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Very well, where do I begin?

My father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery. My mother was a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet.

My father would womanize, he would drink. He would make outrageous claims like he invented the question mark. Sometimes he would accuse chestnuts of being lazy. The sort of general malaise that only the genius possess and the insane lament.

My childhood was typical. Summers in Rangoon, luge lessons. In the spring we'd make meat helmets. When I was insolent I was placed in a burlap bag and beaten with reeds - pretty standard, really. At the age of twelve, I received my first scribe. At the age of fourteen a Zoroastrian named Vilma ritualistically shaved my testicles.

There really is nothing like a shorn scrotum... it's breathtaking. I highly suggest you try it.

Most Recent Posts

Since I've been wrapped up with the Batman/Superman crossover, I just want to give a huge thanks to both @Byrd Man and especially @Morden Man for making this MME even better than I could've hoped for and picking up my slack. Not to mention the rest of you for your stellar A-game work in bringing things to a head and raising the stakes to epic proportions.

Reading these individual posts hasn't felt like I'm reading someone writing in an RP - they've felt like I've been reading an actual event comic book, complete with twists and turns that I never even saw coming. And I have been reading every one of them, even if I haven't gotten around to liking them all. Rest assured, thanks to all of your collective talents, this season is ending with a bang.

Since we're roughly a little over 24 hours away from the end, who here wants the coveted final post of the season? I personally don't wish to hog it for myself, as Batman's end is going to be very Gotham centric and I want things to end pretty straightforward with The Surfer, so I figured I might aswell ask if anyone wants to be the showstopper tomorrow.

And no, Wraith, you can't make the final post of the season a sex scene. We have to end on somewhat of a dignified note.
Well, maybe if someone didn't decide to become a damn cop right as Season Two was starting, they wouldn't find themselves in this predicament.

Also, the Season Two OOC thread and Interest Check will launch on the 1st. The IC will launch a week later, making it's start date October 7th.


"Tell Lois Lane--.....well, I think she already knows," I say, before I take off, shooting up through the hole I'd made in the Stagg Enteprises building and into the night sky, on a collision course with the missile now heading towards the city.




Ripping open a panel that contains the motherboard of the central computer, I allow Ace to scan it's contents. There's no time to lose. With a nuclear warhead out there and Superman being the only hope of stopping it, there's alot that I'm forced to mentally rectify and move away from in order to focus. That press hound, Lex Luthor, being responsible for a plot that led to Winslow Schott becoming Toyman. Schott attempting to murder hundreds, and now millions of people through the creation of an artificial intelligence constructed of his madness. Superman and Toyman's exchange leading into the reveal that Superman is both not a metahuman, as all previously thought, but comes from another planet entirely. Making him an alien, something which has never been scientifically validated to exist. If it's true, intelligent life could exist on other worlds. It's not just a conspiracy theory anymore.

But I have to let it all go for the moment, because my worst case scenario just went from being very theoretical, even radical in theory, to being an immediate reality. Gotham could be hit by a nuke, annihilating it and everything on the Eastern Coast. Everyone that I've ever cared about could die in minutes. The war could come to a horrifying, abrupt end in which the best I could do to prevent a catastrophic loss of life was dismantle a couple of explosive toy cars. Gritting my teeth, I start ripping away panels of wires and attached circuitry and dig in. There has to be more that I can do. There will be a chance to stop this. I refuse to accept otherwise.

SO VERY SAD, YOUR FRIEND IS.

TO BELIEVE THERE'S

A WAY OUT

OF THIS.


"Ace, see if you can overload the systems that the Toyman A.I. is currently utilizing to remain active."

Attempting a breach now, Mr. Wayne.

As I reach for another set of wires, I notice my hand. It's trembling. Anxiety is taking over my body and rendering me that much more useless to this effort. My eyes close and I take a deep breath. Have to fight it, but it's hard. Truth be told, I don't know if I've ever been as scared as I am now. At least not since a particularly memorable night from my childhood. But the deaths of my parents, the nightmares and hallucinations that followed, the decisions that led to all of this, all that's come about as a result of being Batman, and everything I've done in the lead-up to this moment. It all comes rushing to me again, even more vividly than when I was nearly killed by Freeze. The struggles that I've had to endure rear their head at the most inopportune time imaginable.

There's apart of me that wants to call Alfred, in the event... in the event that Superman can't stop the missile. There's so much that I've left unsaid up to this point. So much that I could never properly express in the time allotted to me. The innumerable things that he's done for me over the years, the sacrifices he's had to make to allow me to begin this crusade in earnest. I've never had the heart to tell him this, but when I lost my true father, he made me feel as if I gained another. He never allowed me to sink into the pit of despair that the loneliness could have pulled me into. If it weren't for his guidance, I don't know what I would have turned out to be. But all that I want to do now is to make him proud. All that I've ever wanted to do, I suddenly realize, was make him and my parents proud.

If we all survive this, I'll become better. I'll be the hero that he wants me to be, instead of just thriving forward as the creature of the night that stalks the guilty and ignores the plights of the innocent. Something that Superman said earlier really struck a chord with me, about how I've turned Gotham as a whole into a city that fears the night instead of only it's tormentors. I deflected that criticism at first, but it's become clear to me that I'm not doing enough to bring about a sense of hope. Looking out for everyone's interests as Bruce Wayne is a decent start, but that isn't nearly enough.

Batman has to be something that isn't hated and feared either, despite what I was willing to let that side of myself become in order to remain effective in cultivating the fear of the Five Families. And fighting the police on a regular basis isn't helping alleviate anyone's opinion of me, as evidenced by what I've experienced tonight. I have to clear my name in regards to Harvey Dent. I need to end the corruption in the GCPD. But most importantly of all, I have to stop this from happening.

Because if I die having been only what I've become up to this point, I'll have lived a life void of meaning. The boy whose parents were taken from him at gunpoint would have only turned out to be a vicious, uncaring, unfeeling wraith upon the city that deluded himself into believing that he was trying to protect it. Batman was created as a construct to channel my rage, to allow me to vent all of the years of frustration with the city's failings. Every bone I've broken has been in outrage over the fact that nothing's become better. But that can't be my legacy anymore.

RESISTANCE IS POINTLESS.

MY TOYS ARE BETTER THAN YOURS.

THEY CAN PLAY EVERY GAME

THAT YOU CAN...

BUT BETTER.


Error. Toyman program is attempting to counter-breach.

Snapping myself out of it, I activate my wrist-mounted holoscreen and take a look at the finer details of what Ace's error message meant. Unfortunately, it appears that assertion was correct. I can see the foreign trace of Schott's program making it's way into my system's servers, attempting to corrupt everything inside with it's own strain of some sort of self-created virus. My safeguards are all simultaneously failing, and before long, I can see the visage of the marionette avatar that Schott created to outlive himself permeate a section of the screen.

"Ace! Rewrite the defensive programs! Keep him from getting in!"

Error. Too many functions compromised.

Error. Cannot complete requested action.

Error.

Error.

IT'S TOO LATE.

OUR PLAYDATE IS FINISHED,

BATMAN.


Dammit. I can't afford to shut Ace down, as he's my primary weapon against Toyman's A.I., but if I allow him to continue, he's going to end up as apart of Schott's malicious program. Destroying this equipment by itself wouldn't work, despite Superman's original impulse before leaving to stop the missile. If this A.I. truly has the reach to activate a cache of machines and weapons that are located as far as Metropolis, it can jump to another server with relative ease before anything can be shut down, permanently. Have to think of another strategy to prevent this.

"Ace..."

I prayed that I wouldn't have to ever do this. While I appreciated their help in stopping Freeze, there was no desire on my part to ever indulge this type of behavior or encourage someone to follow in my footsteps by actively breaking the law. But desperate times call for desperate measures, and this is the most desperate I've ever been.

"Contact Oracle."

Error. Cannot comply.

I grit my teeth.

"Contact Barbara Gordon!"

I've suspected for a number of weeks that Gordon's daughter was the mysterious hacker that penetrated my defenses and took control of my equipment in order to intervene on that night in The Narrows. It wasn't too far of a leap to make, in all honesty, due to how pressing the matter of Captain Gordon's perceived deception in the case against Harvey Dent's assassin was to Oracle. Sticking up for the Captain's merits so strongly could have only come from someone who cares for him, and looking into Gordon's file, I discovered that he had a wheelchair bound seventeen-year-old daughter who lost her mother, aswell as her mobility, to crime.

She now works for the GCPD as a mild-mannered filing clerk, but her records for aptitude in computer sciences at Brentwood Academy were more than enough evidence I need to deduce what she was doing with her talents. I just didn't want to admit to myself that I knew, in order to give myself plausible deniability. But we're way past such a thing.

Eventually, I can hear the ringing of a telephone. I breathe a brief sigh of relief. Even in Ace's compromised position, he was able to carry out one last command.

"Uh, hello? This is Barbara. Who is this?"

I make no attempts to downplay the seriousness of this matter in my tone.

"I need your help."

An immediate panic overwhelms her voice.

"Uuuuh... I don't know who this is, but you have the wrong number. Okay? I'm hanging up now."

"Barbara, you know exactly who this is and you know precisely why I'm calling this number. Or would you rather that I just send over the data I found in regards to how you spend your evenings?"

There's a pause, before an eventual sigh.

"Damn it. How did you---"

"It doesn't matter right now. Listen to me carefully."

Continuing to rip away protective panels of the massive central tower that's powering Toyman's A.I, I start to type a few manual commands into The Batcomputer. Ace isn't able to help me right now, so I have to do alot of the legwork on my own to keep Toyman from taking over completely. At least until Gordon can make her way in.

"Are you near a computer? This is an emergency."

"I'm, uh, on my laptop in my bedroom. It's hardly the GCPD server, but it should work."

"I don't need the police's mainframe for this. I need your expertise. There's a crisis happening and my equipment has been compromised. I need you to help me relinquish an artificial intelligence program from the influence of a powerful virus."

Another pause.

"That may be a bit above my level of knowledge. Have you tried shutting down your central programming and giving it a hard reboot?"

"I can't disconnect right now. There are too many lives that depend on this."

I can tell that she's nervous, unsure of whether she's up to the task. But this is the same young woman that managed to unlock a function of The Batcycle that neither I or Lucius Fox even knew existed, and exploit it's capabilities in order to save my life. If there's anyone I can trust to be able to do this, it's her.

"O-Okay. Just give me a minute to hack through your backdoor. I'll need to create a systematic wipe that I can trigger as I go along, to purge my own computer from getting infected and being shut out by the virus."

"Hurry. Time is a factor with this, and I don't know how much we have."

Within a minute, I can see the digital trace of Oracle's systems enter The Batcomputer. Ace's systems are in flux, and Toyman has nearly taken over. She's going to have to pull off one hell of a trick in order to get things to stabilize.

"Oh my god. This is alot worse than you were letting on. Batman, this is... there isn't a word for what I'm seeing right now! Whoever developed this is way smarter than me, I... I can't do this!"

"You can do this. Stay focused. I'll give you all the help that you need, but you have to do whatever you can. Trust me, Barbara. There's a reason I didn't turn Oracle in whenever I discovered the truth. You've got a gift for this that I can't imagine, and if we work together on this... there's nothing to say that we have to stop there."

It may be a futile gesture to appeal to her admiration of what I do, but it's all that I have to lean on. I can hear her taking a few deep breaths, before furiously typing at her own keyboard. Lines of code begin to formulate, then dissipate under Toyman's attack. She tries another set. Once again, it falters. I can hear her slam a closed fist against her desk, but she nevertheless gives it a third try. This time, the code that she inputs isn't immediately taken out. Infact, some of Schott's virus begins to loosen up.

WHAT IS THIS?

YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED

TO BRING IN ANOTHER

PLAYMATE!


"Okay, I've gotten a little bit of my bearings, but there's still so much to..."

"You're doing it. That's all that matters."

Removing a final panel that lies against the motherboard, I remove a miniature hard-drive expansion box that Waynetech developed and plug it in. Some of the wiring begins to spark, as if Toyman himself is resisting this from the outside, but I avoid the electrical output and take a step back. Unless I'm quick with this, he could potentially fry the device and lock both Barbara and myself out of the system.

"Ace! Can you hear me?"

Ack...

Acknowledged.

Feels... cold.

Can't... focus.

Am I dying, Mr. Wayne?

I stare back at the screen, quizzically.

It feels cold? It thinks it's dying?

What in the hell did Toyman's programming to do Ace?

"You... can't die. You're a piece of hardware. It isn't physically possible for you to experience anything beyond your primary functions. Whatever you think you're feeling, it's an illusion created by the virus. You need to accept that."

Hardware?

Hardware...

H-H-Hard...

Accept?

Accept...

A-A-Ac...

"Ace?!"

"It's no use. Your artificial program is too maligned to be able to do what it needs to do right now. We're on our own. But I think that the door that I opened just gave us a chance to fight back, if you're willing to follow my instructions."

Reluctantly, I comb through the master file for Ace and begin a system shutdown. I don't know if I can do this without it, but if Gordon thinks that we're able to fight back Toyman on our own, I have to put aside any reservations. I made the decision to come to her because of what she could offer. Now that she's offering her help to me, it'd be foolish to question it.

"Alright. I've shut it down. Now what do I need to... ARRGH!"

YOU HAVE MEDDLED IN THIS

FOR FAR TOO LONG.

YOU ARE BUT A TOY.

AND ANY TOY CAN BE BROKEN.


My systems are overloading. A piercingly loud screech echoes throughout my cowl, hitting a decibel that makes the lenses crack and explode off of my face. Temporarily blinded by the sensation, I fall to my knees in anguish, ripping at the material of the cowl itself to tear away as much of the circuitry that Toyman's attacking before it deafens me.

"Batman?!"

"Hang on!"

Removing my cowl entirely, I drop it to the ground and wince in pain as a circuit board embedded on the frontal plate explodes, melting away part of the front of the mask. The smell of burning leather and plastic fills the air, and Toyman cackles. If I had kept the cowl on just a bit longer, that could have been my face. He was trying to kill me, and Ace was the only thing stopping him from being able to do it.

"Dammit..."

Reaching inside the ruined cowl, I produce the earpiece inside and clip it to my ear in order to maintain a direct line to Barbara Gordon. Since the cowl's off, I'm going to have to mimic the distortion of the voice modulator built inside with my own voice in order to maintain my identity. Which sounds alot easier than it actually is.

"I'm back. Had a temporary setback, but I should be alright now."

"You, uh, sound different. Like you're doing a weird animal growl, or something. It's hard to understand you. Sure you're not hurt?"

Massaging the bridge of my nose, I force back the frustration of having to put upon something that was always provided for me electronically.

"I said I'm fine. Let's stick to the matter at hand. What do you need me to do to combat the virus?"

"Uh, yeah. About that. I have some news you're not gonna want to hear. The virus itself isn't the problem, it's the program that it originates from. You probably can't see it from your user interface, but something's attacking every single system that you have from an outside source. If we're going to beat this, we need to attack the source and shut that down in order to give your system it's stability back."

My eyes widen, looking back at the monitors displaying Toyman's artificial form.

"Is that possible?"

"Not if we sit around doing nothing about it. Do you happen to have access to a terminal that the main program is linked to?"

Rushing the terminal, I begin to try and type commands. But my hand reels back as a spark of electricity erupts, eventually revealing a current going across the entire system. It's not affecting the machinery itself, but it's certainly trying to protect it.

"Can't. The program's got a physical safeguard."

"Alright, then we do this the hard way. You start breaking anything you can, I'll start shutting down every trace of the program that attempts to escape to another server. That sound good to you?"

Allowing a smirk to cross my lips as I look up at Toyman, I begin to crack my knuckles.

"Ms. Gordon, that sounds more than acceptable."

I go to work, smashing my fist into the monitors, as does she by writing a number of codes into my systems, strengthening it's security and attacking the A.I. back. Little by little, what remains of 'Toyman' begins to falter, flanked from two sides in the physical and digital realm. Through it all, I try my best not to remember that if Superman fails, Gotham and everyone in it dies.

NO.

YOU CAN'T.

YOU CAN'T END

MY PLAYTIM---


*bliiip*





"Another trap. Can't say that I'm surprised.", Superman laments. "Listen, I've faced his machines before. Even if Winslow Schott was dead this entire time, he was a brilliant inventor and is definitely not to be underestimated. Stay on your guard."

Producing a few batarangs, I watch Superman's back as he begins his approach to the corpse. No telling what that less than subtle threat could've entailed, given that it seems that we're fighting a machine rather than a man. The marionette seems to watch him as he gets closer, giving off more than a threatening demeanor. I grip the batarangs even tighter, scanning the room for any possible traps that await us. Schott didn't leave anything to chance, as our respective sweep of the area confirmed. Whatever he once was, the so-called Toyman was clearly one thing when alive - paranoid beyond measure.

"Wasn't planning to let it down."



I calibrate my cowl to allow Ace to scan for any potential threats. But before he can reach Schott, I hear something moving above us and glance towards the ceiling. To my surprise, a set of steel doors thrust over it and cover the gigantic multi-level hole that Superman made through the building, effectively cutting off our only visible means of escape. Leaving nothing to chance, Clark immediately tries to fly up and smash his way through the thick shell casing that's now covering the walls. Only to be met with an unseen hand swiping him away, taking us both completely off guard.

"Superman!"

Flying backwards, revealing the room to be much more spacious than it originally appeared, the red and blue clad visage of Toyman's sworn enemy disappears into the darkness as something large descends upon him. Switching my lenses to their night-vision mode, I take off in a sprint forward as the picture becomes a bit clearer. The Man of Steel is being attacked by... Men of Steel, for lack of a better description. Two gigantic automatons that are being wirelessly controlled by Toyman's ghostly A.I.

SOME OLD FAVORITES

I BELIEVE YOU'VE MET

THEY CAME TO SEE

THE GAME

TO IT'S END


Superman gets to his feet quickly, his eyes glowing with that same red that I encountered in Grant Park, and blasts a massive energy beam from his eyes into the first robotic behemoth. While an impressive display of power, it seems to have little effect on the machine, who promptly smashes him into the floor as the other prepares some sort of beam of it's own. It would seem that in his battles with Clark previously, the A.I. learned some of his tricks and attempted to duplicate them through his work. Which in itself indicates that the program is far more advanced than anything I've ever come across, given it was able to carry out the engineering genius of a dead man.

Need to intervene before this gets any worse. Reaching into my belt, I grab a couple of grenades and dive forward. But before I can get within a suitable distance to launch them and give Superman the distraction he needs, a glass wall descends from the ceiling and entraps me within a section of the room. Toyman's A.I. reflects off of the glass, casting itself down onto me with an ominous gaze.

NO NEED TO BE RUDE

BATMAN

LET SUPERMAN ENJOY

HIS PLAYTIME


Grabbing another batarang, I smash it into the glass as hard as I can to try and break myself free. Doesn't work, much less even make a scratch. Too thick to be able to cut through. And if I try and use the grenades to bypass this, the space is too narrow to say that I won't be torn in half by shrapnel. Ace is already scanning for a backdoor to override Schott's automated commands, but the program keeps rewriting itself. Any breach isn't likely to occur remotely, which means that I'd have to break into the mainframe myself. Smashing my fist into the glass, I spot the terminal that will likely grant me access. Were it not for the glass separating me from it's location, I'd be just within reach.

BUT DON'T THINK

I'VE LEFT YOU WITHOUT

ANYTHING

TO PLAY WITH


My ears perk up as a low hum begins to echo across the limited space that I've been given. Sounds like an electronic device, unsurprisingly, but the source of it is lower to the ground than I would have expected. Turning my eyes toward the far wall, I see a small series of panels slide open as something races out of each of them. Readying a few batarangs in each hand, my eyes widen as I finally catch a glimpse of what they are. They're... remote control cars. Not unlike the very models you would find in the actual toy store of the Sprang Avenue Mall. Either he's mocking me, which is entirely possible, or there's something more to these than meets the eye.

I FELT THAT

YOU WOULD WANT

SOMETHING

MORE NOSTALGIC


Taking a step back as they race towards me, I notice that a couple of the cars in the back collide with one another. For a second, nothing happens. But Ace warns me of a proximity alert within seconds, indicating that both cars are armed with explosives. Throwing my cape infront of me to avoid being ripped to shreds, the impact of the resulting explosion knocks me back and slams me into the glass.

Hitting the floor, my vision blurs for a moment and my ears begin ringing. But I'm still made aware of the fact that those were only two cars wired to blow - of eight. And the other six are approaching, fast. Forcing myself back up, I tap the side of my cowl to calibrate Ace's tracker to the cars. Toyman's A.I. will have to wait.

"Ace. Give me a weak point. Look for any wires to safely disconnect."

The cars become green and overcast by a grid, with schematics unfolding infront of my eyes. Seems as though there is a wire that could do the job, but it's on the undertow of each car. Can't risk picking them up, as it would seem that they're rigged to explode upon direct contact. Have to think of another way to solve this.

Looking at the metal that slid over the walls, I glance back at the cars, noticing that they're made of a metallic material aswell, likely in an effort to act as an effective casing. The cars begin encircling me as I reach into the back of my belt, pulling out a small electromagnet that would normally be utilized in jamming firearms. Toyman seems to react as I adjust the polarity.

THAT ISN'T

PART OF THE

RULES

THAT'S CHEATING


I glare up at the generated image with a considerable measure of contempt.

"You're not the only one with toys."

Tossing the electromagnet onto the wall, of which it easily sticks, I prepare six batarangs for each car and watch as they're both turned onto their sides and dragged backwards by the pull of the device. I can feel sweat sliding down my forehead as I take a moment to aim for each wire and leap forward. If the cars hit the wall before I can hit them, they'll blow. I have to hit the wires with the utmost of precision. This is going to require one hell of a miracle to pull off.



Fortunately, I don't believe in miracles.

Closing my eyes, I let loose all six batarangs all at once and toss them with as much confidence as possible. Time slows to a crawl as they fly towards the red wire attached to each car's explosive. Any number of variables could render this an entirely futile gesture. There are blue and yellow wires that likely trigger the bombs strung closely together with the red. My aim could always be off, of course, and there's also the possibility that I threw the batarangs too hard, slicing the wires themselves but embedding into the cars instead of severing them, also triggering certain death.

Yet to my astonishment, whenever I land, each car goes from green to gray. Ace gives me the news. They're inactive, with each batarang having severed the correct line. Staring at the cars as their wheels stop, having been deactivated entirely, I notice that the furthest was only half an inch away from hitting the wall and setting off what would've likely been a chain explosion. My heart stops for a moment, almost unable to accept my luck as I breathe a huge sigh of relief.

Too close. It's all that could possibly be said. That was entirely too close.

Your turn, Superman. End this insanity once and for all.
Goddammit, I knew I would forget someone in that summary! My apologies, I should have double checked to see who had thrown their hat into the MME and who hadn't. I read over your's and @Superboy's posts, but for some reason I mistook it as a regular crossover and not one that was part of the event. Though admittedly, I was also rushing to get the Surfer in there as I knew the deadline was approach, so I have a built-in excuse.

Anyway. @Retired, there's nothing I can really say that Morden didn't already say more eloquently. I've been where you're at many times, and am honestly shocked that I lasted this long in a game, even if I did GM it. This game ended up being a surprise success to all of us, and you were there for alot of the ride, so it's gonna feel strange to enter Season Two without you. But yeah, you're more than welcome to come back once/if things settle. With any luck, we'll see you when we see you.



As for the rest of you, how's it looking as far as Tuesday goes? I know that I'm actually the one partially controlling half of the MME (along with Byrd and Morden), but I figured I'd get a headcount of everyone not caught up in that as we get closer to the end, aswell as what the current participants have planned afterwards for a wrap-up.

Personally speaking, I have about two posts left to write after @AndyC and I finish World's Finest-ing, and we're looking to draw things to a close with that by Monday at the latest. I have a pretty firm idea for what those two posts would be, as they directly set up Season Two and have been in my head for months, so it shouldn't be too difficult to get them out by the 25th. Probably going to start pre-writing those tomorrow, just in case.

And for those who aren't clear, the season ends on Tuesday, but the day itself is still open for all of your last minute epilogue IC posts. I'm not closing up shop until 12 AM EST time (for us dirty Americans).

Yeah. Kicking MB down that stairwell really seemed to get his creativity flowing.


I can't see colors properly anymore, but I can post again!
The Surfer has arrived.

Commence the dogpiling.
Manhattan



He could feel their respective triumphs as they had each occurred. The test had finally been completed as it was always meant to be - and the results, much to The Silver Surfer's surprise, were yielded in the favor of this world's metahuman protectors. But this unexpected victory did little to dissuade the contempt that had slowly grown within The Surfer as he had remained floating, invisible to the human eye, above the skies of New York. Initially having chosen this spot to watch the events that would transpire at The Raft Prison Island with his own eyes, The Surfer's thoughts had quickly become clouded by the actions of those below. The humans, whose very existence relied on these chosen and often anonymous protectors to step against the very brink of certain annhilation by utilizing themselves as shields. Had the race of these predominant species truly been so weak before the arrival of these superhumans? And what's more, had they not become even weaker for their use of such individuals as a crutch against disaster?

The Surfer's mind was weighed heavily with these questions, as he took in the thoughts of those blow him. Their trivial fears of that which they did not know. Their wasted hatred for one another, and themselves. The emotions that guided their every action, leading them in the feeble attempt to stem back an inevitable extinction. Lord Darkseid sought to end the suffering of the cosmos themselves. Without the universal balance that would upend the chaos which even now swept across the galaxy, affecting the lives of billions of creatures inhabiting millions of worlds, they would bring about their own destruction through an imperfect nature. Not only would this be the fate for the people of Earth, but of distant worlds such as Hala, Rann, Kylntar, Thanagar, Xandar, Oa, and many more.

It had happened before. The inhabitants of this system's planet Mars were brought to a silent end through senseless war and unimaginable violence, leaving but one survivor whose destiny was uncertain. The world of Titan, which shared many similarities to a moon orbiting this system's planet of Saturn, had prospered for millennia before eventually succumbing to it's own overpopulation. Sensibility and reason were lost on the Titanians, and the very few remnants of that world had been driven mad by the cruel loss. Were either the Martians or Titanians allowed to share one soul, one mind and heart that drove them to prosperity, the inhabitants of the universe would not only achieve everlasting peace, but the secrets to immortality.

But it would have to come at a great cost. Darkseid knew this, as his endless search for The Anti-Life Equation that would secure him the will of every living being had allowed the universe to advance without his generous and fair rulership imposed. The results were, as The Surfer could tell by the inhabitants of Earth, catastrophic beyond measure. Even now, millions of this planet's people were suffering under the threat of violence, the harsh reality of famine, the predominant human desire of personal greed, and many other self-imposed impediments that brought this species closer to the end.

The Surfer could do little to hold back his frustration, knowing that when given the choice, each chosen prisoner of The Raft had sided with personal retribution over the path of virtue. All they had been tempted with was a mere taste of power, and their greed did the rest. Mick Rory had sought to be one with the destructive flame. Doris Zeul had sought the strength to match her ability to transcend stature. Aviva Metula had sought a greater link with this world's literal darkness. The team of thieves once known as Matthew Hagen, Preston Payne, Sondra Fuller, and Basil Karlo had sought to be unified in power stemming from this world itself, despite becoming a singular abomination. Hector Hammond sought ultimate knowledge and the power to control it. And Leslie Willis, already having mastered the power of electricity, sought only to be turned loose and make the world feel her wrath.

Insolence. Barbaric, justless stupidity. It was barely a wonder that each had fallen at the hands of Earth's so-called heroes, and each so very quickly. But The Surfer had nevertheless proven the point that Darkseid sought of him: the metahumans of Earth would suffice to build the foundations of an army. With their unification, the millenia's old quest for Anti-Life would be complete, and Apokolips would serve as a beacon to the galaxy that New Genesis paled to in comparison. All that The Surfer had to do now was wait - and approach.

"I sense..."

As if answering his beckoning, The Surfer felt three powerful life-forms converge onto The Raft at once. One, he had already encountered before in Central City, feeling the familiar pull towards an unknown force of speed. The other two had joined forces in an impressive alignment that had tamed the fury of the rechristened 'Giganta'. The Surfer pried further, awakening recent memories within these two radically different female minds. Gwendolyn Stacy, forced to reveal herself infront of a father who sought to put her in chains. Bekka, curiously a former resident of New Genesis, reliving the horror of that massacre through her dreams. They were both known to the world at large as Spider-Woman and Wonder Woman, respectively.

And even now, as The Surfer reached out to the larger area, he could feel another champion approaching. These four would do well, for the moment. They would be able to be swayed, and convince their compatriots to do the same. If they resisted, they would simply perish and negate favorable outcome of the test. Holding up his palm, watching as light dance between his chrome fingers, The Silver Surfer blinked out of existence...

...Reappearing infront of Spider-Woman and Bekka, with The Flash not far behind.

"YOU HAVE DONE WELL, CHAMPIONS OF EARTH. THE THREATS SENT TO YOU HAVE BEEN VANQUISHED, AND YOU HAVE PROVEN YOUR METTLE. THE MASTER WILL BE MOST PLEASED."

Extending a hand towards them, there was an equal sense of benevolence and malevolence in the act. Whichever had been intended would all depend on their actions going forward.

"I ASK YOU TO LOOK UPON THIS WORLD. LOOK UPON THE CHAOS SOWED WITHIN. THE RAFT IS NOTHING COMPARED TO THE VIOLENCE THAT OCCURS EVEN NOW, THANKS TO A SPECIES BENEATH YOU."

The Surfer's emotionless face cast a reflection of both the masked visage of Gwendolyn Stacy and the immediately tense expression of Bekka.

"BUT WHAT WOULD YOU BE ABLE TO SAY IF I COULD OFFER YOU A CHANCE TO CEASE THIS NEVERENDING CONFLICT, ONCE AND FOR ALL? WOULD YOU LEAVE THEM TO THEIR FATE, OR ACT AS SOLDIERS FOR THE GLORY OF DARKSEID?"



"CHOOSE NOW, AND CHOOSE WISELY."
@Master Bruce@Byrd Man[@Morden Man Any of you currently about?

Question pertaining to next post :P


I was asleep at the time you sent this. What up?
The 25th. And good idea, I'll do that now.
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