[i]Collab with [@MrDidact][/i]

[b]THE WATCHTOWER[/b]

Vigilante stepped out into the hall, his respects paid. Almost time for the conference. He picked up his pace slightly, his spurs jangling on the metal deck as he strode through the halls. He was surprised by the sound of combat boots falling into step beside him. Vig looked at the newcomer, staring back at him. "Something I can do for you, partner?" Vig asked casually.

The other man was clad in a modern combat suit, ceramic plating from down the neck, steel grey with a red V emblazoning the chest piece. Two machine pistols rode on hip holsters. The man had a scar running down the side of his face, a day's worth of dark stubble, and the eyes of a hardened soldier. The man's mouth quirked up in a smirk that bordered on a sneer, "Just admiring those sixguns. Beautiful pieces. A little old-fashioned though." He tapped his own pistols for emphasis. 

Vigilante shrugged. "Well, if'n more than twelve desperadoes come at me all it means is that I'm gonna have to reload." He had a look over the other fella's full-auto pistols. The two men were roughly the same age, but it was clear they came from different eras. 

The man held out his hand as they walked through the halls, "Dorian Chase. But you can call me Vindicator." The two had been present at several League functions and meetings before, had heard of each other, but they had never actually spoken. The Vindicator had a reputation for being hard-handed. He was one of Magog's close compatriots. Young Leaguers with the same power as their forebears but not near so many ethical compunctions in how they used it. He spent much of his time fighting the militarized crime syndicates in Gotham. 

Vig shook the offered hand. "Glad to know you, Vindicator. I've heard you've done some good work up in Gotham, hit some of the satellite gangs from the same cartels I've been fighting. Maybe we could trade some notes sometime, might be able to help each other out." It was a preemptive olive branch- even though they had only just met Vig was beginning to be rubbed the wrong way. It was more than a difference in style, it was a difference in ethics. But Vig had known a lot of loners that ended up dead- it was just practical to make sure someone had your back, and if even a grudging respect would help that then might as well be civil. 

Vindicator chuckled at that, "I heard you got quite the deadeye. Me, I always like to be sure. If I'm putting someone down, they're going down and they're never getting back up." Dorian drew one of his pistols from the holster quick as lightning, flipped it in his hand theatrically and holstered it again, "Maybe we oughta have a friendly competition sometime." The other marksman smiled again, but there was nothing friendly about the expression. Though Vindicator smiled at Vigilante, there was a hard edge to his gaze and a firmness in his grip that belied the superficially friendly greeting, "Heard about what happened in Chihuahua. Loud, but it got results. Nice work in taking down Bloodsport and getting the intel to knock that place out. A shame he had to come back though. Would have been the perfect chance to knock that scumbag off the board. Don't know how you restrained yourself. Especially after seeing all the sick shit those fuckers were up to."

When they shook hands, Vindicator gripped a bit too tightly and a bit too long before finally withdrawing, "Yeah, nasty bastards along the border. But they're just as nasty in Gotham. I'd be happy to share intel though. Anything that could give me a leg up. And I've been told I need to take a vacation. Always wanted to go down south. Ever find your way to Gotham, drop me a line. We'll paint the town red." Vindicator smirked mirthlessly. 

The hallway begin to full with other people making their way to the conference room, people of all shapes and sizes clad in all the colors of the rainbow. Some walked, some took advantage of the high ceilings and drifted overhead. "Well, Vindicator, I won't pretend I've got clean hands. But I've never killed a man that didn't need to be dead. Bloodsport has been more valuable singing his heart out in the poke on this here Watchtower for the last few days than he's been in all the years since he was born. Besides," he said with a shrug, "I may be a killer but I'm not a murderer. I'll kill to save a life, sure. But not for revenge or out of anger or just because I feel like it. Start up with that kind of thing and you're going up a muddy slope, my friend, you fall more than you climb."

Chase seemed to relax somewhat when others started to join them in the hallway, but there was still a restrained intensity to his movements and bearing that killed any chance of real calm. Vindicator replied, "You've got a code. I can understand that. I have one too. Hell, some of those criminals got one. But they don't fight with one arm tied behind their back like a lot of us do. That's why they're still around and we're playing clean up. We've got to step up our game. Or we won't have the luxury of debating ethics. As for mud... well I got good traction on these." Vindicator chuckled as he stomped along in his boots.

Vindicator looked as if he was going to say more when familiar faces appeared in the crowd and gestured to Vigilante. A tall young woman with long blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes in a blue star-spangled get up smiled at Vigilante. Next to her was a woman who looked much the same, but with a mature edge to hear appearance and bearing. It could be no other than Jackie Rothstein, the hero known as Skygirl and daughter of Courtney Whitmore and Albert Rothstein, the Atom Smasher. Courtney herself was dressed in civilian clothes, having given up Stargirl and taken up the mantle of STRIPE after giving the Cosmic Rod to Michael Knight, the new Starman. 

With them were Green Arrow along with James Travis, the newest Crimson Avenger and son of the first Avenger's successor Jill and his sidekick Wing. Rounding out the group was a handsome golden-haired man in gleaming armor with draconic symbolism. Sir Justin, the Dragonknight, who descended from both Sir Brian Kent the Silent Knight and Ystina the Shining Knight. All of them were veteran members and team leaders in the Justice League and were therefore qualified to attend the meeting. All of them were likewise descendants of members of the Seven Soldiers of Victory and had been known to each other all their lives. Jackie came up to Vigilante and hugged him tightly, "Vig! It's great to see you. Why does it take bad news for us to see each other? C'mon you should sit with us."

Vigilante could tell something about Vindicator was just off. The man was far too tightly wound. Certainly he was under a lot of pressure, they all were. But if a man like Vindicator cracked, then things in Gotham would get ugly. He privately resolved to keep an eye out- not that he needed more work, especially babysitting, but somebody had to do it. Invisible under his bandanna, his mouth split into a grin as Jackie greeted him with a hug. "Jackie! It's been too damn long, sister." They had known each other before ever contemplating a life of heroics, all of the descendants of the Seven Soldiers had kept in close contact even outside of the yearly reunions. He and Jackie had been particularly close- back in their teenage years she had been the first person he came out to when they both had crushes on the same boy. His smile widened as he saw the others- Robert, Justin, James, and of course the oldest of the bunch, Courtney. Hugs and handshakes were traded. "This is wonderful," he said as he took a seat. "Hell, we just need to pick up another one person and we got ourselves a new Seven Soldiers. Wonder if the brass would even let us do that." Jake Leong, the Vigilante, leaned back contentedly. "I think Greg would be happy to see that. Might sound weird, but for some reason I think Wesley Dodd would too."

Vindiactor nodded at his fellow Leaguers, addressing them and greeting them by name cordially if without any real warmth. He nodded at Vigilante one last time and said, "Be seeing you cowboy. Next time, maybe I'll get to see those guns in action." Dorian Chase cocked an imaginary pistol at Vigilante with a smirk and walked off. He made a beeline for Magog and other members of the "New Breed" such as 666, Deadeye, Tokyo Rose, Shiva, Manotaur, and Trix. They were young, brash, headstrong, and deadly and they were fast becoming one of the more influential cliques in the JL's ranks. Especially now with the invasion of Thailand. Magog was already butting heads with Jon Kent and Damian Wayne. If the New Breed had their way, it'd be all-out war against the Legion of Doom and the Shiruta Pact. And anyone else who got in the League's way. 

Robert grinned, "Still sporting the old duds I see. Even my dad traded in the Robin Hood getup eventually. Heck, even Justin rocks a space-age exoskeleton with that magic sword of his. You haven't changed a bit Jake." Jackie smiled, "Exactly. And he never should."
Courtney smiled in a motherly expression to Jake and nodded as she took a seat, "I could take it up with the higher-ups. We could always tap Michael Knight. Or Roy Harper if he wasn't busy with the Academy. Or maybe even one of the Queen kids when they get out of training. Or your sister, Robert." Robert smirked, "We could fill out the whole team if we were including my family. Maybe we should ask that guy you were with Jake. Could use something new in the dynamic." He chuckled, amused with himself. 

The chatter died down when the Seven entered the room. Jon Kent, Damian Wayne, Lyta Prince, Arthur Orin Curry II, Don Allen, Kai-Ro, M'yri'ah J'onnz. The flagship team, the premier heroes of the generation to succeed Superman and his peers. They had been chosen by their comrades and colleagues when the original Seven stepped down to background roles. But it was undeniable that they lineages had played a decisive role in their selection, potent powers and experience being something of an afterthought.That had caused no small amount of controversy and competition among members of the League. Especially those that favored Dawn Allen or one of the Hawks or Arrows or countless other lineages. But through the years, the new Seven had more than proven themselves as worthy successors.

There were low murmurs when Luthor entered the room and sat with Roy Harper, the second Katana, Offspring, and others. Luthor had a much harder uphill battle in the reputation game. Many of the traditionalists distrusted him. And many of the New Breed thought he was just like the traditionalists. He found company in the League's outsiders and the most open-minded. Eventually the hubbub died down as members like Oracle and Nightwing and those of their ilk took their places. But there was a stunned silence when the original Seven entered. They had all aged to some extent, some much less so than others, but they all still looked hale and healthy. And most of all powerful and formidable. Age and experience had give them even more luster, not less. Why they were here at what had seemed to be a meeting only for active veterans and team leaders was unknown to most. 

Superman, officially Kal-El but still known to all as that name took the center stage. He had barely aged a day. His blue eyes were clear, there was only a hint of silver in his night black hair. The biggest difference was that he had traded in the cape for Kryptonian raiment, black to suit the mournful occasion. He took a moment, everyone in the room waiting for him to speak with bated breath. Finally he said, "Thank you all for coming. Some of you I have fought with for decades, since we were young and brash and naive. Some of you I helped train. Some of you trained me. Some of you I saw born. Others I shook hands with when you joined our ranks as heroes in your own right. All of you I know, and normally I would celebrate the occasion to see you all again. But we gather today in dark times. One of our oldest friends has died. And I know there have been many rumors, but three things are true."

Kal-El looked over the room, making eye contact with several, "One, someone murdered Wesley. Two, we don't know who did it. And three, they will face the full weight of the Justice League and they will pay the consequences. Wesley will be laid to rest."

Bruce Wayne, silver haired, spoke up then, "An attack on one of us is an attack on all of us. And we will not rest until that coward is found and taken in. I'm forming an investigative group now and in the meantime, security will be tripled. All members and their dependents are invited to relocate to embassies or Astrapolis if they feel at risk." 

Queen Diana said, "And with the invasion of Thailand, it is clear that the Legion of Doom is no longer content to just wage this war in the shadows while still claiming plausible deniability. They take they can get away with their barbarism and cruelty. We will prove them wrong. We will not declare war at this point. But make no mistake. We will strike back. Mexico proved that we need to act. A task force to begin actively countering the Legion's activities is being formed. Those interested in joining will speak to the field commanders."

There was a determined air to the room. The Justice League was shaken by recent events but the words of their Founders steeled their resolve, motivated them to do whatever it would take to see through the storm to come. But at the same time, there seemed to be something else in the air. An unease that many felt but could not explain. There was bad news. Diana said, "What I will say next will not leave this room until the time is right. No government authorities or media organizations are aware of this. You cannot tell those under your command. You cannot tell your families. Until a thorough investigation is carried out, you must all remain silent. Understood?" 

They all nodded in affirmation. Kal-El looked at Bruce. Bruce, one of the toughest and hardiest in the League, seemed his usual self on first glance. But the keenly observant and those who knew him could recognize the tightness in his fists, the hard edge in his eyes. He was troubled. And it was with hesitation that he came forward and said, "It is too soon to draw definitive conclusions. But it appears that Flamebird has been compromised by Deathstroke and the Legion of Doom." Albert Luthor cast his eyes down, Nightstar fought to hold back tears. Those who knew did their best to avert their eyes from those who did not know, which was the majority of the room. The reactions ran the gamut from the disbelieving to the shocked and uncomprehending. Some seemed as if they had been physically punched in the gut, so strong was their surprise. 

Bruce stared ahead, his eyes dry but his voice heavy, "My grandson.... James is a murderer. And we have to stop him."

Vig sat stunned, even as Robert poked his arm and whispered something- the words were lost on him. Flamebird had turned. James Grayson himself. One of the brightest stars in the League's firmament. They had only ever met briefly, in passing, but the stories about the man were rapidly becoming legend. And somehow the Legion had gotten to him, turned his prodigious skill and talent against his parents, his family, his entire code of ethics. Not a dream, not a hoax, not an imaginary story. This was real and yet so unbelievable, this was like Will Kane throwing his tin star on the ground and teaming up with Frank Miller.

This was so much to absorb, too much. Where moments before he had felt the warm glow of camaraderie, Vigilante felt fear gnawing at his stomach. This Cold War was rapidly getting hot.