CRISIS : LAMENTATION DAY #1

[HoM]

CRISIS:
LAMENTATION DAY 

Written by Fantomas and House Of Mystery

Cover by Joey Jarin, dressed by Alex Vasquez

The Island of Santa Prisca:

The jungle was wet and warm. Jason Todd's sweat stuck his uniform tight against his skin. The wound in his side was wet and warm too, in the worst possible way. He stifled a cry as he released the pressure on the hole to get to the medical kit in his belt. Blood poured down his stomach, his leg, and down into his boot.

"Ah, shit, shit." With one motion the syringe he had taken from his belt was plunged into the wound and he pushed the plunger down, the jagged hole filling with a white liquid that expanded to plug the hole in his body.

Jason exhaled, breathing becoming easier. The pain was still there. But if he could breathe, he could run, and if he could run he could take what he knew back to someone who could do something with the information.

The jungle ended and the favellas began, dozens, maybe hundreds of houses stacked against, around and on top of each other, a small area densely populated with the low income populace of the island.

Jason had a safe house set up nearby, he just had to find it. He looked back at the tree-line, and saw that a trail of blood had followed him.

The word rolled out of his mouth like a breath. "Damn."

The sounds back in the jungle varied. Heavy machinery rolling toward the favellas. Cracklings of communication equipment that had been disrupted by his own machinations. He would have to make the change quickly.

The safe house was marked with the small crimson flag fluttering above the door. He entered quickly, sealing the door behind him. There was a panel next to the door that was mapped to his physiology, and once activated with a palm print the building would be sealed tight.

With a hand sticky with his own blood he did what was required and the front door hissed as the entire building was almost vacuum sealed. A low level force field was activated. It wouldn't last long, but he could get his bearings.

He stripped off what remained of his uniform, and allowed himself to cry out when the material caught in the wound. This wasn't going to get any easier any time soon. He bandaged up his torso and changed into his civilian gear. The air tickets were waiting for him at the airport. All he had to do was get there.

There was a knock at his door.

Metropolis:

Jason Todd opened his eyes to find himself in a completely different environment than the one he had been in before.

There was the hustle and bustle of movement-- human, civilian movement-- all around him, and he had no idea why.

His side still hurt, but it was dull now, like he'd gotten used to the pain. What had just happened? Where was he?

WELCOME TO METROPOLIS INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT, said the loud, vibrant sign overhead. METROPOLIS. THE CITY OF TOMORROW, PROUD HOME OF SUPERMAN!

"Metropolis? What? I don't..."

Someone barged past Jason, and the former sidekick of Batman went white-hot in the head. He clenched his fist, readied himself to pounce and pummel, but that was wrong too, that wasn't what he needed to do... he calmed, he relaxed-- just a little-- and wandered out of the airport and into street. His head was a blur. There was something in the back of his head, something shouting louder and louder, and he didn't know what it was. He felt his side burn, his heart beat like a heavy engine rolling mechanically, and then everything went soft and light, and the former Redwing, the former Red X, the former Batman... fell to the floor, unable to comprehend what he had just been through.

London, England:

"Aaaow! C'mon, Chas. Don't be like that! I was only joking!"

John Constantine had, as ever, made a bad joke at Chas Chandler's wife's expense. It was a lewd and dirty joke, involving the neighbour's pets, and it had taken a few long, drawn out moments for Chandler to get the punchline.

The rest of the pub had got it, and were rolling with laughter, but Chas, hard man that he was, good husband, had grabbed Constantine by the tie, and was holding his best friend up against the dartboard, jabbing his finger into Constantine's chest.

"Every time, John. Every time!"

"That's what I was just saying," said John, a wicked glint in his eye.

"I absolutely, bloody well hate you, Constantine," said Chas. He released John's tie, and crumpled. With a look of despair, he looked up at John, who was rearranging his tie, and shook his head. "Besides, Ren? Ren hates dogs."

Constantine doubled over and laughed loudly, Chas patting him on the back as the two headed back to the bar.

"So, where you been these past few months? When you called me taxi firm trying to blag a free ride, I thought it was some tosser trying to con me. I was half right. Well. Fully right."

"I've been in the ol' U S of A, Chas. Freelancing and the like," said John. He took a long slug of his Guinness and shrugged. "But I have to say, with them super-wankers flying about and men and women in masks playing out their sex games in public, just a bit much for me."

"You prefer your sex games to be played out in private, like?"

Constantine winked, and raised his glass. "Here's to that! Here's to keeping it in your pants until you're at home with your missus!" 

The bar roared in agreement and raised their glasses in agreement, and Chas and John laughed loudly.

So loud in fact, that when the explosion outside erupted upward, they nearly missed it.

"What was that?" asked Chas.

"How am I to know?" said John, grabbing his tan trenchcoat. "C'mon, now!"

The two men rushed outside, and saw a small figure floating above the street, bolts of purple lightning erupting from his body uncontrollably.

"Shit," said John. "What the hell is that?"

"Not one of your problems, is it?" asked Chas.

"Nah, mate. Not getting a whiff of magic of that hot mess of a person," said John.

A lightning bolt struck the pub behind them, sending shards of glass and brick showering out onto the street. Chas grabbed John and threw the two of them to the ground, the onslaught catching them in the back and sending pain shooting through their bodies. 

"Christ! Chas, you all right?" asked John. Blood dribbled down Constantine's forehead, tiny pieces of glass embedded across half his face. "Ah, shit!"

Chas was laying on his front, and didn't respond to John's question or his curse. John rolled him onto his back and swore loudly. A bloody welt had formed across Chandler's temple where he'd been struck by debris. Blood was dribbling out of his ear. John pulled Chas' mobile phone from his pocket and dialled 999, and called for an ambulance. He was  told the emergency services were already on their way. 

"Yeah, too right they are," said John. There was a roar of a motorcycle overhead, and two figures appeared on the scene. Knight and Squire had arrived, and they were taking it to the throbbing figure that had destroyed the latest of John's locals. Constantine turned his attention to Chas and cast a minor spell of stasis on his friend, preventing any further damage from affecting him.

"Blimey, Squire," said Knight, kicking himself away from the motorbike as he aimed it at the purple figure, "this bloke is really talking the mick, don't you think?"

Squire grinned and flipped backwards, following her partner's example. "You're not wrong, Knight."

The motorbike impacted against the figure and sent him careening toward the ground, sending a large discharge of energy up into the sky.

Knight landed hard on the pavement, his armour taking the impact, and then sprinted toward their fallen foe. He raised his fist, ready to strike the knockout blow, but what he was in the crater that had formed was a complete shock to him. 

"Puh please!"

The boy, no older than Squire, if not younger, was naked, bruised and battered. There was smears of ash around his eyes, mixed with the tears he was currently shedding.

"I didn't muh mean to! I just-- we were messing around-- and thuh then it wuh worked! The website worked!"

"What are you talking about, kid?" said Knight. 

Purple light began to spark up behind his eyes. A crystalline second-skin began to spread across his body, and he knew what that meant, and began to scream.

"Oh, oh God, mum! Mum!"

The boy shrieked, but then fell silent as he hit the ground, John Constantine standing behind him with the dartboard he'd used to knock him out.

"Looked like you could use some help, Cyril, me ol' chum," said John.

"Constantine," said Knight. "What are you doing here? And why do you stink of--"

John motioned to the pub. "Just enjoying a quiet bevvy when this twat caused a scene. He's done quite a number on this street. Well, now that you're all sorted, I'd suggest you get this kid to a hospital before he wakes up. Who knows what'll happen when he wakes up."

"Oi!" said Squire. She tugged John's coat, and the magician turned to face her, then realised he had to look down. "You can't just hit a kid and walk away!"

"You just drive your bloody motorbike into his head! Don't you start!" John dropped the dartboard and glanced at the hole in the building that the kid had apparently emerged from. "Huh, what's that then?"

Constantine paid no more attention to Knight and Squire, and instead headed into the wrecked building. The British heroes followed after him, and found him looming over a shattered computer. There were printouts everywhere in languages that John didn't understand, as well as a large, Wicker Man-esque creation that was still crackling feebly with purple energy. 

Constantine picked up a piece of paper, and saw a familiar logo on the top of the page. He grimaced, and turned his attention back to the two heroes.

"Ain't this a squalid little clubhouse."

"What is that?" asked Knight, pointing at the human-sized machine.

Squire leaned in close. "It's definitely an alien design. Look at these circuits--" She pointed at the burnt out remains of the creation. "--Looks like some kind of H'San Natall energy transformer."

Knight nodded slowly. "I have no idea what you just said."

"That's why you keep me around," said Squire. "Hey, where's the blonde bloke?"

"Constantine?" Knight looked over his shoulder, but John was nowhere to be seen. "Ah, forget it, he does stuff like that all the time. Let's go secure the kid, and wait for the police to arrive."

Metropolis:

"Superman, thanks again for coming, the children are always in such high spirits when you visit," said Doctor Ford.

Nadine Ford had been Chief of Staff at Metropolis Hamilton Hospital for the past decade or so, and when Superman arrived on the scene way back when, and the kids begged and pleaded with the nurses and doctors to meet him, she was the one who had gone on television to ask. And lo and behold, he had arrived, bringing hope to the boys and girls in the Children's Ward, telling stories of his travels and asking them about their dreams.

Ford and Superman were currently walking toward the hospital entrance, quietly chatting while the other staff at the hospital looked on in awe.

"You don't have to thank me," said Superman. "These children are inspirational, it's my absolute pleasure to meet--"

Ford turned back to see him frozen in place. "...Superman?"

The Man of Steel had stopped in front of the Intensive Care Unit, a look of shock on his face. Without another word, he stepped into the quiet room.

"Superman, is everything okay?" asked Ford from the doorway.

A nurse jumped in shock when she saw Superman stand over one of the patient's beds.

"When did this man arrive?" asked Superman. He picked up the medical notes, read them at super speed, then turned to Ford.

"Last week," said Ford. "He collapsed outside the airport. He's not in any databases, his fingerprints aren't anywhere in the system, we have no clue who he is, and we have no idea why he's in the coma! He's beat up, he looks like he's been through, well, a war! But even then... wait... do... do you know him?"

"Yes," said Superman. He looked down at the comatose body of Jason Todd, confused and concerned. 

J'onn, he thought, get to Metropolis Hamilton ASAP. I need assistance.

The Justice Society of America's New York HQ, the Medical Wing:

"What's his condition, Doctors?"

Doctor Pieter Cross and Doctor Beth Chapel were looking at the latest charts regarding their patient. The machines hissed and made loud, thudding noises, all working together toward the cause of keeping the man they were plugged in to alive.

The man-- if you could call him that-- who had asked the question, was stood at the foot of the bed, his mechanical body moving without so much as a sound. His human name had been Robert Crane. His current name was Robotman. An artificial body housing a human brain. An astounding feat of engineering and medicine.

"Hey Doctor Crane, didn't see you there!" Beth smiled and placed a hand on Robotman's, "you need to sneaking up on people, you ol' rustbucket."

"Erhem." Chapel and Crane turned to Cross, who was regarding a chart. "Sorry. In answer to your question, the swelling has gone down but the extent of the damage that was done to his brain is still unknown. At this point we just need to wait it out. He could wake up in two minutes. Two days. Two weeks. Months. Years."

"But we hold out hope!" said Chapel. "Alan Scott is one of the strongest-willed folks I ever met, kind of goes hand-in-hand with the ring, you know? So if anyone is going to kick this thing in the ass, it'll be him."

"Yes, well, we're running all the tests we can," said Cross. "The Justice Society of America are sparing no expense."

Alan Scott was in a coma with no sign of end. He had been caught in an explosion after an attack by the terrorist known as the Dragon King*, and a falling timber beam had struck him squarely in the skull, shattering it and causing brain damage.

They had run their tests. Now they were trying their best to wait.

*Back in Justice Society of America #14 - Check It Out Charlie

"Where's Molly?" said Cross. Molly Scott, Alan's long time beau and wife.

"She went home for the night," said Chapel. "She's been here every day since the attack. Joan Garrick finally convinced her to go home for the night."

"Good, she needs to get some rest," said Crane. "I have known this man for decades. I met him once, back before he got the ring, back when he were young men. Before this," he motioned to his metallic body, "and that," he pointed at the ring, still sat on Scott's finger. "A good man, even then."

"You're a good judge of character," said Chapel. "We're about to head to the other side of the building to see how the other patients are doing, do you want to come with us?"

"I'll stay here, Beth," said Robotman. "Just for a while."

"C'mon, he'll be fine," said Chapel. "He's linked up to the emergency alarm system. His vitals go in a direction we don't approve of, even Superman will hear."

"But still," said Robotman. Anything could--"

"Is this all of you?"

Robotman whirled around to the face the voice that emerged from the nowhere, only to be flipped to the ground by a dark shape from one of the shadowed corners of the dimly lit, night-time hospital.

In shock, Pieter dove for the alarm that was on the wall, slammed his palm against the big red button, but nothing else happened. He had expected something, a klaxon to blare, a sound to explode out, but there was nothing.

"We deactivated the emergency alarm. Obviously."

Emerging from the same dark that the shape that attacked Robotman had, Catman grabbed Pieter by the collar and threw him to the floor.

Robotman was being savaged by the man crouched on top of him. Sparks flew from his robotic body, springs and wires exposed with each vicious slash from his attacker.

"Shreck, keep the robot occupied," said Catman. "Toyman?"

The eight-foot tall animarionette Toyman jangled into the room and ensnared Chapel in a slinky that wrapped around her body. She toppled over and fell down with a thud.

"Beth!" cried out Pieter, reaching out to his colleague but being shut down by a swift stomp to the hand from Catman's boot. "Aaghh!"

"Happy to be of service," said Toyman.

"This is simple," said Catman. He looked down at Pieter, who was cradling his hand, and smiled. "We're taking a little ride with your Green Lantern here. We've shut down any and all communication to and from this facility. Our own lab boys have calculated a window of seven minutes before anyone notices you've gone quiet. That's how good we are at this."

"Who are you?" asked Pieter.

"I'm Catman. Your robot is being dismantled by my colleague Shreck. The walking doll wrapping the old timer up like a gift is Toyman."

Toyman turned from where he was busy plugging the life support systems that kept Alan Scott alive into himself and arched his wooden features into a smile. It was horrifying.

"You can't take him," said Pieter. "He's dying!"

"Then he won't mind what's coming next," said Catman.

"The Justice Society will hunt you down! They'll take you down!"

Catman snarled and grabbed Cross by the lapels, throwing him across the room, through a set of double doors and sliding to a stop in the middle of an empty ward.

"I'm the hunter. Me. You're just prey. All of you. Even with your power rings and your lightning bolts. I'm the hunter."

"You call kidnapping a defenceless man hunting?" said Pieter.

Catman shook his head. "Don't call him defenceless. We all know what he can do if he puts his mind to it."

"That's not who he is right now," said Pieter. "Please. If you take him, he's going to die!"

"Ask me if I care," said Catman.

"You think this is good? This is righteous? That man is on his death bed, that man might never wake up, and you call that a hunt? You're a coward. You hear me? You're a coward!"

Catman kicked Pieter hard in the stomach, sending him topping back down to the ground. In one swift motion Catman was on top of the Doctor, his knees pinning the doctor's arms down. During this, Catman pulled his bowie knife from his holster and began to slowly move it around above the captive physician's face.

The villain was licking his lips, sweat beading off his nose.

"I could kill you right here, you sonofabitch," said Catman.

"I'm not going to beg for my life," said Cross.

"I wouldn't want you to. I could make you beg me to kill you though," said Catman. "Do you know how I'd start?"

"Stop it."

Catman ignored the voice.

"I'd start with your eyes. Then finish with my knife what I started with my boot. You fingers would be next. What an exemplary way to continue your career in medicine. A blind gimp."

"Blake, you need to stop this. You need to stop this right now."

Catman turned and barked into thin air. "Quiet."

"You're mad," said Cross, trying to shift his weight under that of Catman, but unable to get free. "You're talking to thin air. You need to see a doctor. You need help. Let me help you!"

Catman returned his attention to the doctor. He lowered his knife toward Cross' right eye. "I would drive the tip of the blade just under the eyeball, and if I just levered it up, it would pop right out. I could keep it connected to the optic nerve. Show you your own face."

"You're already kidnapping one of the greatest heroes to ever live, Blake. Don't add murder to this mistake. Please. If you don't kill anyone, I won't talk to you for a while. How does that sound?"

Catman blinked, and spun the knife around in his hand, before slamming it down across Pieter's face. The doctor was knocked unconscious by the butt of the weapon, and blood dribbled from the newly formed wound on his temple.

"Deal."

Catman stood, and looked around.

In the corner of the room was the vision of a man only Catman could see, of a man he had never met in real life for more than five minutes. The man had no face, but he wore a blue suit and fedora. The man was a hero, and the man was in his brain, whispering to him all the time.

"Thank you."

"No talking," said Catman.

In the other room, Toyman had hoisted Green Lantern up so that he was secured to the former's chest, the life support machinery suplemented by Toyman's own internal mechanics. Catman entered, and surveyed the scene.

"Stuh stuh stuh stuh stoppppppp ppp ppp ppp," spluttered Robotman's decapitated head.

"Shut up," said Catman. He kicked the head hard, sending it flying into a shelf of medical equipment. The villain turned his attention to Toyman. "You ready to go when Warp arrives?"

"Indeed we are, Catman," said Toyman, stroking Alan Scott's blond hair. "I feel like a father. To hold another life so close to one's heart. So paternal. So warm and fuzzy."

Catman shivered. "Where's Shreck?"

"He took the female doctor into the storage room," said Toyman.

"He what?" Catman sniffed the air, and headed in the direction Toyman had pointed in.

"Don't struggle," said Shreck. He pushed the doctor's head to the side awkwardly, and watched the artery in her throat throb seductively. "Stop it. Just stop it. I said, stop it--!"

Shreck slapped her hard across the cheek and Chapel grit her teeth, not giving him the benefit of a scream.

"I need this. God, I need it."

"You're an addict, that's that's what you are," said Doctor Chapel, "just get it over and done with."

Shreck ran his hand through his hair and barred his fangs. "God, you smell so good..."

Catman burst through the door, grabbed Shreck by the shoulders and threw him out of the storage closet. He looked down at Chapel and scowled, then slammed the door shut as he left.

"What did I say?" said Catman.

Shreck looked up at the field leader and said nothing.

"I said you don't feed," said Catman, kicking Shreck back. "This needs to be a well oiled operation, you idiot, we don't go off script."

"Says the man who drags the doctor into a private consultancy," said Shreck.

"Shut your mouth," said Catman. "I'm in charge here. Not you. Me."

"Yeah, and you're not this far off falling over the edge?" said Shreck. The vampire held his fingers close together, so they were nearly touching. "You're not better than me, Blake. Your mask comes off, mine doesn't, that's the only difference between you and me. We're both monsters."

"Keep talking," said Catman. He pulled his bowie knife from it's holster and pressed a button on the hilt, causing it to glow in the dim light of the hospital. "I'll put you down right here."

The artificial sunlight emitted by the blade caused Shreck to scowl in digust.

"Eez thees ze emezing teemwerk ze Society pays yew for, Meester Blake?"

The crackle in the air signalled that their exit had arrived. Warp smiled smugly as he took a sip from the bottom of water he had carried with him.

"Are yew comeeing?"

"Stop!" Doctor Chapel stumbled out of the closet, still bound by the weaponised children's toy that ensnared her. "You'll kill him! Let me-- let me come with you, at least! Let me help him!"

"Silly girl, sit down and take your medicine," said Toyman, flicking his hand at the Doctor, beads of green, viscous fluid springing from his fingers. Chapel was caught squarely in the face, and reeled back at her skin began to hiss.

The next voice to come from Toyman's mouth was not his own, but Julie Andrews': "A spoonful of sugar makes the medicine go downnnn..."

Chapel writhed on the floor, her eyes jammed shut, the her face red and blistering after the impact of whatever acidic compound Toyman had inflicted upon her.

"Zat eez deesgusteeng," said Warp. He lifted a hand effeminately over his eyes, pretending to pathetically conceal his view of the suffering Doctor Chapel was experiencing. "Completlee."

Pieter Cross barrelled into the room, no longer caring for his own safety. His eyes darted toward Chapel, then to Catman, as the villain holstered his weapon and walked past the portal Warp had formed with his arrival.

Catman vanished from New York and appeared on Santa Prisca. The Question stood in the corner of the room in silence. "Don't you start."

"The Doctor was right, you know. You're a coward. And your vampire friend? Yeah, him too. You're a monster," said The Question.

Catman growled and turned to face the apparition, but the faceless man was gone.

"I couldn't help myself," said Toyman. He hugged Alan Scott closely, stroking the Green Lantern's hair slowly. "I apologise for going against orders."

"Just get that sack of shit to the hospital," said Catman. Blake removed his cowl and wiped the sweat from his face. "And when you get there tell the docs to ration Shreck's access to the blood bank. I've had enough of that vampire's habit."

Gotham City:

The cloak flared, and the gunshots zipped through the jagged shape, the man within vanishing into its shadowed folds.

There was a tzzing and the gunman yelled, his hand fixed to his neck, the gun jammed stuck in his grasp. A second bolas whirled through the night and pinned his legs, toppling him.

"You said Aparo Plaza would be easy, Scud," the gunman shouted, as his compatriot levelled his baseball bat and weighed up their cloaked assailant.

"Shut it, Dud."

Batman moved, dipped low and weaving under the bat’s swing. Flattening his hand he jabbed upwards, splintering the bat at the handle. He feinted right then hooked left.

"Batman."

"I’m working."

Batman’s hand jerked, shutting down a nerve cluster under the mugger’s ribcage. Side-stepping, he locked his leg behind his opposite’s and turned, neatly flipping their limp body into a judo throw.

"So am I."

In the upper reaches of Earth’s stratosphere, Green Lantern John Stewart shot tendrils of blazing emerald light out from the ring he brandished like a weapon, sending the beams spiralling out towards the black expanse of space.

Ring-arm straight, his other hand bracing it, he could have been a soldier aiming down iron sights, or an architect lining up imaginary girders.

Precision. Control. It’s all in the mental discipline...

The green tendrils wound together, fusing into thick rope, which in turn knotted together and gridded itself out into a gigantic net, stretching out across the distant reaches of the sky.

Batman bound the mugger’s wrists, then dropped him. He kicked the gun from the fixed grasp of the other.
"Why are you calling me, Lantern?"

John leant back against nothingness, bracing into his own projected forcefield.

"You’re needed. Emergency meeting of the Justice League. Something-- hang on, sorry."

The falling satellite crashed into the glowing net, and John gritted his teeth, tightening the rope bonds in his mind as it ploughed on. He held his arm, straight as a rod, willing a web of light from his ring out and binding up the net, bagging the satellite up and hauling it up, towing it back into space.

"Good catch," Batman voice came through dry on his ring’s universal communications link. "You’ve saved Lexcorp some damage claims."

"Should have checked the logo," John agreed, the green net retracting as the satellite began to drift, weightless once more as they left the thin blue of the sky behind them.

"I’ll be at League HQ momentarily. Make sure you remove that illegal surveillance system while you’re putting it back in orbit."

John’s ring pulled up a spectral analysis, the satellite stripped down in green miniature before him, while he formed hard-light callipers and vices to manoeuvre the original into position.

"Batman... the reason I called you without a general alarm...we wanted you to make the call on this one. You’ll understand when you get there."

There was silence on the ring, and John frowned as he worked, carefully dismantling the forward cone of the satellite’s main body. An automated telescope hooked to a video transmitter came away between green mechanical pincers.

A Basement in Fawcett City:

"Is that WHIZ Radio? What the hell? Who listens to WHIZ Radio?"

"Nobody. That's the point. Joey's thinks it makes him a hipster if he gets his news and jazz tunes from WHIZ Radio. Like it gives him more obscurity points."

"That is not why I listen to WHIZ Radio, Dave. I actually like this stuff."

The lanky girl with the piercings put her hands over her face and muffled a scream. "Can we stop saying WHIZ Radio? You're making it meaningless."

"Yeah, and turn it off while you're at it," the fat one said, looking up from his laptop. "I found it."

"No way. It it?"

"It it."

"I like WHIZ Radio," Joey said, quietly, tapping the window closed. The tinny crackle of the radio show died away.

"Link me."

"Not that easy. There's a ton of stuff you have to download, and then another ton of settings to mess around with...just get up and look at my screen, Ellen."

The lanky girl flopped down onto the mattress and propped herself up. She squinted, already looking bored. Joey peered his head over the laptop.

"Why does Firefox look so messed up?"

"Because it's on the Unternet. It's like...an eighth layer of the TCP/IP protocol. A whole other, secret internet hidden under the regular one. I hadn't even heard of it 'til someone put up some stuff on 52chan."

"Yeah," Ellen said. "We think that super-villains use it, to swap plans or cash or whatever without Cyborg or whoever from the spandex white-hat crowd from seeing."

"It's way cooler than we imagined," Dave breathed, leaning himself sidelong and reaching for the straw with his mouth. "Urgh, is this Soder Cola? I thought you went to Big Belly?"

"Big Belly Burger always does Soder Cola, Dave," Joey said, absently. "You're thinking of..."

"Taco Whiz," Dave agreed.

"Stop saying Whiz," Ellen repeated.

"No, but look. It totally is villains using it, and they have everything. There's something called oBey where you can buy and sell mad science stuff, like... yeah, there, look, Riot Duplication Chamber, Komrade Krabb's Neuro Crown... okay, so that one looks lame... but a LexCorp Plasma Exosuit? We could order something that can kick Captain Marvel's ass, I mean...come on, get excited here."

"Wait, we're 'villains' now?"

"We're not sheep to fawn over jerks like Marvel, that's for sure. Some of these super-villains have the right idea. They're challenging society to... to do something. That's revolutionary stuff."

"Think they sell drugs?" Ellen reached forward, grabbing at the mouse. "Oh, that is hardcore. Doctor Hellfern's Chemical Shipments...they even have videos of the effects..."

The teenagers watched, breathing quietly, as a video played. There was a scream that rattled the laptop's bust speakers, and then a droning voice, reciting the chemical formula and detailing prices and packaging costs.

"Hardcore," Ellen repeated.

"This stuff isn't even expensive. And look, they have blueprints and how-to guides for stuff you can't afford. Home-made mad science made easy."

"Way too easy," Joey said, squirming on his beanbag chair. "Doesn't this seem... weird to you guys?"

"We could totally be super-villains."

"Hardcore."

LAPUTA; the island HQ of the Justice League:

"Someone’s sending us a message."

Superman folded his arms, his perfectly blue, alien eyes looking out into the clear skies above.

"We don’t know that, Diana. The boy’s been off the grid for some time now. I don’t think Bruce even knew exactly where he was, or what he was doing. Anything could have--"

Wonder Woman shook her head as they walked through the winding corridor that led from the platform that looked out at the ocean, back into the main building and toward the main assembly hall.

"So it was simply a coincidence? No, Kal. Jason Todd was taken down and ditched on your doorstep. Someone wanted to get at Bruce and they wanted the entire League to know about it."

"He’s on his way. He doesn’t know."

"Why do I doubt that?" Diana said, resting her hands against the round assembly table. She stood over a rounded chair marked with the zig-zagging bolt of Flash’s lightning, piercing its white underlay.

"Bruce will see things my way," she said, her voice low, daring reproach. "He understands what we do. The war we wage on the other side."

"Diana, the boy was like a son to him," Superman said, his voice softening. "Whatever happens, this is his call. It has to be."

Diana’s fists curled, and she rose up, all the regal bearing of her Amazonian heritage borne out in her stance.

"Kal, all I’m saying is-"

Superman’s brow wrinkled. He raised his fingers, and Diana stopped.

"Where is he?"

Superman turned around, his arms falling to his side. "Bruce, we wanted to be sure it was him before we--"

"No," said Bruce. The white lenses over his eyes narrowed to fine angled slits. "Where. Is. Jason?"

"Below ground. J’onn’s been running him through the medi-bay computers, trying to get a more complete diagnostic. He’s... resting right now."

"Security systems on the island need improving," Batman growled, turning and heading for the elevator platform. "They didn’t even register the Batjet. And don’t get me started on the base’s perimeter field."

"Hate to say it, but he’s right. Laputa isn’t as secure as it once was. I mean, I know we’ve all been busy lately, but--"

The ceiling above them opened to allow John Stewart to descend, the ring’s luminescent green sheen washing over him as he touched down.

"--Huh," he frowned. "You got here first."

"We’ll be going over a refit of Justice League HQ defences later."

"And we’ll be right here waiting, Bruce," Superman said. "Go."

Batman nodded curtly and the elevator platform descended.

When he arrived in the medical bay, he breathed out slowly. Batman stood over the body, his expression studiedly stony.

Slowly, with pneumatic hissing, a machine breathed in and out for Jason, and his chest rose and fell in ragged rhythm.

The naked chest was a mess of scar tissue, puckered and stitched, bruised welts in varying shades of purple and yellow, and tubing and sensors running out to the laboratory of medical equipment stacked high around the bed.

Jason’s face was askew, the nose smashed out of joint, one eye swollen and deformed, a chemical burn searing a long line across his temple.

Batman stood motionless for a moment, and then tapped his cowl.

"A, begin forensic analysis. Run the visual feed to the cave, generate a photogrammetric projection. Call in Dick and Tim, I want their read on the results. Preliminary observation implies heavy battle fatigue, over the period of at least ten months. The variety of wounds suggests both conventional and meta-powered combat--"

Batman stopped, listening.

"I know who it is, A. Beginning subdermal examination."

Reaching into his belt, Batman drew out a slim cylinder. Twisting it, he used the weak laser to make a small incision into Jason’s stomach, using his cowl’s magnification lenses to focus on the cut.

"Parasite found," he continued, using tweezers and extracting a minuscule white louse. "He’s been living rough. The fish he’s eaten was bad. Gnathia marleyi. A species of parasite unique to the Caribbean."

Batman frowned.

"Good. Catch them up to speed. I want to know where Jason has been this past year."

The Flash was standing in front of the monitor bay, watching as Batman examined Jason.

"I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bruce like this. Just when you think the guy couldn’t get any more serious..."

The security feed from the medical bay cut out. Aquaman scowled as he dropped the power cord.

"That’s enough, Flash. Give the man his time alone with his boy. It isn’t our place to pry. Not now."

"So what’s the deal with Bats and this Jason? I don’t think I ever heard it in full."

"What about the 'Bat Family' has anyone heard in full?" Aquaman muttered, leaving the cramped monitor station.

Flash followed, zipping into step alongside the Atlantean king as he walked through the League's trophy room. A multitude of colours and shapes stood on plinths throughout the room, an arsenal of weaponry ranging from alien, magical, to chronologically-displaced, with capabilities that went beyond conventional destruction.

"This is why I don't waste time with modern art," Flash said, blurring as he moved from display to display. "What gallery could top this one?"

"Bruce was the boy's mentor. As Redwing Jason stood as the first of the Batman's close allies, the first to bring the Batman out of his inner darkness."

Aquaman crossed his arms, his expression closing off. Flash watched him, but knew well enough to let him continue his talk uninterrupted. The Atlantean's moods matched his ocean kingdom, waning from tempestuous storms to this musing quiet, the calm still of the sea floor.

"The boy was too angry. Bruce made a mistake in choosing to train him. It was a mistake he buried, and it is only recently that he has acknowledged the existence of Redwing at all."

Flash waited for more, but it soon became clear that Aquaman had finished.

"It's weird to be back in the swing of things," said The Flash.

"How so?"

"Back here, back with the Justice League," said The Flash. "Did you miss it?"

"The talking? The waiting?" Aquaman frowned. "This is not how I conduct my own affairs."

"Something tells me it'll all get lively soon. Hey, the Key’s nerve-blaster," the Flash said, turning the golden gun over in his hands. "Remember this one?"

"The League has endured against villainy in some truly bizarre forms," Aquaman acknowledged. "Whatever did this to Jason will be brought to justice, same as the rest."

The Island of Santa Prisca

"Looking good, Doc," said Harlequin. She shifted her goggles, and licked her lips at the sight of the comatose Alan Scott laying on the gurney in the centre of the room. "This guy. Wowza. Can't believe Catman's crew pulled this off. Heist of the century."

"The Justice Society won't be pleased," said General Immortus. "There will be repercussions."

"Y'think?" said The Gambler.

"I do," said Immortus. He ignored the sarcastic tone in her voice.

Doctor Malthus had just finished making the final preparations for what was coming next. "Did you ever fight them? Back in the day?"

General Immortus' breath rattled out from his lungs. The ancient warlord smiled as he stood over the comatose body of Scott.

"Once," Immortus said. "Through proxies. I did not think it best to make the Justice Society aware of my existence, but as the decades went on... that damned Doom Patrol... my secret was exposed to the world. They knew I walked the Earth."

"The weight of immortality," said Scandal Savage. "My father would never admit it, but he regrets his forays into overt world domination. There's something about fighting in the shadows that our fathers find so romantic."

"True, and the Detective brings out the worst in my family," said Talia Al Ghul. "My father would throw himself into the mouth of a volcano if it meant ending his nemesis' existence."

"What a loss that would be," said Bane. "The Demon's Head and the Dark Knight, their mutually assured destruction freeing the rest of us from our incessant cycles of battle and loss."

"No more defeats," said Immortus. "I do not lead a losing side."

"We do not lead a losing side," said Scandal. "I did not accept this position to lose."

"Y'all are getting caught up in your recollections again, folks. C'mon now, let's get back to ruining the supercapes' day," said The Gambler.

The inner circle of the Secret Society of Super-Villains were planning something big.

Bane, the muscle-bound engine of destruction, tempered with a criminal genius matched by only a select few-- most of them stood in the room with him. His evil first taking root here, on Santa Prisca, fuelled by the super-steroid Venom. Bane kicked the habit, went cold turkey. The thing that kept him sane through his withdrawal? His need to break the Batman.

General Immortus, mysterious military leader whose origins have been lost through the ages. Once the dread nemesis of the Doom Patrol, now a key strategist for the Society.

Doctor Samuel Malthus, nebbish and cowardly, the scientific genius behind the Society's recent advances in Rogue-terrorism. Former foe of the Suicide Squad. Currently living in a perpetual state of fear that Task Force X lurk somewhere in the shadows of his life...

Talia Al Ghul, 'Vanguard of the Demon'. The former lover of Batman, whose father had tried time and again to turn the hero to their side. Current leader of the League of Shadows, an elite network of assassins, mercenaries and killers, she intends to use the Society to elevate the 'Al Ghul' name back to prominence after the depths Ra's Al Ghul took it in his mad quest for Batman's destruction.

The Gambler, Hazard Sharpe, her luck manipulation powers and ability to twist fate in her favour were skills she had used for personal gain, but even with those abilities she had not yet been able to track down her father's killer. Terra-Man had stolen the identity of The Gambler. For Hazard, that could not stand.

Harlequin, Marcie Cooper, a brilliant businesswoman and master of deception, not as crazy as she sounds and possibly crazier than she realizes. With her hypnotic glasses and constant connection to the digital world, she shapes the world like a modeller shapes clay.

Scandal Savage, daughter of the immortal Vandal Savage. Representing her father's stake in world domination and here at the behest of her childhood friend Talia. She has her own identity to carve, her own mark to make...

"Where's out mysterious friend?" said Malthus. "I would have thought he'd have wanted to be here?"

"He's praying," said Scandal. there was disdain in her voice. "He'll join us when the deed is done."

"I assume that is my cue to enter," said Psimon. His brain throbbed visibly in the glass cage atop his skull.

"You know what you're looking for?" said Malthus.

Psimon rolled his eyes drolly. "Doctor, I assure you, even if I did not know already, the irritatingly loud thoughts you're projecting in your nervousness would have informed me instead."

"And the others?" said Immortus.

Psimon smiled. "I appreciate your faith in me."

"Do not jest with me," said Immortus. He stood in front of the psychic, a head shorter than the pale-skinned Psimon, and levelled an angry finger in his direction. "The man whose brain you are about to invade is one of the strongest willed men to have ever lived. And before you even try and enter my brain Mister Jones remember that I have lived a thousand lives, and if you dare--"

Psimon winced. A vein throbbed in his temple, and a bead of blood dribbled from his nose. "I... I am sorry... I did not..."

"No, you didn't," said Immortus. "Call your team in. Your 'psychic attack force', or whatever you called in. And do not ever try to be the big man in the room again."

"That role in already taken," said Bane. The behemoth cracked his knuckles.

"My team is here," said Psimon. He wiped the blood from his nose and sucked on the side of his fist where it had collected. "You have to understand, bringing so many of a similarly enabled type of person into the same room might--"

"Excuses," said Talia. "I had thought you would have exhausted all of them by now."

"Fine," said Psimon.

Hazard leaned over to Malthus, whose latest flop sweat was intensifying pretty quickly. "I'm impressed by your stuff, Sammy. These telepathic jammers you put together are working a treat."

"Yes, well, needs must, eheh," said Malthus.

"Ugh," said Hazard. She headed over to Harlequin. "Are you going to stick around for this?"

"I don't think so," said Harlequin. "This whole scheme is just driving me mad. And that guy we're having to share a meeting room with now? I don't like him. Not one bit."

"Yeah, he gives me the creeps too," said Gambler. "Let's go find a bar, I know a place near the bay that serves a great mojito."

"Ooh, yeah. That's a scheme I can sink my teeth into," said Harlequin.

The two women left as a group of grotesque men entered the room.

"Alan Scott, Alan Scott, what a treat, what a challenge," said Doctor Psycho. The diminutive psychic was almost skipping with anticipation.

{Not the Green Lantern I want to get my hands on,} said Hector Hammond. His immense head was propped up by a neck brace so as to prevent his spine from breaking under the weight.

Behind him was a gaunt, thin husk of a person. He was pushing Hammond's wheelchair, and the thin bead of drool rolling from his mouth gave no one the confidence as to his ability to get the job done.

"Mind-Eater," said Malthus, "can you hear me?" The Doctor was waving his hand in front of the unresponsive shell of a man.

"Crawley doesn't talk anymore, Doctor dearest!" said Psycho. "Hector and I are pulling the strings. Put the hat on him though! Put the hat on him and you'll get a reaction!"

Malthus was terriifed by Doctor Psycho and did as he was told. He took the silver hat from the box on the back of Hammond's wheelchair, and placed it around Mind-Eater's head. He pulled the clasp tight, and a spark of red light crackled outward.

"Hhhsssyeyesssssss," said Mind-Eater. His eyes darted around. "Where am--" He licked his lip, and wiped the saliva from his chin with a quick flick of his tongue. "Where am I now?"

"Dear boy, you're in prison!" said Doctor Psycho, tapping the young psychic's side. "But do as you're told and we'll bust you out!"

The addled Mind-Eater smiled, nodded, and thanked the Doctor.

"What happened to him?" Scandal asked Talia.

"Parasite got to him, drained him of every thought he ever had, as well as his powers. That hat used to belong to one of General Immortus' old friends, Mento."

"Mento? Steve Dalton? The industrialist in Star City?" said Talia.

"What a brilliant little genius Steve Dalton is," said Psimon. "The hat gives Mind-Eater the kickstart needed to be functional again. Take it off him and he goes back to being a meat puppet."

"Yum yum," said Doctor Psycho.

"We work with monsters," said Scandal.

"Don't call us names," said Doctor Psycho. "Who knows when we'll meet again, and who knows if the circumstances would be as pleasant as they are now?"

"Are you threatening me, little man?" said Talia.

"No, of course not!" said Psycho. The man beamed.

"Oh, that's lovely," said Scandal. Before the two women walked away smiles formed on their faces. "That's really lovely."

Doctor Psycho licked his lips, and added a to-do item in the back of his head.

"Are you ready, my friends?" said Psimon.

"Dear boy, I was born ready," said Doctor Psycho.

The four psychics hovered around Alan Scott, and went to work.

LAPUTA; the island HQ of the Justice League:

"J’onn."

The viridian-skinned being turned, an elongated cranium tilting with an insectoid click.

The insulated Martian spacesuit he wore melded with the shadows of the unlit chamber, and his cape drifted sluggishly through the air behind him, billowing out as if suspended underwater.

"Low lighting. Lowered gravity. Homesick?"

"Perhaps." The voice modulated, an alien bass that had a tinny ringing to it. An approximation of human speech, close but never exact.

J’onn’s quarters were spartan, utilitarian steel for the most part, but violently red clay sculptures had been assembled and placed carefully about the floor. J’onn touched one, delicately, curved fingers stroking the grainy surface.

"I find myself returning to the philosophical shape-tracts of my people more and more these days, Batman. Something has... rekindled my interest in my heritage."

"I noticed. You’ve let your form move further from its human structure."

"Yes," J’onn agreed, his eyes flashing an auburn red. "It is strange that so many of the League are defined by their losses."

Batman gritted his teeth, setting his jaw.

"I know what you want to ask, J’onn."

"To investigate Jason’s mind," the unearthly voice rumbled. "To use his memories to find the cause of his current condition."

"You know my answer already."

"Yes."

"Good," Batman turned to leave, his cloak lifting and falling in slow motion about him, a backdrop in shadow. "Have Diana and John assist you. They both have the willpower to assist in your telepathic invesitgation."

"Very good, Batman. And you have your own methods of investigation to pursue?"

"Always."

The Island of Santa Prisca

Hazard sipped her drink and stared glumly at the mirror that was behind the bar.

"Penny?" said Harlequin. The female trickster spun her hands together and then pulled a single coin from behind The Gambler's ear. "For them, I mean. Your thoughts. Penny for your thoughts."

The flair pulled Hazard from her reverie and she managed to crack a smile. "Huh? Oh. Ha. I didn't think parlour tricks were your thing, Marcie."

Harlequin awkwardly blew a strand of her red hair away from her goggles, and shrugged her shoulders. "Jack of many trades."

"Sure," said Gambler. "Well. I'm just..." She paused. "Do you ever feel like we're treading water here? That we all had our plans and our aims and they've all gone straight outta the window?"

"Hey girl, I hijacked Lex Luthor's recruitment drive and made the bald bastard crap his pants, that's how I got onboard this island paradise. You know how it goes."

"Yeah, you're a scientific genius capable of trickin' even the great Lexy Luthor into lettin' you have your way. I was bought onboard to a)" She raised her finger pointedly, "get the resources I needed to track down the man who killed my pops, and b)" she raised a second, "use my luck altering powers to make sure things go our way when needs must, but what with all that's happened, like the Parasite trying to kill the president... and now the fact we've gone and kidnapped ol' Green Lantern Alan Scott, all because that red faced bastard came in and promised us something more, I'm farther away from my goal than ever."

"Father. I see what you did there," said Harlequin.

"Not now, Marcie," said Gambler.

"Yeah, that was, ouch, close to the knuckle. But hey now, you don't want ultimate power?" said Harlequin. "You don't want to rule the world?"

"I want my daddy back," said Gambler.

"All that and more can be yours, Hazard Sharpe."

The two women turned and visibly flinched at the sight of the red-suited man who was stood behind them. His mask, featureless apart from the white slits of his eyes, was titled to the side. There was no face behind the mask. No neck. No skin. Only the mask. And the suit. And the gloves.

"Johnny," said Harlequin, "I am getting sick of you creepin' up on us like that."

"I apologise, my dear," said Johnny Sorrow. He latticed his fingers together and leaned forward, his thumbs touching where his chin might be. "I come bearing great news."

"You found Terra-Man?" said Hazard.

"Even better," said Johnny. His voice was melodic, a hypnotic, sing-song intonation to every word. "Psimon has completed his task. All it took was a few bloody noses, but we have retrieved the information from Alan Scott's brain."

"Even better," said Hazard. Harlequin's lips turned upwards in a smile.

"Come now, Hazard, you must understand that if we retrieve my master's remains, that all your dreams will come true. You and your father will be united. The Earth will be ours. No more Justice Leagues. No more Justice Societies." The last word hung in the air with the bitter emphasis Sorrow put on it.

"Yeah, because askin' for trouble on that scale is surely not gonna' come back and kick us up the ass," said Hazard.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," said Johnny. "The psychics are resting now, but we know where to dig, my dears. Catman is assembling his team."

"So where?" asked Harlequin. "Where did your daddy-monster go and lay his head?"

"My master did not go to rest willingly," said Johnny. "He was snatched from the world and buried against his will by the Justice Society of America. My reason for being was snatched from me, and it took me decades to return. So do not belittle the trauma my master has been put through. He will surely not be happy when he awakens from his dreams."

"Blah, blah," said Gambler. "Where?"

"Nanda Parbatt," said Johnny. "The King of Tears sleeps beneath Nanda Parbatt."

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT MONTH, SEE YOU THEN!

IF YOU'D LIKE TO LEAVE FEEDBACK ON THIS ISSUE FOLLOW THIS LINK AND LET US KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT! 

If you've not already, check out JSA: LEGENDS OF THE GOLDEN AGE SPECIAL #1 - A CRISIS : LAMENTATION DAY PRELUDE for more!