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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 20:55:52 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 20:55:52 GMT -5
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:02:59 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:02:59 GMT -5
Secret Society of Super Villains Issue 1: "Day of the Dark Lord: You Are Cordially Invited..." Written by David Peattie Cover by JFJ Edited by David Charlton
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:05:37 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:05:37 GMT -5
Two days following the conference between the disguised DeSaad and his pawn, Gorgon, on the dark planet Apokolips, and one day following Sinestro’s murder of Gretti of the Green Lantern Corps, a bizarre scene took place on one of the main thoroughfares of Central City, Ohio, in the United States of America on the planet Earth. On that street, in broad daylight no less, the Central City branch of Cartier’s Jewelers had just been robbed, and four Central City police officers were chasing down the two costumed felons responsible for the theft…on foot. Gunfire was being exchanged…at least by the cops. But for some reason, no bullets found their marks in the bodies of the two thieves.
The first one wore a white fur parka, along with white fur-lined gloves and boots and a skin-tight body suit of deep blue; his eyes were shaded by goggles of white plastic, and a gaudy plastic yellow belt cinched his waist. He was born Leonard Snart, but while he wore this ensemble, he liked to be called Capt. Cold.
His partner wore a costume even more gaudy, if that was possible. This man’s outfit was another skin tight set of leotards, mostly orange in color; his helmet-mask, along with his boots, wrist gauntlets and trunks, were a deep green. His real name was Samuel Joseph Scudder…but in costume, he was known as the Mirror Master.
Both men had come by their super-villain careers largely by accident, something that was true of many of Central City’s costumed criminals. In Snart’s case, he had learned through the underworld grapevine that an army testing facility outside of Central City was experimenting with a new cryogenics-fueled weapon, and he decided to heist it. He then studied it until he knew how it worked, and picked up a strong knowledge of the other workings of cryogenics along the way…enough so that he could refine the technology and devise his own cold-weapons after that.
For his part, Scudder had been doing time in prison and working in the prison’s mirror-making shop, when he accidentally botched mixing the chemical backing for a hand-held mirror. To his astonishment, the mirror was able to retain a person’s reflection for hours after he or she had passed by it. In short order, Scudder had been able to find a way of using that discovery to effect his escape, and after immersing himself in more mirror research, he had been able to concoct a complete arsenal of mirror-based weapons with which to build his villainous career.
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:06:53 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:06:53 GMT -5
Not that either of them were thinking of these things now, of course. Now, their only thoughts were of escape.
“RUN, YOU FOOL!”, Cold snarled at his companion, as his cold-gun hummed into life. Powered by liquid nitrogen, it was capable of encasing the entire city in ice if Snart wanted. Now, though, he used it to freeze two of the policemen solid.
“That jewelry store must have been expecting us,” he continued, “and hired a blasted army! I can’t fight them off alone!”
The Mirror Master withdrew his own weapon from a pocket in his costume that looked like a pistol with a highly-polished doorknob on it. He pointed this at the two remaining cops, pulled the trigger, and shot a glance at his partner.
“What d’ya think I am, some sort of wooden Indian?”, Scudder snapped. “You’ve got Mirror Master for a partner, pal…and I hold my own!”
As he’d been talking, the doorknob-doodad on the pistol had been swirling around, and finally caught a beam of ambient sunlight. Through a complicated energy-enhancing process, the device transformed that sunlight into a laser-beam, so intense that it seared the Cartier’s sign from its moorings…and down onto the heads of the pursuing cops, knocking them flat. The two villains then turned back to the task of escaping, before more police showed up.
“Not bad, Scudder,” Snart told his partner admiringly. “It lacks charm…”
“But it’s effective, right?”, Scudder finished for him with a trace of annoyance.
“In its own rather obvious way,” Capt. Cold went on. “Now, if you’d like to see something with a touch of elegance…”
As he said this, Snart adjusted a dial on his cold-gun, and fired a series of short, staccato bursts…first at the sidewalk, then at the air just ahead of it, and then ahead of that, and so on. These bursts caused the water in the air molecules to freeze together, and in a matter of seconds, he had formed a ramp from the street to the roof of a nearby building.
“…observe, please, our escape route.” , he finished with a note of triumph.
“An ice bridge!”, the Mirror Master marveled. “Gotta hand it to you, Cold…for a guy who’s spent most of his life behind bars, you do have class!”
As Snart beamed under this praise, Scudder continued, “No wonder you’re such a ladies man! Something tells me this partnership is gonna work out fine!”
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:12:13 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:12:13 GMT -5
“Mirror Master, old chum,” Snart replied, now that it was his turn to be gracious, “I couldn’t agree more!”
Grinning, the two comrades in crime mounted the ice ramp and easily disappeared into the heart of the city.
Several hours later, however, the cheerful camaraderie the two felons had enjoyed had all but evaporated.
Both were out of costume now, hiding out in a fleabag room in the Chafer Hotel, part of the Central City Bowery district. They sat counting their loot from the afternoon’s work, and were clearly less than enchanted with the results.
“Why, you crummy cheat,” Scudder growled, “there musta been six, seven hundred thousand dollars worth of jewels in that joint, and you’re tryin’ to tell me all we got is a lousy ten grand?”
“Facts are facts, Scudder,” Snart sighed.
“Says you, pal,” the Mirror Master continued, his anger smoldering . “Me, I’ve got other ideas…like, maybe you hid some of the take…and maybe you’re lying…and maybe…”
“Would I lie? WOULD I?”, Snart asked, trying his best to sound properly wounded.
It apparently worked, because Scudder seemed to calm down. “Ah, heck,” he sighed wistfully. “And maybe all we got is a bum ten grand…”
Visibly relieved, Snart assumed his most soothing tone of voice. “We’re in this together, Scud. We…”
A loud crash interrupted the frosty felon, as the window shattered with the force of a large object being hurled through it. The object came to rest on the floor amid shards of glass, and had a sheet of paper wrapped around it. Both men bolted from their chairs to investigate; Snart reached it first.
“Somebody tossed a rock through our window! What is this, a joke?”, Snart asked, as if he couldn’t believe someone would resort to something so corny to get their attention.
For his part, Mirror Master was no less incredulous. “What’s that, a note with it?”, he asked, unnecessarily.
“Not quite a note, Scudder,” Capt. Cold replied as he read the paper. “More like an invitation! Listen…this you’re not going to believe…”
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:19:33 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:19:33 GMT -5
As the two villains in Central City pondered their next move, equally strange events were taking place in another city thousands of miles distant from the USA. These events took place deep within the dark continent of Africa, in a place called Gorilla City.
The city got its name from the simple fact that its inhabitants were all gorillas. But not just any giant apes: these gorillas all had intelligence greater than that of most humans, and had built a society based on that intelligence.
That intelligence had come about through a once-in-a-lifetime accident. Many years before, a meteorite had landed in the jungle and had been found by a local tribe of great apes. The radiation from this meteorite had jump-started their minds, sending them further up the evolutionary path and turning the entire tribe into mental marvels.
They revered scientific research, the pursuit of more knowledge, and the arts, and for the most part they had learned to live in peace with one another. Over the years, however, they had also learned that if any humans learned of their existence and their intelligence, their idyllic lifestyle would come to an end, for the humans would flock to them…first to see the bizarre curiosity, then to insist on studying them for their own scientific edification, and finally to exploit them. So the now-intelligent gorillas, under the leadership of their king, Solovar, created technology that would keep them and their city hidden from the eyes of the outside world. They had lived that way for years, and to this day, the only human being who had been trusted with the knowledge of their existence was the American hero, Barry Allen, alias the Flash.
Although Solovar and his people revered peace, there was one among them who craved conquest. His name was Grodd, and his own exposure to the meteorite that granted his tribe intelligence had changed Grodd even further, granting him telepathic and telekinetic powers that no other Gorilla City citizen had. It had been Grodd, and his dreams of ruling the world, that had brought Gorilla City to the attention of the Flash to begin with, and Grodd and the Flash had locked horns many times. Each time, Grodd was defeated, and each time, he was returned to Gorilla City for imprisonment and punishment for his crimes. And each time, he somehow managed to escape and plot more evil.
He was about to do so yet again.
The small, austere prison building in the midst of the city was guarded by two gorillas wearing matching purple hoods and carrying sub-machine guns. Both had been hand-picked by Solovar for their bravery under fire, and their loyalty. They thought they were prepared for nearly anything. But one thing they hadn’t prepared themselves for was the chance that Grodd might merely knock down the prison walls. And yet, that’s exactly what the evil ape did.
It started with a strange rumbling and cracking sound. Finally, with a loud “CHABOOM!”, the wall fell, and Grodd, grinning triumphantly, strode forth from the wreckage as the guards spun, jaws dropping in surprise.
“Grodd!”, one of them cried out. “He’s escaping!”
“That’s right, witling,” Grodd sneered as he leapt towards his attackers at blinding speed, well before they could raise their guns and fire at him. “Grodd is escaping…again!”
Having now reached the guards, he ripped the guns from their hands and threw them away from him as he continued his rant. “After my last defeat, King Solovar tried to imprison me forever...but he neglected to chain me as he should have, relying instead on sturdy prison walls!"
Grodd then grasped each guard’s head and slammed the two of them together like coconuts. With a grisly CRACK, both simian sentries fell to the ground unconscious.
“And, as a human philosopher once said,” Grodd went on, to no one in particular, “stone walls do not a prison make…nor iron bars a cage!”
Grodd now turned to face the crowd that was gathering, and shook his fist at them all defiantly.
“I couldn’t smash out with just one blow,” he pointed out, “but a thousand blows, I assure you, are a different matter entirely!”
By now, news of the breakout had spread as far as the palace, and four more purple-hooded guards were arriving on the scene. Grodd faced them, sneering.
“Ah, I see the reinforcements have arrived!”, Grodd said cheerily. “What a perfect opportunity to test my mental power blast!”
He stood before the charging apes, his arms akimbo, and as he did so, waves of telekinetic energy flowed forth from his brain. This energy wave hit the guards, and it was as if they had run headlong into a concrete wall. All four fell to the earth, out cold.
“Because of a chemical mist in my cell, I couldn’t use my brain energies to free myself; but now…nothing can stop me! NOTHING!”, Grodd ranted. Then he lifted his face to the heavens, and laughed…a loud roaring of demented glee that almost threatened to shake the city’s buildings from their foundations. As he stood there, his laughter ringing off the walls, he failed to notice his body growing dimmer. Gradually, the triumphant laughter faded…and when it was gone completely, so was Grodd
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:20:25 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:20:25 GMT -5
Back in the United States, even as all of these other events were going on, still more sinister events were taking place in another East Coast location. The official name of it was Special Security Federal Penitentiary Number Three, upstate New York. Its inmates called it Grim Gate…a joke taken partly from the still-fresh-in-everyone’s-minds Watergate scandal, and partly from the name of the prison’s warden, Jacob Grimm.
Grim Gate was home to the usual assortment of burglars, embezzlers and murderers that one would expect a Federal Penitentiary to house. It was also home to a few more bizarre individuals…one of whom was slithering down the west wall. He wore a scaly golden costume, with green trunks and boots, and the costume also had a writhing tail attached to it; the headdress was a gigantic snake’s head, complete with fangs that were coated with potent venom. He had been born Samuel Kingston…but was more popularly known as Copperhead, the serpentine king of crime.
Kingston had been incarcerated there since his capture, some years earlier, by Batman, Batgirl and the Black Canary. Ever since, he’d been dreaming of escape. Now, he finished gliding down the wall and joined his confederate, Mickey Davidson. Davidson was wearing a costume similar to Kingston’s own, but his was obscured by a heavy overcoat. Copperhead grinned at his lackey as his feet touched the ground.
“Well done, Davidson,” the scaly fiend said. “This escape was a masterpiece of timing, especially the way you smuggled in my new, improved snake suit during mess hour.”
“Thanks, boss,” Davidson replied. “But listen, it wasn’t all me.”
The reptilian rogue’s smile faded. He paid Davidson to be loyal, but he had no desire to be indebted to someone who wasn’t on his payroll. “You had help? WHO?”
“Some bunch called the Secret Society gave me money and the costume,” Davidson reported. “They also gave me this.”
With that, Davidson handed over a slip of paper. Copperhead cradled his chin in his hand as he read it.
“It’s an invitation…to the first bi-monthly meeting of this Secret Society?”, Kingston mused out loud. After a moment or two of weighing his options, he struck his palm with his fist as he made his decision. “Get the plane, pal,” he told his lackey. “We’re headin’ west to San Francisco…to a place called the Sinister Citadel!”
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Issue 1
Nov 15, 2005 21:26:45 GMT -5
Post by Admin on Nov 15, 2005 21:26:45 GMT -5
In other places around the world, similar invitations were being issued and considered. Finally, the day the invitation had specified came, and as the hour grew near, one by one, costumed villains began to arrive, incognito, at San Francisco, California’s high-rise Loman Building in the downtown Financial District. As the meeting time of 5:00 PM neared, each new arrival settled in to wait for the other invitees to arrive.
Most of them had already been there for some while as the “witching hour” approached. When it got down to only fifteen minutes before five, the sole female in the group volunteered to go back downstairs and usher in any late arrivals.
As she was doing so, the renegade Green Lantern, Sinestro, came within view of the Earth. To kill time more than anything else, he pondered yet again the circumstances of his visit to this planet.
“Odd,” he thought, “after all these months, and despite the oath I made to myself, I’m returning to Earth. Home to the man I hate most in all the universe: Hal Jordan. Earth’s Green Lantern. Yet, how could I resist such a sublime invitation? Whoever is behind this self-styled Secret Society must be powerful indeed, to send a sub-space message across half a galaxy…merely to request my humble presence.”
Sinestro entered Earth’s atmosphere at a point somewhere above the Napa Valley of California, moving too quickly to be seen clearly. Most people who saw him merely mistook him for a passing jet and went about their normal business. Moving to the Northwest, Sinestro approached the city around which the Bay Area revolved.
“Ah, San Francisco,” he thought as he flew over the Golden Gate Bridge and headed for his destination. “Perhaps this world’s loveliest city!”
He continued downward, finally landing gently in a deserted alleyway in the middle of Fisherman’s Wharf. A faint shimmering surrounded his figure, as his costume faded, his pointed ears became more rounded, and his complexion changed…from the beet-red that marked him as Korugarian, to a paler Hispanic brown.
“It’s time I altered my appearance to that of an Earth-man,” he reflected, “a deed simply done with the aid of my illegal Power Ring!”
He then left the alley, attired in a sedate blue business suit and looking like a Puerto Rican executive. A small brown satchel appeared in his hand. He began walking in the direction of the Financial District.
“A mundane mental illusion will prevent the humans from noting my somewhat florid complexion, and a small briefcase will complete the business-like effect.”
By now, he had walked several blocks to reach the area he wanted, and was somewhat winded and offended by the physical exertion he’d had to endure.
“And unless I’m greatly mistaken,” he noted as the Loman Building loomed before him, “that office building must be my destination: the so-called Citadel Sinister!”
He took a moment to look the place over. Like some modern-day Tower of Babel, it soared majestically in the twilit sky, high over the other surrounding skyscrapers. A gleaming mountain of glass and steel, rising as a mysterious monument to man’s technological ambitions, and stretching a full 100 stories above the City of Seven Hills. All this, the disguised Sinestro drank in as he stood in front of the building.
What Sinestro didn’t know was that, of the 700,000 people in San Francisco, less than 20 knew the true nature of the golden tower called the Loman Building…and not even those 20 knew of its origin and ultimate purpose, which was to remain concealed for some time.
At last, Sinestro entered the building. Born on the distant planet Korugar, Sinestro had led a life filled with star-spanning travel as much as with treachery, and he had seen wonders which would boggle a human mind…beauty which would freeze a man’s soul to stone. Yet, never could he recall having seen anything quite like what stretched before him now. Slowly, he approached the elevator, drinking in the splendor of the building’s lavish interior. So awed was he, that he didn’t notice the woman standing by the elevator.
“Incredible, the design,” he marveled, “Unearthly. It reminds me of the Omega Pleasure Palace…”
The girl, a goddess in a pink pants suit, smiled at Sinestro. Though such a smile had been known to make strong men grow weak at the knees, with Sinestro, she might as well have been a part of the wall for all the attention she got. She finally had to speak to get his attention.
“Monsieur Sinestro?”, she began.
Although he’d been temporarily stupefied by the luxurious surroundings, Sinestro still had enough presence of mind to remember that he was in disguise. So this slip of a girl calling him by name jolted him back to reality sharply. He wanted to raise his voice to her in anger, to demand to know how she had penetrated his Power Ring illusion.
What came out was a startled, “Eh, yes?”
Smiling again, the girl in pink motioned him towards the waiting lift.
“My name is Camille,” she purred. “We have been expecting you. The others are upstairs, waiting in the lounge. If Monsieur will step this way…?”
Regaining his composure, Sinestro muttered a stiff “Thank you,” and entered the elevator. As it shot upward, the woman in pink gently pressed on the purple gem at her throat, with a result that easily qualified as exceptional. A mauve energy field surrounded her, and in less time than it takes to tell it, the girl named Camille was gone, and in her place another woman stood. The same woman, in a way, and yet, very, very different. The new Star Sapphire, queen of the Zamarons. Using the powers at her command from wearing the gem, she flew upwards, following the elevator as it took Sinestro to the Loman Building’s 100th floor.
When the cage arrived at the top floor, the still-disguised Sinestro stalked out and was met by a balding, white-haired old man in English livery, who bowed and said, "Welcome, sir. I’m Carstairs, the butler.”
Sinestro sneered at the servant and curtly asked, “The girl mentioned some others, Carstairs. Where are they?”
Smiling and taking a step backwards, Carstairs bowed again and ushered Sinestro into a rustic, wood-paneled parlor. The room was crowded with villains, most of whom Sinestro had never met but knew by reputation.
There was the gorilla Grodd, visibly trying to control his impatience; Capt. Cold and the Mirror Master, lounging on sofas with drinks in their hands. A little ways beyond them was the Wizard, and next to him, Capt. Boomerang. Near him sat Copperhead, and back in one corner stood the Shadow-Thief.
The Wizard was one of the few there who gave Sinestro pause. Born William Asmodeus Zard, he had been fascinated by magic for years and had studied it at length in ancient Tibet. Though not the most powerful sorcerer on Earth, he was a longtime enemy of the Justice Society of America, and worthy of some respect. Sinestro also admired Zard’s fashion sense; he wore a formal tuxedo and top hat, had a well-manicured beard, and carried a stylish, dignified looking cane with a gem of some kind at the top.
By contrast, he held Capt. Boomerang somewhat in contempt. The Australian born Boomerang, whose real name was George Harkness but who was usually called “Digger,” had originally been a garden variety thug until he had conned his way into a trip to the United States on toymaker W.W. Willard’s money. In return, he had whiled away the time teaching American brats how to throw a boomerang, and had finally had the idea to concoct a small arsenal of gimmicky boomerangs to commit crimes with. How such a no-talent had managed to give the Flash any trouble was a mystery to
Sinestro, and he wondered what kind of bribe Harkness had to pay to get an invitation to this gathering.
Even Boomerang’s outfit appeared to Sinestro to be unutterably stupid. A blue cap, a white scarf, then a blue shirt festooned with white boomerangs; blue gloves, and black slacks and shoes…the man looked like a walking bruise.
Finally, there was the Shadow-Thief. Really Carlton Sands, from the Chicago/Midway City area, word was that he had somehow gotten ahold of a device from the planet Thanagar that let him transfer his body to another dimension while his semi-solid shadow remained behind to rob for him. Sinestro supposed that such an ability might come in handy at times, but even with such a gimmick, Sands was little more than a common thief in Sinestro’s eyes, and not worth much in the way of respect. His costume didn’t help, either; a dreary gray set of leotards. He looked like he needed dusting off.
Sinestro stood, still wearing his disguise, in the doorway looking at his comrades to be, and was about to decide that he was largely unimpressed when the new Star Sapphire soared into the room behind him.
As he saw her, Sinestro blurted out, “Star Sapphire? You here, too? But wait…” he went on, as she slowed down and he got a better look at her. “You’re not the Star Sapphire I know!”
Landing in a position before the other villains, she smiled again and addressed him with an air of utter confidence. "Oui, monsieur,” she said coolly. “I am her successor. Yet I have already proven myself to these men before your arrival…”
“And you haven’t,” the Mirror Master finished for her. “Mirror-contact lenses tell me you’re using an illusion of some kind, but…”
“Relax, Mirror Master,” Sinestro grinned as he once more regained his composure. “The illusion was produced by my Power Ring…” and as he said this, he allowed the disguise to at last drop away…”and that alone must tell you that I am…SINESTRO!”
The reflecting rogue opened his mouth to speak again, but never got the chance. Before he could make a sound, one of the paneled walls behind them all was smashed down by a quartet of familiar figures. It was Star Sapphire who identified them for everyone:
“THE JUSTICE LEAGUE!”
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