With This Ring (Young Justice SI) (Story Only)

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:12 GMT

O-kay… No interior map, can't get one without risking letting Ranx knowing that I'm here… I'm reduced to using the people around me as navigation points. Ranx's own brain is near the 'top' of the station, though far enough in so as to avoid presenting a good target to anyone shooting at him. Most of the Berrith are -picking a direction at random- toward his western side. There are.. a few other residents, but they seem to be avoiding the areas occupied by the Berrith. Not.. a.. lot of yellow for a group of people hanging around a species known for cannibalism. I'd guess that means either that they've come to terms or that Ranx has put his metaphorical foot down.

The lantern isn't all that far from where I am now; just inside the Berrith zone. Again, I'm not really… It doesn't feel quite like the lanterns that I'm used to, but I don't have enough experience for that to actually tell me anything. Comparing the location to what I saw from the outside, I think it's about a third of the way up one of the larger towers. Given where I am now and the fact that I don't know how fast Ranx can move at the moment I don't think that trying to go in through the outside would be a good idea.

I drift along a corridor which will hopefully continue to take me in the right direction. Ranx himself… Seems to be in good repair. I think he's techno-pseudo-organic rather than truly techno-organic. Everything here is robotic, but they replicate organic techniques. The ersatz airlock for example had sealant leaking through pipes built into the wall interiors plugging small holes left by the 'cut and shut' nature of the job, while inside the thickening walls on either side Ranx's self repair microbots were clustering as they worked to construct a proper airlock seal. As far as I can tell, Ranx's armour works like that all over; new plates are built within and then outer plates are shoved off.

Of course… Branding Ranx is an option. I don't know exactly… He doesn't have enough 'self' in most of his mass, but I think that a large data conduit would probably be enough. I don't really want to do that until I've got a better idea of what happened… I mean, yes, he shot up a planet and yes, he's playing host to a race of warmongering cannibals…

But come on! He's a sentient battle station! He's awesome! And if all he wants out of life is crew I'm sure that between Dox and I we can get him a better crew than this bunch of mangy Were-Warthogs. And yes, I've been toying with the idea of hiring the Berrith en masse as soldiers, but… I'm pretty sure that they'd put off a lot of potential allies and.. I'm.. pretty sure that we could do better. And that's before we get onto the matter of them defying a Guardian Edict of Isolation. I don't think Guy would be okay with me hiring them at all.

He's… Not going to be okay about me hiring Ranx, is he?

Errrrummmm…

I agreed that Ragnar would return to custody if anyone decided to press charges, but I don't think that an equivalent system really works here. The Berrith wouldn't press charges; large scale acts of destruction are how their leaders establish themselves. By their standards he hasn't really done anything wrong. Certainly, backing one side in a power struggle is just 'one of those things', rather than a war crime. But. By Guardian standards it almost certainly is, as is breaking their Edict of Isolation. Have to.. try and check what their decree was last time they fought him.

I stop as I reach a barricade, my armour's sensors showing me a small cluster of Berrith under arms on the far side. The Berrith have never really got uniforms, but larger groups tend to provide their soldiers with enough standardised equipment to create a certain look of uniformity. These guys have heavy cuirasses the same colour as the material making up Ranx's corridor walls, but the rest is the brightly coloured, hard wearing clothes that the Berrith seem to favour. The strange wannabe top hats just make the whole ensemble seem slightly off-kilter.

"…seen three warlords cooperating." The one in the pink jacket snorts. "I did not know them before-."

The one in the orange jacket makes a small swiping motion with his right hand. "What, you want them to hear you? You know what they did to the last man who tried to set them against each other?"

"No. I mean, yes. I saw it. That isn't what I meant. They are my alphas. I do not question. It just feels… Strange."

Blue jacket idly bangs the wall with the butt of his rifle. "In the great days before the Guardians bound us to Berrith, all the warlords cooperated. They didn't need one overlord telling them what to do; they just knew." Pink jacket looks at him thoughtfully. "We only know the chaos that came from our people being contained-"

I send a phasic drone through the barrier, its broken structure providing no impediment. Good show.

"-without anyone else to prey on. Now we are free!"

He nods for emphasis and the other two… I think those are smiles. I phase through the barricade and try to pick out the route most likely to minimise further contact with their patrols.

"You heard what Mekk said: there are better ways to live than wading in our own filth!"

A regular Moses. Okay, I think that-.

Pink jacket sniffs. "I don't think we should pay attention to anything Mekk said. That indigo staff made his brain funny."

!!!

I stop floating down the corridor and turn back, listening very carefully.

Orange jacket shakes his head. "Nah, he's right. There are. Even if his head was messed up. It's like: knives cut, right? If someone with a messed up head says they do, that doesn't mean they're wrong."

Go back to the indigo staff, damn you!

"So what are we having for dinner?"

Okay, that's… Vital information, right? Take a risk. I raise my left hand.

You chaps really want to talk about the staff.

A thin orange mist extends from my hand, wafting in the direction of the Berrith. The one in the blue jacket squints at it, sniffs, then appears to dismiss it. "I dunno. Probably more of the Mekk."

Pink jacket looks puzzled. "What, all of us? I didn't think there was that much of him left?"

Drat.

"I mean.. we could probably use his bones in a soup or something, but it wouldn't go very far."

Blue jacket shakes his head. "No, no. I dunno. Probably more gruel. Keep us hungry for when we get into proper fights again. What I wanted to say was, I wonder if the alphas are going to want us to find more staffs like the one Mekk had? Since they need it to charge their rings?"

Orange shrugs. "Makes sense. They have to stay close to it to keep their power, and we can go pretty much anywhere."

Blue nods. "Yeah. They're strong, but it's just good sense to stay away from places where the Guardians might look for us."

Other rings can charge from indigo lanterns? News to me, but okay. I mean, I remember them being able to use other colours… Okay, so the Indigo Lantern is dead and they're using his staff. Encountering another Indigo would be useful, getting the ability to communicate with them would be nearly as good. And if I get that staff then their threat potential is dramatically reduced as they won't be able to recharge. Either way, I need to leave my own monitor drones around Berrith to detect the Indigos if they go back.

Pink looks uncomfortable. "What if they already found us? You heard Ranx letting loose his big guns."

Blue makes another swiping gesture. "We'll be moving on soon. They won't get here before that, and then we won't be here."

"And the rest of our people?"

"Anyone who stayed home rather than follow the alphas will get exactly what they deserve."

Orange seems less certain. "We could go back. Once we get enough loot. We serve the alphas well enough, we could become warchiefs ourselves. We'll need soldiers to command."

Okay, so now I know what I'm here for at least. The Alphas sound unusually intelligent for Berrith, but I'll worry about that once I get their staff.

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:19 GMT

I fly up what I think is an access tunnel towards my objective. There are a few active sensors in here, but so far my stealth systems appear to be fooling them. Or if they're not, Ranx has a really relaxed approach to internal security. I could start phasing again, but if Ranx has anti-phasing armour then he might well have other anti-phasing techniques and I don't want a repeat of what happened with Kanto. The lantern is about… Twenty metres away. Aaaand I don't think that I'm going to be able to sneak closer.

I take another phasic drone out of subspace and send it into the wall in the direction of the lantern. It penetrates a few millimetres and then the front end snaps off, the rest of the drone lurching in the air before its impeller system stabilises it. Okay, another phase-.

A wave of green energy passes through the tunnel. It passes me… Without any noticeable effect. The drone on the other hand melts, its phase shifter misfiring and causing parts of it to momentarily drop out of phase with other parts.

"Possible intruder detected and terminated. The crew are welcome."

Good call with not phasing. Makes me wonder who it was that originally built Ranx; that's some pretty nifty technology. Whatever happens here, I should probably see if I can acquire a sample. Instant phase-killing isn't appropriate for policing actions, but for war fighting it's ideal. Okay. I float over to the wall I want to get through and start using passive scans. Yes, a ring scan would be faster but I'm not going to assume anything about Ranx's anti-Lantern abilities.

So, what do we have? Sound echoes suggest… Some tubes… EM scan says no power conduits, which makes sense. Probably have those going up tunnels closer to the middle of the structure. And… Ah-hah! A hatch, which combined with the perfectly smooth interior of this tunnel suggests to me that this is a mass transit tunnel. Didn't see anything carriage-like coming up, but… Alright, take a risk.

Ring, hatch.

Compliance.

This should be a near-automated low-level function, something Ranx feels but doesn't really think about unless something draws his attention to it. As long as I'm in-

The hatch slams open and I'm inside within a second.

-pretty quickly I should be… Alright?

A couple of Berrith with slightly heavier looking equipment than the ones below are looking at the hatchevading!

Personal scanners. Berrith design, and the files I have on those suggest that they shouldn't be able to detect me unless I start using very large amounts of power, but let's stay out of the detector's arc-.

"Ranx! Why'd the door open?"

Moving!

"Has one of your people been climbing in my tubes?"

"Not bloody likely. Hold on." A Berrith with a purple overcoat covering heavy infantry armour walks over to the hatch and triggers the manual opener. "Is someone fucking around down there?!"

Three of the others with him are at alert, guns ready but not aimed at anything in particular. The last member of the group is waving his scanner around, clearly having paid attention during orientation. Fortunately, I'm… Yep, out of line of sight with some nice sensor-obscuring walls between me and them. Still, there will be more doors between me and the lantern. I stop and send a drone forwards to have a look for me. Heavily reinforced doors-.

And… Fixed gun positions and a decent sensor network and quite a lot of soldiers. Active sensors. Very active sensors. I pull back slightly. My armour's stealth systems won't cope with that. The armour the Berrith guard detail was using included ABC protection… Possibly force fields as well. The fixed guns had those 360 by 220 auto-tracking cradles, which means there's an even chance that Ranx is controlling them directly. Can't go around them, under them or over them… Well, probably can't. Certainly can't quickly without a map.

Through, then. Do I bother talking first? The probability of victory is enhanced if I can get that lantern… Plus I might be able to learn something about the Indigo Corps 16. If I come out into the open and they don't immediately open fire, they're going to call their alphas in. And I'm going to be standing around. If the Alphas are on anything less than 100% power, they're going to want to recharge first. I don't think that rookie Orange Lanterns are a threat to me… They're going to be less skilled than the Citadelians, and I beat them without too much difficulty… Even if everything else goes to pot, removing that lantern from the equation stops them from being an orange-coloured threat.

Sorry lads.

I drop stealth and form railguns, and the alarms are already blaring as I step around the corner and open fire. Green lasers blaze from the turrets as the first Berrith begin to fall, crumbler rounds wrecking their force fields and follow up filaments scrambling their motor controls. There are force field generating barricades but they were set up to hold off ground-based attack, and in any case aren't designed with the ablative system needed to stop crumblers.

The laser beams strike my construct armour and are deflected as I increase the reflectivity of the outer surface. They trace a quick pattern over my construct armour in what I assume is an attempt to locate potential weak spots, then shut down for a second before switching to particle beams. The Berrith return fire as well, a multitude of smaller weapons impacting on my construct armour as I grimace and continue dropping them as carefully as I can. The Guardians might be watching and I've got to assume that the Indigos are as well. I could kill all of you, but hopefully I'll get a bit more appreciation for not doing so.

Because when this is all over you're just going to be stuck back on that sty of a planet you call New Berrith, probably surrounded by people who hate you for either firing a giant gun at them from space or for failing to get away and live out their hopes. And the Guardians don't do follow-up visits.

I shoot out the base of the two turrets and then shove my construct armour forwards as the front part fails, creating a new layer underneath it to take the hits as it finally collapses. A lucky shot destroys one of my railguns and I'm forced to shoot a charging Berrith in power armour twice in the head rather than stunning him.

"Lantern."

I'm slammed into the floor, my armour's legs creaking as local gravity suddenly increases. The Berrith closest to me don't have it any better; in fact from the yelps of pain I'd say that they have it significantly worse. Their comrades further back aren't affected at all, shots still coming in… Right. Gravity nullifier-.

"Why are you the wrong colour?"

And the weight is gone. Correct trajectory to take into account the gravity distortions and fire.

And breathe out.

"Lanterns come in many colours." I float forwards, half braced for Ranx to try something else. As I pass the still groaning Berrith I make a point of stunning them. No sense in them suffering. "You might as well turn the gravity back to normal. You're hurting your crew."

"Barely stowaways. Tolerable because they hate the Green Lanterns as much as I do."

But gravity goes back to 1.1g.

And now there's a huge armoured door. And no reinforcements.

"Will you open this door, or do I need to break it down?"

"Their leaders disconnected it. Do what you like."

I need to get that lantern.

Giant scale-covered orange hands appear in front of me, jab their nails into the doors and then pull them apart.

And I see the small room beyond with the orange-glowing staff standing in a vice in the centre.

And a naked Beaver nailed to the wall next to it, the indigo sigil faintly glowing from his forehead.

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:23 GMT

"Need to recharge already?" I cross the room, orange light strobing out as I scan the H'lvenian. "Or did the three of you have a… Falling out?"

Through the bone in places, but avoiding major veins and arteries…

"Oh?" He tilts his head up, burned out eye sockets staring blindly up at me. "You left me my ears and my tongue, is it too much to ask-."

"This shouldn't hurt."

"Who are-?"

Filaments of orange light connect me to the nails and the wounds surrounding them… And are repulsed. I try again a little more forcefully-.

"What are you trying to do?"

"I'm trying to heal you."

"With orange light? Even if that were possible-"

"I assure you, it is."

"-I'm afraid my status makes that quite impossible."

"Yes, you're an Indigo Lantern." I take my purple healing ray out of one of my armour's storage compartments. "Or Indigo Tribe, if you prefer. Nok."

"Ah. Yes, Nok. I'm sorry, I seem to be a little behind events."

"How well do you handle pain?"

"I don't feel pain at all. The Berrith have been really quite frustrated."

"Then this won't hurt." I take a lump of iron out of subspace and form it into tongs, then use a construct to grasp the first nail. "I'm going to pull out the nails and then heal the wounds."

"Please listen to me. I appreciate the effort, but that won't work."

I yank, then use a brief burst from the heal ray to repair the damage. Another seventeen to go. I stick a construct platform under his feet to take the weight off his injuries.

"Oh. Thank you."

"I'm sorry, but it won't restore your eyes. Why can't I do that?"

"My Penitent was consumed by avarice. If something went wrong, we wanted to be sure that he wouldn't be able to use it against me. Is he-?"

"Mekk? I overheard them saying that he was killed and eaten. Sorry." More nails come out, and he starts to look a little more like an intact person. "Your ring?"

"Destroyed, once they realised that they couldn't turn it orange or use it without feeling compassion."

"Can you contact the rest of your tribe? And do you have strong feelings against cybernetics? We don't have long until the three come here."

"I'm… I'm sorry, but I shouldn't say. And I don't have any problem with cybernetics, it's simply-"

I ring-forge a simple sensory band with a H'lvenian wireless interlink, then wrap it around his head.

"-that I'm more of a biotechagagagaggh." His head twitches back and forth as the interface connects to his visual cortex. "Uh." His hands free, he reaches up to touch it. "Ah, good choice. I'll change it out once I get somewhere safe." He jumps lightly from my construct platform onto the floor. "Situation?"

I look through Ranx's superstructure at the tangles of colour. "Berrith massing for an attack…" And if that bundle of colour isn't a Lantern I'm giving up my rings. "We're on Ranx. Lanterns Gardner and Ch'p are waiting out of Ranx's effective range."

"And you're freeing me because..?"

"Because you're small and furry, like my ancestors' children were. And because no one part of the whole is whole by itself." I turn towards the staff. "So am I in for a harder fight than I think I am? Is that staff actually helping-?"

"Yes. It was." He raises his right paw-. His right hand, his right hand, and lays it on the staff. "Tell Ch'p that Ub'x says 'hello'."

"Don't be so pessimis-." Indigo light flares as he vanishes. I stare for a moment. "You treacherous little Weasel Beav-!""

The floor around me explodes with orange light! My construct armour abrades and the gravity nullifier construct collapses, then gravity returns with a vengeance and I'm pulled through the floor, pieces of Ranx's interior slamming off the remains of my construct armour until it gives way before being deflected by my armour's kinetic barrier! I shove, orange light blasting the area around me clear and bringing the gravity-.

"Raaagh!"

A Berrith Construct Lantern lunges through the debris, grabbing onto my armour and biting it! The teeth crunch through even as I draw the Sword of the Fallen and stab it through her forehead, causing her to dissolve into orange mist. Of course; I find the idea loathsome, Ragnar's people don't do slavery and Morrow was dying anyway. Why would I assume that a race of cannibals would feel the same way?

And then I hit the floor hard, environmental shield shuddering as it tries to reduce the damage. I create a bubble shield around me as I look around. Some sort of arena, inside Ranx. And three brightly glowing Berrith on the other side from me and a whole crowd in the stands.

Oh, that's how they're doing i-!

The three of them move as one, colossal beams of orange energy flying from their rings, merging into one and cannoning towards me. I dodge, and the beam dodges with me. I try to form a construct railgun and it melts, completely unable to remain coherent as it's torn apart from the intensity of their output. Brute force and ignorance; this is exactly why I didn't want to actually fight Larfleeze.

I bring my hands together, pulling at the desires for freedom and conquest in the beam. My rings glow as the beam weakens, but it hits my shield with incredible force anyway. I'm knocked back, the beam boring through the bubble and smashing into my newly recreated construct armour. Raw power fight, not something I've optimised for.

So don't.

The Berrith Alphas aren't anything special, not as far as the orange light is concerned. But they accept each other as equals and everyone else as followers, everyone desiring the same thing. Surprisingly communitarian. And since there's no real conflict between them, they aren't going crazy. Pack mentality at its finest. Ch'p mentioned that when he destroyed a ship attacking their original homeworld, the Berrith who saw it accepted his leadership immediately and without reservation. Of course, this particular arrangement is rather distinct.

I let the universe go, then move the bundle of orange that is me to just behind the bundle of orange that is them.

Railguns up and firing!

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:26 GMT

The crumbler round is torn apart just before it reaches the closest Alpha, supersonic fragments impacting on their barrier and barely denting it. Fine, solid shells, full auto, and corrupt. I want. This shield. Gone.

It barely flickers as the Alphas turn and a horde of Berrith Construct Lanterns surge out of it towards me. Of course it doesn't. I generate rock crusher constructs and obliterate the abominations. This is their people's only chance at freedom, while no one I care about is in danger. Guy can't get here with the external weapons systems online and I don't feel like letting them get close to killing me. With no staff, they can't recharge. The threat to my objective isn't the Orange Lanterns, it's Ranx himself.

Bubble shield, plasma cannon, and-

Step back, step aside, step forward.

-charge and fire! A hissing beam of plasma blasts through the stands and the lightly armoured citizens standing in them. And the wall beyond. I drop the plasma cannon, form a rocket construct and blast myself back through the hole, the roaring, superheated air coming from my construct forcing the Alphas to fortify their own defences. In case I'm lucky, I use the added space to form an orange laser and fire it at the one on my left. No luck; their armour is good enough to reflect most of it and absorb what it can't.

Ranx's brain is that way. The gravity disruptor is that way.

I form a singularity projector and fire it at the second.

"What are you DOING!?"

"Coming for a visit." But quick check. Yes, one narrow hole punching through the containment bottle resulting in a neatly evaporated singularity. "Illustres to Lantern Gardner." I form a crumbler gauntlet construct on each hand and fly directly in the direction of Ranx's core intelligence. "Have a map. Gravity disruptors are down, the lantern is gone."

"Yeah? And the rest o' the guns?"

I punch through a wall, the crumbler field breaking it into something my armour can handle. "What, you want me to hold your hand, too?"

"If that's how it is. There a way in through the gravity gun thing?"

I think that one was load-bearing. "Depends how hard you hit it. Ranx's outer surface is tougher, but it isn't weak."

"With yeh in three."

"Oh, and tell Lantern Ch'p that Ub'x says 'hello'."

And then I run smack into a force field. My construct armour disintegrates, my kinetic barrier surges and then burns out, my arms are knocked back and the exterior of my power armour melts as it does its job and keeps me alive. I back up using my ring's flight system as I get to work making repairs. Looks like the Alphas' supercharge requires them to have the rest of the pack in reasonable proximity. Having encountered them I can pick them out, and they're not moving ahead despite having their own flight systems. Fine.

"Ranx, was that you?"

"Do you let people fly into your brain?"

Actually… "Once or twice, yes."

"You sneak around my body! You cut through my hull! You kill my crew! You are going nowhere!"

Force field has projectors on the inner side. Try a phasic round or keep talking?

"Ranx, what do you want out of life?"

"Why do you ask?"

"You're a very sophisticated AI running a very sophisticated space station. You weren't built by the people the Green Lantern Corps evicted from you, and I've seen that you could have prevented such people from landing on you. If you'd wanted. You didn't. I'm curious about your motivations."

There's a noticeable pause.

"I should have a crew. I don't remember my creators. At times I have instructed replacement crew to check my systems. Parts of me have been damaged by attacks which I don't remember suffering. I think I fought… Someone. They killed my crew, but I don't remember who they were."

"And the Green Lanterns?"

"THEY ATTACKED MY CREW I WILL KILL THEM ALL!"

"That supports your hypothesis. A civilian AI would try to minimise crew casualties. A war AI would want to lash out first. You don't want to kill me?"

"Yes. A bit. You attacked crew members, but you are not a threat to the crew. Leave and I will not pursue you."

"Define 'crew'."

"Inhabitants… Who.. perform useful duties and assist in the actualisation of core functions."

"Define 'core functions'."

"I…"

There's a pause, and then a quiet crackling noise from the sound induction system.

Oh, please tell me that I didn't just tell him to divide by zero…

"Core functions… I remember-. I remember-. Something."

"Question withdrawn! Don't worry about it!"

"Confirm comma-. You are not my commanding officer!"

"Never said I was. Ranx, you want to be a proper battle station again. Right? That means a garrison. A fleet. A war. A trained and disciplined crew, ready to carry out whatever orders they're given. It means headquarters staff. It means shipyards. It doesn't mean an unwashed rabble who are only here because they think you can protect them from the Green Lantern Corps."

"The Green Lantern Corps is my enemy!"

"Define 'enemy'."

"Anything that acts against my crew is my enemy!"

"And if you had a crew they wouldn't act against, one that was more 'crew like' than any crew you could remember having? Do you have regulations which allow crew members to be put ashore for bad behaviour?"

"Yes."

"They eat people. In non-starvation conditions. And attack people who are not a threat, and in doing so incite others to act against both them and you."

"Thinking about this hurts. What do you want?"

I smile inside my helmet. "I want you, you wonderful war machine you. I want to put you to the purpose you appear to have been designed for. With a decent crew. But, I need you-."

"The Green Lanterns are attacking again. I am uncertain that my secondary batteries will kill them. BUT I AM GOING TO TRY!"

"No, let them through. Mentally assign them the title of military police, transferring disorderly members of your crew to a holding facility. I will see to their replacement."

Below me, the Berrith mob that was forming up begins to change direction.

"What's more important: a proper crew and a mission, or revenge for people who are no longer crew?"

I give him a moment.

"Ranx?"

"I'm thinking."

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:30 GMT

"I have it."

Guy and Ch'p are making some progress in Ranx's direction, and the Berrith clearly know that they're coming. They're moving from all across the station towards the most likely ingress points, ready to try fighting them off.

"Yes? And?"

"I have no provision for designating attackers as 'military police'. However, I can acknowledge them as foreign officers. That allows me to authorise an honour duel between the three of you and the three Berrith Alphas."

"The practical upshot of that being?"

"You fight each other. I do not interfere. If they win, they may deploy me as they see fit. If you win, you may."

That was an actual thing? Maybe I should have brought Ragnar. "We accept."

"External weaponry retracted."

"Thank you. But assuming that the Alphas won't fight us without their subordinates…"

"I hardly see how that's my problem. Now GO AWAY."

I turn away from the force field-.

"Hey, Paul, was that you? All the guns stopped firin'."

"Ranx and I had a chat. If we defeat the Berrith Alphas he'll assist us in returning them all to New Berrith."

I actively scan hard, pushing my detection abilities past some of the weaker sensor baffles. Okay, the best route for me to take would be…

"That's why we're here, ain't it? Kinda surprised you couldn't take 'em yourself..?"

"They've found a way to supercharge their ring use by drawing on the avarice of their subordinates. How they can do that without going insane I'm not completely certain, but they can."

"Were you jus' on the wrong end of an ass-whoopin'?

"I disengaged rather than fight on unfavourable terms. Updated map for you. Now, if-."

"You totally were! Oh, hang on a sec-."

"That was my hull!"

"Guy, I think it would be a better idea if we lured them outside. And please don't damage Ranx more than necessary!"

"Yeah, yeah. Let me jus' get these guys…"

With the Green Lanterns firmly inside Ranx, the Berrith Alphas are repositioning their forces with themselves leading the way. A group break off, their desires focusing on… Heavier weapons. Flanking or creating a fallback position. Flanking probably. In a situation where the other side has good intelligence on your position and isn't in a particular rush, a feigned retreat doesn't stand much chance of working. And it doesn't match normal Berrith behaviour in combat.

I fly at a-. Through a now-cooperative door and into a main corridor. When Ranx was at full operating capacity this was probably the main access route to his cognition centre. I'm flying down his structure, but local gravity is actually treating 'down' as the far wall.

"Guy, they have-."

"They've got Construct Lanterns!"

"Yes, I know. I should get to you in about twenty sec-."

"Ch'p hasn't had resistance trainin'!"

Then why is he even here-?! No, no, his Sector. "Then it'll look realistic when you fall back, won't it? Draw them outside."

A mass transit hatch behind me opens and a transport pod full of Berrith swings out. They hesitate for a moment, then raise their guns. A smattering of shots fly past me as I dodge, a handful guided more by luck than judgement impacting on my construct armour. I… Don't really want to kill them. I've just had too many people shooting at me to take it personally.

Ugh, fine, sniper laser.

The construct forms beneath me, the weapon precisely monitoring and targeting particular parts of the Berrith hoodlums. Low-lethality firing solutions? Shoulder, shoulder, arm… Bit much power there, I'm not trying to cut limbs off entirely. Chest, directly on the gun-.

The volume of fire coming at me falls off a good deal as the rest of them hunker down. Fine for my purposes. I pull five Praexis Demons out of my ring and dispatch them to keep the Berrith that way as I pull away. Shaft terminus just ahead, and I see Berrith Construct Lanterns streaming past… How many did they kill?

Yeah, getting motivated now.

I draw the Sword of the Fallen and then crash into them, smashing two into orange mist and lashing out to destroy a third with the edge of my blade. Two more slam into me as I brace, construct armour flaring to halt the horde before I lash out again. Those I strike have no room to fall back, their orange light bodies fading and failing-.

A colossal orange beam strikes me in the chest, blasting through the Berrith Construct Lanterns and sending me flying backwards through the front of the back and out into a shuttle bay. Tying a target down with expendable minions and blasting them while they're locked in place. Not bad.

"Don't think that was twen'y seconds-" Guy fires a construct barricade at the opening I flew out of while Ch'p picks off the vanguard with precise bolts of energy. "-Paul."

"I said about." I recreate my construct armour. "The Alphas can fire a powerful blast, but I haven't seen them do anything creative." There's a pulse of-.

I hit Guy with a construct shove as I fly to evade a moment before the beam smashes Guy's barricade to pieces.

Guy squints slightly. "You weren't kiddin'."

"The savage ferocity of the Berrith given voice as a beam of destructive orange light." Ch'p sounds less than happy, and opens fire as the Construct Lanterns swim out once more. "We must stop them."

"We don't have to. They may be able to supercharge their constructs with the avarice of the others, but they can't charge that way. They will run out of power."

"I dunno, Paul. I kinda wanna fight an Orange Lantern who's actually tryin' ta kill me."

Ch'p nods. "There are many inhabited worlds in this Sector. They have more than enough power to strike any one of them."

"Okay, if-. Beam!"

Ch'p hits the deck, I dart to the side and Guy-.

Guy plants his feet, glows a brilliant green and conjures a massive construct shield.

"On worlds afar or scenes at home,"

Fiddlesticks. He's going Green.

"Wherever the cause should make me roam,"

I form five construct railguns and open fire with crumbler rounds primed for premature detonation. If they trigger as soon as they start getting destroyed-.

"Always I vow to fight the good fight."

The beam slams into Guy's shield-

"To combat evil with all Green Lantern's might!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:33 GMT

-and the shield holds, orange energy crackling and audibly fizzing as he defies it. The beam seems to convulse for a moment as one of my crumblers detonates at an opportune moment. I fire another hopeful volley, then charge into the next batch of Construct Lanterns.

"What's the matter? You never seen a Green Lantern throw up a shield before?"

"Couple of times a week, Guy. You're not-" I stab and slash. "-surprising-."

"I apologise." Green bolts strike Construct Lanterns and break up the pack slightly, which… Actually doesn't make my job easier. "I will-."

"Just keep them off Guy! They can't assimilate me any more than they can him."

"Yes sir!"

Wave thinning out. "Heh. And if Guy's not complaining about that, he-"

"Uuuuuh."

"-must-."

"This ain't-" Guy gets shoved back a metre in the air. "-as easy-" Cracks appear across his shield. "-as I make it look."

"They appear to be without number."

"I've only assimilated single beings at a time." I catch a bounding Construct Lantern around the throat and stab it in the chest before tossing its fraying form aside. "Larfleeze could do that en masse, but I'm-" I batter one to the ground and stab it through an eye socket. -"-hoping they had to do them individual-." The next one shapeshifts, bending in a way it would never have been able to in life in order to evade my thrusts and extending glowing orange claws past my guard. They skitter off my construct armour, leaving thin scratches visible across the faceplate.

I form a construct booster, body slam past its defence and then stab it.

"-ly."

"Green Lantern Corps files say that they will simply reappear at their rings!"

"Not when I stab them with this. And it takes power every time they recreate them. Exhaustion is a perfectly viable-."

"Unless they simply decide to leave because we cannot press them!"

"I think you're overestimating the Berrith there." But just in case, I send a shockwave of orange power blasting through the air around me and knocking the Construct Lanterns back. "Look what I got!"

I take my personal lantern out of subspace and hold it up.

"If you want it, come-."

"RRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHH!"

The beam striking Guy's shield pulses, throwing him back into the exterior wall but still not breaking his defence.

The beam cuts out and he pushes himself free before giving me a sour look. "Good goin', Paul."

I return my lantern to subspace. "What? You wanted to fight Orange Lanterns who actually want to kill you."

Ch'p nods. "And if we beat the Alphas, the rest will fall in line."

"Alright, but don't get assimilated. Tora'd kill me if I let someone fuzzy an' cute get killed."

"Unless it was a Seal."

Guy frowns slightly. "Whut?"

"You know how I know the dirty secrets of every superhero on Earth-?"

A frenzied Berrith Orange Lantern slams into my chest, glowing claws tearing through my construct armour! Ch'p is just fast enough to dodge the one attacking him while Guy's partner slams what look like construct flails into the front of his shield.

"Give me the lantern!"

Stage 1.

I generate an explosion between us, forcing him off me just as his claws begin cutting through my power armour's faceplate. My orange laser construct to his eyes hits nothing but his visor, and my hope that it might at least temporarily blind him is dashed as he matches my sidestep.

"RAAAGHH!"

Sound suppressed.

Sonic attack, nice. I manage to get a railgun up and shoot him in the side of the head as he's on me again, two punches to my chest smashing my construct armour before my own shot causes his aura to flicker and fluctuate. I spin construct armour plates around from my back as I make a series of defensive slashes with the Sword, forcing him to back off slightly.

Drain.

Energy drain in effect.

Finally.

"OURS!"

Orange construct blades explode from him, spinning, slashing and stabbing at my construct plates! I shield myself as best I can while stepping forwards and punching. His supercharged environmental shield takes the hit with little difficulty, but while I'm in contact I release the Hellwraith.

Eat him.

Yes Master.

Two sword constructs make it through my construct armour only to be turned aside by my kinetic barrier. I fire another crumbler round and watch as the momentary weakening of the Alpha's environmental shield is enough to let the Hellwraith in.

"y-GAYAGH!"

His swords flicker and fail as he falls to the floor, already frantically trying to purge the Demon from his soul. No idea if that can work, but let's not cock about. I use my armour's strength to flip him, then kneel down by his ring hand-

"NYAAAOOOOOO!"

-and sever it at the wrist with the Sword of the Fallen. The orange light flashing around his body dies immediately, blood spurting from the wound.

Ah.

Fine, sealing the arteries before he can bleed out. Cut off the ring finger and call the ring out.

It slips off his bloody finger, pulling its way out of the damaged metal of the Alpha's armour.

Good show. Now, how are the others-.

Ch'p's almost entirely orange as the Alpha he was fighting holds his bleeding body in his jaws!

 

[Mr Zoat]

24th August
06:36 GMT

Shitshitshit!

"H'lven food!"

Target the connection and fire!

The crumbler rounds strike the Alpha's environmental shield a moment before the orange laser does. It buckles, and from the way the Alpha jerks his hand I'm going to assume that the thinner armour around his hands isn't quite as good at deflecting laser heat as the thicker helmet armour. He turns towards me, backhanding the stunned Ch'p away across the shuttle bay as he does so.

"Enemy food!"

Ch'p's dazed, but not dead. His environmental shield is at the absolute minimum… Should be safe as long as he doesn't draw their attention.

"Berrith meat."

He surges, orange light building around him for a moment as he uses it to launch himself at me. With my mind accelerated I'm just about fast enough to evade most of the charge, but I'm still knocked aside by the glancing blow. I stabilise in the air, his face looking momentarily puzzled before he launches himself again. I dodge and generate a construct shield but he corrects part way, suddenly coming at me from a different angle. A glancing blow with his claws rips through my construct armour but doesn't cause further damage. Is he using perceptual acceleration too? Or is this all just so instinctive for him that he can keep up without needing to?

Praexis Demons, hem him in.

The Demons fly forth from my ring and-

Food?

-the only one who asks is actually slapped by two of his fellows. They spread out as the Alpha prepares another charge-

"No meat no fight!"

-and they appear to be distracting him just by being there. Alright then. I hold the Sword of the Fallen in a semi-concealed position and boost myself forwards, the Praexis Demons peeling away a little like the Alphas' Construct Berrith did. He scrambles out of the way, and I get a momentary look at Guy as he smashes his opponent into the wall with a battering ram construct. Mine takes the opportunity to blitz the Praexis Demons, cutting several of the ones on the outer edge of the swarm to vapour with his construct claws. But unlike him, I've got power to burn. Recreating them takes barely any power, and if it weren't for the risk to Ch'p I'd happily let him wear himself down doing that.

Instead, I lunge.

At Guy's opponent.

The Alpha he was battering into the wall has barely a moment to become aware that I'm coming his way before the Sword of the Fallen is embedded in his brain. His environmental shield fails immediately, and Guy allows his ram construct to evaporate as the Alpha's body falls to the deck.

We both turn to face the survivor, who has stopped chasing my Demons in what looks like shock.

Guy glances at me, his face unreadable under his construct armour. "You really don't hesitate anymore, do yah?"

"No." Keeping my eyes on the survivor, I hold out my left hand and call the ring from the Alpha I just slew. His left gauntlet bulges for a moment, then the ring flies free to my hand.

Guy floats forward slightly. "Alright, whatever yah name is. We've got yah number. Put the ring down an' y' can walk away."

He glows brilliant orange, Construct Lanterns erupting into being around him and charging us!

"I AM ALPHA!"

I generate railguns as more Praexis Demons appear and try to pull their opposite numbers down by weight of numbers. I get time for two shots at their master before he's on me, barging me back and grappling for the Sword of the Fallen. Guy forms a couple of assault shotgun constructs and opens fire, green light blasting apart Berrith and Praexis Demon constructs alike. The Alpha attacking me is easily strong enough to maintain the force on my arm, but he can't-

-stop me-

-moving past him. He manages to flare his environmental shield hard to prevent my simply backstabbing him, but I immediately counter with a punch from a crumbler gauntlet construct. His shield dims and I slash, the blade penetrating the armour of his left shoulder as he turns and drawing blood. Unfortunately, the shortness of the blade makes it easy for him to turn and strike my hand. My power armoured gauntlet keeps hold of the blade, and I recover as I shoot him again with a crumbler round-

-then step out and back-

-and stab him directly in the middle of his back, piercing his spine through his armour!

"ARRGH!"

Surge back to avoid his retaliatory blade constructs, fire a volley of crumblers to weaken his defence and-

-move-

-around not to his back as he's now expecting, but to his right side and slash his ring hand.

"No NO! MINE!"

I flare my own construct armour and grab. My first slash didn't sever the hand, and he's still got control of his ring. He forms claws but I absorb the stabs in order to force his arm to extend and slash again.

His claws vanish as it comes free and he falls, blood gushing from the cut surface. I take his severed hand in mine and call the last ring out. Finally.

"Aaawraaaagh?"

He hits the deck wailing weakly, trying to use his right hand to stem the flow of blood. Ch'p comes forward, limping slightly as he fires a green beam at the wound to seal it shut. Guy blasts apart the stunned Berrith Construct Lanterns, then takes a moment to restore his construct armour as he looks around for any remaining attackers.

"He'll live, sir." Ch'p touches the Alpha on the forehead, mercifully stunning him.

"An' the rest?"

Ch'p nods. "We beat their Alphas. Ordinarily, they'd be surprisingly obedient. I'm not sure how the orange light changes things..?"

I look through Ranx in their direction. "From the way they're backing up, I'd say 'not much'."

"The duel is complete! The visitors win and are proven correct in their assertion that the crew are negligent in their duties! All crew are hereby discharged, and are no longer my concern."

"Glad t' hear it. Now howsabout you piss off back to-?"

I hold out the power ring I took from the last Alpha. "Ranx of Sector Three Two Seven Two."

Guy spins, glaring at me. "Don't even think about-."

"You want to be useful."

Guy jabs at me with his right forefinger. "Don't you do it."

"And I want you for the Orange Lantern Corps."

"Ah, fer Christ's sake."

"Take my ring."

Guy throws up his arms. "Is this gunna happen everywhere we go?!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

25th August
13:15 GMT

"…back on New Berrith, an' Paul did some work on the satellite network." The assembled Guardians seem to be reasonably content with Guy's verbal description of events. "I fixed the worst of the environmental damage… Dust in the air from where Ranx shot it…" He shrugs. "Couldn't do much fer the industrial pollution…"

Pazu Pinder Pol nods. "And the H'lvenian, Doctor Ub'x? Were you able to trace him?"

Guy shakes his head. "Sorry. Once Paul poin'ed it out I could sorta feel the indigo light, but… I got no idea where he went. We found where Mekk an' him had been on th' surface, and I got-" He holds up a small bag. "-bits a' his power ring."

Ganthet holds out his right hand, and the bag floats over to him. "This was all you were able to find?"

Guy glances at me. "Ah…"

"It's exactly half. On the basis of it being a joint operation, and me being the one who tracked most of it down."

Kontross frowns. "You were called upon to take corrective action regarding a problem you created. We are the leading authority on power ring construction. You should relinquish whatever you have collected to us."

"That attitude is just not helpful. Firstly, however much experience you've got with power rings in general, you can't properly connect to an indigo ring. I know full well that your connection to the Green Central Power Battery prevents it."

Appa Ali Apsa waves his left hand. "Somewhat. There are ways around that. But do you really think that our unaligned cousins will have better luck? Most of them have very little experience in the field, at least with power rings adapted for younger species' use."

"Between them and Hinon, I don't imagine they'll have a much harder time of it than Guardian Ganthet." I look around the circle. "But then there's the second issue. I'm not prepared to accept a subordinate position for my Corps. If we are the ones who put the work in, then we get the pay off. And if you can't tolerate that… Then don't ask for my help in future."

Kontross narrows his eyes. "I am sure that we will bear your views on the matter in mind. Where did you leave Ranx?"

Guy floats slightly away from me. Telling the Guardians that I gave a Green Lantern-hating AI a power ring is something he decided to leave to me.

"He's had a little trouble adapting to his new power ring. But by now he should be halfway to Maltus-."

"You gave him a power ring?"

"You didn't give him a crew! Didn't the Green Lanterns who depopulated him last time do any investigative work? If you decide to throw away a perfectly good battle station, don't complain to me if I manage to make something of it. Lantern Ranx will be acting as a command station and shipyard in orbit over Maltus. I know that he'll be happy there, and the Reach will be the worse for it."

So quit 'cher bitchin', basically.

Broome Bon Baris looks thoughtful. "I am concerned about the 'Indigo Lantern' having the ability to bypass our defence satellites."

Ranakar appears uninterested. "They were intended to guard against local threats, not against civilisations orders of magnitude more sophisticated than anything which existed locally. Lantern Ch'p was able to bypass the version protecting the original Berrith homeworld easily enough. I am more concerned that they exist at all."

Herupa Hando Hu shrugs. "We have never made an effort to track all of our cousins. It is perfectly possible that other Maltusians learned to utilise one of the other colours independently. That might also explain why their lanterns are closer to being historically accurate than the ones derived from Krona's original project."

Ranakar nods. "True."

Dennap focuses her attention on me. "May we assume that you will now prioritise the recovery of any remaining orange rings?"

"I had assumed -incorrectly- that Ragnar's cluster was a unique case. While I will not be able to promise you that I will find all of them where your own Lanterns couldn't, I will agree to put more effort into it than I have been."

Dennap's expression hardens. "If you wish us to treat your Lanterns as equal to our own, you would be well advised to behave as responsibly as we expect our Lanterns to."

"My Lanterns do. I've already said that you can do what you like with any other orange ring users who make trouble. Orange Lanterns have to be pernicious individualists."

"Perhaps I should rephrase. We consider you to be responsible for the rings you have lost, and will hold you to account for any further harm which their bearers cause."

"And for any good they do?"

Appa gives me a lopsided smile. "It would give us more proof that the orange light isn't inherently harmful."

"So when should I expect you to recruit Alan Scott? I mean, he picked up a ring you lost. And by all accounts he's performed rather well with it. Do you intend to take responsibility for him?"

Sayd shakes her head. "Had he been harmed by his use of the ring he discovered, we would have taken it upon ourselves to heal him. But by your own accounts he has not; on the contrary, he has spent most of his life far more healthy than a member of your species his age would ordinarily be. You have our sympathy, and he has our respect. But you have no cause to make demands of us."

I smile bitterly. "Missed a trick there, didn't I? I should have helped him host Ion." They don't flinch, but there's a very slight rustling of their robes. "And Mars? What is your explanation there?"

Pazu Pinder Pol looks genuinely annoyed. "Given how many of our brethren died preserving their species, we judged that further losses for the benefit of a species that was managing to survive anyway would be more than we could bear. And from the records you've seen, you know what the Burning Martians would have wrought had we not acted."

"Oh yes, they're so hard to handle now."

"If you plan on altering them yourself, know that we will hold you accountable for any harm they do."

I open my mouth-.

"Paul, you wanna.. rein it in a little?"

I take a deep breath. Probably wise. "Well I… Think we've covered everything. You know where we are if you need us for anything. Guardian Dennap? Controller Hinon Hee Hannanan instructed me to tell you that you have her permission to stick me in a sciencell for a few weeks. Do you wish to make use of that option?"

She blinks. "Not presently."

"Then I will bid you good day."

It takes a moment but-

-I can step out, even on Oa. A moment to acclimatise-

-I step back next to Hinon inside the Orange Central Power Battery chamber.

"That went-"

She actually leaps away from me into the air, orange light blazing from her hands and eyes.

"-reasonably well. Oh, and Dennap says 'no'."

She stares at me for a moment, then douses her lights. "However did you do that?"

"The translocation or the 'not being put in a cell'?"

She scowls. "Both."

 

[Mr Zoat]

Rapprochement

30th August
06:13 GMT -4

"…review of the LexPharma research schedule at seven, followed by a meeting with the department heads at nine."

I watch through the hush tube as Lex nods to Ms Graves, taking a bite from his jam-covered muffin as he does so. Strawberry, if I'm any judge. There's a small pot of coffee which the two of them appear to be sharing. Ms Graves appears to favour muesli.

Rather domestic.

Ms Graves' eyes move from her tablet to Lex's face as she moves to the next item. "The interim report from the Special Projects auditors is at one, but that can easily be moved if the meeting or lunch overrun."

I stride through. "Or you could just-" Lex chokes slightly and Ms Graves shoots to her feet, gun arm prepped. "-cancel the whole thing." I grin and spread my arms wide as if offering to hug any volunteers. "Because I'm baaaack!"

Ms Graves' eyes flick to her employer, who is trying to dislodge muffin from his windpipe without appearing at all unsettled.

"And I bring you the gift of seeds!" I toss a sack of Deca seeds to the floor next to the table they're eating from. "Trust me, those things are amazing."

"Grauhugh." Lex takes a breath, then a sip of water. "Grayven. You look well."

"You have no idea how good it was to get away from this planet and go somewhere where I could just ram fixes through." I gesticulate. "See arsehole, cut arsehole in half with giant sword. I needed that so much."

"I'm.. glad to hear that your vacation went well. Might I enquire as to-" He raises his eyebrow at the seed sack. "-where you went?"

"If you're still alive in sixty years, look towards Vega and you might see me waving." I grin. "But what have you been up to?"

Lex sighs faintly, then makes a small motion with his right hand which prompts Ms Graves to sit down and stow her gun. "Damage control, mostly. The regulatory regime LexCorps is now forced to operate under is onerous in the extreme. I've had.. feelers out, trying to acquire assets that might have been missed when the businesses owned by other members of the Light were…"

"Brutally slaughtered like the Pig-Dogs they were?"

"…yes." He sighs again. "Unfortunately, the legitimate parts of the businesses they owned were owned with several cut outs between them and any overt criminality. I suspect that their managers are quite happy knowing that their late employers will no longer be making any demands on them, but that does mean that my leverage is unusually limited."

"I'll have a poke around. I know Savage's next of kin, I'm sure I can sort something out."

"I imagine that the entire Human race is descended from the late Mister Savage to some degree."

"No, his actual heir. A woman he raised to be a majordomo, or.. something." I take a step towards the table and crouch down. "But what about the other thing?"

"The.. other thing, Grayven?"

"Yes, the other thing." He looks somewhat blank. "The other thing? You know, I persuaded Horne and Lane not to have you killed, then I came here and we had a little chat?"

"I.. remember the incident extremely well."

"And… I said that I wanted you to assemble.. a group..? People with skills on a level with the late members of the Light, but less stupid? You remember that, right?" Lex looks impassive. I turn to Ms Graves. "You.. remember that, right? I didn't just stroke the whole thing, did I?"

"Grayven." Lex sighs. "Even if I wanted to, I couldn't fulfill that demand. Every one of my.. contacts in that sphere is avoiding me like I'm a plague-bearing Rat. They believe that having contact with me risks bringing down the wrath of the government, the Justice League, or worse, you. And if they weren't..? Why would I bring them and risk losing their skills on the end of your sword because you did not consider them to be suitably 'rational'?"

"You-. You.. mean you haven't got anyone?" Whaw, I was… Not expecting that. "I mean, we're not exactly short of supervillains around here."

"Oh, certainly. I imagine that I could dodge DMA snipers for just about long enough to make contact with a few utter unknowns. People who would add little to your efforts. Would you like me to write down their contact details for you?"

I screw up my face. "No? Of course not. I just…" My hands flap around as I try to organise my thoughts on the issue. "They didn't even have to be supervillains. I thought you'd-."

"I'm not a miracle worker, Mister Grayven. As things stand I'm not even certain how much I can help you. Though do feel free to destroy my window again: I've almost gotten to the point where I miss Superman doing that."

This… Is… Disappointing. And irritating. I lower my head slightly, sighing under my breath. "Can I assume that -if you can do so without being shot- you're still interested in participating?"

"I tolerated Klarion. I'm sure that I can tolerate you."

My jaw tightens, and I jab my right forefinger at him. "Not an intelligent thing to say to me, Mister Luthor." Okay. "Right, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to find people instead. I'm going to talk to them about our ideology and how working with us serves their interests too. And you don't get a veto anymore! I'll just pick people, and they'll… And they'll turn up, and you can like it or lump it! I was not expecting you to fail to network."

Lex appears unfazed, taking a small sip of coffee as I try to get my breathing under control. There's a quiet 'clink' as he sets his cup down in its saucer. "And.. I.. wish you the best of luck. I'm not sure where you hope to find such people-."

"You'd be amazed where I can find people."

"I'll look forward to meeting them. Have you…" He gestures to his table with his right hand. "Had.. breakfast? I'm sure that we can-."

"I'll be eating breakfast in two hours with my household, thank you very much." I turn away from them. "Mother Box, boom tube."

BOOM!

Ugh, but where am I actually going? The Mountain? No, I'd just be hanging around. Tamaran? No, I should get on this recruitment thing as soon as possible.

Who's going to be awake and active at this time of day?

…

30th August
09:16 GMT -1

I stride through the portal and into the Venturian palace, couriers looking around as I approach the table around which she and her inner circle are seated. "Queen Clea, sorry to barge in like this-."

She straightens slightly on her throne-like chair at the head of the table. "I would be astonished if that were true."

"Okay, it's not. I'm just being polite."

"Thank Atlan for small mercies." She puts down a scroll. "Since you're here, I assume that you want something. Are you going to tell me what it is, or do you want to pontificate for a little while first?"

"The second, obviously." I fold my arms behind my back and start pacing across the area in front of the throne. "I'm putting together a little coterie-."

"I've participated in those before. I can't say that I enjoyed the experience. Or profited much by it."

"This is more of a think tank than a fighting force. Like-minded individuals pooling resources in order to achieve greater things than they could by themselves. If you're interested, I'm planning a get-together in a few days. You can get to know the other invitees, see if you think they're people you could work with."

"Anyone I know?"

"Hopefully one at least."

"Hm." She thinks for a moment. "My biggest problem at the moment remains what it was the first time we spoke: King Orin. What do you think that your 'coterie' could do about that?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

1st September
12:23 GMT -2

King Orin blinks at me in confusion as I rise to my feet. And I nearly miss his eyes flicking to his bodyguards. "Grayven. I'm afraid that if there's something you want to talk about it will have to wait. I'm due to meet the Venturian Ambassador and I really don't have the.. time…" He trails off as I produce my accreditation scroll. "Queen Clea sent you?"

"Your Imperial Majesty, High King Orin of Poseidonis." I anchor my feet to the palace floor and bow, left hand at my waist and right hand holding out the scroll. "I have the honour of having been instructed by Her Majesty Queen Clea of Venturia to serve as her representative, with the aim of normalising relations between your respective thrones."

His mouth opens slightly as he tries to work out a sensible response. A courtier whom I don't recognise swims forward and takes the scroll from me, then swims back to his monarch's side before opening it. I come erect as he checks it both visually and with a minor spell. "It's authentic, your majesty."

King Orin bows his head slightly. "Of course it is." He focuses his attention on me. "I doubt that Grayven would do something like this as a prank. Ambassador Grayven, I recognise you as Queen Clea's representative to the Atlantean government. And I hope-." I shake my head. "Is there a problem?"

"King Orin, you know full well that I cannot accept that recognition. It has long been the position of Venturia that there is no such thing as the Atlantean government, merely an advisory body to the High King. I can hardly be a representative to a body that does not exist."

"This is why diplomacy with Venturia never gets anywhere." He swims past me to take his place at the head of the table. "Would you accept being recognised as Venturia's representative to my court?"

I bow my head. "But of course."

He reaches his chair and motions for me to be seated. "You understand that in the Atlantean order of precedence, it's an inferior position?"

"Inferior to one that doesn't exist? I think that unlikely."

He sits, and I do the same at a seat a little way to his left. Another Atlantean -given the manner of her dress I'm going to assume that she's either some sort of minister or a high level aide- sits down opposite me.

King Orin leans forward slightly. "I remembering hearing from Superman that there was an Atlantean working at your daughter's school. You organised that?"

"Yes. They appeared to be confused by the differences between telepaths and parapsychics. I thought that having someone who knew a little more about magic than well-meaning but ignorant American college teachers… Would be helpful. And I needed a source of literature for Miss Shimmer."

"And you couldn't come to Poseidonis?"

"I had just left the Team under something of a cloud. It seemed to me that going somewhere where the ruler wouldn't care about that made more sense. Queen Clea asked to speak with me…" I shrug.

"That was... April?" I nod. "I had wondered why the Venturian Senators started voting with me on foreign policy issues. I had hoped that it was an indication that Queen Clea might be willing to become less isolationist."

"It was really more… She switched from opposing you and yours in every way she could, to being willing to consider proposals on the basis of traditional authority. If you want to pursue a particular foreign policy objective, then that is your right as High King."

"And what does she get out of it?"

"She hopes that you will agree not to interfere in the Venturian succession. She expects to die in the not-too-distant future and it's been weighing on her mind."

Orin frowns. "Proconsul Ptra of Aurania will succeed her. I certainly don't have any problem with that. If anything, I'd encourage her to reach out to her daughter sooner."

"Ah. No, your majesty. She won't."

His frown deepens. "What do you mean? Ptra is Clea's only child." He blinks, his brow smoothing. "Unless Clea's done what my mother did. Is there another heir somewhere that she's planning on introducing?"

"No-. At least, not to my knowledge. Under Venturian law, much like in the Roman Empire, the monarch appoints their successor. Usually it's the oldest child, but in theory she could name anyone. My knowledge of Venturian court politics is imperfect, but my understanding is that the foremost candidate is her great nephew, Lord Cyprian."

Orin looks at the woman seated on his right. "Majistra, can she do that?"

Majistra looks more than a little concerned. "Legally, yes, but the understanding we had was that she would not."

"That was a very one-sided understanding, then. I got the very clear impression that she'd been planning it for a while but was afraid of being invaded if she made a formal announcement."

"By Aurania?"

"No. By you." He looks surprised. "I'm afraid that after her altercation with your grandmother, Queen Clea became somewhat…" How can I put this politely..?

"Paranoid?"

I nod. "If you like. Where Poseidonis is concerned."

"Where my grandmother refused to let her execute all of her political opponents?"

I raise my left eyebrow. "That's not how the Venturians remember it. And -with all due respect, your majesty- you need to understand this if you're going to get anywhere with them."

"Alright. Then how do they remember it?"

"The dispute starts with the marriage of Queen Clea to Proconsul Philo. The marriage contract states… Well, what it states is.. one of the things disputed."

"I can imagine. Did you read it yourself?"

"Yes. The wording.. seemed unclear, but I'm not an Atlantean lawyer. Queen Clea believes that it sets out that Venturian laws of inheritance would take precedence in the case of shared offices and titles. And the courtiers who survive from the time were certain that it was discussed in those terms at the time. In Venturia, a couple rules together with neither one having authority over the other. If she died, he'd still be king. So, to keep things fair, they arranged things so that if he died, she'd become Proconsul. Aurania's law of course works differently, and that's why they made sure to spell it out in the marriage contract."

"And the Auranian Senate accepted that?"

I shrug. "Passed with a majority. Which should have meant that it became Auranian law. Except… Two years into the marriage, Proconsul Philo died. And that didn't happen. The Auranian Council tried to impose Auranian succession tradition, which passes authority down to surviving children and not the surviving spouse. Ptra was a year old at the time. And given the surprise of his death-."

"She decided to invade."

"She decided to declare martial law on a city she already ruled, after the murder of her husband, its Proconsul. It seemed clear to her that the people who benefited most from his death were the people who were trying to sideline her." I lean back slightly. "Technically she shouldn't have done that, but I don't think it was particularly unreasonable. Particularly when they responded by having her daughter kidnapped."

"They thought that her mother had murdered her father."

"Did they? I've seen the court records. Queen Clea had to testify under truth compulsion that she hadn't arranged his death. They never did. And since all of those involved in that part are now dead we'll never know what their motivations really were."

"Alright. I can see why she did what she did, but Queen Cora ruled in their favour. Why won't she accept the ruling?"

"Because it was clearly incorrect in law." I lean back. "Did you know that there isn't a national minimum drinking age in the United States? Individual states are free to set their own to whatever they like or not have one at all, but if it isn't twenty one or higher the federal government cuts their highways funding. I'm not really sure what building roads has to do with alcohol consumption…" I shrug. "It's just a control mechanism. Queen Cora had the authority to adjudicate in disputes between city-states, which technically included the marriage contract. What she didn't have authority to do was ignore the kidnapping."

"If they were concerned about Ptra's safety…"

"Then maybe they could have been exonerated in a trial. 'Reasonable actions taken under extreme circumstances'. There was no trial. The actual kidnappers and the people who sponsored them weren't even pardoned, just completely let off the hook. Clea might have tolerated not becoming Proconsul if she'd been made her daughter's regent. But she wanted them punished and she wanted her daughter back. And she got neither after Queen Cora recognised the Auranian council as having regency authority and made Ptra a ward of the throne of Poseidonis. And Queen Clea was rather upset about it."

"It seems that I'm going to have to read up on my history. But before I do that, is recognising Lord Cyprian as her heir the only thing she wants from me?"

"She'd quite like the city-states to get more autonomy… Or as she put it 'to have their traditional autonomy recognised', but that's a secondary thing. The second principal thing she wants is to build an airport in the Greater Azores so she can trade with the surface and needs you to reduce import tariffs."

King Orin's eyes boggle.

"She wants to what?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

1st September
17:23 GMT -5

I smile politely as Director Armstrong glowers at my completed test paper. A moment passes and she stabs it with her 'Approved' stamp with more force than was strictly necessary before picking it up again and dropping it into her 'out' tray.

"Thank you, Director. Where do I go to get my identification badge?"

"How did you do it?"

I bite back my initial 'firstly, my mother and father met' response. Director Armstrong is in charge of what will eventually be an important federal agency. I'm trying to build her up, not belittle her. "Could.. you.. be more specific?"

"You've been back on Earth for two days, and you managed to complete the written portion of the test with a near-perfect grade."

"Well…" I shrug. "A lot of it was essentially the same as the equivalent tests for other federal law enforcement officers, and that was covered by my Justice League training. A good deal of the rest relates to special cases relating to metahuman law and police practice, which, again, I've studied for my own activities. Like when I was trying to get Werner Vertigo executed."

"That doesn't explain perfect scores."

"Okay, fine." I smile. "I had the G-Gnomes implant textbook answers in my mind. I imagine that the only bits I got wrong were where I thought that the official answer was stupid."

"That totally invalidates the results!"

"It does not. As long as they weren't continuously-."

She glares. "Do you know how long telepathically implanted knowledge lasts?"

"I'm aware of previous case studies, but with the G-Gnomes it lasts as long as any knowledge you studied hard. The G-Gnomes have gotten very good at ensuring that it integrates fully with the rest of a subject's mental networks. None of that… Fading away after a couple of days stuff."

Usually I'd hate people doing anything with my mind, but I trust Jean. And I really didn't want to learn this by reading a lot of books like some sort of caveman.

I smile again. "So there's really no problem. I now have the qualifications for a licensed operative. And if you count my work for Operation Light Switch for my 'mentored operational duty' and my time working for the Justice League as 'time in operation', I actually qualify for second tier privileges as well." She doesn't look happy about it. "And obviously I understand that by taking this on I know that I'll be expected to go on the stump for the DMA. My diary's reasonably open; I'm happy to book you in whenever you like."

Director Armstrong nods, managing to look only slightly like she's bitten into a lemon. Then she reaches into one of her desk's drawers, pulls out a small brown packet and passes it to me. "Here. We used your Central City mug shot for the identification photograph."

I grin as I take it and pull out the identification badge. "See, I know that was intended as a slight. But actually? I love the idea." I take a quick look at the photo and then hold it up next to my head and pull the exact expression I had then. "I'm going to show this off to everyone."

"When are the rest of your little enclave going to sit their examinations?"

"Ah…" I lower my badge. "The Blacks are on assignment outside of the US, Ghia'ta isn't active as a superhero -though I'll.. certainly send her your way if she gets interested-, Miss Shimmer is training as a thaumaturgist and has no interest in combat or criminal investigation, Lynne's clearly too young and Mister Tawny isn't on Earth at the moment. But again, I'll be sure to send him your way once he gets back."

"And the Gothic Flash?"

I sit back. "Do you..? Really… Want her formally on your books?"

"I'm aware of what you had her do in the Sudan."

"Technically I didn't order her to do that. Not that I have a problem with it, compared to the reasonably probable alternatives. But if what she is doing-."

"'Is'?"

"You don't want the various factions to rearm, do you? If it became more widely known, and people saw that she had a licence from you… I mean, obviously we know that it's not an endorsement or a sign that she's acting on America's behalf, but it may be more convenient for you to not have anything written down that says otherwise."

"And what did General Lane say about that?"

"He hasn't said.. anything..? I'm not sure if that's because he genuinely doesn't know, or if he's officially not knowing."

Director Armstrong thinks for a moment. "Do you intend to use her in your State-side operations?"

"Probably, yes."

"Then she can sit her test anonymously. I can sign the paperwork and you can be her supervisor. No one else has to know."

I nod. "Alright, I'll talk to her about it next time I see her."

A slight frown. "She's not waiting for you right now?"

I shake my head. "No. With major combat operations in Vega finished, I encouraged her to pay some attention to her secret identity."

Aside from the social aspect, maintaining a cover identity has obvious advantages for her. While I obviously pay her for the work she does for me, it might also help to have a source of income she can actually talk about outside the mountain. Actual pay for entry level models is crap, but unless a lot of people compare notes that won't matter much. A bit sad that I can't be there in person to support her, but Miss Shimmer said that she'd go in my place.

Friend number two!

I pull some paperwork out of the pack. "What's this?"

"Pension and insurance forms."

And I don't age or need to use other people's hospitals. Ah, it's probably a standard package. I nod. "It's never too soon to start saving."

"And your performance targets."

Oh, of course. I just manage to stop myself laughing. "For..?"

"Rifle, Colorado."

"I will make myself the scourge of villainy in the Route Six / County Road Two Two Three area." Actually, I'll have the G-Elves do it. This is clearly another paperwork thing; it doesn't actually require my personal attention. "I already have weekly meetings with Chief Klein, so really this will just be a formalisation of existing arrangements." She nods. "Anything else?"

"Luthor."

I purse my lips. "Luthor."

"Have you spoken to him?"

"Yes, that was one of the first things I did after returning. He's chafing nicely under the restrictions he's operating under."

"And you didn't happen to find anything that would warrant us taking further action?"

"He's got a painting by Adolf Hitler in his apartment?"

"He's-? No, that's not a crime, even if it does make him look like a supervillain. Anything else?"

"He's trying to acquire legitimate companies owned by his late colleagues while their hands are off the tiller. That might technically be insider trading, but it's… So close to legitimate commercial activity…"

"No smoking gun?"

"I'm afraid not."

She nods. "Keep watching him, just in case. I know the President wants him left alive if at all possible, but catching him out would be a big boost to the reputation of the DMA."

"I will be certain to do that, Director Armstrong."

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
15:15 GMT +2

How hard is it to find an enchanted island inhabited by an ancient demigoddess-sorceress who doesn't want it to be found?

Not all that hard at all when you've got goggles like mine.

Diana only came here once, and since she teleported both in and out she couldn't give me directions. I tried a couple of sources to narrow my search a little, but it seems that scholars have guessed that it might be located in all sorts of places over the years. More frustrating is the fact that while the Odyssey says that she comes from Colchis, for the Greeks that was the equivalent of an English person saying she came from Timbuktu. It's not a literal description -or at least it doesn't have to be-, it just means 'from a very long way away'. Plus the Classical Romans just loved stealing Greek stuff.

On the other hand, Diana definitely described the palace on the island as being in the Hellenic style. And myths have a surprisingly high correlation with reality around here. So I started with a sweep of the Black Sea and then made my way south east along the Bosphorus into the Sea of Marmara until I encountered an island that I could see with my goggles but not without them.

The goggles, they do something.

Out of respect to the woman I'm hoping to see and in the hope that she'll view my presence here as slightly less of an invasion, I open my boom tube well out to sea and start flying towards Aeaea at a speed that will give Circe plenty of time to decide whether to tolerate my presence or not. And whether or not an attack by her beastmen is required.

Flying Monkeys are a distinct possibility here.

No, no, she wouldn't send flying monkeys. She probably hasn't even heard of The Wizard of Oz. Or has she? I mean, Diana managed to modernise herself twice, once moving from the Classical Greek Themyscira to nineteen forties America, and then from Themyscira to noughties America. And there's been basically nothing to stop her teleporting to wherever she wants since the late Mister Nelson stopped wearing the Helmet of Fate. She might not even be in.

Guess I'll… Leave a note then?

Based on what I can see of the buildings on the island, Circe has gone for an almost exploded view for her palace. There isn't a single continuous structure but rather a dock which is physically separated from what looks like a stable, which again is some distance from what I'm going to assume are the servants' quarters. Or possibly peasants' quarters, given that I can see nearby farmland. Even the palace parts are separated into a tower and two halls, though I suppose that those might have assigned functions which are not immediately obvious. The Mistress of the Manor might not be home herself, but there's definite activity in the fields and around the docks. I-. Ah, those are crab-form beastmen. I was curious as to how they fished without drawing unwanted attention. I wonder if the spells bear any resemblance to those the Atlanteans use?
Resist.
I get a slight bleugh sensation as I pass through the wards, but once I'm inside nothing else happens. I think that some of the crabs might be looking my way… Hard to tell. Circe herself doesn't deign to show herself as I touch down on the beach. So… Either she doesn't have a problem with me being here but expects me to present myself to her, or I'm about to-.

The javelin embeds itself in the sand about a metre from my position. I look up towards the tree line… And a motley collection of beastmen glares back at me. I see a Lion-person and a Centaur, along with a small mob of Boar-people. Kilts and straps appear to be the dress code, though given the weather and fact that they're covered in fur I suppose that expecting shirts and ties would have been a long shot. As I watch, the Lion grunts something at the Centaur, who turns and runs away from the mob in the general direction of the palace.

I take a few steps forward and bend down, picking up the javelin in my right hand and lifting it up toward the watching beastmen.

"Lads, do you really want to do this?"

The Lion bares his teeth and his claws while the Boars draw their swords.

Sigh.

I stab the javelin back into the sand and-.



Yeah, okay. My daiklave would probably be overkill here. Diana said that Circe's beastmen have enhanced strength, not super strength. I could kill them all pretty easily, but there's really no point. And some of them might still have family…

Ugh. I generate a construct tower shield and cudgel and advance up the incline as they charge down towards me. The Lion takes the lead, not even looking back in his eagerness to reach me. The Boars are a little more rational about it, keeping abreast of each other and carefully watching me as they advance. No shields, I note. Not that it would help, but that does imply that they were assigned to some other duty.

The Lion comes at me at full sprint, probably intending to bowl me over and claw at me on the ground. I brace and crouch slightly as he slams into my shield, his momentum and my immovability causing him to flatten against it. I lurch forward and then stop, causing him to stagger back into striking range. I stab the head of my cudgel forward, striking him in the diaphragm. Because I'm super strong rather than just being a big bloke the result of my stab is him flying backward and collapsing gasping to the ground.

"Stay down, Lion man."

"I-i-i-in-."​ His gasps for breath cover up anything coherent he might have been saying as I walk carefully around him and towards the approaching Boar line.

"I'll say again, fellahs. I'm here to see Circe and I come in peace. I don't want to fight you, but you're not going to enjoy what happens if you force the issue."

One on the left of the line looks dubiously at his fellows for a moment, but then shakes his head and raises his sword. Looks like they're more afraid of disappointing their domitor than they are of fighting me.

But the main thing is, they're afraid.

I walk patiently towards the centre of their line and they gratefully accept the opportunity to move to surround me. I sigh faintly, then leap backwards, blindly swinging my construct cudgel around as I do so.

"ORRREEEAAAGH!"

The first Boarman I hit has his upper right arm and several of his right ribs smashed, sending him tumbling down the beach towards the sea. My swing continues as his neighbour attempts to backpedal, making it just far enough to save his arm but not his chest. Ribs crack and he's sent flying as I turn toward the rest. One eager fellow is hot on my heels and I repeat what I did to the Lion, letting him run into my shield. He didn't quite give the charge his all and maintains the wherewithal to brace himself against it and stab around it with his sword.

We have a brief moment of eye contact when his discovers that his arm isn't long enough to reach me. Then I tug my shield left to intercept another charging Boar, causing him to spin around until he's facing me again. As we line up I bring my forehead forwards with a smash, knocking him stunned to the ground.

Then they're all piling on me and it isn't worth keeping precise tabs on who is where. Steel swords predictably fail to pierce my armour or skin as I yank my arms left and right, slamming Boar into Boar and taking smashes of opportunity with my cudgel. Rendering them too injured to fight back takes a little over a minute. Another minute to scan them to make sure that they aren't imminently going to expire-

Your humanitarian credentials are impeccable, Corpsman.

-and I stride back toward the fallen Lion. He's managing to sit upright, but the fight still seems to be knocked out of him.

"What was that in aid of?"

"You... Invader! Mistress's land-."

"I came here because I want to talk to her, not brawl with her." I generate a construct harness and use it to drag him to his feet. "Now take me to her. We have things to discuss."

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
15:27 GMT +2

One leisurely stroll later -with just enough tugging on the leash by me to remind the Lion who's in charge and just enough resistance from him to remind me that he's a thinking creature with opinions of his own- and we arrive at a grand-looking stone structure. The pillars and general shape of the roof say 'ancient Greek' to me, but I'm hardly an expert in architecture. A handful of Mulemen are tending the gardens, but they limit themselves to one nervous look in my direction before bending themselves to their tasks once more. The pathway leading up to the palace proper -or should that be manor?- is lined with statues, alternately bronze-cast and stone carved. Not of the gods, but beyond that I couldn't say.

The whole place actually looks pretty nice. I suppose that if you've got near-infinite time and resources then you aren't going to live in a sty, but I was a little worried that she'd have gone for the full 'dark sorceress with skulls on spikes' style. This is classy. And more importantly, suggests that she's capable of being rational over a prolonged period of time.

"Mistress is inside."

I nod without looking at him. "Are you banned from going inside?"

He grunts. "No."

"Glad to hear it." I use the tether to shove him forwards, then let the construct evaporate as he staggers up the steps leading into the palace. "After you."

His head turns, letting him glower at me with one eye for a moment. Then he shakes his head slightly and stalks up the steps into the portico. I follow on behind him, utterly unhurried. It's important to seem at ease; Circe doesn't know me and might do something regrettable if she senses weakness. The stone.. doesn't look enchanted, or at least not exceptionally. Probably just a little something to make the stone more resilient to erosion, or perhaps to regenerate over time. Yes, that's more likely. Given the era and the lack of other magic users at her level to study with I imagine that she'd find elementalism easier than anything truly original. A shame that she grew up in this part of the world; if she'd been born in Atlantis she could have been another Ahri'ahn.

Ah well.

No glass, I note as I step from the sunlit portico into the entry chamber. The Ancient Greeks had glass, but not of a quality that it would have been practical to use in windows. And it looks like she hasn't bothered to modernise…

I stop, looking around. Ambient lighting with no opening other than the doorway. It should be dingy in here, but instead it only appears shaded. I suppose that I shouldn't have expected her not to have some work-around for the problem of darkness.

The illumination allows me to more easily see the painted borders around the top and bottom of the walls, and the frescos painted between them. One wall is covered by a depiction of a garden party. A cheerful scene, until I realise a moment later that every participant save one has some minor animal characteristic somewhere on their person. Teeth, ears, a tail… It adds a strange and disconcerting air to the image. The one person shown to be physically perfect is Circe herself, reclining on a couch in a gazebo and being fed grapes by a king with cloven feet.

Another wall shows a mountain, tiny figures that might be people or rocks or smudges barely visible against the grandeur of the rock formation and the landscape surrounding it. A third wall appears to show a battle, but rather than the neat ranks that Greek infantry were famous for it depicts men striking one another without rhyme or reason. A fourth wall shows a goddess -Circe herself, with a few added indicators of divinity- walking through a city inhabited by unaltered animals who offer her tribute as she passes.

Puzzling. I wonder who painted these?

The Lion has already gone ahead, but I take a moment to look over the pictures for things I've missed. No sign of Diana and I don't.. think that any of her old cronies are shown either. I wouldn't necessarily spot any really old cronies, but there aren't any from her original fights with Diana in the forties and fifties. Or any modern ones. Circe playing up her power is hardly surprising, and the animal motifs..? How she views people?

Sadly, it turns out that I'm not Grand Admiral Thrawn.

Oh well, conversation it is then. I turn away from the artworks and slowly walk through the doorway to the next chamber.

"Greetings, stranger."

Circe herself is lounging on a large throne set into the centre of the far wall. The throne is wood with fabric-covered panels and cushions, while the surrounding dais is artfully carved stone. It looks like a single piece. Was it brought here? Did they build the palace around it? Or did she create it with magic?

The rest of the room is richly decorated in a tasteful way. There are shelves upon which set impressively bound tomes as well as racks for scrolls. There are stands and display cases for ancient or valuable artefacts -some of those do have glass fronts. There is a area with seating and a table arranged before a beautifully upholstered chaise longue. The walls are less intricately decorated here than the ones outside were: a simply decorative pattern so as not to distract from the treasure trove which the mistress of the place has chosen to display for her guests.

The Lion man is already abasing himself in front of the lowest step when I take in the sorceress herself. She can alter her appearance to more or less whatever she wants; illusion sometimes, genuine shapeshifting at others. At the moment she's choosing to appear as a tall, pale skinned and dark haired woman. Her dress -which looks like it could fall off with one careless motion- is peach in colour and artfully draped to not only enhance her own beauty but to pleasantly contrast with the colour and texture of the wood and stone around her. Her feet are bare, while her hair is elegantly draped around her shoulders.

All this for me? I'm touched.

I proceed across the floor until I'm only a few metres behind the Lion. Then I bow.

"Forgive me for not addressing you by title, but I am uncertain as to how you style yourself."

"I've long since outgrown the need for titles. Please address me as Circe. And you are Grayven, I believe."

I straighten up. "My reputation precedes me."

"You fought a Lord of Chaos and emerged victorious. I would be a poor sorceress not to be aware of the man who achieved such a feat of arms."

"Two Lords of Chaos." I smile. "But who's counting?"

She raises her eyebrows slightly. Polite enquiry rather than genuine surprise. "Really?"

"Mordru proved to be no more capable of seeing reason than his erstwhile colleague."

She leans back slightly. "It seems that they were less immortal than I had been led to believe."

"I don't believe that there's any such thing as absolute immortality."

The tiniest flicker, gone before I can learn anything from it. "You may well be right. Tell me, Grayven; what brings you to my home?"

"You, naturally. To the best of my knowledge you are the Earth's greatest living practitioner of magic. I am.. seeking to put together a coterie of talented individuals. Naturally, your name came to mind immediately."

"Hah!" She tilts her head back, her eyes leaving me for the first time since I entered the room. Her amusement seems genuine. "It's been some time since anyone tried to interest me in something like that." She shifts position, leaning a little closer as she returns her attention to me. "Do you seek to conquer the Earth, Grayven?"

"No, Circe. The nature of Earth society is such that it could not be conquered by people like us without depriving it of the very things that make it worth conquering. I was thinking of.. a… Looser alliance, each of us pursuing our own interests while cooperating with one another where such a thing could be profitably done in concert. Coordinating our efforts, rather than working on a single task and getting in one another's way."

"I see. And what is it that I would get out of this alliance?"

"That rather depends, O Circe, on what it is that you want."

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
15:41 GMT +2

Circe lounges languidly on the chaise longue while I maintain a more upright position in the solidly-built chair opposite her. Impressive work; it doesn't look like anything special but it manages to bear my weight without complaint. I must get the name of her…

What's the word for someone who makes chairs?

Chairbler.

Right, thanks. A man who looks like he's now part Goose places two amphorae -one of wine and another of water- on the table between us with two clay cups.

"One quarter."

Circe doesn't look at her servant as she gives the order, and he in turn doesn't look at her as he pours a mix of one part wine to three parts water into the cups before standing and backing away. Once he's far enough away that she no longer considers him to be intruding, she reaches out and picks up her cup. I'm underselling it there, it's a beautifully decorated piece and its presence probably means that I'm being treated as an honoured guest. I mirror her action, picking up my own cup and raising it slightly to her in a silent toast. That earns me a small smile as she raises hers to her lips to drink. I do the same. It tastes… Like wine, only weaker. It's probably an excellent wine but I'm afraid that it's rather wasted on someone like me.

A slight motion of her left hand and the floor extrudes a tendril of stone for her within convenient arm's reach for her to set her cup upon. "I'm puzzled by your enquiry."

I lower my cup. "It's a straightforward enough question. The better I understand what it is that you want to get out of a working relationship, the better able I am to arrange things to ensure that happens." I wiggle the cup around slightly in my right hand. "I realise.. that… For people like us, a request for that sort of personal information from someone you barely know… Sets off all sorts of alarms. I assume that this room is warded?"

"Naturally."

"Then let me go first. I seek allies because at some point -not soon, probably not for years- I'm going to have to fight my father. He's the Apokoliptian God of Tyranny and he's every bit as powerful as his name implies. A little over two months ago he rendered me catatonic for two weeks simply by speaking two words to me. I need to become stronger, to have access to better weapons, technologies, magics… So, I need Earth and its people to become stronger, and that is what I am trying to arrange. Admiration?" I shake my head. "I don't need it. Direct control over others?" I shrug. "As long as I can get the things I want I don't much care what else is happening. But what is it that you want? Legions of admirers? Wealth? Political power?"

She smiles. "Those are pleasant enough."

"Then we'll see about ensuring that you get them. But what do you want most of all?"

"Are those not enough?"

"I was a student of Princess Diana's."

"Oh please." She looks away, rolling her eyes. "I don't obsess over the girl."

"No, I…" I shake my head again and put my cup down on the table. "I mean to say that I've read her mission reports. Including the ones concerning your earliest confrontations. I… Believe that there was mention of a prophecy..?"

Circe's smile fades slightly and her eyes harden. This is the point at which things could go badly wrong, depending on how much umbrage she decides to take. "What do you know?"

"I know little. Supposedly, Hecate gave you… At least a portion of your powers, with the proviso that under certain conditions they would be revoked. I understand that you came to believe that Diana might be capable of fulfilling-."

"Her and… Thousands of others over the centuries." Her face tightens and she snatches up her cup, taking a drink. "Do you have any inkling as to why I made that accursed pact in the first place?"

"I'm well aware of the allure of power. Particularly power as.. immediate as the arcane variety."

"Hah!" There's no humour in her pronouncement as she downs the rest of her cup before returning it to its pedestal with a degree of force. "I had wondered if you might know the truth of it, given how you boasted of slaying two Lords of Chaos."

"In point of fact, I only killed one myself. One of my allies killed the other while I served as a distraction."

She looks at me with piercing curiosity, trying to decipher my expression for any trace of deceit. After a moment or two she relaxes slightly, perhaps finding in my favour. "When I was a young woman, recently inducted in the mysteries of Hecate's cult, I met a third. You most likely saw a painting of him outside; close-cropped curly blonde hair, heroically proportioned chest, cloven feet?" The grape-feeder. I nod. "My skill with magic was slight, but my beauty was enough to draw the eye of a being who styled himself as Oggar, the Earth's Mightiest Immortal."

I nod. "I think I've heard of him. Didn't he used to work with Shazam?"

Circe nods. "Yes. He tried to impress me with his magical feats, and failed utterly. Seeing what power magic could bring, all I could think was that one day such power would be mine though my own efforts. Finally, he offered me a gift to prove his power beyond doubt. I knew that the leaders of Hecate's cult were strong in magic, but bowed and wizened of body. Why not have the best of all things? So I asked for immortality. He waved his arms, claimed to have given it to me and asked me to reconsider. I refused again." She shrugs. "I was immortal. What was he going to do?"

"I think I see where this is going."

"Do you know what a woman looks like at two hundred years of age? Three hundred? One who knows of no magic by which she may rejuvenate herself? How swollen and arthritic her joints, how dull her eyes, how clouded her mind, how racked with pain and confusion her every moment?"

"No. But I can imagine."

"I begged Hecate for relief, even death. And for her own reasons, she-" Circe indicates her body with a wave of her right hand. "-gave me this. A portion of her own soul for power, arcane knowledge far in advance of any other in Greece… Divinity."

"Generous of her."

"And the certain knowledge that at any moment it could all be snatched away in an instant with no warning. Have you heard the phrase 'those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad'?" I nod. "It worked. Homer thought that I was exiled here. I wasn't. How could a mere king exile me? I simply grew too paranoid to stand other people."

I glance aside. "Apart from..?"

She follows my eyes to the Gooseman. "Oh, they're hardly 'people'. Why do you think I change them?"

"Okay." I sit back, looking thoughtful. "And that's why you picked fights with Diana?"

"Yes." Her eyes move off me for a moment. "Mostly."

I wave the qualifier off. "Don't worry, I know how it goes." Sounds simple enough to fix. Rejuvenation I can do. Though… "Can you choose to end your pact with Hecate yourself?"

She frowns. "Probably. Yes. But why would I? I have no more desire to become a feeble undying cripple now than I did thousands of years ago."

"You fear this outcome? You fear it greatly?"

"Yes."

I raise my left hand slightly, displaying the Sinestro ring's sigil. "This is a power ring. Its energies are strengthened by fear. If you could undo your pact, I believe that I could use it to restore your youth. Not permanently, you would begin to age again-."

"You could restore a woman thousands of years old to youth? You'll forgive me if I'm sceptical."

"This ring isn't magic, it's technological. Ontological inertia has no effect. Altering your current divinity-infused form is.. awkward. But were you to reassume the form of a mortal woman, it becomes feasible."

"And my power?"

"That power you derive from Hecate would be gone. However-" I tap Mother Box. "-it is within my power to alter the structures of your soul to allow for unlimited growth. I have tested the method, and it works quite well. You would be able to attain godhood through your own labours somewhat more easily than most mortal mages, though clearly you would be weaker in the interim. The important thing-" I lean forwards. "-is that you would no longer be beholden to the prophecy." "Grasp the power that lies before you!"

"That…" Her eyes flick down as she considers the offer. "Would be a great boon. And in return you would want my participation in your.. group?"

"No. A little of your time today, a few minor pieces of arcane assistance, and for you to hear my full spiel when all of those I wish to invite are assembled. I have no desire to trap you in a compact that no longer suits you."

"And if I say no?"

"That of course remains your prerogative. The offer would stay open indefinitely. A 'no' now could become a 'yes' later, once you have more information. While a fit of childish pique from me could alienate you permanently, which is contrary to my interests."

"I.. am.. interested. But putting myself into your power and trusting to your good intentions-."

"I gain nothing from harming you."

"I think…" She looks pensive for a moment, then reaches a firm decision. "I will accompany you and agree to help you in small ways, while I gain a better understanding of your character. Then, perhaps, I will accept your aid."

I smile. "That, Circe, suits me perfectly." I rise to my feet and extend my right hand to her. "Shall we?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
09:01 GMT -5

"Did you know that this is the only place in the United States where it's legal to produce, buy and sell proper absinthe?"

Circe looks around as we promenade along the tree-lined avenues of the curiously named Rainbow Gardens Park, just off Pyle Avenue in Opal City, Maryland. She actually condescended to link arms-. Or rather -given the size disparity between us- lay her left hand on my right arm. She seems interested but not stunned in the way those Amazons introduced to modern technology tend to look. She's even altered her dress to something a little more modern, though she left the general cut and colour the same. I had thought that she'd want something a little more 'queenly' while engaged on a professional occasion, but perhaps something that serves to draw attention away from her face is better for a known supervillain. As it is, we're drawing looks from morning joggers and they're not all being directed at me.

"I never developed a taste for it. For those acts of magic that are aided by hallucinogens, there are far better options." She looks up at me as I lower the guidebook. "Why are we here?"

"Have you ever met a man made of shadows?"

She frowns. "Yes, several times. I've even created one or two. Why do you ask?"

I nod at the figure sat on the bench in front of us as he throws breadcrumbs to a crowd of Pigeons that don't dare to approach within two metres of him. He's wearing an unseasonable black greatcoat and a black top hat, with some sort of white.. demi-doily thing hanging from his neck providing the only real break from the sheer tone of his clothing. He's also wearing dark glasses, and there's a black cane with a silver handle propped up against the side of his bench.

Despite the morning sun, the ground around him is noticeably darker than the rest of the path.

Circe stops dead. "What is he?"

I smile faintly. "No one really knows. Though he is at least a century old. I'm a little surprised that you haven't run into him before, actually. He was fighting The Flash while you were fighting Wonder Woman in the fifties..?"

"I don't-." She cuts herself off, frowning. "The Shade? I had heard of him, but I thought that he was a dilettante, a minor practitioner at best. Not… That."

"He isn't under a curse. He picked fights with superheroes to keep himself amused."

"He isn't touching his cane."

"He's never needed to before. Why would he start now?"

She hesitates for a moment. "I feel… That I may have missed something rather important."

Mister Swift shakes the last few crumbs out of his bag and then rises, the black edges of his clothing seeming to flow and stick to the bench like a gelatinous liquid for a moment before returning to normalcy. His cane doesn't even pretend, a clearly visible black solid lifting it from where it lays and holding it out to him. The Pigeons back the heck off, one or two of the braver members of the flock darting around behind in order to get at the remaining bread without having to go anywhere near the man-shaped abomination.

He looks around, and his gaze alights on the two of us. He doesn't smile, but he does look… Interested. He takes a few steps in our direction and raises the head of his cane to tip his hat. "Mister Grayven."

I nod politely back. "Mister Swift."

"And…" The skin around the edge of his glasses pinches slightly. "Miss Circe. A queer couple, to be certain, but not so strange as some this city has seen."

Circe's eyes glow faintly as she studies him. "Shade."

"Might I enquire as to what it is that brings you to my fair city? I don't believe that I'm aware of anyone who needs to suddenly find themselves encephally challenged." He glances down at my brochure. "Simple tourism? I could recommend a location or two, if you're interested."

"Actually, I… Wanted to talk to you."

He holds out his hands slightly, palms upwards while his cane remains upright. "And here we are. Do you have some particular topic in mind, or should I simply point out the sheer number of warrants Madam Circe has outstanding in the United States?"

"I wanted to ask you about Mister Simon Culp." A flicker of something passes over his face. "I understand that you knew the man?"

"To my regret, yes. What did you want to know?"

"I was thinking about tracking him down. Do you remember the last time you saw him?"

He hesitates, then shakes his head. "The Roaring Twenties, I think. Some… Scam or other he was running. I can't imagine why you'd want to talk to him-." Circe pulls her head back slightly. "Is something amiss?"

She turns her head towards me and frees her hands. "You knew."

"Naturally. Did you think I'd do something like this without being certain?"

Tenebrous strands of oily black rise from the ground around Mister Swift. "Look, I think I've been quite gracious considering who you are, but I don't appreciate-."

"Mister Swift, I understand that you've taken it upon yourself to take over Mister Knight's role as the city's 'superhero in residence' since his retirement?"

"I… Yes? Look, is this about that DMA training scheme thing? I already informed their representatives that I have no interest in taking part."

"And if you had to summarise Mister Culp in a few words..?"

"A.. savage thug with delusions of civility? A blight upon the life of all who knew him and myself in particular? What possible interest is a long-disappeared criminal to-?"

Circe yanks, eldritch purple fire briefly enveloping Mister Swift and incinerating his shadow constructs. His cane falls to the ground and he staggers back, the flames concentrate themselves at his chest, his whole body highlighted and looking increasingly less like a man and more like a man-shaped shadow. His glasses melt, his eyes stare widely in horror-.

And then a white-haired dwarf precipitates out of his chest, stumbling on the pavement and then falling onto his hands and knees.

Circe waves her hands to the side, flames dying as she does so. "That was novel. I assume that was what you intended?"

I smile and raise my right hand at the fallen Mister Culp. "Like you read my mind."

"Decades of work!" He turns his head to glare at me. "Ruined." He raises his right hand. "But I can begin…" His eyes widen. "I can begin-!" He looks at his right hand in horror. "What did you do to me, bitch!?"

"Hah!" Circe smiles. "With the two of you bonded like that, it was a simple enough matter to ensure that your shadow-control abilities remained behind." She affects a look of mild affront. "I am a goddess, after all."

"No…"

She turns to me, not even bothering to keep watching him. "Does anyone actually want him, or should we just leave him here?"

I nod. "A little tricky under American law. But possession is a crime, and I'm certain that-"

"Hahaah!"

"- we could…"

"Hahhahhahhah!"

We turn back to where Mister Swift is lying on his back, top hat and shades having fallen from his head.

He's grinning like a lunatic.

"Hahhahhahhah!"

Um. What?

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
09:06 GMT -5

Mister Swift manages -with some effort- to push himself into a sitting position, all the while grinning like a loon. He's recovered his glasses and they dangle loosely from his left hand while he wipes his eyes with his right.

"Oh, my word. Hahaha-. No, no, mustn't start again."

He makes a sort of choking-gulping noise, ducking his head slightly to avoid seeing anything that might set him off.

Circe gives me a puzzled look. "Was that supposed to happen?"

No. "I was about to ask you that."

She gives her head a small shake. "I was quite careful to merely extract the dwarf. I felt nothing which suggested-."

"There some kinda problem here?"

A dishevelled man dressed and coiffed like a detective from a seventies television-. Sinestro, who is-?

Detective Sergeant Matthew O'Dare, Corpsman.

"Matthew! Matthew!" Mister Swift scrambles to his feet and with an unsteady gait walks towards the man. "Wonderful news!"

"Oh yeah?" Detective O'Dare takes a moment to size me up, his eyes moving briefly over Circe and Mister Culp before returning to Mister Swift. "What's that then?"

"I don't know!" Mister Swift lays both his hands on Detective O'Dare's shoulders. "But it's really good!"

"O-kay. Dickie, if you were anyone else I'd ask if you'd been drinkin'."

"No! No. No no. Quite… Quite the opposite. It's like a veil has been lifted from my temperament and I can finally see the world for the wonder it is!" Mister Swift steps back, arms falling loosely to his sides as he stares upwards at the skyscrapers around us.

Aah. That might-.

Detective O'Dare glares at me. "Did you do somethin' to him? And who's the midget?"

I half-turn to where Mister Culp is sprinting across the park, then grab him with a construct glove and pull him back. "This is Simon Culp. He was possessing Mister Swift, and may have been influencing his actions for some time."

"And you know that how?"

"I'm a god. When someone's motives aren't their own-" I take my goggles out of subspace and tap them with my left hand. "-they don't look the same."

"But of course." Circe nods to herself with a minor huff of irritation. "It's obvious. So many mortal supervillains waste excessive amounts of time in revenging themselves on their foes. The way they were interfaced would only allow him to take control some of the time, but if he were prepared to reduce that then he would be able to exert constant influence."

Mister Swift's cane shoots after him on a wave of shadow sludge as he strides towards Pyle Avenue. He spins as he catches it, his greatcoat morphing into a tailcoat as he does so. "I love to laugh! Loud and long and cleeeeeeear!"

I watch him go. "So rather than use Mister Swift's godlike power for something productive, Mister Culp focused on making him feel miserable instead. Which he is now not feeling, perhaps for the first time since the Second World War."

"And I'd've gotten away with it too, if it wasn't for you and your stupid bitch-whore girlfriend!"

Violet lights dance around Circe's right hand as she turns to where Mister Culp hangs in the air from my construct. "What a curious idea. I've never made a Slug-man before."

I gently push her hand down. "Why.. don't.. we just hand this grubby little miscreant over to the lawful authorities." I raise my eyebrows at Detective O'Dare. "I'm reasonably confident that possession is illegal in Maryland?"

"Not specifically, but controlling someone by the use of super powers is." He takes a pair of handcuffs off his belt and approaches Mister Culp, who-. My goodness, who curses him in no uncertain terms. "Mister Culp, you're under arrest. Grayven, I don't know exactly what's going on here, but I don't think Dickie should be wandering around on his own."

I lean to the side and watch Mister Swift as he prances up to a flower stand and grabs a bucket of roses. "No problem. We'll keep an eye on him."

"Be sure you do. Dickie's got a lot of friends 'round these parts." I drop Mister Culp at his feet and the Detective gives the man his full attention. "Mister Culp. You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions. Do you understand?"

"…monkey-sodomising pederast!" Mister Culp focuses his ire on the Detective. "And you!"

"Do you understand!"

"I will shove my hand into your throat and pull out your still beating heart!"

"I'm gunna take that as a 'yes'. Second part: anything you do say may…"

Circe and I proceed in the direction of Pyle Avenue ourselves. "Where is he going?"

"Not sure." I watch him step into an alley and disappear into the shadows. Ring?

Subject 'Richard Swift' has appeared in 'Opal Gem', a jewellery shop in Fattata Plaza.

Okay, I'm going to say 'hush tube' this time, because this is getting str-.

Subject 'Richard Swift' has appeared in the Central Precinct of the Opal City Police Department.

Huh. I wonder why-? And Circe's gone. Talking to your power ring in your head is not a free action. Ring-.

I'm trying not to feel ignored, Corpsman.

Oh. Sorry. Hush tube to where he is.

Certainly, Corpsman.

The tube opens in front of me and I pass through at an amble.

"…darling, the light of my life!"

Mister Swift is kneeling at the front of a briefing room full of police officers, the bewildered officer giving the day's assignments warding off a shadow hand which keeps trying to thrust the flowers he purchased into her chest. I think she's blushing slightly.

"I would like it very much if you would agree to marry me."

He opens the ring box and looks up at her longingly.

"Richard, are you drunk?"

There's a collective groan from the watching police officers.

"Never more sober or sane. At least not for the past seventy years. I am in fact completely serious."

She goldfishes for a moment, then looks at the smiling police officers, then at me and… Circe disguised herself as an officer.

"Right, EVERYONE OUT!"

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
09:18 GMT -5

"…thought you were doing bursting into the briefing room like that!?"

Mister Swift glances mournfully at his ring case. "I thought I was fairly clear. I love-."

"Stop!" Captain O'Dare holds up her hands, palms facing her over-amorous paramour. "Just… Stop. I'm-. We didn't-." She pulls herself together a little. "This wasn't supposed to-."

I step out of the hush tube next to her. "Sorry to-"

"Jesus!"

"-barge in." I'm not. "Mister Swift?" He tears his eyes away from Captain O'Dare and I hand him a slip of paper. "If you're interested. I'll see myself out."

"Ah. Thank you."

A glare from the Captain. "Yes. Get out."

I raise my right hand to an invisible hat brim, then step backwards through the hush tube and to a room adjacent to the briefing room which contains a remarkable number of police officers who are completely occupied with their work. The one with 'Circe' on her name tag stands up and walks over to me. "That was interesting. Where to next?"

"Fawcett City Prison. The supermax unit." Sinestro.

Interesting choice, Corpsman. Hush tube available.

We link arms again as we walk through the hole in the air, appearing in the newly rebuilt part of the prison.

2nd September
08:19 GMT -6

They had to do a good deal of work on the place after Ishmael Gregor attacked it to kill his literal predecessor. Our next candidate was transferred here because they could contain him using the same systems as were put in place for the late Mister Karnes. In the event that he ever becomes compos mentis again they can try him for his crimes against the city and its residents. In the mean time he can't hurt anyone if he thrashes about.

I lead Circe in the direction of his cell. She's smiling about.. something.

"I trust that our sojourn to Opal City was acceptably interesting to you?"

"Oh yes." She nods. "It's been a while since I've seen a man on that end of that conversation."

Yes, because we're all deceitful libidinists. "He managed better than I did. My former girlfriend tried to stab me when I proposed to her."

"Really?"

I shrug. "It was a normal knife, so it wouldn't have hurt me physically."

"What did you do to deserve that?"

"I forgot to remind her that I always planned to betray our allies shortly before I did it. She'd convinced herself that I'd changed my mind." Actually… I should probably talk to her again. Just to be clear… Where we stand.

"Was she fond of them?"

"Maybe some. Only one of the inner circle. But an awful lot of people got killed, so it's rather hard for me to be sure if there was one death or other she was particularly perturbed by." Though quantity has a quality all of its own… "I think it was more me kicking out the foundations of her world that offended her. Ah! Here we are."

I bring us to a halt outside a heavy titanium vault door. Through my Apokoliptian goggles I can clearly see the threads of Shazam's magic bound into the thing, though the really powerful stuff is focused on making sure that the outer pieces are never needed. If the occupant wakes up and starts hammering on this then it would only be a matter of time before he broke out. And the only thing that could prevent him escaping would be if the Marvels were alerted.

Circe pulls her hand free as she reaches forward to touch the door. "Who-? No, I recognise this. Order magic. Nabu?"

"Shazam."

"Hm." She steps back. "Do you want to forcibly release whoever is inside? It seems somewhat contrary to your stated aims."

"No." I take my identification paperwork out of subspace as the prison's governor approaches us down the corridor, along with a small entourage of riot-equipped prisoner guards. "I'm going to ask nicely."

Glad to know that the DMA stuff I sat through yesterday was worth something. I was also quite impressed with how quickly this was set up. A quick reminder of exactly who it was that brought him down in the first place was all it took to arrange a meeting through entirely legitimate channels.

The governor nods at me, but frowns at Circe. "DMA didn't say anything about two operatives coming in here."

"My colleague is a civilian consultant. Given that the wizard Shazam is also technically a civilian consultant, I thought that there was an… Acceptance that skilful magic users were entirely too rare to fuss too much about their paperwork. In.. any case, I am empowered to bring along anyone I consider-."

"Fine, whatever. What exactly are you planning to do with this bastard? He hasn't said a thing since they shoved him in there."

"My understanding is that he has so far been ruled unfit to stand trial."

"A technicality."

"Actually, it isn't. I'm no soft touch, but I draw the line well before executing one man for another's crimes merely because they look similar."

This appears to baffle him. "What? He's a look-alike?"

"No." I point to the door. "Might we continue this inside? I'd like my companion to begin work as soon as possible."

"No. Look, I… I respect you, I like what you've done for this country. But my sister, her husband and their three kids got killed by that bastard. So either you explain the whole thing to me or you can shove that Federal warrant up your ass." He folds his arms across his chest.

"Okay. I can respect that. Briefly, then. A very long time ago the wizard Shazam empowered a mortal to act as his champion. Prince Teth Adam of Kahndaq. They had a falling out and Shazam killed him, then bound his soul to his corpse so that he couldn't visit his gods in the afterlife and appeal the decision. About five years ago, a man named Theodore Adam visited his tomb, ritually murdered two archaeologists and bound Teth Adam's soul to a scarab pendant in order to hijack the power the wizard bestowed upon his former champion. He then rampaged on and off for the intervening period until finally being brought down in Louisiana by yours truly, something I achieved by destroying the pendant and so allowing Teth Adam to sabotage Theodore Adam's efforts."

"So you know how to remove.. this.. Theodore Adam's power?"

"Yes, in theory. However… In this case my preference here is to allow my colleague to ascertain the possibility of 'suppressing' him."

"'Suppressing'? What'd'you mean?"

"Locking him inside his own body and allowing the hero whose powers he stole to use his body instead."

"Is that legal?"

"Executing two people who share a body isn't. Leaving him as he is results in a constant risk of the wrong soul winning and killing more people. Imprisoning a serial killer in his own body is unusual, but doesn't result in much of a change from his current status of indefinite detention. Enabling a secondary personality to use the body during that time…" I shrug. "I don't believe that there's any relevant law on the subject. As someone directly affected, how would you feel about it?"

He looks away from me as he considers the matter. "I don't think I'd believe it. I know.. weird stuff like that can happen, but… I saw the bodies."

I nod. "Makes sense. How about if you observed what we're going to do directly?"

 

[Mr Zoat]

2nd September
09:45 GMT -5

First time I've seen Mister Adam since the fight in Louisiana. They've clearly made some effort to keep him clean; the mud that coated him as we crashed through the swamp at speed isn't there any longer and he hasn't become covered in dust or anything. His cuts and bruises have healed, but they would have done by now even at normal rates so that doesn't indicate anything about how active his powers are. The mundane chains binding him are thick titanium and the enchanted ones appear to be… Copper? Hm, but I think I can guess which set would survive longer if he actually decided to try to leave.

"Mrugnhrhrruuh."

The guards tense for a moment, each taking a half-step back towards the doorway. That took a bit of getting used to as well; he isn't exactly comatose. He doesn't have one mind that isn't working quite right, he has two separate minds which are competing for control of his body. So far, prison records show that no momentary advantage one or other has been able to wrestle has resulted in more than two semi-coherent words. And no one here speaks Ancient Kahndaqi. The downside is that it's clear that one side could win and that if they did the prison would have no warning until he ripped his chains off.

"I'm ready." Circe lowers herself into a cross-legged seating position… About a metre off the ground behind Mister Adam's head. "Grayven, you should sit near to his feet."

I nod, walking around from his side to the indicated position. "Any special reason?"

"Because if he wakes up hostile then he will attack you first."

"Heh." She's not wrong, and I probably am best positioned to tank his attacks… And she'd probably need a few moments to access combat-useful spells. "Fair enough." I take a chair out of subspace and plonk myself down.

"And you're sure this won't mess around with Shazam's spells..? What did you say your name was again?"

Circe huffs, closing her eyes for a moment presumably to avoid the governor seeing her roll them. "These are spells of containment designed to keep a very well defined entity in one place. They would react to another champion whom Shazam had empowered, but unless you've denied me some fairly pertinent information that does not include you. As long as we do not attempt to release him while inside, we should not be in any danger."

"Yeah, but-."

"There is no better explanation I can give a man with your total ignorance of the arcane. Either accept my expertise or go running to Captain Marvel."

He looks at me. "I wouldn't have brought her if I didn't have every confidence in her abilities."

He takes a deep breath. "Alright. Where do you want me?"

"It doesn't matter. Your soul is so weak that it's impossible that you'd make any difference to the spell."

"Excuse m-?"

Circe's eyes glow a faint grey and hands made of stone lance upwards from the floor, grabbing the governor's arms and legs and firmly planting him on the ground. "There." She smiles at me. "Comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Your nature as a New God makes it.. difficult for me to draw you in. You will need to unfocus yourself a little as I cast. And you will probably be able to break out as an act of will."

I nod, taking a deep breath and stilling my mind. Heed Your Loyal Servants.

Circe raises her hands, purple gas flowing and billowing across the room and obscuring our surroundings. "Hear me O Phantasos, and guide us to the realm where these two do battle."

Hah, yes. No entreaty, no offerings and not even a 'please'. That's how you deal with jumped up Elementals. Just as she described, I feel a slight tug as a new battleground opens up.. somewhere nearby. I reach out with my spirit to grasp-.

The floor, walls and ceiling are grey metal, coloured red by the dull light issuing forth from a thousand towers. Most of the wall in front of me is taken up by a window, while behind me I know there stands a doorway. Circe stands behind me, her body radiant and ethereal. My own… It is as if my armour had replaced every part of my flesh, grey skin vanished before black metal. I actually look a little like Gonzo's true form, but… More.

"Where are we?"

The governor on the other hand is almost entirely immaterial. I can just about make out his face, but the rest of him is visible only as a vague shimmer in the air.

"An interpretation of what the two minds here are experiencing." She floats forward towards the window. "What do you see?"

"Apokolips." I take a look at the towers visible through the window, but I can't precisely place them. I take a few steps forwards and look down at-. "The Furies' training arena. I see two.. men, one in a kilt and the other in loose trousers. They're fighting barehanded, with more than Human speed and strength."

One is clearly Theodore Adam, and the other… Looks Arabic. Teth Adam, presumably. I watch as he turns aside a kick from Theodore and then grabs for his ankle. Theodore uses that as an opportunity to twist in the air in a way which normal physics would make impossible, his leg flashing past Teth's guard and striking him hard enough on the forehead to send him flying backwards, dust billowing outwards as his body skids across the ground.

"The same, but the arena's Roman. How about you?"

Circe floats a little closer to me. "Well, there they are. What do you intend to do?"

"Where does the
bouncing ball land? Hit
with your snout!"

My daiklave appears in my right hand as I launch myself at the window, passing through it with no difficulty and hurtling through the air towards the combatants. I extend my left hand and the ground leaps up to meet me, cushioning my landing as I drop into the centre of the arena.

Theodore watches me with fury in his gaze, while Teth Adam considers me more dispassionately. "What manner of creature are you?"

"I'm the one who destroyed the scarab. Want a hand?"

"I would be grateful."

"Rrragh!"

Theodore crosses the ground between us in three bounding leaps, right fist blatantly telegraphing his punch. I crouch slightly, pushing off with my right leg and timing my strike so that my left fist smashes into the side of his outstretched arm!

"nYaaagH!" Strike Down the Unworthy!

I hear his arm snap as his body slams into me, knocking me aside as he tumbles to the ground. He rolls with it but Teth Adam is already there, stamping on his break-

"A-ahg!"

-and dropping to hammer him in the head with his right fist! Teth Adam goes for a second blow, but Theodore somehow manages to muster enough strength to grab his wrist with his unbroken arm.

Which is when I run my sword through his chest to the hilt.

"Bwlwhgw!"

He convulses, then tries weakly to rise. He's not actually bleeding…

I turn back to the box. "Circe!"

The air between the box and Theodore's fallen form is briefly illuminated by her glowing body before she lands next to him. "A simple matter to bind him. Perhaps…"

She clenches her fists, then raises them high. In response the ground of the arena flows over Theodore, solidifying and hardening… In the shape of a sarcophagus decorated with a scarab. Hah!

Teth Adam regards it for a moment, then turns his attention to us. "My thanks, to both of you. What.. happens now?"

"Now?" I smile and lay my right hand on his left shoulder. "Now you wake up."

 

[Mr Zoat]

3rd September
08:31 GMT -5

Miss Parish and I watch through the gymnasium window as Cranius puts his squad of US army volunteers through their paces. Only three of the initial batch of twenty have had their oolitic kidneys implanted, and at a glance I can't see much difference between their performance and that of their colleagues. But then I suppose that's the point.

"Had any problems?"

"One of them tried stroking Tigira's tail." She smiles cruelly. "Once."

I can imagine. "Honestly. You don't just grab a woman's tail. That's at least a second date thing."

She arches her right eyebrow. "I remember someone stroking my wings on our first date."

I raise my right forefinger in a finger-wagging gesture. "That was in the spirit of honest anatomical enquiry."

"In the future, you might want to be careful whose anatomies you're 'honestly enquiring' into. Your girlfriend might get jealous." I'm not sure exactly what it is about my expression which clues her in, but she stops smiling and frowns. "Is something wrong?"

"We're.. separated. An unfortunate miscommunication which rather… Grew out of proportion. Is Cranius going to be available today?"

"I, ah… Not for a meeting. He's been doing everything he can to make sure this project goes smoothly, and that means overseeing every aspect of the implantation personally. But.. I can.. probably help you? Or Janus Senior, or… Crassus?"

I look sceptical. "Really? Crassus?"

"He's…" She visibly strains trying to come up with something positive to say. "Getting better with people. It's like he knows how a conversation is supposed to go but can't quite work out how to get there. But as a bioengineer his skills and instincts are at least as good as Cranius's."

I chuckle quietly. "It comes to something when Cranius has better people skills than someone."

"Oh, he… Grows on you. What was it you wanted to talk to him about?"

"I'm… Having a bit of a get together. A few… Like minded individuals discussing ways to… Coordinate their efforts in the cause of improving Human civilisation. Cranius's name was one of the first that came to mind."

Down below, I watch him jump off Otto's shoulders and take a position on parallel bars while… He's laughing, apparently sharing a joke with a soldier who is laughing right back. Is he bantering? And that isn't one of the augmented soldiers. Remarkable.

"I'm sure he'd be honoured, but…" She looks down at the volunteers below. "I'm not sure that now is the best time. How… Much time would it take up?"

I shrug. "I'm happy to tube him in and out. I doubt that the initial meeting will take more than an hour or two. After that, how much he decides to involve himself is entirely up to him. I scheduled the meeting for the ninth, and I… Heh. I booked a conference room in the Hotel de Bilderberg in Oosterbeek."

Her eyes narrow slightly as she recognises the name. "Isn't that-?"

"Yeah." I grin. "Bit childish of me, but I wanted somewhere neutral and… Once it occurred to me I couldn't stop thinking about it."

"And.. how many people will be attending?"

"Myself, six others, and one more by video link. We might expand later, depending on how things go." I shrug. "Or everyone might hate everyone else and this will be the only such meeting. But I'm hopeful that won't happen."

"And… Do they.. know… About..?" She circles her right hand-. Or, her hand, I suppose, indicating Aberrance as a whole.

"Most of them have seen stranger things."

Miss Parish blinks. "Really?"

"Oh, you're welcome to come along and meet everyone yourself. I imagine that Cranius will have you doing most of the liaising anyway, so you may as well introduce yourself."

She nods. "Do we get to see the guest list in advance?"

"Mmm. I'd rather leave everyone equally disadvantaged. Be a bit of an ice breaker, getting everyone to talk about their aims and abilities. Listen, there… Were a couple of other things I wanted to talk to you about." She looks attentive. "Have you had any luck tracking down the Un-woman Magna Mater?"

"I don't think I've heard of her."

"She's fairly distinctive. Two tentacles for legs. Six extremely large breasts. An overwhelming pheromonal aura."

Miss Parish laugh/coughs a little uncomfortably. "We don't have anyone like that, but I'm sure you could find someone in the red light district who could dress up-."

"She's also Janus Junior's mother." Miss Parish blinks in shock, a look of slowly dawning horror moving across her face as she considers the idea. "Or father, depending on which way you look at it. It was during the period in which Arcane was trying to create a better body for himself, though… Exactly what he was trying to achieve…"

"I'll…" Miss Parish gets her face under control. "I'll.. get in contact with our investigators. See if they've… Heard of anything matching that description."

I nod. "Thank you." Then I turn so that I'm looking through the window. Not at the people below, but at the far wall. "The other matter… I spent some time investigating a… An old murder, yesterday."

"Anyone I know?"

"I don't think so. The victim's name was Mitchell Byrne."

I feel the sudden shot of fear run through her, but I pointedly avoid looking at her.

"I… Flashed my snazzy 'DMA Federal Agent' badge around and spoke to the detective who headed the investigation. I was expecting to have to lambaste the man, but, actually? He'd run a competent investigation. They had a pretty good idea who the perpetrator was and… Thanks to the 'victim' not cleaning the carpet or her clothes well enough to fool modern forensic tests, they had a pretty good idea why. The file is -technically- still open, but he mostly wanted to speak to the perpetrator in order to close it. He told me that he had no intention of pressing charges."

I can feel it through the ring as her heart rate drops from 'racing panic attack' to merely 'elevated'.

"He tried to.. sound me out. Find out if I knew where she was. He sounded sympathetic. I'm… Not sure that I do know. Have you..? Heard anything about the case?"

"I… Ah… I think I remember the 'wanted' posters. They sure looked like they intended to press charges."

"Yes, I asked about those. They were produced in the gap between them working out the killer's identity and them establishing the motive. He was quite apologetic." It takes an effort not to look around. "He realised exactly what having something like that hanging over a person could do to their mental state, particularly if they felt that they couldn't ever come into contact with officialdom again. But… I suppose after this much time… If Mina Byrne wanted to formally clear her name… She'd have to want to come forward. And if she didn't… Then she'd probably made a new life for herself, and with any luck she doesn't think too much about the old one." I wait a moment. "I loathe the idea that I can't fix any problem I encounter, but if I sought her out I wouldn't want to upend her life. Do you have any..? Thoughts on the subject..?"

"I, um. Not-. Not right now."

I nod, and give her a moment to regain her composure before turning back to her with a friendly smile. "I suppose that may be for the best." I smile pleasantly. "I was wondering..? Do you have time to show me around your research laboratories? I think it might help my presentation if I have a slightly better idea of what your current projects are."

 

[Mr Zoat]

3rd September
17:22 GMT

I take a moment to look around Dox's new office. Not a lot of effort gone into decoration as yet, though I do rather like the view out of the windows. "I'm a little surprised that you moved up here."

Dox doesn't look around from his monitors. "We're no more exposed here than on the surface."

I walk towards the closest window and look out towards Maltus. "Still. You're in a building entirely controlled by another intelligence, rather than one whose construction you controlled."

"You rather took the decision out of my hands when you recruited Lantern Ranx. His core programming requires the presence of a commanding officer in order to be satisfied. Our officer corps consists of precisely two individuals. Do you intend to remain here?"

"I'd… Rather not. But a senior Darkstar-."

"I ran the schematic calculations myself. The Darkstars are reconnaissance. Ranx was a battle station. His loyalty is reasonably secured with a Lantern, but is better secured using a fleet officer. His multiprocessing abilities are sufficiently good that I find him to be an adequate source of labour. This is… Acceptable."

I nod, watching as an engineering detail begin attaching the first parts of what will eventually be Ranx's first shipyard. "Alright. What next?"

"Next, I want you to look over the second level of potential Orange Lantern recruits." I turn back towards him, frowning slightly. "Now that the first class have been taught your self-focusing techniques, they can instruct others in turn. Your time is more profitably spent testing exactly what degree of psychological divergence from our baselines can use rings satisfactorily."

"Without going on an insane rampage."

"Without going on an insane rampage against anyone other than the Reach." He tears his eyes away from his monitors for a split second. "We are building a military force."

"Insane Orange Lanterns will be powerful but stupid. The Reach will beat them."

"I'm not planning to defeat them through a series of duels."

I don't see him press a button, but a copy of the Darkstar's map of the Reach interior appears in the middle of the room. Thousands of dots for inhabited worlds in the nebulous 'periphery zone'. I could look up which ones are only just coming into Reach 'influence' and which are actually being settled, but it isn't all that important. Thousands more dots lie outside that zone, marked in accordance with our expectations of how the Reach are prioritising them. Small silver star shapes for Reach Periphery Fleets maintained in the periphery zone and larger silver stars for the Reserve Fleets lurking back in what is firmly Reach territory. We've got a pretty good idea of their locations and composition, as well as their maximum speed and range. The Darkstars may not have the force necessary to stop the tide, but they are good at what they do.

"A group of vengeful Orange Lanterns powerful enough to disintegrate a periphery fleet would be an extremely useful strategic tool. They could be recovered by a more stable comrade after the action is concluded. Planets on the periphery are far more able to support our ongoing campaign than worlds further in, and worlds still outside the Reach sphere of influence will be more likely to support us once they observe our ability to hurt the Reach significantly. Time is an issue."

"If the Reach didn't recover them and take their rings in the meantime."

"Do you have an alternate idea?"

"We have a phrase on my homeworld. 'With blackjack and hookers'."

"I'm… Not sure..?"

"It means, 'I'm going to do what you do, but better'. Without all the mistakes you made. We're not the Green Lantern Corps -we're not going to lose to the Reach- but ultimately I want their structure. The respect they get. And I want future generations of Orange Lanterns to look back at their forebears with pride, not thinking 'those guys were really fucked up'. And I want our allies to be able to do the same thing."

Dox give me something approaching his full attention. "You still haven't given me an actual proposal."

"We don't need people with lots of desire. We need people with… Stable.. desire-structures."

"Which only you can see."

"Which at the moment only I can see. But if I'm getting higher quality recruits, why would that matter? I go to them, offer them training and a ring."

"Using this… Apparently universe-wide teleportation ability you recently developed."

Hinon was pretty clear that taking other people with me wasn't a good idea, but getting to them? That would work. "To reach them, yes. I wouldn't know who I was going to, just how stable their avarice network was."

"You are welcome to try. I am interested in learning to better model your exotic abilities."

"Sensors online, Commander!"

Dox nods. I stare at him. He notices, the skin around his eyes tightening slightly as he tries to work out why. I flick my eyes up. There's a confused moment where he pays no attention to his monitors at all.

Then he gets it. "Thank you, Lantern Ranx."

I smile as I float into the air and raise my hands out to the sides, palms upwards.

And the universe fades out. Dox is there, and the other people working on Ranx… And of course the neatly contained and nearly totally satisfied desires of Ranx himself… I pull back further and further.

And I listen. I listen for… Harmonies. Great symphonies played out in orange light. Patterns within patterns, perfectly balanced and-.

There!

I move-

"…doing to him!"

A cave, a forest, a.. desire set that I've felt before. Soldiers in blue and white armour, humanoid, an officer in familiar-looking robes… A near-humanoid with a slightly pointed oval head. The boy has black sclera, an unusual trait, but one which-

"Another one! Shoot him!"

"No!"

-is relatively common amongst Daxamites! Orange armour shimmers into being around me and construct filaments lash out at the soldiers. I thought I recognised the style. This is Daxam! And if they're using-

My filament burns through the robe and is turned aside by the crystalline armour underneath.

-relic weapons then someone has really made them angry.

The boy I heard grabs the other alien's hand and pulls him away as the soldiers turn towards me.

That shouldn't be completely modern armour; the Daxamites went their own way long before Krypton died. And I don't think that they're-.

There's a yellow flare from the officer's hand as he activates a white solar flare.

And now they are.

 

[Mr Zoat]

3rd September
17:26 GMT

Okay, Daxamite soldiers getting what is probably-

I yank myself backwards as three sets of heat vision flash through the place I was standing. They had to stop and stare, and there was an appreciable build up. Ring, watch for that.

Compliance.

-their first taste of full Kryptonian might. They're probably not going to be better fighters than Kon was-

One flies through the air at me, firing his gun with his left hand while his right hand balls into a fist. The plasma bolts are soaked by my construct armour without doing too much damage, while I sidestep the punch and press both of my hands against the side of his forearm, turning his forward lunge into a groundward plummet. I fly back as the rock beneath us pulverises and explodes.

-when we first started training, and that small amount of solar radiation won't be enough to fully empower them. I can't remember whether or not comic Daxamites were vulnerable to kryptonite, and I can't entirely credit how vulnerable to lead they were in the one comic I saw them in. I know that Daxam Sixteenians are literally just slightly altered Kryptonians…

Try it. Ring, green kryptonite radiation burst.

Compliance.

Green light explodes outwards from me, prompting the soldiers and their commander to brace… Nothing appears to happen to them. The soldiers, okay, they might have kept their armour in sufficiently good repair to keep the radiation shields working, but the commander isn't wearing full protective gear. Daxamites don't like using their advanced technology, so while he could be wearing a concealed force field he probably isn't.

Another round of shots blast from their guns, prompting me to backpedal and erect a construct shield. They're getting used to moving through the air under their own power, trying to spread out and apply their training to a new situation. Their heads are covered, so I doubt that a light or scent based attack would work. That leaves-

A flying kick towards the back of my head prompts me to drop to lay just above the ground, the soldier who made it flailing in the air as they try to get the hang of the physics of the situation. I generate a construct claw and grab them around the torso before slamming them into their dazed comrade pulling himself out of his punch-inflicted hole.

-sonics, since the officer was clearly communicating by speaking out loud.

Sonic screamer.

Compliance.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.

The Daxamites wince, several dropping their guns to stick their hands over their ears in an attempt to keep the horrific sound out. More modern Kryptonian armour would include sound baffles. Heck, these might if the officer had bothered putting on his own suit. But the lack of combat experience means that the soldiers might not know about it and the lack of command experience means that the officer doesn't know what to do about it.

The youth… Grabbed the alien and did the sort of flying leap which Kon used to do to travel longer distances. On the edge of my sonic attack he stumbles his landing, and the alien supports both of them as they continue moving away.

A flash of wide beam heat vision flashes over my construct armour, destroying my amplifier constructs. Okay, the objective here isn't to beat these soldiers in a fight, but Daxam has pretty good interdiction systems. Heck, that's how it's remained isolated this long. It's nothing that I can't bypass given a few hours, but I can't just grab my targets and leave in a flash.

The officer grabs a pair of earphones from underneath his robes and I shoot them with an energy pulse, disintegrating them. He looks enraged at my action, which only confirms my belief that he doesn't have a great deal of experience.

Hang on. Daxamites are weakened by their own red dwarf. Lead probably… Interferes with their own internal radiation… Whatever, they've never let anyone study them in any detail. Would red light weaken them back to-

Two soldiers lunge in concert, constantly moving as they jab at my armour with their fists. My construct armour starts cracking at once. There's the demi-Kryptonian strength that I haven't missed at all. I take six x-ionised knives out of subspace and slash out. The soldier in front of me backs off at once, while the one behind takes the opportunity to punch me in the back of the head-. Ow! The construct armour fails and my environmental shield merely managed to turn a lethal attack into a painful one. On the positive side, the knives slid neatly through his armour and into his right arm, right leg and chest and from the way he's bleeding I don't think he's going to try attacking me again. I reconstruct my construct armour and take out my kinetic shield.

-normal levels? Or do I just keep going with the knives?

No. I'm a gosh darn superhero.

Ring, 1000 nanometre wavelength burst.

Compliance.

And -okay, the youth is out of line of sight- power armour.

Compliance.

My armour's display shows me the infrared burst cover my attackers, one incoming heat vision attack suddenly flickering and failing. Ah excellent!

"You'll never win, alien!" The officer stares at me, left hand touching the blood leaking from his left ear. "Our ancestors provided us with more terrible weapons than you can possibly dream of!"

Ring, translate this into Kryptonese.

Compliance.

"I greet you on behalf of the House of El."

He jerks in surprise. "What?"

"The House of El." I extend filaments to the bleeding soldier just behind me and start sealing the holes I just made. And add a glowing orange 'S' to my chest plate. "I was hoping to establish contact-."

"We have no desire to communicate with the worst of our old world's monsters!"

"Whatever they did, they're dead now. Krypton is destroyed, and a mere handful of survivors-."

He smiles cruelly. "Praise Rao for their destruction. If they dare come here then we will finish them off."

"My lord was newly born when it happened. There is no way he could have played any part-."

Alert. Spatial anomaly detected.

What sort of anomaly?

If this ring could characterise it, then it would not be an 'anomaly'.

Fair point. And I've learned that the Daxamites won't exactly be overjoyed to meet Kal-El. Time to leave.

The air bends around me as I fly after the youth and his comrade. I come to a stop just behind them, about three hundred metres from my previous position. The alien crouches, fists ready. The youth's eyes are glowing.

I hold up my hands. "Peace! Please!" I send my power armour back to subspace, and reduce the strength of the construct armour covering my face. This appears to calm him down a-.

"I can understand you! You have a translator!"

The alien looks overjoyed at the notion.

"Yes, and I can evacuate you from this planet if you like. But I'm mostly here for-."

"What did you do to my father?"

"That was your-? Ah… Made him… Really angry? And partially deaf. He's not seriously hurt. Um, what's your name?"

"Sodam Yat."

Ah. Well, I hope Atrocitus wasn't too attached to that prophecy. But…

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to try to stop my father murdering my friend. What do you want?"

I smile. "Funny you should ask… "

 

[Mr Zoat]

4th September
07:02 GMT -6

Lynne prods listlessly at her porridge while Miss Shimmer fiddles with her mobile phone. I'd say something, but she is an adult. The.. lad and one of his younger brothers are at the table as well. The younger boy is called Stephan, and he keeps staring at everything in a way which I'm really going to have to teach him not to. All of the boys are reacting well to the anti-monster treatment, while the girls… The younger ones have taken to their version just fine. Bethany and Mary -the ones who have hit puberty- are… Being problematic. At this rate I'm going to have to authorise the use of some sort of libido binding, and I'd much rather avoid that if at all possible. Those sorts of spell can have all kinds of adverse psychological effects, and you'd have to be some sort of idiot to rely on them in the long term.

I beam at my daughter. "Looking forward to starting school tomorrow?"

She scoops up a chunk of well-congealed porridge and puts it into her mouth. I'd.. complain about her avoiding talking to me by starting to eat something she showed no desire to eat a moment ago, but I know full well that I did the exact same thing at her age and… Frankly, some normal child-behaviour from her is something to encourage!

The… The lad -I've got to find out if he's got a middle name or something- on the other hand nods enthusiastically. "Yes, Mister Grayven. Um. Mister Grayven?"

"Yes?"

"Um… Why are we going to school?"

"In order to learn things."

"Um. Yes. But…"

"The G-Gnomes already covered the school curriculum as well as a variety of things you ordinarily wouldn't be taught until college?" Didn't have much choice, really. Up until the US military handed Lynne over to SHADE they at least made some effort at schooling. The Succupires on the other hand never had any. The older ones were able to teach the younger ones to read using food packets left behind by the germ warfare people, but beyond that? Almost nothing. The G-Gnomes had to spend weeks just building up the fundamentals so they could learn the rest. "Is that what you're wondering?"

"Yeah. That's… Were there things they didn't teach us?"

I nod. "Almost certainly. G-Gnomes can't teach you things which they don't know themselves. And one of the things they very definitely don't know is how to be Human."

"Well..? I'm not Human."

"How to pretend to be Human, then. I mean… Which lifestyle do you prefer?"

"Oh! Human!" His eyes flick to Stephan for a moment. "Definitely."

Yes, he'd have been eating you in a year or two, wouldn't he? "I should probably say that there's nothing wrong with being who you are… But in your case, there clearly was. The point of sending you to school is to teach you how to be able to act like a normal Human. You're learning social skills which the G-Gnomes can't teach you, not knowledge they can implant. And, eventually, your personal curriculum will include learning how to use your particular supernatural abilities."

Gloria was not happy to see me. But as I said to her: tough. Don't kill small animals and eat them raw if you're afraid of getting found out. Mrs Briggs was a bit more positive, if 'disturbed and horrified' can be parsed as a positive feeling. She was at least willing to share what little her coven taught her before being slaughtered. Should I feel worse about assuming that I'm going to be training a generation of child soldiers? But… A weapon you don't know how to use is a weapon that belongs to your enemy. If I get them to the point where they can live normal lives, I would of course help them do so.

But I can't deny that a group of super charismatic shapeshifting magic users would be very useful.

Miss Shimmer gets up without either saying anything or making eye contact with anyone, and heads towards the door.

"Oh, Miss Shimmer!?"

She stops. "Hm?"

"We might have a magic user staying with us for a little while. Would you mind showing her your work?"

She looks up. "Ah, sure. I'm not doing anything super-critical right now." She blinks, then frowns slightly. "Wait, this isn't some kind of friendship thing, is it? 'cause I think Zatanna was kind of a fluke."

"No, she's a potential ally of mine and I want to convince her that we know what we're doing as far as magic is concerned. Her practical knowledge is excellent but her theory may be a little behind yours. And… She's quite a bit older than you."

"Oh." She shrugs. "Sure. Just give me a day's warning or whatever."

"Will do, if reasonably-" I've lost her to the phone again. "-practical." She starts walking away. "Have fun!"

"I'll be working."

"Doesn't mean that you can't have fun doing it!" She's almost out of the door. "I generally do!" When I'm not being shot, nuked or Anti-Lifed.

"Daddy?" My attention immediately focuses on Lynne. "I'm… I'm… Worried."

I smile benevolently down at her. "Of course you are. It's a big change of pace. I myself was quite nervous before I started Secondary School, and that was knowing that there would be people I knew in my classes. But you'll adjust, just as you adjusted to being taught at the Center for Paranormal Studies."

"And people..? Won't think I'm weird?"

I nod reassuringly. "Of course they'll think you're weird-."

She sags, but in a good-humoured sort of way. "Daaaad."

"I imagine that people will find a trainee superhero fascinating. You… Might want to avoid talking about some parts-."

"I figured that out for myself."

"But… You might find that a little light touch telepathic probing will help guide you through some of the initial confusion. Just so long as you don't let it become a crutch." Lynne nods, then gets up to carry her bowl to the dishwasher. I honestly think I've done all that I can to prepare her. Except her wardrobe, which I left up to Miss Amane because… Look at me. "You know, you and the boys could try going to the park today? Make a start on that socialisation thing?"

"Yeah. Maybe. What are you doing today, Dad?"

I gently push my chair back and rise to my feet. "More networking. With Adam-. Adom awake and himself they need someone around who can translate for him and explain the modern legal process. I'm mostly just sitting in a room while other people talk to each other. Not very interesting, I'm afraid."

She nods, then she leads the way out of the room with the lad and Stephen following close behind.

I wait until the door shuts.

"Mother Box. Boom tube to Fawcett City."

Ping. Ping.

It's got to be done.

Ping.

The portal opens, and closes again the moment I step through. I don't even bother looking around; the cheery disposition of this place will just make what follows worse.

"Mother Box. Boom tube to the Tower of Rage."

Ping.

I give myself a quick once-over as the portal opens. Armour, weapons, tough looking… I should be able to get past the Lowlies without too much difficulty.

But it isn't the Lowlies that you're worried about, is it Corpsman?

No. But if I can't even bring myself to stand in his presence…

Then he's already won. Quite right.

I take a deep breath, harden my expression and then stride forwards.

 

[Mr Zoat]

4th September
07:07 GMT -6
Self=Null

I look around as the boom tube closes behind me. The brief image I saw when aiding Teth Adom doesn't do it justice. The flicker as the fug that makes up Apokolips' breathable atmosphere causes the lights of a distant industrial complex to twist and dance. The disturbingly grey-brown sky made of industrial effluence and reflected light from the fire pits. Apokolips doesn't actually have a sun. If that… Vertigo comic about suns being sophonts was correct, I suppose… They've just got better taste.
Self=Null

Either that or Father killed it.
Self=Null

The ring is filtering out most of the stench, for which I am quite grateful. In most cities there's a graduation of squalor; the slums on the outskirts, then tenements, middle class housing before you reach the splendour of the central business district. On Apokolips, Father had the Tower of Rage built in the middle of the Armagetto so that he could be just a little closer to the misery.
Self=Null

I angle my head down slightly as I float down the main boulevard towards the Tower of Rage. It's… Reasonably well maintained, the workers not daring do anything less than everything they can when within line of sight of Darkseid. As I glance from side to side I catch a glimpse of a few of them; haggard and half-starved wretches who freeze or flee the moment they see me. I try to avoid giving any indication that I've seen them; not because an Apokoliptian Elite necessarily would behave like that, but because I don't want them doing anything-.
Self=Null

"I die for Darkseid."
Self=Null

Anything like that. I keep my face carefully blank as the man lands chest first on the stone slab in front of me, the fall smashing everything. Death must have been near-instantaneous, though given where we are I doubt that physical death marks the end of his suffering.
Self=Null

I hate this place so much. Revulsion From Contradiction.

Steady, Corpsman.

Why? Sinestro, why? If he decides to make a fight of this I've got next to no chance with you anyway. And staying myself, retaining my own emotions in a place like this is a far better defence than a slight buff to my environmental shield.

There is always a way to win, Corpsman. Even against a foe such as Darkseid.

Apokolips is one of the few worlds to have flat out beat a Green Lantern Corps invasion. Father keeps one of your predecessors around so that he can perfect his Green-Lantern-breaking technique. There are treasure rooms full of defunct personal lanterns and power rings. I like to think that I'm pretty dangerous but I'm not a Lantern Corps. Oh, why do I even bother? There's no way that the Guardians left that little snippet in the Book of Oa. It's full of rules and inspirational tales, not arse kickings.

You are correct on that score, Corpsman. But as First Lantern, I was privy to a great deal that is kept from the rest of the Corps. I know about Raker Qarrigat. The last time I cried was when I watched the recordings of a generation of my Corps being slaughtered on the killing fields of Apokolips. I know the evils of this place.

Sinestro…

I look up as a flight of three aero-troopers spot me and begin their attack run.

As you are now, can you still hate?

I do not believe so, Corpsman. But perhaps I will tolerate you hating for me.

"Trespasser!" The lead aero-trooper comes to a halt in the air a little way above me while his wingmen hang back. Ah, Apokoliptian NCOs; he's claimed the right to first blood. If he thinks that I'm someone he can kill, he'll do it merely to increase his personal kill count. "Halt and make yourself known!"

I hate this place so very much…



I stop and smile pleasantly up at him. "I am Grayven, son of Darkseid." The signs of his fear are obvious. The slight widening of his eyes. The movement of his mouth as he suddenly finds it entirely bereft of saliva. "I am here to visit my father. Would you be so good as to-?"

"Blasphemer!"

Oh. Not scared of me. Scared to be near to someone claiming kinship with Darkseid. Scared to consider Darkseid's retribution against an obviously false claimant and anyone near him.

But still. Fear.

Darkseid-shaped construct armour forms around me, easily absorbing their volley of blaster bolts. I let my eyes glow for a moment, then send twin beams lancing through the air in the towards the squad leader. He attempts to evade for a few seconds until it becomes clear that they're following him regardless, then he… Just stops, turns, and lets them hit him with a smile on his face.

I can't even begin…

The others drop their guns, drop out of the sky, barely manage to prevent themselves falling off their flight discs in their hurry to fall on their faces before me. They grovel… Something. Between their armour and the stone slabs they're mashing their faces into their words are a little indistinct.

I stop looking at them and return my gaze to the Tower of Rage in the distance. Is it..? No. It's like the thing with the Mona Lisa's eyes. I don't believe for a moment that the representations of Father's face are actually watching me. Or smiling. Though I suppose that for a New God as strong as Father it's perfectly possible…

"Get up. You are not Lowlies; you are soldiers of Apokolips." "Feel pride in your strength!"

They raise themselves very slightly from the ground. The aero-troopers are elite soldiers, not beasts like the Parademons or techno-organic perversions like the Suicide Jockeys. Technically they're New Gods as well. Just far weaker ones than me. And not likely to grow stronger in a place where I can feel the Anti-Life in the very air.

"My lord." / "My lord."

"Oh, stop." I walk past them and then come to a halt. "Arm yourselves."

I don't look, but I do hear them picking up their blasters and remounting their aero discs.

"I have no need for an escort, but it would be convenient for me to not have to bother with anyone who was not a member of the Elite. Clear my path, that I may complete my journey and greet my father."

"At once, my lord!"

And they're gone, which is probably for the best. I don't want them to… I don't know, ritually disembowel themselves or something. You know, you'd think that living in a place like this they'd just do what Humans do and grow accustomed to pointless killing. I'm afraid of Darkseid because I value my life, my relationships, my sense of self. But if pain's normal and Darkseid is wonderful… Why were they so afraid?

There is a Human expression, Corpsman. Even a Worm an inch long has half an inch of spirit in it. Perhaps what they truly fear is that one day they will stop fearing. That one day they will truly understand the mind of the one who rules them, and that on that day they will be the ones stepping off the roof.

Don't bother, Sinestro. I know that fear is your thing, but I don't think that I want to understand this.

I used fear as a tool with which to create order. This… Is a very long way from my vision.

I smile humourlessly.

Oh, but you haven't seen the best bits yet.

 

[Mr Zoat]

4th September
07:51 GMT -6

I hesitate as I step out of the shaft and onto the level of the Tower of Rage containing Father's throne room. Assuming that he hasn't moved since Father Box was last informed of the layout his actual chambers are elsewhere, but every so often he does actually hold court in the way Queen Hegra did. The difference being that she did it because she actually needed the support of her Elite retainers. Darkseid most assuredly does not. At a time like this I can't help but think of Lonnie Machin's confrontation with Darkseid, and that stupid Blasphemy demon, oh so subtly claiming the authority of God for itself and so undermining the very concept of God. Honestly, the whole thing was so obvious that it was somewhat puerile-.

I force myself to take another step, then another. See, not so hard. My 'escort' did their job. I certainly wasn't troubled on the way here and I-.

"…defy Prince Grayven's orders!"

I look around at the sound. Oh, who are they shouting at now? That is in the direction of Darkseid's chambers, but it isn't really on my way. Have they decided that my request also covers cleaning staff who happen to be in the same general area?

"The Master has ordered me to-."

"Silence. wretch!"

I hear a dull thump. So far, so Apokoliptian. I doubt that Father would be impressed to learn that I stuck my neck out for one of them-



-but then this whole exercise is about testing his boundaries, isn't it? I turn aside from my path and head in the direction of the sounds. Darkseid's actual quarters aren't all that large. They're the same ones that he had as Crown Prince Drax's younger and less favoured brother. I'm not completely sure why he didn't change. Perhaps stubbornness. More likely because he doesn't care any longer about trivial things like that.

Heh. I know where Darkseid shits.

"I-I was told to-."

"You dare to-."

"Alright, that's enough."

I step around the corner. A New God -a weak one by the feel of it- is laying on the floor, not daring to rise. Her skin is alabaster white and her hair raven black. She's wearing a purple and gold fifties swimsuit sort of garment, accessorised with purple and gold gloves which go up to the middle of her upper arm and similarly coloured thigh boots. A black and red… Cap? Headdress? Decorated with a golden skull has been knocked from her head and lays beside her on the floor. There's a purple choker around her neck with a red stone over her windpipe. Her eyes don't leave the floor and rich rivers of fear flow from her, but none of it is directed at her attackers.

No prizes for guessing who it is for.

The two aero-troopers back off, bowing to me as I approach the fallen woman. Mother Box, who is she? Her face looks familiar, but I can't quite place it.

Ping.

Oh. Wait, how many does he have?

Ping.

Oh sssshazbot.

Darkseid has absolutely no need for political marriage. The last woman anyone can remember him being intimate with was Tigra, and he hated her so much that when Justeen killed her he gave her a promotion. And yet, Grayven exists and gets recognised as being Darkseid's son. There are only so many places he could have come from.

I reach out to her with my right hand. "Mother."

I ignore the cringing and cowering of the aero-troopers to study her face as she turns her face upwards towards me. I can see what DeSaad was going for, and the facial structure is more or less there. But the ears are wrong, and-. She was Human?

"Grayven?"

I nearly say 'No, I'm Orion in disguise', but I think better of it. "Indeed. It's.. been a while. But it is good to see you again." I pointedly look at my hand and then back to her. "Will you take my hand?"

"Thank-thank you, my lord." She reaches up with her right hand-

Ping.

-which is the one that can cause sleep, and grasps my palm. Gently as I can, I help her upright. Now, what to do about the other two?



I don't look at them. "You buffoons have exceeded my orders and assaulted Father's bedmate while she was executing his. If you are dead before my meeting with him concludes I will not consider it necessary to inform him of that fact. Now, begone."

They bego and I take a purple healing ray projector from my armour and point it at Mortalla. "Hold still."

She holds completely still as I play the beam over her wounds. They don't heal as quickly as they would for a Human… Given that she's weak for a New God I imagine that's more to do with the presiding atmosphere of Apokolips instead of her innate resistance, but I don't know enough to be sure. Hm. I take my personal mana infuser off and offer it to her.

"Please, accept this as a gift. I'm sure that I've missed a few Mother's Days. It should make it a little harder for Father's thugs to-."

"You-." She gingerly touches her lip where it was bleeding as I lower the ray. "G-Grayven, you should not call him that. He does not like it when-."

"When Kalibak does it, yes. If I'd sired Kalibak, I doubt that I'd like being reminded of the fact either. I'm sure that if he had a problem with me doing so, he would have mentioned it during our last meeting."

"V-very well." She gingerly takes the mana infuser and holds it to her chest with both hands.

"It's… It's designed to be worn around your.. arm."

"Darkseid commissioned this for me." She crouches, picking up her headdress with her left hand and restoring it to its place upon her head. "I dare not modify it, save by his leave."

"Alright then. I'll ask him about it. Um. Are you alright.. here?"

"I-." Her eyes go to the floor again. "I am where he has bade me be."

Okay, well… It's not like I ever thought that I was the only one whose soul he'd crushed. Even if DeSaad did most of the legwork with this one. I go to turn away-



-and then turn back, bend down slightly and envelop her in my arms.

"It is good to see you again, Mother." "Consider yourself under my protection."

I think she might be trying to hug back, but she's under six foot tall and normally proportioned while I'm huge. Then I step back, smiling as friendly a smile as I can manage. Her smile is slight and hesitant, as if the muscles in her face were new to her. But it's there.

I turn away and head in the direction of Father's throne room.

 

[Mr Zoat]

4th September
07:56 GMT -6

My, what big doors you have.

I stand outside the doors to Father's throne room and look at them for a moment. No ushers or heralds here, apparently. Should I knock, or-?

I raise my hands and stride forward, pushing the doors open as I proceed inside.
Self=Darkseid
Father notes my arrival with apparent disinterest from his seat on the dais at the far end of the room. The seat itself is a simple 'U', unostentatious in order to direct the eye towards its owner.
Self=Darkseid
Which at this point is quite unnecessary.
Self=Darkseid
I walk towards Father's dais, arms folded behind my back. A quick look around the room reveals a standard crowd scene of the Apokoliptian Elite lining my path to the throne. This is the first time most of them have seen 'Grayven' in a very long time, and I want the resemblance between myself and Father to stick in their minds. From the slight tinge of fear I can feel in the room, I think I might be successful.
Self=Darkseid
DeSaad's lurking at Father's right hand, looking… Crap as ever, but he doesn't appear to have suffered any long term effects from my last meeting with him.
Self=Darkseid
Kalibak is closest to me, his smouldering glare giving me a pretty good idea how he feels about the situation, the nails of his left hand visibly drawing blood from his left palm and his right clenched tight around the grip of his beta club. This iteration of Kalibak has little in common with his moronic Apokolips 12 alter ego; while not one of the universe's deepest thinkers he's a good tactician in addition to being strong and remarkably fast and agile. He's the second biggest immediate threat to me in this room.
Self=Darkseid
I stop in front of him, meeting him face to face. "Kalibak. Brother." I extend my right hand. "It's been a while. How are you?" "I greet you as my equal."
Self=Darkseid
Kalibak merely bares his teeth. "Father's protection is the one thing that stops me grinding you to paste."
Self=Darkseid
I nod sadly, then lower my hand. "Dear brother, please know that I bear you no ill will. If you should find yourself in the vicinity of my home, I would consider a visit from you to be an honour."
Self=Darkseid
I turn away and continue down the line. Three of Doctor Bedlam's animates stand to my right. Two are dressed like Lowlies while the lead member of the trio is dressed in the manner of the escapologist Baron Bedlam from the Seven Soldiers series. Steppenwolf-. Great Uncle Steppenwolf and Virman Vundabar stand on the opposite side, apparently having only just broken off their conversation in order to look at me.
Self=Darkseid
"Great Uncle. Commander." "It humbles me that great warriors such as yourselves have made time to greet me at my homecoming. Thank you."
Self=Darkseid
Steppenwolf gives me a smile and a nod, while Virman looks less impressed. Though given the set of his face, I can well believe that's the only expression of which he's physically capable.
Self=Darkseid
The others… No Kanto, Amazing Grace is dead, Devilance… Don't know what happened to him after I sent him back, though if I'm officially in Father's good books I doubt that it was terminal. No Glorious Godfrey… Need to keep an eye out for that one. Justeen's standing close to DeSaad, though whether to protect him or backstab him I can't be sure.
Self=Darkseid
Granny Goodness stands a little further forward on Father's left, smiling affectionately down at me. She… Actually looks like a slightly buffer version of my late grandmother on Earth Prime. Maybe with slightly bigger hair. And far more abusive, obviously, and a New God.
Self=Darkseid
So not much like gran at all, really. It's the grey perm that put me in mind of her.
Self=Darkseid
Bernadeth, Stompa and Knockout stand just behind her, the only representatives of Father's 'bodyguard' present, and… Huh. No other soldiers. Not that any of the people here couldn't outfight, say… Ten aero-troopers each without too much difficulty. Just strikes me as a little odd.
Self=Darkseid
"Grayven." Granny Goodness steps towards me just as I reach her, her arms open in a way that implies a desire to embrace me. "Granny has missed you. And I hear that you have a little one of your own now? You've grown up so quickly." "You will allow Granny to educate her and turn her into a proper Apokoliptian, won't you."
Self=Darkseid
"Granny. You appear to be keeping well." "She's already been broken by the Anti-Life directly. Breaking her further serves no useful purpose to me."
Self=Darkseid
She manages to mostly keep the disgruntlement from her face. Hm. She didn't get Kalibak, she didn't get Orion… She got Scott and failed completely. Her Orphanage does have relatively conventional education facilities as well as random torture. I wonder where other Apokoliptians go to learn things?
Self=Darkseid
"Though -if you will forgive the impertinence- I do have a favour to beg of you? Lynne starts school tomorrow, and I need to arrange a bodyguard for her. Someone skilled, determined and reliable. And preferably not known to any local groups. Naturally, your Furies were the first people I thought of. If you and-" My eyes move to the figure at the top of the dais. "-Father could possibly spare one?" "I find the prospect of adding such warriors to my retinue delightful."
Self=Darkseid
Granny smiles. "Dear boy, has one caught your eye?"
Self=Darkseid
"Where such fine warriors are concerned, I find myself spoilt for choice. But Barda-" Her face twitches. "-did have a few choice things to say about Knockout in particular. I find the words of one's enemies to be an excellent guide in such matters."
Self=Darkseid
Granny Goodness recovers, clapping her hands together. "Then no one else will do for our glorious sovereign's granddaughter."
Self=Darkseid
I nod respectfully. "Thank you."
Self=Darkseid
Next…
Self=Darkseid
Then I reach the foot of the dais and I kneel, head bowed. "Darkseid." "My liege."
Self=Darkseid
"Please, my son. Rise. No such formality is necessary between us."
Self=Darkseid
"Thank you, Father." I rise, looking him in the eyes for just a moment before aligning my eyes to a point just below his own. "And thank you for granting me this audience at such short notice."
Self=Darkseid
"Think nothing of it." He leans forwards slightly in his chair. "I see that you have already adapted to the Anti-Life fragment which I bestowed upon you. It may interest you to know that I gained comprehension of the particular fragment which I gifted to you through DeSaad's work. After your encounter with him, it seemed to be the most appropriate."
Self=Darkseid
Oh. That makes sense. There's a slight shifting in the crowd. I'm not sure if it's due to Darkseid willingly giving part of the Anti-Life equation away or that I still appear to be functional despite him having done so.
Self=Darkseid
"Tell me, how do you feel?"
Self=Darkseid
"To be frank, Father, I feel a biting bitterness in the deepest part of my soul. A constant reminder of the lowest point in my life, and I fear that I may never feel anything quite so intensely or so freely again. And I feel that I now carry within me a bane that might at any moment reach out through me and crush everything I've built, everything I've valued. It is horrifying."
Self=Darkseid
He smiles faintly. "Then it seems as though you have adapted well. Without being weakened by the exposure. This pleases me."
Self=Darkseid
Does he..? Think that I've integrated it as he has done? How would he respond to-? "I apologise if I misinterpreted the nature of the challenge, Father. Scott and I used my soul to build a cage to contain it. I try to avoid interfacing with it as much as possible."
Self=Darkseid
"But you have done so, have you not?"
Self=Darkseid
I nod. "Yes. Briefly."
Self=Darkseid
"Then all is as I intended." Oh shit. "But tell me, my son, what brings you to Apokolips so long after your pointed leave-taking?"
Self=Darkseid
"Oh, a few things." I turn my head to the left and then to the right. "I thought that it might be wise to say 'hello' to a few people, remind anyone who'd forgotten me of my existence. But, more importantly, there are one or two articles I was hoping that you would be willing to provide me with."
Self=Darkseid
"For the help you have already given me in studying the Anti-Life, I believe that it is only appropriate that I be accommodating. Tell me what it is that you desire, my son, and I will see that it is provided to you."
Self=Darkseid
"Thank you, Father."