynnian has become a cauldron of nightmares. And now glorious Tamarus herself is in ruins.

Citadel drones strafe the city streets, disruptor bolts reducing warrior and innocent alike to dust.

Green-skinned stormtroopers from the Gordanian hordes kick down the doors of living quarters, dragging women and children away to be used as slaves and chattel.

Maltusian Psions send out blasts of despair and fear to demoralize and disrupt our lines, in order for them to be crushed and swept aside by hulking crag-faced Branx warriors.

Multi-limbed horrors from the Spider Guild climb across the city's broken towers, snatching up unlucky souls in their slavering acidic jaws.

Flames engulf the Royal Palace. The Floating Gardens where we had played as children, the Hall of Glory where we trained as warriors, the Temple of Knowledge where we had learned as scholars, and the Inner Home where we had grown as family. All now are shattered and burned, the people inside either dead or dying.

"I want you to know, dear sister," Komand'r says, a cruel smile on her face as she tightens the electro-leash around my neck, "that this is all your fault. You could have stopped any of this from happening. All you had to do was kill me when you had the chance."

"I showed you mercy," I spit, still full of futile defiance. "I am no monster."

"Oh?" She asks, chuckling as if the comment itself were absurd, before lacing her voice with venom. "And what would you call a creature who drains the love of her parents, so they have none left over for their other daughter? What would you call a being who sucks out the adoration of the masses, forcing her equal to be forgotten and left behind? What would you call a thing who has spent her entire life hoarding glories and honors and affection and attention for herself alone, while letting her sister rot in the shadows?! What, Kory, would you call that...if not a monster?"

She leads me out to the front steps of the palace, where the few surviving people of the city of Tamarus have been corralled by the Citadel soldiers.

"I have suffered the agony of humiliation all my life, sister," Komand'r scowls, as a pair of Citadel soldiers force me to my knees. The crowd looks on, hollow-eyed and defeated, as she retrieves a weapon from an eager-looking officer: a Neural Lash, a weapon that is considered a war-crime to even own, let alone wield. "It is well past time you knew what that was like."

She winds the lash back to strike.....

....and I wake, the escape shuttle still traveling at several orders of magnitude above the Speed of Light.

BE ADVISED, YOU HAVE EXITED HYPER-SLEEP DURING JUMP MANEUVERS, the navicomputer warns. PROLONGED CONSCIOUSNESS DURING HYPERSPACE TRAVEL CAN RESULT IN NEUROLOGICAL DISTORTION. YOU MAY EXPERIENCE DISORIENTATION AND MEMORY LOSS UPON RE-ENTERING PHYSICAL SPACE. ADMINISTERING ANESTHETIC....

"Just a dream," A sharp needle jabs into my arm, and I feel myself drifting back into unconsciousness. "Just a little further now....I will be okay......I will be okay...."

".....everything will be okay...."