---

"I am not so sure about this comrade." The light was rapidly fading as the two mutants sat in the barn to a nearby farmhouse. "What? We were told that the so called Purifiers are holding a mutant here. Do you think the Professor would have just sent us to keep watch? We're here to do something. I mean you're the man of steel! What are you afraid off?" Colossus just chuckled at his young friends enthusiasm, it was nice to see her come out of her shell a bit. While mutants were understanding towards eachother many of the children still found it disconcerting that Ruth had no eyes, hence the creation of her alias 'Blindfold'.

"I understand that another has claimed 'man of steel'. I shall stick to Colossus." He eyed the building and looked back to Ruth. She'd probably know that he was considering it, the issue with working with telepaths. They knew what you were thinking. "дерьмо""What does that mean?" He just gave her the most stern look he could muster, which still wasn't very good. "Do not concern yourself with that. Wait here, and I shall discover the truth of what is happening in this place."

"Aw, come on big guy! I can-""Heal? Deflect bullets with your skin? Let them pass through you without getting hurt?" She looked distinctly embarrassed for a moment before replying "Well... no." He pointed one of his metallic fingers towards her. "And that is why you-" He then pointed to the ground. "-Stay here." He heard her go to speak as he turned to walk away. "Not a discussion." He began walking towards the farmhouse as the sun continued to lower in the sky, maybe the Professors information ahd been wrong? This homestead looked too peaceful to play host to anything nefarious. He was sure it was just all a misunderstanding. As he walked up the wooden steps onto the porch the wood creaked and bent under his weight, though it held.

As gently as possible he knocked on the door. He was greeted by a man holding a shotgun. "This is private property son, and we don't take kindly to Mutants trying to rob us.""I assure you, I mean you no harm. I was told that there was a mutant here in need. The man laughed. "Well they're ain't none of you freaks here-" He cast his eyes looking back into the other room. "-So you best be on your way." He went to slam the door but Colossus just put his hand in the way stopping it with barely any effort. "I mean no insult, though I am afraid I do not believe you. May I take a look around?" The man simply raised the shotgun directly in line of his face. "I told you, you ain't welcome here. So be on your way."

Colossus just sighed. "I am deeply sorry for this." As the shotgun went off in his face Colossus grabbed the barrel and gave it a twist, the metal grinding as it was bent out of shape and Colossus barged h is way into the house, or what had been a house. He had to refrain from throwing up slightly at the scene, what he couldn't see from outside was that the furniture in the living room had been removed. An altar sat at the far wall with a bald man in robes standing behind it, the congregation of this... meeting surrounded the barely dressed form of a teenage boy. Bruises and cuts visible all over his body. He was glad Ruth had not followed him in, while she wouldn't be able to see this she would be able to get a read of it using telepathy.

Everyone turned towards him as he entered the room, obviously unsure of what to do. "I would prefer not to hit others, so please. Do not make this complicated."

Central City, Missouri
2:34 PM

The front door swung open. Johnny Frost rushed in with his pistol out and slapped the man in the face with the butt of the gun. Dean Swarbrick came behind Frost and pulled him away from the now bleeding man on the floor.

"The fuck, Johnny?"

"What?" Frost asked as he pulled away from Swarbrick and grabbed the fat man on the ground by the hair and started dragging him across the carpet of the living room.

"Stop!" The man on the ground said.

"We ain't supposed to rough him up, Johnny."

"What? They told us to come over here and talk this fucking guy, right?"

"Yeah," Swarbrick shouted. "That's it. Just talk."

Frost stared at his partner, then down at the man with the bloody face, and then back to Swarbrick.

"There's a shorthand in this business. 'Take care of someone' means kill 'em and 'talk to someone' means to fuck them up."

"I fucking work for the Top," the bloody man cried. Blood dripped off his chin and on to the carpet. "I'm on your side."

"Shit."

Frost helped the man on his feet and passed him a kleenex from his jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry, guy. Like I said, it's a whole shorthand and I got mixed up."

"Fuck you."

Frost saw red and slapped the guy again, this time with an open hand. Blood spattered on the wall and carpet.

"I'm trying to apologize and you want to tell me to fuck myself?"

"Just tell us what's up," Swarbrick said. "Why are we here and why is it all fire important to talk to us?"

"Lawson, you know how the big guy has his stache out in that little town?"

"What about it?" Frost asked.

"I do the money run out there to put it in the bank. Last few days I noticed a few cars following me. Always alternating, but they showed up enough for me to notice them."

"How'd you notice them?" Swarbrick said.

"They were junk heaps. One was a Dodge and the other was like a little car that those guys had in that movie Wayne's World, remember that?"

"That's it?" Frost looked to Swarbrick and then back to the guy. "You call us out here and take one in the mouth just to tell us you notice a few shitty cars on the freeway? Stop wasting my time, man."

The guy held one hand up, the other pressed to his nose to stop the bleeding. "I'm just letting you know. Can't say that I did my job."

Swarbrick lit up a cigarette and blew smoke up over his head. "Look, the effort is appreciated, but that bank is well guarded by both the Top's guys and the local law out there. It's probably the best guarded small bank in all the country. Nobody in their right mind will try to rob that bank."

-----

Lawson, Missouri
2:45 PM

"This bank is getting robbed!"

Pulling back his coat, Digger Harkness revealed his arsenal of boomerangs. The small crowd in the Lawsons Savings & Loans recoiled at first, but looked curiously at the weapons attached to Digger's body.

"Son," an old man said with a puzzled look. "Are those boomerangs?"

"Sure as shit are, old man." Digger pulled one out and tossed it through the air in a perfect loop. "The thing I love about boomerangs is that they... hold on, I put too much muscle into that one... here it comes." He held his hand out and snagged the boomerang from the air. "They always come back. The thing I love about boomerangs is they always come back, that's what I was trying to say."

"Call the cops," the bank manager said from behind the glass partition.

On cue, the power to the bank went out. Two blocks away, Electro flooded the town's electrical grid with excess energy and blew the entire power grid for the city of Lawson before getting in his AMC Pace and driving out of town in a hurry. Out of the highly polished and reflective floor came Mirror Master, Captain Cold, Heatwave, and Rhino.

"Props to the janitorial staff," McCullough said. "Every surface of the floor polished to mirror shine."

"Boomer and Heatwave are on crowd control," said Cold. "Rhino and Mirror Master, you're with me to the vault."

They leaped the counter, Rhino breaking through it, and found the vault door behind the counter. It was a large steel thing sealed shut. Cold stepped up to it and placed his palms on it. A spiderweb of ice began to snake across the vault door. Sweat began to bead and freeze on his brow as he dropped the temperature of the steel down to the extreme cold of liquid nitrogen.

"Go for it," he said as he stepped back.

Rhino's large and powerful fist shattered the steel door into hundreds of brittle pieces. They stepped over the pile and into the vault. There was not a lot of cash out in the open, but Cold's eyes were focused on the rows of safety deposit boxes on the far wall. Six rows of fourteen boxes from the top of the ceiling down to the floor.

"We don't have time to get them all open. Mirror Master, open up a mirror bridge back to Central City and keep it open. Rhino and I will chuck them through the mirror."

"Cops are coming," Boomerang shouted from the lobby.

"Stall 'em!" Cold shouted back.

Stepping outside, Boomerang and Heatwave were greeted by a half-dozen sheriff's deputies with guns.

"Put your hands on your head and get down on your knees," one of the cops shouted.

"Love to," Boomerang said as he flicked his wrist. A blinking boomerang twisted through the air and landed on the roof of one of the patrol cars.

"Down now," Boomerang said to Heatwave.

They hit the ground as the explosive boomerang erupted and sent the car into the air in a ball of flames. Cops started to scatter from the fiery wreck as Heatwave stood and took potshots at the fleeing deputies with fireballs.

"We're ready!" Mirror Master shouted from inside the bank. "The mirror train is leaving the station. Last call!"

The two turned and ran towards the vault. The entire contents, safety deposit boxes and cash, was gone. On the floor, Mirror Master looked up at them through the polished surface.

"Jump towards me, one at a time!"

Heatwave jumped and disappeared through the floor. Boomerang followed suit and landed hard on the floor. Mirror Master laughed while Boomerang shot him the bird. Still laughing, he opened the portal back up and Boomerang fell through the floor. In just five minutes, the bank was cleaned out and the Rouges were long gone from Lawson.

Shaking himself out of his reverie Thor focused upon the Scarlet Witch, she had been shaken from their impact and was only now beginning to mutter a spell to herself.

Thor threw himself into the air, hammer outstretched in a mighty blow. His swing never reached its target for, in a moment of panic the witch gestured and, from its berth in the parking lot, a behemoth of a vehicle slammed into the Thunder God, knocking him to the floor. With a roar of anger, Thor used his strength to smash through the vehicle that was pressed against him.

The witch was still recovering from her efforts with the vehicle. Thor's eyes narrowed, 'Now we end this,' he promised, 'your foul presence will no longer endanger any citizen of this realm, I smite thee with the full power of Thor!'

With that battle-cry still echoing in his chest Thor channelled his power through Mjolnir and launched himself bodily through the air at his foe with a strike that would cleave her head from her shoulders.

Turning from the dispatched Quicksilver, I watch a Peterbilt cab, wreathed in pink, soaring through the air. It collides with Thor with a thunderous crash, and even I have to flinch. Of course, I know my teammate well enough to know that he can shake off a hit of that magnitude, no problem. Physically, Thor's damn near indestructible. Emotionally? Well, that's a different story. And if I know Thor...

Sure enough, the truck erupts in a shower of shrapnel as Thor comes tearing through. He's got that look in his eyes, the one he gets when his blood is hot and his rational side takes a breather. As kids, we all fear the rumbling of thunder for what it represents: the threat of wild, destructive lightning it brings. Well, the god who commands it is no different. Whatever else he is, Thor Odinson is a warrior. And like all warriors, Thor has his breaking point. With all the weight of his hammer behind him, Thor throws himself at Wanda Maximoff with the intent to kill. I don't intend to let that hit connect.

I zip in a straight line towards the Scarlet Witch. So concerned with the approaching Thunderer is she that she never sees me coming. I blindside her, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her forcibly out of Thor's path. The square head of Mjolnir passes harmlessly through the air where she once stood. "You're welcome," I tell Wanda, releasing my grip on her. Despite narrowly avoiding death, she seems none too pleased. She catches me off-guard with a quick energy blast to the chest, and I fall over backwards. As I hit the ground, I roll into a three-point stance, calling out, "Lady, you'd be dead if it wasn't for me!"

Just then, Captain Marvel approaches, evidently finished with her match-ups. I give her a grateful look and ask, "Alright, which one of us is getting the Witch and which one calms Thor down?" In my heart, I already know which I'd prefer.

As the gates slid open the expanse of the outside world opened itself up freely for Lionel Luthor for the first time in twenty four years. He stepped out onto the black asphalt leading into the island prison complex of Stryker's Island. Beyond the water he could see the City of Metropolis. For two and a half decades the city seemed so distant and he longed to return as a free man. Now that it was within his reach however, he felt sick. From here he could see the LexCorp building and the Watchtower that stood on top of it. Lionel knew that it had been built in that exact spot for a reason. From anywhere in the prison the giant green letters spelling out LexCorp were visible.

He lowered his head. He knew that his son had never forgiven him for killing his mother. He knew that Lex hated him. Lionel was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of an approaching car. He looked up to see a single black Sedan approaching him. It stopped ten feet away from him, the back left side door opened.

Out came a beautiful young blonde woman wearing a fluffy red blouse that drew attention to her chest and a short black pencil skirt. She approached him slowly putting one foot directly in front of the other as she walked in her expensive black heels. The old man gulped as he watched her walk, the last woman he had seen in person had been a 300 pound African American security officer.

"Mr. Luthor?" She asked as she reached him extending her hand.

"Uh.. yeah that's me." He shook her hand, it was soft. She smiled at him with full red lips looking at him straight in the face with her ice blue eyes.

"Mercy Graves, I work for your son. I was told to bring you over to the LexCorp building as soon as you were released." She motioned to the car.

"I uh, actually could we go and see Lena first. I think She needs to be apologized to before I go and see Lex." A look of shock appeared on the woman's face as he spoke. Her hand shot up to her mouth and she gasped.

"Mr. Luthor," she paused, "Your daughter died of cancer fifteen years ago." Lionel's heart dropped in his chest, he could almost hear the glass as his world shattered. The sixty-seven year old man felt tears welling up in his eyes.

"Let's... let's go see my son."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lex stood in his personal office staring out at the City of Metropolis from his full floor to ceiling window. It was tinted a dark black on the outside but allowed him full view of the surrounding buildings. The LexCorp building towered above every other structure in the city, a monument to his success.

The room was dark, the only light being coming from a set of bulbs turned to dim throughout the ceiling. His red mahogany desk stood in the middle of the tan carpeted floor. Lex held a glass of wine in right hand while his left was stuck in the pocket of his blue slacks. He took a sip as he observed the nighttime lights coming from all the businesses and traffic. The people looked like ants to him. They were ants to him.

Lex heard the door open behind him followed by the muffled sound of Mercy's heels stepping on the carpet. His father was right behind her. The old man walked into the room and Mercy closed the door behind them. She walked to the desk and sat on the corner with her right leg crossed over her left.

"Mercy leave us." Lex said. She stood quickly and turned around. "Please, I need to speak to my father." He said before she could protest. She simply nodded and walked out of the room. He was still facing the window.

"Lex, I..."

"Look out there, my building is the tallest in all of Metropolis." Lex interrupted his father. He took abother sip out of his wine glass and continued his stare into the city. "I built an international business in less time than it took you to finish high school. I have military weapons contracts and the most successful personal smart phone on the market. I'm..."

"Lex you don't have to prove anything to me."

"Don't interrupt me." He took another sip. I'm the wealthiest man in the entire country, my company is one hundred percent privately owned. I've made scientific advances that make the likes of Albert Einstein and Sir Isaac Newton seem insignificant. I created the Justice League, the people love me."

"I know all of this, your woman filled me in on the way here."

"I'm on the brink of ending the world's dependence on fossil fuels. Foreign governments fear my name more than that of this country." Finally Lex turned around and placed his wine glass on his desk. "And I did all of this without you father."

"Lex, I'm sorry." His father began to step towards him. "I know I made mistakes."

"Mistakes!" Lex said with a laugh. "You murdered my mother right in front of me. Right in front of Lena!"

"I've been trying to make amends for that for twenty years Lex. I loved your mother, I didn't mean to do it. It just happened." His father began to cry. "Why didn't you tell me when Lena died?"

"I've only ever cared about two people in my entire life. You took one of them away from me. You didn't deserve to know when the other one died."

"I'm sorry." The old man said again through tears. Lex stood there watching him, the man was broken. For the next three minutes he jsut kept repeating that he was sorry.

"I forgive you." Lex said as he embraced his father.

"You do?" He asked as he held his son. He felt happiness in his stomach again, maybe he really could start over. Even at his old age.

"Yes." Lex released his father. The old man was smiling through his tears. For a moment they looked at each other. Staring in each other's eyes. Lex saw something in his father that he hadn't truly seen since before the death of his sister, joy. He leaned back against his desk and smiled.

*BANG*

Lionel's eyes went wide. He felt cold, he looked down to see blood seeping out of a wound in his stomach. The gun in Lex's hand was still smoking when he fell to the ground. Lex returned the weapon to the holster hidden under his desk. His father choked as his blood began to stain the carpet.

"Oh my god Lex! Mercy yelled as she busted through the door. She screamed when she saw the dead body on the floor. "What did you do?"

"Get someone in here to clean this mess up. I'm getting a call from General Ross." Lex said calmly as he straightened his tie. His stomach was in a knot, he felt empty. He felt... wrong. "And I'll be needing to change the carpet." When she ran out of the room he put his head in his hands and let out a moan. He didn't plan on feeling like this.

Sender: Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com
Subject: The Attic
Recipient: Administrator@Hourman.net

Excuse me, Mr. Hourman, I'm not really sure how to format this but I need your help. My name is Mike, I work at the Hamill-Meringue Theatre downtown and we have something of a problem. I work as a janitor. In the attic there is a room that's dependable locked. Well, one day it wasn't. I'd been wiping its handle clean and restoring its shine when it slipped open a little bit and revealed the closet behind it. There are some masks, which is nothing extraordinary because I work in a theatre, but there's also a duffle bag and several weapons, specifically guns, and pictures of a prominent stage actor who we're expecting to arrive shortly for a performance. I'm not a genius or anything, but I think something fishy’s going on.

---

Sender: Administrator@Hourman.net
Subject: Re: The Attic
Recipient: Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com

I see your cause for concern, but have you considered calling the police? It clearly seems to me like an upcoming murder can be easily prevented.

---

Sender: Mikelikesbikes@yehoo.com
Subject: Re: The Attic
Recipient: Administrator@Hourman.net

Oh yeah. I forgot. The guns are mine. The masks are mine. And so is the dufflebag. But the thing is that I have amnesia. I've recently suffered blunt head trauma or something and, this is awkward, but I’m pretty sure I plotted a murder. So there's these phone I have that written down that no one responds to. So yeah, I think I hired a hitman.

---

“Well…” Rick said, pouting in confusion.

As he typed out his final response, he spoke his text aloud. “Meet.. Me.. At.. The.. Busstop.. On.. Lee and Morrison.” Decisively scooting his mouse over the paper plane icon, he sent the message.

The scenario made him feel entirely uncomfortable, like he'd be better off ignoring the plea for help completely. Calling the police crossed his mind, and then it double-crossed his mind. He couldn't think of a single reason not to call the ACPD except for the possibility of having the man assigned a charge he didn't deserve, as unlikely as it seemed. The possibility of ‘Mike’s’ mental state being conveniently rewound to a period of complete innocence seemed a little far-fetched, to be honest. Then again, what could it hurt?

Besides the actor.

“Egh…” Rick slid his hand over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1, hovering his thumb over the green call icon indefinitely.

“God dangit.”

---

Bus Stop #17, Appleton City
New York State

Mike was leaning against an aluminum sign. The bus came and he awkwardly explained that he wasn't interested in boarding. Then Rick, decked out in red and blue, makes his approach.

“Do you have the documentation?”

Mike springs into the air, jerking his arms and projecting a folder of medical printouts into the air. “You scared me.” After half a dozen exhalations he pointed to the scattered sheets before Hourman shuffled them into a neat order.

“Identification?”

Mike produced his wallet with a New York State issued driver’s license, social security card, and a folded photocopy of his birth certificate. Anticipating further requests, he deposited copies of several gun permits and his phone records for the last several months in the hands of the masked mystery man.

“I'll see what I can do,” he said, before turning with the papers in custody and taking off toward the horizon and beyond.

New Troy, Metropolis

Clint Barton was annoyed. Clark could tell Clint was annoyed by the way he was pacing. Clint only ever paced when he was annoyed. He’d seen Barton stand statue still for ten straight minutes whilst foisting his bowstring back. He had better hand-eye coordination than anyone Clark had ever met and there wasn’t a man, creature, or machine on God’s green Earth that could get him to flinch. Yet here he was pacing. The arrows in Barton’s quill knocked around as he walked back and forward on the ledge of the building. Finally after a minute or two of silent pacing Clint turned to Clark to give voice to his annoyance.

"For the past eighteen months I’ve been knocking down the doors to every single LexCorp front on the East Cost, trying to find someone willing to talk to somebody with a badge about Lex, and who do I see on TV fighting Avalanche? You. Really, Clark? Avalanche? I think you’re forgetting who the real target is here. We can’t afford to waste time on D-Listers whilst Lex is still a free man."

It was always Lex with Clint. Beneath his braggadocio in his Hawkeye persona was a thoughtful and considerate individual. When it came to Lex Luthor that went out of the window and all Barton saw was a wall of unending red. It was Clark’s job to try to put that monster back in the bottle. For eighteen months he had been able to do that but it was clear from the look in Clint’s eye that he was sick of all the waiting.

"Trust me, I am doing everything I can to find something that will put Luthor away for good."

Barton gave Clark a vicious dose of side-eye.

"Are you? Because it doesn’t look like it."

"What are you trying to say?"

Hawkeye turned to face Clark and pointed an accusatory finger in his direction. Beneath his purple cowl his face had begun to turn red with anger and flecks of spittle came flying out as he spoke.

"I’m not trying to say anything. I’m saying that if Lex had put your brother in the ground there wouldn’t be a man on Earth that could make you jump through these hoops."

Clark shook his head.

"You know that’s not true, Clint."

"Come on. I get it, my brother was one of the bad guys but that doesn’t mean that he deserved to be killed. That sure as hell doesn’t mean that the guy that had him killed gets to walk around like his you-know-what doesn’t stink."

Several years ago Superman had broken up a gun running ring working out of Metropolis. The Barton brothers had been running point on an operation that went wrong and Clint had been amongst the ones Clark had apprehended. Barney Barton hadn’t been so lucky – he’d escaped. Once word came down the pipeline that the younger Barton was on the inside, Barney’s employer’s employer were worried that he might decide to turn rat to bust little brother out. They slit his throat, cut off his hands and feet and dumped him in the West River.

When Clint found out he promised himself he’d find the person responsible and bring them to justice once he was free. Back then Barton’s idea of justice was a bullet to the brain but he’d had other ideas since then. As Hawkeye, he’d been able to turn over more stones than lowly ex-con Clint Barton ever would have. He had no idea at the time all his investigating would put Luthor squarely in the frame as the man behind Barney’s death. It was their shared enemy that brought Clint and Clark back together again.

Clark outstretched a hand and pointed it towards the LexCorp building.

"You think having to watch him lord it over this entire city from his Watchtower doesn't bother me?"

Clint shrugged his shoulders.

"You seem pretty relaxed to me."

Clark’s apologetic tone seemed to disappear and suddenly he was the stern, chiding Superman he’d been that night in the Suicide Slum. His back seemed a little straighter, his chest slightly more puffed out than before, and his eyes, so big and forgiving, became like crystalline orbs that would turn even the most stubborn man to doubt.

"I am not you, Clint. As much as I might want to be a normal person, I know every time I pull on this cape that I’m different than the people down there. The power I have, the things I could do, are exactly the reason why we have to do this correctly. The moment I start cutting corners, the moment I start taking the easy way instead of the right way, is the moment that I start playing God. And whilst I may be many things, I am not a God."

It was a windless day in Metropolis and Clark’s words seemed to hang in the air for a while after they had left his mouth. Clint stopped in his tracks, peering over the ledge of the building at the gridlocked streets beneath them, and wondered how it must have felt to have that power, that responsibility in your hands. How easy it would be to start implementing a more final solution for some of the more twisted individuals people in their line of work often ran into. Perhaps in such an instance Clint and Barney would never have survived their run-in with Clark all those years ago.

Clint nodded meekly.

"You’re right. I guess I’m just a little frustrated by our lack of progress is all."

Clark smiled sympathetically and patted Clint on the back.

"You’re not the only one."

Their moment was cut short by the sound of sirens beneath them. An armored truck was ploughing its way through the traffic, stray arms spraying Uzis out of its windows as it went, with several Metropolis City Police Department patrol cars in hot pursuit. Clint lifted his eyebrows suggestively in the direction of the armored truck.


"Well, lookie-here. What say we go get ourselves into some trouble, Boy Scout? After the week you've had, it sounds like you could do with blowing off a little steam."

M I D T O W N, Q U E E N S
0 3 : 1 2 P M

All the Ringer wanted was to rob something.

He’d been trying to find an opportunity to prove himself for months. The Rogues weren’t easy people to impress, but after weeks upon weeks of planning and scheming, he’d finally stumbled upon the perfect heist; the perfect job to put him on their radar.

He was going to rob a bank.

It was pretty simple on paper. He would walk into Midtown Savings Bank with two henchmen, demand that they give him money, then walk out of there with bags full of dough. It was simple, fool-proof, and easy to pull off... but of course, even the best plans have their flaws.

Turns out that someone had called the police on him. When Ringer had triumphantly walked out of the bank, henchmen in tow, he was met by a barricade of police cruisers, behind them a dozen or so officers with their weapons trained on him.

“Hey, Anthony,” whined Doug, the more competent of his two employees, “I don’t think this looks too good, man.”

The Ringer fought back the urge to sigh, opting to shoot a gigantic, silver ring, his trademark and namesake, at a nearby cop. The cop leapt out of the way, the ring wrapping itself around a lamppost. “Stop, or we will shoot,” warned another man in blue. The Ringer believed him, and told Doug to shut up.

And then he arrived.

“Yeah, Tony,” said Spider-Man, flipping from the bank’s roof to land in a crouch in front of the Ringer. “This actually looks kinda crummy.”

“Oh, god,” said Anthony, “It’s you.”

“Surprise!” exclaimed the wall-crawler, launching off the ground to plant a swift kick beneath his chin. The Ringer collapsed onto the ground, dazed. His vision swam. Doug and the other henchman just stared, unsure of what to do. “Oh, hey guys,” said Spidey. “Sup.” They waved.

“FREEZE!” yelled one of the police officers. “PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD AND GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!”

“Sorry, dude. I don’t swing that way,” quipped Spider-Man, leaping over the Ringer’s near-unconscious form to punch his henchmen in the jaw. They joined him on the ground. Useless.

The cop fired at Spider-Man, bullet whizzing past his shoulder as he dodged it just a split second before it made contact. “Hey! That was rude. Can you believe these guys, Tony?”

“I hate you,” the Ringer managed, before slipping into the comforting arms of unconsciousness. Something told him he wouldn't be teaming with the Rogues any time soon.

---

S O M E W H E R E I N N E W Y O R K C I T Y
0 7 : 3 0 P M

Aaron Davis stared at the television screen with dangerous eyes. Dangerous, because they spoke of a coldness, a calculating anger not seen in many men. Dangerous, because they were directed at his nephew, jumping and quipping his way through footage on Channel 52 as Bethany Snow filled America in on his latest victory over yet another common criminal. It disgusted him. To see such potential and power get wasted on these lowlifes with even lower ambitions made Aaron sick to the stomach. It twisted it into such a festering pile of frustration and rage that it was all he could do not to seek Miles out and beat some sense into him. But a deep breath and a comforting cup of scotch reminded him that he couldn’t do that. Not yet. Didn’t he remember what happened the last time he tried to do that? And anyway, he told himself, Gotta keep my eyes on the bigger picture.

Because in a few short, short days, he would be making his move. No one will see it coming. Not the police. Not Miles, or the other Spider-Man. Not Daredevil. Not the Justice League. No one.

In a few short, short days, Brooklyn and Dakota would no longer know Tombstone’s name. They would know his.

They would know the Prowler.

---

Farm house outside Austin, Texas. 1840HRS Local Time

"I would prefer not to hit others, so please. Do not make this complicated." Colossus just sighed as the apparent leader of the congregation pulled a pistol out from under his robes and the rest of them grabed whatever makeshift weapons they could get their hands on. A pistol shot struck his chest, the bullet making a dull thunk as it struck his metal chest. thunk,thunk,thunk. He started to walk towards the mutant as the minister continued to fire at him before ducking down behind the altar fumbling to reload. He was clearly rattled.

Colossus just shrugged. "I have done nothing to any of you." Two of the eight members in the room took that as their chance, running out of the room. The man behind him decided to instead to try and hit him on the back of the head. Colossus' head was knocked forwards by the impact, though without even staggering he turned round and grabbed the man by the front of his chest and lifted him up. "I did not want this to resort to violence, though it is clear you are unwillingly to comply." With that he threw him into a nearby wall, leaving a slight indent as he made contact, before he slid down to the floor groaning. He wouldn't be rejoining the fight anytime soon. As two more rushed him he didn't even feel angry, so convincted in their faith that they felt fighting him was the best way forward. He stood his ground as they both collided with him in a tackle grabbing him around the waist trying to push him backwards.

He grabbed them by waist and cast them aside. He wasn't here for them after all, he was here for the- "Don't take another step Mutie." The priest was kneeling next to the boy, the end of the gun against his head. "You're gonna let me and my friends walk out of here, or I splatter this mutants brains all over the floor."

"For record, walking out was always option. You chose to fight, it is not what I wanted." He pointed to the boy. "What did he ever do to you? Let me take him away, where you will not have to see him ever again. You need not worry about him returning and hurting anyone." The priest just burst into laughter.

"Let you take my Son? I don't think so." That, took Colossus' words away.

"You did... that? To your own son?" Colossus took a step forward. "You claim to be better, claim us to be monsters. Yet you do beat your own son" The man just shrugged.

"I did it to teach him a lesson, he needed to take part in what we were doing. We were trying to help him." He turned his face to the boy. "Show him boy, show him how the devil touched you and claimed you as his own?" From beneath the boy a tail curved round, the look of pain on his face said everything.

"You did that, as he has tail? You are not a father."

"What would you know Mutie? We're Gods Chosen, we're going to be the ones to get rid of you and satans other pawns." Colossus went to take a step.

"Don't even think about it, remember who has the real power here." He just stopped, the others in the room now seeing their chance walked upto him, chain in one of their hands. "Put your hands behind your back Mutie." Just then the gun was pulled out of the priests hands by some invisible force.

"I told you to wait in barn."

"Yeah, Yeah. Thank me later."

Chloe Van Cleer gazed down at her dull silver watch, through a faint haze of sleep mist.

5:30

Way too early for this fucking bullshit.

She was cooped in the front seat of an old mustang cabriolet, with a small cup of hot chocolate and a jelay to keep herself warm. She took a small sip of her drink, feeling the warm tinge bubble over her lips, before turning her attention back to the house she was staking-out, on the verges of Gotham’s diamond district.

Chloe had been here every day for the past week, watching the same routine unfold. Two cars in the driveway, up until quarter past seven. Dad left for work. Mum took the kids to school at half past eight. No cars in the driveway. Stayed like that until three PM.

Perhaps she was being unnecessarily thorough, but, unlike most criminals of her stature, she’d managed to stay out of jail so far, and she’d done that by being careful. She had no criminal record, she wasn’t known to the GCPD, and she intended to keep it that way.

“Yo, Moth!” Her walkie talkie crackled to life.

“Top of the morning to you, Garfield.” Chloe groaned sleepily, rubbing her eyelids.

“You got eyes on the house?”

“Yeah, man.” Chloe held down the button as she spoke into the walkie talkie “By my ingenious calculations, we’ve got another two and a bit hours before dad leaves for work.”

“Rad.” Came the reply “we pull this one off and it's champaign and caviar instead of cheap booze and take out.”

“Speak for yourself, kid,” She snorted “I’m ordering myself a extra large pizza with stuffed crust once this is done.”

“How the hell are you not fat?”

“I’m the single mum who cut down on 1 kilo of belly fat by using this miracle weight loss supplement.”

“You spend way too much time on the internet if you’ve got that memorized.”

---

Once the door was open, Chloe quietly made her way into the house itself, a mere few minutes before Garfield was scheduled to be joining her. The hallway was well-furnished, but was nothing too fancy.

Nothing that I haven’t seen and/or broken and entered before.

She swept into the kitchen, ready to start snatching and grabbing, when she stopped suddenly, dead in her tracks.

“Good Morning, Miss Van Cleer.”

A well-groomed man, in a fine suit which was hand-tailored to his toned body, sat elegantly by the kitchen table.

“My name is James Wesley, and my employer is very interested in speaking with you.”

Ant-Man was only a five minute walk from his daughter's school by the time he realized that he had yet to change out of his costume. This meant that by the time he had managed to shuffle himself into a public toilet, squeeze out of his incredibly tight costume inside of an incredibly tiny cubicle, before heading back towards the school, he was already late. Peggy was going to be pissed. Even more than she had already been with Scott due to him having fought that Porcupine fella' while on the phone to her. Usually pissing off Peggy wasn't always a bad thing. Back in the day, Scott found that Peggy would often look back on his annoying nature and laugh. Now however, she merely threatened to stop him from seeing Cassie. That was a worrying prospect. Scott could barely bring to words how much his little girl meant to him. He would do anything to see her smile and hear her laugh. She was even the reason that he had become the Ant-Man in the first place. So anything that hindered his chances of seeing her was even worse than the villainous Doctor Doom in his books.

As he neared the school, Scott spotted Peggy at the top of the school's steps. His heart began to race once he saw her face, her nostrils flaring in anger.

"Shit."

He approached cautiously, giving her a small wave once he had been spotted. A wave that was sadly not reciprocated.

"You can't keep doing this Scott." Her voice seemed almost sad. "You can't keep letting Cassie down like this. She.."

"Wait, Pegs, I.."

"No Scott. She really wanted you here tonight. She wanted you to hear how well she's been doing."

Scott sighed and swore under his breath, placing his head into his hands. "I know, I know..."

"Scott, she loves you, Okay?" Peggy continued, placing her hand on Scott's shoulder reassuringly. "And I know you love her too and wouldn't do anything to purposely hurt her but..." She paused.

Scott gulped once more. He didn't like where this was going.

"You're a superhero Scott. You live a dangerous life. Cassie doesn't deserve that." With that Peggy turned to leave, heading down the stairs towards where her car was parked. Halfway there though, she stopped and turned back towards her ex-husband. "Me and Blake are going out of town next weekend. If you want to try and make it up to her, Cassie would love to visit Metropolis?"

The comment about Blake brought a spec of annoyance to Scott. He honestly couldn't believe that Peggy had even married the guy. He was an arrogant ass, and to make matters worse, he had been the cop who had busted Scott all those years ago. Maybe that was why? Maybe she loved seeing him wriggle in anger whenever he was brought up. Either way, Scott couldn't stay mad at Peggy for this. Especially not now. She was right to be mad; He did lead a dangerous life. Yet here she was, still throwing him a bone.

"I'd love to." Scott stammered, a smile spreading across his face. "Thank you Pegs."

"You're still an ass." And with that, Peggy continued on to her car.

Once the car was heading around the next corner, Scott finally let go, punching the air in excitement and squealing happily. Maybe today hadn't gone so badly after all!

Steve always felt a little weird wandering around Metropolis in uniform. Especially with his cowl pushed back exposing his blonde hair and face. After Steve had awoken from his icy slumber he hadn't been the same man. He had never been particularly fond of being Captain America. Sure, he knew he was helping his nation and his friends by being that man. But he never expected it to be permanent. He expected to help the Allies with the war and he'd retire. And that would be that.

Then he had awoken in the future. A future that threatened to take Steve Rogers away from him and completely replace him with Captain America. It had threatened to suffocate him and worse. Steve had struggled a lot those first couple of months. Not only was he now in the future but he had to contend with his new identity crisis. Everyone wanted him to be someone he wasn't. He was just Steve Rogers. A simple man who wanted to serve his country. Not this larger than life hero.

It had been Lex who had saved him. The man had gave him the hope he needed to survive. He saved Steve Rogers by creating an environment where they could both exist. With the creation of a Justice League, Lex would include Steve and give him purpose and a chance to once again serve his country; Strange and new as it was. Lex also suggested that Steve come out as Steve Rogers, the man behind the mask. In a future of uncertainty the man had said it would create a sense of safety. The people would know who was protecting them. And so Steve had become Steve Rogers, Captain America, leader of the Justice league. After all, his friends and family were dead; he had no more need of a secret identity.

Which lead to both Zatanna and him standing in this restaurant ordering food. Zee had her top hat tucked under her arm and was happily smiling away at the young girl behind the counter. No secrets, no lies, no deceptions. Just them.

All the Leaguers were accepted by all the food establishments around Lex's building. Everyone was used to seeing them drop in from time to time. Both in costume and out. At first most had offered them their food for free, but Steve quickly put an end to that. They were more than capable of paying for their meals. Especially when quite a few members of the league, himself included, ate enough to feed an army for a day.

"And five orders of french fries." Zatanna finished. She looked at Cap in askance and he nodded his head.

"That's everything." Zatanna concluded.

The two superheroes moved off to the side so the next people in line could order. Zatanna leaned against the metal railing and proceeded to stare at the workers as they went about their day.

Steve leaned down just a little. "Staring at them will just make them work slower."

Indeed one of the workers, a young man fumbled with a pan, set it flying to the floor. Red faced he turned, spotted Zee staring and quickly turned away.

Zatanna gave a small chuckle even as her stomach growled. "Fair point." She patted her stomach. "Booth?"

"Sure." Steve agreed as Zee stood up and turned to move off. Pf course, since the universe loved them both, their JLA communicators went off. Zatanna snapped hers open and looked at it.

"Absorbing man." Zatanna frowned. "This is going to suck." Zatanna was saying as her stomach rumbled again. Steve looked at her and she shrugged. Saying without saying that she'd forgo the food.

"Here." Both Steve and Zatanna turned as the counter girl held out a bag of food. "I know it's not quite what you ordered but..."

Zatanna smiled broadly. "Thank you." The magician gladly took the offered food and shoved a bit in her mouth inelegantly. The two hurried outside.

"Mrph!" Zatanna said around a mouthful of food.

Steve took a second to raise an eyebrow at her as she swallowed.

"Ylf!" She repeated and flew off of the ground. Steve shook his head before following her. She knew where they were going after all. He could have found out by using his own communicator. But he'd leave the technology to those who knew what they were doing all of the time, instead of most of the time.

The two arrived on the scene quickly. Thanks for Zatanna's power of flight and Cap's speed and agility. Creel was happily pounding away at the base of a nearby building.

"Carl!" Cap boomed out. The bald man turned and spotted Cap.

"It's Absorbing Man!" Creel shouted. "The most dangerous guy in the world!"

Cap didn't hesitate to raise his shield as Creel swung his massive ball into Steve. The impact sent him sliding back a yard or two. But there was no damage done. Creel yanked the ball back and went to swing it once more when Steve took the imitative and closed in on Creel.

"Give it up Creel." Steve barked out. "You don't want to do this."

"How would you know!" Creel shouted back lashing out at Captain America. Cap was sure to keep his shield out of reach of Carl's hands. That would be the last thing they needed today.

A quick glance skyward showed Zatanna watching, busy shoving the last of her food in her mouth. She waved as she spotted Steve watching her. So far Carl hadn't noticed her at all. Cap turned his attention back to Creel and dodged a punch to his face.

"Then why are you doing this?" Steve asked as he swept Creel's legs out from under him. "Random destruction isn't your style."

Creel's mouth quirked up into a smile. Steve barely had time to react as the man shimmered and turned into steel. He raised his shield but it was too late. The transformation was complete. The Absorbing Man bunched his muscles and sent his massive ball and chain back into Steve. This time it sent him skidding backwards much, much further.

New Troy, Metropolis

Clark let out a sigh as water splashed up from the dish in his hands and onto his shirt. The dish had once been home to Clark Kent’s world famous casserole. Well, more like Martha Kent’s world famous casserole. Lois wasn’t much of a cook but Martha had seen to it that her son knew his way around the kitchen before she sent him off into the world. He’d whipped the casserole together for Clint, Lois, and himself after he and Hawkeye were done patrolling Metropolis. Clint and Lois laughed amongst themselves as Clark scrubbed at the dish with a sponge. He looked over his shoulder at them and a grin appeared on his face. It was good to see Clint having fun, for once. In the eighteen months they’d been working together he’d never once mentioned how he spent his time outside of investigating Lex. It was why Clark had invited him tonight. Maybe his talk with his mother last night had made him acutely aware of the fact that without his brother around Clint might have been feeling a little alone.

A snort slipped out of Clint’s nose and he called out to Clark.

“Wait a minute. You’re trying to tell me that Superman played kicker in high school?”

Not this again. Lois had laughed for about a week when she had found out. Lane was an Army brat, her father was General Sam Lane, formerly “Slippin’ Sammy Lane” of Metropolis University, and he took a particularly dim view of Clark’s athletic achievements given that.

“That’s right. If I remember correctly, Clark was the fifth-ranked kicker in the whole state of Kansas as a senior. Isn’t that right?”

Clark looked up from the dishes and smiled sardonically.

“I’ll think you find I was third, actually.”

Barton took a sip of the beer on the table in front of him and gestured towards Clark’s large frame.

“What are you? Six-feet-three, two hundred pounds? You must have been the biggest kicker those hicks had ever seen.”

With a roll of his eyes, Clark set the casserole dish down to soak on the draining board and then prepared to recite the explanation he had given Lois when she had found out.

“It was a compromise between my father and I. I wanted to play football but there was no way he was going to let me play linebacker or defensive end. I was still getting to grips with my powers back then. I’d have put half of the other team in the hospital in my first game. So… I suggested I play special teams.”

Clint took another sip of his beer and shook his head in disbelief at the thought of the Man of Steel kicking extra points. He and Barney’s names were all over the record books back in Iowa. Barney had played quarterback and Clint – deferring to his older brother as he known to do back then – played wide receiver through high school. It wasn’t until Barney had dropped out that Clint got his chance to start. He broke the state records for passing touchdown in his senior year before his first spell behind bars cut that short. It had been helping Barney on a B&E. Sometimes he thought about what might have been if he’d not followed Barney into a life of crime. The guilt at realising he might have been better off usually cut that line of thought short.

He stared at all of pictures of Clark’s happy family along the apartment walls and smiled wistfully.

“Man, that’s hilarious.”

Sensing that Clint had tailed off, Lois cleared her throat and then did only as Lois could – got straight to the crux of the issue with a single sentence. Even in casual conversation she was still the same probing, instinctive reporter that prowled the Daily Planet newsroom. Yet sat around the table her question was tactful, inconspicuous even, and Clark was glad she was there to ask it.

“So what do you do in your spare time, Clint? You’re still living in New York, right?”

Clint nodded as he spun the bottle of beer in his hands gently.

“Yeah, that’s right. To be honest with you, I’ve been so focused on this Lex thing that I’ve not really had much time for anything else. There’s this girl I’ve been seeing but it’s getting a little difficult to explain all of the bruises and late nights.”

Lois looked over at Clark in the kitchen with a smile.

“Oh, I remember that stage.”

Perhaps encouraged by Clint opening up with Lois a little, Clark sought out more information about this girl as he walked over to join Lois and Clint at the table.

“So tell us a little more abou-”

As he pulled out a seat there was an explosion in the distance. All three of them spun their heads in its direction.

“What was that?”

Lois and Clark made their way to the window and gazed out of their apartment across to the smoke billowing through the sky from Downtown. Lois grabbed the remote to the television, flicked it on, and scenes of a bald man in purple trousers laying waste to Metropolis flashed across the scene. He was swinging a massive ball of chain into the vehicles and buildings around him. It was the Absorbing Man – once known to the world as Carl “Crusher” Creel.

Clark grabbed the buttons to his shirt and pulled them open, revealing his Superman shirt underneath, and he looked towards Barton.


“Clint, I think you had better get your gear ready.”

In the seconds between Clark and Lois staring out of the window, Barton had pulled on his Hawkeye uniform, and stood there drawing back his bowstring and checking the sights of his bow with a squint.

“Way ahead of you, Boy Scout. Let’s go kick some butt.”

Steve rolled out of the way as Creel lashed out again with his oversized ball. Carl had apparently decided that letting Cap get in too close was a bad thing. And since Cap was busy keeping Creel occupied and focused on not terrorizing random people and destroying property; Zatanna was left with crowd control. Too many people were still in the immediate area and thus in danger. Which meant Cap couldn't go full out still. And that was beginning to grate on his nerves a little.

People in future had no self preservation. They just hung around with their camera phones recording things and twittering about it. Back in the war everyone knew their place. Even if they weren't a soldier. They all did their part to make everyone safer. But now it was all Me, Me, Me.

"Kcab evom." He heard Zatanna finally snap out. The woman raised her hands and the nearby crowd was forced backwards away from Cap and Carl. Which unfortunately alerted the villain to her presence. Without missing a beat Creel lashed out with his weapon. He easily slashed at Cap with the excess chain, striking him across the shield. The force didn't force him back, but it successfully kept him from coming to Zatanna's aid.

Still, Zatanna wasn't on the league for nothing.

"Tfel evom." Zatanna cried out, trusting her left hand towards the incoming ball. It tilted just ever so slightly and missed her, crashing into the concrete.

"Yvaeh teg." The woman continued pointing at the weapon as Creel jerked it out of the ground. The massive ball thudded back to the earth heavily as Cap advanced on the man.

"It's over Creel. Give up." Steve told Carl calmly.

"Never!" Creel cried as he gave another tug on the chain. His muscles bunched and the massive ball flew through the air straight into Cap. Steve was really beginning to get annoyed. Especially because the added weight of the ball sent him flying off his feet and down the street. Gone was nice guy Steve. Now it was time to just take the guy down. Hard. Steve was done with this.

"Zatanna." Steve grunted out as he stood. "Scenario Romeo."

The only confirmation that Zee heard was the fact that she lifted her arms and began to chant. Steve adjusted his shield and moved in on Creel.

Superman hovered through the city’s many buildings with Hawkeye clinging to his forearm. Of course, Barton being Barton he had refused to let Clark carry him or ride on his back. They grew closer and closer to the smoke and the sound of banging until finally Crushing Creel came into view. The crowds of people around the scene were pushed back by some force as Clark spotted the two superheroes on the scene. Superman felt his heart in his chest as he spotted Captain America. As of yet he’d avoided meeting the poster boy for Luthor’s Justice League but it seemed that was going to come to an end tonight. Superman was going to meet an American icon – the American icon. It took Barton a few seconds to make them out but when he did his annoyance was palpable.

"What the hell is going on? Is that… Captain America? Oh, for cripes sake, if Luthor’s toy soldiers have beaten us to the punch I am not going to be a happy man, Clark."

Clark shook his head with a smile.

"I didn’t see you offering to fly us here."

"And they’re struggling with Creel of all people."

As they grew closer to Creel, Captain America, and Zatanna, Clark descended and looked down to Barton with a serious look. If they were going to work alongside the Justice League then it was better that Clark did the talking. He couldn’t trust Clint not to put his foot in his mouth.

"Maybe you should let me handle this, Clint."

Barton laughed.

"Are you kidding me? And miss out on the fun? Don’t worry, Boy Scout, I think I’ve got this one."

He slipped free from Clark’s grip several stories higher than he ought to have and let loose a zip-line arrow that lodged itself in the building opposite Crusher Creel. In one smooth movement he used his bow to slide along it, slide between Creel and the chanting woman, reached for another arrow from within his quill and shot it into Creel’s steel chest. It puckered onto it and let a volt of electricity through Creel’s body that left him unaffected. As the electrical arrow whirred to a stop his metallic skin slid away and Creel’s body and limbs turned into pure electrical energy.

He looked to Barton with a smirk.

"Heh."

The smug look on Clint’s face disappeared and he looked towards Captain America and Zatanna with an apologetic look.

"I swear to God, I didn’t realise that would happen."

Creel extended one of his arms towards Zatanna’s and let loose a burst of electricity in her direction.

"Get down!"

Clark tackled the Justice Leaguer out of the way of the blast and the two of them tumbled onto some nearby dustbins to the side. Creel took aim at Hawkeye and Captain America, letting blast after blast of electricity loose towards them, whilst Clark gave Zatanna his and helped her to her feet.

Gotham City, United States

The vigilante of Gotham City had been called many names: The Dark Knight, The Caped Crusader, World's Greatest Detective. Many still believed Batman to be a monster. A literal fusion of man and bat; a hulking creature straight from a criminal's worst nightmare. But tonight he was none of those things. Tonight, Batman was just a target.

A torrent of water fell form the overcast sky, mixing with the pool of blood at Deathstroke's feet. Bright red and blue lights illuminated the streets below. Slade quietly slid the Daito katana back into its sheathe on his hip. He stepped away from the edge of the rooftop, wanting to avoid being spotted by by the police. He looked at the dead SWAT sniper, a twinge of guilt eating away at what was left of his conscious. The officer appeared to be a former Marine, judging by the tattoo on his left bicep. Bryan Jennings was also a family man. He had two daughters and another on the way; he and his wife had been happily married for six years. The guy didn't even live in Gotham; his driver's license had him pegged as a Manhattan native. He must be here on transfer. Slade wondered what the last thing he said to his wife was. Had it been a loving goodbye after a tender embrace before he left for the most dangerous city in America? Or perhaps they had fought. One last shrill, screaming argument about Bryan's obsession with work. Maybe Mrs. Jennings had told him that, one day, his job would get him killed. There was so much you could learn from sifting through a man's wallet.

It was times like these that Deathstroke returned to a simple mantra he'd started using after his first mission with Team 7. "It's just business." He whispered to the corpse, before tossing the man's wallet next to his slit throat. When people say the killing gets easier, they're lying through their teeth. It doesn't. Not with the innocent, at least. When you take the life from a man who deserves it, his crimes overshadow the guilt. But this man? He was doing what he did best: fighting for the next paycheck so that he could feed his family. He and Slade were alike in that respect. Wilson took this job for his family. A hundred million dollars was more than enough to give Rose the life she deserved. It was also all Deathstroke needed for the search for his son. Grant was still out there. Slade could feel it in his very bones. But Ravager would have to wait.

Slade had a rodent to catch.

The Terminator leaped from the roof and landed with a quiet thud on the sidewalk below. His specialized Promethium-weave boots contained microscopic traces of Vibranium, which helped absorb sound and lessen the impact of long falls. Slade dashed across the rain-covered streets and into a nearby alleyway. He caught a glimpse of the bright neon side on the front of the building before he vanished around the corner. The Firefly Club was just another seedy nightclub in the Bowery; nothing special about it. His arrival during a police raid hadn't been happenstance, however. Slade was looking for muscle and helping the gangsters that ran the join escape Blackgate was the quickest way to any thug's heart in Gotham.

Getting inside wasn't any trouble. Deathstroke kicked the backdoor open, snapping the lock in half with relative ease. A place like this wouldn't have an alarm, so he didn't have to worry about that. Slade bent his knees in a half crouch and moved cautiously inside. The hallway he was in, as well as the neighboring rooms, were all empty. Gunshots rang out from the front of the club and the mercenary chose to pick up the pace. He instantly recognized the smell of alcohol and piss as he peeked his head around yet another corner. At the end of the hall was a man dressed in what could only be described as rags. In one hand he held two empty syringes, and in the other a half-finished bottle of whiskey. The mercenary made his way past the poor sod and finally arrived at the entrance to the main dance floor and bar. The sounds of violence hadn't stopped, but they had died down some what.

The door burst open and a pair of kunai shot forth from Slade's fingers and into the tracheae of two SWAT officers. Another four were scattered around the main room. From Deathstroke's count, over two dozen people were sat in the middle of the club. Most of them were in handcuffs but a few still had their hands free; the cops probably hadn't gotten to them yet. Slade moved with such speed and ferocity that it appeared, for a moment, that two more of the armored cops had simply exploded into a shower of blood. The Terminator was already on top of a third officer, his Katana in one hand and Wakizashi in the other as he sliced off the man's limbs and stabbed him through the heart. The final SWAT trooper began firing his weapon at random in the general direction of Slade. He risked hitting the civilians with ricocheting bullets; there was no time to be fancy about this. In one smooth move, Wilson removed one of his pistols and shot the panicked cop square in the eye. He'd practiced that move a thousand times. It was all muscle memory at this point.

The final SWAT member dropped to the floor, his body convulsing as his muscles went limp. Six. Six more innocent men made to die. You'd better be worth it, Batman.

There were another five police officers and a detective on the second floor. He could hear them moving back downstairs now. Deathstroke bent at his knees and jumped, grabbing hold of the railing of the balcony above. He swung backwards and landed on his feet, directly behind the unaware squad of do-gooders. If you could call Gotham cops do-gooders. Slade shot forward like a bullet and struck the first SWAT member with a knife hand strike to the throat. He didn't wait long enough for the man to drop before ramming a powerful knee into one of his companions. In one fluid motion, Deathstroke unleashed a perfect back kick into a third officer's chest. The two men were sent flying off their feet. By now, the detective and the other two SWAT team members had gotten turned around and were flipping their safeties off. Slade darted forward once more. He started with a quick right jab to the first officer's shoulder, shattering the bone. He followed up by stepping back and slamming the same elbow into the second's collarbone, breaking it apart like it was made of glass. The Terminator turned with the grace of a dancer and headbutted the detective right in the nose.

Some time later, Deathstroke stood before the crowd of scum and miscreants. He had allowed all truly neutral parties to leave and kept the surviving police as hostages. "How many of you want fifty million dollars?" Slade asked. The following shouts told him that most of them were fond of money. "That's what I thought. For one night, if you follow me, I can guarantee you all the payoff of a lifetime. We're going to capture the Batman. Alive. We'll split the reward fifty/fifty. Considering that I'll be doing all the work, that seems pretty generous. Now, here's how we'll do it..."

Bludhaven
Avalon Hills

He walked out the front door like he owned the place.

A plastic Target bag swung back and forth as he walked, the outline of a man's face pressed against the translucent walls. The faint hum of police sirens was on the wind, still a distance away as the boy approached the rented Volvo that was parked on the street in front of the home. Walking around to the back of the car, the child threw open the trunk to reveal a large Coleman ice chest inside the boot. Popping the top on the ice box, the boy slung the head down into the chilled chest before shutting the lid and then dropping the trunk.

♪...I'm a devious degenerate defender of the devil shut down all the trash compactors on the detention level.... My backpack's got jets... I'm Boba the Fett...♪

Head swaying from side to side, the boy mouthed in time to the rhythmn of MC Chris' rapping the chorus as he pulled open the passenger door and hopped into the back of the car.

His head snapped to the right sharply.

Good job, Damian... Well done, Damian... Excellent work, Mister al Ghul.

Yeah, that shit wasn't happening.

The stinging sensation didn't kick in for a few seconds after he'd been slapped. Defiantly, the boy brought his seething green eyes -- emeralds aglow with the baleful light of hell's fire -- up at the woman in the niqab who sat in the driver's seat. In many cultures, looking someone in the eye was a sign of aggression.

The boy's head snapped to the left with the backhand, the taste of blood hitting his tongue. She was yelling at him in Arabic. About how he took too long. About how he was lazy. Undisciplined. About the difference between a killer and an assassin. Or something about finesse, whatever. He really couldn't have said at that point. He was just staring up at the roof of the car and not really listening anymore.

As the car rolled away from the house, the boy slid over until he'd flopped over across the back seat. Watching the lights as they passed through the windows. His lips moving as he mouthed the question, Am I alive?

Reaching into his pocket, the boy pulled out the small MP3 player that supplied music to the ear buds propped into his ears. With a flick of his thumb, the child turned up the music until the world just seemed to drown out behind the noise.

Central City, Missouri
11:20 PM

Lenny Snart lay on the bed in nothing but his underwear. Michelle Rory stood in front of him with two stacks of hundred dollar bills in both her hands. Snart's grin was wide as his face.

"Count it again, baby," he asked Rory.

"Twenty-five million, six hundred thousand, four hundred and seventy-eight dollars and twelve cents."

"Divde that by six."

"Four million, two hundred and sixty-six thousand, seven hundred and forty-six dollars and thirty-five cents."

25,600,478.12

That was the total amount of cash the Rogues stole from Lawson Savings & Loan, every single dollar was money earned by the Top's midwestern criminal empire. And now, every single one of those dollars was theirs. This was the score of a lifetime, even divided up evenly among the six of them it was more money than any of them had ever seen. When he was a kid, Snart was lucky to have five bucks. He was always hungry with never any money to buy food. And now? Well, one of Rory's first acts after cracking open the safety deposit boxes was to light up a cigarette with a hundred dollar bill. They were that rich.

"I love you," Snart said as Rory climbed on to the bed.

"I think you're just after me for my money..."

"You're right," he said as he pulled her into him. "The only thing better than four million is eight."

A thump from outside the bedroom made them both look up. A few moments later, they were out in the hallway after dressing in a hurry. Mirror Master rode a golden segway through the hall of their flophouse hideout, his mask off and remenants of cocaine on his upper lip.

"McCullough!" Snart hissed. He laid down a layer of ice in front of the segway. The scooter lost traction and banged against the wall, sending McCullough to the floor where he landed hard on his ass.

"Dickhead!" McCullough cried.

Snart was on him, pulling him up and pushing him against the side of the wall.

"What did I say after we split the take-up? Don't buy stupid shit. A golden segway and blow, the fuck are you thinking?"

"I'm just following Boomerang's lead! Look outside."

Parked outside was a bright yellow Hummer with flames painted on the side, platinum spinner wheels, and "Boomer!" written on the hood in flames.

"Oh, my fucking god," Rory said under her breath.

"Hey, guys!" Digger said from inside the Hummer. "Watch this!"

The Hummer began to bounce up and down on hydraulics while Boomerang blasted heavy metal. Snart put his heads in his hands while Rory just shook her head and put a hand on Snart's neck.

"Len... we just committed the biggest bank robbery in history... with the world's dumbest criminals."

"Hey, guys," Rhino called from the kitchen. "I bought a bunch of Faberge eggs... but there ain't no eggs inside. I've cracked about three of them so far and there ain't anything coming out..."

----

Lawson, Missouri
2:29 AM

The back door opened. The sheriff's deputy squinted in the darkness at the two men. Johnny Frost stared straight ahead at the cop while Dean Swarbrick smoked. The deputy spat on the ground before nodding.

"Can't smoke in here, so put it out before you come inside."

Swarbrick flicked his smoke away and followed the cop inside. The sheriff's department was a buzz of activity even this late at night, but none of the local cops looked up as the two hitmen walked through the office towards an interrogation room. A gray-haired man in a rumpled suit was waiting for them inside.

"You're the guys?"

"We sure are, sheriff," Frost said. "You know all that we need from you?"

The sheriff nodded and tapped the table in the room. A thick manila folder was resting there on the table.

"Hot off the presses. It has all the paperwork on the case. Your employer is paying me good money, but the best I can do is a half hour alone with it, that should be plenty of time to read it. State police were here all day along with some Central City cops. The FBI is coming tomorrow, so I can't have you all hanging around here when they show up."

"We'll be quick," said Swarbrick. "Thank you, sheriff. Our boss thanks you as well."

The sheriff grunted and walked out. Swarbrick and Frost sat down at the table and began to pour over the police incident report of that day's bank robbery. Pictures, eyewitness accounts, narrative reports from officers and even Missouri W&E employees who responded to the power outage.

"No way," Frost said as he slid one of the reports to his partner. "Look at this: People inside the bank and a few of the cops mention an asshole with a boomerang and an Australian accent."

"Harkness," they both said at the same time.

"How did that little cockroach pull this off?" Swarbrick asked.

"He had help," said Frost. "Who he had help from, I don't know. But Harkness was involved, and we know how to find him."

Aquaman stood atop the cliff overlooking the sea. Out in the middle of the water was a single cargo ship floating stagnant. They were bringing thousands of tons worth of trade to the Boston Harbor when the S.O.S signal was called in over two hours ago. Arthur was only made aware of the call thirty minutes ago. Mera had asked to come with him but Arthur refused. He wanted to get away for awhile. He enjoyed being a part of the Justice League and Mera was starting to make him feel special but the surface world was beginning to wear on him with its endless politics. It was one of the many things that Atlantis and the surface had in common. Out here in the open sea, neutral territory, he felt free.

He looked out towards the sea. The ship was filled to the brim with cargo containers of many different sizes and colors. He raised his head to the sky and pulled his trident out of the rock he had struck it in. He placed his hands above his head and dove the two hundred foot drop into the water with the trident extending beyond his head. He struck the water silently and was instantly refreshed. Before he knew it he was easily one hundred feet below sea level.

Something about the environment around him felt off however. He could not detect any marine life along the entire shoreline. He propelled himself towards the boat at an incredible speed. As he got closer the waves grew quieter. A knot was forming in his stomach. He had not felt this sensation in several years.

He reached the ship within seconds. The water around him smelt like blood. A quick survey of his surroundings showed no bodies however, human or otherwise. Still no marine life dared approach the area. He pulled himself up the port side ladder with trident in hand. As soon as he was standing on the deck dripping with water the stench of death overwhelmed him.

With his guard raised he slowly crept further into the ship, the cargo containers were like a never ending labyrinth of logos and metal. Arthur turned each corner with his trident raised. He discovered a trail of blood leading to the center of the ship as if someone, or something, was dragging bodies together. Finally he reached the center of the boat. He was immediately repulsed, dozens of bodies were piled up in a mountain of severed limbs. A dark pool of blood covered the deck like a liquid tarp.

"Dear God." Arthur spoke to himself. He began to step toward the bodies. Then he heard a screech. He turned around to see a black skinned creature leaping at him from atop the mountain of containers. He lifted his weapon and pierced the beast through the chest. It was large and humanoid but it looked malformed. Its fish-like scales offered little protection against his weapon as the monster was impaled sending a gush of salty tasting blood dripping into Arthur's mouth. Something about the creature looked familiar.

"Gah!" He heard another yell from behind him. One of the creatures bit into his right shoulder with its razor sharp teeth. It barely pierced his orange Atlantean scale armor but it did not breach his skin. With a grunt he threw the creature over his shoulder and stomped on its head. It squished like a melon.

"You creatures sure are ugly." He said as he turned around to stab another fish man. It fell to its knees and finally Arthur recognized his foe. The Trench. "Where are the survivors?" He yelled at the two other beasts approaching him. He knew the question would receive no answer but he was desperate to find something. To save someone.

The creatures only screamed again as several more joined their brethren. With a battle cry of his own Aquaman charged.

---

Abandoned Roxxon R&D Facility,
Secret Interior,
One Tearful Confession Later

Even without Shrike's information this place would have been easy enough for Marc Spector to find eventually. A layer of dust disturbed more recently than the rest around a cabinet of old lab supplies, the slight scent in the air of oxidizing metal when the surfaces around it were stainless steel and clean of rust, hairline seams in the floor and wall where the cabinet itself would slide aside. They all told him at a moment's notice that this room contained a secret passage, a thick reinforced vault door hidden behind the cabinet in question. Shrike had given him the combination, so he could easily open the door nice and quietly as his Shadow Walk concealed him from Milo until he was right behind the scientist likely busy in his lab, apprehend him quickly and quietly for questioning before he even knew anyone was here like a true Ghost of the Moon.

But where's the fun in that?

He could sense the light of the full moon filling him with power and the night air thrumming with Khonshu's delight as he placed his hands upon the slightly protruding sides of the door, braced himself and wrenched with all his might. With a scream of tortured metal the thick steel door first warped then tore away entirely in a small explosion of plaster and debris, hoisting it above his head before turning and tossing it across the room accompanied by a thunderous boom. The sudden growling and whining of threatened but very real wolves met his ears as he rushed down the passage and he moved through a laboratory area filled with the poor starving animals in cages, though more unusually also a steel, restraint-covered table and a circle of silver in the floor inlaid with various symbols Khonshu told him were of mystical significance. Paying little heed to these strange clues for the moment he crumpled a thinner steel security door with first a shoulder ram, then a well placed side-kick.

Milo was there, had heard him coming because that was the idea, shaking like a leaf in a gale and with an acrid stain slowly spreading across his pants as he cowered under a desk. Moon Knight kicked the desk over in a crash of oak splinters and hauled the bowl-cut-bearing scientist up by the lab-coat.

"Listen Milo, I've had a long night so let's make this simple. My name is Moon Knight and you're going to tell me everything you know about this little werewolf project or I'm going to break your legs, open all of those cages and leave you here."

"P-P-Please, don't kill me! I work for hire, it was only a job! I have no idea what they plan to do with it!"

"Who!?"

Then it all poured out in a rush of babbled information. Apparently his bladder wasn't the only thing Milo lost control of when he was afraid.

"I-I never saw faces or heard names I swear! It started with an email and a wire transfer, saying there would be a whole lot more if I accepted the commission to create werewolves to their specifications. What else was I supposed to do? I work in New York, I've taken stranger requests! But once the serum was complete they started demanding tests! So I found that paralyzed former Decathalon star, Lupus! I told him the serum would restore his body to working order, that he'd be the next Olympic Gold Medalist! I never predicted the effects it would have on his psyche, the enhanced aggression, the drive to kill! I-I-I told them we needed to stop, refine the process at the least! But they just demanded I make more instead, sent that hired gun Killer Shrike to make sure I did the job and they got the shipments on time! Please, just don't kill me, that's all I know I swear!"

Mentally, Moon Knight sighed in frustration. It was clear that Milo was a pawn, unless he had trained himself to dilate his pupils, shake, sweat and piss on command to fool interrogators and ruin their boots. Still, he needed to press him. He couldn't let this night turn up empty, especially if the Werewolf Serum and the perpetrators were still out there.

"I need something to work with Milo. I'm getting impatient and the wolves look hungry."

"B-but I already told you every-Wait! How could I forget! They used a name for their organization once! The Committee! They called themselves The Committee!"

It was at least something. Moon Knight threw Milo through the wrecked doorway and onto the restraining table, then crossed the threshold and strapped him in before he could react. He searched for a moment to retrieve a few leftover syringes of the Werewolf serum for analysis, then turned to walk out.

"W-wait, what about the wolves! What if they get out of their cages?"

"Don't worry dear Professor. I'm certain they have better taste than that."

Once outside again, Moon Knight spoke into the headset in his cowl-covered helmet.

"Frenchie, you there?"

Marc Spector's eternal companion answered, albeit proceeded by a yawn. Marc had gotten used to his friend's thick accent over the years, and even slurred by the need for sleep he hardly noticed it, though he sometimes wished the same could be said for his fellow ex-mercenary's sense of humor.

"Of course, Marc. You know the doctors all say I have insomnia. They would eat their stethoscopes if only they knew I was only trying to keep up with the sleeping habits of a dead man, no?"

"Frenchie-"

"I've told you before Marc, I'm funnier in French. Now what do you need?"

"A lift back to base in the Mooncopter for one. The Angelwing got shut down during a little skirmish with our old friend Simon Maddicks."

Spector could hear the questions in Frenchie's voice, but he knew better than to delay things.

"You should stop playing so rough with your toys Marc, eventually we won't be able to fix them. What else?"

"Bring Lupus here, then Contact Detective Flint through the usual channels. Tell him Mr.Knight left him three more for the Loony Bin tonight, and make sure he brings animal control with him."

"Animal control? Did you have difficulty trying to catch a stray again? You know Marlene won't let you keep dogs in the mansion Marc."

"And you know that's not what happened, just come get me and make the call. Oh and while you're at it one more thing. I need you to set up a meeting with Amos Lardner. Ask him to get me everything he knows on a group calling themselves 'The Committee'."

---

One Of Any Nondescript Office Buildings
Dark Interior,
3:00 AM

In the boardroom of one particular office complex, a strange meeting occurred witnessed only by a few rare souls and the unblinking eye of the moon. Holographic images flickered in each chair at the table, created via projectors normally hidden under the floor. Though each image was quite distinct via clothing, body type and mannerisms, each had their faces obscured and their voices modulated so as to be largely unrecognizable. One image spoke first, one in an immaculate black suit with a smooth basso of a voice.

"The Committee Will Come To Order!"

The rest of the figures repeated the phrase in turn, each bowing their heads momentarily before the black suited man continued.

"Ladies and Gentleman of The Committee, I know you are all wondering why I have called this emergency meeting at this late hour and many of you have been inconvenienced, so I shall not keep you in suspense. Project Úlfhéðnar has been discovered and the production side has been shut down. In addition Technomancer has been captured by the police along with Killer Shrike and our first Werewolf. We are in effect unable to produce any more of Technomancer's serum."

A woman in a red dress and broad brimmed hat spoke up next, obviously concerned.

"Who was it that defeated them? The Justice League? The Spider-Men? Daredevil? Shrike was hardly our best or most trusted, but certainly a competent agent..."

The black-clad man spoke again

"None of them. Our sources within the New York City police department tell us that it was someone called 'Moon Knight'. As I am the one in charge of our New York operations, I'll be dealing with him though I doubt it was more than a fluke. Besides, he has hardly compromised even a fraction of our real plans. Wolf, as things will have to be accelerated where do we stand on Project Úlfhéðnar's readiness for full deployment?"

A somewhat bestial figure was the next to reply with a growl in his voice, though it was mellowed by surprisingly cultured overtones

"Dear little Professor Milo gave us plenty of his concoction before he was captured, and my warriors are training even now. We need only run a few more tests."

The black suited figure nodded in acknowledgement

"Excellent. Meanwhile I shall dispense of this 'Moon Knight'. Perhaps he would be a good candidate to test another of our supernatural weapons in due time. Worry not fellow members for sooner or later this new interloper will fall, our existence will be secret once more and then: The World Will Come to Order!"

The statement was greeted by a chorus of agreement and then the holograms faded, leaving the room once more empty with only the moon for its' light.