the path ahead is veiled
the ship from shore has sailed
I know not where I walk
specters beside me stalk
my heart is sad and weeps
my soul longs for sleep
weary I must trod along
within my mind a song
of tears and bitter memories
along the way mine enemies
spit and shout harsh words
they brandish, cut like swords
drip drop the plops of blood
I wash away with the flood
I long for days of warm sun
a time when smiles mean fun
instead of shields for pain
a shelter from the storm of rain
I know not where the path leads
or what will grow from these seeds
I only hope for a better day
and to walk a clearer way
I only wish for a kindred spirit
someone I can hold dearest
through the storm crows and ravens
within whose arms I find haven
a companion along the broken road
till then I stumble along the wode
pulling tattered cloak close about
in effort to keep the despair out
while I wander, wander on…
Author: Phil RedBeard
a Villain-elle, Part 3
a Villainelle, Part 3 (Bane)
“He will shatter kings in the day of his wrath.” – Psalm 110:5
Your punishment must be more severe.
Until I put on the mask no one cared
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
It comes later, the time for rising fear
I’ll feed Gotham’s people hope to despair
Your punishment must be more severe.
I am Gotham’s reckoning, it is clear
An end to borrowed time and corrupt heirs
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
They belong to me, the shadows here
Blinding to me is the daylight air
Your punishment must be more severe.
When Gotham is ashes, your city dear
You have my permission to die there
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
The fire rises, a wall sheer
Victory defeated you, left you bare
Your punishment must be more severe.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear.
Read a Villain-elle part 2, the Joker, here.
I am Iron Man
I am Iron Man, a villanelle
I’m just not the hero type.
Throw a little hot rod red in there.
The truth is…I am Iron Man.
I’m in it. It’s a suit. It’s me!
I shouldn’t be alive unless it was for a reason.
I’m just not the hero type.
I am your nuclear deterrent.
Wow. That tastes like coconut. And metal.
The truth is…I am Iron Man.
I have a plan: attack.
Genius. Billionaire. Playboy. Philanthropist.
I’m just not the hero type.
I’m the mechanic, Tony.
Everybody needs a hobby.
The truth is…I am Iron Man.
I am not a soldier!
I’ve created my own demons.
I’m just not the hero type.
The truth is…I am Iron Man.
Four Impossible Steps
Hi there. My name is Phil and I suffer from depression.
I have noticed something in my struggles with depression: there are four steps that one must undertake before anything gets done.
1. Acknowledge that the thing can be done.
2. Agree that you should do the thing.
3. Decide to do the thing.
4. Do the thing.
For instance, today I vacuumed my apartment for the first time in a long time. I had to acknowledge that, yes, vacuuming was possible. Then I had to agree that I should, in fact, vacuum. I then decided to vacuum. Lastly, I actually dragged the vacuum from the closet and vacuumed the floor. Go me!
This really was a monumental task, and I really am proud of myself for completing it. Number one rule when living with depression: celebrate all victories, no matter how small.
Normal people just do things and don’t really think about the mental process. I think long and hard about the mental process because each step is nearly impossible to surpass. I spend a lot of time around step one. That one I do well. I am very aware of everything I need to do and can do and want to do. Step two is also fairly easy to get to, with time anyway. I agree that many things I can do. But there are also many things that I struggle to agree that I can do. Sit on the couch? Got that one down. Read? Tricky. Best left alone. Create? You must be joking, who am I, Picasso? Watch TV? Sigh. I guess I can manage it. Wash dishes? Holy mackerel, not today. Just…nope.
Deciding to do something can take days or minutes, sometimes hours. This particular thing that I am writing right now has taken me a week to decide to actually do. I’ve had it in my mind for quite a while. I woke up from my second nap of the day and decided to do it. I passed steps one and two a few days ago, but finally passed step three about an hour ago. It still took me another 15 minutes to get the computer open, get to my blog, and start typing. Yay! Step four! Now I just have to grit my teeth and keep hammering the keyboard. Go. Go. Go!!
I apologize for the heavy meta-ness of this post, but this is my reality. These four impossible steps govern whether or not I do anything at all. They are rigorous and exhausting. Exerting the needed mental energy to jump from step to step takes a lot out of me. This is, in fact, what “struggle with depression” means for me on a daily basis.
Do I eat? Do I cook? What do I cook? Do I actually finish cooking? All of those questions each requires four steps to complete and that answers why I often do not eat and seldom cook. During a stretch of good days I will cook maybe three times in a week. Actually that would be a fantastic week. Today I have cooked for myself once, which worked out to two meals as I made a pizza that lasted longer than I anticipated. Two other nights were frozen food. Tonight I am thinking I will make something mexican-ish, but I’m still lingering between step two and three on that one. I might end up with dry ramen noodles and Oreos, but today has been a good day, what with the vacuuming and writing. So who knows?
Think about these four steps next time you go to do anything, no matter how small or mundane. You go through the steps yourself, but I guarantee that usually you don’t even notice that you do. Maybe your steps sound a little different, maybe you have one more or one less, but everyone has them. It takes energy and will to advance through them to accomplish anything. I, as a depressed person, must exert most of my energy to get through them for even one thing. To do more than one is difficult. To do a whole day’s worth of things is nearly impossible.
But that is why I will celebrate, even if my dinner tonight is dry ramen and oreos, because I will have accomplished two things today, and that is more than a normal day. I nailed those four impossible steps twice! Booyah!
To read what else I have written about depression, search for “depression” on this blog.
Shoutings and Silences
My name is Phil and I am depressed.
One of the hardest things about depression is living inside your own head. Sometimes it can be very loud, other times it can be quieter than a graveyard. Both times are very hard to get through. When my head is loud is it like a hundred voices all talking at once. Every thought moves at a thousand miles an hour and shouts for attention. But that is actually easier to take than when my head is silent. Usually it comes at a time when my surroundings are quiet. Ever since my wife left, I’ve been living alone. That makes for a lot of quiet.
Most people live in the happy middle ground between shoutings and silences with a normal amount of noise both within and without, and if circumstances arise that unduly quiet or amplify things, normal coping mechanisms help even things out.
My normal coping mechanisms are broken, and my shoutings and silences are way more intense than other people’s, at least from what I have observed and felt.
I can only tune out the cacophony by playing very loud music and focusing as hard as possible on what I am actually hearing rather than what is mental. Alternatively, there is no way to fill the quiet with enough noise to make it less than empty. Again I try loud music or a movie or something, but there is usually too much space to fill and not enough noise to fill it. I just feel empty.
I hate being alone and I get so very lonely, and this only accentuates the silences and the shoutings. For a long time I have felt that if only my wife were to come back and I were to have another person in my life, the shoutings and silences would disappear. But recently I have begun to understand: my wife has nothing at all to do with life inside my head. She can’t help, nor can she make it worse. It is my own particular problem to solve, or failing a solution, since there often isn’t one, my own particular path to tread. To be sure, another person can help fill the silence or quiet the shouting, but that makes them just another coping mechanism when they do. At that particular moment, any person would really do.
Don’t misunderstand, I am not saying there isn’t anything special about my wife, or that a special person can’t make a special difference. What I am trying to say is this: another person can’t abate my depression. It is inside me. The shouting and the silence are my ailments.
I wish my wife would come back into my life. Having her around made things easier to deal with. But maybe that is why she has left me, in part. I tried too hard to make her my fix, tried too hard to make her responsible for how I felt. I was a fool and I was selfish and I was too stupid to know what I was doing. For that I am so very ashamed and so very sorry. But I can’t change the past. All I can do is work on my today, on my future. Only I can find ways to quiet the shoutings and fill the silences. If and when my wife or another person comes back into my life, I hope to be able to quiet the noise or fill the space on my own, and not make it that person’s burden because depression is hard enough for me to bear, and I have a pretty good idea how it works, at least for me. I can only imagine how hard it is for someone who doesn’t know it as intimately as I do.
Hannah, if you read this: I’m sorry. My silences, my shoutings were not and are not yours to bear. I’ll ask you to bear them no longer. I am sorry I ever did. It was cruel and abusive of me. I can only say I didn’t know what I was doing, but that is a feeble excuse. Thank you for all the years you tried to help me anyway. I can’t imagine what that must have been like. You are an incredible person.
To my friends and family: thanks for being there for me. Sometimes I call on you during my silences, sometimes during my shoutings. Sometimes I just need a friend. I hope I don’t make things too hard for you, or ask more than you are willing to give. Depression just needs and takes; it isn’t very considerate. My depression isn’t your burden, it is mine. Please let me know if I ever abuse our relationship. I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve been making with my wife. Depression is a poor excuse for abuse.
Depression fools me into thinking I am helpless and hopeless. But I am not. I am only mentally ill, and any illness can be managed, even if it can’t be cured. Easy to say; hard to do; but knowing is half the battle. Now that I know, I can work towards effective management.
Now I can start to fill the silence and quiet the shoutings.
To read what else I have written on depression, search my blog for “depression”.
Can’t Stop the Sadness
My name is Phil, and I am depressed.
My therapist wanted me to write a sentence, and now I’ve written three. I haven’t written in a while because I am depressed. It is so very hard to find the motivation, the will, and the desire to do even the most basic of things when battling depression. She, my therapist, said it well: “sometimes your brain is amazing and you can trust it; sometimes it’s fucked.” Sometimes I am very logical, I can work through almost anything, I have strength and I amaze myself by enduring what I thought was unendurable. But then, my mind flips on me, and even getting through a day without staring at walls is an insurmountable task.
I often compare being depressed to being an alcoholic. Neither is a choice, neither is banished simply through a force of will, both are medical conditions that can be treated, but alcoholics have it one up on depressed individuals: they have an external symptom that while difficult to deal with, is external and is avoidable. An alcoholic can avoid taking a drink. They don’t need a reason to drink, or to be drunk, but in order to be sober all they have to do is not drink. An outside factor is their tormentor, and as such, it can be avoided. Avoiding it is the really tough part.
But no matter how many meetings of Depressed Anonymous I attend, I cannot ever choose to avoid that which torments me: my brain. I live with imbalances, deficiencies, shorts and faulty wires in my head. Short of a lobotomy, the death of who I am, I am unable to be free. I am an alcoholic that cannot choose to stop drinking. I cannot chose to be happy, to not be sad, to change what I feel. All I can do is depend on some medication that makes the swings of emotion less monumental, less forceful, and continue to rely on my therapist to talk through the rest, to keep things in perspective, in focus.
I can’t stop the sadness, but I can keep it at bay, at arm’s length, at a distance.
Buffy the Vampire Slayer said it this way: “the hardest thing in this world is to live in it.” Living life, for me, is the hardest thing I do on a daily basis. Most people get up, eat breakfast, go to work, come home, enjoy some television, and go to bed and that is their every day routine. I have to force myself to watch television and I barely enjoy the process. Some of that is an effect of the medications I am on, some of that is my depression, it is hard to know which at any given time. All I want out of life is the normal routine of normal people, but today, that is out of my reach. Most days it is out of my reach. But I’m never going to stop reaching, and that is what I can do as a depressaholic: I can keep reaching for normality. I don’t have a convenient external tormenter, but in the midst of my unending torment I can reach towards the light, no matter how dim or distant.
My challenge was one sentence. Here are many. Here is me reaching towards the light, today. If this is all I do today, it is a win for me.
To read what else I have written on the topic of depression, simply search for the word “depression” on my blog.
League of Justice #3.1: “The Dogs of War”
Deep Space
On a dark rock spiraling through the blackness of space, two members of the Black Lantern Corps met.
“A son of Krypton has survived.”
“We told Jor-El he would endure unharmed.”
“Not the son of El. Another has lived. Our enemy.”
“Where is he?”
“He lives on the same planet as the son of El.”
“Then war will descend on them both.”
On an Unknown South Pacific Island
Green Lantern thought hard. Her ring manifested a bulletproof shield. Wading into battle, she fired her gun from behind it while bullets bounced off, ricocheting in various directions. To her left, Wonder Woman also shielded herself from bullets, but with her metallic bracers. The military scientists that Hal and Diana worked with only concluded that they were made of an as of yet unknown element, which they promptly nicknamed wonderflonium after their heroine, Wonder Woman.
Diana moved superhumanly fast as she deflected bullets with her forearms and beat the daylights out of the rebel soldiers. Green Lantern and Wonder Woman had been sent in to quell an uprising and take out a rebel leader. This they were doing handily. Hal’s gun ran out of bullets. Without stopping her assault, she concentrated and her ring manifested another magazine full of ammunition. She kept firing. She didn’t know how her ring worked, but she was glad it did. The items she manifested only persisted for about thirty minutes. After that, the bullets she created would vanish, wherever they were, whether buried in a concrete wall or someone’s brain matter. Where they vanished to was as big a mystery as where they manifested from, but her scientist friends muttered something about the conservation of matter and energy. She hadn’t really been paying attention.
Wonder Woman fought her way to the main building on the rebel compound. She kicked down the door and waited. It was a good move as bullets flew out. She waited for magazines to empty, then cleared the room with her bare hands. None survived. Green Lantern set down her shield. Manifesting a shotgun, she entered the room. There she saw bodies strewn all over, most resting at impossible angles that told her Diana had been taking no prisoners. Diana nodded towards a closed door and mouthed There! indicating that the rebel leader had taken refuge inside the closet.
Green Lantern spoke: “Come out and surrender and face justice or be killed like the coward you are. You have about five seconds.”
Her answer was gunfire. She shrugged and emptied her shotgun into the closet. Not bothering to check, she manifested a cube of C4 explosive and stuck it to the door. Setting a timer, she and Wonder Woman started to leave the building.
Seconds later, the building exploded. Another victory for Wonder Woman and the Green Lantern.
Gotham City
Batman’s fists both connected with the chest of a thug, shooting him backwards into a brick wall. A quick roundhouse kick to the jaw put him out of action. Batman turned to the other would-be robber.
“This is your one chance to surrender.”
The crook foolishly thought he could shoot faster than Batman could pummel him into a bloody mess. He thought wrong. Batman broke the shotgun in half with his reinforced Bat-Armor. This new suit was working out better than his defensive Kevlar-Titatium suit. Made from Carbon fiber and metal alloys, as well as Kevlar, the suit was reinforced with actuators and a mechanical exoskeleton. This gave Batman a much faster, and stronger, physical presence than mere muscle and human reaction time. Nodding to the store owner, Batman grabbed both criminals and dragged them outside. By that time Detective Gordon had arrived with two squad cars. Gordon had just enough time to shout.
“You’re under arrest,” in a somewhat uncaring tone of voice before Batman’s grappling hook took hold of the building roof and hoisted him out of reach. “Oh well, another time.” Gordon shrugged and handcuffed the men who were now coming around from their Bat-beating.
“You have the right to remain silent…”
Cleveland, Ohio
The Flash flashed into the middle of a busy intersection.
“Whoah!” fortunately, he was becoming as well known as Batman and Superman. Cars swerved to avoid him with only a minimum of swearing and honking of horns.
“Gotta get better at re-entry timing.” Barry Allen muttered to himself. He was hot on the trail of an illusionist thief calling himself Mirror Man. Barry’s information led him to believe that the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame was next on the list of high priority targets. Barry hoped to get here before Mirror Man and set up an ambush.
Once he reached the safety of the sidewalk he looked around and saw Progressive Field, home of the Cleveland Indians. Smoothing out his red leather jacket, and mask, he swore.
“Dammit. Not only did I flash into traffic, I’m off the mark.” Barry shook his head. Teleporting still wasn’t as easy as he first thought it would be. Rather than risk another incident, he hailed a taxi.
“Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, please.”
“Hey, you’re that Flash guy! Hey buddy, ride’s on me!”
A week or so ago the Flash had stopped a ring of corrupt cab drivers from stealing from their partners and passengers. Now, no matter what city he flashed into, he was the recipient of free rides. Fighting crime did pay. Occasionally. Now to get to the Rock and Roll and set up his trap for a Mirror Man.
Metropolis
Superman flew as fast he could. The mission was desperate and the need dire. Only a superhero could save the day and the hour. Faster than a speeding bullet, over tall buildings, up in the sky Clark Kent raced for class. If he was late again he would be failed for having too many absences. Sometimes superheroes needed to save themselves from themselves. Clark had been so busy hopping the planet rescuing ships in distress, planes with engine failure, cats from trees, and even helping with the occasional high speed pursuit, that he tended to lose track of time and miss class. If he was going to graduate from Metropolis University with the degree in journalism he was also pursuing, he needed to find a way to balance saving the world and studying. Dropping from high in the atmosphere to a dark alley a block from his building, Clark Kent emerged running for class. He made it with just seconds to spare. Another superhero victory!
Smallville
Canary found she quite liked living in small town America. Ma Kent had taken her in and given her what she hadn’t had in a very long time: a family. As a result, Dinah hadn’t killed anyone in almost a year. She was looking forward to celebrating the anniversary. She didn’t regret any of the scum she had put under the ground, but she didn’t like the darkness in herself. Besides, this was what her small town exile was all about. With Clark’s help and Ma and Pa’s guidance, she was emerging from her shell of hate and fear and becoming a full woman again. She volunteered with the Smallville Police Force as a crossing guard and truant officer, helping to guide kids into school and off the streets. She sang in the church choir, for once using her voice to build rather than destroy. Dinah, for the first time since her mother was murdered, had found some measure of peace. A victory for a super heroine if there ever was one.
Bermuda
AquaMan surveyed the heavens with growing unease. He couldn’t put his finger on it yet, but something wasn’t right. His satellites and sensors that he had placed in orbit were more sensitive than NASA’s or those of other countries, so it would be some time before the governments of the world were aware of what he was tracking, but even AquaMan didn’t know what that was yet. He floated in his tank and checked his readings again.
“This can’t be good.” He whispered to himself.
League of Justice #3.0: “Their Currents Turn Awry”
There they found an emaciated looking man floating in a pool on water, kept afloat by two wolphins.
“Welcome. My name is AquaMan. I believe some of you know each other, but I am pleased to introduce you all to each other: Batman meet Superman meet Green Lantern meet Canary meet the Flash meet Wonder Woman and as I said, I am AquaMan. Pleased to meet you all.”
Earlier:
Batman was working on his supercomputer at his secret underground bunker at a Wayne Enterprises Applied Sciences satellite facility, a place he had come to call the Batcave. He got an anonymous instant message, that try as he could, he could not trace.
YOU’LL FIND OTHERS LIKE YOURSELF HERE. There was a set of coordinates.
Bruce Wayne later chartered a jet to Bermuda, wanting to take a holiday; perfectly normal for the billionaire college student.
***
***
Green Lantern and Wonder Woman were sent on a covert operation. Their orders were to infiltrate a hidden terrorist base on Bermuda and apprehend a fugitive who had just been added to the most wanted list. They left immediately.
***
***
Superman was asked to help a family in desperate need in Bermuda, their house was flooding and all their possessions would be lost if it could not be moved. A place was named. He flew off to help.
***
***
Canary won an all expense paid trip to Bermuda. What the hell, she thought. She’d never been on a vacation in her life. Sounded like a good time.
***
***
The Flash flashed into a dark cave. Standing there was a most unusual group of people. There was a man dressed as a bat, a woman in a green combat suit, another woman wearing tight robes who had bracers on her forearms and a lasso at her side. Another black woman wore motorcycle leathers and looked ready to rumble, and finally there was a man floating in the water. Allen himself was dressed in a red leather jacket with a lightning bolt patch on the left shoulder and a face mask.
“Hello.” he said. The rest nodded. The man in the pool of water spoke…
***
“I want to talk to you all about joining together for common purpose. For over 100 years I have watched the world, and wished for extraordinary people who would step up to lead, to protect, to serve the world when the world needed them. Quite without my planning, here you emerged. You are all superheroes, of one sort or another, each with a unique set of abilities, what some call powers. One by one, you are all formidable, and all have walked dark and sometimes lonely paths to get where you are today. I ask you not to abandon your current duties or tasks, indeed, you are all needed where you are, but I do ask that you make a pact to here come together again when I call, when there is a global need that cannot be met by just one or two of you, but a need that requires you all. I ask you to join my League of Justice, to stand and fight when the world is in peril. Will you join with me against that day?”
For a day they talked, sometimes argued, sometimes agreed, and at the end, all joined with AquaMan. All pledged their allegiance, for the good of the planet.
And thus, a superhero team was born: the League of Justice.
That terrorist was found to be a friend and ally. The family’s home was saved. Flash went home. Canary had a great vacation. AquaMan smiled, content that earth was safe.
Which it is. For now. But in space, sectors away, an old menace is awaking. A blackness is descending towards earth. It won’t arrive soon, but it will come, and maybe even the League of Justice will not be enough to stop it from destroying the entire planet…
League of Justice #2.9 “By Any Other Name”
Central City
Barry was exhausted. Phil helped him to arrange a flight home from Tunisia, and Iris was there to meet him at the airport, but it took several weeks to heal from the physical, and what was more, the emotional trauma of being a prisoner and a lab rat at the mercy of Lex Luthor’s scientists.
He pressed charges against Lex Luthor, but without hard evidence, the allegations and legal proceedings halted before they started. To further exacerbate his wounds, when Lex heard about the charges, while denying them all, he made the grand humanitarian gesture and paid for all of Barry’s treatments and medical bills. Barry hated him for it, but poor graduate students can’t be choosy about how expenses get paid.
Barry spent much of his time thinking. He had discovered that he had the ability to teleport over long distances. This ability was triggered by stress and focused thinking. Once home, he practiced , at first with a frustrating lack of results, but then with repeatable frequency until he could flash at will. He could even choose the direction and location of his flashes. He decided then that something must be done with this power.
With great power comes…something, and that something should be for the good of all humanity, Barry thought to himself. But what he planned to do couldn’t be in the name of Barry Allen. For one thing, his experiences with Luthor proved that there were people who would always seek to abuse his power for their own gain. Second, he couldn’t be certain that Luthor still wouldn’t come after him. So, he needed an alter ego, a persona that could be seen by the general public and the media and that would protect Barry from their scrutiny.
Given that it was a flash of lightning that created who Barry was now, and that his teleportation events felt like flashes, it seemed only natural that he would call himself The Flash.
And with that, a new superhero was born.
***
***
Smallville
Clark Kent awoke in his parent’s hay loft and for a moment was confused how he got there. Then he remembered: the hurricane, the Abby Gale, the flight round the world. But it seemed like all of that happened to someone else, a different person. He snuck out of the barn, being careful not to be seen by his folks, after all, he was supposed to be at college and didn’t want to have to explain how he was all of sudden home. It was still dark in the predawn, so he took advantage of his abilities. He flew to the edge of town, then walked over to his favorite diner. He pulled his hood up, and ordered a coffee. Drinking it, he sat in peace, but only for a few minutes.
Another patron walked over to him, a woman, dark skinned, and dressed in biker leather. She sat down next to him and peered at him intently. Without preamble she said:
“It’s you, isn’t it? You’re him!”
Clark wanted to ignore her, but couldn’t.
“Him who?”
“I saw you flying into town last night.”
Clark looked around in panic, but no one had heard.
“Don’t worry, your secret is safe for me. But how do you do it?”
“Who are you?”
“Dinah Drake, but they call me the Canary.”
“Canary. I don’t know how I do it. My name’s Clark Kent, by the way.”
“Nice to meet you Clark. You know, if you don’t want people to know you can fly, you should be a bit more careful.”
“Wait…it was you on the motorcycle wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, just got in from Gotham.”
“Gotham? That’s a long drive.”
Canary smiled. “Not all of us can fly. Besides, I like my cycle. It gives me freedom.”
“I bet.”
“So where were you flying from?”
Clark hesitated, but it felt good to tell someone. Over a breakfast of scrabbled eggs, bacon, and toast for him, pancakes and fruit for her, he told her the story about the hurricane. In return, she told him about Gotham. About growing up. About always being on the run. Humbled by her experiences, Clark revealed his heart. He told her he was an alien from a dead world, that that was the source of his powers. They bonded over being misfits and outcasts from human society.
“You know,” Clark said, “My mom is a wonderful woman. My earth mother. She would love to meet you, and she would give you a place to live. You don’t have to always be on the streets, alone. And I don’t know. If you tell her about what you’ve been through, maybe she can help. She does that very well, helping people. What do you say?”
Dinah strangely found herself trusting this man from another world but also from her world.
“I’d say that sounds wonderful.”
Clark took Dinah home to meet his parents. Within minutes, Ma Kent had her set up in Clark’s room and was shooing Clark back to Metropolis and college. He told his parents what he had done, and rather than be upset at the blatant use of his power, Pa Kent had tears in his eyes. “I always knew you were destined for greatness,” he said.
On the bus ride back to college, Clark did some thinking about what he had done, and how much he wanted to keep doing it. There were always people in trouble and always people who needed help who up until now had to take their chances. Clark wanted to help the people no one else could. But, he needed a way to do that without drawing attention. He needed a way to keep his ear to the ground. So he got online, Clark plugged into social media, and landed a job writing for the Daily Planet, a world wide online, grassroots newspaper. It was run and contributed to by people all over the world, normal people with an internet connection sharing stories about what happened around them. It was a global news source by the people the news happened to. But, Clark couldn’t tell his stories about himself. They had to be about someone else, someone larger than life. No one would believe that a simple guy from Smallville, Kansas could life a fishing boat or fly around the world anyway, so Clark told the stories about someone else. In a flash of hubris, but also good storytelling, Clark made up a character called the Superman. It was the Superman that saved the Abby Gale. It was the Superman who was on the lookout for more people who were in need of rescuing. The fishermen and sailors he saved were already spinning their own tales, so the internet took the Superman in stride. In fact, it wasn’t long before stories began pouring into Clark’s inbox, telling of other people in need of help, if only he could get a message to the Superman. And so Clark had plenty of things to write about as a globe trotting reporter, and the Superman had plenty of people to save. Based on his clothes, Clark even concocted a costume. He donned lightweight, form fitting blue exercise clothes and a red hood to hide his identity. In flight, the hood trailed behind him like a cape.
And with that, a new superhero was born.
***
***
Gotham City
Vicki Vale was a reporter for the Gotham Times. She was given the assignment to write about the takedown of the Scarecrow Killer by this vigilante called the Batman. After interviewing Lt. Gordon, lead detective on the case, she had her story and a front page article on Gotham’s newest criminal at large.
And with that, a new superhero was born.
***
***
U.S.S. Enterprise, Atlantic Ocean
Hal Jordan presented her report on the alien encounter the night before and got yelled at by Admiral Russo, but there was little she could do. She was transferred from his research division, along with Diana whom she refused to leave without, and was transferred to a top secret operations unit. They were tasked with the impossible missions that even Seal Team 6 or other elite military units couldn’t complete. Hal already had a codename, the Green Lantern, and after Diana demonstrated her superior fighting skills and superhuman physical condition, she was codenamed Wonder Woman. They started completing missions immediately and with great skill.
And thus, two new superheroines were born.
***
***
Bermuda
Aquaman floated in his tank, and watched it all unfold. It was time to initiate the dream he had dreamed since he was a child: assembling a team of unique people to watch over the earth with a purpose. That purpose? To protect and serve and to provide justice for the down and out, the downtrodden, those in need and those with problems the authorities and local agencies could not solve. This would be a league of people united in that purpose. This would be a League of Justice.
League of Justice #2.8 “Men My Garments Wear Part 2”
Gotham City
Batman tracked Jon Crane to Arkham Asylum. It seemed that Crane volunteered there for college credits. Arkham Asylum was an old psych ward, left over from less sophisticated days. Most psychological patients these days were in the psych wing of Gotham General, but some of the more violent psychopaths wound up at A.A., now a maximum security psych ward.
It was dark, late, no longer Hallowe’en. It was now morning on All Saints Day. Batman was clad in his brand new suit of Bat armor. Made from titanium and kevlar it was light, but strong. It was all black, and covered from head to toe. On top of his mask and cowl, he had two sharp ridges, like ears. His silhouette strongly suggested that of a bat. He wore combat boots, and built into his mask were night vision goggles and infrared sensors. He scanned the Asylum from a distance.
Everything seemed normal until he got to the basement. There he saw two figures, heat red against the blackness. One was spread eagle against a wall. Another was moving against it, repeatedly and violently. A rape! Batman growled, deep and low in his throat. It was a predator’s growl.
He grabbed a grapple gun from his tool belt. Crouching low, he shot a grappling hook to the top of the old brick wall that surrounded the Asylum. It latched on. Engaging the powerful winch, Batman rode it up the wall. Once there, he ran along the top of the wall until he found what he was looking for on the ground on the other side: a sewer access. Leaping down from the wall, his cape flared out, acting as parachute, slowing his fall and setting him gently on the grass.
Batman removed a small explosive charge from his utility belt, and threw it at the sewer access. It landed and detonated, blowing a hole, which Batman promptly smashed to bits with a nearby rock. Grabbing the ladder, rather than climb, Batman slid down it. Engaging his heat vision, he saw the Scarecrow now beating his victim. This must stop.
Batman made his way through dank and disgusting tunnels of filth, but then he heard screams. He was close! There, a glimmer of light!
Batman emerged from the shadows a great black battering ram. The Scarecrow, dressed as such, with smeared makeup and bits of straw sticking out everywhere, was a skinny young man. His victim, a young sixteen year old girl, was crying, bleeding, and beaten. The Scarecrow was completely bowled over by Batman, who stopped once he hit the Scarecrow to cut the girl loose with a bat-shaped knife from his utility belt.
“Run!” He growled. “There’s an access tunnel 40 feet back to the left. I will follow!”
He turned back to Scarecrow who had risen and grabbed a jagged knife, more like a broken saw blade.
“Come at me, Bats!!” He crowed.
Batman obliged with a spinning kick that sent a steel toed combat boot into Scarecrow’s stomach. Then two gauntlet covered fists smashed into his face, his gut, his temple, his nose. Scarecrow fell against a slimy wall. Batman lunged, Scarecrow dodged, and kicked Batman in the back. Batman whirled, then launched himself and tackled Scarecrow to the ground. In one move, Batman continued his motion and flipped upright. Whirling, he aimed a kick at the fallen Scarecrow. Again and again those boots crunched Scarecrow’s ribs. Batman grabbed his shirt and held him aloft. He drew back a fist and smashed Scarecrow in the face. He went limp, unconscious, barely alive. Batman grunted with pleasure, and draped the prostrate form over his shoulder. Turning, he went back up the sewers. Tying a rope from his utility belt around Scarecrow, he first climbed out of the sewer. There, huddled against the wall, was the girl. She was crying and shivering. Batman pulled off his cape and wound it tight around her.
“You’re safe now. Give me a moment.” He turned and pulled Jon Crane from the sewer. He was beginning to rouse, but the girl, when she saw him, punched him in the face and spat on him. Batman smiled.
“Nice right hook. But leave that to me.”
Another heavy punch and Crane was again unconscious. Batman tied him to a drainpipe, and left him.
“Now for you.”
Batman pulled his grappling hook from his belt, and again scaled the wall, this time slower and carrying a precious cargo.
On the other side, he pulled what looked like a small remote from his utility belt. Clicking a button, he waited. A few seconds later a jet black sports car rolled up. Opening the passenger door, he slid the girl inside. Going to his side, he got in and revved the engine.
About ten minutes later, the girl was receiving emergency care at Gotham General and Lt. Gordon was receiving a phone call. Twenty minutes after that, Crane was recovering in the prison infirmary.
All Saints Day dawned bright and clear.
Bruce Wayne was fast asleep in his bedroom at Wayne Manor, having exhausted himself at Gotham’s House of Horrors the night before.
Alfred politely declined all visitors.