Tag: comics

League of Justice #2.1: “Fly to Others”

An Unknown Island

Is everyone on this island female? I thought. Not that that is a bad thing, as I happen to prefer the company of women casually and sexually, but this is a little bizarre. Reminds me of some planet that Captain Kirk would visit: the Carefully Hygienic, Patently Beautiful, Stunningly Sixties Girl Planet. Ha. I crack myself up.

So, to recap, I was on a routine scouting mission testing a new type of combat jet aircraft, scouting nothing but what was supposed to be Atlantic Ocean when I hit something I couldn’t see, encountered a shit load of turbulence, and crash landed on a beach. And was found by a gorgeous woman who calls herself Diana. How’s that for a day in the life of a test pilot?

Apparently, somehow, this entire island is shielded which makes it invisible. No, don’t ask me, I don’t know how. It seems impossible, but then neither I nor the advanced sensors in the jet noticed the island I crashed into until most of my plane was crumpled, flaming metal.

Anyway, Diana is taking me to her people, I guess, who apparently are all women from what she is telling me. At least she promises food. Nothing makes a combat aviator hungry like combat aviation.

We finally get to a clearing, and it is clear they are shielding me from their society as they have laid out a picnic and I am told that a matriarch will come to see me. Yeah, don’t take the tiny outsider to your secret city on your invisible island. That’d be too much. I guess I really shouldn’t be so snarky. It isn’t like a castaway would get a tour of the bridge or the ops centre on the U.S.S. Enterprise if they were picked up lost at sea.

So, the food is good. Some sort of fire roasted animal, coconut and a few other fruits I can identify, plus a few I can’t. There are a few other women here, but none have said anything beyond introducing themselves. My god, are they beautiful. I would sleep with any of them at the drop of some panties and thank them for the privilege. No wonder they keep this island hidden. Every male and lesbian on the planet would be on their shores within minutes as soon as the word got out.

Sorry, I really must focus. Especially since the Matriarch is coming. And here she is. She is older than the rest, which makes sense. She welcomes me to the island, which is apparently called Isla Paraíso, or Paradise Island. I catch the eye of a particularly cute girl. Paradise Island, indeed – FOCUS, Hal. Focus! I am an honored guest, but will not be permitted to stay. I will be taken to the shore and sent off the island. No mention right now as of how, seeing as my jet is a burnt hulk. They will have someone go with me. Huh, at that, Diana perked up (heh- dammit, Hallie Jordan. Focus!). I bet she asks to go with me. She does and is denied. She looks super pissed. I wonder why. Oh well. They are clearing up lunch. I guess this is it. Another woman is introduced to me, Nepherie. Hello Nepherie. She is cold and austere and a pretty hot blonde. Oh, I give up. These girls are wearing nothing but white billowy robes. How am I not supposed to notice?

Anyway, ice princess takes me back through the jungle and to the coastline. Ah. Now I see how they want me to get home: my escape raft. How fortunate they recovered it from the wreckage, which I notice has mysteriously disappeared. All that remains of my unfortunate accident is a line of scorched earth. I’m obviously not going to be able to report the location of the island without my flight recorder. I guess I will have to report the jet lost at sea after engine failure or something.

Evidently these people know where the battle group is. Nice. Ice princess is giving me bearings to head to once I am at sea and away from the island. Well, nothing for it. Ice Princess wades out past the breakers to get me to calmer ocean, swimming the last part of the way. That was nice of her. She then dives beneath the water and I never see her again. I shrug. Her loss. I remove a plastic paddle from its straps and start paddling. This is going to take forever. Suddenly, the emergency beacon in my flight suit starts beeping. Oh, that will definitely help. I thought it was broken. I turn around and am shocked to no longer be able to see the island. I apparently just passed beyond their electronic frontier. Invisible islands. What will they think of next?

Still I keep paddling. No sense in sitting here idle. Besides, night is falling and the wind is picking up. It’s getting cold out here. I wish the island beauties had given me a blanket or something.

Something erupts from the water behind my raft. I turn expecting a dolphin or a shark or something. Instead, it is Diana. What the hell?

She is asking for asylum in the United States of America. A defector? From paradise? She is talking about how she feels trapped and wants to experience life outside the island. I guess that makes sense. I have no idea what I am going to tell my commanding officer about how I crashed into the ocean and somehow still managed to pick up a date, but I am sure with Diana’s help I can come up with something that sounds plausible. I haven’t decided if I will tell them about the invisible island or not. I wasn’t exactly told not to, but the matriarch did express a wish to remain hidden. Diana is telling me she’ll handle that. Oh good. I feel so much better.

At least she can help paddle. We strike our paddles into the water, and push towards the U.S. NAVY.

What a weird day.

League of Justice #2.0: “No Traveler Returns”

United Arab Emirates

Bruce Wayne stood and stared out of the window of his penthouse in the Burj Khalifa, the tallest building in the world. He was in Dubai for the annual Wayne Family Retreat, capital letters the way Alfred pronounced it, that his butler arranged for him every summer in the hiatus between school years. It was a chance to leave the gritty, dark streets of Gotham behind and experience the world. He had been all over the world to all the top cities since he was five. In the early days, Alfred went with him. Since he turned thirteen, Alfred sent him alone.

“You don’t need me to guide you, Master Bruce, or to hold your hand,” the butler had said.

And so Bruce was alone in the United Arab Emirates. He was looking forward to seeing the city, experiencing the night life, maybe even making a few friends. As it turned out, he would do none of those things. Alfred had other plans.

In a former life, before growing old and seeking work as a butler, and before being hired by Patrick Wayne, Bruce’s grandfather, to look after the Wayne family, Alfred led…a different life.

Alfred Pennyworth went by a different name. He was a different man. He was a soldier of fortune, a revolutionary, a patriot, an outlaw, a criminal, a brawler, and a gentleman. He fought in Laos, the Congo, Bosnia, Russia, Burma, Columbia, the Falklands – almost anywhere there was a fight, good pay, and the promise of a good time. He chased outlaws, terrorists, thieves, bandits – anyone whom he was commissioned to chase.

One man he was continually tasked to apprehend and bring to justice was a man labeled a terrorist by most of the world’s governments, a man named Ra’s Al Ghul. In all his years and all his time, Alfred only got close to Ra’s al Ghul on three separate occasions. The first, he had him locked in the scope of a sniper rifle.

“I’ve got eyes on target. Preparing to fire.”

“Roger, Falcon One. Firing is ordered.”

In the fifteen seconds it took to relay the message to headquarters, squeeze the trigger, and for the bullet to commence its flight, another man walked in front Ra’s al Ghul. Before the unfortunate savior’s body hit the ground, Ra’s had disappeared.

It would be years before the second time that Alfred got close, this time as a prisoner. Alfred was ambushed in the middle of the Sahara Desert on a hunt for a local militia leader while scouting by himself. The ambushers turned out to be members of the Underground Society, Ra’s organization. Alfred spent three weeks being interrogated and tortured before he gave up the location of the rest of his outfit. Ra’s was so impressed by Alfred’s tenacity and resistance to the abuse that he let him go and disappeared into the desert.

The third time that Alfred met Ra’s al Ghul, was two weeks prior sending Bruce to Dubai. They met at Wayne Manor, just outside of Gotham City.

“Welcome, honored guest.” Alfred bowed.

“I am welcomed.” Ra’s dipped his head in return of the bow. “Why have you summoned me here? Not to finally collect on my bounty, I presume?”

“No. I request a favor.”

“Interesting. Continue.”

“My ward, Bruce Wayne, has had a…difficult life. Because of this, he feels a yearning to fight injustice. He has tried to train himself to take on the injustice he sees, but he is unrefined, reckless, and lacking in formal training. I would ask you to give him the skills he needs.”

“Why me? Why a terrorist and an outlaw?”

“You once spared my life out of respect. I am hoping that man still exists. Bruce Wayne bears that same countenance. In another life, he could be your son, and I am too old, else I would train him myself. Besides, Bruce sees me as the doddering butler I have become. He knows nothing of the warrior I once was.”

“You are anything but doddering, my host.”

Alfred smiled. And with that, the interview was over. A sound outside the window drew Alfred’s momentary attention and Ra’s al Ghul vanished.

Bruce Wayne never did get to experience the nightlife of Dubai, at least, not until much later. That very day he was kidnapped from the Burj Khalifa. No one saw the kidnappers, no one knew anything. He simply vanished from his hotel room. His worthy butler flew to Dubai and demanded action by the authorities. He threw the weight of the Wayne name and fortune behind the manhunt, but for three months the effort was in vain. No trace of Bruce Wayne was ever found. Alfred returned to America and to Gotham to wait for the inevitable return of a casket instead of a man.

It was early November before Alfred saw Bruce again. By this time the act had become real and Alfred had despaired that Ra’s had actually killed Bruce.

It was a rainy, cold day in Gotham. Alfred was in the kitchen, brewing a bit of tea, when he heard the door to Wayne Manor open. He rushed out into the hall. There stood Bruce, but not Bruce. Alfred could see in his eyes, on his face, that a change had come. The wild, angry boy that left for the desert had returned a cold, furious man, molded and shaped.

Batman spoke.

“Hello, Alfred. Sorry I’ve been gone so long. You should probably call off the search now. I was…delayed. But I had a great vacation, thanks.”

Alfred smiled at Bruce’s wry humor.

“Master Bruce…I’m so glad you’re safe. Your father would never have forgiven me for failing to protect his son.”

Bruce smiled.

“I’m back and I’m fine, Alfred. I’ll tell you about it sometime. In the meantime, is there anything to eat? I’m rather hungry.”

Behind Bruce Wayne, Batman simmered, waiting to be unleashed. Ra’s al Ghul had trained him well.

League of Justice #1.9: “His Quietus Make”

Central City, Missouri

“Well, as far as I can tell, nothing is wrong with your vision. Perfect 20/20. As to why your vision suddenly got better and why your eyes changed color, I’m really sorry, but I can’t say.”

“Thanks, doc. I’m glad to know nothing’s wrong at any rate.”

“Well, there I can say: you are just fine.”

Barry Allen exited the ophthalmologist’s office reassured but still uneasy. It had been more than a week since his lightning accident, and he still didn’t have answers. And it wasn’t just his vision or his eye color that had changed. He was thinking quicker, moving quicker, everything about his life seemed faster somehow. And he couldn’t explain it. The best possible solution sounded like something out of a comic book: lightning combined with random chemicals, and charged heavy water mutated his cells. While such events weren’t unprecedented, usually death followed such mutations. As a rule, random mutations that were not evolutionarily based tended to be unhelpful. Cancer was a mutation. So were most genetic disorders. Mutation of things in the human body was usually a recipe for disaster. Somehow, Barry’s mutation was beneficial. Somehow, the lightning, the nature of the chemicals and his groundbreaking heavy water formula induced a quickening in Barry’s cells. He had noticed his metabolism was also getting faster. It was harder to get drunk, he was eating twice as much as normal and had lost extra fat around the edges.

Without a solid explanation and with a test group of exactly one, the only thing to do was to keep careful notes and go about his business. And business today was LexCorp. Lex Luthor’s mega-billion dollar corporation had research divisions into everything, and today’s research was heavy water. The experiment, despite the lightning, was still a success and Barry still had to present his results.

The LexCorp building was an smallish skyscraper, modest by Lex Luthor’s standards. The L-shaped Zephrymore Building in Metropolis that was world headquarters for LexCorp was head and top floors above all others, and would remain that way as Lex paid for a law to keep any other new construction shorter than a certain height. Barry shook his head and entered the lobby. How Lex built his buildings didn’t concern him as long as some subsidiary of Lex’s company paid for his research.

He walked up to the girl in the lobby, a Miss Lana Lang by her name tag.

“Hello, I am here for a briefing. Name’s Barry. Barry Allen.”

“Hello Mr. Allen. They are expecting you. Come with me.”

She led him to an-all glass elevator and up to a top floor. Off the elevator there was a glass walled room with a fantastic view of Central City. Also, there was a group of white coated scientists waiting around a conference table. Barry breathed deep. Lana noticed and flashed him a smile.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Half an hour later, Barry was unconscious.

An hour later…

Barry squinted into a super bright light. He couldn’t see anything else. He couldn’t hear much either. He tasted blood in his mouth and his head throbbed.

“Hello? What’s going on?”

Not expecting a reply, he was shocked to hear a kindly voice. It was being transmitted over some sort of communication system. More than that, Barry couldn’t tell.

“Hello, Mr. Allen. My name is Lex Luthor. I apologize for your treatment, but certain measures must be taken.”

“Wha..What is going on, sir? Didn’t you like my presentation on heavy water?”

Lex chuckled.

“It isn’t that, Mr. Allen. It is your remarkable accident that I am interested in. I read all about in the Central City Herald. Your girlfriend is such a…passionate…reporter when it comes to you.”

“You leave her alone!” Barry shouted, struggling against his restraints.

“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Allen. I have absolutely no interest in Ms. West, I assure you. I want you and your…abilities.”

“What? I can think fast, see better, and move quickly. You want that?”

“Of course, Mr. Allen. As your mind works quicker I am sure you can apply your abilities to say, a super soldier, or perhaps, an enhanced scientist, much like yourself, able to work much quicker towards a solution. Really, the possibilities are endless, and the applications limitless for a creature of enhanced speed. And to think, all this from a flash of lightning.”

“But I don’t know how it happened! I don’t understand it.”

“Oh, neither do I. But I do employ the best scientists in the world. Coupled with your research into your heavy water project and just a little cooperation, I am sure we will have the answer soon enough.”

“I’ll never help you!”

“Oh, but my dear Mr. Allen, you don’t have to, not willingly anyway. While you were unconscious my men took samples of your blood and tissues. We will keep you for observation and experimentation, of course. Your blood is only the beginning. And once we have our answers, we will let you go.”

Barry thought that unlikely.

“I think that is unlikely. I know who you are and I am not afraid to press charges.”

Again, Lex chuckled.

“Oh, but Mr. Allen. You are mistaken. It isn’t Lex Luthor who kidnapped you, not provably anyway. My voice can be faked, even my image, should you actually see me. No one you interact with will be identifiable. We are quite safe from your deluded ravings. Besides, I have a magnificent legal department. Last I heard you were quite penniless. Crime pays very well, Mr. Allen, and criminal lawyers are always worth the expense. No one cares about morality or even legality any more. The world is an economic world, and I have the only currency that matters: currency. Now, good night, Mr. Allen. You have a busy day ahead of you.”

With that, the lights snapped out, leaving Barry Allen in total darkness. He struggled, but uselessly.

“Well. This was an unexpected outcome of the briefing. And my mom wanted me to become a doctor.”

Quipping to the dark was meant to make it less threatening. It didn’t work.

League of Justice #1.8: “The Native Hue”

Central City Medical Centre
Central City, Missouri

Barry Allen awoke to a bright light and the steady beeping of heart rate monitors. He tried to look around, but found it was too painful.

“Dude, you’re awake!” The loud obnoxious voice was that of Barry’s best friend, Manuel Lago. They were randomly assigned roommates in their freshman year of undergrad, but now close friends. While Barry had gone into chemistry and the heavy sciences, Manuel was pursuing a PhD in applied engineering and mathematics. Often Barry would stumble on a discovery and Manuel could often figure out how to turn the discovery into a practical tool. Holding a few patents helped stave of starvation while the two continued their educations.

“Hush.” That was the soothing sound of love in the person of Iris West. Iris was a college newspaper reporter when she and Barry first met. She was covering one of his first big discoveries, and he was very eager to talk to her, though not necessarily about science. After a bit of a stop and go start, they became a constant couple. Iris now worked for the Central City Herald, one of the only remaining newspapers in the city, but still occasionally covered Barry’s work, though it had moved from front page college news to page six science column news.

“Hey you…how you feel?” the blurriness finally focused onto Iris’ lovely face. Her eyes were striking blue, and her hair the deepest chestnut. Barry felt he had never seen her as clearly before. Everything about her seemed to shimmer somehow. The colors were vibrant and effervescent.

Barry managed a groaning “oww” before he decided further audible communication would have to wait. His throat, lungs, and chest felt like they had been burned from the inside.

“Actually, you probably shouldn’t talk. You were struck by lightning three times and inhaled some vaporized chemicals along with some heavy water. The doctors kept you in a coma for a few days to make sure you didn’t have residual damage. But they say you should be ok, it will just take time to heal.”

Barry managed a nod. He remembered the lightning, the chemicals. Everything hurt. He felt something soft and warm on his lips. A kiss. That felt good. He must have managed a signal of some sort because the good continued, longer this time.

“Get a room, you guys…” That was Manuel again.

“Actually, Manny, Barry already booked the room. Maybe you should leave.”

“Ha. Right. I’m sure lightning boy will be doing all sorts of loving. But I gotta go anyway. Take care, buddy.”

Barry felt Manny squeeze his shoulder, saw him look over into his eyes, then he left his field of vision, a field that was promptly filled with Iris, and Barry didn’t mind the switch at all.

“Hey lover. I’m so glad you’re ok.” Tears filled her eyes briefly before she wiped them away. “I was so worried.”

Barry held her hand and tried to look as loving as possible. Hooked up to tubes and oxygen and catheters it was hard to manage, but manage he did. At least she smiled back.

A week later…

Barry coughed. Doing so was still painful. He was out of the hospital and at home under strict orders to rest. His first night of rest with Iris was a bit vigorous, but since his bones hurt and breathing hurt, after that she let him rest in peace. It took nearly a week before he could move without constant pain, and breathe without feeling like he was inhaling fire, but he slowly mended. Actually he healed much faster than the doctors first thought, but it felt long enough to Barry. It was at a week that he noticed the first alteration in his body: his eyes were now a dark shade of crimson. Where his irises had been brown, they had lightened to red, with flecks of yellow. He was shaving in the mirror when it suddenly hit him.

“That’s new.” he murmured. Beside him, Iris was applying her makeup.

“What’s new?”

“My eyes. Take a look.” He opened them wide and stared into Iris’ crystal blues.

“Wow. They’re red!”

“Yeah. I wonder how that happened?”

“A reaction? Can you still see ok?”

“Yeah, in fact, better than I used to. I don’t need my glasses anymore.”

“What? You’re kidding?”

“Nope. I have an appointment with an ophthalmologist later, but as far as I can tell I’m fine.”

“Wow. All that from lightning?”

“No, I think the lightning catalyzed the chemicals I was working with. As the lightning was striking, a beaker I had in my hand exploded. I felt the chemicals splatter all over me. That must be it. Once I get back to the lab, I am going to run some simulations.”

“Ok. But take it easy, Bear.” Leaning over, she kissed him hard.

“I will. I promise. Oh! I forgot to mention, my laptop wasn’t plugged in when the lightning hit, so it continued to record data. My heavy water experiment was a success. I have a meeting with someone at LexCorp next week to present my results. This could be my big break!”

“That’s wonderful. I can’t wait to cover it for the Herald. And then celebrate with you after.” She flashed a wicked grin before flouncing out of the bathroom.

Barry turned to follow, but realized he had only shaved half his face. Sighing, he stared back into the mirror and his new scarlet eyes and carefully laid razor to skin. By the time he was finished, Iris was just about to leave.

“See you later, darling Bear. I love you!”

“Love you, Iris. Happy reporting.”

She blew him a kiss and left.

Barry felt like the luckiest man in the world. After all, he had survived not one but three lightning strikes, still had a beautiful woman to come home to, and some new eyes.

Barry dressed for the day and wondered what else the lightning charged chemicals had done to him. He picked up his phone and sent a text to Manuel.

“Come to lab after class. Need 2 run xpermts.”

Barry felt charged with extra energy as he left the apartment and locked the door. It felt like there was an extra bounce in his step. On a whim, he decided to walk to class instead of riding the bus. It was a beautiful day, and good to be alive.

League of Justice #1.6: “The Undiscovered Country”

Isla Paraíso

The sky was dark, and threatening, lit from behind the clouds by a sun that wouldn’t shine today. The air was heavy with water and warm, warning of a storm to come.

Her feet pounded against the heavy sand whump whump whump in uninterrupted rhythm. Behind she left divots marking the path she made since she left the jungle.

The ocean waves crashed against the shore, relentless as her footfalls. She let her mind wander their dark and restless surface, then below, where the wet things roamed.

She remembered a day when she went swimming, farther off shore than ever before, racing dolphins. She was faster than most, but there were a pair of wolphins, dolphin-killer whale hybrids, that outpaced her, the first time anything had beaten her in a race other than the wind.

She loved her morning run, especially when it turned from jungle to beach. Isla Paraíso only had beach on half the island, a good fifty miles or so. The other half of the island was comprised of rock cliffs rising hundreds of feet from the ocean floor. Thick jungle with a few plains breaking out of the overgrowth covered the rest of Paradise Island.

She snorted, then regretted it as the snort interrupted her breathing. Paradise Island is what she and her sisters called the island, but it really was anything but paradise. Situated in the heart of the Atlantic, it was prone to be swept by hurricanes, in season and out. It was full of dangerous predators. And, other than the several hundred women who called it home, it was void of intelligent life.

But, she then recalled, there was plenty to make such a place like unto paradise: myriads of exotic birds, thousands of wild flowers in all colors and shapes. Everything seemed to be so vibrant and alive here, like it was protected and blessed in some special way. The pace of life was slow, uncomplicated, unhurried. At least, that would have been paradise for someone that wasn’t her. She craved adventure and excitement, which was why she enjoyed her runs so much. It was the one time of the day she could escape the doldrums and move as fast as her heart desired. While in the jungle, she had to be wary and alert to evade predators and venomous plants and quicksand and dangerous muck and ooze that could ensnare her and leave her somewhat easy prey. She loved the way her pulse pounded when a wildcat caught her scent and swept along in hungry pursuit. Never really in danger, her heart nevertheless quickened with the sensation of being chased in an earnest life or death struggle. She was strong and deadly herself, but one wrong step would leave her vulnerable. She reveled in the excitement of winning the chase when, without breaking stride, she leapt up into the trees and ran along the branches or swung from vines, or when she flat outpaced the wildcat, leaving it breathing hard and searching for slower prey.

She ran barefoot, as always, and relished the sensation of digging her toes into the sand, grabbing it, and throwing it behind her as she ran. She knew that an endless spray of grit was being left in her wake. She again reasoned, like usual, that Isla Paraíso was a paradise to her as well.

Diana reached her favorite place on the shore, a large broken rock that jutted out into the sea. It was an anomaly on this part of the island, there was plenty of rock on the other side, but not here. Diana leapt to the summit, and stood watching the stormy waves. They were gathering energy from the coming storm, more angry and violent than before. She paused from her run, breathing in the tangy salt air. There were few smells, even among the heady aromas of island flowers, that she loved more than the smell of the sea. To her it was a wild call for more than she knew, for a life lived beyond the confines of the island, no matter how paradisiacal. She longed to see what was beyond the sea.

She knew of course that out to the east lay Europe, and beyond it, Asia. That beyond the rock cliffs lay America, arrogant giant that fancied itself a ruler of the world. That above lay an Arctic Circle, and below her island lay an Antarctic wasteland of frozen ice and blinding white snow. She knew the world was vast beyond the confines of Paradise Island, but she was forbidden to see it. Diana and her sisters lived in exile, and had for hundreds of years ever since they found the island. Using selective breeding from the few males who first came with them, and then later science of their own devising, the sisters maintained an entirely female population, ruled by a matriarch. The Sisters of Paradise, as they called themselves, were stronger, smarter, and more potent than most strong men elsewhere on the planet. They were almost goddesses in the genetic perfection they had achieved, and so they named themselves as gods. Diana herself was named for an ancient Roman deity. Diana was the goddess of the hunt, of the moon, and of the giving of life. Diana loved the association, though she often smirked at the presumption of naming one’s daughter after a goddess. She was proud of the heritage her mother bestowed upon her by naming her Diana, and always strived to earn it, day after day.

Dismounting the rock, Diana continued her run along the beach. A light rain began to pelt down from the darkening sky. Diana didn’t mind the rain, mostly she ran fast enough to avoid all but the occasional drop, unless it down poured which it seemed it would do any…now. The falling water was so thick it obscured Diana’s vision, but she laughed and ran faster. Nothing unleashed her soul more than the wildness of the elements.

A loud crack and boom sounded overhead, but it wasn’t lightning nor thunder. Breaking through the clouds, a military jet, smoking and on fire, dove towards the beach. Another explosion rocked the craft, though it little mattered. In seconds the vehicle smashed into the beach in a plume of sand. Diana ran towards it, defying searing heat and striking flames. There was a pilot trapped in the cockpit, a woman. Diana raised a fist and smashed it through the clear canopy. Grabbing the pilot she jerked her from the plane, and ran backwards. There was no time to spare as the rest of the fuel and munitions the plane was carrying exploded spectacularly. A dark, oily smoke rose to join with the dark clouds of the storm.

Diana laid the unconscious pilot out beneath an overhanging banana plant. The large leaves gave shelter from the falling rain. Diana gazed at the military aviator, noting a lack of injuries. She then allowed her eyes to linger on the beautiful visage revealed beneath the helmet, which Diana removed. Diana wondered who the woman was, and how her plane managed to pierce the shielding the Sisters had erected around their island specifically to ward off intruders from the outside world.

Diana smiled. This was different. This excited her more than the wildcat, more than the run, more than the storm.

This was new.

League of Justice #1.5: “When We Have Shuffled Off”

Smallville, Kansas

Clark sat in the dim light of the bunker beneath his dad’s barn in the middle of Kansas. He was staring at a computer terminal, familiar and yet alien. It was built by a long dead society by his real father to yield to Kal-El (Clark’s real name) any information he needed.

The screen read: ENTER SEARCH TERM OR QUERY

Clark typed: KRYPTON

The computer loaded multiple articles on the planet, the word, history, economics, population studies…Clark stopped reading headings after the first 100. He sighed.

“What happened? Where are you?” He whispered to the semi-darkness. Without warning the hologram of Jor-El appeared.

“‘Pride goes before destruction and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ As it says in Proverbs. Of course, the assembled wisdom of all Krypton couldn’t save us from ourselves.”

“Wait, you know the Bible?”

“It was written, partly, by ancient Kryptonians who visited earth in disguise to learn of the cultures and environment. Of course, we intended to only leave behind scattered writings as humans. We had no idea our thoughts would one day be thought of as Scripture.”

“Woah.” Clark just let that one sink in a moment. “But what does the quotation have to do with Krypton. What happened to you? Why are you dead?”

“We are dead because we were arrogant and stupid. Our pride preceded our fall. We exploited and ravaged every single fertile planet in our solar system and beyond. We visited a wreak of destruction everywhere we went. We were smarter and stronger than any race we encountered and we assumed any resource we found was ours for the taking. We stole and we pillaged and we burned. We left nothing for anyone else. It was our undoing. Eventually the White Lantern took notice and sent the Black Corps to punish us. When they arrived we…”

“Wait. White Lantern? Black Corps? Who are they?”

“The Lanterns are intergalactic Peacekeepers who have been around as long as time itself. There are various corps who are tasked with different roles. The White Lantern rules all. The Black Corps deals in judgment. When the Black Corps arrived and started attacking our outposts, we knew our time was up. The Black Corps used to simply reset the balance. They would force an aggressive species back to their home world and allow them to slowly rebuild and explore more wisely. But the ages corrupted their purpose and they only sought vengeance and death. They were intent on our total annihilation. All of this occurred while you were still in womb.”

“So the Black Corps destroyed Krypton? How did I escape?”

“Eventually they did. At first we held them off. General Zod, leader of our armed forces, mounted a furious defense. At first we stood ground, but we were outmatched. The Black Corps beat us all the way back to Krypton. It was then I knew I needed an escape plan, but not for me. For you. Our sector’s Green Lantern visited and…”

“What do the Green Lanterns do?”

“The Green Lanterns guard justice. They are peacekeepers and judiciaries of disputes. Our Green Lantern was Maskill, and he was from a nearby planet, similar to Krypton, and Earth, in many ways. He visited and told me there would be no stopping the Black Corps assault. I asked him for help, and he promised to talk to the White Lantern, intercede on the behalf of life. He was about to leave when General Zod landed where we were and attacked Maskill. I didn’t think Lanterns could die, but so great was Zod’s fury that he completely overwhelmed Maskill and killed him. During the battle I fled. I knew then that saving you was the only way to preserve Krypton.”

“How did you do it?”

“I’ll tell you…”

Krypton, 18 years ago

Jor-El rushed into his home, breathing heavily. Lara, very pregnant, wobbled over to him. “Jor, what is it?”

“Maskill. He came to visit me. But Zod showed up. Killed him.”

Lara gasped. “Why?”

“Zod is consumed with rage. He knows we will lose to the Black Corps and Krypton will die. He spends his rage freely on anything that is against him. We must act quickly, I fear now we have little time. With Maskill’s death, the Green Corps will join the fight. We have less time than we thought.”

“Our baby?”

“Yes. He must endure, and with him the knowledge and life of Krypton.”

“Then let us do this now.”

Lara and Jor-El had been planning during Kal-El’s gestation how to save him, at the least, if all went ill in the battle with the Lanterns. Jor-El had built an escape vessel, loaded with an intelligent artificial brain, and with it Kryptonian genetic material. Should their son survive, so would the Kryptonian race. If he came of age, he could artificially inseminate and Earth woman who would give birth to a new Kryptonian. They programmed the ship for Earth, a planet the Kryptonians had studied long ago. Earthling biology was very similar to, if less evolved than, Kryptonian biology. Kal-El would survive and be disguised by the local population. The AI would chose carefully of the millions of potential landing sites to pick an optimal spot.

Performing delicate surgery, Jor-El and a medical robotic technician transplanted Kal-El from his mother to the capsule. Not daring to lose any time, the fetus would finish maturing inside the capsule, and continue for at least a few years on life support, if need be. It wouldn’t take that long to reach earth, but it might take that long to find a suitable surrogate family.

Safely inside, Jor-El programmed the ship to leave, and it did, with a quiet whumpff of anti-gravity engines. Jor-El and Lara held each other close and watched their son rocket off world.

It was then the Black Corps arrived. Two alien beings, each with two heads, scales, and bright feathers trailing down the spine appeared. They were naked, but upon claws they held black rings. They spoke, rasping.

“What is on the pod, and where does it go, Jor of the house of El?”

“Please, it is our unborn son. He is an innocent. I have sent him to exile on Earth. He will know nothing of Krypton and his unborn hands are innocent of our crimes. Let him live.”

There was silence, then one head spoke.

“So be it. You will die. Your crime is known and your punishment will be swift.”

The black rings glowed and suddenly Jor-El and Lara were ashes.

Smallville, Kansas

Clark Kent closed the door to the underground bunker. His heart was heavy with the knowledge of his parents’ death. He walked over to the farm house porch. His mother was on her rocking chair, enjoying the evening, sipping a lemonade. Clark was 17, and leaving the next day for Metropolis and college life. He had won a scholarship and would have a free education. But tonight he was filled with sadness, both for the parents he never knew, and those he would soon leave behind. Ma could see her son was upset. She rose up, walked to him, and pulled him into a tight embrace.

Somewhere, out in the prairie, a bird sang to the dying sun.

League of Justice #1.4: “That Patient Merit”

Smallville, Kansas

Clark Kent, now 15, emerged from the bunker beneath his father’s barn. He had come to refer to it as his “fortress of solitude”. It contained an alien space capsule. A capsule he had been placed inside when only a few days old, a capsule that contained a hologram of his father. My space father. Clark reminded himself. His real father, Jonathan Kent, would be heading out into his fields to work after breakfast. Harvest was soon.

Clark had grown with the knowledge that he was more than he appeared, more than everyone thought. Clark had known ever since he had known anything that he did not belong on Earth, that he was an outsider, a loner, one of a kind, an entirely different species. The reality was hard to accept, most days, because he had arms and legs and hurts and dreams just like all his friends and everyone he knew, but there was that capsule. And, there were, well…other things. As far as he knew, none of his friends had nearly unlimited strength, quickness, or the ability to fly. Clark could hear the slightest sounds at extended distances, see the smallest objects or those far away. He could even shoot lasers from his eyes. He was a freak of nature that he didn’t understand. To make it worse, he had acne, often tripped over his own feet, and was incredibly awkward. In other words: Clark was a teenager with extra headaches.

When he was a small boy, he discovered that he could see and hear much more than anyone else, and more than he himself wanted to hear or see. The constant assault on his senses was more than he could bear. His mother, Martha Kent, had spent extra time training Clark to focus on the sounds and sights he wanted to see and hear and to let everything else fade away into a background buzz. Still, most times Clark wore noise canceling headphones that blocked a majority of what he could hear, making him almost normal, and he wore dark glasses that forced him to only see what was immediate. It was explained to his classmates and teachers all his life as a disability, but Clark knew the real truth: in human terms, he was the superior man, the ubermensch that obsessed Friedrich Nietzsche.

At key points in his life, five years old, ten years old, and today on his fifteenth birthday, the capsule that once kept him alive also would reveal history, information, science, or family details in the form of the hologram of his father, a man named Jor-El from a dead planet called Krypton in a far, far away corner of the galaxy. Today the hologram showed him an interface hidden inside a wall panel, an interface that would allow him to search for any piece of information the seemingly endless database held. The training hologram was finished, the rest of his Kryptonian education was up to him. What he would do with it, Clark had no idea.

He took the porch steps two at a time, which meant a single step from ground to porch, and walked into the old farm house. The screen door closed behind him with a slight bang. It was September, but Kansas was still warm. The fading summer warmth swept through the house on the prairie breeze. Clark could smell his mother in the kitchen, and more importantly, the eggs and bacon she was cooking. His father, from the sounds of it, was still dressing upstairs.

“Good morning, Ma.” Clark hugged his mom from behind while she flipped bacon and stirred eggs.

“Good morning, Clarky. What did your father have to say?” He knew she meant Jor-El. Jonathan Kent was always “Pa”, just as she was always “Ma”.

“The rest is up to me. No more guided lessons. He showed me a built in computer, and how to use it. I can look up anything I want to, read anything stored inside.”

“Wow. Well, Happy Birthday from Krypton!”

“Ma-a” Clark elongated the final “a”. He was less enthused by his galactic heritage than was his mother, but then, Ma always was fascinated by anything and everything scientific. It was she that speculated how he could shoot lasers from his eyes: she postulated light emitting cells embedded in his retina, much like those in bioluminescent animals on Earth, but more powerful, that were focused by Clark’s lens and cornea in the reverse way in which they worked for normal sight. But, speculation it remained since the Kents had never let anyone closely examine Clark for “abnormalities”. His special abilities remained a family secret for now.

Meanwhile, Clark poured some coffee into a “World’s Best Dad” mug, and walked it up the stairs to his dad. He knocked on the door.

“Come in” came from inside, specifically the master bathroom. Clark could hear the scraping of his dad’s razor against his face. He was shaving.

Clark opened the door and walked past the bed into the bathroom. Pa Kent finally smelled the coffee.

“MMmm. That smells good. Coffee for the old man? Thanks, Clark.”

“You’re welcome, Pa. Oh, you missed a spot.”

For a brief second Clark’s eyes glowed red, then a small beam of scarlet light leaped from his eyes, ricocheted off the bathroom mirror, and ended on Pa’s face. There was a small flash and a wisp of smoke curled up from just above Pa’s chin.

“Ow! Scamp! I told you not to do that!” Pa’s anger was a mascarade. In truth the laser felt like a bit of a pinch, and wasn’t all that bright, just enough to singe hair. Clark and Pa were close, and they constantly teased each other. It was around Pa only that Clark felt comfortable being completely himself, relaxing into the full range of his super human abilities. Pa rubbed his face ruefully and sipped the coffee.

“Hm. That’s good coffee. Your mother must have been awake this morning when she brewed it.”

Clark smirked, leaking a small laugh. Martha’s intermittent coffee making skills were a long established family joke.

“Ma says breakfast will be ready soon. Better hurry or I won’t leave any for you.”

“Yeah, right. Then you can walk to school this morning.”

“I’d rather fly!”

“Yeah, that’ll be the day. You keep dreaming, Clark.”

Clark floated down the steps just because he could. Today was a good day. Someday he knew that his powers would be used for more than just playing or showing off. When one could do what Clark could do, it wouldn’t stay hidden for long. And once the world found out about it all, it all would change. When that day would come, or what it would hold, Clark didn’t know. All he could do was patiently wait, and remember what his father told him that morning, in the dim light under the barn:

“You will change the earth, Kal-El. You will be an impossible standard for humanity. They will strive to master you, but will be unable to match even your shadow. Be better than we were. In our arrogance we invited our own end. Use your power only for good, reach down from the heights, and build humanity up. They are young and violent and proud. You will fly in the sun and they will run to catch up. You are an example of the best they can strive towards. They are mere men. You are the super man.”

League of Justice 1.2: “We End the Heartache”

Gotham City

Rain was simultaneously beautiful and hideous when it fell on Gotham City. It was beautiful in the parts of the grand metropolis that still regained a facade of the respectable and the upright. It cleansed such structures and streets of the grime and filth of Gotham’s crime. It was hideous everywhere else. It overran gutters, flushing sewage down crumbling avenues. It liquified the grit and broken concrete, covering everything in a film of slime and oily ooze. Everything stank worse in the rain, and stuck to your clothes and hands and face.

Even so, Gotham in the rain was better than some places Dinah Drake had seen in the sun. When all you have are bad choices… Dinah mused. She was thankful for her tough motorcycle boots and armored leather. It gave her a layer of protection from Gotham’s muck. It didn’t make her smell any better, but it might reduce the number of showers she would need later. She wished she were astride her motorcycle, then at least she could also wear a helmet, but she needed stealth for this particular job, and her several hundred horses weren’t exactly quiet.

Taking advantage of her dark skin and black leather, Dinah moved from shadow to pool of darkness and back to shadow. Dinah had no idea who her father was, but he must have been of a lighter race than her mother. While still “black” to most people, Dinah was much lighter than her mother. Her mother’s blacker than night skin was velvety smooth, and as a child, Dinah had loved nothing more than resting on her mother’s chest, and staring into her deep, brown eyes. Moments of peace were hard to find in the Drake apartment.

Dinah pushed these thoughts from her mind, and concentrated. Up ahead was her target: Gotham Auto Loan and Pawn. No doubt another vulture picking over the down and out and nearly dead of the last of Gotham’s innocent, but poor, community. Who would be so desperate to remain in Gotham that they would put up their only way out as collateral on bad loans with such an obvious lack of a way to pay?

Dinah looked up and down the street. No one was in sight. This was the time. Closing the distance with quick strides that sent mini walls of water rushing away from her boots, Dinah rushed the door. Without breaking stride she kicked down the door and pulled a sawn off shotgun from beneath her jacket. Pumping a shell into the chamber, she barked at the geezer behind the counter.

“The cash. Now! In the bag!” She tossed a leather saddle bag at him. Going slowly, he fumbled with the keys to the drawer beneath the counter that held the larger bundles of money. The register, as Dinah knew, only held petty cash. “Move faster, old man.” Dinah spared a glance out the door, but still saw no one. Damnit! Where are they? A place such as this should be guarded by mob muscle. That they hadn’t shown was slightly more disturbing than if they had.

Finally the bag was filled. The man behind the counter slid it over to Dinah. She grabbed it, lowering her shotgun while doing so.

“Freeze, bitch.” The words were quiet, but dripping with menace. She felt the cold circle of a gun barrel press into her neck, tight against her spine. “One move and I’m raping a headless corpse. I’d do it to, cuts down on the struggling.” Where do all of these sickos come from? Gotham seemed to have more than its fair share of psychotic criminals. “What now?” Dinah kept her voice even.

“Hand the howitzer to Gerald.” Dinah held out her gun. The old man took it and aimed it at her. She gun at her neck backed away. “Spread em, bitch.” Dinah was spun around and shoved up against the wall. She saw then a doorway that she neglected to see when she busted into the place. Rookie mistake. You know better, girl! Her captor, whom she still hadn’t seen, patted along her arms and shoulders, down her back, and then, much more slowly, down her front, making absolutely sure she hadn’t hidden an armored tank division in her bra. Dinah endured the violation. She’d had worse, surprisingly, give this particular creep’s apparent taste. The hands reached her waist. He clicked his tongue.

“Too bad about the leather. I like me some smooth black skin.” Her penchant for jeans didn’t stop him from taking his time making sure she hadn’t stuffed an aircraft carrier down either side of her panties. He moved on to her legs. “Sorry, I left the fishnets and high heels at home, dick.” She took a risk with the insult, but the man just gave a grunting chuckle and finished his assault. “You are one stupid bitch. Now, you’re gonna scream for me.” He shoved himself against her, apparently not caring that he had a witness behind the counter. Still, Dinah obliged. She screamed.

An astoundingly loud and piercing sonic blast emitted from her mouth. The force of it snapped her head backwards and into the creep’s nose. It cracked audibly. In front of her the wall crumbled, cracking outwards from what looked like an impact crater from a non-existent projectile. Spinning, she savagely slammed a knee into the creep’s crotch and while he was sagging to the ground, Dinah screamed again, but with a lower volume and a higher pitch. In fact most of this scream was ultrasonic. The old man groaned and clutched his head. Blood trickled from his nose, ears, and eyes. Every bit of glass in the place shattered. He dropped the shotgun with a clatter onto the counter. Moving quickly, Dinah grabbed the bag of cash and her gun. She stabbed the barrel down into the creep’s face where it moaned from the floor. “Fuck this.” She pulled the trigger. The concussive blast shook the walls and counter. Dinah spun on her heel and ran out into the rain.

Death was nothing new to her, and besides, she felt less remorse than when she crushed a cockroach. Some breathers didn’t deserve the breath. Besides, living a desperate life had moved her past simple morals and quaint righteousness. A long time ago she had been left to fend for herself at the worst possible time in her life. A few years of selling everything and ruining her life out of survivalist necessity had hardened her to the choices she made. When all you have a bad choices, you choose the least worst option. Robbing thieves and murdering murders wasn’t even a bad choice in Dinah’s worldview. This was practically a good day.

A few blocks down the street, she arrived where she had hidden her bike. Securing the saddlebag, she revved the engine. Now that silence was unnecessary, she relished the roar. With a spin of the rear wheel, she shot off down the road. Water cascaded in crystal sheets. With the sun peaking out of the clouds behind her, ahead all she saw were shimmering rainbows.

For a second, the bleak dark world seemed to be a magical place.

League of Justice #1.1: “The Thousand Natural Shocks”

Central City, Missouri

Barry Allen hated running. He really, really hated running. As a young man he had been more interested in reading and school work, and as a result, never made time for athletics. The other kids on the playground used to love to race and run about, but the naturally slow Barry preferred to sit under the trees and work math problems. By the time he was a teenager, Barry had minted a catchphrase: “The quick of mind will always beat the fleet of feet.” It didn’t save him any harassment from the bullies, but it helped sooth his wounded feelings when his peers laughed at his discomfort.

As a young scientist, and PhD candidate, he was sometimes forced to run, especially when he overslept and was late for class. Again. Skidding to a halt inches in front of the large, glass doors that led into Garrick Hall, Barry stopped to take a few deep breathes. Garrick Hall was the main math and science building on the Midwestern University Campus. MU wasn’t as big as Metropolis University across Missouri in Kansas, but it was known for being a more intimate community of scholars. While every bit as prestigious, the “other” MU as Midwestern students called it, catered more to the rich and the famous and the upper class. Barry was a farmboy from Fallville, Iowa, and the smaller MU suited him perfectly.

Barry smoothed down his hair and absentmindedly tried to tuck in his shirt, but failed completely and completely failed to notice. Taking the steps two at a time, he scaled three flights of stairs, and walked down the empty hall to his classroom. He tried not to make eye contact with students in the other classrooms as he walked by. Finally he reached room 312 and opened the door as quietly as he could. He slipped into the back row of chairs and sat down.

The class was some variant of Organic Chemistry, and while Barry half listened to the lecture in progress, his mind worked an entirely different problem. Barry was currently obsessed with a new method to produce heavy water that would take half the time and a fraction of the energy currently needed to produce the coolant for nuclear reactors. He had been conducting an experiment all night, which is why he had slept late for class. He felt he was close to a breakthrough.

Later that night…

A bluish flame burned atop a chemical burner, and a cauldron-like flask bubbled. Elsewhere on the lab table, chemicals oozed through pipes or gradually mixed into compounds. Barry Allen was hunched over a laptop entering a large amount of data and simultaneously monitoring his experiments. He doubled checked some results, and toiled over a maintenance program on his supercomputer mainframe that was running a simulation. If he didn’t get the results he was looking for, he would be in serious trouble. He had procured a grant from the prestigious Wayne Foundation for the Sciences, but one thing foundations that granted grants wanted were publishable results. Without them it was hard to secure funding from their wealthy donors. None of that would matter, however, if Barry did succeed. He had secured a conditional contract for use of his formula from LexCorp, the industrial giant run by businessman Lex Luthor. Conditional meaning on the condition that his heavy water synthesis method was useful in some way. Luthor paid well, but only for working prototypes and applications. Otherwise he would blackball a scientist into oblivion. That was the danger of working for Lex Luthor: rich if you made it, forgotten if you didn’t. But Allen was running out of options to continue his education and fund his research, and couldn’t afford to turn down funding, no matter how shady the source.

Outside Allen’s lab, a heavy rain had begun to fall and in the distance, thunder rolled ominously. Barry barely heard it. He rushed from one side of his bench to another. Grabbing some large rubber gloves he grabbed some forceps and carefully lifted a test tube half full with green liquid. He slowly poured it into a flask that contained a purple powder, and ever so gently swirled the two substances together until they mixed. He turned to check the bubbling cauldron and noted the temperature on the attached gauge. Just a few more seconds. He set the flask down and removed his gloves. He pulled a tattered notebook from his pocket and opened to the first blank page. He scribbled a few notes before putting it down. Consulting the thermometer again, he saw that the liquid had reached the desired temperature. He picked up the flask, and stepped up onto a stool next to the lab bench. From here he was able to peer through the steam and into the cauldron. Taking care not to spill or splash, Barry poured his mixture into the boiling liquid. Instantly a thin stream of blue steam lifted into the air, but Barry ignored it. This was expected. What came next was entirely unexpected.

A loud crack of thunder shook the entire lab. From the corner of his eye, Barry saw a bolt of lightning descend from the dark clouds and arc towards the skylight in the lab. Everything afterwards seemed to take place in slow motion:

The lightning jumped to the skylight’s metal frame, shattering the glass. Barry hunched his shoulders and ducked his head against the rain and descending shards. From the frame, the lightning leaped to the top of the chemistry apparatus. It immediately spread throughout every metal frame and connection. It arced through the air, exploding the Bunsen burner and instantly boiling the liquid and the mixture therein. Barry felt a pricking in his thumbs and every hair on his body stood on end and repelled each other. A second and a third flash of lightning hit the exact same point on his set-up and this time shot right through his body. The flask he was holding shattered and for a nanosecond, the mixture within seemed to coalesce into a single point before expanding rapidly in every direction. Barry simultaneously inhaled the gaseous mixture, swallowed what was left of the liquid form, and felt the substance splash onto his skin, leaching into several slashes made by falling glass. A fourth bolt of lightning struck and with a loud bang everything went dark after a final eye searing flash.

League of Justice #1.0: “The Law’s Delay”

Gotham City

“Scum.”

The word once uttered was more growl than intelligible speech, not that it mattered. Once the gloved fist impacted the side of the head, the explosion of pain triggered a deep ringing that made hearing difficult.

“That’s the last time you’ll mess with the Phantom Stranger!”

Phantom Stranger? Is this guy for real? Despite the pain, scattered thoughts still filtered through the would be mugger’s mind. He would have followed that thought up with an audible retort, but the masked man that had gripped his shirt with one hand was landing another blow, this time across the nose, with the other hand. There was a crack and blood spurted. The crook decided cowardice was the better part of criminal enterprise, and blacked out.

The Phantom Stranger released his grip. His former punching bag sagged against the alley wall and slid to the ground like a bag of broken bones. In all likelihood, that was bound to be not just metaphor.

The Phantom Stranger reached down and retrieved an expensive looking leather handbag. He offered it to the woman standing on the other side of the alley, frozen in place.

“Here you go, ma’am. And next time, I’d park in a more well lit area if I were you. Gotham’s dangerous enough in the daytime.”

She took it without a word, and walked as fast as she could back towards the street. The Stranger watched her go.

The Phantom Stranger turned and climbed up a fire escape. Reaching the building roof, he strode to the edge and looked over the street. He watched as the woman made it back to her car, and only when she was safely inside and pulling away did he relax. He pulled off the ski mask he was wearing and ran a gloved hand through his hair.

Bruce Wayne flexed said hand, and vowed to sew more padding into the glove when he felt the familiar sharp pain of bruised bone. Criminals may be stupid, but skulls were still too hard to hit without consequence. Bruce briefly remembered the mugger in the alley. Usually he preferred to leave the thugs for the cops, trussed and waiting, but without evidence of a crime there was little point. Besides, Bruce was noticing that most of the crooks he did deliver to the police, evidence helpfully pinned to their clothes, didn’t end up behind bars. Someone seemed to have sway over the law which meant little jail time for offenders. Bruce was still working up his list of suspects, but it didn’t take a genius detective to connect dots. Crime in Gotham was a family business, and the Falcone family was large and prosperous and slightly beyond the reach of a seventeen year old vigilante.

Bruce’s phone buzzed. He edged back into the shadows before picking it up. The caller ID showed as “Wayne Manor”. Only one person ever called from that line.

“Yes, Alfred?”

“Ah. Master Bruce. How nice of you to answer. May I assume you are still at the library?”

By library Alfred Pennyworth meant Gotham Public Library, where Bruce had said he was going to be.

“Uh, yeah. Still studying.” Bruce was distracted, watching a bum in a ragged coat shuffle down the street. He couldn’t decide if the man was drunk or suspicious.

“That would be an achievement indeed as the library closed an hour ago. Where are you, Master Bruce?”

Bruce cursed. Caught again, and by his butler!

“Oh, right, uh, I mean I’m in the parking lot of the library. Still, uh, studying.” Bruce cringed. What a stupid excuse.

“Indeed. Shall I come collect you?” Alfred’s voice was cold as ice. He was upset. Because Bruce’s mother was dead and his father a coma patient, Alfred had assumed the role of surrogate parent.

“No. I’m on my way home.” The bum had collapsed against a dumpster and had presumably fallen asleep. No real threat there.

Bruce hung up on Alfred and retreated back down into the alley. By the time he emerged onto the dimly lit street, he had removed the mask and gloves of the vigilante known as the Phantom Stranger and had morphed back into Bruce Wayne, aspiring high school graduate. As a matter of fact, he should have been studying. Alfred was pushing him to finish with the same good grades he had always gotten so that he could apply to the prestigious Metropolis University, not that a Wayne would be denied entrance to any university in the country. Bruce’s family fortune guaranteed admittance.

Descending into the Gotham Metro, Bruce contemplated his chosen life, and not the public one that everyone knew. Even Alfred was unaware of the Phantom Stranger and Bruce’s penchant for late night pummeling. Ever since he was a kid, Bruce had felt a churning rage and frustration. He hated injustice and couldn’t stand criminal violence. He often wondered why it seemed more people didn’t stand up for themselves and fight. Without being fully aware, Bruce always felt like his parents’s death was preventable, and hated his younger self for remaining frozen while they were gunned down. He had promised himself he would never be that scared kid again.

He still remembered the first time he actually intervened against a bully, at school one winter a few years ago. The power and the sense of justice he felt was potent. Soon after, Bruce started looking for fights, and not just with school bullies. Leaving a Gotham Raiders baseball game one summer evening, Bruce noticed two guys grab a backpack from a older man after savagely pushing him down. They ran off with their prize, and without thinking Bruce was after them. Three blocks from the stadium he caught up to them. Up close, they were bigger than he was, and not at all intimidated by a kid, but Bruce didn’t even think. He demanded the bag back, and when they refused, grabbed for it. He acquitted himself well, but failed, and had to explain the blood and bruises to a curious butler later. After that night, he trained harder and decided to give himself a bit of an edge. Also he realized it wouldn’t do to be beat up as Bruce Wayne. He was, after all, fairly famous. And thus, the Phantom Stranger was born.

Arriving at the library stop, Bruce, exited the metro car and climbed the stairs to the outdoors. Summer was nearly here and he would soon graduate. Alfred would insist on another summer long journey to some far off country for a three month vacation or “cultural learning experience” as he called them, and then it would be off to Metropolis and college. Soon the Phantom Stranger would disappear from Gotham’s streets.

For some reason Bruce couldn’t quite pinpoint, that burned somewhere deep inside.

He swung his leg over his motorcycle, left in the library parking lot, and revved the engine. Pulling his helmet on, he glared into the darkness. With a spin of the tires, he gunned off for Wayne Manor. For tonight, the Phantom Stranger was off the clock. Bruce Wayne had finals to study for, and this time, for real.