DC Next presents:

##Suicide Squad

Issue Forty: New Blood

Arc: A New World

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

“For the last time, I need you to-”

“Relax Commandant! We’re seasoned veterans, right Mayo?”

“She’s right, we’ve been doing this for a while.”

“Experience doesn’t matter here, chain of command does…and stop calling me Commandant!”

“Whatever, Commandant.”

“You…You….AAAARGH!”

In the back of a race car themed van, complete with flame decals and the face of a famous racer painted onto the side, a man with blonde hair cut to a military standard raged, screaming at a monitor. He ripped a pair of headphones off of his ears, revealing a series of shrapnel based scars running along the right side of his upper head, forcing his right eye into a permanent squint. Throwing the headphones against the van walls, he growled, hanging his head in frustration.

Of all the jobs that would befall Lok, why this one? He just had to spring for the super secret agency when it came to promotions.

A decade in the CIA, working undercover from Austria to Australia, Cape Town to Cambridge, Daegu to Delhi. He’d had lighter assignments, surveillance that didn’t put him in harm's way, and he’d had jobs that took him into the line of fire for days on end. He’d laid in the mud for hours to stay undetected, camouflaged as platoons worth of men trod across the ground next to him. He’d run across rooftops, bullets blazing by, each one able to deliver death in an instant.

He’d shoved a teammate out of the way as a grenade came tumbling down a staircase, the explosion unleashing shards of metal that took his right ear clean off. He’d been in a coma for five years, eating, pissing, and shitting through a tube. He had to learn how to speak, walk, run, and act like a human being again over the course of a year. He learned that his family gave up on him and moved on, and that only taxpayer money kept him alive in the hopes of preserving the knowledge in his head.

After all of that…he chose field work, because it was all he had left, and his reward was babysitting two maniacs who didn’t know how to take orders.

Rubbing his eyes, Lok sighed, “Uuugh….alright Lok…pull yourself together…pull yourself together. It’s been a while. This is only your third op in a commanding position in…in nearly a decade…You have the experience, you have the fortitude…even if you’re being asked to herd wild cats into a cage. This isn’t impossible…you just have to…rethink your strategies.”

Taking a deep breath, Lok trudged over to his headphones, putting them back on. The right side was shattered, cracked, not that it mattered. He couldn’t use that ear anyways. Sitting down at the monitor yet again, he angled the microphone back over his mouth, “Alright, lets-”

“Is the Commandant’s temper tantrum finished?”

Lok gritted his teeth, “Let’s....refocus. Mayo, give me a detailed description of the situation, and please remind me of what your mission is…in case the two of you have forgotten it.”

“Uuuuuhh…Let’s see.”

Mitchell Mayo, dressed in blue and purple disco getup, peeked his head out of the bathroom, gazing into the chaotic maelstrom of a warehouse rave. Multi-Colored spotlights, crudely affixed to the ceiling, casted neon lights across the dance floor, giving the entire room a purplish hue. Dozens of people across the warehouse were throwing their arms in the air, swinging their bodies in chaotic dance while packed together like bundles of hay. Squinting, Mayo did his best to adjust for his lack of depth perception, given the eyepatch over his left eye. Scratching his head, he ducked back inside, careful not to let his long mane of hair get caught on the door before putting his hand up to his earpiece, “Well, everyone’s still dancing. I count a little under a hundred people from where I am, mostly in their early to late twenties. Makes me feel a little awkward but hey, that’s the mission.”

“I can do without the personal anecdotes,” Lok remarked. “Keep going.”

“They’ve got the disco lights…but they’re not very stable looking. One could fall at any moment,” Mayo said.

“Might be a combat option if things turn out that way,” Lok said.

“Yeah…I hope not though. These people don’t seem too bad,” Mayo said.

“And where’s your partner? Where’s Quinn?” Lok asked.

“I’m getting myself and Mayo a drink! The gal at the bar really knows what she’s doing!” Harley chimed.

“You’re….ugh…whatever. Whatever makes you happy. Mayo, do you have any updates on the target, the mission?” Lok asked.

“Well…not yet. It’d be hard to spot old Jervis Tetch in a crowd of normal sized people. He isn’t exactly of…average height,” Mayo said.

“Then get in the crowd, or find a vantage point. He’s somewhere around here, we know he is.”

Mayo cringed, “Well….do we?”

“...Mayo, if you’re going to start yanking my chain-”

“No no, listen! I promise you, I’m not messing with you.”

Mayo looked towards the bathroom door, then at the rest of the bathroom, making sure it was empty, “Tetch was always a weird one, and trust me, I know Waller’s sources are typically pretty legit. I totally believe that her computer people picked up a signal identical to Tetch’s mind control tech, and that the tech itself is legit. It’s just…Tetch wouldn’t come all the way to LA. He’s a Gothamite through and through! This place is too hot and fast for him, he wouldn’t be able to handle it. Plus…a warehouse rave just isn’t his style. He’s more likely to crash a masquerade ball or something like that. This place just…doesn’t feel like him.”

“That might be so, but there are also some other trends that do line up. Tetch is always looking for someone to be his Alice, and these places tend to get a lot of young women,” Lok noted. “Maybe this isn’t his new hunting ground. Maybe he’s just here to nab someone and get out. Either way, he’s a danger, and his skillset could be put to better use than stalking young women.”

Mayo grimaced, “And um…if it’s not him?”

“Then whoever has this tech is still a danger. Mission still stands, find whoever has the tech and bring them in,” Lok ordered.

Sighing, Mayo took one last moment to collect himself before adventuring out into the rave, the pulsating music far too loud for his ears. He could never stand stuff as loud and constant as a concert or a sports game, it was just too much for his ears to handle. Sure, it meant that absolutely everyone within a mile of the place could hear the music, but on the other hand it made conversation nearly impossible. You had to scream at the top of your lungs, and even then you’d maybe only get two out of three words to the person right next to you. Some would say that people come to a rave to dance, not to talk, but that didn’t exactly help Mayo’s current situation in the slightest.

Slowly, he made his way through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone or get knocked over by a stray arm. It’d been months since his brush with death, which resulted in the loss of his second favorite eye. Since then, he’d mostly recovered, and had gone on more than a few missions, sticking close to his partner in crime. It’s never really been all that easy, but with the support of the rest of the Squad, he’s made it through alright. Flag always kept watch over him, taking extra care to keep him safe, which might be why Waller set Mayo up with a different CO this time. To Mayo, it seemed like she wanted to make sure Flag’s protective nature didn’t override the mission.

But even without Flag, Mayo still had Harley. When he first became a minor player in Gotham City’s maddening merry-go-round of villains, he never expected that he’d not only be respected by Harley, but be loved by her. He’d never felt so strongly about anyone else in his entire life, even his own parents. She uplifted and supported him in ways nobody else ever did, and he did the same for her. Hell, he’d practically given his life for her a few times already.

Things weren’t okay often, but whenever he was with her, it got close.

Pushing through one more group, Mayo finally made it to the bar, spotting Harley as she chatted up the bartender, who had just finished making two bluish drinks contained in cheap red cups. Spotting Mayo, Harley smiled before placing one of them in his hands, “Hey Mitch! The Lady said these are her specialty! I managed to get em made without the alc, seeing as we’re on the job!”

Mayo grinned, “Aw, thanks Harls.”

Mayo took a swig of the drink, which was frankly foul even in its virgin form. Still, he choked it down to remain polite, then patted Harley on the arm, taking a look out at the rest of the crowd, “I feel kinda bad about Lok.”

“What? Psshh…Why?”

“I dunno, seems a little dickish to screw with him like this. I know we don’t have a rapport with him like with Flag but…I dunno, the guy’s not our enemy.”

“Sure…but he’s also not accustomed to the kind of stuff we get up to. He’s gotta learn to roll with the punches. Besides, I've been scouting the place out like he said.”

Mayo looked to Harley, puzzled, “But…but…then why do you keep telling him you’re just screwing around?”

“Listen, we don’t know this Lok guy, like you said. We don’t know how he performs under pressure. This is my way of testing the waters, seeing how he handles something not going this way when we’re not all about to die. If he went all control freak on us, we know where his lines are and where not to cross them. If just lets us walk all over him, we know we’re on our own. Right now, he’s just kinda dealing with it, trying to compromise. Means he can work well with us!” Harley rubbed her chin, “Sure, we’re giving him grief now, but think about how happy he’ll be when he learns we actually did our job!”

Mayo raised an eyebrow, “I…question the logic of that…but you know what, at least we’re still doing what we’re supposed to be doing. You find any trace of Tetch?”

“Nope, and I think we both know this ain’t his kind of place,” Harley scanned the crowd. “Guy’s not the rave type.”

“Yup…Guess that leaves us with a bigger question though. There were definitely traces of Tetch’s tech here, so who the hell is messing around with it?”

“I dunno, but we gotta watch out for ‘em. Only people who like mind control are the freaks and the creeps.”

Mayo nodded, and was about to respond when a specific tune entered his ear. A snap and a ring, the chiming of a bell, followed by the rattle of drums and the smacking of gums. Against his will, he did a spin, his hand twisting to keep the entirety of his drink within the cup. Tapping his feet, he found himself pulled into the crowd, prompting Harley to follow with wide eyes, “Woah! Check out the sick moves! Never seen you dance like that, Mayo!”

“Not…trying…too!”

In a single moment, Harley’s joy turned to concern, which turned to trepidation as the entire room suddenly stamped their feet all at once. The music hadn’t stopped. No, it seemed louder and more invasive than ever before.

A real earworm in a sense.

Slowly, Harley felt herself get swept up in the music, her ears ringing with a sadistic, sinister glee as she took Mayo’s hands, dancing along with him as the rest of the room parted in a rhythmic motion. The two tossed and turned, their bodies moving of their own accord as the crowd moved with them, spinning and jumping while keeping them encircled. The two tried to break free, but it was like their minds were submerged in icy water, the signals that should tell their arms and legs to move lost on the way down.

The two stuck a flash pose together, with Harley bent forward while Mayo leaned back, kept from falling by Harley’s embrace. Harley locked eyes with Mayo, terrified. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she wasn’t in control. Mayo would be shaking if he had the ability to do so, and the fact that he couldn’t made him all the more scared. In a blink, the crowd parted again, and a figure stepped through to greet Mayo and Harley.

He was well dressed for someone at a rave, decked out in a three piece suit of the black and white variety. He sported a pair of tap shoes and slicked back hair practically drenched in the grease you’d get at an old-timey barber’s shop. He smelled strongly of some kind of wood themed perfume, and sported a bushy, well trimmed and maintained mustache. Grinning, he fiddled with something underneath his right sleeve before circling Mayo and Harley, “Two Dancers, Two Interlopers. Normally, I’d be a little ticked by an intrusion like this, but I can forgive it.”

Leaning forward, he whispered into the duo’s ears, “After all…I do love a double act!”

Next Issue: Make way for the Music Meister!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE FLASH

In On Two Fronts

Issue Thirty-Five: Running Wild

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Deadislandman1

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Wally West's morning routine was nothing short of a whirlwind. He was up and dressed in a flash, literally, his movements a blur as he zipped into his clothes and was almost out the door when a familiar voice halted him mid-stride.

“Where do you think you’re going?” The question came not with accusation, but with a playful undertone.

Wally spun around, his momentum carrying a breeze that fluttered the nearby curtains, to find Rosie Dillon lounging on the couch, a steaming cup of coffee in hand. Her expression was a mix of amusement and affection.

He couldn't help but smile, his heart swelling a bit as he approached her. “Got a big day today, huh?” he teased, referring to her job interview.

Rosie nodded, her excitement palpable. “Yeah, and I'm going to nail it,” she declared with a confidence that made Wally's smile widen.

After a quick but tender kiss, during which he whispered an earnest “I love you”, Rosie gave him a nod, the unspoken signal that it was okay for him to resume his life at high speed. With another swift peck, Wally was out the door, the sound of it closing echoed faintly in the distance.

Once outside, Wally dialled back into the rest of the world. He returned a missed call from Ambassador Rhinebeck. One he should have known better than to miss.

“Ambassador!” he exclaimed as he connected and Grace Rhinebeck’s image appeared projected on his mask’s lenses. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine, Flash,” she replied. “If there was a crisis in Doomtopia we would have sent someone for you.”

Wally winced at the name, but pressed on. “I know, but I don’t want you all to stop thinking you can rely on me.”

“We won’t, Flash.” There it was again. “You’re - pardon my expression - one of the good ones.”

As Wally raced through Gem City, the sprawling metropolis that had evolved from the merging of Central and Keystone, he took in the advanced architecture and bustling skyways once again. Flying cars never got old, especially when it left the roads clearer for the city’s friendly neighbourhood speedster. Still, their sleek innovations didn’t make up for the fumes they belched into the atmosphere. Wally frowned slightly; for all the technological advancements of the 25th century, some things seemed stubbornly stuck in the past.

Then, his musings were interrupted by another chime from his communicator. This time, it was a message from a scientist friend, beckoning him to the Flash Museum for a discussion on some Speed Force anomalies. It had been years since Wally was a walking Speed Force anomaly himself, which he figured gave him a unique insight. He quickly called his contact back.

“Should I be worried?” Wally asked brusquely. He didn’t mind skipping the pleasantries when he knew he’d be face-to-face with the man in less than a minute.

“Don't panic, just come by,”* the professor assured him. “I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay. On my way, Dr Thawne.”

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Present Day

Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the bedroom. Barry lay awake, the sheets pooled around his waist as he watched Patty sleep beside him. The rays of the sun played across her features, accentuating her peaceful expression. In that quiet moment, Barry couldn’t help but marvel at her, feeling a mix of exhilaration and apprehension. They had moved swiftly, rekindling their relationship with an intensity that was both thrilling and daunting. Yet, as he watched her, all he could think was how right it felt. They had navigated all of that teenage awkwardness years ago, Barry resolved, now they had begun to repair their cracked foundation they could speed things up all they pleased.

Patty stirred and blinked open her eyes, catching him halfway through changing into his shirt, his smile broad and unabashed.

“Morning,” she greeted, her voice groggy and husky.

“You know what my favourite thing about having super speed is?” she mused, sitting up. “Getting to sleep in and still get to work on time.”

With a playful flourish, she zipped around the room, a blur of motion that ended with her fully dressed in an instant. Barry watched, amused and slightly envious.

“That’s just an advanced Speed Force technique,” he chuckled, pulling on his last sock. “I’m never on time for anything. You’ll have to teach me that someday.”

“Maybe someday,” she quipped, a smirk playing on her lips.

Patty stepped closer, her expression softening. “Last night was wonderful, Barry. I can’t wait to do it again.”

“Next time, maybe we can eat out somewhere?” Barry suggested, hopeful.

“I’ll check my calendar after work,” she replied, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on his forehead. With another flash of speed, she was gone, her departure leaving a slight gust of wind that fluttered the curtains.

Barry stood alone in the quiet room, her absence already felt. Yet, the promise of what lay ahead left a warm feeling in his chest, a contrast to the cool morning air filtering through the window.

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Red lightning crackled intensely around William West as he concentrated on harnessing the volatile energy. In the Speed Force Institute's training room, his quick, tight circles generated a powerful storm of energy, which he then attempted to direct with increasing precision. Each attempt to target the distant bullseye resulted in another charred mark on the walls or floor, the actual target remaining frustratingly intact.

Exhausted, he paused, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. Just then, the doorway slid open with a hiss and Iris West, his aunt, stepped through. “I thought I’d find you here.”

William straightened up, surprised. “I didn't know you had access to this place.”

Iris chuckled lightly. “It’s one of the perks of being the Flash’s sister.”

She walked over to him, her heels clicking softly on the concrete floor. “How's the scholarship application going?” she inquired, her tone genuinely curious.

William's shoulders slumped slightly. “I... haven’t really started. Got a lot on my plate,” he admitted, expecting a lecture.

Instead, Iris simply nodded. “I can see that. And I've been checking the logs; you've been training hard, maybe too hard. You're doing fantastic, you know.”

He glanced at her, curious. “Did Barry tell you that?”

“No, but he does speak very highly of you,” Iris assured him with a warm smile. “Maybe spend some more time with him outside of this... training arena? Barry Allen's worth your time too, not just the Flash. He could help with your applications.”

William shifted uncomfortably, his desire to focus solely on avenging his parents battling with the practicality of what Iris was suggesting. “We train together all the time.”

“Yes, you and the Flash maybe, but there’s more to life than just training, William. Barry can help with your applications, and I'll help with essays and personal statements,” Iris encouraged firmly.

The proposal was tempting, grounding. William nodded slowly, a part of him eager for the normalcy it promised.

“And have you spoken to Detective Zolomon again lately?” Iris asked casually.

William's heart skipped. He had indeed been meeting with Zolomon, working on something far from what Iris would approve. “Yeah, we talked about a police internship,” he lied, “but I don’t think I’ll go for it. I don’t want to be a cop.”

A blur of red and gold streaked into the training room, announcing Barry’s arrival in his full Flash costume. “Hey, Iris! William!” he called out cheerfully as he skidded to a halt beside them.

Iris raised an eyebrow. “You seem better rested than I'd expect,” she commented, her tone teasing.

William cringed slightly at the innuendo. “Seriously?” he muttered, his expression a mix of amusement and mild disgust. It was weird enough thinking about his uncle in such a context.

Intent to move swiftly on, William turned to Barry with a more practical question. “Why are you still wearing the whole getup, Barry? Everyone already knows you’re the Flash. Why not train in your sweats?”

“Ah, I'm glad you asked, William. That's actually the focus of today's lesson!”

William rolled his eyes at the formality. “Lesson?” he echoed, not entirely hiding his scepticism.

Iris, still standing by, decided to intervene. “Barry, I was just telling William he should take a break. He’s been pushing himself pretty hard lately.”

William's response was quick and firm, reflecting a determination that belied his young age. “I’m fine! Let’s just continue with the training,” he insisted.

Iris studied him for another moment, yet seeing the resolve in William's eyes, she nodded slowly. “Okay, but don’t overdo it,” she cautioned, her voice soft but stern.

“Promise,” William replied, a slight smile breaking through as he turned back to Barry, ready for whatever lesson his uncle had in store.

Convinced, if not entirely comfortable, Iris gave them both one last look before turning and exiting the training room. Her steps echoed faintly as she left, the door hissing shut behind her, leaving William and Barry alone in the vast, equipment-laden space.

“Alright,” Barry clapped his hands together, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “Let’s get started then. There’s a lot more to these suits than just identity protection. It covers my face, sure, but it also shields my body. The fabric is a lightweight fibre that doesn't impede speed yet absorbs the impact of hits, scrapes, and even some forms of energy blasts.”

William's brow furrowed in confusion. “But doesn’t the Speed Force protect speedsters from most of those things?”

Barry nodded. “The Speed Force does minimise the effects of friction, preventing us from igniting when we run through the wind. It offers some protection against other forces too, but it’s not all-encompassing, especially when you're up against supervillains like the Reverse Flash." The mention of the Reverse Flash sharpened William's focus instantly, likely Barry’s exact intention.

Barry continued, “Not to mention: the suit is skintight. We already don’t worry about drag, thanks to the Speed Force, but loose fabric can still be a nuisance. A streamlined design helps prevent any self-sabotage from tripping or fabric interference."

Half-joking, William asked, "So does this mean I’ve got to get myself my own full-body condom if I want to run like you?"

Barry laughed softly and extended his hand, holding something small and metallic. “No need.” He handed it to William who took it, examining the titanium ring engraved with the iconic Flash lightning bolt.

“This is...?” William began but trailed off, a profound awe colouring his tone.

“Max’s Flash Ring,” Barry replied with reverence for the fallen hero.

The significance wasn't lost on William. He slipped the ring onto his left middle finger, marvelling at how it seemed to be a perfect fit. Barry, smiling, did not mention the nanotechnology that adapted its size.

Removing his scarlet glove, Barry revealed a similar ring of gold. He demonstrated how to activate it by pressing a hidden button. William, filled with curiosity and a bit of nervous excitement, pressed the button on his ring.

In a blur, the costume shot out, rapidly expanding. In that moment, Barry placed his hand on William’s shoulder and pulled them both into Flashtime - the speedsters’ slowed down perception of reality - allowing them both to witness the unfolding of the suit in slow motion. There, William watched the dramatic unfurling of silver fabric accented with black and highlighted with red lightning bolts streaking across the chest.

However, as the Flashtime ended and reality snapped back to its regular pace, William, still caught up in the spectacle, failed to step into the suit. It fell to the floor with a comical slap, lying fully expanded yet unoccupied.

Barry chuckled at the sight, the sound echoing slightly in the spacious training room. “Looks like today's real lesson is how to suit up at super speed,” he said, amused. “Trust me, nobody wants to catch a speedster half-dressed and struggling into their costume.”

William, slightly embarrassed but more amused like his uncle, nodded, his earlier frustrations momentarily forgotten in the novelty of his new gear and the trust Barry was extending him with their prized possession of Max’s.

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Wally West sat at the desk in his bedroom, the muted glow of his laptop illuminating scattered research notes for his engineering assignment. The tabs open on his screen offered little of interest, a stark reminder of the mundane aspects of a lot of education. Yet, beneath this veneer of academic normality, Wally harboured secrets that stretched the boundaries of time itself.

From the bottom drawer of his desk, he retrieved a sleek metal disk, a futuristic device incongruous with his surroundings. Placing it carefully on the desk, he pressed the centre. Immediately, it came alive with a soft blue glow, projecting a hologram of intricate car engine schematics into the air. The design was from the 25th century, tantalisingly advanced yet disappointingly close to modern capabilities. Wally pondered how he could integrate this knowledge into his paper without causing a ripple through the timeline.

His curiosity piqued, Wally's fingers hesitated over another button on the disk. Yielding to temptation, he pressed it. The engine's blueprint vanished, replaced by a holographic newspaper front page, the headline in bold.

FLASH DIES IN CRISIS.

It was the same page that had haunted Barry, stored in the time vault by the adult Bart Allen. The date and details shifted with each viewing, a morbid reminder of a mutable future tethered by a seemingly constant event: the Flash's death.

“Bart... where are you?” Wally murmured, lost in thought. He knew a teenage Bart Allen - Barry’s future grandson - had been hopping through time, training under every Flash. The young Bart who had made a brief visit to the 25th century had hinted at dire events, and clearly was fixated on this headline by the time he reached adulthood. In the present day, it had been years since Bart had covertly trained under Jay Garrick, and then Max Crandall. Everything he knew about Barry’s future fate, and the Reverse Flash’s machinations pointed to Bart and the complex tapestry of his history. He was overdue for a partnership with Barry, but when he did rear his head he would answer Wally with exactly what was going on. Bart was the key, he was certain.

The unsettling silence of the room was abruptly shattered. “Feeling nervous, West?” The voice, distorted and chillingly familiar, immediately made Wally’s blood run cold.

Spinning around, Wally faced the nightmare he had hoped to avoid. The Reverse Flash stood mere feet away, his red eyes gleaming malevolently, his features obscured by his rapidly vibrating form.

A surge of energy exploded between them, red and yellow lightning crackling wildly as they launched into a frenetic dash around the room. The chase spilled into the street, an eruption of speed and power that blurred the lines of the residential area around them.

“Everything is already in motion,” the Reverse Flash taunted as they circled each other, his voice a sinister echo in the whirlwind. “You and your light touch approach to timeline surgery can't stop it. I’ve already tried, with blunter instruments!”

Where have you been!?” Wally demanded, breathless from the shock of the encounter. The Reverse Flash had been absent since the chaos at Patty and Barry's wedding, his whereabouts a mystery. All the while, the Flash Family feared the day he would reappear.

The villain's reply was cryptic, tinged with dark amusement. *“The so-called ‘Legion of Doom’ has shifted its priorities. I check in, but I’ve been busy setting up the dominoes.”’ *

Wally gritted his teeth. If he wanted riddles he would have headed off to Gotham.

“Besides… you should know where I've been…” The dark speedster sneered, taunting the previously future-flung Wally.

Both came to a stop in the middle of the street, each just staring the other down.

“So what do you want?” Wally's cry was a mix of defiance and desperation. “You’ve messed with Barry enough.”

First, the Reverse Flash merely laughed.

“What?” Wally balled his hands into fists.

“Barry Allen is right where I want him,” the foe replied. “Right now, you’re the thorn in my side. I'm not going to let you mess everything up.”

The Reverse Flash charged forward with immense speed, and Wally reacted on impulse. At first, Wally was sprinting away, the evil speedster in hot pursuit as their surroundings were reduced to a blur. But as the Reverse Flash overtook him, Wally instead found himself the pursuer, chasing the family’s tormentor towards Keystone City, each step a desperate bid to unravel the threat before him and protect those he loved.

Next: Shatter in The Flash #36

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In ARGO Solutions

Issue Eighteen: Step By Step

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Kara wasn’t ready to face the image of her mother after so long. It had been over a year since the artificial intelligence program had been activated, last seeing activity since before Kara’s excursion to Starhaven. But, now that she was finished installing the holographic transmitters within her laboratory and office in National City — with the intelligence hub, processors, and central unit taking up a small amount of space in a closed off side room — she wasn’t quite sure how she felt.

She stared up at the final emitter, a small device attached to the ceiling, and sighed. One small part of her never wanted to reactivate the AI, the sight of her mother’s face puppeteered by a machine that couldn’t truly replicate the warmth that Alura exuded. Kara knew that the data stored in the AI was the basis of her entire business plan, extracting the knowledge it had to transform and adapt it to Earth’s needs.

She didn’t have the information on her own; if she was going to get it for herself, she would have to go through the machine. She could have called Nia, to have a friend present, or Jon, for family, but she couldn’t bring herself to bring them with her. She needed to do it alone — even if it was mere moments before an interview would take place.

Arms crossed, she tapped her finger over her bicep, anxiously talking herself through the process. There was no other way to go forward than to go through her biggest obstacle. She took a deep breath.

“Alura,” she called out, watching a small light on the emitters around the room blink for a split second before the form of her long-dead mother appeared before her eyes, a kind smile and perfect features shining back into Kara’s eyes. They were features she saw in the mirror every morning.

“Kara, my dear,” Alura began, though her smile soon faded. “You look older… How long has it been?”

“Only a year,” Kara said, a newfound fatigue extending through her voice as she shifted her stance into a more relaxed posture. “It’s been a long year.”

“Oh, my poor girl,” Alura said, taking a step toward Kara, putting her hand up to caress Kara’s face. Instead, Kara stepped back, hand up to tell the hologram to stop.

“That’s not… I don’t need you for that,” despite its existence being that of code, the hologram appeared hurt, her face sinking as she searched for some sort of answer within Kara’s face. She tried to find eye contact with Kara, but the woman’s eyes avoided her own at all costs.

“Well, what do you need, darling?” asked Alura, angling her head slightly forward, taking a look at Kara’s hidden face. The sensors installed around the room to assist in its function betrayed the holographic actions it took. It could see every angle of the laboratory, no matter where in the room its form was. “I’m always here for you.”

“First, some ground rules,” Kara began, finally looking at the light structure in its eyes. Her voice was firm. “You’re not my mother.” She paused for a moment, waiting for a response. “I… I understand that you were taken from her mind and her memories, but you’re just not her. I don’t need you to try to be, and I really don’t need you calling me pet names. Just… Kara is fine.”

“Alright, Kara,” the AI said, nodded along.

“Second; you’re in my workplace now, not my ship,” she continued. “I’m going to have employees and clients here often, I need you to assist them as well.”

“I don’t know who these people are or will be,” said Alura.

“That’s okay, I don’t know who all of them will be yet,” Kara replied. “But you’ll know when I do.” She knew that the AI could process information in nanoseconds, perhaps quicker, but she watched as it nodded its head, acting as if it was contemplating what it was being told. Kara pursed her lips.

“What is it that you will be doing here, Kara?” asked Alura. Finally taking a step away from its static position, it walked around the lab, its holographic eyes looking over all of the empty space and cheap, rudimentary earth machinery that came pre-installed in the room. “I don’t see nearly enough equipment to accomplish anything of substance.”

“Vaguely, it’ll be research and development,” said Kara. “I still need clients and employees who can actually help me do it all–”

“What will you be researching and developing?” Alura asked, turning back toward Kara, her arms clasped in front of her. Kara hesitated for a moment, cocking her head slightly as she narrowed her eyes at the blueish hologram that was staring back at her.

“I want to find a sustainable way to introduce Kryptonian technology to Earth and improve quality of life here,” Kara explained. “I don’t want them to make the same mistakes we did, and if I can adapt the right tech, I can help them.” The expression on Alura’s face seemed conflicted, a strained smile.

“And what would stop them from taking this technology for themselves? From adapting it to something other than your goals?”

“I would,” said Kara. “This planet isn’t ignorant of our technology, Kal-El was here for decades before I arrived, his son is their greatest hero. But only I have access to the necessary plans and techniques to build anything of ours.”

“I see,” said Alura, her tone apprehensive. She seemed to want to object to Kara’s plans, wanting to say more but stopping herself. Kara was surprised to see such internal conflict from a machine. “Are you sure this is the wisest–”

“I will rewrite you myself, if I have to,” said Kara, her voice suddenly cold and distant. “I’ve had enough of Kryptonian superiority. I’ve seen what our empire did to planets in the galaxy, I’ve seen the results of genocides we carried out. If I could access this information without a middle man, I would, but I have to go through you. I’m using our knowledge for something other than murder, or control, or expansionism.”

The AI said nothing in response, simply nodding.

Kara hated how she sounded, but there was a rage within her that could not be quelled. She’d been shown a side of Krypton that tore down all of her beliefs, and she wouldn’t let the old seclusionist ways prevent her from doing what she could to help those in need. Earth had growing problems, and she could see that Kryptonian technology and ideas could help find solutions.

Before either of them could speak once more, there was a knock at the door that caught their attention.

“That would be my interview,” said Kara, turning to the door and rushing to open it. Alura kept quiet as she watched.

“Doctor Veritas,” Kara said enthusiastically as her eyes met those of the brilliant woman on the other side of the door. “Come in,” she said, stepping back and gesturing into the lab, a welcoming smile on her face. “If I’m honest, this interview is mostly a formality, I don’t know how I could say no to–”

“Quite a mundane laboratory, here,” said Shay Veritas, looking over the empty room, forty feet long and thirty feet wide with high ceilings. “No useful equipment, yet.”

“Uh, no, not yet,” said Kara. “I’m still working on getting some tools from the fortress here and sorting out the finances from the grants and–”

“Investors,” said Shay, finishing Kara’s sentence. “Yes, it’s all a terrible drag. I could assist you with tools from my own, personal laboratory.”

“Oh, you have your own lab?” Kara asked, stopping in her tracks, tilting her head slightly as she continued to watch the doctor look over the lab. Shay nodded. “Why come work for me then?” The question rang sweetly in Shay’s ears, a wry smile finding its way onto her face as she turned back toward the Kryptonian, her magenta hair swinging slightly as she pivoted quickly on her cane.

“Because you are interesting, Kara Zor-El,” said the doctor, taking her time as she walked up to Kara. “You arrive, burn the countryside, disappear for weeks, smash up a warmonger’s beast sidekick, play superhero, and then disappear for a whole year before returning with a business idea. You have the power to punch your way through all your problems and yet your scientific mind is what you’re drawn to. I adore like-minded people, and the opportunity to work with a mind that experienced a civilisation so advanced it dwarfed our own, I’d be a fool to decline.” Kara nodded along.

“I suppose it would be impressive–”

“Interesting,” said Shay, interrupting Kara. “Not impressive, not yet. You are interesting.” Kara remained silent for a few moments as Shay stopped only a couple feet in front of her, a hand extended to shake.

“As I was saying,” Kara finally said, looking the applicant up and down. “This was really only a formality. You’re hired.”

A Few Hours Later…

Kara sat alone in her office, reading more and more stacks of applications, her dim office light keeping the text on the stacks of papers legible as she scanned through them. It was tireless work, but she enjoyed it more than signing continuous documents regarding taxes, grants, and registrations. It was easier to judge people than trudge through the legal language that bored her to death.

Flipping through the fifth candidate of the hour that she would have to reject, she looked up at the holographic emitter on the ceiling and shook her head.

“Alura,” she called out. There were questions to ask the machine that she hadn’t had a chance to ask before, pressing questions that needed answers. Instantaneously, the form of Kara’s mother appeared before her, a kind smile on her face.

“How can I help you, Kara?” asked the AI.

“I want to know about the old empire,” said Kara, receiving a nod from the AI, no signs of hesitance or trepidation in its face or movements. “Tell me about Starhaven, first.”

“Starhaven was an ancient, primitive planet that we settled millennia ago, bringing modern agriculture, technology, and resources to their world. When the galactic war forced us to abandon it, it was an arid planet with few oceans and irregular weather. Our intervention managed to allow the planet to retain oxygen sources on the planet as plants on the surface died out.” Kara scoffed. She was only being told half the story.

“Alright, tell me about the agriculture that was brought to Starhaven. The hydroponics facilities and the weather machines.” Kara crossed her arms and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the surface of her desk, the papers below her arms acting as rigid cushions above the wooden frame.

“The Weather and Hydroponics systems were complex, but now antiquated, systems that we used to stabilise the atmosphere of the planet and continue the water cycle in the best method we could find. It allowed wind currents, oxygen, and water to remain in the atmosphere despite worsening conditions on the surface of the planet. All resources used were native flora, invasive species were very carefully taken into account on all former imperial colonies.”

“Sure, sure,” Kara said quickly. “Now what about Project Class Worldkiller?”

“I am afraid I cannot answer that, Kara.” Alura said, her face twisting in disappointment.

“Why not?”

“It seems I have an information block, or perhaps that query does not match any parameters within the database I have access to.”

Kara furrowed her brow. Alura had never been so mechanically artificial before, she almost refused to acknowledge her status as an AI. Kara had thought that she was given the personality of the real Alura — for a query to result in such blunt terms of missing software struck her as odd.

“How do I remove the information block?” asked Kara.

“I am afraid I cannot answer that,” said Alura. “Modifying my own code is not possible. I do not have an insight to most of my own functions.”

“Is there anything related to Project Class Worldkiller that you can tell me? What about Codename: Reign?” Kara asked, hoping that she could at least come across tangential information. There had to have been records of the Worldkillers, and the data block proved that they were real, and they were dangerous. Why else would information about them be blocked to the last surviving Kryptonian?

“Unfortunately, I cannot answer that,” said Alura. “Another data block. I’m not sure why, but this information is a closely guarded secret. I know that Alura knew of them, but she has intentionally, if hastily, attempted to remove my knowledge on the subject.”

Kara sat back in her seat, hands down on her thighs, and sighed. Her gaze was unfocused and distant as she thought about the implications of deliberately hiding such information. If the Worldkillers were relics of the old empire, why hide their existence? Did Alura know more about them, for whatever reason? What did Alura know? Was she hiding their existence to keep them out of perverse hands or some other unspoken reason?

She wouldn’t be able to get answers to any of her questions from this machine, and with her mother dead, there were no answers to be had. She would have to set aside some time to reprogram the AI — or find a way to remove the data blocks — but she had no time to do so with the endless paperwork on her desk.

Well, she wanted to continue with the paperwork when the phone on her desk began blaring its loud ringing chime, almost startling her.

“Shall I take that, Kara?” asked Alura, gesturing toward the phone.

“No,” Kara said, reaching for the receiver. “It’s okay, I’ve got it.”

Picking it up, she placed it to her ear and listened as the caller immediately began to speak.

“Kara Zor-El?” asked the voice, it was a woman on the other end calling her name, her voice was unfamiliar. “Christina Bell, I work for a financier who’s interested in your company. We’d like to make a private investment into ARGO Solutions in exchange for a small percentage of ownership and a share of profits.”

Kara sat silently, tapping her fingers against the surface of her desk.

“Ownership?” Kara asked hesitantly. “I don’t know–”

“It’s nothing to be worried about,” said Christina Bell, her tone unusually upbeat. “We tend to be silent partners, supplying funds and letting our partners do what they do best in exchange for a small, almost unnoticeable share of profits.”

“I’m not… I don’t want to do this to make money,” said Kara, her voice trailing slightly. “I want to help people–”

“I understand, Miss Zor-El,” said Bell. “But I also understand, based on data available to us, that you don’t have much funding, going off of grants by the National City government, but surely that cannot be enough. Their science fund may be bountiful, but it’s not generous.” There was a brief pause as neither spoke, Kara wanting to come up with something to say.

The caller wasn’t wrong, Kara needed money if she wanted to keep the business going for more than the few months the grants allowed and to pay any employees — especially now that she actually had an employee.

“Why don’t we set up an appointment to meet and further discuss our options,” said Christina, her voice remaining unnervingly calm. “Are you free any time in the coming days?”

“Uh, mostly, yes,” Kara replied, still hesitant and unsure of her position and the offer being presented. “Friday is fully open.”

“That’s perfect,” said Christina. “I can stop by at noon?”

“Okay–”

“Excellent!” Christina exclaimed. “I will see you then!” Before Kara could respond, the line cut, and Christina Bell disappeared into wherever in National City she was. Kara couldn’t help but scoff, she had barely been given a chance to speak and yet she was already going to be in a meeting with whoever Christina Bell was, and whichever company she represented — only now realising she’d never received a name.

Unable to focus, Kara sat back down in her chair and scoffed.

There was a shadow-clad figure in an empty office across the street from Kara Zor-El, a few floors above the safehouse used by Alex Danvers of the DEO. Danvers wasn’t present that night, she hadn’t been since the arrow had flown through her window and destroyed some of her equipment days prior.

This figure, cloaked under a hood with a bow on their back, stared into the unobstructed window of Kara Zor-El’s office window, listening device in hand, attempting to identify the woman Kara had spoken to on the phone. Only a handful of companies came to mind, but there were too many to search in one night. They didn’t want to extend into the coming days, but feared that they had to in order to intercept the money that was being offered to the woman who was a total novice to Earth business practices.

There was the obvious case of wanting to take advantage of the Kryptonian and her technology, the feasibility of getting their hands on technology far beyond Earth’s current capabilities would whet the appetites of even the most reserved executive. Kara Zor-El was bringing previously untouched resources and potentially putting it into the hands of those who would adapt her benevolent intentions and warp her results into something much more dangerous.

This figure had only been in National City for less than a year, but they knew almost immediately who would try the hardest to get their hands on Kryptonian technology: Simon Tycho.

Sitting atop his ivory tower, it was the only alien intelligence he truly struggled to grasp, always on the cusp of getting it for himself, yet struggling to cross the finish line. ARGO Solutions would be his easiest con yet.

The difficult part was which company did Tycho send after Kara Zor-El, there were many that were tied to him one way or another, it was simply a matter of identifying which one fit the mark.

The figure would have to move across the city and hope they reached the right one first. Christina Bell was not one for social media or even business networking sites, despite her profession. She had next to no online presence, almost eliminating the possibility of finding her through name alone.

Tycho’s known subsidiaries were numerous, but there was no telling how many were shell companies operated by shell companies. No one would know how many off-shore accounts he was pulling his money from, how much he was laundering through tax-havens or how many companies he operated off of American soil. Only the man himself truly knew the scale of his business, but he wasn’t the wisest to confront.

The shadowy figure would have to search on their own.

Small, metallic, wrist-mounted darts made destroying security cameras easy, and the shadowy figure snuck into the third office building of the night without issue. Lazy security guards and the fallibility of tired eyes allowed for the figure to find their way to the upper floors without trouble, giving them ample time to search the offices without being caught. All it took was an incapacitated guard within the security room to do it.

There were rows and rows of cubicles as the figure slinked their way through the building, the last investment firm on the north side of National City, with dubious links to Tycho Industries. It was nearing four in the morning, and it would have to be the last of the night before their search bled into the next day. Thursday morning was not optimal if they had to get what they needed by the next day, but they could only hope.

Christina Bell’s office stared the figure right in the face as they turned a corner, one of the few offices that was allotted its own space within the company’s rented floor. The lock hadn’t even been shut, allowing the shadowy figure to get inside with ease.

They breathed a sigh of relief as they got inside, thankful to have found it fast enough to get all the information they needed. They were quick to shuffle through Christina’s desk as they waited for the old computer to boot up. There weren’t any particularly interesting or relevant papers in her desk, mostly minor acquisitions and investments in preexisting companies that trended well on the stock market.

Placing a small USB device into the computer, the figure bypassed the company assigned password and gained direct access to all of the digitised files. It was a pain to navigate, having to sort through lists and countless folders of oddly-named case files that they could only assume were some kind of shorthand code.

The jumbled letters and numbers were difficult to make out until they found what they were looking for, and hindsight became clearer than ever.

F-KZE-AS-0424. The case file for Kara Zor-El’s ARGO Solutions. The figure furrowed their brows at the name before opening it, scanning as many details as they could find. Two stood out most: the investor intended for a full acquisition — how they wanted to achieve it, they didn’t know, perhaps deceiving Kara — and the name of the investor that Christina was representing was a name that the shadowy figure knew all too well.

In the year that they had been in National City, it was a name that popped up frequently, and they already knew of the lengthy trail that connected them to Simon Tycho. With their objective completed, they downloaded the case file directly to their USB device and left without even turning the computer off nor closing the door. The matter was urgent.

Welcome back, readers! We're excited to share another month of stories with you, including the grand return of /u/Upinthatbuckethead's Green Lantern just in time for the beginning of its thrilling denouement. We hope you enjoy!

May 1st:

• The Flash #35
• Green Lantern #36
• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #18
• New Gotham Knights #6
• Shadowpact #13
• Suicide Squad #40

May 15th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #32
• I Am Batman #16
• The Linear Men #20
• The New Titans #9
• Nightwing #14
• Superman #24
• Wonder Women #50

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE NEW TITANS

In Shadow of Kestrel

Issue Eight: Tooth and Claw

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

Recommended Reading: The New Teen Titans #7 - Unkindness

Next Issue > Coming Next Month

“So we find T’Charr and we put an end to this.” The sabretooth couch Conner was leaning against cracked and splintered as his white knuckle grip pulverised the armrest.

“We’re still stuck in Skartaris, if you haven’t noticed,” Mar’i spat. Her cheeks were hot, bathing her face in a slightly warmer shade than usual. Her eyes fell on her teammates, spread out across New Shamballah’s chamber for visiting dignitaries. Golden treasures, seized warbanners, and pelts of unknown origin hung from the walls, broadcasting the city’s might. Tim leaned against a patch of wall just beneath a mural depicting an enormous metal bird snatching a star from the heavens. He was typing away at something on a holographic display projected from his forearm. Raven slowly paced through the room, softly massaging her temples.

Tim started to speak, but he kept his eyes on the display. “We’re standing at the confluence of three different rivers that feed New Shamballah’s agriculture. If we follow the floodplains north, we should find other cities with the magical knowhow we need to get out of Skartaris. Time flows differently here relative to Earth, but there has to be some pattern to it. If I can work out what that pattern is—”

“Tim.” Mar’i’s voice was hoarse. He quirked an eyebrow, so she continued. “We just lost her.”

“Donna would want us to stay focused on the plan, and the mission. We can grieve later, right now we should work out next steps while Don negotiates us some supplies from the Warlord.” Muffled conversation reverberated from down the hall. Every few minutes, it would rise to a crescendo. Still, the Titans only made out a few words: ‘brother’ and ‘monster’ were the ones that stung the most. After one flare-up, Conner grunted.

“T’Charr used Don’s own brother. Hank gave his life for him and that’s how T’Charr repaid him. It’s sick.”

“She was going to have a future,” Mar’i said in response to no-one in particular. She held a glassy stare on her face. “She would’ve trained Marcy.” Mar’i face twisted up as the future she recalled was rapidly splintered by their new macabre reality. Her chest rose and fell in a syncopated rhythm.

Everyone failed to notice Raven making a gradual withdrawal into the corner of the room. She winced every few minutes as though trying to soothe a tender burn. Her cloak enveloped her almost entirely. She held the dark fabric tightly around her. With her eyes downcast, only a thin sliver of Raven’s lower face was visible. Her silent lips repeated battle mantras to focus herself, but the nagging thought that Donna was the one to teach her them only weighed her down more.

“Raven…” A voice pulled her from her spiral.

She flinched, looking up to her teammates’ stares. Don stood in the doorway, waiting for some kind of answer. He wore a kind of weariness different entirely from the milquetoast mentor she’d come to know over the past years. “‘Mfine,” she mumbled.

He coughed, then spoke in a dry way. “Travis and I are going to Kestrel’s cell. You all should be there to decide…” He paused, caught up on his words. “To decide what to do next.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Don bit at his nails nervously, ignoring the throbbing pain that indicated he was biting them too short. His eyes fell upon Kestrel, who thrashed against his arm and leg restraints, a roar attempting to escape his lips. A small intricate box hung from the ceiling, casting a small beam onto the man which enveloped him, silencing his cries. “So, what do we do?”

Tim took a breath as if to say something, then changed his mind. In the silence that followed, Travis sighed, his arms folded across his chest. “We execute him.”

“No,” Don said firmly, his eyes still fixed on Kestrel. “You already shot him with a goddamn cannon.”

“And yet he’s still living.” Travis took a step closer to Don. “Look, I can’t imagine what you’ve been through—”

“No, I don’t think you can.”

“—but even still, that thing tried to kill us.”

“That thing is my brother!” Don shouted, his voice suddenly faltering. Raven shuffled uncomfortably, feeling the already heightened emotions in the room shifting. “We’ve already lost Donna today, I’m not going to just sit idly by while you destroy him, too!”

Mar’i raised a hand in an attempt to soothe him. “Don…”

“He’s in there, I know he is. That anger, it’s just his fuel. It’s what’s keeping his powers juiced up. If we can just get through to him… if we can dig deeper and reach out to him… maybe we can save him.” There was determination in Don’s words; it was clear he truly meant every word, even if he knew it wasn’t likely. It was this determination that gave Travis pause. He took a moment to look over at Kestrel, his teeth gnashing. Finally, he looked back at Don and nodded approvingly.

“Raven,” Don began, turning to his student. “I need you to read him.”

Raven frowned. “Don, I don’t know if I should…”

“You’re the only one of us that’d be able to look into his emotions and see past all that fury. You can do it.”

Raven blinked hard, sensing a small flicker of hope in a sea of despair and grief within the room. Her breath hitched in her throat. “Um… I can try.”

Don nodded. “That’s all I need.”

Raven rolled back her shoulders. Even from across the room, the boundless anger that poured off of Kestrel was pervasive. She took small steps towards him, her feet barely lifting off the ground with each one, as she began to open up herself to his emotions. It was as if tuning to another frequency to receive his broadcast. It only took her opening up a bit for a wave of his hatred to almost knock her off of her feet. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before, and she was only just getting started. Raven fought against the overpowering and continuing torrents of ferocious hatred that he exuded, focusing on her breathing; the slow rhythmic counting of her breaths, paired with the soft thudding of her shoes on the stone floor.

She stopped at his side. Up close, she could see the intricacies of his face - newly gotten scars trailed across his cheeks and nose, his pointed teeth gritted tightly. Even in this half-alive state, his brow was furrowed deeply and his fists were balled. Raven timidly lowered herself, her hand outstretched towards him. She could hear soft footsteps behind her, and felt the figure’s anticipation and determination through the shroud of rage: Don.

After a moment of hesitation, Raven touched Kestrel’s arm and closed her eyes.

Pain. Wrath. Torment. A fearsome and unprecedented maelstrom of emotions washed over her. Her mind was filled with coiling smogs of red and black, swirling and thrashing violently, seemingly endless. And the noise… like the lashing of rain or screams of terror or the ripping of flesh, or perhaps all three. But there had to be more; Raven tried to push through the noise, cut through the terror, and find Hank underneath it all. His thoughts were as thick as treacle and as fierce as a storm. Raven was astounded by the depth of it all, and as she pushed and pushed she felt as if she wasn’t getting any closer. She gripped Kestrel’s arm tighter.

Suddenly, she started to feel her own anger and frustration alongside his, enveloping it. The crashing and jostling waves of rage started to slow; it was imperceptible at first, but soon Raven found that she could sift through the chaos easier than before. As she fought her way through, her mind becoming muddled, she felt the sickening energy around her start to darken. However, she could feel a warmth radiating in her mind, a white-hot rage building and building - Raven was unsure of how much she could take.

Kestrel’s mind was beginning to dim. Raven took a shaky breath and persevered, scouring every corner of the creature’s soul for even a trace of the man he used to be. A whisper of hope, lost joy, or even fear. Anything but the anger he had in spades. It was becoming dark, too dark to continue to make sense of things and there was still nothing. Raven grunted. There had to be something. Anything. She could hear Don trying to talk to her in the back of her mind, but the noise… The last few licks of rage dissipated within Kestrel, and as Raven stared at the backs of her eyelids, she realised what he really was.

“Raven!” Don yelled, yanking his charge’s arm. Raven let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding and her eyes shot open. Don looked down at Kestrel. His skin was pallid, his face contorted into an expression could only be described by one word: Soulless..

“There was nothing there,” Raven panted, a foreign sternness in her voice. “Hank wasn’t in there. Kestrel… isn’t your brother, Don. Not since he came back.”

Don fought against the lump in his throat. As he looked down at the creature beneath him, Raven’s words rang true. He was but a husk, a vessel of pure rage; if Raven couldn’t find anything more within him, then it was because there was nothing more. He crouched beside the suddenly still Kestrel and placed a hand on his chest. He was already cold. Somehow, Raven had freed him from his rage, but in doing so had left him with nothing.

“I’m sorry, Don,” Mar’i chimed in from behind, her fellow Titans in tow.

Don smiled sadly and shook his head before looking up at Raven. “Thank you, Raven. That… must have taken a lot.”

But Raven wasn’t listening. She furrowed her brow deeply, her jaw clenched tight, and turned away from the body of Kestrel. Then, with forceful steps, she started to walk away. She had only managed a few steps when a gentleman clad in green appeared from the other side of the cell door.

He shouted, “Titans! Titans! We need your help! The Ape-Lizard Alliance has broken their ceasefire. They must have heard word of the breached wall.”

“The ALA are attacking?” Travis asked. “Cads!” He turned to the rest of the group, each already poised to spring into action. “Titans, if you could…”

“We’ve got it covered.” Raven interrupted. “Titans, Together!”

And in a blink, Raven had launched through the open cell door and out through an open window down the corridor, leaving her allies in the dust despite her rallying cry. Conner, Tim, and Mar’i each followed her, with Guardian and Starling soaring into the skies as Tim fired a line from his grappling hook, soaring through the window and into the air. As soon as they exited into the New Shamballah sun, however, they found that Raven had gone, her body disappearing into a cloud of black smoke.

Travis, not wanting to waste any time, sprinted off towards the scene of the attack. Slade looked back at Don. “Are you gonna be okay here?”

“Go,” Don urged.

With a swift nod, Slade grabbed his staff. He looked up at the open window and grunted. “Note to self: rocket boots.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Effortlessly, Raven shot towards the advancing army. For a moment, part of her was surprised that she found herself at the scene of the attack in a matter of moments. She watched the oncoming invaders descend upon the freshly wounded walls of New Shamballah. Warriors clad all in green shouted incomprehensible commands at the soldiers at the front lines. Tyrannosaurs raked their claws across the ravaged city wall, their simian riders whipping them and crying out. Beside them, reptilian warriors with grey and green scales rode atop giant gorillas, swords held aloft.

Raven focused her sight on one reptile jockey, and pounced.

She swooped down from the sky, her cloak billowing behind her like wings, and struck the attacker in his chest. The force alone was enough to send the rider catapulting backwards, flying over the heads of more oncoming troops and crashing into the jungle floor with a crunch. A roar sounded out from above her, and as she turned, Raven came face to face with the first tyrannosaurus, who gnashed its teeth at her. Its breath reeked of gore. The beast opened its jaw again, its mouth agape, but before it could make its attack against Raven, she was already a few feet above him. The primal fear of being eaten, of being torn apart by this beast in an unfamiliar land, melted into the abyss of monstrous rage within her head, fuelling it. She growled to herself, a growl that was familiar but not her own.

Her arms held steady, she thrusted her hands forwards, a ball of red and black flame erupting out from her palms and striking an oncoming horde of mounted apes. The explosion of hellfire that followed produced a colossal sound, which crackled through the air as the victims of the attack were sent flying in all directions. But Raven was not done. She lowered herself to the ground in front of the small crater she had created in the earth and threw out her arms. A cloak of shadow enveloped her, and as her Soul Self erupted forth from her body, it grew rapidly, plunging the battlefield in blackness. The shadow raven moved so swiftly that she barely had time to notice the terrified faces of the ape warriors as her soul’s wings wrapped around them. Then, as she gathered them all between her wings, Raven released them all into the air.

Raven’s soul returned to her body in time to watch the apes falling to their deaths around her. Her mind was swimming, a sea of fury and anguish. She thought of her fallen mentor, how her death had been so preventable and meaningless - how unfair and unjust the world was to let one such as Donna die. She thought of these creatures descending upon New Shamballah. She thought of the hatred and loathing in their eyes as they pounded their fists and claws and weapons against the city walls. That hatred, that loathing - it reminded her of her mother. The fire behind her eyes as she lurched at her daughter. Raven thought of how afraid she was… no, how angry she was. She had been so angry for so long, she could only realise it now. And what made her angriest of all, was that the rest of her teammates, the rest of her friends, were all so unstable themselves that this fact seemed normal to them.

Another dinosaur caught her in her moment of pause, lurching down at her in an attempt to make her a meal. No, she thought, her head pulsing. She zipped forwards, swiftly moving out of the reach of the tyrannosaur’s head, and gripped at its hind leg with shadowy tendrils that erupted from her arms. Throwing her weight backwards, she felt the force of the dinosaur pulling away, attempting to take a step, but she was not going to let it. She couldn’t. She lowered herself to the ground, dug her heels into the floor and pulled. A noise almost like ripping paper echoed through the air, and she felt the cool tropical floor on her back. Raven felt the leg topple into her hands, her tendrils retracting, but as she felt her hands becoming wet with liquid pouring from the limb, she realised that it was no longer attached.

The disgust and horror was finally strong enough to scream out above the white-hot rage inside of her, and she shivered as she dropped the leg. The creature above her toppled to the ground, shrieking in pain as its rider struggled and failed to keep his balance. Raven tried to hold onto the feeling, to bask in the bewilderment and finally snap out of her trance, but as she looked up at the last remaining attackers, she swore she could hear her teammates calling out for her, and her mind succumbed to frenzy once more.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

As Slade disappeared from view, Don turned his gaze back to the body at his feet. He grimaced; he had already mourned Hank for so long. Did he have yet more depths of mourning left in him? He lowered himself into a sitting position, folding his legs under him. Enough was enough - he needed answers. Don closed his eyes, focusing on two names in his head, the names of the two Lords responsible for Hawk and Dove. T’Charr… Terataya… As he focused, willing all of his energy to call upon them, his body went limp.

Don opened his eyes to find himself in a vast empty space - the familiar meeting place between him and the Lords. In fact, it hadn’t been long since their last meeting. As his eyes strained to focus against the brightness of the space, he saw the familiar towering figure of the volcanic elemental T’Charr, the smell of sulphur lingering in the air as he moved closer. Beside him was a water elemental of striking beauty, with a billowing, undulating wave of water trailing over her head and back, mimicking long hair - Terataya.

The duo greeted Don each with a nod, somewhat surprised to see him. Terataya spoke first. “Champion of Order. My Dove. It is good to see you.” Don gritted his teeth.

T’Charr’s molten skin hissed. “What troubles you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s troubling me. The fact that my brother seemingly came back to life and started attacking my Titans.”

Terataya raised a hand in an attempt to soothe Don, but he continued. “Look, I know I’ve been dragging my heels finding a new Hawk, but how can you punish me for this?! The whole idea of Hawk and Dove was yours. You knew it was dangerous, but you two did it anyway; you knew the risks to messing with the balance and so did the other Lords.” Don ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. “So yeah, maybe I should’ve picked a new Hawk, but really, I shouldn’t have had to. It’s your idea, your love or whatever. Why should I have to suffer because of your choices?!”

The two Lords looked at Don for a moment, then to each other. The only noises that broke through the silence that followed were the gentle hushing of Terataya’s water, and the low rumble of T’Charr’s skin. Then, as he looked at Don once more, T’Charr spoke.

“Our instructions were clear - you were to find another champion of chaos; one with whom you share a connection, with whom you have a deep conflict, a relationship forged in fire. The Lords grew… impatient. They felt we had given you long enough to decide. If you are not satisfied with us giving you the choice to pick your next Hawk, we can instead take your powers and start anew - begin again with two new champions.”

Don froze. “‘Take my powers’? The powers can be… transferred?”

Terataya nodded. “Of course.”

Don shook his head in disbelief. He sighed in an attempt to quell his anger, but as his mind raced, thinking back on what the Lords had said, he stopped himself. He didn’t want to hold back his anger anymore. “No, hold on, so you could always bring people back from the dead, but you only brought him back now? If you’re so desperate for balance, why didn’t you bring Hank back as soon as he died?”

“While our powers are immense, the witch Derinoe’s curse upon Hank Hall had left his soul… obliterated,” T’Charr explained mournfully. “We always knew that using our powers to resurrect your brother would yield… well, we believe you saw the results.”

“But you did it anyway. Rather that than have me ruin your love experiment, huh?” Don spat. The two Lords did not respond; their silence felt like an answer.

Considering their words carefully, Don folded his arms. He was still mad - furious, in fact - at their choices, but the deed had already been done. He pondered their words for a moment, and slowly a realisation began to dawn on him. He looked up at the elementals once more.

“Thanks,” he said, faking sincerity. “You’ve… given me a lot to think about.”

Before he could hear their reply, Don willed himself back into consciousness, rousing on the floor of Kestrel’s cell. He rubbed his cheek softly with his palm, the skin tender from the fall. Then, as he rose to his feet, his mind swimming with ideas and plans, he darted out of the cell door and towards his Titans.

Next: A homecoming in The New Titans #9 - Coming 15th May

DC Next presents:

##Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 31:‌ ‌ The Times They Are A-Changin’

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ AdamantAce

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: Flesh and Bark‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

Three Years Ago

“Are you sure about this?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been in my whole life.”

A soft breeze rippled through the swamp, causing the open windows of Tefé Holland’s childhood home to creak to and fro, threatening to slam back into place but never quite reaching their endpoints. The old home still had vines crawling up its outer walls, chipping the paint off in their dominance. Tefé stood on the front lawn, her bare feet pillowed by the wild grass. The wind flipped her white hair around, threatening to toss it directly into her eyes, yet the gales were gentle enough that they simply brushed against her forehead. Opposite her, her mother and father stood in the doorway, looking down at her in trepidation.

Abby Arcane gave her daughter a warm smile, “Tefé, know that I support you in every single way I can, just know it’s not going to be an easy road. I’ve walked the line between the forces’ dominions before, and the problems that rise from walking the line? You’ll have a lot of them.”

“If things get too hard, and at times they certainly will, know that we’re here if you need help,” Alec tried to summon up a smile on his face, yet he just couldn’t seem to manage it. “Are you sure you don’t want us to come with you?”

Tefé looked back towards the docks connecting their household to the river, where her two companions stood, messing with each other. Maxine Baker, the Avatar of the Red, was fighting desperately to escape her brother’s grasp while Clifford Baker, the hero known as Animal-Man, was doing his best to give his younger sister a noogie. Tefé smiled, then turned back to her parents, “We’ll be alright. The forces cause problems sometimes, and it’s up to us to solve them. You’ve been fighting your whole lives. You’ve gotta settle down sometime.”

Abby grinned, playfully jabbing at Alec’s side, “I’ve been settled down for years, this guy’s the only person who can’t sit still!”

Alec shook his head, smirking, “Well, since you’re all against me…I’ll admit defeat, but only just!”

Taking a deep breath, Alec continued to smile, yet as he looked back at his daughter, there was still worry in his eyes, “Tefé, are you sure that—”

“Dad, I’ll be fine!” Insisted Tefé. “If I’m not ready now, when will I?”

Alec sighed, scratching the back of his mane of grayed hair. After a final echo of resistance, he finally conceded, “Alright Tefé…go give ‘em hell.”

Tefé beamed, “We’re gonna make things better, dad. I just know it.”

Present Day

A cruel gust of wind kicked up dust on the old backwoods road, sending it into the air and causing a small cloud of it to stick to the windshield of Tefé’s car. The young woman cursed under her breath, turning the windshield wipers on to clear her view. On the sides of the road, mangrove trees towered over the asphalt, slightly obscured by a range of roadside businesses. One floor motels, Restaurants of the local and chain variety, pawn shops.

There wasn’t a more fitting image in the state to represent Florida, nature encroached upon by concrete sprawl.

Spotting the sign leading her to her destination, Tefé hooked a left, pulling onto an even more rural road devoid of any urban businesses. As she drove along the bumpy road, she grunted, doing her best not to doze off. She’d gotten about three hours of sleep on the side of the road just outside of Jacksonville, and she still hadn’t quite managed to shake off the call to rest. Maxine was luckier, to the point that she hadn’t even woken up when Tefé started the car. The fact that she still hadn’t woken up even when the car was jostled and bumped around by the unmaintained road thoroughly impressed Tefé, though it annoyed her in equal parts. She wished she was that much of a heavy sleeper. If she was going to tackle ecological, magical disasters, she’d prefer to do it with a full night’s rest.

But alas, that wasn’t her lot in life. This was what she signed up for.

Finally, she pulled off the dirt road, transitioning into a parking lot before taking one of the many empty spots in the area. Shutting off the engine, she tapped Maxine on the head, causing her to grumble as she awakened from her slumber, “Uhwha…are we here?”

“Yeah Maxine, we’re here.”

“...Shit.”

The two slowly got out of the car, with Maxine rubbing her eyes. It was still early in the morning, and the sunrise was a harsh reminder that there were still 13 hours of heat and humidity ahead of them. Dejected, the two trudged across the parking lot and into the entrance of a large park, the massive overhanging sign reading “Silver Springs!”. After a walk down an old but well maintained boardwalk, the two spotted a park ranger staring out at a neighboring river from the safety of a guard rail. Taking a glance back, he spotted the duo, and waved them over, “Oh! Are…are you the-”

“The people you called? Yeah, that’d be us,” Tefé remarked.

“Is the issue still….present?” Maxine asked.

The park ranger took off his hat, using it to fan his face, “Well….take a look for yourself.”

Tefé strolled over to the rail, peeking over it at the river. She’d been here once, maybe ten years ago, during a leisure trip of sorts. The river was connected to a spring visible from the guard rail, a spring that was famous for its utterly crystal clear water, the clearest water in the states and maybe even the country. When she last visited, Tefé remembered looking into the water and seeing the bottom of the river dozens of feet down, complete with coral, fish, and what she could only remember as the freshwater equivalent to kelp.

And right now, it looked like somebody had dumped a whole factory’s worth of polluted materials directly into the spring. The water had become thick and murky, its clarity decimated by a yellowish tint. The infection didn’t seem to originate from the springs, but rather, was tainted by something up river, evidenced by the way the oily sickness seemed to snake up the water’s currents.

“It’s been like this for days, we’ve got no idea how this happened,” The ranger wiped his forehead. “What are you thinking?”

Tefé’s gaze moved further up the river, off into the distance, “I’m thinking we need a canoe.”

Barely twenty minutes later, Tefé was pushing off into the ruined waters of the Silver River, with Maxine keeping the boat balanced while Tefé rowed. She’d always swum along the river by her home, which meant that she had the muscles to paddle through the muck. The trees on either side of the river looked ill, to the point that they were about to keel over and die. It felt like two of them weren’t in a real place on earth, transported to the set of a Tim Burton or Guillermo del Toro movie.

Maxine glanced back at the Park Ranger, who was rapidly shrinking in the distance, “Didn’t realize we were in such a rush to leave him out of the conversation.”

Tefé kept rowing, not even bothering to look back at Maxine. “It’s not worth the trouble to worry him with our ideas of what’s going on. Guy looked like he had enough on his plate.”

Maxine nodded, then leaned over to get a closer look at the river water, “You think this is the same kind of pollutant that got dumped near Yellowstone?”

“No way…there’s too much of it. Yellowstone was a victim of greed. This…this is…something else.”

“Bigger than Greed?”

Tefé grimaced, “Maybe not bigger…but it’s different. We’ve dealt with factory spills, people trying to cut corners. This damage? Something about it is…deliberate. It’s way too noticeable to be something people are trying to hide. Hundreds of people visit this park every day.”

Maxine frowned, “Do you think it’s related to the Rot?”

Tefé shook her head, “I doubt it. William wouldn’t allow something like this to happen. Could be that one of the smaller powers in that realm is trying to cause problems.”

Maxine nodded, “Then I guess we’ll just have to get to the bottom of things.”

For about an hour, Tefé continued to row upriver, straining her back muscles in the process. She felt a burning sensation in her spine, paired with a blinding headache sprung from sleep deprivation. Feeling the boat slow down with the waning of Tefé’s strength, Maxine swallowed, “I can row if you want—”

“No, I’m fine.”

Tefé continued to row, prompting Maxine to sigh, “Are you sure—?”

“We’re fine without Clifford.”

Maxine raised an eyebrow, “How did you…?”

“Every time you get worried, you always ask. The answer’s the same every time.”

“I don’t understand how you can be so sure of that.”

“Because every time Clifford helps, things get wrecked, and he has to mend whatever bones he breaks in bed for a week. He needed a break, we needed a tighter crew. We’ve been doing this for a few years Maxine, just the two of us is enough,” Tefé glanced back at Maxine. “Besides, he’s got a movie to make.”

Maxine crossed her arms, refusing to argue with Tefé any further. It was such a shame, that three years was all it took for this mission to grind Tefé’s optimism down into dust. She used to be so gung-ho, so eager to help. But three years of fixing the world’s problems that nobody else knew about was bound to make it harder to maintain a positive outlook. Every time they plugged a hole, five new ones opened up. If they covered a wall in duct tape, a separate wall would crumble to pieces.

Maxine would try to lift her spirits but…she had her own issues. The Red were helpful sometimes, giving advice or even sending a spare bear or wolf to fight alongside them, but they would rarely give Maxine the full story on most matters. They knew more, she knew they knew more, yet everything they told her was full of half-truths or omissions. She was their avatar, and they wouldn’t give it to her straight. It was frustrating, because it meant that most of the time she was just fumbling around in the dark for a solution, and even though they could hand her a flashlight, they wouldn’t.

The Silver River was full of wildlife important to the Red. Why wouldn’t they tell her what was wrong? What could they possibly have to hide?

Before Maxine could further ponder the question, Tefé stopped rowing, allowing them to drift into a small alcove. She stared at a tree in the distance, “There’s the problem.”

In front of the two was one of the many cypress trees in the area, yet it wasn’t just sickly, but practically oozing the viscous yellow goo that was tainting the rest of the river. The boat rocked against the tree’s midnight black roots, allowing Tefé to inspect it more closely. Dozens of holes littered its trunk, producing the ooze by the gallon.

Maxine’s eyes widened at the sight, “Is that…oil?”

“Looks like it,” Tefé ran her hands against the trunk, noting its slick texture. “Oil’s made out of long-since decomposed matter, living matter. Could be the work of the Rot.”

“But there’d need to be…hundreds of bodies to make this much oil!” Maxine’s face warped into an expression of horror, “You don’t think…”

“Let’s not draw any conclusions until we see it for ourselves,” Tefé brought the substance on her fingers to her nose, giving it a smell. Her eyes widened, “Wait a minute.”

“What?”

Tefé turned back towards Maxine, “This isn’t just crude oil…it’s gasoli—”

Tefé was cut off mid sentence as the tree suddenly let out a savage war cry from its holes, its branches springing out and grabbing Tefé, plucking her from the boat. The young hero struggled against the grip of the sickened wood, desperate to break free as she was lifted up into the air. Maxine could only watch as the branches constricted around Tefé, threatening to strangle the life from her lungs. Coughing, Tefé reached out towards the tree, attempting to will it back via her connection to the Green…only to find no trace of the green within the tree. Instead, she felt the will of something different, not the Red, not the Rot, not the Grey…

Something new.

The tree tightened its grip, strangling Tefé, and for a second, all seemed lost. Her face turned blue as she struggled for air. Maxine screamed, trying desperately to will any nearby woodland creature to come to her aid, yet none answered her call. For a second, all seemed lost.

But only for a second.

From the darkness of the swamp, steel flashed. A longsword cut through the trunk of the tree like butter, dispatching the cypress monster in one blow. The branches loosened, causing Tefé to drop back into the canoe below. As the tree fell into the river, the resulting waves jostled the boat, forcing Maxine and Tefé to hold on for dear life. After a moment, the waves subsided, and as the shellshocked duo looked up at the stump that once housed the monster, a different entity stepped onto the newly made platform.

It was a rough looking woman in leather armor, sporting a short mane of white hair. A scar ran along her left cheek, reaching back towards the bottom of her ear. She sported mud covered boots, and a simple scabbard that now contained a glorious looking steel sword. Staring down at the duo, she put her hands on her hips, “My name is Capucine…and I am here to help.”

Next Issue…Capucine?

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Hunter Hybrid

Issue Thirteen: Strange and Unusual

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

The looming threat of the Morning Eclipse cast a secret shadow over Manhattan. With Dick away contacting allies, and a number of them already out searching the island, Starling and Tigress stalked Central Park, where the plant had first revealed itself in attacking Mar’i. Artemis, bow drawn and ready, scanned the surroundings, her senses sharp and alert. The park had been shut down - which was no easy feat - but the vastness of its expanse made the search seem futile, like looking for a needle in a haystack.

“The Justice Legion has someone on the scanners, finger on the trigger to send someone if any strange sightings are reported in the city,” Artemis explained. Mar’i nodded, adjusting the golden utility belt she had dug out of storage and slung across her chest like a bandolier.

There was an awful lot of waiting, made even worse by the uneasy silences that lingered between the pair. It made sense that Mar’i would be weird with her, Artemis thought; her parents were lost alternate versions of Dick and former-Starfire Koriand’r, and here was Artemis as Dick’s first real romance since Kory had left him. That was complicated lumped on top of complicated.

Seeking to bridge the gap, while they continued to sweep through the park, Artemis turned to a sensitive subject. “So… tell me about her. Your mom.”

Mar’i looked at Artemis and stopped for a second. Artemis prayed she hadn’t put her foot in it, touched a nerve and made things worse. But then she spoke. "She was kind… nurturing. But also fierce and uncompromising. She taught me to be noble, to have honour, but also to be vulnerable.” She took a deep breath. “She was the bravest woman I’ve ever known.”

Artemis, intrigued, admitted, “I've never met our version of Kory, but if yours chased Hal Jordan into space like ours did… I’m inclined to agree with you.”

“Yes…” Mar’i nodded, a bittersweet smile playing on her lips. “I’ve met Kory here; she’s pretty great too.”

Artemis could sense the weight of Mar’i's emotions, and so broached the following gently. “And… how do you feel you’re adjusting? To things here?”

Her response was unexpected, a mixture of relief and uncertainty that hung in the air. There was something beneath the surface, a turmoil of conflicting emotions that even Mar’i herself couldn't parse. So, as Mar’i spoke, her words carried a muddled mix of resignation tinged with determination. “Nobody’s really asked me that,” she admitted, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability. “All this time I’ve been wishing people would, but now that someone has asked... I don't know… I don’t know if it matters.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow. What did that mean?

“I have to adjust," Mar'i explained, her tone steady. “I definitely haven’t yet - not totally - but I have to if I’m gonna survive. I have to find a way one way or another. So… I don’t know if I have the words for how I’m doing at it other than… ‘not well enough’.”

Artemis listened intently, her heart going out to the young woman grappling with her identity in this strange new world. One thing that was clear though: she had plenty of her father in her.

“You know, when my dad lost his parents, he mourned them, but he didn't let it break him. His life was destroyed but he found purpose in a new life, and a new family,” Mar’i explained. Artemis thought back to what Dick had told her about the Flying Graysons. That wasn’t the way he’d tell it. “And my mom, when she was exiled from Tamaran and faced so much pain, she didn't break either. She found a home on Earth with the Titans. I have to honour their strength and resilience. I have to make something of being here, and I think I’m starting to. But I don't want to be treated like I'm fragile, like I might shatter if someone mentions what I've lost.”

Mar'i turned her gaze towards Artemis again, gratitude shining in her eyes. “That's why I appreciate you asking about it.”

Artemis nodded, a silent vow passing between them. Then she spoke, her voice cracking as she began. “You know, I was raised by supervillain assassins. For the longest time, I thought that was all I could ever be. Then when my life fell apart, I… was relieved. But even with all the pain, I still miss the sense of belonging we had as a family.”

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. “My sister and I, we were never good to each other. We hurt each other more than we should have. But I still want to keep working to find a way for us to move forward and be a force for good in each other’s lives.”

Mar'i's response was unexpected. “You're a teacher, aren't you?”

Surprised, Artemis nodded. “I was. How did you know?”

"I did some digging into what Dick was getting up to, the last few months," Mar’i confessed, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "I like you."

In that moment, amidst the uncertainty and the shadows of the night, a bond formed between them - a connection forged in shared experiences and the unspoken understanding of what it meant to be lost and found again.

Then, the tranquillity of the moment was shattered by a sudden, violent yank. A vine wrapped tightly around Artemis' leg, pulling her off her feet and dragging her towards the dense foliage of the bushes. She let out a startled cry, her bow clattering to the ground as she reached for her leg, fumbling for a knife.

With adrenaline coursing through her veins, Artemis hacked furiously at the vine, but it seemed to only tighten its grip, dragging her deeper into the shadows. Panic surged within her as she struggled against the relentless force.

Meanwhile, Mar'i leapt into action. She clenched her hand into a glowing fist, ready to unleash her Starbolt energy, but then hesitated. Starbolts would only feed the Morning Eclipse, making the situation worse. She needed another plan. She had prepared for this.

With practised hands and swift movements, she reached into a compartment in the belt strapped across her chest and produced an 'R' shaped shuriken. She hurled it towards the vine ensnaring Artemis, and it exploded upon impact with a localised detonation, severing the vine and freeing Artemis from its grasp.

But their moment of relief was short-lived. As Artemis scrambled backwards and Mar'i readied herself for another attack, the monstrous form of the Morning Eclipse emerged from the darkness of the bushes. Towering at seven feet tall, its grotesque visage featured a gaping maw lined with petal-like mandibles. The creature's body, composed of thick, overlapping vines, appeared alarmingly humanoid, with dozens of grasping tendrils sprouting from its back. Some tendrils had grown longer and thicker, reaching out hungrily towards its prey. The creature emitted an eerie green glow, only slight, almost undetectable - evidence of it sapping Mar’i’s sunlight-derived energy.

Struggling to regain her footing, Artemis fumbled for her collapsible hand crossbow strapped to her leg. With one fell swoop, she expanded the weapon, pulled down a lever on its side, and fired a bolt directly into the maw of the monstrous plant. The bolt exploded upon impact, illuminating the recesses of the plant's mouth with a fiery light, but failing to deal any significant harm.

“Run, Mar'i!” Artemis cried, but Mar'i stood her ground, her brow furrowed in focus. In her hands, she held two fists full of explosive shurikens, ready to unleash them upon their foe.

She launched the projectiles towards the Morning Eclipse in two rapid volleys. The shurikens dug into the plant's body and detonated a beat later. While they succeeded in causing some of the grasping vines to wither, slough off and die, the main body of the Morning Eclipse remained unscathed, steadily advancing towards them with a slow lumber.

As Artemis scrambled to her feet, she reached into her own utility belt and retrieved a handful of ceramic pellets. She bowled them over-arm, bursting them at the plant's feet. Artemis then smirked as the pellets released an expanding foam that cemented the plant's feet to the ground.

For a moment, victory seemed within their grasp as the Morning Eclipse halted, thwarted by the immobilising foam. The women exchanged relieved glances, their elation short-lived as the plant unleashed a sinister countermeasure.

From its chest, the Morning Eclipse sprouted two thick, tree-trunk roots that plunged into the ground just ahead of it. With a horrifying display of strength, it lifted itself taller into the air, tearing its glued-down legs from its body with a sickening squelch.

Artemis's heart pounded in her chest as the monstrous plant lunged toward her with a sudden burst of speed. Vines snaked around her waist, pulling her closer as its deep maw aimed for her head, poised to tear it from her shoulders.

In a panic, Mar’i unleashed a concentrated Starbolt blast at the plant, a powerful and continuous beam of energy surging from her hands. The blast struck the plant with incredible force, repeatedly beating it back. Mar’i knew the plant would only absorb the energy, but it was the best method she had of keeping Artemis alive. The Morning Eclipse began glowing brighter and growing stronger with each passing moment.

Then, with newfound vigour, the plant discharged its accumulated energy, unleashing a barrage of thick, writhing vines that shot towards Artemis. The vines detached from the plant as they extended, pinning her to the ground with unyielding force, rendering her immobile in a cellulose cocoon.

As Artemis struggled against her leafy restraints, Mar’i, now exhausted from the exertion of her powerful blast, found herself defenceless against the advancing monster. Helpless to intervene any further, Artemis was forced to watch as the monstrous entity closed in, its towering form casting a menacing shadow over Mar’i’s trembling figure.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Dick's agitation was palpable as he paced the mission room of Titans Tower, his every movement betraying his frustration. With his phone pressed to his ear, he listened intently to the voice on the other end.

“I refuse to believe that Spyral needs to intervene in this matter,” Matron's voice echoed through the phone, firm and resolute.

Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I understand your scepticism, but we're facing an unprecedented threat here. We have no idea what the Morning Eclipse is capable of; what the limits to its abilities are.”

Matron remained unmoved. “Surely, with your connections in the Justice Legion, you can rally enough support to handle this situation without our assistance.”

“The Titans are already split up canvassing Manhattan, and New York’s other heroes are on high alert, waiting for something to happen. But that's the problem - by the time we arrive, it may already be too late. We need to find the Morning Eclipse before it strikes again.”

“I thought your worries about being late were the reason for enlisting the help of your friend, The Flash,” Matron remarked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

“It's actually Kid Flash,” Dick corrected her with a sigh. “Flash is preoccupied. And how do you know about that?”

A faint chuckle danced in Matron's response. “I'm a spy, Dick. It's my job to know.”

“Look, Superman is off-world, Wonder Woman’s dealing with her own mess on the other side of the country, and Garth and Kaldur'ahm are waging a war under the sea,” he explained. “And remember, the Justice Legion has responsibilities worldwide, not just in New York.”

“Why haven't you reached out to the new Batman for assistance?” Matron inquired, her tone probing.

Dick shook his head, as if she could see it. Knowing her, maybe she could. “I'm asking for your help, Matron. In fact, I already tried contacting Jean-Paul, but he’s radio silent.”

“Because he is on an important mission investigating Shrike,” Matron shot back, the accusation clear in her tone. “Need I remind you of your promises to Spyral? Shrike is becoming a bigger problem each day, causing international incidents, and we're no closer to finding the ASA or Basilisk.”

Dick bristled at the accusation. “I can only be in one place at a time, and right now, I've chosen my fight.”

Matron's response was terse. “Well, good luck with it,” she said before ending the call, leaving Dick disgruntled and defeated.

Then he looked at his phone and noticed a missed call from Artemis.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

“You sure you’re okay?” Dick asked Artemis, exasperated as they both hurried down the hallway toward Dr Wilkof’s lab entrance, on a mission.

Artemis nodded, a grim determination in her eyes. “Just a few scrapes. It took me a while to cut myself out of its vine trap, but I'm fine,” she reassured him.

They carried on, and when they reached the doorway, Dick pounded on the wooden door loudly and with urgency.

“The plant didn't hurt her,” Artemis added, seeing Dick’s distress. Her voice was steady despite the turmoil in her thoughts. “Just snatched her up and took her away.”

While no answer came from the door, Dick turned towards Artemis and threw up his hands. “Why would it strike twice in the park? I already had Wally sweep the place at super speed, so we know it left. Why did it come back there, of all places?”

Artemis frowned. “It must have been after Mar'i specifically. I guess because she's a Tamaranean. But it's fed by the sun just like she is; hunting her down and draining her power seems like a lot of effort just to keep feeding at night.”

Still met with silence from within the lab, Dick shook his head in disbelief. “This isn't right,” he muttered, trying the door once more to no avail.

“Dick, it’s almost midnight.”

“It could be he wasn’t being literal,” Artemis replied.

Despite her words, Dick's drive only grew stronger. “I’ve called his house, I’ve called the lab - nothing,” he countered, his worries growing with each passing second. “Something isn’t right.”

“I hope the plant didn't get him too,” Artemis fretted.

“Yeah…” Dick responded half-heartedly as he began to break into the lab, driven by urgency. “That.”

Charging through the darkened lab with Artemis trailing behind, Dick commented, “Batman always used to say you didn’t get better at seeing in the dark unless you, you know… spent a lot of time in the dark.”

Artemis hesitated, unsure whether to turn off her flashlight. Before she could decide, Dick was already investigating. He shot straight for the spot where Wilkof had previously been standing, over by his workstation.

“Both times we saw him, Wilkof was practically glued to this spot,” Dick observed. “Now I get to see what he’s hiding.”

“Should we be invading his privacy like this?” asked an apprehensive Artemis.

But he was unmoved. Without a word, he observed the electronic lock and busted through it using an uplink that trailed from his gauntlet. Child’s play. Then, he grasped the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door open with a creak that echoed through the dimly lit lab.

Artemis aimed her flashlight toward the doorway, illuminating the shadows within. A wave of anticipation washed over them, the air thick with tension as they both held their breath.

And then, as they caught sight of the scene before them, their expressions shifted from curiosity to horror in an instant. Artemis felt her heart sink as the implications of their discovery sank in, the truth more terrifying than they could have imagined.

“Oh, fuck,” they said in unison.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

As Mar'i's consciousness slowly returned, she was assaulted by a putrid odour that seeped into her nostrils. It wasn't quite like anything she had ever smelled before, a bitter, acrid scent that clawed at her throat like unseen fingers.

Blinking her eyes open, she found herself bound to a decrepit chair by sinewy vines that coiled around her like serpents. The room she was in was a nightmare of tangled greenery, vines twisting and snaking their way across every surface, suffocating the room in a sickening green embrace.

Desperate to escape her vegetal prison, Mar'i strained against her restraints, her muscles burning with exertion. Her eyes darted frantically around the room, searching for any sign of the monstrous plant that had ensnared her. Instead, they fell upon a figure that filled her with dread.

Dr Wilkof stood before her, but he was no longer the man she remembered. His form was gaunt and haggard, his once-human features twisted and distorted by the encroaching vegetation.

Dark veins bulged across his face, their sickly chlorophyll-suffused green hue mingling with the pallor of his flesh, merging him with the plant that now consumed him. Thin tendrils of greenery snaked around his head, their grip tightening as they converged toward the base of his spine.

Mar'i's heart raced with fear and uncertainty. Was Wilkof the mastermind behind these attacks, or merely another victim ensnared by the plant's sinister grasp? She struggled against her bonds but to no avail.

“I am sorry…” the scientist murmured, his voice a rasp whisper. “My sleep pollen was more potent than I expected. But now that you’re awake… we can talk about your ‘Morning Eclipse’. We’re both interested to learn more from you.”

Next: It’s suppertime in Nightwing #14

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##The Linear Men

Issue Nineteen: In Times of Trouble

Written by Dwright5252

Edited by Predaplant

< Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

THEN

In Michael Jon Carter’s dreams, everyone he cared about died.

It always started the same: a routine mission that went pear-shaped faster than normal. The ship, named Waverider by its stalwart pilot Matthew Rider, suddenly falling uncontrollably through the timestream. Matt was the first to go, almost by design. Nobody could fly the ship like him, and in the end, the ship betrayed him by blowing up his piloting console. At least it was a quick death.

Skeets attempted to keep the ship going after that, but something in the stream corrupted the AI and caused it to go rogue. It wasn’t long before their fearless leader, Rip Hunter, tried to play the hero. It felt so real as Michael watched his mentor rip into the ship’s innards, the wires twisting and convulsing like snakes. Liri was next to him, the only person that could match Rip in knowledge of the timestream. Michael just stood there, fearful of what would come next. Why couldn’t he act? Why couldn’t he help his crew save themselves?

Something sparked, and Liri jolted backwards. Michael could see the fear in Rip’s eyes as he rushed towards her. Though the klaxons blared louder than anything, Michael could hear his captain mumbling, saying he could save her mind though her body was dead. It might save them all.

It was all Michael could do to follow him, down through the fiery corridors into a part of the ship he didn’t know existed. As things rocked around him, he fell to the ground and watched as Rip hooked up several nodes onto Liri’s unmoving head. Switches were flipped, the power surged and the lights exploded. A piece of the ceiling fell on top of Rip, separating him from the console that would finish saving his fallen archivist.

“You have to do it, Michael,” Rip groaned, blood spurting out of his mouth as he tried in vain to remove the debris from his broken body. “Save Liri. Save yourself. Press the button.” Rip died in pain, but with the hope his crew might live. Hope that Michael was now responsible for.

His limbs seemed to work on their own. All Michael wanted to do was curl into a ball and die alongside the team that had made him a better man than he was before. His body had other plans, deftly circumventing the obstacles blocking his way to his final living friend. A blinking red button beckoned him, and he pressed it. The last thing the dream gave him was the electronic scream of Liri Lee as her consciousness was uploaded to the Waverider.

This was his most recurring nightmare, one so vivid it felt like a memory. There were other dreams too, sequels involving him taking on his mentor’s name and continuing to patrol the timestream with a new crew under his wing. He would try to redeem himself, his failures to save his old team.

But those were dreams. Just dreams.

NOW

“Glad we’re all done having a laugh, but why don’t you let me loose, now?” Deirdre looked at her leader, more clean shaven than she’d ever seen him, and knew deep down that this was more than some kind of practical joke. The Waverider, for one, seemed very different. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the ambiance of the place just felt off.

“Skeets, please pull up these criminals’ records for us so we know where to dump them after the mind wipe.” The man calling himself Rip Hunter walked away from the three imprisoned individuals and started pressing buttons on his datapad.

“Of course, Captain Hunter.” Deirdre recognized Booster’s little sidekick’s voice instantly, but rather than coming from a floating orb, it seemed to resonate throughout the entire ship. Like Liri’s voice did.

“Skeets is running this boat now? What happened to lovely Liri?” she asked, only to be interrupted by a woman wearing a purple jumpsuit, her hair pulled back in a tight ponytail as she regarded her.

“Seems you have me at a disadvantage, knowing me before I know you,” the woman said.

“I feel like there might be more to these three than meets the eye, Rip. Maybe we ought to hear them out.”

For once in her life, Deirdre found herself speechless. Liri, a presence she’d long since taken for granted as a beefed-up virtual assistant… was a real person? What had happened that turned her into the ship’s AI?

“Skeets, the rundown please,” Rip insisted, ignoring Liri as holographic projections of Dierdre, Roxy and Ystin appeared in the center of the room.

“Deirdre Harkness, alias Captain Boomerang II,” Skeets began.

“The II is silent,” Deirdre mumbled, finally pulled from her thoughts.

“Noted for future records! Daughter of Digger Harkness and–”

“Okay, no need for the family tree!” Deirdre struggled to her feet without the help of her bound hands and stepped through the hologram. “Look, I’m Dee, the sheila in the bomber jacket’s Roxy Rocket and the knight in shiny armor is Ystin. You wanna know anything, just ask me. But you’ve gotta believe me that something’s goin’ on here, and this time I don’t think it’s my fault.”

The group stared at her, and Deirdre took that as permission to continue. “Look, I was a part of a group headed by that drongo right there, the Legends of Tomorrow.”

She pointed with her head at Michael, who raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Got myself a communicator and everything! Just check my pockets like you should’ve if you were actually good at your jobs being time cops.”

“Deirdre, perhaps insulting our captors is not the realm we should tread into,” Ystin warned, joining their partner in standing.

“Hell, I’d be down to clown against these chuckleheads. Keep rilin’ them up, Dee!” Roxy had somehow activated the camera in her cowl, its recording light blinking as she looked expectantly at the others. “Who wants to make the first move?”

Rip held up a hand to silence her, and motioned to Liri to frisk Deirdre. Biting back her instincts to make a joke, she allowed the woman to search her person, and saw that she found the communicator.

“This does look like something from the ship,” she announced, examining it from all ends. “Actually, it looks like a creation of mine. Even has my little signature here, but I can assure you I didn’t make this.”

Deirdre watched as the group’s skeptical faces turned to confusion. Rip was the first to speak. “Tell us exactly what you know. Leave no details out.”

Taking a massive breath, Deirdre launched into her story. Though she wanted sorely to embellish the tale, she told the creation of the Legends as straight as she could. As she spoke, she studied her captors’ faces, hoping for any sign that her words were getting through to them. Only Michael seemed to startle a few times, and she thought she could see some form of recognition in his eyes.

“That’s quite the tale, Ms. Harkness,” Rip Hunter whistled, uncrossing his arms as he pulled out his datapad. “But easily verifiable. The history records show that none of these individuals you’ve mentioned exist. Bruce Wayne never had a daughter, I have no records of a Terry McGinnis or a Kat Clintsman, and the only Michael Carter in existence stands next to me. Perhaps you’re one of the Reawakened, and your place is on another Earth.”

Deirdre fought the urge to dropkick this Rip. “Look, you drongo--”

Liri stepped in front of her, placing a hand on Deirdre’s chest to stop her from doing something she might regret. “Maybe we can verify this story another way rather than checking the records. She mentioned Walker, maybe we bring him in to see if any of this rings a bell?”

Rip scoffed. “I don’t want to waste his time on something this ludicrous.” The tone he used indicated no wiggle room.

“I agree with Liri.” Michael stood up and joined his teammate, and Deirdre saw a flash of the Rip she knew - and sometimes hated - resolve itself. “It sounds wild, but some of her stories… They’re like the dreams I’ve been having.”

Rip looked his crew in the eye, and then sighed. “Skeets, can you have Matthew join us in the brig? We need him to make a call.”

It didn’t take long for the pilot of the Waverider to appear, another person that Deirdre didn’t recognize. He wore an easy smile and the same purple jumpsuit as his teammates. She was starting to wonder how starved for individuality these people must be when he started punching a sequence into a nearby console. “We just wanna call Walker, or do you wanna get him beamed in?”

“We don’t need to bother him with a house call, just buzz him,” Rip said, and Deirdre could see his patience wearing thin. Matthew shrugged and finished his sequence, and an image of Walker Gabriel appeared. He seemed to be tinkering with a device in a workshop covered with items from across history. Deirdre remembered when she’d first met the man who helped them escape the Authority, and wondered if he’d be able to give some burgling tips to her after this.

“*Hey Rip, I’m surprised to—” Walker looked up from what he was working on, and his eyes widened at the sight that greeted him. “No. This isn’t possible.”

The Linear Men looked at their fellow time traveller in confusion. “What isn’t possible?” Rip asked, looking back and forth between Walker and Deirdre.

“You’re all still alive.” His voice was barely a whisper, and his face was pale. “This isn’t right. The timestream must be–”

FLASH

Suddenly a massive blast of feedback and static swallowed the connection, and Deirdre thought she heard an almost inhuman scream before the display died.

Rip’s eyes widened with alarm. “Skeets, get Walker back on the comms.”

There was a moment’s pause before Skeets responded. “I am sorry, Captain. There is no record of a call going out to anyone named Walker.”

Before Rip could question this, Liri’s fingers deftly tapped across her datapad. “Rip… Walker Gabriel’s been erased from existence.”

Deirdre felt a ping of fear crawl up her spine. This proved that something was going on, that she wasn’t in the wrong this time. She should be celebrating one-upping this pompous captain, but the severity of the situation hit home with her. Her friends might be erased as well.

And she might be next.

“Do you believe me now?” All bravado had fled Deirdre’s voice, and she looked over to Ystin for comfort. The knight gave her a nod and snuggled up next to her, the best approximation of a hug they could manage while bound.

“We’re going to need some help,” Rip said after a moment, motioning with his hand as the cuffs of his former captives fell to the floor.”

“I’d normally be chuffed to bits to help you, love,” Jenny Sparks sounded over the ship’s communications channel, her voice just as piercing to Deirdre’s ears in this version of reality. “We’re currently up to our neck in Reawakened cases. Can’t be bothered to help you at the moment. I’d check in with our agent on your Earth if you really need the assist. He’ll set you right.”

Rip switched off the communicator and looked at the ping he’d just been sent. “She’s pawning us off. The sanctity of time itself may be in jeopardy and she’s giving us to some displaced Reawakened agent that doesn’t even belong here.”

Deirdre lounged on her old seat, which apparently was Liri’s in this configuration of the crew. “Look on the bright side, mate. At least we know he won’t be zoinked out of existence if he’s not a part of this timeline.”

Staring daggers at her, Rip motioned to Matthew. “Alright, then. Beam him up.” She was disturbed to see his face turn into a smile. What did he know about this new guy that she didn’t?

The ship’s teleporter whirred to life, and Deirdre watched as a man shimmered into existence. She was startled to see his wardrobe matched her own: a long scarf, flared shirt and a bandolier of boomerangs stretched across his torso. His face also looked similar to her own, a knowing smirk seemingly permanently etched into place above a goatee and below a shock of auburn hair.

“Everyone, meet our Reawakened guest: Owen Mercer, alias Captain Boomerang.”

DCNext Presents:

Superman

In The Tug

Issue Twenty-Three: Eye On The Ball

Written by /u/Predaplant

Edited by /u/AdamantAce

First | Previous | [Next]

Superman #23: Eye On The Ball

Kal was awake. The last thing he remembered, they were travelling through space... he was finally going to get to the dark energy he needed.

Did they get there? No, there was no way. He still felt weak. He couldn’t even open his eyes.

He was Superman. What was he thinking? Of course he could open them.

In a few seconds more of trying, they were open... and Kal struggled to make sense of what he saw.

He was on some sort of rocky planet... or was it an asteroid? Kal wasn’t sure. In any case, a large red sun loomed overhead.

A red sun? How would he have gotten here? All along their path were only yellow suns... he had double and triple-checked. Was he wrong?

“Oh no, you were very right,” came a voice beaming into his head. “Hello, I’m the star you’re orbiting. Solaris, by name. And I can change my colour... as I did here, to trap you.”

Ah. That made sense.

Slowly, Kal let his last hopes of survival go. He was going to die here, on a barren rock next to a red sun, in a universe that he had never felt truly at home within.

He slowly rolled onto his side, and looked around. He could see Jon, standing at the horizon, looking off into space.

Maybe he was having his own conversation with this star.

There was no atmosphere here for Kal to call out to Jon. He just had to wait for Jon to notice him.

Agonizing minutes passed by. Jon paced back and forth, examining the sky. Finally, he turned back towards Kal and walked back over towards him, before sitting down next to him.

“Can you sign?” Jon asked, a concerned look on his face.

Kal shifted once more, slowly, to free both of his arms. He nodded.

Solaris softly chuckled directly into Kal’s brain. “You call yourselves Supermen, and yet you’re so primitive.”

Kal ignored Solaris, and instead focused on Jon’s incoming signs: “How are you feeling?”

“Tired. We might only have a couple hours.”

“Until you die?” Jon signed, looking intently into Kal’s eyes.

“Or until I drain you of energy completely,” Kal signed back.

The two stared each other over. Kal could tell that Jon was starting to show signs of exhaustion, as well. Yet, Jon still clearly had some hope.

Perhaps the kid would figure out a plan. Kal had gotten out of worse situations, he had to admit. Maybe this time, he would as well.

But what was there even to do, in the face of a foe like this one that had completely immobilized them?

Kal turned back towards the star, and thought “Why even keep us here? We have done nothing to you.”

“Stealing some of my energy is nothing?” came the reply. “Besides, the two of you are fun. Space travellers are so rare these days, especially ones as unique as the two of you.”

Noticing Jon signing out of the corner of his eye, Kal turned back to him.

“Unfortunately, your plight doesn’t seem to appeal to him. He doesn’t seem to have much of a care for anybody besides himself.”

“You seem familiar with him. How long have we been here?” Kal asked.

“Fifteen minutes,” Jon replied.

That was ages in the state Kal was. If he had sapped enough energy from Jon in that time in order to wake up… Kal looked Jon over. Jon looked unsteady, and Kal could tell that just by himself he had enough energy to sit up.

Not good.

“Do you have a plan?” Kal asked.

Jon looked up at the star blotting out so much of the sky, and shook his head no.

“Hey! We’re not that unique just lying here dying!” Kal thought up to Solaris.

“On the contrary!” Solaris thought back. “The way one of you steals energy from the other is most unique! And I can provide you with just enough energy to keep this going!”

Solaris shifted to yellow, and Kal could see Jon suddenly start to look much healthier. Jon stood up, shocked, but Solaris switched back to red, denying him the opportunity to get away.

Jon slumped his shoulders as he signed to Kal. “I’m sorry.”

“It was me who made the map,” Kal responded, looking down.

“Yeah,” Jon agreed. “But if I had noticed earlier, we could’ve avoided falling into his gravity well.”

He paused for a few seconds before continuing. “You know, my boyfriend broke up with me today.”

Kal looked at Jon, studying his face. He didn’t quite know how to respond.

“I think that’s why. I had too much on my mind... the breakup was my fault. I always had too much on my mind, too preoccupied with things on the other side of the city, the country... or even the world. Jay never felt like he had my full attention... and that was something that he needed from me. To feel like I was his, and only his, for even a moment.”

“Isolation is hard,” Kal slowly signed. He thought back to his home... to his Lois. To his own Jon. To everything he had lost.

He thought once again about how worried, how scared they’d be at his prolonged absence. They were the last thing he thought about every night as he fell asleep, and the first thing he thought about when waking up in the morning.

He’d do almost anything to get home... but now, it seemed likely that, even for a Superman, that would just end up amounting to nothing, at the end of the day.

He focused on Jon once more. Jon had started signing quickly, so fast that a human wouldn’t be able to comprehend him. His hands flew, forming sign after sign.

“I tried, I really did. I told him I would, and I did. For a few weeks, a few months, even, it would get better. But then it got worse again, and we just went through that cycle, until eventually, that was it. He had enough. And we told ourselves no hard feelings, and we told ourselves we could still be friends, but honestly? I think he kind of hated it. And if he looks at me again, he’ll just be reminded of the fact I could never be who he wanted me to be, but that I always had to be Superman, that I had to belong to everybody, not just him. I didn’t even know what to do afterwards, so I just went out to try and help people, try and save them, and that’s where I found you. I haven’t even talked to Mom yet. I just... I feel like I should be breaking down, crying, but I just kind of feel empty? Like I’ve known where this was going since basically the beginning of the relationship, and this is just the end, how it was always going to happen, no matter what. But at the same time... I really do love him, and I think he loves me, too. So it’s difficult, because life without him is definitely going to be different, and it’s hard to predict exactly how. I’m just afraid, because I feel like I’ve lost a lot in the past couple years. Since I graduated, I barely even talk to Erik or Gil anymore... they’re off doing their own things... and there aren’t many other interns at the Planet. So without Jay, who will I even have in my life? It’s scary to try and face things without him.”

Kal interrupted. “I remember when I came to this Earth, and I lost Lois... it caused me to become more distant. I didn’t care as much about the people around me; my pain became all-encompassing. I ended up isolating for months. With nobody else in my life, as you said. And what that taught me was the true value of having others in my life. The perspectives they bring, the value of assistance. Now I fear that I didn’t do enough back on my own Earth, to be a part of community. And now, I’ll never get the chance.”

Jon nodded vigorously as he jumped back into signing. “Right, I don’t want to isolate like that if I can avoid it... but it’s going to be very hard to find a way back into forming those connections, to finding somebody like Jay to have in my life again. You know, I originally met him at a speed dating event? I could try that again, I guess, but I’m afraid that I just got really lucky with him, and I don’t know if I could take the rejection of doing that same thing, week after week, and never finding anybody who really clicks with me. And don’t get me started on online dating, that just doesn’t seem like it really works well at all.”

“So online dating is as bad in this universe as it was in mine,” Kal replied.

“Don’t get me started on it,” Jon smiled, shaking his head. “But I think Jay also kind of felt like he was inferior to me, less capable. Which wasn’t all his fault, of course. I told him I was Superman to explain to him why it felt like I could never really be 100% there for him, and he was fine with that, but I think the thing that really hurt him was me getting the Planet job. He was the one who’d always wanted to be a journalist, and I just applied on a whim and got in. I think it really hurt his pride, seeing that the Planet wanted me more than it did him. He was hard to talk to for a few days after I got the job, and while we eventually made up, I think it still hurt him to watch me go into work every day. His family situation wasn’t the greatest, while mine probably ended up getting me a job. Two jobs, even, if you consider being Superman a job. It made it feel like there was this huge gap between us, and while that gap was mostly imaginary, it didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.”

Jon’s smile slowly turned into a frown. Kal noticed that he was starting to lose energy again... and this time, Kal hadn’t felt much of a difference in himself. It was progressing much more quickly than he thought. There were maybe only a few minutes until he would end up perishing. He started to feel frustrated that Jon was wasting so much time on this faux-therapy. Why wasn’t he trying to come up with a plan?

Jon continued. “I just really hope that he can find what he wants. A journalism job, a new boyfriend who will make him happy and be a better fit than I was, a chance to make a real difference in this world. I really, truly, love that man, and I just want him to be happy.”

“Focus your efforts more on trying to escape this rock,” Kal signed back. “We don’t have much time before I die, and you’re wasting it on whining about your boyfriend.”

“I’m doing my best to escape,” Jon replied. “I just... I miss him so much, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Jon was looking incredibly weak, now. Kal hardened his face. “Jon. Focus. Unless you want my death to be on your shoulders.”

“You’re never going to escape,” Solaris taunted in Kal’s ears, and as he did, he flashed yellow for a short period of time.

Jon moved at almost the speed of light as he recovered his energy, grabbing Kal with the fraction of a second that he had and rocketing off into space, slingshotting around Solaris and off into the distance.

“How dare you!” Solaris shrieked at both of them as they shot off into the distance. “Get back here!” He had changed back into a red star, but at this point Jon and Kal were coasting on their inertia, outside of Solaris’s gravitational pull.

“I had to keep my thoughts busy so Solaris couldn’t read them and figure out I was planning to do that,” Jon signed to Kal. “Sorry.”

“You’re smarter than I gave you credit for,” Kal signed back.

They drifted through space towards the nearest yellow star. It was a bit slower than either of them would like, but they would get there... with time.

“Jon... I’m sorry,” Kal eventually said. “When I first came to your Earth, I acted inappropriately. I tried to pretend everything was fine, when I knew deep down it wasn’t, and I think my feelings came out in how I treated others. That was part of why I stayed away for so long, even before I knew for sure about draining your energy... I was ashamed. I hope I didn’t ruin your memory of your father, and I hope that you understand that who you knew me as wasn’t who I really was, deep down.”

Jon nodded. “It’s been hard for me, I admit that. To think of you living in my dad’s Fortress all the time. I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt at first, but as time went on, I can admit it wavered a bit. Maybe we can talk more when we get back to Earth. If nothing else, at least we have each other.”

Kal could barely move; his energy reserves were running quite low. He gave a very slow nod in response, before falling out of consciousness.

This unnerved Jon. Would all of this journey have been for nothing? He stared at the star in front of him, hoping, praying, that they would get there in time.

A few minutes later, Jon started to feel himself power up. He increased their speed as they reached the star, and soon, they were inside of it. Jon burst out of the star like a bullet travelling at the speed of light, heading for the next star on their list.

Kal still wasn’t conscious. Jon could hear his heart pumping, but only faintly. It would give out soon.

Jon couldn’t let that happen.

He pushed himself faster, and faster. Never mind the power draining out of him and into Kal, never mind the fact that he had never flown this fast before, he would make it. He would save Kal.

He moved from star to star. He couldn’t be too late, not yet.

Kal’s heart stopped. It was fine, the energy could certainly restore it, like how they would jumpstart somebody’s heart back on Earth with electrical shocks. Jon kept pushing, faster and faster.

Only one star left, now.

Kal’s body started to break apart in his hands, the very molecules that made up his being coming undone through the lack of dark energy. Jon watched the man in his hands change from something that was identifiably humanoid, identifiably Kryptonian, to something that looked a lot more like sand, like dust.

That was all that was left in Jon’s hands when he arrived at the patch of dark energy.

DC Next presents:

##I AM BATMAN

In What We Believe

Issue Fifteen: Amusement Mile

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by VoidKiller826

<< ||| < Previous Issue ||| Next Issue > Coming Next Month

This story directly follows the events of [Heavy Metal!](/r/DCNext/?f=flair_name%3A"Heavy Metal")

Over the course of a single night, three buildings across Gotham each experienced a break-in that would never be detected, even by the smartest of technology. Steps across expensive flooring not even leaving a single mark, countless devices were left within each home.

Felice Viti’s home was the easiest to break into, its electronic security system the only obstacle, and one easily bypassed. Sofia Falcone’s office, however, was never truly empty. There was always someone at the door, waiting and watching for any signs of danger or tampering. They didn’t notice the figure who slipped in and out.

The Arkham Manor was a much different story, having to bypass multiple police officers standing outside and roaming the halls. Placing listening devices in almost every room, the officers — and eventually both Jeremiah and Astrid Arkham themselves — almost catching a glimpse of the intruder. By the end of the night, however, none were the wiser to what had happened, and as the feeds lit up on Oracle’s screen, she let out a sigh.

Batman landed on the fire escape outside of Christine Montclair’s window, the sound reverberating through the apartment, startling the young woman. It was the same fire escape her feet had pounded upon hundreds of times before, leading to the same small window she’d climb through every other night. Familiar touch and sound, suddenly so foreign.

Christine jumped to her feet from her bed, rushing toward the window to open it, smiling wide as she saw the Dark Knight on the other side. Reaching out a hand, she grabbed the Caped Crusader’s arms and pulled her into the apartment, and finally into a deep embrace.

Every worry she had ever felt evaporated, like a weight off of her shoulders, and every problem in her life, in this very moment, had disappeared. Christine was complete now that the woman she loved had returned, and she wanted to do nothing else but hold her as close as she could, to protect her from the world.

But it took a moment too long for Cass to return the embrace, hesitant to hold onto the woman who missed her so much. The moment did not go unnoticed.

“Is everything alright?” asked Christine, releasing her hug and looking into Cass’ eyes. They were distant, clearly distracted. Christine furrowed her brow, trying to read that Dark Knight, but the cowl she wore masked her thoughts just as the darkness of Gotham nights obscured the beastly form of her suit.

“Yes,” Cass said firmly, refocusing herself on Christine. Something within her ached as she looked into her partner’s deep brown eyes, so filled with adoration. A shot of pain echoed through her heart. “I… I saw things, when I was gone.” Christine cocked her head slightly, gleaning more from the dry and cracked makeup around Cass’ eyes than any sort of expression she could find.

“What do you mean?” she asked, reaching up toward Cass’ cowl and attempting to remove it, though she was stopped by a soft, yet unwavering hand on her wrists. Christine frowned as the clawed glove pushed her hand away.

“I was in… another world,” Cass said. “I had a life — a normal life. It… did not work.” She looked away from Christine for a moment. Endless conflicting thoughts raced through her mind, even in this moment she was distracted by what she was missing in the city.

“I mean, yeah,” Christine replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly trying her best to convey her love through her words, pleading with increasingly deaf ears. “You’re anything but normal, but that’s what I love–”

“I need to fight,” Cass said, interrupting her. “I need to be Batman. I don’t know if I can… be anything else.” Christine stood still, her mouth frozen slightly open as the word lingered on her tongue. An open wound pulsed as love soared through the air and its recipient let it fall away.

In the Metal, Cassandra had seen what it was like to have a normal life. The impulses never went away. Despite her fictional self never having learned to fight, never having been raised as a living weapon, she had the instincts. She forced a full grown professional fighter to the ground in seconds, she had been beckoned toward the most dangerous place in the whole simulation, despite how much her simulated life would have urged otherwise. There was nothing more to Cassandra Cain than fighting for good.

Cassandra — Batman — was a living weapon, and there was no escaping it. If it hadn’t been David Cain, it would have been Lady Shiva. She could not avoid her fate, she could only point herself in the right direction. She knew that having a civilian life was a mistake from the first moment she tried, it was foolish of her to think she could fit in. She had witnessed the consequences of trying — the call to action was an overwhelming force.

“But you can be something else,” Christine said, grabbing Cass’ hands in her own, squeezing lightly. “You are something else, to me.” Christine’s eyes traced the cowl of her partner, barely able to see the woman she fell in love with beneath it. “Remember, you had that audition last month? You were doing so well–”

“It doesn’t work,” Cass said, finality in her voice. No matter how much the dagger twisted, Christine struggled to stop the bleeding. She haemorrhaged her very soul through the pleas in her eyes. Cassandra couldn’t look directly at her, she would have to read the hurt and the uncertainty she was creating. “It won’t work.”

“So what are you going to do now?” Christine’s composure fell, her shoulders slouched as she fought the tears forming in her eyes, threatening to blur her vision and further obscure the woman she cared for.

“Gotham needs me–”

“I need you, Cass!” Christine shouted, her resolve shattering. Tears began to flow down her face as she moved in to embrace Cass once more, holding on tightly as she buried her face into Cass’ shoulder. Cass hesitated once more as Christine’s shaky breaths rang in her ear. She held her hand up, almost willing to hold Christine back. From where she stood, she looked around the apartment, spotting numerous books strewn across Christine’s bed, all annotated with sticky notes in the exact places that Cass had learned new words, where she had fallen in love with stories, and where she had held her love closely as they read.

She saw the stack of movies next to the TV, the small dinner table they’d hunched together around for dinners on slow nights, the first aid kit on the kitchen counter — the fifth that Christine had bought since the two had met.

For a brief moment, Cassandra’s shell cracked.

“I–” Cass tried speaking, but stopped immediately, unsure of what to say. Instead, she returned the embrace and held Christine closely, not willing to let go — not yet. “I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

All it took was one single moment.

With a deep breath, Cass nestled her chin into Christine’s neck, holding on tightly. She could have been elsewhere, but in this apartment was where she was needed, for the time being.

Over the years, the Amusement Mile — an island between Burnley and North Bristol, separating the Miagani River between the New Gotham island and the Mainland — was almost entirely abandoned. Save for the highway that twisted and turned around the decaying corpse of the old Gotham Fairgrounds, inexplicably still powered by electricity, and the remains of the old zoo on the north end, the aquarium on the seaside half flooded from poor maintenance — and Joker’s bombs — levelling the sea wall that separated the ocean from the tanks.

Only a few thousand people per week dared to drive over the Amusement Mile’s highway, preferring to take the longer detour over the Trigate Bridge just to the south, should they need to move into the city from north Bristol or the other way around. Much more than the Narrows, the Amusement Mile was a dead zone, utterly discarded by the city government, and where it differed was its lack of inhabitants.

Remnants of Joker’s crew, waiting impatiently for the Clown Prince of Crime’s return, remained on the island, keeping to themselves. Painting over painted over graffiti, they rarely seemed concerned with entering Gotham — no activity from the hardcore members that lived there had been seen in more than two years, leaving all to wonder what they had been planning, if they even were.

No one seemed to know why the fairgrounds still had power, the chime of the carnival jingle could still be heard over the Miagani channel during quiet nights, but it seemed to be utterly wasted. Not a single ride remained intact; if it hadn’t been destroyed by Joker through his twisted idea of fun, then his modifications had rotted away under the harsh weather, seawater, or his own acid weapons.

The Amusement Mile, Vicki Vale used to say, with a sly grin and no shortage of knowing irony in her voice, is anything but what the name implies. Toxic infertile ground in the places that cracked and dusted asphalt couldn’t cover, it was seen by all as a lost cause, left only to the clown-masked criminals that called it their home.

Just four hundred metres south of the walls of Joker’s Funland, situated at the base of the shallow southern peninsula of the already small island, was a cache of weapons and information, long abandoned by a dead man, forgotten by the woman who knew everything. The door rusted shut, micro explosives attached at the hinges and the bolt effortlessly ripped the barrier down, allowing entry to the abandoned cove.

Unlike the rest of the island, power had been cut to this small batcave, and the private grid its defence systems ran on had long been shut down. Connecting the devices inside to a portable battery attached to her Bat-cycle, Batman activated the old computer system, waiting an excruciatingly long time for the processes to complete and the command line prompt to open.

With Oracle in her ear reciting the proper commands, Batman navigated through the computer with ease. Endless neatly organised directories pointed to various case files taken on seemingly every single active criminal that worked on the island, a few pages from the lowliest to dozens on the most prominent of hoodlums.

The file she was looking for was the longest, nearly one hundred pages of detailed notes, image files and voice recordings accompanying the short novel that awaited her.

The Joker was a mystery that had never been cracked and a force of chaos that could never truly be contained. Endless repeated stays at Arkham Asylum did nothing but fuel his resolve, faceoffs with the first Batman only truly ended when Bruce Wayne died. Thousands of lives had been ended at the hands of the Clown, each name diligently recorded at the end of Bruce Wayne’s notes on the mad killer, a memorial of those he could not save nor avenge. He carried every name on his back until his death.

Cass lowered her head for a moment, ruminating on the cruelty that she could only read about, before transferring all of the files on the computer to a portable drive she had taken out of her belt. The Amusement Mile Batcave was much too old and eroded to use actively; she needed to transfer the data somewhere else. The lack of activity on the island told her it wasn’t worth reestablishing, but an odd, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach argued with her head, instincts telling her that she needed a foothold.

Storing what she deemed important inside of a compartment on the Bat-cycle, she let the remainder of her micro-explosives destroy the abandoned Batcave. From the trees on the peninsula, she heard the rustling of animals and the chirps and squeaks of bats reacting hastily as the explosion rocked them. Dozens of small, formless creatures flew into the night sky in swarms, fleeing from the danger.

Cass couldn’t help but watch as they flew up and disappeared into the night, off to settle somewhere else in the city. They were simple animals.

She activated her Bat-cycle, near instantaneously shooting off through brush and dirt and back onto the cracked roads of the Amusement Mile, the lights of Joker’s Funland brightening the black matte paint of her motorcycle. Its electric motor was near silent, even in the uneventful night she found herself patrolling, allowing her to pass through the city while barely turning any heads.

Zipping under the sound of the elevated monorails and gas-powered engines of the few vehicles left on the street, she navigated the city effortlessly and unseen, finding her way through the winding roads and labyrinthian alleyways. The silence allowed her mind to wander for far too long.

Who was the Batman?

She was a woman who feigned interest in removing the cowl to please those around her, she told herself. The Batman was a duty and responsibility toward the people of Gotham City to ensure their protection. In the days since returning from Detroit, she had become subsumed into the role, taking longer nights for herself and her investigations.

Robin had scarcely joined her, set aside in favour of moving quickly through the city, expanding her ever-present eye through countless ad hoc surveillance systems placed wherever she could fit them. The patron-less Iceberg Lounge, City Hall, the Harvey Dent Rehabilitation Facility, the Gotham City Police Department, and even Blackgate Prison. In a few nights’ work, Batman had infiltrated and bugged every point of interest in the city.

Batman felt fine as she included Robin less and less — though the girl often voiced her displeasure. She knew that Maps was working on her own investigation with Barbara, something about radio signals, though she figured that Oracle was just humouring the overzealous detective. Moving without a Robin gave Batman more freedom to accomplish her goals and move around the city. She could focus on everything the Dark Knight needed to be.

Swerving through the final blocks of Old Gotham and arriving at the base of the old Wayne Tower, Batman drove her Bat-cycle into the storage rooms beneath the building and zipped up the sealed elevator shaft all the way to the top. Jumping up through open doors, she moved with purpose into the central room of the Belfry, tossing the external drive onto Oracle’s desk without a single word.

Babs could barely thank Batman before the Caped Crusader had turned around and left, no doubt for endless patrol. There were no more lunches with Alysia, Babs, and Blair, there were no date nights with Christine, Cass barely even left the Belfry when she wasn’t under the cowl. Babs knew something was going wrong, she’d seen this before with Bruce. She feared that she didn’t know how to stop it.

Cass had already been through hard-headed determination, before. As Batgirl, she overstretched herself numerous times — once as a death wish, another as anger, and another as rejuvenated strength after her revival at the hands of Lady Shiva. What Babs was seeing now was something entirely different, and she struggled to diagnose the cause. Cassandra had simply stopped being a civilian in her time off. She never got the full picture of what had happened during her time away, and Cass refused to elaborate on what little she did reveal.

“Um, Oracle?” asked a hesitant, yet inquisitive voice. “Is everything okay?” Maps Mizoguchi asked on the other end of the line. Oracle struggled to justify the call to Robin at two in the morning, but the girl wouldn’t hang up or give up. She wanted to solve the mystery of the radio station, and Babs truly was just humouring her. Pirate radio broadcasts weren’t usually under her jurisdiction, but the extra secrecy did intrigue her.

“Yeah,” said Babs. “She just stopped by for a second.” Maps remained silent at the allusion to Batman, and that silence was heavy as Babs felt the mix of disappointment and embarrassment that Maps felt. “Anyway,” she continued, hoping to lighten the subject. “I did find the cipher for the encryption you wanted me to take a look at.”

“Ohmigosh!” Maps said under her breath, masking her excitement from the rest of her sleeping household. “What is it?”

It was remarkably simple, Babs thought.

“It’s a four-digit one-time pad cipher,” said Babs. “The key constantly shifts, but I can bypass it without it.” She had done so three minutes prior. “Are you sure you want to figure out what this is, Maps? You found it on a bathroom wall–”

“I need to know,” Maps said simply, as determined as ever. Babs muttered a few words under her breath before progressing through the file, finding nothing but a small text document inside with a series of numbers.

“It’s more numbers,” said Babs. “A radio frequency and a password, looks like.”

“Send it to me!” Maps said, struggling to keep her voice down. Babs hesitated for a moment, drumming her fingers on the desk. She wanted to verify what she was sending to the girl, scared of what it could’ve been. The layers of encryption that she and Maps went through — regardless of how simple they were — felt like it was going out of its way to hide something that shouldn’t be heard. Extended pleas came through Barbara’s speakers, and with a sigh she nodded to herself.

“Y’know what,” she said. “We’ll tune in together right now for a bit, just so I know I’m not sending you something you shouldn’t be listening to.”

“I’ve seen dead bodies, y’know,” Maps replied.

“I–” Babs said, freezing and stuttering for a split second. “I know, and you shouldn’t have.”

“Oracle, please,” Maps said once more, extending her words by seconds at a time. Babs sighed and entered the radio frequency and password, connecting the audio to the call with Maps.

Good evening Gotham City, and a special welcome to our newest batch of listeners. I hope the encryption wasn’t too tough on you guys, but I know you weirdos out there love puzzles. The music will be coming soon, I’ve got some real headbangers in store tonight, but first I’d like to chat a bit about something that’s been on my mind lately.

We once had someone I’d describe as an artist in this city. Maybe others would disagree, I’m sure most normal people would, but that’s how I saw him. Like splatter painting, there wasn’t a consistent pattern or any sort of rhyme or reason to his art, but it always ended up so… glorious, to say the least. He’s more impressive than anyone I’ve seen, I’m sure you all agree.

The Joker was funny, most of the time. That contrast of telling a joke while the city burns around him was a spectacle every time he did it. He laughed as he poisoned our water — I was only a child then, believe it or not. Some time later, he kidnapped our own beloved James Gordon to run an experiment about what it could possibly take to drive a man mad. It’s claimed that it didn’t work, but every time I look into Jimmy’s eye on the TV, I see that twinkle. Something’s rolling around in that head of his, and I’m just waiting for him to deliver the punchline to this ages-long joke.

But now? We’ve got all these damned copy-cats. Lonnie Machin wasn’t an artist, he was a hack. He usurped a name that didn’t belong to him, that he didn’t understand, and he did nothing with it. He wasn’t original, he wasn’t interesting. Who the hell thinks starting a riot is funny if you don’t do anything to the rioters? No, the funniest and most interesting thing about that night was the sighting of not one, but two Batmen on the bridge — and we proceeded to never see that second one ever again. I wonder what his deal was?

Don’t even get me started on the third one. No one is original in this city anymore. We have a third Batman now, too, apparently. I haven’t seen her, but she’s running around calling herself Batman. I don’t know about you all, but I’m tired of these copycats, stealing everyone else’s gimmick because they’re not original enough to think for themselves. There’s no more artistry in what these people do anymore. They’ve taken all the meaning out of the beauty.

What Joker used to do… He would comment on society as a whole, the meaningless sacks we’ve all been turned into. None of us mattered then, and we certainly don’t matter now. Twenty years after we die, we’ll be lucky if one person still thinks about us. Eight billion people, and what does it matter to trim the herd by a few thousand? Nothing matters anymore, and that’s what he was telling us. That’s what was so funny about it all. Wherever he is now, I hope he’s still laughing.

DC NEXT presents:

Shadowpact

In Heaven Forbid

Issue Eleven: Deorum Injuriae Diis Curae

Written by: PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by: GemlinTheGremlin,

Next Issue > Coming May 2024

✨️🔮✨️

In the months since the Shadowpact arrived in Coast City, Destruction had never wandered far from the dilapidated apartment building he’d been squatting in. But as his long-term guests made their preparations to depart, the universal incarnation withdrew to the ruins of the St. Alphonsus Cathedral. The brick-and-mortar church hung precariously off the edge of a blackened crater. Sherry tucked a golden ringlet of hair behind her ear as she approached, stepping over rotten telephone poles and cracks in the asphalt all the while.

The church itself was in remarkably good shape, all things considered. The oaken door, though ajar and hanging off its hinges, was still intact. One of the stained glass windows survived to preserve the tight-lipped smile of Saint Alphonsus. Sherry managed a weak smile back at him; it was difficult to appreciate the patron of vocations while so far from His light. More difficult still, with the tricksy smiles and inquisitive eyes of stone cherubim staring down at her. Destruction came into view as she passed the threshold. He was knelt before the marble altar, his palm pressed against the clean hairline fracture that ran its length.

Sherry walked forward, doing her best to avoid disturbing the ginger goliath as she sat in one of the more intact pews. She noted a bindle lying beside him, tied up with a bolt of red checkered cloth. There was something familiar about it. As she leaned forward, the pew squealed, prompting Destruction to perk up.

“You came.” He turned his head and smiled.

“I came. The Shadowpact’s leaving Coast City, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”

“I guessed,” Destruction shrugged. “I’d hoped to see Constantine’s famous knack for stirring the hornet’s nest up close. Oh well. Maybe next time.” He brushed the dust off himself and rose.

“I didn’t think the Endless prayed.”

“Prayed?” Destruction quirked an eyebrow. “Oh! No, just clearing my mind. I thought we should talk in a space you find comfortable. I’ve tried to keep this place untouched.”

“Thank you for that, kindly,” Sherry said, biting back the truth that there were few places she’d be less comfortable. “I think He would hear your prayers, if you tried.”

“I’m just awful at icebreakers,” Destruction said wryly. “And I don’t think we’d have much to talk about.”

“He’s a great listener,” Sherry said. “Prayer may bring you some measure of peace.”

“There are more things in Heaven and Earth than can be dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.” Destruction grabbed his bindle and sat next to Sherry. “You’re here for this, right?” He gently untied the cloth and pulled his hand along the stick. As he did, the rough branch reformed into a solid pillar of wood with a gleaming silver point affixed to its head.

“I–” Sherry’s hand moved forward before she caught herself. Light bent around the hallowed metal, bathing the church in a sacred air for the first time in quite a while. “Yes.”

“From what Hettie told me, you were certain about being rid of it. It caused you pain twice over those you hurt in someone else’s name last time.”

“This is different. I need the spear to ward off the rest of the Host while Traci redeems the souls, but the mission to condemn Sama– The Adversary was one of punishment. Zephon reveled in the power he wielded over others. It corrupted him. This is different.” She repeated, more defiantly.

“Your leader might disagree. Do you think she’d turn down a chance to destroy the beast that killed her father? Or your Host? Or my brother?”

“You don’t underst–!” Sherry surged, stopping cold as she caught the glow of a mushroom cloud in the reflection of Destruction’s eyes, now more alert than she’d seen since their arrival. The scorched patches of skin on her back tingled uncomfortably.

“Solace. Peace. Rest.” The words creaked out of Destruction’s throat. “What gods offer isn’t for us. We are the expression of will; a brushstroke. When the will ceases, so do we. Purpose and Self are inseparable.”

“I’ve been cast out, for reasons I can’t even fathom.” Sherry felt her face and hands burn even as color vanished from them. She finally spoke, “I haven’t–” She swished the word around in her mouth “ –ceased? I’m still here.”

“Yeah.” Destruction said. “Me too.”

✨️🔮✨️

Ruin stared out the train window at the vast salt flats of the American Southwest. The gentle blues and whites of sky reflected in shallow pools as far as the eye could see calmed their spirit even as the bouts of weakness returned with the Shadowpact’s departure from Coast City.

“So what are our other options?” Traci asked.

Rory was slouched in the cabin’s corner with the rags pulled down to his neck. He rubbed his temples and spoke softly, “One at a time guys, please.”

“This might have been a good talk to have in Coast City,” Sherry said. “It’s a matter of time before Bud and the others realize we’re vulnerable again.”

“Sherry’s right,” Jim said. “For as long as we have the souls, there’s a huge target on our backs. That’s not counting the Lords of Chaos, White Stag, and Dream if he’s not done with us. We could probably get the Lords off our backs if we told them where Destruction is hiding out.”

“You should try to get some rest, sugar,” Sherry said.

Traci held the bridge of her nose. She liked it better when there was only one omnipotent malevolent bastard to deal with. “That’s not an option. Even if I trusted the Lords, and I seriously don’t, poking that bear is a bad idea.”

“And he helped us,” Ruin added.

“Maybe they’re already redeemed,” Jim said. “Rory already used the souls to help save the multiverse. Would we even know?”

“Some think they are.” Rory said. The rags’ stitching loosened and contracted in a steady pattern that evoked breathing. “June says Charon manipulated her. Amol says he suspected Charon was hurting people and went ahead anyway. They– ” Rory huffed. “They’re all over the place.”

“Too bad we can’t peek over St. Peter’s shoulder,” Ruin said. Their face twisted in confusion as all eyes fell on them. “What? St. Peter, the guy at the pearly gates.?

“How…?” Rory broached.

“John was Catholic.” A chorus of recognition ‘ahh’d in response.

“We have to be close,” Jim continued. “Otherwise the Host wouldn’t be trying so hard to stop us, surely. Maybe we can find some demon to slay and be done with it.”

“You have the wrong idea of demons if that’s your idea of a shortcut,” Traci said, earning a singular nod from Sherry.

“Sorry to be that guy, but if we’re not ratting on Destruction, we could’ve leaned on him a little to get the spear. I know I’d sleep a little better at night with some protection.” He rubbed the bags under his eyes. “A little.”

“Even if he’d given it to us, I’m none too keen on hurting Calypso, Bud, and the others. They’re misguided, but they’re still trying to do His work.”

Traci pulled out a small leather book from her pouch and started leafing through it. “Wait uh, wouldn’t they just reincorporate in the Silver City if they were killed?”

“They would,” Sherry said, her voice hard as her blue eyes pierced Traci. “As would you, if He willed it.”

“Ohhhhkay.” Jim clasped his hands together, sensing a tension in the room. “Maybe we should take fifteen?”

Traci’s fingers flitted, etching a violet glyph into the air. The cabin’s walls hummed with magical energy. Sherry balled her hand into a fist. There were only a few feet between her and the mage; close enough to reach out and–

“We’re here,” Traci grinned.

Heads turned to the cabin window which now looked out over a frozen tundra. Icy rivers crisscrossed down jagged hills in the mid-distance, the only sign of texture in an otherwise uniform wintery wasteland. Only as the train screeched to a halt did the station and a few brightly-colored homes come into view.

“It’s snowing!” Ruin cheered, their face pressed up against the glass.

Rory turned over in his seat, already reflexively drawn inward from the frigid wasteland beyond. “Uh– no offense Traci, but if we’re still hiding out, Coast City was a lot more comfortable.”

“We’re not hiding - not in the way you’re thinking, at least,” Traci said. “Sherry gave me an idea.”

“Please say you’re joking,” Rory said.

“We’re breaking into Heaven.”

✨️🔮✨️

“Remind me again,” Jim shouted over the roaring blizzard, “why you teleported us to the train station! Instead of this guy’s bunker!”

“It’s urban magic!” Traci waddled at the front of the Shadowpact deeper into the storm. Thick translucent cords of purple energy wrapped around her to preserve warmth, though at the cost of her dexterity and making her look like the Michelin Man. “We’re almost there!”

Rory and Ruin trudged through the snow behind her, the latter’s arm slung over the former’s shoulder. A metal tower covered in heavy reflective panels emerged from the storm, ascending past the point of visibility. The base of the tower appeared entirely formless, lacking any doors or windows.

“What now?” Ruin asked, out of breath. “Some magic words?”

“Something like that,” Traci waved a hand at the door and spoke. “Mellon.” She stepped forward, into, and past the reflective wall, sending a ripple across its surface like a stone in a pond.

“Is that–?” Jim chuckled to himself as he approached.

“Hm,” Sherry frowned. “I thought I knew all of the magetongues. What is that?”

“It’s ‘friend’ in Elvish,” Jim said.

“No, it isn’t. That’s caruan.” Sherry replied, matter-of-factly.

“I–” Jim weighed how to explain Tolkein to an angel. “Another time.” He settled, stepping out of the cold and through the wall. The others followed, emerging out into an enormous atrium, far too large to be contained by the tower. Dozens of monitors covered the walls, each with a wildly different display. Ruin’s eyes tracked to one showing a herd of six-legged toads galloping along the prairie like prize stallions. Another scrolled a stream of pale green numbers. Another still was entirely black. From each monitor, thick cables descended to the ground and blanketed the floor, squelching with strange fluidity as the Shadowpact stepped over them. The cables drew together to a focal point in the center of the room: a tall-backed chair made from black leather and chrome.

“Randall,” Traci called towards it. “I need a favor.”

“Well, if it isn’t the world-famous Shadowpact come to pay me a visit.” The chair slowly rotated to reveal a man strapped to it. A huge pair of opaque goggles were affixed to his face by two robotic arms protruding from the front of the chair. A few multichromatic wires extended from the arms joints to pierce Randall’s arms and legs, their input disappearing beneath his flesh. “Come to take a trip through POSSIBILITY?” His voice boomed with the gusto of a mad chocolatier.

“Traci, is this a bad guy?” Jim asked softly, his hand already on the Sword of Night’s pommel.

“He’s just a contact,” she answered. “His setup lets him cast an avatar across dimensions and control it remotely.”

“Be still my beating heart!” Randall crossed his arms. “Traci reached out to me to help with the Oblivion Bar renovations. Get in on the ground floor of a unified magical community, she said! Mages helping to solve each others’ problems, she said!” The monitors in the room seemed to tilt in her direction, flickering in unsteady rhythm like the blinking of a hundred independent eyes. “How’s that going, by the way?”

“Hey!” Ruin stumbled off of Rory’s shoulder to protest. “The Shadowpact saved all of existence!”

“From itself.” Randall said. His goggles blocked a clear view of his face, but the eye roll was audible enough. “What’s your plan for the Reawakened? Or were you going to let the Justice Legion handle that?” Several of the screens flickered to Chicago’s CBN News Network, where footage showed a bald, muscular man throwing cars aside like toys. Golden armour sat proudly atop his sleek black suit, a red stone embedded into the centre.

“We’re dealing with a speed bump,” Traci said. “Which is why we’re here.” She stepped closer to the chair, a little more insistent.

“For what it’s worth, I’m enjoying the show,” Randall crooned. “I haven’t seen Earth’s wizards so freaked since the Apocrypha Apokalupsis.”

“Is this the part where you explain what that is?” Rory asked.

“Horror,” Sherry said. “The obliteration of tens of thousands of human souls.”

“Yup.” Randall said, reaching up to scratch his chin. “After Coast City DDOS’d the afterlife, it screwed with Heaven and Hell bad enough they actually asked Constantine to do what he does best. They’re still picking up the pieces. What was it you said about the magical world, Traci? Held together by duct tape and hope?”

Traci furrowed her brow. “What is it you want, Randall?”

Randall scoffed. “I’m not so mercenary that I’d extort a friend in her time of need! Just a small trinket to pick up on your stroll through the Silver City.”

Sherry turned. “Traci, whatever it is this man wants to steal from His kingdom, there must be another way.”

“How’d you know where we were headed?” Traci said.

“My wards picked you up the instant you used that train-hopping spell. Nice line though.” Randall lowered his voice an octave. “We’re breaking into Heaven. Very cool. Anyway, you can borrow the chair if you find me a certain destination certificate while you’re there. I’m interested in hearing where a friend of mine ended up.”

Traci looked over at Sherry, but the angel’s expression was inscrutable. “And why can’t you get it yourself?”

“Too great a risk. My avatar wouldn’t last more than a few seconds before getting fried by the sentries. And you only have to do that a couple times before you get a very special visit from someone with a message other than ‘Be not afraid!’”

“We know the type,” Rory said.

“Then you appreciate my dilemma!” Randall said. “But with the help of our angel friend here, we have some options. She just might not like them.”

DC Next presents:

##NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

In Fly on the Wall

Issue Five: Along Came a Spider

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by Predaplant

Next Issue > Coming Soon

Luke blinked against the harsh light of the LED screen. The text on screen read, ‘The Blake Family: Peter, Charlotte, Evan’, familiar names to him and his father. It hadn’t even been an hour since he had last seen them, eating dinner with them and laughing with Evan about his parents’ love of antiques, and yet here they were flashing up on a screen in the Belfry, the words ‘TARGETS’ emblazoned over their heads.

“Luckily, there were no injuries and no casualties as a result of the robberies,” Barbara Gordon continued, her hands clasped over her lap. “In fact, both families say they didn’t see or hear anything, as if the painting just disappeared by itself.”

“How did the robber get the painting?” Duke added, hands on his hips.

“How do you mean?”

“Well, were there any signs of breaking and entering? Like, scuffs on the windowsill or something?”

Babs shook her head. “Nothing like that. Well, nothing the police have made a note of, anyway.”

“These seem like some pretty well-to-do folk, so I can’t imagine they just hung the paintings up with duct tape. How’d they get the frame through the window without damaging anything?”

“Ah, well, that’s the thing. The reason we know - or rather, we can guess - that these are all being committed by the same person, is because every instance has one fact in common: the robber leaves the frame behind.” Babs reached over to her keyboard and pressed a button. The images on the screens changed, instead displaying forensic photographs of three intricate wooden frames, each empty with a tiny sliver of painted cloth peeking out from each edge. “Some are removed more neatly than others, but the pattern is still clear.”

“Can we identify the paintings from just that tiny section?” Harper asked, gesturing to the small amount of painting left behind on one of the images.

“It would be very difficult to work it out based on that sliver alone, but it’s likely that the families will remember what the painting was called - or at worst, what it looked like.”

“Let’s go talk to them,” Luke offered. “If we can identify the specific painting that was taken, we might be able to find something to track it, too.”

Babs nodded. “Good idea. All of you should go talk to one of these families altogether. That way, you can–”

“Surely it’d be easier if we split up,” Luke interjected. “We’d get a lot more done faster.”

“Four people might catch something that one person might not. While you’re doing that, it’ll give me time to look into other potential targets.”

Luke looked at Babs, then to the members of his team. He felt frustrated in a way that he couldn’t quite describe; he was finding it hard not to just flee from the Belfry and talk to the Blakes himself - as Luke. He often spoke to people as Batwing, giving advice or asking questions to witnesses of a crime, but there was always something gnawing away at him whenever he did. Were these people giving him the answers he wanted because they wanted to help, or because they were scared of him? It seemed silly to Luke at first, but as he gave it more thought, he unfortunately found more credence in his theory. It would be scary enough to be robbed on the streets of Gotham - scarier still to then be questioned by a man in a whirring metal suit.

Luke frowned. This would be an opportunity to talk to people as the man behind the suit - one where speaking as Luke might even yield better results than speaking as Batwing - but to do that would be to do one of two things: he would either expose his involvement with Bluebird and the Signal should they appear in costume, or he would have to justify his and his friends’ involvements in the Blakes’ personal lives if the duo were to come as themselves. There was a part of him, even after all this introspection, that believed that he was making a mountain out of a molehill.

Jace let out a sigh that broke through the quiet. Babs sensed his tension and turned her chair towards him.

“You seem tense,” she said softly. “What’s bothering you?”

“I’m happy to work with these guys, I really am, it’s just… I’ve been struggling with who I am, now that my old title has been stripped. ”

Babs nodded. “I get it. Maybe that’s the fun part, though - you get to make your own name for yourself.”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start.” Jace fiddled with the lining on his new sleek monochrome suit. Vol had very graciously taken some of Luke’s advice on board, and after a few tweaks, the technological elements of the suit were up and running.

“I can help with that,” Babs said with a smile, turning back towards her computer and starting to type. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You guys forget, I’ve been watching you all for a while, and so I know all of your strengths. I won’t put you all through the ordeal of hearing me talk through each one, but there was one of yours, Jace, that stood out to me in particular. You’re sneaky.”

“Me?”

“Perhaps it’s from your time as Batman, but you seem to have a way of navigating in silence that differs from the others.” With a click of her mouse, another window appeared on the screen, this time of a video. The footage was zoomed out and grainy, but the scene it depicted was clear - Duke and Gnomon stood a few feet away from a gentlemen lying splayed on the ground, when suddenly a black smudge darts across the feed, striking Gnomon. Babs paused the video and turned back to Jace. “That move alone was enough for me to know for sure what your role would be in this team.”

“And what would that be?”

“Stealth missions. Sneaking into areas, scoping them out, finding information as quickly and as quietly as you can. You’d be able to gain access to info that these three wouldn’t get. Well, unless they used brute force, I suppose.” Babs smiled at the trio. “You’d be the insider for the team, in a sense - finding out valuable sources in real time to speed things up and help the others along.”

Jace nodded slowly, his confidence restored somewhat. “The insider?”

“Hey,” Duke smiled, giving Jace a playful nudge. “I like the sound of that.”

“Alright then, Insider, are you coming with us or not?” Luke asked, staring out the window. The moon was slowly peeking through the cloudy Gotham sky.

Jace stood up straight, his cape swaying slightly. “You know it.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“We’re sorry to bother you this late, Mr Fox, but could we please speak to the Blakes? We were told we might find them here.”

Lucius Fox looked at each of the masked heroes on his doorstep one by one. The first - Batwing - he of course knew; his son’s chin peeked out of the bottom of the mask, and his mouth betrayed a grimace of seriousness. The next two - Bluebird and the Signal - he had grown familiar with from the investigation into, and subsequent arrest of, Lyle Bolton. The fourth figure, however, was alien to Lucius. He didn’t recognise the symbolless chestplate he wore, nor the black-and-grey colour scheme of his suit, and the man was noticeably taller and stockier than the other three heroes.

Lucius snapped back to reality and nodded in response to Bluebird’s question. “Yes, of course, come in.”

The quartet stepped over the threshold and into the spacious home of the Fox family. In a nearby room, the chattering of Mr and Mrs Blake sounded out, which occasionally broke into raucous laughter. Luke was the first to enter the room. The couple reacted immediately to the imposing figure of Batwing, sitting up straight in their chairs and placing their wine glasses onto intricate coasters.

“Good evening,” Duke said. “We hope we’re not intruding too much, we just wanted to ask you some questions.”

“Oh, I see,” Charlotte said, her voice slurring slightly. Whether it was from nerves or from the alcohol, Luke couldn’t tell. “What about?”

“About an incident that happened at your house a few days ago. It’s our understanding that you were victims of a robbery, is that right?”

“Yes, that’s right. One of our paintings was stolen.”

The Signal nodded. Lucius appeared in the doorway, leaning against the frame. “Right. Was it just yourselves in the house at the time?”

“Our son was there too - Evan.”

“And where is Evan?” Luke asked, suddenly realising his absence. He and Evan were in the middle of a conversation when Luke was called by the others, and yet now he was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s gone home,” Peter answered. “We have an important auction in the morning and he offered to drive us. Poor kid needed the rest so he could wake up early, I think. Oh, apologies - Lucius, before I forget, you and Luke are still invited to come to our house next week should you want to.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” Lucius smiled. “Yes, I would love to. I’ve been meaning to see your collection of antiques for a while now.”

Luke paused. Some pieces of the puzzle were fitting together in ways that he was less than happy with. His father’s mention of antiques reminded him of something that Babs had said earlier that day - that she would ‘look into other potential targets’. As Duke continued his questioning, Luke reached over to Jace and tapped his shoulder.

“Talk to my dad about his paintings,” Luke instructed. “I have a horrible feeling we’re gonna be targeted next.”

Jace, putting the pieces together, nodded. He stepped forwards towards Lucius and muttered something to him; with a nod, Lucius led him out into the corridor.

“And when did you get the painting?” Duke continued.

Peter thought for a moment before answering. “It couldn’t have been more than two weeks ago.”

“And did you know the seller?”

“Hardly.”

Luke looked over at Harper. Her eyes were glued to a painting on the far wall; it seemed like she was having a similar thought to himself regarding his family’s safety. From what he could glean from looking at her, Luke assumed that she was attempting to memorise the painting, or perhaps the artist’s name.

“Have you ever sold any other paintings? And did you get the buyers’ names?”

“No, no paintings. This was honestly a last minute pick. We wouldn’t usually–”

A crackle sounded out in Luke’s ear that almost made him flinch, followed by a familiar voice. “***Gotham Knights, I’ve got an update. A big one, actually. It looks like the alarm system has gone down at the Ross Gallery over in the fashion district. Nothing’s been tripped yet, but the system has never failed before. Head down there when you can.”

Luke immediately heard footsteps from down the corridor; Jace was already on the move. Harper and Duke shared a look before looking back at Luke.

“Thanks for your time,” Duke said, his voice conveying more hurry than he perhaps intended. “That’s all the questions we have.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

The Ross Gallery was a lot eerier in the dark, doubly so due to the knowledge of what lay inside. The newly-formed Gotham Knights each surveyed the exterior: a low-roofed building with marble white pillars littered at the front entrance, with floor to ceiling windows. Harper was the first to move, hoisting a rope from her bag over her shoulder.

“Alright. I can get Jace and I onto the roof - that way we can monitor if he tries to escape up that way. You two, take the front entrance. Get on comms if anything goes wrong. Got it?”

Duke nodded, and saw Luke in the corner of his eye do the same. In a moment, Jace and Harper darted towards the building, the rope held tightly in Harper’s hand, ready to be thrown. The remaining duo did as they were told and made their way to the front of the building.

The front doors were predictably locked, so The Signal and Batwing looked for another option; as they rounded the side of the building, Duke gestured to something along one of the walls.

“There,” he whispered, pointing to a window, open just a crack. Luke nodded and, moving as softly as they were able to, they snuck up to and through the gap in the window.

The interior of the gallery was immaculate. The floors and walls were a marble colour very similar to the pillars outside, and each of the paintings were hung in pristine golden frames. Duke watched as Harper emerged from a skylight in the centre of the large exhibition room, followed closely by Jace. The duo stayed up high, clambering onto a rafter sitting snugly against the edge of the flat roof.

As Duke signalled for Luke to follow him, a soft pitter-patter sound could be heard from further into the room, followed by a soft hiss, like scissors gliding through wrapping paper. Luke turned his head. On the other side of the long hall they found themselves in was a slender figure, their arms outstretched against a painting. There was something in their hand, and as they ran it across the edge of the painting, the cloth of the canvas flopped limply away from the frame.

Insider immediately dove forwards, catching another rafter further across the ceiling; the remaining trio broke into a sprint, with Duke taking the lead. The figure turned to face them. As they got closer, the figure’s outfit became more apparent: they were clad all in brown, a mask over their face, with two pale stripes coming down their shoulders and onto their torso. Their mask bore bulbous orange eyes, and there were intricate orange handwraps along both forearms. As soon as they turned to face their assailants, the brown-clad figure whipped their head back to the painting. To everyone’s surprise, they continued to cut the painting from its frame, hastily slashing away at the edge of the painting.

The Signal finally caught up to the thief, grabbing their arm and attempting to pull the weapon out of their hand. However, as soon as his hand made contact with the masked criminal, Duke felt his grip slip, and the figure darted away, making a break for the back door of the building, newly removed painting in hand. Jace descended from the ceiling in front of the robber, blocking their path and causing them to skid to a halt, their shoes squeaking against the polished floor. As the figure slowed to a halt, Insider took his opportunity, lunging out at the thief to grab them. His hands clasped around the figure’s arms, and they writhed against his grip for a moment.

A thud sounded out as Harper landed on the ground, a set of handcuffs in hand. She reached out to cuff the assailant when she suddenly felt a sharp pain in her jaw. The masked man had headbutted her sharply in the face and, using the force of the swing, threw their body forwards and contorted their legs through the small gap between their back and Insider’s chest. Then, with their feet planted on Insider’s shoulders, they pushed off, launching off into the air before breaking into a sprint.

Luke, desperate to not let the villain get away, charged up the arm of his suit after a moment’s pause, the weapon fired. A single shot flew out and struck the figure in the calf. The thief wailed in pain, stumbling for a second. They continued to run, trying to fight through the pain, as Batwing lined up another shot. As Luke was about the fire, the figure bent their knees and leapt high into the air, catching the rafters above them and scrambling to push through the skylight. Jace and Harper hastily followed, nearly falling over each other to climb to the higher level of the gallery. As they pushed open a panel on the skylight, looking out into the dark, each of them looked lost.

“Well?” Luke said, impatient. Harper shook her head.

“I… I have no idea how, but… they’re gone,” she panted.

Duke tapped Luke’s shoulder. “Hey, look.”

As Luke turned to look, he noticed what Duke was referring to before he even pointed. Slightly scrunched up on the floor a few feet away from the back door of the building was a slightly tanned piece of canvas, with meticulous lashings of technicolour paint slathered over it.

“He dropped the painting,” Luke realised under his breath.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: Into the web in New Gotham Knights #6 - Coming May 2024

DC Next presents:

##Suicide Squad

Issue Thirty-Nine: Home Sweet Home

Arc: A New World

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

When Dante had first arrived at Belle Reve, he considered the towering prison to be a place of terror, hell on earth. The faded concrete, the moss growing around on the edges of its foundation, the sloshing waters of the river running against its outer walls. The rusted exterior bars and worn wooden docks. It looked like Dracula’s summer vacation home when he wasn’t stalking through the shadows of eastern europe.

Years later, Dante could only see it as a place to kick his feet up after a mission, and truthfully he didn’t feel emotionally prepared to tackle why he felt that way. All that mattered to him now was that he could take a load off.

The chopper landed in the usual spot, touching down on the pad just outside the prison. The onboard medics rushed Raptor’s stretcher along the gangway and into the hospital, flanked closely by Flag. He had been stabilized, but there were still chunks of lead in his body, and that wasn’t something they or Suyolak had the proper equipment for given that a few were dangerously close to his heart. Kulikova could help with that, given her superior technology and surgical abilities, but that still didn’t give Flag true closure. The man needed to see his friend to safety.

Dante didn’t know how to feel about Flag either. He knew that the soldier would take a bullet for him, and in a way, Dante would do the same for him, but Flag was also an extension of Waller, who practically owned all of them. He’d become more at peace with this place, but in its own sad way that brought Dante shame. This was no way to live, even if they’d made strides to make it a less hellish existence.

Flag and the medics ushered Raptor into the building, then into a side corridor while the rest of the team continued on, knowing that their presence would only complicate whatever upcoming procedure was in store for Raptor. The four soon entered a bland yet decently furnished room, complete with worn couches, old tables, and a few books on a shelf. Waller had seen fit to reward the team for their good behavior, granting them a common space to relax and speak freely. This was unheard of for a few reasons, but mostly because previous teams had a tendency to brawl with each other off mission.

“Huh,” Dante said. “Harley and Mayo are usually romping around here.”

Adella strolled over to the table in the center of the room, spotting a note on its surface. Picking it up, she glossed over it, “Seems like they’re out on a mission.”

“Huh?!” Croc lumbered over to the table, taking the note from Adella’s possession before reading it. “Hrrnnn…Dance party….loves and kisses…secret mission….is Waller crazy? Harley without someone on the trigger sounds like a recipe for disaster.”

Dante smirked, “Well, if Mayo’s out there with her, she’s probably gonna rein it in. Wouldn’t want him losing his other eye, right?”

Adella nodded, though as Croc placed the paper back on the table, she found her gaze wandering, searching for someone who had been remarkably quiet the entire ride back from Vermont. Nicholas had taken a seat on the couch, hanging his head in hopes of staying unnoticed. Adella shuffled towards Nicholas, extending a hand to him and prompting him to look her in the eyes, “Can we talk, now that we’re here instead of out there?”

Nicholas sighed, then got up and gestured at Adella to follow him into the hallway. As the two left, Dante considered following them, but realized it was best to leave them be. Planting himself on the couch, he removed his helmet, letting the air conditioned room cool his sweat-caked head. The scars all over his face used to sting a little when exposed to open air, but now it barely itched. He let out a breath of relief before kicking his feet up on the table, settling in fully. Croc, meanwhile, took a seat in a comically large armchair, which had been modified to better fit his gargantuan form, “Ugh….feels nice that they don’t throw us in a hole anymore when they’re done with us for the day.”

“You said it, pal,” Dante wiped his brow. “Whew. Only thing that’d make this place better is a bit of beer.”

“I’d prefer the brisk of the outdoors…but yeah, a beer’d be nice.”

Dante cocked his head at Croc, “Is that where you’d be…instead of here that is…if you wanted it?”

Croc pondered the question, scratching the bottom of his chin with a sharpened claw, “Eh….yeah, I’d say so. Wouldn’t wanna run around in the city.”

“Feel like you don’t belong there?” Dante asked.

“I mean look at me! I’m not exactly set to land a job in Gotham or anywhere else,” Croc reclined in the chair. “I prefer the outdoors, preferably something with water. Swamps are good but…I wouldn’t mind a cabin by a cold lake somewhere like Montana.”

“Not a fan of civilization, I take it?”

“Bah…Civilization’s overrated. People overcomplicate life to stupid extremes. Me, I’ll take eating venison and sleeping in a house for one for the rest of my life.”

Dante quirked his eyebrow, “...Sounds boring.”

Croc grimaced, “Alright, wise guy…then what are you gonna do when you get out?”

“Please…I’m gonna…I’m…” Dante suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He knew exactly what he wanted to do, knew that if he could, he’d do it right now, but couldn’t. He took a shaky breath. “I’d give my brother a hug and tell him I’m sorry.”

Croc, who had posited the question in hopes of making a point, stopped in his tracks. Leaning forward, he frowned, “I…uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to-”

“Nah it’s…it’s okay,” Dante sighed, “It’s been so long since I’ve seen him. We didn’t exactly part ways on good terms. He might hate me.” Dante shuddered. “I…I don’t think I can remember his face. I could pick him out in a crowd but…every time I try to think about him I just…some parts are turning up blank.”

Dante looked towards Croc, “Maybe you’ve got the guts to start again when Waller lets us out but…I don’t think I have that in me.”

Croc raised his hand, as if to console Dante, only to pull it back. He had already caused enough damage with his questions, and it was best to just let things be. Leaning back in the chair, he closed his eyes, hoping that Dante would sort himself out as he submitted himself to rest.

“So…what happened back there?”

Nicholas crossed his arms, avoiding Adella’s eyes as she posed the question. He had always been the most positive force on the team, keeping in higher spirits than everyone else, no matter the situation. That wasn’t how things were last mission, and Adella knew it. The young girl frowned, tired of Nicholas’s evasive behavior, “Nicholas, you lost focus out there. Whatever’s causing a problem could be dangerous in any future missions…You have to tell me something.”

Nicholas remained silent, causing Adella to take a deep breath, “You’re my friend, Nicholas. I want to know if you’re okay, because if you’re not and I don’t know what’s going on? I’m…I’m just worried.”

Nicholas felt his fingers tense up, yet after a moment, he finally sighed and looked Adella in the face, “A boy.”

“What?”

“I killed a boy back there, no older than fifteen. He was shooting at me…it didn’t hurt but…he was on their side. I didn’t know what to do so I just…I killed him.”

Adella’s eyes widened, “I…I don’t understand. Why would they recruit somebody so young?”

Nicholas’s face hardened, “I doubt he had a choice. Perhaps they fed the boy lies, perhaps his parents were among the Aryan Empire’s ranks. Whatever the reason…I don’t think he wanted to be there. He looked afraid, like he wanted to be anywhere else.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“Maybe…but I can’t discount it,” Nicholas shook his head, his normally stable hair becoming unruly and messy, “Adella…what am I?”

Adella stared at Nicholas, “You’re…Nicholas?”

“And who’s Nicholas?” The teen exclaimed. “The first thing I ever remember was being in a lab. All my life, people have wanted me to be a thing to point at their enemies. Blow this up, destroy that, defend this! Being out of the lab gave me hope…hope for just a second that maybe I’d get to see new places, meet new people, and I have…but that hasn’t changed anything from when I was in the lab. I’m still here just to blow things up, I still exist just to…vaporize people!”

Nicholas let out a grunt through shaky lungs, “I don’t want to be a weapon but…that’s all I’ve been! I don’t know how to do anything else!”

Nicholas leaned against the wall before sliding down to the floor, “What…what do I do? I can’t feel this way, not without making things worse for everyone else.”

Adella stared at Nicholas for a moment, unsure of what to do. Her experiences were different in many ways to him, yet she knew that if she wanted to console her friend, help him, she needed to grasp at something. Letting out a deep breath, she took a seat in front of Nicholas, “My father made me a weapon. It’s the same, I know. I had a life before then, a more normal life…but I still remember it.”

She reached out, placing a hand on Nicholas’s shoulder, “It’s not much but, when we get out of here, I can help you. We can figure things out together.”

Nicholas looked up at Adella, “But…we barely know anything! How are we going to-”

“We can figure it out! We’ve made it this long!”

Nicholas was still unsure of this course of action, it was bound to fail in many ways, but as he placed his hand over Adella’s, accepting the comfort of someone who had become like a sister to him, he found himself breathing easier. Even if he didn’t fully believe in this plan, the thought was enough to calm his nerves, “Alright…I guess we’ll figure it out.”

Adella smiled. Things had been tough for a while, but when all else failed, she knew she could always have her friend’s backs, and they would have hers.

Flag watched through a window as Kulikova worked on Raptor’s unconscious form, worming her way through his flesh to extract pellet after pellet of buckshot. It was agonizing, even though Flag knew Raptor would live. He had done something wrong. He had put Raptor in this position, and now Raptor was suffering as a result. As he watched, Amanda Waller walked up to his side, gazing through the window with him, “What happened?”

“He caught a round for me,” Flag said. “I slipped up.”

“I looked over the scout reports. You didn’t slip up. Someone on your team didn’t do what they were supposed to,” Waller crossed her arms. “You feel responsible for them, that’s part of the job, but your job also demands you keep them in line. I need you to hand out discipline.”

Flag bit his tongue, “Will do, ma’am.”

“Good,” She kept her attention on the operation. “Once Harley and Mayo return, I’ll have another mission for you.”

Flag glared at Waller, “What do you mean return? Did you send them out without me?!”

“Yes. There was a smaller scale mission I needed completed, and with a limited window, I had to make do.”

“So you sent them alone?”

Waller smirked, “Well, not exactly. They do have a CO. You’ll meet them when they come back.”

WIth that, Waller left the hall, causing Flag to grumble under his breath, “....Fuck.”

Next Issue: Party time with Mayo and Harley!

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In ARGO Solutions

Issue Seventeen: Grand Opening

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by PredaPlant

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

Present Day

Despite her preference for clothing that reminded her of home, Kara felt comfortable wearing a business suit, a piece of Earth fashion that made her confident in her appearance. The top three buttons of her shirt unbuttoned, she allowed her jacket to remain open amid the cool spring air. She walked out of the lobby of her new office building with a self-assured strut and a smile on her face, appearing before a crowd of people gathered together to hear her speak. A podium had been set up, and the street briefly closed off for the upcoming press conference.

The crowd cheered as Kara appeared before them — a reaction wholly different than what she would have expected or experienced a year prior, after first arriving on Earth. She waved at the crowd as she stepped up to the podium. She was acutely aware of how her actions were perceived, how the big news about her had been circulating in the National City news organisations.

She had even received congratulations from her cousin, Jon. After her return from Starhaven a year prior, Jon reached out to her during a visit to the Fortress of Solitude. He delivered his name to her with a kind smile, told her where he lived, and left an offer to be family, as much or as little as Kara wanted. She appreciated the gesture as time went on. Nia Nal was the only other person on Earth that Kara was comfortable around, so she appreciated having someone else, even if he still reminded her of Kal.

Kara stood behind the podium and looked over the crowd awaiting her words. Legions of news reporters crammed into the front, with phones, recording devices, and microphones up and waiting for Kara to speak.

The newest Kryptonian, after a year of reclusive behaviour, finally opened up.

“Good afternoon,” Kara began, her words causing the crowd’s noise to dissipate. Scanning the members of the group in front of her, she did not recognise most of them. A handful, she had seen with Nia, who worked at National City News. There was one face she recognised who didn’t seem to be interested in anything Kara had to say, only present to watch the Kryptonian woman. The severe red-haired woman stood around the back of the crowd, arms crossed, with multiple weapons concealed under her civilian clothes. Kara had simply accepted this woman’s presence in all of her public appearances. She didn’t appear to be an immediate threat, but her presence was suspicious, nonetheless.

“I’m sure most of you are aware of what’s been in the news about me lately,” Kara continued. “In that case, I’ll get right to the point so we can get to questions.”

The crowd waited with bated breath, impatiently waiting for the confirmations of the rumours that were circulating National City. Kara Zor-El had something big planned, some collaboration with the National City government.

“As many of you know, decades ago Krypton suffered a disastrous fate. Because of the rapid expansion, unsafe practices, and the strain placed on the planet, it eventually was destroyed catastrophically,” said Kara, her voice restraining her sorrow as she spoke. “There were very few survivors — only two, to my knowledge. I lost a lot when I arrived here; everything I had known was gone. Everything except the very thing that had led to Krypton’s destruction.

“Soon after arriving, I had to leave Earth for a distant solar system. There, I saw another planet that suffered the same fate, only prolonged and suffering. It was a middle ground between where Earth is now and what happened to Krypton. It was just as horrifying as seeing my own planet’s death. When I came back, I saw the signs that were leading to these awful fates. Exploitation of labour and natural resources, a disregard for the environment around us, total and utter contempt for keeping our planet alive in the interest of capital. I see the signs, endless markers that we’re heading down a similar path, and I feel the need to do something. I can’t watch a third planet die.”

“Which is why I would like to formally announce the opening of my new company: ARGO Solutions. Named after the city I was born in, the most technologically advanced on Krypton, I aim to merge the technology of my people and of Earth to look toward a better future. Cleaner oceans, sustainable energy, and efficient design: a Kryptonian touch is something that, I believe, will help steer this planet and our environment in the right direction.”

The crowd erupted into a cacophony of words. Kara was still getting used to their ferocity when it came to her sensitive Kryptonian hearing, but she was now able to bear it without so much as wincing. Endless questions, praise, and even accusations were hurled at Kara from every direction, reporters at the front almost fighting each other for her attention.

There were, however, two among the crowd that Kara noticed were not participating in the commotion, instead watching Kara closely. She knew the red-haired woman, but the other — a slightly shorter, brown-haired woman in a leather jacket — was a mystery that caught her eye the moment she came into view.

She knew she had to shake off the suspicions, however, as she forced her mind to return to the people ahead of her, each vying for a moment of her time. She pointed toward a well-dressed man with square glasses and a shiny, hairless head. He cleared his throat as she urged the crowd to allow him to speak. They did not quiet down by much.

“By introducing the same technology you claim led to the destruction of your world, are you not worried that the same will happen to us?” he asked. Kara nodded and took a second to think.

“A big part of Krypton’s fate can be attributed to overreach and overambition, failing to see their own shortcomings,” said Kara, trying her best to remain centred as she spoke. “We were great innovators, but we did not see the danger until it was too late. I aim to introduce the right technology for Earth at a gradual rate, addressing specific issues with specialised tools, not to flood the market with superfluous technology.”

It hurt to frame her planet’s demise so callously, but she needed to make it clear to the people of Earth that she recognised Krypton’s mistakes and vowed to never allow them to repeat themselves.

“Why not just give us the technology?” asked another reporter, a slender woman with a dirty blonde bob and bright red lips, wearing a navy blue suit.

“There are endless files that I currently need to sift through in order to begin operations at ARGO Solutions,” said Kara, earnest in her words. “If I were simply to give it over, it would flood the world with technology that even I don’t know the full extent of. By creating this company, not only do I aim to extend an olive branch to other Earth companies — to use an Earth saying — but also governments that I could contract to in order to seamlessly implement any products that we develop here at ARGO. I would like to retain my holdings on this technology while allowing monitored access to what we truly need to develop.”

“Who are you to decide what problems need solving?” asked the same woman. Kara gave a tight-lipped smile.

“This is my technology, engineered and created by my people,” said Kara, taking a moment to breathe deeply and formulate a better response. “But I am not the only decision maker. In the last few months, I’ve been assessing candidates for high-level positions to advise me on what projects to undertake. The issues I mentioned before are the highest priority for me, right now.”

Kara’s heart began to race, the crowd’s unceasing noise finally getting to her. All she had to do was answer a few more questions and leave, to finally be able to start her journey in full.

“What about being a hero?” asked a younger man, seemingly new to his position as a reporter. He fumbled with his phone in his hands, jostled by the crowd around him, the strap of his satchel bag tugging down on his shoulder. “Will you remain as Superwoman while running this company?” Kara offered a smile, betraying the mild frustration that arose.

“I was never Superwoman,” she said, her words sharp and quick. “Superhero work is not what I’m here to do. I’m a scientist first and foremost.” She caught the callousness at the end of her words, quickly turning to correct herself. “Of course, that doesn’t mean that I won’t use my powers to help those in need, but it’s not my primary focus. The Super- name belongs to my cousin, the original Superman, and his son, the new Superman. I’m honoured to be their family, but I am Kara Zor-El, not a Superwoman.”

“How will you develop your technology?” asked a shorter woman with flowing brown hair in a grey suit. It was the last question Kara was willing to answer, and she was glad that it was a subject she was actually interested in talking about.

“With the team of specialists I am looking to recruit, as well as utilising grants from National City and any investors that would like to become involved in ARGO,” Kara said, scanning the crowd. There were no major reactions, though she heard shifting from the armed red-haired woman and the brown-haired woman in the leather jacket. “We’ll begin with researching sustainable methods to adapt Kryptonian schematics with the resources available on Earth — a lot of the materials we used are not present here. From there, we will approach or be approached by interested parties to assess what needs to be addressed and which plans suit their needs best. We-”

“Will you be developing weapons?” called a familiar voice. Kara’s mood immediately shifted as she locked eyes with the red-haired woman, numerous voices rising from an earpiece she wore. The crowd quieted immediately as Kara’s face dropped into what appeared to be a scowl, unsure of being next to a Kryptonian who was clearly showing some form of anger.

“Absolutely not,” said Kara, her voice firm and her words clear. “I promise, right now, that ARGO Solutions will never even consider developing a piece of technology that could deliberately cause harm to any living being. It goes against everything I and my company stand for.” The crowd remained quiet, all turning to face the red-haired woman for a few moments, before turning back to Kara and clamouring for more answers to their endless questions. “That will be all for now.”

Without any further words, Kara turned around and walked back into the office building where she had rented her laboratory. Though some of them were tempted, none followed her as the security guards stood by the front doors — the crowd seemingly forgetting Kara’s heritage, only stopping at the sight of a uniform — watching as the reporters and spectators dispersed over the next twenty-five minutes.

Later That Night…

“That went better than expected,” said Nia over the phone, speaking to Kara. “I’m surprised no one tried to ask you if you’d use your powers to strongarm clients.”

“Oh, they did,” Kara replied, sorting through a small pile of manila file folders, each containing details regarding applicants and assembled recruiting information that Nia had helped her assemble. Most of the candidates weren’t of note, except for two or three. “I just didn’t bother answering them, because it wouldn’t have been a pretty sight. How are things at National City News?”

“Good enough,” Nia replied, the ding of an elevator door on the other end of the line coming through as Nia walked out of the cabin and toward her apartment. “I’m not writing the story on ARGO, but I managed to talk down the guy who is from writing a smear piece.”

“A smear piece?” Kara asked. “What was there to smear, I said I wanted to help.”

“That’s what I led with when I spoke to him,” Nia said, slotting her keys into her apartment door. “He’s a bit of an oldhead, with the views to accompany it. Apparently he’s all cushy with the chief, so he gets the big stories.”

“At least I’m a big story,” Kara said to herself.

“The biggest,” said Nia, closing her apartment door behind her and setting down her satchel, laptop and notepads included inside. “You’ll be front page for a few weeks, at least.”

“But, wait, what about you?” asked Kara. “You’re a great journalist, why don’t you get big stories?”

“Because, despite my eleven months here, I’m still considered the new girl.” Nia, from the other end of the line, sighed deeply as she threw herself down on her couch. Kara, in her office, shuffled through more resumes and cover letters, each with more emphasis on the desire to work for a Kryptonian than any sort of interest in the goals of ARGO Solutions or representations of their past work.

“I’m sure they’ll start giving you the goods soon,” said Kara, smiling to herself. “Anyway, I have to go. I’m still drowning in paperwork, Rao have mercy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier, I could’ve come to help,” Nia said, holding Kara from hanging up for a few more moments.

“You’ve already done enough in helping me get all of this up and running, Nia,” said Kara. “I couldn’t possibly ask you to do any more.”

“You’re ignoring the fact that I would actually love to help you,” said Nia. “Besides, it’s a good distraction.” Nia’s voice was suddenly filled with a sombre tone as she sat back on her couch, reminded of her nightly curse.

“Still no clear dreams?” Kara asked after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

“No,” Nia sighed. “It shouldn’t be this hard to find one person, but…” Nia paused, unwilling to entertain the idea that both she and Kara had refused to put into words even once in the last year. “Um… Anyway. I’m sure she’ll turn up soon. You’ve gotta go, but don’t be afraid to call me if you need anything, be it awake or asleep.”

“Will do,” said Kara. “Same goes for you.” Their farewell was followed by the line cutting, Kara hanging up and placing her phone down on her desk. She stared at the seemingly endless stack of applications, exasperated in her lack of progress. Just as she began to sift through them once more, however, she heard a knock coming from the entrance to her new laboratory.

Furrowing her brow, she stood up slowly, confused at the appearance of someone so late at night. Using her x-ray vision — that she had only recently honed — she observed the visitor closely. There didn’t seem to be anything alarming about them; there were no weapons and their heart rate was exceedingly average, perhaps slightly lower. Walking out of her office, across the wide, spacious, empty lab, Kara opened the door and met the mystery visitor.

“Kara Zor-El,” said the woman. She was taller than Kara, even as she leaned on the mahogany cane at her side. Magenta hair against dark skin, the woman looked into Kara’s eyes with a smile and confidence that, through its radiance, even bolstered Kara’s own self-perception. This woman was magnetic. “I am Doctor Shay Veritas. I hear you need engineers, scientists, researchers, and everything in between.”

“Um…” Kara was at a loss for words. The woman spoke quickly, taking Kara by surprise as she spoke. Veritas reached into her jacket and pulled out a wide file folder, thicker than any of the ones on Kara’s new desk — perhaps thicker than a quarter of them combined.

“I have the expertise to fill those roles,” said Doctor Veritas with a sly smile. “Get back to me soon, will you? Neither of us has any time to waste.” Without any further words, Shay Veritas closed the door for Kara and walked away, leaving the Kryptonian woman in momentary shock, holding a thick document with endless accomplishments and proof of skill.

Who was Shay Veritas? Who was she to appear almost in the middle of night only to drop off a resume? Why was someone so accomplished interested in joining Kara’s company, with as little funding and experience as it had?

Perhaps Kara had to get in contact with the woman to find out the answers to her questions.

In a safehouse across the street from the new ARGO Solutions laboratory and offices, Alex Danvers watched through a thermal scanner as Kara Zor-El sat back down in her desk, throwing down a wide object onto the desk. Nothing eventful had happened in the hours that she’d been monitoring the Kryptonian after the press conference, she wondered if Kryptonians had the same reactions to sitting for hours unending as humans did. She certainly felt it in her legs, sitting for hours much like the woman she was watching.

Pressing record on her scanner as she stood up, Alex paced around the small motel-like room, stretching her legs and raising her arms over her head, feeling the tension in her muscles loosen ever so slightly. She took a deep breath as she pulled her phone out of her pocket, opening it to see that Linda hadn’t even read her message.

Will be out late, it read. Left some money to order pizza. Even as enticing as Alex could make it, Linda didn’t seem to acknowledge it. If she did, she didn’t do it by opening the message. Alex could only sigh, hoping that Linda had fed herself.

Walking into the bathroom, Alex ran the faucet and held her hand under the water as she waited for it to warm up, looking into the mirror at herself. Day in and day out, there didn’t seem to be anything new. She was thankful.

Despite that, she could still feel the palpable rage that had been directed at her when she asked Kara whether ARGO Solutions would be developing weapons. It was the question on everyone’s mind, one that the reporters seemed too afraid to ask. Alex, and the DEO as a whole, had to take her word that there would be no development of weapons. Kryptonian technology was still largely unknown, its theoretical power vied after by arms manufacturers like National City’s own Simon Tycho.

The anger still rang through her, the tension in her muscles still present, even hours later.

With warm water flowing, she leaned over the sink and wiped her face, hoping it would wake her up enough to keep her eyes on Kara for at least another hour. She wondered if the Kryptonian ever slept.

That thought was soon interrupted by the sound of a loud crash in the room, where her equipment was set up. Rushing out with her weapon pulled from her belt, she saw nothing but her thermal scanner in pieces on the floor, with a peculiar object sticking out of it. Upon closer inspection, Alex’s confusion got the better of her.

“Is that an arrow?”

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE FLASH

In On Two Fronts

Issue Thirty-Four: New Roots

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Predaplant

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Grace followed the assassin known as New Wave through the dimly lit corridors of the bar, her heart pounding against her ribcage. The clandestine path twisted and turned, ushering her into the hidden nerve centre of the underbelly of Central and Keystone Cities. The air was thick with tension and the murmur of hushed conversations.

The hidden chamber was a shadowy enclave, with low, ambient lighting casting long shadows across the room, giving the space an almost ethereal quality. The walls were adorned with intricate tapestries and various artefacts, each telling a story of control and dominance, reflecting the essence of the Network's operation.

In the centre of the room stood a large, ornate table, its surface cluttered with maps, documents, and digital devices - all tools of the trade for orchestrating the city's underworld activities. Around this table, the key players of the Network would convene, their positions echoing their roles within this clandestine organisation. Today, only one figure sat at the table, an older woman with dark lipstick who smiled as Grace looked upon her.

“This is Amunet Black,” said New Wave. “She helps grease the Network’s wheels.”

“Indeed,” replied Black. Her commanding presence filled the room, her eyes sharp, missing nothing.

“What am I doing here?” asked Grace, feeling the weight of both women’s eyes on her.

“You’re here to listen,” replied Black. “And learn.”

A silence swept across the room while Grace took a deep breath of apprehension. “... I’m listening.”

New Wave smiled and then began. “Decades ago, Gotham's mobsters had the city in a stranglehold. They rigged just about every system of government to create a system that would line their pockets, everyone else be damned,” she explained. “Batman dismantled that, and of course he needed to, but then look at the anarchy that followed. Before, they didn’t need to worry about a million and one separate threats, just a few big families. And look how far Gotham has fallen since. The Network works to prevent that here, by making sure crime has an infrastructure. And the boss wants to make sure it’s for the betterment of the city.”

Grace absorbed the chilling details of the Network's operation, her mind reeling from the implications. “So, you're telling me that every criminal in Central and Keystone has to get a green light from you before they make a move?” she asked, her voice a blend of disbelief at the sheer scale.

Amunet nodded. “Exactly. We provide the framework, the guidelines. It keeps the chaos at bay. Think of us as a regulatory body, ensuring that the criminal activities don't cross a line that would bring the Flash crashing down on all of us.”

“But how can you possibly oversee all of that?” Grace pressed, her brow furrowed in confusion. “It sounds like you're trying to herd cats.”

"That's where our enforcers come in," Amunet gestured towards New Wave, who stood with an air of quiet confidence. “Ms Jones here is one of our finest. They ensure compliance and deal with those who step out of line."

Grace's gaze shifted to New Wave. "And what happens to those who don't follow the rules?”

New Wave's expression hardened. "We have containment options, but most don't get that far. Dissent is usually shut down... more immediately."

The cold implication sent a shiver down Grace's spine.

Amunet interjected, “It's about maintaining order. The Flash can't be everywhere. We're filling a void, preventing the city from splitting at the seams.”

Grace wrestled with the information, her sense of morality clashing with the stark reality presented. “Then why am I still breathing? Why give me a tour instead of a bullet?”

Amunet leaned forward in her chair, her gaze piercing. “Our glorious leader sees potential in you, a reminder of someone from his past. He's offering you a chance to redefine your path.”

Grace felt the weight of the offer, a mix of opportunity and threat. "I'll need time to consider," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“We'll give you space to decide,” Amunet replied. “But don't take too long. The Network isn't a terribly patient organisation. You have to move fast to get by in these cities, after all.”

With a deep breath, Grace feigned a calm she didn't feel, nodding her understanding. As she exited the hideaway, the weight of her predicament settled heavily on her shoulders. The Network, with its iron grip on the city's underbelly, was not an ally but a new adversary. And as she stepped back into the night, the chilling realisation that she was now on their radar filled her with a dread she couldn't shake.

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Iris West stepped through the front door, greeted instantly by the tantalising aroma of spices and simmering sauces. The clatter of pots and pans resonated from the kitchen, mingling with the enticing scent to create a homely atmosphere that instantly eased the day's stress.

As the door slammed shut behind her, a voice called out from the kitchen. “Hey, Iris! Do we have any Greek yoghurt left?”

Curiosity piqued, Iris ventured toward the source of the culinary chaos. Barry was a whirlwind of activity amidst a landscape of culinary utensils and ingredients. He juggled tasks without need of his super speed, eyes darting between simmering pots and sizzling pans. Not that he made it look graceful.

“Do you need a hand with anything?” Iris inquired, leaning against the doorway to survey the controlled mayhem.

Barry, barely looking up from his meticulous stirring of a pot, replied in a flurry, “I could swear we had yoghurt. It's just—I need it for the chilli, and I can’t find it anywhere.” His words tumbled out in a rapid stream, his usual speedster efficiency translating awkwardly into his cooking endeavours.

“She's going to be here any minute,” Barry added, almost as an afterthought, his focus split.

Iris, intrigued, tilted her head. “Who is?”

“Patty,” Barry said, as if the context should have been obvious. “I invited her for dinner.”

Iris raised an eyebrow, a smile tugging at her lips. “That's news to me. I didn't realise you two were... you know, in a place to be having dinner.”

Barry paused, a spoon hovering mid-air. “I thought I mentioned it,” he said, his brow furrowing. “I wouldn't just invite someone over without telling you. Sorry, it's been a busy week.”

Before Iris could delve deeper into this revelation, the doorbell echoed through the house. With a resigned chuckle, she scooped up her laptop from the couch. “I'll leave you to it, then,” she said, her smile broadening. “I've got some work I can catch up on upstairs.”

Barry, a mixture of gratitude and nerves, nodded. “Thanks, Iris.”

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

In the modest, late night classroom of Central City Community College, Wally West sat among a diverse group of students, ranging from eager teenagers to those in their fifties. The physics professor, an enthusiastic middle-aged man with a penchant for illustrative storytelling, was deep into a lecture about resonant frequency and harmonics, using the infamous Tacoma Narrows Bridge as a prime example.

“As we see in the case of 'Galloping Gertie,' the bridge began to oscillate in a sine wave due to mechanical resonance amplified by the wind's vibration,” the professor explained, his hands animating the air as if to mimic the bridge's undulations.

A few students raised their hands, their questions ranging from mildly off-topic to outright bewildering. “But could you surf on the wave if you were really on the bridge?” one student asked, earning a few chuckles.

Wally, his mind far from the simplicity of the classroom, couldn't help but feel detached. The pace of normal life seemed excruciatingly slow compared to the rapidity of his superhero existence. He had been gone from this time for so long, and now he was back… well, he wasn’t sure if he was happy or disappointed at how little his issues had changed. He still felt detached, still isolated, only now with more experience as a speedster under his belt. When the professor called on him, Wally snapped back to attention, answering succinctly. “The bridge's natural resonant frequency matched the frequency of the wind currents; that’s why it had such an effect on the bridge. Like pushing a kid on a swing at just the right time to send him soaring.”

“Excellent, Mr West,” the professor beamed. “Now, can you explain how this concept relates to harmonics?”

Wally paused, his expertise in speed not extending quite as far into this specific realm of physics. Before he could formulate an answer, another hand shot up.

A long-haired student, one Wally hadn't noticed before, spoke up. “In terms of harmonics, the bridge experienced a form of sympathetic vibration, where at a certain frequency, the oscillations intensified due to constructive interference.”

The professor nodded appreciatively. “Well said, Mr Rathaway. Would you care to elaborate on that with another example?”

Hartley's face lit up with enthusiasm. “Sure. It's like when an opera singer hits a note that's the natural resonant frequency of a glass. If you can get enough amplitude and the right frequency, it shatters."

After class, Wally gathered his books, his thoughts still lingering on the day's lesson and his own mixed-up feelings when Hartley approached him.

“Are you Wally West?” he asked.

Wally sighed, bracing for the usual superhero-related inquiries. “Yeah, I'm the Flash's nephew.”

“I care more that you’re Iris West’s nephew," Hartley said, his interest genuine. “I love her articles.”

The two walked down the bustling hallway, their conversation flowing more easily than Wally was used to. It was tricky coming back from the future to a time where tech and science was comparatively so primitive, but Hartley seemed to have a keen mind that would eventually put him far ahead of his contemporaries. “You know, I don’t know what you’re doing at community college,” said Wally. “Ever thought of applying to MIT?”

Hartley blushed. “I, er… did, and I got in. That’s the plan eventually, but not right now.”

Wally sensed an underlying story there but chose not to pry. Instead, he listened.

“Hey, I recently got my own apartment. I’m actually looking at throwing a party this weekend. You wouldn’t want to come, would you?”

Wally smiled. Things had been quiet lately, with not so many calls from Barry. The timing was perfect. “Sure.”

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

With dinner finished up, Barry and Patty had migrated to the couch, the remnants of their last course laid out on the coffee table before them. The plates were scraped clean, evidence of a meal thoroughly enjoyed, and the flickering light from the television cast a warm glow across their faces. Patty, spooning the last of her dessert into her mouth, sighed contentedly.

“Barry, this was wonderful,” she smiled, her eyes meeting his. “This whole evening has been... just lovely.”

Barry nodded, his smile reflecting the glow of the evening. “Yeah, it really has been.”

The room was filled with a comfortable silence, the kind that came when words were no longer necessary. They inched closer, their eyes locked, an unspoken accord guiding their movements. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, their lips met in a kiss that was tentative at the outset, then deepening - a vivid echo of their past intensity.

For Barry, the kiss was a poignant reminder of their younger days, of the rush of being a teenager in love, with all the time in the world and none of the burdens he carried now. It was a momentary escape, a return to a simpler time, and he revelled in it.

But then, the harsh buzz of his phone cut through the moment like a knife. Barry's heart sank as he reluctantly pulled away, the spell broken. He grabbed the device, his expression turning from one of annoyance to concern as he read the message displayed on the screen.

Patty, observing the change in Barry's demeanour, bit her lip, considering how she would ask what it was that surely needed the Flash’s attention. Would he even tell her? Then Barry looked up.

“It's from Tina,” he said, his mind already drifting off. “Someone's at the Speed Force Center. They need to talk to me.”

“Who is it?”

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

In the Speed Force Center, under blearing white lights, Grace Good shifted uncomfortably in her chair. Dr Tina McGee's presence, while not overtly hostile, exuded a caution that made Grace feel like an anomaly in this high-tech sanctum of science and heroism. They had exchanged a few words, the air thick with unspoken questions and judgments.

Their wait was abruptly cut short by the streak of orange lightning that heralded the Flash's arrival. Barry Allen materialised before them, his face set in a stern mask of duty and displeasure. With a nod, Dr McGee promptly exited, leaving Grace alone with the Scarlet Speedster.

“What is this about, Grace?” Barry's voice was terse, his impatience palpable in the charged atmosphere. “First the park, now this?”

Grace hesitated, gathering her courage. “I was going to come to your house, but I know how that could end. I don't want more trouble, Barry. But I have information you need.”

Barry waited a moment before replying. “Go on.”

“What do you know about the Network?”

“I've heard bits. They try to keep crime under a certain control,” Barry replied, still sceptical. “I know they have a strict code.”

“Do you know what they do to people who don’t follow that code?”

Barry didn’t respond.

“Whether you’re Network or not, if you wanna commit a crime in the Twin Cities, you need their say so, and you need to do it their way,” Grace explained. “The ones that go rogue, you pick up some of them. The rest… they send their enforcers after.”

Barry furrowed his brow. Clearly he didn’t know about their enforcers at all.

“They kill them, Flash!” Grace exclaimed. “Anyone who dares commit a crime that they aren’t pulling the strings of.”

The speedster before her looked positively horrified, but he wasn’t leaping to action like she expected. What was wrong?

“And on top of all of that, they sell and lease equipment and information to help avoid and neutralise… well… you,” she added. “They're why you're always a step behind. Why your job never ends.”

Barry absorbed her words, but his face didn’t betray any of his thoughts but his horror. “And why tell me this?” he probed.

“Because it's the right thing to do,” Grace insisted, her voice firm. “Because the Network is a blight on this city, and stopping them is your responsibility.”

Her words clearly moved Barry but his response was still slow. Carefully deliberated yet still unsure. “This city… it was hardly peaceful before the Network came along. If we get rid of them completely… is more collateral damage the answer?”

“I don’t believe this.”

“And how can I trust you, Grace?” the Flash added. “I know about your lapse at the jewellery store. Old habits die hard, I guess.”

Barry's question struck a nerve, igniting a fire in Grace's eyes.

“That was because of you!” she shot back, her anger boiling over. “You pried into my life, scared my employer, and I lost my job! You pushed me to desperation, Barry!”

Barry stood unmoved, his stance unwavering. “No matter the reason, Grace, the law is the law.”

Grace's retort was swift and sharp. “Hypocrite! You’re talking about overlooking the Network's horrible crimes because they make your job easier. Have you ever had to choose between the law and survival?”

Silence fell, heavy and uncomfortable. Barry had no answer, his silence an admission of his own untouched privilege.

The tension reached its peak when Barry, with a hint of regret in his eyes, finally spoke again. “I ought to arrest you,” he gritted his teeth. “But I won’t. Leave now. And remember, if you step out of line again, I'll be there.”

“And the Network?”

“I’m not done with them. But anything I will do has to be carefully thought out,” he explained. “I can’t risk plunging the cities into more chaos.”

Fury and confusion swirled within Grace as she stormed away from the Speed Force Center, her thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger and disappointment. The crisp night air did little to cool her heated emotions, and the city lights blurred past her in a haze of irritation.

Her brisk pace came to an abrupt halt when a voice pierced through her turbulent thoughts. Turning, she found herself facing an older man, leaning heavily on a cane, his silhouette outlined by a nearby street light. “Hey there!” His voice carried a note of genuine concern, yet Grace remained guarded.

“You look like a cop,” she remarked with caution.

The man chuckled softly, the sound oddly reassuring in the quiet night. His voice was gruff, but warm. “I am a cop. But I'm off duty now. Everything okay?”

Grace's instinct was to walk away, to leave this unexpected encounter behind and lose herself in the city's darkness. Yet, as he limped towards her until he stepped into the light, she caught off guard by the sincerity in his eyes.

“I know who you are, Grace Good,” he began, his tone serious yet not accusing. “And I believe you’ve had a run in with the Network, am I right?”

His knowledge of her recent actions unnerved her, yet his next words piqued her interest. “You came to let the Flash know all about it, didn't you? And I’m guessing you're not happy with his response.”

Grace's frustration bubbled to the surface, her voice laced with bitterness. “What do you know about it?”

“I've been aware of the Network's grip on this city for some time,” he explained. “The police... well, they're either too scared to act or worse, complicit.”

Grace's distrust wavered, replaced by a growing curiosity. “What's your angle in all this?”

A determined glint flashed in his eyes. “My name is Hunter Zolomon, and I'm assembling a group, Grace. A team dedicated to dismantling the Network and showing Central City that we don't need to rely on the Flash or anyone like him.”

“What kind of team?” she replied quickly.

He took a deep breath. “Do you remember the Rogues?”

####ZACHARY SNART in…

##Cold Turkey, Part Two

Three Years Ago

Zack engaged in a solitary act of chilling his Soder Cola with a subtle wave of his metahuman abilities. The frost that kissed the glass was a small comfort, a simple pleasure in a life fraught with complexity and shadows. No alcohol touched his lips, nor any other vice, just the cold fizz of soda as he revelled in the quiet anonymity of the secluded corner.

The bar's mellow hum was punctuated by the entrance of a familiar figure - Donald Hunt, Zack's surrogate brother and partner in crime. His arrival lit up the otherwise grey and drab room for Zack, who immediately leapt to his feet before Don could spot him. He moved quickly from his booth and pulled his comrade into a hearty embrace, welcoming him back to the world outside of Tinderland Pentientiary’s walls.

“It's great to have you back, Don,” Zack smiled. “Having some pull sure comes in handy, huh?”

Grinning, Don clapped Zack on the back, “You can say that again. It's good to be free, thanks to your friend.”

They settled into their seats, the weight of the world temporarily lifted by their reunion. Don, ever the man of action, didn't hesitate to dive into familiar territory. “So, what's the next move? What's our next job?” he inquired, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the life they led.

Zack paused, a question brewing in his mind that had long haunted the corners of his thoughts. “Why are we doing this, Don? Why did we become Captain Cold and Heat Wave?” He wasn't searching for the obvious answers but something deeper, a reason that transcended their circumstances and choices.

Don leaned back, considering the question. “The world spat us out," he replied, his tone reflective yet edged with a certain defiance. “Now we get to spit back.”

“No, it’s not just that,” Zack pressed further. “But why these names? Why embrace the legacies of the old Rogues? Especially when you know how I feel about my old man.”

There was a moment of clarity, a raw honesty, as Don admitted, “It's about making a statement, about taking control. And yeah, to get under your pop’s skin.”

Realisation dawned on Zack, a mixture of amusement and acceptance colouring his response. “A couple years ago, when he first got out, he told me he was done with Captain Cold. I thought that meant we could finally have a normal life.”

Don scoffed. What was ‘normal’?

“The fool I was, I didn’t see yet he was just trading one place in the criminal underworld for another,” Zack continued. “He had no intention of quitting, just shifted gears to something bigger, something worse.”

“He played you,” Don replied. “Well he’ll get what’s coming when it's Captain Cold that causes him a world of trouble.”

Zack sniggered. “You’re right.”

“Who do they think they are: ruling over crime!?” Don retorted, “Crime isn’t meant to be… constrained. If it was, it’d be legal. It’s meant to be chaos, something destructive, like fire.”

Zack nodded, his mind racing with the implications of their conversation. "He's built an empire, and as long as the Network stands, more kids will end up like us," he mused, the weight of his words heavy in the air.

“So what?” asked Don.

“I don’t know.” Zack threw up his hands. He had no plan, but plenty of fury.

“Well…” Don started cautiously before a wide grin spread across his face. “Sounds like you want to burn it all down,” he suggested, a spark of rebellion lighting in his eyes.

In that moment, Zack recognized the truth in Don's words, a clarity emerging from their shared discontent. “Yeah, maybe I do,” Zack admitted, and a brilliant idea began to take root.

Next: Lost clarity in The Flash #35

In just over two weeks, we'll be hitting five years of DCNext! In order to commemorate this special occasion, we're launching a new special event that is sure to change the lives of all of the heroes you have grown to love within our universe forever.

Please take a look!

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1WjnmyDW4gmK__vBd1RLhU1spBxTWSGgVtVbCZl81RB4/edit

Welcome back to DC Next! We hope you enjoyed the thrilling conclusion to our latest event, Heavy Metal! Just as it comes to a close, we're equally thrilled to see the return of Animal-Man/Swamp Thing to your screens! Finally, we're very excited to announce a super special event celebrating our many years of stories in a new special coming on April 1st!

We hope you enjoy what's coming!

April 3rd:

• The Flash #34
• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #17
• New Gotham Knights #5
• Shadowpact #12
• Suicide Squad #39

April 17th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #31
• I Am Batman #15
• The Linear Men #19
• The New Titans #8
• Nightwing #13
• Superman #23
• Wonder Women #50 - Delayed

DC Next Proudly Presents:

HEAVY METAL

Issue Six: Don’t Get Lost in Heaven

Story by: u/deadislandman1

Written by: u/deadislandman1

Edited by: u/ClaraEclair, u/AdamantAce, u/geography3, u/PatrollinTheMojave, and u/GemlinTheGremlin

————————————————

“Why?”

Clifford Devoe stared at the cast of heroes across the room, a mix of immense fury, potent confusion, and unrestrained heartbreak on his face. Sweat ran down his brow, dripping from his chin. His buttoned up shirt, so clean, well ironed, and smelling of apricots, had become wrinkled and drenched, with pools of liquid ruining the areas around his armpits. His hands opened and closed slowly, balling up into fists before relaxing, though no tension seemed to be lost. He was shaking, trying to hold the intensity of his emotions in.

Devoe scanned the room, counting the heads. Cassandra Cain watched Devoe carefully, reading his every move. Jean-Paul’s knuckles were already white, his fists at his sides as he fought himself to keep his anger in check. Clifford stared at Devoe despondently, confused and clearly still reckoning with the reality of where he was. The Victor AI, his own creation, supported the weakened Cyborg, doing his best to make sure the hero didn’t fall and hurt himself. Gar tried to watch everyone, gauging who would act first and how to minimize damage.

Shuddering, Devoe screamed again, “Why?!”

Gar shook his head, “Um…shouldn’t we be asking you that dude?”

Clifford nodded, “You stuffed all of us in this…this machine. What do you have to gain from doing that? If you wanted any of us out of the way, wouldn’t you just kill us?”

“Kill you? No no, I would never want to—” Devoe sighed, his rage simmering down. Turning away from the heroes, he wiped the sweat from his face before looking out at the rest of the city. “I…I wanted to save you.”

The heroes looked at each other in confusion. Cassandra stepped forward, “ How is this…saving us?”

Devoe took a deep breath, looking up from the city towards the sky, “When I set a plan in motion years ago, I never imagined that this would be what it became. Decades ago, I was locked in combat with the Flash, the first one. He managed to trap me outside of physical reality, but with the Metal in my hands, I had planned to take my revenge on him. Even after he passed, I still had his successors who I could ruin, could destroy!”

The villain began to pace back and forth along the window. “So I engineered a plan. I took advantage of the grief of a man who had lost his son in Coast City’s destruction, Silas Stone. He believed he was creating a suitable replica of his son, but in truth he was building my vessel back to the physical world.” Devoe looked to Cyborg, who could only glare at him through his exhausted state. Devoe continued. “Of course, Silas caught on, and hid my vessel from me. I wished to glean the vessel’s location from him, so I brought him here, and made my mind one with his, cracking him open like a crab.”

Devoe exhaled, staring down at his wrinkled hands, “And that’s when everything changed. I felt his grief, his monumental sadness. Fusing with him…rubbed his despair into me, imparted itself permanently into my psyche. I saw everything differently from then on, understood everything differently. I knew then that ruining the Flash was not something I wanted to do anymore.”

Devoe closed his hands back into fists, “I wanted to create a world where nobody could feel the kind of pain Silas was going through. I wanted to create a world where…where people would not have to experience pain, or grief. A world where bad things could not happen, could not fundamentally ruin lives or change people for the worst. I wanted to create a perfect world where everyone could have perfect lives…free of hurt.”

Devoe turned to the rest of the room, regarding the heroes, “And so I did it. I could not test it on just myself though, I needed a group of subjects whose lives have been ruined by tragedy. I found that in all of you. You became my test subjects, leading perfect lives in my perfect world.”

Devoe looked to Cassandra, “A world where…you were not forced to become a weapon against your very nature.”

He then looked to Jean-Paul, “A world where someone who is never fulfilled can finally fill the void in their heart.”

His gaze shifted to Gar, “A world where you did not have to feel the responsibility of lifting others up amidst your own struggles.”

Finally, he turned to Clifford, “And a world where your mistakes do not stick to you like the mark of shame they have.”

Devoe then began to breathe faster, throwing his hands to his side, “And then you ruined everything! You threw your perfect lives away, and for what?! For a harsh world that doesn’t care for you?”

The heroes looked at each other in astonishment. They couldn’t decide whether Devoe’s plan was less sinister than what they had imagined, or an entirely new level of sinister. After a moment, Jean-Paul seemed to have an epiphany of sorts, “At least that world is real.”

Devoe glared at Jean-Paul, “What do you mean?! What makes my world any less real than the old one? I worked to replicated every sensation, every possible thing you could-”

“This place…it’s fake.” Cassandra said, also stepping forward to build on Jean-Paul. “Always a cheap copy.”

“Yeah! When bad things happen it can be rough but…it also shapes us into who we are. Life’s a whole milkshake of experiences.” Gar said. “I mean, I’d love it if my milkshakes never spilled and stuff but…you roll with the punches.”

Cyborg grunted, finding the strength to stand tall without Victor’s help, “Devoe…life is unpredictable, I know that better than anyone, but you have to realize that what you’ve made…it’s inauthentic. Sometimes pain is needless…sometimes people make mistakes that they can never take back…but nobody ever got better by pretending it didn’t exist. This whole thing…it was doomed to fail.”

Devoe stared at Cyborg before shaking his head, “No….no no no! It was not doomed to fail! It only failed because of him!” Devoe pointed an accusatory finger at Victor, who refused to flinch in the face of his creator. “He led you all astray! He hacked my system! Without him, none of you would be here!”

For a moment, the room was silent, contemplating the veracity of Devoe’s point. However, this was soon interrupted by Victor, who stepped well in front of the group to face Devoe, “Are you sure about that?”

Devoe said nothing, yet it was clear from the look in his eyes that he was trying to burn a hole through his former creation’s head. Victor stared back defiantly, “What Gar and I did? It might’ve sped things up, but them?” He pointed at the rest of the heroes, regarding Cassandra, Jean-Paul, and Clifford in equal measure. “They were still always destined to figure things out. We planted some obvious things, but they had their doubts already. Cass was figuring out that she was a prodigy fighter. Clifford was questioning how he could’ve gotten to becoming a hero without a mistake, Jean-Paul was happy but knew he hadn’t earned that happiness. Hell, Gar figured out the truth damn near instantly. They were onto your system, Devoe. They were destined to get to the truth, one way or the other.”

Victor stepped up to Devoe, getting into his face, “But do you wanna know what my biggest example is?”

Devoe looked as if he was about to explode, coldly replying, “Please…enlighten me…”

Victor smiled, “He’s standing right in front of me.”

Victor stepped away from Devoe, taking in his puzzled face. For a moment, Devoe could not understand why Victor considered him the best example for his point, but slowly, Devoe’s expression morphed from confusion to utter horror. He opened his mouth to shout…yet the pained yowl died halfway up his throat. His breathing became shaky as he stumbled back, mouth agape. Victor crossed his arms, “You put yourself in your own system to prove it worked, but even you knew something was up. We didn’t nudge you in the slightest, and yet here you are. Your system didn’t work, not on them…and not on you.”

Devoe shrank away from Victor, having been thrown into complete turmoil over the failures of his system. Falling to his knees, he continued to shake, like a dog who had been beaten into submission. Victor stood over Devoe, feeling a sense of catharsis in the act of striking at the heart of the man who created him solely to use him for his own purposes. However, as Devoe began to sink further into despair, Cyborg stepped forward, passing Victor and taking a knee next to the person who he had also come to understand was his creator.

“Devoe…Devoe!”

Devoe’s shaking began to slow as he looked at Cyborg. Cyborg took a deep breath, “Listen to me. I’ve been through the wringer…you’ve put me through the wringer. My life and my own perception of who I am have changed and changed so many times in the last few years, and most of that change wasn’t pleasant. I felt fake, useless, scared, angry. I felt a lot of things.” Cyborg put his hand on Devoe. “But even with all of that. I kept going. I knew that even though everything changed…I was still there…still me. I faced the demons I had and that gave me the closest thing to closure I could get. Trust me when I say that I never would’ve had that closure by ignoring what happened to me. This system…that’s all it’s doing. It’s hiding the things people need to face, so that they can grow, keep living their lives on their terms instead of what you think is best for them.”

Standing up, Cyborg offered Devoe a hand, “I know you weren’t trying to hurt us. I know that you feel lost, but you won’t find your way here. You’ll find it out in the real world…with the rest of us.”

The rest of the group looked at each other with unease. After everything Devoe had done, Cyborg wasn’t looking to get back at him. Cassandra looked unsure of the outcome, yet she knew that Devoe’s hurt could only be soothed by facing it. Jean-Paul felt the same, his righteous fury tempered by the teachings of forgiveness he had been internalizing for years. Clifford could not decide whether to be confused or angry, but at the end of the day everyone here was tired, and if they didn’t have to fight Devoe, he’d definitely like that better than the alternative. Gar and Victor watched with bated breath, keeping their eyes on Cyborg and Devoe respectively.

Devoe looked at Cyborg’s hand, then back at him, “You would…forgive me?”

Cyborg shook his head, “You’ve still hurt people, and you’ve left scars on me that’ll follow me for forever. You have to take responsibility for what you’ve done.” Cyborg grimaced. “But…as tough as it would be, if you accept what you’ve done, accept that you’ve hurt people and do what needs to be done to atone…I would try to find the strength...”

“To do what?”

“To forgive you.”

Devoe looked at Cyborg’s hand, paralyzed by the choice laid before him. As moments passed, he looked back at everything he had done, everything he was, and every event that had led up to this moment. He had allowed his ego to drive him for so long, and this time, even though he had changed, even though he had decided to motivate himself through a desire to help people, it had all gone wrong anyways. Devoe’s gaze shifted from the hand to the people behind Cyborg, the people he had hurt, then back to Cyborg.

And then it hit him, the reality of it all. The flaws in their arguments. Their views were tainted, tainted by what they had lived rather than what they could have lived. Slapping Victor’s hand away, he let out an angry “No!” before his entire body was enveloped by a harsh green light. Cyborg was thrown back, tumbling into the rest of the group as everyone took on fighting positions. Now a metal face with a body made up of green binary sequences, the Thinker grew five times in size, instantly dwarfing everyone in the room before lashing out at Victor with his massive arm. Clifford threw himself at Victor, knocking him out of the way and taking the blow himself. He sailed across the room before crashing against the wall, at which point he fell to the ground in a crumpled, dazed mess.

The Thinker waved his hands at the group,* “Insolent fools, all of you! You have never known a perfect world, nor have I! We are painted by our biases, and our experiences cannot be relied upon as a result! I may have given up administrative privileges to truly test this place, but that will not stop me! I will worm my way into the source code, I will burn this place to the ground, and I will build this place up again from the ashes! I will iterate, I will retain power, and I will show all of you the truth! You will not leave, and if you choose to foolishly fight against a life in paradise…I will make you stay!”

Thinker scanned the group, “So…will you listen to reason…or must this be difficult?”

Gar glanced back at Clifford, who was still rocked by the attack. Victor instinctively put himself between Cyborg and Thinker, hoping to shield the hero from any harm. Jean-Paul and Cassandra looked to each other, silently acknowledging that this situation was only going to go one way. Thinker acknowledged the silence that followed his inquiry, understanding with perfect clarity what everyone’s answer was, “Then let’s get this over with!”

Thinker lunged for Victor yet again, only for Cassandra to leap in, striking the hand in precisely the right spot to make the villain flinch. As the giant figure of binary recoiled, Jean-Paul raced along the terrifying machine that had held Cyborg, grabbing a pipe sticking out and ripping it out. Holding it the same way he would hold a blade, he sprinted towards Thinker, who attempted to bring his fist down on the man. Jean-Paul dodged to the side, avoiding chunks of metal from the crater in the spot he used to occupy. He then leapt onto Thinker’s arm, running along its length as Thinker rose, putting further distance between Jean-Paul and the ground. The roof of the room seemed to grow to accommodate Thinker, yet Jean-Paul was undeterred.

“I gave you the best life you could ever have, Jean-Paul! Why throw it away?” Thinker growled. “For more guilt?”

“Everyone on Earth has sins, Devoe! We all carry their weight,” Jean-Paul declared. “It is only through our life beyond our sins that we might redeem ourselves, and so enter Heaven. You have made a farce, a false paradise on Earth. It is an affront to God, and an affront to everything I believe in!”

Thinker attempted to smash Jean-Paul with his other hand, yet Jean-Paul rolled forward, avoiding it like a fly narrowly avoiding a swatting. He moved faster, the pipe high above his head, “If I am to find paradise, I will do it correctly, and I will not be tempted by anything less!”

Leaping over Thinker’s shoulder, Jean-Paul struck the villain across his metal face. Thinker grunted in pain, stumbling back as Jean-Paul fell towards one of the walls, using the pipe to puncture the surface and create a makeshift ledge for him to hang from.

Meanwhile, Gar rushed over to Clifford, helping the young hero to his feet, “You okay dude? That was a pretty gnarly—”

“I’m good! Just gotta…shake it off.” Clifford rubbed his temple, his vision clearing. He looked up, spotting Jean-Paul in his predicament. Gar followed his gaze, seeing the same thing. Thinker, recovering from the attack, was beginning to march towards Jean-Paul, hands formed into fists. Gar looked back at Clifford, “Pincer maneuver?”

“We both have the same understanding of that, right?”

Gar shrugged, “Maybe, but whatever we do’ll probably hurt.”

Clifford nodded, then turned his attention towards Thinker. Summoning the flight capabilities of a hummingbird, he flew towards Thinker, crossing directly in front of the villain’s face to catch his attention. Thinker swiped at Clifford, trying desperately to knock him out of the air, yet every attack was met with failure as Clifford zigged and zagged, taking advantage of the hummingbird’s ability to change directions in under a second.

“Why do you continue to struggle, Clifford? You want to retain your failures, retain the fact that you’ve left a legacy of blood in your wake?!” Thinker shouted.

“My legacy’s not written til I’m in the ground, Devoe!” Clifford said.

On the ground, Gar raced towards one of Thinker’s feet, charging in the form of a rhinoceros, Thinker turned to face Gar, putting him in position for the pincer maneuver. Gar shouted, “We are who we are because of our wins and losses—”

“—And we wouldn’t have it any other way!” Clifford proclaimed. He then flew towards the back of the distracted Thinker’s head, somersaulting before hitting the villain in the base of his metal head with a dropkick. Thinker let out an echoey “Graaaah!” as he stumbled forward, allowing Gar to crash against his foot, taking what balance he had left away. Thinker crashed to the floor, the damage on his body becoming apparent. He was beginning to bleed numbers, beginning to shrink in size.

Eventually, he was able to collect himself, now twice the size of the average man, but before he could retaliate against his attackers, Cassandra slid between his legs from the back to the front, surprising him before she jumped up, hitting him in a dozen or so spots on his body in less than a second. Yowling in pain, he attempted to kick Cassandra in the chest, but such a brazen attack was easily avoided, especially by a master of combat.

“Hrrnnn, you would take back your lack of a childhood, take back the fact that you grew up miserable and abused, and for what? It’s the source of why you hurt!” Thinker pleaded.

“Because I would not be me.” Cassandra dodged another attack from Thinker. “You think we are doomed by our past, but you are wrong.”

Thinker swung again, and this time Cassandra caught Thinker’s wrist, moving at the same time to take advantage of Thinker’s momentum. “We face pain and make our choice.!”In one fluid motion, Cassandra flipped Thinker over her shoulder, causing him to crash against the floor. “I would never change mine.”

He was almost at a normal size now, yet he wasn’t finished. Standing up, Thinker began to swing wildly at nobody in particular, flailing for any sort of control in the situation. After many swings, he was finally stopped by Victor, who didn’t even bother waiting for him to start talking. Thinker’s face was met by a digital fist, sending him reeling back as Victor marched after him, “You made me to be someone else’s cage…and now I’m free. You’re never going to take that from me…never!”

Thinker gritted his teeth, “I WILL UNMAKE YOU!”

The villain swung back, only for his fist to be blocked, held captive as Cyborg caught the attack halfway through its arc. Thinker struggled against Victor’s grip, and to his surprise, he found some of the binary code, some of the energy in his body…it was beginning to fade, transferred into the metal form of Cyborg.

“What….how….how are you—”

“You made me a part of the system, Devoe. And that means I’ve got certain privileges that you threw away. Without the bindings to hold me down, I’m free to use them on anybody, including you!” Cyborg pushed Thinker back. “Despite all the bumps, despite the fact that you used me…twice, despite the fact that it seemed like my problems would never end...I survived. I endured…and I did it because I have people who rely on me, who care about me, who have my back!”

Cyborg twisted Thinker’s hand, forcing the villain to one knee, “Even if they’re not next to me right now…they’re still a part of me, of my head, my heart…and my goddamn soul. They’ll keep me going ‘till the world ends…and it’s because of them that I know that you don’t define how I am who I am…I do!”

And with that, Cyborg took one last surge of energy from Thinker, rendering the villain powerless and unconscious. As his form slumped against the floor, Cyborg breathed a sigh of relief while the others gathered around him.

“Is…is it over?” Clifford asked.

“It would appear so.” Jean-Paul remarked.

“Nice, now uh…how are we getting out of here?” Gar inquired.

Cyborg looked towards the chair, “The bindings kept me locked down but…that chair also connected me to the rest of the system. If I can use that to rip through the code, I can force an emergency shutdown, turn everything off.”

“And then we’ll be free?” Cassandra asked.

“Devoe didn’t want any of us dead. He’d have a failsafe that sends us back to our bodies, I’m sure of it.” Cyborg stepped into the chair, looking at everyone expectantly. “Hang tight everyone…this might get messy.”

The rest of the group nodded, then braced in whatever ways they could. Before Cyborg could initiate the shutdown, Victor placed a hand on his copy’s shoulder, “Wait…before you do that…what’s gonna happen to me once this whole thing collapses?”

Cyborg looked to Victor, and rather than wearing a solemn frown, he instead winked, “Trust me, Victor. Just trust me.”

Victor looked uneasy…yet the warm tone his mirror image excluded was able to calm his nerves. He stepped back, closing his eyes in preparation for whatever was coming. Cyborg took a deep breath before taking one last look at everyone here. It was all on him now to get everyone out, and so with a flick of his finger and a fired neuron in his brain, everything went white for everyone.

—------

One Week Later.

“Cheers everyone!”

“Cheers!”

The heroes clinked their glasses together within the bustling Detroit bar, each drink holding a different liquid inside. Clifford enjoyed an ice cold cola, while Cassandra partook in a glass of lemonade. Gar himself had a light beer in his hands, while Cyborg had a small glass of bourbon. Jean-Paul calmly sipped his tap water in his seat, happy to be here and out of the simulation.

On the other side of the table sat four figures familiar to Cyborg. The first was Michael Holt, philanthropist and formerly the hero Mr. Terrific, who held a gin and tonic in his hands. The second was Silas Stone, Cyborg’s scientist father who nursed a glass of whiskey. Xenophon “Exxy” Clark was the third person, drinking his piña colada just a little too quickly. Finally, the last of the group on that side was the hero Cindy Reynolds, also sipping out of a piña colada.

After Exxy finished downing his drink, he looked at the rest of the heroes, “So you guys were trapped in like, the Matrix? That’s some crazy shit!”

“I’m just glad you guys are alright! That could’ve been…really bad!” Cindy remarked.

“The fact that he took your body, son…we should’ve noticed.” Silas said.

Michael scowled, “You’re our friend, we know you. The fact that he just slipped under our noses like that-”

“Hey, c’mon! Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Cyborg said. “Everyone’s alright now, and even if he got away with it in the moment, he didn’t in the end, and now you guys will know to look out for this stuff!”

Exxy snorted, “Yeah, man, but…hopefully not. I don’t wanna have to think about which of my friends is an imposter all the time. Being paranoid is no good.”

The group laughed in agreement at the sentiment, and continued to enjoy themselves well into the night. Eventually, Cassandra checked her watch and got out of her seat. “I have to go, I have people waiting.”

“Sounds good!” Cindy said. “You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I have… realized things.” Cassandra said, pausing to think for a moment. “People don’t always make good choices when… bad things happen. I can help guide them.”

Cindy smiled, “That’s beautiful!”

Cassandra nodded, a smile of her own on her face. She didn’t say much else as she left. As Cassandra took her leave, Clifford watched her go out the door and climb onto her motorcycle, a contemplative expression on his face. He hadn’t quite parsed what kind of hero she was, but given her skillset, he had the impression that she was in the big leagues. As tantalizing as it was to ask her, Clifford realized that it was probably best not to pry. Even then, the events of last week had made him a lot more self-reflective as of late.

He had considered giving up his suit, giving up being a hero because he felt he didn’t deserve it, that it brought more harm than good. Working alongside these people, helping save them while they saved him…it made him realize there was hope for him yet, and a reason to keep trying. He’d make a good hero out of himself yet…he’d just have to work his way up there, taking his mistakes in stride to become the best version of him.

Jean-Paul observed Clifford as the boy reflected, finding humor in the fact that while Animal-Man was likely finding a catalyst for great change, Jean-Paul’s faith in his own principles had never been stronger. There may be times where he had wavered, where he stumbled, where he felt lost, but if this experience had taught him anything, it was that both God and his faith in himself would guide him to where he needed to be, no matter what.

Finally, for Gar, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He’d be reuniting with the (totally not) Doom Patrol soon, and with that, came a brand new awesome story to tell. With them he wasn’t hiding his struggles by being a friend like the Thinker had thought, he was only strengthened by having loved ones in his life. Things would happen, things would go wrong, and they always would, but nothing could change the fact that he loved this life to death, and he wouldn’t give it up for anything.

The bell above the door to the bar jingled, signaling the arrival of someone new. The heroes turned to find that it was Victor Stone who had entered, occupying his new robotic body. It wasn’t much more than an electrum frame with circuitry inside, but Victor didn’t seem to mind. He took a seat between Silas and Michael, prompting the former to smile and address him, “How’s the body treating you?”

“It’s…freeing.” Victor said, observing the gears within his fingers. “I’m so used to blipping around in the Metal that having to walk everywhere was a bit of a strange thing to get used to…but it has its own benefits. I can really…feel the world around me. It’s got its own beating heart in a way that’s different from the Metal. I like it.”

“Good! Good!” Silas said, pride on his face. “I um…I can’t say I expected you, Victor…expected you to cross over…but I couldn’t be happier about it. For as long as I’m here…this place is your home, and I’ll do everything I can to look after you…I promise.”

Victor shuddered, the emotion of Silas’s acceptance showing past his lack of real facial features, “Of course…thank you dad, I don’t know what I’d do if I ended up out in the wild.”

Victor then turned towards Cyborg, the two looking more like brothers than clones at this point. “I don’t know if you’re able to say but…where did you put Devoe?”

“I stuffed him in an external drive, that way he can’t cause any more trouble over the web. We put him somewhere safe, and I mean really safe,” Cyborg crossed his arms, “But enough about that! You’re here!”

Victor beamed, “Yeah…I am!”

Moving over to Victor, Cyborg pulled him up and gave him a crushing hug. After all the trials, all the times he was thrown into a meat grinder and chewed up, he had made it. He had friends, he had a family again, and even though he wasn’t the original Victor Stone, he had made a life all his own. No matter what the world threw at him…he was ready to face it with his people at his side.

They’d do it together, and why wouldn’t they? None of them would have it any other way.

—------

Deep within the House of Secrets, sitting on a shelf full of different magical artifacts, was a singular black box with a USB cord sticking out of it. It was a distinct item amongst the various grimoires and skulls sitting on the wooden panels, which was precisely why it was of such great interest to Vext. He had left the comfort of his armchair by the fire to stare at the device.

Such a small object held such a great mind. It intrigued Vext, but he also couldn’t exactly hold a conversation with Clifford Devoe in his current state. For a moment, he considered picking it up and plugging it into a phone or something similar that was unconnected to the internet. Instead, he retreated from the object entirely, “Nope! Nope! Not doing that.”

Electing to retire somewhere else, Vext shuffled towards the door to the room, leaving without another word. For the next few minutes, the room was quiet save for the flickering of the flames.

And then, with the flash of light, the hard drive disappeared from the shelf, there one moment…gone the next.

—------

Hey all! I wanted to put this Author’s note in to thank everyone for reading this event! For readers of Cyborg, this is the culmination of roughly 4 years of storytelling, and that’s a lot of years!!! While my time writing Victor Stone is over, the characters and those tales of adventure will stick with me forever! I hope you enjoyed the ride, because I certainly did!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE NEW TITANS

In Shadow of Kestrel

Issue Seven: Another Pyrrhic Victory

Written by AdamantAce & PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Recommended Reading:

• The New Teen Titans #8 - Pyrrhic Victory

The Titans had retreated to Slade's makeshift headquarters, the dusty loft in some quiet corner of the city. Their spirits were battered, their minds racing. Slade gritted his teeth as he bandaged his wounds, his hands moving with practised efficiency despite the visible strain.

“Let me help you with that,” Raven offered, her voice a soothing balm in the tense atmosphere. But Slade, ever the solitary warrior, resisted. He was intent on doing it himself.

For Raven, the room was a sensory nightmare. Her powers of supernatural empathy meant that everyone’s fraught emotions were pouring into her. Slade’s physical pain - which he did well to understate - mixed with Mar’i’s unease with Slade, Donna’s determined stoicism, Tim’s trepidation, and… a strange nervousness from Conner, as if he were waiting for the right moment to share something important. That was to say nothing of Raven’s own feelings of fear and overwhelm. She knew enough about the Teen Titans’ history to know that this threat was a personal one.

“That thing really did a number on you, Slade,” remarked Donna. “Even if you hide it well.”

And there was the acknowledgement. That thing. Their purple-clad taloned attacker. A familiar face in a very unfamiliar situation.

“We are in agreement, right?” spoke Tim, driving his staff into the ground to stand from his chair. “That thing was Hank Hall.”

And the room shifted all at once, as if everyone else was waiting for someone to say it first.

“If it was, then why is he back?” asked Conner.

“And why is he trying to kill us?” added Mar’i right after.

Conner looked across the room to Donna and took a deep breath before speaking again. “And doesn’t this remind you of something?”

Just then, the door teetered open, and from behind it appeared Don Hall, death on his face. Raven’s heart sank as soon as she saw him, feeling his overpowering grief and misplaced guilt. But at the same time, something changed within her as the rest of the emotions warring for purchase in her mind seemed to fall away, muted. “Don?”

Slade’s eyes narrowed as he looked across to Donna, clearly displeased that she had shared the location of his hideaway with the former Teen Titan.

“Hi everyone,” said Don limply. The proper words didn’t exist. “I think I owe you all an explanation.”

Slade, Conner, and Tim all went to speak, their pent up confusion and frustration bubbling, threatening to disturb the fragile peace of the room. But before any of them could speak over the others, Raven felt their bubbling concerns melt away. What Don had to say was more important.

“That… wasn’t Hank,” Don began. “Not in the ways it matters.”

“This is to do with your hospital visit, isn’t it?” replied Conner. “Because you didn’t find a new Hawk.”

Raven could feel Conner’s emotions pushing against the aura of peace that Don emanated. Conner was responsible for Chicago’s safety, and clearly he felt Don had done something to jeopardise that.

“What is he talking about?” said Tim to Don. “‘Find a new Hawk?’”

“Let me explain,” replied Don. And they did. “Hank and I - Hawk and Dove - draw our powers from a Lords of Chaos and a Lord of Order, elemental manifestations of war of peace. T'Charr, the Lord of Chaos, and Terataya, the Lord of Order, were diametrically opposed in nature, but bound by a forbidden love. Together, they decided to try and prove to their respective kin that Order and Chaos could coexist, even complement each other. That’s why Hawk and Dove were created.”

Raven, her brow furrowed in concentration, absorbed the tale. “So, they serve no greater cause... just their concepts of order and chaos,” she mused, trying to understand the forces at play.

It was Donna that answered her, surprising everyone. “To the Lords, balance between Order and Chaos is crucial. Without it, there's only destruction or stagnation. T'Charr and Terataya's experiment wasn't just about proving their love; it was about demonstrating a fundamental universal truth.”

A moment later and it was no longer a surprise that Donna had tangled with Lords of Order and Chaos before.

“Most of them believe that balance can only be achieved if both sides commit to fighting to domination,” Don explained. “That if even part of one side isn’t going all out, the balance will be disrupted.”

Raven, her eyes reflecting a deep understanding, added, “So, when this balance is disrupted…”

“Yes,” Don confirmed, “when the balance is disrupted, Chaos or Order can become overwhelming. In Hank's case, without a counterbalance, he's lost to the Kestrel, a being of pure chaos, untempered by Dove's influence.”

“Just like what happened last time.” Conner felt a pit in his stomach as he looked between Don and Donna. “When Hank Hall died.”

Don hung his head in despair. “I was warned there would be consequences if I didn’t find someone to replace my brother as Hawk. Clearly something lost patience, and they found one for me. They brought him back to ‘restore balance’.”

“And what does that mean?” asked Tim. “Practically,” he added.

Don frowned and shook his head. “If I understand how things work - which I’d hope I do - I can only assume he’s here for me. There’s no way to restore my connection to Hank, which means the Kestrel is here to draw me out and… put an end to the Hawk and Dove experiment once and for all.”

“Well, we can’t risk this Kestrel using the city to get to you again,” Conner replied. “We need to get him somewhere we can deal with him away from civilians.”

“Right,” Don nodded. “I suppose I could always take a drive out into the boonies.”

“At what point do we call in the Justice Legion?” asked Raven.

“We can’t,” Conner replied. “The more fighters we have on the scene, the greater the risk of collateral damage.”

Raven hesitated, unsure of Conner’s conclusion. But then she looked down the line of her compatriots to see a sea of nodding heads.

“He’s right,” said Slade. “As much as it’d be great to just dogpile him.”

“Then what do we have?” asked Tim.

“Well,” Don replied, “My Dove powers should be able to weaken him slightly, counteract some of his chaos energy. But I’m too out of practice for it to make too much difference.”

Suddenly, inspiration struck, and Donna’s face lit up. “I might have a better idea.”

Mar’i shifted in her seat. “Oh?”

“Kestrel’s a being of pure chaos Our dimension gets a lot of attention from the Lords of Chaos and Order, which keeps it in relative equilibrium, but Kestrel’s chaotic to such an extreme– well reality bends in his favor just to keep from ripping entirely.” Donna explained. “But if we can take him somewhere else, to a world where everything is chaos… well, it should be a fairer fight.”

Don replied, “You’re thinking—”

“Skartaris,” Donna nodded. “It’s another dimension. I was trapped there for years, as a girl. Everything is danger there, but it’ll make dealing with this Kestrel a lot less of a delicate operation.”

“That’s perfect!” Conner exclaimed. He turned to Raven, “I don’t suppose your magic could take us there, could it?”

“My power can do a lot of things. But not that.”

“No need,” Donna interjected back. “I already know there’s something we can use. An artefact; a golden mirror that works as a portal between our world and Skartaris. It’s under lock and key at the Atlantean embassy; they shouldn’t object to us borrowing it.”

“What makes you so confident?” asked Tim.

“Because I gave it to them.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

“Thanks for making the trip to the Battery on such short notice, Andy,” Donna said.

“You’re actually doing me a favour!“ The red-headed woman undid layer upon layer of cloth and plastic protecting the Atlantean artefact. “The embassy’s a madhouse right now.”

“Why’s that?” Raven asked. She leaned against a pillar in the center of Titans Towers’ common room.

Andy Dorrance popped her head back up and pulled a grimace. “Oh, uh… state secrets, sorry.”

“We understand,” said Tim. “Besides, we should discuss the plan. Tell me about this mirror.”

“Well, it’s a relic from the Atlantean diaspora, dated back to the eleventh century BCE,” Andy said. “It hasn’t had much attention from Atlantean archaeologists yet.”

“How come?” Conner smirked. “Big backlog of eleventh century artefacts?”

Andy quirked an eyebrow. “Another state secret… but more than you might expect. Atlantean mages have been making stuff like this basically forever.” With that, she undid the last strap holding a canvas tarp in place over the mirror. Andy gripped the tarp and pulled it aside, revealing a standing mirror made of pure gold. The metal was molded into a flowing, teardrop shape and glittering jewels were inset into the mirror’s frame every few inches.

“How does it work?” Mar’i asked.

Donna shrugged. “After I left New York, I hunted down rumors about a magical artefact tied to Skartaris. It grounded me, to have something physical related to my past. I’d spent too long dealing with… well, smoke and mirrors.”

“So you tracked down a mirror?” Conner said.

“It was more about the finding than the object, I guess. But if it’s anything like the artefacts I found in Skartaris, making use of it should be straightforward.” She approached the mirror and extended her hand towards, then into and past, its flawless surface. The mirror rippled like water.

“Down!” was all Don could shout before glass debris exploded through the room. Intense ringing filled Raven’s ears as she rubbed the dust from her eyes. She felt cuts along her legs pulsing with pain in rhythm with her heartbeat. The Kestrel’s sharpened, inhuman claws came into focus as she looked up, but the quick staccato of gunfire drew her eyes to Slade unloading a pistol into his chest.

It didn’t seem to faze Kestrel, who stalked past Raven to Don, still finding his feet after the explosion. Kestrel’s claw came down hard on Don. He managed to catch his former brother's razor-like claw in his hand, but the pained grimace on his face showed the defence had come at a cost. Raven grabbed the couch and used it to pull herself up in time to watch the claw work its way closer to Don’s head. His arms trembled under Kestrel’s terrible strength.

“Don!” Raven shouted, catching the attention of him and his attacker. The grinning maw of Kestrel showed an animalistic, adrenaline-fueled enjoyment of the melee. The smile soured as a gleaming sword shot through the common room, sinking deep into Kestrel’s side. Kestrel howled in pain and staggered back, giving Donna Troy the opening she needed to assault the monster. She grabbed the hilt of her sword and drove it deeper and steered him towards the mirror, catching a deep cut in her bicep as Kestrel flailed wildly.

Donna raised her boot and kicked Kestrel into the mirror, though his broad shoulders bumped against the frame, rattling it. Kestrel limply raised his head and summoned a breathy, misshaped word at great effort. “D-Danyah…” Donna took a single step forward, into Kestrel’s striking range. His mangled claw sunk into Donna’s side and he fell backwards through the portal, both of them disappearing to the sound of her anguished scream.

Raven’s eyes flicked up to the other Titans, most still recovering from the sudden shock. Raven caught her breath. “W-we need to go after her.” She felt the anger bubbling in her teammates. And the fear.

Tim flicked a piece of glass from his arm and helped Andy to her feet. “Raven’s right. Andy, let the Legion know what happened here.” With a nod from Andy, Tim stepped through the portal, followed by Mar’i, Conner, and Slade. Don and Raven were the last to step out of Manhattan and into the humid jungles of Skartaris.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Conner’s eyes flickered open to a world unlike any he had known. The air was thick with the musk of untamed wilderness, and vibrant flora stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun, hanging low and unyielding in the sky, cast a perpetual twilight over the land. This was Skartaris, a realm of chaos and wonder, far removed from the order of the world he was accustomed to.

Disoriented, he rose to his feet, his senses assaulted by the cacophony of distant roars and the rustle of unseen creatures. “Donna?” he called out, his voice swallowed by the dense foliage around him.

“I'm here,” came the calm reply. Donna Troy emerged from the underbrush, her demeanour unfazed by their alien surroundings. She was a vision of composure amidst the chaos, her experience with the otherworldly realm anchoring her in this moment of uncertainty. “Where are the others?” Conner asked.

Not a moment later, the ground trembled beneath their feet. A beast, colossal and seething with primal fury burst through the trees, its roars shaking the very air.

Conner tensed, feeling distinctly out of his element, but Donna's voice cut through his hesitation. “Stay close and follow my lead,” she instructed, her voice firm yet reassuring.

As the creature charged, Donna sprang into action, her movements precise as if rehearsed. She darted towards the beast, drawing its attention away from Conner. Seizing the opportunity, Conner closed the distance and rallied his fists against the creature’s underbelly with his super strength, softening its defences.

“Donna, now!” Conner cried, marking the culmination of their joint assault.

With a warrior's cry, Donna leaped onto the creature's back, her lasso glowing with an ethereal blue light. She wrapped it around the beast's massive neck, pulling with all her might. The creature buckled under the combined force of their attack and crashed to the ground with a thunderous roar.

As the dust settled, Raven descended from the skies, her presence a comforting shadow. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner,” she called. “But it looks like you had this covered. Where’s Kestrel?”

Conner approached the felled beast slowly. “Is it…?”

Donna joined him by the creature, her gaze softening. “In Skartaris, beings like this are manifestations of chaos energy. When they die, their essence returns to the land, recycled in the endless cycle of creation and destruction. It's the nature of this place. Along with aberrations in time. After we fell through the portal, I lost Kestrel in the jungle. I thought it would be better to wait here than pursue.”

“Wait?”

“All of that was a few hours ago for me. Like I said, time passes differently in Skartaris relative to Earth.”

Conner, still catching his breath, looked on in awe and contemplation. The laws of Skartaris were alien, its moral compass spinning wildly compared to his own.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

In a distant part of the same dense jungle, Slade navigated the underbrush with a tactical eye and an increasingly noticeable limp, using a retractable blade in his staff to bushwack a path forward. Don followed unsteadily a few paces behind, being much more conscious with where he was stepping. Slade had hunted and been hunted by plenty of magical creatures before, but never on their home turf. To say he was on high alert was an understatement.

Slade glanced at Don, noting the unease etched on the younger man's face. “So what are these powers of yours, then?” Slade inquired.

“What, you never crossed paths with Hawk and Dove in your world?” Don shouted forward.

When no reply came, Don fixed his gaze on the treacherous path ahead and nodded. “Hypervigilance to danger, enhanced senses, strength, durability, and an aura of peace. I… calm things down just by being around, I guess. Though, I've been told my powers might work differently in a ‘high magic land’. Never had the chance to find out before.”

After all he had been through, Don was rather reluctant to explore his powers. Slade didn’t share that reluctance. “Well, you'll wanna figure that out. Could be useful. And we need all the help we can get.”

Don sighed, the burden of his powers and the trauma associated with them casting a shadow over him. “My powers have always been a double-edged sword. You saw what Hawk’s powers can do.”

Slade observed Don for a moment. “I get it,” he said, his voice carrying an unexpected note of empathy. “But we might not have the luxury here of avoiding what makes us strong.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Tim and Mar'i’s progress through the jungle came from a contrasting combination of Mar'i's assertive use of starbolts to clear their path and Tim's cautious gaze directed towards the canopy above, searching for potential ambushes.

“Have you ever dealt with anything like this before?” Mar'i inquired, her voice cutting through the jungle's soundscape as she glanced back at Tim, who looked to be sweating profusely in his red and black costume.

“This is way beyond my usual beat,” Tim confessed, his eyes not leaving the treetops. He gestured broadly at the surrounding wilderness, encapsulating the vast unknown they faced.

“Well, you seem remarkably calm, all things considered,” Mar’i replied.

He took the comment in stride, “I'll take that as a compliment.”

Their conversation dwindled into silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Mar'i, while forging ahead, noted Tim's lack of curiosity about her own story - a rarity she found oddly comforting.

It was Mar'i's keen eyes that detected a slight disturbance ahead in the dense foliage. She motioned to Tim, and together they advanced, soon stumbling upon Slade and Don, who appeared equally relieved and surprised at their arrival. Their brief reunion was cut short as Conner and Donna burst through the undergrowth just the same.

“Well, at least that’s one problem sorted,” said Don, the group reunited. “But we’ve got to move quickly.”

“If we’ve all found each other, Kestrel can’t be far,” added Tim.

Turning to Donna, Slade spoke with a grudging respect. “Troy, you've navigated this land before. What's our next move?”

Without hesitation, Donna stepped forward, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “Follow me,” she commanded, leading them with a purposeful stride toward the jungle's edge.

As they emerged from the tropical jungle and onto the edge of a sheer cliff, a vast and resplendent city unfolded before them, its spires reaching toward the sky and streets bustling with activity, all enclosed behind a towering wall. Donna paused, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and confusion. “This... this was not here during my last visit.”

Some of the others looked at her with confusion.

“Skartaris' flow of time is unpredictable,” Donna explained. “The Mages of Thera described it as ‘reshaping like sands of a desert’."

Tim raised an eyebrow as a disturbing thought crossed his mind. He pushed it to the back, hoping he was wrong.

“So, now what?” asked Conner.

“Perhaps we can ask them,” Raven teased as she gestured to their flank, where a dozen city guards were now only moments away, their presence commanding with spears that bore an uncanny resemblance to rifles with bayonets. The group tensed, preparing themselves for the worst.

Before they could be arrested, Donna stepped forward. She recognised something about their strange weaponry and was willing to take a gamble for a chance for diplomacy. “We seek an audience with your king,” she called out.

The guards exchanged glances, then, with a nod from their leader, signalled for the group to follow.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The Skartaran city seemed to be in a constant war with the foliage. Everywhere the plant life wasn’t trimmed regularly, sprawling vines coiled up entire mudbrick buildings. Stone walls enriched the entire settlement. Tim made note of an archer in a green uniform every thirty feet or so along it. “What is this place?” He asked no-one in particular.

“New Shamballah. Golden City of the South.” One of the guards, a muscular woman in a similar green tunic said, her voice strangely unaccented. She led the Titans and Slade past a stone gate marked with a white star, into a part of the city that seemed to be ceded to the jungle. Enormous flowers bloomed in full technicolor and a pitcher plant the size of a minifridge was propped up on some kind of display.

“You understand us?” Slade asked. “Where…” He hacked a wet cough into his hand, then cleared his throat and continued, “Where are we?”

The guard frowned. “No more questions. You will wait here.” She barked a command in some unknown language.

“We’re in a royal garden. Skartarans rulers use them to display wealth.” Donna said.

“You seem calm about this.” Mar’i said.

“I’m starting to have an idea of what’s going on.”

“Fill us in?”

“Danyah!” A white-haired broad-shouldered man in a leather jerkin stepped into the garden, eliciting a bow from nearby guards. Silvery wings extended upward from his metal helmet. Donna’s face lit up with his arrival.

“Travis!” She embraced him with a warmth none had come to expect from the Titans’ combat trainer. “You’ve been busy!”

“One crisis led to another. The people of Shamballah Valley got tired of fetching me again and again.”

Slade scrutinised the barbarian. He looked like a retired olympian in a He-Man costume. “So instead you became their ruler.”

“Their protector. ‘Warlord’ is the official title, but there isn’t much out there to wage war against except the odd lizardman raiding party. Even then, drilling command & control goes a long way to saving lives. Most days, I fight so they don’t have to.” The Warlord smiled, “Travis Morgan, former NATO Air Command, presently Shamballah Defense Council.”

“Travis and I helped each other survive in the wilds of Skartaris. He’s half the reason I was able to defeat Garn last time.”

“And Danyah’s all the reason I survived a week past my plane crash.”

“NATO?” Slade took a sudden interest. “When’d you serve?”

“I got to Skartaris in ‘67, but Skartaran calendars don’t work the same. And I guess Danyah told you about the time dilation.” He paused. “Something important has brought you all here. What is it?”

“There’s a Chaos Lord after Don. It was using civilians to get to him on Earth. We thought we’d have an easier time taking him down in Skartaris,” Donna replied.

“Sorry to drop a problem on your lap. We weren’t planning on finding a city,” said Mar’i.

“We should probably get out of here soon. If Kestrel is smart enough to cause chaos in Chicago to get Don’s attention in New York, it’s just a matter of time before he’s on top of the city.”

Travis smirked. “Don’t worry! Shamballah’s walls have held off necromancers and tyrannosaurs! I’d be happy to help you deal with this Chaos Lord. Hah! The more things change…”

“I wouldn’t be so confident about your walls,” Slade said. “War has changed a lot since ‘67. So have you, from the looks of it. Kestrel tore through us. You’d be wise not to underestimate him.”

Travis narrowed his eyes. “You seem hurt. Maybe you should—”

He was interrupted by Raven clearing her throat. “Uh, guys. Is that smoke?” A black plume stretched up into the sky from the edge of the city.

Conner tensed up, “The city’s under attack.”

“We’ll catch up later.” Donna said. “Titans, Together!” She cried, launching into a sprint out of the gardens. The others followed quickly behind.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The golden-flecked walls of New Shamballah shook with the force of an earthquake each time Kestrel slammed his claws against them. Already, cracks spider-webbed up and down the Southern watchtower. Kestrel pushed his claws into the gap and tore out a chunk of rock, followed by another. With another solid hit, the watchtower wall was blown open just in time for Slade Wilson to step around the corner and unload a shotgun into Kestrel’s chest, knocking him back out of the wall. Kestrel rose to a knee in time for Slade’s sword to puncture his leg, pinning him to the ground.

“Now!” Slade shouted. Conner, Mar’i, and Donna flew over the wall above and a flurry of green starbolts rained down. Kestrel flailed, straining against the blade. Burnt splotches appeared in his purple raiment. Kestrel gripped the sword and unsheathed it from his calf, then flung it at Slade. The blade sunk deep into his torso. Slade coughed, spattering blood onto the moss. He staggered back, away from Kestrel who raised another claw in attack.

Conner bodychecked Kestrel into the wall. Bricks shook loose as he collided and tumbled into the mud below. It bought a few seconds for Don to slide down the walls and grab Slade. Tim fired a rappelling line to pull both of them out of Kestrel range while Conner took his pound of flesh. Kestrel’s head snapped from left to right with each hit Conner landed. He got confirmation of some effect when Kestrel spat out a mouthful of bloody teeth and caught Conner’s fist. Kestrel squeezed, sending jolts of pain up Conner’s arm with his magical strength. Just as Conner’s cries reached their crescendo, Donna leapt from the hole in the wall to drive her xiphos into Kestrel’s neck. The blade sunk four inches before hitting cartilage solid enough to keep Donna suspended in the air.

Kestrel gurgled blood, now flailing with no clear direction. Its arms wrapped around Donna in an embrace, squeezing her against the pommel of her blade and the jagged edges of Kestrel’s monstrous body. Donna’s bones cracked. With a ferocious roar, Donna jerked her sword like a lever, slicing open Kestrel’s windpipe and loosening his grip enough for her to fall limply to the ground. Blood trickled from a hilt-sized wound on her abdomen.

“Get her clear!” Atop the walls, Travis wheeled a huge wooden cart toting the signature six barrels of a rotary cannon. Conner swept Donna up in his arms and dove out of the way. The hum escalated into the buzz of 133 rounds per second. Kestrel spasmed as the heavy artillery shredded his already battered flesh. The goliath stumbled forward, then collapsed.

Travis barked an order in the unknown language and in a second, green-robed priests rushed out from the wall, each wielding an intricately-carved prayer idol. As they joined hands around Kestrel’s immobile body, a semi-translucent barrier of light formed around him. From the look of the laboured rise and fall of his chest, it seemed to restrain him.

“Did we do it?” Mar’i landed gently beside the priests.

“Donna! Donna!” Conner shouted, shaking her body. He looked up at the bloodied, fear-stricken faces of the Titans. “She doesn’t have a pulse. She’s—”

Tim spoke with sobering clarity. “She’s dead.”

Next: Mourn the dead in The New Titans #8

#Wonder Women

Issue Forty-Nine

Written by u/VoidKiller826

Edited by u/GemlinTheGremlin

Arc: Child of the Sky

*************************************************************

Gateway City:

{This is Cassandra Arnold from Gate News, and we are here live outside of SCYTHE HQ as an explosion rocked nearby homes just minutes ago!}

The ambulance drove through the busy streets of Gateway City, struggling to get through the crowd of cars. Inside, the paramedics worked to keep the injured Commander Hector Hall stable, hoping they'd reach Saint Elias Hospital in time before he bled out.

“Alright, keep it steady,” said the paramedic, putting the syringe through Hall’s arm, and noticed some difficulty. “Damn, is this guy’s skin tough.”

{We are still waiting for more information from any available SCYTHE representative, but as we are seeing from our news helicopter capturing what is happening up close!} The Ambulance radio played for all to hear while they worked on the unconscious Commander. {What are we seeing, Don?}

{Cassandra, I am not believing what I am seeing here,] began Don. [The SCYTHE prison complex famously housed every criminal caught in Gateway City, but now they all appear to be on the loose! Smoke is coming out of the building and I am seeing some SCYTHE soldiers fighting what appear to be… monsters. It’s a massacre!}

“Christ…” The paramedic muttered as he began to pull out the bandages. “More SCYTHE people will be piling on Saint Elias…”

“Sounds like it will be more than when they went to war against the Red Centipedes.”

“Yeah, hope they’ll be –HERK!”

Suddenly, Hector Hall’s hand shot out, grabbing the paramedic by the throat.

“Holy shit!” his partner jumped from his seat in fear. “He’s awake?!”

The paramedic that Hall had by the throat tried to pull away, but the injured Commander maintained his vice grip.

Calming himself down, Hall opened his eyes and took in his surroundings, finally aware of where he was. He turned to the paramedic, who flinched when their gaze met.

“Drive… to… SCYTHE…” he demanded, his voice hoarse - weak - but still had command behind it. “Now…”

Even while injured, Commander Hector Hall’s spirit remains strong.

*************************************************************

SCYTHE HQ:

“You’re supposed to be dead…”

Those were the first words that came out of Artemis of Bana-Mighdall’s mouth after the purple-haired woman who stood in front of her, wearing a ragged suit and high heels, introduced herself as Circe of Aeaea; the legendary figure who helped Odysseus in his journey, and later on, became the greatest threat Diana of Themyscira had ever faced - that was until their last battle ended with Diana killing Circe.

Or so said the tale of their epic battle.

“I see you desert cows heard of me,” Circe said in a mocking tone, putting her hands behind her back. “Honored to know that your temple whores in that desert city cared enough to know about me.”

Artemis did not need to speak to a Priestess of Thoth to confirm the truth or call the woman out for being a liar. She could see with her own two eyes, and she could feel deep within her soul, that this woman had a magical presence that felt powerful, and old, very old.

Not to mention, endless.

She was now learning another lesson; that any story or legend can be an over-exaggeration. Even when said stories are relating to someone as well-documented as Diana of Themyscira.

“And I see the stories about you having a tongue are true as well,” Artemis noted, keeping herself steady despite being heavily injured from her battles earlier that day. “Shame Diana did not cut it out when she cut you down.”

According to history, Circe and Diana’s last battle occurred on Themyscira in an epic clash nearly 50 years ago, where the Witch nearly opened Doom’s Gateway - an entrance that led to the underworld - as a last-ditch effort to not only kill Diana, but all of the Amazons on the island out of spite. But the Amazon warriors fought back against Circe’s army of monsters, and the battle was over when Diana finally put an end to their long, bloody, and bitter feud with a swing of her sword.

Circe laughed, amused. She then turned to the pile of unconscious convicts. She counted 50 of them - maybe more - and as they all lay on top of one another, Circe could hear some of them groaning in pain.

“I have to admit, I did not expect you to survive this long, Cow,” Circe noted, annoying Artemis. She had been calling Artemis nothing but a derogatory name, refusing to even acknowledge her as anything beyond an annoyance. “Thought you and the Commander would have gutted each other and given me more time to finish my plans,” she said, picking up a piece of rock and tossing it into the pile, a groan coming from somewhere within. “But I guess that’s why improvising exists.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Artemis sarcastically said. “Neither I nor the Commander are dead.”

“Right, I remember how you Amazons are very annoying to kill. Should have learned my lesson after your victory against Urzkataga’s pet, Briylant, and the idiots in the Centipedes,” said the Witch, sounding impressed that Artemis lived this long. “After that, I stopped betting on you living, and focused on finding other ways to… erase your existence… as a principle really, for thinking you can wear Diana’s title so proudly.”

She turned to Artemis, and her eyes glowed dangerously red, like a hunter looking at its prey. Artemis in turn glared back, but in the back of her mind, a realization hit her. Urzkartaga… the Red Centipedes… Byrna Brilyant…

“You’re the White Magician…” Artemis realized, tightening her grip around Mistress. “You sent the plant god. You started a war between SCYTHE and the Centipedes. You twisted Byrna Brilyant to be your weapon.” All so-called ‘victories’ for Circe - the realization infuriated Artemis.

“Oh, come now, I didn’t twist Brilyant. She was already angry after Cale botched her little science experiment years ago,” Circe defended herself. “All I did was guide her in the right direction, which wasn’t hard really.” She took a deep breath as if remembering something. “Revenge… can keep you going, focused when used correctly, and when you have a target to fulfill it.”

“Is that what all this is?” Artemis asked, her tone filled with anger. “Revenge on Diana and her legacy? Sending all your minions as a means to get revenge on us because you were never able to defeat her?” She then scoffed. “Are you trying to correct your failures through me?”

Circe burst into laughter. “Revenge through you? Please, you usurping fat cows. I have bigger people to dance over their graves than your insignificant existence,” she said. “If you live or die, nothing will change, not to me, or the world. Because you are nothing but a little pretender.”

“I’ve heard this before,” Artemis responded, her grip still firm on Mistress. “You are not the first to think less of me. And like those before you, your plans will fail.”

“As I said, you Amazons are annoying to kill, and you have proven to be quite the annoyance, so I’ll give you that.”

“Then all this chaos you brought, was for what exactly?” Artemis asked. She hoped she could at least try to understand her motive; if it is not just a vendetta against Wonder Woman, then what is it?

“Not like I would tell you, cow,” Circe chided, much to Artemis’ frustration. “But… because you’ve lived this long, what I will tell you is that this is related to Cassandra Sandsmark… and her destiny.”

Artemis' eyes widened.

“That girl has so much potential, but she wastes it by playing hero, flying around in this shithole of a city, happy to be in other people’s shadow like those pigs in her little Legion. he could be much better - much bigger.” The Witch grinned with glee before sighing. “Diana clipped her wings - made her think she is lesser to make sure she doesn’t become a threat.”

Artemis’s brows furrowed. A threat? What does that have to do with Cassandra being a threat?

“You speak as if Diana did her wrong when all she did was help her to be-”

“Don’t say *hero*,” Circe cut her off. “That disgusting word you and the other fools in that space station throw around thinking it means something. I know what a real hero is like, I’ve fought one who blindly believed they were right because a whore of a goddess decided that I am the enemy.”

“Diana did her duty in stopping you, for all the death and destruction you have brought in the world,” said Artemis.

“And she did so admirably, and she died, pathetically.” Circe stopped pacing and turned fully to face Artemis. “Now I will pick up what she should have done - making sure Cassandra Sandsmark will fulfill her destiny, willingly or not,” the Witch said. The Amazon was confused at what she meant; Circe explained further. “A Skyfather’s Child? The Fall of the Warrior Women? You know? The Godkiller?”

Artemis's eyes widened once more. She remembered those words from the oracle of her homeland. When she came and asked her about Cassandra's being Zeus's daughter, the oracle received a divine message of jumbled-up visions.

‘A Skyfather’s Child. The War Goddess. The Fall of the Warrior Women. She will bring the end. She will bring justice.’

She never took the oracle's words to heart - all she wanted was to confirm Cassandra’s divine parentage. Oracles tended to exaggerate their answers even in response to a simple question - that was Artemis’ understanding - but now Circe was telling her that nothing the Oracle said was an exaggeration.

“You lie,” Artemis said under her breath, angered at this revelation. “Cassandra is not the Godkiller. You are the one who was destined to destroy the Olympians, all the stories have said so.”

There was a change in Circe’s smile, a twitch, and then she lowered it into a snarl.

“Yes… my highest accomplishment, being called by Athena and her disgusting family as their supposed doom bringer,” she chided with venom under her breath. It shocked the Amazon to hear just how much hatred there was in her voice when she mentioned Athena, the Goddess of War and Wisdom of the Olympians; it angered her more than the mention of Diana. “The day I bring the Godkiller on their doorstep, I will revel in dancing over their corpses, and the corpses of everyone else who has wronged me.”

“All this chaos and destruction, was it because you felt wronged by the gods? By Diana?” Artemis cited, infuriated by such reasons. “Vengeance has consumed you - made you into the monster that I know you to be.”

“I am not looking for forgiveness. I am looking for…” Circe tried to look for the right word then widened her smile as she found it. “Justice.”

“You lost that right long ago, Circe,” Artemis proclaimed. Circe was once again mocking her, mocking her mission, mocking what they stand for. “And I will not let you twist Cassandra into a weapon just to dance over Diana’s legacy. I believe Cassandra would never fall to that level. She is stronger than that.”

“Is she now?” Circe laughed. “Darling, remember when I said revenge can keep you going?”

Artemis furrowed her brows, not liking where this was going.

“You obviously did not check on the Sandsmarks in the museum while you and the Commander had your little tussle,” Circe said, her smile returning. “Meeting that lovely family up close has been an exhilarating experience.”

Artemis felt her heart sink, fearing the worst. “What have you done?”

“Redecorate that propaganda of a monument, all those statues of Diana…” Circe stood in front of the Amazon, hands behind her back. The open gate behind her shone a light into the room, and a soft breeze brushed over them. “A temple of a dead woman, very Greek of you.”

“What. Have. You. Done?!” Artemis demanded, rage overcoming her.

“You’re a smart girl, cow,” Circe said. Finally - she had gotten the Amazon to lose her temper. “After what I did to her mother, it won’t be long before Cassandra will seek me out, with vengeance in mind and hatred in her heart–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Artemis was quickly at her side, swinging her ax with all her might. The speed with which she managed to close the distance between them shocked the Witch, not expecting such abilities from the Amazonian.

Artemis’ eyes were darkened, rage-filled, with deadly intent as she swung her battle ax, Mistress. Aiming to take Circe’s head off, clean or messy, it mattered little to the Amazon as in her mind; she knew the woman in front of her was not one she had to understand.

She knew a monster, and she knew she needed to be taken down.

A pillar of fire appeared from the ground, separating the Amazon and the Witch, stopping Artemis from attacking and forcing her to step back.

“You’re late,” Circe said, a small bead of sweat falling from her head, thinking she would have had to defend herself from Artemis’s attack. “My little priestess.”

As the fire cleared, Artemis saw Zara emerging from the shadows, bloody and covered in claw marks. The sight of the exiled Amazon made Artemis wince, and she felt her still-fresh burn marks tingling; it had only been a week since she and the Priestess of the Crimson Flames went toe to toe.

“Zara…” Artemis muttered the bald woman’s name.

“See in front of you, Amazon,” Circe began, standing beside the Priestess, cupping the woman’s cheek as if displaying her to Artemis. “Anitope’s sin come to life. the truth that your supposed Paradise is nothing more than a sham.”

“This changes nothing…” Artemis fixed her bandages, already feeling them slipping.

“Sister,” Zara greeted her with a cold tone, standing in front of Circe like some sort of shield. “You will not touch my master.”

“I do not aim to touch her,” Artemis gripped her ax and stood up. “I aim to take her head off!”

The two Amazons charged at each other, with Artemis swinging Mistress, already forgoing any sort of care for her fellow Amazon. Zara dodged the attack, using her flexibility and creativity to twist her limbs and slide under the sharp ax, letting it pass by her. As she reached behind Artemis, Zara flipped her legs up and unleashed a large torrent of flames, nearly catching Artemis and singeing some parts of her hair.

The two traded blows, each using their styles to their advantage. This time, with a more open arena, they had more freedom to try and beat the other senseless without any limits. Zara’s lethal kicks unleashed a torrent of flames after each strike, and Artemis used wide swings from Mistress in an attempt to defeat her fellow Amazon.

“Enough!” Artemis shouted.

A new strategy came to mind. Artemis took a step back to avoid a kick from Zara and, like before, a torrent of flames followed after - but instead of pulling further back, Artemis pushed forward. She spun her ax like a helicopter, faster and faster, building momentum until it was like a circle, shielding her from the powerful fires.

Pushing forward, Artemis’s ax continued to advance until she came close to Zara, slashing the Priestess across the chest and forcing her to step back. With the opening, Artemis stopped spinning, instead striking Zara with the butt end of Mistress, hitting her on the side of the head and sending her to a daze.

But instead of finishing the job, Artemis turned her attention to Circe, who was still standing motionless and watching the fight with amusement. Without wasting any more time, Artemis charged and jumped toward the Witch, Mistress once again being swung toward an opponent’s head.

Artemis was stopped, this time by a tall, muscular creature coming out from the open gate, leaping out and catching the Amazon. The creature pushed her away from the Witch, dropping her to the ground.

“You!” Using Mistress as a way to stop the creature from biting her head off, she spat out the name of the monster in anger. “Sebastian Ballesteros!”

The New Cheetah opened his jaw as he leaned over her, trying to bite Artemis’ face off, but she was able to hold him back with Mistress. His long teeth looked to be sharp, and his hunger appeared to be growing judging from the blood around his fur.

“Look at that!” Circe laughed, clapping her hands. “An old enemy coming back for revenge! Where have I seen that story before?”

Bite after bite, the Cheetah tried to catch the Amazon as she leaned her head away from his snarling mouth. Calming herself down, Artemis utilized her long, muscular legs by putting them under the Cheetah’s stomach and lifting him.

“Unlike everyone else, I don’t have to be afraid of cutting you down, beast!”

Artemis let go of Mistress, using one arm with all her Amazon strength to hold his jaw back. She threw the ax with her free hand, sending it through the air before calling it back. As the ax arched back, it came crashing down on the creature’s back, stabbing him.

Howling in pain, Sebastian stood up, getting off the Amazon as he tried to remove the ax that was stuck in his back, but his large arms and wide back made it difficult for him to reach and grab it.

Artemis seized the temporary opening, jumping over him and grabbing the handle of her ax. She yanked the weapon out of him before slashing down at the back of his legs, cutting his tendons. Then, she proceeded to bring her ax down on his neck.

‘He’ll survive…’ Artemis mumbled to herself as blood poured from the open wound. She was well aware that he had a healing factor that would help him survive even the worst of wounds, but that didn't mean it wouldn't hurt like hell.

Circe sighed as she watched Artemis. “Should have known to never rely on Urzkataga’s pet. More mindless beast than a useful weapon.”

Artemis heaved for breath, exhaling and inhaling. Exhaustion had already begun to set in, but she knew she needed to stop Circe here and now–

*COUGH COUGH*

As she took her first step, she felt a sharp pain all over her body, and she collapsed forwards. Landing on one knee, Artemis spat blood, already reaching her limit from all the fighting she had endured. In fact, she had yet to recover from her previous fights days ago.

Circe got down to her level as she gave her a look of amusement. “Is that it, cow?” She mocked, then moved a few steps back when Artemis tried to take a swing at her. “Come now, you can do better than that! I've seen Diana cut down an army of Underworld monsters just to get to me, and you can't even go through this?”

She leaned closer and whispered to the downed Amazon.

“Or maybe… Do you want to hear how I beat the piss out of that little girl you call a friend? Maybe you’d get off on hearing how the fight went between us?”

“Silence…” Artemis gripped Mistress tightly. And with every fiber of her being, she willed herself to stand up once again on her two feet, shaking at first but eventually steadying herself.

Circe smiled widely and clapped like some cheering fan. “There it is! See? You do have spunk! For a disgrace of a Wonder Woman, you are not as boring as I first thought!”

Using her ax as a crutch, Artemis took a slow, agonizing step, even if she knew it was futile. Circe was goading her, outright encouraging the Amazon to try and swing at her; Artemis knew this trick well. She knew that the Witch already had a spell ready to counter her the moment she struck. She wanted her to build hope so that she could crush it–

*STAB*

As she was about to approach the Witch once more, Artemis felt a cold blade cut through her chest. Looking down, she saw a long ice pillar piercing her skin, breaking through her already chipped armor.

“Should have known that idiot would screw up…” Standing by Circe’s side was Joar Mahkent, otherwise known as Icicle. He had his finger outstretched, and from it, had created a long ice spike that stabbed the weakened Amazon. “Wasting time…”

Artemis spat more blood, losing her grip on Mistress. Her already open wounds became worse, blood seeping through her bandages, dyeing them a crimson red. She tried to stay steady, but she was too hurt to even think straight, let alone even stand straight.

“Tch tch,” Circe leaned by Icicle’s shoulder, shaking her head at Artemis. “Amusing to see you trying to be a hero. But like the last cow, you will die, here and now.”

Behind the Amazon, Zara and the bloody Cheetah approached her, with Sebastian trying to hold on to allow his large wound to heal. Each looking to finish the job once and for all.

Artemis grimaced in frustration. Her enemies were all working together, causing endless chaos and destruction, and at the center of it all was Circe, the White Magician. All for the sake of a vendetta - not towards Artemis, but Diana, and in turn, Cassandra.

She wanted to laugh at the irony; despite her best efforts, she still felt useless, still felt a failure, still felt that her effort had been for naught.

Circe raised her hand, preparing to say out her last command–

*SMASH*

Shards of shattered ice scattered by Circe’s side, causing her to swivel her head to see a large hammer smash into the side of Icicle’s head, sending him flying sideways and causing a large crack in his icy form. The Witch raised her hand, trying to create a rock shield but was too late as the hammer swung in her direction and shattered through, pushing her a few feet back.

Anatoly Abramovici, the Warhammer of SCYTHE, did not stop his attack. Twirling his signature hammer, he swung at the Witch, who did not have any time to block the attack again, and the weapon connected with her face, sending her flying through the air and landing hard on the ground.

“No!” Zara shouted in dismay, while Sebastian snarled after recognizing the large Russian.

Spreading his wings, Anatoly blocked Sebastian as he leaped at him. In return, Anatoly hit him with his hammer, striking him right under his chin. Then, as Zara lashed out at him in anger, he dodged her pillar of flame with ease.

“Now, Wonder Woman!” Anatoly shouted to Artemis, who was able to get her bearings together, and nodded at the SCYTHE soldier. “Finish this!”

Breaking the ice pillar that was stuck on her chest, Artemis calmed herself, taking a deep breath. She twirled her ax and leaped forward, aiming at the downed Circe. She could feel her blood around the handle of Mistress, but it did not matter as she brought the ax down on the Witch.

But Mistress stopped in its place, just mere inches from Circe’s face.

Artemis’s eyes widened. Her hand was shaking, along with her ax. She tried to push through, with every fiber of her being, but to no avail.

“Almost had me there…” Circe said, her hair covered her face. Her right hand was up, using some sort of spell to stop the attack. “If you were using any other weapon, you might have had a chance… but like a good little Amazon, you just had to swing a magical weapon at me…”

Circe raised her head and spat out blood, then smiled, showing her bloody teeth.

“Didn’t you know that using a magical item on a witch is foolish? I can smell them from miles away, you know.”

Circe twisted her hand and pushed Artemis backward, utilizing the magic of her ax. She began closing her hand, and Artemis felt Mistress shaking; the magic within it began to shift, changing.

“You see… all you Amazons were taught by your owners that if you gather enough magic, it can give something life, and in turn, you can use it to enhance your weapons. Giving it power, giving it an identity, making it your own, even naming it.” Circe sneered, and a magical circle began to form around her arms, her spells starting to work. “But you cows fail to learn one important lesson - when you enchant your weapons with magic, you always must learn to stabilize its core.”

In Bana-Mighdall, the Priestesses had a temple made that housed various weapons, each enchanted with special magical capabilities that could only be used by those chosen by the weapon. Artemis knew that this was the case for her and Mistress too; its connection was based on acceptance, and so whenever Artemis calls for her, Mistress is never far behind.

“No…” Artemis’s eyes widened as she watched Mistress begin to crack, a white light appeared through it, the magic within it beginning to shift into something… different.

Circe laughed loudly. “Because if you don't, well… it might give witches like me a chance to do… this.”

She closed her hand into a fist, and the magical circle began to spin rapidly.

Then, an explosion.

*BOOM!*

Mistress’ explosion shook the entire prison, the force strong enough to send Artemis, Anatoly, and everyone else flying back. Circe, however, remained in place, absorbing the magic of the ax into her being.

As the dust settled and the air thickened, Artemis slowly got up and looked down at the handle in her hand - the only remaining part of Mistress. Her ax was gone, reduced to ashes, and all she had on her hand was a mere remnant of what once was her most trusted weapon that helped her through many battles.

Anatoly stood up much quicker, shaking off his daze, and assessed his surroundings. He could see the woman he thought to be Branwen, admiring the magical ball she had retrieved from the ax; to his left, he could see the Fire Priestess and the Cheetah regaining consciousness, their eyes set on the downed Amazon.

He grabbed his hammer and raised it over his head.

But before he could act, his body began to feel cold, and much to his shock, his armor started to freeze as an ice pillar covered his body. It climbed all the way up to his neck, stopping him in his tracks.

“Stay there,” Icicle said, holding his injured head caused by Anatoly’s hammer. “Let us handle this.”

Smelling blood in the water, Zara and the Cheetah quickly ran toward the dazed Artemis, who desperately attempted to defend herself from their onslaught - blocking, dodging, and fighting with her bare hands in a futile attempt to stop her two opponents. They had taken everything from her the last time she had fought them one on one, and now she was fighting them at the same time.

Icicle knelt down and placed his hand on the ground, and with a quick command, created a floor of ice that reached the Amazon, causing her to stagger and preventing her from blocking. With the opening assured, the remaining two swarmed on Artemis, clawing and kicking her until she was finally defeated.

Circe clapped her hands, enjoying the scene in front of her. “Bravo, Amazon, bravo. You are not as boring as I thought you would be, compared to most. You have survived much longer than Sandsmark. But unlike her, you won’t be living much longer than that.”

Circe, Zara, Icicle, and the New Cheetah all stood over the downed Artemis, whose body finally had reached its limit, unable to even stand and face the Witch that had brought so much destruction to SCYTHE HQ and Gateway City.

“For that, my dear, I will give you a quick death–” Circe stopped herself, sniffing the air around her, as if something foul reached her nose. “Why does that smell familiar?”

She turned to Sebastian, then a realization came to her mind.

“Hey.”

Circe and the others’ attention turned to the other side where the pile of prisoners had been lying to see, standing in front of them, was Barbara Minerva, the originalCheetah, covered in burn marks courtesy of Zara. She raised her newly-acquired rocket launcher and aimed it at the quartet of villains.

“Eat this.”

She fired the weapon, sending a rocket flying through the air and towards Circe. At the last second Icicle formed a barrier to protect them, but the impact managed to send a shockwave around the four, creating cold ice dust that covered the room.

“Shit!” Circe swiveled her head, realizing what Barbara was trying to do. “Behind us!”

With her Cheetah speed, Barbara ran past the four to the downed Artemis’s side, lifting her. “Don’t die on me now, Amazon… or I’ll never hear the end of it from Sandsmark…”

“Kill her!” Circe screamed, angered that Barbara was able to run past them with ease.

Zara and Icicle unleashed a barrage of fire and ice, an enormous wave or shimmering white and vibrant orange . Barbara’s speed would have normally been able to outrun the attack, but with the added weight of Artemis on her back, she had more to contend with.

“You just *had* to be this heavy, Amazon!” Barbara complained, trying to run toward the exit. “Lay off the weights!”

Just as the fire and ice combo reached them, a large shadow came out of nowhere to block the attack. Turning back, Barbara saw Anatoly, freed himself from the ice that had held him, protecting the duo with his wings, blocking the attack from reaching them.

“Keep going!” The Warhammer shouted. His wings outstretched, he turned to Barbara and nodded. “And make this count!”

Barbara stopped for a moment, shocked to see that a SCYTHE soldier - the very people who held her here for her crimes - was willing to protect her, even trust her, over everything they’ve been taught, because they knew it was the right thing to do.

“But…” Barbara saw the four approaching them, coming in fast.

“I said go!” Anatoly turned to the quartet, twirling his hammer. “I’ll stop them.”

Barbara knew he couldn’t stop them all - at best he’d slow them down -.ut he didn’t seem to care. All he wanted to do was protect them in the face of adversity.

She gritted her teeth, fixing Artemis on her back, then nodded.

“Thank you,” she said with utmost sincerity to the SCYTHE soldier, then ran toward the exit, into the world, with the injured Wonder Woman on her back, leaving the Warhammer alone to face the four villains.

“You stupid fuck,” Circe spat in anger, looking at Anatoly with clear disappointment. “I would have let you live. Unlike your disgusting brother, I actually like you.”

The Warhammer grunted and twirled his weapon again, taking a deep breath as he took a step towards them. He was ready for a difficult fight, one he knew he would not survive.

“See you on the other side, bol'shoy brat…”

He charged forward and swung his hammer.

*************************************************************

{Agents of SCYTHE… this is Lieutenant Vanessa Kapatelis…}

{I understand you all have heard stories about me… but please you must listen to me…}

{SCYTHE HQ is compromised, as I send this message now, it is currently being destroyed by the escaped convicts from the prison…}

{This escape is committed by a woman we know as Aeeta Branwen, but her real name is Circe, and she is the White Magician.}

{Please… I implore you, to save yourselves, SCYTHE HQ is lost… our Commander is not answering our calls… please… save yourselves!}

{....}

{...}

{...}

*************************************************************

Wonder Women Vol 3.

Previous Issue <> Next Issue

DC Next presents:

##I AM BATMAN

In What We Believe

Issue Fourteen: Don Falcone

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by PredaPlant & DeadIslandMan1

<< ||| < Previous Issue ||| Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Decades ago, a mother and father walked through a dark alley, their child walking between them, holding each of their hands tightly. The back alleys of the Cauldron were cesspits of criminals and lowlives, ready to strike at any prey they could get their hands on. The parents and their child simply wanted to go home, hoping that the alley would make the journey faster.

In the year 2001, Gotham seemed to be getting more dangerous — a different kind of criminal stalked the streets, preying on the weak in a much more vicious way. There didn’t seem to be a goal to the cruelty anymore; it was infliction of pain solely for the sake of it. New, terrifying names were appearing in the streets and in the news, whispers of something sinister arising in Gotham City.

The newest plague to strike Gotham had been dubbed The Holiday Murders. Alongside the chaos the deaths seemed to bring, the streets felt more dangerous than ever. Citizens began to refuse to leave their homes, and death counts recited on the news grew higher day after day. Word began to circulate about the Gotham Mafia families warring with each other, with Harvey Dent on the news begging the people of Gotham to remain calm, to have faith.

Then, on April Fools Day, the expected murder never happened. There was no body, no announcement from the police of the death. The city let go of its held breath and decided to sigh.

That was the week that Blair Wong’s family had decided to venture out into the city in search of ways to spend the evening. Movie theatres, bowling alleys, and local plays were all bustling with people, excited to experience the fun that Gotham had to offer.

Walking into the alley with her parents, her father a police officer and her mother an accountant, Blair Wong’s life changed that night. Her father didn’t see the gun before it fired, the first shot hitting him in the chest, nearly instantly killing him. The second shot flew through six-year old Blair’s shoulder, and the final two fired into her mother, puncturing one of her lungs, leaving her to die slowly, weezing on the ground as she watched her daughter bleed on the concrete.

Blair screamed and cried, the pain only growing when she sat up, face and arm covered in blood, as she was met with the sight of her parents’ lifeless eyes. Ten minutes passed before a passerby heard her cries and called for the police. The sight of the child’s injury broke the man who made the call.

The single memory that Blair most remembered of this night, as she sat above her parents’ bodies, was staring into the sky, tears blurring her sight, and seeing a floodlight adorned with a bat illuminate the sky.

In the years since, she never got an answer to why her parents had died. Living with family in Cape May until she was old enough to return, nothing had come of that night. Senseless violence irreparably shifted the course of her life. Following in her father’s footsteps and becoming a police officer was the easiest decision she had ever made.

The call to return to Gotham was always present, she was drawn to the city despite what she had been through. It was an irresistible pull.

Blair’s shoulder ached whenever something seemed to be wrong. It was never intense, never enough to bother her, but it was always present in some form. Following leads, feeling nervous, asking people out on dates — her shoulder always ached.

Now, inside an old warehouse by Port Adams on the east side of Old Gotham Island, the statue of Lady Justice visible from its entrance, Blair couldn’t shake the soreness she felt in her shoulder. Commissioner Gordon had assigned her to investigate leads on old Falcone Family production and storage houses, but as she entered, she found nothing but a wide, empty warehouse. Scaffolding and large, barren shelving were the only things inside.

From the front door, she could easily see all the way to the back wall, yet her uneasiness never went away. A detective’s hunch; she wasn’t quite sure that the warehouse was truly empty, but whether it held evidence she needed was another matter.

Her footsteps echoed deeply as she walked through, hearing the sound reverberate through the building endlessly. She sighed deeply as her eyes scanned her surroundings, nothing of note anywhere to be found. Rats scurried away, avoiding the beam of her flashlight tracing the ground.

Occasionally, fragments of broken pens and pencils would enter her view, bunches of plastic and splinters of wood not swept up from the last time the building was used, even shards of glass. Small flecks of light bounced off the shards, catching Blair’s eye and filling her view with nothing at all.

Perhaps she could have found something faster if she brought the forensic department to scan through the building, she thought. Surely there would have been traces of illicit activity they could find. But she didn’t have any of the forensic department with her, and to expend resources on a hunch wouldn’t have looked good for her.

So she kept walking through the empty building, the office her next destination, hopeful that there would be something to find.

This building had seen endless activity over twenty years prior; some small amount of Carmine Falcone’s business had been conducted within its walls. Relatively minor infractions in comparison to what he would later go on to do during the Long Halloween that encapsulated nearly all of the year 2001.

As a storeroom and minor accounting office, the Falcones were easily able to pay off any undue attention, and next to Port Adams, they weren’t short on places to dispatch those who disobeyed.

Under the pretext of investigating Felice Viti’s connection to the Falcones and the rumours that someone was attempting to revive the family’s business, Blair had been sent to countless different known safehouses in the past few weeks. Gordon had finally decided to take action on Batman’s tips — and it was only when Batman disappeared did he decide to do so.

Blair figured that her Commissioner relied too much on the vigilante — she was a private citizen with her own agenda, not employed by the city, and with no oversight. She feared that the power Batman had been implicitly given was too much afforded to an outside party. Batman was the best fighter Blair had ever seen and had a whole team behind her, while bringing a child into danger as Robin. Blair could never understand the hero worship.

Despite that, Blair couldn’t deny that Batman had an impact on the city over the years. All the way back from the days of the Holiday murders to Simon Hurt’s assault on the city, and more recently the Man-Bat and Pyg cases. Batman was always on the scene, ready to set things straight.

That would never stop the distrust.

Ever since Blair had started dating Barbara Gordon, which she occasionally feared would interfere with her working relationship with the Commissioner — they both kept the fact from him thus far — she felt even more distrust at the world around her. She couldn’t possibly come up with an explanation for why, but Barbara seemed to be the target for numerous kidnappings in the last three years, an idea that baffled and terrified Blair.

Why was Barbara so often put in these situations? What was it about her that made her such a target? Aside from her relation to the Commissioner, Blair found nothing unusual about Barbara. She seemed to be a regular woman with regular interests.

The office door was unlocked, and as Blair pushed it open, the scurrying of even more rats was the only thing to be heard inside. The room was entirely empty — no old desk or abandoned chairs. Barren walls, empty floor. The building had been entirely cleaned out, and no buyers bothered to claim it after the Falcones fell. That was, until Felice Viti began buying up old Falcone properties under various shell companies that Batman had discovered.

The records had been confirmed by various other members of the GCPD, and more detectives had been sent out to examine the properties that remained on the market while warrants to search the purchased properties were obtained. Blair was executing the first warrant.

She was more than disappointed that nothing was inside, though she didn’t take it as a sign that nothing was being done with them. Eventually she or her colleagues would find something — Batman was clear that Fiti was back in the game, with a dangerous partner that she never named. Blair distrusted the refusal to name Viti’s partner, and it was painful knowing there was nothing she could do about it. All information was useful information.

Closing the door of the office, Blair sighed and took a slow walk back toward the front entrance of the warehouse, sweeping the floors once more for anything she may have missed on her first pass, taking care to walk the perimeter in full before stepping out.

“Get this damn van movin’,” shouted Sofia Falcone, sitting in the passenger seat of a large black SUV, tired and frustrated at all the stops she and her men were forced to take on their way to Port Adams.

“I’d like to, ma’am, but light’s red and traffic’s goin’,” replied Tony, white knuckles gripping the steering wheel tightly as he looked up and down the cross street restlessly. It seemed that every single street light in the city was perfectly timed to turn red whenever he and the van approached.

“I can see that, Tony,” Sofia said through gritted teeth, flicking her cigarette into the ashtray that had been shoved into the cupholder on top of the centre compartment. “And I’m tellin’ you to just go.”

“I thought you didn’t want attention on us?” he asked, looking at her with some semblance of fear in his eyes.

“I don’t,” Sofia replied, taking a drag. “But I’m gettin’ tired of this damned city and its street lights. My world, I’d be back home eatin’ dinner from Ma by now.” She ended her sentence with a sigh, ignoring the rolled eyes from Tony, who she knew had heard the same expression countless times within the last twenty minutes of travel. “Forward ‘n stop, forward ‘n stop, ‘n stop, ‘n stop, ‘n stop. Don’t anything move in this city?” The light changed.

“Look,” said Tony. “Green. We’ll get there.”

“Watch your attitude,” Sofia said, pulling down the mirror and examining her makeup, ensuring she still looked appealing. “I’ve iced for less.”

“Yeah,” Tony said under his breath. Usually he liked working for Sofia, most of the time. She was generous enough with him, but her temper always got the better of her, especially when it was her own men who talked back. She ruled through fear and anger, and while most stayed in line, she had punished more than a few with physical harm since restarting the business with Viti. It made it more difficult for the other families to be willing to cooperate, but just like with her own men, physical force often allowed her to annex the competition.

Old Gotham would belong to the Falcones if it weren’t for remnants of old gangs that no longer had their leaders. Despite his incarceration years prior, The Ventriloquist’s lackeys seemed to remain loyal, even after word of Wesker’s rehabilitation had reached them. There were more pockets of gangs that refused Sofia’s offers, and she knew it was only a matter of time before they would become hers. After Old Gotham, she could finally begin to make the changes to the city that mattered.

First would be to get rid of the Bat and her allies. She had her fun with the vigilante, but ultimately she was getting in the way. She had too much freedom and drive, leading the police to all of Sofia’s operations and compromising them. She began to understand part of why the original family fell.

Then, a few weeks earlier, Batman seemingly disappeared. Out of nowhere, all business ventures went smoothly, and there were no eyes staring through Sofia’s office window at night. Batman had fallen off the face of the earth, and it spelled nothing but fortune for Sofia. The police’s leads began to dry up as bribes got easier, right under the Commissioner’s nose, and the funding she received from both Felice and her own private benefactor began to flow in more freely.

Stubbing out her cigarette as she thought about Batman’s absence, Sofia smiled to herself. She hadn’t even noticed the minutes go by as Tony pulled into the dockyard, the warehouse that Felice had bought waiting for them nearby. As Tony pulled in, however, Sofia laid eyes on a car that drove in the opposite direction, clearly an unmarked police vehicle.

“Pigs have been here,” she said as Tony parked and turned the vehicle off.

“What?” he asked.

“Unmarked car,” Sofia replied. “All of you,” she looked into the back seat of the SUV. “Search the place, I wanna know why they were here and what they did.”

As Blair drove away, noticing the six figures exit the large, black vehicle in front of the warehouse she had just pulled away from, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her aching shoulder had told her to wrap it up — there was nothing to see inside the building, anyway — and leave. She had made eye contact with the driver of the SUV, realising instantly what she had narrowly avoided. Her heart raced as she drove out of the dockyard.

Picking up her phone and dialling Barbara’s number, she waited, counting the tones. Barabra picked up after the third ring, greeting Blair happily.

“Hey, Babs,” said Blair, looking behind her car as she drove down the street, away from the port. “Really sorry to do this, but I won’t be able to make it tonight. Could we reschedule?” It was a lie, but Blair couldn’t risk being followed if her hunch was correct. She would spend as much time at the GCPD Major Crimes unit as she could.

As the call ended, Babs, elsewhere in the city, breathed a sigh of relief.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##NIGHTWING

In Hunter Hybrid

Issue Twelve: Yesterday’s Finest

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin and Predaplant

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Dick carefully navigated the streets of New York City. It was Mar’i’s clever idea to swab her fingernails, and sure enough they had found a small sample of matter from the plant creature that had attacked her after she had clawed at its vines to try and wrestle free. Now, Dick and Artemis were on their way to a lab in the city that specialised in extranormal plants in hopes that some light could be shed on what they were dealing with. The lab was established almost a decade ago after the first Superman had survived an encounter with the alien Black Mercy plant, courtesy of Mongul. If anyone could help, it would be them.

“Dick, are you sure you're okay?” Artemis's voice was gentle.

He exhaled, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I'm fine, Artemis. Just processing everything.”

She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “This must be overwhelming for you. You don't have to pretend that daughters from alternate timelines are normal.”

Dick's response was curt. “In this world, nothing seems normal anymore. Metahumans, aliens, demons, parallel universes... It's useless to complain about it. We just have to adapt.”

Artemis chose her words carefully, knowing how sensitive the topic was for Dick. “You're acting like Bruce again, Dick.”

Her observation struck a chord, causing Dick to fall silent for a moment as he processed her words. With a sigh, he continued to drive, thinking back to past situations with Bruce.

“Bruce used to say we needed to ‘make things simple’,” he began softly. “No matter how complex the world became, he had a way of simplifying it in his mind. As if nothing had changed. Mongul was just another warlord to him. That’s part of the reason why he’d create all these plans and contingencies for what he saw as threats, so he could ‘neutralise’ them and treat them like they were mundane.”

Dick's voice wavered slightly as he admitted, “I don't know what contingency he would have had for threats from other universes or collapsing timelines. But what frustrates me the most is knowing he probably would have come up with something.”

Artemis screwed up her face. “The way I see it… Bruce was just fooling himself and others.”

Dick had chuckled softly, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. “Yeah, he had a way of making everyone believe he had everything under control. But deep down, I think he knew he couldn't control everything.”

“I reckon his ‘contingencies’ were more about giving himself peace of mind,” Artemis continued.

Dick nodded. “I don’t think he ever expected he'd have to use most of them. He never thought he’d have to actually face off against the League, let alone use those plans against them. But sometimes, life throws you a curveball. And it did.”

Artemis had furrowed her brow, curiosity evident in her voice. “So, why are you telling me all this?”

He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts before responding. “Because I don't want to be caught off-guard again. I'm not saying I want to obsessively plan or try to predict the future, but I refuse to believe that anything is impossible anymore.”

As he spoke, Dick's gaze drifted into the distance, lost in memories of his past. “My parents made sure I studied physics in between show nights at the circus. They wanted me to understand the laws of gravity, acceleration, and inertia so I’d be more confident with my trajectories. I need to know I understand the rules the rest of our world works by, even if that just means accepting that anything could happen next.”

Their conversation had lapsed into a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts as they continued on their journey.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

The interior of the fifth floor lab was a formerly pristine white, now tinged duck egg blue-green with layers of boiled chlorophyll. The equipment arranged was surprisingly simple, run-of-the-mill lab apparatus. If anything, the technology was a few years out of date. The real points of interest were the test subjects. Among the plants were the mundane and the extraordinary. Some were merely flowering plants - albeit with bright and interesting patterns upon their petals - but interspersed among them were exotic plants of towering stature, their verdant leaves casting intricate shadows across the walls. Pitcher plants stood like sentinels, poised to ensnare unsuspecting insects.

Artemis quickly identified a large carrion flower, a repulsive sight among the otherwise wonderful scene. Its colossal crimson bloom was a grotesque amalgamation of flesh-like folds and ruffled petals. The Rafflesia - Artemis recalled - was known for the pungent smell that emanated from the gaping maw at the flower’s centre, the scent of rotting flesh meant to entice unwitting prey into its depths. As she and Dick made their way through the lab, Artemis fought to hold her breath for as long as she could to avoid the odorous plant, but was surprised when she finally had to relent and snatch a breath of air.

Artemis took a deep breath and was hit with the smell of… nothing. “Between all these colourful flowers, and that corpse plant, I'd expect this place to smell terrible and amazing, but it doesn't,” she remarked, curious.

Before Dick could comment, the scientist they were there to see emerged from behind the bench ahead, keen to respond as he approached with quick strides.

“We took measures a few years ago to ensure as neutral an aroma as possible,” shared the scientist proudly. “We gene spliced a jasmine plant to produce a special pollen that neutralises most scents, good or bad. It was vital for maintaining staff morale amidst our diverse botanical experiments.”

“We came to the right place then,” said Dick, clad in his Nightwing gear. The room was a veritable greenhouse, leaving him grateful for the ventilation provided by having his chest exposed by his plunging blue collar. Artemis’ Tigress wear wasn’t so well adapted.

“It’s a pleasure to be of assistance, Nightwing,” the scientist smiled, his eyes alight with intellectual curiosity. “I’m Dr Wilkof. Hunter Wilkof. Whatever I can help you and Tigress with, say the word. The Justice Legion, and the Justice League, have been invaluable contacts for this lab over the years.”

“We’re here regarding the recent attack in Central Park,” Artemis explained.

“The plant attack?” Wilkof stiffened. “Yes, I was alarmed to hear of it. It definitely sounds like our area of expertise.”

Dick took a step forward. “So you don’t know anything more about the attack? You haven’t had any known security breaches?”

“I assure you, if we had, we would know about it,” Wilkof replied, offended. “This is a tight ship I run here, but you’re welcome to review our systems if you must.” He gestured to a nearby computer terminal.

Dick nodded and wordlessly excused him to survey it. In turn, Artemis moved forward. “We also have something we’d like you to analyse for us.”

“Of course.” Wilkof cleared his throat. “Follow me.”

The scientist then led Artemis away, along to the end of the room where his workstation was found. Wilkof stopped and planted himself before a small white door before turning back to address the hero. Artemis meanwhile took note of how expansive the lab was, contrasting sharply with Wilkof's solitary presence.

“Where are the other researchers?” she asked.

Wilkof chuckled softly. “They've moved on to bigger and better things than studying plants all day. It's just me these days,” he replied, poorly disguising his discontent. “Now, what was it you wanted me to look at?”

“So, the victim of the attack was actually one of the Titans,” Artemis explained. “Luckily, easy access to her made recovering this a peach.” She held up the sealed plastic bag containing the tissue sample from beneath Mar’i’s nails. “We’d appreciate it if you could see what you can tell us about this plant; help us understand what we’re dealing with.”

Wilkof's eyes gleamed as he inspected the sample, momentarily captivated by it. However, he quickly regained composure, realising he had forgotten his decorum. “Forgive me. I do hope your Titan friend is okay, of course,” Wilkof interjected.

“She’ll be fine,” Artemis continued. “And with your help we can try and make sure it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

Wilkof nodded in agreement. “Of course. Leave this with me to run some tests. I should have something for you in an hour. Perhaps two.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

The Titans Tower medical room enveloped its inhabitants in shadow. Mar'i lay still in the bed as Dick and Tim sat in opposite corners of the room.

“How long have you known about Mar'i?” Dick's voice pierced the quiet. He could see the guilt on Tim’s face, but equally he knew Tim would have his reasons.

Tim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I didn't know, not explicitly,” he began. “But I had theories. Confident theories. I mean, a half-Tamarenean Teen Titan from the future? Who else was she going to be?”

The attempt at levity fell flat. Dick clenched his jaw, but he nodded, prompting Tim to continue.

Tim sagged his shoulders. “I didn't think it was my place to say anything, especially if I wasn't sure,” he added. “Mar'i’s carved out a pretty delicate and small existence for herself here, and I didn't want to jeopardise that."

“I get it,” Dick replied. Even if he didn’t like it. If anything, it saddened him to hear how fraught Mar’i’s time here had been. How unsafe she must have felt.

“I really am sorry, Dick,” said Tim as he stood up from his seat. “I can’t imagine what this is doing to your head.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dick replied. “Thank you for being a good friend to her.”

And with the matter settled, Tim quickly excused himself, intent to leave Dick with Mar’i alone. There, Dick sat in silence for a minute before speaking.

“Do you really think Tim didn’t notice?" Dick said with a smirk.

Mar’i replied, at first like a mouse. “He was paying too much attention to you, trying to make things right.” She sat up in the bed. “He was too distracted to notice my breathing change, even if he’d normally spot it straight away.”

Dick’s smirk grew, now a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. She knew Tim well, as if she had grown up around him. She likely had.

“So Tim is the same in every timeline,” Dick teased. Mar’i screwed up her face. Not quite. “How about the rest?” He asked, “What’s the rest of your future like?”

Mar’i exhaled, more loudly than she likely intended.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to—”

“No, it’s…” Mar’i took her time. “It was very different. Uncle Bruce… Bruce never died, but you still became Batman around the same time you did here. Together, you saved Gotham.”

Dick nodded, resisting the urge to verbalise the myriad of questions that flooded his mind in order to best listen.

“And because Bruce was there… well, the Black Glove wasn't much of an issue,” she admitted. So she knew about the problems he had run into with them here. “But then there were more than enough other problems to keep you busy.”

One question escaped Dick’s lips. A simple but impactful one. “So, then what?”

Mar'i hesitated, her gaze distant as she looked back to the future. “You and Kory settled down for a few years,” she began slowly. “Had me, and then moved to Tamaran for a few years so I could be immersed in the culture.”

Dick's chest tightened as his thoughts drifted to his complicated past with the Tamaranean once-princess. How their love burned so hot until she left him behind to chase Hal Jordan into space, earning herself a Green Lantern ring in the process. It was long since Dick had gotten over that hurt, but it was still difficult to imagine a world where they settled down and built a whole life together. On another planet, no less.

“Of course, neither of you stopped being heroes,” Mar’i interjected. “She was still a Green Lantern like she is here, and after Gotham didn’t need a Batman anymore you started calling yourself ‘Red Robin’. You took your hero show on the road, so we travelled around a lot. Stopped wherever we were needed.”

“I remember you coming to Gotham years ago now,” Dick said softly. “You never said who you were.”

Mar'i's smile softened, her eyes meeting his. “You didn't need to know who I was,” she replied evasively. “You saw someone was in trouble and that was enough.”

“Does Kory know about you?”

Mar’i nodded with a frown. “She found out when we were both dealing with problems with her sister.”

“Blackfire…” Dick exhaled, thinking back to their past skirmishes. “Mar’i, what you’ve been through is… I can’t imagine it. But I really wish you’d have told me.”

Mar’i shook her head, and her voice trembled when she spoke. “But you're not him, Dick. You're not my father.”

Dick's heart clenched at her words, a pang of guilt piercing through him. “I still could have helped. You didn’t need to hide away.”

Tears spilled from Mar'i's eyes as she shook her head again. “You might be a lot like him, but you’ve gone through so much, so many things Dad never did,” she explained. “Losing Bruce and Kyle, breaking up with Mom, having to start the Justice Legion, dealing with Barbatos, and now losing Uncle Jason.”

These had been a difficult few years.

“Experiences like that change a person,” said Mar’i, wrestling back her tears. “They colour who you are just as much as growing up with Bruce, losing your parents, and your time at the circus before that.”

It made sense. Dick had been through the ringer more times than most in the last few years, and the Dick Grayson that had raised Mar’i hadn’t experienced any of that. He really was a different man.

“I wasn’t hiding because of how you’d react,” she replied. “I was hiding because of how I would. My parents are dead, and looking at someone who is so close to the father I lost, the man I admired…”

Dick thought back to his first time on Earth-Sigma, and coming face to face with that earth’s version of Bruce, before he realised what a despot he really was. He understood that pain. He went to speak but couldn’t; he was overwhelmed with an immense feeling of… guilt. He wished desperately that he could be the man Mar’i needed him to be.

“Don’t do that.”

Dick raised an eyebrow, snapped out of his spiral. “What?”

“Dad taught me how to read people, and that makes you an open book,” she explained. “Don’t beat yourself up. Don’t be ashamed of who you are, of what you’ve been through. It makes you stronger.”

This was ridiculous, Dick thought. He was meant to be comforting her.

“If I know what you’ve been through, you know that I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” Mar’i continued. “You’re not my dad, but you’re still a good man.”

Dick never made a habit of singing his own praises, but as Mar’i’s words sank in he was brought back to the many talks he’d given to others in his life. Steph, Tim, Jason, Joey, Cassandra. People came to him because they cared to hear whatever wisdom he had to share, and he heard that same wisdom echoed in the young woman before him now. He couldn’t take credit for her upbringing, but he was proud nonetheless.

After a thoughtful pause, Dick's expression brightened with inspiration. “Mar'i, how much do you know about your teammate Conner?”

Mirth spread across her face. “I knew enough second-hand from back home, but I’ve… filled in the gaps the last couple of months. What about him?”

“Well, you’ll know that he’s a clone. Of Superman and Lex Luthor.”

Mar’i nodded.

“Well, when he was first… released into the world, nobody was sure where he would fit into it, especially Conner himself,” said Dick, drawing her in. “Everyone turned to Superman - to Clark - for the answer, but he didn’t have one. At this point, Clark’s son Jon was 16 and Conner was genetically as much his son as Jon was. But Clark said it wasn’t as simple as him adopting Conner, even if he had no lack of feelings of parental responsibility towards him. Everyone saw that as the easiest option, the natural option, but Clark refused.”

“So Superman just flat out refused to take him in?” asked Mar’i.

“That’s what everyone thought,” Dick replied. “Bruce was furious. But then we found out the truth. Conner was less than a year old, but mentally he was already a teenager. He had enough of a mind of his own to tell Clark in plain words that he didn’t want a father. Instead, Clark asked him if he needed a friend.”

Mar’i nodded, seeing where this was going.

“They had seven years together before Clark died,” Dick exhaled, but then forced a smile, determined to focus on the good. “And in that time they developed a relationship that was far more complex than father and son. He was more like Conner’s uncle, sometimes his older brother, but if you ask Conner he still won’t put a label on it. Point was, by the time Clark died they were indisputably family. They were part of each other’s DNA in more ways than one.”

Mar’i exhaled. “So I should start calling you Uncle?”

“Call me what you like,” Dick replied. “But what I’m saying is I don’t have to be your dad to be someone you can rely on, or to care about you. You can come to the family for whatever you need.”

Mar’i felt a knot of uncertainty tightening in her chest as Dick's words lingered in the air. She had kept her distance to protect herself, but now? Was keeping away really doing her all that much good?

"Maybe we can start with dinner sometime," Dick proposed, his tone gentle yet earnest.

Mar'i hesitated for a moment, but then, with a small nod, agreed.

Just as they reached that tentative understanding, Dick's communicator interrupted the moment with a shrill chime. Mar’i watched as he read the message, her curiosity piqued.

“It’s from Artemis,” he said. “She says Dr Wilkof’s ready to see us.”

Mar’i glanced at the robe hanging on the coat hook. “Pass me that, won’t you?”

Dick followed her gaze. “What? Why?”

“I'm coming with you,” she declared.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

As Nightwing, Artemis, and Starling reentered Dr. Wilkof’s lab, a mix of anticipation and unease swirled inside Mar’i. She adjusted her stance mid-stride, still pushing through the discomfort of her suit pulling on her bruises. She watched as Wilkof's eyes widened with surprise the moment he saw her. She supposed her appearance was quite striking - the bronze skin, emerald green eyes, and violet and silver gear. But she wouldn’t have to wonder what it was that had gotten his attention for long.

“You’re a Tamaranean!” he exclaimed.

“Half-Tamaranean,” she corrected him.

Dr Wilkof's shock turned to curiosity. “I had heard rumours that one of the new Titans was from Tamaran, just like Starfire.”

She stopped walking and Dick and Artemis stopped just behind her. “Actually, I was born on Earth.”

The scientist narrowed his eyes. “But you’ve been to Tamaran, yes?”

“Well, yes, but—” Sensing the tension, Artemis took a step forward and interjected. “I’m sorry, what is this questioning about?”

A scoff escaped Dr Wilkof before he pressed on. “Well, Starling’s… nature may explain something crucial about the attack.”

Dick cocked his head. “What’s that?”

“Tissue analysis on the sample you provided revealed that the attacking plant doesn’t just consume prey for sustenance. It is also capable of rapidly consuming light for photosynthesis, at a rate unlike any terrestrial plant,” Wilkof explained. “In fact, it needs to in order to sustain itself. Failing that, it can also leach solar energy from other living organisms, perhaps as a way to outcompete other photosynthetic plants.”

“So that’s why Starling’s star bolts weren’t working,” Dick replied quickly. “The attack was at night, and the plant was absorbing the solar energy that fuels her powers.”

Dick turned to look back at Mar’i, waiting for a response. Instead, she was in stunned silence. Her face blanched.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” said Artemis as she placed a hand on Mar’i’s arm. The girl jumped slightly as she touched her.

“I’m an idiot,” she said plainly. “I should have put it together sooner.”

“What is it?” probed Dr Wilkof. “What do you know about this plant?”

A wave of frustration washed over Mar’i. She was there for more than long enough to take in the local culture, and somehow this had completely escaped her mind. “It’s from Tamaran.”

The scientist’s marvel matched the heroes’ dread.

“Its name translates to ‘Morning Eclipse’. They require massive amounts of energy to survive, and can’t get enough even from their insane intake of sunlight. Plants here on Earth evolve to be carnivorous for similar reasons, when photosynthesis won’t do the trick, but Earth plants aren’t this dangerous,” she explained, everything flooding back as she pieced it together. “But the Morning Eclipse isn’t meant to have intelligent thought, or be moving around autonomously. It doesn’t add up.”

“Wait,” Artemis interjected. “If it’s not supposed to be able to move, what makes it so dangerous?”

“Well… not only can it leach the energy from a Tamaranean to disable their strength and flight, it also releases spores.”

Wilkof furrowed his brow, “Spores?”

Mar’i continued. “The spores act fast, radically deteriorating the mental state of those affected. There were even folk stories of people affected by the spores going so mad that they fed themselves to the plants. The custom was to leave them out in the jungles, let them grow and keep as far away from them as possible. I thought it was just a myth.”

A horrifying realisation swept across all in attendance: a carnivorous, insanity-inducing plant was stalking the streets of Manhattan, looking for prey. As Mar’i balled her hands into fists that shone with emerald energy, she looked to Dick and saw her exact thoughts in his eyes. They couldn’t waste any time.

Next: Some fun now in Nightwing #13

DCNext Presents:

Superman

In The Tug

Issue Twenty-Two: Midnight Sky

Written by /u/Predaplant

Edited by /u/AdamantAce

First | Previous | Next

The first Superman was a media sensation upon his first appearance in Metropolis, and continued to be one for the rest of his life. His larger-than-life exploits were constant news fodder, and when he spoke, there was weight behind his words. When contrasting this with his successor, it’s clear to see that the new Superman does not have the same sway in the news media. This holds true even relative to how other superheroes have been covered over time. Even though he saves just as many estimated lives on an annual basis, the current Superman’s popularity is significantly lower than his father’s, as he has failed to differentiate himself in the public eye. Are the second Superman’s adventures really old news, or do we just take him for granted?

Sierra hit Save, navigated to the dropbox, and uploaded the document. The clock read 11:57; she had just finished her paper in time. Her Superheroes prof was pretty strict; he closed the dropboxes at 11:58 PM just to be different from all the other lecturers who closed it at 11:59.

She just hoped he would enjoy her paper. She had been tasked with writing about a current superhero and their place in history. Of course she had put her name down for Superman; he was Metropolis’ hero, after all. It was just a shame that it seemed like he hadn’t done anything particularly stunning or newsworthy in a while. She had been hoping on a big news piece debuting about him the whole time she was writing her project, to prove her point wrong and show that he was still doing remarkable feats... but the story she was hoping for hadn’t materialized. She pushed her chair back and stretched. Of course she had to have a class at 8:30 the next morning. Why did it seem like she was never able to get enough sleep?

That was just the life of a student, she supposed. She slipped under the blankets of her bed, closed her eyes, and slowly drifted off to sleep.

SSSSS

Her body felt strange. Like she was warm and toasty, snuggled up next to the fire on a cold winter’s night... but that couldn’t be. Was she still dreaming? Groggily, she opened her eyes.

It was dark. Which only made sense... it was nighttime, after all. But it was hard to breathe, and there was this weird red tint to the light that was coming in through her window. And it was super hot, almost like...

She snapped awake, her mind suddenly alert. There was a fire.

She had unplugged her fire alarm days prior after it wouldn’t stop beeping due to its low battery. She had called the landlord, but they had said they’d come in and take a look on the weekend.

Now, those extra few days could be fatal.

She ran to the window and tried to wrench it open. The metal of the latch stung her hand, and, grabbing a towel, she tried again, coughing.

Right, where there was fire, there was smoke.

Sierra got the window open, and the smoke poured out. Sticking her head out the window, she gulped in deep breaths of air. She could see all the other tenants there, standing on the ground, looking up at her.

She was four stories up. Definitely couldn’t jump.

She spun around to face the bedroom door. Could she make a run for it through the building? She might have to, if things kept going the way they were. She pushed her way forwards, using the towel to open the door again, and was met with the kitchen of her suite, also filled with smoke.

She fell to the ground coughing. There was no use. She could see the door to the suite had been left open in the evacuation, and the kitchen was already starting to catch fire.

She crawled back towards her room, towards the window, away from the fire. A thought crossed her mind.

Superman.

Surely he would help.

Almost as if on cue, a man appeared next to her with a gust of wind, almost as if he had teleported. He gently picked her up, and only a few seconds later, she was on the ground with the other tenants.

In her pyjamas.

Stunned.

She could hear murmurs of “Superman” throughout the crowd.

And indeed, it appeared as if it could only be Superman. The fire inside was handled in mere seconds, as the walls of the building coated themselves in ice.

There was silence after the roar of the fire died down.

Then, somebody started cheering.

“Whoo! Superman!”

Sierra clapped along, grinning. Sure, all her stuff might’ve gotten burned, but she was alive, and at the end of the day the adrenaline had kept her body going. She was happy, excited, and now she was going to get to see Superman.

The man who emerged from the building was not who she expected.

He looked very similar to the first Superman, similar enough that it made Sierra think of that clone who had appeared shortly after his death. It could actually be him, she surmised; after all, Superman and Guardian hadn’t killed him.

He had long hair and well-trimmed, albeit long, facial hair. He looked down at the gathered tenants carefully, picking out a boy Sierra recognized.

His name was Cameron, she thought?

The Superman lookalike flew down to Cameron, touching down on the ground next to him.

“Why did you have to light so many candles?”

He spoke in a calm voice, like the one that Sierra had heard the first Superman use in so many interviews. And yet there was a menace behind it, like there was a rage ready to be released.

Cameron blinked. “I just... I like scented candles. They help me focus.”

“And is that worth other people nearly dying?”

Cameron’s face blanched.

“Stop,” came another voice from behind Cameron.

It was Superman, the second one. The real one.

He set a hand on Cameron’s shoulder. “Have you learned your lesson?”

Cameron nodded.

“Good.” Superman then turned to the imitation, maybe clone, of his father. “We should talk.”

And with that, the two of them disappeared.

Sierra overheard one fireman say to another, “It’s nice to have help, but you ever feel like we’re redundant?”

SSSSS

Superman stared his father down. Reawakened, or so he had told them. From another universe, one where Jon himself didn’t exist.

Jon hadn’t seen him in almost a year.

Which suited Jon fine. Frankly, this version of his father was a jerk. And Jon didn’t need even more reminders of what he had lost when his actual father had died, years prior.

But Jon supposed it wouldn’t last forever. It couldn’t.

And today was the end of this man’s exile.

It couldn’t have come at much worse of a time. Frankly, Jon was upset, and he didn’t want to take it out on somebody who didn’t deserve it.

So he decided to keep things short. “You’re back.”

The man nodded. He went by Kal-El, Jon remembered. The birth name of his father, rather than the one he adopted.

“I need your help.”

Jon’s eyes widened.

“Not what you were expecting?” Kal asked.

“You could say that,” Jon replied. “Anyways, I’m Superman. Helping’s what I do. What do you need?”

“What do you know about the Reawakened, Jon?”

Jon had met a few of the Reawakened over his time as Superman, having to sort out disputes regarding their rights, their property. Plus, the Justice Legion had kept him updated.

“They... you... you’re all people from another universe, right? People who died in this one?”

Kal nodded. “That’s correct. And as you said, I’m Reawakened myself. But also... I’m different. My universe isn't like many others. Being in this one is going to kill me, Jon.”

Jon thought about it for a second. “You said you need my help. Does that mean I can save you?”

“Yes. I’m from a universe of what the researchers here call dark energy. If anybody else from my universe came here, they would die within the course of a few days. Luckily for me, my cells stored enough energy to keep me alive all this time... but that reserve's running out. I need you to take me to a patch of dark energy. I can’t make it by myself anymore. It’ll restore my body... should let me live another year or two, at least. Give me time to figure out how to get home.” Kal explained it all very methodically, speaking slowly as he did so.

“Alright,” Jon said, taking a deep breath. Maybe a trip to deep space would help him clear his head. “Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” Kal said, pulling a map out of a pocket in his suit and handing it to Jon. “Look this over.”

It displayed a route through space. But something stuck out to Jon.

“All these stars...”

“That’s right,” Kal confirmed. “You’re going to need to make some stops. My body’s desperately trying to pull energy from wherever it can... it’s going to pull from you and your cells, as well, since they have so much of it. You’ll only be able to go ten light-years or so without a stop.”

“Ten light-years...” Jon did some quick mental math as he looked at the map. “Alright.”

“So you’ll take me?”

Jon nodded. “Come on. Let’s go. Should be back within an hour or two.”

Jon didn’t really like travelling in space without a rocket, but it was something he could manage. Kryptonians didn’t need to breathe, and their bodies could handle the pressure, it just constantly gave you a pit in your throat like you were falling for as long as you were in a vacuum.

Not very fun, but it seemed like the easiest option in this situation.

Kal nodded. “I’m ready when you are.”

Jon awkwardly wrapped his arms around Kal, and the two manoeuvred until they found a position in which they were both comfortable.

Jon set his trajectory, sucked in one last breath of Earth oxygen, and then shot off like a rocket, into the stars.

SSSSS

As Jon made his way toward the first star on their road map, he could understand exactly why Kal had set up so many rest spots. He could feel his energy getting sapped away as he approached the star; it would be very difficult for him to change his trajectory even if he tried. It reminded him of how he felt when he had expended all his power with a solar flare; at least he still had the ability to survive in space, at least for now.

He hit the star going near the speed of light, and burst out the other side as he changed trajectory within the star’s chromosphere, creating a plume of solar gases that stretched out almost as long as the diameter of the star itself. Jon gripped Kal tightly as he went through, feeling himself revitalized as he did so; Kal grimaced, the solar winds buffeting him.

“You alright?” Jon signed with one hand, pointing to Kal and giving a thumbs up with a questioning look.

Kal thought for a moment. In that time, they travelled the length of multiple solar systems.

Determined, he nodded.

With a bit of shock, Jon realized that this was genuinely difficult for Kal. It was clear that he was telling the truth; Kal was reaching the end of his rope, his powers severely limited.

Jon pointed up ahead; it was clear that the next star was incoming. He hoped that Kal would understand his meaning, that he would have to brace himself.

He felt Kal grip him a little tighter, but there was no time as, in the blink of an eye, they refuelled at that star as well.

Jon looked straight to Kal once he emerged, concerned. Kal would barely meet his eyes.

With a shock, Jon realized that he had missed Kal in his time in solitude. Sure, Jon had spent much of that time thinking about how different Kal was from the father he loved... but there was a lot of the same man in there, too.

When they got back, Jon would have to work out what he wanted their relationship to be... because he felt like there should be something. He just wasn’t sure what.

Jon was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t see the next star ahead. He prepped himself for the refuelling, for the extra burst of energy, closing his eyes in anticipation... but it didn’t happen.

He opened his eyes. The star was red.

This... this couldn’t be right. Jon pulled out the map he had been given, checking his notes. He had definitely chosen the right trajectory... he had even visually confirmed that the star was yellow as he had changed course from the last one.

His high speed flung him out from the star’s immediate orbit... but not quite fast enough to escape the system. Jon could see it in front of him: a desolate, rocky planet, clearly without very complex life, if any at all. Impact was imminent; hopefully, the star had decelerated them fast enough in order to not completely wreck the planet.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and held Kal close.

BOOM

SSSSS

Jon brushed the debris out of his eyes. He was in the middle of a large crater; if he had to estimate, Jon would guess it was multiple kilometres across. He scanned the horizon for Kal, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the harsh glare of the red sun. There he was, only a few paces away.

Jon rushed over to him, kneeling down and feeling his pulse; he was still alive, if unconscious.

Good... although, Jon realized, this meant there was much less of a chance that he made it to the dark energy to survive much longer past today, even if Jon did eventually find a way off this planet.

Jon banished the thought from his head. They’d worry about that later. He shifted to sit next to Kal.

Looking up at the red star, Jon instead turned his attentions to figuring out how this had gone wrong. And as he stared at the star... the star stared right back at him.

Jon squinted. Surely he was seeing things... but no, that star had an eye on it.

“Surprised?” came the thought, beaming directly into Jon’s mind.

Jon scrabbled back in the dirt in shock.

He heard a chuckling, deep in his mind. “Not every day I find a Kryptonian to play with, never mind two. My name is Solaris, I’m your host star in this system, and you’re both going to be here quite a while.”

Jon regarded the star once more. Now, he was sizing up a potential enemy.

“Do your best, Solaris,” Jon thought back. “But I’m Superman, and nobody’s ever stopped me before, no matter the odds.”

Jon looked back at Kal. They were going to figure out a way to escape Solaris’s gravity.

They had to.

DC Next presents:

SHADOWPACT

In Heaven Forbid

Issue Eleven: Surprise Witness

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by PatrollinTheMojave, Predaplant, Upinthatbuckethead & deadislandman1

Next Issue > Coming April 2024

Six months ago…

The time-locked ruins of Coast City stuck out like a sore thumb along the California coastline. A thin film of dust caked the ground, and the sun danced along the rusted wasteland in a strange way, bathing the city in orange. As the members of the Shadowpact sauntered through, managing to carve themselves a path, they felt an unease fall over them, as if some energy had shifted.

Ruin was the first to speak. “So this is Coast City. Huh.”

“I don’t suppose you were told much about it,” Rory remarked, watching his step closely.

Ruin shook their head as they tucked a strand of shadowy black hair behind their ear. “John didn’t know a whole lot about it, so neither did I.”

Traci looked back at the rest of the Shadowpact, an uncertainty in her eyes. They were inching ever closer to Destruction, AWOL member of the Endless - they were finally getting to the bottom of things - and yet something was wrong. She and her fellow teammates by all accounts should be nervous, excited, apprehensive - anything - but all of them plodded on with… indifference. The group continued on, the low autumn sun beating down on them; odd conversations popped up every now and then, but for the most part, the journey was eerily silent.

Not long into their journey, a noise sounded out from within one of the dilapidated buildings, soft enough to be easily missed if one were not listening out for it. Traci signaled to the others to follow her into the building, and as the group slipped through a crack in the wall, Jim’s hand danced along his sword cautiously. The room opened up into a small apartment, the once colourful wallpaper now dulled with time and dust. The noise grew louder; a soft grumble, as if someone was talking to themselves, which turned into a… tune. Someone was inside the building, and they were humming to themselves.

As Traci rounded a corner, she came face to face with a man she barely recognised. He towered over her, sporting a long ginger beard and hair to match, and he exuded a pungent smell. His eyebrows were raised high in surprise as he first bumped into her, then after a moment he settled, stepping to one side and gesturing for her to go first.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice gruff. “You first.”

Traci, Rory, Ruin, Jim, and Sherry all stared up at the man in bewilderment. There was part of them that knew, without a doubt, that this was the man they were looking for - Destruction himself - and yet it was also clear that he was a shadow of his former self. His clothing, though already casual, was stained and tattered; his beard was scraggly, as if he had been scratching and picking at clumps of hair; he was barefoot, and his toes were darkened at the edges from dirt. To put it frankly, the group were disgusted by him, in varying levels.

“You’re…” Sherry piped up quietly, raising a finger to him. “You’re Destruction?”

The raggedy-looking man smiled and gave a coy shrug. “That’s what they call me.”

“So this is where you’ve been hiding out,” Traci said as she looked around. “We’ve been trying to find you for months.”

Destruction turned on his heel, starting off back down the hallway. “Ah, well, looks like you did it.” He looked over his shoulder to make sure the quintet were following him. “Congratulations.” His words felt genuine, but there was something in his tone that felt less than excited.

The Shadowpact soon found themselves in a decently sized living room; two couches sat in the centre of the room, angled to face a TV in the corner. On the other side of the room was a small kitchenette, with wooden countertops and a high-end stove. If it weren’t for the debris all around, this would have made for a nice home.

“Why Coast City?” Traci asked, swiping a finger against the countertop and grimacing at the layer of dust on her finger.

Destruction sat down on one of the couches with a grunt and a heavy thud. “That’s a long story.”

“We’ve tracked you for this long. We have time.”

Destruction smiled to himself for a second before sighing. “Destiny.”

The name hung heavy in the air for a moment. Destruction’s brother, killed by his very hand - there was no wonder why he would come to visit the site of his death. There seemed to be a deep pain in the Endless’ face as he mentioned his brother’s name.

Destruction continued. “He died here, and I wanted to come see what I had done. To remind myself.”

“But why now?” Rory asked.

“It’s… probably not news that I up and left,” Destruction chuckled. “Yes, I… I didn’t want to do my job anymore. Not after everything it had caused. And I left.” He fiddled with a loose thread on the arm of the couch. “I needed a change, I think.”

“A change?”

“I wanted to… honestly, I’m not sure what I wanted anymore. I wanted to find a purpose.”

Traci squinted. “Isn’t your purpose… Destruction?”

“Well sure, when they were giving out purposes at the birth of the universe. I wanted to be something more than my role. I went all over, looking for things to do, people to talk to, places to see. And in doing that, I ended up here. ‘This’ll be a good idea,’ I thought. ‘If I’m surrounded by my own work, then maybe it’ll give me some inspiration.’” Destruction looked up at the five people surrounding him and frowned. “It hasn’t worked.”

Traci could hardly believe that they had not only managed to find Destruction, but were actively interrogating him about why he left his post in the first place. She rolled her shoulders back and asked, “So you left because of what happened to Destiny?”

“For the most part, yeah. I… was at a loss - at a breaking point. I just thought that if I could make myself feel better, if I could travel around and get out there, then maybe I could get back to doing my job, but… I only got as far as Coast City.”

Ruin leaned forwards as if to say something else, but as they did, Destruction looked up with a glint in his eye and pointed at them. “Ah! You’re one of my brother’s, right?”

“Uh?”

“Always nice to see my siblings’ works out there,” Destruction said, almost wistfully. Ruin grimaced; not only were they made a little uncomfortable by the mention of their creator, but it was clear that the conversation had moved on, and getting Destruction to talk about this topic more could prove difficult.

“Oh, one moment, I better go check what snacks these people left when they abandoned the house,” Destruction announced. “I’ll be right back.”

He rose from his seat, sauntering over to the kitchenette on the other side of the room. As soon as he left immediate earshot, Jim gestured for everyone to huddle together. The group closed in, forming a tight circle.

“This isn’t right,” Jim commented. “An Endless should not be able to just wander off from their responsibilities like that, let alone wallow in a deserted city. I reckon we might be able to convince him to leave here and return to his post.”

Rory folded his arms. “How? He’s clearly really torn up about this, and I doubt he’ll change his mind because five people randomly showed up at his house.”

“This isn’t even his house,” Traci snorted. “He just showed up and started rummaging through the cupboard, by the sounds of it.”

“Think about it,” Jim continued. “He’s already given us a lot of information about what’s going on in his head, and it’s been, what, ten minutes? Imagine what he will give us in ten hours - and more importantly, imagine what we can give him.”

The group thought quietly for a moment before Sherry shrugged. “I… don’t feel strongly one way or the other. Honestly, coming here, I thought I’d feel more… I don’t know.”

The others seemed to silently agree, and for a moment they thought about how strange that was. But, after they looked between each other one more time, Traci said, “Alright, let’s wait it out. If we can befriend him a bit, maybe we can convince him to go back home.”

✨️🔮✨️

Now…

Ruin wiped their hands on their makeshift apron as they passed Destruction the last few strawberries from the packaging. As they looked at the empty package, then to the blender in Destruction’s hand, they frowned.

“Hey, wait. Isn’t that technically destroying the fruit?” They gestured to the variety of sweet-smelling fruits piled high in the machine. “Doesn’t that mean you’re doing your job?”

Destruction gently tipped the strawberries from his hand into the blender. “Energy cannot be created or destroyed, my creepy friend.” He popped a rogue strawberry slice into his mouth, gently lifting the small battery-powered contraption up to check that its batteries were correctly inserted. “So that is a non-issue.”

Pressing the lid onto the top with a click, Destruction pressed a button on the side of the machine and it immediately whirred to life, letting out a high-pitched whine that could be heard from the other side of the house. Indeed, Rory stirred slightly from his sleep on the couch, guarded by a watchful Sherry, and groaned at having to be disturbed.

The Shadowpact had entered month six of their plan to convince Destruction to return to his post, but they remained hopeful. Living off of takeout containers and devising shifts for who should spend time with the ever-sleepless Destruction came with its own unique complications and advantages. However, they felt as a group that they could not stop until they had succeeded in what they had set out to do; as the time went on, they found themselves not wanting to leave…

After two months of pep talks and fruit smoothies, suspicion arose within the team. They heard no word from the Heavenly Host, who had appeared hot on their heels until they came to Coast City. What’s more, Ruin felt… stronger. Their bouts of what they described as ‘fading’ happened less often, then stopped entirely. They felt calmer and more capable. Perhaps strangest of all, however, was the group’s universal lack of motivation.

It was clear to them from the moment they stepped into the apartment that Destruction’s lethargy had consumed him. What had come as a surprise, however, was that this lethargy was contagious, in the most literal sense. Destruction had described to them that his lack of action was creating a kind of vacuum for destruction and creation alike and as a result, the six of them were being held in stasis.

It hadn’t quite hit them how much they had been under his spell until six months had come and gone.

“There,” Destruction said, his voice weary but triumphant. “I think it’s all blended.”

He hurriedly shook the contents of the blender into a tall glass, tapping the flimsy plastic bottom to get the remaining mixture out. He shoved aside a takeout container on one of the countertops, which fell to the ground with a dull thud, and perched himself on top.

Destruction had barely raised the glass to his lips when there was a pounding noise against one of the walls. Traci was the first to react, rising from her seat with a start and immediately moving towards the source of the noise. She peered through a gap in the plastering and as she saw a figure through the shadows, she frowned.

“Constantine?”

✨️🔮✨️

“Traci. I’m here to get you and your gang out of this mess.”

Traci looked John Constantine up and down. After six months of only seeing five different faces, it felt odd to see another, let alone the last face she expected to see. “Wh– how?”

“C’mon, you guys haven’t got much time before he finds out you’re gone. Let’s–”

“Who, Destruction?”

John looked at her, bewildered. “Yes. The guy who’s been holding you captive. Bloody hell, it’s worse than I thought.”

“Slow down. He hasn’t been holding us captive.”

John’s voice dropped an octave. “What?”

“We’re not in danger.”

Constantine let out a soft chuckle before rubbing the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the other members of the Shadowpact, who all looked back at him with matching amazement. “So you expect me to believe you’ve all been sat here, playing families with one of the Endless?”

Ruin began to remove their apron.

“Bloody hell, Traci, this is…” John looked around, desperately trying to search for the words, but none came to him.

Jim spoke up. “It was our idea - my idea - to stay. I didn’t realise there would be such… consequences. He has this aura, it made us not want to leave.”

“Yeah, I got that. That’s how I managed to work out where you were hiding out. Tell me though, Traci - why did you think it was a good idea to slack off here when you’ve got so much left to do?”

“We’re not just lazy, John. I know that’s what you’re thinking. The truth is, we had no… drive. This reluctance came over us, and suddenly we didn’t want to do anything past, y’know, eat and sleep.” Traci gestured to Ruin. “There was something… wrong with Ruin, but they’re fine so long as they stay around Destruction. We don’t have the Heavenly Host on our tail. Everything is… fine.”

“‘Fine’?” John remarked. “Look, I can’t believe I’m having to deal with this. I’ve already taken two days out of my schedule to come find you lot, I’ve got places to be. Traci, a word.”

John gestured for her to follow and, after a moment’s hesitation, she obliged. As she approached John closer, his face intensified from annoyance to anger.

“What are you going to do about the souls?” He asked plainly.

“What?”

“Traci, come on. The souls. What are you going to do about them?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“And what’s your plan for when the Heavenly Host finally catches on to what you’re doing?”

“They won’t find us. It’s this weird aura thing, we’re so stagnant that they can’t trace us.”

“I traced you. I found you. I might not be an angel - far from it - but if I can find you lot, they’re bound to find you eventually. You haven’t stopped the clock, you’ve just slowed it down.”

Traci bit the inside of her cheek, fixing her eyes onto John’s face. He huffed. “Look. This place… it got me thinking about that soul problem of yours. There’s a way out of it. It might not be pretty, but sometimes it’s the best way to do something.”

“I don’t want to be like you,” Traci spat.

“I don’t want to be like me, either,” John retaliated, not missing a beat. “But you need to sort yourself out. Take actions, and learn to live with the consequences, not just pissing about in an abandoned city. You’ve spent six bloody months sat here on your arses, don’t you think it’s about time you get out there and do something, danger be damned?”

Traci felt her heart racing, a sensation that felt like an old friend. It had been a while since anything had made her heart beat like this; it almost felt like a spark within her had gone off. She thought about her team, about all the reasons they chose to stay put, and for one moment she wondered what it was all for. She felt guilt. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.

That spark was all she needed. “Alright.”

“Alright,” John repeated. “Now, I don’t want to hear that you went back on your word. Go meet the terms of your contract, Shadowpact. ”

“Fuck you, John,” And in one swift motion, John turned on his heel and started off back into the springtime sunshine.

Traci meant what she said - she didn’t want to be like John, and yet in many ways, the two of them were already alike. The future of the souls, as far as she was concerned, was still uncertain, and although a seed was planted in Traci’s head, she felt as though she had to find other ways around the situation. One thing was certain to her, though - they had spent long enough treading water. Even if it meant that the Heavenly Host caught their scent once more. Even if it meant that Ruin’s future was uncertain. At least then, they could say that they tried.

She walked back into the living room with tunnel vision, moving almost robotically to scoop her various clothing and personal items up in her arms.

“C’mon, guys,” she announced. “We’re getting out of here.”

✨️🔮✨️

NEXT: The consequences begin in Shadowpact #12 - Coming April 2024

DC Next presents:

##NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

In Fly on the Wall

Issue Four: On the Map

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by ClaraEclair

Next Issue > Coming Soon

Clink!

Lucius Fox smiled softly as he lifted his glass for a toast, his glass touching gently against his son’s, as well as the glasses of their guests, Mr and Mrs Blake, and their son Evan. The Blakes had been firm friends with the Foxes for years, and yet the two families rarely met, mainly due to the busy and often conflicting schedules of the two patriarchs.

“Thanks again for this lovely meal, Lucius,” Charlotte Blake smiled. “You’ve really outdone yourself.”

“I’m flattered. Usually Tanya is the chef of the family, but she and Tiffany are out this afternoon, so I tried my best.”

“You succeeded,” said Peter Blake through a mouth full of fried eggs. “It’s delicious.”

Luke shuffled the food around his plate. “Actually, I cooked those–”

“That’s very kind of you to say, Peter. Truly.”

“There’s something about this hollandaise sauce that seems different. Did you add anything extra to it?”

“Oh, well, I actually asked that he put–”

“Not that I can recall,” Lucius interjected yet again. “Standard recipe.”

Luke grimaced to himself. His father often acted like this when they had company - he had it in his head that he needed to look as put together as possible, and because of that, he would start to run on some form of autopilot, blocking out all noise except the voice of the person speaking. As a result, Luke - and often his sister, Tiffany - would have their thoughts left unheard. As he looked down at his plate of food, the toasted muffin turning stale by the second, a voice piped up. “I think Luke was about to say something.”

Luke looked up and blinked hard. Evan was looking directly at him, a single strand of dirty blond hair falling in front of his face. His eyes flickered over to Lucius, who looked at his son apologetically.

“Oh. Luke. I’m sorry, carry on.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Luke mumbled, suddenly shy. “I was just gonna say, I asked Dad to put a pinch of cayenne in the hollandaise. Maybe that’s what’s different.”

Peter Blake took another hefty bite of his eggs, squinting as he focused on the taste. After a moment of consideration, he nodded slowly. “Cayenne. Yes. Now that you mention it, I think that’s it. A great suggestion, Lucas.”

In all truth, Luke hated this level of small talk, and yet it was all that his father’s friends would do. They would talk about the weather, or talk about work, or talk about the food they were eating, but it all felt so… distant. So scripted. And so whenever he went to these types of dinners (or brunches, or lunches, or galas), he would refrain from small talk whenever possible and, at worst, he would excuse himself after food was done, commonly offering to wash the dishes.

And so, when he found himself in the kitchen, scrubbing at a dish covered in that damn hollandaise sauce while the Blakes talked about their recent penchant for antiques in the next room, he felt an odd calmness wash over him.

“Hey,” said a voice, calm but loud enough to startle Luke. He turned and saw Evan, his arms folded with a small dishcloth in one hand.

“Jeez,” Luke smiled. “You scared me.”

“Heh, sorry. Thought I’d come in here. There’s only so many times you can listen to your parents talk about reselling old vases before you start to go crazy.”

“I can imagine.”

Evan stepped forwards, grabbing a plate from the drying rack and gently wiping it dry with the cloth. “So. It’s been a while.”

“Oh, no. Not you too,” Luke groaned, burned by many bland conversations started by that phrase.

“No, no. I just mean, last time I saw you, we were kids. What are you up to nowadays?”

Luke shrugged. “I help Dad out with work sometimes. Otherwise, I work on computers, mostly.”

“Computers!” Evan exclaimed excitedly. “Damn, I bet there’s some money in that.”

Luke smiled, but didn’t respond; instead he asked, “So, what about you?”

“Ah. Kinda just… living off of Daddy’s money a bit.”

“At least you’re self-aware.”

Evan scoffed. “Nah, all jokes aside, I’m looking to get a job in antiques of all things.”

“What? But I thought you said you were sick of your parents talking about antiques.”

“I said I was sick of the same story about antiques,” Evan smiled. “Not the antiques themselves. I’m actually quite fond of paintings at the minute, too. Actually, that reminds me, we recently–”

Luke felt his communicator buzz in his pocket, and his heart sank. He hurriedly shook his hands, reaching for a spare towel to dry them on. As he pulled out the small device, trying his best to hide it from Evan, he read the message: “DON’T NEED BACKUP - NEED TECH SUPPORT”

“You missed one,” Evan stated, pointing to a lone dish left in the sink. Luke stuffed the communicator in his pocket before looking apologetically at Evan.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered, I gotta take an important phone call. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Evan nodded firmly. “Oh, sure. Catch you later.”

Luke flashed Evan another apologetic look before making a break for the staircase. He moved with such speed and such certainty that he didn’t quite realise he had made it to his room until he was sitting at his desk chair, his hands still slightly damp from the sink. After a few clicks, he managed to successfully patch into the Signal’s communicator.

“Signal, can you hear me?”

“Hey, Batwing. Yeah, I can hear you.” Duke’s voice seemed off; it wasn’t the content of his speech, or even his tone of voice, it was more like the quality of the call itself wasn’t as sharp as he thought it would be. “Listen, we’ve been having some issues with our suits. Well, mostly mine.”

Luke opened a few windows on his computer, cycling through line after line of code telling him which of the Signal’s systems were working and which weren’t. Intriguingly, the systems appeared to be fully operational, as far as the diagnostic search was concerned.

“Hm,” Luke mumbled. “Looks fine from where I’m sitting. What’s been the issue?”

“Whenever I try to absorb any light, there’s this crackling sound in my ears, like I’m getting feedback. And there’s this weird green energy that clouds the sides of my visor for a moment.”

He could hear Harper who, though not connected to the call, remarked that she saw the same. Luke frowned, scratching his head. All systems seemed fully operational from both a hardware and a software perspective. He launched yet another program, hoping that one final check would provide him with the information he needed.

As the program booted up, there was a crackling sound coming from the computer’s speakers. The program began to open more and more windows, filling Luke’s screen with pop-up after pop-up of the same black screen. He tried multiple commands on his computer but to no avail. As the pop-ups covered the monitor with a final window, the edges of Luke’s lockscreen began to glow green. He heard Duke remark something as this occurred, saying something to the effect of “it’s happening again”.

The screen finally flickered to life, a neon green symbol appearing in the centre. A voice boomed through Luke’s speakers, causing him to fumble with them in an attempt to reduce the volume.

GREETINGS. I HAVE IMPORTANT NEWS FOR YOU. PLEASE MEET ME AT THE FOLLOWING COORDINATES AS A MATTER OF URGENCY. I ANTICIPATE YOUR ARRIVAL.

With the final word, all black windows apart from one on Luke’s desktop closed themselves, leaving a plain screensaver staring back at him with a single line of coordinates in the centre.

“Woah! Did you catch that as well, Luke?” Duke asked.

Luke stared at the coordinates with wide eyes. There was a flash of recognition in the back of Luke’s mind as he looked upon the symbol that appeared, but there was a part of him that worried about barking up the wrong tree. He clicked with his mouse for a moment, eventually succeeding in patching through to Harper’s communicator as well.

“Luke, I don’t trust this. A random computer virus asks us to meet them at a secret location? That’s a classic recipe for trouble.”

“Yeah,” Duke agreed. “Maybe we can reverse engineer where the hack was coming from.”

“There’s no need,” Luke replied, his eyes locked on the coordinates. As remarkable as it sounded, he was slowly starting to realise who could have done all this. “We’re heading over there.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Here it is,” Duke commented. The trio looked up at the ominous Old Wayne Tower, the large clock face looking down at the foggy Gotham streets below. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

“The coordinates are right,” Luke confirmed. He was grateful to be wearing a mask, otherwise the other two would see him beaming with anticipation. “Let’s see what’s waiting for us.”

The three heroes made their way into the tower, with Luke leading the way. Harper watched him with confusion and surprise as he navigated long hallways and lengthy elevators with ease, seemingly a natural at finding his way in such a foreign building. As the elevator slowed to a stop at the top of the tower, a wave of adrenaline fell over Harper. It suddenly occurred to her that the three of them had walked into a high-tech interior, after following mysterious coordinates sent by a virus implanted in their suits’ software. Nothing about this situation made sense to Harper, and yet Luke was so calm. She looked over at Duke to gauge his reaction, but between having a helmet pulled over his face and his lack of movement, Harper could glean nothing.

The doors slid open to reveal a spacious room filled almost wall to wall with computers. A large window stood tall at one side of the room, which Duke recognised as the lengthy window he had spotted at the very top of the tower. Most notably, however, was a suited figure in all grey in the centre of the room, conversing with a woman in a desk chair. Luke took the first step out of the elevator, and as soon as his foot touched the floor, the woman looked up at them and smiled warmly.

“You came,” she said, her voice smooth but her tone excited. “And so quickly, too.”

Luke smiled under his helmet. “You said it was a matter of urgency. How could we miss a warning like that?” He tugged at the lip of his helmet, slowly removing it and holding it under his arm.

“Hi, Luke,” the woman greeted. “Nice to see you again.”

Duke took a step back in shock. “Again? You know her?”

“You’re forgetting I used to work for Batman back in the day,” Luke snorted. “So did Oracle here.”

“You guys can call me Babs, when it’s not professional.”

The name Oracle didn’t seem to ring any bells for Harper, nor for Duke, and yet the way Luke talked about her - the tone of his voice as he did - painted a picture of his respect for her, perhaps even his fondness. The man in grey took a step towards the group and out of the shadows, and as he approached, they were able to recognise him.

Luke frowned. “Jace.”

Jace Fox looked at Bluebird and the Signal with a smile, then his eyes lingered on Batwing. “Good to see you again. All of you.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I called him here,” Babs answered. “Same as you.”

“So, wait, what’s going on here? And what is this place?”

Babs gestured to the technology around her. “This is the Belfry. It’s my main base of operations nowadays.” She shifted in her seat, excitedly tapping the arm of her chair with her fingers. “As for what’s going on, well, that’s the fun part. Like Luke said, I’ve worked with Batman in the past, and often I still do. A big part of what I do is keeping an eye out for things, whether that’s monitoring CCTV footage or tracking down runaway villains.” Oracle looked up at Bluebird with a sly smile. “I also stay on the lookout for any new heroes cropping up.”

“I thought that was Batwing’s job,” Duke remarked. “To keep an eye on us.”

Babs nodded. “It was. But I wasn’t out to stop you, like Batman originally wanted. In fact, I looked into the sort of effect you guys had on the Narrows.” Babs typed a few things into her keyboard before hitting enter. A graph appeared on screen detailing the crime rates in different neighbourhoods in Gotham over time; most notably, The Narrows was highlighted. “As you can see, crime has decreased quite a bit since you guys started helping out the Narrows. You guys know your stuff.”

She swivelled to face the group and sat forwards in her chair. “I’ll be honest with you, a lot of Gotham’s heroes - Nightwing, Robin, to name a few - have moved to other cities. We’ve got a bit of a… gap in the market, so to speak, and it feels like you guys are the only ones that are out of the loop. I’m hoping, if you’re up for it, that I can make sure you’re in it.”

“Cool,” Duke smiled. “So, what would that mean for us?”

“I can set up a communications link with you guys - the same one I use for Batman - and you can contact me whenever you need. I can also send you some info that I think might be helpful, like reports of ongoing crimes and even clues. Think of me as your eye in the sky.”

Luke released a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. There was a part of him that was relieved to hear this, which was a surprise to himself. He had started to feel a little stretched thin, through no one’s fault; being both ‘Batwing the hero’ and ‘Batwing the tech support guy’ had started to weigh on him, and hearing Babs offer to take one responsibility off of him… he smiled to himself. The only thing that was bugging him now, however, is why she had called Jace.

It seemed that Jace read Luke’s mind: “But why me?”

“Well,” Babs started, turning to face Jace. “I noticed you dealt with Gnomon as a quartet, if I’m not mistaken. I watched a lot of it unfold - I’m impressed. Jace tells me that there might be some - and I’m sorry if I’m intruding - tension between some of you, but a part of me felt I would be missing a trick if I didn’t invite all of you.”

Jace seemed to look at Babs with slight caution. Luke silently wondered to himself what Babs was like on his Earth; whether she too was Oracle, or maybe she still operated as Batgirl, or maybe even something else entirely.

“I’m in, personally,” Harper announced. “What do you guys think?”

“Yeah!” Duke agreed.

“Alright,” Jace smiled. “Thank you for the offer.”

Luke looked at Babs for a moment, and she looked back at him with anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

Babs clasped her hands together, turning to her computer once more. “Excellent. Well, we might as well jump straight into it. The first thing I’ve found for you guys is some information about a number of art thefts around Gotham. It seemed like a petty robbery at first, but this guy is starting to get bolder. He’s taken a total of three paintings so far: one from a local gallery, and two from various well-to-do families.”

As Babs tapped away at her computer, the addresses of the robberies flashed on screen for a moment, along with the names of the families affected in the two home invasions. Luke’s eyes glazed over them as he tried to take the information in, but something in particular caught his attention.

“The Blake Family: Peter, Charlotte, Evan.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: Getting to the bottom of it in New Gotham Knights #5 - Coming April 2024

DC Next proudly presents:

##KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In ARGO Solutions

Issue Sixteen: Metropolis

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by Deadislandman1 & PredaPlant

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

This story takes place one year ago, immediately after Superman: House of El #4 and Kara: Daughter of Krypton #9.

When Alex Danvers flashed a minimalist keycard to the receptionist of the Centennial Hotel, she received a curt nod and polite smile in response, the hand of the middle aged woman gesturing to the left of the reception desk toward an elevator. Walking over to it next to Linda and the receptionist, Alex watched as the older woman inserted a small key into a slot below the buttons, twisting it to activate the elevator. The doors opened quickly, with the cab already having been at ground level, and the sisters guided inside.

“Your room is number 1401,” said the woman, giving Alex a knowing glance. Linda either was too distracted by her mind to notice or simply didn’t care. “We hope you enjoy your stay!” Said the woman, watching the elevator doors closed as Alex pressed the button for the fourteenth floor, waiting as the slow jerk of the cabin started its ascent.

The small metal box was totally silent as it rose. No words had been spoken by Linda — nothing more than a few words to say she was okay, at least — ever since they had left National City. It wasn’t for Alex’s lack of trying, she always tried to strike up conversation with her sister. After so long being apart, however, there was nothing Alex could think to try and use to bond with Linda.

In her spare time, of which there was an abundance, Linda was an artist. She sculpted statues that were technically impressive, but Alex struggled to interpret them. She was never an artistic mind, preferring much more to stick to rigidity, order, and the material world. She could never wrap her mind around abstraction, and the more Linda worked, the more her finished pieces seemed to stray that way. Alex did what she could, getting all her sculptures fired when she found the time, but artistry was foreign.

“How’s the latest sculpture going?” asked Alex, trying her best to seem interested in Linda’s hobby, as little as she could truly engage with it otherwise.

“Good,” said Linda, her voice low. She kept her eyes glued to the floor, wishing to be in a dark room with her work, all the way across the country in National City. Alex tried convincing her that Metropolis could be a fun trip, something good for her, but even as they arrived in the city, Linda struggled to feel excited about it.

Alex knew that Superman was Linda’s true hero, and, in another time, perhaps the prospect of meeting him would have helped her cheer up a little bit. But something inside of her kept that from happening — something that plagued her mind so intensely that it made it difficult to even imagine her as anything other than melancholic.

“I fired your latest few sculptures before we left,” said Alex. “They’re very nice.”

“Thanks,” said Linda, continuing to avoid Alex’s eyes. It was difficult to manage the intense mix of frustration and worry that arose within Alex’s chest, a palpable feeling that she was doing something wrong, but she kept her mind occupied, counting the floors until the doors opened. Seconds later, a small chime emitted from the doors as they split, revealing the fourteenth floor, clad in the usual drab, almost cliche, wallpaper and patterns carpet that Alex had gotten used to seeing in hotels across the country.

Generic landscapes and vague depictions of random scenery lined the walls, the most inoffensive and cheap pieces of art the hotel could have bought, devoid of the human figure in any form. Mountains and random pastures, all decorated with some body of water, all amalgamating into the same piece of art with minor variations.

Quickly arriving at their assigned room, Alex swiped her key in front of the handle, hearing the chime indicating the door unlocking. She twisted the handle and entered the room quickly, waiting moments for Linda to catch up and enter.

“Alright,” said Alex, clasping her hands together with a light smile after setting her suitcase down. She watched as Linda tossed her own bag down onto the ground and sat in the small loveseat in the corner of the room, staring out of the window. “What do you want to do first?” Linda shrugged.

“We could go to the Superman exhibit at the museum,” Alex continued. “Or maybe I can see if STAR labs has some sort of public event going that we could go see.”

“Whichever,” Linda said, continuing to stare out the window, glancing up toward the sky above the hotel every few moments. “It’s up to you.” Alex held back a sigh, staring at Linda for a few moments, trying to process the response before solemnly nodding to herself.

“Right,” Alex said. “I’ll, uh… I’ll look into both, see what works.” Reaching into her pocket, Alex pulled out her phone in the same moment that a call came through, with the number of her handler displayed on the call identification. “Work call,” Alex said, walking toward the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.” Linda did not respond.

Stepping into the bathroom and shutting the door, locking it tightly and stuffing a towel into the bottom gap, Alex answered the call.

“Blackrock,” called Alex’s handler. “Your stay in Metropolis might be longer than expected. The National City Kryptonian has fallen off the radar. Until we can relocate it, close recon won’t be necessary. You will remain in Metropolis until it is found again.”

“Is she just gone?” Alex asked, crossing her arm over the one holding her phone to her ear. She looked into the mirror at herself for a few moments, unsure of what to think.

“We don’t know where it’s gone,” said the handler. “Maintain your current assignment. The safehouse should have proper facilities to aid in the extension of your stay.”

“Yeah, right, right,” Alex said absentmindedly. “Do we know where she went?”

“Continue your assignment, Blackrock,” said the handler, her voice firm in those final words before the call cut off. With a scoff, Alex set her phone down on the bathroom countertop, leaning forward with her hand on the edge of the marble, staring into the mirror in front of her.

She was all the way across the country from her home in National City, she was in now-unfamiliar territory, following a man she did not know, with a sister she struggled to understand. Every thought of hers pulled her in every possible direction, a mix of duties pulling her in totally separate directions.

Taking a deeper look into the mirror, her face scrunched up as she noticed the growing bags under her eyes and the wrinkles that were developing across her face. Her memories of being younger, more reckless seemed so distant these days. The brief months of bars, drugs, and even more inexplicable behaviour seemed like an entirely different life — and the one before that, living in Leesburg, Virginia, hiding herself from all around her, was all the more foreign.

Looking into her own eyes, she couldn’t even remember what she was like in Leesburg, how she acted around her parents and those in her community. As she rounded puberty, more and more she hid in her room, claiming to do homework as she failed classes. She remembered the drastic measures she took to alleviate her own self hatred inflicted by the dogma she’d been fed.

It never worked.

Most curious of all, she couldn’t remember much of her parents. She saw blurred faces and heard muffled voices when she tried to remember them, but she had so far removed herself after leaving at 18 that she had managed to almost forget the man and woman who had housed her since birth.

After almost ten years in the DEO, her memories of those two years between leaving Leesburg and joining the classified government organisation felt like she was watching a coming of age tragedy on television.

When Alex saw the wear and tear of time showing on her face, she frowned. Linda deserved better than to feel the same grief Alex went through after leaving Leesburg. She had to make sure Linda knew success, whatever it took. Her only fear was that she was too late.

When she leaned down to pick up the towel from the floor, she noticed the silence in the other room. Opening the door led to the same sight; Linda was sitting by the window, wordlessly staring out into the City of Tomorrow. Without a single thought beyond wanting to help Linda in the best way she could, Alex spoke up.

“Let’s go get lunch,” she said, her tone high and inviting. “I’ve had friends tell me of a great place right in the centre of the city. Mid-day, mid-city, I’m betting it’s the best place to see Superman.” Linda barely stirred, but made a small groan in acknowledgement. “Let’s go, slowpoke!” Said Alex, walking up to Linda and tugging on her sister’s arm, an encouraging smile on her face.

Linda was slow to rise, but eventually did stand to follow Alex out of the room. As little as she seemed to show it, Linda was interested in at least trying to meet Superman, though for reasons that Alex couldn’t fathom. She knew that her older sister was trying, but it was all in ways that Linda didn’t exactly see as helpful — at least, it was in ways that Alex wouldn’t understand were unhelpful.

Superman was her best idea yet, but even if she had gotten the right answer, the equation she used was all wrong. That was the truth of Alex’s mind, Linda figured. It was all equations, all rigid systems to diagnose and treat an identifiable, understandable problem. Linda wasn’t sure she understood her own malaise and sorrow, how could Alex figure it out? Regardless, Linda followed Alex, falling behind occasionally, but keeping up with her sister as best she could.

Central Metropolis was much more crowded than either Alex or Linda found comfortable, massive groups of people packed so tightly together as they walked on sidewalks and crossed streets that breathing became nearly uncomfortable. The heat emanating from passing cars and the bodies of others on the streets made a cool spring day feel like the hottest days of a Californian summer.

The restaurant Alex was searching for, Leslie’s, was a highly rated — and moderately cheap — restaurant a few blocks out from the very centre of Metropolis. It was a smaller restaurant, serving mostly lunch sandwiches, with a small fenced patio dining area overlooking the streets of Metropolis.

Alex felt lucky to have found a table for her and Linda, jumping at the opportunity to get a patio seat with a clear view of the skies of Metropolis, ready to catch a look at Superman should he go flying through.

Sitting down at the table, Alex ordered a diet Soder-Cola while Linda asked for a glass of water. Looking over the menu, Alex couldn’t hide her excitement on Linda’s behalf, her wide smile and giddiness seeming all too overbearing for her younger sister, who simply tagged along to entertain Alex’s method of help.

“What do you think you’ll say if he comes by?” Alex asked, keeping her eyes trained on the skies.

“I doubt he’ll have time to stop for us,” Linda replied, causing Alex to roll her eyes dramatically.

“Come on!” Alex exclaimed, nudging her sister toward an answer. “He’s Superman, I’m sure he’d listen to what you have to say. What would you ask?”

“I don’t know,” said Linda, looking down at the table, struggling to find the desire to pick an item off of the menu. “How does he do it all?”

“It’s impressive, right?” asked Alex, glancing between the air and her sister. “Imagine having all of those powers!”

“They seem cool,” Linda said, taking her own glance toward the sky, hoping to see something, or someone, fly by.

She and Alex had received their drinks, ordered their food, and gotten served before even a whisper of activity could be heard. Linda was acutely aware of people discussing Superman, and for the first time in too long, her attention was spurred when chatter of a sighting began to circulate across the patio. Looking up, hoping for a sign yet certain none would come, Linda waited for the inevitable disappointment that would come with setting her expectations high.

As the moments passed and the skies remained calm, she settled back into herself, ready to scold her own mind for thinking that she would be able to see him. Taking her fork and poking it into her nearly untouched salad, tossing a few leaves around her plate, she sighed.

“There he is!” shouted a child a few tables away from Linda and Alex, pointing to the sky north of Leslie’s. Instinctively, all of the patrons, including Linda, swivelled their heads to get a look at the passing blue and red clad hero. Having to squint to see anything, Linda could barely make out the figure in the distance, but it was undeniable that he was there.

“Superman,” she said under her breath. “I need your help.”

“What’s up?” asked Alex, turning toward Linda.

“What?” asked Linda, unsure what her sister meant with the question.

“I thought I heard you mumbling.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Linda said. “Just talking to myself.” Alex hesitated before offering a short nod, accepting the response.

Despite what she had started to hope, nothing answered Linda’s call.

Later that day, Alex had discovered from another agent stationed in Metropolis that the Superman spotting was simply the Man of Steel making his way to STAR Labs and, as the days passed, it became more and more clear that it was going to be his only sighting in the city. Days turned into weeks, which turned into a month of being stationed in Metropolis, cooped up in a hotel room that became more bland by the day.

Daily reports from fellow agents blended into each other, all claiming zero activity. The further time went on, the more frustrated Alex became. Not only could she not help introduce Linda to her hero, but she came up empty on all fronts, unable to provide usable information to her handler about the newest Superman, theorised to be among what scientists had begun calling the Reawakened.

Sitting in the hotel room, bored, Alex rolled her eyes as her handler called one last time during her stay in Metropolis. Commencing her usual routine of entering the bathroom and using a towel to plug the gap beneath the door, Alex answered.

“Blackrock,” her handler began. “The female Kryptonian has returned to Earth.” Despite herself, Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Metropolis had lost its lustre. “We have sufficient resources to return you to National City and apply new agents to monitor the new male Kryptonian.”

“Thank god,” Alex muttered to herself. “When am I going back?”

“As soon as possible,” her handler said. “We need all eyes on the female, yours especially.”

“Alright,” Alex replied. “I’ll get packed up and to the airport tonight.”

“As soon as possible,” her handler repeated, hanging up the phone call unceremoniously. Alex scoffed, briefly staring at her phone in her hands, shaking her head. She was thankful to be able to soon sleep in her own bed once again, and she imagined that Linda would be more than willing to return to her dark room and her sculptures.

Sitting on her hands, waiting for a man who had only been seen once in an entire month to do something was a waste of her talents, Alex thought. Even if she wanted to avoid the super-powered aliens at all costs, she would rather be able to do her job right, instead of sitting around and waiting for days on end.

Linda said nothing as Alex announced that the two of them were to return to National City that night, however all belongings were packed and ready to leave within the hour.

DC Next presents:

##Suicide Squad

Issue Thirty-Eight: Nick Of Time

Arc: A New World

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by Predaplant

Before

In the chaos of the fight, everything at the edge of your vision blurs. All the little things that annoy you, all the little things you love, they all snap out of being. It’s just you, the people fighting by your side, and the people trying to kill you. Raptor watched the scene unfold, as Flag, Polaris, and Croc were pinned down under a hail of bullets, stuck within the courtyard of a forest complex and assailed from all sides by members of the Aryan Empire. Above him on a balcony, their ringleader was reloading a grenade launcher, preparing to turn Raptor’s teammates into small, unidentifiable chunks of flesh. Red Star was out of play, and with Brimstone racing after her friend, the team lacked the firepower to make an opening.

His teammates needed relief, but if he didn’t prioritize the person launching explosives, they wouldn’t be alive to benefit from relief. He needed to kill two birds with one stone.

Good thing there was a grenade launcher just one floor up.

Making a running leap towards a set of crates, Raptor flipped and parkoured his way up to the balcony, making it just as the ringleader finished loading the launcher. Mantling over the railing, he hit the white masked criminal with a flying kick, dislodging a couple teeth as he knocked her on her back. While the launcher clattered across the floor, the leader scrambled back, rushing to pick herself up and retreat into the main building of the complex. Ignoring her for the moment, Raptor picked up the grenade launcher, whirled around, and began raining fire down on the rest of the Aryan Empire.

The explosive rounds created shockwaves across the courtyard, knocking the members of the Aryan Empire around while forming craters in the earth. Many suffered more grievous injuries than being sent flying, having been relieved of their limbs or innards. On the other hand, while the Squad had been rattled, they were alive and unharmed, albeit caked in loose dirt and mud. Having given the squad a chance, Raptor turned around and kicked the door to the house down, moving inside in hopes of finding his target.

Meanwhile, Flag groaned, specks of dust clouding his vision. While the ringing in his ears did its best to distract him, he was still able to take a step towards the main building. Task Force X would be exposed if they didn’t stop the file transmission, yet in his current state, he couldn't run, lest he lose his balance. Slowly, the remaining Aryan Empire members began to get up, and Flag realized there was no way he could make it to the building without being turned to swiss cheese.

As Croc and Polaris recovered, the latter seemed to notice this fact, and without even thinking about it, he raised his hand and flicked his wrist, praying to whoever was capable of listening that he wasn’t about to kill his Colonel. If the soldier’s grip was strong, everything would be alright.

In one moment, Flag was carrying his rifle. In the next, it was carrying him. With a surge of power, Polaris gripped the gun with magnetic power before flinging it forcefully towards one of the main building’s windows like a cruise missile. Flag, who maintained a firm grip on the weapon, was carried along, sent sailing over the enemy before crashing through the glass, safely out of view of those in the courtyard.

While the Aryan Empire members stared in confusion at what had just occurred, Croc finally regained his senses, and with a savage chomp, bit one of the militia members in half. Following suit, Polaris began pulling guns out of people’s hands and turning them against their former owners. They didn’t need to protect Flag anymore. Now, it was just a matter of being a big enough problem to divert attention away from their true objective.

He just had to hope that they could get things done, and that Brimstone and Red Star would be back in time to not leave them hanging.

Adella raced through the forest, trying desperately to follow the path of destruction left in Nicholas’s wake. The speed of his tumbling had slowed, resulting in a harder trail to trace, but Adella knew that eventually, she would find him. Their codenames didn’t matter at that moment, and to her regret, the rest of the squad were now the least of her worries. Nick was durable, yet to be knocked around like that… it wasn’t normal.

She hoped things weren’t even worse than they appeared.

Pushing through the brush, Adella found Nicholas at the bottom of a ditch, drenched in wet mud and with a face half covered with a layer of soot. He was pushing himself to his feet, though it looked to be a bit of a struggle. Clambering down, Adella rushed to his side, pulling him up and acting as support. “Nicholas? Are you alright?”

Nicholas shook his head, clearly still disoriented. “Y-Yes…I’m fine. Go, help the others!”

Adella took a knee next to Nicholas, grimacing. He was lying, he had to be lying. “I don’t know what’s going on with you Nicholas, but I’m your friend. You can tell me!”

Nicholas sighed, “...I can’t.”

Adella’s eyes widened. “But…but why not?”

Nicholas met Adella’s gaze, and she could see a particular look in his eyes. Defeat, like a proud hound that had been beaten into submission. He wiped the grime from his face, clearing his nostrils. “...I can’t… I just can’t… It’s… it’s too terrible to think about, especially right now.”

Adella frowned. They would need to talk about things sooner or later, but ultimately, Nicholas was right. It was a bad time to talk, “Then steel yourself, Red Star. We still have a job to do.”

Nodding, Nicholas began to float off of the ground before angling himself towards the compound, flying back towards the fray. Igniting her body, she blasted off of the ground, taking flight after him. They had wasted far too much time already. Hopefully, their absence hadn’t created an opportunity for tragedy.

Flag winced in pain, shards of sharp glass protruding from the cuts in his uniform. Coughing, he used his rifle to push himself to his feet, taking note of his surroundings. He was in a living room, complete with leather armchairs, varnished wooden flooring, and a stone fireplace. As the ringing in his ears faded, he raised his rifle, ready to sweep the building, only to find that the weapon had been completely bent out of shape. Its central frame had been stretched and broken beyond repair, and the barrel had been bent to the right by the impact of being thrown at top speed through a window.

As Flag prepared to fiddle with the weapon in hopes of salvaging it, an Aryan Empire member kicked down the door, having heard the soldier’s crude entrance. Working off of pure reflex, Flag flung his rifle at the enemy, cracking him right on the nose and causing him to stumble to the side. Drawing his pistol, Flag put a bullet in his head before aiming at the door, anticipating more opposition. Nobody else charged inside, but Flag could hear footsteps throughout the building. They were preparing for him.

Too bad, that wouldn’t stop him.

After taking stock of his ammunition, of which he had two magazines to spare, Flag began sweeping through the house, making his way through the building in hopes of locating his target. He made his way through nearly a dozen different rooms, each dedicated to either more mundane purposes like a kitchen or a dining room, while others, such as a former man cave, has made the transition into a weapons room. Under most circumstances, Flag would help himself to something extra, but rather than risk putting his prints on something that was definitely going to be dusted, he instead put faith in his trusty sidearm and kept moving.

He encountered resistance, often in the form of well armed but poorly trained militia members who would hide in corners or on the floor. Even when taking advantage of cover, they would be too slow to react as Flag picked them off one by one. He burned through ammunition quickly, but as he moved upstairs to the second floor, he could feel the resistance to his approach growing weaker, exemplified when every other room he entered contained nothing but corpses, stabbed and slashed by a bladed gauntlet. Raptor had been thinning the herd for him, a boon for sure considering he was now almost out of ammo.

Kicking in the door to yet another room, Flag felt a surge of adrenaline as he spotted the servers that he was looking for. They were hooked up to a computer, with the ZIP bomb containing all the evidence of the Suicide Squad’s existence mere minutes from being uploaded. Raising his pistol, he prepared to end things right then and there, only for a woman to emerge from behind the door, knocking his weapon out of his hands with a metal pipe. Cursing himself for not clearing the room, Flag kicked the pipe out of her hands, but this only emboldened her, prompting her to lunge at him, wrapping her hands around his throat and sending them both careening against a nearby table.

“Die! Die in the name of the Aryan Empire, race traitor!”

Now

And so, we finally return to the moment of tragedy. After making his entrance, Raptor had been shot, put out of commission, and now the man with the shotgun was prepared to take his head off next. He couldn’t break his assailant's grip; he couldn’t do anything to stop the ZIP bomb from destroying all of Task Force X. He was powerless, something that he had been from time to time, but never like this.

Thankfully, he had big friends capable of making big messes.

An explosion rocked the room as a fireball obliterated one of the walls, sending everyone in the room flying. The rubble tumbled down to the first floor, revealing a massive chunk of the house had been incinerated by a fireball, courtesy of the flying Brimstone outside. Taking advantage of the chaos, Flag grabbed his knife off the floor and promptly opened his assailant’s throat before leaving her to choke on her own blood. Grabbing the shotgun off the floor, he pumped one round into the militia member who shot Raptor before proceeding to empty the rest of the weapon’s ammunition into the computer and its servers, stopping the upload and rendering the data unrecoverable.

Then, without skipping a beat, he tossed the shotgun aside and rushed to Raptor’s side. Suyolak had already begun administering painkillers, but that would fix the buckshot that had ripped through his chest. Flag’s eyes widened when he realized that his friend wasn’t moving. The rest of the squad seemed to realize this as well, with Nicholas bearing a look of profound guilt. Turning to the squad, he screamed “Call the chopper now!” before doing his best to administer first aid, hoping to get a heartbeat out of his brother in arms.

The rest of the squad scrambled to help, with Polaris doing his best to pick the bits of lead out while Brimstone cauterized what she felt were wounds safe to close. Flag applied chest compressions until the chopper arrived, and even when they eventually loaded him onto the vehicle and experienced medics took over, he still felt nauseous, terrified at the prospect of losing someone he’d grown to care for so dearly.

As the chopper left the Vermont wilderness, Flag remained fixated on Raptor. They had gotten a pulse, which calmed his nerves, but something still ate at him, something deeper than the worry for a friend. Looking back at the destroyed compound being left behind, he ruminated on the destruction of the Aryan Empire’s final base, and the nature of the ZIP bomb.

He’d ensured the security of the United States government, yet this act had also kept his friends chained to a life of servitude. He had always done his best to lead the squad with grit and determination, yet as the years have gone by, this group of rejects and nobodies had grown on him, to the point that he would readily admit to a few of them that he might be lost without them. It inspired a question that he had always avoided, because to answer it would be to betray things he had believed for the longest time.

What kind of friend uses their compatriots like this, what king of brother in arms does this to their own siblings in arms? What kind of man was Flag if he did everything in his power to doom the people he loved? As the smoking compound shrank in the distance, Flag found himself shaken by the fact that he knew the answer already.

No friend uses their compatriots. No friend at all.

Next Issue: Catchup time!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

##THE FLASH

In On Two Fronts

Issue Thirty-Three: Regret-Me-Not

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Geography3

<< First Issue | < Prev. | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

Grace Good sat across from her new parole officer in an office space that seemed to extend her period of confinement rather than herald a new beginning. The officer, Ms. Jackam, sifted through a file, each page a testament to Grace's tumultuous past.

Ms Jackam glanced up from the file, her eyes meeting Grace's. “Your story is quite unique, Grace. You have… well, a lot of mitigating factors in your favour."

“I’d have to, or I’d have been locked away for longer,” Grace replied quietly, “After all I stole. After what I destroyed.”

“You were coerced. Tricked.” Ms Jackam said, her voice empathetic as she touched Grace's hand, trying to pierce her shell of resignation. “And you were more careful than most to avoid casualties.”

“My problem was never with the people.”

“No,” Jackam tapped a pen against the desk, “Just the Flash.”

Grace's face contorted with a mix of anger and pain. “And Dhawan, that manipulative witch.”

The parole officer leaned back, allowing Grace to express her raw, unfiltered feelings.

Three years had passed since Grace Good's world had crumbled around her, entangled in the deceit of Meena Dhawan and a man masquerading as STAR Labs researcher Harrison Wells. They had exploited her nascent powers for their agenda, dangling a cure for her father's illness as bait. But Grace's efforts were in vain; the Flash thwarted her before she could deliver, and her father passed away during her ensuing flight from justice. After her father’s death, she had tried to take revenge against the Flash, ultimately landing her behind bars.

Her heart was heavy as her past mistakes and all those that had wronged her still burdened her. This day - the day of her parole - was one she had counted down the days to for years. She had hoped to feel freer than she did right now.

Ms Jackam, breaking the heavy silence, broached a new topic. “You'll be staying with your sister, correct?”

“Yes, my half-sister,” Grace confirmed, a glimmer of hope in her voice.

“It's vital to have support during this transition,” Ms. Jackam remarked, her tone genuine. “Isolation can be challenging post-release.”

Grace offered a weak nod, her mind elsewhere.

Ms Jackam leaned in, her voice laced with a professional duty. “With Barry Allen's identity now public, I must ask—do you have any intentions toward him?”

Grace's expression stiffened. “I wouldn’t be here if not for Barry Allen. My dad might even still be alive…” She took a deep breath. “But no, I’m not going looking for him. I want to move forward, not back.”

“I’m happy to hear it. In that case,” Ms Jackam clicked her pen and pulled out the last of a number of printed forms. “Let’s get you all signed off!”

After the paperwork was completed and Grace stood to leave, Ms. Jackam offered parting words of encouragement. “This is a big step, Grace. Just remember, we're here to support your reintegration, not just monitor your compliance.”

As Grace reached for the door handle, she paused, reflecting on the weight of her past and the path she was choosing to walk. She would confront Barry Allen again, but this time she would be prepared.

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Barry and Patty strolled through the park, the crisp air mingling with the rustle of leaves underfoot, creating a quaint backdrop to their tentative reunion. It had been four months since they had finally gotten on the same page about the events of their separation, since Barry had explained exactly what had led him to cause the problems he had. In the months since, they had been meeting up from time to time, stealing time away from their busy lives for afternoons at Jitters. Tonight was something they had been building up to; both were acutely aware of the significance of this walk, though neither dared label it a 'date' just yet. Their conversation fluttered between trivialities and shared memories, a dance around the more profound topics they were both itching and dreading to explore.

“I found my old bike in the family attic!” Barry exclaimed. “Tried taking it for a spin before I remembered why we stuffed it up there in the first place.”

“Chain still keeps coming off?” asked Patty with amusement.

Barry’s face lit up; that was right. “Well, we never did fix it. Stands to reason it’d still be broken.”

Patty laughed. “You know, I think I still have a photo of you with that bike, in your hi-vis puffer jacket and your helmet, from back when you’d surprise me outside the medical building after my lectures.”

Barry nodded, a twinkle in his eye. “You know, I only got that bike to make those trips from my apartment to your campus quicker.”

“You mean you got it so you wouldn’t keep being late?” she teased.

“I’d love to tell you you’re right, but let’s be honest: I was still late half the time.”

“Yeah, well, it’s part of your charm!”

Their conversation flowed more freely now, touching on familiar subjects, reminiscing about past cases they cracked together while they worked for the CCPD, laughing over shared inside jokes. It was comfortable and yet underscored with a mutual awareness of the depth of their past connection.

As they found a bench and sat, the conversation naturally deepened, turning toward the future - a topic both fraught and inevitable. Patty took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edge of the bench. "Barry, there's something I've been meaning to ask... about Bart."

Barry's expression sobered, his gaze dropping to his hands before meeting Patty's eyes. “What do you want to know?”

“You said he was your grandson. That he was destined to be the Flash, and destined to die.” She went to add something before changing her mind about what she wanted to say next. “What does that mean exactly?”

Barry took a deep breath. “This was all the day of the Speed Force storm; the day I, or, we got our powers. The Reverse Flash - whoever he is - had travelled to 2019 to make sure the storm got out of control, to make it so I’d have to sacrifice myself to the Speed Force in order to stop it from tearing apart reality.”

“So you’d never be the Flash,” Patty intuited. “He really does hate you.”

“For something that I haven’t even done yet,” Barry grimaced. “But Bart, well, he was the Flash from the future, and I guess he was a step ahead of Reverse Flash. He travelled even further back, integrated himself in our time as Harrison Wells. The real one, not like when the Charlatan impersonated him. He waited until the Reverse Flash struck, watched over the particle accelerator until the storm began.”

“And then he gave himself to the storm so you didn’t have to. He saved everyone.” Patty’s heart ached as she pieced together how this story ended.

“The Reverse Flash was furious,” Barry explained. “But I couldn’t tell if he was more mad at Bart, or at me for surviving.”

“So, your grandson... maybe our grandson... he's gone because he wanted to protect you, to protect the world?”

“It's all still potential,” Barry said, his voice tinged with the complexity of time travel's uncertainties. “He hasn't been born yet. But yes, he saved us all.”

The scene around them seemed to pause, acknowledging the gravity of their conversation. Patty reached out, her hand brushing Barry's. “I can't imagine how that feels, knowing what he did... what he will do.”

Barry's hand turned, clasping hers. “It's a lot to carry, but knowing he did it out of love, out of a sense of duty... it helps. But it also makes me wonder about the choices we make now, how they might influence things. We don’t know that the future’s set.”

Patty squeezed his hand, offering a silent moment of support before her curiosity returned. “So, the Reverse Flash, is he from the future too?”

Barry's eyes hardened slightly. “That or he’s spent a lot of time there. He’s got a vendetta against me, one that seems to span across time. That’s why he killed my mom, and why he tried to kill me, why he killed Martha and Daniel, and why he revealed my secret to the world.”

Patty frowned. “William…”

“I owe it to the kid to find out more about the guy,” Barry grumbled. “But I just come up empty.”

“Well, the Reverse Flash knew who Bart was. Do you think he would have tangled with the other Flashes?” Patty proposed.

Barry sighed. “Maybe, but it’s not like I can ask the Flashes before me. It was Max’s trick that let me talk to my dad using his helmet. Now they’re both gone.”

“Right, but,” Patty’s mind was racing, “How about a Flash from the future? Or one who spent a lot of time there. Maybe he’s crossed paths with the Reverse Flash while he was there.”

The penny dropped.

“Wally,” Barry nodded. “I’ve thought about asking him but… I don’t know. I’m scared of what he might tell me.”

“Right.”

“And I’m sure if he had anything we needed to know, he would have told us already.”

Patty sighed, unsure of what else she could say. “I’m sure you’re right. How is Wally anyway? It’s been a few months now since… you know…”

“Taking a few classes at community college,” Barry replied, “While Iris tries to wear him down on applying to Keystone U.”

“To do what?”

“He wants to work on cars. Designing them, innovating them,” he explained.

Patty smirked, “Looking to borrow some ideas from the 25th Century?”

“The opposite,” Barry laughed. “He said he wasn’t impressed by what 400 years of progress gets us, and wants to see about changing it.”

“But he needs convincing to apply to Keystone?”

“He says he’s got enough on his plate already,” Barry explained. “Being a full time superhero while also dealing with the worst case of cosmic jet lag.”

Patty frowned. “He really ought to be seeing someone. A therapist or something. Years stuck in a different time can’t be good for you.”

“Me and Iris are telling him the same thing.” Barry shook his head. “But he says he’s fine. Just wants to get on.”

“And you?” Patty probed.

Barry furrowed his brow. “Me?”

“How are you getting on?”

“Well…” He didn’t know where to begin. “I suppose not much has changed for a while. Still busy. Don’t exactly have time for many hobbies.”

“Work keeps me plenty busy too,” Patty retorted quickly. “But you and I both still find the team to sneak away for these dates, don’t we?”

There it was. The D word. Something that had until now remained unsaid for the past few months. Barry felt his heart skip a beat. But then that was shattered when a familiar voice sounded from behind them.

“Barry Allen,” the voice called out, laden with a history that immediately tensed Barry's shoulders.

As they turned to look over the back of the bench, the dark-haired Grace Good emerged, her approach almost ghostlike. Barry's heart raced, a flurry of scenarios playing out in his mind as he and Patty both jumped to their feet. He had known of her release, had braced for this encounter, yet now found himself grappling for composure.

“Not here,” said Barry tersely. “Let’s take this away from civilians. Please.”

“I'm not here to fight, Flash,” Grace stated, her voice firm yet laced with an unexpected vulnerability.

Barry, still on edge, remained protectively in front of Patty.

Grace's expression softened, her gaze briefly meeting Patty's before returning to Barry. “I came to apologise," she said, her admission cutting through the park's ambient noise and reaching Patty with a clarity that momentarily took her breath away.

“You're apologising?” Barry's confusion mirrored Patty’s surprise, his mind struggling to align this Grace with the one he remembered, the one who wielded powers much like the Weather Wizard to rob a jewellery store, and later wage war on the Flash family.

“Yes,” she affirmed, a tremor in her voice. “When I was inside… I saw the news about the cyclone that ripped through the city.”

Barry nodded, thinking back to the still-unaccounted-for Rosie Dillon’s Speed Force accident.

“I saw how scared everyone was. Nevermind all that was destroyed. I figured people must have felt pretty similar after what I did. I had to be stopped.”

Barry blinked, the revelation stirring a tumult of emotions within him. This was a woman who previously felt entitled to do whatever she needed for her own ends. Equally, this was a woman who had lost her father, and missed being there with him in his final moments, because of Barry arresting her. How could she possibly be apologising?

“I’m sorry. For everything. And I forgive you, Barry.”

Patty, witnessing this unexpected vulnerability, felt a stirring of empathy despite the residual wariness from their past encounters. “Barry,” she whispered, a gentle prompt for him to consider Grace's words.

But all Barry could do was remain alert. “How did you even find me here?”

“It wasn't hard,” Grace admitted, a hint of irony in her tone. “There's a forum online. Barry Allen sightings... they track them.”

The admission sparked a new wave of concern in Barry, but before he could probe further, the weight of the moment, of Grace's apology, overwhelmed him. Words eluded him, his role as a hero clashing with the raw, human interaction unfolding before him.

Patty, ever the mediator, stepped forward. “Grace, Barry appreciates your apology. We both hope you find the peace you're looking for.”

But Barry, caught in a storm of emotion and duty, made a sudden decision. Without a word, he turned and sped off, a streak of orange lightning vanishing into the park's expanse.

Left in the wake of his departure, Patty offered Grace a sympathetic smile. “I'm sorry about that. Barry... he carries a lot on his shoulders.”

Grace nodded, a mutual understanding passing between them. “I hope he can find peace too.”

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Two weeks had passed, and Grace was making strides towards normalcy. She had found a job at a local flower shop, a role that allowed her to cultivate a sense of peace she hadn't known in years. The vibrant colours of the blooms, the earthy scent of the soil - it was a stark contrast to the cold, hard environment of Tinderland Penitentiary.

“Morning, Grace!” called out a colleague, Tom, his voice buoyant with the day’s promise. "Check out the new orchids we got!"

Grace's smile was genuine as she replied, "Orchids, huh? Resilient little bastards, aren’t they?”

Their easy chatter, filled with the minutiae of their shared workspace, was a balm to Grace's bruised psyche. Tom's ignorance of her past and her metahuman abilities was a small blessing she didn't take for granted.

However, the tranquillity was short-lived. Mrs Deakin, the store's owner, approached Grace with a reluctance that instantly raised alarms. "Grace, could we have a word in my office, please?"

The office, a cramped room brimming with floral catalogues and administrative clutter, felt suddenly oppressive as Mrs Deakin shut the door. "Last night, after hours, The Flash paid us a visit. He was asking about you."

A knot tightened in Grace's stomach. "The Flash? What did he want?"

Mrs Deakin hesitated. "He seemed... concerned. Worried you might not have left your old ways behind." Despite knowing Grace's turbulent history, Mrs Deakin had extended her trust, offering a lifeline that was now under threat.

Grace's mind raced, her pulse quickening. “But I've done nothing wrong," she insisted.

“That’s what I told him, you’ve been nothing but a good worker,” Mrs Deakin replied. “But - I don’t know what to tell you - he was suspicious. I doubt I’m the only person he came to speak to.”

Grace went to speak but instead stopped herself. She took a deep breath. “...I understand. Thank you for telling him what you did.”

“But it’s not that simple.”

Grace's eyes met hers, a silent plea for mercy.

“Grace, I’m in a really tricky situation.”

No.

“If the public finds out we've employed… well, a supervillain… it could be bad for business. The Flash’s sister is a well-respected reporter. We can't survive a scandal.”

“I’m not a supervillain!” Grace protested, her voice firm yet tinged with desperation. “I made mistakes, yes, but I served my time. I'm not that person anymore.”

Mrs Deakin's sorrow was evident as she spoke the inevitable. "I have to consider the whole team, Grace. Our profits are teetering. If we close, everyone suffers."

At that moment, Grace understood. Her past, no matter how fervently she tried to outrun it, remained her relentless shadow, dictating her present and clouding her future. With a heavy heart, she realised her time at the flower shop, a beacon of her new life, was over before it had truly begun.

🔻🔺 ⚡ 🔺🔻

Grace Good's walk home from the flower shop felt like a journey through a disintegrating world, her mind a whirlpool of panic and despair. Each step felt heavier, laden with the crushing realisation that her fresh start was unravelling, thread by thread, all because the Flash couldn't leave her past alone.

Anguish twisted inside her, a knotted mess of fear, betrayal, and burgeoning rage. ‘Why couldn't he just leave me alone?’ she thought, her mind a whirlwind of grievance and resentment.

The streets around her seemed to tilt, the world a dizzying, unstable place as her panic attack clawed at her composure. Employers were scarce enough without the added stigma of being a metahuman, an ex-con, and now, thanks to Flash's interference, an untrustworthy element in the eyes of the few willing to give her a chance.

Then, amid her spiralling thoughts, an alarm cut through the cacophony of the city. Tires screeched, a getaway car veered around a corner, and Grace's desperate eyes caught sight of the fleeing perpetrators of a jewel heist. Her heart pounded, not with fear, but with a dangerous, reckless idea.

An opportunity. The thought was a dark beacon amidst her chaos. She could step into the aftermath, seize what the robbers had left behind. It was risky, madness even, given her history, but the throbbing pulse of her anger and desperation drowned out the voice of reason. And if she did get caught? Who cared? She had little left to lose.

Before she knew it, Grace found herself outside the ransacked jewelry store, her breaths coming fast and uneven. With a swift motion, she pulled her scarf over her face, masking her identity as she stepped into the aftermath of the robbery. The storekeeper, a man still reeling from the recent robbery, looked up to find a new threat before him. Grace raised her hands, electricity crackling around her fingers, a potent threat even if a hollow one.

“I don't want to hurt anyone,” she stated, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. “Just fill the bag.”

The clock was ticking. Every second that passed was another chance for one of the city’s speedsters to arrive on the scene. The few minutes she was there stretched into an age as she watched the shopkeeper shovel each piece of merchandise into the bag for her. Before, she had robbed for Dhawan and the impostor Wells, this time it was for herself. Then, as the storekeeper complied, a new voice - one of a woman - sliced through the tension. “You're done here,” it said, calm and assertive.

Grace spun around, expecting the familiar, charged presence of the Negative Flash, only to find herself facing a woman clad in blue and silver scales, her demeanour as dangerous as it was composed.

“Who are you?” Grace demanded, her powers still thrumming at her fingertips.

“The name's New Wave,” the woman replied, her eyes locking onto Grace's. “And this job isn't kosher. In Central and Keystone, the Network approves all criminal work. You're operating outside the rules.”

Grace's confusion deepened, the adrenaline surge giving way to a flicker of curiosity. “New Wave? Like the assassin? You're here to kill me?”

New Wave's lips curled into a hint of a smile. “No, I'm here to bring you into the family.”

Next: Return to the Network in The Flash #34, and see the second instalment in Zachary Snart’s origin in Cold Turkey, Part Two

DC Next Proudly Presents:

HEAVY METAL

Issue Five: Ascension

Story by: u/deadislandman1

Written by: u/Geography3

Edited by: u/ClaraEclair, u/AdamantAce, u/deadislandman1

Next Issue > Coming March Week 3

————————————————

The darkness of the tower lobby seemed to whip around Cassandra, Clifford, and Jean-Paul as the doors slammed behind them. The three felt a dizzying sensation like the darkness was some kind of shoo-ing force, punishing them for entering the tower. Suddenly, the gale stopped. The lights came on, revealing a blank interior. It wasn’t under-decorated or in disrepair. It was just uncannily blank, like there was nothing meant to be there in the first place.

“You made it,” Gar rushed up to the trio, the AI simulation of Victor Stone at his side.

The three’s defenses rose, Clifford putting up his fists. For all he knew, this could be a threat from within the mysterious tower. He thought he vaguely recognized the figures in front of him, but he couldn’t trace that recognition back to any name or history that he knew of.

“Who are you?” Jean-Paul asked, his arms at his sides but his mind uneasy.

“My name’s Gar, and this is Victor. We’re friends, don’t worry. Or at least I hope you’ll see us as friends,” Gar waved his hands, knowing that for the uninitiated his and Victor’s appearances weren’t the most regular. “We wanna help you, is what I’m saying.”

“What my friend here is trying to say is that we were drawn to this tower too. We think it holds the key to our escape,” AI Victor spoke.

“Escape? From what?” Cass looked intently into Victor’s face, trying to read him.

“From this world. What I’m about to say might be hard to hear, so brace yourself,” Victor paused. “The life you’re currently leading, this city, it’s all a simulation. False memories and false sensations. Your real selves are being held captive in the real world, forced to live out this lie.”

A beat passed. Cass, Clifford, and Jean-Paul were largely at a loss for words, grappling with that notion. Cass’ life had been uprooted enough within the past few days for her to entertain the idea. What she had learned about her parents, the things her body moved her to do, it all didn’t add up. Jean-Paul had questioned his purpose, but he hadn’t exactly questioned the basis of his life, not least that it could be a ruse. Clifford had been feeling like he was living a lie, but he didn’t expect it to be so literal.

“I don’t get it. You’re saying everything I’ve ever done is fake? How is that possible, I remember everyone I’ve ever fought, all the people I grew up with,” Clifford directly asked Victor and Gar.

“I don’t know exactly when you were placed here, but at some point you were, and everything before then was artificially generated. You might remember it, but it didn’t really happen. And now you’re being made to live a specific kind of life to keep you unquestioning and stuck here,” Victor explained. “You’re the protector of Halcyon City, right?”

“Yeah,” Clifford looked down slightly, having grown increasingly uncomfortable with that role. “But it doesn’t exactly feel earned.”

“Because you didn’t earn it here. But you did in the real world! I’ve heard of you, you’re Animal-Man, you’ve accomplished great things!” Gar chipped in. “So we’re trying to get you back where you belong.”

Something troubled Jean-Paul. “If what you’re saying is true, why have we been captured and placed here? Who would do this?”

“The Thinker did this, a genius inventor,” Victor grimaced. “I don’t know exactly why you three specifically have been placed here, but that’s what I’m seeking to figure out. And I think I’ll find it at the top of the tower.”

Victor pointed up, and everyone’s gaze followed. Even if they couldn’t explain it intellectually or logically, they too had the strange sense that the top of the tower held what they needed.

“Believe us or not, but you guys being here means that you feel it too, that something’s wrong with this place. It can’t hurt to check out what’s upstairs?” Gar said in a questioning tone, himself not fully buying into the idea that it couldn’t hurt.

Still, the group acquiesced, feeling the emotional truth even if they couldn’t quite wrap their heads around it. Victor led them towards the elevator, centered and right in their field of vision as if waiting for them. But first, Cass had a question.

“Wait. How do you two know all of this?” Cass stopped in her tracks, looking at Gar and Victor.

“I was trapped in here like you guys until Vic pulled me out. And as a simulation himself, he’s been around here from the beginning. So if you’re gonna trust anyone to help you out here, he’s your guy,” Gar responded.

Trust was a funny word in this situation, as it was hard to build that when Cass’ entire life was crumbling around her. Yet, something within her told her it was right. As Gar had said, with everything already going out of whack, it probably wouldn’t hurt to push further against the world she inhabited. She caught up with the rest of the group as they entered the elevator and the doors slid to a close.

--------

Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Clifford Devoe stewed in his office at Think Tank Dynamics. Sitting in his comfortable swivel chair, he looked around at everything he had, everything he built as CEO. And yet, no balm of achievement was great enough to stop him from hanging his head in turmoil. He felt immense guilt, although he couldn’t quite pinpoint from where.

It started after he yelled at his employee Jean-Paul for messing up and requesting a day off of work. That was out of character for him, and he regretted how he lashed out. However, it seemed to go beyond that. He wasn’t too worried that this specific incident would result in any lasting damage, or that it represented a morally damning act, so why did he feel so morally damned?

Devoe had been a philanthropist all his life. He rose to power but never lost sight of the little guy or his purpose and mission. He used the financial success of his company to look after his employees, at least up until now, and generously used his funds to support worthy causes and his loved ones. And yet, like a faint whisper in his ear, he felt something inside or around him telling him he’d done many terrible things. He must’ve done something truly transgressive, but he simply could not remember what it could be.

As this panic overswept him, a prickly unnatural sensation crept in as well. It pricked him to look up and out the window to his right, the building overlooking most of the city. Save for one structure. His gaze fell on the ominous tower blighting the city. It seemed to defy rules of light and matter that would make it shine at night. It was a black hole, and he felt drawn to it. He stood up, a tempest on the move.

--------

Inside the tower, the five intrepid heroes ascended by elevator. There were no markings on the elevator indicating what floor they were on, no buttons to affect its direction, it just pulled its passengers upwards. The ride continued on and on, feeling like it was taking forever to climb the tower’s height.

“Is it just me or are we not going anywhere?” Gar broke the silence.

“We’re going somewhere, just give it some time,” Victor spoke.

Gar hushed and let the elevator ride continue, but after a short beat the silence was already too much for him to bear.

“So, do you guys have any recollection of who you are in the real world?” Gar turned to the three inhabitants of Halcyon City.

Jean-Paul looked unamused. “No, and I am quite disturbed by that knowledge.”

Cass shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. “It’s not like a memory recollection, it’s a physical one. My body is moving in ways it never has before. I thought I was just a high schooler but I guess in the real world, if there is one, I’m an expert fighter? And I don’t understand what’s up with my parents being superheroes. Is that what it’s like in the real world?”

“I don’t know who you are in the real world, but judging by Animal-Man being here and your fighting skills you’re probs a superhero too. Although a young one, so if you want I can give you some pointers once we get out of here,” Gar shrugged and put on a lighthearted tone. “I’m all about inspiring the next generation.”

“Why is her life so different if I’m Animal-Man in the real world too? It feels like my whole life is about being Animal-Man. I’ve apparently done such legendary things for this city but I don’t feel like I’ve earned any of it,” Clifford sighed. “Hopefully whatever’s up here will explain some things.”

“What do you guys think is up there?” Cass looked up at the ceiling of the elevator car, the others’ gazes following hers.

“My hope is that it’s the Thinker himself so that he can answer for what he’s done,” Jean-Paul contributed.

“I hope so too, but I’ll doubt we’ll be that lucky,” Victor grimaced.

“I know it might be the key to getting out of here, but I’ve still got a bad feeling that won’t go away,” Cass looked downwards. “I don’t think whatever’s up there wants us here.”

A beat of silence befell the elevator, before it finally changed its rhythm and began to slow. The car jittered to a stop, shaking on impact. The doors creaked open slowly, letting the anticipation build over fragments of seconds. The metal curtains parted to reveal a shocking scene.

Victor, at least a version of him, was strapped down by metal bars to a large cylindrical machine in the center of the room. The machine sparked and whirred, composed of several pipes and panels and chambers of unknown function. It emitted a loud rapid chugging sound, operating at high function. And Victor, at the center of it, seemed to be bearing the brunt of the operation, sweating profusely and brow furrowed in tense stress.

--------

Not far from the tower, Devoe strode towards it under the cover of the night. He walked with a hesitant gait, feeling pulled towards his destination but wanting to delay his arrival due to the eerie feeling it gave him. Hearing a noise behind him, Devoe turned to see someone walking some feet behind him at the same pace, following his same path. Thinking little of it, Devoe continued his march.

“Hey!” A voice yelled out from behind him.

Devoe whirled around, now seeing the person was joined by four others.

“Don’t go in there!” The group shouted in unison, stopping once Devoe stopped.

“What? Why?” Devoe spat, staring back at them.

There was no response. After a few moments, Devoe turned back around and continued his trek towards the tower. He needed to get to the tower, random strangers be damned. Besides, if they proved dangerous, the tower could be a formidable shelter. But despite his logical mind working overtime to dissuade his worries, he felt increasingly unnerved as a crowd assembled behind him. People filtered in from everywhere and nowhere, forming a huge throng that shouted for him to turn back now, to not turn in, to stop.

Devoe’s brain couldn’t comprehend what was happening, but he knew he had to keep going. The tower would unlock the secrets of why he felt so guilty, he just knew it. All these thoughts started to get pelted away as the crowd’s volume and size increased. Glancing over his shoulder frantically, Devoe saw a blurry black mass, lunging towards him like a flood, a cacophony of noise. Eventually, Devoe was at his wit’s end.

“QUIET!!!” Devoe turned around and shouted.

The crowd abruptly stopped to match him, and the noise ceased like they had been blinked out of existence. However, despite the dead silence, the crowd continued to move like they were screaming, pantomiming desperation. It was like they were placed on mute. They started shuffling towards him as Devoe took a few steps forward. He was horrified, but pressed onward, tuning the events out. The only thing that mattered right now was the tower, which he galloped closer to.

--------

At the spiny peak of the tower, the group rushed to unhook Cyborg from the machine. Victor and Gar tapped into their superhuman strength to bend the metal straps apart, assisted by Clifford and the others. Cyborg tumbled to the ground, caught before fully face planting by Victor and Gar.

“Easy, buddy,” AI Victor lifted up his flesh & blood counterpart, a strange sense of concern and relief overcoming him.

The Victor Stone the world knew and loved heaved, trying desperately to gain his bearings. He looked impossibly fatigued, bewildered and sopping with sweat. As he tried to catch a satisfying breath, let alone form a coherent word, AI Victor understood what Cyborg wanted to say without him even communicating. He was struck with a sudden knowing of what the tower was, the glue holding it together rubbing off.

“I know what this place is,” Victor turned to the group around him as Gar supported Cyborg. “It’s a bottle storing all the pain of everyone trapped in this simulation. That’s why it was omitting such a strong negative aura. We’re inside a physical encapsulation of torment. And Victor was the bottle cap keeping it all from spilling over.”

The incapacitated Cyborg’s head slightly moved back and forth, as if nodding. As everyone processed what had just been said, memories started coming back to them in a trickle. And then, the dam having broken, a deluge of who they really were rushed them.

Cassandra Cain broke into a deathly still stance, while her mind readjusted to everything she held dear and experienced and forgotten about. Her parents were not in fact past undercover superheroes who still looked after her, they were stone-cold killers with whom family dinners would be impossible. Cass tried not to betray how she was feeling, but she internally grieved how comforted she was by the lie. Still, she tried to steel her rattled nerves, remembering the peace she felt with her true self.

Jean-Paul Valley was filled with righteous fury at being misled. Remembering a lifetime of indoctrination, of being led to commit horrible sins as an assassin, being made to sit at a desk combing through code and feeling proud of it felt like he had been offered poison. Yet above all, he was most shaken up by and angry at the fact that he bought into the lie for so long, not having recognized the falseness of his reality. He was a fool for thinking he deserved such a simple life.

Clifford Baker remembered his true track record as Animal-Man, not one of immaculate glory but one of pain and tooth-and-nail battles for survival. He thought back to stopping the bank robbery in Halcyon City, remembering where he first saw that image of the disfigured man, the real-world Nashville massacre. Clifford crumbled to his knees under the weight of re-remembering and digesting all the trauma that had been buried by the simulation. He felt close to breaking.

Noting each of their shaken states, Gar went around to each of them and tried to comfort and console them. He had a much quicker and less upheaving awakening than them, but he still remembered how disturbing being misled into a false reality felt. Meanwhile, AI Victor helped Cyborg to his feet, the latter’s knees shaking but beginning to regain some strength.

“I…” Cyborg forced out, having been forced to his limits. “I kn-kn-kn-knew someo-o-o-one would c-c-come for me.”

Victor gave Cyborg a weak smile, happy to have his brother back. Before he could ask him anything more about his imprisonment or the simulation, the metal curtains creaked open again, drawing everyone’s attention. Clifford Devoe stepped out of the elevator. He remembered everything, remembered who he was and why he was here, his shoulders heaving after having run across the city. He stared down the newly restored heroes, face to face with the ugly truth.

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NEXT: The stunning conclusion

Welcome back to another month of DC Next! This month you can expect the conclusion to our latest event: Heavy Metal, as well as the return of the much-missed Shadowpact!

Furthermore, log on to read the long-awaited continuation of Jon Kent's adventures in Superman #22, combining the previous numbering of /u/VengeanceKnight's Superman and /u/JPM11S's Superman: House of El under the pen of /u/Predaplant!

March 6th:

• Heavy Metal #5
• The Flash #33
• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #16
• New Gotham Knights #4
• Shadowpact #11 - Returning from hiatus!
• Suicide Squad #38

March 20th:

• Heavy Metal #6 - Event Finale!
• I Am Batman #14
• The New Titans #8
• Nightwing #12
• Superman #22 - Start of a new run!
• Wonder Women #49