Author's Notes: All of the characters, names and locations belong to their respective owners. This story is the equivalent of 'playing with someone else's toys'. Justice Avengers is also based on a Play-by-Post Roleplay in the TVTropes forums with a simple, yet fascinating concept: "what if the Marvel and DC Universes were rebooted into a single universe?" I'd like to thank all the players whose ideas and characters are the basis of this story.

DAWN

From his spot inside the little van, New York looked downright gargantuan. The towering skylines, the sun shining brightly behind them, the people filling the sidewalks… he was sure that if it wasn't from the bars stopping him, he would have shoved his head through the window and gawked at everything like a dog. Douglas wasn't a city man- having spent most of his life in a small coal mining town- but he was pretty sure that New York had captured his heart.

Such a shame he was here to rob it blind.

With a thud, the van stopped, and their supposed leader- a man in a tight white suit with a buzzcut who called himself 'Hans'- opened the back door. "Gentlemen," He said, adjusting his tie, a move he had clearly practiced before. "You know the deal. We go in, we take what we want, and then we book it. Two minutes. No delays."

Douglas stepped out of the van and buttoned up his vest, watching as the similarly suited men streamed out of the van, all of them walking towards the entrance of the First National Bank. But he stopped, enticed by a nearby coffee shop's promise of 'artisanal soy', two words he had never heard before in his life.

"613?" Hans muttered, stepping in front of Douglas. "Are you still with us?"

"Uh," He mumbled, nodding. "Yes."

"Good. You know my policy towards dropouts."

Following Hans, Douglas watched as all the other men moved into a choreographed dance of crime. Two disabled the security guards. Three shot their guns up in the air, disarming some of the clerks. Hans made his way to the middle of the group, reaching into his suit and pulling out a silenced pistol, as Douglas stood right behind him. "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm," He enunciated with surprising eloquence. "This will all be over in about… thirty seconds."

As the men took a large device shaped like a handlebar deeper into the bank, Douglas remained by Hans' side, taking one of the security guard's sidearm. "What are we gonna do about the police?" He asked, and Hans chuckled in response.

"613, by the time the police get here, we'll be gone." He said, scanning the area with his eyes. "And unlike some other cities, New York doesn't have a costumed problem."

"Are you sure about that?"

Hans snickered. "I came from Gotham. You see this?" He pulled down his collar, showing a small scar on his chin. "This was the Bat."

"No way." Douglas gawked. "You faced-"

"Well, I wouldn't use the word 'faced'. More like 'he punched my face so hard I got knocked out'." Hans interrupted, shrugging. "I was young. I was dumb. The thing I learned in prison is you gotta look for places without costumed freaks. I mean, supers in New York? Don't be stupid. People here care only about themselves." He waved at the door, grinning. "Those people outside could have stopped us just as we were leaving. Yet, they didn't. Don't you wonder why?"

"Fear?"

"More than that, 613." Hans continued, slowly walking towards a group of scared customers, all of whom were huddled against the corner. "New Yorkers know how to survive."

There was a crackle, much like a radio, and a metallic voice echoed through the entrance hall of the bank. "New Yorkers also know that monologues are really, really outdated."

All of the robbers stopped, looking around for the source of the voice. "Who said that?" Hans yelled. "Show yourself!"

"Bold words for a man hiding behind a weapon. I'd like to see just how strong you are without that gun."

With a ferocious laughter, Hans dropped his gun. "You think you're some kind of hero, do ya? Well, let me show you just what happens to heroes." He snapped his fingers and pointed at some of his men. They promptly snapped back into action, grabbing a few random citizens and placing their pistols against their foreheads.

"I thought we weren't taking hostages-" Douglas began, but Hans quickly slapped him in the back of the head.

"Plans change. I'm going to teach this idiot a lesson." Glowering, Hans pointed at the ceiling. "Well, look at that! You wanted to play the hero, and now innocent people are going to die. How do you feel about that, hm?! You gotta learn, douchebag, this city belongs to people like me! People who take action, who are strong enough to take Lady Liberty by the balls and—"

Before Hans could finish his (probably) triumphant speech, all the lights in the entrance hall went out. With nothing but the natural lights coming in from the front doors, Douglas stumbled around, lucky enough to watch as the other henchmen were suddenly dragged into the darkness, screams and gunshots scattered around. Hans was one of the people behind said screams, trying to coordinate his group into a counter-attack.

But by the time the lights went back up, Hans knew he had just jumped into the losing side. His henchmen were scattered across the floor, knocked out. The civilians looked just as confused as Hans and Douglas, but they had the advantage of getting a nice angle, for standing behind the now frightened leader of the gang was a tall man in a deep blue trench coat and fedora, wearing a simple yellow shirt, black tie and black gloves. His most striking feature, however, was his face: or rather, the lack of one.

"What the f—" Hans was about to yell, but the Faceless Man quickly grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and threw him to the ground. With his back turned to Douglas, the young henchman noticed the fresh stab wounds and singed holes littered the back of his trench coat. Hans, however, kept struggling against the Faceless Man's grasp, trying to hit him in the chest. The punches did land- but the Faceless Man soldiered on, ignoring every single one of them.

"I have a couple of questions for you," The Faceless Man said, eerily calm for the situation he was in. "Who hired you? Why this bank? And, most importantly, why in the morning?"

Hans recoiled slightly at the Faceless Man. "I planned this, you—"

All the Faceless Man had to do was put a little strength in his grasp and Hans went back to being silent. "Is that so?" He said menacingly, using his free hand to reach inside his pocket and slip on a brass knuckle. "I heard you talking about the scar you got from the Bat. Trust me, you won't forget this one… unless you talk."

Hans froze, and Douglas knew enough about the man to know he was the kind of guy who took pride in his resolve. "You… you wouldn't do that."

"I know myself enough to say I would."

"Even in-" He gulped, trying to put on a smarmy façade. "Even in front of those civilians? A super like you wouldn't do that, right?"

The Faceless Man looked around, and met Douglas' scared gaze. "But like you yourself said," He continued, staring into Hans' eyes (as if such a thing was possible for someone with no eyes). "There are no supers in New York." He was about to bash Hans' fist in when the doors to the bank were suddenly kicked down.

"NYPD!" The leading police officer yelled, raising his firearm. "Everyone, down on the ground!"

Douglas looked over at the cops long enough for the Faceless Man to suddenly disappear, leaving behind a laughing Hans. Before he could say anything, the cops had already swarmed the bank, pushing him into dropping his sidearm to the ground. Yet, Douglas didn't even budge, his eyes focused on where the Faceless Man had been, everything (including Hans' yelling and his former crew members groaning) melding into the background.

As he was led outside, Douglas kept gawking at everything. He knew Hans was right, in some way- there were no supers in New York. But what had he just witnessed, then? He stopped as the cops in front of him had done the same, since a very expensive looking car, probably driven by someone who didn't care about 'traffic laws' had stopped in front of the bank.

Through the bars of the back of the police truck, Douglas watched as the owner of the car stepped outside, a figure everyone in the vicinity immediately recognized by his chin-length back hair, his self-satisfied smirk, the designer suit, the platinum watch, expensive looking briefcase and the swagger. He had seen this man before in the news, several times. Was that… Tony Stark?

"Man," Douglas said to himself, smiling as the truck drove away. "New York is awesome!"

And now, a special report from WHiH World News.

"Good evening, and welcome to WHiH World News' Special Report, bringing you the latest on our changing world. I'm Lucas Carr, and today's topic is one that's been dominating the media landscape for the past year: the rise of super powered crime fighters."

"Our story begins not in the present, but in the past. 1942, to be precise. The War in Europe was at its highest point, and though the United States had just entered the war a year before, victory seemed like a far-fetched dream. In order to assist the war effort, US scientists, allied with the brightest minds from all over the world, developed the next generation of soldiers: the super soldier. This man, who the world came to know as Captain America, led forth a group of heroes who exhibited what we today call super powers, but what they called 'scientifically enhanced abilities'. Men like the Atom, the Human Torch, and the American Ace."

An old man, in his 90's, appears on screen: "I remember Captain America. I fought alongside him in the German front. God, that man could lead. He once took out a tank all on his own. Saved a few of my men and a bunch of civilians. I remember when the war in the Pacific came along, I asked myself 'what would Cap do?' I still have a picture I took with him. He was a true hero."

"Captain America disappeared during the end of the war, in a mission that has faded into obscurity. Soon, many of his compatriots disappeared as well. It seemed as if the age of heroes had ended. Many attempts were made to re-create the success of Captain America, but the United States military never managed to capture that stroke of genius that brought us one of the greatest men in American history."

Lucas again. "However, unbeknownst to the majority of the population, a new change was happening with a different kind of science. For decades, mutants were thought to be the stuff of legends, and homo sapiens sapiens was deemed the only human species to walk the Earth. But ever since the 1940's, people from all over the world began exhibiting genetic changes, which in turn gave them unusual abilities, or in some cases, thoroughly changed their bodies. These were the mutants, and their numbers continued to grow steadily."

A historian: "although there were a number of mutants in the 1970s and the 1980s, US policies and a general negative feeling towards their kind meant that most of them kept their mutant status hidden- those that could, at least. We've gone back through our records of travelling circuses and found out that most of the 'freaks' in those places were actually mutants. It was the only place where they felt accepted. There was another population boom in the 1980s, but the thing about mutants is that, most of the times, the X gene only really shows up during their adolescent years. So that's why we're seeing an exorbitant number of mutants popping up now."

Back to Lucas. "This rise in the mutant population has coincided with the resurgence of the superpowered crime fighter. Although there were reports of scattered superhero activity throughout the US since the 1950s, those reports were considered offshoots, or just filed as mistakes. It wasn't until a few years ago, when the citizens of Gotham City, one of the most dangerous cities in the country, began reporting the appearances of a masked vigilante who went on to be known as 'the Batman.'"

"Although the Batman is still considered a vigilante and a criminal, his deeds have earned him the status of hero, especially in Gotham City, where a different kind of crime has been on the rise. Equally powerful and bizarre costumed villains have taken the reins of organized crime, driving such mainstays as the Mafia into other cities across the US. And this phenomenon isn't restricted just to Gotham. We've seen reports of similar events happening in places like Jump City, Charm City, Detroit, Chicago, Miami, Coast City, and many, many more."

"Is the rise of the superheroes and the mutant boom a coincidence? No one knows. So far, the official word from scientists is that it is. Many have pinned the cause of the superhero boom on popular culture and the media itself, saying that 'reporting on the actions of superheroes inspires others to become superheroes themselves'. At the same time, conspiracy theories have gained a major foothold in several areas of political discourse, which led to the rise of groups such as the Friends of Humanity."

Graydon Creed, leader of the FoH: "We at the Friends of Humanity believe in one simple concept: that if we allow mutants to become a part of our society, that if we treat them as friends and not as aberrations put on this earth by a vengeful God, we will be opening ourselves up to a Trojan Horse of massive proportions. Mark my words, the mutant's objective is extinction of the human race. And the superhero is the means through which the mutant attempts to legitimize its existence, when its fellow mutants are the ones causing such outlandish crimes. I have no doubts that this Batman and Joker are friends, and a blood test would surely reveal they both harbor the cursed gene."

Lucas: "Once we come back from the break, we'll look at the story of Charles Xavier, the man behind the first mutant-only school in the country. We'll also take to the streets in order to find out what America thinks: are these people heroes, or menaces? All this and more, when our Special Report returns."

"Ah, God. Not this guy again."

Captain DeWolff, a woman with auburn shoulder length hair and a tired look, buried her face in her palm as she watched the man walking closer and closer to the bank. With a notepad in her hand and a cigarette on the other, DeWolff stood completely still, waiting for that rich prick to walk all the way over to her. "It's 10 AM, I just had to deal with a bank robbery, witnesses are yapping about this guy with no face… the hell do you want, Stark?"

Tony Stark stopped behind the police car, partly so he could have something to lean on, and partly so there was something in-between him and the notoriously prissy police captain. "Good morning to you too, Captain." He tipped an invisible hat, making DeWolff groan so loudly, one of her police officers pre-emptively moved away from the conversation.

"Cut the crap, Stark. The sooner I get rid of you, the less I'll have to deal with that swarm of leeches that follow you around."

"I made sure to lose the paparazzi on my way here, Captain."

"Good. Shame you didn't follow them on the way out. What do you want?"

Stark tried his best to roll off the insults. "As it turns out, Captain, I have a private vault at the First National Bank of New York. And, as you can see from my schedule," He pulled out his StarkPhone, prompting DeWolff to raise an eyebrow. "I was going to come here in a few hours to make a very important transaction."

"You think these idiots came here to steal your vault?"

"Precisely. And that's why I'm here: to make sure my vault is safe and sound," He motioned towards the bank doors. "Maybe we can take a walk? Talk, just the two of us?"

"Stark, the last time I had a private conversation with you, you were buttnaked in the governor's hut tub." DeWolff muttered before sighing. "You're not gonna take no for an answer, are you?"

"Not just that, but my company provides security for the bank, which means technically I am part of your case." Stark raised his own eyebrow, except this time it had a 'Sherlock Holmes just trapped you in his logic puzzle' feel to it. "You first, Captain."

The two walked side by side into the bank, past all the officers helping the civilians out and looking around the area for evidence. As DeWolff told one of the officers off, Stark made sure to avoid getting his briefcase scanned by the metal detector. "Something private in there, Stark?" DeWolff joked.

"Yes, just my underwear. And a lot of money, stored in a cryptocurrency that doesn't do well with metal detectors." He replied, grumbling underneath his breath.

They walked past one of the clerks describing the crime to a policeman. "… and there was this man, this Faceless Man, I think he was a superhero, because he punched everyone into oblivion, and it was, quite frankly, one of the weirdest things I've ever seen…"

"See what I gotta deal with?" DeWolff jabbed a finger over at the clerk. "Supers. In New York. I already had the worst job in the world. Now it just got worse."

"I thought you of all people would welcome a chance of pushing the job onto someone else's lap." Stark joked.

"Not like this! The problem with supers is that they're not police. And now, with this mutant thing going on, with all these powered kids showing up, things are just gonna get worse. The news won't stop paying attention to any dumbass that dresses like a bat and punches clowns- literally- so they get inspired and boom, you find a dead teen with a costume in some dark alley." She took a drag out of her cigarette, shrugging. "Just my two cents."

"Mutants have been part of our world for centuries, Captain."

"I know, I know! We had sensitivity classes for this stuff." DeWolff said, as the two walked deeper and deeper into the underground areas of the bank. "Still, not like this. Not to the point where you got people going out on the streets and throwing trash at mutants going to school. Something bad's gonna happen, Stark. I can feel it."

Stark mulled over that last phrase, trying to think of a joke to fill the dead air. "It's a brand new world, Captain. It can be quite scary, especially for people like you and me, who are supposed to lead the people into the future."

"What? Stark, you're a playboy with a big company that sells guns." DeWolff scoffed. "How the heck are you supposed to lead anyone?"

"Used to sell guns, Captain." Stark corrected her, visibly hurt by her mistake. "Used to. We don't do that anymore. And that's how it's always been with America. Companies end up leading the way. Facebook, Apple, Google, LexCorp, just to name a few."

"Hip-hooray." DeWollf threw her hands in the air with an exquisite lack of enthusiasm. Stark chose to just roll his eyes, instead focusing on the several different scans he had to do in order to get into his vault. Eye, fingertips, voice, password, hair follicle, the list went on, and on, and on. Until they finally got into the prized vault itself: an empty metallic cubicle, save for a briefcase standing proudly on top of a small table. "The heck?" DeWolff growled. "This is what's in your private vault?"

"It's what's on the inside that counts, Captain."

"Sure, sure. Spare me the wise man act." DeWolff leaned against the door, watching as Stark placed both briefcases side by side, scanning his thumb against the latch of one of them. "You know the way back, right? I got stuff to deal with."

"No problem." Stark looked back, smiling. "It's been nice talking to you, Captain."

"It was passable." DeWolff started heading back, but stopped halfway through. "Hopefully next time we'll talk over some coffee, and not in a crime scene with some mysterious superhero, eh, Stark?" She chuckled, walking back up the stairs.

Stark, however, adopted a solemn look in his face as the briefcase he had left in the vault opened. "Yeah, Captain." He muttered, mostly to himself, as he placed his hand inside the case, slipping on a metallic red and gold glove which fitted itself around his hand, a bright, glowing light right in the middle of its palm. "Hopefully."