This was meant to be a short introductory chapter, but I got carried away. I'm going to post a smaller, more concise exposition chapter and continue the story then, but for now, I just wanted to upload this in full, tangents, in-jokes and all. Hopefully you'll enjoy it. Please review!
Standing in line at the Hall of Justice, Gus tapped his foot impatiently. Shawn, open-mouthed, gazed in delight at the gigantic towering statues of the founding seven: Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern and the Martian Manhunter.
Carved in stone, the figures were impressive. They looked like Gods. Even Aquaman.
"Why are we here?" Gus asked irritably.
"Er… to meet the Justice League? Obviously."
"You know they're not real, right? They're comic book characters. It's a whole other universe, Sean. We can't meet the Justice League. It wouldn't make sense. We can meet the actors playing the Justice League – which is going to suck – but we can't meet the real JLA."
"We're cartoon characters now, Gus. Anything is possible."
"We are not cartoon characters. This isn't even a cartoon, Sean. It's a fanfic. A fan-fic. Unauthorized, amateurish drivel. And to make it worse, it's a cross-over. And not even one that makes sense."
"Dude, there's no need to be mean. Keep talking like that, he won't give you any more dialogue."
Gus huffed, made a face and turned away. Rolling his eyes, Shaun stepped up to the desk. Behind the counter, a pretty young woman with long, flowing hair, and brilliant green eyes, looked up with a practiced smile. A badge on her chest gave her name. Her skin was a radiant green.
"Hi, can I help you?"
"You sure can, Jenny. My name's Shaun Spencer. You may have heard of me. I'm looking to join the JLA. My buddy here, too."
"What?" Gus exclaimed.
"Of course. We just started initiation today. If you'll just sign in here, the recruitment hall is just down there to your left. Remember to take a name tag."
"Thank you, so much," Shaun said, taking a handful of tags.
"Right. They just happened to start recruitment-"
Gus continued soundlessly, his mouth moving but no words coming out. He tried several more times, pointing at his throat and silently screaming. Shaun shook his head, a disappointed but smug expression on his face which clearly said 'I told you so'.
They wandered through, marvelling at the memorabilia all around them. Flagpoles lined the walls, protruding every few feet. The red white and blue stirred languidly in the light air-con breeze. Huge bookcases covered one expansive wall, filled with the knowledge of the universe – maps of Earth, maps of the galaxy, biology and history of various alien creatures, plants and cultures.
On their right was the private boardroom, where the founding members made their key decisions. In that room, Hawkgirl was voted out of the League, Booster Gold was voted in, the use of mind-wiping was sanctioned, and most importantly, Aquaman kissed a fish during the Christmas party.
Of course, the door was locked and strictly off limits.
Straight ahead, row of display cases showed of the League's impressive history. The collection included one of Mr. Freeze's ice guns (though not the original), a mind control helmet taken from Grodd, a battle suit used by Lex Luthor, Batzarro's costume, a replica of Sinestro's ring, and Vandal Savage's blankie.
Farther down, Shawn could just make out the manikins, dressed in the costumes of former heroes from the Golden Age. Not far from those, the remnant of the Appellaxians were kept in reinforced displays.
The pair turned left, as instructed. Through the double doors, they found a waiting room, filled with plastic chairs and milling crowds. For the most part, the new hopefuls were losers and has-beens. A hairy due lugging around a hammer and talking funny, a green man with roid-rage, an archer with a stupid purple cowl. Elsewhere were wimps in costumes made in their moms' basements, rich kids with tailored suits and no powers, and the occasional mad scientist with a complicated whatsit.
Scanning the names for inspiration, Shawn made his way through the masses to find an empty seat. He almost cracked up a number of time as he read the ridiculous aliases. Jelly-man, Froglord, Tapioca, The Black-Eyed Peanut, and a dozen other newbie nobodies mingled around, sharing their secret origins (mostly made-up or lame) and superpowers (equally lame). Certainly nobody they would make a movie about.
Others walked around with the arrogance of kings, presumably because they thought they were the real deal. These were the guys that had been featured in a newspaper headline once or twice, which in their eyes made them Earth Mightiest Heroes. The likes of Major America, Antelope Man, Mr. Elastic, the Invisible Madam and Billy Ray Cyrus.
Shawn scoffed. None of these misfits would get their own comic. Or even a cameo. Gus, still unable to speak, nudged his shoulder and pointed, laughing silently at all the fools. He stopped abruptly when he caught laughing at the green giant.
They chose a seat next to Squirrel-Lass, a cute but ridiculously-dressed heroine, perched on a plastic chair, nibbling on her thumbnail. She must have felt she'd died and gone to heaven, surrounded by all the nuts.
"Okay, dude," Shawn whispered. "We need codenames, quick. Help me out."
Gus glared daggers and pointed at his mouth.
"What?" Shawn said, oblivious. "Black Face? That's not going to cut it, Gus. You suck at this."
Ignoring Gus's silent protests, Shawn screwed up his eyes, stroked his chin and tapped his head. Then he tapped his chin and stroked his head. Finally, he stroked his head clockwise and his head anti-clockwise until the ideas started coming.
"Okay, I've got it. How about, Black Star? Or Black Nickel? Black Spell? Black Grizzly?" Gus tilts his head, considering the last. "Maybe I should stop with the 'Black' names."
Frowning slightly, Shawn began to write on one of the name tags. Gus watched over his shoulder as the black lines spelled out a name. Shawn's mouth tweaked into a poorly concealed smile, as Gus began to push and snatch at the pen.
Playing keep-away, Shawn laughed as Gus wordlessly protested.
No. No! Don't call me that, Shawn. I won't answer to it. Don't you dare…
"…call me Ima Pansy!" Gus shouted, his voice at last restored.
The entire room went quiet as Gus's voice echoed. All the assembled heroes, wash-outs and wannabes turned around to stare. Uncomfortable, Gus straightened up in his seat, and looked at the floor. A long moment later, everyone went back to their own business.
"Whaaat?" Shawn said. "I wondered why I was writing that. You got to admit, the writer got you there. Fist-bump it. Give it the respect it deserves. Don't leave me hanging here."
Reluctantly, a sulking Gus completed the fist-bump.
"Okay, I've got mine. Black Lightning."
"Already a character."
"White Lightning."
"A bad energy drink for hobos."
"Tan Lightning."
"That's just stupid, Shawn."
Growling in frustration, Shawn threw his hands in the air and slumped back in his seat. All around him were freaks and weirdos that would have been too nerdy for the Chess Club. In his heart of hearts, he knew he could be one of the Justice League, one of the best in fact, if he could just come up with the right name.
"Okay, how's this: Supersniffer? Supersnout? Supersmeller? Big Kitty? Dr. T? Blue Ivy? Hans Solo? Agent G? Hancock? Tick McTock? Peter Panic? Iron Guster? Tin Tummy? Billow Bear? Rex the Wonder Dog? Chairman Meow?"
"I am not your cat."
"No, you're right. He, possibly she, was much too awesome. Argh. Why is this so hard? Why don't you come up with something?"
"I could. But I don't want to. I want to go home. Back to the real world."
Shawn rolled his eyes. Who wants to live in the real world?
Overhead, a witch rode her broomstick, cackling as she circled the room just below the high arched roof. Robots, cyborgs, and men in iron suits also filled the air, alongside flying aliens, winged beasts, people with mutations, demons and dragons, fairies, paragliders, jetpackers, and a paratrooper coming through the skylight with a red blue and white chute. Beneath these, were men on stilts, pogo sticks and moonshoes all rising above the multitude of misfits.
On ground level, ogres and talking animals brushed shoulders with aliens and children. Scientists conversed with wizards, immortals with moth-men, farmers with astronauts and cowboys with cavemen. It was a surreal sight, even for Shawn.
There were men dressed in nanotech suits, and others in flowing Eastern robes. Some wore spurs, some wore sandals, a few wore helmets and many wore masks. There were people clad in black, and people dressed in bright colours. There things – Shawn could only describe them as 'things' – dressed in rags, or nothing at all, and women invariably in underwear.
Then it hit him. Staring across the sea of spandex, leather and metal, he knew what was missing. Neither he, nor Gus, had a costume. What was a hero without a costume? Without something to hide their secret identities. At the very least, he could have done something with his hair.
Wait, no. Not his hair. He could have worn glasses, though.
"Dude. We need a costume." Guster shot a sidelong look his way. "Two, I mean two costumes. One each. We're not gonna share. We shared a sleeping bag once and that was enough. And we swore we'd never talk about it."
"I'm not wearing a costume, or having a name."
"Come on! Don't be a Marvel-tooter party-pooper, Gus."
Crossing his arms, Gus turned away. Shawn sighed. He glanced to his left, at the pair sitting opposite Squirrel Lass. Idly, he wondered if he could extort a costume out of one of the other so-called heroes. His cold-reading skills had already given him valuable insights into the secret identities of many of them. He could have told Bubbly Bertha that Leather-Kid wasn't a hero at all, a crime-fighting wasn't the kind of action he was looking for.
Squirrel Lass was now talking to two dudes named Doorway and Flatguy. Something told Shawn that none of them belonged here. Maybe even less than him and Gus. He sighed again, loudly, right next to Guster's ear. Gus still refused to react.
"Man," Shawn graoned. "We're gonna look silly if we don't have costumes and code-names. Everyone else has got them."
"I don't conform to peer-pressure, Shawn."
"What?" Shawn said incredulously. "Yes you do. How about the time you grew an afro just to fit in?"
"I never had an afro, Shawn."
"Really? Then who was that guy I spent a weekend with at Woodstock?" Shawn frowned. "Okay, how about the time you tried to fit ten macaroons in your mouth? You managed two and nearly choked."
"That was a scientific experiment."
"It was in Band Practice."
"So what. You smoked because of peer-pressure."
"I smoked because I wanted to. Smoking is cool. But it messed with my alluring vocal tones and ruined my singing. Luckily, my hair makes up for the lack of cigarettes."
Gus kissed his teeth, dismissively.
"How about Psych-kick," Shawn said, nodding. Then the smile faded. "No, that's too hard to pronounce. And I don't think people would get the nuance when it's spoken…"
"I don't want a hero name, Shawn."
"It's not a hero name. It's a sidekick name."
"I don't want any kind of codename. I don't want to be here. I – yi-yi," Gus stammered, his eyes falling on a scantily clad superheroine. "Shawn. I'm in."
Purple hair flowed over pale yellow skin, with green eyes that shone like emeralds. She smiled, her features those of an older Blackfire. Instead of purple, her costume was a bright blue, with a thin decorative spike that travelled from her navel up between her breasts and stopped just below her clavicle.
As Gus attempted to look suave, the Tamaranean sashayed over. Her eyes fixed intently on Shawn.
"Greetings. I am Mial'cr."
"That's a pretty name. Exotic. You're going to have to write it down so I remember it," Gus said, affecting his best baritone. "Along with your number."
Mial'cr ignored him.
"You do not wear an identification label. You must be a great hero on this planet for all to know you without one."
"Um, yeah. Yes I am. I've defeated numerous villains. But always with the help of my trusty partner." Shawn gestured toward Gus. "This is Manu-El. Half Blaxican, half Kryptonian; all Casanovian."
"He is your partner?" Mial'cr glared at Gus as he purred 'seductively, wiggling his fingers as a wave. "I believe I have misjudged you."
Without another word she turned on her heel and marched away. She was gone as quickly as she had come, but for a while Gus stared dreamily after her. A strong spicy fragrance hung in the air in her wake. At length, Gus returned to his senses and stared accusingly at Shawn.
"Look what you did. You scared her off."
"Me?"
"Yes you," Gus barked. "Casanovian isn't even a word. And you were racist on a galactic level. I hope you're proud of yourself."
Shawn shrugged, then nodded with a mischievous grin. "I kinda am."
Suddenly, the lights dimmed, and music blared from speakers at the front of the room. Everyone took their seats and a hush came over the room. At the front, Captain Atom, Cyborg and Snapper Carr appeared. There was a short applause as the trio arranged themselves on the dais. Snapper Carr, the JLA mascot, stood to the left with Cyborg on the right. Captain Atom took centre stage. As the applause faded, he began.
"Welcome to the Hall of Justice and thank you for heeding our call.
"It takes a very special individual to stand up for what he believes. Top face crime and injustice head-on and to protect the innocents. The league was founded on the notion that individuals, just like those of you here today, could make a positive impact on the world and changes things for the better.
"Our goal here is to secure a brighter tomorrow. To continue in that mission, we need strong, reliable members who will devote themselves to our cause. Justice."
"I don't remember this show being so boooring," Sean moaned. A number of 'heroes' in nearby seats turned to glare at him. A blue skinned alien with tentacles on her chin shushed him, making more noise than he had to begin with.
"That's because they edit out the boring bits. Otherwise there'd be hours of Flash on the toilet. That man eats more than you do, and metabolizes it much faster, too."
"I just wish I'd brought popcorn. Or pickles."
"While we acknowledge the efforts of every candidate, the League has a strict policy. Not everyone will be accepted. This is in no way a personal slur. An operation like the JLA needs to run smoothly, and that requires a careful selection process to ensure that all our members can work effectively as part of a team. We are looking for skillsets that complement our existing strategies, or fill current gaps which make us vulnerable."
As the speech droned on, Shawn goofed off, guessing superpowers and scanning the crowd for Adam West - he had to be there somewhere; he made almost as many cameos as Stan Lee. A number of minutes passed as Shawn amused himself with preposterous powers – the ability to trap people in ring doughnuts, magical passive aggression, control over tapioca and his personal favourite, super-apathy – when applause interrupted his revelry.
"What'd I miss?"
"There's numbers on the name cards. They're going to call us up and check our credentials. We don't have any credentials."
"Pssh. Of course we have credentials. I'm a monthly subscriber to Credentials Weekly. What we don't have is costumes."
Gus looked around and found two conveniently placed masks stuck under the chair legs of nearby seats. There didn't seem to be anyone around who wanted them, only a guy in a leather jacket and an archer in red and black, and both were walking away.
"What about these?" Gus offered. "Nobody's using them anymore.
He held up the two masks, one a purple cowl with high eyebrows, the other yellow and black with huge ears. Shawn stared at them suspiciously for a moment, almost as if he'd seen them before. Then he took the yellow one.
Begrudgingly, Gus pulled on the purple mask. It took a while, and when he finally managed to pull it over his oversized dome, the sticky-out bits were wonky. Shawn held back a laugh and said nothing.
"Now we just need names."
"Okay, here's one for you: Nightcrawler."
"That's an existing character, Shawn."
"Okay. Shadow Cat?"
"No."
"Power Man?"
"No."
"Blade?"
"No."
"Shaft?"
"No."
"Shaq."
"You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?"
They'd joined the line as they were talking, the number flashing in red on the back wall. A black dude in a leather jacket and an eye patch walked away disappointed. The name tag on his chest said 'Mr. Fury'. A guy in red and blue hung from the ceiling laughing as he walked away.
"Okay, what about for me," Shawn persisted. "How about: Professor X?"
"Try Baron Blueberry."
"Yes! No. Sounds evil. Like when you pick up a muffin and you think it's chocolate chip but then you realize."
"Next."
Shawn watched in an unusual silence as the line progressed forward. A guy called Mace, who looked as cuddly as a teddy bear to Shawn, stepped through. Another guy called Vigil also made the cut. There were only a couple of candidates left. He looked at Gus and saw the sweat beading on his bulbous cranium, like a fruit bowl collecting condensation.
One more candidate now, and they still didn't have codenames.
"Got it, Codename. And my sidekick, Alias. Or Alter-ego."
"Just forget it."
"Next," said the guy on admissions as the red number flashed on the wall above.
Shawn stepped forward and peered up at the implacable face of the admissions officer. His skin was a green tinged diamond-like substance, every limb carved in flat surfaces and sharp angles. His suit was half black and half white and on his left wrist he wore a complicated dial.
"Nifty watch," Gus said.
"Dude, no-one says nifty anymore."
"I do."
"You shouldn't."
The diamond-skinned dude ignored them and pressed a button on the electronic pad he held. A few years ago, Shawn thought, that would have seemed really sci-fi. Now it just looked like a complicated kindle.
"Name?"
"Shawn Spencer."
"Superhero name," he elaborated.
"Oh, right," Shawn said, over-pronouncing his syllables. He struck a heroic pose. "I have many names: Dr. Howser, Lieutenant Crunch, Bolt Lightning, Maniac 19, T-Bone Turner, Soup Can Sam, and many, many others. But you can call me: Wolverine."
"You can't use Wolverine, Shawn."
Shawn stood with his arms crossed in and 'x' and his fingers spread like claws. Slowly, he returned to a more normal posture. The disappointment was clear in his eyes. He sighed, resigned to being a civilian and never making it into the League.
"Look, we don't have codenames," Gus interjected. "He's Shawn Spencer, the psychic detective. And I-"
"He's my sidekick, Gumball D'Heavensent. The third."
The humanoid diamond grunted. He could have given Batman a run for his money on the stoic front. Shawn couldn't help but think he was just bored. And who wouldn't be with this routine, interviewing a few hundred losers in capes and masks.
"Special abilities?"
"Right. Er, you know… psychic stuff. Premonitions. Ah, um, reading minds."
"Telepathy."
"Right, telekinesis."
"No, telepathy."
"Yes, telepathy too. Also tele-vision. Magnitism, particularly due to my good looks and charisma. Precognition, levitation and astral projection. I'm projecting right now, in fact. I'm not even really here. What else? Skim reading, crossword solving, crime-solving, very important, and super awesome hair. Also, I can cook a mean spag-bol."
The hard diamond features didn't change one bit. He remained impassive as ever. Shawn wondered if diamond could smile. They could sparkle, no questioning that. But could they smile. It would require a curve after all.
"And your sidekick?"
"Not a sidekick."
"He has super senses, super strength, super speed and super bald domeyness."
"No. I can tap-dance and play the harmonica."
"At the same time. Also, he can shoot plasma from his armpit."
"No I can't."
"He can."
"Verifying."
There were a series of eighties SFX beeps and the a low whistling sound as the computer searched its data banks for records of them. Standing on tip toes, Shawn craned to see. His ridiculously handsome picture came up, joined by a number of accounts of crimes he and Gus had solved over the years. Things were finally looking up.
"Rejected."
Or not.
"What?"
"No superpowers listed. You don't qualify for membership."
"Batman doesn't have superpowers," Gus pointed out.
"Batman has super sleuthing."
"That's not a real power."
"Just forget it, Gus. If they don't want us, we don't need them. We're make our own League. The League of Extraordinary Gentleman."
"Already exists, Shawn."
They walked away, disappointed. Mentally, Shawn scolded himself. Of course Batman knew he wasn't really a psychic. He was the World's Greatest Detective. Even Shawn's ego wouldn't question that. Although he would question why he didn't have his own comics.
They returned to the small plastic chairs and flopped down in the nearest row. Gus' bottom lip looked bigger than ever as tears welled in his eyes. Shawn sighed loudly.
"Oh man. I wish Jules were here."
"Let me through, I'm from the Santa Barbara Police Department."
"Wow. It worked. What else should I wish for?"
"Move it or lose it, buster. That means now, Captain Moron, before I blow your head off. We'll see what use your claws are then, mutton chops."
"Okay, who wished for Lassie?"
The blonde rushed over, flashing her badge to the JLA officials. Her face scrunched questioningly as she spotted Shawn and Gus. Lassiter was just a few steps behind.
"Jules," Shawn said happily embracing his girlfriend.
"Shawn," she replied, a little less enthusiastically. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, we were going to apply to the JLA but, we're doing such good work with you and Pysch is really getting quite successful now so, you know, we just…"
"Got rejected, huh?" Jules guessed. "Aw, I'm sorry."
"Ah Hell, Spencer, what are you doing here."
"We've already done that bit, Lassie, try to keep up. The better question is, what are you two doing here?"
"Someone left an anonymous tip that they witnessed a crime at this freak-show," Lassie said, his hand on his hips. Catching sight of the diamond dude he scowled. "Sweet Justice. Who the heck are these people?"
"Sweet Justice League," Gus corrected. "These are America's greatest heroes."
"Well, not these particular individuals…"
The bunch milling around them, joining the queue still consisted mainly of idiots with tights on their heads. Half of them looked more like criminals than heroes and the other half looked as though they'd been beamed down by Scottie.
Lassiter glared at them with contempt.
"Anyway," Shawn said, bringing their attention back to the matter at hand. "What was the crime?"
"We don't know. They didn't say," Jules answered.
"It's probably just a prank. An opportunity for these scumbags in tights to see some real heroes."
"This is no prank, Detective Lassiter," a disembodied voice told them. A moment later, a golden ankh appeared before them and Dr. Fate stepped through. "There has been a murder."
Shawn's eyes widened. "Yes!"
*Cue Titles*