Post by HoM on Jun 28, 2016 2:45:01 GMT -5
Previously, in GREEN LANTERN CORPS…
HANK HENSHAW had been through it all since his induction into the Corps. Soon after stepping up when HAL JORDAN was unable, he was viciously murdered by the intergalactic despot MONGUL.
Eventually resurrected and used as a puppet by the malicious entity known as the PREDATOR, HENSHAW was then imprisoned beneath Oa by the GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE, before redeeming himself during the RED LANTERN CORPS invasion of the Corps’ home.
After a confrontation he doesn’t fully remember with the vile LEX LUTHOR and TERRI HENSHAW-- his long-thought-dead wife!-- HANK’s his ring abandoned him when his willpower was at it’s lowest ebb, an act that expelled the troubled Green Lantern from the Corps!
While HENSHAW recuperate on a hospital world, GUY GARDNER and JOHN continue their hunt for BLACK HAND, who roams America on a search for HAL JORDAN, who is currently hidden from their rings.
In addition, SINESTRO wants to get to the bottom of the mystery of the missing KYLE RAYNER , who vanished along with nearly everyone who knew him’s memories of his existence!
Back on Oa, a colony of Daxamites who were placed in the Phantom Zone after their exposure to lead by the mad Kryptonian XA-DU are about to have a mysterious cure tested on them so they can be freed from their exile. Will it be successful? SODAM YAT obviously hopes so!
Welcome back to the ongoing adventures of the GREEN LANTERN CORPS!
Coast City had a smell about it, fresh and green, downtown perpetually tinged by the scent of wet grass. There were little to no industrial areas, no factories pumping out air pollution like Detroit or Keystone, instead this was a military town, airfields at every point of the compass. Aeronautics was the name of the game, and this city lived and died by its record. And right now, it thrived.
Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his battered black leather jacket, Hank Henshaw took a stroll down central boulevard, toward the city’s museum of aeronautics. His was a life steeped in the skies, first as a pilot in the United States Air Force, before dovetailing into his true passion, the stars his destination, and joining NASA.
The streets darkened. He looked up, cupping his hand over his eyes, and saw a roaring, metallic shape displacing the clouds and fill the sky. He mouthed the question, what is this? Before explosions began to roar downward, tearing up the roads and sending cars flying. He ducked, headed for shelter, but skidded to a stop when he saw a young girl sobbing in the middle of the street, surrounded by fire.
A loud, grating voice emerged from the shape that inflicted horrors on the city below, someone on loudspeaker, someone with nothing of value to say but with the capacity to say it.
“PEOPLE OF COAST CITY. YOU ARE NOTHING. I AM MONGUL. THERE IS A POINT TO BE MADE.”
Mongul? Hank doubled back, turning on his heel and making a beeline for the fallen girl. He pulled off his leather jacket and wrapped it around his arms then leaped across the flames that licked at his shins. There was a ring of fire around the girl, trapping her as the world exploded all around. He landed hard, nearly tweaking his ankle, but he grimaced, swallowed the pain. He looked down at the girl. “Let’s get you out of here--”
The skies cleared immediately. The fires continued to rage, the damage done, but then a further change occurred. The skies took on a violet tinge. Blue turned to purple. What now? thought Henshaw. Crystalline constructs rose up from under the ground, tearing up what was left of the Coast City streets. Buildings were encased in the sapphire-like substance, wrapping them up and sealing in those inside.
“THERE IS THE CAPACITY FOR GREAT LOVE IN YOUR HEARTS. BUT THAT’S NOT ENOUGH FOR ME.”
The second voice, like a vibration grinding upwards and out of the structures, scraped against Henshaw’s soul. The voice was familiar. So familiar, but he couldn’t place from where. No matter. His priority was the girl. He looked down at her again, she was sobbing, but he made reassuring sounds. But when he looked back up and around at the chaos, the world was falling apart. He saw more crying children. Parents who couldn’t find their kids. Elderly trampled in the chaos. And the sapphire constructs were stretching up, enveloping the entire city, and he was just stood there, this one girl in his arms, and what else could he do?
Something, he thought, anything. He held up his hand, looked at the empty finger on his left hand. He would need more. He would need to be more, do more, and he had it inside him to do just that. The emerald band formed around his ring finger and solidified. His civilian clothing faded, replaced by the uniform of an officer in the Green Lantern Corps. The mask came next, and then he stood whole, complete, Green Lantern once more.
“This ends,” Henshaw finally said out loud, “this ends now.”
Dozens of emerald constructs flooded out of him, and they multiplied into their hundreds. Every injured party, every fallen innocent, they were bundled up and collected. He couldn’t physically do it, but with the ring, anything was possible. The energy flowed like a river, in branching tributaries that went to where they needed to go. He passed the girl, not sobbing now, quiet entranced, to an energy duplicate of himself, and shot into the air, toward the source of both voices.
From out of nowhere, as he moved upwards, Mongul grabbed Henshaw by the back of the head and wrenched him down, while the Predator punched him in the chest, causing his legs to curl upwards in pain. He saw their faces, these two monsters, the ones who did the most hurt to him in all his life. The ones that sent him down the spiral that tole him to doubt his place in life. Mongul’s chest weapons matrices began to activate, and a beam of pure, devastating energy flowed from him and through Hank, tearing a gaping chasm through his heart. At the exact same moment, the Predator drove his hands into Henshaw’s head, scratching at his mind and moving gingerly toward his soul and----
--Hank Henshaw opened his eyes and realised he was still sat in Doctor Dolchechk’s office, the ancient, psychic alien who was insistent he could fix the damage that led Henshaw to his current point in life. The alien had ended the link, and was smiling. Why would you-- how could you-- be smiling if you’d just seen what Hank had experienced?
“What… what was that..?” asked Hank. He was sweating. His heart was racing. It had felt so real. A confluence of bad times and worse memories, and he was back in it, swimming in the muck of near deaths and reckonings.
“We took a peek into your mind space, Mister Henshaw,” said Dolchechk. “Our first session is over.”
Issue Sixty-FIVE: “Haunted Houses”
HoM / FLINCHUM
In the conference room of Laputa, the Justice League’s island headquarters, John Stewart had just about finished explaining the events of the last few days. Japan. Parallax. He had one more topic, one more bad timing thing that he needed to share with the world’s greatest superheroes. He was getting there.
Sat next to the Green Lantern was Wonder Woman. Raven-haired and as beautiful as they came, Diana was a myth come to life, and her presence in a room would act as a calming influence if things were to ever get heated. Not that it would in this case, but she drew answers out of those who held them tight to their chests, and in her role as ambassador for the island nation of Themyscira, she excelled. No one, apart from John, was dressed in their costumes. Diana wore a plain, long sleeved black shirt and jeans, the only hint of her superhero identity, other than her sheer presence, were the pair of silver bands around her wrists.
Take John’s power ring from him and he was still a trained soldier and expert sniper. Take away the tiara, the lasso and the bracelets, take away the costume, and Diana would forever remain a trained warrior, expert in arts of war from across recorded time. Never let that smile fool you, thought John, this woman could tear you to shreds in seconds if push came to shove.
Stood silently by the window, looking out over the sea was the Guardian. James Harper was in his late eighties but had stopped ageing in his late twenties. Why? Simply, the American military experimented on him during World War 2 in an attempt to create the ultimate soldier.
The scientists were successful, but Project: Guardian ended after events that Harper himself kept close to his chest. John had heard rumours of Nazi sabotage, but he didn’t feel comfortable raising the question with a man who was as much a living legend as the best of them. He’d fought in countless wars, never an agent of the government, always an agent of the people. There was no fight in America’s history you could accuse him of being on the wrong side of, and he’d taken his political licks for his high morals time and time again.
Not that he cared. As long as he did the right thing, the man would be happy.
With his hands clasped securely behind his back, Harper was wearing a grey blazer and white shirt, plain trousers completing the ensemble. His unbreakable golden shield was sat on his chair at the meeting table. He took in everything that was said, and never said a word unless it contributed to the conversation.
Meanwhile, Hawkman, his battered vest charred from working the furnace in the base of Laputa, his arms pock-marked by burns where he’d worked molten metal into the shape he wanted, was tightening his grip around the leather strap attached to the mace he’d left lying on the table when the meeting was called. Evenly, considerately, Katar Hol tightened his grip, the sound of leather grinding under his fingers, then he’d release the grip. Tighten. Release. He wore his long, dark hair down, a few days’ worth of stubble lining his chin.
Doctor Light, the Japanese scientist who held degrees in numerous disciplines, listened intently to what John had to say. There was regret on her face-- she had spoken to the Green Lantern before he’d departed for her homeland, offered to accompany him, but he’d turned her down, confident that he could handle whatever came his way. She’d apologised when he’d arrived back on Laputa, earlier today, but he’d quickly shot her down and apologised doubly to her. He was arrogant to assume he could handle it, and when he held his hands up in defeat, he stayed he clearly couldn’t have, considering the situation he found himself after.
Sat in the chair emblazoned with a logo denoting her superhero identity, just like the others, Kimiyo Hoshi sat next to Hawkman and took notes. Wearing a bundle of rough work clothes that she kept down in the lab for when she was working on the project she’d started with Ray Palmer and Ted Kord-- the Atom and Blue Beetle, respectively-- she wasn’t vain, nor was she one to care about her appearance, and she’d been working when Green Lantern landed. She’d called her friends in the Japanese superhero set after the events of the week prior, and they were all right. They’d faced a great evil in Parallax and Yamada Naito, barely made it out alive, but they had survived, and the threat of the monsters that loomed behind the dimensional barrier above the island they called home had been removed. Now they were given an opportunity to thrive.
“We heard about what happened in Japan after our return from 12th Space, but the sheer scope of the attack, we had no idea… we can only apologise, John,” said Wonder Woman. As she spoke, her hand found John’s, and she patted it lightly. This wasn’t an act of condescension, but of pure concern, and as John explained the situation, her silent expression could no longer remain passive. “We should have--”
John cut her off. “Oh, there’ll be no recriminations from me, Diana.” He smiled, hands up now, apologetic. “I honestly don’t know what good it would have done to have the Justice League there. More bodies, more victims in the firing line of Parallax. I’m just glad no one died.”
The Guardian looked back at Green Lantern from where he stood. He’d been through wars and knew the definition of an utter FUBAR situation when he saw one, “And Parallax is currently off the grid. .”
John considered the point. “Yes, and I have my theories where. The lab he was keeping those kidnapped elemental beings in, it was deep inside the Forbidden Sectors of the universe. Where there’s no Green Lantern Corps presence. I think he’s embedded himself there, dug in deep. Tactically, a great move. We can’t afford to divert resources to dig him out, and even if we did, we don’t have the firepower, the ace in the hole, to take him out.”
The ace in the hole. The Green Lantern’s greatest weapon and a good friend to the men and women who served. Kyle Rayner, the White Lantern, currently missing and currently absent from the memories of those who worked side-by-side with him. That mysterious was being worked on, being investigated, but it weight heavy on those involved.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Doctor Light.
“Perhaps my resources in the Polaris galaxy might be of some assistance,” offered Hawkman. The Thanagarian was bundles of muscles and a skin thicker than most. John always noticed how Hol talked. Perfect English with no hint of an American accent, in clipped sentences and with an intensity that rivalled Guy Gardner when he got going. “I know there have been rumblings of strange occurrences, the mad becoming madder.”
“That’s on the Corps’ radar,” said John. “But if there’s anybody who might be close to…” He stopped mid-sentence. “Let me back track. Parallax seems to be recruiting madmen into what we believe he’s referring to his ‘Effigies’, lunatics wielding energy powers that can hold off a number of my colleagues in the Corps at once. Yamada, the Japanese girl who was hiding in plain sight amongst the Ultra Element Force 5, she was one of them. Alex Nero, who I’ve mentioned before, was another. This recruitment drive isn’t specific to Earth, or to this space sector. There could be thousands, millions of these sleepers, all in wait until Parallax cashes in his favours to get them on the board. God, the thought is terrifying. But we’ll need to be ready.” Looking in Katar’s direction, he summed up, “if your sources hear anything, I’d appreciate the heads up.”
“Of course,” said Hawkman, returning the nod.
“Now, there’s more, not connected to Parallax,” said John. The others gave him a look. How bad had things got for the Green Lantern Corps. “I need to tell you about two men. Black Hand and a young gentleman by the name of Kyle Rayner.”
At Dolchechk’s insistence, even though he felt physically and mentally drained, Henshaw headed to the physical therapy ward, where Thomas Slaughter, another of John Stewart’s old comrades, was recuperating. The entire wing had glass walls, and when he queried it, Hank was told it was to ensure the monitors could see everything that was happening across the building. The patients were in a sensitive state, so the doctors and nurses had to be on standby at any time to intervene if something went awry.
The only human in the entire complex, apart from Henshaw and Alice, was Slaughter. Instead of the seamless integration of man and machine that Alice had become, Slaughter’s own prosthesis was heavy and clunky. He was a flesh torso, one arm and one leg, the rest metal and plastics.
A nurse walked by, sturdy and short, a pale purple skin visible where her white uniform was broken up. “I’m sorry, I had a question-- why does he look so different to Alice Dresden?” asked Henshaw.
The nurse looked over at Tom, sadness in her eyes, then back at Henshaw. “I’ve been told that Ms Dresden was a special case. Only Dolchechk worked on her when she entered the ward.”
“Hmm,” murmured Hank. He hadn’t known that.
“He’s mentioned you,” said the nurse, motioning to Tom. “You can go speak to him if you like.”
Hank considered it. “It won’t interrupt anything?”
“No, it’s fine,” said the nurse. “Please. It would probably do him some good.”
Hank couldn’t rightly refuse that. He knocked on the glass door that led to Slaughter’s room, where he was sat in front of an alien apparatus whose use Henshaw couldn’t discern. Tom looked over his shoulder. “Come in.”
“The nurse said you wanted to see me?”
“You’re… a friend of John’s…?” Speaking was obviously difficult for Tom. As if he could tell Henshaw noticing, he touched his adam’s apple with his flesh-and-blood hand. “My… voice box… was shredded. Getting used… to… the replacement…”
"I know John, yeah." Hank nodded. “You served together?”
Tom tried to stand, and had to steady himself on the chair. “Yeah… second Gulf War… and… the Apokolips… fiasco…”
Henshaw had been riding a desk during the Apokolips invasion a few years back. Told he couldn’t take part in a space flight after the Excalibur tragedy and his insistence that his wife Terri hadn’t made any mistakes, he was a thorn in the higher ups’ sides. Only Kyle ‘Ace’ Morgan had gone to bat for him. In the new world order of NASA enjoying Lex Luthor’s corporate kindness, nay-sayers were particularly frowned upon, and it ended up with Henshaw reviewing data generated by projects he-- or his wife-- should have been heading up.
After Apokolips invaded, Hank quit. Resigned his commission. Whatever. Went back into the world. If he couldn’t do something for the greater good, if he couldn’t fly, then what was the point?
“He’s a good man,” said Henshaw.
Tom sidled up toward the machine. Tubes began to flow outward from previously hidden places across it and connected with ports in Slaughter’s body. “The best. But he can’t… let anything… Go.”
This piqued his interest. “What do you mean?”
The tubing finished connecting with Slaughter’s body. “Come… here…” He gestured for Hank to step closer. Hank did as he was told. Liquids began to flow from the machine and into Slaughter through the pipes. When he was close enough, Tom leaned toward Hank, his lips quivering. “Alice isn’t…. Alice…” he said, slowly, “I see… right through… it. Whatever she is… now… she’s not… what she… was.”
Tom’s eyes closed as the liquid finished moving inside him. Hank took a step back, confused. Machinery began to slide in place around the man, dull, grey plating that locked into the numerous prostesis that riddled his body. The final piece to fall into place was a face mask that left all but an eye covered. As the skull-like mask locked into place, the broken man before him fell asleep as the machines did their work, and Henshaw left the room without knowing what to say.
In the large, angular chamber the Science Division had nicknamed ‘the Ghost Room’, the Phantom Zone projector stood ready for activation. In front of where the circular doorway into the spirit dimension would form, four Green Lanterns, rookies who’d shown a remarkable about of willpower above and beyond expectations, along with Saarek, the Corps’ ghost whispered, projected an emerald cage, ready to prevent anything untoward emerging out from where monsters awaited a chance of escape.
“What’s the volunteer’s name?” asked Lantern Salaak, glancing over at Katma Tui. She in turn was stood next to Lantern Yat, the Daxamite who was eager to see this experiment work.
“Lor Dar,” said Tui. “He’s one of their own scientists. Saarek?”
Saarek began to whisper to the rookies, “focus on the door, allow nothing to emerge,” and then broke off his own construct, letting their energies overlap and fill the gap left by him. “Dar is their senior scientist, the person who was in charge of maintaining the technology the colony took with them when they landed. He has volunteered due to his advance age.”
“So if he dies…” started Salaak.
“An acceptable loss, he’s said,” said Saarek. “A braver man than many.”
A colony of Daxamites exposed to lead by a mad Kryptonian doctor, a cure provided by the same man to cover his escape. They’d been reluctant to use the formula, for fear it might make the situation worse, but after the Science Division had run their tests they could find no traces that might kill.
A bevy of ancient compounds from the golden age of Kryptonian’s Science Age, the formula also contained strands of DNA that matched the samples beaten out of Xa-Du himself. The lead scientist in the team analysing it suspected that the best way to cure the lead poisoning was to splice elements of Kryptonian DNA onto the genetic spiral of the Daxamites, and Xa-Du used the only sample of the former he had at hand-- his own.
So yes, it really could be a cure for the lead poisoning the Daxamites experienced. The Phantom Zone had held them in stasis, but sensory deprivation was no way to live. They needed to act now, while they still had a life outside in the universe, rather than let them suffer in the dark for a thousand years.
“I have the serum ready,” said Soranik Natu. “One dose. The Science Division have given us the go ahead.”
Sodam Yat looked back at Salaak. “Can we do this?”
Salaak nodded. Acceptable loss was a horrifying concept to him, but he didn’t want the Green Lantern Corps to fail on this. If the Science Division were confident it would work then it would work. That’s something they had to believe in.
Katma activated the Phantom Zone projector and it immediately cast its monochromatic light against the plain wall, behind the emerald safeguards Saarek had prepared with the others.
Saarek, the ghost whisperer, he who could confer with the dead, reached a hand through the portal, then his entire arm until his shoulder was brushing up against the surface of the gap in space. He shivered, his arm going numb all over, but he reached out, waiting patiently.
After a few moments, he winced, surprised to feel pain, but when Yat took a step forward to help he shook his head. “It’s all right,” whispered Saarek. “I just--” His body jerked forward, but was caught by the energy cage that surrounded the gateway to the ghost world. The others were concerned now, but he again shook his head. “I can feel… something…”
Saarek felt someone take his hand and with two tugs-- confirmation of his identity-- Saarek yanked Lor Dar into the real world. The emerald construct allowed the older Daxamite through to the real world, and Yat grew excited, anticipating. Yes. This was working. This was happening.
“Disengage the Projector!” said Saarek. Tui did so, and watched as Soranik rushed to the side of her newly emerged patient. The ghost whisperer stumbled back, clutching his arm, and leaned against the wall. Once the Phantom Zone projector was off, the rookies allowed their constructs to evaporate along with it.
Dar had immediately begun to seize up. His body shook as the lead poisoning continued to work its way through his body now that he was out of the Phantom Zone’s suspended animation. The others watched as Soranik enveloped him in a cocoon of light and pushed the hypodermic needles containing the cure into his arm. Dar let out a cry as heat filled his veins, and immediately went still.
“Soranik?” whispered Sodam.
Natu held up her ring as medical readouts flooded the air above it. His vitals were spiking across the board, but after a fretful expression began to form across her face, the fluctuating lifesigns stabilised and Dar exhaled heavily. “I think…” whispered Natu, looking down at her patient. “I think it worked…”
Dar nodded slowly. “I h-hurt all over.”
Soranik laughed. “Good, that means you’re alive,” she looked back at Salaak. “I’d like to observe for 48 hours, run some tests, and then, if it all looks good across the board, we can begin pulling the others out.”
“Good,” said Salaak. “Reconvene here when Lantern Natu gives us the green light.” He glanced over to Saarek. “Good work, Lantern.”
The ghost whisperer smiled but gripped the arm he’d thrust into the Phantom Zone. He was bleeding.
“Are you all right?” asked Tui.
“Something in the Phantom Zone has teeth,” murmured Saarek, showing the mighty bite mark at his bicep. Something had taken a chunk out of him… something physical lurking in the Phantom Zone… “I think it best we waste no time when Natu says we can continue. Else something else might take care of the Daxamites before we can save them.”
Exhausted and reeling from his experiences inside his own head, Henshaw entered the room he’d been assigned to stay in for the duration of his treatments. Alice Dresden stood at his desk, holding up the chunk of inerton John had given him before leaving the planet. She was measuring it, considering it, but his arrival back in his quarters made her replace the cold metal and turn to him.
“I was wondering when you were going to get in,” said Alice. “Nice place they’ve set you up with.”
Sarcasm? The walls were plain, stark white, with little to no decoration other than a chair in the corner-- where his suitcase had been placed--, the bed and the desk. If you waved your hand over the desk a holographic display would generate, giving you access to the surrounding sector’s equivalent of the Internet, but very few took advantage of that. Henshaw never had the need, his ring an automatic gathered or information when there he entered civilised space. Without the ring he sometimes felt stupid.
Imagine having instant access to every book in the world. Imagine being asked a question and having the answer in the palm of your hand, instantly. It wasn’t that he was reliant on that knowledge, but to be without it was a strange new world. Reliant on his learned wits and old bookworm habits now more than ever. Maybe that made him a better man. Who knew.
“Why the wondering?” asked Henshaw, pulling off his battered jacket and tossing it on the chair. Tom Slaughter’s words floated above Dresden’s head.Alice isn’t Alice. The ravings of someone unhinged through his horrific experiences.
Alice shrugged casually. Nonchalantly. “Doctor Dolchechk’s therapies can overrun, but when they do it’s because he more than likely found something rattling around in your brainpan. Did he find anything good?”
Alice moved across the perimeter of the room, her hand trailing across the walls. She stuck to the edge, while Hank walked into the centre, watching her gracefully take stock of the situation.
“Define good?” said Hank. “All I can remember are the monsters floating around in my brainpan.” He paused and glanced back at the entrance to his room. “Do these rooms have locks?”
Alice smiled somewhat mischievously. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Hank considered her expression. Teasing. “Just confused--”
Alice darted across the room and clasped her hands at the small of his back, drawing him closer, so the front of their bodies were pressed against each other. Henshaw didn’t hesitate to kiss her, even as she began to pull off his shirt over his head, giving him a moment to reconsider the action as his clothing clung to his face. Desperately, she kissed him through the fabric, hungrily, tearing the shirt off and throwing it against the wall where it landed in a heap. She moved with a confidence Henshaw hadn’t brushed up against for so long, and he felt a longing in her kisses he’d not tasted for years.
“Alice--” What did he want to say? What was there to say?
“Hank, I need this,” said Alice. She pushed him down on the bed with a shove and removed her tanktop, revealing more surgical scars down either side of her ribcage, underneath her perfect breasts. “Just…”
Henshaw interrupted her with a kiss, pulling her down on top of him. Maybe he needed it too.
“…So, yes. To sum up, we can’t locate Hal or Kyle. And Black Hand is still out there, evading even our rings,” said John. “And from Diana’s face, she has no idea who Kyle Rayner is.”
“Should I?” asked Diana. “The name rings no bells and it looks like that’s a phenomenon that most of us at this table are experiencing. Is there something that links him to me?”
“Kyle dated Donna Troy, a few years back, before he died the first time,” said John. “When he was Ion, and not yet the White Lantern.”
“Donna…” whispered Diana. “Perhaps I should speak to her about him, see if she remembers anything.”
“That sounds great, thank you,” said John.
“And Black Hand, is that why you were using the satellite feeds earlier, before the meeting?” said Hawkman.
“Yeah, I was hoping hooking my ring up to the satellite feeds might give me some edge, but they’ve not given me anything yet.”
“I’ll look into it with you,” said Doctor Light. “See if there’s something we can do to shed some…” She laughed to herself. “Well. Clear this up. I’m sure Ray and Ted might have some ideas too.”
“Anything would be appreciated,” said John. “James, you wouldn’t happen to have some way to get in touch with Chloe, would you?”
“She’s off the grid,” said the Guardian. “The Global Peace Agency have gone black. I don’t even know where they’re based. I wish there was something I could do.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Wonder Woman, hand on John’s back. “I’m glad you came to us about this.”
“It sounds like you've got your hands full,” said the Guardian. “But I did want to mention something to you. It’s been a while since the Justice League had a Lantern on the roster, ever since your Corps-duties took you away from us, but I was wondering… would you be interested in returning to the fold? The team feels a bit naked without a ring-slinger onboard.”
John was taken aback. Sure, he’d filled in for Hal Jordan previously, and then ran with the Big Six when the team restructured prior to the first Kobra incident, but he never considered himself a staple. That was Hal’s life, not his.
But the offer from the Guardian, with the others-- all heroes he respected-- looking on eagerly. Maybe he wasn't just a seat-filler. He wasn’t one for self-doubt by any means, nor did he lack confidence-- if he did, the ring on his finger would just be for show-- but he couldn’t help but be surprised.
“I’m intending to stay close to Earth right now, what with all the threats coming our way. And a partnership between the Green Lantern Corps and the Justice League benefits everybody.” He extended his hand to the Guardian. “I’d be honoured.”
“We’ve be honoured,” retorted Wonder Woman. “Welcome back home, John.”
“Don’t invite Guy onto the island,” said Hawkman. Deadly serious.
Laid inside the warmth of their post-debauchery, Hank and Alice were top and tails on his bed, the bed sheets torn off and discarded at some point during their ragged, desperate sex session. Alice was on her side, looking down at Hank, while Henshaw was on his back, looking up at the ceiling, with his arm somehow cradling her legs at the calf. He gently stroked the inside of her knee, an act that had proven stimulating an hour or so earlier.
“There aren’t many of us here,” said Alice. “Tom’s not doing so great. They rebuilt his body, but he struggles. We talk, but I don’t know if he listens. I think he hears me, but, well, you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” said Hank. “You’ve been here since John came back from War World?”
An event that took place before Hank was welcomed back into the fold of the Green Lantern Corps. Back when he was under Oa, labelled an Inversion, a prisoner for the crimes committed by the Predator, when that parasite had control of his body.
War World. A gnarled mechanical weapon of a planet, floating through space from sector to sector, barely detectable by the Green Lantern Corps’ rings, the only early warning given to its arrival being the transwarp engines it uses to burst from one side of space to the other. A battle planet built by the maniacal Mongul. Co-opted by Desaad. And now where? Who even knew?
Wait, thought Hank, did I just say had control of my body?
“Huh,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?” purred Alice.
“Nothing,” replied Hank. He felt his brow furrow as a moment of realisation flooded him. It was so clear now. He’d felt the guilt of being the monster that had killed so many, had cast Jessica Jordan into the. Into the abyss that took her away from Hal and Chloe. And up until that moment, he’d felt all the guilt of that experience filling him like he was ready to burst for it. Like he was perpetrator. The guilty party.
Why did he feel so separate from the events? Why did he feel… clear?
Alice was responding to his question about War World. He let himself move back into the moment, and concentrated on the side of her voice.
“…I was in a coma when he dropped me off here. He was here when I woke up. But sometimes I have these dreams. Dreams where I died after our escape from War World. I remember… begging John to let me go. Let me die on my terms. Then I wake up, in the dream, here, at the hospital, and my body doesn’t hurt anymore. And all my old scars are gone and the tattoo on my butt, right here,” she poked her left butt cheek, a pale dot remaining for a few moments after first pressure, that gradually faded into her already pale skin tone, “it’s gone too.”
Hank leaned over and kissed the spot she drew attention to, then trailed his lips up across her thigh, over her hip and toward her chest. Their mouths met, and he felt the after-taste of plastic on his tongue. She had been rebuilt. A very John Stewart thing to do. He had fixed her, when nothing else could. Even if he wasn’t the person who’d done it, it was his instigation of the act that had returned her to her whole.
Did that explain Tom Slaughter’s words? If she was badly hurt, if she was so irrevocably damaged, maybe she was more not-Alice than she was Alice before the work done her. Alice isn’t Alice, the words repeated in his brain.
“I have dreams where I’m a monster,” said Hank. “But that’s not me.”
“I guessed that,” said Alice. She trailed his bottom lip with her finger. “We were both made to do terrible things. I was made to hurt for a mad god’s pleasure. To be hurt and to hurt others. John saved me. Pulled me back from the brink. I owe him my life.”
Alice pushed herself up and off the bed, the pale moonlight from the triplet satellites that orbited the world piercing through the un-curtained window. Her skin glistened in that light, her surgical scars and prosthetics visible across her naked flesh. “You know,” she said, slowly, “after everything we go through. The horror of it all. Everything that led us to this moment in time. When you’re here, in the moment, and you’re looking bak and trying to figure out what’s next… you just have to find the place in you where it hurts, look at it, acknowledge it, and then… you have to be kind to it, even though it wasn’t kind to you. That’s a true test of your strength.”
Hank considered what she said. To be kind to the darkness. To let is live with you. Alongside you. Without overpowering or overtaking you. Is that the true test of strength? Or the true test of will?
“I’m going to have a shower,” said Alice, breaking the silence that hung between them.
“Right,” said Hank. He shuffled up, so he was sat up against the beard board and looking at the open door that led to the bathroom.
Hank heard the shower activate and then Alice’s voice over the water. “You’re not going to join me?”
Henshaw looked up. He went to say something, but instead followed after her in silence. He could use a warm shower, and who could refuse that kind of offer?
“I always took you as the strong silent type.”
High above Manhattan island, Sinestro’s meditation was interrupted by the arrival of Guy Gardner, chewing on some jerky and glowing as bright as an emerald star in the beautiful blue that the city had been blessed with this day.
“What ya doing, Thaal?” asked Gardner.
Without opening his eyes, Sinestro replied. “My ring cannot locate Kyle Rayner. The Book of Oa no longer has his full biometrics stored… whatever took him off the map, whatever wiped the universe’s memories of him, has removed our capability to find him. I’m currently sifting through every database in this city, to see if I can find mention of him.”
“Yeah, it’s a rough one, but if he’s out there, we’ll find him,” said Guy. “Just try and keep a low profile is all, last time you were on Earth, you kicked a few hornets’ nests. Most people in the know are aware you weren’t yourself back then, but you know how the world is.”
“The energy required for this task is best suited to be released above the place, rather than hidden in the shadows somewhere,” said Sinestro. He opened his eyes and looked at Gardner. “But I am having no success with this approach.”
“Damn. Parallax is gonna be a hard one to take out if we ain’t got our big gun,” murmured Guy. “But hey, speaking of big guns, maybe it’s time we tried another approach.”
“What are you thinking, Gardner?”
Guy smirked. “You’ve met the Justice Society of America before, ain’t ya?”
Sinestro cocked an eyebrow. During his time under the influence of Parallax, he’d been utilised as a pawn in a battle between good and evil on this world. He had battled the Justice Society of America’s Green Lantern, a man named Alan Scott*, and the battle had not gone his way.
“What are you thinking?” asked Sinestro.
“Big guns,” replied Guy. “John’s debriefing New Coke. I say we go speak to original formula.”
Hank sat down in front of Dolchechk. The office-- though it felt more like some immense chamber-- had light fixtures hanging lower than they did in the rest of the complex. In the middle of the room was a bed, and the lights shone spotlights down in even distances across the room. To the side, where the wall was lined with books, and a battered old desk, with an antiquated version of the holographic display that Henshaw had in his room, sat the two of them. The air buzzed with small drones picking up information from the air, and, Hank assumed, him.
“How do you feel today?” asked Dolchechk.
“Good,” said Hank. “I feel like I had a moment of… realisation.”
“Go on,” said Dolchechk.
Taking a breath, Hank sat before the doctor trying to formulate the right words to convey how he felt since the events that led him down this path. He knew he wasn’t always the best at communicating his feelings, that time and time again he’d felt… diminished… by the direction of his life, but if there was ever a time to get your head straight, it was now. So with that, and all the words and thoughts swirling in his brain, Henshaw began to talk, for what felt like the first time in a long time.
“I’ve struggled to… separate… what I did under the influence of the Predator, and my life before and after. I realise… that…”
Hank fell silent, but he knew he had to push forward. The verbalising of what ailed him, he knew that was what tripped him up before, but with the realisation earlier came a certain clarity, so he powered on.
“…It wasn’t me. Everyone told me it wasn’t me, but I refused… refused to accept that. If I remember the actions undertaken by the Predator, doesn’t that mean the actions were my own? But I’m not capable of the actions he undertook. I wouldn’t want to ruin worlds, that’s not me. I wouldn’t… couldn’t… hurt a child, like the Predator did. I was a puppet. A glove worn during the crime. But I wasn’t the one in control. It’s horrible… horrible to consider oneself a weapon, or a tool, used to do these things, but they weren’t my actions. The Predator is separate to me. I understand that. I just need… to hold onto that knowledge.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard you say in all your time here combined.”
Dolchechk smiled and began to elaborate on his own thoughts.
“Hank, we are all haunted houses. Living with the spirits of the past, the bottled demons of our experiences. They are the things that linger around us, like a fog we struggle to see the end of. Sometimes our ghosts are passive. They are with us, and we exist in a state of balance with them. Other times, our ghosts become violent, they strike at us, sending bolts through our bodies and brains, reminding us of all we lost, all we went through…”
There was a pause, and Hank nervously rubbed his thumbs together, watching as Dolchechk ruminated on his thought processes.
“…We can’t escape our ghosts. But we can learn to live with them. Your inability to get past the suffering, that’s all too… human. And that’s not a negative. But I think there’s an additional element that’s not helped. That brain damage we found? I believe that it was due to your possession by a cosmic entity. I think it made a space in your brain, physically, and also in your mindscape, psychically. The absence of it, the removal of its immensity, perpetuated the mental trauma. Prevented the mental healing you might normally experience. You are caught in a moment, and it’s a closed loop. Suffering. Despair. Light to dark. Repeating."
Henshaw grit his teeth. "The Predator is gone though. All of it. No trace…" It was a demand, not a question. It had to be gone. There had to be nothing left of it inside him. None of his actions, none of the actions he performed off his own back, off his own sense of right and wrong, they couldn’t be tainted by the Predator. “…It has to be.”
"Yes, nothing of it remains," said Dolchechk. "Gods, if there was, I doubt I'd survive the experience... but I think it goes beyond that... I think it goes back to your death at the hands on the despot Mongul. I think you never truly got over that experience, and your mind drags you back to it repeatedly. Trauma was then piled on top of trauma."
"Post-traumatic stress disorder," said Henshaw. "I've been told before. Never diagnosed properly though… don’t even know how it would be…"
"Yes. You experienced a great traumatic stress, you're still experiencing the psychological effects even now. But confronting the trauma head on, finally talking about it, having the clarity of mind required to zero in on the issue. The healing has begun."
“What do you mean?”
Dolchechk ‘s voice began to raise, excitement brewing under the surface. “During the psychic trance yesterday, the confrontation with your demons… I healed the damage to your brain. Today has been a day of healing, realignment. Hank, you’re--”
Alarms began to blare. Voices in numerous languages began to speak, overlap, PROXIMITY ALERT; UNIDENTIFIED FLEET HAS ENTERED LOCALISED SPACE; PLEASE BEGIN EMERGENCY PROTOCOL.
“What is that?” asked Hank. He had stood, clenched his fist, forgetting his current lot in life.
“I don’t know,” said Dolchechk. “This is a safe space—there should be--”
TRANSWARP SIGNATURES DETECTED! PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY--
“Transwarp?” whispered Hank. He knew what this meant.
The wall behind Dolchechk exploded, debris and medical equipment flying past the two men in the office. A large, slanted bridge from up high in the sky landed at the mouth of the hole, and when Hank darted forward to see what was going on, a massive weight grew in the centre of his chest, a feeling that strangled his heart, and he nearly fell to his knees in horror.
Materialised over Jeq was a technological nightmare, spherical, with its own gravity that was pulling the very top of the spired buildings toward it, the shredding and tearing of the constructs screaming out across the face of the planet.
Above, the mechanical world was riddled with weapons arrays. Razor sharp ramparts that Henshaw knew were for ramming unsuspecting space craft. Behind the metal monstrosity was a fleet of ships of various designs and configurations, which you could only just make out considering that the sky was blotted out in nigh entirety by the behemoth above.
“What is it, Hank?” asked Dolchechk.
“War World,” whispered Henshaw. “It’s War World.” He spun around and grabbed the doctor by the shoulders. “You need to get everybody evacuated. You need to get away from here. I… I…”
An energy blast caught him in the small of the back and he was sent flying forward, his nerve endings screaming as crackling cerulean arced across his body. His jaw locked as he tried to work through the pain, and he felt a molar chip as his teeth ground together. Spitting obscenities, one last act of defiance, he lost control of his body and spasmed on the ground. There were sounds, like jackboots marching, growing louder and louder, and he managed with one immense effort to turn.
Various alien races, all dressed in the same dark purple military garb, had descended the energy bridge from the depths of War World to Dolchechk’s office. Behind them, numerous other bridges had breached the hospital world and were currently being flooded with all the military might that War World could muster.
Standing at the forefront of the forces that entered the office were two gold-skinned titans. They looked every bit as terrifying as their father. The two women, grinning in anticipation for what could come next, looked down at Hank Henshaw and began to laugh.
“It’s been too long a wait, Green Lantern Hank Henshaw of Earth,” said the one with the scar lining her face.
“N-no,” whispered Hank. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. That part of his life was done. There was no going back to it. He couldn’t contend with this. He couldn’t comprehend this.
“Too long a wait to gain revenge on the insect that took our father from this universe. We are the last daughters of Mongul,” said the one with the large mechanoid arm. “And you are dead.”
HANK HENSHAW had been through it all since his induction into the Corps. Soon after stepping up when HAL JORDAN was unable, he was viciously murdered by the intergalactic despot MONGUL.
Eventually resurrected and used as a puppet by the malicious entity known as the PREDATOR, HENSHAW was then imprisoned beneath Oa by the GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE, before redeeming himself during the RED LANTERN CORPS invasion of the Corps’ home.
After a confrontation he doesn’t fully remember with the vile LEX LUTHOR and TERRI HENSHAW-- his long-thought-dead wife!-- HANK’s his ring abandoned him when his willpower was at it’s lowest ebb, an act that expelled the troubled Green Lantern from the Corps!
While HENSHAW recuperate on a hospital world, GUY GARDNER and JOHN continue their hunt for BLACK HAND, who roams America on a search for HAL JORDAN, who is currently hidden from their rings.
In addition, SINESTRO wants to get to the bottom of the mystery of the missing KYLE RAYNER , who vanished along with nearly everyone who knew him’s memories of his existence!
Back on Oa, a colony of Daxamites who were placed in the Phantom Zone after their exposure to lead by the mad Kryptonian XA-DU are about to have a mysterious cure tested on them so they can be freed from their exile. Will it be successful? SODAM YAT obviously hopes so!
Welcome back to the ongoing adventures of the GREEN LANTERN CORPS!
COAST CITY:
Coast City had a smell about it, fresh and green, downtown perpetually tinged by the scent of wet grass. There were little to no industrial areas, no factories pumping out air pollution like Detroit or Keystone, instead this was a military town, airfields at every point of the compass. Aeronautics was the name of the game, and this city lived and died by its record. And right now, it thrived.
Hands shoved deep into the pockets of his battered black leather jacket, Hank Henshaw took a stroll down central boulevard, toward the city’s museum of aeronautics. His was a life steeped in the skies, first as a pilot in the United States Air Force, before dovetailing into his true passion, the stars his destination, and joining NASA.
The streets darkened. He looked up, cupping his hand over his eyes, and saw a roaring, metallic shape displacing the clouds and fill the sky. He mouthed the question, what is this? Before explosions began to roar downward, tearing up the roads and sending cars flying. He ducked, headed for shelter, but skidded to a stop when he saw a young girl sobbing in the middle of the street, surrounded by fire.
A loud, grating voice emerged from the shape that inflicted horrors on the city below, someone on loudspeaker, someone with nothing of value to say but with the capacity to say it.
“PEOPLE OF COAST CITY. YOU ARE NOTHING. I AM MONGUL. THERE IS A POINT TO BE MADE.”
Mongul? Hank doubled back, turning on his heel and making a beeline for the fallen girl. He pulled off his leather jacket and wrapped it around his arms then leaped across the flames that licked at his shins. There was a ring of fire around the girl, trapping her as the world exploded all around. He landed hard, nearly tweaking his ankle, but he grimaced, swallowed the pain. He looked down at the girl. “Let’s get you out of here--”
The skies cleared immediately. The fires continued to rage, the damage done, but then a further change occurred. The skies took on a violet tinge. Blue turned to purple. What now? thought Henshaw. Crystalline constructs rose up from under the ground, tearing up what was left of the Coast City streets. Buildings were encased in the sapphire-like substance, wrapping them up and sealing in those inside.
“THERE IS THE CAPACITY FOR GREAT LOVE IN YOUR HEARTS. BUT THAT’S NOT ENOUGH FOR ME.”
The second voice, like a vibration grinding upwards and out of the structures, scraped against Henshaw’s soul. The voice was familiar. So familiar, but he couldn’t place from where. No matter. His priority was the girl. He looked down at her again, she was sobbing, but he made reassuring sounds. But when he looked back up and around at the chaos, the world was falling apart. He saw more crying children. Parents who couldn’t find their kids. Elderly trampled in the chaos. And the sapphire constructs were stretching up, enveloping the entire city, and he was just stood there, this one girl in his arms, and what else could he do?
Something, he thought, anything. He held up his hand, looked at the empty finger on his left hand. He would need more. He would need to be more, do more, and he had it inside him to do just that. The emerald band formed around his ring finger and solidified. His civilian clothing faded, replaced by the uniform of an officer in the Green Lantern Corps. The mask came next, and then he stood whole, complete, Green Lantern once more.
“This ends,” Henshaw finally said out loud, “this ends now.”
Dozens of emerald constructs flooded out of him, and they multiplied into their hundreds. Every injured party, every fallen innocent, they were bundled up and collected. He couldn’t physically do it, but with the ring, anything was possible. The energy flowed like a river, in branching tributaries that went to where they needed to go. He passed the girl, not sobbing now, quiet entranced, to an energy duplicate of himself, and shot into the air, toward the source of both voices.
From out of nowhere, as he moved upwards, Mongul grabbed Henshaw by the back of the head and wrenched him down, while the Predator punched him in the chest, causing his legs to curl upwards in pain. He saw their faces, these two monsters, the ones who did the most hurt to him in all his life. The ones that sent him down the spiral that tole him to doubt his place in life. Mongul’s chest weapons matrices began to activate, and a beam of pure, devastating energy flowed from him and through Hank, tearing a gaping chasm through his heart. At the exact same moment, the Predator drove his hands into Henshaw’s head, scratching at his mind and moving gingerly toward his soul and----
--Hank Henshaw opened his eyes and realised he was still sat in Doctor Dolchechk’s office, the ancient, psychic alien who was insistent he could fix the damage that led Henshaw to his current point in life. The alien had ended the link, and was smiling. Why would you-- how could you-- be smiling if you’d just seen what Hank had experienced?
“What… what was that..?” asked Hank. He was sweating. His heart was racing. It had felt so real. A confluence of bad times and worse memories, and he was back in it, swimming in the muck of near deaths and reckonings.
“We took a peek into your mind space, Mister Henshaw,” said Dolchechk. “Our first session is over.”
Issue Sixty-FIVE: “Haunted Houses”
HoM / FLINCHUM
LAPUTA:
In the conference room of Laputa, the Justice League’s island headquarters, John Stewart had just about finished explaining the events of the last few days. Japan. Parallax. He had one more topic, one more bad timing thing that he needed to share with the world’s greatest superheroes. He was getting there.
Sat next to the Green Lantern was Wonder Woman. Raven-haired and as beautiful as they came, Diana was a myth come to life, and her presence in a room would act as a calming influence if things were to ever get heated. Not that it would in this case, but she drew answers out of those who held them tight to their chests, and in her role as ambassador for the island nation of Themyscira, she excelled. No one, apart from John, was dressed in their costumes. Diana wore a plain, long sleeved black shirt and jeans, the only hint of her superhero identity, other than her sheer presence, were the pair of silver bands around her wrists.
Take John’s power ring from him and he was still a trained soldier and expert sniper. Take away the tiara, the lasso and the bracelets, take away the costume, and Diana would forever remain a trained warrior, expert in arts of war from across recorded time. Never let that smile fool you, thought John, this woman could tear you to shreds in seconds if push came to shove.
Stood silently by the window, looking out over the sea was the Guardian. James Harper was in his late eighties but had stopped ageing in his late twenties. Why? Simply, the American military experimented on him during World War 2 in an attempt to create the ultimate soldier.
The scientists were successful, but Project: Guardian ended after events that Harper himself kept close to his chest. John had heard rumours of Nazi sabotage, but he didn’t feel comfortable raising the question with a man who was as much a living legend as the best of them. He’d fought in countless wars, never an agent of the government, always an agent of the people. There was no fight in America’s history you could accuse him of being on the wrong side of, and he’d taken his political licks for his high morals time and time again.
Not that he cared. As long as he did the right thing, the man would be happy.
With his hands clasped securely behind his back, Harper was wearing a grey blazer and white shirt, plain trousers completing the ensemble. His unbreakable golden shield was sat on his chair at the meeting table. He took in everything that was said, and never said a word unless it contributed to the conversation.
Meanwhile, Hawkman, his battered vest charred from working the furnace in the base of Laputa, his arms pock-marked by burns where he’d worked molten metal into the shape he wanted, was tightening his grip around the leather strap attached to the mace he’d left lying on the table when the meeting was called. Evenly, considerately, Katar Hol tightened his grip, the sound of leather grinding under his fingers, then he’d release the grip. Tighten. Release. He wore his long, dark hair down, a few days’ worth of stubble lining his chin.
Doctor Light, the Japanese scientist who held degrees in numerous disciplines, listened intently to what John had to say. There was regret on her face-- she had spoken to the Green Lantern before he’d departed for her homeland, offered to accompany him, but he’d turned her down, confident that he could handle whatever came his way. She’d apologised when he’d arrived back on Laputa, earlier today, but he’d quickly shot her down and apologised doubly to her. He was arrogant to assume he could handle it, and when he held his hands up in defeat, he stayed he clearly couldn’t have, considering the situation he found himself after.
Sat in the chair emblazoned with a logo denoting her superhero identity, just like the others, Kimiyo Hoshi sat next to Hawkman and took notes. Wearing a bundle of rough work clothes that she kept down in the lab for when she was working on the project she’d started with Ray Palmer and Ted Kord-- the Atom and Blue Beetle, respectively-- she wasn’t vain, nor was she one to care about her appearance, and she’d been working when Green Lantern landed. She’d called her friends in the Japanese superhero set after the events of the week prior, and they were all right. They’d faced a great evil in Parallax and Yamada Naito, barely made it out alive, but they had survived, and the threat of the monsters that loomed behind the dimensional barrier above the island they called home had been removed. Now they were given an opportunity to thrive.
“We heard about what happened in Japan after our return from 12th Space, but the sheer scope of the attack, we had no idea… we can only apologise, John,” said Wonder Woman. As she spoke, her hand found John’s, and she patted it lightly. This wasn’t an act of condescension, but of pure concern, and as John explained the situation, her silent expression could no longer remain passive. “We should have--”
John cut her off. “Oh, there’ll be no recriminations from me, Diana.” He smiled, hands up now, apologetic. “I honestly don’t know what good it would have done to have the Justice League there. More bodies, more victims in the firing line of Parallax. I’m just glad no one died.”
The Guardian looked back at Green Lantern from where he stood. He’d been through wars and knew the definition of an utter FUBAR situation when he saw one, “And Parallax is currently off the grid. .”
John considered the point. “Yes, and I have my theories where. The lab he was keeping those kidnapped elemental beings in, it was deep inside the Forbidden Sectors of the universe. Where there’s no Green Lantern Corps presence. I think he’s embedded himself there, dug in deep. Tactically, a great move. We can’t afford to divert resources to dig him out, and even if we did, we don’t have the firepower, the ace in the hole, to take him out.”
The ace in the hole. The Green Lantern’s greatest weapon and a good friend to the men and women who served. Kyle Rayner, the White Lantern, currently missing and currently absent from the memories of those who worked side-by-side with him. That mysterious was being worked on, being investigated, but it weight heavy on those involved.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” asked Doctor Light.
“Perhaps my resources in the Polaris galaxy might be of some assistance,” offered Hawkman. The Thanagarian was bundles of muscles and a skin thicker than most. John always noticed how Hol talked. Perfect English with no hint of an American accent, in clipped sentences and with an intensity that rivalled Guy Gardner when he got going. “I know there have been rumblings of strange occurrences, the mad becoming madder.”
“That’s on the Corps’ radar,” said John. “But if there’s anybody who might be close to…” He stopped mid-sentence. “Let me back track. Parallax seems to be recruiting madmen into what we believe he’s referring to his ‘Effigies’, lunatics wielding energy powers that can hold off a number of my colleagues in the Corps at once. Yamada, the Japanese girl who was hiding in plain sight amongst the Ultra Element Force 5, she was one of them. Alex Nero, who I’ve mentioned before, was another. This recruitment drive isn’t specific to Earth, or to this space sector. There could be thousands, millions of these sleepers, all in wait until Parallax cashes in his favours to get them on the board. God, the thought is terrifying. But we’ll need to be ready.” Looking in Katar’s direction, he summed up, “if your sources hear anything, I’d appreciate the heads up.”
“Of course,” said Hawkman, returning the nod.
“Now, there’s more, not connected to Parallax,” said John. The others gave him a look. How bad had things got for the Green Lantern Corps. “I need to tell you about two men. Black Hand and a young gentleman by the name of Kyle Rayner.”
JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
At Dolchechk’s insistence, even though he felt physically and mentally drained, Henshaw headed to the physical therapy ward, where Thomas Slaughter, another of John Stewart’s old comrades, was recuperating. The entire wing had glass walls, and when he queried it, Hank was told it was to ensure the monitors could see everything that was happening across the building. The patients were in a sensitive state, so the doctors and nurses had to be on standby at any time to intervene if something went awry.
The only human in the entire complex, apart from Henshaw and Alice, was Slaughter. Instead of the seamless integration of man and machine that Alice had become, Slaughter’s own prosthesis was heavy and clunky. He was a flesh torso, one arm and one leg, the rest metal and plastics.
A nurse walked by, sturdy and short, a pale purple skin visible where her white uniform was broken up. “I’m sorry, I had a question-- why does he look so different to Alice Dresden?” asked Henshaw.
The nurse looked over at Tom, sadness in her eyes, then back at Henshaw. “I’ve been told that Ms Dresden was a special case. Only Dolchechk worked on her when she entered the ward.”
“Hmm,” murmured Hank. He hadn’t known that.
“He’s mentioned you,” said the nurse, motioning to Tom. “You can go speak to him if you like.”
Hank considered it. “It won’t interrupt anything?”
“No, it’s fine,” said the nurse. “Please. It would probably do him some good.”
Hank couldn’t rightly refuse that. He knocked on the glass door that led to Slaughter’s room, where he was sat in front of an alien apparatus whose use Henshaw couldn’t discern. Tom looked over his shoulder. “Come in.”
“The nurse said you wanted to see me?”
“You’re… a friend of John’s…?” Speaking was obviously difficult for Tom. As if he could tell Henshaw noticing, he touched his adam’s apple with his flesh-and-blood hand. “My… voice box… was shredded. Getting used… to… the replacement…”
"I know John, yeah." Hank nodded. “You served together?”
Tom tried to stand, and had to steady himself on the chair. “Yeah… second Gulf War… and… the Apokolips… fiasco…”
Henshaw had been riding a desk during the Apokolips invasion a few years back. Told he couldn’t take part in a space flight after the Excalibur tragedy and his insistence that his wife Terri hadn’t made any mistakes, he was a thorn in the higher ups’ sides. Only Kyle ‘Ace’ Morgan had gone to bat for him. In the new world order of NASA enjoying Lex Luthor’s corporate kindness, nay-sayers were particularly frowned upon, and it ended up with Henshaw reviewing data generated by projects he-- or his wife-- should have been heading up.
After Apokolips invaded, Hank quit. Resigned his commission. Whatever. Went back into the world. If he couldn’t do something for the greater good, if he couldn’t fly, then what was the point?
“He’s a good man,” said Henshaw.
Tom sidled up toward the machine. Tubes began to flow outward from previously hidden places across it and connected with ports in Slaughter’s body. “The best. But he can’t… let anything… Go.”
This piqued his interest. “What do you mean?”
The tubing finished connecting with Slaughter’s body. “Come… here…” He gestured for Hank to step closer. Hank did as he was told. Liquids began to flow from the machine and into Slaughter through the pipes. When he was close enough, Tom leaned toward Hank, his lips quivering. “Alice isn’t…. Alice…” he said, slowly, “I see… right through… it. Whatever she is… now… she’s not… what she… was.”
Tom’s eyes closed as the liquid finished moving inside him. Hank took a step back, confused. Machinery began to slide in place around the man, dull, grey plating that locked into the numerous prostesis that riddled his body. The final piece to fall into place was a face mask that left all but an eye covered. As the skull-like mask locked into place, the broken man before him fell asleep as the machines did their work, and Henshaw left the room without knowing what to say.
OA:
In the large, angular chamber the Science Division had nicknamed ‘the Ghost Room’, the Phantom Zone projector stood ready for activation. In front of where the circular doorway into the spirit dimension would form, four Green Lanterns, rookies who’d shown a remarkable about of willpower above and beyond expectations, along with Saarek, the Corps’ ghost whispered, projected an emerald cage, ready to prevent anything untoward emerging out from where monsters awaited a chance of escape.
“What’s the volunteer’s name?” asked Lantern Salaak, glancing over at Katma Tui. She in turn was stood next to Lantern Yat, the Daxamite who was eager to see this experiment work.
“Lor Dar,” said Tui. “He’s one of their own scientists. Saarek?”
Saarek began to whisper to the rookies, “focus on the door, allow nothing to emerge,” and then broke off his own construct, letting their energies overlap and fill the gap left by him. “Dar is their senior scientist, the person who was in charge of maintaining the technology the colony took with them when they landed. He has volunteered due to his advance age.”
“So if he dies…” started Salaak.
“An acceptable loss, he’s said,” said Saarek. “A braver man than many.”
A colony of Daxamites exposed to lead by a mad Kryptonian doctor, a cure provided by the same man to cover his escape. They’d been reluctant to use the formula, for fear it might make the situation worse, but after the Science Division had run their tests they could find no traces that might kill.
A bevy of ancient compounds from the golden age of Kryptonian’s Science Age, the formula also contained strands of DNA that matched the samples beaten out of Xa-Du himself. The lead scientist in the team analysing it suspected that the best way to cure the lead poisoning was to splice elements of Kryptonian DNA onto the genetic spiral of the Daxamites, and Xa-Du used the only sample of the former he had at hand-- his own.
So yes, it really could be a cure for the lead poisoning the Daxamites experienced. The Phantom Zone had held them in stasis, but sensory deprivation was no way to live. They needed to act now, while they still had a life outside in the universe, rather than let them suffer in the dark for a thousand years.
“I have the serum ready,” said Soranik Natu. “One dose. The Science Division have given us the go ahead.”
Sodam Yat looked back at Salaak. “Can we do this?”
Salaak nodded. Acceptable loss was a horrifying concept to him, but he didn’t want the Green Lantern Corps to fail on this. If the Science Division were confident it would work then it would work. That’s something they had to believe in.
Katma activated the Phantom Zone projector and it immediately cast its monochromatic light against the plain wall, behind the emerald safeguards Saarek had prepared with the others.
Saarek, the ghost whisperer, he who could confer with the dead, reached a hand through the portal, then his entire arm until his shoulder was brushing up against the surface of the gap in space. He shivered, his arm going numb all over, but he reached out, waiting patiently.
After a few moments, he winced, surprised to feel pain, but when Yat took a step forward to help he shook his head. “It’s all right,” whispered Saarek. “I just--” His body jerked forward, but was caught by the energy cage that surrounded the gateway to the ghost world. The others were concerned now, but he again shook his head. “I can feel… something…”
Saarek felt someone take his hand and with two tugs-- confirmation of his identity-- Saarek yanked Lor Dar into the real world. The emerald construct allowed the older Daxamite through to the real world, and Yat grew excited, anticipating. Yes. This was working. This was happening.
“Disengage the Projector!” said Saarek. Tui did so, and watched as Soranik rushed to the side of her newly emerged patient. The ghost whisperer stumbled back, clutching his arm, and leaned against the wall. Once the Phantom Zone projector was off, the rookies allowed their constructs to evaporate along with it.
Dar had immediately begun to seize up. His body shook as the lead poisoning continued to work its way through his body now that he was out of the Phantom Zone’s suspended animation. The others watched as Soranik enveloped him in a cocoon of light and pushed the hypodermic needles containing the cure into his arm. Dar let out a cry as heat filled his veins, and immediately went still.
“Soranik?” whispered Sodam.
Natu held up her ring as medical readouts flooded the air above it. His vitals were spiking across the board, but after a fretful expression began to form across her face, the fluctuating lifesigns stabilised and Dar exhaled heavily. “I think…” whispered Natu, looking down at her patient. “I think it worked…”
Dar nodded slowly. “I h-hurt all over.”
Soranik laughed. “Good, that means you’re alive,” she looked back at Salaak. “I’d like to observe for 48 hours, run some tests, and then, if it all looks good across the board, we can begin pulling the others out.”
“Good,” said Salaak. “Reconvene here when Lantern Natu gives us the green light.” He glanced over to Saarek. “Good work, Lantern.”
The ghost whisperer smiled but gripped the arm he’d thrust into the Phantom Zone. He was bleeding.
“Are you all right?” asked Tui.
“Something in the Phantom Zone has teeth,” murmured Saarek, showing the mighty bite mark at his bicep. Something had taken a chunk out of him… something physical lurking in the Phantom Zone… “I think it best we waste no time when Natu says we can continue. Else something else might take care of the Daxamites before we can save them.”
JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
Exhausted and reeling from his experiences inside his own head, Henshaw entered the room he’d been assigned to stay in for the duration of his treatments. Alice Dresden stood at his desk, holding up the chunk of inerton John had given him before leaving the planet. She was measuring it, considering it, but his arrival back in his quarters made her replace the cold metal and turn to him.
“I was wondering when you were going to get in,” said Alice. “Nice place they’ve set you up with.”
Sarcasm? The walls were plain, stark white, with little to no decoration other than a chair in the corner-- where his suitcase had been placed--, the bed and the desk. If you waved your hand over the desk a holographic display would generate, giving you access to the surrounding sector’s equivalent of the Internet, but very few took advantage of that. Henshaw never had the need, his ring an automatic gathered or information when there he entered civilised space. Without the ring he sometimes felt stupid.
Imagine having instant access to every book in the world. Imagine being asked a question and having the answer in the palm of your hand, instantly. It wasn’t that he was reliant on that knowledge, but to be without it was a strange new world. Reliant on his learned wits and old bookworm habits now more than ever. Maybe that made him a better man. Who knew.
“Why the wondering?” asked Henshaw, pulling off his battered jacket and tossing it on the chair. Tom Slaughter’s words floated above Dresden’s head.Alice isn’t Alice. The ravings of someone unhinged through his horrific experiences.
Alice shrugged casually. Nonchalantly. “Doctor Dolchechk’s therapies can overrun, but when they do it’s because he more than likely found something rattling around in your brainpan. Did he find anything good?”
Alice moved across the perimeter of the room, her hand trailing across the walls. She stuck to the edge, while Hank walked into the centre, watching her gracefully take stock of the situation.
“Define good?” said Hank. “All I can remember are the monsters floating around in my brainpan.” He paused and glanced back at the entrance to his room. “Do these rooms have locks?”
Alice smiled somewhat mischievously. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”
Hank considered her expression. Teasing. “Just confused--”
Alice darted across the room and clasped her hands at the small of his back, drawing him closer, so the front of their bodies were pressed against each other. Henshaw didn’t hesitate to kiss her, even as she began to pull off his shirt over his head, giving him a moment to reconsider the action as his clothing clung to his face. Desperately, she kissed him through the fabric, hungrily, tearing the shirt off and throwing it against the wall where it landed in a heap. She moved with a confidence Henshaw hadn’t brushed up against for so long, and he felt a longing in her kisses he’d not tasted for years.
“Alice--” What did he want to say? What was there to say?
“Hank, I need this,” said Alice. She pushed him down on the bed with a shove and removed her tanktop, revealing more surgical scars down either side of her ribcage, underneath her perfect breasts. “Just…”
Henshaw interrupted her with a kiss, pulling her down on top of him. Maybe he needed it too.
LAPUTA:
“…So, yes. To sum up, we can’t locate Hal or Kyle. And Black Hand is still out there, evading even our rings,” said John. “And from Diana’s face, she has no idea who Kyle Rayner is.”
“Should I?” asked Diana. “The name rings no bells and it looks like that’s a phenomenon that most of us at this table are experiencing. Is there something that links him to me?”
“Kyle dated Donna Troy, a few years back, before he died the first time,” said John. “When he was Ion, and not yet the White Lantern.”
“Donna…” whispered Diana. “Perhaps I should speak to her about him, see if she remembers anything.”
“That sounds great, thank you,” said John.
“And Black Hand, is that why you were using the satellite feeds earlier, before the meeting?” said Hawkman.
“Yeah, I was hoping hooking my ring up to the satellite feeds might give me some edge, but they’ve not given me anything yet.”
“I’ll look into it with you,” said Doctor Light. “See if there’s something we can do to shed some…” She laughed to herself. “Well. Clear this up. I’m sure Ray and Ted might have some ideas too.”
“Anything would be appreciated,” said John. “James, you wouldn’t happen to have some way to get in touch with Chloe, would you?”
“She’s off the grid,” said the Guardian. “The Global Peace Agency have gone black. I don’t even know where they’re based. I wish there was something I could do.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of this,” said Wonder Woman, hand on John’s back. “I’m glad you came to us about this.”
“It sounds like you've got your hands full,” said the Guardian. “But I did want to mention something to you. It’s been a while since the Justice League had a Lantern on the roster, ever since your Corps-duties took you away from us, but I was wondering… would you be interested in returning to the fold? The team feels a bit naked without a ring-slinger onboard.”
John was taken aback. Sure, he’d filled in for Hal Jordan previously, and then ran with the Big Six when the team restructured prior to the first Kobra incident, but he never considered himself a staple. That was Hal’s life, not his.
But the offer from the Guardian, with the others-- all heroes he respected-- looking on eagerly. Maybe he wasn't just a seat-filler. He wasn’t one for self-doubt by any means, nor did he lack confidence-- if he did, the ring on his finger would just be for show-- but he couldn’t help but be surprised.
“I’m intending to stay close to Earth right now, what with all the threats coming our way. And a partnership between the Green Lantern Corps and the Justice League benefits everybody.” He extended his hand to the Guardian. “I’d be honoured.”
“We’ve be honoured,” retorted Wonder Woman. “Welcome back home, John.”
“Don’t invite Guy onto the island,” said Hawkman. Deadly serious.
JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
Laid inside the warmth of their post-debauchery, Hank and Alice were top and tails on his bed, the bed sheets torn off and discarded at some point during their ragged, desperate sex session. Alice was on her side, looking down at Hank, while Henshaw was on his back, looking up at the ceiling, with his arm somehow cradling her legs at the calf. He gently stroked the inside of her knee, an act that had proven stimulating an hour or so earlier.
“There aren’t many of us here,” said Alice. “Tom’s not doing so great. They rebuilt his body, but he struggles. We talk, but I don’t know if he listens. I think he hears me, but, well, you know what I mean.”
“Sure,” said Hank. “You’ve been here since John came back from War World?”
An event that took place before Hank was welcomed back into the fold of the Green Lantern Corps. Back when he was under Oa, labelled an Inversion, a prisoner for the crimes committed by the Predator, when that parasite had control of his body.
War World. A gnarled mechanical weapon of a planet, floating through space from sector to sector, barely detectable by the Green Lantern Corps’ rings, the only early warning given to its arrival being the transwarp engines it uses to burst from one side of space to the other. A battle planet built by the maniacal Mongul. Co-opted by Desaad. And now where? Who even knew?
Wait, thought Hank, did I just say had control of my body?
“Huh,” he murmured.
“What’s wrong?” purred Alice.
“Nothing,” replied Hank. He felt his brow furrow as a moment of realisation flooded him. It was so clear now. He’d felt the guilt of being the monster that had killed so many, had cast Jessica Jordan into the. Into the abyss that took her away from Hal and Chloe. And up until that moment, he’d felt all the guilt of that experience filling him like he was ready to burst for it. Like he was perpetrator. The guilty party.
Why did he feel so separate from the events? Why did he feel… clear?
Alice was responding to his question about War World. He let himself move back into the moment, and concentrated on the side of her voice.
“…I was in a coma when he dropped me off here. He was here when I woke up. But sometimes I have these dreams. Dreams where I died after our escape from War World. I remember… begging John to let me go. Let me die on my terms. Then I wake up, in the dream, here, at the hospital, and my body doesn’t hurt anymore. And all my old scars are gone and the tattoo on my butt, right here,” she poked her left butt cheek, a pale dot remaining for a few moments after first pressure, that gradually faded into her already pale skin tone, “it’s gone too.”
Hank leaned over and kissed the spot she drew attention to, then trailed his lips up across her thigh, over her hip and toward her chest. Their mouths met, and he felt the after-taste of plastic on his tongue. She had been rebuilt. A very John Stewart thing to do. He had fixed her, when nothing else could. Even if he wasn’t the person who’d done it, it was his instigation of the act that had returned her to her whole.
Did that explain Tom Slaughter’s words? If she was badly hurt, if she was so irrevocably damaged, maybe she was more not-Alice than she was Alice before the work done her. Alice isn’t Alice, the words repeated in his brain.
“I have dreams where I’m a monster,” said Hank. “But that’s not me.”
“I guessed that,” said Alice. She trailed his bottom lip with her finger. “We were both made to do terrible things. I was made to hurt for a mad god’s pleasure. To be hurt and to hurt others. John saved me. Pulled me back from the brink. I owe him my life.”
Alice pushed herself up and off the bed, the pale moonlight from the triplet satellites that orbited the world piercing through the un-curtained window. Her skin glistened in that light, her surgical scars and prosthetics visible across her naked flesh. “You know,” she said, slowly, “after everything we go through. The horror of it all. Everything that led us to this moment in time. When you’re here, in the moment, and you’re looking bak and trying to figure out what’s next… you just have to find the place in you where it hurts, look at it, acknowledge it, and then… you have to be kind to it, even though it wasn’t kind to you. That’s a true test of your strength.”
Hank considered what she said. To be kind to the darkness. To let is live with you. Alongside you. Without overpowering or overtaking you. Is that the true test of strength? Or the true test of will?
“I’m going to have a shower,” said Alice, breaking the silence that hung between them.
“Right,” said Hank. He shuffled up, so he was sat up against the beard board and looking at the open door that led to the bathroom.
Hank heard the shower activate and then Alice’s voice over the water. “You’re not going to join me?”
Henshaw looked up. He went to say something, but instead followed after her in silence. He could use a warm shower, and who could refuse that kind of offer?
NEW YORK:
“I always took you as the strong silent type.”
High above Manhattan island, Sinestro’s meditation was interrupted by the arrival of Guy Gardner, chewing on some jerky and glowing as bright as an emerald star in the beautiful blue that the city had been blessed with this day.
“What ya doing, Thaal?” asked Gardner.
Without opening his eyes, Sinestro replied. “My ring cannot locate Kyle Rayner. The Book of Oa no longer has his full biometrics stored… whatever took him off the map, whatever wiped the universe’s memories of him, has removed our capability to find him. I’m currently sifting through every database in this city, to see if I can find mention of him.”
“Yeah, it’s a rough one, but if he’s out there, we’ll find him,” said Guy. “Just try and keep a low profile is all, last time you were on Earth, you kicked a few hornets’ nests. Most people in the know are aware you weren’t yourself back then, but you know how the world is.”
“The energy required for this task is best suited to be released above the place, rather than hidden in the shadows somewhere,” said Sinestro. He opened his eyes and looked at Gardner. “But I am having no success with this approach.”
“Damn. Parallax is gonna be a hard one to take out if we ain’t got our big gun,” murmured Guy. “But hey, speaking of big guns, maybe it’s time we tried another approach.”
“What are you thinking, Gardner?”
Guy smirked. “You’ve met the Justice Society of America before, ain’t ya?”
Sinestro cocked an eyebrow. During his time under the influence of Parallax, he’d been utilised as a pawn in a battle between good and evil on this world. He had battled the Justice Society of America’s Green Lantern, a man named Alan Scott*, and the battle had not gone his way.
*As seen in Justice League Annual #1 and revisited in Green Lantern Annual #2
“What are you thinking?” asked Sinestro.
“Big guns,” replied Guy. “John’s debriefing New Coke. I say we go speak to original formula.”
JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
Hank sat down in front of Dolchechk. The office-- though it felt more like some immense chamber-- had light fixtures hanging lower than they did in the rest of the complex. In the middle of the room was a bed, and the lights shone spotlights down in even distances across the room. To the side, where the wall was lined with books, and a battered old desk, with an antiquated version of the holographic display that Henshaw had in his room, sat the two of them. The air buzzed with small drones picking up information from the air, and, Hank assumed, him.
“How do you feel today?” asked Dolchechk.
“Good,” said Hank. “I feel like I had a moment of… realisation.”
“Go on,” said Dolchechk.
Taking a breath, Hank sat before the doctor trying to formulate the right words to convey how he felt since the events that led him down this path. He knew he wasn’t always the best at communicating his feelings, that time and time again he’d felt… diminished… by the direction of his life, but if there was ever a time to get your head straight, it was now. So with that, and all the words and thoughts swirling in his brain, Henshaw began to talk, for what felt like the first time in a long time.
“I’ve struggled to… separate… what I did under the influence of the Predator, and my life before and after. I realise… that…”
Hank fell silent, but he knew he had to push forward. The verbalising of what ailed him, he knew that was what tripped him up before, but with the realisation earlier came a certain clarity, so he powered on.
“…It wasn’t me. Everyone told me it wasn’t me, but I refused… refused to accept that. If I remember the actions undertaken by the Predator, doesn’t that mean the actions were my own? But I’m not capable of the actions he undertook. I wouldn’t want to ruin worlds, that’s not me. I wouldn’t… couldn’t… hurt a child, like the Predator did. I was a puppet. A glove worn during the crime. But I wasn’t the one in control. It’s horrible… horrible to consider oneself a weapon, or a tool, used to do these things, but they weren’t my actions. The Predator is separate to me. I understand that. I just need… to hold onto that knowledge.”
“That’s the most I’ve heard you say in all your time here combined.”
Dolchechk smiled and began to elaborate on his own thoughts.
“Hank, we are all haunted houses. Living with the spirits of the past, the bottled demons of our experiences. They are the things that linger around us, like a fog we struggle to see the end of. Sometimes our ghosts are passive. They are with us, and we exist in a state of balance with them. Other times, our ghosts become violent, they strike at us, sending bolts through our bodies and brains, reminding us of all we lost, all we went through…”
There was a pause, and Hank nervously rubbed his thumbs together, watching as Dolchechk ruminated on his thought processes.
“…We can’t escape our ghosts. But we can learn to live with them. Your inability to get past the suffering, that’s all too… human. And that’s not a negative. But I think there’s an additional element that’s not helped. That brain damage we found? I believe that it was due to your possession by a cosmic entity. I think it made a space in your brain, physically, and also in your mindscape, psychically. The absence of it, the removal of its immensity, perpetuated the mental trauma. Prevented the mental healing you might normally experience. You are caught in a moment, and it’s a closed loop. Suffering. Despair. Light to dark. Repeating."
Henshaw grit his teeth. "The Predator is gone though. All of it. No trace…" It was a demand, not a question. It had to be gone. There had to be nothing left of it inside him. None of his actions, none of the actions he performed off his own back, off his own sense of right and wrong, they couldn’t be tainted by the Predator. “…It has to be.”
"Yes, nothing of it remains," said Dolchechk. "Gods, if there was, I doubt I'd survive the experience... but I think it goes beyond that... I think it goes back to your death at the hands on the despot Mongul. I think you never truly got over that experience, and your mind drags you back to it repeatedly. Trauma was then piled on top of trauma."
"Post-traumatic stress disorder," said Henshaw. "I've been told before. Never diagnosed properly though… don’t even know how it would be…"
"Yes. You experienced a great traumatic stress, you're still experiencing the psychological effects even now. But confronting the trauma head on, finally talking about it, having the clarity of mind required to zero in on the issue. The healing has begun."
“What do you mean?”
Dolchechk ‘s voice began to raise, excitement brewing under the surface. “During the psychic trance yesterday, the confrontation with your demons… I healed the damage to your brain. Today has been a day of healing, realignment. Hank, you’re--”
Alarms began to blare. Voices in numerous languages began to speak, overlap, PROXIMITY ALERT; UNIDENTIFIED FLEET HAS ENTERED LOCALISED SPACE; PLEASE BEGIN EMERGENCY PROTOCOL.
“What is that?” asked Hank. He had stood, clenched his fist, forgetting his current lot in life.
“I don’t know,” said Dolchechk. “This is a safe space—there should be--”
TRANSWARP SIGNATURES DETECTED! PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY--
“Transwarp?” whispered Hank. He knew what this meant.
The wall behind Dolchechk exploded, debris and medical equipment flying past the two men in the office. A large, slanted bridge from up high in the sky landed at the mouth of the hole, and when Hank darted forward to see what was going on, a massive weight grew in the centre of his chest, a feeling that strangled his heart, and he nearly fell to his knees in horror.
Materialised over Jeq was a technological nightmare, spherical, with its own gravity that was pulling the very top of the spired buildings toward it, the shredding and tearing of the constructs screaming out across the face of the planet.
Above, the mechanical world was riddled with weapons arrays. Razor sharp ramparts that Henshaw knew were for ramming unsuspecting space craft. Behind the metal monstrosity was a fleet of ships of various designs and configurations, which you could only just make out considering that the sky was blotted out in nigh entirety by the behemoth above.
“What is it, Hank?” asked Dolchechk.
“War World,” whispered Henshaw. “It’s War World.” He spun around and grabbed the doctor by the shoulders. “You need to get everybody evacuated. You need to get away from here. I… I…”
An energy blast caught him in the small of the back and he was sent flying forward, his nerve endings screaming as crackling cerulean arced across his body. His jaw locked as he tried to work through the pain, and he felt a molar chip as his teeth ground together. Spitting obscenities, one last act of defiance, he lost control of his body and spasmed on the ground. There were sounds, like jackboots marching, growing louder and louder, and he managed with one immense effort to turn.
Various alien races, all dressed in the same dark purple military garb, had descended the energy bridge from the depths of War World to Dolchechk’s office. Behind them, numerous other bridges had breached the hospital world and were currently being flooded with all the military might that War World could muster.
Standing at the forefront of the forces that entered the office were two gold-skinned titans. They looked every bit as terrifying as their father. The two women, grinning in anticipation for what could come next, looked down at Hank Henshaw and began to laugh.
“It’s been too long a wait, Green Lantern Hank Henshaw of Earth,” said the one with the scar lining her face.
“N-no,” whispered Hank. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. That part of his life was done. There was no going back to it. He couldn’t contend with this. He couldn’t comprehend this.
“Too long a wait to gain revenge on the insect that took our father from this universe. We are the last daughters of Mongul,” said the one with the large mechanoid arm. “And you are dead.”
TO BE CONCLUDED
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NEXT ISSUE: The daughters of Mongul have arrived and they want blood—and rightly so! How will Hank Henshaw, without his ring, survive the onslaught of two of the most deadly women alive in the universe? FIND OUT NEXT MONTHPlease take a moment and follow this link to let us know what you thought of this issue!