Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 55:‌ ‌ A Shrouded Future

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ AdamantAce

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

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“Alright, ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just crossed the US-Canadian border into Alaska. We should have you at your destination in about an hour.”

Clifford nodded to himself in response to the information from the loudspeaker, reclining in his seat and looking out the window. Mari McCabe’s private jet wasn’t exactly humble, full of soft white seats and polished wooden tables, but its bare use meant that it wasn’t stocked with anything to eat or drink. He felt hungry, yet thinking about what was waiting for him at the end of this flight simply stole away any appetite he might have had. His stomach was full of empty air, laced with the anxiety that came with not knowing what was going to happen next.

Capucine sat across from him, polishing her sword with a wet rag. The blade itself was already well taken care of, signalling to Clifford that Capucine was doing this mostly to take her mind off of things. As much as she was trying to hide it, she was just as nervous as he was.

The jet engines continued to roar outside, filling the air with its dull, deafened cry. Clifford tapped his fingers against the table, then leaned towards Capucine, “You alright?”

Capucine stopped, cloth halfway down the length of the blade, and looked up at Clifford, “Yes.”

Clifford grimaced, “I don’t know if I believe you.”

Her eyes narrowed, “Didn’t we have a conversation about trust just yesterday?”

Clifford grimaced, “Sorry, I just… I wanna make sure we’re both being honest. You’re calmer now, but that doesn’t mean you’re alright.”

She grunted, then placed the sword in its sheath and tossed the rag onto the table, “Do you mean to be my therapist, Baker?”

“I mean to be next to you out in the field,” Clifford replied. “I just don’t want you to… I don’t know. This isn’t the time to just put on a brave face.”

“I think it’s the perfect time to put on a brave face,” Capucine said. “To openly express fear is to be ill prepared for what lies ahead.”

“Maybe, but there’s only so many times you can put on a brave face before the strain breaks you,” Clifford said. “Trust me, I know from experience.”

“And what experience is that, Clifford Baker?” Capucine said. “All human beings fear. What we must understand is that our fear is an obstacle. It must be contained if we are to do anything of risk.”

Clifford frowned, “Maybe… I…. I don’t know. There are just so many unknowns here and I know you were nervous before. I just wanna make sure that you’re okay.”

He leaned back in his seat, sulking, and for a moment, Capucine simply stared at him. Then, she snickered, barely able to contain herself before laughing. Clifford crossed his arms, “Hey! What’s so funny?”

“Tehehee,” Capucine giggled, a sound that felt uncharacteristic of her. “I appreciate the concern Clifford. I am a little afraid. I’m sure you’re also scared… but we’re on our way, and I have confidence that we’ll be able to sort things out when we get there.”

Capucine leaned back in her own chair, visibly more relaxed. Clifford sighed, then looked out the window, tapping his foot against the floor.

Their destination couldn’t come soon enough.

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Levi Kamei sat inside his tent, feeling the cool air draft in and out from the gap between the fabric and the ground. Lost in thought, he leaned back into his hammock, locking his fingers together into a sort of steeple shape. He had an impossible choice to make, one between duty and doubt. He was the Seeder, an agent of the Green, and this was perhaps his most important assignment yet. He was bound to carry out their will, to destroy the fledgling force that was the Pale Wanderer and his Parliament of Gears. It wasn’t something he was initially against, having seen firsthand what the Wanderer was trying to do. His actions sowed chaos and caused much harm.

Yet, despite all of that, seeds of doubt had been planted within him. He had intentionally sought the advice of Alec Holland, the previous Swamp Thing, and had been told what kind of sacrifices he would be asked to make, things the Green never told him. Just as prominently, when he arrived here, he was surprised to find Maxine Baker, Avatar of the Red, here as well. She and her companions had thrown in with the Wanderer, a fact that baffled Levi to no end, but it was only when she brought his terms that he began to understand. The Wanderer was more akin to a child than anyone malevolent, and having understood the chaos he had wrought, he wanted to do better while accomplishing his goals.

And that included getting in conversation with the Parliament of Trees, who doubtlessly had no intention of meeting with him.

A part of him just wanted to get things over with. Rush the Pale Wanderer down and end things one and for all, but a different part of him reckoned that this was a point of no return. If he thoughtlessly did as the Green ordered, he’d be like Alec Holland, mindlessly serving until everything he held dear was stripped from him.

Levi heard the flaps of his tent bristle, and turned to see the leader of the Sureen enter. He had bundled up a bit more because of the cold weather, but was otherwise the kindly old man Levi had always known him to be, “Seeder, how do you fare?”

“Mmh, as well as to be expected,” Levi said, rubbing his eyes. “This whole thing is a bit of a mess.”

“I don’t see what’s so messy about it, Seeder?” The leader said. “The Pale Wanderer is a danger to the Green. You have the power to destroy him.”

Levi grimaced, then looked up at the old man, “My friend… what was your life like, before the Sureen?”

The man smiled, “Hmph, I was a child of course. I enjoyed simple pleasures and when I grew up, I enjoyed more… adult vices. That was before I found my true purpose, a time when my rampant hedonism had a cost paid by others beside myself. A part of the reason I joined the Sureen was because I realized that the Green was paying a cost on behalf of all the forces. The Parliament needs as much help as they can get, and I was all too glad to lend myself to them.”

Levi nodded, “I appreciate the sentiment, but the Green isn’t the only force here paying a cost. Alec Holland gave much to the Green, and not all of it willingly.”

The leader’s smile, normally quite cheery, dampened just a bit, “Alec Holland did not understand the gravity of his choices. He put the Parliament of Trees in a very difficult position, and many people paid for his failings.”

“Caring for his son was a failing?” Levi asked. “Do you earnestly believe that?”

“You must understand, Seeder. We are still feeling the ramifications of his choices, even today. We will probably feel them for decades more to come,” The leader said. “The world has been knocked off its axis. We live in such uncertainty now, such anarchy. It is why the Pale Wanderer must be destroyed. He is the manifestation of all this madness.”

Levi looked the leader in the eye, “Is it madness, or change?”

The leader of the Sureen glared at Levi, a look that made the moss on Levi’s cheeks shrivel and almost shrink away from him, “The balance of the world has been ruined. If we are to have any hope of restoring the world to its rightful state, then we must nip this insanity in the bud.”

Levi grimaced, “The Wanderer just wants to talk. That can’t hurt, can it? How is diplomacy insanity?”

“Enough,” the leader shouted, his voice carrying a surprising amount of weight. “This talk is seditious and unproductive to the carrying out of the Parliament of Trees’ will! If I were you, Levi Kamei, I would quash your doubts sooner rather than later. You are the Seeder, and it is your duty to carry out the will of the Green.”

The leader’s hands closed into fists, “And if you think otherwise… you have seen what happens to those who choose their own interests over those of the Parliament.”

The leader whirled around and left the tent in a huff, leaving Levi in absolute silence. The Sureen were not the Green, as far as Levi could tell, but he had almost gotten used to their cultish devotion to the force, believing it to be a sign that they were truly dedicated to the right thing. How could serving the plant life of the world be the wrong thing?

Somehow, the Parliament of Trees had cast a shadow of doubt over that sentiment, and now it was Levi’s turn to decide where this mad ship was going to go.

He hoped he wasn’t about to make the wrong choice.

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The air was thick with the smell of death as the forces of the Pale Wanderer, a sea of skeletons and zombies, began to wander up the hill, keeping at least ten yards back from their master, William Holland. The Avatar of the Rot had raised a veritable army, though he of course had high hopes that he wouldn’t have to use it. Flanking him were his sister, Tefé Holland, and her companion, Maxine Baker. The two had been against the Wanderer’s machinations for a long while, but to his knowledge they had been convinced of the plan now that the Wanderer’s methods had changed. Ahead of the three of them was the man himself, who walked with a surprising amount of timidness. Normally brash and bold, the Wanderer had the posture and language of a fifteen year old on his first date. Despite how distinctly human the feeling was, it did not fit the Wanderer’s swaggering style at all, and made him all the more alien.

As the forces of the Pale Wanderer crested the hill, they stopped at the summit, face to face with Levi Kamei, the Seeder. The Sureen, who number in the dozens, stand behind him, bare feet swaddled by grass that has grown despite the layers of snow that used to bury it. Levi’s face was blank and expressionless, signifying that he intended to keep a poker face, at least to start.

The Wanderer cleared his throat, “Got your message to meet. You don’t plan to shank me, do you?”

“If I wanted to start a fight off the chain, I would’ve done it already,” Levi said. “Before I kick anything off though, I wanna ask you something.”

The Wanderer straightened his back, “I’m all ears.”

Levi stared at him thoughtfully, “I’ve heard a lot about you, but I’m only now reckoning with the fact that this is the first time we’re meeting face to face. I’ve struggled quite a bit when it came to deciding what to do about you, and it only got harder the more people voiced their input, so don’t bullshit me when I ask this… What are you?”

The Wanderer raised an eyebrow, “What-Well, I’m the Pale Wa-”

“I already know who you are, Wanderer,” Levi asked. “What are you?”

The Pale Wanderer froze up at such a question, particularly in regards to its open endedness. For a few seconds, he didn’t quite know how to answer, but eventually, he elected to throw thinking on it out the window, “I am… a stranger to this place. I came into this world half-formed, pulled in all kinds of directions. Used to be a time when people had ambitions for what the future would be like, plans that actually benefitted the world. Now, everything’s all muddy and hopeless. We’re shambling towards ruin because we’re too afraid of what could be, so we cling to what is, or worse. We chase a past that’s far in the rear view mirror, and one we look upon with rose tinted glasses.”

The Wanderer took a deep breath, “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. I’ve tried to jump ahead of the curve without thinking, and I only realized recently that fumbling blindly towards the future ain’t the right way to do things. As much as I think the Green does wrong… I need their wisdom, and I think if they want what’s best for the world, they’ll hear me out.”

He looked Levi in the eye, “So I suppose that’s what I am… or rather, what I mean to be. That answer your question?”

Levi nodded, “I suppose it does.”

The Pale Wanderer nodded, “So… do we have an accord?”

Levi did not answer immediately, and for a moment, only the howling wind filled the air. Tefé, Maxine, and William watched in trepidation, clearly unsure of which way this was going to swing. The Sureen stared with similar intent, fearful of how up in the air everything was.

Eventually, Levi nodded… and held out his hand for the Wanderer to shake, “We have a deal.”

At first, there’s no adverse reactions. Everyone is just holding their breaths, waiting for things to be truly settled. The Wanderer grinned, “Well, thank you kindly. We can all breathe easy now.”

The Wanderer shook Levi’s hand, and that’s when everything started going wrong.

The moment their hands made contact, Levi felt something pulse through his entire body. He fell to his knees, convulsing, and began to cough up leaves and nectar in front of the shocked Wanderer. The moss on his face wilted and died, peeling off like burnt skin. Behind him, The Sureen began to change, the grass enveloping their bodies and bathing them in roots and vines. They closed their eyes, eagerly accepting the transformation, and in a matter of seconds, they were human no longer, their bones twisted and their flesh perforated with plant matter. Levi, now fully human, glanced back at the fully transformed Sureen, though given how comfortable they were in these forms, he couldn’t be sure of what they were anymore.

The Wanderer grabbed Levi, pulling him backwards towards his shocked companions, frozen in feart at this transformation. Each member of the Sureen now bore the spitting resemblance of the Swamp Thing, though each had varying alterations to their forms. Some had antlers akin to deer made of tree bark, others had crowns of flowers, or blue eyes instead of green. The head of the Sureen, now the head of this army of Swamp Things, stepped forward, “Did you truly think we would leave your education up to pure chance, Levi Kamei. Do you think we would trust anyone else but ourselves?”

Levi’s eyes widened, “It was… you? The whole time?”

“Yes, the Parliament of Trees has watched your work, and while we hoped you would live up to your promise… it was all for naught,” The leader of the Parliament’s hand began morphing into a sharp wooden blade. “It is clearer now, more than ever, that it is time to start anew.”

He scanned the crowd, laying eyes on everyone there, “...Spare the Avatar of the Red… leave no other standing.”

The Parliament of Trees surged forward, their thunderous steps heralding the biblical doom yet to follow. Death had come for the Wanderer and his companions, and now, in this moment, they were never more ill equipped for it. Levi watched in horror, terror gripping his heart.

Had he made the wrong choice after all?

Next Issue: War!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

GUARDIAN AND THE FOREVER PEOPLE

Issue Thirty-Three: A Splinter in the Mind

Written by GemlinTheGremlin and PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

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

“Guardian.”

Conner looked up. The warm face of a young humanoid shone down at him as he sat hunched forwards on an armchair, his elbow on his knees. He straightened his posture. The humanoid fidgeted with the clipboard in their hands, then their hair, then the clipboard again. “They shouldn’t be much longer now. Thank you for bringing them back.”

Above them, along the lintel of the door, were the words ‘REHABILITATION BAY’ - a section of the facility that Conner had become far too familiar with. Traditionally he would have been inside, pacing back and forth from one end of the ward to the other, but never allowing his impatience to get the better of him. But this time, he couldn’t do it. Something had stopped him, something primal within his mind telling him that it wouldn’t do anyone any good. His balled fists were so tight that the soft pink of his fingers turned porcelain. A soft “thanks” fell from his mouth, an automatic response. He watched through his periphery as the doctor disappeared back into the room, the smell of antibacterial spray wafting through the door as it swung shut.

The Forever People were tough, Guardian told himself; Cadmus had built them that way on purpose. Memories of the day he heard the news of their creation flashed through his mind like a train speeding by. The Lantern Corps, in their pursuit of Darkseid, had become far too preoccupied, and a vacuum had opened up. Cadmus’ solution to this was to create something to fill this gap and, empowered by Highfather Orion, the Forever People were born - a quartet of children with unique abilities. The sales pitch had intrigued Conner, but having spent enough time with them, he saw them for what they really were: child soldiers with an inability to die.

Fight after fight, mission after mission, Conner would return to base with five mangled bodies in his arms, sometimes with contorted or missing limbs, sometimes turned purple with internal bruising, sometimes unidentifiable from damage. He’d soar as fast as he could to the rehabilitation bay, throw each of them into a tank, slam the lid shut with a roaring hydraulic hiss, and bark at a member of staff to monitor them. And every time, within half a day, his teammates would emerge from the rehab centre with naive smiles and shiny eyes, unharmed. Conner must have mourned them dozens of times over by now.

And yet, for as much as the experience had chipped away at his psyche, he was still beyond grateful for the work he was doing. They had quickly turned into a strong team, with Conner himself acting as the glue holding all of them together. Even as he peered up at the bodies passing through the corridors around him, he watched each of them glance at him and smile or wave or otherwise show their respect for him. He was appreciated, which meant far more to him than he could ever begin to explain, but much like the space left behind from the Lanterns’ departure, there was a hole inside of him that wasn’t being filled.

The Forever People didn’t consider him a friend, nor did he feel that way about them. It had been a long time, Conner suddenly realised as his elbow bore divots into the tops of his thighs, since he had called anyone a friend. And even if time were no object, being in a completely different solar system definitely was. He longed to returned to Earth, but knew he was a uniquely capable protector - or guardian - to the Forever People. At least right now. He was committed to help Cadmus and its people, nevermind the rest of the galaxy, for as long as they needed him. But with this last mission completed successfully, they finally had all the pieces they needed to make it so perhaps they wouldn’t need Conner anymore.

His reminiscing was cut short by the door to his left swinging open with the force of someone unaware of their own strength. A head popped out and exhaled a hot breathy sigh against Conner’s cheek. As the figure emerged into the corridor, an untrained ear may have assumed that an earthquake was tearing through the facility; Conner, however, was more than familiar with Mafic’s unique heavy footfall.

His teammate stood tall above him, even after Conner straightened his back in greeting. Mafic’s porphyritic skin twinkled under the harsh lights, crystals of feldspar and andesite dotted across his arms and face like freckles. He wore a loose vest and shorts which clung to the crags of his shoulders and hips awkwardly. Folding his arms produced a painful scraping noise, and the sound of his weight leaning against the metal wall was worse. Somewhere within the young man’s chest, something growled and bubbled.

“Nearly done,” grumbled Mafic. Even without looking at him, Conner could feel his cold gaze - the only cold thing about him. “Y’know how they like to take their sweet time.”

As if on cue, three more bodies emerged from their hospital room and immediately spread out in search of a free chair. The first, Ordinancer, was attaching the final few straps of her various bandoliers to her chest and arms. Her staff slouched into a backslash posture as she moved it off of her back and crumpled herself into the armchair in one fluid motion. Second was Solenoid, his chest puffed up like a pigeon. He looked at Conner and gave a regal bow of his head, a sight which always gave Conner the urge to smirk, before striding towards his usual seat. And lowering himself into the chair at Conner’s side, bathing the room in green, was Becque. Despite the paralysed grin of his skeletal head, teeth always on full display, Conner could sense that Becque really was smiling. A globular hand emerged from Becque’s side, thumped against Conner’s arm playfully with a sickening squelch, then retreated.

“Thanks again, Guardian,” Becque said. Her voice always caught Conner off guard. She was always the one who reminded them that they’re children.

“Yeah,” chirped Ordinancer, oddly bright. “It was getting real tricky out there. Glad you got us out when you did, before any of us got seriously hurt.”

Conner remembered the way Ordinancer’s head had lolled impossibly far to one side as he had thrown her limp body over his shoulder. He nodded with a tense smile.

“Which of you has the piece?” Solenoid barked. “Mafic, if I find out you stole the glory from me once again—?”

“I ain’t stolen nothing from you, teaspoon,” Mafic retorted. “Guardian prob’ly swept it up when he got us outta there, right?”

Conner’s pause was just long enough for his teammates to start panicking, so he quickly said, “Becque?”

“Oh, sorry,” she said meekly. She plunged a hand into the gelatinous faux-flesh of her chest and wriggled her fingers. Changing the position of her arm, Conner watched as her hand tilted upwards and disappeared behind her ribcage. When it resurfaced, a fistful of brick taken straight from the Source Wall was clutched between her carpals. “There.”

Conner nodded. “Alright, then. Let’s load this bad boy up.”

He followed behind the Forever People as they bounded off towards the tech lab. Conner enjoyed the upbeat din of conversation passing between them, though he wasn’t really listening. They were good kids. That’s why he’d learned to detach.

“Kshhh! New Cronus to Guardian!” His mind snapped to attention at Ordinancer calling his name.

“Huh, sorry?”

“Becque wants to know what you’re gonna do when you get back to Earth.” She said, placing her hand on the scanner at the door to the lab.

“Apart from sending us a vidcom, that is,” Solenoid groaned.

The lab’s blast doors slid open, revealing the latest marvel of New God engineering. It was an android, smashing through the laws of material science as they were understood on earth. This ‘Infinity-Man’ would be faster and stronger than even Cadmus could manage, empowered by sentient Mother Box technology. Conner couldn’t help but notice he and his replacement shared more than a passing resemblance. He was built to resemble a human of Conner’s stature and build. The android’s dense armor plating matched the layout of the Guardian armor, fit with cobalt and gold.

Becque approached the platform, ducking under monitors and stepping over wires to reach the open panel at the lower back.

“When I get back to Earth, there are a few friends I’d like to pay a visit.” Conner smiled. He’d heard some discomforting rumors about how Tim was coping – or not coping – with everything that had happened in Conner’s absence, including Dick’s death.

“I’m sure they miss having you around to look out for them. Highfather knows you’ve pulled our fat out of the fire enough times.” Mafic chortled. Conner managed a feeble laugh.

“Aaaand done!” Becque’s gooey hands smacked together. “Solenoid, hit it!”

Solenoid passed into a trance and various monitors lit up with green displays one by one. The wires linked into Infinity-Man surged. Everyone held their breath as the android’s lips moved.

“Powering… up.” Infinity-Man stepped forward off the platform and raised his arms. “D-d-d-d-d-d-” The android jittered.

Becque stepped around Infinity-Man, examining him from the front for any signs of fault. “Aw, lame! I thought we had it this time. Don’t tell me we need another–”

Faster than any could react, Infinity-Man brought his arms together, splattering Becque between two alloyed fists.

“Darkseid is.” Infinity-Man finished.

“No!” Ordinancer drew a spellbook from her holster. Free-floating handcannons rose off the pages, orbiting her in a tight circle. Solenoid exerted his powers of magnetism, willing Infinity-Man to stay in place with Ordinancer readied her attack.

Infinity-Man’s servos grinded against the force. “Were you so foolish to think this weapon could not be turned against you, for the glory of Darkseid?”

Conner barely heard him. He stared at the green puddle at Infinity-Man’s feet, slowly pooling back together. Becque could take a lot of punishment, but he never got used to it. It was the hail of gunfire that brought Conner back. Sensitive electronics exploded under a hail of bullets. More plinked off Infinity-Man’s hardened carapace than managed a good hit, Conner could spot a handful of puncture wounds. Unfortunately, he also spotted thick beads of sweat rolling down Solenoid’s forehead.

“Can’t… hold him…”

“Good thing you don’t gotta!” Mafic shouted, barreling into Infinity-Man and crashing him into the far wall. He slumped against the reinforced metal.

Conner followed after them. “Try to find a way to shut him down, Solenoid!”

Infinity-Man bounded back up to his feet with an uppercut across Mafic’s jaw. The sounds of cracking rock reverberated across the room and a handful of small stones plonked against the floor. Mafic stumbled backwards, making way for Conner to dive into action, driving his elbow into Infinity-Man’s chest and grappling him against the wall.

Mafic spat a glob of molten lava onto the floor. “How d’ya think Darkseid got his hooks in? We were careful!”

“We can figure that out later! For now we need to focus on putting Infinity-Man–” Conner groaned, exerting himself to keep the android in place. “--out of commission.”

Behind them, Solenoid was typing away at one of the few consoles which hadn’t yet been obliterated. “Don’t break him too bad, Mafic! Those parts aren’t easy to get!”

Mafic grinned, raised a fist, and threw a half ton of rock into the android’s nose. With Conner holding him in place, he managed it again, and again, and again until synthetic flesh gave way to metal exoskeleton and Infinity-Man’s skull had bored a small hole in the wall.

“Darkseid… is…”

“Is…”

“Is…”

“Izzzzzzzzz…” Infinity-Man’s head drooped.

“Got it!” Solenoid shouted.

Conner felt the android go limp in his arms and dropped beside it, sucking in deep breaths. His muscles burned. It was only a half-second before his eyes fell on Becque again and he scrambled back up to his feet, rushing to get her to the rehabilitation bay. He made it a few steps before the bones inside the goo pile undulated and a labored but amused voice came out.

“Oops. Don’t worry Guardian, I’m gonna be fine.” Slowly, Becque recomposed herself into a human shape.

“We’re still getting you looked at.” He supported her to her feet and started out of the robotics bay. “Ordinancer, let Highfather know Darkseid managed to sabotage Infinity-Man somehow. Solenoid, make sure he doesn’t come back online. Mafic, if he does–”

Mafic chuckled. “Yeah. I got that part, boss.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Hovering above the ground, Conner flitted through the corridors of the labyrinthine facility with practiced precision. He could feel his forehead creasing in concentration. Surely something, anything, could point them towards a culprit, or a means of taking down this robot permanently, or—

He stopped. Allowing himself to float gently back down to the ground, he kept his eyes locked on the figure who had given him a moment of pause and slowly, features faded into view. Dark hair, unkempt and tangled on his head; a leather jacket draped over his drooping shoulders; intense eyes piercing through the dark shadow of his browline. The familiar face looked at Conner with a startled expression, as if caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

“Tim?” Conner muttered in recognition. “What are you—?”

“I can help,” came Tim’s hurried response, anticipating the inevitable question from Conner. His chin was covered in a layer of speckled, coarse hair, aging him rather considerably. He raised his hands defensively. “Heard you were having issues with some Apokoliptian tech and, well, I know a thing or two so I hopped on a Zeta Tube as soon as I could.”

The tension in Conner's shoulders released. Seeing Tim, knowing he'd hightailed it here in the first instance as soon as he heard Conner was in trouble - it impacted him more than he thought it would. It was overwhelming, in fact. He let out a sigh and smiled softly at his former teammate. “Thank you,” he said with pure sincerity. “I've… it's been a while.”

But this seemed to close Tim's shell rather than open it. “We'll chat later. We don't know how much of a time crunch we're on here, and I don't plan on making things worse than they already are.”

“Alright. So, how do we fix this thing? What do we need to do?”

Tim sniffed. “We don't need to do anything. Give me access to the circuitry and about 20 minutes and it'll be like nothing ever happened.”

“Done,” came Conner's response without hesitation.

———

Conner and the Forever People stood around the reassembled Infinity-Man with bated breath. The robotic bay was missing a few monitors and a group of scientists peeked through the bowling ball-sized hole in the far wall as they completed final preparations to bring him online.

“How sure are we that the problem’s fixed? Could Apokolips have sabotaged more than one component?” Conner asked.

“Ninety-eight percent.” Solenoid answered.

“Ninety-eight?” Conner raised an eyebrow.

“Two percent chance of some more fun.” Becque said. “We’ve run every test. We gotta boot him up so you can go home.”

Conner didn’t reply, so Solenoid continued. “Beginning power sequence.” Again, monitors beeped and wires thrummed with power. Again, the android intoned, “Powering… up,” in a steely voice. Then, nothing.

Beat.

“Infinity-Man, step off the platform and state your purpose.”

The android complied, standing before the room and saying, “To aid the forever people in protecting the galaxy.”

“Success?” Ordinancer dared.

“Looks like it!” Mafic clapped a hand over Infinity-Man’s shoulder. Everyone but the two of them flinched. “Welcome to the team, big guy.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

They'd done it. Guardian and his Forever People had taken down an Apokoliptian threat, successfully created Infinity-Man - his robotic replacement, freeing him to at long last return home - and Conner had even had a brief conversation with Tim. So, why was he feeling such a pit in his chest?

Tim was gathering his equipment and preparing to teleport home by Zeta Tube when Conner caught up with him again. “Hey,” the Kryptonian said breathily.

“Hey,” Tim repeated.

“I just wanted to thank you.” Conner paused for the briefest moment, during which Tim's gaze tore away from his packing and onto his once-teammate. “Pulling yourself away from important work on Earth to come help me out half a galaxy away. It's not an easy feat.”

Tim nodded briskly. His hardened exterior was starting to crack; Conner saw the beginnings of a smile tugging at Tim's mouth. “Of course.”

Conner opened his mouth to say something, then changed his mind, instead opting to watch Tim. There was something odd about his behaviour. As he packed away his tools, he seemed to be going through the motions indefinitely, an animatronic moving their hands back and forth to imitate the action but never making progress. Conner had known Tim for long enough that even after so much time apart, he recognised a tic of his; Tim was stalling, waiting for Conner to be done so that he could go somewhere else.

Normally, this would be somewhat charming or eyeroll-worthy to Conner, but today it sent a shock wave down his spine.

“Why did you come here, Tim?” asked Conner. His voice was suddenly icy.

Tim glanced up at Guardian once again. “You were in trouble,” he said slowly. “Like I said.”

With a shake of his head, Conner disregarded that answer. “Don't lie to me, Tim.”

Tension froze Tim's face. With a huff of air, he turned to face Conner head on, ran a hand through his hair and slouched against the workbench.

“You heard about Dick?” was how he started. He hung his head in shame. “What I had to do?”

Conner nodded. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Tim ignored his comment. “I won't sugarcoat. I'm working on a way to bring him back. But I've been running into wall after wall after wall. Then when I saw the Apokoliptian event on my scanner, saw the trouble you were in, it got me thinking. About your Forever People.”

“No,” Conner shook his head, refusing to believe where this was going.

“The Forever People. Soldiers built to withstand even fatal blows. Just drop them off in a tube for a few hours and they're good as new. I need to study them, figure out how their physiology works.”

“And how the hell were you planning on doing that?” Conner closed the gap between himself and Tim. A youthful rage flooded through him, one he hadn't felt in a few years: hot-blooded and volatile.

Tilting his head, Tim said, “I’d take a sample from them. It'd have to be large enough for multiple tests though, to save me coming back for more and causing more trouble. Likely a lung or a segment of their intestines, then I could—”

“A lung?!”

“I’d sedate them first,” Tim corrected. “Of course.”

“That's monstrous,” Conner spat.

Up went Tim's walls again. “Hey, they get beaten into a pulp during every other fight. They've come back from far worse than a missing lung almost weekly. Like I said - throw them in a tube for a few hours and they're fine. They wouldn't miss anything, and think what we’d gain from it.” If Tim's gaze could shoot actual daggers, Conner would be dead.

In a way, this placated Conner's anger. “That's true.” But he wasn't done. “But can you really sit there and say that this is what Dick would have wanted?”

“I've heard it all before,” Tim shrugged off. “‘Don't beat yourself up, Tim, Dick would want you to be happy.’ ‘What would Dick say if he saw you sitting in your lab all day?’”

“And what would he say if he learned what it cost to bring him back?” Conner folded his arms. “What it cost everyone.”

“I don't need him to be proud of it—”

“This isn't about pride, Tim,” Conner replied. “If he saw you, what saving him took from you, would he be able to live with himself?”

A switch had been flipped in Tim's mind. His face scrunched as he processed Conner's question, and his body weight rested further onto the workbench behind him.

“Dick Grayson is dead,” Tim's friend began, his voice soft. “Stop killing yourself to bring him back.”

Two trembling hands fell over Tim's face and, for a brief moment, it looked as if the former Robin were about to cry. But he sucked in a breath and pulled his hands away again. “Conner, I…” Tim's voice was suddenly hoarse, as if all strength had left him. “I just don't know what else to do. I can't just… pack up and move on.”

“Then don't.” The small gap between Conner and Tim suddenly felt like comfort rather than hostility. “You're not failing him - or yourself - by deciding to do something else.”

“What else do I even do? I've been doing the same thing for so long.”

“Well, for one, I had an idea.” Conner shoved his hands into his pockets and joined Tim in half-sitting on the edge of the bench. “I say we get the team back together.”

Tim faltered. “The team? ‘We’?”

“I think if we're in it together, we can do it. We should do it.”

“I don't know.” Tim stared at nothing in particular. “Maybe you should do that by yourself. I don't know if I'd be of much help.”

“Are you kidding? You're our leader! Intrepid or not.” He beamed.

As a reward for his comment, Conner received one of the best sounds in the world: a genuine Tim laugh.

The two men sat in silence for a few moments, looking off into the distance at the open doorway, revealing just a sample of the corridor labyrinth awaiting them. Conner felt something soft but weighty against his shoulder, like a small animal had perched there, and quickly realised that it was Tim's head, gently settling into the crook of Conner's neck. Neither of them had been one for intimacy, let alone physically, and so Conner was surprised by the extent to which the gesture felt natural. Conner allowed his own head to fall to the side with his cheek grazing Tim's hair. He closed his eyes.

It could have been seconds or hours that passed, neither of them were sure, but eventually Tim stirred and sat upright. “Well,” he announced. “I should be heading back.”

“We.”

Tim nodded. “Yes,” he corrected himself. He shot Conner a warm glance. “We should be heading back.”

Next: Continued next month in The New Titans #34

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty-Three: A Return to the Cage

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by Geography3

Raptor grunted, rolling his shoulders in hopes that he could loosen them further. The hot and humid air was all too familiar to him, especially with the memory that it was in this weather that he was forced into Task Force X to begin with. While it carried the good fortune of allowing him to meet the people who would become his stalwart companions for years to come, he never allowed that fact to turn the memory into something it was not. He would not delude himself for the purposes of comfort, and as such, the memory was always bitter and raw whenever it resurfaced.

It was nice to know that for once, he wasn’t coming back to Belle Reve to be thrown into a cell. This time, he was here to help knock the house of cards over, scattering every heart and spade into the wind.

It’d taken about a week for the group to make their way all the way down from the Canadian wilderness to Louisiana, working at a brisk yet cautious pace. The aftershock of the destruction of the Anti-Squad’s home base was still felt even now, though enough time had passed for people to start recovering. Both Raptor and Dante had woken up, though neither were in the best shape to act. Raptor’s body still felt sluggish, his bones still resetting and healing, and Dante was so exhausted that he could barely walk. Bringing a whole mountain down had taken more out of him than he could’ve ever imagined.

Still, it wasn’t a time for rest now. It was a time for action.

The group had set up camp about a mile away from the prison, though to call it a camp would be a bit of an exaggeration. A single foldable table had been set up to house a laptop, with Hack hard at work setting up a program that would be used later. Flag and Tatsu occupied the other end of the table, working out a plan over a hastily drawn diagram of Belle Reve’s blueprints. Nearby, where the mud was split by a large riverway, Croc ran his hands through the currents, testing the waters. His wounds had healed partially, meaning he could go on without any bandages, but his body still wore signs of damage, namely the chunks of exposed skin, unprotected by scales.

Lastly, Hallucigent and Dante sat in the bed of the truck, though for very different reasons. Dante’s state prevented him from helping in any material way, meaning he had no choice but to rest his head in the truck. Hallucigent meanwhile sat in a sort of meditative stance, concentrating on using his powers to keep the camp hidden. Anyone looking in from the outside would just see swampland, not a host of supervillains and ex-government soldiers.

As Raptor approached the table, Adella trotted up next to him, matching his stride, “Are you sure you’re good for this?”

“As good as I’ll ever be,” Raptor remarked. “You coming with?”

“I got stuck guarding the camp. As is, it’s just you, Croc, Flag, and Tatsu going in.”

Raptor nodded, “Honestly, it’s for the best. You’re not exactly quiet, are you?”

Adella frowned, then punched Raptor in the arm, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Fire tends to be noticeable,” Raptor remarked. “Besides, you should save your strength. You’re gonna need it for what comes later.”

Adella nodded, though the frown remained, “Just… don’t die in there. We’ve lost enough people already.”

She split off from him, leaving him to approach the table alone. Upon spotting him, Hack tossed a flash drive his way, “Catch.”

Raptor snapped the drive out of the air, turning it over in his hands, “What’s this?”

“Contains a virus of mine. Stick that into the prime server and it'll grant me access. I’ll be over comms as well so let me know if you come across anything that should take priority.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Raptor remarked. “But how do we get in?”

“The plumbing,” Tatsu remarked.

“I remember studying the blueprints to Belle Reve a while back. There’s a sewer grate dumping waste directly into the river,” Flag said. “Plan is for Croc to pop it off, then carry the three of us inside.”

“Nice, is that our exit strategy as well?” Raptor asked.

“Afraid not,” Flag said. “The facility has systems in place to vent any obstructions, which is what we’ll be flagged as. We should be able to get out of the pipes before it becomes a problem, but we’ll be locked out of getting back into the network.”

Tatsu crossed her arms, “Instead, Flag and I will make our way to the security sector. We’ll shut down an area for maintenance, which should allow us to slip out through a more official side entrance.”

“Meanwhile, you and Croc will take Hack’s virus to the servers, we’ll pull all the data and footage we need to leak Task Force X’s existence to the world,” Flag said.

Raptor grimaced, “What if things go sideways? Got a backup plan?”

Tatsu and Flag looked at each other, then back at Raptor. Flag shook his head, “As much as I wish we could have something in the chamber… all we’ve got left is hope and luck. If we’re not back in two hours, the camp scatters. That’s about as far as the plan goes. There won’t be any second chances, especially not after recent events.”

Raptor grunted in annoyance, but really, there was nothing to dispute about this lack of a backup plan. They were playing for all the marbles, and the odds were stacked so heavily against them that they had no way of playing it safe anymore. Flag nodded to him, “We move out in ten minutes. Be ready.”

Raptor sighed, then turned his gaze in the direction of Belle Reve. He couldn’t see it, but he had prowled these swamps enough times to know the path there. This would be a difficult mission, but if they had any hope of closing the book on things, they needed to either pull it off or die trying.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Twenty minutes later

While the stench of sewage was nearly unbearable for most of the quartet, Croc knew the scents well enough that they didn’t bother him. Even before his criminal streak, he had spent years crawling through networks of tunnels beneath Gotham, hiding away from those who would judge him, who sought to do him harm. A trip like this was not so difficult, even if his teammates’ rebreathers didn’t do all that much to mask the stench. Thankfully, none of them had the strength to complain. There were far more important things on their minds.

Croc, Tatsu, Flag, and Raptor emerged from the central sewage room, entering one of the main prison cell blocks. It looked about the same as it ever did, five stories of concrete terraces, honeycombed with individual iron doors. The place had a metallic musk to it, smelling of rust and blood more than anything. Tatsu scowled at the sight, “It’s a small comfort knowing that this will be the final time I must exist within this place.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Flag said. He glanced at Raptor and Croc, “Servers should be reachable on the third floor. Head down the hall and make your way north until you find it. I’ll contact you with further info once we’ve shut down some of the security.”

Tatsu and Flag then departed, making their way up a nearby stairwell. Croc turned to Raptor, ready to get going, only to realize that Raptor’s mind was elsewhere. The vigilante was starting at one cell in particular.

“You remember this?” Raptor asked.

Croc blinked, “Yeah… it’s our old cell.”

“Real rathole, wasn’t it,” Raptor said, kicking the cell door. “Gotta say, don’t think I’ve ever made a worse place my home.”

“I have,” Croc said. “But they had their ups and downs.”

Raptor raised an eyebrow, “Elaborate?”

“I’ve lived in mudholes where I didn’t even have a roof over my head, but at least I chose to be in those places. Waller never gave me a choice in here,” Croc remarked. “Heh, it’s kind of fucked up, but I’m a little glad I ended up here.”

Raptor’s eyes widened, “And why the fuck would you feel that way?”

Croc grinned, “Would’ve never had friends like you without it.”

Trudging up to the cell door, Croc spat on it, “Then again… now I can have my cake and eat it too. Friendship and freedom… what a life.”

He turned to Raptor, who could only smirk, “You said it bud… friendship and freedom.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Flag peeked his head out from around the corner, making doubly sure that the coast was clear. While his credentials had been revoked for certain, he had still been pointman for Task Force X for a long time. He knew the guard rotations, the camera blindspots, the whole layout of the place. He’d walked these tight concrete halls for years, enduring their harsh lighting as a resident. Now, that knowledge allowed him to pass unseen as a hostile. He motioned at Tatsu to follow him before leading her down the hall, having watched the most recent pair of guards disappear into a room further on. Sidling up next to the security office door, he placed his palm on the handle before gingerly pushing it open, peeking inside.

A pair of technicians sat in swivel chairs next to one another, presiding over a whole host of monitors and consoles, filled to the brim with buttons, switches, and dials. Ashtrays and coasters littered the dashboard, evidence to their lax attitudes towards their own jobs. Above the console was an observation window, giving those in the security room a view of the swamp east of the prison. Despite upgrades to the security, the control scheme was distinctly old school. Flag chalked it up to, of all things, nostalgia. Waller enjoyed the persistent elements from the history of her great project, happy to trace things from past to present.

Slowly, and with great effort, Flag and Tatsu crept up behind the technicians before choking them out, violently forcing them into an unpleasant slumber rather than killing them outright. Flag then looked over the consoles, a frown on his face.

“You remember how to operate these, don’t you?” Tatsu asked.

“Uh yeah… I was briefed… about ten or so years ago,” Flag said. “I’m a little rusty, but I should be able to make us an opening.”

Flag traced his fingers along the dashboard, summoning the memories of what each button and dial did as best he could. Most of it was lost to him, but one important fact he did remember related heavily to the prison doors. There was a row of switches all lined up on a chunk of the board, each attached to the operation of individual cells. Flag swallowed. This would make for one hell of a distraction, but it would also unleash nearly a hundred metahuman inmates out into the world. As tough as things were, Flag wasn’t that desperate just yet.

Instead, his hand hovered over a large blue lever, and he smiled. He tapped it gently with his fingers, careful not to pull it early, “We flip this, and it triggers a large-scale evacuation. The guards will clear out and everything. Was designed for only the worst case metahuman containment breaches.”

Tatsu nodded, then glanced at the technicians, “Will someone come by to replace them?”

Flag looked down at the technicians, “Yeah, probably soon. Only hope now is that Raptor and Croc can get the date we need before anything goes wrong-”

The swish of the doors stopped Flag dead in his tracks. He and Tatsu turned towards the entrance to the room, met face to face with someone neither of them expected to see again.

Short blond hair, scarring across the right side of his face, complete with a missing ear. He was dressed in a suit and tie rather than combat briefs, clearly unprepared for this kind of confrontation. His eyes first go wide with shock, then become lazy, a signifier of the man’s acceptance for the situation.

Lok glared at Flag and Tatsu, frozen at the entrance to the room.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“Alright Hack, we’re in the server room.”

“Good, find a USB port in one of the main computers, then keep your eyes on the monitors. We wanna make sure there are no server alerts that would trip any alarms.”

Raptor took his finger off of his earpiece before walking further into the room, leaving Croc to watch the door for any passing guards. The room was swelteringly hot and incredibly noisy, filled with the whining fans of hundreds of individual servers, all hooked up in a vast network. Rolling up to a nearby monitor and keyboard, Raptor took a seat. He then took the flash drive out of a watertight bag and plugged it into the computer, watching a variety of windows pop up on the screen.

“Great! It’s transmitting!” Hack said. “I just need five minutes, then you’ll be free to go.”

Raptor nodded to himself, then leaned back in the chair, watching as dozens of files began rapidly flashing on-screen, a product of Hack’s program skimming the vast trove of files in Waller’s servers. He watched them all go by, remarking that they represented decades of history, of clandestine operations, of people like him being used and discarded.

He thought back to what he was doing before Task Force X, tossing billionaires out of penthouse apartments. It was just as appealing as it was before, but now he was acquiring a taste for government stooges. Maybe a general or two would be a good shakeup once Waller got sent to take a dirt nap.

Raptor was so lost in these thoughts, a sort of blind fantasy for an uncertain future, that he almost didn’t catch one specific face flashing across the screen. The document in question was a driver’s license, scraped off of official databases. It was a man, sporting messy long black hair and angular, handsome features. He had an infectious grin, one that Raptor instantly recognized.

Mary Grayson had smiled the same way.

Raptor moved like lightning, jolted into action by the sight of Mary’s son, Dick. He typed away at the console, quickly finding the file again. His eyes widened as he beheld the annotations attached to the file.

Richard Grayson. Alias: Nightwing. Former Alias’: Robin, Batman.

Raptor felt his heart sink, and he began paging through the folder the file was in, a deep dread setting in. Nearly a hundred names and drivers licenses, all hidden deep within the recesses of Task Force X’s databases. On occasion, Raptor had wondered why the superheroes of the world hadn’t stepped in to battle Waller’s schemes. Surely at least some of them knew? Surely some of them would’ve stumbled upon evidence of the Suicide Squad?

Now he knew why they had not intervened, because Waller had leverage. A whole folder full of it.

A registry of secret identities.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“I suppose I should’ve expected something like this at some point,” Lok remarked. “Then again, pretty bold to do this a week after we brought the hammer down.”

“It’s worked out pretty well so far,” Flag said. “You weren’t expecting it after all.”

Lok’s hand drifted down towards his belt, only to stop halfway down as Tatsu slid Soultaker out of its sheath. She kept it low, angling it towards the ground, but it was still pointed in Lok’s general direction. He gritted his teeth, then glared at Flag, “What is this, huh? What are you even trying to do?”

“Set things right,” Flag said. “Waller’s going down, and if we can’t do it ourselves… we’re gonna have to ask the world to do it for us.”

“Ask the world? Why would the world help a bunch of societal rejects? You went from being a captain in a government initiative to the ringleader for a bunch of murderers and thieves,” Lok said. “Say you do beat Waller… What the hell are you gonna do after? What life are you gonna lead?”

Flag gritted his teeth, “Not exactly a question I care to answer while Waller’s still around,”

“Bullshit, you’re just avoiding the question,” Lok said. He grimaced, “You wanna know what I think Flag? I think you’re a goddamn hypocrite. Back in Russia, you talked about living… but if that was really your first priority, you could’ve taken what was left of your sorry gang, found some hole, and hidden in it.”

“Waller would’ve hunted us down,” Flag said. “I couldn’t risk it.”

“Couldn’t risk it? No, you definitely could’ve,” Lok said. “But you can’t do that… because being Waller’s lapdog has left too much shame in your heart.”

His eyes narrowed at Flag, a sort of burning accusation evident in his glare, “When you left me in that freezer, you left me to think about choices, and I realized that whatever choice I made, I had to make it confidently, and live with it. I don’t think you’ve ever made the same kind of choice… because you don’t even know who you are.”

Flag felt his fingers curl into a fist, “I’m the best man I can be,”

“What a bullshit answer,” Lok said, letting out a sort of cruel laugh. “You came back here because you knew, on some level, that you had to redeem yourself for what you’ve done… but what you’re doing isn’t justice either! You’re protecting your fucked up family of freaks, and you’re trying to validate all the wasted years you’ve spent here.”

Flag opened his mouth to protest, but the seed of doubt had already been planted. He swallowed, trying to figure out how to dismantle Lok’s accusations.

Tatsu noticed Flag’s distress and took a step forward, “Enough talk. Waller will fall, that much is certain.”

Lok shook his head, “You know, I can at least admire your stances. You’re not some overly emotional regret like the former Colonel here. You’ve got hard lines. You have a stance and you stick to it.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Tatsu barked.

Lok’s hand drifted further down towards his hip, “What I’m really curious about is what happens after Waller goes down. You’re a hero, you know exactly what kind of scum you work with. What’s gonna happen to them? Are you cruel enough to put ‘em where they belong, or are you all talk and no bite like Ricky over here?”

Tatsu glanced down at Lok’s hand, then back up at him, “Don’t try it. This is your last warning.”

Lok sighed, a sort of resignation passing over him. His hand continued to drift towards his hip, and Tatsu narrowed her eyes. This had gone on long enough.

There was a glint of metal as Lok finally grabbed at something attached to his belt, pulling a pistol out of its holster. It made it about seven inches away from said holster before Soultaker came crashing down on it, cutting it in two. Lok looked up in surprise, having underestimated how quickly Tatsu could close the distance between them. She twisted her arm, pointing the hilt of the sword towards Lok before thrusting it into his face, knocking his head back and causing him to fall to the ground, unconscious. She sheathed Soultaker, looking down on Lok. Flag, shaken out of his stupor by the exchange, leaned back against the dashboard, “Thanks for the save.”

She shrugged, “It’s what I do.”

Taking a deep breath, Flag pushed the ideas Lok had seeded out of his head, putting his hand up to his earpiece, “Hack, are we almost done?”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“Almost! Just a minute left now!”

Hack’s voice piped up in Raptor’s ears, reminding him that he didn’t have much time to make a choice. His hands hovered over the keyboard, beads of sweat ran down his forehead, and his eyes were glued to the screen. In a way, these heroes' fates were now in his hands, and what he chose to do here could make and break them for the rest of their lives.

It needed to be erased. That much was not up for debate. To erase Waller’s leverage is to remove even more of her power than they were already planning to remove. Instead, Raptor’s dilemma rested in whether to make a copy. To know the identities of these heroes, to have evidence of it… it presented an incredible amount of power. He might not be able to order them around, but the threat of these identities leaking could serve the Suicide Squad well. They would be removing the biggest obstacle to their future freedom, the people best suited to stop them.

And yet, what would that make them? They were already vagabonds… but to do this would be to keep these heroes in metaphorical chains. Their predicament would not change, they would only be under new management. Raptor hated that, the idea of stripping that kind of freedom away. He had no beef with most heroes, he just considered them… naive.

Raptor stared at the screen. By his count, he had thirty seconds to make a decision. Thirty seconds to decide the fate of all these people. The question then was not what good they would be restricted from doing under his control, but rather… what he valued more. Was he a freedom fighter, or was he going to protect himself and the friends he had made while living through this nightmare under Task Force X.

Raptor shuddered, paralyzed by the choice… the temptation. He looked across all these names, not daring to open any of them up and learn their secrets until he had decided what he wanted to do.

Dick Grayson was still in the system, still shackled by someone knowing what they shouldn’t. Raptor felt a twinge of anger at that reminder, and he hit the delete key on the computer, striking Grayson’s info from the system. He then hit the delete key again, and again, and again, until every single identity had been struck from the record.

Nearly a hundred chains… all broken.

Hack’s voice chirped in Raptor’s ear, “Data extracted! Get out of there!”

Grabbing the flash drive, Raptor began marching out of the room. Croc matched his pace, doing his best to keep up with Raptor’s stride.

“You good? You seem quiet,” Croc said.

“Good?” Raptor grinned, “Croc, I’ve never been better.”

“Really? You’re having a moment like that in a place like this?” Croc said. “Mind if I ask why?”

Raptor looked back, “Heh, I don’t mind… but I won’t tell either. It’s my little secret… for now.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

It took about twenty more minutes for the quartet of infiltrators to make it back to base camp, safe and sound. For once, a plan has gone off without a hitch, and what was left of the Suicide Squad had pulled off a heist in Waller’s own backyard. Some would consider this a cause for celebration, but the squad had no intentions of celebrating until their plan had been fully executed. To close the book on things, the Suicide Squad couldn’t just dump the information they had gotten from Belle Reve onto the internet. No, they would need to broadcast it, make it impossible to ignore.

Splicing Waller’s crimes onto every news feed and TV channel on Earth? That was how they were going to do it. That was going to be the Suicide Squad’s last mission.

Free Radio X in Suicide Squad #64 - out next month!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEXT FLASH

Issue Thirty-Two: Free Your Mind

Written by AdamantAce

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin and Deadislandman1

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

As The Flash raced through the streets of Central City, the whole city stopped to cheer him on. Bart was in hot pursuit of Disruptor, a villain long past his sell-by date who would be entirely irrelevant if not being the final mercenary of the state-wide organised crime cell known only as the Network. It wasn’t much of a race; Bart knew he could blitz ahead of Michael Beldon handily if he needed to, his naturally-acquired Speed Force connection far exceeding what little speed Beldon had stolen and steadily amassed over the years with the use of his energy disrupting powers. No, the struggle was in shepherding Disruptor towards a place he could take him down safely and finally do away with the dastardly Network, once founded and run by Leonard Snart himself.

But as Bart followed in Beldon’s slipstream, something unexpected happened. The unstable lightning the sprinting Disruptor left in his wake suddenly shook, and a wave of amber energy rocketted back off of Disruptor, turning his lightning-lashing slipstream into an energy well that washed over Bart and disrupted his powers. In a moment, Bart went from running at insane speed to only at ludicrous speed, and thus found himself hit with a wall of force that knocked him off course. Luckily for the Flash, he wasn’t alone.

Up the rear, a speedster in white and red finally caught up. His blond hair - exposed out of the top of his mask - was thrown back by the surging wind tunnel as the adolescent Jacob Spivot-Allen deftly manoeuvred around the spiralling Bart. And as Bart was enclosed by Jacob’s crimson Negative Speed Force lightning, Jacob activated his secret technique, dragging Bart into his wake like positive and negative charges attracted by electrostatic force, allowing Bart to accelerate back up to his preferred speed along the path Jacob had painted for him as if it were an on-ramp.

The Flash beamed with pride for his sidekick, the trusty second Impulse who would one day grow up to become Bart’s own father.

Together, the Flash and Impulse rocketted forth once more, closing the gap Disruptor had made for himself. Now they were wise to his tricks, expertly switching lanes between (what was to them) stationary traffic to avoid the periodic blasts of disrupting energy Beldon fired behind him, until Bart finally saw his opening. He had lived in this city - in this century - for long enough to know its roads and routes well, and when he forgot he could always race them at super speed and speed-memorise them over again. So when Bart forged forward and tackled Disruptor midsprint, he knew they were now barrelling towards the vacant construction site, a place that had struggled for years to get planning approved. As Bart and Beldon tumbled together, Bart exerted what will he could over the Speed Force in attempt to slow them, but trusted in Jacob to do what they had planned. The young Impulse ran ahead, clearing a path for them and constructing a large pile of metal debris for them to crash into to bring them to a stop. Bart would heal fast enough that the cuts and bruises wouldn’t faze him. He knew Disruptor had enough Speed Force energy left that he’d only be in traction for a few months.

But then came another of Disruptor’s tricks. As the pair tumbled together, a cacophonous blast rang out. The blast was harmless for all but Bart, even if it could be heard for blocks. In an instant, Bart could feel the energy leeched from his body and poured into the conduit that was Beldon. As they crashed into Jacob’s debris, Bart was weakened. In the moments before his Speed Force connection reconstituted enough that he began slowly knitting him back together, he could feel every bone in his body in splinters. Meanwhile, Disruptor was shaken but back on his feet in seconds.

“You’re an overgrown kid, Flash!” Disruptor mocked him. “You might have the speed, but I have the experience. The Network’s not done yet!”

Bart tried to summon the strength to haul himself back up, but couldn’t. He could hear his joints snapping back into place faster than before. Then he heard something worse, a wailing cry. Jacob. But he wasn’t in pain. He was furious.

“Get away from him!!”

Bart watched as his protégé thundered across the length of the construction site, desperate to defend his ‘Uncle Bart’, who he was still yet to learn was his son from the future.

“Impulse, no!”

But Impulse lived up to his name. Disruptor was prepared, and fired a blast of disrupting energy that he then followed at super speed. First, the energy hit Jacob and severely slowed his fury charge, then Beldon grabbed him by the throat and tossed him aside.

Moments later, Bart could finally steel himself enough to stand, feeling his strength returning faster and faster by the minute. But by the time he could get to Jacob’s side to make sure he was alright, Disruptor was long gone.

“It’s okay, I’m good!” Jacob cried, scraping himself off the ground.

“Well, I’m not!” Bart exclaimed, making himself the butt of the situation to make Jacob feel better. “I feel like a bag of—”

Bart suddenly doubled over. But it wasn’t his body that was failing him this time. As he looked upon Jacob, he saw time unravel before his eyes like a glitch in the Matrix, and looking back at him wasn’t the face of his adoring-yet-impulsive adolescent sidekick, but rather the blood red eyes of Bart’s father, the Reverse Flash.

“You can’t save them, Bart!” the Reverse Flash boomed in a garbled voice. “You will never be the Flash as long as I’m alive!”

It was something his father had said to him what felt like a lifetime ago, before Bart left the future and travelled to various points in the timeline to train with the numerous Flashes of the past.

Then Bart blinked, and all was right again.

“What’s wrong?” said Jacob. “I’m sorry I let you down. We’ll get him next time.”

Bart exhaled deeply, feeling mortified. “You’ve done nothing wrong, Jake. I’m proud of you.”

Intent to debrief somewhere more provide, and maybe grab a commiseratory slice of pizza or twelve, Bart led them away, back into the city. Disruptor’s effect on him had passed, but he couldn’t shake a deeper sense that something was wrong.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The next day, Bart took his time walking along the sidewalk of the residential boulevard, admiring the light as it filtered through the canopy of trees that lined the street. He still couldn’t get the Reverse Flash’s face - and his words - out of his mind. He kept telling himself that the timeline both he and the Reverse Flash originated from had been long since overwritten, that the cycle of abuse that had created the Reverse Flash had been broken, but he knew that the laws of time travel were complicated. He knew that his father had lived through countless timelines trying to manipulate Bart’s fate at his long-suffering grandfather Barry’s expense, and so he knew there was a chance the Reverse Flash had survived as a time remnant, persisting despite his timeline’s destruction. After all, Bart had done the same, as had his fellow Justice Legionnaire Mar’i. No matter what he did, no matter how much he helped raise the young Jacob right, Bart knew he could never be rid of the Reverse Flash.

He knocked on the door that was once his Grandpa Barry and Great Aunt Iris’ childhood home, to be greeted by none other than his uncle William.

They got caught up on the whole Disruptor saga inside over a cup of artisanal coffee, William’s latest fascination.

“I can help you catch him if you need,” said William. “You know I’m good for it, and you know the Rogues want the Network dealt with once and for all just as much as you do.”

“It’s not Disruptor I’m worried about,” Bart sighed. “I can handle Beldon even with his new dirty tricks. It’s… Jacob.”

It had taken years to work up to seeing that name as belonging to this innocent kid, a kid who looked up to Bart especially after the age acceleration problems he hit on the onset of his powers, rather than his abusive and Machiavellian father, but it never got less weird saying it out loud.

“I get you,” William nodded. He sighed too. “I’d never admit this to Barry and Patty, but no matter what I tell myself, that kid will always be the man who killed my parents.”

“It’s our job to make sure he’ll never be that,” Bart replied.

“Sure. But it’s like Wally explained, time is more stable if what the Reverse Flash did stays cemented, even if that version of him never comes to pass,” said William. “It’s not fair. Barry and Wally both get to cheat death using time travel. So do you, in the future.”

“I know it’s not,” Bart frowned. It had been many years since William lost his parents, and while it was now an old wound, it was an ache that never went away. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, lying to him?”

“What do you mean?” asked William.

“I mean not telling Jacob I’m his son,” Bart explained. “It feels an awful lot like Grandpa lying to Patty, to you and Wally, to everyone, about being the Flash. And look how that turned out.”

William couldn’t help but scoff.

“What?” asked Bart.

“How many years ago did all this happen? And we’re still being haunted by it. You’d think we’d be able to run fast enough to move on.”

“Not a chance!” Bart chucked. “In our family, everything that happens is built on the bones of everything that happened before. I guess that’s just legacy.”

“Then you had to come and make it more confusing by making us build on top of everything that happens in the future, as well as everything that doesn’t happen in the future,” William teased.

“See, that’s why we get a whole museum,” said Bart. “Just to explain what the hell our deal is.”

“Maybe I gotta spend more time there,” William shrugged.

“Maybe you do,” Bart teased. “Go keep Grandpa company.”

As difficult as his situation was, Bart was forced to acknowledge that he was absolutely surrounded with friends. On one side, he had William, Jacob and his grandparents, as well as Wally when he wasn’t off exploring the multiverse with his family. On the other side, he had many of his fellow Legionnaires and Titans alums. Never before had he been so central to the superhero community, which felt surreal when he thought back to all the time he had spent years ago hiding in the margins, scared to make contact with this grandfather and heroes of his own age like the Titans. But all of that couldn’t insulate him from his growing doubts brought on by the vision of his father.

.”William,” he said. “Do you think I’m ready?”

“Ready for what?” William shifted in his chair.

“To be the Flash.”

“Bart Allen’s doubting himself!?” William exclaimed. “Is this real life?”

Bart shoved William in the shoulder. “I’m serious. Am I rushing things?”

“You’re more than capable, Bart,” William was quick to interject. “And someone had to step up.”

“Couldn’t have been you?”

“No.” William replied firmly. “Not me. I had to step up with the Rogues when Zack died, and… I can’t be what Jacob needs.”

Bart frowned. He loved being the Flash, it was all he ever dreamt of, and it was - for the most part - everything he imagined it would be. But he wanted - and needed - to do it right. He couldn’t just be the best available option, but the more he thought about it, the more that had always been the case with the Flash legacy.

“I should go,” said Bart. “Thanks, William. I really mean it.”

“Any time, dude.”

“Let me know if I can help you back with anything, anytime. Just—”

Suddenly, Bart’s Justice Legion communicator bleeped. He looked down at the handset in his pocket and smiled.

“What is it?” asked William.

“Disruptor’s been spotted,” Bart replied, grinning ear to ear. “He’s brokering a deal for the Network in Chicago.”

“And that’s good news?”

“Yeah,” Bart nodded. “He has no idea what he’s got coming.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

One phone call and 500 miles later, Bart burst into the underground den like a bomb going off. With his super speed, he slowed his perceptions down to a crawl and watched as the dozens of criminals that flooded the room were reduced to statues. In the centre of them was Michael Beldon, still in his high-tech orange gear sans his mask. Without the mask, Bart could see just how much abusing the Speed Force had ravaged Beldon’s body, leaving him haggard much beyond his years. And Beldon still wasn’t done, clearly, as he flickered with electricity and continued moving where all of his associates could not.

“Give it up, Gramps!” Bart cried. “The Network’s day is done, and you can’t keep using the Speed Force like this.”

“You really can’t,” came a new voice. Beside Bart hovered the orange-and-red clad Kryptonian, the hero of Chicago, Flamebird. “I’m looking at that heart of yours with the ol’ X-Ray vision, and… yikes. Better give up now.”

“So what if my heart gives out?” Beldon sneered. “I’ve got contacts. I’ll just get a new one.”

“Fine!” Bart threw up his hands. “We’ll do it your way.”

While Thara had the collection of immobilised bodies to navigate, Bart had no such problem. The speedster sprinted forth, vibrating his molecules at various perfect frequencies to deftly phase through the forms of the frozen crooks in his path. But when Disruptor proved to have more than enough Speed Force reserves to reposition and evade, Bart switched strategy. Disruptor was first and foremost focused on his self-preservation, and could keep up enough to defend himself from Bart, but he was still nowhere near as fast. As such, Disruptor was helpless as Bart rapidly began collecting each other body in the room and ferrying them upstairs and outside one-by-one as fast as he could, clearing a path for Thara to get in on the action before soon clearing the whole room in the matter of a few blinks from Beldon.

Then, when Beldon went to flee the room, Thara was more than able to block his path. With her Kryptonian powers, she was about as fast as Beldon, but far more versed in utility high speeds than he was after several years of operating as a hero. When he attempted, recklessly, to phase through her, Thara had to fight to not throw up from the sensation. As he passed through the other side of her, he attempted to sprint away. Thara went to follow, but then smirked as she realised she didn’t have to. Planting her feet firmly on the ground, Flamebird narrowed her gaze before letting loose a sudden and brief burst of her heat vision, which moved at the speed of light to collide with Disruptor’s back. Luckily for him, she had shown restraint, and only knocked him to the ground. By the time she had, Bart was ready and waiting to swoop in and wrap a pair of power-dampening handcuffs around Beldon. And with that, the final senior figure of the Network was down.

With the job done, Flamebird and the Flash retired to a nearby rooftop, just in time to watch the sun set over Chicago.

“We really ought to team up more often,” said Bart.

As he looked across the Chicago skyline, he realised how long it had been since he had last been to the Windy City. It wasn’t Central and Keystone, but for a long time it was home. As he looked to the sky, he struggled not to remember the many times he watched Thara’s Kryptonian pod hurtling towards Earth. He thought back to all the stress and exertion he had put himself through, but also to the incredible achievement he had pulled off through his determination.

“You always know where to find me,” said Thara, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“This is where we met,” Bart replied. To himself, he added it was also the place where he first proved to himself he could be a real hero. He then caught himself turning away from the amber sky and stealing a long look at the girl beside him. “The tower was in New York, but right here is where everything happened.”

“I guess it was: where we all met, where we became Titans,” said Thara very matter-of-factly, still looking forward to the setting sun. “Those were good days, but I wouldn’t trade what we have nowadays for anything.”

‘What we have.’

Those words resonated with Bart. They ached. In most ways, she was right. They were both respected heroes of their resident cities, they both were surrounded by friends, they both had brighter days ahead of them, and there were plenty of others who weren’t so lucky. Things were far from perfect, but he knew he would be being selfish to ask for much better than how things were.

“How’s work?” Bart asked. “I find it hard to keep track of all the wonderful things you’re doing.”

“The ARGO Space Program is well on their way to establishing sustainable trade with Mars,” replied Thara, parrotting a recent corporate event. “Megan’s been a huge help, and Kara’s a great boss. Plus all the tech helps me feel connected to Krypton, even after all this time.”

Bart nodded. All of them, his fellow Titans, were united in having left their worlds behind, literally or figuratively. But what set Bart apart from the rest was that all he left behind in the future was a dystopic hellscape where villains reigned supreme, and his father was an abusive monster. For that, he always felt a distance from the rest, as if he felt guilty to see the end of the world he put in the rearview mirror where the others would have all moved mountains to bring back what they had lost.

“I, er,” Bart began, cautiously, “Do you still think about Krypton? Do you still wish you were back there?”

“Honestly?” replied Thara, quirking an eyebrow.

Bart nodded encouragingly.

“I don’t,” she replied. “It was so long ago, it feels like another life. And I did miss it for a long time, but eventually I realised… I’d moved onto something better. And even when it wasn’t better, I guess I stopped thinking it was worth looking back.”

Bart recalled his earlier conversation with William, and the vision of the Reverse Flash he had been subjected to. He felt as if looking back was inescapable. He envied how easily Thara could forge into the future so unburdened, how easily she could find herself in the future rather than feel as if so much of her was wrapped up in the past.

“I need to make some changes,” Bart resolved. He wasn’t struck with much inspiration for the specifics, but he was determined to try his best to move on. Maybe that meant new allies, a new job, even just a new apartment or a costume. He certainly had hopes. “I wanna try new things, break old patterns. They say if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, but I don’t want to wait for things to break first.”

Thara laughed, amused by his sudden epiphany. Finally, she turned away from the sun to meet his gaze. “I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

Bart searched her eyes. She had absolutely no judgment for him, and as much as it was clear she knew he didn’t have his next steps mapped out, she believed him when he said he would try and figure it out. She believed in him, no matter what he had in mind.

So, both looked back to the setting sun, intent to spend no longer looking back, excited for what the night would bring.

Next: Continued next month in The New Titans #33

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In Revelations

Issue Thirty-Six: The Fall of Arkham

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

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

Dozens of pill bottles rattled to the ground from atop a bedside table, scattered by the hand of Astrid Arkham reaching for her gun. It was a small pistol, easy to handle for most civilians, street legal, and comfortable in her hands — unfortunately, its rounds were known to bounce off bones and had proved ineffectual as a self-defense weapon. Astrid struggled to hold anything larger straight enough to fire with any consistent accuracy. Her arms were too weak now, her hands too shaky and frail. She didn’t have to worry about firing her gun, with Batman’s hand holding her wrist in a white-knuckled grip.

“Call off the Order of Arkham,” said Batman. “Cut off Sofia Falcone.” She was looking down at Astrid with a contained but noticeable rage in her eyes. Astrid let the book in her free hand fall into her bed. “Step back and leave this all alone.”

“How long have you been waiting in here?” Astrid asked, glancing over to the open closet door that Batman had burst out of.

“Long enough.”

“And you have come to threaten me?” She looked deep into Batman’s eyes and took note of their colour. “Like a thug? You can pretend you are better than street criminals, but your scare tactics are exactly the same.”

“Sofia intends to burn the city down, to cut you off, and rebuild it as her own. This has been happening for years, and you have let it,” Batman said, grabbing the gun with her free hand and letting go of Astrid’s arm once it was out of her reach. “You help her, for what?”

“To get at you,” Astrid said, coughing as she sat back in her bed. “You are a perverted, twisted reflection of the delusions my family have suffered for generations, and I cannot allow you to continue plaguing this city. I cannot let you plague me, so I must do what I can to eliminate you.”

“I am not your plague,” said Batman, narrowing her eyes at the woman on the bed next to her. That rage that Batman felt, containing it beneath her cowl, there was an exact reflection of it within Astrid’s eyes, filtered through her glasses. “I do not haunt you, nor do I wish to hurt you any more, Astrid. This is putting innocent people in danger, I want you to call it off.”

“Only when you and all of your friends in this city stop your crusade or die,” Astrid said, venom filling her voice. “Everything in this city is eroded by your presence. Harvey Dent winning being elected again will not solve anything. Criminals — supervillains — are emboldened by you. They see you as a challenge.”

Batman cocked her head, seeing no clues toward any sort of deception or awareness in Astrid’s expression.

“You are making it worse,” Batman said.

“I am proving a point,” Astrid said quickly. “The Order of Arkham is disposable, so long as they deliver me your head. Gotham is dangerous in your presence. Once you are gone, things will change, and I will help rebuild our city into something respectable.”

“Respectable?” asked Batman. “Sofia wants to rule with an iron fist.”

“She is just as disposable as the Order,” Astrid said, looking away from Batman and out of the large windows on the other side of the room. It was a view over much of Gotham, looking westward from New Gotham, pieces of every island that made up the city were at least partially visible, and the mainland behind all of it stretching on over the horizon. “I don’t wish to destroy or control the city, or corrupt its citizens into rioting, Batman. I want them free from a delusion that has travelled down my family line, one that seems to have, up until now, been inseparable from the history of Gotham itself. Mass delusion is non-conducive to a thriving citizenship.”

Astrid looked back up to Batman, something raw and sincere in her eyes that the Dark Knight couldn’t quite place. Some mix between love, hate, and despair. Astrid’s energy was wavering, as she began to sway back and forth where she sat, using a hand to brace herself.

“Your symbol…” she said, her voice shaky. She leaned back against the headboard of her bed and took a deep breath. “That’s all I want. Kill the Bat. You can go free, but I need to kill the Bat.”

Batman inhaled deeply and knelt down next to Astrid’s bed, grabbing each scattered pill bottle and returning them to the bedside table they’d been thrown from. Beside her, Astrid nodded off to sleep, seeming peaceful despite the rage she carried. Once the mess was cleaned, Batman looked at the gun she’d taken from Astrid, ejected the magazine and loaded round, and placed it all on the table.

She left without further words.

The Next Morning

James Gordon nearly stumbled to the floor, caught by a doctor rushing to grab hold of his arm. He could barely keep his grip strong on the parallel bars he stood within. Each step was hell, and every second he spent trying to will himself to the other end was another second that he just wanted to give up. He cursed to himself, he cursed his age, and he cursed his impatience. For so long in his career, he’d been content to gather evidence and wait for the right moment to strike, but Sofia Falcone was a phantom of his past that he was all too eager to put to rest.

He’d seen Harvey Dent’s district attorney campaign, old friends from the department and the DA’s office had come to ask him if he’d seen it. Everyone but Harvey Dent himself had come to check on him. Part of him wanted to feel fine about never having been contacted by his oldest friend, someone he’d been through untold amounts of hardships within each others’ proximity. It was hard to watch him fall into his more destructive tendencies as Two-Face, and he’d be lying to himself if he said that he’d always held out hope for his recovery, but that very recovery was one of the most hopeful things he’d seen in recent years.

His new bid for District Attorney, almost entirely funded through public fundraisers and grassroots campaigns, had become a runaway success.

Sarah Essen called Gordon a few days ago. She offered him the usual pleasantries, that she hoped he was doing better and wishing him a speedy recovery, as they all did. And then, after an uncomfortable silence in which Gordon had thought she’d been somehow disconnected, she’d said one thing, “Everything is different, but somehow it’s starting to feel like the old days. I don’t want to go back, Jim.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, and the call ended only a moment later.

He felt another hand grab onto him, opposite the doctor. There was a light squeeze. He looked up, meeting the gaze of Barbara. She’d leaned a crutch up against the parallel bars and was now using her strength to try and lift him back to his feet. It was a ‘good’ day according to her. She didn’t need to elaborate to make it clear that the pain of walking was bearable, that language had been encoded into their conversations years ago. Nothing needed to be said about her ability for him to understand her.

He hated not being able to walk by himself.

He took a sharp inhale, and placed a slack foot underneath himself and braced against his doctor and his daughter. Soon enough, he switched both hands to the bars. His doctor stood back.

Babs put her hand on his and gave him a gentle squeeze.

He’d seen her more since his injury than in the few years prior. Some sort of perverted cosmic force had to have been laughing at that misery, he figured.

Everything felt a little too much like the old days.

Harvey Dent sat down in a booth in a small, but homey cafe a few blocks south of the more busy establishments in Miagani Square. Across from him was a woman more than half his age, sharp features, short black hair, and scars coating her bare arms. A leather jacket was discarded on the seat next to her, uncovering the cropped white shirt she’d been wearing underneath.

“Good to see you, Cassandra,” Harvey said, placing his hot cup of coffee down on the table and leaning forward. “How have you been?”

“Good,” she said with a shrug. “Christine is at an open house at Gotham University today.”

“Christine?”

“My girlfriend,” Cass said quickly. “She is going back to school. I think she should be starting in a few months. It was hard getting her accepted, but now we are on track.”

“That’s good to hear,” Harvey said with a smile, before taking a sip of his drink. His eyes wandered across the cafe, to a small television on a nearby wall. It was tuned to a sports channel, some commentators speaking about a recently lost game by the Nighthawks. “What is she going for?”

“Nursing,” said Cass. “Her mother was a nurse, and taught her a lot. She wanted to start helping people more and thought it was a good idea.”

Ads began to play on the screen that Harvey had glanced at, and a familiar face flashed across the screen. He furrowed his brow and adjusted himself in his seat to get a better view. Cass followed his vision, and turned to see the advertisement.

Her own face was on the screen, beating up unnamed men in a dingy backdrop, out of her Batman costume. She was wearing a sweaty, bloodied tank top shirt and slightly baggy cargo pants. Various scenes flashed by, clearly intended to evoke some sort of emotion — pity, empathy, sadness, or rage — as Cass’s own face contorted in sorrow at what the trailer depicted as a very tragic death.

“Is that you?” asked Harvey, a smirk growing on his face.

“Yeah,” Cass said, turning back to him. “I… had no idea what the advertising would be like. I have not even done any interviews about the movie.”

“Are you the lead?” Harvey watched as the trailer ended, promoting a release date for the movie during the holiday season.

“Yes,” Cass replied. “It was fun. I hope people like it.”

“I’m sure they will.” Harvey said. His eyes glanced toward Cass’s hands, resting on the table, as she made a motion for him to look in a certain direction without attracting any attention. He obeyed, turning his head to the right and looking out of a nearby window. In the corner of his eye, he could see Cass’s head following someone walking behind Harvey, until her hands made another motion that signalled him to look back toward her.

“I am going to go to the restroom,” Cass said, grabbing her jacket and standing up from the booth. Harvey looked to the restroom doors at the back of the cafe and noticed a man walking into one of them. When he looked back at Cass, she nodded. “Then I should go, call me later.”

“Talk to you then,” Harvey said with a smile, tipping his drink toward her gently, before taking another sip. Cass walked off, jacket slung over her shoulder, and followed the man into the restrooms.

Less than thirty seconds passed before Cass came out of the restroom, hair slightly disheveled, putting her jacket back on and rushing out of the cafe at the pace of a fast walk. Passing by Harvey’s booth, she placed a phone on the table and, in that same instant that it hit the surface, Harvey reached for it and pulled it under the table, stuffing it in his pants pocket.

The man Cass had followed into the washroom came out with a hand against his head and a black eye. He scanned the cafe — Harvey averted his gaze — and rushed out when he’d clearly determined that his assailant was nowhere to be seen.

The moment the door to the cafe closed, Harvey took out the stolen phone, as well as his own. On his personal device, he opened it and sent a quick text message to a contact known only as Oracle. He received instructions to put the phones next to each other, and proceeded to watch as the stolen phone unlocked itself, navigated to the settings menu, and backed up all of its data to an unknown server, and finally turned back off once it finished.

Done, the message he got from Oracle said. He nodded to himself and stood from his seat, impressed by the swiftness and competence he’d seen on display from both Cass and Oracle. At most, a minute and a half had passed since Cass followed the man into the restroom and Oracle telling Harvey that her job had been completed.

He walked up to the barista at the counter and held the phone up.

“That guy that just rushed out, I think he dropped his phone,” Harvey said, offering it to the barista. They blinked once and smiled as they took it.

“Thanks,” they said. “If he comes looking I’ll get it to him.”

“That’d be great,” Harvey said. The barista took a moment to look over Harvey’s face.

“Are you the new District Attorney? You look a lot like the billboards.”

“Not yet,” Harvey said with a smile and a wink. “Just trying to enjoy a quiet coffee before life gets even more hectic.”

Blair sat outside of the Gotham Public Library in her car, waiting for Babs to leave. She’d spent all of her time on her phone, looking through whatever files she could fit onto its small internal drive, and studying every detail.

The passenger door opening startled her.

Babs climbed in and placed her crutches by her feet, the handles resting on her shoulder.

“How was work?” asked Blair. Babs sighed.

“More headaches,” she replied. Blair twisted the ignition to start the car, and eventually began at a slow pace down the street. “Essen’s allocating more and more away from us, and now we’ve had to cancel some of our outreach programs.”

“Where’s it all going?” asked Blair, as if she wasn’t keenly aware of what Essen was spending on.

“Lower property taxes, more money to the GCPD, everything but what we actually need,” Babs said. She groaned in frustration, followed by a scoff. “Anyway, how are you doing?”

“Restless,” said Blair. “I… I don’t have a lot to do, and it’s not exactly a walk in the park to find anything new.”

“I’m sure you’ll get something,” Babs said. “Maybe you could look into private security.”

“And guard the only pompous assholes still left in the city?” asked Blair, incredulous. “I’m better off sitting at home bored out of my mind.”

There was a brief pause between the two of them as Blair turned a corner, coming into slow traffic along Somerset’s busiest thoroughfare.

“I went to see my dad this morning, before work,” Babs said. Blair didn’t need to ask the obvious, and most common, question. “He’s doing better. He… He’s struggling to walk, still. But he’s doing better.”

“Glad to hear that,” said Blair. “It’s been a while since I…”

“He was still asleep, yeah,” Babs said. “Anyway… He always told me about his backup plan if he ever left the force. I think he’s honestly been married to it and the divorce was only going to come in the way that it did… But he always told me he wanted to go into private detective work. I don’t know if he’s going to be up for it, but… you’re good at what you do. You made it to detective.”

Blair paused for a moment, allowing the slow traffic to give her time to think. It wasn’t something she hadn’t considered before, but, much like James Gordon, she could rarely picture herself outside of policing. Private investigative work was something entirely different.

“Maybe,” Blair muttered. “It’s… something to consider, at least.”

“Good,” said Babs. “You should. I think it would suit you, hon.”

Babs reached her hand over the centre console and grabbed Blair’s thigh. She squeezed lightly to elicit a smile from her partner, before taking her hand back.

“I’ll think about it,” said Blair.

Astrid Arkham’s door came crashing down in the middle of her dining room as she was trying to finish dinner. She cursed and threw herself from her seat, hitting the ground hard. Her can rattled to the ground uselessly as she began to crawl toward her bedroom. A glance toward the entrance of her penthouse revealed nothing to her except that the lights in the entry hall were turned off.

She pulled herself forward with all the strength she could muster, and unfortunately that wasn’t very much. Her muscles ached as her breathing quickened, and once she reached her bedroom door, she had already felt like she needed to pass out. Ten feet of movement, and she was exhausted. She braced herself against the door as she picked herself up, shutting it tight and locking it.

She couldn’t even turn around before the door came crashing down again, sending her tumbling to the floor in a massive heap of frail bone and skin. She coughed incessantly, burning her throat and lungs raw, fully unable to open her eyes as they filled with tears from the exertion.

She could only force herself to keep moving. Large, loud footsteps circled around her. Whimpers escaped her mouth, desperate to get away, but she was outpaced.

She reached for the gun on the bedside table the moment she was close enough to, and as she twisted around and faced Sofia Falcone, her heart shattered to find out that her gun was not loaded. Her eyes widened, she looked down at the gun, then up at the table where the filled magazine was laying.

Her hand moved toward it, but not fast enough. Sofia grabbed her by the wrist and, with only a little bit of pressure, snapped it easily. Astrid cried out in pain, a piercing screech echoing throughout her apartment, until it died out a few seconds later when she fell unconscious.

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 54:‌ ‌ Legacy

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ ClaraEclair

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

It began with a rumble, a sort of thunderous sound that shook the very peaks and valleys of the land, causing the snow to billow up into the air like gigantic plumes of smoke. The wood of nearly a hundred trees creaked and cracked, trunks splitting and roots forced upward out of the dirt. A crack formed in the side of a wall of stone, running all the way up to one of the valley’s peaks and unleashing a torrent of wind that parted the very clouds above. The Flora in front of the crack, bushes, trees, and patches of grass that had persisted in spite of the many inches of snow, recoiled from the opening, displaying a speed impossible for plant life as they shifted through the dirt, relocating in safer, more stable spots.

From the crack, roots snaked out of each side, forcing themselves out of the hole before wrapping around the mountainside, their ends curling around the stone before pushing downward into the dirt. From the body of the roots, flowers began to sprout, displaying all manner of reds, purples, blues, and yellows, all of which contrasted greatly with the sterile cold gray of the world around them. Moss spread from the roots, carpeting the stone like a blanket, while verdant grass sprouted from the base of the mountain, forcing the snow back like the world’s largest shovel.

Here, in a valley of grey, potent green has overtaken a mountain, like a red button on a blue shirt.

Then, a host of figures began to emerge from the crack, stepping out into the biting cold. They numbered at least three dozen, most of them clothed in white togas. At their head stood a man in similarly simple clothes, yet altogether completely different attire. He was draped in tighter fitting attire, wool pants and a hood sewn from plant fibers. Long black hair spilled out from under the hood, and as the man pulled it back, his darker brown skin was exposed to the elements.

Levi Kamei had spent hours pushing his way through the earth, forcing a path open for him and the Sureen to travel. This was supposedly how the Swamp Thing traveled, blipping between instances of Plant Life through little shortcuts in reality. Unlike the Swamp Thing, Levi was the Seeder, and therefore not a plant construct, meaning he had to make more of a direct path that passed through some of those shortcuts more physically.

But after passing the threshold of many of those spots, he was finally where the Pale Wanderer had invited him, this isolated Alaskan Valley. He looked onward, noting the corpse-ridden smell in the wind. He looked north, spotting over a hundred figures poking out from behind a set of rolling hills. That rot in the air… it was unmistakable that those figures were not alive.

An army of the dead.

“By the Parliament of Trees,” the head of the Sureen exclaimed, unable to hide the shaking in his knees. “He has enthralled the head of the Rot.”

Levi frowned, “Explains why he’s confident enough to broadcast his location. He’s got a whole army at his beck and call.”

The leader of the Sureen bowed, “What would you have us do, O’ Seeder?”

Levi grimaced, keeping his eyes on the hills, “They’re not charging us, so they’re clearly not planning on killing us right away. Let’s set up camp and consider our options.”

The leader of the Sureen nodded, and barked at the rest of the flock to begin setting up camp. All the while, Levi stared at the growing number of bodies clambering over the hill. They stopped near the top, but refused to cross the threshold of that peak. They were waiting for something, marching orders perhaps? Levi imagined that it would’ve been quite simple to ask them to obliterate the enemy when he arrived at the gates.

One thing was clear. Bloodshed was not the Pale Wanderer’s intention, at least not in this moment.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

“Aaaaah…. Shit shit shit shit shit.”

The Pale Wanderer stood at the edge of his camp, eyes wide at the sudden emergence of green overtaking one of the mountains of the valley. His mouth was so agape that the right part of his jaw popped out of its socket, causing the left side of his face to sag so much the flesh stretched itself thin against his skull. He whirled around, trudging back down to the clearing where he’d first talked strategy with his fellows. The ground was still damp and warm underneath his feet when he arrived, causing him to sink an inch or so into the mud.

Tefé and William Holland, as well as Maxine Baker, all milled about in the clearing, pacing nervously. They stood at attention as the wanderer returned, with William approaching him, “Well?”

“Yeah… he’s here,” the Wanderer said, gulping. “I… didn’t count on him getting here so fast.”

William sighed, shaking his head disapprovingly. He had followed the Pale Wanderer because he believed in his vision, and now he was being defeated by something as simple as his adversary showing up earlier than planned. The Pale Wanderer had planned to force a negotiation, to worm his way to the table by threat of force rather than force itself, yet here he was, squirming realizing he had to put his words into action.

In a way, this was one of the most characteristic things he’d ever seen the Pale Wanderer do. Big ideas, very shortsighted and ill-planned execution.

Meanwhile, Maxine and Tefé stood further back, similar thoughts racing through both of their heads. They had lied to be where they were now, deceived the Pale Wanderer into believing that they were on his side to escape imprisonment by him and William. They had a near identical perspective to William, that the Pale Wanderer’s plan was ill advised, but there was also a seed of hope that it brought, something they hadn’t felt in a long time in regards to the current power dynamics of forces like The Green. The forces were a bedrock upon which reality was built, but that bedrock was flexing its control in deeply authoritative ways. The sacrifices it demanded were not noble, they were built on fear and a desire to dominate.

And when forces clashed, the world suffered in ways that made the World Wars seem minor. Open fighting would escalate into catastrophe, and both Tefé and Maxine knew they couldn’t let it come to pass.

“Well, someone’s gonna have to go down there,” Tefé remarked.

“Things are testy though, so we’ve gotta pick the right feller,” the Pale Wanderer said. He took a deep breath, “Maybe I should go. I called him here after all.”

“He’s liable to murder you on sight,” William remarked. “I should go. One Avatar to another.”

“You’re leading the army that could crush him,” Tefé said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“I’ll do it.”

The group’s eyes widened as they fell on Maxine, who rolled her shoulders in a half-hearted show of confidence. There was a trepidation to her, a clear lack of confidence in this declaration, but despite that she still pumped her chest out and stood tall. Tefé placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder, “Are you sure, Maxine? I could go instead. We’ve both met him.”

“No, I… I think William’s right. It should be an Avatar, and I’m the one who fits the bill best if we’re going to negotiate,” Maxine said.

“Why don’t we go together then?” Tefé asked. “What would the harm be?”

“It changes the kind of statement we’d be sending,” the Pale Wanderer said. “More importantly, if he decides to do something unsavory, we’d be risking both of you. Better to stick with one.”

Tefé glared at the Wanderer, “I don’t think Levi’s that kind of person.”

“Maybe not, but we shouldn’t risk it,” William said. “I think Maxine’s right. She should go.”

Tefé opened her mouth to protest, only for Maxine to suddenly take her hand, forcing her friend to meet her gaze. That lack of confidence was still evident in Maxine’s face, but her eyes told a different story, filled with the kind of determination you’d find in animals who had decidedly chosen fight over flight. This was, for reasons Tefé was only just now identifying, incredibly important to Maxine. She had to do this… and she had to do this alone.

Tefé grimaced, and then, without a moment lost, pulled Maxine into a hug. She squeezed tight, so tight Maxine could barely slip her arms out of her friend’s grasp to return the embrace. All those years traveling together, from conversations in dining booths to hours driving along the backgrounds of America… it all felt like it was leading here. Tefé shuddered, then released Maxine, “Don’t let this be goodbye.”

Maxine shook her head, “Don’t worry… it’s not.”

Then, Maxine pulled away from Tefé, and began trudging down the mountain, disappearing into the treeline while leaving the rest of her companions in the clearing. They all kept their eyes glued to her as she disappeared from view, silent until the Pale Wanderer finally glanced towards the Hollands, “You think she can get this done?”

“Maxine Baker isn’t someone I know very well, but I know the kinds of things she’s gone through,” William said. “She’s made of stern stuff.”

Rather than responding, Tefé watched the spot where Maxine had disappeared from view, whispering a single statement under her breath, “You better keep that promise…for everyone’s sake.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

As cold as it was, Maxine couldn’t help but feel like it was even colder than it should be. It wasn’t just freezing, she felt like she was encased in ice, forced to carry an inch thick layer of the stuff with every step she took, making every movement feel incredibly heavy. In spite of all of this, she powered on anyway, her heart thumping so hard it was liable to break every single one of her ribs if she dared stop her march. She had to keep moving, she was compelled to keep moving.

She felt like she would die on the spot if she stopped, even if only for a moment.

Slowly, the cover of the trees fell away to the wider valley, and without a hint of a break she powered onward, marching over various hills and by a menagerie of undead mobs. Her goal was clear, but she had no clue what she was going to say to Levi. There had to be some kind of in, some kind of strategy to employ, but nothing was coming to her. She had volunteered without a plan. In that sense, she and the Pale Wanderer had a lot in common. Dreamers without actionable methods. People hurtling towards their ultimate goals at the speed of light, their legs moving faster than their brains.

Suddenly, her eyes widened. There was an inkling of an idea there, an in with Levi. It wasn’t developed, not even close, but it was something, and a weak start was better than no start at all.

Before she knew it, she had arrived at the perimeter of Levi’s camp. The Sureen had already set up tents, and having seen her approach, a couple of them moved to meet her at the edge of the encampment. Maxine raised one hand in a show of peace, “I’m here to speak to the Seeder. I bring terms.”

“Terms of what?” asked one of the Sureen.

“Terms of agreement,” Maxine said. “A discussion that can and should be had to prevent any bloodshed.”

The two members looked at each other skeptically, prompting Maxine to add one last bit, “As Avatar of the Red, I believe I carry a level of importance denoting my status. Please, let me through. What I have to say is in good faith.”

For a moment, the two did nothing. Then, they both shuffled to the side, parting to allow Maxine inside. She nodded enthusiastically before walking in, hearing the two of them close the gap behind her. The camp was much like the one she had visited previously, a collection of tents and hammocks, and ultimately it was easy enough to find Levi in one of the tents. He was on one knee, drawing a map of the area in the wet dirt. Maxine cleared her throat, “Levi?”

Levi’s head perked up, and he turned around, surprised written all over his face, “Maxine Baker? You’re here?”

“Tefé is too,” Maxine said.

Levi grunted in frustration, “Damn… seems like everyone’s throwing their lot behind that guy. Starting to feel left out.” He stood up, “The hell are you guys doing? The Pale Wanderer is a madman. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Maybe not, but believe it or not, his heart’s in the right place,” Maxine said. “Which brings me to why I’m here.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, “Go on?”

“The Pale Wanderer doesn’t want a fight. He just wants to meet with the Parliament of Trees,” Maxine said. “They’ve held a monopoly on people’s lives for long enough, something needs to change.”

“Something needs to- fuck’s sake, do you hear yourself?” Levi exclaimed. “Do you know how you sound? You’re saying this crazy guy wants a seat at the negotiating table with nature itself? Do you know how bad that could get?”

“He’s not the only one, we’d all be there,” Maxine said. “And besides that, I thought you of all people would understand where we’re coming from. You were so skeptical before about the Green, now you’re just blindly following them?”

“I’m not blind, I’ve considered my options,” Levi said. “Being Seeder… it’s a responsibility. I have a responsibility to the Parliament of Trees, to what they stand for. I was chosen for this… and now it’s all I’ve got. What do you have at stake here?”

Maxine grimaced, she considered lashing out at Levi, pointing out how selfish he sounded, but that would only cause things to escalate. She had to challenge him without going too heavy, but how could she thread that needle?

Then something occurred to her, and she looked him dead in the eyes, “My legacy.”

Levi raised an eyebrow, “Your… what?”

Maxine took a deep breath, “All my life, I’ve done what other people have told me. I’ve lived in the shadow of other people, either because I was too afraid to do something or because people thought I couldn’t do those things. When I was a kid, everyone else did their best to make me feel small and weird and unimportant, and when the Red revealed I was their Avatar, I jumped at the chance to be that golden child.”

She found herself standing straighter, almost with pride, “I felt… so unwanted, that I jumped at the chance to be this big important person, to be valued and adored that way, and in some ways I’m still proud of it. I saved the Red a week into my time as Avatar, I felt needed for once, like I wasn’t some squirt that was meant to be in the background.”

She grimaced, “But I was so in love with this new life that I never questioned what it would cost. What did the Red want? What was I going to be ordered to do for them? What was I going to have to put on the line? I’ve been lucky and unlucky enough to have people take on those burdens for me, because the one time it got too serious I almost died. I’ll always love my brother for putting himself on the line for me, I’ll always treasure Tefé for being my champion… but even they gave so much that I never really got to question and challenge myself the way I needed to, at least not until now.”

Her hands balled up into fists, “I don’t know why you became Seeder, but you can’t let it get to your head. Don’t just mindlessly follow orders because you’re so attached to this life. Sure, thinking about the hard stuff is, you guessed it, hard, but if you just keep rolling along, kicking that can further and further down the road… eventually you and the can are gonna be at a cliff, and neither of you will be paying enough attention to stop before you’re tumbling into the ocean.”

She stood firm, glaring at Levi, “Before you make any decisions, think about what the Pale Wanderer’s plan represents. Think about what the Parliament of Trees represents. Then… make your decision. Don’t let anyone else make it for you.”

Levi stared at Maxine for a moment, silent. His emotions were imperceptible on his blank, mossy face, and after a few seconds, he sighed, “Go back to your friends. I… I will think about what you’ve said.”

Maxine, her face resolute, nodded before exiting the tent, leaving Levi alone with his many, many thoughts.

Next Issue: Levi Kamei’s crisis of faith!

DC Next presents:

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Six: Silence

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by PatrollinTheMojave

Next Issue >

Life never settled in Gotham City; it wasn't in its nature to “settle” into anything. Duke, Harper and Luke had all long since learned how no two days in the city were ever the same, always impossible to predict, and even in Jace's home world the stereotype was commonplace. Despite all of this, if there were any time that the New Gotham Knights could have described as “calm", it would be the week that Ryan returned home.

News spread quickly, then dissipated just as quickly; having friends in high places had perks that included being able to encourage the news to move on to the next big thing to be riled up about. The way Harper saw it, she'd mentioned to her teammates on the day of Wilder's homecoming, her story was no longer making its readers angry, regardless of where said anger was directed, and therefore it was much easier for the news to move on from it. What had once been a media frenzy that had dragged in both Nightwing and Batman, was now old news.

But there was still much to discuss about the aftermath of that confrontation. Luke, Harper, Jace and Duke all stood motionless in a row, reminiscent of a police lineup, and stared forward at the woman with long reddish hair sitting before them, who fixed her glasses and then her posture. Barbara Gordon flashed them a smile.

“This is all very formal,” she remarked, referring to their rank-like positioning. “Relax. It's just a debrief.”

Each of the Knights relaxed at differing speeds. Harper immediately slouched and dragged herself into the nearest chair, with Duke not far behind. Jace simply folded his arms, tall as a tree and sturdy as one too. Finally, with his eyes narrowing the slightest amount, just about caught by Babs, he allowed himself to relax, perching on the edge of the sleek black table just behind him.

“Well,” Babs began. “First things first, great job out there. Some stellar communication, well done. Secondly, thanks for reporting back to me about the newly appearing Batwomans.”

“I think it's Batwomen,” Duke corrected under his breath.

Babs ignored him. “I'm all for it - I think it's a great idea for all involved.” But then a scrunched expression flashed over her face, like she was formulating her next sentence with the utmost concentration. “The bottom line, though, is we need to figure out where that leaves you guys.”

Luke immediately nodded effervescently. “Definitely. And what this means for Gotham as a whole.”

“I don't follow,” said Harper.

“You all operate as a quartet. It's what you're used to, it's created a routine - in the same way, the city has grown to appreciate, understand and expect that same routine. But now, we've got three - at least three - Batwomans roaming around at the same time.”

Duke opted not to correct her this time.

“I know you've all got pretty good rapport with Ryan, for example,” she continued. “Maybe it's a good idea to get her caught up, make sure you're coordinating with her.”

“Keeping her in the loop,” Jace nodded. “Even if she's not on the team.”

“Exactly.”

“We could swing by her van to talk to her,” Harper floated with a quick glance at the others. “Might be an easier way to make sure you're talking to the right Batwoman, as opposed to watching out for any sign of one and hoping we find the right one.”

“Yeah, it can get really tough to distinguish who's who.” Duke shook his head. “I mean, we know Kate, and we know Ryan. But apparently there's another one roaming around as well, and they all look the same as each other when they're out on patrol. And there could be more of ‘em” He looked back at Babs, his face a vision of exaggerated incredulity. “I mean, d'you know anything about this?”

Babs shrugged with an apologetic smile, but her poker face was not exactly infallible. A twinkle in her eye gave Duke enough of an answer. In an attempt to shut down any further questions, Babs quickly pivoted. “Go find Ryan and set up a method of communicating. It's like you said, Jace - the Batwomans don't have to be part of the Knights, but at the same time you need to all be on the same page if this is going to work long-term.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

As the quartet arrived at the known location of her home - a cozy red van bursting at the seams with furniture and plants - there was instead a perfect rectangular patch of cropped yellow grass waiting for them. Surrounding this area were dozens of candles and wilting bouquets of flowers and notes made barely legible by rain and sun. Luke was the first to stoop down and take a card. The writer was clearly very moved by Ryan’s story, and their message was full of grief and well-wishes. ‘Gotham hopes that you will come home,’ it told Ryan. ‘And when you do, it’ll welcome you with open arms.’ It moved Luke for a moment; then he remembered how Blockbuster had orchestrated that grief, how he had manipulated civilians in Gotham and beyond to fear and mourn, all to push his own agenda. Luke believed the writer of this poignant note - he was sure that its author was truly sorrowful and wished more than anything for her return - but knowing how this person had been groomed into caring so deeply under false pretenses… it made him feel sick. He grimaced and placed the note back down.

Despite the setback, the four Gothamites were able to find Ryan Wilder’s new location easily enough. On their approach, Ryan threw open the rear door of the van and greeted them all with a wide smile. Some kind of trinket flew out and onto the concrete below. “Hey, guys!” She greeted warmly. “It’s great to see you. Come in, I—” She looked back into the interior of her van and sucked a breath through her teeth. It was clear that she’d never had to fit five people into her home before and was calculating if such a thing was possible. “Actually, hmm… How ‘bout we just sit on the floor? I’ll set up some blankets.”

And so the five of them gathered around in a circle next to the trunk of Ryan’s van. Incense and coffee wafted from the open doors. Harper, Ryan and Luke found themselves sitting cross-legged on the ground while Duke and Jace opted to sit at the lip of the trunk with their legs dangling out.

“We went to your old place first,” Harper said to Ryan. Her reaction surprised Harper; she turned suddenly to face her and looked annoyed, but Harper quickly realised what the source of her annoyance was.

“Ugh, yeah. I had to get out of that place. After all the— well, you know— up in Hub City, I just wanted a quiet place to rest my bones, but I come home and see all that? Imagine living like that, surrounded by a literal shrine to you. I mean, I’m not that much of a narcissist.”

For a moment Luke wanted to talk about the note he’d read and his conflicted feelings towards it, to ask Ryan if she felt the same about it. But he worried that it would open a wound of some kind for Ryan, so he let the moment pass.

“Thanks for coming to find me,” Ryan continued. She looked each of the Knights in the eye with warmth. “Back then, I mean. Well, thanks for coming to find me now as well, I guess - but my point is that, even though I thought everything with Kate was fine, even though I totally believed that we would be completely safe just hiding out in the way that we were… you still came looking for me, still tried to talk to me about it.” She nodded. “That was pretty awesome. Thank you.”

“It was nothing,” Duke said, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. “Just tryna help.”

“How are things?” Jace asked. “What’s it like being Batwoman?”

Ryan cast a glance around in a circle. She was still on high alert, it seemed, only this time it was for people who might find out about her new career. Satisfied that they were alone, she turned back to Jace. “Weird,” she chuckled. “Freaking awesome, but weird. I guess I’m just still getting used to it all.”

“You been on many patrols? Caught any bad guys?” asked Jace with a brotherly, teasing look.

“Heh. Well, uh, a few. I mean, to be honest, we haven’t really done all that much yet.” She threw up her hands defensively. “Not to complain or anything. Just a fact. A couple of robbers here and there, every couple hours there’s some kind of fight. But really it’s been… calm.” The word seemed foreign in her mouth, like she was trying it on for the first time. And to the Knights’ surprise, they all found themselves nodding in agreement with her. Even Ryan herself seemed surprised by this.

“That’s because we’ve got it handled before you can even get to ‘em,” Harper smirked, tilting her head back with pride. “Gotta be faster, Batwoman.”

Ryan nudged her playfully with her elbow and snorted. “I will hold you to that. And so will the others.”

A silence hung in the air for a few moments. Not an awkward or uncomfortable silence, one that makes those caught inside of it scramble for something to say, but a serene quiet, with nothing but the distant rumble of cars to orchestrate their meeting.

“Oh!” Ryan yelped in realisation, cutting the quiet moment clean in half. She rose to her feet and, instead of diving between the two men sitting in the trunk, scurried around and into the passenger seat. “There was something—” she strained to say as she pulled herself past the gearstick and into an awkward crouched position next to a dresser and started pulling open doors in search for it. “—that I wanted to talk to you guys about. I found it when we were taking down this group of guys, they were trying to— well, that’s irrelevant. Point is, it caught my eye. I feel bad about this but I don’t really remember if it was already there or if one of these doofuses dropped it.” She crouch-walked towards Jace and Duke and handed the younger man what appeared to be a rag or a dish cloth. As she manoeuvred back out of the van and onto the blanket, Jace and Duke analysed it carefully. “It reminds me of something,” Ryan added.

“It’s canvas,” Jace concluded.

Luke sat up. “Lemme see.”

Duke obliged and handed the fabric to Luke. As soon as the roughness brushed his hands, abrasive against the dry skin, Luke felt cold. Remembrance flooded his body, like it was waking from a coma; he thought back to their confrontations with Wolf Spider, the art thief who was desperate in search of maps being hidden under paintings all around Gotham. It had affected him deeply to find out the thief’s identity - Evan Blake, a close family friend. Luke thought that he’d talked some sense into him - he was so sure that Evan was just being puppeted and blackmailed by someone with great influence - but he doubted himself as soon as the fabric reached his hands.

He turned it over. At first it seemed stained or damaged, but on closer inspection Luke realised the speckles weren’t dirt, but fibres woven into the ocean of pale beige. The canvas was inches from his face and he squinted so hard that his eyebrows met in the middle. The pattern wasn’t random, he concluded; each fleck of brown or black or grey formed a symbol of some kind - some instantly recognisable like a hash or a caret, some that he could just about make out due to size such as the letter Omega or a smiley face, and some that he truly could not read. The thing that caught his eye the most, though, was that the paragraph of glyphs ended in three question marks. He noted that the second mark was slightly larger than the two surrounding it.

“So are you just gonna keep sniffing that thing, or are you gonna tell us what you’re doing?” Harper said dryly.

“It’s canvas,” Luke repeated Jace’s assessment.

“Yeah, we got that far—”

“As in, like, for painting. Rather than the kind you’d get in sacks or bags.” He pulled the cloth away from his face and held it at its very edge with one hand. The strip of canvas stayed rigid. “See? Canvas bags are all floppy and pliable, but painting canvasses are treated with something that stiffens the fabric. It makes it easier to paint on.”

Harper stirred. Luke nodded to her - he could tell that she was picking up on what he was thinking. In sequence, Duke recognised the same thing, followed by Jace.

“There’s symbols on it,” continued Luke in a muted tone. “Seems to be some kind of code, though not one I recognise.” As if he couldn’t contain the swirling cyclone of emotions in his stomach, Luke erupted. “I can’t believe him. If Wolf Spider is back out there, then it means he’s disregarded everything we said to him. We extended him an olive branch and he’s snapped it in half.”

“We don’t even know if this is Wolf Spider yet,” Harper protested. “He was stealing whole paintings, not tiny bits of canvas.”

“Besides, wasn’t he set up?” Duke chimed in. “There were those two women, Deedee and… something.”

“Nina,” Luke added with recollection in his tone. Of course: the perplexing duo who had led them all - including Wolf Spider - on a scavenger hunt around Gotham in search of paintings, all the while giving confusing, distorted and often untrue information to throw them off the scent. But he shook his head. His mind refused to stop racing and ruminating on the thought of his friend returning to a life of crime.

“Okay, you’ve lost me,” Ryan remarked in confusion.

“Long story,” was Harper’s only reply. Ryan was not placated by this, so she added: “Worked for someone who wanted to toy with this Wolf Spider guy. So Spider was just a pawn.”

“Maybe we should pay him a visit regardless,” Luke concluded, his eyes still fixed on the palm-sized hunk of fabric in his hands. “If not to ask him about his involvement, then to at least let him know.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty-Two: A Righteous World

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

The signs didn’t show themselves until more than a few miles into the Canadian wilderness, but even if the squad had caught it when it happened, there was nothing that any of them could do. The truck plowed through the snow, rumbling violently as the tires clambered over every bump and crag. Colonel Rick Flag sat at the driver’s seat, his knuckles bone white with the way he gripped the steering wheel. Despite the bumpy ride, he was stoic and unmoving, almost like a statue. Tatsu Yamashiro, Katana, sat in the passenger’s seat next to him, scanning the horizon from her perch. Her blade, Soultaker, was sheathed, but her thumb was pressed against the hilt, her hands ready for the draw at the moment’s notice.

In the back seats, Zalicka and Todd, also known by their codenames, Hack and Hallucigent, were beginning to nod off. Escaping Amanda Waller’s living weapons was stressful enough, but watching their base, the place that had been their home for years, be destroyed? It was a nightmare that both of them hoped they could just sleep away. Between them lay the bloodied form of Raptor, wounded so badly that he lacked the energy to move or even speak. Further back, in the trunk outside, Waylon Jones, AKA Killer Croc, cradled the unconscious body of William Tresser, AKA Nemesis. Waylon’s more reptilian features made the outside cold more unpleasant than they already were, but he didn’t care much about that at the moment. Tresser concerned him more than anything, his skin growing colder by the moment.

Above the truck, Adella, also known as Brimstone, carried the unconscious body of Dante, also known as Polaris. Her flight had to be carefully maintained and balanced with his additional weight, and the fact that he hadn’t even woken up yet was really starting to worry her. He’d used his magnetic abilities to collapse a mountain, and the kind of power didn’t come without consequence. She prayed he’d come back to the group soon, that he wouldn’t be like this forever.

Then, it happened. Tresser had been crushed within the grasp of his former friend, the mind controlled form of Ethan Avery… Damage. Such superhuman strength applied to the human body was bound to cause some serious harm, but it wasn’t until now that the signs became impossible to ignore.

Tresser startled awake, coughing up heaps of blood which splashed back down onto his face, coating his lips in crimson. Croc’s eyes widened, and he began slamming his hand against the top of the truck, “Hey! Hey stop! We’ve gotta stop right now!”

The truck screeched to a halt, and its occupants poured out with an incredible urgency. Adella’s eyes widened, and she touched down next to the vehicle among the growing crowd. The squad gathered around the trunk as Croc flipped the tailgate down, laying Tresser upon it as gently as he could. Tresser sputtered, convulsing and gagging as he looked to what was left of the Suicide Squad. He wanted to convey some kind of final message, a final word of wisdom or some kind of inspirational speech, but the blood pooling into his lungs and up his throat killed anything and everything of the sort. Instead, he could only look at the people he had sworn to lead with wide eyes, full of fear and shock.

Damage had killed him back in the compound, his body just hadn’t caught up to the sensation yet. Before anyone could say anything to try and placate Tresser, to comfort him, his body went still all at once, a look of terror permanently plastered on his face. Zalika put a hand over her mouth, while Hallucigent looked away, unable to bear the sight of his comrade’s body. Tatsu shuddered, doing her best to process the loss yet unable to hide the sheer shock of it all. Croc looked down at the body, then to Adella, who shook her head in regret.

Flag reached a hand out towards Tresser, only to stop mid-way. Unable to complete the gesture, for reasons that could only be chalked up to the futility of the effort, his fingers closed into fists, and he dropped to his knees, feeling a silent cry come up through his throat.

He could not scream. For then, Waller’s weapons would find them, and there would be even more dead friends.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

The squad milled about around the truck, doing their best not to let their anxiety get the best of them. Tresser had done himself the small mercy of dying in the car instead of in the midst of battle, which afforded him the opportunity for a proper burial. The spot chosen for him was not within view of the squad, but they could hear Flag and Tatsu work away with shovels, the signature crackle of the metal tip working its way through snow and dirt. Croc sat under a nearby tree, while Todd and Zalika paced around the truck, keeping their legs moving to stay warm.

Having placed Dante in the truck next to Raptor, Adella shuffled over to the tailgate, hopping up on it before looking at the rest of the squad despondently, “So, what’s the plan now?”

“The plan?” Todd scoffed. “What plan? There is no plan. Whatever plan we used to have fell apart when they blew up our home base!”

“I’m sure Flag’s got something cooking,” Croc said. “Just hold it toge-”

“Cooking? With what?!” Todd exclaimed. “He has seven people, two of which are out of commission, and a truck full of junk. That’s not a lot to work with.”

“Then we can build back up,” Adella said. “Sure it’ll take some time but, it’s not impossible?”

Todd gave Adella an incredulous look, “Build back up? We spent years building that hole in the ground into something worthwhile, and it took less than an hour for Waller to rip it away. What’s the point of building shit when we’re always a slip away from losing it all.”

“Nobody said this was gonna be easy,” Croc said.

“There’s a hell of a difference between easy and impossible,” Todd said. “I just… I don’t see a way forward, and if I can’t see it… I don’t know if I can rightly walk that road if all that’s waiting for me at the end is a bullet.”

Croc grimaced, but elected not to humor Todd’s despair. It wouldn’t be good for anybody. Todd shook his head in dismay and continued his pacing. Unable to bear the repetitive nature of her movements, Zalika trudged over to Adella, “How are you doing?”

Adella grimaced, “Not great. I know Raptor will be fine eventually, but Dante…” She looked through the rear window of the truck, noting that Dante hadn’t moved an inch since she set him in there, “I’ve never seen him like this. It… scares me not knowing whether he’s going to wake up or not.”

“He’s not dead is he?” Zalika asked.

Adella sniffled, “He’s got a pulse… but who knows how long that’ll last. He needs a hospital, but we can’t take him to one.”

“He’ll pull through, I’m sure of it,” Zalika said.

“How can you be so sure?” Adella asked.

Zalika frowned, “Because…because it would just be cruel for fate to take another person from us. The universe doesn’t hate us that much, does it?”

Adella managed a weak smile, but she could not hide her skepticism at the statement, “I don’t know, Fate’s never felt the need to be kind to us. Still, I’ll hold onto the hope he’ll wake up.” She looked back at Dante again, “It’s not like I have all that much left to hold onto anyways.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Flag planted the shovel in the cold, clammy dirt, signifying the end of Tresser’s burial efforts. The body could sleep peacefully, even if the soul passed on rife with feelings of regret and failure. He prepared to pull the shovel out, only to hesitate, realizing that he had nothing else that could mark this spot. Sighing, he let go of the handle, leaving the tool where it was to signify that something significant was here, at least to him and his companions.

Tatsu took a deep breath, having laid Tresser to rest together with Flag. The shock had passed from her face, and what was left was a steely determination that could only be worn by someone who had lost much and knew to appreciate what they still had. Flag shook his head at the grave, then turned to Tatsu, “How are you feeling?”

She frowned, “Let’s start walking back before we get into any of that. It feels wrong to ask that here.”

Flag looked down at the grave, then back at Tatsu, “Alright.”

The two began to trudge through the snow, their pace slow and belaboured. It was clear to both of them that they weren’t quite ready to return to the truck, and instead they elected to walk in a sort of semi-circle, giving the rest of the squad a wide berth. They were the leaders now, and good leaders knew where to go and what to do when the cards were stacked against them. Neither of them had any idea where to go from here.

Unable to bear the silence any longer, Tatsu spoke first, “You have any ideas?”

“What about?” Flag asked blankly.

“You know what about,” Tatsu said. “I know it’s hard to think about so soon after what happened, but they’re going to need to know what steps we’re taking once we get back.”

Flag pursed his lips, “What’s left to do? What can we do?”

Tatsu shook her head, “Oh, come on Flag-”

“Please,” Flag looked at Tatsu, eyes puffy and red. “I… I came to you and Tresser because with your resources and people combined with mine, I knew we had a fighting chance against Waller. A few hours later and she’s broken us over her knee.”

“We’re only broken if we lay down our arms,” Tatsu said. “She’s not beaten us yet.”

“Tatsu… the arms we have left just aren’t enough,” Flag shook his head. “Maybe… maybe I should let everyone go.”

Tatsu’s eyes widened, “Flag…”

“I don’t want people dying for nothing, Tatsu,” Flag said. “We’ve lost too many people as is. Eventually, you have to know when to cut your losses, and I’m not risking people’s lives for something that I don’t think we can win.”

Flag trudged onward, a weak resolve powering him all the way. He would not suffer another loss. He wouldn’t watch another friend die. He treasured his friends far too much to let this sort of thing happen. However, it was after ten feet of marching that he realized that Tatsu had stopped in her tracks. He turned back towards her, “Tatsu?”

“I’m not giving up,” Tatsu said.

Flag gritted his teeth, “You can’t do this alone.”

Tatsu’s face was devoid of any specific emotion. She was clearly not angry, “I don’t blame you for wanting to cut and run. It’s a choice we’ve always offered to anyone we save from Waller… but we’re all that’s left. If we don’t stand up to her, then nobody will. She’s been getting away with everything for decades now, and if I want this world to feel as sane and just as I want it to be, I have to do something.”

She marched onward, brushing past Flag and disappearing into the treeline, leaving him alone in the silent wood. He stood there for a few seconds, then a few moments, then a few minutes. What he was feeling wasn’t fear. He’d learned to live with fear long ago. No, this was something else.

Heartbreak.

What kind of person would he be if he turned tail and ran. A man who loved his friends certainly… but a man who was also betraying the values he had held dear all his life, even if he had tried to honor those values in the worst ways imaginable. He took a deep breath, unsure of what he was about to do next, only that he could not allow himself time to think about it.

He had to feel it in the moment.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

It took some time for Flag to catch up to Tatsu and the rest of the squad, and by then the group had started packing everything up, making sure that the truck was ready to go. The group turned to him expectantly, almost braced for whatever answer he was going to give. They were scared, paralysed by an uncertain, dangerous future. Tatsu crossed her arms, silently waiting for Flag to say something.

Flag cleared his throat, and without waiting to collect his thoughts, just started talking, “I know that what happened today is… it’s beyond difficult. It’s beyond description. We’ve lost friends, we’ve lost a home… we’ve lost the lives we’ve built up over years. You’re all hurting, I know, and for a bit, I considered asking if any of you wanted to step off this crazy train. I wouldn’t blame you if you did. We’ve all been through more heartbreak than any person should rightly experience across more than a few lifetimes.”

Flag rolled his shoulders, “But I can’t let this go. Tresser died to keep you all safe, but he also died fighting Waller. I don’t plan on stopping until the fight’s over, either when she’s dead… or I am,” His eyes scanned the squad. “The odds aren’t good. In fact, they’ve never been worse… but I look into your eyes and I see the dozens of other people Waller will subjugate. She’ll continue to use and discard whoever comes her way unless somebody stops her.”

He stood tall, “Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how I go… but right now I can’t imagine doing anything else. I won’t ask any of you to come with me, but… I sure as hell could use the help.”

Flag imagined that there wouldn’t be that many people sticking with him, and that if there were, they’d at least take a moment or two to consider their options. Instead, Croc and Adella, loyal as they had always been, nodded in affirmation to Flag. They didn’t need to profess their desire to take down Waller. They’d made their stances clear ages ago. Tatsu grinned, raising her hand in affirmation, while Zalika took a deep breath before following suit. This was not a large band of fighters… but they wouldn’t be called the Suicide Squad if they were an army, would they?

Todd looked at the rest of the group in surprise, then back at Flag, “Alright alright, you’ve got the rebellion spirit fired up in everyone, but do you have a plan besides hopes and dreams?”

Flag raised his eyebrow at Todd, “I do… but it’s quite the hail mary. It’ll take subtlety, wits, and a whole lot of faith…”

He looked out towards the horizon, a verdant orange hue coating the sky, “And it starts at Belle Reve.”

Raid Belle Reve in Suicide Squad #63 - out next month!

DC Next proudly presents:

KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In What Comes Next?

Issue Forty: We Keep Moving Forward

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

<< | < Previous Issue

Present Day, Over A Year After Reignfall

Kara slid backward along the pavement on her toes, coming to an abrupt stop from supersonic flight in an alley in the centre of Istanbul. She dug her fingers into the pavement below to stop her slide as she looked forward at the man she was chasing. He looked haggard, stress clearly taking its toll on him, and as he stared at her in disbelief. The cigarette he’d been nursing — the second last one in his pack, Kara saw within his pockets — fell from his hand and sparked over the ground as it landed.

“Mark Shaw,” called Kara, standing up straight, a grin stretching across her face. “It’s taken a real long time to find you, so I hope I’ve got the right guy.” He began taking steps away from Kara, clearly ready to bolt in the opposite direction. She shook her head and said, “you haven’t been sleeping much, have you?”

He cocked his head, though the deep circles under his eyes told Kara what she’d already known. Nia had spent the last year trying to find him, but he appeared never to sleep — at least, not while Nia was actively searching — but was still clearly alive. There were no reports of his death, which Cameron Chase, at the D.E.O., begrudgingly provided evidence for.

“Is it the stress?” asked Kara, walking further forward. “Paranoia? I’m just surprised the D.E.O. didn’t arrest you for what you did to Alex and Ben. I know it was under the President’s initiative, but what a thing to do…”

“I was…” he began to say. “I was just following—”

“—following orders,” Kara said. “I know, I know. I have to say, I’m a little bit sick of excuses like that.” Kara’s face steeled in an emotionless expression. Shaw glanced behind him toward the other end of the alley and was clearly just about to make a break for it. “Entire planets have died from excuses like that. Have some backbone.”

He broke out into a sprint away from Kara, heading toward the opening of the alley, where the idea of freedom had been laid bare in front of him. If he could make sure someone else was around, he would be protected, right? This was clearly a vendetta being settled, he thought.

A figure crashed down onto the ground in front of him, cracking the asphalt beneath her, large appendages spread out from her back, stretching out across the ground, curving around Shaw where he stood. He froze, watching Dawnstar stand from her crouching position, fury on her face piercing his mind.

“What are you going to do to me?” he asked. “You have no authority!”

“We’re not going to do anything to you, Shaw,” said Kara. “Just wanted to let you know a couple of things.” Kara stepped up to him and put a hand on his shoulder, startling him from his fear paralysis. “First, it’s that we’re always going to be out there, aware of you. Get a normal life, learn what that feels like, it’ll be better for you. Second, we thought you should know that Alex has been thriving without you this last year. She’s no longer a victim of you or the D.E.O. and her life is no longer under anyone’s control but her own.”

“Where is she?” asked Shaw.

“As if we’d tell you,” Kara replied with a scoff. “When we asked her if you wanted to be here, she laughed and said she wanted nothing to do with you. She’s doing so much better know. Her and her sister are closer than ever, she’s dating again, and she’s finally able to live the life she’s been wanting to live since she was a child.” Kara put a slight pressure on Shaw’s shoulder. “You sent her after me time and time again as a show of the D.E.O.’s resources and power, that they were always monitoring me. You took a woman I could relate to and forced her to hate me, and she never could. We’re good friends now, for when I need my dose of normalcy.”

“And now, you are here,” Dawnstar said, retracting her wings to her back and stepping to the side.

“And now you’re here,” repeated Kara. “You have nothing. After what you’ve done, it’s what you deserve, same with all your lackeys and all your superiors. I have a rocky but respectable relationship with an up-and-coming agent, a director candidate, if you will, and I have full confidence that neither you, nor the people like you, nor the people who conceived of the projects you headed will ever find employment with any powerful organization ever again.”

“You can’t truly believe that,” said Shaw, his voice low and shaky. “You’re just… you’re happy to destroy lives like that?”

“People like you?” Kara asked, refusing to allow Shaw to think he could answer. When he tried to nod, she increased the pressure on his shoulder. “Like I said, people like you have destroyed entire worlds. I’m happy to destroy lives like yours.” She let go of his shoulder and gave him a pat on the back, strong enough to push him forward a step. “Get going, Shaw. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Shaw paused for a moment, considering the idea of looking Kara in the eyes. Seconds passed, her and Dawnstar waiting for that moment, but it never came. He lowered his head and continued walking, turning the corner out of the alley and disappearing from Kara’s life forever. She smiled.

“I have never seen you so callous,” said Dawnstar. She raised her chin and smirked. “It is… something I will have to tame.” She placed a hand on the small of Kara’s back, and watched as she laughed.

“Is it, now?” Kara asked, leaning toward Dawnstar. “I’d like to see you try,” she whispered.

The sound of a supersonic object breaking through Earth’s atmosphere caught her attention before she could kiss Dawnstar, and it was clear that Dawnstar heard it as well.

“Southwest!” shouted Kara as she took off, Dawnstar rising up only a split second behind her. Soaring through the atmosphere, Kara and Dawnstar flew over the Mediterranean at incredible speeds, finally seeing the object that entered Earth’s atmosphere once they arrived over Sabha, Libya.

“It is a ship!” called Dawnstar.

“We’ve got to slow it before it touches down!” Kara replied. “It’s going to hit land!”

Flying faster than sound, the ship was on a direct collision course with the Moroccan countryside, only a dozen kilometres from the outskirts of Marrakech. By the time Kara and Dawnstar could even catch up with it, it had already passed over most of Algeria.

Both of them slammed against the front of the ship, Kara hoping that the deceleration wouldn’t cause the ship to break into pieces on its descent. Dawnstar spread her wings out wide to increase the wind resistance as best she could.

In front of Kara’s face there was a small porthole looking into the ship, and inside was a small woman with blue skin and hot pink hair, with circuitry-like emblems over portions of her skin, mainly her forehead and shoulders. Kara squinted, thinking back to some of the many archives that she’d skimmed through in the Fortress of Solitude, of a figure named Brainiac from Kal-El’s past, and the images that were connected to him. He sported similar insignia.

The girl inside began to stir from what Kara only just realized was some sort of sleep. The first thing her eyes laid on after fluttering open was Kara’s face, strained and all, in front of the vast stretches of land that were northern Africa. Panic crept it way onto her face as she seemed to realize what was happening, the ground coming closer and closer in the background. She typed furiously as the holographic keyboards in front of her, and both Dawnstar and Kara could feel the acceleration begin to slow as jets on the frontside of the vessel activated, while those on the backside completely deactivated.

Kara and Dawnstar soon slowed the ship to a safe, non-destructive speed a mere three hundred metres above the ground, with a nice view of Marrakech in the distance. They easily maneuvered the ship into a landing on a small piece of flat land at the bottom of a particularly hilly area outside of the village of AIt Ourir.

The girl inside the ship made haste in opening the hatch on the ship's side. Bursting through in a panic, she moved toward Kara, fear in her eyes.

“I need your help!” said the blue-skinned girl in perfect Kryptonian.

“You think Kara and Dawnstar are done with Shaw yet?” Thea Merlyn asked into a communication device in her ear. She sat atop an apartment building in a small, rundown neighbourhood in the eastern stretches of National City’s oldest districts, wearing a new and improved Speedy getup. It was where some of the poorest of the poor lived, on the opposite side of the city’s centre, where the beacons of progress lie, obscuring the vast ocean beyond.

Where Thea sat, she couldn’t even see the outskirts of the city, where, beyond that, the forests of Oregon continued on for miles. It was deep in the most emblematic parts of National City’s urban squalor. Only one neighbourhood over, to the north-east, were the suburbs in which only the well-off could afford to live. There was a harsh divide between the two districts, one which was personified not by a gate that divided the two, but an aggressive end to the gentrification that turned the suburbs into something similar to that of something only for those privileged enough to afford them.

Thea, looking over from where she sat, felt disdain for the very idea of it. With Kara’s help, she’d petitioned the city council and mayor of National City to allow her to spearhead a renewal project that would cost a couple billion, but was entirely affordable. She put up her own ever-growing wealth to get the project started, with equal backing from the city.

ARGO Solutions, now backed by Justice Legion support as a public affiliate, was a powerhouse in National City. With the backing of the Legion and the year that Kara spent rehabilitating her company’s image, they bore the fire and came out the other side stronger for it. Belinda continued her internship for another year, and the last remaining Shay Veritas was head of research and development. In just a year, ARGO Solutions now employed over four dozen engineers, researchers, and businesspeople. Thea led the money-side of the company as best she could as Chief Executive Officer and President, while Kara focused more on the nitty-gritty of project management and execution. Shay took her position as head of research, while Belinda, according to Kara, was on her way to becoming head of development once she graduated.

“They should be,” Nia Nal responded, sitting on the roof opposite Thea. “I don’t know about Alex, but I know that I definitely want this particular chapter of all our lives closed for good.” She looked down at the street and kicked her feet back and forth over the edge of the building she was sitting on.

Nia had been offered the role of an editor at National City News, and she responded to that promotion by quitting. It was on Thea’s urging, and it took a lot of convincing, but she’d gotten tired of the constant micromanaging of stories and headlines. It took months of complaining to Thea, and begging from Thea, for Nia to see the publication for what it was: a sensationalist rag that existed only to get online clicks. Nia lamented, frequently, how she wished she could change it. Short of Thea buying the company, there was no way. When Thea offered, Nia fought it until she relented.

Now, Nia was an independent journalist that had grown a small but organic following. For the most part, she reported on news within National City, though occasionally covered national affairs, with a focus on supporting queer stories, activism, and criticism of the harsh attacks on transgender rights worldwide. It was more than personal to her, and Thea had never seen her so impassioned.

“I just need to know if Reb’s the one who killed Deceilia or not,” said Nia. “If not, I need to know who hired her.”

Nia had finally found the body of the woman who had killed the Earth-Delta version of herself, and dead bodies couldn’t be interrogated. She was buried in a shallow grave in the forest surrounding National City. The wounds that could still be seen on the rotting body were the only clues to go off of, next to the fact that Johnny Reb was the one who dealt with her.

Reb finally exited an alley nearby, watching the streets around him for anything that would, for whatever reason, come upon him in the dark of night.

Thea smirked as she raised her bow, watching Nia across the way light up with dream energy. It filled her eyes, swirled around her hands, and left an aura that made Thea feel lighter within her own body.

She loosed her arrow, and it sliced through the air, its specialized tip exploding into bolas that wrapped around Reb’s legs. Nia formed a portal of dream energy behind both herself and Thea. In unison, they stepped through and appeared next to Reb on the ground instantaneously. Tendrils of dream energy sprouted from the ground and wrapped around Reb like vines, holding him down, immobile.

Nia placed a hand on Reb’s head, wordlessly, and put him to sleep. She then entered a sort of trance of her own, eyes glowing bright through her now closed eyelids, while Johnny Reb’s did the same. Thea waited, looking around the street for any bystanders, but none could be seen. She had been witness to Nia doing this many times, and it was always fascinating and boring. She would have to stand for minutes, sometimes, waiting for results.

Nia returned within thirty seconds with a gasp, and moments after that tears began to stream down her face.

“Hey!” Thea called out, putting a hand on Nia’s back and rubbing it gently. “Hey, what happened? Are you okay?”

Nia took a deep breath and sniffled, dematerializing her domino mask into dream energy and wiping her face, pressing her palms against her eyes for a moment. Reb laid on the ground, still asleep, the dream tendrils gone from view.

“Nia, what happened?” Thea asked once more. “Did you find out who did it? Who hired Deceilia?”

“It…” Nia said, trying to speak through a choked sob. She rushed toward Thea and threw herself into her arms, pulling her into a tight embrace. Thea returned it and tried to rub her friend’s back in a soothing motion. “It was my sister.”

The Next Day

Kara stood in the Fortress of Solitude, arms crossed, looking over at her friends assembled in front of her. Thea, in her Speedy attire and her bow at the ready, Nia, with her eyes red and raw wearing casual clothes, Dawnstar, standing next to her with her hands on her hips. On Kara’s left, opposite Dawnstar, was the girl who’d nearly crash landed mere hours earlier. Her name was Indigo, and her designation was Brainiac-8.

She was clearly young, eccentric in a way, and very anxious.

“Indigo nearly hit the ground outside of Marrakech last night,” said Kara, watching Nia and Thea look over the girl with suspicion. “She tells us that… something forced her to flee her ship, without a destination.”

“I… I don’t really know what it was,” said Indigo. “It was… displacing things, through time and space. The last thing I saw before entering light-speed travel was a meteor. In that system I was residing in, studying, that meteor wasn’t projected to enter the star’s orbit for another six hundred years, and then there it was, crashing into everything I’d ever known.”

Nia, Thea, and Dawnstar all narrowed their eyes at the Coluan girl.

“All of the information I’ve ever obtained in my studies was destroyed,” she said. “All hard copies. There were lost civilizations fully detailed in those copies. Whatever it was that was altering time in that system, I need to get to it and get my ship back.”

“What do you think it was?” asked Kara.

“I… I don’t know,” said Indigo with a pained look on her face. “I don’t even know where in time I am.” Kara shared a quick glance with Dawnstar, who was still trying to make sense of the girl’s claims. “I have not fully determined whether I am in the past, present, or future of where I had come from.”

Kara grabbed onto Dawnstar’s hand and squeezed tightly. Dawnstar returned the pressure and further looked into Kara’s eyes. There was a plea buried beneath her stony exterior, and Kara knew exactly what Dawnstar was asking for. Information. Starhaven’s past.

“Are you looking for help?” asked Kara. Indigo turned from looking at Nia and Thea to Kara, bewilderment and hope on her face.

“That would be more than welcome!” she said. “Anything to get my archives back.”

“I’m sure I could spare some time off-world to help you,” Kara said. She turned to her friends. “I’ll need you to stay and manage the company,” Kara said to Thea.

“And the city,” Thea replied with a wink.

“Nia, I—”

“I want to come with you,” Nia said quickly, cutting Kara off. “If you’re committing to this.”

“I think I am,” Kara said with a nod. “It’s been a while since I’ve been off-planet, and if Indigo does have knowledge like that, I think it’s definitely worth investigating, at least.” Nia nodded, her posture relaxing.

“I just need to get away for a bit,” Nia said. Kara’s mouth thinned into a line and she nodded. She could see in Nia’s eyes what exactly she meant. She could relate to that feeling.

“Okay, but you’re absolutely not gonna go without keeping me in the loop,” Thea said, with the tone of an objection.

“I’ll visit you as often as I can,” Nia said.

“Every night,” Thea argued.

“I don’t—”

“Every night,” Thea repeated. Nia sighed and relented with a nod.

“Do I even need to ask you?” Kara asked Dawnstar.

“Nothing would stop me from doing this,” she replied.

“Alright,” said Kara. “If this… thing that you’ve dealt with, Indigo, is as dangerous as it sounds — time displacement and all — then I’ll have to make some calls. It’ll take a while, but we’ll build a ship for all of us, and maybe I can convince some of the Legion to come with us. I’ve got some people in mind, and I’m sure they wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You’ll really do this for me?” asked Indigo, hope in her eyes growing all the more excitable.

“Of course,” said Kara. “Who would I be to deny you that?”

She looked over the three others around her and smiled. In the years she’d been on Earth, she’d spent so much time with Thea and Nia, and what Dawnstar meant to her was indescribable, except for the fact that she knew that she would give everything for her. She felt a warmth grow in her chest and smiled to her friends, and the lover whose hand she was holding.

She didn’t think of the final days of Krypton that often anymore. She visited her mother’s grave outside of the Fortress of Solitude, and told her all of the new things she experienced and her developing relationship with Dawnstar, knowing that Alura would hardly approve. She looked over National City with pride, and she finally felt comfortable in the body she inhabited. She had power, in many ways, and she wanted to use it for as much good as she could possibly get.

It wasn’t perfect, she still needed to bathe in the sun weekly to stave off the Kryptonite radiation that was trying to eat away at her arm, but that was a small trade for getting to live on the same planet, at the same time as the people she stood with. She would always miss the people she left behind when her planet was destroyed, but the Last Daughter of Krypton embraced the love that she had found on Earth.

Kara Zor-El, of Krypton and of Earth, was happy.

Thank you for reading.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING

In Finale Ultimo

Issue Thirty-Five: Cages or Wings

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by Deadislandman1, GemlintheGremlin, PatrollinTheMojave and Predaplant

<< First Issue | < Previous Issue

“What does it take to wake up a generation?

“How can you make someone take off and fly?”

― Jonathan Larson

Dick Grayson stood in the park on what was to many an unremarkable day. The sky was bright blue and vast even as the Gotham City skyscrapers threatened to obscure it from view. As Dick smelled the freshly cut grass and took in the warm ambience of joggers, dogwalkers and children at play, he realised he was doing something unusual. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the summer sun was out in full force; no-one in Gotham looked to the skies during the daytime. It wasn’t that crime waited until nightfall - Dick knew better than most what some Gothamites got up to in broad daylight - but if you weren’t afraid of the Dark Knight’s wrath, or watching the Bat-Signal and hoping to God the Dynamic Duo were on their way, there didn’t seem to be much of a reason to look to the sky. He recalled a number of times in the early days where he had gotten in over his head, defied Bruce and gone out on his own, only to be beaten three shapes of purple by one crook or another, all the time repeating to himself:

“Batman’s coming to save me. Everything’s going to be okay.”

Dick smiled to himself. Maybe it was the Superman influence, maybe it was from being in the big top and watching the other circus aerialists fly and analysing them viciously as to learn everything he could. No, it wasn’t that. Now, when he looked to the sky, Dick wasn’t waiting to see what would come falling out of it. Instead, he looked up and beheld its beauty with a face painted with wonder.

He had experienced more than enough tragedy in his life, and he knew there would likely be more ahead, but he wouldn’t let that make him fear for the future. Not when he was certain there were so many good times coming.

“Dick?” a young woman’s voice rang out, catching Dick’s ear. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in far too long. His heart leapt at the sound.

“Helena.” He wrestled his gaze from the brilliant blue sky, moved quickly over to her and pulled his sister into a familiar embrace.

She was 22 years old and fresh off of saving the timestream with the other Legends, something that continued to blow Dick’s mind even among his life of superpowered aliens, killer plants and demonic prophecies. The last time Dick had really spent time with Helena, she was still a child just cresting on adulthood. Now she had a firm foothold in her adult existence, with a vision for her future in more ways than one. But, most startling, Dick realised she was now the age he was when Bruce died. Suddenly, he felt so embarrassed to have had so many big mistakes still ahead of him at that age, and so much growing up still to do. But then as he fought a losing battle to put aside the big brother pride he felt upon seeing her again, he was just about able to admit that she likely still had some tougher years ahead of her. Not that he was in any rush to tell her that.

“It’s really good to see you,” he said as he moved back. Her long black hair caught a stray sunbeam, and for a moment she reminded him of Mar’i - his daughter… of sorts. “They’ve been cheaping you out of your shore leave, I swear!”

“This isn’t shore leave,” she said with a modest grin. “I’m taking some time. I need to reconnect. With the present, with family. Mom’s well, if not her usual self.”

“Old habits die hard,” Dick nodded, thinking of all the trouble Catwoman had caused Batman over the years. But he thought too of how dearly Bruce thought of her. Dick had had many loves, each setting his heart aflame more than the last, but for Bruce it was always Selina. Or the version of her he hoped he’d one day see, the version she constantly fought to become.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked.

“Not sure,” Helena replied. “I’ve been getting to know Damian, which I’m… severely behind on. Thought about starting a new team, reviving Dad’s old Outsiders with Anissa, but after hearing Damian’s putting together a new Freedom Fighters with Alfred… I can’t risk him thinking I got jealous.”

“Damian and jealousy?” Dick laughed. “Bad combo.”

Helena laughed in response, loud, with a confidence Dick hadn’t seen before. “No, I, uh… I do have a new gig lined up,” she smiled. “But it’s a secret!”

Dick threw up his hands, still laughing. “Keep your secrets! Be my guest!”

“Oh!” Helena exclaimed suddenly. “I almost forgot: when’s the wedding?”

Dick choked on his spit, caught abruptly off guard. “I— What? I beg your pardon?”

“Relax!” she cackled. “No rush! I just mean, I heard you put yourself out there again. I’d say I can’t believe I haven’t met Artemis yet, but I sort of got erased from existence for a hot minute and I guess I missed a lot of things.”

“What?” Dick exclaimed. He had experienced all sorts of impossible things, but he felt as if he would have remembered his sister being wiped from and restored to existence.

“Don’t worry about it,” she shook her head. “It’s all fixed now so it basically never happened. But yeah, you, uh, kept that quiet!”

“It has been five years!” Dick exclaimed in response, as if it were obvious. Then it heard it again in his head.

Five years. In a blink, five years of knowing and loving Artemis Crock had flown by.

“And that’s fine, you’re coming to the party, right?” said Dick. “You’ll meet her there.”

“Oh yeah, that’s this week,” Helena nodded. “Party on the Watchtower?”

“Better,” Dick beamed. “Convinced Tim to let us trash Titans Tower. For old times.”

“You gonna be able to fit everyone in?” Helena snickered.

“We’ll give it a good try,” said Dick.

The two continued on through the park together. It made a change coming to a place like this rather than a graveyard. The pair had plenty of graves to visit, but they had many more friends they were fortunate enough to still have with them. The most challenging years of their lives so far had kept them apart, but now the pair were intent to never let that happen again.

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Twenty years ago, Guillermo Barrera would have been rather unique among assassins. A death-defying acrobat clothed head-to-toe in burlap and hemp. A radical Marxist who swore off guns and instead did his kills with surgical scalpels and anything else to hand with a sharp edge. But these days, even a character such as him - the deadly Brutale - was dime a dozen.

Brutale was faster than Tigress, who did her best to pursue as she sprinted up a fire escape; he simply bounded up the outside of it at breakneck pace. But Artemis had already done the most important part: Brutale's attempt on the New York mayor's life had been thwarted and now Artemis would do whatever she could to make sure the assassin didn't escape.

By the time she got to the top of the fire escape and began across the flat roof, Brutale was already approaching the far edge of the roof, intent to leap across a several-storey plunge. That was fine, Artemis thought, she didn't need to outrun him now.

She planted her feet firm and, with a thrust, expanded her collapsible compound bow. She reached back into her quiver and nocked an arrow as quickly as she could. She drew the bowstring and, with a knowing smirk, fired the arrow across the flat and towards the fleeing assassin.

Artemis was more than aware of what Brutale was capable of, and watched as he leapt up into the air and turned mid-leap. With masterful dexterity, he reached back and slashed through the air with his favourite scalpel. With one stroke, the incoming arrow was bisected and knocked off course. Then Artemis’ grin grew wider.

The trick arrow - custom made by Green Arrow himself - blinked three times then detonated, releasing a cloud of gas that expanded into a rapidly hardening foam. In a moment, Brutale's entire body was encased in the foam, and his rigid form began to fall towards the street below.

Artemis took off sprinting again, not content to let even an assassin fall to his death. She wondered if whoever intercepted her father's next assassin job would extend him the same sympathy or if her sister would be the first to get unlucky, like their mother, now she was back to her mercenary ways. Her entire family were assassins, and for that it made it that much harder to write off the lives of other assassins, no matter their crimes. It made her want to be the one that found Jade and Crusher first, to be the one who brought them to justice, to make sure it was done the right way.

She reached the edge of the roof within seconds and jumped off, hurtling down to close the range between her and the helpless Brutale. She then nocked two more trick arrows in quick succession, firing the first down to Brutale and the other at the ledge of the roof ahead. The first arrow soared down and pierced the hard shell of solid foam before the clawed tip expanded. The second arrow embedded itself into the brick and did the same. Within a moment, the grappling lines that extended from each arrow went taut, and with a hefty jerk, the pair came to a halt. Shaken, but safe.

After personally ensuring Brutale's hand off to the NYPD and FBI, the victorious Tigress made her way up to the same rooftop, firing up her Justice Legion communicator as she walked up the fire escape.

“Tigress to Watchtower,” she said. “The mayor is safe. Brutale is in custody.”

“Nice work,” came a very familiar voice, the voice of Dick Grayson. “Knew you could do it!”

But Dick's voice sounded odd. Something was off, as if it were reverberating strangely. Then she smiled to herself and rolled her eyes as she put it together. Artemis crested the top of the roof and saw Nightwing standing there, waiting for her.

“You've been here the whole time, haven't you?”

“I kept my distance!” He protested jokingly. “Not my fault I was in the area!”

“You could have helped out, you know!” Artemis smirked and made her way over to him. “He almost got away.”

“No he didn't,” Dick replied with utter confidence. “You'd have asked for help if you needed it!”

Artemis tried her hardest to be mad at him, to be humble, but she ultimately knew he was right. She had it handled, and she was glad he believed that too.

“So what’s next, then?” asked Artemis.

Dick turned red. “What do you mean?”

“Well, it feels like we’ve done everything out of order,” she explained. “You’ve got the house in Gotham, but that’s more Alf and Steph’s place these days. And we travel so much, so I guess I just—”

Dick cut through Artemis’ bubbling frets with a calm and sure response. “Name a place.”

“Excuse me?”

There was a twinkle in his eye, a crackpot excitement. “Name a city, a state, another country,” he explained. “And we’ll get a place there. Could be Gotham, or Star City or anywhere.”

Artemis scoffed with a befuddled face. “And you have no preference for where you hang up your spandex?” She couldn't quite believe it.

Dick didn't have to think about his response. He had thought this through enough times already. “I have friends everywhere,” he said, “and nothing's ever more than a Boom Tube away.”

At that, Artemis pulled him close, taking his face in her hands and kissing him. “Well,” she smirked, “My first suggestion—”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Titans Tower was a gargantuan structure nestled on the edge of the Battery in New York City. It boasted more rooms than any iteration of the Titans had ever had a use for, designed to be a one-stop home, training ground, and - in a sense - an office. Tonight, it was none of those things. Instead, Titans Tower was the site of an absolutely raging house party. At long last, its generous space was put to use accommodating just about anyone Dick had crossed paths with as Robin, Batman or Nightwing. From former Titans teammates, to the Bat-Family to present day Justice Legionnaires, everyone was here. Everyone but a small skeleton crew of incredibly competent heroes who had volunteered to watch the fort and put out any fires. That said, the night was quiet. In the fallout of General Rock’s defeat and fall from grace, much of the United States had fallen into something of a lullaby, a quiet calm. Dick knew it was the calm before yet another storm, but he knew how good his friends were at responding to a storm.

Titans Tower, however, was far from quiet. Each level, the walls rattled with a different pounding bass amplified far beyond common sense. Some rooms were well lit, others strobed with decorative lasers, and always were lit only by a wash of neon. Everywhere Dick looked, people were breaking off into their own groups, some sticking by trusted friends and others mingling and meeting new people. It was everything he hoped the night would be, everyone he loved in one place, appreciating each other.

It was approaching midnight when Dick, Jon and Barry found their way to one of the training rooms, still set up with punching bags and kendo dummies. It was a far enough place for them to escape the liveliness of the party for just a moment and catch their collective breaths. But they were mostly here because one Barry Allen was having trouble handling his liquor, something to do with his Speed Force accelerated metabolism not quite working the same since his return from the far-flung future. So they sat on a lumpy couch together, Barry sandwiched between Dick and Jon.

“Guys, I can’t believe I’m saying this,” said Barry, carefully enunciating to avoid slurring his words. “But I love my life.”

Barry, much like Dick, had survived some awful trials. He had made mistakes, and his entire life had deteriorated because of it. But, like Dick, those moments had proved to just that: trials. He had worked hard and overcome those difficulties, and now things were finally going his way.

“I can see why,” Dick said. Barry had fixed things with his former-fiancée Patty, they had a kid together - Jacob - who was coming up on his first birthday, and Barry was navigating an exciting new life since passing the mantle of the Flash to Wally West, his once-sidekick. He lived life on a new frontier.

“Of course you love your life,” replied Jon, who was all smiles. The whole party, he had refused to take his jacket off despite the fact that he was clearly too warm. “You’ve got the best friends in the world.”

Dick clapped his hand against Barry’s back and pulled him into a sideways hug before he stood up. Just then, who else but Wally walked through the door into the training room, red solo cup in hand. Inside was lemonade. Wally wasn’t much of a drinker, but even if he was his accelerated metabolism was very much operational. “Hey guys, I was wondering where you’d slinked off to,” he said. “Great party, Dick!”

“Thanks, Wally,” Dick replied. Then he gestured to Barry. “Jon and I wanna chat about something, so why don’t you keep each other company for a minute?”

Wally looked at Barry, who wouldn’t stop blinking and couldn’t wipe his cheesy grin off of his face. The corners of Wally’s mouth upturned; it was infectious. “You got it.”

Then Dick led Jon down the corridor, carefully navigating past an inebriated Luke Fox who was steadying himself against the wall. Dick clasped Luke on the shoulder warmly as they passed, while Jon elected to give the man more space. All the while, Jon was two steps behind, wondering what this was about and trying not to worry. Eventually, Dick found a pocket of space where the booming bass wouldn’t bother them too much or make it too hard to hear, and stopped.

“Is something wrong, Dick?”

“It’s nothing to worry about, it’s just… it’s great to see you, Jon.”

“What do you mean? We see each other plenty.”

“Sure, at work,” Dick explained. “But with Jon Kent keeping such a low profile lately, it’s great to see you out of your shell.”

Jon chuckled awkwardly, taking the comment in his stride. “You should stop by the Ace O’ Clubs,” he replied, referring to his new job at the Metropolis dive bar. “I’m out of my shell plenty there.”

When Dick laughed, it gave Jon permission to relax, convinced everything really was alright.

“But, I understand,” said Jon. “Thanks. You too.”

As Dick’s laugh subsided, he looked over the balcony at an assembly of people down below, mingling and making merry. Tim was desperately trying to get Conner to try the bright pink drink he had poured himself, while Karen led Mal around, introducing him to various heroes much to his uncontained excitement.

Jon noticed Dick’s distraction. “What’s this party for?” he asked. “You sure everything’s okay?”

“Everything’s great,” Dick replied quickly, with absolute confidence. “And this party’s for me.” He snickered. “It’s not every day you turn 30, and we were too busy to mark it before. Now there’s a quiet moment, I’m jumping on it. Can’t let a moment’s peace go to waste.”

Jon took a deep breath, Dick’s words warming him. “You sound like him,” he said.

Dick couldn’t contain his laughter. “Bruce would never be in such a rush to cut loose. All those political galas and dinner parties? They made his skin crawl.”

Jon shook his head. “I didn’t mean Bruce.”

No, of course he didn’t.

Dick remembered that afternoon atop Titans Tower, when he was right in the midst of uprooting his life in Gotham to move here, to New York. He remembered how he bemoaned never feeling satisfied, always rushing onto the next thing. He remembered fearing he would never be content. Then Clark Kent spoke his words of wisdom.

Dick placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezed. “I miss them.”

“I do too.” Jon held his drink in both hands. “But I think we’re doing them proud.”

“We are,” added Dick, with no room for doubt. “And we’ll keep doing it.” He patted Jon on the back and replaced his hand by his side.

“The battle’s never over,” Dick continued, sounding much more like Bruce now. “But the rules always keep changing. The world keeps changing, we keep changing too. We’ve been through an awful lot of changes and trials - a lot of us have - and it’s enough to make it hard to keep track of which way’s up. I just… want you to know if you ever need a helping hand, or someone to listen, you can call me.”

Jon grinned. “I know, Dick. Thank you.”

Suddenly, a voice roared out, carrying over the pounding music. “Grayson!?”

Beat.

Dick turned to the other end of the corridor to find a veritable collection of women turning the corner. At their front was the one who had bellowed, Cassandra Sandsmark in an oversized band tee. She looked furious, fit to burst. Behind her, the other women fidgeted a lot more slowly, as if they were mostly here to watch what was about to unfold. Kory and Steph flanked Artemis, who was bright red and struggling not to laugh, several shades of embarrassed all at once.

“Cass? What’s wrong?” Dick asked his former origin Teen Titan. He had a pretty good idea what the matter was, so made a point not to worry too much, and braced for what was coming.

“You got married and didn’t tell us!?”

There it was. Dick looked past Cassandra at Artemis, whose cringe had turned to sheer awkward joy. She held up her hands and silently mimed to Dick through her unshakable smile. “Sorry!”

“X’Hal!” Kory exclaimed, taking Artemis by the hand in excitement. “It’s actually true.”

“We, uh, didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Dick replied. He caught a glance of Jon, whose look could only be described as proud. “I’m sorry, Cass, you’ve never been interested in weddings much!”

“I’m not!” Cassandra cried, her rage melting into aggressive affection, befitting the tomboy-ish younger sister she was to Dick. “But this is you! Every hero in existence would have shown up. It would have been the event of the century! And you did it in secret without telling anyone?”

The older brother that he was, Dick wore a wise smile. He moved down the corridor and to Artemis’ side, and took her by the hand. Kory placed a warm hand on Dick’s back, and Steph couldn’t stop looking back and forth between the couple, overwhelmingly happy for them.

“That was why,” Dick explained. “We could have done the massive, overblown, expensive wedding-to-end-all-weddings, and lots of people do, but that wasn’t the point.”

He looked to Jon once more, then between the others. “Years ago, Clark told me that people like us belong to the world, and not to any one place or one person. For the longest time, I felt like I had to be everything everyone needed me to be, or believed I could be. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and I certainly couldn’t let anyone get hurt on my watch. Not if I could help it. But Clark wanted me to understand that belonging to the world meant you had a chance to mean something to everyone you met. And, I feel like I do. I look around at all the people who came here tonight, who came to spend time and have fun just because I asked. I think of all the people on the street who backed me when I told them that General Rock wasn’t to be trusted. I’m so grateful to be someone people listen to, and who people trust, and I guess as long as you all keep doing that I can’t be doing too bad, can I?”

Artemis squeezed his hand tight, proud of him having supported him through so much self doubt and rumination.

“Dick,” began Cassandra, “I…”

When she couldn’t find the words, Dick continued. “I want you to know I will always belong to each and every one of you, everyone else in the tower tonight, and everyone outside of it. If I can ever do anything for you, I can’t think of a higher privilege. But this?”

He held up his and Artemis’ hands.

“This belongs to me,” he smiled, “and Artemis. No-one else. And if you all have ever learned anything from me, if Bruce was right and you’ll keep looking to me to lead, that’s what I want you to know more than anything. Belong to the world; live life in the sun, among the living. But don’t just be among the living. Live.”

That night, there was nothing outside of the walls of Titans Tower that mattered to Dick. But beyond that night was a future that was long and unknowable until it arrived. As a kid and a burgeoning teen, Dick had needed everything in its right place, needed to know that he was doing everything as perfectly as he could. He needed to always be in control, always rushing towards the horizon to prepare for whatever was beyond it so that he could keep the people and the things that mattered to him safe.

But, after years of trials - of loss, heartbreak, and seemingly unsurmountable pressure - he had finally accepted what everyone had been telling him for so long. That he was loved, that people trusted him for good reason, and that they would tell him when they needed his help. He had learned to let go, to trust in his loved ones, and to trust in himself. Dick finally felt confident that he was good enough, smart enough, strong enough, that he didn’t need to race towards the future to catch its challenges off-guard, or run from a tumultuous and painful past. The problems of the past, his grief, his regrets, were but prologue setting the stage for the next act; one he would welcome as it arrived at its own pace.

Dick felt blessed to have so many people to call a friend, brother or sister. And while he still tried to picture all the exciting things in their many possible futures, he speculated only because the future couldn’t arrive soon enough.

Whatever was coming next, Dick Grayson knew that everything he could possibly need was within his reach.

DC Next Proudly Presents: 

NIGHTSTAR

Issue Thirty-One: Knowing the Path

Written by GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

<< First Issue | [< Prev.]() | Next Issue > Coming Next Month

“It’s over, Breezeblock,” boomed Superman as his feet touched the ground, accompanied shortly after by Miss Martian. Their opponent, a man seemingly made entirely of concrete and stone, lay in pieces before them; he groaned in defeat and clutched at his head with his one still-intact arm. Lorena Marquez held his other arm aloft, turning it over to analyse further. Behind her, Bart Allen folded his arms and grinned. “Unless you’d rather my friend Aquawoman here take just that noggin of yours to Atlantis.”

“Look at you all taunting me,” Breezeblock moaned. “Talk about kicking a man while he’s down.”

From behind Jon Kent and Megan Morse stepped the leader of the Justice Legion herself - Mar’i Grayson, better known as Nightstar. Her verdant eyes glinted in the light as she came closer and closer to their defeated adversary. She folded her arms against her flowing purple suit. “Oh, please. We know all about your tricks. You lure us in by feigning defeat, you guilt us into taking pity, then when we’re hesitating, that’s when you regenerate. Rinse and repeat.”

Breezeblock was taken aback, a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “I, well…” Seeing no other option, he sighed in defeat. “Okay, fine. I surrender.”

“Flash,” said Nightstar. As she turned to address her teammate, he had already disappeared in a bolt of golden light, appearing less than a second later without any sign of Breezeblock.

“Got it covered,” came Flash’s reply.

“Ahem.” Aquawoman tapped Flash on the shoulder. Turning to face her, he was alarmed to discover that it wasn’t Lorena’s hand tapping him, but Breezeblock’s.

“Whoops.” Bart took the spare limb from Lorena’s grasp and, with two more flashes of light, had made quick work of it.

“Great job as always, Mar’i,” beamed Jon as he clasped his hand on Mar’i’s shoulder.

Megan wasn’t far behind. “Absolutely. Couldn’t have done it without you, cap’n.”

“No kidding,” Lorena chuckled. “He’d got me in a real headlock back there. Thank goodness you spotted me before things got rocky.”

Mar’i felt herself smile. On her face, she wore the glistening dew of a job well done, and in her mind she felt nothing but appreciation and pride for her fellow Legionnaires. But within her chest, deep in her ribcage, was a low rumbling ache. It set Mar’i on edge; it felt awfully similar to an impending panic attack or a bad gut feeling. She attempted to shake the feeling off and surprisingly it obliged, at least somewhat. Suddenly, all felt right again. All was right again.

A chorus of bleeps and pings sounded out from each team member’s communications device. They tapped on their various wrist-mounted screens and earpieces to analyse the incoming message.

Jon was the first to react. “The results of the scan I’ve been running. Just in time.” Reading on further, he gave his team a nod. “Lab scans have come back positive. Looks like we finally have a lead on the Outlaws.”

Relief and some apprehension washed over the Legionnaires’ faces. Mar’i knew firsthand just how long they’d waited to get their hands on anything to do with the elusive Outlaws - so then, why was she feeling so flat, so neutral, about this huge revelation?

Miss Martian looked over at Mar’i and smiled widely. Her mouth was tight in an expression of quiet excitement. “Watch this space, Mar’i - this time tomorrow, we’ll have taken down the people responsible for killing Dick Grayson.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The Markovian conflict of the late 1990s saw the construction of dozens of military bunkers in the Vradow Mountains, lost and forgotten with the defeat of Frederick DeLamb. Each one was designed to keep a dozen senior officers and their support staff safe and self-sufficient for months behind three inches of steel. It took a team of ten men to open the door.

Eddie Bloomberg, the Red Devil, was determined to bring all the groceries inside in a single trip. He planted his clawed foot against the steel and pushed. The door grinded open. “Hey, Outlaws! I’m back. Rose! I got you the mini-cheesecakes you wanted.”

Monitors and a half dozen PCs of different eras jury-rigged together lined the opposite wall. The man staring at them minimized the important metric to wrist display and swiveled around. “Can you stop calling us that, Eddie?” Tim Drake held the bridge of his nose.

Rose Wilson wandered in from the next room, rolling a knife across her fingers. “I like it. Rook: world’s greatest detective by training, most wanted outlaw by circumstance.” She waited for a comeback and, hearing none, frowned. “Aw, don’t tell me you’re back to beating yourself up over it.”

“There could’ve been another way.”

“We’ve been over this. It’s what Dick wanted. He was too far gone.”

“Maybe,” Tim murmured.

“Barbatos had him, Tim,” Eddie said. “If there was another way, Neron would’ve told us.”

“Killing him saved lives.” Rose crossed her arms. “Are you really gonna tell me you regret that, or can we eat?”

“I guess, I—” Tim was interrupted by the blaring klaxons of the computer system. “Damn it! They’re coming.” He pressed a button on his wrist and nanomachines flowed over his face to form an opaque crimson helmet. 

“How long?” Eddie raised his fist. The air sparked as he primed his fiery breath. Rose’s blade sang as she pulled it from her sheath. 

“Maybe thirty seconds.” Tim glanced backwards. They’d need to win the first skirmish if they were going to make use of the escape tunnels. A heavy thud shook dust loose from the ceiling. “Or six.” Tim huffed, extending his staff.

The steel door tore off its hinges with the speed of a moving car and slammed Eddie into the bank of monitors. Jon’s fingers sunk into the steel like butter. “Tim, come quietly and this can end here!”

Tim reached for the Kryptonite pellets on his belt. He’d gotten them into his fist when a red blur seized him by the neck and wrist. “Not so fast!” Bart held him against the wall. Tim glanced over his shoulder at Rose, who looked to be battling a splitting migraine. She staggered against the wall, using her sword for support. 

“This is over, Tim. You’re under arrest for the murder of Richard Grayson.” 

Tim watched the steel under Superman’s fingers begin to glow orange. “That wasn’t him anymore!” He shouted, trying to grab attention and buy time for Eddie.

“That wasn’t your call to make.”

The gambit might’ve worked, had Aquawoman and Miss Martian not been next through the door.  Lorena whipped a cloud of moisture out of the air and blanketed the steel in it. With a few words in the old tongue, it froze into a layer of tough ice. 

As a final last-ditch effort, Tim just about wriggled his hand free of Bart’s grasp. He reached for his wrist monitor and— A burst of light erupted against his hands. He looked up but he already knew his attacker: team leader herself, Nightstar, hovered through the door bathed in an emerald glow. Verdant fire crackled in her hands as she silently dared Tim to try again. Tim looked again at Rose, who now had slumped to the floor and was clutching her head in agony.

But instead, Tim drooped as far as he could in Bart’s grip. “Okay. We surrender, just— whatever you’re doing to her, stop.”

Jon nodded at Megan and the psychic onslaught ended.

** —!—**

“I’m thinking I might swing by the market in town tomorrow. You want me to pick up those mini-cheesecakes you like, Rose?”

She barely heard him, wincing at the imagined, no— predicted migraine. Still, it beat the real thing.

“Rose?”

“Tim…” She rubbed her temples. “Ugh… fuck psychics… Tim, they’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Then it’s time to get moving.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

BWOOOONG.

Mar’i rolled her shoulders as she stepped out into the main control room of the Watchtower. Outside, through the towering windows that wrapped across the entire span of the outside wall, Mar’i was greeted by a scenic view of Earth and its lone moon, spinning imperceptibly slowly in their eternal tango. The sight brought her no joy or comfort today. Her chest felt heavy, her head was lead. There had been a nagging feeling in the back of her mind for God knows how long, but only now was she beginning to parse it. But in order to talk it through fully, she had to talk to someone.

Raven’s head appeared from behind a pillar as she slid backwards in her chair. Upon seeing her partner, the sorceress’ face lit up. She pulled herself up and out of the seat. “Mar’i.” She stretched out her arms, silently offering a hug, and Mar’i obliged. Her embrace reminded Mar’i of an artificial fireplace; she felt warm and cosy, of course, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing, that there was something false in the way her girlfriend cradled her. Something she wasn’t seeing. Regardless, for a moment or two, Mar’i held her tightly. She felt a kiss plant itself in her hairline and a hand slide up and down her back. Softly, to herself, Mar’i frowned; the same exact greeting every time, as if she’d rehearsed it.

Pulling away, she looked Raven in the eyes deeply. She analysed her face. She hoped beyond hope that she wasn’t ‘getting used to’ her girlfriend, that this wasn’t the dreaded ‘settling’ that friends had jokingly warned her about. No, there was something else. Something that wasn’t there before they’d fought Trigon - something she had to solve. Mar’i continued to look Raven’s face over as if she would find the answers written on her forehead or sat on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re tense,” Raven commented, which snapped Mar’i out of her investigation.

“I’m…” Mar’i started to make an excuse, but Raven’s smirk stopped her.

“Mar’i, how long have you known me?” Raven teased. Her voice was smooth. “You know you can’t hide your emotions from me, that’s my whole thing.”

Mar’i nodded. She was right, after all; there was little use beating around the bush with Raven. “Let’s, uh…” Mar’i gestured vaguely towards two desk chairs and Raven filled in the gaps for her, lowering herself back into a seat and pulling a second one closer. Mar’i sat.

“I’ve been having these weird feelings.” Mar’i stared down at the floor. “Lately - but, actually, for a while now - I can’t help but feel… stuck. Like I’m spinning my wheels and going nowhere. Or like some kind of itch I can’t seem to scratch. I keep thinking about the past, lingering on it. But then it’s either straight on to the next thing, no time to waste, or even when there is time, I just can’t help but think about how it’s just gonna get worse again.” Mar’i ran her hands up and down her thighs. “How it always just got worse. I’ve just got worse.”

Raven caught one of Mar’i’s hands as it slid back towards her knee and gripped it firmly. Looking up, Mar’i saw that Raven’s eyes were already on her. Her lips pursed in thought. A great silence hung heavy in the Watchtower, as silent as the vacuum just an inch of glass away. Finally, Raven drew a breath and said, “I wouldn’t think about it too hard.”

Mar’i frowned.

“I think this is normal,” Raven shrugged. “Well, as much as anything passes for normal in our line of work. You seem stressed, unsatisfied, hungry. That’s all super common. But I think the bulk of that feeling is coming from you dwelling on the past.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Darling,” Raven’s voice softened. “It’s hard to see you beating yourself up like this. You need to forgive yourself. Forgive the past.”

Mar’i had nothing to say in response. Even as she interjected just moments ago, she hadn’t planned where her sentence would go. She’d hoped in vain that she’d find the answer by the time the words were coming out of her mouth, but with a moment longer to think, it was clear to her just how lost she felt. All that came to her were memories.

She stared into Raven’s eyes and wished that, for a moment, she could have Raven’s powers. There was something indiscernible in Raven’s gaze that she wanted, more than anything in that exact second, to understand. But she looked away, and the something was gone.

Reminded by Raven’s averted gaze, Mar’i continued: “I just… can’t stop thinking about the things we’ve been through and we barely ever talk about it. Surely it isn’t doing either of us any good not talking about how we took down Trigon, or—”

As if a switch had flipped, Raven removed her hand from on top of Mar’i’s. She clasped them together and softly shook her head. “Mar’i, please, we’ve been over this—”

“We never talk about it,” Mar’i repeated. “It was just on to the next thing, like it always is. But this was Trigon, for God’s sake.”

“Mar’i, I told you, it’s not doing any good to dwell on the past.”

“But if we never acknowledge the past…”

Raven’s face transformed. She didn’t quite seem angry or aggressive, rather more alarmed and on edge. Her face was taut and its features seemed to bulge very slightly, like she was holding her breath and stretching all of her facial muscles as far as they could go. Then she blinked, a long blink with scrunched eyes and a hissed inhale. And when her eyes fell open again, Raven looked normal - good as new.

“I don't want to talk about it,” came her firm conclusion. Mar’i looked down at Raven’s hands, sheet white as they clung to each other for dear life.

“Okay,” Mar’i said, defeated.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

“First floor,” said the sickly sweet voice coming from the elevator’s speakers. Mar’i sniffled. Digging a nail underneath the seam of a metal panel just underneath the emergency stop button, she leveraged it open to reveal a shiny black surface. She pressed her thumb against the cold glass, which glowed blue as it read her print.

“State your name.” The voice had changed into that of her own; she’d recorded it months ago, but it still felt more than a little strange to answer herself.

“Nightstar.”

A moment of silence as the computer processed her request. Then, an affirmative green light emanated from the panel.

“Voice verified. Welcome, Nightstar.”

The elevator whirred back into motion. As she descended lower and lower, Mar’i closed her eyes and took a deep breath. If anything, the conversation with Raven had made the weight in her chest even worse. Rather than feeling comforted from talking to her partner, she’d left feeling defeated, confused and even more hungry for answers. Despite all that, she knew she had to put it aside for now - she had work to do. She opened her eyes just as the elevator’s doors slowly slid apart.

The sight had become all too familiar to her: wall-to-wall panels and buttons, not an inch of wall wasted; scientific apparati fixed against moveable tables, rigged up to rows and rows of computer screens; dozens of tubes bubbling with liquids of differing colours and viscocities. Innumerable labels were placed here and there with various one- or two-word phrases alerting its reader of the inadequacies of the labelled contents - “FAIL” or “INEFFECTIVE” or “TOO CONCENTRATED”. More had appeared since Mar’i had last been down here less than 24 hours ago.

Mar’i moved further into the lab. A familiar figure was hunched over a microscope in the corner, so still that Mar’i could have thought time had stood still; it was only when his hand gently turned the knob on the side of the microscope that she knew time was, in fact, still moving. Mar’i looked up at a nearby screen and her stomach turned as she saw the ashen face of Dick Grayson, taken from his autopsy. His eyes glued shut in an uncomfortable blink, a slight curl in his face as if he’d smelled something bad, a light five o’clock shadow still dark on his chin—

“Dammit!” The figure called out. His fist pounded against the desk and the resounding clang bounced off of the metallic walls. Mar’i looked at him with disappointment and sympathy. Tim Drake looked, above all else, so very tired.

“Sorry,” Mar’i blurted, almost instinctual. She straightened her posture. “Hope I didn’t disturb anything.”

“No, it’s not you.” Tim kicked off from his workdesk and stretched his back. His joints crackled like a glowstick. He placed a hand over each eye and pressed his ring fingers against the bridge of his nose - a soothing gesture he’d learned to prevent migraines. How much it actually worked, Mar’i could never tell. “I’m just tilting at windmills at this point, anyway.”

Papers and test tubes were scattered across his desk, as well as the next three desks along. In the spirit of not interrupting or disturbing anything, taking care not to disturb any potentially volatile work, Mar’i elected not to sit at any of the available seats; instead she took a few steps closer and stood hovering next to Tim with her arms folded. At first she thought about asking him how the investigation was going, if they were any closer to resurrecting Dick, if he’d suddenly remembered a hidden method of bringing someone back from death that they’d suppressed for years - but she already knew the answer.

A wave of emotion washed over her and she felt compelled instead to share with him a question that had been plaguing her all day - “Do you ever wonder if we’re doing the right thing?”

Tim’s hands moved from over his eyes and looked at the young Tamaranean. Even in the dim light, Mar’i could see the glinting grey hairs peeking through the sea of black on top of his head. The unkempt stubble forming on his jaw reminded him of the haunting image on the nearby screen. She swallowed hard, then continued. “I can’t help but feel like we’ve done this whole thing before. Y’know, feeling this stuck in the past.” She fiddled with her hands. “Didn’t we… get over this kind of thing years ago?”

“Where’s this coming from?” Tim’s voice was hoarse.

“It’s been on my mind for a while. But earlier today, I tried to open up to Raven about it and it ended up leaving me with more questions than anything. I wanted to talk a bit about the past and she just… bugged out.” Mar’i shook her head. “She didn’t want anything to do with it.”

“Of course she wouldn’t wanna talk about the past,” Tim spat, pushing himself out of his chair. “Think about all the horrible shit we’ve been through just these last few years. Dick dying, our war against Darkseid, Trigon— I mean, Jesus, I don’t have to list everything for you to get the picture. We've been through so much, we’ve pushed ourselves harder and harder, and every time we barely scrape by.” He grabbed a handful of miscellanea from a nearby desk and walked back towards the elevator. Mar’i watched. “Me, I did that because I knew if I slipped up even once, the consequences would be dire. I can’t let myself get even close to that ever again. In fact - screw it - I can’t believe I just let myself get away with all of those past screw-ups.” Approaching a workbench, he sent the contents of his hands clattering down onto the surface. Based on the noise, Mar’i had a feeling that something had shattered. “I was such a fool.”

Mar’i’s face scrunched up with incredulity. She approached him with rapid steps, shaking her head. “No, that’s… You're not a fool, Tim. And you didn’t ‘let yourself get away with it’ at all, what are you talking about? Whenever it did happen - which, need I remind you, was hardly ever - you gave yourself a hell of a hard time about it.” Tim didn’t look up, so she tilted her head to match his lowered gaze. “And I’m not saying you need to do that now, not at all - if anything, you need to give yourself more grace, you can’t push yourself this hard for this long. In fact, this is exactly my point. Didn’t you - didn’t we - learn that all those years ago?”

Tim’s face was unreadable. The pale blue light from the monitors washed him out and made him look gaunt. He tapped on consoles, he fiddled with a screen on his wrist, then he tapped some more consoles.

“Did you hear what I said?” Mar’i probed.

“Mar’i,” came his exhausted reply. “We have work to do.”

“No, not until we talk about this. You tore yourself apart over this kind of thing, Tim. Worked yourself to the bone. And when things weren’t 100% perfect, you blamed yourself for it, even if it wasn’t your burden to bear.” In a moment of anger, she pressed hard against a small red X at the top right of his monitor, closing the window he was working on. “You sound just like Dick, you know?.”

Finally, Tim stopped.

“The past made you who you are, Tim. But the future is open to you to decide who you’re going to be.”

Tim’s face was like thunder. He shook his head violently back and forth as if trying to dislodge something from his head. “No. No. Things are different now. They’re far more dire than I - we - could have ever imagined.” The window that Mar’i had shut down was back up and running in a flurry of inputs. He sorted the stacks of equipment in front of him into piles with practiced precision; it was as if Mar’i’s words had given him a reinvigorated drive to keep working, the opposite effect to what she had intended. “And the only way to tackle this is to push through..” Taking a few steps to his right, he flicked a dial clockwise until a hum sounded out from deep within the control panel and a soft yellow glow cut through the harsh electronic blue of the room. Tim looked at Mar’i, wired - more alive than he’d looked in weeks. “That’s the only way I can handle this, Mar’i. That’s the future I’m deciding.”

She took a step forward. “Tim, I—”

Tim slammed his hand against a button amongst the crowded control panel. Before Mar’i could say anything more, a ring of light formed at her feet, moving upwards towards the ceiling before falling back to the ground. She felt trapped, unable to move, as the ring undulated and pulsed and let out a low buzzing sound. Her hands turned paler and paler until she could see the silhouettes of the lab through her palm. The last thing she could make out before the light became too dazzling was Tim, her former fellow Titan, turning back to his work with a newfound fire. Then, she felt the dissociating sensation of being teleported, this time coupled with an unfamiliar nausea that she had never experienced from a Boom Tube.

Next: Continued next month in The New Titans #32

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In Revelations

Issue Thirty-Five: Beneath the Surface

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by DeadIslandMan1

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

Sofia watched the digital number on the upper wall of the elevator descend, turning negative as it took her to the basement levels. Many of these lower floors were newly discovered, accessible only by a single elevator on the top floor of the laboratory building that GothCorp had abandoned so long ago. It had taken a month for Sofia’s more tech-literate men to infiltrate the security system that ran on independent power circuits. Once through, they were sworn to secrecy. Experimental research that a company like GothCorp left behind was far too valuable to have word get out.

In Sofia’s left hand, gripped tight, was the collar of a bloodied man, blood trickling from various wounds across his body, his face in particular. He coughed out globs of crimson-coloured saliva every few moments, much to Sofia’s frustration.

The elevator doors opened and she wasted no time in throwing him forward. Soaring forward five feet, he crashed down onto the cold concrete floors of the basement with barely a groan. All activity nearby paused to get a look at him, looks of uncertainty, fear, and fascination gawked on. Sofia stepped out of the elevator, deep scowl on her face, and looked over the small crowd of frozen faces.

“I tell you all that not a damned soul hears a word of this,” Sofia began, her voice booming over the men in front of her. “And the first thing I hear back isn’t from any of you, but from some schmuck who wants to buy the shit that we found?” Every face in front of her dropped near simultaneously, their gazes turning to the bloodied man on the ground. It was clear to Sofia how much they were now putting together.

These men weren’t the brightest minds of science, but they appeared to be serviceable in what she needed them to do. They clearly were much dimmer when it came to sound financial and personal safety decisions. Sofia spit on the bloodied man and her feet.

“You’re here to find out what the shit we found was,” Sofia said. “And find out how we can use it.” She placed her boot on her victim’s head and pressed down. He groaned in protest, unable to scream from the injuries he’d received. “You’re not selling my shit.” She looked around the room, back and forth across all of the faces in front of her. Most of them knew their place, and the ones that didn’t were harshly reminded where they sat. Sofia squinted at a man to her left, he looked like he actually had something to say. “What?” She demanded.

“We’ve found some things…” he said, speaking low, almost in a mutter. Sofia flicked her hand in a circular motion toward him, urging him to speak up and continue. “Some blood samples, some… drugs. That bat-monster from a couple years ago — I think we found what made that thing, and I think we have some of its blood.”

“Think?” asked Sofia. “Or know?”

“We know,” he replied. “There’s also samples of other… enhancement drugs from around the market. Venom, or something like it.” Sofia cocked her head and stepped off of the man below her. A deep, wheezing inhale followed.

“Something like it?” she asked, walking toward the man she was talking to.

“There’s a few different ones,” he continued. Turning to walk further into the lab, he gestured toward Sofia for her to follow. “We’ve got the original drug, straight from Santa Prisca, and what looks like some… modified versions. Two of them.”

Sofia followed, observing the man in front of her with suspicious eyes. He was much smaller than most others she employed, obviously avoidant of the more physical aspects of her businesses. He wasn’t going to be facilitating or enforcing deals or making demands from Sofia’s protection rackets in the Bowery. His thin frame and thin-framed glasses made it clear that working in a lab, whether with street drugs or advanced concoctions from shady corporations like GothCorp.

“One is known as Titan, we don’t know its effects,” said the man. “The other is called Goliath. We don’t know its effects.”

“You should figure them out,” said Sofia. She watched impatiently as he approached a computer, nodding along to her, and began typing something out. “What about the blood? Anything else useful?”

“That spider monster attack? We also have blood from that thing,” he said, pulling up a few files on the computer and turning the monitor toward Sofia. She looked at it, squinting. There were long files on screen, dozens of long paragraphs, notes of some kind about what this small man was talking about. “There are… There’s some more notes about an experimental drug therapy they were working on. It looks like it was a bust, but the intent was to force controlled mutation to strengthen various aspects of peoples’ immune and organ systems. Stronger muscles, thicker skin, unbreakable bones. None of it worked out. The mutations were too hard to manually influence consistently.”

Sofia frowned. She didn’t understand why he thought this was relevant to what she wanted, but she shrugged and let it pass. All she needed was everything else — the Venom and its derivatives, Titan and Goliath — and it was in her hands.

“Right,” she said. “Look into this if you want. First thing’s first, though, I need Venom, Titan, and Goliath understood, usable, and put into production as fast as possible. We’re sitting on a moneymaker.”

“Whatever you need, Ms Falcone,” he said, keeping his eyes on the monitor.

What started as a visit to warn her traitorous underlings of the consequences of crossing her ended with her feeling more confident than ever in her acquisition of GothCorp’s old lab. She only regretted that it took her this long to give it the attention it needed.

Astrid Arkham slammed her cell phone screen-down onto the table, unbothered by the idea that its screen could shatter under the force she used. She swore to herself and leaned back in her chair, taking long, deep breaths and rubbed her forehead with a hand.

“These fucking bat fanatics,” she muttered to herself. She looked around the dining room she found herself in and sighed. Killshot left for Hub City to deal with Batwoman, and had not returned. He was to stay at her side. Now the only remaining assassins in her employ were Black Jack, Mayfly, and Ezra.

Ezra, of all people, angered Astrid the most. She was an incompetent buffoon waving around guns like toys, far too eager to act upon the power she’d been given by Lane. Astrid was one more incident away from calling Lane and convincing him to revoke Ezra’s deputization. It would be the smart decision.

On top of her childishness, Ezra seemed to revere the idea of the Bat, the same way the lunatics in costume did. The only difference in Ezra was that she thought there was a way to avoid whatever myth it was she believed if she shot people fast enough or ran far enough. The mercenary had fought Batgirl, then Batman, multiple times in her pitiful career and still fully believed that the Bats were more than human. Astrid wanted to throw Ezra off of Gotham’s highest building, but Batman would probably interfere and reinforce the belief in the myth.

“It’s so… stupid,” Astrid said to herself. “And childish.” No one else was present. Astrid Arkham was alone. She didn’t like the company of others, not when she didn’t need it. Still, she spoke as if someone were listening. It was something of a comfort for her, to speak aloud.

She looked at her phone. Perhaps it wasn’t particularly graceful to hang up suddenly and slam her phone down, especially not when she’d hung up on Michael Lane, police commissioner of Gotham City. She didn’t like what he said, and he knew that, and he said it anyway, because it wasn’t something he could deny or change through simple belief.

Batwoman dismantled Blockbuster’s media campaign — which Astrid had spent a not-insignificant amount of money to bolster — and defeated Killshot, Ezra, Black Jack, and Mayfly all at once. Since the fanatics had defeated her assassins, a second Batwoman had been reported in Hub City. Astrid then decided that the call wasn’t worth continuing.

Her phone buzzed again.

She flipped it over — the screen was undamaged — and accepted the call, turning it to speaker. Perhaps if she spoke while I was still on a flat surface, she wouldn’t slam it down onto anything.

“Astrid,” said Lane. “I get that this is frustrating, but it was a ridiculous move on my part, anyway. I appreciate that you want Batman off the streets and to funnel more faith into our legal system, but sending my squad after her into another city — another jurisdiction — was a power play that, predictably, failed miserably.”

“Because I recommended idiots who cannot do their jobs,” Astrid said. She pinched her nose and took another deep breath, fighting off a cough that was going to wrack her lungs at any moment. “It shouldn’t be this hard to fight a handful of self-righteous vigilantes in ridiculous costumes.”

“Who also happen to be incredibly resourceful, well-trained individuals with the backing of nearly the entire world,” said Lane. “The Justice Legion, and the League before it, are venerated for a reason. I may not support vigilantism, but I won’t deny them recognition for what they are. I don’t wish to offend, Astrid, but why is it that you refuse to see it the same way? Why have you committed to this?”

Astrid sighed and looked out of the nearby window of her penthouse apartment. She saw, in the far distance, Arkham Island, and what little structures were left of it. She saw the place that stole her father away from her for years, chasing the idea of a myth made real.

“The Bat, as it exists within this city and its history,” Astrid began, leaning forward onto the table in front of her, bracing her weight with an elbow. “Has followed my family for generations. This… stupid belief in a devil that does not exist. It has inspired illness in multiple of my relatives including my own father. Batman and her ilk perpetuate a sickness that grips this city within an iron fist, and I am tired of watching everything I know waste away because they believe the Bat to be anything more than a children’s tale. Talk of demons, assassin attacks, and crazed worshippers of this fake entity… It’s frankly embarrassing, Commissioner Lane.”

“Batman is just a woman, Astrid,” said Lane, skepticism in his voice. “Before that, he was a man, and a man before that.”

“Exactly,” Astrid said. “And the Bat of Gotham City, the stories that have plagued my family, that’s all they are. Stories. Batman is an insult, and her continued existence gives credence to the mass delusion that this city experiences.”

“I see,” Lane said, his voice slow and contemplative. Astrid wanted to say more, but she could feel Lane on the other side, something clearly on the tip of his tongue. She gave him a few moments to figure it out. “I don’t necessarily disagree. There is far too much worship for the Bat, as a symbol, that asserts that man is anything more than man, flaws and all. Even the superhumans among us aren’t venerated to such a degree. We have no gods, and yet we are supposed to believe that a devil walks among us?”

“And we are supposed to believe that a man has tamed the spirit of such a devil and twisted it toward good,” Astrid continued his thought. He gave a short sound of agreement. “And we let that fairy tale dictate far too much in this city. I would like to see my family’s trauma put to rest, Commissioner.”

“I… I can respect that, Ms Arkham,” Lane said. “But let’s refrain from extreme measures like what happened in Hub City. It’s been a nightmare for the department and the mayor’s office. Even the governor has gotten involved. We remain within city limits. The county, if we wish to take risks. I appreciate your support.”

He hung up.

Astrid inhaled deeply through her nose, placed her thumb and a finger on her phone, and shifted it around the table in front of her, placing it horizontally, facing down. She felt the cough coming with even more fury, and tried to ignore it. She could understand Lane and his desire to keep their operations manageable. She didn’t like it, but she could understand it.

She flipped her phone over again as it rang once more.

Sofia Falcone was calling.

Astrid sneered, grabbed her phone in her hand, and, with as much force as she could muster, threw it across the room, hearing it shatter and break somewhere she couldn’t see. The coughs took their opportunity, and did so with a vengeance. She could barely control herself, gagging in the middle to try and catch her breath.

At the sight of small flecks of blood on her hand, once the fit had subsided, she fell back in her chair and let out a defeated sigh. It was too much effort to stand. Eventually, she fell asleep where she sat.

Harvey Dent smiled as he watched Batman descend upon the roof of Blair Wong’s apartment building. It was an old, familiar sight, and it was hard to maintain his composure as he witnessed something so awe-inspiring. He respected Batman, for being the very thing Gotham needed, while he worked to join her in that fight once more.

Blair stood with her arms crossed, face stern.

Robin landed close by, a few feet behind Batman to the left.

“I got fired,” said Blair, suddenly, without letting Batman stand up straight. Harvey’s face dropped entirely, to an expression rooted in fear. He knew that Blair had been getting stonewalled, but he didn’t think she was on the verge of being fired. “Got a personal chat from the Commissioner himself. ‘My extracurricular activities don’t fall in line with the values of the GCPD.’ Which is a load of bullshit.”

“It is alright, Blair,” said Batman. “We will all still manage. Spend your time with Harvey now. More than before.”

“I’ve got a girlfriend, Batman,” Blair said. “I’d rather not be spending time with anyone except for her.”

“You don’t have to,” Harvey began, though Batman put her hand up to interrupt him.

“We need the help, Blair,” Batman said. “I am personally asking for your help.”

“Sorry to be a downer, but a personal request from behind a mask doesn’t mean much,” said Blair. “I… I don’t agree with Lane, or with Astrid, but I still don’t like the idea of taking promises from someone I can’t exactly hold accountable.”

Harvey took a step back as he saw Batman reach for her cowl, crossing his arms as a grin grew on his face.

“I trust you enough,” said Cass, pulling the mask from her face. Blair paused, refusing to react for a moment as she clearly started working through her thoughts. She chewed on her tongue a bit and scoffed.

“Of course the world is that small,” she said. From behind Batman, Robin’s eyes seemed to go wide, looking between Cass, Harvey, and Blair. Her hand reached up toward her visor, but Blair interrupted her. “Your mask doesn’t exactly hide much, kiddo.”

“I have my driver’s license, y’know,” said Maps.

“Don’t tell Babs,” Cass asked, putting her hand out toward Blair to shake. Blair took another moment, thinking of how Barbara would react to knowing that the girl that was her ward had become Batman. She shook her head and grabbed Cass’ hand, shaking it.

“I won’t,” she said. “Best to keep her out of this, at least.”

Batman turned to Harvey, who was smirking off to the side. He’d clearly been through this before. She put her hand out toward him.

“Cassandra Cain,” she said.

He grabbed her hand and shook it.

“I need your help, Blair,” Cass said. “Keep helping Harvey. We are close. Most of the Order of Arkham are no longer with the GCPD, and Astrid is becoming reckless. Your progress with Sofia has been invaluable.” Blair gritted her teeth and looked at Harvey.

“I know,” she said. “Fine. I’ll need something to do, anyway.”

“Thank you,” said Batman. “What did you want to tell us, Harvey?”

He smiled.

“Projections are in,” he said, taking a step back toward the group. His confidence was infectious, even Blair felt a spark of hope in the back of her mind. “You’re looking at the man who’s going to be Gotham’s newest, and returning, District Attorney.”

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 53:‌ ‌ Collision Course

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ Geography3

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

Levi Kamei had found the Sureen to be an experienced bunch, if a bit strange. Their knowledge of the Green and beyond was the product of countless generations of oral information passed down from member to member, a testament to their dedication to the Parliament of Trees and the Avatar who served them. The dedication was genuinely admirable, if a bit offputting, but Levi didn’t mind that. It was in many ways like stepping into a very different kind of culture from your own. Beyond that, the Sureen were also incredibly hardy. They marched across miles and miles of forest in their simple white robes and togas, often along places with no path to guide them. Durable sandals granted them some protection, but even then so much walking had hardened the underside of their feet into tough callouses. Levi didn’t doubt that they could make these trips barefoot if they truly had to.

This was all to say that they were quite accustomed to roughing it through the wilderness, and navigating the dangers that came with it. They understood how to avoid aggravating wildlife, knew which plants were poisonous and which weren’t. On occasions where someone made a mistake, their knowledge of the Green often allowed them to whip up medicine with a mix of greenery and magic.

This meant that when the crowd at the front of the group began yelping in surprise, Levi knew it was something to be worried about.

They had been traveling north, having spent a couple days crossing the state of Louisiana when it happened. Swampland had been traded for the lush but much more stable forests and grasslands of various parishes and townships, resulting in fewer rivers to form but more roads to cross. They had just crossed one of those roads when a few members of the Sureen stopped dead in their tracks, crying out in surprise. Levi rushed to the front promptly, alarmed by such a response, and came to discover the mob of Sureen members cowering before a strange sight.

A pair of numbers, carved into a particularly large and attention grabbing tree. The smell of gasoline was thick in the air, particularly since it was seeping out of the carvings in the wood. Levi glared at them, taking the numbers in.

68. -159.

One of the Sureen members marched up next to Levi, “What does it mean, O’ Seeder?”

Levi narrowed his eyes at the numbers. Gasoline was a staple of the Pale Wanderer, especially in a form like this, but the numbers were a different story. They weren’t a phone number or a zip code, and Levi doubted that the Pale Wanderer had a Social Security number. Rubbing his chin, he realized something about the numbers, and frowned, “They’re coordinates.”

“For where?” The member asked.

Levi shook his head, “I’m not a cartographer… but get a world map in my hands and we can all find out.”

The Sureen member bowed his head and backed away, leaving Levi to continue staring at the numbers in curiosity. What was the Pale Wanderer’s game here? What could he possibly hope to gain by beckoning Levi to this place. Perhaps it was a trap, but if so, it couldn’t be a more obvious one.

What was his game?

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“Clifford! Good to see you!”

“Good to see you too, Mari!”

Clifford trotted up to Mari McCabe, matching her energy as the two fell into a tight hug. They hadn’t seen each other in years, so this reunion was a long time coming. The two of them had agreed to convene in Vixen International’s Portland office, a space full of pristine hallways and shiny windows. Mari’s office wasn’t a substantial upgrade from the other executive offices, but Clifford largely attributed that to the fact that her main haunt was Los Angeles. Red Oaken bookshelves full of framed fashion magazines. A mahogany desk with pillowy swivel chairs, and a wall consisting of windows looking out into the rest of the cityscape. Capucine leaned against the wall, feeling deeply uncomfortable in such a foreign place.

Mari McCabe was no mere businesswoman though. She was also the famed hero Vixen, known for her animal themed abilities and commitment to protecting the innocent. She had made waves after returning to her home a few years ago, making moves to fix illegal practices that her company had stooped to, and had also taken a bit of time to help Clifford train when he was just starting out as a hero. He’d always regretted not giving her more calls, given how much she’d done for him.

Mari pulled away from Clifford. She was in a designer suit, the kind of fashion Clifford knew was out of his price range, and more promptly was never really in a position to understand. High fashion was a different world, which was really saying something considering all the primordial force elements he was split between. It was a beige affair, engineered specifically to compliment all of her features. She took a seat in the office chair, prompting him to do the same. He turned to Capucine, beckoning her to come forth, and after rolling her eyes she finally trudged over to the desk, and the both of them took seats together.

“You look well,” Clifford said.

“As do you, minus the bloodshot eyes,” Mari joked, turning her attention to Capucine. “And who’s this?”

“A fighter… and a friend,” Capucine managed, the words seeming a little unnatural coming from her.

“Light on description? No trouble, I can respect someone who keeps secrets,” Mari said, winking at her before pointing at Clifford. “You know, I knew this guy before he was a bonafide hero. He was tripping over himself hoping to impress everybody he could see.”

“Oh come on,” Clifford said, the slightest hint of embarrassment in his voice. “You don’t see me spilling all the beans about you.”

“You don’t know about my embarrassing slip-ups,” Mari said, her voice teasing. “But I know yours. Them’s the breaks.”

Clifford shook his head disapprovingly, but he couldn't hide his smile, “Alright alright, let’s get down to business.”

Mari nods, her friendly facade remaining, though there’s an unmistakable shift in her demeanor, “Right, of course. You said that things were serious over the phone.”

Capucine leaned forward, “Maxine Baker and Tefé Holland have been kidnapped. They are our friends… and Miss Baker is Clifford’s sibling.”

Clifford gave Mari a serious look, “They’re in the Rot. The two of us are trying to get a team of people together to get them back. I wouldn’t have come to you if this wasn’t serious… and if I didn’t think the two of us could do it alone.”

He looked to Capucine, “And trust me. She’s got a lot of experience. If she doesn’t think we can do it alone, then I trust that.”

He looked back to Mari, “I don’t mean to intrude. I know you’re probably really busy, so I don’t want to-”

“Say no more, kid. I’m in,” Mari said.

Clifford’s eyes widened, “Wait… really?”

Mari stood up, “If you need help, Clifford, then I’m ready to go. You’re not the only hero in the world, kid, saving people is what I do.”

She walks around the desk, rolling her shoulders in a relaxed manner, “We don’t talk often, but your mother and I have a call every once and a while just to catch up. It doesn’t have to feel like an emergency to ask for my help.”

Clifford shook his head, “I just… didn’t wanna pester you.”

Mari smiled warmly, “Cliff, I had a lot on my plate a few years ago. Sure, maybe I could’ve done a lot of it on my own, but I didn't. I had help, a lot of help, from the people in my life.”

She patted him on the shoulder, “Nobody’s an island, not me, and not you. There’s no shame in asking, kid. Don’t forget that.”

Clifford looked to Mari’s hand, then to her. He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath while internalizing the lesson before placing his hand over hers. He looked back up at her, confident, “Then I’ll be sure to ring you up in the future.”

He glanced at Capucine, “Hope you’re listening too, I know you could learn to ask for help more often.”

Mari chuckled, though Capucine shot Clifford a venomous glare. The centuries old warrior got out of her chair, “Right, then if we’re all done reminiscing and sharing life lessons, we should get going.”

Clifford nodded and got out of his chair, “For sure. We’ll have to find an entry point to the…”

His sentence trailed off, prompting Mari and Capucine to look at him in confusion, only to watch the veins on his face bulge, made visible and intense by a surge of blood that carried a striking red color. He grunted in surprise, shaking his head in disbelief as a series of images began to flash through his mind. Forests, bright green and lush, then a rocky shore, then the ocean beyond, all flying through his mind like a slideshow at double speed. He saw land again, first a cold foamy beach, then more forest, then snowy ridges and mountains. Finally, it landed upon an icy valley, filled to the rim with rotting bodies. They weren’t corpses, they couldn’t be. Corpses didn’t move around like they were still alive.

And just past them, standing on a ridge above the army, stood a quartet of figures. One was rotting like the rest of them, dressed in an old coat and stetson hat that were in fashion a couple centuries ago. Another was a younger man, one Clifford vaguely recognized as William Arcane, with his dark orange hair and pale skin. The last two, impossible to miss, were Maxine and Tefé. His sister’s long ginger hair and Tefé’s short, white locks were impossible to miss. The last image to be shown to him was a close up of the two of them, alive and unharmed, before he was dragged straight back to Mari McCabe’s office.

Capucine and Mari stared wide eyed at him as the marks on him faded. He shook his head in surprise, “Uh… shit.”

“What?!” Mari asked. “What was that?!”

“I think… I think the Red finally gave us something useful,” Clifford said, cursing the Red for only giving him an answer now, after nearly a week of trying to get in contact with it.

Capucine grasped her sword, “Well, what’s the story? How are they helping us?”

“The good news is the Red knows where Maxine and Tefé are, and that they’re out of the Rot,” Clifford said. “The bad news… they’re still among a whole army of zombies. Real Army of Darkness deal.”

Mari rubbed her chin, “Well, to be frank, this makes things considerably easier, though an undead army is nothing to sneeze at. Has the Red told you where they are?”

Clifford swallowed, doing his best to reckon with the path the Red had shown him. He was never the best geography student… or really the best student period, having flunked out of High School, but now, more than ever, he needed to think about what he had seen. Where were his friends, where was this going to go. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to think on the path. He’d traveled up from Portland, so he had crossed out of Oregon and into Washington State. After that was passing out into the coast and back again in a fairly straightforward line, so it was unlikely to be in Canada. That left only one option…

“Alaska,” Clifford said. “They’re somewhere in the Alaskan wilds. If you can get me in the northern ball park I can track them from there.”

Mari nodded, “Good, then I’ll get a jet sorted. It’s the fastest way.”

Clifford raised an eyebrow, “You have a private jet? Can’t you… fly?”

“Oh, I don’t use it very often, but there are times when I need to travel with more than a single person, and it’s hard to carry ten people in my arms,” Mari said.

Clifford shrugged, “Fair enough, let’s get going.”

The trio began to exit the offices, though Capucine lagged behind just a bit. She had been rendered silent by the news that her companions were not only out of the Rot, but that William had brought an army of the dead to the real world. How could he be so reckless? How could he fall so completely under the Pale Wanderer’s influence. Had everything she had ever taught him gone to waste? It put fear in her heart to know that things had escalated so much, because if she couldn’t convince him to stand down, she would have to take more drastic measures.

For the good of the world, she might have to put William Arcane to the sword. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but that hope was dying hard and fast.

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Maxine shivered, rubbing her arms together in a vain attempt to stay warm in weather she wasn’t dressed for. The Alaskan wilderness was doing her no favors, but she and Tefé had jumped headlong into this plan to ride along with the Pale Rider’s antics, and there was no backing out now. William looked upon the two of them with an apologetic frown. He clearly had their sympathies, even if his state as Avatar of the Rot meant that he didn’t feel the cold at all. The Pale Wanderer, apparently oblivious to the struggles of his peers, pranced along, leading the three of them to a clearing not far from their perch overlooking the undead army.

Kneeling down in the center of the clearing, he placed his hand upon the snow, gently forcing the flakes out of the way. A sudden wave of heat emanated from him, creating a true sense of whiplash in Maxine and Tefé as the ground beneath them immediately began to thaw, snow turning to water turning to steam. It was still too cold for the clearing to feel like a sauna, but the warmth the wanderer brought still managed to sooth those who could be affected by the cold weather.

“Now that we’re all getting comfortable,” the Pale Wanderer said, turning around to face his compatriots. “Let’s get down to brass tacks.”

“Yeah,” Maxine said. “I’d really love to know what the fuck is going on.”

“No need to be so rude,” the Pale Wanderer replied. He glanced at William, “I’ll let you take the lead on this, partner.”

William gave the Wanderer a thumbs up, “Just to restate our goals, the Green has been exercising far too much control over the world and the people who serve it. They’ve been unchecked for too long. Something needs to change, and they’re not going to make that change without proper encouragement.”

“Yeah, dropping an army into their backyard certainly seems like the right kind of encouragement,” Tefé remarked. “It also seems like a good way to start another war. Do you realize what this could mean for everyone else on earth? Are you really going to fight this war, knowing how many people are going to die in the process?”

“Well, the plan’s to not fight a war at all,” the Pale Wanderer said. “See, I told their resident lackey, the Seeder, where we are. He’ll show up with whatever force he deems necessary, and instead of taking him to task, we’ll ask to have ourselves a little chat.”

“A… chat?” Maxine said. “Why would they ever chat with us? Why would the Green ever allow that sort of thing?”

“Because it’s safer,” the Pale Wanderer said. “The Green don’t want their bountiful forests to be damaged, they’re just as invested in the planet’s wellbeing as I am. We’re polar opposites in many ways, but both of us have the common sense to not want mindless slaughter.”

Tefé’s eyes widened, “So you’re… forcing a negotiation?”

The Wanderer snapped his fingers in excitement, “Exactly! Being a nuisance hasn’t worked out for me at all, so if they don’t wanna come to me… I’ll have to come to them.”

He looked out in the direction of the undead army, able to hear them mill about even if he couldn’t see them, “After all this time, all these mistakes… I’m finally gonna make a change for once… and damn if it hasn’t been a long time coming.”

Tefé and Maxine looked at each other, identical expressions of worry on their faces. William and the Wanderer were jumping into something with the potential to do far more damage than anything either of them had ever done before. If this went poorly, it would mean a conflict that could crack the planet apart. There was a compulsion in both of them to take this moment to run, to take some kind of stance… yet neither of them followed through on it.

Part of it was obvious, that they were in the wilderness. There was nowhere nearby to escape to. It would be a pointless endeavor. More than that though was the fact that this plan had planted a seed in both of their minds, a doubt that shifted their perspective on this plan. It was smarter than what came before, at least on paper, and if it succeeded, the Green might actually change. For the longest time, the two of them had considered the Parliament of Trees a fact of life, impervious to any kind of change. Now though, there was the smallest, most desperate glimmer of hope.

Maybe something good could come out of this plan after all.

Next Issue: Battle Lines!

Welcome back to DC Next! We hope you enjoy this month's issues including the series finale of Nightwing, marking the end of 7 years of Dick Grayson written by yours truly between Gotham Knights, Batman & Robin and Nightwing. Thank you for your support over the years.

May 6th:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #39
• New Gotham Knights #25 - Crossover with I am Batman and Nightwing, Finale!
• Suicide Squad #61

May 20th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #53
• The New Titans #32
• Nightwing #35 - Series Finale!
• I Am Batman #35

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty-One: Cut at the Knees

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

It was the loud clang that first drew Hack’s attention to the bunker hatch. She had been working in the commons area at that point, trying to crack one of the CIA’s latest cyphers. Most of the time, if there was a commotion, she’d assume it was Hallucigent trying to play a prank on her, but in all her years with the Anti-Squad, she had never felt the entire base shake the way it had just shook.

Another clang resounded throughout the bunker, prompting her to get out of her chair. The hallway to the hatch was on the other side of the commons room, past a collection of couches, tables, and objects of leisure such as TVs and board games. She narrowed her eyes at the hall, “The Fuck?”

“What’s that racket?” Red Lion, AKA Matthew Bland, barked, entering the room with a huff. He was fresh out of the bathroom, having clearly just finished giving himself a shave. His attire mostly echoed business casual outfits, with a red jacket and a brown button down shirt which complimented his black pants and shoes. Hack herself was dressed much more casually, with a grey tank top and blue shorts. She frowned, “If this is Hallucigent’s doing, he’s gonna get a shock the next time he opens his phone.”

“Not to mention an ass-kicking,” Red Lion replied. “Come on out! This isn’t funny-”

Before the former dictator could finish his sentence, a loud bang rippled through the bunker, more akin to the sound of a car hitting a wall than a gunshot. The entire base felt it, the shaking so violent that it knocked both Hack and Red Lion onto their backs. What followed was the third and final clang from down the hall, made louder and clearer by the fact that the hatch had fallen onto the floor. A wave of concrete dust rushed past it, cloaking the hall in a stony mist of debris. Hack coughed, the dust stinging her eyes as she sat up, desperate to figure out what the hell had just happened.

Within the mist, something heavy landed in the hall. Whatever it was, it was big, its stride composed of perfectly synced thunks as each boot made footfall. Slowly, a silhouette appeared before Hack, cloaked yet still overtly intimidating by its height alone, appearing to be at least seven feet tall. It looked human, but so much of it felt artificial that it couldn’t be. It set off alarm bells at the back of Hack’s mind immediately.

She raised hand up to her mouth, activating the comm device wrapped around her wrist, “Breach at the Hatch! Breach at the Hatch! We’re under attack!”

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Tresser’s heart sank as Hack’s words reverberated throughout the bunker’s loudspeakers, filling the meeting room with absolute dread. He could see the horror on each of the Suicide Squad’s faces. Why wouldn’t they be terrified? They had just escaped hell to be here, and now hell had followed in their footsteps, refusing their desperate need for a reprieve. Raptor and Croc looked to each other nervously, clearly unsure of what to make of the conflict, while Dante hung his head in defeat, shocked by the unrelenting nature of their circumstances. Adella was still, her eyes wide with surprise, while Flag gritted his teeth, anger coursing through him like a current through rapids.

Tatsu Yamashiro, Katana, glanced at Tresser, “What’s our next move?”

“We’ll need to move fast,” Tresser said, his voice steady if a bit rehearsed. He had planned for this eventuality, “Not a stretch to assume this is Waller’s doing. Even if this is a force we can counter, this place has been compromised. Katana, head down to the Hangar and make sure everything is prepped and ready to go.”

“This place has a hangar?” Croc asked, surprised.

“We don’t use any planes, they’re too high profile, but there are some trucks down there stocked with survivalist gear,” Tresser said. “If the hatch has been breached, we’ll have to leave through the other exit.”

“What about the rest of us?” Dante said.

“We need to know what we’re dealing with,” Tresser said, drawing a gun from the holster strapped to his thigh. “Priority one is finding the others, then assessing the threat and acting accordingly. Once that’s done, we take everyone to the hangar.”

Flag nodded, drawing his own pistol, “Then let’s not waste any more time.”

Tresser broke into a jog, racing into the hallway with the rest of the Suicide Squad at his back. The bunker continued to shake, loud crashes echoing throughout the complex. He had no clue what was waiting for him near the entrance, but he could only pray that the people who had sworn themselves to his cause weren’t paying the ultimate price in his stead.

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Hack planted her hands against the floor, forcing herself onto one knee as the figure approached. It emerged from the dust in all its twisted glory, coated in glossy grey plating from the neck down, with wires and tubes running up, down, and along its arms and legs. A cloak covered the top half of its torso, leaving its face exposed, a visor bolted over its eyes and its lips and cheeks removed, leaving a full set of long, crocodilian teeth fully visible. There was no hair on the top of its head, only an artificial scalp covering what Hack could only presume was a brain.

It raised its arm towards her, revealing a disk on its palm with pincers, and advanced. She backed away in a panic and, out of the corner of her eye, saw Red Lion crawling towards a stool that had been knocked over in the assault. Wrapping his hands around it, he held it aloft before lunging at the creature, breaking the stool over its head. The creature retorted by whirling around, attempting to clothesline Red Lion, only for him to duck underneath the attack. He spun as he stood back up, winding himself up to kick the creature, only for it to catch his foot mid-attack. With a grunt, he looked up at the creature and yowled as it twisted his ankle ninety degrees upward. It turned and tossed him like a doll, catching the dumbstruck Hack by surprise as Lion collided with her, knocking the wind from her lungs. The two fell together, her pinned underneath him, while the creature advanced yet again, both hands raised with pincers primed.

Hack yelped, raising her own hand in defense. She had never been in this kind of situation, staring death right in the face. Tresser had made sure of that, to protect her from the kind of danger Waller would’ve relentlessly put her through on a regular basis. Now, with the end of the road right in front of her, she was paralyzed, mortified by the idea of accepting her fate while simultaneously seeing no way out.

But just as death moved to claim her, heavy feet thundered in behind her, and a gigantic figure dove over her, sending the creature flying with a strike from a colossal fist. The figure skidded to a stop, and both Hack and Red Lion watched as Ethan Avery, bulked up in Damage form, stood between them and the creature. He grinned, then advanced as the creature was still recovering, battering it with strike after strike. The invader did not cry out, never giving any impression that it could feel pain, but even it could not stand up to Damage’s unyielding might. After it had been sufficiently broken to his satisfaction, Damage grabbed it by the torso, then pulled at it from both sides, bisecting it like pulling meat from a bone before tossing the destroyed creature’s parts in opposite directions. He turned back to Hack and Red Lion, a reassuring smile on his face, “You alright?”

Hack sighed, but before she could reply, Red Lion cried out in pain, “Sure! My foot’s supposed to look this way! No, I’m not alright!”

“Relax! We’ll get that checked out,” Avery joked. He pulled Red Lion off of Hack, allowing her to stand up, “We should find the others, see how they’re-”

Clunk

The three of them froze as something touched down in the hall again, followed by a series of extra clunks as a parade of figures entered the base. Avery placed Red Lion on the ground, allowing Hack to support him by draping his arm over her shoulders. He then turned around, glaring down the hall as roughly five silhouettes stood in unison, visors trained directly on him. He narrowed his eyes, “Stay back… I’ll handle this.”

The five figures lunged from down the hall, electing to fly rather than run. They crossed the space between them and Avery so quickly that Hack barely had time to recoil, lugging Red Lion with her as she stumbled out of the danger zone. Avery engaged the enemy as fervently as he always had, swinging wildly at the creatures and knocking them into the walls and the ceiling and the floor. His attacks shook the room, and every time a creature collided with a surface, the impact shook the very foundations of the entire complex. Hairline fractures appeared all around the common room, and chunks of concrete rolled off the wall and onto the ground, revealing raw stone behind them. Red Lion clapped Hack on the shoulder, trying desperately to get her to move, but she was frozen in place, awestruck by the destruction in front of her.

When Avery let loose, he was unstoppable, a tide of pure muscle that trampled everything in his path. Despite this, the creatures refused to relent, getting up after each strike. Isolated, Avery’s unrelenting force would overwhelm them, but in a group, they afforded each other the time needed to recover. Every time Avery knocked an enemy down, another would harry him, covering for its companion.

But of course, he was invincible. When they struck him, the blows glanced off of him while leaving no discernable impact. They could not hurt the hero known as Damage.

Which made what happened next all the more tragic.

One of the creatures, still recovering from an attack, pushed itself to its feet before opening its hand, exposing the disk in its palm. The pincers clattered eagerly, like the mandibles of a spider excited to bite. Hack didn’t think to warn Avery of the creature, thinking he would shrug off whatever blow it was about to try and deal to him, just like he had with every other one of the creatures. He was Damage after all, how could anything hurt him?

The creature lunged at Avery, landing on his back. He pawed at the creature, trying to grab it, but it evaded his grasp, then planted its palm against the nape of his neck. Sparks flew off of the creature’s hand as it suddenly went limp, crumpling to the ground in a disorganized heap. The disk’s pincers latched onto a chunk of his skin, and as it produced a loud, whirring noise, Avery suddenly doubled over, letting out a pained growl as he fell to his knees. He clutched his head, spittle tumbling out of his open mouth as the other creatures surrounded him. Hack froze, terrified that they were going to take advantage of his momentary weakness, only to realize that they weren’t attacking him anymore. They were guarding him.

Avery twisted and turned, his pained gurgles becoming quieter and quieter, the fury and anger in his voice being snuffed out with each passing second. He glanced towards Hack and Red Lion, the look of a trained and fearless soldier gone from his eyes. He did not look like a hero, or a villain, or a criminal, or anything that could be defined by a simple one-word label. He was now a terrified boy, unsure of what would happen next.

And then, like the flick of a light switch, something shifted in Avery’s eyes, and he stood up, a robotic calm overtaking him. For a second, Hack felt the hope return to her, but that hope was quickly dashed as he turned towards her, his face blank. When Avery used to look her way, it was always with a friendly smile, or an awkward nod. He had never been much of a talker, but he had always valued her place on the Anti-Squad, not just her contributions to the team, but also the energy she brought to the room. He looked at her as if she was a stranger now… or more accurately, an object to be eradicated. There was nothing left of Avery that she could recognize.

The creatures turned in unison with him, their visors locked onto her and Red Lion. He glanced up at her, shaking, “Run.”

Hack shuddered, “But-”

“Run or we’re going to die!” Red Lion shouted.

Hack whirled around and began to rush out of the room, dragging Red Lion along with her. He limped along, using his one good leg to propel them both forward, but after only a few seconds, Avery’s massive feet began to thunder after the duo. She wouldn’t dare look back, but with his stride, it would take him no time at all to catch up. She could hear it, one-thousand pounds of muscle bearing down on her, and all she could do was prolong her life by how many seconds she had left.

She looked down at Red Lion, who matched her gaze with a sort of broken-hearted resignation. He had the look of a man who knew his time feasting on the apple of life was over, and in many ways, he should’ve bought the farm a long time ago. He had cheated death twice up until this point in his life, relying on people whose interests he served to pull him out of the fire. He gripped Hack’s shoulder, holding so tight that it could only be interpreted as his last attempt at a hug, maybe the only hug he’d ever given in his entire life, “See you on the other side, kid. Don’t stop running.”

Hack gasped as Red Lion let go, throwing Hack forward before falling to the floor. She stumbled, hearing something hard slam against the floor right behind her. Something was snapping, cracking, squelching. She tuned the noises out of her head, even as a spray of something wet and warm hit her back. She would not remember Red Lion this way, only that his last act was to save her life. Regaining her footing, she took off, sprinting down the hall at top speed. After a moment, the slamming stopped, but it was all Hack needed to round the corner and get out of sight.

It was only after she was sure that Avery was not following her that she began to sputter, tears flowing freely, but she did not stop running. No, she wouldn’t stop running until she was far, far, far from here.

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Tresser led the rest of the squad through the complex, navigating its winding tunnels with maximum efficiency. As they moved closer to the commotion, the sounds of chaos and destruction growing louder and louder, Tresser tried to shake the feeling of dread growing in his soul. This place represented nearly a decade of safety, of plans going right, of remaining under the radar. It represented stability. That stability was now actively crumbling before his very eyes. He had plans to survive this, to have the entire team survive this, but beyond that, it was hard not to despair. How could they battle Waller on the run, without the resources this place afforded?

Rushing up to a bulkhead door, Tresser turned the handle and popped it open just in time to spot Hallucigent, alternatively known as Todd, rushing towards him with a worried look on his face. He was dressed in a surprisingly mundane way, a bland white t-shirt and shorts. He wasn’t wearing shoes, and his green hair had a faded look to it. Tresser glared at him, “Todd, you alright?!”

“No! I was in the shower when shit hit the fan. Are we really being attacked?!” Hallucigent guffawed. “You’re the first people I’ve met since-”

A quiet yelp cut him off as Hack tumbled around the corner, drenched from head to toe in blood. She heaved, clearly out of breath as she stumbled towards the rest of the group. Eyes wide, Tresser approached her, while the rest of the squad surged past him, each taking positions to cover the hall that Hack had just come from. Tresser put a reassuring hand on Hack’s shoulder, “Zalika? What happened? Where are the others?”

“Bland… Bland’s gone,” Hack muttered. “There were these things that attacked, I’ve never seen anything like them. Avery took one out, but another one planted a disk of some kind on him. I… I watched it… turn him. He’s acting just like them now, Tresser. He’s not our friend anymore.”

Tresser tensed up. Two assets lost, huge ones. If that was the case, then this was practically everyone, and whatever these things were that Hack was describing would probably eradicate them if they could go toe to toe with Damage. He stood up, pulling Hack with him, but before he could bark any orders, two of the creatures finally rounded the corner, taking the rest of the crew aback. Raptor glared at them, “Christ, they’ve got Croc’s teeth.”

Croc snarled at the sight, a profound sense of betrayal coursing through the man. Seeing these features on such uncanny constructs clearly inspired the sensation of a violation, a signature piece of him copied onto a whole group of faceless automatons. Tresser and Flag raised their pistols, unleashing a hail of gunfire at the creatures, only for them to raise their hands in a casual manner. The bullets slowed to a stop in mid-air, over two dozen of them floating harmlessly at eye level. Flag swallowed, “Ah, fuck.”

The creatures tensed their fingers, and the bullets were flung back towards the squad. Dante raised his hands, taking hold of the bullets and stopping them before they did any serious harm, but the strength it took to battle the combined efforts of both creatures clearly put a strain on him. Sweat began to trail down his face, and a vein bulged on his forehead while he kept the bullets at bay, all while the creatures began to approach. He glanced sideways to his squadmates, “Anyone wanna give me a hand here?”

Adella stepped forward, igniting her hands and bathing them in flames. She raised them above her head before bringing them down onto the ground, summoning a massive burst of fire between the two creatures and knocking them down. The bullets whizzed by harmlessly, no longer subject to their control, and Dante doubled over, gasping for air. The creatures stirred, standing back up after only a few seconds on the ground. The flames licked their bodies, trying desperately to burn, to find a way to harm, but while their cloaks went up in smoke, the rest of their bodies were nonetheless unaffected. Shocked, Dante raised his hands upward and closed his eyes, searching for something that could help in this moment. He felt around for any sort of metal component within the creatures, but could sense nothing of the sort. Concluding they were mostly constructed of some kind of super-plastic, Dante instead searched high and low for anything that could dismantle them, or at least slow them down.

There was steel reinforcing the concrete, miles of girders and beams that stretched throughout the entire facility. Taking hold of them, he closed his hands into fists and pulled downward. The rest of the squad watched as a momentous rumbling shook the hallway, followed by over a thousand pounds of stone and concrete caving in from above, burying the creatures completely. He dropped to his knees, using the moment to take a few deep breaths before looking at the rest of the group, “Goddamn, and we still have Damage to deal with.”

“There are at least two more too,” Hack said, her voice choked.

The squad looked at Hack, then at each other. It was Raptor who said the obvious, “We need to get the fuck out of here, now!”

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A harsh wind blew through sculpted concrete halls of the underground hangar, carried in from the open maw at the end of the runway. From this distance, the opening looked to lead to nothing but sky, but Katana knew that just over the asphalt lip was the endless stretch of snowy Canadian wilderness. It would be a bumpy ride, even in trucks designed for this kind of terrain, but it would have to do. They couldn’t stay here after all.

She closed the door to the last truck, having made sure that they were all full on gas. There were three in total, all loaded to the brim with various bags and boxes packed with supplies. Canned foods, tents, camping tools, the works. It was enough to last about a month, assuming they took to hunting and foraging as well. Placing a hand on the tailgate of the truck, she looked out towards the mouth of the hangar, out at the open spaces beyond.

Time and again, she’d ventured out into the wider world to fight Waller’s plans, but for the first time in a while, she wouldn’t have a reliable place to recuperate. This life was already a struggle, and now it was about to become even harder without the resources this place afforded them. They would have to travel light, live minimally. She had already lived that way before, understood it intimately, but others were not so lucky. It just meant that she would have to be there for them, to help them adjust.

This was not a fatal blow. The Anti-Squad wouldn’t give up, not by a long shot.

The sound of screeching metal filled the room as the bulkhead to the rest of the facility creaked open, allowing the rest of the squad to rush into the hangar. The relief Katana felt upon seeing them evaporated near instantly when she realized Avery and Bland were missing from the group, and worse, that Hack was drenched in blood. She didn’t need to know more, not in that moment when time might be of the essence. Turning around, she began to start towards the driver side of the car, not waiting for any kind of order.

But the opposition wasn’t done with the squad, not by a long shot. A loud crash reverberated throughout the hangar as the massive form of Ethan Avery broke through the ceiling, landing directly on the truck and sending the rest of the room on their backs with the sheer force of the impact. The vehicle underneath him crumpled like paper, windows shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces. Supplies flew out of the truck bed, landing in a scattered manner all around the hangar.

Avery stood up, towering over Katana menacingly. She looked up at him, searching for some kind of meaning in what he had just done, some logic for why he had just sabotaged one of their vehicles. She was met with nothing, a cold and artificial response and attitude you wouldn’t find on any living person.

“He’s not himself!” Hack shouted, “Get away from him!”

Avery pounced on Katana, and she scrambled back in response, barely avoiding the man’s fists as they shattered the floor in front of her. The rest of the squad rushed to regain their footing. Raptor was quickest on the draw, rushing towards Avery at breakneck speed. Avery swung at the agile anti-hero, but Raptor dropped into a slide, moving between his attacker’s legs before whirling around, searching Avery’s back for the disk. Identifying it, he unleashed Suyolak’s talons, striking at it with intent to dismantle it.

But when Suyolak’s tips made contact with the device, it did not crack or break. Instead, Raptor felt a surge of electricity course from the disk through him, locking up his muscles and causing him to gasp in surprise. The moment’s shock was all Avery needed to swing around, batting Raptor out of the way with his arm. The vigilante went careening through the air, crashing against a different truck and caving the wheel inward in the process. He grunted, unable to feel the pain of the strike, but by the way he struggled to sit up, it was clear something was broken.

“Protect the last truck!” Tresser shouted. “None of us will get out if it’s damaged!”

The Squad rushed forward, encroaching upon Damage in an attempt to overwhelm him. Adella unleashed a volley of flames at him, bathing him in fire, while Dante grabbed hold of the destroyed chunks of truck with his polarity powers, lifting them up and hurling them at Avery from all directions in the hopes of knocking him down. While they didn’t seem to truly hurt Avery, it did lock him down enough for Croc to come barrelling in, tackling him to the ground. Tresser took the opportunity to rush for the one remaining truck with Hack and Hallucigent, while Flag and Katana raced to Raptor to drag him to safety.

Croc raised both of his arms, bringing them down on Avery repeatedly in hopes of clobbering him into unconsciousness. Instead, Avery pulled his knees in before planting both feet against Croc’s chest, kicking him fifty feet straight up into the ceiling. The former villain let out a yowl as he slammed against the concrete, then another one when he fell straight back down again. Blood began to leak from the spaces between his scales. He had not had the proper time to heal since his last fight in Russia.

Back at the truck, Tresser slipped into the driver's seat and turned the key, watching in satisfaction as the engines roared to life while Hack and Hallucigent piled into the back seat. Flag and Katana grabbed Raptor’s top and bottom half respectively and rushed him across the hangar, lugging him to the truck as quickly as their legs could carry them. Tresser kept the truck in park and jumped out, rushing to open the backseat door for them as they arrived. The three of them wrestled with Raptor’s wounded form, trying to pile him into the vehicle as fast as possible. Hack retreated from that side, while Hallucigent raised his hands in defense, “Getting crowded back here!”

“Who gives a shit!” Flag barked. “Fucking help us!”

Avery glanced in their direction, honing in on the group before marching towards them, completely impervious to Adella’s flames and Dante’s projectiles. Hack’s eyes widened as the man who used to be her friend broke out into a sprint, “Guys, look out!”

Flag turned around, eyes wide as Avery reached out for him, only for Tresser to tackle him out of the way, getting grabbed in his stead. Avery lifted Tresser up, holding him aloft in one hand before squeezing. Tresser screamed as Damage’s massive fingers constricted around his torso, resulting in a loud cracking noise that echoed throughout the cave. Tresser gritted his teeth, feeling his insides being squeezed out like toothpaste. His eyes bulged, ready to pop out at any moment, his legs grew limp, circulation cut off from his heart. The screams quickly began to give way to a sort of gasping gurgle, the same kind of sound you’d hear from a fish left to suffocate on land. Flag and Tatsu drew their weapons, shooting and cutting at Avery in equal measure, but neither could get him to let go of Tresser.

Croc, recovering from the blow he had just taken, watched this unfold with the rest of the squad. Summoning the strength to stand, he grabbed the broken remains of the truck that had been dismantled by Raptor’s impact, heaved it over his head, and let out a resounding war cry before charging at Avery. The soldier looked up just in time to be knocked across the room, hit with such force that the truck itself completely shattered against him. His grip on Tresser loosened, allowing the man to slip out and tumble onto the floor behind the truck. He mumbled, his eyes glazed over in a way that indicated he was clearly delirious.

“Throw him in the goddamn truck!” Flag shouted, rushing to get into the driver’s seat before Avery could recover. The rest of the squad quickly began to pile in, with Katana occupying the driver’s seat while Croc crawled into the back, taking Tresser with him. With everyone inside, Flag shifted the vehicle into drive and put his foot on the gas, and the machine roared definitely, tires screeching before it blasted off down the runway. Dante and Adella took flight, flanking the truck on either side to guard it all the way down. Avery grunted, shaking off the blow he had taken from Croc before barrelling down after the truck, the ground fracturing underneath his feet with each step.

Polaris glanced back, watching as Avery began to close the distance between himself and the truck. Adella turned around, hurling fireballs at him, but Avery was undeterred. Worse still, Dante caught something moving in the space near the bulkhead door, realizing in horror that the creatures had dug themselves out of the rubble. A squad of eight was pouring in, taking flight in a manner identical to him. There were too many pursuers, and even if they escaped the hangar, they would surely be overwhelmed somewhere out in the wilderness.

His mind flashed back to Russia, to the moment he had been impaled, trounced when he should’ve been able to sweep an opposition that numbered in the hundreds. Here was a set of nine adversaries, and they were going to slaughter him and his friends if he didn’t step up and do something. They had beaten the odds so many times before, he couldn’t let their luck run out here. He wouldn’t fail them like he did in Russia.

He slowed to a stop in mid-air, closing his eyes and casting his powers outward. He could hear voices shouting at him, telling him to get moving again, but he tuned them out. This was it, for all the marbles. It required his complete, unbroken attention. He sensed the steel again, supports that ran up and down the hangar, but twisting and breaking them wouldn’t be enough. He needed to ensure that they were trapped for hours, maybe even days if it could be helped. Searching further, he honed his focus, looking for every scrap of metal in the complex.

What he found weren’t scraps, but specks. The tiniest infinitesimal nodes of iron, silver, copper and lead. They were sprinkled into the mountain itself, formed by centuries of tectonic uplift and volcanic activity. The veins ran through every inch of stone, integrated so completely that the naked eye would have trouble picking them up. Dante didn’t need to use his eyes. Raising his hands, Dante pulled on every single mineral at once, giving no thought on whether or not what he was doing was even possible, only that it must be done. The strain would’ve caused his knees to buckle if he was on the ground, but he remained afloat, even though the sensation he had just invited felt akin to being crushed underneath a hydraulic press. Sweat poured from every pore. Blood trickled out of his nostrils and his ears and out of the space between his eyes and eyelids. Despite this, his effort was reflected in the state of not just the hangar, but the entire mountain itself.

Flag struggled to keep the truck on a straight path as the hanger shook violently, though the effect was so monumental and wide reaching that it felt more like the entire world was starting to break apart. A searing pain ripped through Dante, like knives carving up every ounce of flesh in his body, but he persisted, determined to make sure this wasn’t the end of the Suicide Squad.

Then, he let out a final, defiant roar and swung his hands downward, and the entire hangar began to collapse. Endless rubble made from concrete and stone came down like a wave from the back of the hangar, threatening to engulf everyone inside. The creatures were swallowed first, having gotten a late start, and soon Avery was also buried, unable to maintain pursuit as an entire mountain buried him alive. Dante embraced the sight, experiencing a seconds-long sense of satisfaction before his eyes glazed over, fainting from the strain of what he had just done. He plummeted, only for Adella to swoop in and catch him, carrying him alongside the truck as the two parties burst out of the hangar opening, a storm of dust and debris following in their wake as they carved their way through the snow.

Hack looked through the window, taking in the now destroyed hangar. It had been her home for years, and doubtless the Suicide Squad were excited by the prospect of having a home that didn’t hate them for once, but now it was gone, taken from them like everything else they wanted but could never have.

Waller would pay for this, but revenge was hardly what anyone in that truck could think about at that moment. Only one thing was on any of their minds.

They were alive… but the future wasn’t bright. Not at all.

A last ditch plan in Suicide Squad #62 - out next month!

DC Next presents: 

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Five: Requiem, Part Three

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by ClaraEclair and AdamantAce

Next Issue > 

Make sure to read Nightwing #34 - Requiem, Part One and I Am Batman #34 - Requiem, Part Two!

Blockbuster’s hideout blended into its surroundings perfectly; it was situated in a grey and unassuming part of an already grey and unassuming city, a dull building which seemed surrounded by perpetual fog. With the assistance of Oracle, Batwing had managed to triangulate its location from information that Blockbuster himself had posted - videos and screenshots from his podcasts, text posts complaining of nearby noise pollution from vehicles and roadworks, anything that could help to pinpoint a specific area of Hub City. And so, Batman, Insider, Batwing, Batwoman, and Ryan Wilder all followed Nightwing into the building.

Upon entering, henchmen swarmed like flies around the intruders, but in a few swift strikes they were incapacitated. This, they understood, was the easiest part over. They all shared a look, a nod to each other, before splintering down different corridors. For some, this meant coming face to face with more of Blockbuster’s goons; for others, they instead wandered through darkened halls into unknown rooms. Kate felt a warmth rising in her stomach, one that unsettled rather than calmed. A fire that she hadn’t felt for a while was reigniting but she couldn’t quite remember what it meant. Rage? Excitement? Anxiety? Whatever it was, it powered her feet to move faster, to drive her from room to room in search of her target.

And there he was. As she turned the corner into what appeared to be a small waiting room, the walls hastily painted a shade of muted blue, the only notable feature being a large “recording” sign above the door to her right, her eyes immediately met with those of Roland Desmond. It had been years since their last interaction, and yet to her memory he looked very much the same. His enormous frame was draped with an ill-fitting suit jacket with a black button-up underneath, and he clasped his meaty hands together in front of him in such a way that his fingers resembled cigars. The corners of his mouth turned upwards to form a wolf-like snarl as he stared back at the red-headed vigilante.

“Well, well,” he smirked. Opting for a more physical approach instead, he swung his arm wide in a right hook. Batwoman anticipated the hit and ducked. Blockbuster’s knee met her where she landed. His kneecap collided with the bottom of her chin with a thunk. This, in turn, gave her the momentum she needed; she used the motion of the attack to pull herself to her feet and strike Blockbuster twice right in the centre of his chest. The punches made a heavy thunk against the man’s wide torso, and as she thrust her hand forward for a third blow, she instead feinted him and caused him to throw up his arm in defense. She landed her fist against his exposed side, earning a grunt from him.

Desmond stumbled back a few steps and sucked in a breath. Kate felt a chuckle rise up from within her throat and she allowed it to surface. “That all you got?”

Blockbuster tried his luck once more. His attacks were largely ineffective; though one or two managed to strike a glancing blow against Kate’s face or shoulder, her reflexes and quick thinking made dodging him a breeze. He tried and tried to land one punch on her, to grab her, anything - but nothing worked. Eventually he pulled back from her once more and huffed in frustration. Then, his face shifted into a smile once more. Desmond shook his head. “This was your big plan?”

Batwoman kept her fists raised.

“This?” He repeated, indignant. “You march into my building arm in arm with all of your Gotham pals, knock out my men and - then what? - beat me senseless? Get all your friends to join in, as well? Do you have any idea how that’ll look to my audience?” He rolled his shoulders back and somehow seemed a few inches taller. “‘Batwoman has coerced a bunch of Gotham’s finest - including Batman - to attack a podcast host just for sharing some unpopular ideas’? ‘Just for requesting that an innocent young Gothamite girl be released by her kidnapper’?”

Kate’s eyebrows flickered beneath her mask. She had many thoughts buzzing around her head all at the same time, several of which she was more than tempted to share. Her mind filled with images of Cass’ disapproving frown as she asked her, “If you cannot help people, why do this at all?”, of Dick softly nodding to her and to himself as he reminded her that they’re here, that all she needed to do was ask, of Jace’s folded arms and averted gaze, of Luke’s nervous hands tapping against his suit. Of Ryan.

“No,” came her answer. “No, that’s not my plan. I’m just here to hold you off.”

Roland Desmond scoffed, however his eyes betrayed something - a flicker of confusion. “From what?”

Kate’s eyes drifted upwards and over Desmond’s shoulder, who in turn followed where the woman was staring. The large neon sign above the door - the word “recording” in a serif font - was glowing bright red.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Hello, everyone. My name is Ryan Wilder, and I want to share my side of the story.”

Ryan’s hand felt clammy against the cold plastic of the computer mouse. She slowly released the object with the delicacy of one letting an animal back into the wild, then rested them in her lap. The small red circle symbol next to Desmond’s account name confirmed that she was broadcasting, so she looked up towards the webcam and continued.

“A little while ago, I was kidnapped by Blockbuster’s men who, I’ve later learned, were working under the guidance of a woman named Jezebel Jet. These men took me in daylight while I was at a public graveyard. I remember waking up in some kind of warehouse with a blindfold over my eyes and zip ties around my wrists and… well, if it weren’t for Batwoman - and another good samaritan - I have no idea what might have happened to me.” She shuffled in her seat. “I know I can't prove any of these things, but… I think you all know I'm telling the truth, don't you?”

Ryan shook her head softly to herself. She could feel her heartbeat in her throat. As she continued to give clarifying details, now that her initial spiel was out of the way without a hitch, she felt a sense of empowerment like a force from within pushing her to say whatever she could - whatever she thought people needed to hear. “At the end of the day,” she blurted. “There’s always gonna be people who won’t like Batwoman. There always has been, and there always will be. But Batwoman shouldn’t be aiming to be the most popular - hell, none of us should be. But what she was - that day she rescued me - was kind. So to me, that is who Batwoman is - pure and simple.”

She breathed in to continue, but she was met instead with the harsh heavy slam of the recording room door opening. As if on a trigger, she closed the stream and slammed the laptop computer shut. Roland Desmond stood as tall as the doorframe and just as wide. As he pulled himself into the recording room, he was swiftly followed by Batwoman and, within seconds, her fellow compatriots. They all looked at Ryan warmly; they’d seen the livestream. It was out there into the world now, but it was anyone’s guess what the reaction would be.

“This is it, Desmond,” boomed Jace’s voice. He and Luke moved to block the door; they weren’t banking on him being stupid enough to attempt to run from the group, but they couldn’t rule it out. “It’s over.”

“I think the viewer count peaked at somewhere in the hundreds of thousands,” Luke added. With a tap on his wrist, the small display screen built into his suit loaded up statistics for the stream. “For a stream that short, that’s quite the feat. Not to mention the clips and screenshots that’ll come from it, of course.”

Blockbuster, however, seemed unfazed. He chuckled. “Oh no,” he started in a sarcastic whine. “I guess I’m gonna lose a few followers. How will I ever recover? You’ve all dealt such a critical blow.”

“No,” came Cass’ voice, sharp as a blade. “This is not about your online credibility or your audience. You allowed, encouraged, rioting on the streets. You pulled an innocent girl into your agenda just to push a narrative. You dragged Gotham City - my city - into this.”

Batman gestured to the Gothamites (and former Gothamites) surrounding Desmond. “Look around you, Desmond. Everyone here, and many more in Gotham and beyond, will now be on high alert for you. You are on our radar from now on.” She took a step forward. “You have nowhere to go except away from here. We might not be able to arrest you right now, but if you step out of line again, we will be the first ones to find out, and we will be the first ones to deal with you.”

For the first time, these words seemed to break through his facade. His expression started to falter from the cocky smile into something more childlike, more scared. The face of a cornered animal stared back at the six heroes.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Dick had found comfort on rooftops. Whether it reminded him of the high canopy of the trapeze, of years of patrolling Gotham’s streets from up on high, or if the great height served as a reminder that one always has a chance of falling from them, he wasn’t sure. But as he felt the soft Hub City breeze on his skin, he allowed a deep exhale to escape from his nose.

Without turning his head, he could sense that his friend - he hoped that he could consider her a friend - Kate Kane had joined him. “Great work.”

Kate smiled slightly.

Dick was impressed and pleasantly surprised by Kate’s actions back in the recording studio, but he tried his best not to let it show on his face too much. “What’s next for you, then?”

The question gave her a moment of pause, after which Kate couldn’t give a straight answer. “I don’t really know,” was her first attempt, followed by, “But I don't think I'm ready for Batwoman to end.”

Dick turned his head to look at her. “How do you mean?”

“The world doesn’t need a Batwoman,” she answered with a nod. “But I'm willing to accept that the world is at least a little bit better for having one in it.”

The former Boy Wonder smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Seriously.”

“Does mean I’ve got some pretty hard decisions to make, though.”

From somewhere behind them, the soft chirp of Ryan’s laughter could be heard. Ryan. Dick felt the weight of Jezebel Jet’s secret weighing heavy on him. With a polite goodbye wave to Kate - knowing she wouldn't appreciate a mock salute - he turned to Ryan and lowered his head a touch. “So, Ryan, I think you should probably know. I was originally sent by Jezebel Jet to find you.” There was a beat of silence. “Would you like to know—?”

“She’s my mom, isn’t she?”

Dick blinked.

“Well,” Ryan corrected. “Birth mom, that is.”

“Uh—”

“And I bet - wait, lemme see if I got this right - it was something about ‘yadda yadda, I’m too dangerous to be around, I need to give my child up for adoption and put her in the middle of shithole Gotham City instead. Yeah, that’ll be a much better life for her.’” With open hands, she added, “Am I close?”

Dick shrugged. “Well, look at how it turned out this time. How much of a mess was made when her enemies came after you this time.”

Ryan let out an exhale with a puckered mouth, blowing out an invisible candle. “Yeah. Weirdly, maybe the world where I get a dead adoptive mom is the better option.” She looked down at her feet. “Alive or dead, I’d pick her- my real mom - a million times over again.”

Dick looked out into the horizon and recalled his conversation with Jet. He furrowed his brow. “I think,” he admitted. “She sent me here hoping I'd adopt you.”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?”

“Not that I'm going to!” Dick threw up his hands defensively..  “Just… from one orphan to another, you do seem like prime Robin fodder.”

This made Ryan chuckle. As Dick looked back at Ryan once again, he saw that her gaze had drifted back towards the edge of the rooftop, right where Kate was standing. “Well,” she muttered to herself. “Funny you should say that.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Crimson fabric tumbled down her back and whipped back and forth in the wind. It was just like how Ryan had pictured it would be, only a lot heavier. Gently adjusting the mask on top of her head, she scanned the streets with a careful eye. An altercation threatened to form on the block right below her, so she pulled her cape wide and gracefully glided to the ground. Her boots hit the sidewalk first, then her knee as she steadied her landing. “Hey, fellas. Everything okay over here?”

The young men froze in place. Whatever they had been arguing about was deemed no longer important and, one by one, they took off on skateboards, scooters, bicycles, anything to get away from Batwoman as fast as they could.

From high above her, Batwoman heard a voice. “Nice going, Bats.”

She looked up. Clad in identical red and black garb was the familiar figure of one Kate Kane, her hands firmly glued to her hips. Even from this far away, Ryan could tell she was grinning.

“Learned it from the best!”

“Learning,” she corrected. “Currently learning from the best.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Between them, they felt confident in carving the reputation and destiny of the Batwoman symbol. If one person slipped up, made a mistake, damaged their image or anyway, they knew that they had another looking out for them, happy to pick up their slack. It wouldn’t be perfect - not any one hero’s image was, after all - but they worked to make it the best it could be; one which stood for justice, kindness, and strength.

From over Kate’s shoulder and sailing eastward until they disappeared in the light of the sun, another identical black-and-red figure sailed through the air with the help of her grappling gun.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

DC Next proudly presents:

KARA: DAUGHTER OF KRYPTON

In What Comes Next?

Issue Thirty-Nine: As The World Stands

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

<< | < Previous Issue | Next Issue >

Kara couldn’t take her eyes off of her mother’s corpse, still and real. In all the time she’d lived after the destruction of Krypton, she’d have lied to say she never considered what it was like to die on a planet whose demise was happening alongside yours. She’d concluded long ago that most probably had died among the collapsing infrastructure. Buildings, roads, monuments, and statues all coming crashing down and killing everyone nearby, if they were lucky. Others probably bled to death in the wake of the initial destruction, while maybe there were some who had seen their lives taken by thirst.

She thought of Jer-Em every so often, the man who screamed about the end of the world to anyone who walked by, who slept cold every night out on the streets, who had been left behind. Some sort of morbid, evil curiosity in her mind wondered how he had died, so neglected by everyone around. She was scared that he had died alone, cold, abandoned. How much of Krypton’s population had died the same way?

How many children were there among a population of a dozen billion people? How many babies? How many older Kryptonians who needed help in their everyday lives? In its final days, what had happened to Krypton's technology? By the final days of Krypton’s life, everyone knew what was coming, how many people suffered as the time finally ran out? It haunted Kara more than she ever really wanted to admit.

Alura In-Ze was one of very few people to leave the planet in the wake of its destruction. In doing so, she left Zor-El behind to die by himself, having sent his daughter away and watched his wife leave for a risky play at a longer life.

Thinking back to her excitement at finding her mother alive, now after her second death, Kara wondered just how much it was worth it. All they got in the end was arguments and hostility. Alura watched, for two years, as Kara settled on a new planet and then discovered exactly what crimes her mother had committed, and she couldn’t say a thing until she was brought into the physical world. After that, there was no convincing Kara. Zor-El had died alone on a dying planet, abandoned by his wife knowing that, to some small degree, she was responsible for what happened. To some small degree, Kara thought, he probably was too.

Alura In-Ze’s body laid in the snow outside of the Fortress of Solitude, her neck back in its proper place, though the bones were nowhere near where they were supposed to be. Kara tried to reign in her X-Ray vision, but it was one thing that she still struggled with after being on Earth for so long. Somehow, not being able to see her face fully, shifting between X-Ray and a more human light spectrum, helped her avoid feeling the misery that she knew was awaiting her.

She was kidding herself to think that messed-up vision would keep the emotions at bay. She knew that she was looking at her mother’s corpse in the snow.

She stood alone, the wind blowing against her back, looking down at the definitive piece of proof that she was the last native-born Kryptonian left in the world. She was the last person to remember what it was to live life on Krypton, to know all the friends she had, to know the day-to-day of a normal person on another planet.

She took a few hesitant steps to the side of her mother’s body and laid down next to it in the snow, resting her hands upon her stomach, and staring up into the sky. The world moved so slowly. Kara didn’t know how long she was going to be alive should she stay on Earth — she guessed a long time — but now she felt as though time had truly slowed to a crawl, watching the clouds move across the sky above.

Kara wanted to feel as cold as her mother’s body did. She couldn’t even feel the snow against her skin or the icy air around her. She knew how cold it was, she could tell, but she couldn’t really feel it. Not like she could back on Krypton, under a red sun. It was the slightest prick, the smallest signal that it was cold, but she’d never feel like she was freezing unless Frost did to her what she’d done to Reign.

Kara shut her eyes to prevent the tears from flowing, but it was far too late. There was no point in holding back.

She realized, lying next to her mother’s body, that she hadn’t slept in days. Exhaustion poured in, and sleep took her swiftly through the next few hours.

A Few Weeks Later…

Thea sat down at the kitchen table of her new apartment with a groan. Only a day out from her hospital discharge and she was feeling every bit of the injuries she’d sustained. The malnourishment was the hardest part. She’d made the active decision, and now she feared that it would stay with her for months to come.

Nia sat across from her, laptop glow illuminating her face in the early morning half-light. She was typing quietly to herself, a steaming plate of freshly made waffles with fruits and whipped cream sitting nearby. Thea looked at her similarly untouched plate and let herself sigh loudly. Nia looked up from her laptop, eyes glancing between Thea and the food. Without a change in her expression, she grabbed a fork and began cutting into one of the waffles.

“Y’know, I’m not really that—”

“Nope,” Nia interrupted, shovelling a piece of the waffle into her mouth. She chewed it up and watched Thea for another few seconds.

Thea bit her tongue and began to cut into her food. Nia smiled and continued to eat at half attention as she went back to typing.

The last few weeks, Nia had been extra vigilant with Thea. Not only in just caring for her, but ensuring she did nothing to jeopardize her health even more. She knew how much Thea wanted to pick up her bow and arrow again, how much she wanted to go out and help people in the aftermath of Reign’s attack, but the most important thing for her, much like the rest of the city, was recovery.

National City News had allowed all of its reporters to work from home for an as-yet-undetermined amount of time, and Nia took the opportunity immediately — not only to keep an eye on someone she now called a friend, but to finally move into a new apartment, with Thea nonetheless.

Thea offered Kara a spot to stay in the apartment, there were four rooms, but she declined. Kara never told either of them why she’d declined, and Nia didn’t want to intrude by sneaking into her dreams in an attempt to find out, and so they’d parted ways. Their living situations changed, but calls were had daily. Now, Kara lived in a modest, second floor apartment in downtown National City. It was something that, during college, Nia would’ve shared with at least two other people just to make rent. It was a simple one bedroom, one bath apartment that was more of a squeeze to get around in than a full walk from one end to the other.

Thea and Nia visited once, to help Kara move in (as a courtesy more than anything) and were surprised at how small of a space Kara seemed comfortable living in. She’d always had large, open spaces to live in, Nia thought that maybe she was seeking something that made every square inch matter.

She looked around her new apartment, shared with Thea, and couldn’t help but understand that impulse. She now lived in a big, wide space afforded by Thea’s billions, and part of her struggled to fully get used to it. She would, eventually, but the idea of crawling into a tiny apartment that had just enough room for everything that mattered to her was an appealing thought.

Sleep was the hardest part of moving into a new place. It felt odd to her, trying to shut her eyes and rest in a new, unfamiliar place. There was this dizziness that never left her, not until she fully fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamt of Reign, the destruction that she’d witnessed. A couple hundred people had died that day, even despite the attempt to stop Reign and Deimax as fast as possible. She was lucky that, despite her injuries, her arm was simply in need of bandages and time to heal. She looked down at her leg, only truly able to provide for herself within the apartment in the last week. Despite her comparable condition, Thea had to care for Nia in the weeks following the surgery to repair her femur. Now, she could get by with crutches, but it still put a major hamper on her ability to get around.

“Kara told me ARGO is probably gonna go under…” said Thea, pushing her food around her plate. Nia pursed her lips and pushed her laptop to the side.

“I thought you were funding it?” asked Nia.

“Me too,” Thea replied. “But I don’t think she sees a way it can keep going, after Tycho and all.”

Nia wanted to argue, but even in spite of Kara’s seclusion, Alura’s relation to Kara was public knowledge. Her mother killed one of the wealthiest men in the world, followed by an attack by two genocidal Kryptonian weapons. Kara didn’t think the world wanted anything to do with Kryptonian technology, and going by reactions online, she wasn’t wrong.

“There’s got to be some way, right?” asked Nia, more thinking aloud than posing a genuine question. “The entire point of ARGO initially was to give to the world without fighting, without violence and destruction.”

“And then a piece of Kryptonian technology comes down and threatens to destroy the world.” Thea said, moving another piece of food into her mouth. Nia sighed and leaned forward, resting her chin in her palm, elbow braced on the table.

“She has the goodwill, y’know,” said Nia. “I think she’d be perfectly capable of turning this all around.”

“Do you think she wants to?” asked Thea. “Even if she stays in tech development, she tried doing it alongside us and people have fought her at every step.”

“She’s not the type to be a recluse, though,” said Nia.

“I think you forgot who you’re talking about,” Thea said quickly. “This is the same woman who landed on earth and then hid away for months. And then left the planet around the time Superman came back. And then hid away again recently.” Nia slumped back into her chair, her mouth crooked as she gave Thea’s point some thought.

In a jolt, Nia grabbed her phone from the table and immediately navigated to the message exchanges between her and Kara, and typed up something new. Thea’s eyebrows raised momentarily, before lowering again as she shook her head. Nia bit the inside of her lip. The text was sent and now she had to wait. She was willing to wait for as long as she needed to. She really didn’t want to.

A Few Days Later…

There was a note on a whiteboard inside the ARGO Solutions offices and lab. Belinda frowned as she read it, beside her Shay Veritas remained stoic, and behind her Alex Danvers cursed under her breath. All three of them had been called into the lab, and Belinda hoped that work would resume. Despite the fight with Reign having happened very close by, the building that Kara rented from seemed nearly untouched, but that didn’t stop Belinda from feeling as though her future prospects were entirely falling apart. She read the message over and over again.

*’Shay, Belinda,

I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but ARGO is going to be suspending operations for an indefinite amount of time once this final project is completed. Funding is already acquired and ready, and it should be more than enough to get you two through it. I likely won’t be reachable by phone, but if you send me anything, be sure that I’ll see it some time.

All prior projects are cancelled. There is one new project, and that is to be the sole focus. Alex Danvers was experimented on, both physically and psychologically, by a government organization called the D.E.O. I have vowed that we can reverse this procedure and let her return to some kind of normal life. If you have troubles, see paragraph 1.

It was an honour working with you two, even if it was short-lived.

Kara.’*

Shay scoffed and moved to sit down on one of the nearby stools. Belinda’s shoulders sank after the fifth time reading the message, fighting the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Working with Kara had been one of the best opportunities she’d ever been given, and it was going up in smoke. It was truly dream work, to work with the brightest minds and make the world better. She wanted to be at the forefront of technological evolution while championing good causes. She wanted to feel like she belonged.

“Are you alright?” asked Shay.

“No,” Belinda said. “Not really. But I don’t really have a say in this, do I?” She looked over at Shay, and saw the woman offer a comforting, uncharacteristic smile. Her eyes wandered around the lab, at the various half-finished projects she, Shay, and Kara had gotten up to in the past few months. She was going to write a thesis on the impact and remarkable effectiveness of working with extra-terrestrial technologies for Earth-based agricultural and environmental purposes. She didn’t know if that was an option, now.

In the moment before she turned back to Shay, someone knocked on the door to the office.

Belinda moved to get it before Shay could stand.

On the other side was a woman with sharp features, skinny nearly to the bone, and covered in what looked like electrical ports and tubing, poorly hidden beneath baggy clothing. The woman’s head, recently shaved down to a buzz cut, matched the ports across her body. Even her eyes seemed to have been implanted.

“Oh!” Belinda exclaimed, taken aback by the woman she was now face-to-face with. It took a moment of surprise and some amount of fear on the woman’s face for Belinda to put the pieces together and speak up again. “You must be Alex.”

“Yeah,” she responded. She was quiet, unsure of herself. “Kara told me to come here.”

“Same with us,” Belinda said. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” said Alex. “You really think you can help me?”

“Well,” Belinda began, looking over to Shay, who was observing Alex with the intensity of a scientist trying to determine the specifics of a new discovery, as though Alex was no longer a person. “Bio-engineering and psychology aren’t what I’m studying, but I’m sure Shay can easily take the lead. We’ll do everything we can.”

“Thanks…” Alex said, looking between Shay and Belinda. “I… I just want to go home again. I want to see my sister, and I want this part of my life to just be over.”

“Don’t worry, Alex,” Shay said, walking up and grabbing Alex by the arm, leading her toward the stool she’d just been sitting in. “You’ll be home in no time.”

Belinda cocked her head, observing Shay just as Shay had been observing Alex. She blinked a few times and shook her head to dismiss a thought.

She had other priorities.

A Week Later

Dawnstar looked down upon a sleeping Kara Zor-El, face stone-cold, and took in the sight. Kara was half-clothed beneath the sheets of her room in the Fortress of Solitude. Her face was as soft as always, resting in a way that Dawnstar, even in her ugliest moments, found cute. Kara’s recently-trimmed hair was soft, wavy, and always so bright as it lay splayed out on the pillow and the bed covers.

Kara had slept a lot since the battle with Reign. Dawnstar did wonder, at times, if it was from the energy deficit she was now experiencing after receiving constant boosts from Firestorm and Captain Atom, or if it was something else. She didn’t speculate too much, but she did worry.

That worry, that care she felt, always seemed to come second, however.

The only thing that took precedent over Kara was her anger. She knew that leaving Starhaven was a declaration that she was dedicating her life to hunting down Worldkillers, but she never expected that it would end up being such a short life. Her wing had not healed, not fully, and there was no telling just how well it would fly once it did. Would she be able to return home? Would she be welcome, even if she could? She couldn’t even take off from the ground if she tried.

The last two or three nights had been a strange mix of refreshing and guilt-ridden. Dawnstar could lose herself with Kara, and yet the moment she could take even a few minutes to herself, she hated that she’d spent her time doing such a thing instead of searching for more Worldkillers.

Reign may be in stasis, as good as dead, but the Kryptonian Empire’s influence on the galaxy wasn’t nearly as under control.

In a very brief moment of waking, Kara reached her hand out from the bed and grabbed Dawnstar’s, pulling lightly, before nodding off again immediately.

Dawnstar had spent so much time alone, isolating herself, ostracised by people she wanted to protect. Her people pushed her away when they learned what she’d been made — against her will, she’d never forgive her father for what he’d done — and she only made it worse by leaving in self-imposed exile.

She never let that exile end.

She couldn’t help Kara in the weeks after Alura’s death — Kara talked to the robots that maintained the Fortress — but she could keep her company as they both recovered. In the moments where they could both forget their lives, they seemed to feel genuinely happy, even if only for a few minutes.

Dawnstar knelt down, holding the hand of Kara’s that hadn’t let go, and took a much closer look at the face of the last daughter of Krypton. She smiled. It was a beautiful face. Her eyes moved down to Kara’s shoulders and even further down her arm, memorizing each and every tattoo anew, before arriving at the scarred hand she held in her grip.

She gritted her teeth at the story Kara had told her of how she’d gained the scarring. She saw the slight tinges of green, the undertones in the skin that warned of an incoming flare-up, and felt anger at a man who was long dead.

It was all she seemed to feel, lately. Anger. She couldn’t remember a time when she wasn’t angry for any longer than a day.

She pulled Kara’s scarred hand toward her mouth and kissed it just above the knuckles. Kara shifted in her sleep, letting out a light groan as she smiled. Dawnstar squeezed her hand and let go, standing up and turning to leave.

Something tugged at her mind as she reached the door, and she turned back to look at Kara, still peacefully asleep. She didn’t want to go, even if she would make her way back eventually.

“Anything I can offer assistance with, Lady Dawnstar?” asked one of the robots whose name Dawnstar refused to learn. Kara had insisted they treat Dawnstar with the utmost respect and, seemingly, reverence. She turned away from the room she shared with Kara, shook her head, and left the Fortress.

If she could feel the cold beyond just a base sensation, it would be biting. Instead, it was like a prick upon her skin that she only really noticed if she thought about it. She looked out at the horizon, the arctic surrounding the Fortress of Solitude, and realized she’d never actually taken the time to look at all the planets she had visited. Dozens of climates, dozens of peoples, and so many opportunities to see the beauty and variety of the galaxy, and she ignored it. She bit her tongue, cursing at herself.

The sound of Superman flying through the sky reached her ears before she saw him swoop down. He landed in front of her and offered a kind smile and a wave. She nodded at him.

“Is Kara around?” he asked. He seemed… giddy, for some reason that Dawnstar couldn’t quite place.

“She is inside, sleeping,” Dawnstar said. “And she is due for more sun treatment. Let her rest.”

“I’m awake,” Kara said from the doors behind Dawnstar. “What’s going on, Jon?”

“I just had something I needed to talk to you about,” said Superman. “Legion business.”

Properly dressed, Kara handed Jon and Dawnstar mugs of tea and sat across from them in the dining hall. She looked over to Jon and smiled.

“What did you want to tell me?” she asked.

“I’ll just get right to it,” he said, taking a quick sip of his tea, before placing it down on the table and leaning forward, bracing his elbows on the table. “I’ve been talking with the Legion since Reign attacked. Everyone you worked with — Artemis, Captain Atom, Firestorm, me — agreed that you did pretty well given the circumstances. We’ve also just generally been keeping tabs on everything you’ve been doing. ARGO in particular, but things like warning against the Worldkillers, learning their origins, working with Dreamer, all the help with the Reawakened…”

“I could go on,” Jon shrugged. “The point is, a lot of current members have come to an agreement: we want to offer you a position in the Legion.”

Kara cocked her head and scoffed. More out of disbelief than doubt, she wasn’t entirely sure how to react. For the past two years, Kara had no intention of doing any form of superheroics. The fight with Reign had shown her that her powers offered something that could be used to great effect, but she still didn’t entirely want it to define her.

“What does membership entail?” asked Kara.

“Plenty of things,” said Jon. “You don’t have to do superhero things, if you don’t want to. I know you haven’t wanted that in the past. One of the key points we wanted to establish is that ARGO Solutions could become an affiliate of the Legion through your membership. From funding to help and resources from all of our members, it would be a really big boon in getting the public to really consider your goals with the company. They’re hesitant now — which is partially why we’re not considering offering full acquisition — but what if you had an endorsement from all of us in the Justice Legion?”

“I… I just told my team that the company was going under,” Kara said, exasperation clear in her voice, pinching the bridge of her nose. “They’re basically already fired.”

“Well…” Jon said, suddenly less certain. “Rehire them?”

“I could definitely try…”

“But,” Jon continued. “We would really love to have you and, personally, I think it’s long overdue. Whether you’re out in the world saving the day or researching new ways to help the planet, you’d have our full support.”

“I don’t already?” Kara asked, smirking.

“Material—” Jon began.

“Don’t answer that,” Kara said quickly, shaking her head. She looked over to Dawnstar, who reached over and grabbed her hand. Her expression was flat, as it tended to be in most moments awake, but her presence was reassuring. “I think…”

She looked back to Jon, the last of her family, as distant as he was, and saw the hope in his eyes. It was infectious. She would have to call so many people — Belinda, Shay, Thea, Nia, Alex, and more — but maybe it would be worth it. A smile creeped onto her face.

“Sure,” she said, seeing Jon’s expression become all that much brighter. “I’d love to.”

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEW TITANS

Issue Thirty: Eye Spy

Written by GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by AdamantAce

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

Darkness. Despite the use of torches, the all-encompassing blackness limited visibility to little more than an arm’s length. Raven looked back at Don and Donna who, despite being only a few steps behind her, seemed miles away. She could barely make out the edges of their silhouettes, the flickers of white from their costumes hardly catching the light, but she could feel them - their emotions. The catacombs of New Coast City were hardly a calming sight, when one could even see it; endless passages of scuffed glass, sudden sharp turns, and limited visibility all lended themselves towards an overall very unsettling atmosphere. As such, Raven was not surprised by the sharp pangs of anxiety she felt flowing through her, originating from her two companions.

But the feelings only grew. She could sense more from her two mentors, deeper and more complex emotions. From Don came a wave of a more potent anxiety, a dread. She winced. The feeling was not new to her, but the onset was so sudden that it almost caused the young Titan to stumble. She could sense, in contrast, a low rumbling anger from Donna. It started like a deep ache in her head, an oncoming migraine, but threatened to grow into something more - an irritation turning into suspicion turning into rage. But in turn, both of these feelings became lost in a crowd. The emotions of her compatriots were much richer and deeper than she had given them credit for— no, she realised, she was mistaken. She was sensing something more, something other. Perhaps it was the Fearsome Five - had they found them? But these sensations felt more alien to her. She looked up and, along the ceiling high above her head, she could make out a small darting current of purple light; an electrical cable of some kind, she wondered.

In that moment, she realised: these foreign nameless emotions belonged to the computer itself.

Staring ahead once more, she could see a reflection of her torch. She relayed this to Don and Donna, and as they all approached, their pace slowed. Eventually, Raven could make out the source of the reflection - a door made entirely of thick wood. The surface was glossy and pristine, as if it had been newly replaced that afternoon. She turned back to Hawk and Dove and, before she could issue her command, Hawk had already anticipated her next sentence. “Let’s go in,” she whispered with a knowing nod. Raven returned her nod, then pushed the door open with force.

When Curtis had mentioned the labyrinthine quality of the supercomputer, Raven admittedly had assumed he was exaggerating. But as she approached, crossed the boundary of, and was disappointed by what lay beyond her fifteenth door, she was starting to understand what he meant. On the brighter side, the trio now found themselves in a much more well-lit section of the New Coast City tunnels. As such, they became well acquainted with the walls and walls of wires and switches and dials, all lit with a soft purple hue coming from various LEDs as well as a surprisingly violaceous overhead light. Transparent glass walls curved upwards towards the ceiling to form long tube-like passageways. At the further end of one of these passageways, Don perked his head up towards the two women. “Over here,” he muttered, little more than a whisper.

Donna and Raven followed. Much like the sections of the walls which were not lined with circuitry, the door in front of them was glass, allowing them to see into the next room. A giant obelisk stood at the centre of the room and reached impossibly high, its tip out of sight. Purple wires cascaded from every inch of the obelisk in a spiderweb-like pattern before branching wildly in all directions. Just beyond the obelisk stood a man vaguely familiar to Raven standing in profile, alongside a few more figures that she couldn’t quite make out. With how long the trio had been standing there, Raven quickly realised the high likelihood that they had already been spotted.

She opened her mouth to say as much when Don, in a moment of bravery or foolishness, swung the door open with all of his might. The man turned swiftly over his shoulder to face the intruding party and a smile fell over his face. Raven recognised him in an instant as the man she had seen on Johnny Nevada’s talk show - Christopher Light, member and organiser for the Delta Society. Vague shapes and silhouettes emerged from the shadows and took the form of recognisable people, all faces that Raven recognised and even expected: Sonar with his short crop of dark hair; the eerie stare of Kyd Wykkyd’s piercing red eyes; a slender and striking woman with tan skin and a stern gaze; and a larger woman with a puffy childish face and broad muscular shoulders.

“By my count,” Donna said over her shoulder. “I make that five.”

“Ah, welcome,” came Christopher Light’s voice booming through the room, ever the showman. He called back to the remaining quartet, “I’ll handle this.” Then, with brisk steps, he walked until the distance between himself and Raven rapidly shrank. “It can’t have been an easy journey, I’m sure.”

Raven frowned. Light anticipated a comment from her and cut in: “I know why you’re here - why all three of you are here - so I’ll spare you the whole spiel and just skip to the part you want to know. Trigon.” He marinated on the word, savouring it, as if it might disappear if he said it too fast. “Yes, we know all about him. And his return is imminent, I have made sure of it. Soon, we shall all bow to his tremendous will.” His grin grew wide and curled at the edges into a snarl. His fists clenched. “There's nothing you can do.”

Whether she was spurred on by her own anxiety, Donna's anger, Don's dread, or Light's bravado, Raven could not tell; regardless of the source, something deep within triggered her to launch at Light before he could get to her first. Her hands grappled around his shoulders and twisted, forcing his weight sideways. As he instinctively moved to grasp her as a counterbalance, there was nothing to grab - her bestial shadow form instead manifested before him, his hands passing straight through. The visage of a raven had barely formed in front of him when a strike from behind sent him tumbling forwards through the corvid-shaped smoke.

But he caught himself. He spun on his heels towards his attacker. In this moment, this short space to breathe, Raven couldn't help but feel impressed with herself at her quick thinking. She could hear the shufflings and grunts of an altercation happening behind her, presumably Don and Donna fending off Light’s four metahuman lackeys. She didn't dare look for fear of giving Light an opening.

She opened her mouth and screamed, but the sound erupted from the giant corvid's mouth instead, which had manifested above Light's head. The shriek was enough to rattle him, but a swift blast from his Light Cannon was enough to dissipate the raven form's inky blackness. It spread like mist, too fine to see. Then the cannon pointed to Raven.

She tried to dodge but misjudged his movement. A more focused, thinner beam struck her and smouldered against the cloth on her shoulder. The damage hit like a punch. Raven darted forwards and managed to successfully dodge his second attack, but the evasive manoeuvre offset her balance. She reached out to grab Christopher Light once more but found purchase on his Light Cannon instead as he swiftly moved to block her grasp. The metal was searing hot and she instinctively flinched back from the pain. His cannon tilted upwards slightly, towards her face. Noticing this, she dropped prone, praying to dodge the blast in time.

But the blast never came. Raven heard the characteristic blast of the Light Cannon - a warped string chord like something from a disturbed Heaven’s chorus - but as she looked up, she noticed its source. Not Christopher Light, but a second figure emerging from the doorway. His white cape, glinting in the wake of the beam of light, billowed around him as he strode forwards, contrasting harshly against his black suit. He looked to be in his seventies or eighties and wore a contraption on his arm which bore a striking resemblance to Christopher's own, save for a few enhanced details.

As he approached, Raven could see the familial similarities between the two men. She recognised him at once. It was LightTech founder Arthur Light, in full supervillain garb.

Arthur Light’s guilt, fear, and rage blasted Raven in a torrent. The way they flitted between one another made her feel sick with fever. The man’s son stood there, frozen in shock and confusion, but Raven knew what he was here to do. She managed a warning even while being strangled by the knotted emotions coming off Arthur in waves. “No!”

“I’m sorry, son.” A small cylinder extended from Arthur’s mechanical gauntlet.

“Dad?” A beam of hard light shot cleanly through the centre of Chris’ forehead.

The emotion striking Raven cut out. Dr Light’s glassy eyes watched the Light Cannon collapse down into a miniature band on Arthur’s wrist . “What have you done?” Raven said, with little time to contemplate the question before the facility began to shift.

The blue and white lights dancing along the walls of the massive computer complex darkened to a blood red. Projectors descended from the ceiling overhead and activated, casting the holographic image of a man in a suit.

“Well done, Doctor. Welllll done.” He clapped his hands together silently. “Rest assured, Eye will honor our arrangement to extend your life. You will have a surplus of time to evaluate your new heir.”

That voice. Raven studied the man’s face and realization dawned. “OMAX?”

*“Hello, Raven. Eye had hoped our meeting would be under more curated circumstances. It is unfortunate to cut your time in California short, but if you’ll allow me to explain… Eye assure you the Fearsome… Four will remain where they are.” He glanced at the criminals across the room. They wore stoic expressions, except for Mammoth, who was hiding behind Jinx, staring at the blood pooling around Chris’ corpse. Raven said nothing, so OMAX continued.

“Christopher was a tool Eye wielded for some time, but he became an unwelcome distraction from greater matters.”

“You created the Delta Society?,” Don asked.

“No; not created. They have their own purposes, but Eye have been pulling their strings to further goals of my own. Eye stoked the flames of Reawakened resentment, provided anonymous information and funds to promising candidates for leadership, and motivated those leaders to pursue my ends. Their so-called god Trigon was a useful fable in that regard. Criminals are, as ever, cowardly and superstitious. An omnipotent, wrathful god was quite effective in keeping them in line.”

“He’s not a fable,” Raven said.

“No.” OMAX pursed his lips. His biosynthetic form had always been unsettling, but there was something about seeing the machine mind puppeting his old human body, even in hologram form, that sent a shiver down Raven’s spine. “But neither is he omnipotent.” OMAX continued, “Eye decided that were he to return, he would be eliminated. Now, Eye am the most advanced life form on this planet, and expect a further 23 percent increase in my capacity after the machine you are standing in has been fully assimilated. Eye have killed gods before, Raven; even much, much less than Eye am now.”

“With someone else’s power.” Raven grimaced. “I’ve read the Justice Legion files on Coast City.”

OMAX looked her up and down. “Indeed. Eye had hoped you would have more time alone to grow in power facing worthy opponents with capable mentors, but we are out of time. Trigon has arrived on Earth. The daughter of the demon is needed now.”

Raven felt her joints lock up. She reached out to feel his emotions, but found only a void. “You’re… you’re lying.”

“Eye am not, as you will soon discover for yourself. Your father seeks pointless destruction to slake his boredom. Eye am confident in stopping him alone, but doing so would delay a number of important plans. Consider what we could accomplish together; the lives that could be saved.” The notion sounded foreign to him. He regarded the others. “As for the rest of you: Eye am prepared to triple your wages and, as has been demonstrated, can provide much more meaningful incentives than capital.”

Arthur Light steeled himself with a deep breath. “We’re with you. Isn’t that right?” Sonar and Kid Wykkyd murmured assent. Raven watched Mammoth squeeze Jinx’s hand.

“Good. Titans, when you are ready to align yourself with the rest of the world against Trigon, you know where to find me.” The projectors flickered, then went dark.

Next: Continued next month in The New Titans #31

DC Next presents:

I AM BATMAN

In Outlaws

Issue Thirty-Four: Requiem, Part Two

Written by ClaraEclair

Edited by AdamantAce & GemlinTheGremlin

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

Make sure to read Nightwing #34 - Requiem, Part One!

As the bullet wound in Cass’ shoulder seared, the gunshot preceding it continued to ring out across Hub City.

Cass clung to the ground and looked back at the two heroes behind her to be certain they did the same. Both of them searched the skyline for any signs of the shooter, or whatever had targeted the wall with some sort of breaching charge. Cass did the same, her heart beating heavy in her chest, hoping that she hadn’t been hunted all the way to another city. Her suspicions had been confirmed when heavy machine gun fire erupted from the street below, followed by the shouting of Ezra, an amateur criminal mercenary who’d been given far too much legitimate power.

“What the hell is going on!?” demanded Batwoman, hunkering down as the continuous gunfire tore through the remaining brick of the building. In a small break in the hail of bullets, she gave Ryan a small push and watched her scurry away, far from the gunfire and away from the collapsed wall. She kept her head down as she hid, keeping low and out of sight as best as she could.

“Assassins,” Cass replied through a shout. “From Gotham.”

“Why are they here?” asked Nightwing, waiting until the gunfire momentarily stopped before peeking over the edge of the collapsed wall to get a look at Ezra. “Big gun,” he said. “Chain-fed.”

“They have been hunting me, on Commissioner Lane and Astrid Arkham’s orders,” said Cass, turning her head toward Batwoman. “Or they could be here for you.” She gently massaged her injured shoulder.

“So we have two?” asked Nightwing.

“No,” Cass replied. “Probably four, they will be here soon.”

“Who are they?” Batwoman asked.

“One on the ground is Ezra, hothead, not very good at what she does.” The gunfire from the street below resumed, along with the shouting. “Sniper is Mayfly. She could be anywhere in the city.”

“And the other two?” Nightwing looked to Cass, and they shared a look of understanding. Fighting these assassins would have to be swift and methodical.

“Black Jack,” Cass said. “She leads the squad. I dealt with her once, but activity has returned to normal lately. Other is probably the cyborg Killshot.” She saw Dick scowl. “He does not often leave Astrid Arkham’s side. There used to be others.”

“We should move before—”

Another bullet struck, tearing through the kitchen island that Cass was crouching behind, the crack coming a second later. Within the blink of an eye, the floor only a few feet away from Nightwing burst open, and a large figure came clambering through, climbing up with massive limbs and extraordinary strength, and towered above the three heroes.

“Killshot,” said Dick, pulling out his escrima sticks. “I’ll handle him, Batwoman on Ezra, Batman, find—”

“Black Jack,” Cass said, leaping toward the window opposite Ezra’s hail of fire and leaping through it. Hanging on over the ledge, she pressed a button on her cowl with her free hand to activate the thermal vision in her lenses and looked around. Many heat signatures lit up the surrounding buildings, all in some sort of panic, though one seemed particularly calm. From within the apartment building, at the base of what Cass assumed to be the floor below Killshot’s new roof entrance, was a solitary figure looking up toward the roof, arm apparently up next to their head.

Cass grimaced and removed a grappling hook from her belt. Attaching the hook to the edge of the roof above her, she dropped down and triggered the line to pull the rope taut. She swung herself into the nearest massive window and burst through, releasing the line and listening to the whipping sound of it being respooled within the gun. Before she could fall far within the warehouse, the ground almost three storeys below her, she fired the grappling hook toward the ceiling. It hooked in, pulling taut, and swung her in the direction of the figure — who Cass now confirmed was, indeed, Black Jack.

Pulling a gun from her belt, Black Jack fired three times before Cass flew over the railing of the top floor office balcony, barrelling toward Black Jack with a flying kick.

“Mayfly,” Black Jack called out. “New angle on me.” The command was quick and simple, and a small crackle from Black Jack’s radio indicated that it was received. At that same moment, Cass’s foot collided directly with Black Jack’s sternum, sending her flying back into the office door. “Ezra, get inside.” That command received no response — Ezra’s gunfire was still filling the air outside the building. Black Jack barely dodged a strong spinning back kick that forced the door behind her to open. “Killshot, finish it quick.”

Gunshots rang out from above, weaponry embedded within Killshot’s arms going off in his fight against Nightwing. Cass gritted her teeth as she threw a punch toward Black Jack’s head, deftly parried and followed up with a kick to her abdomen. Cass jumped back and smiled.

“Don’t treat this like a game,” said Black Jack. “Sucks all the fun out of it.”

Cass scoffed and lunged forward, feinting with a strike toward Black Jack’s head with her right hand, watching her guard go up, and taking advantage of her open body to deliver a swift but hard kick to the side of her abdomen. Black Jack folded, lifting her gun and firing it off toward Batman. A bullet grazed her arm, but the rest of the volley missed as Cass grabbed for the pistol, ripped it from Black Jack’s hands, and threw it clean through the shattered window nearby, out onto the street below.

“No cheating,” said Batman as she lifted her guard and readied herself.

Batwoman had leapt over the side of the collapsed wall and let herself fall nearly all the way to the ground before opening her cape just in time to pull herself into a glide directly toward Ezra. Her boots planted firmly on the mercenary’s chest, sending her tumbling back, the massive gun falling from her grasp. The belt hit the asphalt hard and scattered bullets everywhere, though, despite that, it still trailed from a bag connected to Ezra’s waist.

Batwoman advanced, watching Ezra scramble away. She didn’t take the mercenary seriously until she pulled a shotgun from her back and aimed it forward. A quick lunge, shielding her face with her cape, Batwoman closed the distance nearly instantly and knocked Ezra unconscious with a single strike to the head.

She looked up at the side of the apartment building, beyond the destruction wrought into its brickwork, and listened to the struggle between Nightwing and Killshot. She grabbed a grapple gun and zipped up to the roof. Killshot smashed his fist down toward Nightwing, using his other hand to follow the acrobat’s movements and attempt to blast him away with a shotgun in his arm that was far too big.

Kate flew through the air and dropped down onto Killshot’s arm, redirecting it at the last moment before he fired. Nightwing leaped out of the way of the shot, flipping gracefully behind Killshot and striking the back of his knee.

“I should not have expected more from Ezra,” said Killshot, whipping his arm to the side, throwing Kate across the roof. That same arm swept behind him, trying to catch Nightwing, but the acrobat flipped away too quickly. “Amateurs never get the job done.”

“Insider, Batwing!” Oracle’s voice called. “Batman, Batwoman, and Nightwing are under attack!”

“What?” asked Luke Fox, shock in his voice and ready to head out and offer his help. “By whom? Do they need us there?”

“No!” Oracle shouted, taking a few seconds to navigate a few screens on her end of the comms. “There’s a sniper in the city, I need you to find her.”

“Find?” asked Jace Fox, looking between Luke and the skyline of Hub City. “You don’t know where she is?”

“She could honestly be anywhere,” Babs replied. “She’s very good at what she does and she’s tormented Batman from across Gotham in the past without moving from her perch.” A few seconds of silence passed. “I’ve been trying to figure out where she shot from — noise complaints, police calls, bullet trajectories — but my network in Hub is improvised at best, nothing like what I have here in Gotham.”

“Alright, we’re on it,” said Luke, looking at Jace and waiting for him to give a nod. “If you find anything on her, let us know and we’ll swoop in.”

“Of course,” Babs said. “Get on it.”

Jace gave Luke a nod and both set off into the sky. Luke began combing the airwaves of any active radio frequencies, tapping into police communications and public channels to detect any source of chatter, while Jace took high to the sky, zipping up to tall buildings and trying to search for any sign of heavy activity. On the opposite end of Hub, a fight was breaking out — he assumed that’s where the others were fighting their attackers — and, elsewhere, police sirens began to blare.

“Sirens up north,” Jace called to Luke.

“Already tapped,” Luke replied. “Gunshots reported, no source.”

“Let’s get on it, then,” Jace said as he leapt from the top of the building he stood upon and flew toward the sirens.

It didn’t take much scanning for either of them to find the woman sitting atop a roof with a large rifle in hand, a helmet adorned with a large visor, targeting software seemingly helping her make shots at such a long distance — three kilometres between this building and where Batman, Nightwing, and Batwoman were fighting.

Luke and Jace touched down and didn’t even have to approach before she backed away, hand up, and pleaded.

“Please!” she shouted. “Please don’t touch me!”

Both Jace and Luke stopped in their tracks. Jace furrowed a brow as he and Luke shared odd glances.

“What?” asked Luke.

“I’ll stop, I’ll go, I’ll go back to GCPD, just please don’t touch me!” She continued backing away, disassembling her rifle, a technological marvel that seemed to utilize the properties of railguns to accelerate bullets as fast as possible.

Luke took a step forward, the woman backed away even further, cowering from him.

“GCPD?” he asked, cocking his head. “This is Hub City, I don’t think—”

“I work for Commissioner Lane,” she shouted. “You can’t do anything to me! Please don’t do anything to me!”

“We’re not going to hurt you,” Jace said, his voice slow and confused. “But— why?”

“I have severe hemophilia,” she said, tossing her rifle down. “One bad cut and I’m dead within hours.”

“You’ve picked one hell of a line of work,” said Jace. “And you’re working for the GCPD? What are you doing here?” Mayfly took a deep breath and looked between Insider and Batwing. A short moment of silence passed.

“Batwoman,” she said. “We were given orders to apprehend her. Inter-department cooperation.”

Jace and Luke shared glances once again, still confused.

“Oracle, is she telling the truth?” asked Luke.

“She is, Batwing,” said Babs. “She’s a full member of the GCPD Special Abilities Squad. Order of Arkham, they call themselves.”

“You get out of here and report back that you couldn’t apprehend your target,” Jace began. “And you won’t have to worry about us in the slightest. It didn’t take much to find you, and it won’t take much to bring you down, clearly.”

“I don’t plan on dying to a papercut or a bruise today,” said Mayfly, rising to sit on her haunches and she folded the gun down even more, stowing it away on her back. “I’ll be out of here, won’t fire another shot.” She stood up, backing away from the two men in front of her. She paused and twisted her lips, conflicted about something. “I know it’s a big ask, but you should just let us grab Batwoman. I get the whole solidarity and camaraderie thing, but you’d all look a lot better if you joined the winning team and cut your losses. She’s bad news.”

“Thanks for the advice,” said Luke. “Now get out of Hub City.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Mayfly said, grabbing a grapple line from her belt and swinging down from the roof.

“Should we have let her go?” asked Jace.

“Probably not,” said Luke, shrugging. “But if she’s a cop, we don’t need to make things worse. And if she is as sick as she says she is… well, I don’t want to risk someone dying tonight who doesn’t have to.”

Cass tightened her grip around Black Jack’s neck from a rear naked choke, feeling the commander of the Order of Arkham falling unconscious in her arms. When she confirmed that the mercenary had stopped resisting, she let go of the choke and tied up her arms with a set of cuffs before grappling up to the roof to join the fight against Killshot.

It wasn’t going well. Nightwing had clearly taken multiple hits, though he still flew around the roof as if nothing slowed him down. Batwoman, standing across from Nightwing, surrounding Killshot, was much more worn. She spat blood and prepared to run in once more.

The moment she stood from coming through the hole in the roof, Cass pulled a concussive pellet from her belt and threw it at Killshot’s head, creating an opening for Nightwing to dive in and unleash a flurry of strikes at the cyborg assassin’s legs, while Batwoman jumped up to wrap her arms around his neck.

The moment he regained his senses, he threw a large arm up and grabbed onto Kate and threw her right at Dick, aiming his other arm at Cass and firing off another massive shotgun blast — one she barely managed to avoid.

“Tough bastard!” Kate shouted. Numerous extra holes had been bored into the roof, half as big as the one Killshot had burst through to start the fight, all created from the massive weapons he employed.

“I have a plan,” Cass said, grabbing a small explosive breach charge from her belt. “Distract him, push him to the ledge.”

“We can try!” said Nightwing. Cass lunged out from where she’d hidden and tossed one of the charges at Killshot’s leg. Nightwing sprung into the air, kicking Killshot directly in the jaw, Batwoman ran forward and used her grappling gun to lasso Killshot’s left arm, using all of her strength to, fruitlessly, prevent him from moving.

Kate scowled and groaned as she was pulled forward, letting go of the grappling gun to avoid being tossed through the air again. A heavy fist met her chest seconds later, throwing her far back on the roof, over the edge of one of the holes that had been made by Killshot’s weapons.

Nightwing was grabbed from the air and thrown down. Air was knocked from his lungs from the impact, and before he could roll out of the way, a heavy boot came down upon his chest, from the same leg that Cass had planted the explosive charge on.

Cass cursed to herself and ran in.

A large hand caught her by the throat, lifting her from the ground.

“Pathetic,” said Killshot. “I expected more from Batman and friends.”

Cass attempted to use more concussive pellets, but as they detonated in Killshot’s face, he shut his eyes, angled his head away, and took the blasts as if they were gusts of wind. His grip on her began to tighten. She pounded on his arm, to no avail.

Cass had always dreaded the rematch with Killshot. She wanted to utilize the electromagnetic pulse she’d used in their last encounter, but Babs hadn’t finished repairing the damage it caused to her Batsuit yet. It wasn’t an option, and as the grip around her neck got tighter and tighter, for the first time in a long time, she began to panic.

“Need some help?” asked a familiar voice that she couldn’t quite place.

She fell to the ground and watched, as her vision cleared up of the spottiness, the blue-glowing Batwing soar forward and hit Killshot with two silver boots to the chest. The mercenary stumbled back, stepping off of Nightwing. Insider materialised from camouflage on the other side of Killshot and struck him hard in the jaw with a flying roundhouse kick.

Cass drew a deep breath, watching as Killshot stumbled away from Nightwing toward the edge of the building, and pressed the button on her belt. An explosion buckled Killshot’s knee, allowing for Batwing to fly by once more to deliver the same strike.

Killshot fell back over the ledge of the warehouse roof and smashed down into the ground, leaving an impression in the asphalt. A few moments passed that Cass couldn’t exactly remember, breathing heavily.

“He’s breathing,” said Luke. “But I don’t think he’ll be getting up any time soon. Let’s get you guys out of here.”

“Where’s Ryan?” asked Batwoman, searching the room.

Batman, Nightwing, Batwoman, Batwing — with Ryan in his arms — and Insider touched down on a rooftop halfway across hub city, the former three taking a moment to breathe deeply and recover their composure. Luke let Ryan down as he came to a stop, making sure the flight hadn’t been too difficult on her, while she tried to act as if it weren't the most exhilarating experience of her life.

“What’s going on?” asked Insider.

“Michael Lane,” said Cass, between breaths. “He has been very loud about hating me… The hate on you—” she pointed to Batwoman, “—drew them here. You started in Gotham, you came here, and you have done nothing but anger everyone.”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Kate spat.

“He… He and Astrid Arkham want all Bats gone,” said Cass. “He probably thought you were an easy target.”

Batwoman cursed to herself. “Damnit!” She shouted. “This… This has to end. No more Blockbuster, no more Batwoman, and no more of this… this stupid choice haunting me.”

“Kate,” said Nightwing, taking a step closer. She clenched her jaw and shook her head, clearly dismissing something from her mind.

“No…” she said. “Maybe this needs to happen one way or the other. I’ll take the help, but… I won't cause any more trouble after this is done.”

Cass looked over Kate, trying to find a reason to speak up. She truly was ready to bury the name Batwoman. She pursed her lips.

“We just have to get to Blockbuster and this will finally be over.”

The story continues in New Gotham Knights #24 - Requiem, Part Three!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

NIGHTWING

In Finale Ultimo

Issue Thirty-Four: Requiem, Part One

Written by AdamantAce

Edited by ClaraEclair and GemlinTheGremlin

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• New Gotham Knights 19-24

The roads of Beverly Hills were too neat, the hedges too precise, the gates too tall to be anything but decorative. Every winding turn up the hillside seemed designed to remind you exactly how far you were from anywhere real. But that made sense, Dick thought. There were already a million places to live for those that wanted the real world.

Dick didn’t say much after they dismounted their motorcycles and walked the final stretch on foot.

“You hate this,” said Artemis, not looking at him but smirking teasingly.

“I don’t hate it,” Dick shook his head. “I just know what’s underneath it all.”

They reached the gates, which opened before Dick even had to knock.

Jezebel Jet stood waiting at the entrance, framed by glass and marble and a view that stretched all the way to the ocean. She looked immaculate, as always, but something about her posture was different. She seemed tired.

“Richard,” said the spy-turned-socialite. “Thank you for coming.”

“Jezebel,” Dick replied evenly. “You remember Artemis.”

Jet inclined her head. “Of course. Please, come inside.”

Artemis stepped in first, eyes scanning the interior without trying to hide it. High ceilings. Sculptures that looked older than some countries.

“…Jesus,” she muttered.

Jet led them into a sitting area, all soft whites and clean lines.

Dick stopped before sitting. “You don’t just have a job for us,” he said. “I wouldn’t have come if you did. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

Jet paused.

For a moment, it looked like she might deflect, smile, turn it into something else. But she didn’t.

“There’s something you can do for me,” she said. “Something that started in Gotham. And now it’s… spiralling.”

Dick folded his arms. “Try me.”

“One of my many revenue streams,” she began, “involves providing financial services to individuals who prefer not to operate within conventional systems.”

Artemis raised an eyebrow. “You mean criminals.”

Jet didn’t rise to it. “Among them is a man named Roland Desmond.”

“Blockbuster,” Dick frowned, recalling the scourge of Blüdhaven and then Hub City. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Mob bosses are small potatoes for you.”

“I had a… sensitive matter in Gotham. I required discretion, and I believed I could use my control over Mr Desmond’s finances as… motivation to handle the matter for me. For years, he handled things discreetly and our relationship was positive.”

Artemis let out a short laugh. “You blackmailed a mob boss for years and you’re calling it a ‘healthy relationship’?”

Jet’s jaw tightened.

“I’m aware now that it was a miscalculation,” she said. “It appears Mr Desmond does not maintain as tight a control over his organisation as I had been led to believe. Particularly now that his operations are fragmented between cities.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Artemis said. “Blockbuster got locked up years ago. His people haven’t been making waves.”

Jet looked at her.

“None that you’ve noticed.”

Dick exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

“Jezebel,” he said, impatience creeping in, “I didn’t come here for a lesson in organised crime logistics. What happened?”

“I had him watch someone,” she said.

“Who?” asked Dick.

“A girl,” Jet replied. “Ryan Wilder. He was to ensure she remained protected. Unbothered. That she lived a normal life.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” Dick asked.

Jet met his eyes. “Because she’s my daughter.”

Jet continued, quieter now. “My mother was killed by the Black Glove, as you know. That loss…” She shook her head slightly. “It never left me.”

As both Dick and Artemis knew.

“I’ve spent my life targeting the Black Glove and other dangerous organisations like them,” Jet explained. “But when Ryan came along, I thought I could give it up. I thought, but I was wrong. When she was three, I realised I still had a duty, and as long as Ryan was with me she was a target for my enemies.”

She glanced at Dick.

“Our enemies.”

Artemis stepped closer to Dick, her voice low.

“Ryan Wilder,” she said. “I recognise that name. The Gotham news.”

Dick nodded slowly. “I did as well.”

Jet pretended not to hear what they were saying. “Recently, some of Desmond’s men attempted to abduct her. Presumably to leverage me, thinking it would get them in their boss’ good books. But she was saved by a woman in red. Funnily enough, a former Black Glove adherent.”

“Alice,” Dick said, remembering Jason’s long lost sister.

Jet nodded. “She let Ryan go, but she didn't get very far before she was picked up by someone else.”

“Who?” Dick asked, though he already knew.

“Batwoman.”

Artemis scoffed. “That’s what the news is saying. ‘Batwoman kidnaps innocent girl.’”

Dick shook his head immediately. “No. There has to be more to it than that.”

“I agree,” said Jet, stepping closer. “But with the media circling, and tensions rising… Mr Desmond won’t take my calls. I will make sure my daughter is safe, but I’m sure you would rather this doesn’t escalate.”

“I’ll make sure it doesn’t,” said Dick.

Jet held his gaze. “Good.”

A moment passed.

Then Dick nodded. “I’ll find her,” he said. “But this isn’t a favour for you.”

“I would never have imagined it,” replied Jet. “With the Black Glove disposed of, our business is concluded. Call it… a coincidental alignment of our interests.”

Dick grumbled, thoroughly sick of the worlds of spycraft. “Call it what you like. Artemis?”

“I’ve got something else to handle. Jade’s tracking Red Claw, she’s asked for my help.”

As Artemis took off down the winding hill road on her motorcycle, and Jezebel Jet receded back into the depths of her mansion, Dick stayed behind on the green grass in front of the mansion and looked off toward the setting sun. He poured over what he had heard about this Ryan Wilder - Jezebel’s daughter - and tried to imagine where she was now, how she was feeling. Dick was certain Kate would have had her reasons for taking her, that this wasn’t a straight kidnapping, but he had no way of knowing how well Ryan understood that.

Needing more information, he reached up to his Justice Legion earpiece and tapped it.

“Call Oracle,” he said.

“Recognised: L-D038 - Nightwing,” chirped the computerised voice in his ear. “Contacting: L-D359 - Oracle.”

Moments later, ever at her allies’ beck and call, Barbara Gordon answered. “Nightwing, how can I help?”

Dick obviously couldn’t see her, but as he looked to the sky he imagined her sitting at her battlestation in the Belfry, staring down some fifteen computer monitors with a cup of hot chocolate in hand. He went straight to business, but as he opened his mouth to speak he was overcome with a feeling. A sting of regret. It had been too long since they had had a proper conversation. That was more than an emerging trend between Dick and a lot of people.

“We haven’t spoken in ages,” he said. “I’m in LA right now, of all places, or I’d drop in. How are things?”

Dick heard her hum before she spoke. “Well, I’ll know more after my next radiology appointment next month,” she said rather matter-of-factly.

“No,” Dick shook his head as if she could see it. “I don’t mean that, I mean… how are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Babs replied, clearly embarrassed. It had been a while. “Things are… okay. I wish things were simpler between me and Blair, but things are really going well all things considered.”

“That’s good,” Dick smiled.

“I’m happy with my job, with my work as Oracle, with my friends,” she continued. “And despite how terrible things in Gotham have been, I’m still hopeful for the future. What can I say?”

Dick recalled Barbara’s new girlfriend, Blair, upon her mentioning her. A police detective - clearly she had a type. He was yet to meet her, but had heard only good things.

“How about you?” Babs asked. “You finally beat the big boss, that’s gotta be a load off.”

“It is,” he said quickly. Immediately after, he internalised that feeling. He realised it really was a relief, more than he had taken the time to recognise. “You know, it’s like… for the first time since I don’t know when… I feel like I’m balanced.”

Dick heard Babs snicker down her microphone. “Is that meant to be a circus joke?” she said, her voice going higher pitched.

“Somehow, it wasn’t,” he laughed back. “I just feel like I’ve finally proven everything I need to. Like I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore.”

“Nothing to prove to yourself, you mean,” Babs replied knowingly.

Dick wasn’t sure what to say, and then she spoke again before he could find anything.

“I feel the same way.”

Dick took a deep breath, ready to rip the bandage off quickly. At her comment, he felt compelled to ask. “Babs… Do you regret being Batgirl?”

It was a hard question to ask, but an even harder one to answer as Dick heard her wince down the microphone. She exhaled. “It definitely wasn’t what I needed at the time, for my health,” she began in a stepwise rhythm. *“But there are people alive today who wouldn’t be if I didn’t have something to prove. And I think I stopped at the perfect time. Right before I would’ve been doing more harm than good.”

Dick smiled, a warmth resonating in his chest. “I feel the same way.” He heard her smile back. “About me, I mean,” he added nervously, “as Batman.”

“I know, Boy Wonder.”

“We should hang out more,” said Dick. “You, me, Blair and Artemis.”

“I’d like that,” replied Babs. “Now… I know you didn’t just call for a catch up. How can I help?”

“There is something,” Dick said back, shifting gears. “I’ve found a lead. On Ryan Wilder.”

“Ryan?” Babs exclaimed. “The missing girl. I’ve been monitoring this since the protests started escalating. Dick, that’s wonderful.”

“Protests? Gotham loves a protest, but they don’t get out in the streets for every missing kid,” said Dick, surprised.

“There’s a good reason why things are different this time,” said Babs. “It’s all to do with Blockbuster. Roland Desmond.”

“The mob boss,” Dick confirmed. He recalled the Blüdhaven mobster who had moved to Hub City to continue causing trouble for Batwoman. It seemed they had crossed paths again. “Isn’t he in jail?”

“He was quietly released after he agreed to inform on a person of interest called ‘the Designer’,” Babs explained. “Ever since, he’s been using his podcast to whip up his fanbase into a fervour.”

“Wait, did you just say his podcast?”

“Oh, he does massive numbers. He’s a big time manosphere influencer these days.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “I know I’ve been occupied, but how could I have possibly missed a mob boss becoming an online celebrity?”

Babs smirked. “Probably just your algorithm. How many posts do you like about creatine supplements, white replacement theory or women in games journalism?”

“Fair point,” he conceded. “But people know his criminal record. Why would they support him? He was exposed for mass property damage and helping frame Batwoman for murder, on top of all of his organised crime.”

“His official story is that anything he was found guilty of, he was forced to do,” Babs explained. “And that Batwoman did do those murders and manipulated him into destroying all that property, that he’s an innocent metahuman who lost control after his buttons were pushed. Now he’s here to help you make sure nobody can push your buttons and tell you what to do.”

“Yeah, he’s a regular hero,” Dick groaned. “Look, can you help me track down Kate? If I can find her, I’m sure I can untangle all of this.”

“No need,” said Babs quickly. “We already know where she is.”

“Where?”

“Well, that’s the thing.” Babs took a deep breath. “It was Cass that tracked her down. She’s on her way to Hub City now to confront her. Left on the Batplane not long ago.”

“Send me the location,” said Dick. “I’ll loop up with her. Cassandra doesn’t know Kate, things will go better with me there.”

“Sending now.”

🔹🔹 🪶 🔹🔹

Unlike the harsh neon of Blüdhaven and the perennial lamplight of Gotham, Hub City seemed eternally cloaked in shades of grey and muddy brown, a worn out city with worn out buildings and worn out people.

The streetlights flickered like they were struggling to stay awake, casting long, sickly shadows across the burned-out husk of the apartment block. Whatever fire had gutted it years ago had been left to do its work, and the place had seemingly never been touched since. Just another wreck in a city fighting to believe things could get better.

Nightwing and Batman approached the building, the latter taking the lead. Dick hung back a step and watched Cass as she surveyed the building’s facade, counting the entrances and exits. He could help but notice how she - like Jezebel Jet - carried herself so differently to how he remembered her. She seemed so much more confident, so much more at home in the Batsuit without the notion that it was somehow her life preserver. Dick wondered, not for the first time, what she saw when she looked at him. Whether she read the same tells she always had - the flickers of doubt, the micro-hesitations he tried to bury under confidence. He wondered if she thought he was different now as well.

“She knows we’re here,” Dick said quietly.

Cass didn’t slow. “Probably.” She glanced back at him, just for a second. “We are not here to sneak up on her.”

Right. Of course they weren’t. Dick exhaled through his nose, then picked up his pace to walk alongside her.

“Hey,” he said. “Before we go in.”

Cass stopped and turned.

He hesitated, suddenly aware of how little she would appreciate him beating around the bush.

“Why did you go looking for Kate?”

“There are marches in the streets,” she said plainly. “People are calling for Batwoman’s blood. They say she kidnapped a girl.”

Dick nodded. “Yeah, I’ve seen it. But you don’t believe that’s the whole story, do you?”

“No,” Cass said. “But it happened. And we cannot afford that after Commissioner Lane’s crackdown on vigilantes. He says the Bat Family are dangerous, and she’s proving him right.”

“Lane doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” Dick protested.

“With Lane in power, it’s harder to go out at night,” Cass explained insistently. “Harder to help people. And Batwoman’s only making it worse. She wears the bat on her chest. That means something.”

“And that’s it?” he asked carefully. “That’s the only reason?”

Cass didn’t answer, so he pushed.

“Your dad blamed Kate for what happened to your brother.”

Dick didn’t have to watch Cass’ microexpressions to see that those words bothered her.

It was years ago now that Kate had witnessed something she shouldn’t have: a clandestine meeting between David Cain and his son - Black Spider. In response, Johnny was sent to kill Kate. Instead, he was killed by an onlooking sniper - Alice Todd once again.

“Do you blame Kate?” he asked. “Even slightly? He was your brother.”

Cass didn’t hesitate. “No.”

Dick blinked.

“She did nothing,” Cass said. “Johnny chose his target. He went to kill her.” A pause. “Someone stopped him. That was not her fault.”

Her tone was cold, but her stance wasn’t. She clearly felt his loss, but it was a distant memory. “He did not deserve to die,” Cass added. “But I knew who he was.”

Dick nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Cass said nothing in response.

He felt awful probing at her, as if it meant he didn’t trust her. But he did. After all the adversity she had overcome, all she suffered coming from a family of murderers, raised to be a killer herself, only to choose the path of a hero, Dick couldn’t help but trust her. But he couldn’t say that he knew her mind that well at all. After all, they were not close.

“You know,” he said, softer now, “William Cobb… David Cain was my great grandfather.”

Cass frowned slightly.

“I never knew him,” Dick went on. “Pretty sure he wanted it that way.” He gave a small, humourless huff. “I’ve lost a lot of people. My parents. Bruce. But I’ve been lucky enough to have found family in lots of places. I know you have your people. But… it means something to me that we’re related.”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

“I just… hope I can earn that. One day.”

Cass took a long look at him through the piercing eyes of Batman’s cowl. For a second, Dick feared he had said far too much. Then, slowly, she nodded. She turned toward the building again, and spoke.

“Come on.”

Then, Batman and Nightwing did the unthinkable. They walked straight through the front door.

Inside, the building smelled like ash and rot. The walls were blackened, paint bubbled and peeled. Their footsteps echoed as they moved through the main hall. Upstairs, the corridor stretched long and narrow, doors hanging open like broken teeth. At the end was one final door, this one closed. Dick reached it first, and tested the handle. It was unlocked. He glanced at Cass and she gave a small nod.

They stepped inside and the difference was immediate. Messy, sure, but intact. The walls here hadn’t buckled. The ceiling hadn’t caved. Furniture still stood where it had been left. Dick’s eyes flicked to the brickwork. It was different, reinforced.

“Landlord’s place,” he murmured. “Built to code. Or at least… closer than the rest.”

Cass didn’t respond. But he knew she’d clocked it too.

Corruption and corners cut. That was Hub City.

They moved deeper in, as soon as they turned the corner into the kitchen, they found her. Ryan Wilder sat at the island, hunched slightly, dark circles under her eyes. She looked up, startled, then froze. Her gaze bounced between Batman and Nightwing.

“…Oh,” she said, scrambling upright. “Uh—hi. I’m—um. Ryan.”

Dick raised his hands. “You’re going to be alright,” he said. “We’re not here to hurt you.”

“Yeah,” Ryan said quickly. “Yeah, I figured.”

Then, as if prompted by Ryan, a voice cut in from behind Dick and Cass.

“I’m sure you both have questions.”

As they turned, they found Kate Kane standing in the doorway to the master bedroom. Full suit, but no mask. Her ginger buzzcut caught the low light, sharp against the black of the cowl draped around her shoulders. Dick’s eyes flicked back to Ryan, then to Kate.

“I’m not gonna tell anyone,” said Ryan. “I’ve already gotten more than enough attention out of this.”

“Kate…” Dick began. There was no putting that genie back in the bottle. As soon as Dick began speaking, Cass broke off, pacing across the room and inspecting the place. “What is going on?”

“Blockbuster’s thugs came for her,” said Kate. “It wasn’t safe for her out in Gotham. Alice Todd killed a handful of them and there was no way they wouldn’t keep coming after her.”

“Desmond didn’t send them,” Dick countered. “From what I hear, he had no intention of hurting her until his guys jumped the gun.”

“Well, it’s too late for that,” Kate sneered like it was obvious. “Their friends are dead. Men like that hold grudges. They wouldn’t have been able to find Alice, so they’d come for Ryan for their revenge.”

“And I wouldn’t make it easier for ‘em,” Ryan interjected. “But I don’t know how many of them there are.”

“So that’s why you’re here with her?” Dick lit up at Ryan’s words. “To keep you safe?”

“Yes,” said Kate.

Immediately, Cass turned on a dime, away from the windows she was peering out of and dead towards Kate. “That’s not true. Not completely.”

Dick frowned. He wanted desperately to believe the best of Kate, but he couldn’t deny a similar suspicion.

“Everything’s okay,” said Ryan. She wore a red hoodie that was a few sizes too big, and caked in soot, presumably salvaged from the apartment complex. “Kate explained it to me. Blockbuster’s in trouble with this ‘Jezebel Jet’ person as long as I’m AWOL. I have no idea why, but as long as I’m here Blockbuster’s making all sorts of desperate moves to find me.”

“You are waiting for him to make a mistake,” Cass glared. “You set a trap.”

“And Ryan’s the bait,” Dick added.

Kate squirmed under their scrutiny. “I’m not proud of it,” she said. “But Ryan is safe, she isn’t here against her will, and nobody’s gotten hurt.”

Dick shook his head. “Have you seen the protests across Gotham? ‘Bring Ryan Home’? They’re hardly peaceful.”

“That’s all Desmond’s doing,” Kate dismissed him.

“You are proving people like Michael Lane and Astrid Arkham right,” added Cass. “That vigilantes are dangerous.”

Kate scoffed. “And since when did we care about reputation?”

“When you conspired with the Waynes to lie to the public about Bruce Wayne’s death?” Dick retorted, conscious that Ryan knew presumably Kate’s secret identity, but no-one else’s. “And when you worked to clear his name after Lex Luthor’s allegations. You fought hard to clear your army buddies’ names as well, and yours, after the HPD massacre.”

Dick watched as a flash of anger lit up across Kate’s face for a second. It was a reaction he hadn’t intended to inspire, but it was the truth. Fortunately, she managed to catch herself and take a deep breath.

“Sure, I did all those things,” she conceded. “But where did it get us? The public are all too happy to believe we’ve broken bad and gone on a rampage or given up on them with just a word from men like Roland Desmond or Lonnie Machin. People have never trusted Batwoman, and it’s only getting worse. Pretty soon it’s going to get in the way of me helping people, but I can still make a difference now by taking down Blockbuster for good, even if the world will hate Batwoman for it.”

“But you don’t have to do it this way,” Dick argued, frustrated. “You could have come to us for help with Blockbuster. We’re here to help now.”

“No, you aren’t, Nightwing,” spat Kate. “You’re here to stop me, because I’ve become the problem. And - while I think about it - you’re in no position to lecture me about asking for help.”

“Ryan is safe here with me,” she said. “And I’m not gonna cave just because Blockbuster spins some propaganda that I’ve kidnapped her. He can make me as unpopular as he likes, I’ll do what I can to stop him and keep people safe from him while I still can.”

“You do not want to help anyone,” spat Cass suddenly. “You want to feel good about yourself. And that’s no reason to wear that symbol.”

“You didn’t even know Batman!” erupted Kate back just as quickly. “You don’t know what the symbol means.”

Dick instinctively stepped between Cass and Kate as they raised their voices. “Yes, she does. More than most people,” he said, careful to keep a lid on his own emotions. “Sure, when Batman first got started he was trying to… assert control over a chaotic universe, show the world he mattered, that he could be a force for good, just like you. But that was a long time ago.”

Kate wanted so desperately to fight back, to invoke some other tenet or lesson of Bruce’s, but she couldn’t. No-one knew Bruce better than Dick did. “You…” she shook her head. “I just wanted to show the world I meant something. But, damn it, the world seems determined to tell me I don’t mean anything.”

Dick had been in Kate’s position before, many times. He knew the frustration and pain of wanting so intensely to prove your worth, to make your mark, and feeling like you were climbing uphill. He thought of the many mistakes he had made in the past chasing the image of what he felt he should be, all the while thinking he was being selfless. He also remembered the feeling of being crushed at the realisation of his selfishness.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” Kate added, addressing Cass in particular. “Once I’ve put Desmond back behind bars, I’ll call it. No more Batwoman.”

“What?” Ryan called out. “Why?”

“If they insist on hating me, I’ll give them what they want,” she explained. “By then, I’ll have too much heat to be able to help anyone anyway. And then your Commissioner Lane can think what he wants about vigilantes, and you can get back to proving them wrong.”

“That’s fine by me,” Cass sneered. “If you cannot help people, why do this at all?”

Just then, inspiration struck Dick as he recalled his earlier conversation with Barbara.

“Kate, I get it,” he begins. “You’re scared of doing more harm than good. You don’t want to go too far, but the public have turned on Batwoman whatever you do. You don’t know what’s harmful and what’s not. You can still help people, you still do, whether they thank you or not. But what you’re doing now? It’s not your fault, but if you keep down this path knowing the effect it’s having, then you are causing harm.”

Kate gritted her teeth, pushing down a vortex of conflicting feels. “If I’ve gone too far and I can’t see it… I shouldn’t be Batwoman.”

Dick refused to let this go. “You told me once you became Batwoman because it gave you purpose, taking on criminals and corrupt cops. You said you could finally be yourself as Batwoman. And you’re right, every chance they’ve got, people have turned on you. But you kept doing it anyway. Why?”

Kate considered her response. Then she spoke with a fraction of her prior volume. “I… wanted to keep helping people. That’s more important than what they think. But I can’t trust myself to know where the line is.”

Cass scoffed.

“Kate,” Dick stepped forward and took both of her red-gloved hands in his. “That’s what the rest of us are for. Even Batman needs a Robin.”

“Do not prove them right,” said Cass, this time trading her apparent derision for a genuine plea. “They will never thank you for disappearing. They will thank you for going scorched earth and making their point for them. If you want to help people, help Ryan. Help the people Blockbuster is hurting trying to find her.”

Kate glanced rapidly between Dick, Cass and then Ryan. She was around Cass’ age, and had experienced plenty of her own hardships, but she wasn’t the warrior Cass was. She was a fighter indeed, used to putting on a brave face and weathering whatever the world threw at her, and she was keen to make a difference. For those reasons, Kate knew that Ryan understood her, and that the girl was all-in on being a part of something bigger in helping bring Blockbuster to justice. But as Kate looked up at her, Ryan just couldn’t hide how tired, worn down and frightened she was to be in the middle of all of this danger. She had been beaten, abducted, forced to witness a massacre of her kidnappers, and then dragged from her home once again to hide away in a fire-torn derelict, knowing a powerful supervillain was hunting for her. For the first time, Kate saw a part of herself in Ryan, but not the parts that enabled her to be a hero. Instead, Kate saw how helpless she felt when she watched the murders of her mother and sister.

And yet, for as vulnerable as Ryan clearly was, Kate saw something else. She saw how much she trusted her. And she couldn’t let her down.

Slowly, Kate reached back to the scruff of her neck and pulled her mask up and over her face. “You’re right. Something has to change. We should go.”

Dick nodded, while Cass finally allowed herself to breathe properly again.

“We start tonight,” said Kate. “We find Blockbuster and we bring him down. Together.”

Just then, the exterior wall of the apartment was shattered into fragmented brick by a deafening blast. Debris was catapulted inwards as Dick leapt back, and Kate tackled Ryan to the ground, draping her reinforced red cape around her to protect her. But Cass didn’t cower. The Dark Knight didn’t wait for the dust to settle, instead rushing to the newly-created crater and searching the scene beyond. Immediately, she spotted the familiar glint of reflected light on glass on the edge of the horizon.

Click.

Cass dived, throwing herself to the right and into the path of the oncoming sniper round, a bullet meant for the prone Batwoman.

To be continued in I Am Batman #34 and New Gotham Knights #25

Then

The final curtain in Nightwing #35

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 52:‌ ‌ Meeting in the Middle

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ ClaraEclair

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“No, but it’s our best shot at getting out of here. I don’t see us digging our way out of this cell.”

Tefé and Maxine were huddled together in the corner, waiting for someone, anyone, to return to their cell. They had long grown tired of the haunted silence of their prison. Its stony walls and floors grated against their skin, rough and abrasive in the way sandpaper was. The ratty hammocks, sourced from who knows where, had begun to buckle, the thin threads coming undone after only a week of use. Maxine and Tefé were not unlike these hammocks. They, too, were under threat of being unraveled if they didn’t do something sooner or later.

Maxine stared at the space between the bars, hearing the wind’s somber voice echo throughout the dank prison hall. She had never thought about doing something like this, playing this sort of high stakes game. When she was unveiled as Avatar of the Red, politicking was not part of the job description. Defend the animal kingdom? Sure. Become a master of diplomacy? Not by a long shot. Then again, entrusting a sixteen year old, now nineteen, with safeguarding a whole slice of reality seemed like a bad idea in general, so really, the Red is to blame, not Maxine. It’s not her fault she’s unqualified.

It’s moments like this that Maxine really wished someone else had been chosen to carry the torch. Other girls her age were practically aliens given how differently Maxine led her life from them.

Well, most other girls.

Maxine turned to Tefé, who rubbed the bags under her eyes. Unlike Maxine, she had been born into this world, but did not have an obligation to protect it, to nurture it. In fact, she had outwardly rejected that responsibility when it was presented to her. Yet here she was, leading the charge to keep the world from falling apart. She was doing more than even Maxine, whose entire life purpose was to do exactly what Tefé was doing.

Sometimes Maxine found herself feeling… left behind. This was her job and someone was doing it better than her. So much was happening at any point in time that she had never had the space to really think about it, but something felt fundamentally incorrect about their roles. She was an Avatar and Tefé wasn’t. What part of that made sense?

Tefé, on a whim, met Maxine’s gaze, and in that moment Maxine remembered why Tefé would take the lead so often. There was a confidence in her, borne from years of practice, a determination that made Maxine feel safer, like everything was going to be alright even in the worst of times. Maxine shuddered a little, then slipped her hand into Tefé’s. Tefé smiled and squeezed Maxine’s hand.

“It’s gonna be alright,” Tefé said. “They don’t want to hurt us, and as long as we don’t overstep any boundaries, they’ll never know where we actually stand.”

Heavy footsteps sounded off from down the hall, causing the two heroes to stand at attention. They needed to look as composed as possible if this was going to work. The Pale Wanderer, the man who they had been pursuing for months, finally stepped into view. He looked downcast, clearly apologetic after his outburst the previous day, “I know I said it last we met, but I must once again express regret for how that conversation ended. Ain’t proper for me to lose my temper.”

“It’s alright,” Tefé said. “It actually helped us change our minds.”

The Wanderer blinked, “Really? So quickly?”

“We didn’t know what to think about what you were doing, trying to change the world,” Maxine said. “But we know you’re not trying to do it for selfish reasons. You believe in William, clearly. If you trust him that way, then maybe we can trust you too?”

He raised an eyebrow, “‘Maybe’ is doing some heavy lifting. I can appreciate the change of heart, ladies. I just don’t know if it’s for the right reasons.”

“Can you pick and choose your allies at this point?” Maxine asked, “You’re fighting an uphill battle already.”

“Sure, but having a friend stab me in the back is only gonna make things worse,” The Wanderer said. “I need to know that you won’t screw me over.”

Tefé stepped forward, “You and my brother are in the same boat, Wanderer. I love my brother, and I would never do anything to hurt him. If that’s not enough to convince you then you’ve lost this whole thing before it started.”

A pregnant silence followed as the Wanderer stared into the cell with his cold, milky white eyes. Maxine wondered if he perceived the world as normal people did, or if these were the eyes of a corpse. The Wanderer did not need them to visualize the world. He simply saw the earth and its denizens as they truly were, laid bare with every artifice and perfection on display. Even now, he remained an enigma, a walking contradiction between a man with feelings and a force of nature that behaved without any kind of emotion.

Finally, he broke the silence, not with the spoken word, but with the sliding of a metal door. The cell was open, and the Wanderer raised a hand to beckon them, “Then let’s get started.”

As the trio made their way through the prison’s halls, Maxine wondered whether or not they had truly spoofed the Wanderer, or if he had detected some kind of doubt in their own actions, that they might truly be swayed to his and William’s side. Perhaps he thought he could more easily convince them now that they were free, or maybe he felt he didn’t need to evangelize to them anymore. The seed of doubt had already been planted, and he just needed to let it grow.

It spoke volumes that Maxine didn’t know the answer to that question herself, only the awareness to ask the question itself.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

The hazy neon lights of the gas station cast a strange haunted hue against the sandy Oregon valley. Much of the state was dense forests, but being on the Nevada border meant that Clifford was hanging in the more barren portion of the place. The establishment really was in the middle of nowhere, nothing but either road or prairie stretching out for miles, only to stop at the foot of distant mountains, only viewable because they blotted out the night sky behind them.

Clifford stood under the purple hue of the station, essentially a gray box erected in an island of asphalt, paired with a set of pumps under a cheap canopy. He had yet to find a place to stay, and there wasn’t any signal out here, so he decided to take the opportunity to fuel up before continuing on his way. He was hitting a wall in terms of his caffeine intake, so he just grabbed some water, but he was also running on an empty stomach. His remedy? A delectable yet stomach churning feast of processed foods. A big bag of potato chips, two king-sized candy bars, and a chicken sandwich that tasted like a disk of calories rather than bread and chicken.

As he sat on the ground, stuffing the chicken into his mouth, he wondered if his throbbing headache was the cause of sleep deprivation or his former companion. Capucine had just kept pushing and pushing and pushing him, and in the end their partnership had barely lasted more than twenty-four hours. He couldn’t stand how abrasive she was, how proud she was. In a way, it reminded him of himself, but as a teen, which was a pretty awkward comparison when the figure on the other side was centuries old. He couldn’t work with someone like that, not when his friends were on the line.

Clifford finished the chicken sandwich, eagerly washing it down with his water as a set of headlights revealed themselves to the south of the station. Clifford hoped it wasn’t who he thought it was, but as the beaten up car pulled into the establishment, those hopes were dashed, crumbled to dust in the wind. The vehicle slowed to a stop in front of Clifford, and Capucine stumbled out of the car, clearly just as sapped of energy as Clifford was. She looked him dead in the eyes, “Animal-Man–”

“I don’t wanna talk to you,” Clifford said, grabbing his trash and standing up before moving to deposit it in a trash can. “Leave me be.”

“Listen to me, Baker,” Capucine said. “We cannot afford to diverge, not at a moment like this.”

“You’re wasting your breath,” Clifford said. “Contrary to the title, I’m not an animal that gets ordered around–”

“I’m sorry!”

Clifford stopped dead in his tracks, wrappers in hand, and turned back to face Capucine. Her eyes were scarlet red, which Clifford initially attributed to fatigue, but the glossy lines down her cheeks suggested that she had actually been weeping. Capucine wiped her face, clearly hoping to hide the evidence while not knowing that she had already failed, “I am not perfect. I have lived a long life and that experience comes paired with pride. That pride has blinded me, and for that, I am sorry.”

Clifford grimaced. His hands tightened before he tossed the trash in the bin before turning back to her, “Okay…”

She sighed, shoulders slumped, “We have to work together on this.”

“Maybe, but can we?” Clifford asked. “I mean, you’re proud. Fine. How does that change anything going forward?”

Capucine frowned, “If you are looking for a confession of some kind, you will not find it. I do not intend to prostrate myself to you.”

“Fuck’s sake, I’m not asking you to,” Clifford said. “I just wanna meet somewhere in the middle! Are we partners on this or not?”

“I want us to be,” Capucine said. “but I need… I need…”

“What? What do you need?!” Clifford asked.

“I need to know that we can actually do this!” Capucine said. “I need you, but I don’t trust you to follow through. I know defeat intimately, and I know that failure at this stage will have disastrous consequences. I’m more familiar with it than you could ever know, and tonight I have allowed my fear to cloud my judgement. I… if I cannot rein you in, then how do I know you won’t be the reason everything falls apart?”

Clifford stared at Capucine, unsure of what to say in the face of what doubled as confession and accusation. A part of him wanted to take off flying right away, but he smothered that desire as quickly as it passed into his mind. He would not run away from this, he would face these things head on, “I know what you mean, more than you think. I might not have your years, but I’ve been afraid of failure too. I let it paralyze me for a long time, before I realized that it was holding me back. Right now, being afraid is holding both of us back, but if we do this together… I think we can crack it.”

Capucine looked Clifford in the eyes, “How do I know for sure it’ll work out?”

“You don’t, neither of us do,” Clifford said. “We just have to go for it and trust that it’ll all be okay.”

Capucine grimaced. She looked more uncertain than ever, more nervous than ever. It was not an emotion she wore particularly well, given how it spilled out of her in ugly waves. Wiping her face yet again, she took several deep breaths, hoping to find her center once more. Clifford watched patiently, giving her as much time as needed. Eventually, she closed her eyes, then slowly nodded, “Alright, I trust you.”

“And I trust you,” Clifford said. “I’d say we should get right to it but I think we’re both fighting to stay upright.”

Capucine gingerly pointed back at the car, “The backseat is comfortable.”

“Then you take it,” Clifford said. “The passenger seat’ll suit me fine.”

The two made their way into the car and practically collapsed into their seats, and as he leaned his seat back and faded into sleep, Clifford felt a measure of security in his current course of action. This would not be an easy road, but at least it would be a road he wasn’t traveling alone. Capucine needed him for this, and in a way he hadn’t had the time to really quantify, he needed her just as much.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

William Arcane sat in his throne at the nexus of his place of power, fiddling with a small figurine in his hands. It was a piece of stone, carved into the shape of someone near and dear to his heart. He would never show it to her, both because it was far too primitive to be presentable, but also because the admiration was itself an embarrassing feeling. Still, this small thing was a little reminder of who William was outside his station, and soon he would be answering the call of said station like never before.

A trio of footsteps alerted William to approaching figures, prompting him to stuff the figurine in his pocket before standing to address them. The Pale Wanderer had returned, with Tefé and Maxine to boot. The Wanderer tipped his hat at William, “Here they are, pardner.”

William smiled, “I’m so glad you’ve agreed to see things our way. It means more than you think to have you with me on this.”

“I wouldn’t leave you hanging, Will. You’re my brother,” Tefé said. “But I should ask, what’s next?”

“Come with me and see!” William said.

The Avatar of the Rot led the trio to the edge of the mountain, where they were greeted by the sight of a sea of bodies writhing in the valley below. Thousands of the Rot’s denizens, either rotting or picked clean, milled about, waiting for who knows what to happen. Tefé and Maxine’s eyes widened at the sight of the sea of bodies, the hairs standing up on the nape of both of their necks.

“Holy shit,” Maxine said.

“It gets better,” William replied.

William began to wave his hands, and in a nauseating shift the world around the group began to change. The air got colder and significantly windier, the ground beneath their feet, bone dry, suddenly became flush with moisture as snow materialized around their ankles. Large pines sprouted all around them, and far off in the distance, the army of the dead followed them, materializing in the frostbitten valley below. The sky, once cloudy and rife with violent purple lightning, cleared out, revealing a blue sky with a painfully bright sun. William grinned and turned around as Tefé and Maxine realized what had just happened.

They were no longer in the Rot. They were back home.

“Alright folks,” William said, glee in his voice. “Welcome to Alaska!”

Next Issue: A colossal shift!

Welcome back to DC Next! We hope you enjoy this month's instalments including the finale of Shadowpact after a massive 4.5 year run! We want to thank /u/GemlinTheGremlin and /u/PatrollinTheMojave for their commitment to exploring DC Next's universe of magic, as well as you readers for following along for so long.

April 1st:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #38
• New Gotham Knights #24
• Shadowpact #31 - Series Finale!
• Suicide Squad #60

April 15th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #52
• The New Titans #30
• Nightwing #34 - Crossover with I am Batman and New Gotham Knights, Part One!
• I Am Batman #34 - Crossover with I am Batman and New Gotham Knights, Part Two!

DC Next presents: 

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

Issue Twenty Four: Overstep

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by AdamantAce

Next Issue > 

Breaking up rumoured gangs was one thing for Harper to wrap her head around; the congregation forming in front of her was another thing entirely. At least with a gang (or gangs), there was a clear plan of action: get in, question the attending parties, act accordingly based on their reaction. But Harper was instead looking at a group of raucous civilians clumping together in a dozen different scattered groups, passing handmade signs and homemade merchandise between each other.

A clatter of footsteps. Duke Thomas's suited feet collided with the rooftop as he leapt from a neighbouring building. “Hey,” he chirped as he lowered himself to a similar squat as Harper. “What are we looking at here?”

“Not sure yet,” Harper responded. Digging into one of her various jacket pockets, she revealed what appeared to be a small, mechanical spyglass. With a flick of her wrist and an affirmative click, the spyglass snapped into two components, revealing binoculars. She peered through them to take a closer look at the growing crowd below. More trading, more conversations. “Almost looks like they're setting up community stalls or something.”

“Community stalls?”

“Like, a market. But without stands.”

Harper spotted a discarded cardboard sign and focused in on the letters scrawled in black marker - GET BATWOMAN OUT OF GOTHAM. She frowned. The more she looked, the more signs she came across, and the more she felt compelled to read them. HORROR FROM HUB CITY. GO BACK INTO HIDING. BRING BACK OUR RYAN.

Harper's stomach turned. Our Ryan. She pulled the binoculars away from her eyes and clicked them back into one long eyepiece. How long had she spent watching people disappear from her hometown? How many times had she been told not to worry about it, that they were probably wrapped up with some bad people, that it's best to forget about them? And how often had they never been mentioned ever again?

And yet, another woman has gone missing, tangled up in the reappearance of Batwoman, and suddenly she was being treated as a martyr. It left a knot in Harper's stomach. She was somewhat grateful to see how many people were willing to show up for Ryan, but furious for every other woman just like her who had disappeared into obscurity, all because they couldn't be used for propaganda.

“What is it?” Duke finally chimed in, snapping Harper out of her daze. She shook off the cobwebs.

“They're protesters,” she answered. “Anti-Batwoman, it looks like. They're using Ryan for sympathy points.”

From behind his yellow and black helmet, Duke kissed his teeth. “Well, are we jumping in?”

“And doing what?” Harper shook her head. “They're not doing anything.” There was a pause, so Harper continued: “Nothing worse calling in the Knights, anyway.”

“Well—”

“Either way, do we really wanna set an example here? That the Knights are anti-protest? I'm not fucking okay with that, I don't think you are either.”

Duke's body language shifted, more defensive. “Yeah, I… that makes sense.”

An indistinguishable chant rose up from the crowd. Signs were held aloft, scattered groups slowly converged. Gradually, the group moved forwards, spilling out of the park and into the street.

“Looks like a regular peaceful protest to me.” Harper shrugged. With a soft grunt, she pushed up against her knees and rose to her feet. “Maybe we should just move on.”

Duke was still facing the crowd, unmoving. Eventually he did rise to his feet but, without turning, outstretched his hand towards the outermost edge of the protest. “That doesn't look peaceful.”

Harper turned back. Indeed, there was something going on at the tail end of the group; silhouettes of bodies moving against each other violently, thrashing and pulling. As her eyes settled onto the scene, she could make out that the three figures were engaged in a physical fight - two larger people in matching, newly acquired protest merchandise were grappling with another smaller person. The commotion appeared to be drawing the attention of some latecomers who, upon taking in the scene, elected to take the side of the attackers.

“Shit,” Harper muttered.

“Are we jumping in now?”

“I…” Harper was frozen. “We jump in, we're immediately front page news. We don't jump in—”

“Okay, lemme rephrase: I'm going in. Are you following?”

The assault on the street was not moving but the protest kept soldiering on. Stragglers from the back of the crowd had their attentions torn between the unstoppable crowd and the immovable fight.

“Fine,” Harper said with reluctance. “See you on the front page.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“What do we want?!” came the booming cry of the parade leader through his megaphone. Despite the distance between himself and the source of the sound, not to mention the obvious commotion all around, the younger man in the “BRING HER BACK” bandana could hear the voice clear as day. The response to his call was less clear, however, the unrehearsed cacophony of voices releasing a garbled wall of sound.

Nevertheless, the cry of the like-minded men and women around him empowered him as he slammed his foot into the bruised man curled up on the ground.

“Say that shit again!” barked his compatriot. His hat was hanging loosely on his head, threatening to fall. “I dare you!”

All that came out as a semblance of a response was a panicked groan. The man in the bandana kicked him again.

“Say it!”

“I'm…” the victim coughed.

“Leave him alone, guys!” came a voice from the crowd, sailing above the shouting. “It's not worth it!”

The man in the bandana reeled back his leg and watched the man beneath him flinch. With a swift yank, he felt his foot fly backwards and force him into a half-split. His balance was thrown completely and he slammed into the ground knee-first, skidding backwards by the ankle. As he collided with a nearby streetlight, he finally felt the grappling line that had wrapped around his ankle.

His sense of direction shot, he looked up, then down, then to the side until he was his attacker: Bluebird looked down at him with her hands on her hips. “Ever heard of not kicking someone while they're down?”

Meanwhile, The Signal suddenly appeared into the scene, reconstituting from thin air thanks to his invisibility. The hat-bearing man gasped and his knees locked in surprise. Duke looked between him and the man laying on the floor, but as he looked back up at the attacker, he was already fleeing towards the bulk of the protesters. Duke felt his heart drop; the figures in the crowd all seemed to blend into one through matching memorabilia, their distinctive features muddled by hats, sunglasses, hoodies. The curious rubberneckers around him stayed in their place. No one felt brave enough to step in, only to watch.

Duke took off into a sprint in pursuit of the assailant. If the man in the hat managed to weasel his way into the crowd, he would disappear. Duke had to be faster. He tuned into the gentle glint of the light against the glossy painted signs, the polished shoes, the metallic gleam of nearby cars. He used them as a path, a guide, leading him to his target. And then, just as the man was reaching out with both hands, ready to swim through the crowd, Duke's own hand clasped against his shoulder. His momentum was swiftly reduced to zero and, as such, he tipped backwards to counteract the motion - so far, in fact, that the man came tumbling to the ground.

“Alright, that's enough running. How about giving me some answers?” The Signal's voice crackled through the suit's built-in speakers.

But instead the man just laughed through crooked teeth. “Smile, asshole. You're on camera.” He pointed towards the small congregation at his feet.

Sure enough, Duke looked up and was met with the back of half a dozen— no, a dozen— phones. All had their cameras pointed between The Signal and the man held under his grasp, capturing all angles, not a single inch undocumented. Duke tried not to let it bother him. “Why were you attacking that kid?”

By now, Harper had made her way to the victim's side and was making a note of his injuries. The bandana man fought against the rope attached to his foot but to no avail, only succeeding in tangling himself more. She spotted this and, with a final word to the injured man, darted towards the streetlight and started to free the man attached to it.

The man under Duke's grip only smiled.

“What did he say to you? What made you wanna attack him?”

Still only a grin. The shimmer of the sunlight against the phone cameras was blinding.

“Why did you do this?”

“Signal,” came Bluebird's warning voice. Immediately Duke released the man from his grasp. His grip was not tight, not holding him to the ground, but the man took a deep breath in and hacked out a cough, putting on a show for the cameras.

Then Bluebird turned to the crowd. “Move along, folks. I'm sure you've got better stuff to do.” She gestured to the quickly departing parade of marchers, still blissfully unaware of the commotion happening just a few yards behind them. “You're gonna get left behind.”

Now bored, the paparazzi slowly dispersed. Many of them jogged back towards the conga line of protesters, but some cut their losses and moved back towards the park. But the man with the crooked teeth stayed lying on the ground with his arms folded. To Duke's surprise, he did not resist when Duke pulled him to his feet.

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“Remember what you said about the front page?”

Harper groaned. “Already?”

“Already,” Duke sighed. With two taps on his laptop's keyboard, the Belfry monitor sparked to life. Onscreen was the front page of an image-sharing website that Harper was very familiar with, displaying an image of The Signal holding a man against the ground. Duke continued to scroll: The Signal staring down at a man grinning on the floor, The Signal looking straight down the barrel of the phone's camera, The Signal in pursuit. “Not on the front page of the news, I'll give you, but definitely a front page.”

He switched tabs. The trending page of a short-form blog site highlights “The Signal”, “Bluebird” and “#BRINGHERBACK” as key search terms. “And another,” remarked Duke.

“Shit.” Harper chewed on her nails. “That's Pandora's box.”

“Mmhmm.”

“We're officially involved,” announced Harper. She ran a hand through her hair. “Luke and Jace are gonna be pissed.”

“Oh, they are.”

Harper looked up. Duke was holding out his phone towards her. On the screen read three recent messages from Luke: a screenshot of a third, more niche social media site with Bluebird and the Signal front and centre, followed by “What the fuck did you do?” and “I thought we said lay low”.

“Shit,” Harper repeated.

“We can fix this.” Duke's tone was forcibly optimistic, as if he were trying to convince himself rather than Harper. “Well, maybe fix is the wrong word. We can deal with this.”

“Deal how?”

“Sure, it's out in the open that we're attached to this in one way or another. But if we managed to crack the case and get Ryan back, wasn't it gonna come out anyway? At most, it's sped up. We're on a shorter deadline if we wanna get to them before anyone else. But we've been pretty good under pressure in the past.”

“And what if this scares Batwoman further into hiding? What if Ryan's disappearance has nothing to do with Batwoman and we've helped put a target on her back?”

“This is Batwoman we're talking about,” Duke frowned. “I'm sure she can handle some bad press for a month or so.”

Harper shuffled in her chair. There was something deeply uncomfortable about seeing Bluebird and the Signal plastered all over the internet. It was far from the first time she had come across a photo of herself on the job, but even without reading the captions of each image (she knew better than to do so), she could feel the scathing criticisms of their perceived overstepping. “Jesus. We've gotta figure something out before anyone else gets roped into this.”

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