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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 9:27:29 GMT -5
The Multiverse Presents
Truth & Justice II #4
Written by JC Roberts (Calamityjamie)
Edited by Daniel Dyer (Spider-Man Beyond)
Multiverse logo created by Tony Peterson (Starfall)
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 9:33:02 GMT -5
The room was cool, but the Flash was sweating as he zipped silently around an abandoned nurses’ station and took cover behind dual pair of heavy hospital doors. Most of the door surface was tempered glass; he had to press hard against the hinged corner in order to remain concealed. Struggling to block out the hiss of machines, a soft chorus of arrhythmic wheezing and intermittent whimpers of terror, he allowed his seasoned eyes to roam methodically past the clear barrier separating him from the emphysema ward. A heavy-set, ruddy-faced blonde nurse in pink scrubs sat resolutely holding the hands of two trembling, wheelchair-bound patients. Beyond them was a short row of beds; the frail occupants of each sported a clear plastic oxygen mask and a look of abject fear. Flash risked a series of blindingly quick peeks beyond the confines of his hiding place, hoping to get a clearer picture on what might be happening beyond the row of beds. On the third attempt, he glimpsed a piece of leg and shoe that did not sport scrubs or the hem of a paisley blue hospital gown. He took a fourth look. He did not want to target a doctor. Pulmonologists didn’t usually wear combat boots, so he was pretty sure he had their perpetrator in sight. It had been maybe five minutes into Thanksgiving dinner when Meera relayed the call from Gren, who was doing monitor duty up in the Watchtower: There was a hostage situation on the fourth floor of the Central City Medical Center. It looked like it might involve a meta-human with fire-starting powers, some holiday rage and the emphysema ward. “In the emphysema ward,” Roy had echoed bleakly, as he and Lian rose from the Wests’ table along with Wally. “With all of those oxygen tanks.” Hospital staff and police had cleared as many floors as they could by the time the Flash, Arsenal and Quiver arrived at the medical center, but certain wards – intensive care, the operating rooms and the burn unit among them – couldn’t be evacuated. The patients in those units – along with fifteen emphysema sufferers – were now imperiled by an enraged middle-aged female fire-starter whose mother had died in the ward the previous month. “She was shouting about how Thanksgiving was her mother’s favorite holiday and now she was never gonna have another,” the cop in charge had told them. “Sounded like she blamed the hospital staff.” “And you’re sure she manipulates fire?” Arsenal asked. “Flames shot right out of her hands,” the cop said. “I saw ‘em. Look, how much of an explosion are we talking about if she sets off an oxygen tank?” “Try twenty tanks,” said Quiver. “The ward’s full of them.” The cop had paled. “Like a bomb.” Ordinarily, the Flash, would have just vibrated through the glass doors, snatched the woman and smashed them both through the nearest window. But when he moved through solid objects, it caused an explosion and that wasn’t exactly the effect he was going for in a highly combustible room full of sick people. Better to take it a little slower and get it right. A quick conversation between teammates – using Meera as a conduit – jelled into a simple plan. Wally squeezed back again, monitoring the pyropath’s movements as best he could while waiting for Quiver and Arsenal to get into place. At one point, the woman stepped fully into his line of sight. She was gripping the handle of a rolling oxygen tank with her left hand and gesturing threateningly at the canister with a gray-gloved right. Twice, a tongue of orange-blue flame shot from the palm of her hand. OK.Flash’s eyes moved to the back of the ward, where Arsenal and Quiver, having scaled the outer walls of the hospital, hid behind the frames of two picture windows. >> She’s not a fire-starter. She’s got a flame-thrower under her jacket,<< Wally told them through Meera. >> Same plan, though, OK?<< Fifteen seconds and it was over: Arsenal pushed off the side of the building and crashed boots-first through the open window, as the Flash burst through the swinging doors of the emphysema unit and ran in a tight circle, generating a small vacuum to draw the oxygen away from the would-be arsonist and her victims. As the woman’s head jerked instinctively to the shattering window, Quiver fired a thick black arrow through the opening. It landed with a thwaap! about three inches from the woman’s feet and for the barest second, it looked like a bad miss. The hostage-taker looked down at the immobile arrow, then contemptuously at Quiver, who was inexplicably smiling. Before she could make good on her threat to ignite the tank, a loud click! brought the woman’s attention back to the arrow. The end of it had popped open to allow for the rapid-fire release of a fine, balloon-like tarp that enveloped her before she could finish screaming. “How’d you know it was a flame thrower?” asked Roy as they slipped out a remote exit in the back of the hospital. None of them were in the mood for reporters or the ardent superhero groupies that inevitably turned up at these events. “Color of the flames,” Wally said. “And pryropaths don’t wear asbestos gloves.” Roy grinned admiringly at him, then looked up at a sky that had gone from gray to dark blue since they’d left Wally’s wife, Linda, along with the Wests’ younger son, Parker, and Midori at the dinner table. “Another fun-filled Thanksgiving,” he said wearily. “Could be worse,” said Wally. “We could’ve been fighting a vengeful mutant turkey.” His carefree tone didn’t quite match the inner Wally. He hadn’t missed the familiar glint of resignation in Linda’s eyes when four of the six people at her dinner table startled simultaneously as if there was a sudden intrusion in their heads. Meera’s telepathic alert had interrupted a gathering already free from perfection. Each of the twins had called to beg off Thanksgiving dinner – at least Iris had given them a few week’s warning – choosing to spend the holiday with their significant others. And Parker had been a walking maelstrom of teenaged testosterone from the moment Lian walked into the living room. His blatant maneuvering to get himself placed next to her at the dinner table had made both Wally and Linda wince. He could only hope that Midori, who had stayed behind, was not right now interrogating his teenaged son about adolescent sexual practices in front of Linda. Roy had sworn their teammate’s obsession had faded, but worst-case scenarios seemed to be standard fare today. Lian sidled up to them, hugging herself against the biting wind. “Couldn’t find a colder place to live, could you, Wally?” Maybe the temperature would be less of a problem if Lian wore actual clothes, rather than random scraps of spandex, thought Wally, eying her scanty green costume bitterly. He said nothing. Roy nudged him with an elbow. “Let’s get back to Linda,” he said. “We’d better hurry,” said Lian. “Before Parker shovels down the last piece of pumpkin pie.” —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 9:55:01 GMT -5
Alfred and his nurse were bickering over her refusal to open his bedroom window to let in a little fresh air when Bruce pushed through the butler’s bedroom door without knocking. “Melanie,” he said tersely. “Go downstairs and get some dinner.” “Oh, I can take my break after I feed Mr. Pennyworth,” said the nurse. “I am quite capable –” Alfred started indignantly. “Please take it now,” said Bruce, making no effort to hide the edge in his voice. Alfred examined him guardedly as Melanie strode huffily out of the room. The elderly butler settled back against his pillows. “Am I to assume that I’ve done something wrong?” Bruce set the box of food Martha had brought on the foot of the bed. “A care package,” he said accusingly. “From Dr. Kent.” “How very kind of her,” said Alfred. “It was kind of her,” Bruce agreed acidly. “To fly all the way back from Metropolis so we wouldn’t go hungry on Thanksgiving.” Alfred sighed. “I merely thought –” “You thought what?” Bruce demanded. “What are you doing?” "I'm not doing anything," the elderly butler replied. "You are, you're --" “Yes?” asked Alfred calmly. “She’s 28 years old,” Bruce reminded him. “She’s Clark Kent’s daughter.” “Which of those things do you find more disturbing?” Alfred asked. “I find them both pretty damn disturbing,” said Bruce. He ran a hand through his hair and walked over to the open the window. He hadn’t realized he’d broken a sweat until he felt the shock of cold air on his damp forehead. “I appreciate that there are obstacles,” said Alfred. “But who would understand you better than someone who was raised to embrace a mission so similar to your own? Who accepts the demands and the sacrifices such a lifestyle requires?” Bruce spun back toward him, now looking more alarmed than angry. "Does she know about this?" Alfred shut his eyes. "She's oblivious. To your feelings for her and my attempts to make you see them." "It had better stay that way," said Bruce forcefully. "And I don't have feelings for her," he added. "Not the kind you're talking about." "What kind then?" Alfred asked. His eyes were still closed, but the beginnings of a smirk were tugging at the corners of his thin mouth. Bruce shook his head. “Alfred, please…” “One certainly had to wonder why you spent the majority of last year attacking her like a relentless schoolboy in the throes of an adolescent crush.” Exasperated, Bruce said, “So I’ve had this great big thing for her ever since she came to Gotham City.” “ Before she came to Gotham,” the butler said quietly. Bruce stared at him. “What makes you say that?” he asked slowly. But Alfred truly looked tired now; he didn’t seem up to continuing the conversation. “Please promise me that you won’t allow an old man’s foolishness to derail the pleasant working relationship you have developed with Dr. Kent,” he asked. “I won’t,” said Bruce, finding it impossible to hold onto his anger. “But knock it off, OK? You’re going to embarrass the hell out of both of us.” Alfred nodded. He seemed to be drifting off. “I just don’t want you to be alone,” he murmured. “I’m not going to be alone,” said Bruce. His eyes moved tenderly across the slack lines of the old man’s face. “You’re going to outlive all of us.” —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 9:56:49 GMT -5
Josh scored big points during dinner when he mentioned that he had a print edition of the Daily Planet delivered to his office each day along with the Gotham Gazette. Almost everyone in Metropolis subscribed to the Internet version of the Planet; most news outlets no longer published on paper. Since Lois had taken over as managing editor several years before, she had fought three ferocious battles to save the paper edition; most of the Planet’s board of directors were determined to eventually put the newsprint dinosaur to sleep. “I like to spread the paper out,” Josh said. “Sometimes my assistant finds me sprawled on the office floor reading it.” “She thinks you’re crazy anyway,” said Martha affectionately, as Lois beamed approvingly at him. Clark passed Josh a slice of pumpkin pie and asked about the anti-poverty initiatives he’d developed; the Metropolis City Council was considering modeling several programs after the councilman’s more successful efforts. Martha managed to stay with the discussion until it became less about Josh’s programs themselves and more about how they might make a three-part feature series to be written by Clay. She did not share her family’s passion for the news. Her parents foisted a subscription to the Planet on her every Christmas; Lian enjoyed the papers for the crosswords and the comics, but Martha rarely had time to read them. She skimmed her father’s and brother’s stories before family gatherings by hacking into the Planet database with Lois’ personal password and running their bylines. If she did read a paper, it was the Gotham Gazette’s Police Blotter section, where her patients made an occasional appearance. As the conversation became a pleasant buzz around her, Martha did a mental inventory of the latest drug schedules she’d ordered for her most violent patients. It was too bad she’d never managed to watch that show on the Medical Research Channel – it might have given her some ideas. Did Bruce say he’d recorded it? She couldn’t remember. It was funny how he hadn’t seemed to know she was bringing him and Alfred Thanksgiving dinner, she thought, without realizing her mind had meandered far off its original path. She had been in too much of a hurry to take a good look, but she could have sworn she saw fancy restaurant bags sitting on the kitchen counter. But then why had Alfred been so worried about… She sat back and fit a few recent memories together as though she’d been handed oddly-shaped pieces one-by-one and just now realized they were part of a puzzle. As the picture become clear to Martha, her eyes lit up with amused disbelief. “Oh my God,” she said, not realizing she had spoken out loud until her dinner companions stopped in mid-conversation to look at her. “Yes?” asked Clark. “Nothing,” Martha said, failing utterly in her attempt to suppress a smile. Clay turned to Josh. “She doesn’t think what we do is important.” “Sure she does,” said Josh, dropping an arm around Martha. “She talks about newspapers all the time. Are you all right?” he added to Clark, who had risen from the table for the fifth time since they’d sat down to dinner. “Yeah,” said Clark, frowning. “Excuse me. I’ll be right –” he hurried away from the table. Clay leaned toward Josh. “Bladder problem,” he said wickedly. “You might as well get used to it.” —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:00:18 GMT -5
Wally ran a hand through his wet hair and stood quietly for a few moments as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkened bedroom. Once he could distinguish the foot of the king-sized bed from the rest of the room, he pulled off the damp towel that encircled his waist and reached back to jam it clumsily onto a towel rack just beyond the master bathroom door. He felt around the bed for his pajama bottoms, inadvertently knocking into Linda’s foot, which had strayed onto his side of the king-sized mattress. “Sorry,” he whispered, not sure she was still awake. He slipped on the loose flannel pants, slid into the middle of the bed and wrapped his arms around his wife. “Sorry about dinner,” he murmured, into her silky hair. “We don’t apologize for saving lives,” Linda reminded him. Her tone was neither reproving nor warm. She was troubled; he could hear it in her voice and in the rigid way she held her body as she allowed him to snuggle against her. “Talk to me,” he said, holding her tighter. Linda shook her head. “It’s stupid.” “Neither of us is going to be able to sleep until you tell me,” Wally said. Lying next to a stressed out Linda was like mainlining a double-shot of espresso. His only hope for a decent night’s sleep was to talk things out with her as quickly as possible. She seemed to struggle with herself for a few minutes, then moved away from him, sitting up against the headboard with her arms wrapped around her knees. Wally pulled himself up next to her and waited, watching her tense silhouette in the darkness. “Did you sleep with her?” she said finally. “With flame-thrower woman?” Wally asked, forcing himself not to panic. He knew exactly who Linda meant. “With Roy’s slut daughter,” Linda replied, more bluntly than she would have had Wally not provoked her with such an ill-timed joke. “Jesus, Linda.” He shifted away from her. “First of all, no. And could you please not call her that? You’re talking about someone who’s saved my life a few times.” “I’m sure you’ve returned the favor,” Linda said bitterly. “Linda. I’ve never cheated on you with anybody,” said Wally, rubbing his hand over his eyes. “But, Lian – God, that’d be cheating on you, cheating on Roy and – come on, we’ve known her since she was a baby.” “She’s not a baby now,” said Linda. But she sounded relieved. There was a long silence before she added shakily, “I’m sorry.” “It’s OK.” Wally slid back under the covers. “I’m positive you’re not the first wife to worry about Lian.” “I thought you were acting weird around her today,” Linda said. She slipped tentatively beside him. “I was. Parker was embarrassing me to death,” he replied. “He was practically crawling onto her lap.” “I know. I gave him hell for it,” Linda said, before adding hesitantly, “But… you don’t find her attractive?” Wally closed the gap between them, again burying his face in her hair. “ Of course I find her attractive,” he said. “Have you looked at her?” Linda laughed and the tension between them melted. “OK. If you’d said anything else, I’d have known you were lying.” “But I find you more attractive,” Wally said quietly. “And I love you.” Linda fell silent for a few minutes. Then she turned toward her husband and ran her fingers from the middle of his chest to his belly button. “I think I might be having myself a hot Flash," she whispered. Wally pressed his lips against her forehead. "You don't feel... overheated or anything." "Honey," said Linda, wiggling closer. "I'm not talking about my hormones." —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:01:53 GMT -5
After Linda fell asleep, Wally stared into the darkness for about an hour, then shrugged off the covers and went into the kitchen. He fell heavily into a chair, propped his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He had almost slept with Lian last year, shortly after last Thanksgiving. He and Linda had been having as rough a time as they’d ever had and he’d run over to Roy’s one Sunday afternoon in search of consolation. Roy had not been there, but Lian had, and she possessed a limited number of ways of offering sympathy. Things got out of hand before Wally could get a grasp on what was happening. He had snapped to his senses only when she’d started to unbutton his shirt. No one but Linda had undressed him in more than 20 years. The newness of it might have been a turn-on to some guys, but Wally’s instincts drove him toward the familiar when it came to that sort of intimacy; too much else in his life was unpredictable. He had apologized, tried to explain himself, apologized some more and gotten the hell out of there. He had not counted on his resistance becoming a challenge to Lian, who was used to a more gratifying response from her conquests. He had agreed to meet with her twice in early December to set things right with her and to secure some sort of understanding that what had happened would remain between the two of them. Lian’s agenda for those meetings turned out to be somewhat different. She was infatuated with the forbidden to begin with – which made the idea of a liaison with her father’s best friend nearly irresistible – and now her ego was bruised. She was determined to finish what they had started – a temptation to Wally on the most basic level, but something he was resolved not to do. By Christmas, Lian had become bored with his longwinded declarations of devotion to his wife and had presumably moved on to someone else. Wally spent months terrified she’d tell Roy or Martha what had happened. He needn’t have worried. Lian didn’t broadcast her failures. He did not blame Lian. Her problem was no secret. Roy had been begging his daughter to seek counseling for years. Knowing this just made Wally feel worse. In his eyes, he had not only betrayed his wife and his best friend – and threatened the stability of the Justice League – he’d taken advantage of a troubled young woman whose self-esteem problems had driven her to try to seduce him in a room where he’d once read her a bedtime story. What a hero he was. Supper tonight had been beyond awkward. He had spent an entire year trying to avoid being alone with Lian and he would not have invited her to dinner with his wife and son had there been any way to avoid it. The Harpers and Wests alternated their Thanksgivings between Central City and Roy’s home in the Colorado Desert. Invitations weren’t extended; by now everyone knew where to go and when to be there. The only change this year was that Roy had asked to bring Midori. This had been a welcome distraction, as Linda was fascinated by the Coluan’s tales of life on her home world. Wally wondered if it might be time to cut down on the time he spent with the League. Things had been better between him and Linda for months now and tonight’s scare intensified his commitment to reviving his marriage. He thought about the job-sharing arrangement Superman had with his daughter and wondered if something similar could get him home a little more often. Maybe Iris or Wally’s cousin Bart would be interested. Barry liked being a free agent. “Yo, Dad.” Parker shambled sleepily into the kitchen. Wally glanced at the clock; it was just after 2 AM. “What are you doing up?” he asked. “Hungry.” Parker had so far inherited only his father’s constant need to eat. He was too much the self-absorbed teenager to ask Wally what he was doing sitting in the kitchen in the middle of the night. “Let’s see what we’ve got.” The West men stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the open refrigerator door, perusing two shelves worth of Thanksgiving leftovers that probably wouldn’t survive Black Friday. Parker was a little startled when his father interrupted his grab for the banana pudding by hugging the breath out of him. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:05:55 GMT -5
Martha hadn’t been asleep when her cell phone stuttered softly against the top of the birch nightstand at something close to two in the morning. As the December wind hissed mercilessly at the bedroom windows in his downtown Gotham apartment, Josh slumbered. Heavily against her, a muscular leg flung carelessly over her lower thigh. Martha had been enjoying the sweet warmth of him as he unconsciously shrugged and shifted his way closer to her in the roomy bed. She grabbed the phone before it switched from “vibrate” to “ring” mode. “I’m downstairs. In the alley.” Josh didn’t have an alley. Martha wriggled carefully out of his arms and ambled towards a window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as she looked down onto an empty street. “I’ll be right there,” she said into the phone. “Give me a minute.” Batman disconnected without replying. Martha knelt by Josh’s side of the bed and shook his shoulder lightly. “Josh,” she whispered. “Sweetie, I gotta go to Arkham.” Josh groaned and rolled onto his back, throwing an arm across his eyes. Martha squinted at him, unsure whether her words had registered. “Josh,” she said again, this time a bit louder. “Arkham,” muttered Josh. “I’ll drive you.” He let the arm drop from his face and blinked hard a couple of times to force himself awake. “That’s OK,” Martha said gently. “They’re sending someone. You go back to sleep.” Josh obediently closed his eyes and Martha smiled at his sleepy compliance. She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, “I had a great time.” “The neighbors and I are aware of that,” mumbled Josh, rolling to dodge the smack she aimed at his shoulder. Martha laughed and pressed a quick kiss against his mouth before dressing surreptitiously at super-speed and stealing onto his balcony for a swift escape. She touched down in the alley behind her apartment building less than a minute later, with no intention of telling Batman where she’d been when he called her. She could still recall the look of shock and embarrassment on his face last year, when his knock at her door interrupted a passionate reunion with an old lover. Bruce knew she was seeing Josh, so his reaction would probably be less extreme. Still, she saw no reason to make him feel uncomfortable. “There’s some buzz on Fray,” he said as she slid into the rarely occupied passenger seat of the Batmobile. He stopped in mid-sentence, ran his eyes down and up the length of her body once and turned back to glare through the windshield. “You could have said you were busy," he said sullenly. How the hell did he do that? "Nothing's more important to me than getting this guy,” said Martha fervently. “He's fucked up my dreams for nearly a year." Batman’s petulance shifted instantly into what almost seemed like concern. “You have nightmares." She smiled bleakly. "Don't we all?" He examined a smudge on the steering wheel and nodded almost imperceptibly. "We do." He started the car. As they rounded the corner, he suddenly frowned and glanced at her sharply. “I didn’t tell you on the phone that this was about Fray.” “Well, who else would it be about?” she asked, feeling a wave of heat surge across her face. He didn’t answer, leaving Martha to wrestle with the fact that she had just jumped out of her boyfriend’s strong, sleepy embrace because Batman had announced he was parked in her alley. “What we do is important,” she said finally. “More important than my personal life. I know you wouldn’t call me at two in the morning unless it was a big deal. So, no, I’m not going to tell you that I’m busy.” He nodded without taking his eyes off the road and gestured at the small hologram projector she’d clipped onto the waistband of her jeans. Superwoman shimmered into his passenger seat. “So what’re we –” Her head jerked suddenly. “Meera.” Batman pulled over so they could listen without distraction to the telepathic voice of their teammate as she ran down the details of a break-out at SuperMax, a Montana-based penal complex for meta-villains that had replaced the outdated Belle Reve penitentiary. As far as Martha knew, this was the first escape on record, but it was a big one. “Great,” said Martha disgustedly, speaking aloud so that Batman could hear her part of the conversation. “Should I get Lian?” >> No. She and the Green Lantern were helping put out a brush fire in Napa County. They should be halfway to SuperMax. Just get Batman.<< There was a telepathic pause. >> Are you with him now?<< “Um, yeah,” said Martha. She felt unaccountably self-conscious. “We’re on our way.” —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:08:59 GMT -5
Over the years, Batman had often hitched rides with his flier teammates – usually Superman, sometimes J’onn or Captain Marvel. He’d devised a harness with a handgrip to facilitate these trips; the glider wings built into his fighting suit helped offset the wind resistance. Superwoman was grateful for the apparatus – when Quiver flew with her, the red-headed archer simply wrapped her arms around her roommate’s neck from behind and clung to her like a human cape. Batman in that position was not something Superwoman could deal with right now. As they torpedoed across the Midwest, Meera gave them frequent updates, interrupting the flow of information only to receive instructions or information from Arsenal. A negligent SuperMax guard’s preoccupation with the sports page had allowed a telekinetic prisoner to steal his master card key and release as many inmates as she could before a more alert contingent of officers started futilely unloading bullets in her direction. Butri Chatichai had apparently unsealed every cell she could in a vain attempt to find her lover, Tuksin Techapongvorachai, a Thai assassin also known as DevilDog. Before she was forced to abort her search, she’d released a virtual roll call from supervillian hell, including one of her partners from a foiled assassination attempt in Minneapolis the previous year, three alumni from the long-defunct Suicide Squad, Wonder Woman’s nemesis Cheetah – and Pillan, the Chilean anarchist Superwoman had body-slammed into unconsciousness a few months earlier. “What’s he doing there?” Superwoman asked. The League had left Pillan with police from the resort town he’d tried to destroy. >> Transfer. Apparently the Chilean government has been paying a ton to keep him there,<< Meera responded. She reminded her teammates that the Flash would not be joining them. He was on a long-anticipated cruise with his wife and Roy was determined not to contact him for anything short of Armageddon. Wally’s daughter, Iris, who went by the name Blitz, had agreed to fill in for him, but she’d been hit by a nasty case of flu. Meera was pretty sure Arsenal was coming down with it, too. A particularly virulent bug was going around the Midwest and Roy, she reported, sounded absolutely horrible. Finally, they could see it in the middle of the Montana wilderness: SuperMax, the futuristic fortress designed to permanently contain the world’s most powerful meta-villains. Superwoman’s eyes swept over the dome-like, windowless, seemingly doorless structure and wondered how anyone could possibly have broken out of there. Floodlights illuminated about two square miles surrounding the prison grounds, creating a permanent artificial daylight. Superwoman noticed a construction site next to the building proper. An addition to the prison was underway. “There’s Gardner,” shouted Batman over the torrent of wind roaring around them. Superwoman saw Gren too, locked in battle with the hulking pink mutant known as Plasmus. Gren was struggling mightily to enclose the murderous creature in a solid light capsule, but Plasmus managed to loosen his cells and slip away before Gren was able to seal him into the emerald prison. “There’s Pillan,” said Superwoman, almost to herself. She glanced repeatedly at the aspiring Mapuche god while she searched for a place to drop off Batman. The Dark Knight was scouting the scene on the ground. His eyes fixed on a figure about fifty yards to the left of Gren and Plasmus. He reached back to grab Superwoman’s forearm. “Drop me over there,” he said, pointing at the figure. “That’s got to be Cheetah.” Superwoman deposited Batman behind an evergreen tree with a trunk three times as thick as he was. She wished the Flash were here. Cheetah’s super-speed was nothing compared to Wally’s, but Batman was going to have to make up the velocity deficit with skill. This she had no doubt he could do, but there were other villains here that required attention and Arsenal, Midori and Meera were still a good five minutes away. As she rocketed after the airborne Pillan, Superwoman saw Quiver release an arrow at a metallic humanoid she was pretty sure was Shrapnel. As the arrow sped toward him, Shrapnel’s stomach seemed to expand. Superwoman’s head jerked back and forth from Pillan to Shrapnel as the former Suicide Squad member’s abdomen pulsated and a barrage of steel shards hurtled towards her roommate. Quiver dropped to the ground and rolled onto her back, calmly reloading as the projectiles blazed over her, missing her by inches. As she continued her pursuit of Pillan, Superwoman’s eyes glowed with admiration for her cool-headed companion. She tried to approach him undetected, but Pillan must have sensed her presence. With a quick nod, he sent a cyclone of wind toward the cloud cover she’d been using to make her advance. When he saw that his pursuer was Superwoman, his face darkened with rage. Superwoman, who’d been studying Spanish intermittently, recognized some of his words from a book Lian had given her called Swearing in Spanish – A Vivid Volume on Vulgarities. She searched her limited vocabulary for a comeback, but found herself too busy dodging a volley of lightning bolts to come up with anything exceptionally witty. “ Puede tu decir ‘re-run’?” Superwoman shouted at him. Can you say “re-run”? Perhaps Pillan was offended by her use of the familiar pronoun, she thought, as he sent a trio of twisters careening in her direction, or maybe he’d been storing power as he stewed in his small, sterile cell. Either way, he definitely seemed stronger now than he had been back in Chile. Not that it mattered, she thought, as she kicked free of a whirlwind that had wrapped itself around her leg. She’d hardly exerted herself fighting him last time. This time wouldn’t – She looked up and noticed an almost demonic smile spreading across Pillan’s face. There was something coming up from behind him. He shifted slightly and she could see it clearly, a swirling gray and brown behemoth against the clear Montana sky: the biggest freaking tornado she had ever seen. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:09:47 GMT -5
Batman had fought Cheetah something like fifteen years ago, when he’d teamed up with Wonder Woman to stop a pack of feline-inspired felons from taking over the U.S. Capitol. She hadn’t seemed to age much; she was just as fast and ferocious as ever, he thought, reaching into his belt for a gas pellet. Superwoman had dropped him off as surreptitiously as possible, but Cheetah was immediately aware of his presence. Her nostrils flared as she sniffed the fresh December air and she spun hissing toward the evergreen tree. Batman gave his wrist a sharp flick and a quartet of knock-out pellets encircled Cheetah. She pounced straight into the air, roaring angrily, but she wasn’t able to escape the cloud of gas that enveloped her for a short second as Batman stepped out to face her. He knew the gas wouldn’t knock her out – her feline physiology gave her some protection – but it did slow her down. He might have half a minute before she recovered her super-speed – enough of it, at least, to hit him with razor-like claws before he could register her approach. He pulled out a triple-headed bola, whipped it once around his head and flung it at Cheetah’s ankles. She toppled like a lone bowling pin, howling and clawing as she crashed to the ground. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:11:23 GMT -5
Gren had never faced Plasmus before. The German mine-worker-turned-murderous monster had been incarcerated for most of the Green Lantern’s adult life, but Gren made a point of learning whatever he could about all known supervillians and he was well aware that Plasmus’ touch meant instant death. He was careful to fight the former Suicide Squad member from a distance, staying airborne and just out of reach as he unleashed a barrage of solid light weapons upon his opponent. Plasmus was proving a frustrating adversary. He had exceptional control over the unstable protoplasm that was his body, easily slipping out of every prison Gren attempted to fashion for him. Nor could the Green Lantern merely pummel his foe: Pounding Plasmus with a giant green anvil had temporarily put a dent in the villain, but his super-regenerative powers quickly kicked in, returning him to his usual form. His enhanced speed and strength made him a difficult target. Gren’s religious devotion to his training placed him among the fittest of his teammates, but Plasmus was wearing him out. His senses remained sharp, however, and when he heard a softly muttered curse from somewhere behind him, he managed to glance back in time to see the son-of-a-bitch who had humiliated him the last time they’d fought. DevilDog. The guy’s real name was Bob something, but the Flash had nicknamed him Lightning Guy. His first time out, he had ambushed Gren and nearly fried him before Arsenal downed him with a couple of fancy arrows. Gren seriously didn’t have time for amateurs today. Without taking his eyes off of Plasmus, he thrust his right fist over his left shoulder and used his trademark green hand to grab Bob the Lightning Guy out of the sky, flip him upside down and bounce him headfirst onto the ground like a pogo stick with a shot spring. “Don’t you suck,” Gren muttered to the unconscious Bob. He lifted his chin thoughtfully as he replayed the derisive words in his head. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said, turning back to Plasmus. Gren grinned and polished his ring against his uniform shirt. He had an idea. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:13:07 GMT -5
Cheetah hissed curses at Batman as he bound her wrists to her ankles, then threw a rope around one of the evergreen’s thicker branches and used it as a pulley to suspend the feline felon about ten feet in the air. He secured the cable and swung around to see if any of his teammates needed help. Arsenal, Midori, and Meera had arrived during his skirmish with Cheetah and they were already engaged in battle. Arsenal had joined Quiver in her scrap with Shrapnel, while Meera was doing some battlefield reconnaissance. It was Midori, however, who drew Batman’s full and somewhat astonished attention. She was suspended about twenty-five feet in the air and squared off against the toxic behemoth Chemo. It took a moment for Batman to realize she was wearing rocket boots, in addition to a force field and a stern expression. A variety of weapons were clipped to her belt; two larger ones were strapped to her back. She grabbed one of these – to Batman it resembled a souped-up Bazooka – but Chemo took a swipe at her before she could fire it. The blow knocked her back and Batman reached into his belt for a compact gas mask. His nose and throat were already burning the putrid chemical odor he knew preceded a full-out attach by Chemo, who had poisoned entire cities with his toxic emissions. Batman was racing towards the lime-colored combatants when Midori re-aimed her weapon. A tiny stream of silver spurted from the barrel. It must have misfired, thought Batman as his mind flew methodically over possible strategies for defeating the poisonous giant. He wasn’t coming up with much, but Midori was obviously outmatched and needed… He stopped in his tracks. She needed nothing. In mid-air, the silvery liquid formed what looked like a small shiny puddle. It hovered for a moment, then glommed onto Chemo’s wide forehead and started to spread rapidly across the colossal green monster’s gelatinous face. He howled in outrage as he smacked at the substance, which was now spreading down his neck and across his chest. Batman glanced back to see how his other teammates were doing. Arsenal had fired something at Shrapnel that had thrown the living armory into great agitation and Gren – Batman couldn’t help a small smile. Gren had conjured a giant hand-held vacuum cleaner that was sucking a helpless Plasmus into its spacious reservoir. Chemo, meanwhile, was now entirely encased in silver. Batman squinted at the creature. Was he shrinking? He looked up at Midori, who was merely hovering now, studying the dwindling monster as if he were a fascinating experiment. Batman shook his head. He hadn’t been sure about Midori at first, but it was obvious now that Harper had made a good call in recruiting her. Midori dropped suddenly besides Batman and pointed into the sky. “Is that a tornado?” she asked. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:13:43 GMT -5
Pillan obviously had little allegiance to his fellow escapees. The tornado he’d sent in the direction of Superwoman and the Justice League was barreling towards them as well. Superwoman half wished she could just scoop up her teammates and let the giant twister run its course, but she wasn’t sure what effect being sucked into a vortex would do to toxic creatures like Plasmus and Chemo. Creating an environmental hazard was not on her list of things to do. She plowed against the tornado’s powerful current in an attempt to disperse it. The task would have been nothing for her father, but Superwoman was only half as strong. She hurtled into the wind and debris with all of her might, hoping the twister would give before she did – and that Pillan, in the meantime, was presenting no threat to her teammates. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:14:16 GMT -5
Fortunately, Pillan shared the failings of most villains – excessive ego and a flawed intelligence. Rather than try to escape, he had stopped to admire his handiwork. He did not notice that most of the other escapees had already fallen to the Justice League, nor did he see the arrow speeding towards him. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:14:47 GMT -5
Superwoman could feel the wall of the tornado weakening. She strained against the flow of wind and debris, blinking the dirt out of her eyes as she struggled to gain enough momentum to create a counter-twister that would nullify Pillan’s deadly concoction. She was beginning to struggle for breath, now, and unfortunately her gasps for air took in debris from the tornado as well. There had always been rude speculation by a certain segment of the male population regarding whether or not Superwoman had a gag reflex. Gren’s disgusting father had even asked her to her face. She had always refused to answer the question, but would not have had a problem admitting that lungfuls of dirt and pebbles made breathing a challenge. —
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Post by Spider-Man Beyond on Oct 25, 2007 10:16:39 GMT -5
Pillan barely had time to register the pain that shot through his calf before the end of the arrow that had pierced his leg opened and enveloped him in a tarp similar to the one Quiver had used at the emphysema ward in Central City. The wannabe Chilean god fell to the ground with a thump loud enough to suggest he would be spending a great deal of time in the SuperMax hospital ward. “Bagged him,” said Quiver. “Ha, ha,” said Gren sarcastically. He had gathered most of the prisoners together and was preparing to fly them back to the prison en mass. Midori jetted over to join them, stumbling a little as she attempted to land. “You look like fuckin’ Astroboy,” said Gren admiringly. “Except for being a girl.” Midori smiled uncertainly and made a mental note to check the Internet for references to Astroboy. Quiver gave her Coluan teammate a funny look, then scanned the battlefield in search of a mammoth emerald monster. She saw only Meera, Batman and her father making their way towards them. “Where’s Chemo?” she asked. “Oh!” Midori fumbled with a pocket for a moment and pulled out a silver sphere about the size of a tennis ball. “In here.” Quiver and Gren goggled at her. “You’re kidding,” Quiver said. “No,” Midori responded earnestly. “He’s mostly gas. Very easy to compress.” Gren took the ball from her with a grin and tossed it into the giant green sack of solid light that now contained all of their prisoners. He glanced up at the sky and saw that the giant tornado was breaking up. “I’m gonna take these bad boys and girls back,” he said. “Girls,” mused Arsenal thoughtfully as he joined them. “You got one girl or two girls in there?” “One,” Gren said. “Telekinesis Girl is still out there.” Roy sighed. He really did look sick: His face was pale and dark gray circles underscored his glassy eyes. “All right. Take them back. Then we’ll go after… um, what’s her name?” “Butri Chatichai,” said Meera. “And we won’t have far to go. She’s been heading back to the prison.” “ Why?” asked Grendel, in a tone that broadcast his belief that the woman was an idiot. Meera shook her head. “Gotta save her man.” “Gren. I’m sending Superwoman after Telekinesis Girl,” said Roy, preferring not to attempt to pronounce the Thai woman’s name. “Turn these morons in and go help her.” Gren nodded and took off, sack over his shoulder like some sort of bizarre Santa Claus. Roy glanced quickly up at the sky and saw Superwoman hovering near a dissipating cloud of debris. “Meera, send Martha after our little love-struck psychopath. I want to go home.” —
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