Mob Wars, part 1

The moon cast an dim light over warehouse B-52 but the thirty or so armed men that were carrying boxes in and out of the building were completely visible. Lois Lane hid behind a large wooden crate about thirty feet away, camera at the ready. Jimmy Olsen wasn't so confident, he had been begging Lois to leave in hushed whispers for about an hour now. The warehouse was at the very end of the Metropolis city harbor, far away from any prying eyes that might see its in and out activities. There were three white moving vans parked in front of the warehouse with their back doors open. The thugs seemed to be using each for a different load, the closest to Lois for drugs, the next for weapons (most of which were automatic), and the last for stacks of money. Maybe Mannheim had been tipped off that people were watching his operations and was clearing everything out. Too late. Lois thought with a smirk. Her phone vibrated in her shirt pocket. She held her breath hoping that no one was able to hear it and slid down the crate, resting her back against it. Her heart had nearly stopped but Jimmy looked even more worried. After taking a few seconds to calm her breathing she pulled her phone out of her dark shirt. "What is it Lois, I told you we need to get out of here." Jimmy was barely audible, even at an extremely close distance. Even his voice was shaking. "It's a text from Clark, he can't make it." She put her phone back in her pocket with an annoyed look on her face. "What the hell could he possibly be doing that is more important?" "Probably trying not to get killed Lois, which is a very good idea. We need to leave before they see us." Lois was about to retort but something literally flew past her. It was moving to fast for her to see it. Whatever it was, it ran head-on into the nearest van. The force of the collision caused an explosion. The thugs were even more stunned than Lois, most were frozen in there place. Once the smoke had cleared, she couldn't believe her eyes. Where the van used to be stood a man in a red t-shirt with a darker red and yellow 'S' on the front. He wore a red cape with a matching 'S' on the back, a pair of blue jeans, and a pair of brown boots. Without thinking she raised her camera and took two pictures, she could swear he was posing for the second one. "I didn't expect your van to explode, sorry about that." The man chuckled at his own joke. Everyone else around him was still to stunned to react. "Now, which one of you wants to get their ass kicked first?" After taking a second to process what the man was saying, the thugs opened fire. The man was shot multiple times but it didn't seem like he even noticed. He started moving, he sent thugs flying with a single punch. Some of the criminals started pulling the automatic weapons out of the second van. The larger caliber bullets seemed to only slow down their attacker. He rushed to the second van, knocking three more thugs before he reached it. He squatted down and put his arms under it before he lifted it off the ground. Lois' eyes opened wide. This was impossible. The man threw the van into the warehouse door. The black metal of the warehouse caved in and the man rushed into it shoulder first to completely destroy the entire front side of the building. The inside of the structure was what seemed like some sort of drug lab. Packages were piled to the ceiling of everything from marijuana to heroin. The remaining twelve bad guys piled themselves into the last van. They took off without even closing the back sending thousands of dollars flying into the wind. "Not so fast!" The man bolted out of the warehouse and jumped. The van sped past Lois and Jimmy who were still hiding behind their crate. She was taking pictures of the entire event. The man landed feet first on the hood of the van and flipped it forward. It landed on its top side looking like a smashed soda can. A few of the criminals inside began to crawl out, but they were far to wounded to make a run for it. Lois stood up from her hiding spot and ran over to the mysterious man. "Hey, don't go near that guy. He's not freaking human!" Jimmy tried to protest but Lois had already closed the distance between her and the man. Jimmy positioned himself between the two but when the man turned to look at him, he stepped aside with his head down. "Who... What are you? Lois asked the man before taking a picture of his face by reflex. The guy had actually smiled for the picture! "You know, I haven't thought of a name yet." The man grabbed one of the bad guys by the collar of his shirt and picked him up. "Alright, you are going to tell these two reporters everything you know about the guy who owns this warehouse. Understood?" The thug nodded his head in affirmative and the man put him down. "Uh, well Mr. Mannheim runs this place." The criminal was shaken up but he managed to get that out. "Wait, so we were right?" Lois was still looking at the man when the thug started giving out information. Jimmy better have been writing it all down. "What's the 'S' stand for?" "I don't know, it was just on the cape and I've always had the cape so..." "Superman!" Both Jimmy and the strange man gave her a quizzical look. "That's could be your name. It explains the'S'." "Works for me." Lois could hear the sirens of police cars now, the sound of explosions and gun fire were bound to draw some attention. The thug that Superman was interrogating had revealed that Bruno Mannheim had a dozen of similar warehouses throughout Metropolis but that this was the largest. As a low member of the crime family he had no knowledge of Mannheim's business operations. It took the cops five minutes to reach the scene. By that time Superman had rounded up all of the unconscious mobsters and taken pictures of the inside of the with Lois' camera. The police didn't see him as a hero however. They pulled up their cars forming a tight circle and ordered Lois and Jimmy to get behind the barricade. As the two reporters moved towards the police, Superman jumped so high that Lois could no longer see him. He was gone as quick as he had appeared. Clark Kent rushed into his apartment through his bedroom window. After the warehouse he had stopped at two different Mannheim 'businesses', one of which was an Italian restaurant who's owner had to pay protection fees to the mob. Clark had saved his daughter so the owner promised to testify against Mannheim. Now though it had been hours since he left Lois and Jimmy with the police. He had to get out of his costume, hide it, and take a shower all before they got home. He found a black shirt and some blue pajama pants from the pile of clothes next to his bed. In a matter of seconds he was out of his costume. He hid it in the same place he always did, a bag which was placed in a secret compartment in his closet. By the time Lois and Jimmy got home, Clark was in the living room. He had turned HBOgo on the apartment's 42' TV and attempted to look act as natural as possible. He slouched down in the brown leather couch and pretended like he had fallen asleep. The door opened and he could tell that his two friends were still excited just by listening to their heartbeats. "Wake up Clark, where the hell were you tonight?" Lois was pissed, he didn't blame her. Jimmy however one of the biggest smiles Clark had ever seen him with. "I was at Noland's, you know that Italian restaurant in New Troy. The place was trashed when I got there, apparently some guy in a cape beat the shit out some Mannheim thugs." Clark tried to keep his face neutral. He had no intention of letting them know why he was there. "Really? That sounds a lot like..." "Did you at least get a statement?" Lois cut Jimmy off and he took the hint. "Better, Mr. Noland has promised to testify against Bruno Mannheim. Apparently this capeguy was pretty tough." Clark was trying not to smile. Lois and Jimmy looked at each other in disbelief. "Well Clark, you'll never believe what happened to us tonight." "Superman" Jimmy made a gesture with his hands as he said it. "Who?" It took everything Clark had not to laugh.

"-na!" "Diana!" The young girl jumped as a hand grabbed her shoulder. Black hair flying every which way as she scrambled for the sharp rock she had just used to start the fire. Her young slender hand closed upon it before a heartbeat had passed and turned around to face her attacker. Or rather her mother, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons. And she didn't look particularity happy. Opps. "Mother." Diana said trying to hide the rock from her mother's eagle like eyes. "Diana." He mother responded flatly. Diana dared a small smile. There was only the two of them this evening. All guards had been dismissed from the young Princess and they were far enough from home that no one was within shouting distance. The only life around them wasn't human. Therefore the only one who made her mother frown so was herself. "I got the fire going." She offered. He mother had told her to do so before going to gather more wood. "Indeed daughter." Still with the same flat tone. "I don't understand why I'm wrong!" Diana had insisted. He mother said nothing and she deflated even more. She had messed up a lesson today that had everyone hanging their heads and sighing. Even her younger sister. Diana still didn't see how she was wrong. If an enemy attacked was it wrong to stop them? Their creed wasn't: Roll over and die. When the young girl had pointed it out, that was when the sighing began. "You're the best warrior on Themyscira. No one can match you. If fighting is so wrong then why do we do it?" Diana continued. "I don't understand." This time she said it with less force and more watery. Her mother embraced her in a strong hug. "It's not fighting that's wrong my heart. It's the reason behind it. Most people fight out of anger or hate, but why do we fight?" "For our Sisters?" Diana questioned, her voice muffled by her mother's robes. "Yes. And?" Her mother prompted. "To please the Gods?" At that her mother laughed and released her daughter. "Never to the death little one. Only Ares wants that and he is blinded by War. Our gift to the Gods are games, not true fights." Diana worried her lower lip as she stared into the fire, nearly pouting. "I don't know." She finally answered. "To show a better way." Hippolyta said as she looked down at her daughter. "Show them why peace is preferable." "Even if they're trying to kill you?" Diana questioned back. Her mother chuckled. "Even then. We must try our hardest with bad people. Though remember, you cannot win a battle you might have avoided." The dream shifted as suddenly as it began and Diana found herself aged to her natural age of eighteen. Her long limbs extended in the air as she floated over Paradise Island. Her mother's words spoke so long ago echoed around her. "Then why do we live here? Away from Men and their world? Didn't the Goddess charge us with sharing our way of life?" Diana asked, though her words had no sound. "Because it is what they need." A golden voice said from behind her. Diana tried to turn, though the air had no purchase with which to do so. But as with all dreams she wasn't terribly alarmed. "However it is not what you need." Diana found herself drifting up from her homeland and higher into the sky. "What lands are to the West?" The voice asked. "North and South America." Diana answered without thinking. "And which one interests you more?" Diana had no quick answer for the voice. As they reached a height that made Themyscira look like a small green ink blot, the ground began to turn into the east and a new land mass became visible. "And where are we now?" The voice queried. Diana studied the lights as the world dimmed. "The United States of America." Diana pointed northwards. "And there is Canada." "Do you know this city?" The land moved suddenly closer. Diana hesitated and pictured all the maps her teachers and drilled her on. "New York?" The voice was silent, but she got the acute feeling she had been wrong. Then the land changed again. "This place?" "I don't know." Again and again happened until Diana felt more frustrated than anything else. "What do you need? The voice insisted before the dream spiraled away. The Princess awoke to the first rays of light peaking into her room. She groaned, grabbed a pillow and shoved it over her head. She felt like she hadn't slept at all. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the dream she had had, but it slipped away like sea water cupped in her hands. Whatever her dream had been, it wasn't a good one if it made her feel this way. "Sister." A very familiar girlish voice called before a lank body jumped on her bed. "Donna." Diana lowered her pillow, succumbing to fate that she would get no more sleep. "What are you doing here?" "Because." The younger girl sang. "It's your Eighteenth Birthday!" With Donna's urging Diana got out of bed and into her warrior costume. It consisted of a short blue leather skirt, shield, leather top and a cape. She didn't put of her helm just yet. Today she would face her mother in battle and if she was successful she would earn her second bracer. At which point she'd become a warrior. A small smile spread across her face. She heard Donna whoop as her little sister noticed. "Come on, Mayfly." Diana said grabbing her bouncing sister with one hand, hauling her down the wide, spacious, airy hallway. The blue sky was wide overhead. She inhaled the pure air, today was her last day as a child.

The West Household, Central City: Barry Allen sifted through his mother's case file for what felt like the ten-millionth time. The documents and pictures that made it up were spread out across his bedroom's timber floor, lined up next to the notes he had made over the passing years. He looked through them again and again, over and over, reading every word and taking in every detail multiple times over in a matter of seconds, and yet... Nothing. During all the years that he'd spent searching for answers, he always came up short, always felt the same disappointment in himself, knowing that because of his inability to make sense of it all, his father is still rotting away in prison for a crime he didn't commit. When Barry first discovered his powers, he thought that they would help him find his mum's true killer: the man in yellow, the man with the red eyes. But all they did was bring the disappointment sooner. However, he didn't let this disappointment bring him down. He used it to motivate himself. After weeks of training to control his powers, Barry went out into the city with the goal of protecting those who couldn't protect themselves. He couldn't bring the man who murdered his mother to justice. But he could do so to the city's criminals. The ring of his phone snapped Barry out of his thoughts. Running his fingers through his blond hair, he took the phone out of his pocket and checked the caller ID. Cisco Ramon. Barry smiled. His partner in super-heroics never failed to brighten his mood; his child-like enthusiasm for life was infectious, and his bright mind was something to be admired. It was he who designed and built Barry's suit. All Barry did was specify the aesthetics. He answered the call. "Hey, Cisco. What's up?" he asked, packing up his mother's case file in a blur. "Do you have my suit handy?" replied Cisco. He'd developed quite a bond with his creation. "Yeah, I have it. Why?" Barry said, glancing at the golden ring that encased his middle finger. "There's a robbery in progress. Gold City Bank. Police scanners say the perps are armed and dangerous." "I'm on my way there. I'll talk to you through the comm-link." He hung up, placed the phone on his bed, then dashed out of his bedroom window, the air sizzling around him. The ring activated, and out came his suit, pieces of red and gold attaching themselves to him bit by bit. Yellow lightning arced behind him, blending with the red blur that trailed off his suit. Barry set a course for the bank, one hand pressed to his earpiece. "Cisco?" "I'm here, man. Go kick some burglar-butt!" Gold City Bank: Detective Joe West stood behind one of the many police cars that barricaded the entrances and exits of Gold City Bank. He'd gotten to the scene as soon as he could, calling his daughter, Iris, to let her know that he won't be home for another few hours. That's how long these stakeouts usually took; the robbers would sit in the bank with all their hostages, too scared to come out and face the music. If they were a large group - say, four or five people, then maybe their bravado would be a little higher. But from the intel the CCPD could gather, there were only two people in there. Two experienced burglars, recently escaped from prison, their names Leonard Snart and Mick Rory. Joe had heard of them, and their methods. Snart would be the brains, planning out the heist, and Rory would be the muscle, performing the bulk of the operation while Snart kept watch. But what interested Joe the most was their apparent criminal code: They don't kill unless they have to. They don't go near drugs. And last but not least - It's all about the score. Three rules, that as far as Joe could tell, they had followed for the duration of their criminal careers. Joe took a look at all the officers that stood around him. Any moment now, they would be given the order to get the hostages out of the building and apprehend Snart and Rory. They were all brave men and women, all dedicated to the job, prepared to do anything in the name of the law. They reminded him of Barry; the boy whose mother was murdered by his father when he was just eleven years old. The boy that dedicated his life to proving his father's so-called innocence. The boy who had only weeks before woken up from a nine-month lightning-induced coma. The boy who, ever since that terrible night all those years ago, had been Joe's adopted son, his loveable, determined adopted son, who Joe sometimes wanted to throttle but oftentimes wanted to hug. Little did Joe know that the gust of wind that blew the police cap from his head was said adopted son. Barry skidded to a stop on Gold City Bank's tiled floor, taking special care not to trip over any of the hostages that lay on it - the force of the impact would most likely kill them. He began surveying the area. To him, time was passing normally. To the people lying on the ground, he was nothing but a red streak. He took in his surroundings: Total number of hostages, thirty-four. Security cameras, all coated in ice. The door to the bank vault, melted completely on one side. The metal was still hot. Whoever these robbers were, they had to be like Barry. This, he concluded, was going to be awesome. In four seconds, he had transported all of the hostages out of the building and behind the barricade of police cars, then bolted back into the bank, making his way to the vault. Once inside, he took a look around. No sign of the robbers, whoever they may be. Dang. "Cisco. They got away." "Dude, that sucks. On the bright side, we have a Code 7 in the City Centre," said Cisco, his voice crackling into Barry's ear. "A meal break?" "Okay, never-mind, not a Code 7. Let me check what it actually is..." And then arctic cold pain wrapped around Barry's legs, and ice coated him from hip to floor, negating movement. Holding back a shout of alarm, his eyes landed on the source of his ice-capped legs. A man in his early thirties, wearing a blue parka and darker blue goggles, holding an even darker blue gun. Behind him stood a man encased in a white suit, wearing green goggles and holding a black gun, attached to a large metal box on his back. "Hello," said the man in the parka. "My name is Leonard Snart. And who might you be?"

Alfred was right. I'm not ready. I'm not looking forward to the 'I told you so's' he no doubt has in store for me. . . That's if I get out of this mess alive.

Bruce Wayne, billionaire playboy, had just made an inauspicious start to his vigilante career. He had attempted to sneak on-board a transatlantic freighter by the name of The King Penguin that had docked in the Gotham harbor, after tracing the vessels ownership through several subsidiary companies and eventually coming to the Falcone crime family. Bruce's suspicions were that the Falcone's were using the ship to smuggle guns into Gotham, guns that Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone, head of the family, had promised to deliver to the Maroni's if they fell in with him and his, that's if the street chatter that Alfred had picked up on was accurate. Bruce's fears were confirmed when, after some dedicated searching, he had discovered four containers not on the shipping manifesto.

Each container was filled wall to wall with assault rifles, shotguns, high powered handguns, ammunition, grenades and all manner of deadly weaponry. He had even spotted a katanna of all things! It was sorry indictment of how brazen the criminals were getting in Gotham that they felt they could use swords now, and there would still be no one to stop them. His intention had then been to evacuate the freighter and send an anonymous tip off to the Gotham City Police Department about the guns, but on his way out he had taken a wrong turn on the C deck, and ended up walking into the ships messhall, disturbing a poker game being played by a dozen crew members, each one under the Falcone's employ.

'Surprisingly' the gangster-come-sailors hadn't taken the appearance of a strange, masked man dressed head to toe in tactical black body armour well, and after a few moments of confusion had opened fire. Bruce had been equally surprised, believing he had memorized the lay out of the boats innards perfectly, and had only narrowly avoided being perforated, slamming the porthole door on the mess-hall and fleeing down one of the side corridors.

After that the freighter had become the scene of a frantic game of cat-and-mouse, Bruce trying to evade the Falcone men and quit the ship, the gangsters doing everything in their power to locate him and stop him from fleeing. The twisting hallways, claustrophobic atmosphere and darkened passageways all lended themselves to Bruce's favor. So far he had engaged three patrolmen, each time managing to subdue them before they had time to alert their comrades, but the last had been a close call, the Falcone managing to tag Bruce with a knife before falling, leaving him a long, painful cut just above his left hip. So much for the nigh on 'impenetrable' Wayne-tech armour. Probably explains why these things never went into mass production.

He heard the sound of alarmed shouting from behind him, meaning the Falcone's had found their fallen comrade. They weren't far behind him by the sounds of things. He had to get off the ship. Increasing his pace he made it to the stairway to the upper level, all that time pouring over The King Penguins design's finally making itself useful. Now all he had to do was make it to the exit porthole and disembark and he was as good as gone. Dropping into a slight crouch he edged forwards, careful not to become too over-eager at this stage and make another blunder.

He turned a corner, coming onto a long corridor. On the left was several doors, store cabinets for the most part, and on the right was only one door, this one leading to the captains deck and viewing platform. At the end of the corridor was his objective, the exit. Clenching his teeth, he pushed forwards. He could feel his nerves building in anticipation, building up inside him and threatening to overwhelm him. This close to the end, he knew something had to go wrong. They always had before.

This time was no different than any other.

Bruce was less than five feet from the exit when the burly form of a gangster stepped in from outside, his mass taking up the whole portal. The man must have been about six' four", with ox-like shoulders and fists the size of hams. The Falcone came to a surprised stop when he spotted the intruder in front of him.

"HE'S HERE, I FOUND HIM!" The thug began screaming, going for the pistol holstered at his side. Luckily for Bruce he was the faster, his hand flicking out and sending a throwing knife at the big ox. The vigilante's aim was a touch off, missing the wrist he had been aiming for and instead sinking into the man's upper thigh. Dammit Bruce, calm down. You're better than this! It still had the desired effect though, the pain making the Falcone thumble his weapon. Bruce wasted no time in closing with his enemy, leaping in close and delivering a brutal knee strike into his opponents groin, followed by an upper palm strike to the chin. The blow dizzied and disorientated the thug, making it all the easier to grab him by the side of the head and smash his skull against the metal walls of the ship, though Bruce was careful to be not TOO rough.

No killing, he'd already made that promise to himself, and it was much to late to go back on it now. What had happened with Tommy had seen to that.

The sounds of alarmed thugs was closer now, and he could hear the thumping of feet as they stormed up the stairs behind him. No time to waste. Bruce burst into a dead sprint, only three quick steps and he would be out. Unfortunately his luck turned sour. Again.

A Falcone once more appeared in the exit, but this time Bruce was far too close to for either man to properly react, the velocity from his sprint to great to slow himself down now. Instead the vigilante hunched his shoulders and barreled on, meaning to barge straight through.

He hit the thug a moment later with a bone shuddering impact. Bruce's momentum seen the two men plough straight on, the thug totally unprepared to weather the impromptu tackle. The air rushed to escape the thugs lungs with an *ooof*, and the two lurched backwards. They tumbled out through the exit, across the short walkway that lined the edge of the boats tower and straight into the safety rail. With both men consumed with their furious struggle neither had the presence of mind to try and grab the rail, and instead went spilling over.

The King Penguin wasn't a massive freighter, the walkway being no more than twenty feet of the top deck. It still felt to Bruce that he was falling for what felt like an eternity though, with nothing but the cold embrace of complete emptiness to comfort him and a man who meant to kill him for company. The thug screamed as they fell, but Bruce refused too. No fear Bruce. Show no fear

The two combatants fall was broken by some loose crating that had been dumped underneath the walkway, ironically enough in a no loading zone. The timber crates were reduced to little more than match sticks and splinters under the impact. Bruce's fall was broken by landing on the Falcone, an entirely unplanned event that showed that maybe, just maybe, his luck wasn't as bad as he thought it was. It still hurt though, hurt so bad that there was nothing more he wanted to do than just lay there until the pain went away. The sound of more approaching sailors put paid to that idea though, and with a bone-tired weariness he pushed himself to his feet.

The Falcone who had taken the plunge with him coughed gingerly as Bruce picked himself up, before moaning piteously. Good. Still alive. Though maybe he'll rethink his career choices now. The vigilante went too take a step away, but he was overtaken by a burning agony as soon as he tried to put weight down on his right leg.

"Dammit!" He snarled. It felt like his ankle might be twisted, but he didn't have time to check, not with all the Falcone's practically breathing down his neck. Sore as it might be he would have to press on. All that mattered was getting off the ship. He took several deep, calming breaths, allowing his mind to dip into a meditative state. Not too deep, as he needed his wits about him, but just enough to allow him to control the pain. It was a variation of the first level ofThe Illusion of Elsewhere, a state taught to him by Master Shihan Matsuda, a legendary martial artist who lived among the peaks of the Himalayas.

Bruce tested his ankle now, the searing pain of a moment before becoming little more than a dull ache. A useful trick, though apt to exacerbate the initial injury if overused. Unfortunately the current situation warranted the risks, the sounds of pursuit closing in. Bruce took off at a run, as fast as he could manage, directly for the port-side.

"THERE'S THE FUCKER!"

Spotted already. Tremendous Bruce barely managed to glimpse the sharp eyed gangster who had revealed him, perched atop the walkway he had so recently fell from, before the sounds of gunfire exploded across the quiet night air. The vigilante crunched low and powered forward, giving his antagonists as small a target as possible. Bullets screamed past him, some ricocheting from the metal walkways around him, others rebounding from the container-walls at his left. He spotted a tight corridor between two of the containers and went to dive in between them, meaning to cut off his assailant's line of sight.

The vigilante nearly cried out as he felt a tremendous force strike him in the back. The power nearly made him stumble from his feet, but he caught himself at the last moment, bracing himself against the tight walls of the containers. I've been shot! He realized, the thought filling his dumbfounded mind for a heartbeat, before he savagely pushed it aside. Remember your training. If your body doesn't fall after been shot then it doesn't NEED to fall. Keep moving! He increased his breakneck pace, ignoring the cries of protest from his tired muscles and battered body, instead pushing at the levels of his endurance. He'd trained his whole life for this. No way he was going to fall at the first hurdle.

He knew his pursuers would be quick to follow him down the corridor, so as he ran he grabbed a smoke pellet from the pouches on his belt and smashed it at his feet. He had already tested all his gadgets and tools rigorously before hitting the streets, so he knew without looking back that a thick cloud of cloying black smoke would quickly waft from the pellet.

He took a few more running steps before taking an angled leap at the left wall, bending his left leg like a suspension spring to absorb the momentum and use it to then power himself back off, corkscrewing he body midair to turn and cat grab the top edge of the right hand container. He quickly pulled himself up and over, the whole maneuver taking him less than three seconds. From there he rolled onto his back and lay still and quiet, taking deep, steady breathes. He trusted in the darkness of the night to keep him concealed from any Falcone's watching from elevated positions.

It wasn't long until he heard the sounds of his pursuers charging down the corridor he had just evacuated.

"Where'd all this smoke come from!" One man growled.

"Guy must have smoke grenades, probably SWAT or something." Responded another.

"Couldn't be, Loeb's too tight with the boss to sanction something like that. Some nut with a death wish more like." Came a third voice, sounding more distant now as the group where rushing away in the wrong direction. Despite themselves the trio had given Bruce much to think over, and confirmed his belief that commissioner Loeb was dirty. He gave it a few more minutes before he moved on, keeping low to the container roof, slithering quietly towards the edge. A quick glance told him that the thugs had the port side closed off the him, which meant that he'd now have to take the starboard side, and swim to safety. At least he'd had the foresight to bring the re-breather.

He managed to evade detection and evacuate the ship, slipping over the side and into the water with only a small splash. If anyone heard it then they didn't think to check.

He'd triumphed against the odds and survived his first night. Maybe there was hope for this budding vigilante after all.

Mob Wars, part 2

The Daily Planet temporary building, the next morning Clark, Lois and Jimmy were all crammed into Perry White's temporary office. The Daily planet was getting a new building after it was bought by the billionaire Morgan Edge. The old structure was torn down two weeks ago and Perry was not enjoying his new working situation. Even as the head editor of the Planet, Perry's office was obnoxiously small. The fact that his huge wooden desk took up over half of the small room didn't help matters. Neither did the bland white walls or the absence of windows. With the door closed, as it was now, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Poor claustrophobic Jimmy was sweating more than normal and was having trouble controlling his breathing. Besides Perry's chair behind his desk, there were only two other chairs in the office. They were occupied by Lois and Jimmy, and even though Lois was scooted back her knees were still touching the front of Perry's desk. Clark himself was stuck in between her chair and the wall, he had a strong urge to create his own space. Perry looked over the pictures that Lois had taken the night before, he seemed interested if not convinced. Lois had stayed up all night writing her report on Superman. The only sounds in the room were the hum of Perry's plug in fan and Jimmy's heavy breathing. Eventually Perry cleared his throat and looked up at the three journalists that had gathered in his office. Lois shifted in her seat and crossed her left leg over her right. "You three realize that this is a newspaper right?" Perry's tone was firm. He kept his gaze fixed mostly on Jimmy who was obviously freaking out. Clark didn't need to listen to his heart rate to figure that out. "Sir?" "This story sounds like a bad 80's action movie, not serious journalism. I'm having trouble believing it." Lois moved in her chair again. She must have realized that to people who weren't there it sounded impossible. Clark had to pretend he didn't believe it at first, he even told her they shouldn't have been there if there were guards in the first place. She didn't like that. "Sir, Lois has pictures for evidence. Plus the police that showed up on scene would be able to confirm it." "I.. I was looking online last night chief," Jimmy was having trouble talking with the heat and the tight spaces. "and apparently people have been seeing this guy around the city for almost a.. a month now." "Alright kid, go get some air before you have a heart attack." Jimmy nodded in thanks and stood up. He awkwardly shimmied his way out of the crowded room closing the door behind him. Clark nudged his way from behind Lois' chair to take Jimmy's spot. The whole exchange of seats took a few minutes, Clark kept thinking that he could combine two rooms with one punch to the wall. "I know it doesn't sound real Perry, but it happened. I wouldn't bring a story like this to you if I wasn't there." Lois didn't speak up until Clark was sitting as comfortably as possible. His knees were touching the desk and the back of his chair was pressed against the wall. "Aren't you supposed to be focused on Bruno Mannheim?" It wasn't really a question. "Superman is targeting Mannheim. Last night he was spotted in three different locations connected to the mob." Clark felt like he was bragging, but if they didn't know that it was harmless. "Right, and Clark said that Superman even got Brice Noland to agree to testify against Mannheim." Clark allowed himself a little smirk. "Who's Brice Noland?" "He owns that crappy Italian restaurant in New Troy. Mr. Noland pays monthly protection fees to the mob." Perry let out a sigh and wiped some sweat off of his forehead. He looked back down at the pictures, they did seem real. "Fine, print this story but I want Mannheim's connection to the warehouse to be its focus. Not this Superman of yours." Lois' face lit up in a smile. She was about say something but Perry cut her off with a raise of the hand. "Now get out of here, this office is isn't meant for three people." Clark and Lois nodded and nudged their way out of the cramped room. Three days later at one of Mannheim's heavily guarded estates Superman stood on top of a house about a block away from the Mannheim estate. After Lois printed her story, Mannheim had doubled his security in all his holdings throughout Metropolis. This was one of three houses that the mob boss owned in the city. It was also the most heavily guarded, so, Clark figured Bruno would be here. It was in the outskirts of the city with some of the other mansions of wealthy citizens. The estate was huge, it looked to be three stories tall and had a large black gate that surrounded it. In the back was a very large swimming pool complete with a raised diving board. The front yard was filled with vans, trucks, and armed men. Clark cracked his knuckles and jumped forward planning to fly covertly into one of the windows. Instead he lost his balance and dived headfirst into one of the Mannheim trucks causing an explosion. That's the second time that's happened to me this week. He thought remembering his 'heroic' charge at the warehouse. This time the mobsters were prepared, as soon as the smoke cleared they started firing. Superman's blue t-shirt and jeans were being ripped to shreds but he was only slightly being slowed down. He picked up a van and hurtled it the mansion, the resulting explosion creating a large hole in the second story wall. Before he could utilize it however, Superman was shot it the back by what must have been a grenade launcher. He fell forward to his knee and spun around to see his attacker. The mobster fired another shot but this time Clark saw it coming. He jumped out of the way and grabbed the man by the shirt before hurling him into the nearest vehicle. The force of the collision created a huge dent in the van's side and sent it tumbling over. Within minutes the police had arrived, apparently someone on one of the sides had panicked because the thugs started shooting at the cops. This was becoming a full-fledged battle. The police and the mob were separated only by the black fence that surrounded the estate. I need too separate them. Clark began blocking the spaces in the fence with the various vehicles on the mob side of the engagement creating a kind of barricade. As he did so he started to take fire form both sides, the police didn't appreciate that he was trying to help them. Superman dodged another grenade launcher round fired by a different assailant. The weapon was becoming more popular among his enemies. Once the fence barricade circled the entire lot, Superman entered the building through the hole he had created earlier. As soon as he landed he was hit by an RPG round that sent him flying backwards and back to the ground outside. He created a small crater in the yard where he had landed and a few of the mobsters ran to see if he was dead. "That one hurt guys, good job." Clark laughed before jumping out of the impression he had created in the ground and knocked unconscious the few brave souls that went to check on him. Most of the mobsters were retreating back into the house and the cops had broken through his make-shift fortifications. They started to arrest those who Clark had already knocked unconscious. "You're under arrest!" One of the officers was standing behind Clark with his gun raised. The man was shaking and it sounded like he was about to go into cardiac arrest. "Sorry officer, but I'm the good guy." Superman was smiling in an attempt to calm the cop. All that accomplished however was to get the cop to shoot him dead in between the eyes. The bullet flattened itself on Clark's skull and fell harmlessly to the ground. "Ow." was the only thing Clark said before he turned and busted through the mansion's door. After battling his way through around ten mobsters he reached the second floor. He side stepped another RPG round and hit the racketeer with both fists sending him through the wall. The other few men in the hallway threw their guns to the ground, apparently they had had enough. Clark could hear the cops rushing into the mansion but there were no gunshots. Maybe all the criminals had given up. Superman was okay with that. He used his x-ray vision to look through the walls into every room on the second floor. Then he looked through the ceiling and into the rooms on the third. Once he found what he was looking for he crashed through the ceiling and stopped in the center of his target room. The other man inside swung his body around and emptied his 12-gauge shotgun into Clark's chest. It was painful and almost sent him falling through the hole he had just created but Clark held his ground. Once the other man was done firing and started throwing profanity at him, Clark grabbed the shotgun out of his hands and snapped it in half. "Hello Mr. Mannheim, my name is Superman." to be continued...

Californian Desert: "Hal please be careful this time. This F-22 Raven is supposed to be our 'big one'. I'd appreciate it a lot if you wouldn't crash this one." A woman spoke over a radio. "I'll try Carol, but It wasn't even my fault last time." Hal spoke, but he seemed to almost regret he even woke up as the planes instruments began to turn haywire. Dials began to spin completely 360, sparks sputtered from various buttons. "Hal what's going on up there? Our instruments have stopped receiving." Carol questioned, her voice seemed to carry some worry. "My instruments stopped too." Hal said, his face scrunched as he attempted to hit various buttons. "I'm going to try to save her-" Before he could continue one of the air crafts wings crashed into the side of a tall rock formation, signified by a loud metallic tearing sound. "Er, at least most of her." Hal continued, his plane was forced into an uncontrollable horizontal spin due to the loss of a wing. Yeah, I'm going to keep my word this time. Hal thought to himself as he momentarily activated his ring. A green glow quickly surrounded the jet, and moved it softly to the ground. Edwards Air Force Base, California: After a busy day of flying and crashing the most advanced planes on Earth, Hal felt it was finally time to come in for a landing himself. Along with an apology. Holding a bouquet of various flowers behind his back he briskly made his way to Carrol Ferris's office. Besides being the love of his life Carrol Ferris was Hal Jordan's boss. Hal felt nervous about this, this would be the first time he would approach her aside from a few flirty remarks over the airwaves. Hal audibly swallowed his spit, along with his nervousness, he raised his fist to knock on the wooden door; but a rapid flashing on his finger stopped him. "Oh right on time, I was just about to ask Carrol out for dinner." Hal mumbled to himself sarcastically. Making his way back to the locker room he glanced around to search for any uninvited eavesdroppers, with the area clear he raised his right hand in front of himself. A large, balding head appeared in front of him, the image itself was being projected from his ring into the air illuminating the nearby lockers. "Green Lantern of Sector 2814 are you receiving?" The floating head asked, though his tone of voice seemed to indicate he knew the answer. "Yeah, yeah what going on now Appa?" Hal asked, following up with a sigh. Appa Ali Apsa raised an eyebrow at his recruits obviously troubled mind, but it wasn't his job to analyze anybody's feelings. "You are needed in sector 2813 to stop an invading army." The image suddenly switched to a motionless mugshot of a grotesque, four eyed alien with a bony plate covering his head. "Reports indicate that Gh'rag has roused together a large amount of followers and has begun a civil war on his own home planet. The planet in question is Yaruba V. The reasoning for this war is unclear, but it seems that Gh'rag intends to establish his own dictatorship." "Sector 2813? If I remember correctly that's Tomar-Re's sector. Shouldn't he be the one responding?" "Lantern 2813 Tomar-Re is on special assignment from the Guardians and cannot respond, as the closest Lantern available It falls to you to respond." With that the head vanished in a digital puff of green light. Exiting the room, and making his way out of the building, Hal glanced around to his co-workers occasionally and waved to them, signifying the end of his work day. Walking behind one of the presently empty hangars he raised his right hand upwards. An energy wave poured down from his hand, leaving the standard Green Lantern Corps uniform over his brown pilot suit. With his uniform and mask now present Hal dashed off into the sky, unconsciously leaving a faint trail of green energy behind him. Space sector 2813, Yaruba System: Traveling into another sector left Hal a feeling of uneasiness, like he was biting off more than he could chew. But he cast those thoughts away as he went over the criminals profile once again. This guy probably doesn't have the same connections that he used to, chances are the best stuff he has are either projectiles or low level plasma weaponry. The system itself had a red sun, a total of six planets, and a ruined planetoid near the far end of the system behind the star. From orbit he could see far off explosions. Descending further down to the explosions he took note of the orange sky, and purple grass. All of which were becoming consumed by the explosions of various vehicles and weaponry. Have to save my inner tourist for later, for now I've got a war to stop. The battle was obviously at an end as a smaller group of tanks and fighters were moving away from the other. That must be my man, Gh'rag himself. Hal locked his eyes on a massive blood red box like vehicle pushing itself slowly behind the front line tanks and infantry. "Ring, patch me into all nearby channels and run the galactic translator." Hal requested as he began to form a neon green megaphone in front of his mouth. "Attention Gh'rag, I am a Green Lantern, and I am ordering you to cease and desist. If you do not I will be forced to take you down." Hal fully expected to be attacked by the warlords forces. Glancing to the side, it appeared his instincts were right as multiple 'V' shaped fighters turned around to face him. As they closed within range they began to shoot at him, Hal decided to return in kind. As the fighters closed in on him in order to begin their attack run he began to form a neon green F-16 fighter jet around himself. "Now, we can play!" Hal shouted as he began to 'fly' his new vehicle. Rushing straight at each other both sides began to launch their weapons, Hal with his green missiles, and the aliens with their yellow beams. A green missile exploded in front of the alien jets, blinding them, and causing them to lose control forcing them out of Hal's sight. However one of the yellow beams struck the nose of Hal's fighter, it pierced straight through, causing his eyes to widen as the beam passed between his feet. "What in the-" Hal was interrupted as his construct's wings were hit by another blast causing him to spin out, into the front of Gh'rag's land tank. His focus was completely non existent, causing his fighter to shatter like glass against the front of the massive vehicle, Hal himself landed on his head, his body bounced once before skidding along the roof. Before he blacked out he could hear a hissing of air before feeling hands grab him.

Gold City Bank: Barry couldn't move. The ice was cold. So cold that it felt like it was searing through his suit. Something told him that that wasn't good. That wasn't good at all. He frantically hit the ice in an attempt to break it, but to no avail. He had super speed, not super strength. Unless... "You heard him. Who the hell are you?" asked Snart's partner, the man with the green goggles. Barry didn't answer as his arms began vibrating. If he could just get them going at the right speed, then maybe he could break free of the ice. "I asked you who you are, kid. What's your name?" said Snart, his gun trained on Barry. Barry stared the man in the eye, his gaze never shifting as he brought his hands down onto the ice. It cracked a little. Then a bit more. Then it broke, the frozen water flying in tiny shards, freeing Barry. He smirked. "The Flash." Snart pulled the trigger. A beam of white spouted from the gun's barrel, coming straight towards Barry, fast. But Barry was faster, and he side-stepped the beam, moving close to Snart. His fist collided with the his cheek, sending Snart stumbling away. Behind Barry, Snart's partner pulled his own gun's trigger, and orange fire nearly burned Barry if not for a last-second dodge. Even as he moved away from the flame, the heat was near-unbearable. "Barry? What's going on in there?" asked Cisco, worried. "Not now, Cisco," said Barry through gritted teeth. A white beam narrowly missed his shoulder. Manoeuvring through the simultaneous bombardment of Snart and his partner's weapons, Barry was forced into defence, weaving his way towards them between twin streams of orange and white flame; hot and cold. Just as he reached Snart's partner, a familiar voice stopped him and the robbers in their tracks. "Everyone, FREEZE!" yelled Joe West, handgun drawn and aimed Barry's chest. Backing him up with guns of their own were about a dozen police officers. Snart smiled. What is he-- "With pleasure," he said, taking aim at Barry's adoptive father. At his adoptive father. "NO!" It all happened so fast, so fast that it should be impossible. Snart pulled the trigger. Ice streamed from the gun. The man in red yelled, turned into a blur. A split-second later, Snart was sprawled across the ground, the man in red standing over him. Mick Rory reacted, opened fire at the officers. Joe scrambled for cover. A red streak barged into the pyromaniac. Joe swore he saw blurred fists connecting with Rory's ribs before Snart hit the red man with his ice gun. A grunt of pain. The man in red turned to face Snart, started running at him. Rory's flames licked his shoulders, his arms. This time, a yelp of pain. Another beam of ice and the man in red was out of commission. "Come on, Mick. Let's get out of here," said Snart. Joe got out from cover, only to jump back behind it when Snart let loose a stream of ice. He was still on high alert. The two burglars walked right past the police, bags full of money hanging over Rory's shoulder, Snart keeping his gun trained at Joe and his men. Today wasn't the day they'd get caught. "Let them go," ordered Joe, seeing one of his officers move to intercept. He turned to the man in the red suit. He was struggling to get up, but eventually he succeeded, standing with his back turned to the officers. He was breathing heavily, slightly hunched over, his fists clenched. He seemed to be in pain. Good. An opportunity. Joe pointed his gun at him and his men followed suit. "Don't move, or I'll shoot," he warned. When the man staid still, Joe continued. "Now turn around, slowly. Hands where I can see them." The man turned his head over his shoulder, ever so slowly, and Joe tried to get a glimpse of his face, but to no avail. It was silhouetted by the shadows in the vault. Then, the man sped out of the vault in a trail of red and lightning, the air sizzling all around him. Joe reactively fired off shots at him. But he was already gone. STAR Labs "Ow." "I'm almost done, man. Just have to wrap it around and - there. Done." Barry glanced at the dressing that now covered the burn on his arm. It was well done, and he once again found himself thankful that Cisco had agreed to help him with business as the Flash. He was invaluable. The two were currently inside STAR Labs' janitor's closet. Cisco was in the middle of work, and he was sure that his co-workers would raise an eyebrow if they saw him patching up a nineteen year-old in a friction resistant suit, so they agreed that doing so in the janitor's closet would be the best course of action. Although, now that Barry thought about it, Cisco's co-workers would raise even more eyebrows if they discovered him patching Barry up in the closet, but that was the least of their worries at the moment. "You have a bunch of other burns from ice and fire, but there's nothing much else I can do. We just have to let your healing factor do the rest." "Okay." "So who were those guys? Are they metahumans, too?" "No, no... Not metahumans. But I still got my ass kicked. It was some guy called Leonard Snart, and his partner, Mick. They had these weird guns... Snart shot ice out of his, and Mick's was like a flamethrower." "Woah... that is so cool! I wonder how they work... I mean, a flamethrower's simple enough, but the ice gun... man, do you think Snart built it? He has got to give me the blueprints!" Barry didn't speak. He just stared at Cisco in disbelief. "Or... he could just destroy the gun and the blueprints along with it. That's cool too." "Don't get ahead of yourself, Cisco. I need to catch these guys first. They're still out there, probably planning their next heist. I'm going to ask Joe what he knows about them. He should be able to help." Cisco's eyebrows turned upwards in doubt. "No offence, man, but I don't think that that's a very good idea. Didn't you say he shot at you? After you saved him?" "No. He shot at the Flash. He might not like that guy, but he'll help Barry Allen out." A brief, awkward silence followed as Cisco tried to wrap his head around what Barry just said. "Please don't make this third-person thing a habit." "I'll try." Somewhere in Central City... Leonard Snart stood in front of the round wooden table, facing Mick Rory, his arms folded. They were in their hideout; nothing flashy, nothing obvious, just an apartment in a shady part of town. Mick had a smug smirk on his face. He was still going on about that fast kid they had encountered and beaten earlier in the bank, much to Leonard's chagrin. "He was pretty freaky, eh, Snart?" Leonard sighed. "Not especially, no. He was obviously a rookie, Mick. He had no knowledge of what he was doing," he said, "Next time, he'll be ready for us and for our guns, but I highly doubt that he'll handle the situation any better than before." Mick's smirk widened into a smile. At Leonard's guess, it was probably because he heard him say "next time". "And where will our next heist be, exactly?" Leonard reached into his jacket pocket and took out a series of building plans, laying them out on the table. "Central City National Bank." Mick's smile grew even larger, from ear to ear. "Finally," he said, "A challenge."

The Arena was filled with all her sisters. Diana raised her unclad arm in greeting. A welcoming roar followed from the masses. A broad smile plastered on her face, Diana was Queen of the world. This was the day she had been waiting for since she first picked up a sword. Across the stone fighting ground was her mother, in similar grab to her daughter. Only royalty of the Amazons could wear the crest of the eagle across their breast. Her mother's black hair was bound sharply up and enclosed in golden bands. In contrast Diana's hair was loose and hung around her shoulders. Aella stood on the middle of the Arena. Today the older warrior would be arbitrator. Her customary double-headed axe was strapped to her back. Her blonde hair was loose like Diana's. Her wide set features were as plain as Amazonian women could be. She wasn't not beautiful, for who couldn't be once blessed by Aphrodite? But she was close. "SISTERS!" Her booming voice echoed, silencing everyone. "WHO COMES BEFORE HIPPOLYTA, QUEEN OF THE AMAZONS?" "DIANA! SEEKER! SISTER! SERVANT!" Diana shouted as she drew her sword and pointed it skyward. Aella turned to the Queen. "BEFORE YOU STANDS A MAIDEN SEEKING TO BECOME A WARRIOR. WHAT SAY YOU?" The Queen raised her enchanted sword. It sparkled in the morning sun. "THEN LET HER PROVE HERSELF WORTHY!" The roar of the crowds drowned out Aella's command to start the battle. But it made no difference. Mother and Daughter knew this dance. And the cheers of her sisters made Diana strong. Her blood pounded in anticipation in her veins. As soon was Aella dropped her hand Diana charged the woman she called mother. Swords meet with a harsh clang. Diana's black hair swung into her opponent. She saw her mother grab at her long locks and shoved away, kicking out with her feet. And so the two danced, closing in only to break apart. Neither gave the other quarter. The smile on her face showed how much she was enjoying herself, just like her daughter. Diana's body moved through stances and forms like water. For this she had trained her entire life. It was more natural than breathing. The world narrowed to the women's dual. Nothing else mattered. Time seemed to slow as the two fought. Strength against strength. Cunning against cunning. Neither shied away from fighting dirty. Not did they pull their punches. Hippolyta gave her daughter no mercy in the Arena. Falling Rain. Rushing Among Reeds. War Strike. Diana's sword was beginning to feel heavy. Though the blade tip never wavered. Her arms ached from blocking blows and landing them. The two danced away from each other and took the moment's reprieve to shake their muscles and to catch their breath. Never more than a handful of heartbeats were they apart though. To give your enemy space was to give them room to win. Diana clashed her blade against her mother's once more. The two strained, tried from their previous attacks, but neither gave way. Sweat poured even though the wind was sweet and gentle. Their leather armor creaked as their bodies strained. Their bare feet slid in the dust ground. Black eyes locked together, waiting for the other to give way. The two warriors parted, breathing heavily. The crowd was silent feeling, knowing, that the next bout would decide the winner. The two women circled for a few heart beats before Diana launched herself at her mother. She pulled at all her reserves, leaping off the ground, so the sun would be in her mother's eyes. Her hands gripped the hilt of her sword as she swung it down. Of course the Queen blocked it but the blow staggered her. Diana landed smoothly, crouched and swept her legs against her mother's. The Queen already off balance tumbled to the ground. The crowd held it's breath as the Queen rolled. Diana didn't wait for her mother to regain her feet. She forced tired muscles to pounce upon her mother and pin her to the ground. Vaguely she could hear Aella shout and her mother laugh. As if coming out of a daze Diana accepted Aella's hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Around her the voices of her sisters blurred together. Aella let go of Diana and helped her Queen off the ground. Diana blinked as the realization hit her. She had won. She had WON! A large smile spread across her face, the excitement and thrill washing away her exhaustion. Diana turned to her mother, knowing this part by heart. Mother and daughter embraced then clasped arms together. Her mother's bracer moved and wrapped itself on Diana's unclad arm. Then it retreated leaving behind a bracer. Diana turned to the crowds and raised her two clad arms, proudly showing off her new, and old, bracers. Behind her she could feel her mother's approval. Diana was a Warrior now. Then the celebrations began. So it continued into the night when there was a feast in Diana's honor. The large bonfire was achingly bright in the darkness. Yet it kept drawing the Princess' attention. The towering flames danced across her vision. Inside those flames dark shapes danced uneasily. Yet no one else seemed to notice. What do you need? Diana looked around but none of her sisters had spoken directly to her. What do you need? Diana turned back to the fire. A woman danced then vanished into another flame. The young warrior shivered. Unbidden a memory surfaced of her dream earlier, floating above the world. What do you need? She looked over her family. Her sisters both blood, and by adoption. And over at her mother. They belonged here. But what about her? She looked up to the sky at the large moon overhead. She loved her family more than anything else, but there was more out there for her. She balled her hands into fists. She didn't belong, not right now. She choked back tears and forced herself to return to the party. Later Diana stepped over the body of a passed out woman. It was Aella, one of her guards. The woman snored softly, the drink having gone to her head. No one would wake for a long while. Diana made her way to her mother, who was propped up on her throne with pillows. She placed a note in her open hand. Mother, it read, I know you wont understand but I have something I must do as a warrior and as a woman. I will be gone for a moon turn, please do not look for me. She curled her mother's hand around the paper and departed. The first few notes she had written said she didn't plan to return, but her mother would have tracked her down with those words. This way she could at least buy herself sometime before her mother sent her sisters after her. Time enough to find herself and where she belonged. And who knew, maybe Diana would return before the moon finished turning.

The ocean was calming on Diana's thoughts. The soft sounds of the water eased her muscles. She had rowed a small boat out into the shipping lanes and was now hitching a ride on a large cargo boat. The wooden boat she had used was long gone but that was no problem. She was on her way to wherever this ship was going. She pillowed her cape under her head and curled up to sleep on the hard steel. Over the course of two days Diana stayed on the ship. On the third she was able to see land. She had wedged herself between two steel boxes to wait until the ship made port. While she waited she nibbled on her rations and dreamed of what the land must look like. As the ship neared it's destination sounds of life could be heard. Drawn by those sounds the young woman left her hiding place and looked over the side of the ship. The port was huge, capable of holding many ships, many the size of the behemoth she was on. Diana couldn't help but gape at the sight. Reading about it in a book was one thing, to see it herself was like magic. After the ship came to a stop Diana slipped over the side. Her boots making barely a sound on the hard concrete. Her leather skirt flapped but no one looked at her. She wrapped her cape around her as she hurried off, not wanting to be caught by the men who wandered this port. The warnings of her sisters still remained with her. When in a hostile land, it was best to gather information first. This land surely counted. It took a while for Diana to find the exit from the port. It's huge maze of steel boxes had confused her for a while, but she eventually followed what looked like a river inland. The further she went the less concrete there was and the more greenery. She crossed over a set of metal railings, train tracks if her lessons were correct, and into a wooded area. She continued to follow the river as it narrowed and turned back upon itself. Eventually she came across a road and she paused as cars rushed by. She could hear children laughing from a ways away and hesitated on which way she should go. Should she follow the road or river? As she thought one of the passing cars honked at her. She jumped a little surprised at the sound, her hand going to her sword. Driving it was a man. She stared as he drove by. A man! She had finally seen her first man up close. And he didn't look as terrible as her sisters had said. He even whistled at her. Eventually Diana decided it was best to not try to cross the street to continue to follow the river. So she followed the road north, in the same direction she had been going. Before she had gone a few yards another car drove by. But this one slowed and stopped. A guy leaned out the window and looked at her. "Got lost going to a party?" He laughed. "Or did you get lost going to comic-con?" Diana tilted her head. "I am not going to a party." She said in English, though haltingly. He had spoken rather quickly and she wasn't sure she had heard him right. "And I'm not lost." For one had to know where they were going to be lost. Having no destination in mind, she was incapable of being lost. The guy blinked at her then shrugged. "Well, need a lift? I'm heading into town." Diana thought through what he was saying, trying to get used to the slang that she didn't learn. "I'm Navy." He pointed out. "I'm not going to anything to you." Diana walked closer. "I doubt you could do anything I didn't want you to." She agreed. He wasn't a warrior like she was. "So, Want a ride or not?" Diana, seeing no reason to say no agreed and got into the car. "So, where to?" He asked. From her new view point she could see the clothes he was wearing seemed very much like a uniform. Navy, that would put her in the United States wouldn't it? "Depends." Diana said trying out more of her English. "Where are we?" The guy laughed then sobered. "You're serious. Shit. Well that back there was Dundalk Marine Port." He frowned. "Do you need anything?" It was Diana's turn to frown. And so the two went back and forth. Until she confessed that she wasn't from the U.S. (as he called it). And yes, this was her first day here. He seemed to relax, satisfied she was a foreigner, and dropped her off at a hotel and giving her his number to call him if she needed any help. And also with the advice to get some different clothes. She gazed down at the name as he drove off. Steve Trevor. Diana smiled to herself and set off to get a room and explore this "Baltimore". She spent a good two days exploring the city, getting used to it's strange sites and people. Most people stared at her armor, but after the first day she had changed it out for clothing similar to what other women were wearing. Namely a t-shirt and blue jeans. Though she still carried her sword and wore her tiara. It was that reason on the third day that she had her first brush with the law. As she walked down a street she heard people scream. Diana didn't hesitate as she ran toward the sound. A lone man had a gun and was pointing it at an obviously scared woman. Diana knew what a gun was from TV only, but she had seen what it could do. Diana moved so his back was to her as the police arrived. They began to talking to the man as she pulled off her tiara. She tested it's balance as the man screamed about what a terrible woman his hostage was. Then she tossed it at the gun. The tiara and gun collided. In shock the man dropped the gun and the tiara came back to Diana. Everyone just stared at Diana for two long heartbeats. Then two of the cops noticed her sword. They shouted at her to drop her weapons. "I have done nothing wrong." Diana pointed out even as they raised their guns at her. "I fail to see why I must drop my sword as you say. It was that man who was going to harm that woman." "Lady, just drop the weapon." One of the cops insisted. "No." Diana said shifting her stance in light of the man's hostility. Out of her peripheral vision Diana could see people pull out their phones and point them in her direction. "Last warning lady. Drop the weapon." "No." Diana said firmly. She was about to continue when one of the men opened fire. It wasn't a gun like she had expected, as a metal barb rebounded off her bracer she realized it was a taser. She reflected a second and pulled one out of her leg. "I haven't brought you harm." Diana said letting the barb drop. One of the cops raised a true gun, for she recognized the difference. "Get on the ground or we will shot you." Another commanded. Diana shook her head. The men took that as a refusal and opened fire. She deflected two bullets before she moved with her enhanced reflexes and dashed forward. She was upon the cop with a gun before he realized it and punched him in the face. She lashed out at the man standing next to him, dropping him to the floor. She defected another bullet then slammed her elbow into the third cop's face. Silence descended as the three cops lay at her feet. Someone behind her swore. Agreed. Diana mentally thought.

A sharp chill washed over Arthur Curry's skin, despite being in moving, even rushing water, he felt his muscles freeze. Even with vision adapted to the deep, he could hardly see a thing through the black waters he flowed through. His body violently opposed him as he lurched forward, pressing off of one stone slab, and deftly landing on another, skipping through a tunnel of shadow. But, looking forward, he saw a speck of light shining towards him and those begin him.

"The Black Waters of the aqueduct may be our only entrance," Vulko advised the troops. "The rebel sect has secured our city and separated us loyal to Atlantis for years, even the first was far too long. The city's walls are unscalable, guarded by seabeasts. Dragging an army would be suicide for thousands, but this would only risk a few. In the hundreds of years since the city first sank, the Black Waters have never been explored fully. But we are going to cross them."

When the journey began, there had been fifty men, accompanying the king and general, but at this phase, only three remain. A mysterious illness sapped the warmth of the army's brightest young men, and food shortage stacked upon a brief battle with a horde of eels left almost no survivors while Vulko and Arthur, who were guaranteed the first pick at any supplies. Arthur took the soldiers into consideration, even relinquishing his share when possible, but Vulko had not, and it nearly cost them their entire troop. "Lord Orin, the end is in view! We've finally made it!" Arthur gasped, covering his mouth and resisting the impulse to silence his follower. Before a blink of the eyes could pass, a black blur darted from behind, passing through the troop like a bullet through a pillow, brushing a red mist through the air as it disappeared back into the dark. His stomach churned as he suppressed the urge to scream for his soldier.

"While you are in the Black Waters, if you so much as mutter a curse, the waters themselves will impale you. Silent, dark, and mysterious. Any lights will also trigger an aquatic execution. If you fail, there is nothing to be done for you." Taken aback, Arthur dropped his face into his palm. "Is there any alternative, preferably less volatile?" "Not to win tho war."

The remaining four Atlanteans surged out of the darkness, Vulko trailed behind, pivoting with every step and swinging his corpulent figure like an axe. "We've made it. We're a couple dozen men short but we've made it. Garth, how's your shoulder holding up?"

"It's not that I think you're incompetent, just a bit young, Garth. Just a bit inexperienced for a mission like this. I'm sure you have a bright future, and I appreciate your support, but I can't take you along." "With all due respect, my lord,I feel it would be foolish not to take me along. Surely, General Vulko would ease any concerns you may foster. What I lack in experience, I overcompensate for in skill. "That's it though, I don't want you overcompensating or trying to prove yourself. You're young, it would be tragic if something were to happen and you'd gotten hurt." "Would it not be even worse were I to sit idly while Atlantis soul be brought to nothing? I'd give my life for my people, and I'd give my soul for you, my king. Regardless of this, I will die one day, but please let my death be meaningful." "Very well, then. I'll speak with Vulko.."

"Much improved from earlier," Garth answered, referring to an incident in which the waters had pierced his shoulder to silence the soldier in front of him, "and nothing short of functional." "Given these circumstances, it I impossible to return to the base, and unthinkable to surrender ourselves. So I have decided that we are forced to stealthily overtake the as planned, just us four."

Yaruba V, Gh'rag's base: Hal slowly woke up, his head swam with dizziness, and his vision was blurry at best. After a few moments his head began to clear and his vision returned itself to normal. Opening his eyes fully now Hal could see he was out of uniform, more specifically, his ring was gone. He was currently lying on the floor of what looked to be some kind of prison, apart from him there was a bunk bed, and thick metal bars blocking him from the rest of the world. "Ah, Lantern I can see you're awake now!" A large alien spoke. Turning around Hal could now easily identify the voice. The alien was Gh'rag, he was wearing a necklace made of smaller skulls, and his armor consisted of a bloody chest plate and damaged armored leggings. "Where am I?" "Ha! You should have known that tangling with the Chief War Brute Gh'rag would have left you in defeat Lantern! But of course it's not every day I find a Green Lantern in my jail cells!" Gh'rag taunted, spewing spit out of his mouth between words. Hal visibly showed his disgust as he wiped his pilot uniform. Gh'rag motioned for someone to come closer, another being approached. The new alien was orange skinned, bird like in respect to his small frame, beak, and head fins. "My second lieutenant Abare-Gi. He's fairly new, but he has proved himself in battle." Gh'rag continued gloating, and in a few seconds he gave a strong chuckle. "He's been pretty bored lately, so I'll leave him to you." Gh'rag spoke with a sinister smile; he promptly left through a door to the far right of the room, indicated by a soft hissing noise. With Gh'rag gone Hal began to eye his interrogator, only to realize he was Tomar-Re, the Green Lantern of this sector. The metal bars slid into the side of the walls, allowing Abare or rather Tomar, and Hal physical access to each other. "To-!" Hal had almost voiced his friends true name when he was forcefully shoved into the wall, his mouth was soon covered by thin fingers. "I might need some privacy for this." Tomar said with a frighteningly evil smirk. Rising off the ground, leaving Hal to tend to his aching body, Tomar tapped multiple buttons on the wall. Turning back around the bird like alien grabbed Hal softly and helped him rise. "Sorry about that, I needed it to be convincing." Rubbing his chest slightly Hal began to speak up again. "All good, but what are you even doing here? Aren't you supposed to be on some special mission? Don't tell me you've turned traitor?" "Nonesense, this is the mission. As you may have noticed Gh'rag is a primitive brute, this technology, all of it, is decades ahead of his planets best scientists." Tomar replied, gesturing to the entire room as he spoke. "Yeah, his army had some strangely powerful stuff." "Exactly, originally my mission was to go undercover and attempt to uncover his new supplier. But witnessing your defeat in the skies brought another concern to me. Our rings are supposed to be the strongest tools in the universe, but these beams whatever they are, easily pierced and destroyed your construct. When we get back to Oa the guardians need to know about this power." "Speaking of which, where are our rings?" "Yours is being held in his trophy room after he figured out he couldn't use it. As for mine." Tomar then gestured to his necklace; its centerpiece was a fairly large black gem. "As soon as I leave you should prepare yourself. Gh'rag will throw you into his gladiator matches to entertain himself. While he does this I will attempt to bring back your ring, when I bring it back to you I'll reveal more of my-." Suddenly a loud banging could be heard, it echoed slightly within the prison. "Don't rough him up to much, I want to see how a Lantern fairs without his ring!" "I'll reveal my complete plan to you at a later time. For now good luck, and for future reference, I'm sorry for doing this to another corpsman." Tomar then began to cock back his right arm, sending a right hook into Jordan, following with an uppercut, and knocking Hal to the ground drawing slight blood. "How is that guy so strong?" Hal mumbled as he wiped the blood from his mouth. Yaruba V, Gh'rag's arena: Hal was shoved through a giant opening, revealing to him a large coliseum, with a bright dome above. Whether it was real sunlight or artificial lighting, it still forced Hal to cover his eyes. The coliseum was overly large, as if all the time in the base had been spent around its construction, and that everything else was merely an accessory. The crowd was loud, shouting various words of either encouragement or disappointment at Hal's entrance. A large box could be seen on the far end, decorated in skull designs and gold trimmings, a curved window separated its occupants from the rest of the arena. Down inside the arena with Hal were a multitude of bloody bodies, broken weapons, and other surviving prisoners scattered around the arena. "Ha! How many of you believed that I would bring you a Green Lantern of all things here to fight? How many of you wondered how one would survive here?" Gh'rag's opening seemed to rouse even more incoherent shouting and cheering. "Well wonder no more!" Somehow Gh'rag managed to raise the spectators’ volume. Gh'rag continued again, this time he was speaking to the prisoners, currently occupying the role of gladiator. "You will all fight if you want to survive today. However should none of you take up arms, you will all be punished." Gh'rag added, emphasizing on the word punished. Not needed any other reason the remaining prisoners all picked up various clubs, weapons, anything they could grab, and rushed each other. Hal glanced to his side and examined a fallen body of a previous prisoner. The armor was in pieces, but his weapon a lance of some kind was only damaged in the tip. "Sorry buddy but I need this more than you right now." Hal whispered as he bent over, reaching for the fallen warrior's weapon. Gh'rag's arena, Trophy Room: Tomar calmly entered Gh'rag's trophy room, the guards outside had learned to trust him as well and thought nothing of it as he entered. The trophy room had very few things related to technology, besides the lights there was a computer present on a wall extended terminal, remains of various alien weaponry, and multiple shattered or broken animal skulls. Looking past the stuffed animals and display cases Tomar found what he was looking for, Hal's ring in its own display case, but that would come later. Noticing the contents of the computer Tomar had found multiple orders for weapons and what looked to be recordings of Gh'rag's supplier. Staring at the logs and the messages between the two Tomar's eyes widened in surprise. "But how..I thought that-" "Thought that you could trick me? I thought it was funny you didn't show to watch the matches with me, and here you are spying on me!" Gh'rag shouted as he angrily marched into the room. My cover's blown. Tomar thought as he flipped the cover off his necklace revealing his ring, and in that same motion he slipped on his weapon. As Tomar secured his ring energy shot from the ring and surrounded his bird like frame, replacing his former armor with the Lantern Corp uniform. "A Lantern? I should have known!" Gh'rag then reached behind himself and pulled out a small silver scepter with a yellow orb attached on top. Tomar took Gh'rag's surprise as an opportunity to make a grab for Jordan's ring, and to launch an attack. Aiming his ring up at Gh'rag he sent a stream of neon green energy at his new weapon; simultaneously a smaller beam extended, breaking through a display case and collecting Hal's ring. "Fool, my benefactor has provided me with more than enough to kill your kind!" Gh'rag shouted as his own beam blasted from the scepter, completely shattering and piercing through Tomar's attack. With his opponent now dazed Gh'rag shot a yellow wave of energy from his scepter throwing Tomar, and Hal's ring through the wall and into the coliseum. As the ring fell through the gaping hole it began to shine momentarily, then as if called it began to fly off in a brilliant green glow. Yaruba V, Gh'rag's arena: A few minutes had passed, and during that time Hal was patiently eyeing his future aggressors. Eventually some of the prisoners had fallen, some were too exhausted to continue and simply collapsed either from their wounds or fatigue. Unfortunately not everyone had fallen, a few had remained standing, and only one seemed to be in the right mind to notice Hal standing. The red skinned alien seemed to enjoy his work as he toppled over the other prisoners; his armor was shattered and nonexistent in certain places giving off the image of a veteran. "I'll feast on your bones for being so underhanded Lantern! So swears Atrocitus!" After his hateful death threat Atrocitus sprinted towards Hal at a frightening speed, as if he was invigorated by his victories, Hal barely had enough time to bring his broken lance into a defensive position, and braced himself as the red skinned alien slammed a large hammer down. Hal gave a grunt as he struggled to keep Atrocitus's weapon away from him. "How disappointingly weak!" Atrocitus shouted as he continuously slammed his weapon down onto Hal's, forming cracks in his weapon. Bringing his hammer down for a final time Hal’s weapon shattered. Rolling to the side Hal narrowly dodged the ancient weapon as it collided with the ground, throwing dirt in the air.Really wish I had my ring. As if on cue a bright glowing object made its way to Hal, and then to his finger. "No!" The red skinned Atrocitus shouted as he rushed to slam his hammer onto Hal, but a barrier seemed to repel and push him back. "Oh yes!" Hal shouted gleefully as he pushed back Atrocitus with his own green hammer, the red skinned brute fell to the ground into an undeserved peace. "Ring power levels at 25%." A voice emanating from the ring spoke in an emotionless tone. "You need to get into the habit of charging before missions Jordan." Tomar said as he quickly formed up with Hal. "Get ready, Gh'rag has some kind of weapon." Tomar spoke as he quickly dodged a yellow blast, after passing by the bird-like alien it crashed into the ceiling above. As the rubble came crashing down the audience had decided to quickly vacate, announcing their intentions with panicked screams. "Seems like his weapon can't help him fly." "Indeed, we seem to have the advantage. So make sure it stays that way." Almost as if they were linked in mind the duo began to barrage Gh'rag's position with multiple streams of green energy. "Even if there are two of you, my weapon is more than a match!" Gh'rag shouted, almost laughing. The brutish alien launched his own beam, it collided with Hal and Tomar's beams simultaneously, and pierced through them as easily as a knife through butter. "Even our combined power seems to have no effect on his weapon. Think fast Jordan!" Tomar shouted as the beam came ever closer, missing the duo narrowly just like the first shot, and this shot also hit the roof bringing down a collection of burned debris. The debris from the stray shot was destined to squish some of the 'innocent' spectators if nothing was done, spotting this Jordan quickly formed a giant catcher's mitt to hold the debris, as soon as the people cleared out from underneath Hal decided to use the collected scrap as a weapon and flung it towards Gh'rag. In defense Gh'rag had summoned a giant wave of energy in an attempt to shoot down the rubble, but the wave wasn't nearly as strong as he needed it to be, while he had burned some of it away, some of the scrap managed to hit him. Specifically, a larger chunk that was split in two managed to hit his arm, forcing a grunt of pain from Gh'rag, and forced his scepter down. "I've got the weapon!" Tomar shouted as he quickly swiped the silver scepter with a beam of Oan energy. "And I've got Gh'rag!" Jordan announced as Tomar secured the weapon. Forming a giant boxing glove Hal wasted no time in slamming his 'fist' into the alien, forcing him to fall back unconscious, much like his prisoners. "What now?" "Now we get back to Oa, and tell the Guardians about this power. We can signal the local authorities that this has been handled." Tomar responded as he fidgeted with the scepter's orb slightly. After broadcasting a message the duo quickly left through the various holes in the ceiling, provided by their previous battle, and proceeded to their shared headquarters Oa.

The Roman Empire

"Urgh. . . Can you please be more careful Alfred. It's not sack cloth you're stitching back together there!" Bruce had managed to make it back to Wayne Manor without further incident, unless you counted taking a swim in the festering and putrid waters of Gotham's harbor an incident. Regardless, he was thankful that he had the presence of mind to pack the compacted re-breather as part of his kit. It had been a short trip home upon his KTM 1290 Super Duke R midnight black motorbike, the powerful machine eating up the miles leading out of the city. He made good time, even after traversing the series of secret tunnels under the building to enter Wayne Manor. The manor was several miles from the city lines, and well insulated from unwanted eyes by dozens of acres of forested property that Bruce himself owned, but even then it paid to be careful. For now he was happy to use the caves to store his gear and bike, but he had big plans for them. Big plans. He had stripped off his body armour before climbing the ladder that led out of the caves and into the Manor's wine cellar to find that Alfred had been waiting anxiously for him to return, concern for his master causing cracks in his quintessential British 'stiff upper lip' façade. The older man had wasted no time in tending to Bruce's wounds, his skills earned as a field medic with the SAS obviously still as sharp as they ever were, even if his bedside manner left something to be desired. "My apologies 'Master' Bruce. Perhaps if you stop treating you're body like so much discarded rubbish then I wouldn't get so confused." Sarcasm dripped so heavily from the British man's voice that it was a wonder he wasn't drowning. There was more to the statement than Alfred's customary facetiousness though, some underlying emotion that put an edge on his voice. His grizzled features were drawn and tense, eyes narrowed, heavy brows furrowed with more than just concentration. Bruce, who prided himself on his ability to read people, was perplexed as to what might be bothering his old mentor. “Master Bruce is it? Something must be bothering you. . .” Bruce was instantly made aware that he had made a misstep. Of course something is bothering him. It's the same thing that's been bothering him for sixteen years. He doesn't think I'm ready. An icy chill developed between the two men, Alfred tending to Bruce's wounds in silence. The older man finished up, packing the suture and bandages into a medical box before taking to his feet and striding towards the cellar exit. He was just at the door, hand on handle, when Bruce called out to him. "Alfred, wait . . ." “Wait for what Bruce?” Alfred snarled as he turned, features contorted in rage, “Wait and watch as you do your damnedest to get yourself killed? Wait for you to tell me 'you'll be all right', when tonight shows just how unready you're for all this!” It was Bruce's turn to become emotional, snapping back. “I am ready Alfred! I've trained, I've. . .” But the older man cut him off. “READY!? You're not bloody ready! You're a boy, playing at war and treating it like a Goddamn game!” The two were cowed into a sullen silence after that outburst, glaring at each other as they mulled over their emotions. The stand-off continued for what felt like an eternity, until eventually Alfred's expression softened. He broke the silence between them, though his voice lacked the near unbridled rage it held before. A depth of sorrow had replaced it, making it seem that the grizzled older man could break into sobs at any moment. “I'm terrified Bruce. Terrified that I let this go to far, that I should have put an end to this fantasy years ago. Terrified that this ungodly crusade will take you from me.” The next thing he said was so whispered so quietly that it was almost as if he didn't want Bruce to hear it. “Just like it took Tommy.” Although spoken in hushed tones the statement had a profound effect. Bruce's face set in a careful neutrality, picking himself off the bench he had been sitting on and heading for the exit. Alfred instantly looked contrite, reaching a hand out as the young billionaire brushed past him. “Bruce, I . . .” “You don't know what happened to Tommy.”Replied Bruce, his tone flat. “Because you wont tell me!” Said Alfred. The older man sounded wretched. The act of not knowing the fate of one of his surrogate sons was tearing Alfred apart, especially when Bruce could so easily put him out of his misery, but chose not to. Despite all his begging Bruce refused to divulge the secrets of what had actually happened to Tommy. Even now the older Wayne remained tight-lipped. “Trust me when I say it's better this way Alfred.” He said before leaving the room. The darkness presses down around me, so heavy and tangible that I fear I may be crushed under it's pressure. If I waved my hand in front of my face there wouldn't be a snowball's chance of me seeing it. The dark is accompanied by a stink so foul that I have to fight down a wave of nausea. Every now and then I hear a flapping in the distant dark, as if there is something flying in the air around me, unseen and sibilant. A familiar cold grips me as I realize I've been here before. This isn't common deja vu though. This is no half remembered sensation, half-formed and half-grasped, dancing at the edges of my consciousness. No, this is different. I have lived this exact moment before. A dream then, I conclude. With my training in lucid dreaming states I should have come to that conclusion much quicker. Between the incident on the King Penguin and now this I am having a very bad night. But even armed with that knowledge, knowing this is a dream, I cannot do anything differently. It is like my mind is held captive as my body is being forced through the motions that it took the first time I lived through this ordeal. The only difference is the first time I was here I was a small boy, and I was terrified of the darkness. Though I have outgrown such childish fears it is the lack of control that threatens to unman me now. My feet refuse to move, no matter how much I urge them on. Instead I am forced to wait in the darkness, seconds ticking by inexorably as I await what I know comes next. I finally see a small red glow in the distance, it becoming larger and larger by the moment. A shape begins to coalescence around the glow, a small figure carrying a torch. The figure is my brother Thomas, looking like he did when he was five years old. He's so much shorter than I am that I realize I must be an adult, which is strange as the last time I was lost in these caverns I was only seven. "Still afraid of the dark Bruce? Little old for it now, aren't you?" Thomas asks. There's a mischievous glint to his eyes, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lip's. That wasn't what he said last time. Perhaps this dream shall deviate from the reality after all. "Hardly Tommy. You know how comfortable I've become in the dark." There's a distant chirping in the dark, so quiet that it barely tickles the ears. "And yet it wasn't enough, was it Bruce? Alfred was right, you could have died tonight. Mother and Father would have gone un-avenged. All our sacrifices would have been in vain." He was so patronizing, even as a child. He had this way of looking at things like the whole world was one big joke, but only he knew the punchline. If that was the case then he never bothered sharing the joke with me. The chirping is getting louder, coal-ascending into a high pitched shrieking. "Well what do you want me to do!" I bark, "Tell me Tommy, tell me what you think I should do! You always thought you were the smart one after all!" That smug smile of his grows even wider, threatening to engulf the whole lower half of his face. I realize I've just walked into his ploy. "Why certainly Bruce, but I thought it would have been obvious! Those men on the boat, they weren't afraid of you. They thought you were just a man. Maybe police, or ex-military, or maybe just some nut in a fancy suit. It doesn't matter, they thought you were just flesh and blood. You need to become something bigger in their minds. Something primal. Something terrifying. Something they can't wrap their tiny brains around." The shrieking has reached an almost unbearable pitch now, a strange beating accompanying it. Tommy's grin is starting to waver, his rock solid self confidence starting to crack. I remember now how much this next part scared him. Even more than the lonely dark had scared me. "You need to become a symbol Bruce." No sooner has he finished than hundreds of tiny forms explode out of the darkness. A cloud of bodies envelop us. Bats I remember feeling a strange kinship with the mammals the first time they had surrounded us. I could never understand it. Still can't. Whatever the reason, Tommy didn't share it. "BRUCE!" He wails, finally acting his age, his terrified expression frozen in place. I push through the cloud of bats to envelop him in my arms, protecting him as best as I can. He buries himself in my chest, his relief instant and overwhelming. "I'm here Tommy. I'll always be here for you." I whisper soothingly, and I hear him murmur in gratitude. Despite everything that has happened between us I really do mean it. Bruce Wayne woke from his troubled sleep with a start. The sheets from his four poster bed had wrapped around him like a cocoon, and it took a moment of frantic kicking to untangle himself. After he had freed himself he clambered from the bed, pulling the black out blinds aside. He was surprised to see that his room was still dark. He had thought that he’d been asleep much longer, and that morning would have long given way to the day proper. A quick look at the clock on his bedside table revealed it to only be 4.34am. He had left his window open, preferring for his room to be cold when he wakes up. The curtains weren’t drawn, the sky still a deep black, no stars showing through the cloud cover. Dawn was still some way away. He was bone tired. His body felt like it was ready to melt. After last nights action, those bizarre dreams, and only being asleep for less than two hours I suppose that isn’t much of a surprise. And yet he wasn’t ready to try for sleep again so soon. He knew that as soon as he did he would be assaulted by dreams of Tommy again, and he wasn’t quite ready to see his brother again so soon, even if it wasn’t only in his subconscious. Besides, he had other things to keep his mind busy. Dream-Tommy had given him much to think over. Those men on the boat hadn’t been afraid of him. He had always assumed criminals to be a cowardly and superstitious lot, easily intimidated. Tonight showed that it wasn’t going to be as easy as he first thought. The point still stands though. I just must make myself into something that feeds upon their fears and superstitions. Tommy has already given me the answer, after all. I must become a symbol. The only question being what symbol? There was so many images used in the history by warriors to intimidate and frighten their enemies. Skulls, demons, beasts, ghouls, monsters. Whether they were painted images onto their flesh or crafted their weapons and armour into horrible shapes the desired effect was always the same; to terrify the foe. So what should he choose? Several ideas flashed through his mind. He remembered an old tv show his father had watched about a man who fought corruption in his city while wearing a mask who had called himself the Grey Ghost. Could he become the ghost of Gotham? Or perhaps he should take lead from the samurai of old and dress as a demon, striking at the criminals of his city from the very gates of hell. Both ideas had merit, but neither felt right. If he was to become a symbol then it had to be the right one. He crossed to his desk, meaning to get out some paper and a pencil to begin sketching out some ideas, though he got a shock as he turned the light on. As soon as the light bathed the room there was a frantic squeeking. He turned towards the source of the noise to see a small bat perched upon the bust of his father. The creature must have flown in his open window while he was asleep. He moved towards the bust, ready to shoo the bat out of his room, when it swivelled it's head and looked straight at him. Their eyes met, and at that moment Bruce was filled with a crystal clarity. He remembered the caverns again, how the bats came hurtling from the darkness, screeches leading their way. To some, like Tommy, it would have been a blood curling sight, the sort of vision you would expect to see in a horror movie. To Bruce he had felt nothing but a strange sort of kinship with the mammals. “I will become a bat.”

Justice League Origins

"Bruno Mannheim was found guilty in court today after four months of trials and appeals." Clark stood on top of a large skyscraper watching the Daily Planet news station on an apartment television in the adjacent building. The last four months had gone decently well, by now everyone in Metropolis had seen proof of his existence. Some saw him as a hero, others saw him as a menace. During this time he had stopped two bank robberies, cleaned up the remnants of Mannheim's operations, and stopped a public transport train from derailing. All of this without blowing his identity. Finally Clark decided he had enough of Mannheim's trial and returned to his patrol. Buildings raced by as he flew over the city, he was getting better at flying but could still only do so in short bursts without losing balance and running head on into a building. A loud explosion sound distracted Clark from his patrol, he turned around to see a large fire coming from the direction of City Hall. In less than two minutes he was there the building was completely covered in flames and neither the police nor the fire department had responded. Two figures stood at the top of the marble stairs leading to the doors. They were each around seven feet tall with a metallic exoskeleton and some kind of cannon attached to their arms. They spoke to each other in an incomprehensible alien language. "Hey!" Was all Superman could get out before the robotic villains turned around. Before he could react, a red beam hit him center mass sending him flying ten feet back and into a parked car. That actually hurt. One of Clark's attackers rushed towards him closing the distance in less than a second. He was hit by a robotic fist which made a loud cracking sound. Superman reacted as swiftly as he could with an uppercut sending the machine high into the air. He jumped up grabbing his opponent and threw it head first onto the street creating a small crater where it landed. He had forgotten about the other machine, it tackled him midair and the two crashed into the lobby of a skyscraper across the street. The people inside panicked. They pushed over each other on the way out of the building. Clark couldn't even hear their screams over the beating he was receiving. "Neutralize specimen: Kryptonian!!" The machine kept repeating as it landed blow after blow on Clark. "Process region: Metropolis. Process region: Gotham. Process region: Coast City." More were gathering in the street. They were gathering people and flying off with them. Others simply left, probably heading to the various other cities they were to 'process.' Clark had enough, he threw up his arms in an attempt to block the attacks from his enemy and closed his eyes. When he opened them again they glowed a bright red and shot lasers through his attacker's head causing it to explode. He sat up, eyes still open and destroyed three more of the machines with a sweeping motion of his head that was more luck than aim. He didn't even realize that he was screaming until his closed his eyes again. It won't stop. Superman felt yet another hit followed by a blast from an arm cannon. He was knocked out of the building and hit by a racing police car. When he opened his eyes, the street was in anarchy. The police were trying to evacuate the fleeing civilians while the machines murdered or captured anyone they could get their hands on. The police were to busy to worry about Clark, but the robots seemed to be targeting him. He jammed his fist through the chest of the one flying towards him and pulled out various circuits from the inside. ”What are you?” He asked as he did his best to fight out the ever increasing number of machines. Two more beams hit him square on, he was running out of energy. ”We are perfection.” one said as it sent him flying into another building. ”We are intelligence” said another. Clark ripped off it's arm and used it to beat another into the ground. ”We are harmony” A metal pole stabbed through Clark's shoulder. It sent a searing white pain throughout his body, he had never felt worse. Without thinking he activated his heat vision again. The beams from his eyes cut through numerous robots as they attacked him. A white bolt of electricity erupted out of the metal pole in his shoulder, he let out an involuntary scream. Superman no longer had the energy to keep up his heat vision. He grabbed the pole and yanked it out of his shoulder. He wasn't prepared for the pain and bit down on his tongue filling his mouth with blood. He threw the weapon like a spear and impaled two of the machines causing hem to explode. The machines were now all speaking as one. "We are the Collectors of Worlds" He couldn't keep fighting much longer. He looked like a man who was ripped apart by wolves. His shirt was completely gone, his jeans were in tatters, and he was bleeding from multiple cuts and wounds. He saw nothing but white, his fighting was now nothing more than punching back when something hit him. Then something big landed in the middle of the road. It was much larger than the rest of the machines and it moved on four legs with a massive cannon on the front end. "I guess you've got tanks too." Clark said before using all of his remaining strength to rush the new enemy. He dodged its first beam which obliterated the ground behind him. He wasn't so lucky with the second one. It hit him like a train and sent him flying 40 feet backwards into an exploding van. Clark couldn't move, the world was spinning. "WE ARE BRAINIAC" was the last thing he heard before he blacked out.

"Achoo!" Diana sneezed into the crook of her elbow, trying to muffle the sound. A few people turned to see what the loud noise was, but most ignored her. These last few months had been interesting to say the least. After her eventful first few days here she had finally started to get used to Man's World. She even called back that nice man, Steve Trevor, and had used him to help her get better assimilated. Of course it didn't hurt that he was nice to look at. He still didn't know that she was Wonder Woman, despite seeing her when she first arrived. Not that crime had slowed down after that. She had been kept busy helping people in this fair city of Baltimore. She had also been keeping track of the influence of her Gods in this part of the World.

Diana opened the newspaper and reread the headlines.

SUPERHUMANS RUNNING WILD

Diana sighed, took a sip of her coffee and continued reading.

Menace or Misguided? Vigilantes flock to the streets this year in an unprecedented display of juvenile logic, wanton destruction and pure frivolity. Just this past week there was over seven confirmed sightings of superhumans, as they are now being called. Most of the activity is centered on the East coast. In fact there was even a sighting in our own town of Baltimore. This Wonder Woman assaulted three police officers than fled the scene. In an interview Officer Hodges told The Baltimore Sun:

"I feel luck to be alive. She attacked us so fast I was sure we were going to die. Not even bullets could stop her."

The other two officers in the altercation declined to comment. All three men have returned to duty. The Police Commissioner Anthony Batts told the press in a press conference earlier this week that he "remains dedicated to keeping the fine people of Baltimore safe from harm. [The police] are taking this new threat very seriously."

Diana skimmed over the rest of the article. They went on to point out the deadly menace in Gotham that was terrorizing people at night. In Metropolis they had a man, "Superman", who wore a 'S' on his shirt and ran at super speeds and had super strength. If it had been a woman Diana might have said he gained his powers from the Gods like she did.

Then there was this guy they were calling the Flash. And a Space Cop? Diana shook her head at the article. It wasn't strange that people were freaking out. This was new to these Americans. And Diana didn't blame them for lashing out at what they feared. She didn't agree, but she understood. If only there was some way she could help. More than just reacting, but to give these people hope. Who knew how many of these 'vigilantes' were actually good people?

Case in point, the next article was about crimes committed by these superhumans. Bank robberies, assaults, murders, thefts. It was a deadly spiral. Then there was the press' names. Wonder Woman. Diana sipped more of her coffee. At least she wasn't Superwoman. She chuckled to herself, moving onto the next set of articles.

Her afternoon read was disturbed by an emergency news cast. She turned her eyes skyward, towards a large jumbo screen broadcasting from Metropolis. A frazzled reporter stood next to a building with a hole in it. There were weird tentacle robots all around that she was hiding from. One in the back ground snatched a person and flew off. Diana lowered the newspaper and stood, watching.

"...ssss-ago Superman, tackled by the robots, flew through this building. He hasn't been seen since. But these robots are ever-sssss.

sssss-guard is trying to set up-sssss. Though they haven't succeed. For those-sssss- Lois Lane. I'll stay on the-sssss"

A strange quite hush feel through the city as people looked up and saw the same robots over head. Diana itched to have her sword. Thankfully they continued on past. It was a few minutes before normalcy could return to the city. Diana however was already moving. Her mind was made up. She pulled out her phone, which Steve had helped her get, and called him.

"D?" Steve asked after the third call. "I'm busy."

Diana ignored him. "I need a ride into Metropolis."

"D? Have you watched the news?! It's under attack. Everyone's mobilizing."

"I know. That's why I have to go there."

"You'll get yourself killed!"

"No. I wont. I'm going to save them." Diana said calmly in the face of Steve's panic. "I'm Wonder Woman." Diana's face briefly twisted at the name. Couldn't they have come up with something better? "And I will go even if you do not help me."

There was a long pause. So long Diana though Steve had hung up on her. "I'll be at your place in twenty minutes."

"Good." Diana said and hung up. She broke into a light jog and headed to her apartment. Her side job had afforded her some money. Working as a clerk at a gas station wasn't her idea of fun, but it helped her blend in. But blending was no longer an option. Now she was once again Princess Diana of the Amazons. She threw open the door to her apartment and changed into her armor, something she hadn't worn in months. She had forgotten how good it felt. She waited for Steve on the curb, drawing lots of looks from her appearance.

Steve himself even gaped, even though he had seen her like this before. Diana climbed into the passenger seat. "How long until we get there?" She was glad to see he had armed himself.

Steve muttered something under his breath which sounded like he said he was going to get jail time for going a wall. Whatever that meant. "Twenty minutes if I drive like mad." Steve said before Diana could open her mouth to ask again. "Buckle up."

Steve's car screeched away from the curb. Diana closed her eyes and prayed she'd get there in time.

Justice League Origins:

The West Household Barry sat on the living room couch, relishing in the comfort it brought him. The wounds inflicted upon him during his fight with Snart and Rory had disappeared soon after Cisco had patched him up, and now, three days later, Barry was waiting irritably for the duo's next move. The TV was on, Channel 52 playing a story on yours truly, the Flash. Normally, a smile would be plastered on Barry's face as his ego soaked up the attention, but his eyes and focus were elsewhere. Iris West sat opposite him, her brown hair tucked behind her ear to make room for the phone she was talking into. She was Barry's best friend, and had been for a long time. In his opinion, she was the best example of one: loyal, caring, and, he'll be damned, absolutely beautiful. Not that the last one was part of the criteria, he just thought that it was a nice bonus. He'd stopped denying his feelings for her a long time ago, and he often found himself wondering if they could be more than just best friends. But he never seemed to find the courage to tell her, and, time and time again, what confidence he did have would take a deep plunge when she mentioned another guy. "Yeah, sure, the movies sound great. Okay. See you later, Eddie. Bye," Iris said, hanging up and placing the phone on the coffee table in front of her. Trying hard not to sigh, Barry gave her the best quizzical look he could muster and asked, "Who's Eddie?" His best friend looked at him, her smile bright and her excitement almost contagious. Almost. "He's this guy I met at Jitters. He's really sweet, and handsome, and genuine, and he asked me out on a date. I'm meeting him at the movies tonight." A strange, unpleasant feeling bubbled in Barry's stomach. Ah, jealousy. We meet again. "That's great. Good luck," he said through gritted teeth. He hoped she didn't notice. His mood just about ruined, Barry turned his attention to the TV. What he saw simultaneously shocked him and blew his mind. "Uh-- Iris? Can you tell Joe that I won't be home till late? I, uh, have a-- a nerd meeting at, uh, STAR Labs. Thanks, you're the best, bye." And with that, he was jogging out of the room and dashing through Central City, his suit on and a connection established with Cisco, his destination: Metropolis. "Dude!" yelled Cisco, "Where've you been? I've been trying to call you for ages! Captain Cold and Heatwave were spotted again. They're robbing Central City National!" "Listen, Cisco, I don't have time to deal with those guys or your nicknames. There are bigger problems right now. Turn on the news." A pause of several seconds. "Oh, that is not good." "I know. And that's where I'm headed." Barry was in over his head, he was sure of it. He'd only been active as the Flash for barely a month now, and the toughest fight he's been in was against two robbers. How was he going to beat giant robots if he couldn't even beat two regular guys? He didn't know. But he did know one thing. He had to help Metropolis.

Atlantis
Four Months Prior

Blasting down the aisles of the marketplace like mice through a maze, a trio of aquatic urchins fumbled their way through the path of highest visibility, with castle guards on their tail, only getting closer with every forced breath. The sudden gasps from merchants huffing as their stands are knocked over could empty a diver's oxygen tanks in a tenth of a second, if these were normal humans that is. The disgruntled Atlantean people in Poseidonis began to fight back, hurling garbage at the youths like confetti.

"Stupid, street rat!"

The leading runner crumpled when his skull was punched by a flying piece of shelled fruit. So the runner-ups grabbed their friend and drug him through the water, holding each hand, kicking up a cloud of mud as they struggled to gain traction. With the guards about to close the distance, the pressure was on. So the oldest of the three let go of their friend and instead turned around, waving his companions off and buying them time.

"You better run boys!"

Decked out in gold and silver with overlapping scales, a pair of guards stopped to inspect the gamin. A tan cloak wrapped around his shoulders hid his face well, and its length made him look much taller than he truly was. With a knife the guard with higher seniority reduced the cloth to ribbons.

"Hope they kill you, kid!" a merchant barked, overly worked up about his stand.

"By the authority invested in me by King Orm and Queen Mera, you are under arrest." That said, he strong-armed the youth before cooperatively dragging him off to the city's jail, a subterranean level of the castle.



The waves of the ocean's floor were as mighty, if not stronger than those above them. Escorted by an unnamed soldier, loyal to the core, Vulko floated beneath the crossing of countless schools of fish. Finally, they found their destination, a volcanic vent. With lava flowing and light leaking upward out of it, it seemed like a pit of everlasting destruction, a well of doom even.

"Take us down," Vulko ordered the nameless soldier at his command. Having orchestrated a distraction with the assistance of a few youths, they went unspotted.

Without taking another step, the soldier raised his forearms, covered in golden shackles, toward the surface before bashing them together. The chains that hung on the shackles shook madly before a current of light swam back and forth between them, climaxing in a golden flash, a burst that surrounded both the soldier and Vulko with a golden bubble. The pair descended, hopping downward and standing directly in front of it.

"Excellent."

At that, they both hopped directly into the vent. Suicide under most circumstances, but a key to survival under present ones. Vulko flinched every time they got any deeper. The golden bubble would hum as molten rock hissed against its surface, all while the shackles kept growing brighter as more power was drawn from them. Finally, the light began to die down. Rubbing his eyes, Vulko found that they had gone past any traces of the inferno they'd just ventured through. They'd slipped through a crevice in the vent's sides. Despite a minimal amount of magma sneaking in, the walls of the room were cooled by some sort of algae that thrived in such conditions.

Without a word, but giving a bow, the soldier released his shield and left Vulko behind before reactivating them and seeing his way to the exit.



"Just when you believe that it can't get any darker.. nevermind, it's actually better now," Garth began to snicker as he and Arthur made their way through the maintenance tunnels that cross one another beneath the castle.

Lighting had been sporadic and scattered with little brightness. The corpses of various glowing fish filled jars, used as torches. They were one of the rare things that Atlanteans had acknowledged as useful, having originated in the surface world. But, because of his experiences away from the waves, he had a biased inclination towards both societies.

As the light gently got brighter, they heard a din of stomping feet and the clashing of spatulas against bowls. Cooking, amongst the most dangerous tasks an Atlantean can perform, given the fact that the water must be boiled rather than having the option to roast anything over an open flame. The chamber that Garth and Arthur stood in was beneath the wooden floorboards of the kitchen. As well built and sturdy as it was, light still escaped through the smallest of spaces between the slats.

"Go on, we'll reconvene in the royal chambers."

"Yes, my lord," Garth said, before scurrying off to a railed staircase on the side of the passage. A moment later he waited at the top, cracking a door open to peek into the kitchen, and waited for an isolated chef to approach the vicinity of the maintenance entrance. Meanwhile, Arthur had ventured on.



Mera, technically a princess, was the full equal to King Orm. Sitting alone in her chambers, she had been mulling over recent news of an invasion plot. Such rumors were plentiful, and her confidence in such an operation's success was beneath minimal. To her, a full scale invasion was simply preposterous.

"Princess Mera," a tired servant burst into the room, "the Prince of Mu has arrived!"

"For what reason," Mera asked, offset by the news.

"He did not say. He only requested your audience."

"So be it, arrange for him to be escorted to my chambers at once," she ordered imperatively. While it would be unusual for a princess to welcome a man into her chambers, Mera had no fears of violation. If anyone's freedoms or rights would be at risk, it soul indubitably be her guest. "And arrange for a meal to be served to him."

Moments later the servant returned, accompanied by their guest and a group of guards.

"Your highness, I present to you the Prince of Mu, clothed in glory and bathed with excellence."

Mera looked upon him, admiring his grooming. Black hair with enough waves to throw a hurricane out of the water was met by pristine scale coverings, she imagined them as having been carved from volcanic rock. And the gold decorating him was the highest quality she'd ever seen.

"Hello Lady Mera," he kneeled, "I'm afraid I come bearing bad news." Rising off of his feet, he rose his arms, smacking his forearms together. Through his sleeves, a golden light radiated like a miniature sun, burning the fabrics off of his arms before a giant shining burst surrounded him.

At once, Mera lurched out of her throne before flipping behind it. From the tips of her fingers, bubbles formed, pockets of air the size of pinpoints gathering. Reaching around the chair, she flicked her wrist and they all who out. The barrage of rapid-fire bullets streamed out and shattered against the intruder's shield. Recoiling, the assailant rolled to the side, hidden behind a statue of the princess herself, not willing to risk penetration.

Then the door crept open, a chef with a bruised eye slipping in, holding a large saucer in hand.

"Get the guards, servant!"

"Afraid I cannot, m'lady!" At once, Garth destroyed his guise as a chef and tossed aside his dish's lid. Immediately, the young soldier formed a tentacle out of super-condensed pseudo-solid water. It reached out and grabbed Princess Mera, slipping around her wrist, slithering around the air and extending in every direction, wrapping her like a mummy, with an aquatic appendage squeezing her core and stiffening every limb, restricting every muscle he could.

The princess fired a secondary barrage directly at Garth's throat, but the soldier with the shackles interceded, shielding him before he completed wrapping her. When her will to resist died out, Garth raised her and drug her toward them.

"Mission complete."


Atlantis
The Present

Sitting on the throne, reigning King Arthur of Atlantis had been slowly hammering his fingertips against the seat of his throne, deep in thought about the possible whereabouts of the previous ruler, Orm. It had been a difficult few months, building unity within his nation. As a show of good intent, he'd even agreed to wed the former Princess Mera. Though some of his subjects weren't so inclined, Garth for example.

"My lord, we are under attack!" that very subject burst into the room.

"What! From who?" immediately the Monarch sat up, clenching his armrest.

"An unknown army from beyond the surface."

Arthur stood up, trident in hand, yet he knew not of what course of action to take. So he took a moment and mulled it over.

"Ready the army!"

"Gentlemen, if you could all seat yourselves we can get started,"

The speaker was Carmine 'The Roman' Falcone, head of the Falcone family and widely considered to be one of the most dangerous men in Gotham. His audience was made up by his fiercest competition for that title, heads of the most powerful crime families and gangs in the city.

Among the faces was Franco 'The Godfather' Bertinelli, Luigi 'Big Lou' Maroni and his son Sal 'The Boss' Maroni, Johnny Sabatino, Sean Riley, Juniour Galante, Dragos Ibanescu, and last but not least Yuri 'The Russian' Dimitrov. He had gathered them to discuss their on going alliance against the 'chink' gangs, like the Yakuza, Triad and Ghost Dragons, as well as help him figure out a way to deal with the resurgent Bruce Wayne. The billionaire had recently returned to Gotham, and near instantly making himself a pain in Falcone's ass by choosing to fund Armand Krol's mayoral campaign. Before Wayne's intervention Carmine had the election in the bag. Now things weren't looking quite as cut and dry.

Each attendant had been permitted to take two bodyguards with them, meaning The Roman's grand solar, as big as it was, was starting to seem quite crowded.

To make matters worse half of these men had spent the last twenty years trying every underhand tactic in the book to kill the other half. The Roman himself had just come out of a furious gang war with Dimitrov that had left over three dozen men dead, The Russian's own brother among them. It hadn't all gone the Falcone's way though, as Dimitrov's men had managed to take the north Dixon docks from them, a vital staging area for any smuggling operation. Carmine was (begrudgingly) willing to let them keep the docks for the moment if the Russian's toed the line.

The group sat themselves at the great table, with Carmine at their head. Even the seating arrangements was subtle aknowledgment of each mans power. Those familys with the most influence sat at closer to Carmine, while the smaller gangs were forced to take their place further away, their status clear for all to see. Dimitrov sat at the Roman's left, while Franco Bertinelli took his place upon the right. The bodyguards where left to stand behind their bosses, glaring daggers at their opposite numbers, trigger fingers itching.

The atmosphere in the room was so volatile that it was a wonder there was no explosions. The mere fact that these men were willing to be seen in the same room as their rivals was testement to Falcone's power in Gotham. Nobody wanted to earn his ire by not showing their face. Violence threatened to spill over at any moment, but no one wanted to be the man to start it, not in Carmine's house, not when he'd promised everyone a truce. Nobody dared to cross him.

Gotham was Falcone's city, and they all knew it.

"Now gentlemen, to business. . . " Began Falcone.

"Yeah, like the business of what the hell happened to my guns!" Interrupted Sal Maroni, his face flushed. A hush fell over the room, everyone surprised at Sal's audacity. Big Lou looked furious, his jaw set in a grim line as he glared at his son. Carmine guessed that Sal had spoken without his fathers permission, or perhaps they had discussed this earlier and Lou had told the boy to leave it alone. There was talk that Sal was starting to push for more and more power, trying to wrest control from his father. Regardless, things did not look like they were going smoothly in the Maroni camp.

"You're guns were delivered to you Sal. What you did with them after that is your concern, not mine." Responded Carmined mildy, though the words clearly angered Sal, his hands clenching into fists. Some of the bodyguards shifted uneasily.

"Is that so? Cause my boys tell a funny story. They say that no sooner were the guns delivered than they were jumped by some spook dressed up as a bat. Nuts, huh? I beat them myself for their incompetence, only then I got to thinking. If not some whacko who's got a hard-on for Twilight - which would be ridiculous - then who stole my guns? The only person, other than my own boys who ain't stupid enough to cross me, who knew where those guns where was you."

There was another hush at the statement, though this one was far more expectant and filled with grim portent. Sal had spoken so far out of line that it was almost a forgone conclusion that he was in for hell, questioning the Roman so overtly. A muscle at the corner of Carmine's eye began to twitch uncontrollably. It was a real effort for him not to order Sal shot were he sat, but he knew that wouldn't end well. The boy was challenging his power and if the Roman didn't handle this correctly then it would make everyone other wise guy at the table think they could as well. This situation needed finesse.

"I hope you're not questioning my integrity boy." Carmine's voice nearly wavered with his barely concealed rage, though he did manage to keep it in check. A cocky grin began to tug at the corners of the younger Maroni's face, thinking he had the Roman on the ropes.

"Not ordinarily Carmine. You know me, I've got nothing but respect for you. But see the thing is I got speaking to some of the other boys here, and you know whats funny? We've all been hit by this bat nut. Sean's bar was hit up last week just as his boys were pooling their protection racket money. Dimitrov had a bought sunk as it came into the harbor with over forty kilo's of powder. Franco has six guys in the hospital, swear blind it was the bat that put them there. Everyone's had rodent problems."

"Everyone except you, Carmine."

The Roman scoffed a harsh chuckle. Of course he wasn't having rodent problems. Even if there was some vigilante nutjob in a bat costume out there on the streets of Gotham there was no way they'd be crazy enough to challenge the Roman Empire. Obviously this crackpot just didn't think as highly of Sal and his boys, making it open season on their enterprises. Carmine could hardly be blamed for that, no matter how much Maroni wanted to. His laughter died in his throat when he realized the entire table was looking at him expectantly, accusingly even. He couldn't believe it, they were actually buying into this.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this!" Snarled Carmine, "And I can't believe you idiots are listening to it!"

"Why not Falcone? It's God damn elegant in it's cunning, I gotta hand you that. You pay some ex-navy seal merc to play dress up and hit us hard, weakening us and strengthening your position in one fell swoop. Then the really clever bit! I mean who would believe it, a giant bat fighting crime? Not us surely, it's just too ridiculous. No one would dare lay that accusation at your door, not in a million years. You're old school after all, you'd never countenance a thing like this. I figured you out though. No point hiding it any more old man. Just come clean and save all our times. The way your looking right now, I reckon you don't have much of it left."

Carmine exploded up from his chair, eyes blazing with red hot fury. If it wasn't for the table between them he would have wrapped his hands around Sal's pip squeek neck already and choked the life out of him. As things stood that was still looking like a decidely attractive prospect. Micky and Donald Sullivan, Carmine's own muscle, had slipped their hands into their coats, edging towards their pistols. They weren't the only ones.

"YOU OVERSTEPPED THE MARK NOW BOY! NO ONE INSULTS CARMINE FALCONE LIKE THAT! YOU HEAR ME? NO ONE!" Roared The Roman. Everyone, every single hardened criminal, looked terrified at the outburst. Even Sal's cocky grin had vanished, to be replaced by an expression somewhere between terror and grim determination. It was all going to go down now. Guns where cocked, men began to choose sides, lines where drawn.

Then the lights went out.

And the Batman struck.



"Have I ever told you how much I love skylights Alfred?"

"Only several times this month Bruce." Came the reply down the comm line of Bruce's new cowl. "It does seem like the criminal elite of Gotham have an unhealthy obsession with them. Lucky, considering Batman's disposition towards crashing through them."

"I keep telling you Alfred, luck has very little to do with my accomplishments." The frostiness between the two men had melted away after Bruce had found his new inspiration. Tommy, or his fate, hadn't been mentioned since.

"Sounds like things are getting heated down there. Is everything in place Bruce?"

"Affirmative. Lights out in 3. . . 2. . . 1" No sooner was Bruce finished his countdown than the lights in Falcone's penthouse blinked off, all thanks to the vigilante's early preparation. He had already pirated the electric grid around the penthouse, installing a temporary 'on/off' switch that he could control through a wireless signal built into his suit. It had been Alfred's idea.

The surprised and panicked cries began to ring through the penthouse below him, Bruce taking that as his que to introduce himself. He leaped through Falcone's skylight, grasping the tails of his cape and letting it flicker behind him ominously in the darkness. Alfred had been against the cape, though Bruce had insisted upon it, listing several advantages to it. Not least was that it gave an extra dramatic flair for moments like this.

He landed lightly upon Falcone's great table with a small *thump*, falling easily into a balanced crouch. Every movement was designed to be animalistic and primal, removed by degrees from that which a normal man would do to make him seem otherworldly to his foes. It seemed to be working if the gasps and screams where anything to go by.

"Jesus Christ!"

"He's real?"

"It's the Batman?!"

Bruce allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction, assured in the knowledge that the crooks would never see his face in the gloom, even if it was the only part of his face displayed with his new cowl.

"Recognition already? Seems I'll have to start shopping for a bigger cowl, as I doubt your fat head will fit in that one for much longer." Bruce's smile only grew, but he was robbed the chance to respond by the gangsters finally mobilizing.

"Will somebody shoot that son of a bitch!"

Finally. The fun begins.

Bruce leaped left while throwing a handful of flash-bang pellets towards the right. The vigilante delivered a crushing flying knee strike upon Yuri Dimitrov while the pellets exploded with a sound and fury belayed by their tiny size. The Russian fell with a gurgle while the near-blinded criminals around him cursed furiously. The Batman pressed his advantage, falling in among the criminals like a whirling dervish of vengeful fury.

The crimnals weren't ready for that attack. How could they be? No one had ever dared attack them in their own homes before, never mind the home of the most dangerous one of them all, Carmine Falcone. The only reason they had guards tonight was because of their suspicions over each other, not because they had ever countenanced an attack by an outside party. Hell, they owned the cops in this town so who else would they need to worry about. Their unprepardness coupled with their surprise and the lack of light conspired against them. They could hardly tell where the Batman was, never mind attack him. If they began to shoot wildly they would end up hitting each other. Bruce had no such handicap. All courtesy of Wayne tech night-vision lenses built into my cowl. Wouldn't leave home without them.

Batman delivered a boxing combination of three straight lefts and a right hook, spinning a large bodyguard from his feet before kicking out at a second man's knee, the bone cracking like dry tinder. Both men were out of the fight, the second screaming his lungs out. Three more bodyguards quickly followed suite.

Several more had fallen before they began to rally. The Roman was trying to organize his peers into a firing line while Sal Maroni hefted a chair before charging the vigilante with a savage war cry, swinging the furniture as if it was a medieval mace. Batman easily sidestepped the clumsy blow, the chair continuing it's wild arc to smash into Sean Riley's face. Maroni looked on in surprise until Riley's boys, seeing their boss taken out, jumped Sal. The three fell onto the ground in a mess of wild punches and kicks, insults and curses. Soon Maroni's men joined in on the fracas, the group forgetting about Batman altogether.

"Looks like you don't even need to be there Batman. Ready for phase two?" Came Alfred's voice. Another grin snuck across Bruce's face. He didn't have to answer for Alfred to know it was time. Seconds later distant sirens could be heard, unmistakably the sound of approaching GCPD squad cars.

This was too much for the already rattled criminals. First the Batman, now the cops? Several broke off from the fight entirely to make a bee line for the exits, Franco Bertinelli leading the charge, Junior Galante hot on his heels. They spared little thought for their peers, providing concrete proof to that old adage; 'There is no honour among thieves'

"Where the hell are they going. . . " Muttered Falcone as he watched on in a mixture of incredulity and horror. It was all falling apart. Tonight it was just his carefully crafted alliance between the crime families of Gotham, tomorrow it would be his bid for the mayoral office, the next day it would be his stranglehold on the cities organised crime. Then after that? Then it would be the Falcone empire itself. He couldn't explain how he knew these things, not without using words like 'premonition', or 'omen', words that a rational thinking man like himself didn't use. All he knew is that he was sure in this knowledge, and equally sure of the cause.

The Batman.

Another thing that a rational thinking man like him couldn't allow. His hand slipped into his jacket pocket, edging towards the pistol in his shoulder holster. One bullet would do for this freakshow-bogeyman, then he could get things back on track.

Just one bullet. That's all it would take.

He was still thinking about that one bullet when one of Batman's tranquilizer darts sank into his neck.



Falcone's solar was in a mess. Broken furniture, shattered ornaments, unconscious thugs. Everywhere there was scenes of violence, of an empire in decline.

Bruce thought it was beautiful.

The other gangsters hadn't taken long to clear out the penthouse when they thought the GCPD was on their way. Not one had stopped to think about it, otherwise they'd still be there. The GCPD was so crooked that there wasn't a chance in hell they dare upset Falcone by assaulting his personal residence in the city. The siren's had merely been the result of Bruce hiding speakers around the terrace garden outside before crashing the party. [color=black][i]Criminals; a cowardly, superstitious [b]and outstandingly stupid[b] lot[/i][/black].

Still, stupidity worked for Bruce. Stupidity, with the merest of pushes, can become fear. And that's what tonight was all about, really. It was making these men, the royalty of crime in Gotham, afraid.

Afraid of the Batman.

That, and letting their king in on a message.

Speaking of. . . Falcone was starting to make a commotion, grunting something as he began to writhe on the floor. He was finally coming out of the stupor that the tranquilizer dart had left him in. Ten minutes after I originally calculated. . . Will have to work on the dosage

"Whaaa. . . where the he. . . wha the hell . . .," Muttered Carmine as he groggily tried to push himself to his feet, found his balance insufficent to the task and promptly fell flat onto his face. The groan afterwards told Bruce he was still awake. Good.

"Falcone,"

"Uh. . . Whoo said tha?"

Bruce waited for Carmine to get back into a sitting position before revealing himself, stepping into a shaft of moonlight for the criminal to get a good look at him, or his silhouette at the very least.

"You. . . What are you?"

"I am pain Falcone. I am vengeance. I am anger. I am wrath. I am all these things, and more. I am the dark places of the night that you fear to tread. I am. . . "

"The Batman"

"Yo. . . your nu-u-uts" Whimpered Falcone. Even the Roman was learning fear tonight, "Gotham doesn't do crazies!"

"Gotham isn't yours anymore Falcone. Gotham is mine now."

Bruce stood in place for a moment longer, until he was certain Falcone had gotten the message, before turning on his heel and running out of the room, and into the darkness of the night.

Barry had only ever been to Metropolis once before, on a field trip in eighth grade. He remembered staring in awe at the massive, endless skyscrapers that seemed to push through the clouds, marvelling at the incomprehensible amounts of people that hurried past on the sidewalks. Everything was polished, everything was clean; something that distinguished the city from Central and Keystone-- and something that reminded Barry just how much the robots have destroyed. The City of Tomorrow was in ruins. Fires raged in nearly every building, rubble and debris spread out across the roads. The occasional form of an unconscious person was visible amongst the destruction. Barry didn't let himself think of the possibility that they could be dead.

He did what he could, carrying any comatose civilian he found to the hospital, clearing as much debris as possible, getting any distraught person out of harm's way. The robots, weird, humanoid mammoths of metal, had slowly started to target the scarlet speedster, and soon Barry found himself fighting harder than he ever had. Where was Superman when you needed him?

The Flash dodged and weaved past beams of energy fired from the robots' cannons, the sizzling projectiles moving in slow motion. He landed blow after high-speed blow on his attackers, an occasional dent appearing on the machines' exoskeletons. No more damage could be dealt to them. If only he could phase through solid objects, somehow realign his molecules to the point that he could pass his arm through the robot's chest, he might be able to mess with the mech's circuitry-- assuming it that had circuitry. But, alas, Barry could do no such thing.

A mechanical fist crunched into his jaw, sending him flying through a nearby building's window. Shards of glass cut through his skin, blood trickling from the gashes. His jaw hurt like hell. Barry tried opening his mouth, and immediately grunted in pain. The robot had broken his jaw. The golems, five in total, hovered into the building, landing in front of Barry, aiming their arm cannons at him. He saw the beginnings of energy forming inside the weapons, building up power. He had to move. He had to get up. Come on, Barry, run!

But he couldn't move. He couldn't get up. He couldn't run. The slightest movement sent searing pain shooting through his body. All he could do was stare into the ever-growing red of the robot's cannons, awaiting the inevitable. It shouldn't end like this. It wasn't fair. He didn't even get to find his mother's killer.

The cannons fired. Red filled Barry's vision. Then, a yellow blur. Crackling red lightning. And all of a sudden, Barry wasn't in the building anymore.

"Hello... Barry," a voice, deep, distorted, menacing. It belonged to a man. Who was he? How did he know his name? Barry looked around in confusion. Where did the voice come from? Shadows stretched all around him, shrouding the alley in which he now knelt. He couldn't see anyone.

The source of the voice stepped out of the shadows, and Barry felt his insides go cold.

Those red eyes. That yellow suit. The black and red insignia on his chest. It was him. The man in yellow. The man that killed his mom. And he was smiling.

"How's your mom doing?"

Anger burst within Barry. How dare he? How dare he? "You! You were there that night! You killed my mother!"

His jaw flared with pain at those words, but he didn't care. Neither did he care about the pain of getting up to his feet. All he cared about was making that son of a bitch pay.

A shin slammed into his ribs. A loud crunch echoed in the alley. He yelled out in pain, falling to the ground onto his hands and knees. Another kick followed. Another crunch. The force rolled Barry onto his back. The man in yellow didn't stop. He kept attacking. Kept kicking. Each time, the pain increased. Each time, Barry found himself slipping ever closer towards unconsciousness. Finally, his mother's killer stopped kicking. His red eyes stared down into Barry's, his smile wide, showing gleaming white teeth.

"Well, this was fun, wasn't it? Granted, it was more for me than it was for you, but don't you worry, Flash. There will be plenty of opportunities to get your revenge. You'll be seeing plenty more of me. But for now... I'm afraid I have to leave you. Say hello to Iris for me."

It was then that Barry welcomed the embrace of oblivion, the man in yellow's smiling, red gaze burned into his memory.
And Barry knew no more.

Justice League Origins

First it was an alliance of the most powerful crime families in the city. Then a well meaning though perhaps misguided vigilante/ninja/bat monster doing his level best to bring justice to a place that just didn't care for it. Then there was that business with The Mad Monk, the less said about that the better. That was quickly followed up by a whole host of new crazies that infected the city quicker than a cheap Saturday night floozie catching the clap. The gyst here is that Gotham has had more than its fair share of troubles lately. The last thing it needed was an invasion.

So why main street was currently holding host to a group of trigger-happy, seven foot tall, walking death machines, that could only speak like they were bit part antagonists in a War of the Worlds rip-off, was beyond Jim Gordon.

The panicked calls had started coming into the precinct not much earlier, breathless civilians screaming about killer robots marching through the city centre. They’d initially been brushed off as kids trying to waste police time, but after the fifth call they’d realized that this was far more than some elaborate hoax. Gordon had wasted no time in leading a slew of police cruisers to the scene. His first action before engaging had to been to cordon off the scene, to keep curious civilians and reporters with a death wish alike away from the unidentified antagonists. (Vikki Vale had an officer assigned to her especially, Jim just praying that Crispus Allen was up to the task of keeping the tenacious reporter from approaching the metal monstrosities. )

After that he had set himself the onerous task of leading his officers against the bots. Real uphill struggle that. Just how are pistols and shotguns supposed to damage wannabe-terminators. Kyle Reese had to use a pneumatic press to do in for one for chrissakes, and Jim definitely didn’t have one of those lying around. The only thing keeping his officers in this game was that the robots really didn’t seem to be taking much notice of them, only firing off the occasional pot shot in their direction. To Jim’s mind that wasn’t exactly a good thing. Made him feel like a bug that was so beneath notice that it wasn’t even worth the time treading on him.

“What the hell are these things!? What do they want?” Screamed Lieutenant O’Hara, so loud that he might have perforated Jim’s eardrums. He knew he should have picked some separate cover from the Lieutenant.

“I’m not sure Clancy,” Jim responded “I don’t speak automatron.” O’Hara had the good graces to look contrite. Both men were forced to duck their heads behind cover as energy bolts were fired in their directions. The robots were starting to become more aggressive.

“Things are getting crazy here Captain.” said O’Hara.

“Uh-huh,”

“Wonder where Gotham's own specialist in crazy is. Ain't he supposed to be dead set on protecting the city.” The Lieutenant mused. No sooner had he finished working did a low, insistent growling sound in the near-distance. It seemed to get closer and closer, sounding like the roaring of the devils own guard dog. Suddenly a thick black smoke blanketed the street, cutting everything off from view, including the robot attackers. There was some calls from the officers nearest Jim, officers he couldn't see, but he could barely hear them over the bizarre roaring that passed right by him. He caught the briefest of glimpses of what might have been a car, or a tank.

No prizes for guessing who that belonged too.

"I think that answers your question Clancy." Jim said dryly.



"Reports are coming in from across the company. Metropolis and Coast city are also under attack.

"Gotham is my priority Penny-one. You know that. I'll see what I can do after I've finished here."

"Hrrn. . . Yes sir. I feel it bares mentioning that the juggernaut in blue jeans from Metropolis has already been felled by these machines. Are you sure that monstrosity you're driving is up to the task?"

Batman had become more adept at suppressing his grins at Alfred's comments while he was on the field. He allowed himself one now though. His old mentor had always been sternly opposed to any American made cars, saying off them that they were all style with no substance. He could have made that assertions about Batman's latest ride, though they both would have known it's patent untruthfulness. Built by Bruce himself in conjunction with Lucius Fox and a gifted engineer named Harold Allnut, this Batmobilehad been built to keep up with his foes, after the Getaway Genius had shown him that his old bike just wasn't up to the task. Still heavier and slower than he would like, Batman had no doubts that it had the armaments to deal with the machines attacking Gotham now.

"Superman is untrained and ill-experience Penny-one. It was only a matter of time before he was put down." Batman was coming up on the combat zone now. With a flick of a switch the car began to deploy a thick smoke, a miasma springing up to befuddle only lookers. To be seen in the daylight undermines the reputation as a terror of the night I have built. Besides, ruining a photo op like this will no doubt infuriate Vikki Vale, an opportunity I could hardly pass up.

The robots had spotted his approach now, and were leveling their canons towards the car. Evasive action was deployed, Batman drifting to the left, narrowly avoiding the energy attacks. Energy projections show that the car theoreticallycould survive a direct hit. . . but I'm not keen on testing that theory.

He returned fire, hood mounted 50mm canons targeting the lead robot and firing. The shots exploded upon contact, fire and smoke engulfing the bot. The other two began to concentrate their fire upon the car, and overheard several other robots flew into view.

Its going to take some damn fancy driving to get out of this one.