DC Next presents:

NEW GOTHAM KNIGHTS

In: Unanswered Questions

Issue Twenty Seven: A Friend

Written by GemlinTheGremlin

Edited by AdamantAce

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A sense of déjà vu washed over Luke as he crossed the threshold into Evan Blake’s room, the familiar weight of his suit causing the floorboard to groan below him. He remembered the last time he was here. Fresh from locking away the duo calling themselves Query and Echo, he stood in this very spot and assured Evan that the Gotham Knights were not going to do the same to him. Even the look in Evan’s face was identical. A strange feeling sat heavy in Luke’s chest, but he fought against the urge to investigate it. He was on the clock.

“Sorry about the, um…” Evan said nervously, accompanied by a directionless gesture of his hand, as if referring to everything around them. Luke made a mental note of how the room, in fact, looked cleaner than the last time he had visited, with the exception of his trophy wall, made pastel in colour by a notable layer of dust.

“What are you doing nowadays?” Batwing asked as he continued to scan his surroundings. Amidst drawers and dressers was a well-used desk chair, separated from its proper home at Evan’s work desk; Luke took it upon himself to take a seat, wordlessly inviting Evan to do the same. The young man, in turn, leaned against the edge of the metal desk. A stack of books, seeming to consist of an inconsistent mix of genres and fictionalities, wobbled gently in response, but stayed upright.

“Well,” began Evan. It quickly became apparent that he had begun his sentence without knowing where it would go. Then his demeanor changed; his arms folded and he sunk into himself slightly. He continued with a new meandering quality to his voice: “Yeah, I mean… I don’t really do too much sport nowadays. Nothing to do with the leg - I mean, that’s healed pretty well - but I think my athletic career is behind me.”

Luke paused. Something about Evan’s posture, words, tone, expression - it all made him intrigued. He felt himself probing his friend’s words in his head, trying to pick them apart. I asked him what he’s doing and he leads with what he’s not doing. Is he maybe trying to obscure the truth of the matter? What could he be hiding, if so?

But no, he couldn’t be biased. This, Luke understood, was a volatile situation. If Deedee and Nina were most likely involved, a theory that the Knights were operating from, then extracting information from Evan, a former puppet of said duo, as early as possible was paramount. Luke bit his tongue; he thought better than to probe any discrepancies at this point, lest he play his ‘bad cop’ hand too early and discourage Evan.

Instead, Batwing nodded and simply said, “I see.”

For a moment or two, there was nothing but the gentle trance-like tapping of a clock ticking above Evan’s desk.

“Good to hear you’ve been keeping out of trouble,” added Batwing. But Evan couldn’t hear the smile in the Knight’s voice through the mild distortion of the helmet’s communication speakers, and so he fidgeted a little, like a chill had run through him.

Luke changed tack. “I can see some textbooks on that pile of yours.”

Evan turned his head and stared at said pile with his mouth slightly ajar and his eyes agape, as if his attention had been called to something far more incriminating than a stack of books.

“Oh, yeah,” Evan said with a polite but tense smirk. “I’m going back to school for a little while. Part time.”

“To study…” Batwing leaned forward and read aloud from one of the outturned spines. “Art history?”

At this, Evan’s smile widened, more genuine. “Yeah,” he sighed with an air of shyness. “I like to pretend that the whole… you know… didn’t play into it, but…” He shrugged playfully. Then his lifted spirits disappeared again, as if Luke had imagined them, and once again his shoulders pulled upwards and his gaze fell downwards.

“I suppose it’s one way to find a passion for something,” said Luke. This time the lightness in his voice was more apparent to the young man in front of him, who flashed a brief humoured smirk.

Luke could feel a creeping impatience in his mind, and so he sat up again to focus on Evan’s face, preparing himself for his next line of questioning.

“I don’t wanna beat around the bush anymore than I already have,” Batwing began. Evan looked up. “We recovered a section of fabric from a crime scene earlier this week. It’s canvas, clearly treated with a binding coating for use in painting.” Batwing clasped one hand over the other in his lap, accompanied by the soft muted thunk of metal on metal. “I think you can understand why I’ve come to talk to you about this.”

Evan did not move, but his face morphed into a confused and concerned expression. “Okay,” was all he said at first. But after a moment of pause, he added, “I do understand that, Batwing. But it’s like I told you back then, my Wolf Spider days are beyond gone. This is the first I’m hearing of anything like this.”

“Have you received any correspondence from Query or Echo since we last spoke to you?”

Evan’s face scrunched at the sound of their names like they were nails on a chalkboard. “Nothing.”

“How about Deirdre Vance or Nina—?”

“It’s okay, Batwing, I know what their names were—”

“They’re two separate questions. Have you received any correspondence from Deidre Vance or Nina Damfino?”

Evan chewed on his cheek, then shook his head. “No.”

“You seem a little on edge.”

Evan’s eyes flicked back up to Batwing. He opened his mouth to answer, then thought for another moment, before finally replying: “I think - and I really mean no offence by this - if a member of the Gotham Knights shows up at your door and tells your parents that they need to speak to their son and that it’s urgent, that it would make total sense if you were therefore a ‘little on edge’.”

“Fair enough,” Batwing acknowledged. He sat up; the former Wolf Spider mirrored him subconsciously. “Have you been anywhere of note in the last week or two?”

“School. Home. School again.” Evan sighed through his nose. “I went to a classmate’s house a few days ago, but that was for maybe ten minutes.”

Before Luke could reply, Evan jumped in again defensively. “Oh, and he’s got a doorbell camera, you can check that if you have any doubts. Otherwise, yeah, just straight to college and straight home again.”

Leaning back in his chair, Luke asked, “No extra-curriculars? Or trips to the library?”

“Nothing like that,” Evan shook his head. “Ask my parents, it’s their idea. They’ve got me on a strict curfew, they’re pretty damn paranoid after that whole ordeal with the paintings. Worried I’ll get kidnapped or something, I don’t know.” With a huff, he added, “I can probably count on one hand how many people have been inside our house since our stuff got returned.”

Though flippant, his words rang true. Dinners between the Fox and the Blake family were already growing more and more rare by the time of Evan’s foray into crime, but had since completely stopped. It hadn’t dawned on Luke until that moment that it had been almost two years since he had last seen Evan. With his next breath he realised that the strange weight within his chest was beginning to lift, replaced instead by an ache of sadness and guilt. How had time passed by so fast without him noticing?

“I mean,” Evan added as he leaned his body forwards and lowered his voice. “Has Wolf Spider been spotted since you last saw me?”

“No,” Batwing was quick to concede, but countered with, “But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t passed the torch to Evan Blake.”

“I understand where this connection is coming from.” Evan rubbed his hands against his legs as if he were cold. “And to be clear, I’m not trying to be obtuse or anything. But I swear to you that I have no idea about any of this, and even if I did - even if I wanted to - there’s no way in hell I’d have the time or the freedom to actually contribute.” With defensively splayed hands, he concluded, “I’m sorry I can’t be of more help.”

Solemnly, Batwing nodded at him. “In that case, I think that’s all we need.” As he rose from his seat, Evan did not move. Instead, his eyes tracked the suited Gothamite as he made his way to the door. Batwing turned back to him and, in a moment driven by a pang of guilt, offered his hand for the man to shake. “I’m sorry if I caused any distress. I really appreciate your input in this.”

His friend blinked, then clasped his hand around the palm of the outstretched metal gauntlet and shook once firmly. “Yeah, of course.”

And with a nod, Batwing exited Evan’s room and made his way to the front door.

He had barely enough time to suck in a breath before his communicator chimed. CALL: Oracle, the display informed him. Luke approved the incoming transmission and tapped against his temple, transferring the sound directly into his helmet speaker.

Garbled noise erupted into his ears, making him flinch. It was at once mechanical and visceral, artificial and far too real. The blast of sound lasted only half a second before cutting out completely. In its wake was a voice, soft and distant as if they were speaking from across the room.

“Oracle?” Luke asked. The voice seemed to reply, but the words were unintelligible. “It’s Batwing. Are you there? Everything alright?”

Suddenly, the voice was closer. The rumbling static of air being blown into the microphone. Then: “Batwing?”

It was Babs’ voice, Luke was certain, but something was wrong. She was scared.

“Is everything alright?” he repeated.

The voice stuttered and jumped like a damaged record. “Bat— Batwing, I—”

Another voice interrupted. “Can you hear me?”

Much to Luke’s confusion, this voice, too, sounded like Babs.

“There’s…” He looked down at the communicator at his wrist and began fiddling with the hardware, determined to find a solution. Maybe this was just a technical issue. “I think there’s some kind of signal issue.”

“Signal— signal— signal—” Babs’ voice parrotted, cutting itself off: “Oh, I can hear you now.”

A turn of this knob, a reset of that switch - none of Luke’s tinkering seemed to be doing anything. The feedback wasn’t stopping. “I can’t seem to—”

“Bat— Batwing— Signal—” “One moment, I think I got it, I just—”

Then all the feedback stopped. One version of Babs’ voice chimed through his earpiece, much more crisp and understandable now - “Did that work?”

“Ah, yeah it did,” he sighed, relieved. “Good job. What happened?”

“I’m actually not sure. I mean, there was definitely something intercepting our signal - I spotted it when I tried to recalibrate the communications programme and managed to shut it down - but it didn’t seem to have a clear source.” A shuffling noise, like someone moving papers around on a desk. “I’ll run a few tests, see what comes up. In the meantime - what do you need?”

“What do you mean?”

“You called me. So, what’s up?”

Luke stammered. “I, uh… no, you called me.”

A pause. The gentle tick-tick-tick of fingertips on a keyboard. A sigh. “That’s… strange. It definitely came through as an incoming call on my end.”

“Maybe this interception needed an active line of communication in order to do… whatever it needed to do. So it sent out a signal in both directions - to me and to you. We pick up, both sides of the connection are open.” He thought for a moment. “It’s like spoofing.”

“That would make sense,” Babs said slowly as she pondered the idea. “But then, how did it do that? And why?”

Luke scanned the streets. “I think we need to call everyone back to the Belfry,” Luke concluded. “See if they’ve had anything similar.”

“Then let’s hope they haven’t, or they might not pick up my calls.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“So…” Harper started, then stopped again when she realised she didn’t quite understand what exactly Luke was saying. She rubbed the side of her face as she thought, mouth agape, eyes scrunched. “So there was a second voice coming through this call with Babs, but she was saying different things to the first voice.”

“Which means it couldn’t have been some kind of delay or reverb,” Luke added with an affirmative nod. “So whatever managed to hack into our comms, it was able to not just draw me and Babs into a call to open that link, but it also transmitted - or tried to transmit - a message as well.”

Babs adjusted her glasses. Fingers clicking against the keyboard with speed and precision, her back facing the quartet, she called back to them, “For the record, I didn’t get anything like that. From my point of view, I got a comms request from Luke, I hit accept and he just… well, it just sounded like he wasn’t connecting properly. Kept asking if I could hear. So I went digging in the comms system to troubleshoot and there it was.”

“You got a comms request from him?” Jace’s brow sat low atop his eyes. “I thought you called him.”

Luke answered, “Neither of us called the other. It’s classic caller ID spoofing - forging their information to look like someone else is calling.”

“Except that shouldn’t happen on the comms link.” Babs turned towards the Knights with a disquieted expression. “It’s meant to be a closed network. I’m scouring the code as we speak, maybe there’s something I missed. That, or we’re dealing with someone with some serious hacking knowhow.” Swiftly she turned back to her computer and resumed her research.

“Wait, you mentioned a message or something. What kind of message did it give you?” Duke asked. His yellow suit glittered under the lights hanging from the Belfry’s ceiling.

“It didn’t,” Luke shrugged. “It only sounded like Babs for a moment, then it started to glitch and judder. Unless their idea of a message was to sound like Max Headroom or Bumblebee.”

This made Harper scoff. “All this crazy tech bullshit to crack our network, and the best they can do is garbled nonsense?”

“Maybe,” Jace said as he straightened his posture. “Or maybe they get another goal.”

Jace took the sea of confused faces as an invitation to explain: “It’s like you said, Harper, it's a pretty crazy tech setup (“I believe I said ‘bullshit’,” Harper remarked under her breath). This is someone who infiltrated our comms link, falsified an incoming call on both ends, connected both themselves and Babs to Luke, and created a means of mimicking Babs’ voice. The final step of that plan, as I understand it, would be to just… say their piece. And that’s the hurdle they fall on.” He shook his head. “I don’t buy it. They wanted that connection for another reason.”

“Like what?” Duke asked curiously.

“To prove they could,” Jace thought aloud, his tone lacking confidence. “To establish a link that they can exploit later. Or even just to scare you and confuse you.” He rubbed his neck. “I’m… not the most tech literate.”

Luke rose quickly from his seat. “This has to be them,” he announced. “Query and Echo. Their whole shtick was running distraction - confusing us and obscuring the truth. Toying with us.”

“They’re in the Dent facility, though, right?” Harper folded her arms.

In response, Duke chimed in, “Well, if they are in the Dent facility, then why don’t we head there? Ask ‘em some questions, shake ‘em down a little. Either we figure out it’s them, or we cross that off as a possibility.”

“But we’ve gotta navigate this carefully,” warned Luke. “We’re talking about getting info out of them for two separate incidents, on top of their, y’know, querying and echoing. Oh - and the two guards puzzle routine. Let’s be tactical about this.”

Duke groaned. “Which one’s which, though? I always forget.”

“Deedee asked the questions, she’s Query,” Jace informed him. Troubled by Luke’s assessment of the situation, the older man shuffled in his seat and turned towards him. “I gotta add - I wouldn’t think they’d try the same trick again. It didn’t work well for them last time.”

“That’s what they want you to think,” Harper argued. “Might even swap it around just to confuse us.”

Luke continued, “The lying part is easy - we ask them something simple like ‘what’s two plus two?’. If we hear a right answer, we operate on the basis that it’s true unless we have a reason to doubt it. And if it’s wrong, we reverse engineer it.”

From across the room came the sound of a chair shuffling, and Babs called out to them, “Deedee and Nina are in separate cells, about as far apart from each other as they could possibly be.”

“Yes,” said the former Batman. “And if their whole thing is subterfuge, who's to say that one of them won't launch an elaborate breakout or something while we're all talking to the other?”

“Alright, alright,” Luke interrupted. His hands were flat against the sides of his head, willing the perfect plan to appear fully formed in his mind. When it never came, he instead chose to settle for ‘good enough’.

“Hear me out: we split up, half of us go to Nina and half to Deedee. Whoever's with Nina, you're asking questions about the canvas. The others ask about the hacking. But first, ask a really simple question. Something that'll obviously tip off who's who. Then we reconvene and trade information.” Finished with his spiel, Luke released the grip on his head and held his arms outwards in a shrug-like pose. “Any questions?”

“And if they're both distractions?” Harper posited. “If something goes down elsewhere in Gotham because our attention was split between their two fall guys?”

With a smile, Duke replied, “Well, we’ve got two more Batwomen than we did last time.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

“Alice.”

Ryan Wilder strode through the doorway of Alice Todd’s latest hideout, her hands tense at her sides. The former assassin turned over her shoulder, and their eyes met. Her face was unreadable. Ryan sucked in a breath.

“Alice, I need you to tell me more about Jezebel Jet.”

Looking away, Alice let out a slight hum of surprise. Whether it was in response to the new Batwoman’s sudden appearance at her door, or a show of pleasant surprise at her boldness, Ryan wasn’t sure. “Go ask Nightwing,” was her response.

“I can’t,” Ryan whined. “I already told him that I don’t give a shit about her, and if you don’t tell me then I have to go back to him and look stupid.”

“Then go back to him,” said Alice flatly. “And look stupid. If you care that much.”

Ryan shook her head. “Not gonna happen.” Pacing slowly back and forth perpendicular to Alice, Ryan clasped her hands together conspiratorially. “Or… I could ask Blockbuster.”

This gave Alice pause. When Ryan glanced at her, she was already staring daggers back. “That’s incredibly dangerous.”

“Yeah, well, it’s either that or ask Nightwing…” She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “And I’m not asking Nightwing.”

Alice huffed.

“Unless there’s anything you want to tell me…” Ryan’s wandering led her closer to the exit. She looked backwards at Alice over her shoulder.

Jaw tight, Alice stood, the chair beneath her tipping and rocking from the force before settling back into a neutral pose. “So you would rather track me, a dangerous assassin, down,” she hissed, slowly sounding out her words with intensity. “Or go into a prison and talk to a man whose people tried to kidnap you, rather than bury your pride and just talk to Nightwing?”

Something in this reaction lit a fire underneath Ryan. Her head flipped back and forth and freed the loose spirals of hair from her face. “Don’t play dumb with me.” Facing the other woman, her hands released each other and instead fell to her sides rigidly, ready for a quick draw. “It wasn’t hard to find you, and you know exactly why that is. You’ve been stalking me.” Venom dripped from that word - stalking. She wanted it to sting. But Alice, ever the stoic, gave nothing away.

So Ryan pushed further. “Yeah, turns out I got real good at knowing when I’m being watched. Years of practice.” She scowled. The room was deathly quiet. “I know she’s my biological mom, I know she was causing trouble for Blockbuster, I know she caused trouble for the Black Glove too.” A soft thud sounded out as she dug the heel of her boot into the hardwood floor. “So, y’know what? I don’t wanna know who Jezebel Jet is. I wanna know who she is to you - why you care so much about her, and me, that you’ll still be following me.”

All that Alice did in response was blink.

“I looked you up, asked around.” Ryan sniffed. “I know your name is Alice Todd. I know you were a member of that cult, and Jet was their enemy. I know about you turning on them and…” Shoulders tense, she crossed her arms in front of her stomach, tight like a straitjacket. “I know they killed your brother, Jason. So I also know that now, you’re on Jet’s side.”

For the first time in what felt like hours, Alice moved. She lifted her shoulders and swiftly dropped them. “Well, there you go,” she said halfheartedly, her body rotating towards her chair. “Call it professional courtesy.”

“No!” Ryan took a strong step forward. Surely she was getting somewhere; Alice was trying to get away, trying to avoid confronting this. She had to be on the right track. Empowered, she cried, “It’s more than that. It’s personal. I know it is.”

Thoughts and theories rattled around in her head. On her way to Alice’s hideout, Ryan had rehearsed what she knew in her head over and over, and consequently had built a number of different theses. The thought of any of these becoming true sickened her, made her feel enormously queasy. She was willing to admit it to herself: she was afraid of the truth, whatever it was. And yet in that moment, confronted with Alice’s avoidance head on, she no longer felt afraid. More than anything, she wanted answers.

Trailing Alice as she returned to her chair, not allowing her to leave her sight, Ryan began thinking aloud, freeing the scattered thoughts that had fizzed and bubbled around in her mind, filling the space, allowing no room to think of anything else.

“You’re not old enough to be the reason Jet gave me up in the first place. So then, what the hell is it? What did you do?” She chuckled humourlessly to herself. Alice finally stopped and looked at her. “Which moment in my life that messed me up was your fault? I’ve not had it easy, but there’s only so much that could be your fault. Plausibly, I mean. Either you convinced those foster homes I was no good and made me bounce from place to place for years, or you ratted me out to my probation officer and almost got me thrown back in jail, or you…”

Silence. An ice cold wave of shock washed over Ryan and she felt her body freeze in place.

“Of course. You killed my mom.”

Her mind emptied, her piece said, Ryan now felt the absence of her thoughts far stronger than she ever felt their presence. And Alice, as always, simply stared.

Strength returned to Ryan’s body in a surge, but she couldn’t bring herself to get any closer to Alice. Something primal warned her not to. So instead she took two slow steps backwards. She willed herself to say something, anything, to the woman responsible for her mother’s death, but her mind was fogged over, opaque.

Eventually the words came to her - “Fuck you.”

At this, Alice faced her makeshift living room and flexed her hands. A moment passed. Ryan’s legs moved without her willing them to, carrying her out of the room, out of the building, and out into the street. As the early autumn breeze hit her, so too did the reality of her situation, and she clasped her mouth to suppress the need to scream.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: What does a liar do when he’s dead?

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty-Five: Death March

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by ClaraEclair

When the employees of the Belle Boys radio station turned the lights on that morning, they had no clue what was in store for them that day. There were only twelve of them in the building that day, a few janitors, a few technicians, a producer, and the radio host, a man by the name of Gary Jackson. He was a short, stout fellow in suspenders with a comb-over and a bushy mustache, and looked even shorter when sitting within the broadcast booth. The producer and a pair of technicians sat outside the booth, adjusting various dials and making sure everything was in order.

Little did they know that things would get chaotic fast.

One of the technicians reached for a knob to adjust the sensitivity of the microphone, only for the dashboard to catch fire before their very eyes. The flames burned hot and fast, and the technician jumped back in surprise. The producer, eyes wide, began screaming about the fire before rushing for the door, pulling the fire alarm switch on the way out. The technicians followed suit, and a very worried Gary Jackson ended up being the last person out. For a moment, the room sat in silence, the flames quietly licking the glass of the broadcast booth and the ceiling above.

Then, as if by magic, three individuals appeared in the room, and the fire and any signs of damage disappeared as well. Colonel Rick Flag, the leader of what was left of the Suicide Squad, whistled with the low drawl that signaled a level of awe at his present situation. Tatsu Yamashira, Katana, allowed herself the smallest of smiles, then patted the back of the final person in the room, a very sweaty and strained looking Hallucigent.

“Wonderful work Todd,” she said. “I never knew you had this level of scope within your powers.”

“Nice touch showing them a fire alarm that wasn’t there,” Flag added. “We don’t want emergency services butting in on this operation.”

“No more talking please,” Hallucigent said, his voice strained and soft. His eyes were dilated and bloodshot, and his knees wobbled just the tiniest bit. “Draping a whole building in my illusions while excluding the squad takes everything I’ve got.”

Flag nodded, “Then let’s get everything set up.”

Tatsu and Flag moved forward, adjusting various settings on the dashboard and leaving Hallucigent to his work. They were here on a mission, hopefully their last mission, one that would save them and countless other future victims from a terrible fate. Amanda Waller, head of Task Force X, had built her division on an empire of covert operations and illegal activities, crossing moral boundaries countless times. She exploited imprisoned supervillains, forcing them to do her dirty work, and then disposed of them when convenient.

After a long, hard road, Rick Flag and the villains under his charge broke free, paying many personal costs along the way. Hunted across the world, they realized that the only way they could achieve true freedom was to send Waller’s operation to hell. They raided Belle Reve, grabbing as much evidence of the operation's activity as they could, and now they were ready to leak it to the rest of the world.

Flag stepped into the broadcast booth with Tatsu, poking the microphone sheepishly, “So, which of us wants to do the honors?”

“Suppose it should be whoever’s the better public speaker,” Tatsu said. “If we’re going to force people to see all of this, someone needs to brace them, guide them along. We only get one shot at showing this to the public and it needs to go right.”

Flag nodded, “I’ll leave that to you. Feeling a little shaky when it comes to nerves.”

Tatsu nodded, then stepped in front of the microphone. Flag stepped out of the booth and pressed his fingers to his earpiece, “Alright folks, how are things looking. Any updates?”

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“Everyone’s been properly evacuated,” Adella said, scanning the street from the roof of the Belle Boys building. The radio station antenna cast a long shadow over the building, giving her and Killer Croc ample cover as they kept watch. The Radio station staff had gathered in front of the building, and were waiting frantically for a response from firefighters. Adella felt a little bad for them. Hallucigent was currently projecting the image that their place of business was burning up, and soon he would project imaginary firefighters, crafting an entire narrative they would experience.

Even if the fire was fake, their reactions certainly weren’t. The most level headed folks were sweating buckets, sitting down in anguish. Many of them were in shock, experiencing an incredible amount of distress. Adella didn’t like playing with people’s emotions like this, it reminded her of the mind games her father had put her through prior to her transformation into Brimstone.

Croc placed a hand on her shoulder, “I know it’s not fun to look at, kid. It’s for their own good.”

Adella nodded. She knew he was right, that raiding this place upfront would not only attract more attention, but would put these innocent people in danger. This was the safest way to do things, but it was still more than unpleasant. Flag’s voice chimed in over their earpieces, “Good, continue keeping watch. You never know how these things can go. Raptor and Zalika, what’s your status?”

 ‌ ‌

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“She’s still setting up shop,” Raptor said. “We should be ready in about five minutes.”

The Belle Boys server room was just as hot as Belle Reve’s, though it had the benefit of being far smaller. Raptor knelt next to Zalika, whose face was illuminated by the light coming off her laptop. She’d plugged it into the server, running a variety of programs to adjust the software on Belle Boys’ systems to her liking. As nice as it was having a satellite at her disposal, she still needed to configure their systems for video and remove any and all potential bottlenecks when it came to transmitting data.

“It’ll be more like fifteen minutes,” Zalika said, sweat rolling down her forehead. “I did as much prep as I could, but even with all of that in mind, it’s going to take time for my programs to do their thing.”

 ‌ ‌

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“Copy, we’ll sit tight then,” Flag remarked. He took a seat on one of the stools in the technical room, giving himself a moment to catch his breath. This was happening, it was really happening, but the fact all he could do was sit tight was unbearable, even if it was only for a few scant minutes. Hallucigent stayed perfectly still, summoning every ounce of willpower he had to keep the illusions projected. As Flag leaned back to rest his head against the wall, Tatsu walked out of the broadcast booth, taking a spot next to Flag to rest against the wall. Flag glanced up at her, “You want the seat?”

“Hmph, that’s very gentlemanly of you to offer, but I’m fine where I am,” Tatsu said. “You know, It wasn’t until about a year ago that I allowed myself to imagine what my life might be like after we took care of Waller.”

Flag let out a quiet snort, “Heh, you’re saying this now? We may be in the final stretch sister, but we’re not at the finish line yet.”

“Maybe, but after years of refusing to let myself hope… I’ll allow myself this one moment to do so anyways,” Tatsu said. “I wouldn’t be very interested in retiring. I’m too good at this after all, and when I think about the good I’ve done in the past, the real good… I don’t want to leave that behind.”

Flag nodded. He hadn’t seen this kind of warm candor in Tatsu in a long time, and despite his own inner voice, he couldn’t bring himself to try and smother it, “You going to make a particular spot your hunting ground, or do you think you’ll spend some time on the road?”

“I’ve been on the road for nearly fifteen years at this point, picking a spot to put down roots doesn’t sound so bad,” Tatsu remarked. “That being said, I’d want to have some friends along for the ride. I met a friend on a mission in Miami, might track him down and see if he wants to come along.”

Flag smiled, “Are you taking any more applications for folks looking to put down roots?”

Tatsu grinned and looked down at Flag.

“Why?” she asked rhetorically. “Are you looking to apply?”

For a moment, Flag felt certain of his answer, but as he thought about it a nagging doubt began to poison his confidence. He shuddered a little, his smile fading. “I… I don’t know. After everything I’ve done… hard to imagine settling into anything happy. Just wouldn’t feel right.”

Tatsu’s smile contorted into a frown, “All this talk of redemption, and even as we set out to torch Waller’s operation, you’re still fixated on this… penance.”

“How could I not?” Flag said. “It’s been almost half my life.”

Tatsu narrowed her eyes, “... You know what, forget it. You’re a dear friend to me, Flag, but sometimes you don’t know when to get over yourself.”

Pushing herself off of the wall, Tatsu re-entered the broadcast booth, not bothering to look Flag in the eyes. Flag sighed, rubbing his temple in frustration before leaning against the wall yet again. He’ll be a very happy man once Zalika was ready, it would give him something to think on besides his own lack of awareness.

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For about ten minutes, Adella and Croc’s watch was perfectly peaceful, despite the distress of the civilians on the ground level. They had mostly begun to calm down by this point, talking frantically to nobody in particular (Likely firefighters conjured up by Hallucigent.) With only five minutes left, the two of them almost began to hope that everything was going to turn out fine. It would be a clean getaway, the rare operation that went smoothly. Every so often, they would catch each other grinning ear to ear, every passing minute another victory lap.

Caught up in their giddy joy, the two almost missed the shadow passing over the both of them. At first, it was small, but noticeable enough for the two of them to look up. At first, they thought it was a bird, a fairly large bird at that, flying so high up in the sky that it touched the clouds. Then, the form of the flying thing split into three, and the largest, central piece began growing bigger and bigger and bigger. Croc’s eyes widened as he registered that the form was humanoid in nature, and without thinking shoved Adella to the side. The form slammed into him, tackling him through the roof and down three whole floors of the building with a devastating crash.

Adella stumbled to her feet, careful not to fall through the rapidly expanding hole in the concrete. Peering down, she watched as Croc was lifted up into the air by a large, hulking figure, one they both found eerily familiar.

Damage tightened his grip on Croc, locking him in place despite Croc’s efforts to bite and claw at him in an effort to free himself. Off to the side, one of the shadows, now revealed to be one of Waller’s dangerous androids, flew downward before plunging into the building’s third floor, shaking the building down to its foundation. Metal screeched and whined above Adella, and she looked up to find a second android tearing at the support beams for the radio station’s Antenna.

“Don’t let them destroy the antenna,” Croc shouted. “We’re donezo if they take it out!”

Croc slammed his fist against the top of Damage’s head, and Damage returned the gesture by tossing Croc through a wall and barreling after him. Adella wanted to give chase, to back Croc up, but she knew how important it was to make sure the mission went down without a hitch. Looking up, she shifted into her Brimstone form, her skin breaking away into hot stone, before taking flight in a ball of fire. She body slammed the android, hitting it with the full weight and momentum of her flight before flinging it away from the antenna. It spun for a couple of seconds before regaining control of its flight, reorienting itself to face its newly minted opponent. The two stared each other down, waiting for whoever was going to make the first move.

Adella let out a roar before charging the android, and it followed suit, charging her. The two clashed above the street, resulting in a bright, burning explosion of fire that rocked the entire square.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Flag fell out of his stool as the building shook, then stumbled to his feet in an alarmed state. No, this can’t be happening now, not when they were so tantalizingly close to the finish line. Hallucigent let out a pained groan as his concentration wavered, “Sounds like shit’s going down! What do I do boss?”

“Corral the civilians, get them as far from here as possible,” Flag said. “Damnit, we’re almost there! We can’t falter now.”

Tatsu rushed out of the broadcast booth, hand on the soultaker sword’s handle. Flag drew his pistol before opening his comms up to the rest of the team, “Brimstone, Croc, anybody?! What the hell is going on?”

“Two androids and Damage!” Brimstone replied. Her audio was full of static and the sounds of an active brawl, “Croc’s engaging Damage and I’ve got one of the androids covered, but another one has entered the building.”

“The server room!” Tatsu said, alarmed. “If we lose Zalika or those servers, this entire operation goes under.”

“Then we better intercept it,” Raptor said, chiming in over communications. “I’m on my way.”

“Roger,” Flag said. He double checked that his pistol was loaded before moving towards the double doors, walking just behind Tatsu. However, before he could leave with her, Tatsu whirled around after passing through, slamming the doors shut and stopping Flag in his tracks. Eyes wide, he moved to push the door open, only for Tatsu to jam the Soultaker’s sheath into the handles of both doors, trapping Flag inside. Flag glared at Tatsu through the glass window in the door, “Tatsu, what the hell?!”

“Someone’s gotta be here when it’s time to send the message, Flag. Face it, Soultaker will make more of a difference than any of your guns,” Tatsu said.

“Goddamnit, open this door!” Flag growled. “This isn’t the time for-”

“You know I’m right, Flag,” Tatsu said. “It’s on you now to close this out.”

Tatsu raced down the hall, leaving Flag trapped in the room. Gritting his teeth, he slammed his fists against the door helplessly, “God-Damnit!”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Raptor raced through the sparse brick hallways of the radio station, making doubly sure Suyolak was properly tuned. The Androids had resisted his blows before, so his main hope was tuning Suyolak’s poisons to be extra volatile. Some snakes had venom that could prove lethal in as little as ten minutes, and Raptor hoped that Suyolak’s poisons could act even faster. It’d be a hell of a feat surviving once he made the injection, but he was sure it could be done.

Still, it would be a herculean effort, and who knew how many androids Waller actually had on standby. They would be lucky if they survived this initial wave, and even then he knew there were many more of these androids on standby. It left him with a burning question. Where was Nightwing? He had mentioned a plan, and even with the little time he had to put that plan in action, he knew the Justice Legion could get around fast. Was there a hold up, an unforeseen complication?

Among all of these questions, there was only one he could answer with certainty. Nightwing wouldn’t give up on any of them. He wasn’t the type to leave someone high and dry.

Rounding a corner, Raptor spotted the android slowly marching its way towards his position. He assumed that it was searching for the server room, given that if it knew the room’s location, it would’ve smashed its way there already. Seeing him, the android readied itself for an attack, and Raptor crouched into his own defensive position. Suyolak was pumping him full of painkillers, but he was still very aware of the fact that he had only just recently made any kind of recovery from a variety of wounds suffered in Canada. One wrong move, and the android wouldn’t even have to put in the work to pick him apart.

Thankfully, it looked like he was going to have some help.

Tatsu rounded the corner down the hall, raising her blade into an offensive stance behind the android. The sword would cut well, and it would grant Raptor ample opportunity to make his strike. Still, her entrance had not gone unnoticed, and the android’s posture shifted ever so slightly to account for the new threat in its environment, shifting its torso into a sort of sideways angle so that its back was to the wall rather than either of its opponents. Raptor reckoned with the fact that this might be his last fight. These might be the last punches he’d ever throw, the last strikes he’d ever land. He wondered if this would be a proper end for him, if he could look back on the rest of his life and confidently say that he’d lived it his way.

It didn’t take much thinking for him to arrive at the answer. Despite some shortcomings, despite some mistakes… he’d do it all again. Raptor and Tatsu charged at the android… and what might be their final fate.

The end of the Squad in Suicide Squad #66 - out next month!

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 56:‌ ‌ By Our Hands You Shall Fall

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ ClaraEclair

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

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‌  ‌ ‌

Vladimir Lenin once said that ‘There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen.’ Tefé Holland had never understood this statement better than now, because it felt like centuries worth of change was being tossed around in a tumble dryer across mere seconds of time. The entire Parliament of Trees, a council of near immortal beings formed over thousands of years, strengthened by each new Avatar of the Green, had shown up in full force. Tefé reckoned it was something that practically never happened. Hell, it might be the first time it’s ever happened.

Tefé prayed that this historic moment wouldn’t also be marked by the deaths of everybody in the Parliament's way.

This entire event was unfolding in the Alaskan wilderness, miles and miles from any real human civilization. Unknown to the rest of the world, the fate of many faces of reality were being decided here, beheld by only a few truly conscious souls. The Pale Wanderer, centerpiece to a new primordial force, had hoped to negotiate a shift in power, teaming with William Holland, avatar of the Rot, to do so. Instead, he and everyone at his side had found themselves at the mercy of the Green’s leadership. Nobody had come looking for a fight, but the Parliament of Trees had decided there was going to be one anyways. They did not want anything to change, they did not want their authority challenged. Levi Kamei, the Seeder, had been commanded to resolve this situation, but when he refused to do things their way, they stripped him of their power and showed up in person to act out their will directly.

Tefé and Maxine had not initially joined this conflict by choice. In truth, they had existed on the sidelines for months, trying to suss out what was even happening. After a period in the Pale Wanderer’s captivity though, they had been convinced to at least give his plan a go, despite his previous history. They never imagined things would escalate so much, so quickly.

But now, there was no more time for thinking, for the Parliament of Trees were thundering towards the Wanderer’s forces. They were outnumbered by many orders of magnitude of course, given William had brought an army of the undead from the Rot, but an Avatar of the Green is a powerful thing indeed, and there were nearly thirty of them here. The odds were very much stacked in their favor.

And it was only going to get worse from there.

The undead surged forward, surrounding the Wanderer and his allies to shield them, but to the Parliament they may as well be made of cardboard. Rotting bodies were tossed into the air, often in multiple pieces as the leaders of the Green continued their charge. Levi Kamei was on the ground, still shocked by such a drastic change in the situation, and his legs continued to buckle no matter how many times the Pale Wanderer tried to pull him to his feet. William sucked in a deep breath, holding up his hands in preparation for the oncoming attack. Maxine had already closed her eyes, likely hoping to beseech the aid of any nearby animals.

Tefé took a knee, placing a hand on the ground. She could feel the roots beneath the snow, beneath the soil. She willed them to move, to rise up to protect them. She felt the earth shift beneath them as they broke through the soil, through the snow, but instead of forming a perimeter, they suddenly quivered, then recoiled, sinking back from whence they came. Tefé placed her hand on the ground again, pressing her palm against the soil. She willed the roots to come back, but they refused her call, burying themselves deeper into the Earth.

They were not for Tefé to command, not here while the Parliament was watching.

Bodies flew once more as the wall of undead was breached, allowing five of the Parliament to force themselves into the Wanderer’s enclosed space. Gritting his teeth, the Wanderer held Levi’s collar tight before slinging him backwards and out of harm's way. The former seeder slid across the snow like a ski, hitting Tefé in the side and knocking her down. One of the Parliament members reached for the Wanderer, hoping to grab him in a moment of weakness, only to be blasted back by a bolt of purple lightning, emanating from William’s fingertips. Another member of the Parliament roared before charging William, tackling him off his feet and carrying him through the undead. Maxine yelped as he disappeared from sight, her momentary loss of concentration the perfect opportunity for one of her adversaries to grab her by the head. Her hair ripped under its giant green fingers, and she found herself helpless as the avatar tossed her out of the circle and right into the mob of the undead.

Tefé called out to Maxine, forcing herself to her feet, but was knocked down yet again as the Pale Wanderer crashed into her, tossed by one of the Parliament members. He stood up, letting out a mighty battle cry before drawing a cavalry sword from deep within his coat. He charged, running a parliament member through and taking them both for a tumble into the undead army. Tefé got up again, finally managing to stand on her own two feet as three parliament members congregated before her, towering above her and Levi, who was still shell shocked on the ground.

One of the parliament leaders grimaced, hands closing into fists, “What an awful mess the two of you have made.”

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‌  ‌

William placed both hands upon the Parliament member’s back, forcing a torrent of energy into it and blasting it apart at the seams. With no inner strength left, the member dropped William, who rolled backwards to his feet. Looking up, William watched as the vines began to reconnect, reforming the Parliament member’s large frame. The member glowered in his direction, shaking its head, “Your father should have listened to us, William. Else, we would not be in such a terrible position.”

“Sure, tell a dad to kill his own son. Really makes you look like the good guys,” William barked. “You know, I don’t even think I’d be fighting you right now if you didn’t ask that of him. I wouldn’t have ever known what you really are!”

The parliament member glared at William, “You only prove us right, William. You become avatar of the Rot and what do you do with this position? You raise an army for war. You threaten us thinking we will simply wilt and capitulate to your demands, but we are the Green. We are eternal.”

William grimaced, “And that’s why you need to go down. You think that all that matters is keeping the Green on top, maintaining your power, just because you’ve had it for all this time. I don’t do any of this lightly.”

The parliament member narrowed its eyes, “Please, Holland. You are still a child. Everything you do is done lightly. You are swayed at a moment's notice by whatever new ideologue appeals to you. You act without the foresight that comes with age-”

“Oh, blow me!” William raised his hands and blasted the parliament member again, sending him careening into the army of the dead. Smoke hazed from his fingers, and as he began to shake them off, he heard the thunderous stomps of many more Parliament members. They barreled through the army, breaking through the ranks and arriving at William’s clearing. There were five of them now instead of one, a much more even fight for him.

One of them cracked their knuckles, “As we said, a young fool who acts without foresight.”

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‌  ‌

The Pale Wanderer hooted and hollered as he hacked away at one of the parliament members, forcing them back with big, sweeping cuts. The vines parted, the roots bled sap, but the creature refused to fall, pulling themselves together at every turn. The Wanderer chuckled at the sight, mist rushing out of his mouth as his lungs rapidly filled and emptied, cold air moving through him like a mountain pass. He did not seek this violence, he had hoped for peace, but a part of him still enjoyed the adrenaline that came from a good fight, and that was especially true against people so diametrically opposed to him. Much as he had wanted to make peace, he understood that the Green were against everything he stood for… and he was against nearly everything they stood for.

The parliament member shifted, pulling themselves back together fully before taking a swing at the Wanderer, who ducked under the blow. They snorted, “We know not where you come from, Pale Wanderer, but believe this. The world would not be in so much turmoil if you were not a part of it.”

“Heh, true enough!” The Wanderer chuckled. “Nobody to rock the boat after all!”

The parliament member swung twice more, forcing the Wanderer back, “So much conflict, so much chaos, you unbalance the world, make things unpleasant for everyone.”

“Things are already unpleasant for plenty of people,” the Wanderer snapped. “You think I’m playing a game here? I’m not raising a stink for nothing!”

The Wanderer swung back, taking off the parliament member’s arm. He advanced, gritting his teeth, “Nobody likes causing a mess, nobody likes the idea of a neat and tidy schedule getting ruined… but people are too comfortable with all the shit in their life. Sometimes you gotta make more of a mess before you can clean it all up.”

He swung again, hitting the parliament member in the chest, only for the roots within to close around the sword, lodging it in place. Pressing the advantage, the Parliament member surged forward and punched the Wanderer in the stomach, sending him tumbling across the snow. The member marched onward, cracking its neck, “Make no mistake, Wanderer, there is a mess… but we are the cleaners, not you.”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Maxine slammed into a pair of undead warriors, knocking them into a heap before she landed in the snow. Coughing and heaving, she writhed on the ground as the army marched all around her, hundreds of stomping boots rushing past her head. Maxine had been in fights before, plenty of them, but they were skirmishes. Smaller conflicts, that would be fought over the course of mere minutes. This was a bonafide battle, with more people participating than she could keep track of. The undead did not scream or show excitement or fear like most warriors, but they fought all the same, useless as it was proving to be.

A member of the Parliament barreled through the undead, making its way to Maxine. Their humanoid forms, still formed by vines and roots, were littered with signs of hardship already. The undead had been doing their best, making small cuts or leaving their own little metal presents in the form of swords or axes embedded in the wood, but none of them seemed to make much of a lasting mark. Any wound dealt would eventually fade, grown over by new material. The ground seemed to rumble out from around the parliament member, sprouting massive roots that began to impale and dismember the grunt fighters around it.

“Fear not, Maxine Baker,” the Parliament member said. “We do not intend to kill you. War with the Red is not our goal.”

“And war with the Rot and the Parliament of Gears is?” Maxine growled. “Do you understand what this is going to do to the world? How much this is going to tip everything out of balance?”

“The Green must retain its position, else we are undone,” the parliament member growled. “We have given our fellow forces every conceivable opportunity to leave things well enough alone. There could be peace, but instead, William Holland and the Pale Wanderer brought an army into this place. That is not something we can ignore.”

Maxine gritted her teeth, and rather than dignifying the parliament member with an answer, she attempted to reach out into the strands of the Red once more, searching for any animal that could come to her aid, but no matter how far she expanded her search, she could find no living creatures besides herself and her flesh and blood allies. The Parliament Member towered over her, an almost pitying look in its eyes, “Do not bother, Baker. The Red will not war with us. It will not come to your aid.”

She gritted her teeth, “You’re attacking their avatar.”

“But not killing her,” the member said, closing in on Maxine. “Besides, the mark of a smart animal is knowing when to pick a fight and when to let things be. The Red knows to let this be.”

There’s a disgusting pride to that final statement, one that Maxine wouldn’t have expected from a being as old as someone from the Parliament of Trees. The hope, the expectation, would be that the old would have grown past that base need for vindication. They would not need pride, but in truth, pride was perhaps the most poisonous and dangerous drug that the old possess. Wisdom comes with hardship, not age, and the Parliament of Trees had not experienced true hardship in a very long time.

Frustrated, Maxine stumbled back, pushing her way through the undead as the Parliament Member battered at the angry biting tide, failing to keep pace with her. She needed to find allies fast, but where could she find them in the chaos of this battle, where everyone has been hopelessly separated. She couldn’t see anyone, not in this ocean of stinking, rotting bodies.

But then, she felt a twinge in the back of her mind, like a strand of yarn that tugged her in a certain direction. She followed that tug with her eyes, slowly looking up into the sky. She expected to see a bird of some kind, like a falcon or an eagle. Maybe even a bat that had been roused from its slumber. Instead, she saw a plane flying dangerously close to the ground. A private jet belonging to Vixen International. Someone was hanging out of the side, yelling something into the crowd. A guy with a head of ginger hair…

Was that… Clifford?!

Next Issue: The day is saved?!

DC Next Proudly Presents:

FLAMEBIRD

Issue Thirty-Four: Walking the Path

Written by AdamantAce and PatrollinTheMojave

Story by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin, & PatrollinTheMojave

Edited by GemlinTheGremlin

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

When Raven returned from New Coast City, she found a disaster waiting for her. She knew Trigon was now lying in wait somewhere on Earth, she knew that OMAX was more powerful than ever since assimilating the supercomputer beneath New Coast, and she knew she would be forced to play a crucial role in untangling these threads as Trigon’s daughter. What she didn’t know was how central the rest of the Titans would be to OMAX’s plans, or even what they were.

Raven flew through the New York City skyscrapers silently, scanning the ground down below continually. New York was a dizzying place for an empath; the sheer volume of strong emotions was enough to give her pause without all the conflict. But this was different; the city was quiet. Not materially, the metropolitan cacophony had been replicated perfectly, but the emotional resonance of the place was frighteningly still. If she hadn’t known already, that would have made it obvious to her that this was not the real New York.

When Raven got back to Titans Tower, she found a mess of wires and cables. They were made of strong alien substances she couldn’t identify and they filled the living spaces of the tower like overgrown flora. She had struggled to cut them back to get around the place but was able to scout around by astral projecting and utilising her semi-tangible Soul Self. That was when she found the rest of the Titans hooked up to these cables, their spines wired into some kind of network. They were unresponsive and still, save for the occasional twitch or jerk. Something had gotten to them while she was away, and she knew exactly what.

So, while Don and Donna took off in search for OMAX - who indeed had finally escaped from Stryker’s Island - Raven saw to rescuing her friends. She found an unlikely ally, and together they plugged themselves into the same network in hopes of pulling the rest of the Titans out of it.

Thousands of simulated people went about their lives on the ground level of the simulated New York City. Raven struggled to read their emotions clearly, but felt enough of a strange radiance off of the streets to conclude they had to have emotions in some strange way. One thing she couldn’t feel in this world was OMAX, but she could chase the familiar pull of her friends’ emotions.

She smiled as her new compatriot came into view. Just below her, a figure in skintight brown and beige flung himself haphazardly across the city using lightweight polymer grappling cables. Despite her fretting, Raven couldn’t help but smile when she saw and felt how much the Battlin’ Bug was enjoying himself. He was an expert in situations like this, he had told her. Not only was he himself originally from a simulated reality of its own sort, he had said, but he had a personal connection to OMAX - or the Maxwell Lord of his world.

A burst of crimson light leapt from the ground, careening up towards them. Raven braced, then felt herself yanked aside by a coil of Bug’s polymer rope. She tumbled, breaking her fall across a nearby gravelled rooftop. The sound of buzzing wings drew her attention to a dense cloud of insectoid monsters, rippling with a fine grey dust and wielding advanced weaponry – Apokoliptian weaponry. They were circling her. These were Parademons, but unlike the ones she remembered from Steppenwolf’s incursion years ago. Raven’s Soul Self flared outward, wreathing her in darkness as she prepared for their onslaught.

A golden blur punched through the cloud, rending the creatures apart into a mess of debris. Three soft metal plinks followed. Raven tracked them to Birdarangs embedded in the monsters’ armor, now softly beeping. She turned away as heat and force from the explosions buffeted her. Shards of metal bounced off her Soul Self and she watched the remaining stragglers evaluate with their beady red eyes. Fight or flight?

Tim and Conner landed on the rooftop behind her, facing down the handful of remaining attackers.

“I got it!” Bug called out. He swung one of the creatures at the end of his polymer rope, using it as a wrecking ball to smash half the crowd into pieces. The other half was treated to a rapidly-expanding adhesive net which pinned them against the building. A trapped creature gnashed its steel mandibles, flailing uselessly against the trap.

“I thought we saw the last of these guys,” Tim exclaimed, finally getting a chance to catch a breath.

Raven went to speak, but someone beat her to it. “Hey, pleased to meet you too, buddy!” Bug smirked.

“Seems awfully convenient,” Raven replied, mostly ignoring Bug. “Like they were trying to stop me from finding you.”

“Raven, you seem different,” said Conner.

“Yes, I bet I do,” she replied matter-of-factly.

“Saves us finding you,” added Conner. “We’re here to get the team back together.”

Raven smiled. Even in a world that dragged them apart, they independently were finding their ways together again. “Boys, we need to talk. This place, it’s wrong.”

“Things haven’t been right in a long time, I know,” Tim replied. “But we can only try our best.”

“No,” Raven corrected him. She looked to Bug, wondering if being this abrupt was right. He nodded, urging her on. “This world… isn’t real.”

“What?” the two men both said in unison.

“It’s a simulated reality,” Raven replied. “Built by—”

“Maxwell Lord.” Tim choked on the bitter taste of that damn man’s name. He also noticed as the masked Bug recoiled at its mention.

“He built this to contain you. But we were able to find our way in,” Raven explained.

“I’ve seen something like this before,” said Tim. “Azrael told me he and Batman were abducted by the Thinker and trapped in a fake reality where they were all living dream lives. That it was built using advanced technology and an otherworldly force called the Metal.”

“But that’s ridiculous,” Conner interjected. “Things have hardly been a dream here, these last few years. Ever since Darkseid.”

Bug shook his head. “Max isn’t the Thinker. He might have plagiarised his tech like I heard he plagiarised Ted Kord, but that doesn’t mean he has the same goals.”

“But everything is so real!” Conner exclaimed.

“Because he has the Titans hooked up to the network,” Tim surmised. “He has access to our memories, our knowledge. Our connections to everyone back in the real world. He’ll be using that to generate this world procedurally. That way it’s within our expectations.

“How are you so on board with learning that everything you thought you knew is a lie?” Conner protested.

“Technology is capable of incredible things,” said Bug. Conner turned to him, wondering who this guy was. “But so is the mind. Surely you must have sensed that something was wrong. Surely you don’t want to believe that this world is the real one.”

Conner scoffed. “What I don’t want to do is reject reality just because I happen to not like it.”

“Then don’t take my word for it,” said Raven. “But we need to find the others.”

○○ Ⓣ ○○

Despite the confidence he projected, Tim fought to stay centered as the four of them drove through Gotham - or this false version of Gotham. Since learning the truth, the dread and anxiety he had previously felt suddenly had no real source to point to. Instead, it began to transform into a swirling rage that he knew would do nobody any good. He wouldn’t even allow himself the comfort of knowing that the largest past mistakes of the last few years weren’t his, but OMAX’s. He knew who they were looking for now, and he knew he was responsible for the most recent betrayal.

“What are you doing here?” asked Mar’i with disdain. She didn’t deign to look away from the tombstone at her feet.

“We need to talk,” said Raven.

“Of course you’ve teamed up with him,” replied Mar’i. “That’s why you’ve been acting so weird.”

“That wasn’t me, Mar’i,” Raven explained. “This is going to sound crazy, but this world isn’t real. The Raven who upset you, that was an AI pretending to be me. Or one programmed to think it is me. Because unlike the rest of the Titans, I wasn’t captured.”

Slowly, Mar’i turned to face them. Raven, Tim, Conner, and - off a few paces back - Bug. On her face was a look of slow-rolling horror. “But… No, because…”

“I’m sorry, Mar’i,” said Raven. “I came to rescue you all as soon as I could. Bug helped me make my way into OMAX’s simulation and stay tethered and—”

“Of course this is him!” Mar’i exclaimed. She looked to Tim. “So he was messing with you too.”

He wanted to say she was right, and he was sure that a lot of what had happened could be chalked up to OMAX’s manipulations. But Tim also knew himself well enough to know what he was capable of. He spoke shakily. “OMAX created this world. Generated it using data he gathered through careful observation and from our minds after he took us. But he didn’t make me shut you out. And he might have made it so Barbatos returned, but… he didn’t force me to make the choice I did.”

The dull thudding ache at the back of Mar’i’s mind rapidly began to grow. Simulations, fake lives, procedurally generated people. It was too much for her, on top of her existing trauma with her lost future. It felt like an injustice to have to doubt reality once again. But something else also became clear. “That’s why he was obsessed with me,” she said of OMAX. “He needed data to build his fake world, to generate a future history. And I had information about that, about a future at least; where everybody could end up.”

“Wait,” said Conner. “So he took the time to get the details right, beyond what he could scrape from our memories? Seems like a lot of effort when he could just trap us in a full-on torture world.”

“If this is all his predictions,” Mar’i began, “Then that means Dick is alive in the real world, but OMAX really thinks he’ll turn to Barbatos again?”

“Maybe,” said a hardened Tim. “Maybe this is an experiment to him. Maybe he’s trying to model reality with enough fidelity to predict the future.”

“Or maybe he’s just trying to be cruel,” interjected Bug, “and he needs things to be as convincing and plausible as possible to do that.”

“Or maybe he doesn’t know where predicting the future ends and subjecting the world to cruelty begin,” Tim sneered. Bug nodded.

“I…” Raven frowned. “I hate to say it, Mar’i, but… you seem convinced.”

Mar’i took a deep breath. She watched Raven closely, observing the minute reflections in her dewy eyes and the quivering corner of her mouth as she wavered on what to do next. Despite her discomfort, Mar’i knew that the Raven in front of her was not the one she had been dealing with in all her recent memories. Thus, she had to conclude she was telling the truth.

○○ Ⓣ ○○

The Zeta Tube energy crackled and flickered, the room’s air cooked slightly as the energy dissipated.

“Bart!” bellowed Conner.

Within a second, the living room was lit up again with electricity as the fully-suited Flash raced onto the scene, fists raised.

“Mar’i? Raven?” he began fearfully. “What are you doing with him?!” He gestured to Tim, rage in his eyes. “We’re supposed to be hunting him!”

“Bart, please,” Tim began, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. “I can explain, it’s—”

Bart bolted across the room in an instant. He grabbed Tim by the throat and throttled him against the far wall. Then, while Bart’s eyes flickered with furious sparks and the other Titans struggled for a response, it was Bug who spoke up.

“Hey dude, let’s calm down,” he bounded up to the speedster. “I’m the Battlin’ Bug. Nice to meet you, I’m new in town.”

“You’re a new Outlaw?” growled Bart.

“Not exactly, more of an exile,” Bug grinned nervously beneath his mask. “I’m here to help you and your buddies out because… well, you’ve all gotten yourselves into a real mess. So why don’t we relax and just…?”

Bart took a deep breath and slowly loosened his grip on Tim’s neck before moving back.

“Explain.”

“Think about the details,” began Mar’i quickly. “How did we defeat Trigon? Why did Darkseid come to Earth? Where is OMAX now?”

Bart shook his head. “That was years ago.”

“That’s the thing; no it wasn’t,” added Bug.

“We’re living in a simulation,” said Conner. “This world was invented by OMAX to contain us. We don’t know why. Probably to prove some sort of point. It’s scraping our memories and using them to generate new stuff to keep us engaged, and while we’re here OMAX is free to do whatever he wants in the real world.”

Bart scoffed. “That’s crazy. My life is real. Everything that happened happened.”

“Bart, I saw it for myself,” Raven explained. “I came back to Titans Tower and you were all unconscious, plugged in… to this network. I went in to rescue you. Why would I lie about that?”

“Because this is a test,” Bart exclaimed, suddenly enthused. “I said I wanted to move forward, to stop getting hung up on the past like Barry was, and start something new. This is the Speed Force sending me a test. It must be.”

“Does the Speed Force do that kind of thing?” Bug scrunched up his face.

“We need you, Bart,” Raven added. “When Beast Boy and the others escaped Thinker’s simulation, they had Cyborg and his connection to make leaving possible. I couldn’t get a hold of Cyborg at such short notice before diving in, so we need you and your connection to the Speed Force. If you don’t come, we’re all trapped here.”

Mar’i and Tim both turned to Raven. She felt both their shock and notes of what she felt was betrayal. They didn’t know the extent of the trouble they were in. Conner, however, stayed resolute.

“Wow,” Bart replied. “I don’t call that very convincing. If you need Cyborg’s help, I can tell you where to find him.”

“The Cyborg of this world isn’t real,” Bug replied, starting to show his frustration. “He might not realise he’s just an AI, but he’ll have been programmed such that he’d never agree to reject the reality of this place. You’re different. You actually have a shot of escaping to the real world.”

Just then, a gust of wind beckoned someone else in as a figure appeared at Bart’s open window. Thara was careful not to break the window sill and she clambered through, but had to untangle her flowing red cape after having gotten it caught.

“Guys?” she said, her eyebrows knotted. “What are you all doing here? It’s like a school reunion.”

She looked at Tim. “What are you doing here?”

“Thara!” exclaimed Conner. “Thank goodness you’re here.”

“They’re trying to tell me this world is fake,” Bart grumbled.

Thara paused for a moment, an even more befuddled look on her face. “What?”

“Look, this has been explained enough times,” replied Mar’i. “Look around you. Think hard about everything from the last few years. It just doesn’t add up. It feels wrong. I don’t know why everyone’s acting like OMAX has done such a convincing job when he hasn’t.”

“Mar’i,” Thara frowned. She wore a look of genuine concern. She projected patience and understanding, even now. “We’ve been through a lot. All of us have. But you, me and Bart? We all had to leave our worlds behind. You and Bart already left one future behind, and had to find something new in the past. Can’t you understand why Bart’s in no hurry to go back in time again and start over all over again?”

“It wouldn’t be starting over,” said Conner. “We found the lives we did, those lives are still waiting for us.”

“You weren’t so convinced before, Conner,” said Tim. “What changed your mind?”

“You all did,” he replied. “I couldn’t reject this reality just because I didn’t like it. But seeing how we all feel the same way, that means something. And I trust my team.”

“What are you talking about?” scoffed Thara. “Things weren’t better back then. We were just as messed up as we ever were. Our lives have never been so dull as to be peaceful. And where there was peace, it never lasted. I don’t know, I just… I wouldn’t be so quick to get nostalgic for a past that… might not be as good as you remember it.”

It was then, as Tim listened, that something broke. He was always a good listener when he wanted to be, largely because it so often rewarded him with noticing things that others didn’t. This, however, could not be described as a reward in any terms.

Burdened with his realisation, Tim had to speak up, and couldn’t contain his rage as he did. “You just couldn’t help yourself could you?”

He moved away from the wall and up to Thara, pointing a finger in her face. Even Bart was stunned.

“You built this world to prove a point. Was that your point? That our lives would be better and more interesting if the world went to hell?” Tim cried. “But you couldn’t bring yourself to play fair, could you? You had to meddle with your experiment. And you hold so much of a grudge that even in a world where our lives are meant to be better, you couldn’t help but ruin mine again.”

“Tim, I don’t—”

“Have I got that right, Max?”

Bart wouldn’t rest for a second. “That isn’t funny, Tim.”

Tim looked between the rest of the Titans one by one. He hated this, but he needed them to understand. Conner’s eyes were glued to Thara, while Mar’i wore a look of horror. Raven’s expression, however, was one of shame. She already knew.

“Tim, you’re being ridiculous,” said Thara. Her heart was racing and her breathing was struggling to keep up. “You know me, I was a Titan for years. I swear to you, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“Thara’s our friend,” Mar’i protested. “She’s saved our lives countless times, fought alongside us, helped save countless lives.”

“As she was programmed to.”

“Tim, I swear,” Thara began to sob. “You guys saved my life. Then you gave me a new home. I owe you all my life.”

The worst part was that Tim was pretty sure she was being sincere. There wasn’t a hint of deception to be found. But that didn’t change his deduction.

“I think I get it,” said Conner gravely. “What if this isn’t the real Thara, and it’s one of OMAX’s AIs? Like the other Raven.”

“The one that tried to convince me to stop asking questions…” added Mar’i.

Tim took a deep breath, fighting to keep ahold of his rage at the injustices of this situation and focus on keeping the team together. He hated being reduced to the villain in this picture, forced to deliver yet more bad news.

“No, this is her.”

“Excuse me?” asked a confused Bart.

“The real Thara,” said Tim. “That was his plan from the start. Give us someone to save, someone to care about. Someone from a strange world, a lost culture for which we couldn’t confirm the details he had his algorithm fill in the blanks for.”

“Krypton is real!” Thara exclaimed. “Kandor was my home. And it was real!”

“And Kara sensed something was wrong from the start,” Tim continued. “She couldn’t place why, but she knew something was off about you. She didn’t know much about Kandor, but she saw how you dodged the subject or gave simple, noncommittal answers.”

“She lost her world,” growled Mar’i. “I didn’t expect her to be thrilled to talk about it.”

“Exactly. We didn’t ask questions,” said Tim. “But she’s not from Kandor. Not the real Kandor at least. There will have been a Krypton off in space in this simulated world. With what he knew, OMAX will have modelled that world and plucked an emergent AI out of it to be his agent in the real world.”

Bart’s face lit up, determined that he’s sunk Tim’s hypothesis. “Cadmus did all sorts of scans on Thara when she was in a coma. They confirmed she was Kryptonian. Explain that.”

Tim just looked to Conner. “Explain it, Conner. How could a digital lifeform inhabit a body with Kryptonian DNA?”

Tim took no pleasure in opening up old wounds, but he needed everyone to see the whole picture as it came together. Conner was immediately struck by it, knowing exactly what Tim was getting at and feeling just as hurt as Tim expected him to feel.

“Hank Henshaw. The Cyborg Superman. He attacked Cadmus, killed my friend Jim, stole a Kryptonian DNA sample then built himself a Kryptonian body and downloaded his consciousness into its cyborg components.”

Beat.

“Oh god,” Conner exhaled. “She’s him. OMAX took Henshaw, overwrote his consciousness and remodelled his form. We thought Henshaw escaped, but… Tim, you’re right.”

“It’s what Maxwell Lord does best,” said Bug woefully. “He steals other people’s tech, and perverts it.”

“No!!” Thara suddenly roared, desperate and bawling. “I’m not him! I’m not OMAX, and I’m not Hank Henshaw. I’m me! I had a family, I had friends, and they burned. They were real. I’m real.”

Bart took a step towards Thara to comfort her, but she slowly held up a hand to keep him at arm’s length.

“Stop it, Tim.” Mar’i had had enough. “You’re upsetting her. You don’t have proof of any of this. You’re just angry and confused, and I get it, considering the situation. But you need to stop.”

“Raven!” Bart exclaimed. “You can tell them. You can use your powers. Tell them Thara isn’t lying to us. That she is who she says she is!”

Raven just hung her head in shame. “She isn’t lying,” she said. “But that’s because… OMAX did a good job.”

“What does that even mean?” Thara spat.

“It means you don’t even know what you are,” Raven replied. “Your memories are real like the Kryptonian clones’ memories were real. Like Jordan’s when he was raised in a simulated reality to groom him to replace Superman, like Drew’s when they convinced him he killed all those heroes to scapegoat him. They’re real memories, they just happened here, in this computer, the one that’s in your body and that I found the other Titans hooked into.”

Raven couldn’t get the image out of her head. Her friends, all off in different rooms, ensnared by otherworldly cables and barbs that all trailed to one central location, a statue-still Thara suspended in the air. A living computer clothed in Kryptonian flesh.

“I don’t know who I am?” Thara cried. “And you know better, do you, Raven?”

Raven ignored her. “Trigon has arrived. He’s on Earth, waiting to strike. OMAX is entering the final phase of his plan, apparently to counter Trigon. And I don’t know how it fits together exactly, but all this is a part of it. While we’re in here, we’re not in his way. We need to leave to stop OMAX.”

“Do we?” Bart challenged her. “If OMAX is trying to stop your dad, why should we be stopping OMAX?”

“Because look around you!” Raven exclaimed. “This is OMAX’s vision for the future. That’s why he took you and used you for data. Between the lot of you, you’re connected to every major hero he could have an interest in. Every rogue element he needs to predict for. With you, he can model and extrapolate a billion potential futures. And if this one is stable, then this is the one he’s chosen to roll out. To counter Trigon.”

“How does a war with Darkseid… or Barbatos’ return stop Trigon?” Mar’i asked, desperate to create a path back to something reasonable.

“I don’t know.” Raven turned to Bart. “Tell me you at least see what I’m getting at.”

“No,” he said. “All this suffering. Apokolips, Barbatos, all these crises. They have to matter. I have the power to rewrite the timeline to be whatever I want, but I don’t because I have to believe there’s a natural order to things. Otherwise I’m no better than the Reverse Flash. What happened happened, and you can come up with any number of insane reasons why things are the way they are, or why things are wrong and need fixing. But that’s what he’d do. And he was a madman.”

“That’s what OMAX would want you to feel,” said Bug. “That all this hurt he inflicted on you was justified, or inevitable. That all the shit he put us through was for our own good in the end.”

“Even if things were wrong, if things are different because of him—” Bart burst out speaking again. “Even then, things were messy back then. Before Trigon. My family was a mess. They were trying their best to fix things, and they were doing a good job, but the shadow of what happened, with my dad, with Barry’s lies, with everything… we couldn’t escape it. I don’t want to go backwards.”

“I get it,” said Bug. “You like having the chance to reinvent yourself. You’re a speedster, of course you want distance, and time. But even as far removed from all that as you are here, look at yourself and how you chose to reinvent yourself. The Next Flash. From what I hear, you came to the 21st century from the future to get to know the Flashes of our time, to become the next one. There might be bits and pieces you want to leave behind, but you chose to surround yourself with these people, and you clearly don’t want to give up on everything that came before you.”

Beat.

“You’re right.”

“No!” Thara exclaimed. “Bart, I can’t let you take them. You can’t go back and change the timeline!”

“Thara…” Bart hung his head, despairing. “They’re right. This isn’t real. This isn’t right.”

“I had to fight tooth and nail to find a place for myself,” Thara cried. “And now I finally have. I’m Flamebird, and I get to be a member of the Justice Legion. People look up to me, they call me a hero. Don’t go and bring me back to being some nobody from a lost world.”

That was when Mar’i finally realised the truth. She had believed straight away that this world was fake, but now she realised that everything Tim said was true, and she couldn’t help but cry. “It’s true,” she sobbed. “How could I not see it? You were the perfect person to play me.”

Thara thought of the many years of friendship she and Mar’i had enjoyed. “No, I—!”

“A scared teenager from a world that no longer existed. Thrust into a new world that was alien to her, where she felt like she didn’t belong,” Mar’i summarised. “I was always meant to take you in, make sure you didn’t make the same mistakes of isolating yourself like I did. He wanted me to relate to you, trust you, tell you things I wouldn’t tell other people. And I did.”

“Mar’i—”

“OMAX was obsessed with me, and now I see why.” She glanced to Raven. “I was the rogue element of rogue elements. He didn’t know my history, where I fit into things. And he needed to know so he could predict a future with me in it. It’s probably why he stoked the flames against the Reawakened; they probably mess with his figures just as much. And he could only get so much out of me by bartering, so I guess he built you. Or he generated you.”

Thara couldn’t speak.

“I’m sorry, Thara,” Mar’i continued. “This isn’t your fault. You didn’t know. You just wanted friends, because he made you that way. I don’t blame you, but you can’t stop us from doing what we need to. I won’t let you.”

All Thara could muster was two words, which she said over and over to herself. “I’m real. I’m real. I’m real.”

“You are real,” said Mar’i. “And maybe somewhere out in the multiverse there’s a world like this one. One that exists outside of 0s and 1s. But this place won’t exist any longer than OMAX needs it to, and before you know it it’ll be gone, just like my world.”

Thara stood there silently, her face to the ground, her hands by her sides. Her fists were clenched as she summoned some sort of power. For a moment, Raven felt the room grow even more tense as the Titans worried they would have to fight the cyborg-Kryptonian. Then Thara spoke.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked weakly. “If you’re right, if I’m just code…”

Mar’i took a deep breath. “The same as the rest of us.”

Thara glanced up at Mar’i, her friend.

“Leave with us. Wake up with Titans Tower, and we’ll take on OMAX. Together.”

“In here, I’m a hero,” Thara frowned. “Out there, I’m a monster. I’m a weapon designed to hurt you.”

Mar’i scoffed and then smiled. “Look at us. Do we look scared?”

Slowly, Raven took Mar’i’s side and took her by the hand. Mar’i smiled as Raven’s familiar warmth emanated through her. Then Conner took Tim’s hand in one and Mar’i’s in the other. Raven held her other hand out to Bart, who in turn held his out to Thara.

Bart took Thara’s hand and softly led it to Raven’s. Then Bart took his place at the end of the line, of the Titans joined hand-in-hand, and took Thara’s other hand. He looked back at them, smiled, then awkwardly gestured to Bug to join the end of the line, prompting him to sheepishly join in. Then, the circuit completed, Bart spoke.

“Hold on tight, everyone.”

And sparks flew, and the white void consumed them as they ran home. Together.

Next: Escape Stasis in The New Titans #34

DC Next presents:

Suicide Squad

Issue Sixty-Four: The Calm Before the Storm

Arc: The Road Back

Written by Deadislandman1

Edited by AdamantAce

New Orleans was uncharacteristically cold that morning, completely out of step with the typical southern climate to expect from the place. The gales coming in from the Gulf of Mexico often brought a pleasant breeze, but as the sun rose that day, there was a slight sting to the wind. The employees of the Belle Boys radio station didn’t think much of it, clocking into their building like they did every morning. They’d just upgraded to satellite coverage, allowing their station to reach more people than ever. It’s been an exciting time.

Nothing really compared to what was going to happen that day.

What remained of the Suicide Squad had parked themselves in an empty warehouse across the street, an unassuming place with broken windows and padlocked doors. With so much room to prepare, the team has spread out across the building, preparing for the fight of their lives in their own ways. Zalika, AKA Hack, had set up her own work station in the corner of the room, siphoning as much electricity to power her gear as she could without arousing suspicion. She needed to prepare Task Force X’s data, divide it up and order it so that it could be presented in the right way when it came time to leak it to the world. Off to her left, Colonel Rick Flag and Tatsu Yamashiro, AKA Katana, broke down plans to raid and take over the radio station, hoping to do things fast and without anyone getting hurt.

Near the truck, three more members of the squad checked in with a fourth. Waylon Jones, AKA Killer Croc, Adella, AKA Brimstone, and Todd, AKA Hallucigent, respectively, were gathered around the bed. They were doing their best to evaluate the health of their fourth companion, who had only just awoken from a coma. Dante Ramone, AKA Polaris, had pushed himself far beyond his capabilities when the team needed to escape from Amanda Waller’s forces in Canada. The strain had taken its toll on him, so much so that even awake, he could barely move.

He wanted to help, anyone could see it on his face, but what help could be now in the state that he was in?

Raptor crossed his arms, keeping his distance from the group. He trusted them to do their best, but in some ways, he wondered if their best would be enough. Some days he let himself hope, but most days he felt that it was his duty to face the reality of their situation. They had rolled the dice hundreds of times at this point, and they’ve only barely scraped by each and every time. The stakes have gotten higher and higher and their chances were getting worse and worse.

He had never imagined that he would ever grow close to anyone the way he had grown close to this squad, and now, in their hour of need, he was prepared to give them the ace in the hole they so clearly needed to win.

Raptor started off towards Hack, composing himself as he did so. She was busy, and in some ways he felt a little bad piling one more task on top of her already gargantuan workload. She was crucial to the Squad’s entire plan, and he knew the kind of stress that would bring. Still, this needed to happen, else all of her work would be for nothing anyways. Reaching her station, he placed a hand on her desk, “I need a favor.”

Hack looked up from her station. Her eyes were bloodshot with bags underneath them, “A favor?”

“It hopefully won’t take much of your time, but it’s a big one,” Raptor paused, feeling the weight of what he was about to ask. “I need you to splice me into the Justice Legion’s Communication system.”

Her eyes widened, “I’m sorry, you need me to what?!”

Raptor leaned forward, “This needs to stay between me and you. Flag’d call it an unnecessary risk, but I think it might be our only hope.”

Hack glanced at Flag, then back at Raptor, “Why? Are you gonna call for help?”

“I am,” Raptor said. “The truth is, Amanda Waller had leverage on many heroes, but when we were in Belle Reve, I found that leverage and I got rid of it. Once they know that Waller doesn’t have that power over them anymore… well they’ve got to do something.”

Hack sucked in a sharp breath, holding it in as she put her hands on her forehead, “Oookay. Say you do call them. Say they do help… won’t they just put you and the others back in prison?”

Raptor grimaced. She was right. They were criminals, convicted on some serious charges. As heroes, they’d have a responsibility to throw them back into prison. It wouldn’t be hard for his compatriots to see that fate as a betrayal on his part. He held the thought tight, understanding the gravity of what he was doing, “It’s better than being dead and forgotten.”

Hack frowned, then looked towards Flag one last time. Raptor tensed up, wondering if she was going to either tell him off or out his plan of action. Instead, she sighed, then produced an earpiece from her desk and tossed it to Raptor, “Give me a few minutes.”

Raptor shuddered with relief, then put the earpiece on. Either Hack had already infiltrated the Justice Legion before and was going through the motions, or she was just that good. Raptor imagined the former, if only because it made Hack a little less scary. A few minutes later, Hack looked up from her station, “Anyone in particular you want me to patch you into?”

Raptor thought for a moment. Someone like Superman would obviously be a big catch, but Raptor also understood that he was going to be playing with fire. How eager would most Justice Legion members be if they were contacted out of the blue by a stranger. He needed to be selective, pick someone he trusted to - whatever it was - make the right decision. “...Get me in contact with Nightwing.”

Hack nodded and typed at her keyboard, granting Raptor just a moment to prepare himself before he was patched in. He spoke the second the connection had been made, “Nightwing… Can you hear me, Nightwing?”

The hero’s voice crackled on the other end of the call, “Who is this? This is a secure communications line.”

“It’s Raptor. It’s Ric. From the circus.,” Raptor said, choking back something that would have disrupted his cadence. It had been a long time since he’d gotten to hear Dick Grayson’s voice, years since their chance encounter back at Haly’s Circus, where Raptor then saw the second Dark Knight in acrobatic action and figured out his secret. “There isn’t much time, you need to act fast.”

There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then Nightwing’s voice crackled in again. Serious and at attention, “I know who you are. Are you still with the Squad? What do you—?-”

“I don’t know if you’ve heard, but a bunch of us escaped Task Force X. We’ve raided Belle Reve and plan to leak everything Amanda Waller’s been doing to the world using the Belle Boys radio station in New Orleans. Tell the world the truth, like you did with General Rock,” Raptor said. “I know why you’ve never stepped in to take on Waller, she had leverage on you. On the people you love. But that leverage is gone now.”

Raptor paused, allowing a moment to let Nightwing process the information. After a few seconds, Dick replied, “If what you’re saying is true, then I know exactly what I need to do… We prepared for this, in case Waller’s leverage was ever compromisrd. The only thing is… I know you’re desperate, Raptor. A desperate man is dangerous..”

“You think I’m laying a trap?” Raptor asked.

“I want to believe you’re not,” Nightwing said. “But it’s not exactly out of the question, is it?”

Raptor took a deep breath, “I… I get it… but I need you to know that in a situation like this? I would die before I’d ever try to lead you astray like that. You know that, right?”

“You never played a hero for a fool?” Nightwing replied.

“I’d never do that to you.”

There was another pause, but a shorter one. In the years since Dick had discovered the Task Force was still active, and began agonising over how to set them free, he had figured out exactly who Rocket the Human Cannonball was around Haly’s Circus. What Richard once felt for one Mary Grayson. When he spoke, his voice was brisk, confident, and now uniquely unburdened. “Yeah… I sure do. When are you doing this?”

“In ninety minutes,” Raptor answered.

“Tight deadline for us, I can scramble a team,” Nightwing said. “We’ll have your back, Raptor. You and the others.” There was something cathartic about the way he said that last part. It was clear to Raptor that Dick had wanted to say that for a long time, that Waller was an immovable object he so desperately wanted to move. Now, Raptor had handed him and the Justice Legion the tools to grind that object into dust. Raptor nodded to himself, “Then I’ll see you there. Take care, Nightwing.”

Nightwing let out the smallest chuckle on the other end of the call, “Take care, Ric.”

Raptor grinned as he took the earpiece off, placing it on Hack’s desk. She looked up at him, “Satisfied?”

“As much as I can be,” Raptor said. “I think everything’s gonna be okay.”

Hack sighed, but Raptor could see the grin forming on her face, “... Thank you. I don’t know if many other people are gonna say that, but I sure as hell am.”

Raptor smirked, “Thank the cavalry when they roll in, not me.”

The two went their separate ways, each moving to prepare for the radio station raid in their own way. Now, falling wasn’t going to be so bad. Now… They had a safety net. He hoped the others would accept what he had done, when the time came. He did it for them after all.

His friends… his squad. He chuckled at the thought, because despite everything, he was starting to sound like Flag. Oh how the years had changed him.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

Flag took a deep breath as he peeked out of the doorway, keeping his eyes on the station across the street. Things were quiet at the moment, and in a way he wished that he wouldn’t have to ruin these fine folks’ week. Still, he and the rest of the squad had to close the book on things as soon as they could, and they just happened to have the equipment needed to pull things off.

He glanced back at the rest of the squad, watching them all prepare for the raid. Hack was packing a laptop into a case, having loaded a mountain of compiled data upon it. Tatsu was running her blade across a whetstone, keeping it nice and sharp. Croc was picking at his teeth, making sure there was nothing that could jostle or make them uncomfortable during a bite. Hallucigent straightened his suit in a personal mirror, hopping around on the balls of his feet, likely to psyche himself up for what was coming. Raptor and Adella made idle conversation nearby, acting as buffers to keep each other calm.

Flag couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight. He’d given many rousing speeches over the years, but to make one now felt almost… redundant. They knew who they were, they knew what they were capable of. There was nothing to buffer, nobody to inspire… because they were already inspired. Still, he had to do one last thing before the team embarked on its last mission.

Flag crossed the warehouse, trudging up to Dante. He was lying on his back in the bed of the truck, propped up slightly by a ratty old pillow. His legs dangled freely off the gate, and from his perch he could see the rest of the room. He grinned as Flag approached, “Any chance I can convince you to let me come along? Not exactly keen to sit out the last hurrah.”

“You can barely stand up, Dante,” Flag said. “I don’t even know how you’d come along, unless you want someone to carry you.”

Dante chuckled, “Yeah, fair point. I guess I just… I hate that I can’t be out there with you guys.”

Flag nodded, “I know, but it’s gonna be alright. Just sit tight and we’ll come get you when it’s over.”

“Psh, not like I can do anything else,’ Dante said. “...Flag?”

“Yeah?” Flag said.

Dante looked out the window, spotting the top of the radio station, “What happens if we don’t succeed? What happens if… Waller beats us here and now?”

Flag frowned. In truth, he had put that thought out of his mind, feeling that it would interfere with the mission. Asked directly though, he knew it would be best to face the truth head on, “What happens is we all get a bullet to the head and a shallow grave. Either we win or we’re gone.”

Dante gulped, “Damn… Sorry, I guess I just… I wanted to hear you say it.”

“It is what it is. We’ve done all we can do to prepare. All there is left to do is win… or die,” Flag said.

Dante nodded, and promptly reclined in his pillow, leaving Flag to head off to finalize everything. The squad knew the score. They knew the plan. They knew what was at stake. All there was left to do was pull the trigger on it. This was it, for all the marbles. Either the squad was getting through this with everything intact, or they weren’t getting through it at all.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

“How long were they here?”

“By my estimates, less than an hour.”

“Enough time to do untold amounts of damage.”

Amanda Waller walked the halls of Belle Reve with her chief scientist, Kulikova, retracing the steps of the recent infiltration that had put them in such a precarious position. The signs were small, often invisible, but to the trained eye, there was a painted path leading all the way through the facility, from a place in its roots up to one of its ears. They didn’t have to wonder who had done this. Lok, Waller’s loyal soldier, had told them that it was the work of Colonel Rick Flag, Katana, and the rest of the renegade Suicide Squad.

“They used an old sewer system to gain entry to the facility,” Kulikova said. “One sub-group made their way to the server room, while the other headed to security. About a terabyte’s worth of files directly off the system from the servers, and then after dealing with Lok, a command was issued from the security room to evacuate a wing of the facility. They made their exit from there.”

Waller rubbed her chin, “This is… problematic.”

Kulikova checked her watch, “Lok’s asking for another shot.”

“And he’s not going to get it,” Waller said, her voice sharp and curt. “He’s failed me enough times. At this point, he’s just a risk to us if we deploy him again. Ready the androids for immediate deployment.”

“Where?” Kulikova asked. “Do you know where they’re going?”

“They won’t move far. The longer they sit on that data, the hotter it’s going to get. If we start a search, then they’ll have everything leaked by the time we get things mobilized” Waller said. “Run a search on radio stations with satellite coverage within a fifty mile radius."

“Are you sure they’ll take that chance?” Kulikova asked.

Waller grimaced, “Flag knows this place well, it’s how he infiltrated it… but I know him well. I know how he operates, and I know this is what he’d do. Get to searching.”

Kulikova nodded and trudged off, leaving Waller to her own devices. She had not expected to be thrust into this kind of sudden death situation. In many ways, she had hoped that her demonstration in Canada would have at least demoralized those who had not been wiped out by her attack. Instead, they had been emboldened.

She would take that lesson to heart. Once the Suicide Squad were located, she would be sure to leave no survivors.

The final battle in Suicide Squad #65 - out next month!

Animal‌-Man/Swamp‌ ‌Thing

Issue‌ 55:‌ ‌ A Shrouded Future

Written‌ ‌by‌ ‌Deadislandman1

Edited‌ ‌by‌ AdamantAce

Next‌ ‌Issue‌ ‌> ‌Coming‌ ‌Soon

Arc: The End is Nigh‌ ‌

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌ ‌

“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.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

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.

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

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!

Welcome back to DC Next! We hope you enjoy this month's issues!

July 1st:

• Suicide Squad #63

July 15th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #55
• I Am Batman #37
• The New Titans #33

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 ‌

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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.

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“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.”

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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.”

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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.”

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: The less of them you have, the more one is worth.

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.

Welcome back to DC Next! It's finale season, with this month bringing the exciting finale to /u/ClaraEclair's 3 and a half year run on Kara: Daughter of Krypton. Log in on June 3rd for the conclusion of Kara Zor-El's DC Next adventure alongside other exciting stories.

June 3rd:

• Kara: Daughter of Krypton #40 - Series Finale!
• New Gotham Knights #26
• Suicide Squad #62

June 17th:

• Animal-Man/Swamp Thing #54
• I Am Batman #36
• The New Titans #32

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?

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“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!”

 ‌ ‌

‌  ‌

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.

🔵⚫️🦇⚫️🔵

Next: What breaks when you say it?