Star City- Heroes of Tomorrow IC

[Nevyn_Black]

She gazed at him quietly for a long, long moment. "Plans have a funny way of not working out. My father and mother sent me to Earth in hopes that I would take care of my baby cousin Kal, help him grow up. Only-- only I showed up late, and he-- never did. But I still try to do my best with how I ended up, saving the world that would have saved both of us."

Ache dashed across those blue blue eyes for a moment, and then she gestured to him. "The Reach planned for whoever received their Infiltrator to be a-- 'meat puppet'-- as you say. But that's not what happened, is it? You're still you. I'd say that matters a whole Hell of a lot, but that's just me."



"Mm," Kara nodded, indestructible teeth grazing her impenetrable bottom lip. "You must know from experience that it's hard work keeping up a human life when you're doing a superhero's work on the side. J'onn's got dozens of human lives. But I'll do what I can to help you track him down. His insight should prove invaluable in this."

Jaime nodded, almost absently, as if half listening to her and half holding some inner dialogue. He smiles wryly at her, eyes warm and flashing.

"You know, I trained for years to develop what they call a 'clinical rapport' with people, or a disarming manner. But you just do it naturally. It's rather remarkable, considering you have the power to demolish entire cities by yourself. But still, there is something about you that engenders...absolute trust. Like being held in the comforting arms of a mother, perhaps. I just...feel that you would never hurt me. You might not realize just how important that is."

Jaime shifted uncomfortably in the med bed, his wounds itching and aching, but mostly healed. He frowned, confused. That Kryptonian tech must be really good at healing combat injuries. He could feel that he was almost ready to get up and move around already. He smiles at...hmn.

"Come to think of it, I don't really know your actual name. Well, I mean I remember the things I have read from your file, or that other people have said. But what would you like for me to call you? Oh, and thanks. For saving my life, and for letting me hang out here, and for helping me."

Jaime chuckled at his own awkwardness. "And for making me feel so comfortable. Unless it's drugs from the machines or something. I'm normally pretty nervous around women, self-conscious. Course, you are pretty much perfect, so that makes it easier. Having no chance in hell means I can just be myself. Wow...am I on a truth serum or something?" He laughed again, freely, without restraint.

 

[Lunaramblings]

As buildings crumbled across the city, and people died, the police were powerless. Plans had been carried out. A siege by one of the greatest strategists the League had ever known. She has learned well from her father. Nyssa al'ghul, the Daughter of the Demon. She sits in cabin on the edge of Slaughter Swamp.

"Your men did well Goldface. They will be rewarded well."

"I told you they would. My men are more than capable. That is why we were chosen."

Nyssa nods. Her eyes looking into the golden face across the table. "Chosen. An interesting term..."

"Is that so? My life, it was such a waste. Until I was chosen. I was brought to the edge. I was on the verge of death. I was fleeting. We all are. But then.. something chose me. Something reached out, changed me, made me more. Now, I am beyond a mere mortal. I am evolved to something more. Ascended."

"Do you know why The League was formed? Our original purpose?"

"Enlighten me."

"There is more to this world than you could know. The ages of the world, they are cyclical. As each age reaches its pinnacle, it is culled. They come from beyond. They devour us. Render us to our basest form. And then they move on. And us, we are doomed to repeat it. Over and over. Over and over we are forced to live out this cycle. We are mere cattle to them. And that is why we became what we are. We cull the world of man. Prevent the world from getting to the point that they are summoned. For generations that was our mission. But now, now realize it is pointless. We can't force stall the world forever. And so instead, we will fight."

"An interesting fairy tale. But then, only a few years ago, I would have said the same thing about my own ascension. So I now see why you chose the alliance with Intergang."

"They are a potent ally. In a war that cannot be prevented."

"For a long time I was nothing but a scientist. But what you see before you is something much greater. The Network, Intergang, and the one true League of Assassins. I like our odds."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Distant Rumblings. (Felicity)

They sat at the table in the conference room, devoid of their makeup and their disguises.

They sat.

And they talked.

As men do.

And as they sat, and as they talked, Felicity had her tablet on the table in front of her and flicked her fingers across a touch-holo keyboard and narrowed her worried, studious eyes.

And then she went pale. And she typed faster.

"Uh, hey, guys?" she mumbled.

And then sat up a little straighter, those eyes ever so wide.

"Guys."

"Guys."

"Something's--"

--she gestured a panicky gesture.

"I know that you don't like it, uh, sir, when people operate in your city without your-- permission. But I've been working, lately, under this Sister Eye alias, and, I've developed a small network of allies-- some of them are in Gotham, helping me-- investigate bizarre governmental zoning incongruities and so forth, especially while you were away, I'm sure-- you don't mind me keeping an eye on the place while you were away--"

She could feel Bruce's eyes on her and-- and it was frighteningly like staring down Ra's al Ghul himself-- she averted her gaze to Oliver's, and while she still managed to see a touch of Ra's haunting influence on Ollie, it didn't run as deep with him as it did with some of the other men in the room.

"--there's-- there's something you should see--"

She spun the tablet around, held it up, tapped "play."

Nyssa al'Ghul, appears for all to see. "Good Morning Gotham. I am Nyssa. Your city now belongs to me. My men have shut down all contact in and out of the city. And right now, every bridge and tunnel was just collapsed. Gotham is now under the control of Intergang and the League of Shadows. Your false idol has failed to protect you. And now, you will all pay for his crimes. He has taken something that belongs to me. Unless he and his partners return it, and surrender, I will raze this city. And every life in it will be forfeit. The Demon's Head has spoken."

Felicity trembled a little as the video stopped.

"She's not bluffing. She's barely even waiting for her ransom demand to be acknowledged-- buildings, blocks, they're getting vaporized out there, innocent people are dying by the dozen-- and there's cell-towers, cloud-servers, they're not just dismantling the city brick by Gothic brick they're taking apart all forms of communications, I don't even have to quote Cisco's least favorite Star Wars movie to tell you what communications disruption means. I wouldn't be surprised if they started jamming two-way radios, citizen's band, ham radios--"

She shook her head. "The only way I got this much was because two of my Sister Eye contacts, a boy named Lonnie and a girl named Harper, couple of geniuses, they worked together to build a satellite uplink and beam out this signal, making sure I received it and making it go viral at the same time, getting the word out."

"You've got to get home," she shook her head, her gaze now back on Bruce's. "You've gotta get home before Nyssa al Ghul turns Gotham City into some-- some-- No Man's Land."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Secret Crowds. (Supergirl)

Jaime nodded, almost absently, as if half listening to her and half holding some inner dialogue.

For a relative moment, Supergirl wondered if The Scarab had stopped giving Jaime the silent treatment.

Then again, that expression could be a force of habit for him.

He smiles wryly at her, eyes warm and flashing.

"You know, I trained for years to develop what they call a 'clinical rapport' with people, or a disarming manner. But you just do it naturally. It's rather remarkable, considering you have the power to demolish entire cities by yourself. But still, there is something about you that engenders...absolute trust. Like being held in the comforting arms of a mother, perhaps. I just...feel that you would never hurt me. You might not realize just how important that is."

She laughed softly, and put her fingers through her hair.

"It's of infinite importance. But I don't know how... motherly I am. (I guess I'm 33, now, I could be someone's mom, when did that happen?)"

Touching a robot affectionately on the head as it floated past her, she considered his statements. "I think-- that it's because I can demolish entire cities that people trust me. I have no reason to fear ostracization or physical reprisals, except from some green rocks that fell to Earth decades before I arrived. I have no reason to be anything other than what I want to be, than what I really am. So if I'm kind to people, people kind of know in the marrow of their bones that that's the real thing."

She smiled a tiny little smile. "Though you must be doing okay with the clinical rapport thing if I'm talking to you about this. Give yourself a little credit."

Jaime shifted uncomfortably in the med bed, his wounds itching and aching, but mostly healed. He frowned, confused. That Kryptonian tech must be really good at healing combat injuries. He could feel that he was almost ready to get up and move around already. He smiles at...hmn.

"Come to think of it, I don't really know your actual name. Well, I mean I remember the things I have read from your file, or that other people have said. But what would you like for me to call you? Oh, and thanks. For saving my life, and for letting me hang out here, and for helping me."

Jaime chuckled at his own awkwardness. "And for making me feel so comfortable. Unless it's drugs from the machines or something. I'm normally pretty nervous around women, self-conscious. Course, you are pretty much perfect, so that makes it easier. Having no chance in hell means I can just be myself. Wow...am I on a truth serum or something?" He laughed again, freely, without restraint.

"No, no truth serum here," Kara chuckled wryly-- every one of her supremely enhanced senses could feel the sincerity in that laugh. "I once read a legend about an breakable rope that could compel absolute honesty from people bound in it, the sort of thing I might lock away in The Fortress' vault, but I never found it. Guess that was one legend that never came true. That and Atlantis, no-one ever found Atlantis either."

She moved over to the bed's monitor, checked a few readings. "You did lose a lot of blood. Might be a little woozy from that? The machine was able to accelerate your replenishment rates, but you still might want to eat at a buffet with free refills on fruit juice before this is over."

And she gazed at him with wild-yonder eyes a-twinkle. "Saving people is all part of the service. And I'm not perfect. Far from it. I hold myself to really high standards because I have to, but I don't attain them nearly as often as I'd like. So the only reason you might not have a chance with me is a) I'm really busy, and b) I'm kind of seeing someone. (Kind of. Off-and-on. It's this whole thing.) Otherwise, don't sell yourself short, again with the giving credit."

She held out her hand for a handshake. "I'm Kara Zor-El. You can call me Kara."

It wasn't like, with The Scarab's ridiculous sensory and genetic-mapping capabilities, he couldn't track her down as Linda Danvers of Metropolis, Kansas. She was the same way-- she was the reason that Bruce had his Batcaves lined with x-ray impervious materials and soundproofed like there was no tomorrow. But she didn't hand out that information as casually as Ray Palmer ("Hi! I'm Ray!"), there were boundaries and levels to every friendship and Jaime wasn't there yet.

...yet.

 

[Nevyn_Black]

For a relative moment, Supergirl wondered if The Scarab had stopped giving Jaime the silent treatment.

Then again, that expression could be a force of habit for him.

She laughed softly, and put her fingers through her hair.

"It's of infinite importance. But I don't know how... motherly I am. (I guess I'm 33, now, I could be someone's mom, when did that happen?)"

Touching a robot affectionately on the head as it floated past her, she considered his statements. "I think-- that it's because I can demolish entire cities that people trust me. I have no reason to fear ostracization or physical reprisals, except from some green rocks that fell to Earth decades before I arrived. I have no reason to be anything other than what I want to be, than what I really am. So if I'm kind to people, people kind of know in the marrow of their bones that that's the real thing."

She smiled a tiny little smile. "Though you must be doing okay with the clinical rapport thing if I'm talking to you about this. Give yourself a little credit."

Jaime smiled at her unconscious display of kindness toward the robot.

"I do okay. But for me it doesn't come naturally. I mean, I think I'm a basically nice guy, but...well, I'm a Mexican American from Texas. I was raised with this whole male strength and cowboy reticence crap that is really hard to overcome, sometimes. If I hadn't been into Judo and Baseball, I don't know how I would have survived childhood, being a little overly sensitive as a boy."

"No, no truth serum here," Kara chuckled wryly-- every one of her supremely enhanced senses could feel the sincerity in that laugh. "I once read a legend about an breakable rope that could compel absolute honesty from people bound in it, the sort of thing I might lock away in The Fortress' vault, but I never found it. Guess that was one legend that never came true. That and Atlantis, no-one ever found Atlantis either."

She moved over to the bed's monitor, checked a few readings. "You did lose a lot of blood. Might be a little woozy from that? The machine was able to accelerate your replenishment rates, but you still might want to eat at a buffet with free refills on fruit juice before this is over."

"Yeah, when that guy stuck me back there, I lost so much blood, so fast, it was unreal. I just went from standing in a back-kick, to lying on the ground instantly. Last time I was hurt this bad, I got shot in the head, but Khaji saved me."

And she gazed at him with wild-yonder eyes a-twinkle. "Saving people is all part of the service. And I'm not perfect. Far from it. I hold myself to really high standards because I have to, but I don't attain them nearly as often as I'd like. So the only reason you might not have a chance with me is a) I'm really busy, and b) I'm kind of seeing someone. (Kind of. Off-and-on. It's this whole thing.) Otherwise, don't sell yourself short, again with the giving credit."

She held out her hand for a handshake. "I'm Kara Zor-El. You can call me Kara."

It wasn't like, with The Scarab's ridiculous sensory and genetic-mapping capabilities, he couldn't track her down as Linda Danvers of Metropolis, Kansas. She was the same way-- she was the reason that Bruce had his Batcaves lined with x-ray impervious materials and soundproofed like there was no tomorrow. But she didn't hand out that information as casually as Ray Palmer ("Hi! I'm Ray!"), there were boundaries and levels to every friendship and Jaime wasn't there yet.

...yet.

Jaime took her hand and shook it firmly, like he would a man's, not with the macho strength testing bullshit, but just to let her know that he respected that she could powder his bones, so why give her a dainty lady shake?

"Hi Kara. Nice to meet you. Call me Jaime. And I know how complicated things can get with the whole super hero stuff clashing with the love life. I've pretty much decided that it's best if I walk alone, given some recent...mistakes and misunderstandings. Not that I'm ever really alone, so much. Or at least, not until now."

He released her hand with another smile, glancing around the room, trying to ease the social tension.

"So, how bout this place, huh? Pretty amazing. And much more fun to talk about, than all this awkward, 'getting-to-know-you' conversational stuff. Sometimes I think vigilantes should have support groups. Ass-kickers Anonymous, though the anonymous part is basically a given with all the secret identities."

"If the security system wont fry me, would you mind given me the penny tour?" He grinned a bit like a mischievous little boy. "And some tacos wouldn't be out of the question either, if you wanted to do lunch."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Boys only want love if it's torture. (Artemis/Vixen)

He hid the sigh, and stepped passed Artemis to the fridge, "Well I prefer my meat red and with loads of greens, so I will pass on the canned fish thanks. 'Scuze me."

He opened the door, took out four of the pint bottles of Powerade, tossed two to Artemis, saw that in one of the door shelves there was a myriad of chocolate and energy bars. He'd replace them at some stage. Taking six of the energy bars, he bumped the door closed with his elbow and with a wry grin at the ... wobird! he stepped away, dumping the candy bars on the counter next to Artemis.

"Please excuse me ladies, I have a need for a shower now." Snagging one of the energy bars, he got the hell out of Dodge while the going was still good.

Artemis snagged both of the bottled sports drinks out of the air with the sort of effortlessness one might ascribe a Major League catcher who was getting brought the heat of a Little Leaguer's fastest fastball. Which was to say-- hardly as much effort as it took to tell. Even as beat as Artemis was, even as standing there in humiliation, fuming and flushed, those muscles didn't go away, her muscles had a long memory.

And then he was gone, and she still stood there, and she angrily chugged one of those Powerades like it was-- forget that beer Denvers owed her, she chugged that Powerade like it was Scotch in a Star Wars drinking game and someone had just had a bad feeling about something.

For all the sharp eyes Vixen had right now, it took her a moment to spot what had just happened.

Her mouthful slowed to a mostly-chewed stop as she squinted after Denvers, she swallowed, shook her head. "Well, that was the rudest--"

--then her gaze slid back to Artemis, saw she was shirtless under her blazer and all revved up with no-one to blow, and her eyes widened considerably--

"--oh, hey, sister, hold on a second here. Did-- did I just cockblock you?"

"No," Artemis snarled, a bitter kind of frothing sarcasm that didn't know whether it was angrier at Mari, Denvers, or Artemis herself. "He's fucking gross and his cooties turn into a drooling liquid latex scuzzbeast that probably wants to lay eggs in Sigourney Weaver."

Mari dropped from the top of the fridge, and as she dropped the template finally-- finally!-- released and feathers billowed off of her only to vanish like dust on the wind. "Girl. You've been playing tug-o-war with him and Beetle for like a month now, I had no idea you'd finally decided which rope to yank on."

Artemis had picked up a king-size Kitkat bar and it snapped like a bunch of twigs in her hand at Mari's comment. Artemis whirled to face McCabe, pointing a finger in Mari's face-- "I-- I--" she seethed for a moment, and rolled her eyes at herself. "--yes. No. Maybe. Okay? Just-- just-- just stop it with the sports metaphors, okay? Bad enough you keep turning into animals that freak me the fuck out, you gotta sound like one of my dad's pep talks?"

Mari arched both supermodel eyebrows. "So what you're saying is-- it's still anyone's game. Extra innings. Tiebreaker?"

Artemis clapped both hands to her face and made a noise like an engine that hadn't had oil in it for the last ten miles of Baja 500. "Does. Everybody. Everybody. Just wanna crawl up under my skin and find my last nerve to get on?"

Mari paused, and smiled faintly, apologetically. "Hey. That was-- uncalled for. I'm sorry. You got in my face with the word 'freak' and I don't handle that well. But damn if I know boys aren't enough to make a girl go off the deep--" she hesitated when she realized she was just about to reference aquatic sports "--handle."

Artemis snorted, and slumped a bit against the counter. "Jesus, Vix, you ain't kidding."

Mari paused. And then, still smiling faintly, she noted: "Hey, didn't he say he was getting a shower? Bet you could still catch up to him."

Artemis opened her mouth, and-- stopped. And shot Mari a look as incredulous as could be--

--but didn't waste any more time talking, she hurried out the kitchen door, which way had he gone, which way had he gone?

By herself in the kitchen again, Mari picked up a fun-size Snickers from the countertop, and unwrapped it. "Not even a hawkgirl anymore and I'm still the best wingwoman in the room," she congratulated herself on that damage control, and popped the Snickers into her mouth.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Triple Doubles.

Lydia's Bar, Gotham City.
Now.
*********​

"Of all the gin-joints in all the towns in all the world," The Joker sneered dourly as he stepped across broken glass into the bar, "you had to drag me into this one."

The Penguin sat at what was left of a barstool, holding a handkerchief over a bloody nose, eyes closed, looking dismal. "Please stop talking."

The Joker snorted incredulously, hands on his hips. "Oh, but I'm not even nearly finished. And here I thought The Iceberg Lounge was a shipwreck! This place is the worst dump I've been in all day, and most of the buildings I've been in today have been reduced to rubble. I mean, this place still even has phone booths in it. I'm as much for a good bit of anachronism as any Gothamite, but what self-respecting criminal enterprise has its own phone booths? There could be a Metropolis Barbie hiding in any one of those things!"

Rolling his eyes, The Penguin pointed a finger at The Joker. "That's quite enough, you Pagliaccian monstrosity. I once staged one of the greatest coups in Gotham history in this bar, and I didn't have to expend a single round of ammunition."

The Joker grinned from ear to ear. "Well, I don't hate to say it, Pengwing, but you've been upstaged. And Pagliacci? Pleeeeease. More like Cirque de Solame." Beat. "Too soon?" he followed up, with a side-eye to Penguin's legs.

Penguin glared, wiping his nose and pressing his lips into a thin line. "Are we going to just sit here exchanging not-so-bon mots while The League turns our respective territories into craters? We need to marshal our forces. We need to strategize."

"Of course, of course," The Joker gestured mock-magnanimously. "It's like I've always said, mi Cosa Nostra es su Cosa Nostra." He examined the tattered fingernails peeking through his tattered gloves. "It's not that I object to urban tagging on a grand scale, of course, it's just that Miss Nyssa is doing it so artlessly. She can't blow up buildings so that they make a big smiley face, or spell out an f-bomb you could read from orbit?"

"My people are scattered," The Penguin pointed out, stabbing a finger down into the middle of the bar-top. "Your-- henchmen and gun moll-- I don't know where they've ended up. The GCPD are on the ropes-- so I propose an alliance."

"With the Boys in Blue?" The Joker scratched his chin. "Counterintuitive, and yet an enemies-closer situation that puts them in primo position for my inevitable backstab. But how to facilitate such an intersection?"

The Penguin smiled darkly. "Jim Gordon still owes me a favor."

Arching an eyebrow, The Joker paused. "Shallow puddles run deep, Ozzie, you got Saint Jim on the hook? If I had a heart, the very thought that you had been holding so far out on me might break it. But face it-- if either of us go near him right now, he'll come at us guns akimbo. Not that scares me in the slightest, but it'd be a logistical snag."

"A fair point," The Penguin conceded. "And I know it's a cold day in Hell when I'm saying that to you. No, you're right. We require a go-between. Someone... competent."

"Well," came the rumble of graveyard gravel from the doorway. "'Competent' would definitely sideline both of you."

Broad-shouldered, blond-haired, body-armored, and masked, Sportsmaster stood framed against the burning wreckage of Gotham City with his arms crossed over his chest.

The Joker arched both eyebrows, threw his arms wide. "Sportsy! Well, aren't you just a sound for sore ears! (Seriously, gargle or something, you sound like you've been storing steel wool in your cheeks for winter.)"

Penguin staggered to his feet, pointing-- "No, no, how dare you show your hockey-masked face in here, Crock! You're one of them, one of that damned League!"

Sportsmaster harrumphed. "I was only ever a free agent, Penguin. I go where the action is. When the League split, I stuck with Nyssa's people because I thought they were the winning team. But they're blowing holes in my home field and that doesn't come without payback. You need some extra muscle in your corner, I'm your designated hitter."

"Oh, no, I'm liking this more and more," The Joker grinned. "After all, you can't have fun without games."

Squaring his shoulders, The Penguin grimaced. "Very well. Our options are by very nature limited. We require you to make contact with Commissioner James Gordon, and tender him a very temporary, very circumstantial olive branch that we might together drive The League back into the shadows."

"Y'see," The Joker sneered, sidling up beside Sportsmaster and slinging a bony arm around Crock's massive shoulders, "if I go parlay with Jimmy-Boy, and he takes a shot at me, why, I'll have to put his very pretty co-ed niece into a wheelchair, and I'm saving that one for a rainy day. And if Cobblepot tries it and Gentleman Jim tries to riddle him like Nygma, well, waddle 'e do?"

"Yes," The Penguin harrumphed. "Thank you for reminding us, again, that my getaway options are limited. But you, Sportsmaster, you he might hesitate to trifle with."

If Sportsmaster registered any umbrage at the reference to wheelchairs given his wife's situation, he displayed no sign in his body language or even a narrowing of eyes-- even for a man with a full face mask, he was stoic as Hell.

"Fine."

"Game on."

 

[TertiusHuman]

Venom

John headed for his dormitory room, it had it's own bathroom, grabbing his toiletries and a fresh shirt, pants and his leather jacket. Instead of his own shower, he picked to use one of the communal showers, he headed out of his room and walked down the hallway, finishing his drink and chocolate bar. It was a good sugar, electrolyte, fluids boost and he was starting to feel better about himself.

He entered the shower and pretty soon enough he had a shower going, as hot as he could tolerate and started to wash his hair, the warm water feeling good on his skin as it ran down his back. He had his eyes closed, humming "Buttercup" as he used the water to rinse his hair and then applied more shampoo, taking his time, in no great rush to get back to the cubicle and the stacks of report papers.

 

[Lachiyous]

Impulse

[Between the Here and the Now]

"Uhm, d'ya. D'yaD'yaD'ya...GotAnyMore? CaniCaniCani pleeeeeease?"

Newsome...friends. Hanging, out. Together. Guy, like.

His question, caused. Even. The almost, pensive one. To crack, a. SMILE. Because he, knew. What the other, did...

"Nah. 'Least not till you tell ME -- where all of its going!" Conner stipulated. His sky blues, shifted. From both, the other two. Before him. "Dude's a twig, and somehow...."

"He's winning." Quiet Alvin finished, for him.

"Pfft. Whatever." He rose.

"ButButBut--"

"Chill. I'm getting more chips n' dips, drinks n'..."

DiiiiingDONG!

??

"The door!" Bart looked to, Alvin's. Face, whom shook his head. And Conner, twisted the. Knob, to the front door. Revealing, the boys'. Two classmates. Cissie and Cassie.
"Look who showed....totally unexpected-like.."

"Hey, that's not fair--" began Cassie. One, of the. Pretty blondes.

"Shh. I'm just teasing 'em." he winked to her.

The girls smiled to, all. Alvin stood, to greet them. Conner couldn't, put. Away, the. Happy of his, grin. And. And Bart....

Looked.

Blinked.

From one, to. To the other. And each, the. Every. One, around. His confusion, playing. Evident, upon his face. So much so, that. Cissie came, up. To him. "You okay, Bart? Hope it's...all right, with you. All of you guys. That we stopped by and all...?"

He peered, right. Into her liquid crystal eyes. "iWasiWas, ItsItsIts....wellllll." He thought. He thought hard. Long and hard. For a moment. Or ten. And then, pointed. To his tummy. And she glanced, there. And then to, his. Face. "DidjaBringAny...uhmm....SnackSnackSnaaacks?"
========================================================================
Now. [Upon the rooftop, of the Justice Society's HQ]

She.

A female individual.

It was her, that. That was, over. UP there. On the rooftop. The girl -- the lady -- she'd, been. There. Almost, waiting....for him. When he came, whizzing by. In his sillysome, yet. Determined attempt, at. Nailing down the, 'landing'. To run up the, side. Of the building --

...she. They....

Well! He had to, twirl. And whirl. And evade -- so that, she and he. Wouldn't become = ONE...

Giant.

SPLATTER, of a. Mess!

...he did this, of course. Though, it freaked her. Out. It kinda, had the. Similiar effect, on the teen. Too! And he was quick, to. Apologize. And introduce, himself. Help her up. And get....lost. In her lovely, locks. Of auburn. "-- YourHairYourHair....it's. Uhh. ItLooksItLooksItLooks...." the effort, some effort, any effort was there, "...i liiiiiike it? Haha."

Perhaps, she was surprised. At him. At Bart. Amidst the, situation. And him -- suddenly -- zipping up, by, and coming. Within her, personal. Moment, of...solitude. Of all things, he focused on her..."My-- my hair?" She could have been, beside. Herself. "Your-- your eyes. You have golden eyes. At least red hair is a color people's hair sometimes is. I get it from my dad. But where'd you get your peepers? Not that they're not-- I mean-- they're lovely. I knew a girl with purple eyes, once, but I've never seen golden." She'd turned it. The attention. The compliment. The conversation, upon. HIM. And he...?

The youth gazed, at the. Lovely person, before him. That was, peering. Into his eyes. He...tilted his head. As if to, fully. Understand. Absentmindedly, taking his visor. All the way. Off. His head, with the. Right of his, hand. Glancing down, at it. He noticed, his reflection. Those lemony irises, big. Full of wonder.

3 + 5 = 8!

And then, he cast them. Those yellow orbs, right back. At her. As it hit him. She. She. She was talking about, his eyes! "Ahaha. VeryVeryVery cool. iCan'tSayiCan'tSayiCan'tSay...uhmm....that..uhmm...welllll." He gestured, to her. Hair once more. Then to what he, was. Wearing. His costume. "Red -- WouldjaCouldja, WouldjaWouldja beeee-lieve.....it's really, it's......" he couldn't stop, smiling. In his growing excitement. As the words, were coming out. From hiim. "OneOfMy.....faaaaaaavorite....FaveFaveFaaavorite....uhh....colors!"

She told him, that she was. All right. If not a bit, rattled. And then, finally. Gave him, her name! "I'm Rose. Pleased to meet you, Bart, I guess. Surprised, but I think I'm pleased?"

Rose. Her name. It was. It was. It was...Rose. What it meant. What it referenced. The actual, enchanting flower it....represented. Was beyond, him. Right here, right now. But. But he LIKED it. He APPRECIATED the word. He was PLEASED as PUNCH, that. That she shared, this. With him! "RoseRoseRoossse! YesAwesome, YesOkay, AwesomeAndOkay." Giving her, two. Thumbs up -- assuredly, the Bart Stamp of Approval. He griiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinn'ed, the mite. S'more!

...and that's when she, continued. To intake, the person. Before her. "Captain Obvious, I know, but-- you're like him, aren't you?"

Did. Did she just, call. Him....Captain something? The teen speedster, drew a blank. For a moment. His yellows, like. Big. Saucers. His mouth, pursed. While he, attempted. To. Decipher...

Rose handed him, the. Assist. "I didn't know that The Flash had family."

At the mention, of Barry's. Super hero codename, his face. Lit up. Brightly. And he was all, smiles. Ear-to-ear fashion. The once, more! "He-He-He, y'see....HeFoundMe, HeFoundMe, HeREALLYreallyDID.....itsTrueitsTrue, NotEvenKidding....y'see?? AndAnd....I'mmmm..." Bart took in, Rose. With her hair. And her eyes. And her, standing. There. Before him.

There. There must, have. Been some, reason. Any one. As to why. Why she. Why this person, had. In fact, been.....yes, waiting. For him. Here. Upon the Brownstone's roof. And she mentioned, The Flash. Was it...that....she. Did she, want...

OhOhOh!

Bart extended his, hand. To her. Again. Not to help her, up. Which he, all ready. Successfully, accomplished. But, in an offer. "YouWant, YouWant....hehe....DidjaWanna...TryIt, TryThis...TryItAndThis out, Roooossse?" He couldn't contain, his glee. At the idea. This idea. His idea. And invitation, for her. "Y'knowiMean....uhmmmm....iDunno..." his other hand, made. A gesture. With his index, and middle. Fingers. Almost, simulating. Movement. Legs, perhaps. "YouAndMe, YouAndMe....MeAndYouuu--" he ziiiiiiiiiiiing'ed, around. A little, to demonstrate. Visor back on. Before, coming. Right back, at her. Side. Hand extended. Cheshire grin, plastered. Upon him. "WhatchaWhatcha....whatcha-thiiiiiiiiink? CaniMayi, CaniMayi...ShowYouuu?"

Purple? Purple eyes? ZooooooooinkZoink!

"Ahaha."
========================================================================

 

[ChasNicollette]

"Angel," by Theory of a Deadman. (Rose)

And then, he cast them. Those yellow orbs, right back. At her. As it hit him. She. She. She was talking about, his eyes! "Ahaha. VeryVeryVery cool. iCan'tSayiCan'tSayiCan'tSay...uhmm....that..uhmm...welllll." He gestured, to her. Hair once more. Then to what he, was. Wearing. His costume. "Red -- WouldjaCouldja, WouldjaWouldja beeee-lieve.....it's really, it's......" he couldn't stop, smiling. In his growing excitement. As the words, were coming out. From hiim. "OneOfMy.....faaaaaaavorite....FaveFaveFaaavorite....uhh....colors!"

She had her own love-hate relationship with the color at the moment, given its new association with her dad. But she couldn't help but admit to herself that his enthusiasm was infectious.

And speaking of enthusiasm, he practically bubbled over like a baking-soda volcano when she mentioned her name. Maybe he didn't get a lot of introductions? He acted like she'd just handed him The Key to The City.

At the mention, of Barry's. Super hero codename, his face. Lit up. Brightly. And he was all, smiles. Ear-to-ear fashion. The once, more! "He-He-He, y'see....HeFoundMe, HeFoundMe, HeREALLYreallyDID.....itsTrueitsTrue, NotEvenKidding....y'see?? AndAnd....I'mmmm..." Bart took in, Rose. With her hair. And her eyes. And her, standing. There. Before him.

There. There must, have. Been some, reason. Any one. As to why. Why she. Why this person, had. In fact, been.....yes, waiting. For him. Here. Upon the Brownstone's roof. And she mentioned, The Flash. Was it...that....she. Did she, want...

OhOhOh!

Bart extended his, hand. To her. Again. Not to help her, up. Which he, all ready. Successfully, accomplished. But, in an offer. "YouWant, YouWant....hehe....DidjaWanna...TryIt, TryThis...TryItAndThis out, Roooossse?" He couldn't contain, his glee. At the idea. This idea. His idea. And invitation, for her. "Y'knowiMean....uhmmmm....iDunno..." his other hand, made. A gesture. With his index, and middle. Fingers. Almost, simulating. Movement. Legs, perhaps. "YouAndMe, YouAndMe....MeAndYouuu--" he ziiiiiiiiiiiing'ed, around. A little, to demonstrate. Visor back on. Before, coming. Right back, at her. Side. Hand extended. Cheshire grin, plastered. Upon him. "WhatchaWhatcha....whatcha-thiiiiiiiiink? CaniMayi, CaniMayi...ShowYouuu?"

Purple? Purple eyes? ZooooooooinkZoink!

"Ahaha."

She stared at his hand for a long, long moment.

And oh, she was infected with that enthusiasm-- she actually smiled, a tiny bit. A tiny bit at those proffered fingers and that beatific grin that would make Artemis inadvertently flinch--

--all the same, she might have told him "no," might have asked him for space and time alone to think--

--her playlist app must have needed an update, because it kicked back on and shuffled in her pocket, playing an unexpected snippet.

I’m in love with an angel who’s afraid of the light
Her halo is broken but there's fight in her eyes

She tugged her phone back out of her pocket and killed the song, frowning down at the screen. The glowing H-rune was gazing up at her almost cheekily.

And then she looked back up at the golden-eyed boy in white and yellow and-- heh-- red.

And she bit her lip. "Actually. Can I show you?"

This could work. She'd already Dialed Constant-C once today, but that didn't matter, really, there was one week where she'd Dialed up The Koan every single time, and boy, that had been an interesting week.

Of course, she could end up Dialing someone like Cannon-in-D that weighed a ton. And that would just ruin everything. But there was a chance...

The H-Dialer App might listen to her for once.

She pursed her lips, closed her eyes, tried not to make any demands, tried not to have any expectations, just--

--let her fingers do the walking--

--and pressed her thumb to the rune.

SWOOOSH.

And for the second time that day, by some miracle, she became a blonde girl who then instantly shifted into a creature made of rainbow light.

And she reached for Bart's hand.

Her fingers passed through his, phased through them like a ghost through a closed door, but then her luminous forehead furrowed in concentration, she willed herself to be solid, and then her warm glowing hand rested in his, her fingers laced with his.

"I'mConstant-C," she explained, remembering that advice to announce her name whenever she Dialed a Hero. Brand identity.

"Icanrunwithyou."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Moneyball. (Sportsmaster)

Robbinsville, Gotham City.
Now.
********​

Commissioner Jim Gordon huddled behind a burning wreck of a car as a hail of arrows thudded into its metal flesh. One of those arrows punched clean through what was left of the car's windshield, went straight on through the driver's side window, and quivered to a stop right next to Jim's ankle.

He gave the arrow a bitter, dismayed, did-you-really-have-to? expression, and toggled the radio on the shoulder of his bulletproof vest. "Harvey. Harvey! I'm pinned down out here!"

"You and everyone else, Commish!" Bullock roared back over the radio, and Jim could hear Bullock's venerable shotgun thundering. "These Assassin's Creed guys are rounding up everybody that's putting up an iota of resistance-- there's a buncha Sprang Bridge Soldiers down here crying for their mommas, must've rolled right over at the first sight of a sword, the lightweights. I think we're gonna have to call this one a loss!"

"No, no," Jim snarled, popping up just long enough to fire a quick burst of three rounds with his handgun in the general direction those arrows had come from, only for a replying arrow to whizz a half inch from his ear, driving him back under cover. "We can't lose Robbinsville too. Not after we lost Tricorner, and what was left of The Narrows!"

But Bullock's own reply was, in turn, drowned out by a hiss of static, as though The League of Assassins had found another frequency to jam. Jim swore luridly, checked his clip, got ready to go down fighting--

--and then when he looked up, he found he was surrounded by hooded figures in black, one of whom had a sword leveled at his throat, the rest of whom had arrows drawn on him.

"Only needed five of ya, huh?" Jim grimaced, letting his gun slip from his hand and put both hands on the back of his head. "I must be slowing down in my old age."

And then a thin black sharp shape sailed out of the sky, and sparks flew as it knocked that Assassin's sword out of his hand before spearing into the ground and exploding--

--a javelin--

--a flashbang.

Jim cried out as he threw an arm across his face, his eyes were watering, his ears were ringing--

--the world was a blur--

--a dark shape was striding in amongst the Assassins like a giant striding across the surface of the world--

--Jim's vision cleared enough that he could see the masked figure hit an Assassin so hard in the head with a metal baseball bat that an eyeball flew through the air along with his teeth--

--the burly warrior moved like a cat, grabbing another Assassin's two little fingers and snapping them, twisting the Assassin's arm before slamming the butt of the baseball bat into their jaw and sending them crumpling.

An arrow shattered on an armored shoulder-pad and the fighter whirled to face the one who'd fired it.

--everything swam out of focus again--

--cleared just long enough that Jim could see the armored figure pop what looked like gleaming running spikes out of the bottom of one boot and stomp an Assassin's head hard against the road-bed--

--Jim shook his head, tried to blink the blur out of his eyes, lunged for where he'd dropped his gun--

--the Assassins' assailant slapped the gun out of Jim's hand and shoved him back against the car with an elbow pressed squarely against Jim's throat.

"Don't tempt me, old man."

Jim's eyes finally focused again, stayed focused. Glared into that masked gaze.

"Sportsmaster," he wheezed, but even his wheeze had iron behind it.

He knew he was in deep shit. There were rumors that Sportsmaster had killed more men than Victor Zsasz. And the way that this guy had just destroyed five trained assassins...

At that moment, Bullock huffed and puffed up behind Sportsmaster, grimacing, shotgun leveled. "Don't move, Crock, you fucking sleazebag. I owe you big for wrecking The Wildcats back in the day-- I had a lot of money riding on that team to repeat and they haven't had a winning season since!"

Sportsmaster scoffed, and removed his elbow from Jim's throat, straightening, standing, staring unflinchingly down the barrels of Bullock's weapon. "Half of that team were juicing on steroids, and the coach wasn't nearly smart enough to keep it under wraps. I did you a goddamn favor."

"My bookie thought different, thought you did him a favor," Bullock harrumphed, but then hesitated as he saw the bat gleaming in Sportsmaster's hand. "Is-- is that what I think it is?"

Sportsmaster harrumphed. "Yeah. It was hers, once upon a time. I inherited it, you might say. My MVP trophy. One of my most treasured possessions."

Bullock squinted one eye. Lowered his shotgun. "...huh."

Rubbing his throat, Jim struggled to his feet. "Does that mean you two are done having your pissing contest?"

Sportsmaster's eyes seemed to gleam. "I'd win that, too. 'Course, that's probably not saying much considering the state of ol' Harv's prostate." And then he glanced at Gordon. "Speaking of favors, as we were, I come bearing word from The Penguin and... certain other interested parties. They propose an alliance."

"Bullshit," Jim snorted. "Like I'd give Cobblepot and his goons the chance to sink that kind of foothold in my city again--"

Bullock frowned. "I dunno, Jim. I don't think beggars can be choosers. We're spread too damn thin. We were undermanned and underfunded as it was, even with The Bat in town, this city was walking a knife's edge. With our big gun on walkabout, we need muscle."

Jim scowled, shook his head, met his old friend's gaze, knew that Harvey was the only one who could call him on his crusading shit and get away with it. "...fine."

He looked at Sportsmaster. "Tell the bird who would be king that I'll hear him out, but no promises. We're falling back to the precinct house near the old Clocktower, he can meet us there."

"Done and done," Sportsmaster nodded, and then withdrew, twirling the bat in one hand. "See you at the finish line, Blue Boys."

Jim watched Sportsmaster go for a moment, watched him with a look like a terrible taste had just died in his mouth, and then looked at Harvey again. "Spread the word. We're falling back. It's just so we can consolidate our territory and make another big push, but-- we're falling back."

Harvey nodded grimly, pumped his shotgun. "Livin' to fight another day."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Praying for Prey. (Artemis)

John headed for his dormitory room, it had it's own bathroom, grabbing his toiletries and a fresh shirt, pants and his leather jacket. Instead of his own shower, he picked to use one of the communal showers, he headed out of his room and walked down the hallway, finishing his drink and chocolate bar. It was a good sugar, electrolyte, fluids boost and he was starting to feel better about himself.

He entered the shower and pretty soon enough he had a shower going, as hot as he could tolerate and started to wash his hair, the warm water feeling good on his skin as it ran down his back. He had his eyes closed, humming "Buttercup" as he used the water to rinse his hair and then applied more shampoo, taking his time, in no great rush to get back to the cubicle and the stacks of report papers.

Not for nothing was Artemis Lian Crock named after The Goddess of The Hunt.

Granted, tracking someone inside a building without the aid of Felicity's tech-- trackers in the commlinks and a 3D active floorplan of the building --was a little harder than that time Ollie took her to The Island to solidify her survivalism training. But she did okay.

And it didn't take especially long before she slowly slowly quietly cracked the door on that communal locker room (God, she wasn't sure if that super-creepy super-suit boosted his senses) and listened to the hiss of the water and the billow of steam and--

--smelled John Denvers' warm skin on a billow of that steam--

--she bit her lip and thunked her head against the doorjamb, her shoulders heaving.

This is stupid.

Getting this bent out of shape about a guy. About two guys.

I just-- I just have an itch that needs scratching. That must be it.

Need to-- get him out of my system.

No time like the goddamn present.

I won't even need to say anything to him.

Just go in there, shove him against the tile wall, drop to my knees.

It's not like he'd be the first guy whose bones I jumped to clear my head, I'll just--

I'll just--

--stop thinking about it and do it!

She stood up, she shoved through the door, unbuttoned her suit coat, let it slide off of her, stalked purposefully, lethally, towards the showers where John waited with raindrops beading on his skin--

 

[TertiusHuman]

And then there was three...

John's normal senses did not detect the door opening, the symbiote did sense it, did have a peek. Saw who it was and with a smirk in its own mind settled back into the seat where it nestled. It had no need for this shower, the fact was that John had no need for it either. But as the thing goes with humans, they always have this feeling that they had to do certain things. He was going to enjoy this...or at least he hope that he was going to enjoy this...

John's own senses kicked in when eyes was focused on him, still weary after the sparring session, but largely revived by the drink and chocolate, he turned, hands coming up, both open. The front facing palm downwards and the back palm upwards, his weight evenly distributed, his stance loose and ready. He was ready, naked, but ready to attack or defend from the Ninjutsu Gyaku No Kamae stance. But he was not facing an opponent, it was

"Artemis?"

He stepped back slightly, causing the water to cascade over his hair, washing the shampoo into his face and eyes, blinding him momentarily

 

[ChasNicollette]

Call to Arms. (Supergirl)

"Hi Kara. Nice to meet you. Call me Jaime. And I know how complicated things can get with the whole super hero stuff clashing with the love life. I've pretty much decided that it's best if I walk alone, given some recent...mistakes and misunderstandings. Not that I'm ever really alone, so much. Or at least, not until now."

"Nothing wrong with a little solitude," Kara chuckled wryly, letting the irony of their surroundings speak for itself. "But no one is an island, like that guy wrote, I think it was John Donne. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way."

She appreciated that he didn't pull his punches with the handshake, but neither did he try to assert male dominance. The number of times she'd shaken hands with super strong male heroes who tried to go "but look how strong I can be," ugh, so not charming.

He released her hand with another smile, glancing around the room, trying to ease the social tension.

"So, how bout this place, huh? Pretty amazing. And much more fun to talk about, than all this awkward, 'getting-to-know-you' conversational stuff. Sometimes I think vigilantes should have support groups. Ass-kickers Anonymous, though the anonymous part is basically a given with all the secret identities."

"I did hear about a support group, once," Kara murmured absently. "Run by this lady called Etta Candy. Friend of mine named Zatanna said it was good, though I've never been."

She tutted softly, smiled a fairly bright smile at Jaime. "It's always hard to find that balance, isn't it? Between solitude and isolation, between getting to know the people you're fighting beside and not getting too attached..."

"If the security system wont fry me, would you mind given me the penny tour?" He grinned a bit like a mischievous little boy. "And some tacos wouldn't be out of the question either, if you wanted to do lunch."

She grinned right back at him. "Actually, spoilers, the penny is in The Batcave, but you didn't hear it from me. And tacos would be in keeping with your needing to eat something, I can have one of the robots replicate something--"

But then she paused, and her brow furrowed.

She touched her forehead.

(Jaime might be forgiven for wondering if this was what his conversations with Khaji Da looked like from the outside.)

"Okay, J'onn's made contact, that was quick. Maybe he can join us for tac--"

But before she could finish that thought, alarms bleated, and virtual holoscreens opened up, depicting a red-haired man standing out in the middle of a busy downtown city intersection with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks-- he wore a black turtleneck and a black suit coat, all black--

--and he was smiling up at the camera, a stoplight camera that was snapping images of him as he stood there casually as traffic honked and swerved around him.

"Hold that thought," Kara burst over to the screens with a flare of speed and flight, searching the available data with her impossibly fast eyes. "Facial recognition just picked up the supervillain responsible for the Halo Corporation attack in Keystone six weeks ago. He's-- he's in National City. Why the Hell is he just standing there?"

Supergirl fired a glance back over her shoulder at Reyes.

"We're going to have to cut this short, Jaime, I'm sorry. I can drop you off with J'onn on the way, if you want?"

 

[Nevyn_Black]

"Nothing wrong with a little solitude," Kara chuckled wryly, letting the irony of their surroundings speak for itself. "But no one is an island, like that guy wrote, I think it was John Donne. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way."

She appreciated that he didn't pull his punches with the handshake, but neither did he try to assert male dominance. The number of times she'd shaken hands with super strong male heroes who tried to go "but look how strong I can be," ugh, so not charming.



"I did hear about a support group, once," Kara murmured absently. "Run by this lady called Etta Candy. Friend of mine named Zatanna said it was good, though I've never been."

She tutted softly, smiled a fairly bright smile at Jaime. "It's always hard to find that balance, isn't it? Between solitude and isolation, between getting to know the people you're fighting beside and not getting too attached..."



She grinned right back at him. "Actually, spoilers, the penny is in The Batcave, but you didn't hear it from me. And tacos would be in keeping with your needing to eat something, I can have one of the robots replicate something--"

But then she paused, and her brow furrowed.

She touched her forehead.

(Jaime might be forgiven for wondering if this was what his conversations with Khaji Da looked like from the outside.)

"Okay, J'onn's made contact, that was quick. Maybe he can join us for tac--"

But before she could finish that thought, alarms bleated, and virtual holoscreens opened up, depicting a red-haired man standing out in the middle of a busy downtown city intersection with his hands in the pockets of his black slacks-- he wore a black turtleneck and a black suit coat, all black--

--and he was smiling up at the camera, a stoplight camera that was snapping images of him as he stood there casually as traffic honked and swerved around him.

"Hold that thought," Kara burst over to the screens with a flare of speed and flight, searching the available data with her impossibly fast eyes. "Facial recognition just picked up the supervillain responsible for the Halo Corporation attack in Keystone six weeks ago. He's-- he's in National City. Why the Hell is he just standing there?"

Supergirl fired a glance back over her shoulder at Reyes.

"We're going to have to cut this short, Jaime, I'm sorry. I can drop you off with J'onn on the way, if you want?"

Jaime wanted to say that he would go with her. That he would help her tackle whatever was going on, that he was still a hero. But pain throbbed in his side and he just nodded quietly.

"Yeah, I...yeah. That might be best. Thank you for everything. Maybe sometime I can come see your place without the almost dying part."

He smiled, hiding the feeling of shame that he was aware was completely irrational, yet still present in his heart. "Just uh...just drop me off. I'll stay out of the way."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Some Origins of Fire. (Supergirl)

Jaime wanted to say that he would go with her. That he would help her tackle whatever was going on, that he was still a hero. But pain throbbed in his side and he just nodded quietly.

"Yeah, I...yeah. That might be best. Thank you for everything. Maybe sometime I can come see your place without the almost dying part."

He smiled, hiding the feeling of shame that he was aware was completely irrational, yet still present in his heart. "Just uh...just drop me off. I'll stay out of the way."

Kara gazed at Jaime with pain in her eyes as one of the robots bobbed over to Jaime and performed a gentle molecular restructuring on his clothes, making doubly sure they were repaired and cleansed of blood.

Given what had been derived from the leaked footage from The Halo Corporation attack six weeks previous, this red-haired man was a planetary level threat. And with Jaime and his partner's being on the outs of late, Jaime... wasn't.

Far be it from her to sideline a willing soldier.

But this was the way it had to be.

Moving up to him, she reached out with one hand and squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's a date. Uh, so to speak. I know this great food stand in El Paso, we'll bring Mexican back here. And do that 'penny tour.'"

"For now, though, take a deep breath and then breathe out, try to relax. I hear it makes this easier."

And then they were blurring skyward, up through a skylight in The Fortress that shapeshifted open for them. The world blurred by beneath them in a rush.

And mere instants later, Jaime would find himself deposited on the front lawn of Ivy University's satellite campus in Bedford, Connecticut, formerly known as Marshall College before becoming part of the larger school's network.

Jaime would have a few heartbeats to reorient himself.

And then he would hear a voice in his head, almost entirely unlike Khaji Da's. Bigger and rounder with hints of colors that didn't have names.

Señor Reyes, it is good to see you again. If you would enter the building and find Classroom 1138, I should be done shortly.

 

[ChasNicollette]

From Yesterday. (J'onn) (with apologies to Kasdan)

Classroom 1138 was a piece of yesteryear, to say the least. Wooden walls and desks and a chalkboard rather than a whiteboard, and perhaps the teacher was a thing to match.

He stood at the front of the room with his round-lensed glasses and his chalk and his outfit all in tweed, as though he had once seen an early episode of "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and decided that Rupert Giles must be the archetype of all human schoolteachers. He had a distinctive scar on his chin, as though from some childhood injury, and he was decidedly handsome in a 1970's leading man sort of way.

All of the students were gazing at him longingly. Most of them were girls.

As though he were heedless of this, he kept teaching.

"'Neo,'" he instructed, chalking the word on the board, "meaning 'new,' and 'lithic,'" he hesitated here and counted the letters back to himself, as though making sure he had spelled it correctly, eliciting a mild chuckle from the room, "'I-T-H-I-C,' meaning 'stone.' All right, let's get back to this Turkpean barrow near Hazelton. Contains a pass... passage... and three chambers of cysts."

He turned and gestured to a drawing of a dig site elsewhere on the board.

If Jaime walked up to the door of Classroom 1138 at this point, he would hear Professor Jones discussing the difference between archaeology and theft. "Don't confuse that with robbing..." if Jaime entered here, the door's opening would muffle the next bit "...removing contents of barrow. This site also demonstrates one of the great dangers of archaeology.

"Not to life and limb, although that does sometimes take place. Now, I'm talking about folklore. In this case, local tradition held that there was a golden coffin buried at this site."

He gestured to various points on the chalk-drawn diagram. "And this accounts for the holes dug all over the barrow and the generally poor condition of the find." He turned to focus on his students again.

"However, chamber three was undisturbed..."

A girl student in the front row closed her eyes and opened them again, revealing briefly that she had written I love you on the lids of her eyes. Understandably this distracted Professor Jones, and he stopped and stared for a moment. "And the undisturbed chamber and the grave goods that were found at another... ah..."

"...in the area given..."

The girl closed her eyes again, I love you.

"...ah..."

It was almost as though his ability to walk amongst the peoples of this world was a carefully cultivated affectation based on fabulously keen observational skills and incredible sensory capabilities... but that certain human customs still eluded him, particularly mating rituals.

"...reason to ah, to ah, date the find as we have."

At that moment, the bell rang to end classes, surprising Professor Jones out of his distraction. "Um... any questions then?"

Nobody raised a hand. Certain dreamy gazes remained unimpeded by the bell's toll.

"Now, okay, that's it for the day then."

Everyone began bustling out of their chairs and gathering their things.

"Um, don't forget Michaelson," he hurriedly reminded them, pointing to a note he'd scribbled on the board earlier, "chapters four and five for next time. And I will be in my office Thursday, but not Wednesday."

As the students left, one of the girls murmured to a classmate, "He seemed out of it today, I think it's all that traveling he does."

And then a male student crossed in front of Professor Jones' desk and left an apple there without even stopping to look at Professor Jones, as though he were afraid of rejection or the judgment of his classmates, he just kept walking at a brisk pace with face illegible.

Jones blinked at the apple for a moment, and then as the students filed out, he turned his attention to Jaime.

"Mister, uh, Mister Reyes. Sorry it's been so long since we've talked. I've been preoccupied. The events of six weeks ago had a profound effect on me. How have you been?"

 

[ChasNicollette]

Bullets in The Wind. (Supergirl)

Kara glanced back over her shoulder as she left Jaime miles and miles and miles behind her on the front lawn of Marshall College. Her eight-chambered heart went out to the former FBI Agent.

She hoped whatever it was that Jaime was looking for, that J'onn could help him find it better than she could. She expected that this was probably the case. J'onn had always been a Knower of Things.

When Kara had fallen out of The Phantom Zone after her long inadvertent imprisonment, it was J'onn, old family friend, that had helped her adjust to life on Earth-- helped her find a home with The Danvers, meet her adoptive human parents and her sister Alex. It had been J'onn that had suggested she take the name "Linda Lee Danvers" rather than simply "Kara," as the "L.L." initials had cultural significance on Krypton. It had been he that had sent Daily Planet wunderkind James Olsen to keep an eye on her as she'd joined the workforce and done her level best to live as a human.

Until she'd had to save her sister from a crashing plane, and then everything had changed.

And then it had been J'onn that had helped her fight and defeat the villains that had escaped The Phantom Zone along with her... including their fearsome leader.

How curious it was that she was now flying pell-mell towards National City, given that she was leaving J'onn behind her and he had been the one that had put her on the path to setting up shop there under Cat Grant all those years ago.

She'd moved to Metropolis since then, of course, James had called in a favor at The Planet to get her an interview as a reporter and she'd settled in there. Kansas was far more central to The United States, allowing her faster flight to its four corners, and once she and J'onn had stopped The Phantom Zone escapees, Metropolis had a far greater supervillain population than National City.

But National City had been Supergirl's cradle long after Kara Zor-El had grown to become a woman. They had named her-- well, Cat Grant had.

And here she was again.

She swooped low under Otto Binder Bridge, cutting a swath across the surface of the water... and blew down a main city street to stop hovering in the air above another Grant entirely.

Christopher King Grant stood there with traffic logjammed around him, horns honking at him, sirens in the distance, and he smiled up at Supergirl as though he had all the time in the world.

"Took you long enough," he remarked, indicating the flip-phone he held open in one hand. "I was just about to call 911 to see if that would get you here faster."

Supergirl crossed her arms over her stomach as she descended to the street across from the red-haired man, glaring at him. "Need you to make this quick. I can hear screaming in Gotham, feel weird tectonic activity. I suppose it's too much to ask that you be turning yourself in?"

Grant rolled his eyes, shook his head. "No, see, that would be counterproductive. I know you have some experience with this-- starting over somewhere new, you lose touch with all your old contacts, your network of supports, your old street cred. Gotta build up new connections with the locals, work your way up through the ranks all over again. If I turned myself in, that would cancel out all the work I've done these last six weeks pounding pavement with the rank and file."

Kara frowned deeper. She knew that phone was dangerous in his hand, she had to get it away from him. But she couldn't rush in and-- what if there was some kind of deadman self-destruct, what if he had some kind of failsafe?

Better to keep him talking for now-- look for an opening.

"What rank?" she took a meaningful step towards him. "What file?"

"Hold that thought," Grant replied, holding up a finger. "I really should make this call after all."

And he moved his thumb to press "send."

The world slowed to a molasses crawl as Supergirl dove for him, hands outstretched, faster than a speeding bullet.

The sounds of the world slowed to a dubstep drop, infrasonic bass, but one of those slow-motion sounds was the sound of a ringtone-- a ringtone that sounded, of all things, like an old-fashioned rotary-dial telephone dialing out.

SssshhCLICK!

And she could see the light swirl around him, still slow but not slow enough, the light changed him, the light that crackled like lightning...

...and he became a bearded figure, long-haired, shirtless but with an electric-glowing scar on his chest, wearing gauntlets and boots and trousers. His face didn't seem to change, and his hair stayed red.

All of this happened before she even reached him.

And as she reached him, he slipped right through her fingers, so fast, so impossibly fast, even to her impossible sensorium he moved like a blur.

He was standing on top of one of the gridlocked cars, hands on his hips, by the time Supergirl forced herself to brake and cast her gaze about to find out where he'd gone.

"I am SAVITAR," he announced, dripping sadistic glee, "god of motion, and high priest of The Speed Force."

He beckoned to Supergirl with a crooked finger. "Come on, then. You wanted me to make this quick."

With a grunt of effort she lunged for him again, but again he silked away from her grasp and sprinted down National City's main concourse towards the old CatCo building, laughing all the way.

He sprinted away from her, and with teeth gritted and fists outstretched before her, she flew after him.

The chase was on.

 

[Nevyn_Black]

Redemption-Zack Hemsey/ This Night- Black Lab

"Mister, uh, Mister Reyes. Sorry it's been so long since we've talked. I've been preoccupied. The events of six weeks ago had a profound effect on me. How have you been?"

Jaime stared at the man and saw an echo of the alien being he'd first met six weeks ago. The question made him want to laugh. It was sort of ridiculous, given the changes he himself had undergone recently. Strangely, Jaime felt tears fill his eyes.

He looked down at the floor in front of himself and shook his head slightly.

"You already know how I've been, don't you? Just from the brief contact. For an archaeology professor, you make quite a psychologist, Mister Johns."

Jaime drew in a deep breath, feeling as if he stood alone in the center of a universe that was looking at him with terrible judgement, horrible knowledge.

"I made a choice to commit an act that went against my nature and it has cost me everything. My self-worth, my place in the world, my certainty. And now my best friend and partner. I stand before you as only a flawed human being, asking for you to help me. Help me find the light again, before I drown in the darkness."

For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaime Reyes knelt in abject humility before another living being, seeking her knew not what, but trembling with the hope that this person, this being who was thousands of years old, might help him attain that nameless hearts desire, without words, without pride, without promise.

And Jaime Reyes opened the gates and doors of his mind, wide, before the judgement of J'onn Johns.

He stood in the darkness, shivering from the cold of the chill smokey mountain air, with the sound of weeping women in his ear. Distantly, sirens screamed and flashing blue and red light lit the mist among the tree's. In front of him knelt a man with his hands on top of his head, and a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face. The man was almost laughing as Jaime felt the warmth of the pistol grip in his hand. softly in the darkness, the women wept and he could hear the susurration of their chains, chains this man had placed them in against their will, turning them into his private playthings. Jaime could smell the coppery scent of their blood on the wind, feel the pain of their wounds...

The man on his knees chuckled and grinned up at Jaime. "My lawyers will have me out in an hour, asshole."

Jaime could barely hear his words over the ringing in his ears. The Glock felt heavy and warm in his cold hand and he felt just, so tired. Empty. Because he had been chasing this monster for months and he knew that he spoke truth. His family connections and his legal team would ensure that despite the suffering of dozens of women and girls over the years, he would suffer merely the most minor of penalties according to the codes of law...

And then Ryan Gates said something he could never forget; "Hey, pal. Let me go and you can have your pick of the harem. I'll let you in on the game. Come on, all these little slits are good for is-

BANG!

Jaime could still feel the recoil as the pistol sounded in the cold night air. He could still see Gate's face implode, the back of his head shattering into a thousand pieces, his brain matter spraying all over the trees. He never even heard the shot ring out, merely felt it. He never made the decision consciously, he just killed the motherfucker. Everything went completely silent. Even the women stopped weeping, the sirens wailing, the wind stopped moving, the world holding it's breath.

Staring down at the body, Jaime resisted the sudden urge to vomit all over himself. Jaime went away and Khaji-Da took over for a little while. The scarab used a plasma cannon to burn the body to nothing, starting a small forest fire in the process, destroying all evidence. He used Jaimes body to free the women and to give his statement, even wrote the report, the whole time with Jaime gibbering madly in the back of his own mind, trapped by the hell of what he'd done...

One moment in time that could not be taken back. One action that could never be forgiven. One sound, reverberating forever down the endless chambers of a broken heart, a tortured soul...

Bannnggggg-annngg-angg! BANG-ANNG-ANNNGG!BA-BANG!

 

[ChasNicollette]

Inertia. (Supergirl)

It was a stereotype among supervillains that they tended to talk heroes' ears off before delivering whatever coup de grace they were attempting this week.

But the really frightening ones knew just when to stop talking and let their actions speak so loud they rolled like thunder.

So it was with Chris Grant.

When he talked, he dripped arrogance and bombast.

But when he didn't talk...

He wasn't talking right now.

Neither was Kara.

The air itself screamed as Grant used Savitar's powers to storm up the side of The CatCo Building, every footfall shattering sheets of glass, forcing Supergirl to unleash blistering streams of white-hot radiant infrared light, heat vision, vaporizing the shards before they could rain down on the civilians below.

By the time she reached the roof, he was waiting for her-- slamming into her just as she came to eye level with the helicopter pad, both boots connecting with her jaw with supersonic force, rattling her skull and sending her spinning through the air, managing to brake and shake it off after hurtling half a borough away.

By the time she managed to catch up with him, he was racing down The 112 freeway, ripping wing mirrors off of vehicles and pitching them into traffic with the force of artillery shells, forcing her to dive and catch each one rather than risking dozens of deaths in multi-car pile-ups...

It was a game of inches, and he seemed to know just how to use every last fraction, his grim sadism etched unwavering into a tight smile.

Halfway down Plastino, he crossed his arms in front of his face and slammed through a tanker truck parked at a gas station, exploding it in fiery fury--

--Kara flew in a whirlwind around the blast wave, containing it, then inhaled the flames before they could ignite the gas station's underground tanks. It took her less than a second, but she could still curse herself for every instant wasted.

As she soared away from the smoldering crater, she saw him standing there waiting for her at the intersection of 6th and Spring, blocking traffic again, and she knew-- she knew-- in her heart of hearts she knew that it was a trap, that he was baiting her, but she couldn't turn down the chance to take him out, take him down--

--she knew she'd never forgive herself if she let him slip through her fingers again, she never should have given him the chance to Dial--

--her fists crushed the atmosphere ahead of her as she dove for Grant's grimly grinning face, maximum overdrive--

--the world was a smear of gleam and color and shadow as Kara pushed her speed as high as she dared in city limits--

--this was a game of inches and she was going to punch him half a mile--

--he smirked--

--electricity sparked around his eyes--

--she stopped.

Hanging there.

Less than a foot from him, completely robbed of all forward momentum.

God of motion, the sickening thought rang in her head. Not just his motion.

And before she could even twitch a muscle to stop him, before even her faster-than-a-speeding-bullet nervous system could spark a synapse to stop him, he clapped both gauntleted hands over her ears and--

--vibrated.

50,000 Hertz. Fifty thousand cycles per second.

Enough to trigger her super-hearing and cause her--

--serious--

--pain.

"AAAAAAHHHHHHH!" Kara screamed, crashing to the ground at his feet as he kept up the pressure, grinning down at her, ramping up the Hertz and ramping up the hurt.

It felt like her teeth were going to shudder out of her jaw. Like her eyes were going to explode in their sockets--

--her eyes--

--her eyelids were buzzing against her corneas but she forced them open and unleashed a blast of white hot laserlight flame--

--he reeled backwards, his whole shirtless chest sunburned like from a solar flare--

--but even as he backed up one quickfire stutterstep, two, three, stopped--

--the burn on his chest rippled.

And faded.

And he started laughing.

He could heal.

Even Barry couldn't heal that fast.

But she'd learned his secret--

--his one weakness, everyone had one, no matter what--

--he could affect the velocity of objects but her heat vision was made of light, tapping the bioconverted solar energy in her cells, and the speed of light was a constant.

With a roar-- "HYAHH!" --she unleashed another storm of heat vision, the skin around her eyes glowing neon saffron with the heat...

...but when the storm cleared, he stood about a hundred yards further off, straight back, completely unsinged.

"Backpedaled close enough to the speed of light that your infrared blasts blue-shifted into harmless red light," he noted, the first thing he'd said since all this started. "Just a little tug on the wavelength and it unravels like an ugly sweater. Child's pl--."

She'd caught him off-guard with her heat vision once, he wasn't going to let that happen again. Anyone with speed had the potential to be dangerous-- anyone with speed on this level that played it smart--

--there was that term again.

Planetary level threat.

But she had speed too and all of these thoughts churned through her brain even as he stood there and a speedster standing still was just as slow as everyone else.

She changed gears.

And blew.

A wash of frigid Arctic breath hurricaned over Grant, rattling the windows of The National City Bank that stood behind him. He started to react, started to twitch out of the way, but Kara put enough oomph behind her breath that his temperature dropped like a stone, and even the kinetic energy of his molecules slowed to a crawl.

He stood there, frozen into a statue, as deftly as any Cisco Ramon Cold Gun could have done.

She swooped towards him, hands outstretched, ready to scoop him up-- "It's the Gulag for you."

But her super-hearing triggered again, and this time she heard--

--humming.

Grant exploded out of his ice prison with a snarl--

--total molecular control, just like Barry, Raodammit--

--his hand shot out and he pulled it back to himself--

--and the entire gigantic armor-plated vault exploded out through the front of The National City Bank and slammed into Kara with more velocity than Vartox' best punch and half-buried her in the pavement, momentarily pinned under its raw tonnage.

Even stationary objects were playthings to The God of Motion.

With a heave, Supergirl rolled the vault off of herself, surged out of the crater--

--swept the battlefield with every sense, looking for the archvillain--

--he was gone.

He'd dropped a bank vault on her head and run? Why, because she'd gotten in two glancing blows? What--

--something hit her--

--harder than--

--anything--

--everything went black--

--she regained consciousness somewhere in the sky above Utah--

--he'd punched her out of National City--

--all the way out of California--

--her head, her ears, her bones were all still ringing with the impact, she couldn't think, couldn't brake--

--she crashed down headfirst in the heart of The Bonneville Salt Flats and skidded for miles across the hardpan.

Her cape was in tatters.

Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

Every atom in her body pounded with ache.

Somehow, she got her palms under her and pushed herself to her feet.

And behind her she heard a rush of wind, and slowly, agonized, she turned to look.

Grant stood there, arms across his lightning-scarred chest, long red hair whistling in his own residual slipstream.

"Relativistic velocities lead to an increase in mass. Skirt close enough to the speed of light itself, mass approaches the infinite."

"I just punched you at just shy of light-speed with the compacted density of dead stellar matter. The fact that your head is still on your neck is a testament to your resiliency."

He harrumphed. "Congratulations. You actually made me need a running start."

Kara grimaced, rolled out her shoulders, tilted her head to crack her neck like a gunshot.

"That mean you're finally all warmed up, then?" she raised her fists. "Because I'm ready to get started when you are."

He smirked at that. "Cute."

But metronomed his finger from side to side. "Not here."

He turned and he ran east, carving a molten-glass trail of footprints in his wake.

"Metropolis."

A chill raced down Kara's aching spine and she poured every ounce of speed she had left into chasing him all over again.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Night of The Hunter. (J'onn)

Jaime stared at the man and saw an echo of the alien being he'd first met six weeks ago. The question made him want to laugh. It was sort of ridiculous, given the changes he himself had undergone recently. Strangely, Jaime felt tears fill his eyes.

He looked down at the floor in front of himself and shook his head slightly.

"You already know how I've been, don't you? Just from the brief contact. For an archaeology professor, you make quite a psychologist, Mister Johns."

He smirked faintly, and it seemed behind the professorial facade, there lurked the spirit of a scoundrel-- and yet there was an aching sympathy in his eyes, as well. This was a multifaceted gentleman indeed.

"I know a thing or two about minds. Just a thing. Or two."

He glanced at the door, and his eyes flickered red for a moment, and a wash of otherwise invisible telekinesis swung shut the door.

When he spoke again, he no longer had the easy-on-the-ears dialect of this New England college professor, but the ancient, red-sands tones of The Martian Manhunter. "Speak freely. Anyone listening to us, observing us, will see and hear us discussing fútbol scores, en Español."

Jaime drew in a deep breath, feeling as if he stood alone in the center of a universe that was looking at him with terrible judgement, horrible knowledge.

"I made a choice to commit an act that went against my nature and it has cost me everything. My self-worth, my place in the world, my certainty. And now my best friend and partner. I stand before you as only a flawed human being, asking for you to help me. Help me find the light again, before I drown in the darkness."

Professor Jones gazed quietly at Jaime, and nodded once, firmly, serenely. "In the language of my people, I am called J'onn J'onzz, which means Light to The Light. I will help you."

For perhaps the first time in his entire life, Jaime Reyes knelt in abject humility before another living being, seeking her knew not what, but trembling with the hope that this person, this being who was thousands of years old, might help him attain that nameless hearts desire, without words, without pride, without promise.

Professor Jones stepped forward and gently placed his hand on the kneeling hero's head, cupping his skull with his palm, not in the manner of a man who would subdue a victim, but in the manner of a chaplain, a spiritual adviser, providing a benediction prayer.

And Jaime Reyes opened the gates and doors of his mind, wide, before the judgement of J'onn Johns.

He stood in the darkness, shivering from the cold of the chill smokey mountain air, with the sound of weeping women in his ear. Distantly, sirens screamed and flashing blue and red light lit the mist among the tree's. In front of him knelt a man with his hands on top of his head, and a self-satisfied smirk on his handsome face. The man was almost laughing as Jaime felt the warmth of the pistol grip in his hand. softly in the darkness, the women wept and he could hear the susurration of their chains, chains this man had placed them in against their will, turning them into his private playthings. Jaime could smell the coppery scent of their blood on the wind, feel the pain of their wounds...

The man on his knees chuckled and grinned up at Jaime. "My lawyers will have me out in an hour, asshole."

Jaime could barely hear his words over the ringing in his ears. The Glock felt heavy and warm in his cold hand and he felt just, so tired. Empty. Because he had been chasing this monster for months and he knew that he spoke truth. His family connections and his legal team would ensure that despite the suffering of dozens of women and girls over the years, he would suffer merely the most minor of penalties according to the codes of law...

And then Ryan Gates said something he could never forget; "Hey, pal. Let me go and you can have your pick of the harem. I'll let you in on the game. Come on, all these little slits are good for is-

BANG!

Jaime could still feel the recoil as the pistol sounded in the cold night air. He could still see Gate's face implode, the back of his head shattering into a thousand pieces, his brain matter spraying all over the trees. He never even heard the shot ring out, merely felt it. He never made the decision consciously, he just killed the motherfucker. Everything went completely silent. Even the women stopped weeping, the sirens wailing, the wind stopped moving, the world holding it's breath.

Staring down at the body, Jaime resisted the sudden urge to vomit all over himself. Jaime went away and Khaji-Da took over for a little while. The scarab used a plasma cannon to burn the body to nothing, starting a small forest fire in the process, destroying all evidence. He used Jaimes body to free the women and to give his statement, even wrote the report, the whole time with Jaime gibbering madly in the back of his own mind, trapped by the hell of what he'd done...

One moment in time that could not be taken back. One action that could never be forgiven. One sound, reverberating forever down the endless chambers of a broken heart, a tortured soul...

Bannnggggg-annngg-angg! BANG-ANNG-ANNNGG!BA-BANG!

Professor Jones lifted his hand from Jaime's head, and furrowed his brow, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"'Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.' Friedrich Nietzsche."

He offered Jaime a hand up.

"You are not a monster, my young friend. But you have gazed too long into the abyss. Gazed too long into... this moment."

"You are not this moment. You are a continuum."

"Come. Walk with me. I have many lives, and there is much to do."

"And as we do our work, we will talk."

 

[Lunaramblings]

::::: Medical Emergency Shelter 3. Gotham. :::::​

The hospital had been evacuated hours ago. The number of wounded however, meant that these medical shelters were popping up all over the city. Wayn Enterprises have huge tents set up, medical personel zipping all over as ambulances and private citizens alike are piling up.

Renee and Eel are both in the same tent. She refused to leave him. Other than a few scrapes and chemical burns he seems fine. Maybe a concussion. Her wrist broke on both sides of the radius.

She pulled her own gurney over to his so she could hold his hand. She was so thankful that he had been there to save her. And she was so guilty that she had dropped him. It was all her fault. She wept softly as she reflected on letting him risk everything for her. It was out of her comfort zone to let someone take charge or help like this. But... there was something more to him. Something special. Something she can't explain.

As she is pondering these things he begins to stir.

"Eel! Oh my god! Eel, wake up! Are you okay?" Renee practical leaps from her gurney as she kneels beside his bed.

"Hey..." Eel struggles to force himself up. He squeezes her hand and begins to smile. "What... what are you... I men, so you are okay?"

Renee's face is covered in tears. She nods quickly. "Yeah, I made it out fine. Broke my wrist, but given you saved my life, I won't complain."

"Yeah, I uh, I didn't mean for you to get hurt. I really... look I appreciate you hangin' with me so I knew you were okay, but listen, beautiful, you ain't gotta waste your time wit me." Eel looks away. Clearly uncomfortable.

"Eel, I... I don't do emotions so well. But... there's something about you... I like you."

"Me? Look angel, I ain't the kind of guy that can ever be anything special. I am a waste of space. I don't want to drag you down."

Without another minute or thought, she lunges. Catching him off guard, she plants a kiss firmly on his mouth. Slowly the two almost melt together. Holding one another, their lips and tongues finding eager if anxious home with one another. As they kiss deeply and with abandon, their moment is shattered with gunfire.

Nearby there is the sound of a Mac10 spraying into the air. Shouting. Eel pushes Renee off him and forces himself to stand beside the bed. He looks less than intimidating in his johnny but he cautiously moves to the door of the tent. He can see that there are 3 men. Members of one of the local street gangs. They seem to be trying to steal the medical supplies.

"I want a raincheck sweets, but stay here. I gotta stop these mooks. These docs, they are helping people. Not gonna let these thugs stop that."

"Eel, you are one guy. A brave guy, maybe foolishly so, but you can't take them out? They have guns." Renee is petrified. Her heart is in her throat as she moves to pull him back.

"Hey, listen... I promise, I will be back. I ain't missin out on you." Eel hugs her close and kisses her forehead. He guides her to the corner of the tent and places her behind a cabinet and moves some other metallic items. Trying to protect her. "Be right back. I promise."

Eel slinks out of the tent and eases through the camp. Trying to stay out of line of sight of the thugs. As he gets to one of the tents he can hear them. All three arguing with one of the doctors to unlock the portable pharmacy. Eel looks around and finds a small hammer that must have been used to put up the tents and pound in the stakes. Slowly he moves around to the opening. He can see the one with the gun has the doctor on their knees and is standing over him. Clearly the three are junkies. Jonesing for a fix and most likely their den was turned to rubble.

Eel moves silently into the tent. He swings the hammer hard and smashes the gunman in the back of the neck. Crumpling, the man falls. The gun skittering across the old blacktop and coming to rest behind the other two. Eel curses. Of course it would end up there. The other two turn at the ruckus and see Eel. And all hell breaks loose.

Eel dives for the gun, clutching it into himself like a football player might dive on a recovered fumble. The remaining two thugs begin to put the boots to him as the doctor flees.

Eel is cringing as he feels the impact of each blow. Then something happens. He feels his body tingle and almost vibrate for a second. And then he stops feeling the pain. He feels the impact, but it's like they are just being absorbed. Then with a ripple of muscle, he bounces to his feet, sending the men reeling. He lashes at the closest, who should be out of reach by a couple inches but is astonished when his arm stretches out, landing a solid left hook a good six inches further than he should have been able to reach. He lunges a the other one, his body twisting and growing as he wraps himself around the thug like a python. His arms wrap around the thug's throat, choking him out. As they crumple to the floor, he lets go of the man and looks to see he is now alone and they are subdued. Quickly he uses their own belts and shoe laces to tie them up.

Unsure what just happened he stumbles out and is applauded by the doctors that were rushing back with a pair of security guards. He is questioned by the guards but leaves out his strange new ability.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Clearing the Dugout. (Sportsmaster)

GCPD Central Precinct.
Now.
*********​

Gordon stared out of his office window at the darkness, at the fires burning in the distance.

"What was with the bat, Harvey?" he wondered.

In the doorway to Gordon's office, Bullock hesitated, sputtered. "Oh, that's rich, that's rich like Sam Walton's kids, you asking me about a bat."

Gordon turned and narrowed his eyes at Bullock, didn't need much more than a look-- all the years they'd worked together, but Bullock had known That Look from the get-go. Knew there was no fighting it.

He grimaced, rolled his eyes. "It was Fish's bat. Her favorite. Even after she-- fell from grace, even after she--" he shrugged. "It became like this unofficial badge of honor, in the organization, even after she wasn't running her part of Gotham anymore, anyone who got to carry that bat was in a place of trust. Crock was in the organization, what, a few months? But there he is with that bat in his hand. And he-- he shows up with it in the middle of this."

"He knew that bat was important," Gordon considered. "But he knew you'd know that. So either it was an olive branch..."

"...or you think he's gaming us," Bullock glowered. "Man, no, that bat was sacred."

"Crock is an amoral highest-bidder adrenaline-junkie," Gordon replied, without even missing a beat. "And games are his game."

Bullock scowled, shook his head. "You out cynicking me, Saint Jim. I lived to see this day, goddamn I feel old."

Gordon didn't quite smile at that. "I want The Signal on. I don't care if we need to park a car on the roof and run it as a back-up generator, I want that Signal running, sweeping the sky. Reminding the people of Gotham that these Assassins don't have the market cornered on being shadowy urban legends, maybe make our enemies nervous, make 'em make a mistake."

Bullock sputtered. "For Chrisfuckingsakes, Jim. You wanna paint this building with a giant fucking incandescent bullseye? The only light in the city? It's like the goddamn-- London Blitz. Not to mention The Bat that you're Signalling hasn't been seen in The Cinderella City's Ugly Stepsister for close to two months."

"You trust your bat," Jim smirked wryly. "I'll trust mine. He'll be here."

He absently scritched his mustache. Lee had made him grow it when his hair had started to turn white, and he'd never shaved it since. "He better be here."

He jutted his chin to the bullpen, and both men moved out there, where Detectives Romy Chandler and Marcus Driver of Major Crimes had a map of Gotham drawn on the big Homicide whiteboard, divvied up by territory, known holdings of the different factions.

Currently, they were marking down the holdings of the gangbangers of The Burnley Town Massive.

"What assets do we have on the ground?" Jim demanded without sounding demanding, as only The Commish could.

"We've barely got a perimeter around these few city blocks, from here to The Clocktower," Chandler outlined. "But with how skilled at infiltration these shadowy shinobi are, it's anyone's guess how permeable that perimeter is. From last report, Finnigan's Bar is still available to us as a fallback position. Aside from that, we've got a handful of police, another handful of loyal citizens, there's this one bunch of bike messengers that's our sole means of communication--"

"--Wayne Enterprises security has contributed what men they can," Driver followed up, "and there's a P.I. called Jason Bard, he's good people, and a couple of kids with like M.I.T.-grade engineering skills. But as clean as you've made The GCPD, sir, there's plenty of us that bailed when the shit jumped off, I don't think anyone from Vice stayed, someone from Forensics pillaged the evidence room before he left-- that transfer from Japan you said was supposed to arrive today never checked in--"

"Yeah, well, if he's lucky he didn't get inside city limits before the walls fell. Any capes?" Jim wondered. "Any costumes?"

Bullock grunted. "Not much, Jim. One of The Canaries. Maybe goddamn-- Flamebird."

Jim considered this. "Which Canary?"

Bullock rolled his eyes. "What does it matter? The super-hot blonde one, wears leather, hits mooks with a stick, a Canary."

Jim gave him That Look again.

Bullock curled his lip, shrugged. "C.I. said it was the one in black. The one with the scream."

Jim nodded to himself as though he found this reassuring.

But then:

"Ohhhh," came a drawl like ice on a chalkboard, with a simper that could pucker diamond. "I do love a screamer."

As one, the skeleton crew manning the bullpen whirled to face the doors.

The Joker stood there, grinning, The Penguin looking awkward beside him. Behind the both of them, Sportsmaster stood with his arms across his stomach, looking-- forbidding.

"Please forgive my..." Oswald began... squinted, couldn't locate a euphemism dour enough, and then shrugged, "acquaintance. He's obsessed with making a good entrance. Showmanship."

"My card," The Joker drawled, and reached for his pocket--

--as one, the skeleton crew manning the bullpen leveled sidearms at the purple-suited maniac, and not a one of them lowered their weapons when what he pulled out of his pocket was a playing card. "Ah. I see my reputation precedes me. Goooood." His beady eyes darted up to look at Gordon. "Jimbo, how's the little girl, still walking and talking? You and me have got to catch a movie sometime."

Jim kept his gaze cool and level, not giving an inch. "Cinema's a dead medium. Give me a good TV show anyday. Put the card down, Joker. That's put, not throw."

The Joker smirked, just a tiiiiiny bit. "Fair enough." And let the playing card roll off of his fingers. It stuck in the floor, quivering. "But if any of your people get an itchy trigger finger, puts a hole in my nice clean pinstripes, they'll set off a suicide-bomb of enough Joker Gas to make your little bulwark of Blue Meanies into The Happiest Place on Earth."

"You asshole, Joker," Bullock growled. "How the Hell'd you keep your smile in one piece all these damn decades with The Big Bad Bat caving it in after every caper?"

The Joker chortled. "Bullock. My second favorite Harvey. Well, third, after the rabbit. Oh, I have a dentist that does marvelous work with ivory, all I have to do is break into a zoo or a safari park every year or two and poach a perfectly endangered elephant."

Harvey twitched. He had a soft spot for animals, ask the pig whose dignity he'd saved from The Foxglove. "You fucking sleazebucket, I oughta drown you in the harbor so your precious green gas can't save you."

Joker sneered. "D'you know 'bollocks' is British for 'bullshit?' I don't buy your act for a second, Harv #3."

"Yeah, well," Bullock spat, "it also means 'cajones,' so let's see which dictionary I'm using."

The Joker snorted-- but The Penguin stepped forward, wringing his hands. "Let's remember, people, that-- that we have a mutual enemy, here, that Gotham-- Gotham has a mutual enemy. So instead of-- shooting anyone full of holes, or gassing... anyone... let us remember what is to be gained by joining forces."

"Cobblepot as the voice of reason," Bullock observed through clenched teeth.

"What was that you said about feeling old?" Jim murmured beside him, leaning heavily on a railing, eyes never wavering from The Joker. "Living too long?"

Signalling his people to lower their firearms, Jim then turned, and met Bullock's gaze, and both of them-- without speaking-- knew what the other was thinking.

The Joker was The Penguin's ally, the certain other interested party that Sportsmaster had mentioned but not namedropped. They were in serious fucking trouble.

And all the while now, Sportsmaster had stood silently. His presence spoke for itself, but even for him he was quiet.

There was none of this business that Jim Gordon liked.

"Friends close," Jim murmured, when he spoke again. "Enemies closer. We're watching these two 'till The Bat gets here."

"He better goddamn get here," Bullock pressed his chin into his palm. "He better-- get here."

Quietly, as Joker and Penguin strolled into Jim's office with Sportsmaster bringing up the rear, Gordon turned and signaled Detective Josephine MacDonald.

"Josie Mac," he murmured, as the relatively rookie detective hesitated in the presence of the legendary Jim Gordon, even more so when he called her by nickname-- "That bat Sportsmaster's wearing slung on his back. I need you to-- keep an eye on it for me. Can you do that?"

Detective MacDonald hesitated, then searched Gordon's face, and much remained unspoken.

"Yessir. Uh, sir."

 

[Lunaramblings]

Bruce and Oliver had been fighting for an hour. Dick was trying to play peacemaker but these two were two of the most strongwilled men Dick had ever met.

"Bruce. Ollie. We need to stop fighting. Let's work this out."

"My sources say that the government is moving to declare a state of emergency and disavow Gotham as a part of the US. Over a year ago the Order of St. Dumas and their followers rallied and collected signatures to make Gotham an Independent Sovereign Nation. An hour ago, the president was consulting with his cabinet about granting that request. In doing so Gotham is no longer a worry to the US. Word is that they are already gathering votes in the UN to have it declared a No Mans Land and create an embargo around it. IF that goes through, we are in serious trouble. Bruce, you are the only man that has the pull and the power to fight this. I know you want to be on the ground in your city. You want to be there for your people. But you need to be in Washington. You need to be fighting for them in the place where literally no one else is."

You are asking me to abandon my city. When Ra's attacked Starling, I don't recall you backing down."

"Dammit! Bruce, you aren't backing down. You are taking the fight to another opponent. Listen, Ollie is right. You need to be Bruce Wayne. That is the mask that does the most to help right now. Let me and the others be the boots on the ground."

"I see your point. And your right. I will go to DC for now. But as soon as things are settled, one way or the other, I am going home."

"Fair Enough. I will personally join Dick and we will rally a team to help protect the city." Ollie taps a button on his desk. "All available members of the Justice Society, please meet in the Situation Room."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Mobile Network. (Felicity)

Had it only been an hour? It felt like longer.

Ollie put the call out.

"I need to go with Mr. Wayne," Felicity realized, even as she said it.

"A united front of philanthropic capitalists. And I'm not much use as eyes and ears and brains if comms are down."

She looked visibly displeased at this.

When the previous Ra's al Ghul had attacked then-Starling City as part of Thea's rite of ascension, she'd at least been able to help out by donning Ray's power armor, if however briefly. But she wasn't a field agent, not by a long chalk.

Hell, she still didn't have a name.

She ran her tongue around her teeth. "But if you can re-establish radio contact, I can help you from anywhere there's wi-fi, down to and including DC Jitters, you and my friends in Gotham."

Felicity touched Ollie on the shoulder, looking pained.

"It's the same old song, isn't it? They're even using the same drum-kit Malcolm Merlyn used, despite The League's claims that he'd broken their code of honor in doing so."

"Just don't... die out there. Again."