AUTHOR'S NOTES: This story is wildly AU. It assumes that both the DC & Marvel Universes exist simultaneously upon one world. The primary established character is Batman, although even he is secondary to the group of unique (or mostly unique) characters (OCs) that form the heart of the ongoing story. Many other established characters will appear, from both universes. Early on, the three most visible will be Nightwing Jade and Green Lantern (Kyle Rayner). These stories are based on the ongoing GURPS Supers game I ran for a group of friends. Many of the supporting characters (police/doctors/etc.) are drawn from TV shows I enjoy, as well as comics.
This will be a long, on-going work which I will try to update when possible, but realistically, there will be some gaps between updates. I currently have two chapters written, & I really have no idea how long it will be in the end. I have enough material for a minimum of 20-25 chapters, I'd estimate. As always, positive comments & criticisms (reviews) are appreciated greatly & equally. I hope you enjoy, G
PHILLY PHREE PHOR ALL – Prologue
Kevin Gravlin sat in his corner office, on the 12th floor of the Rittenhouse building, gazing out at the Philadelphia skyline. He was the prize Investment Manager at Kole Financial, and incredibly young for the position, just twenty-seven. His degree from Stanford didn't hurt, but the simple truth was, he had a nose for making money.
He stood, rising out of the twelve-hundred dollar desk chair, that the firm's two Senior Partners, Diane Kole and Bryan O'Roarke, had given him as a gift when they'd promoted him. The thing was more comfortable than his bed at home. It was a real danger most days, that if he didn't keep busy, he'd fall asleep in the damned thing. He walked to the window and looked down on the city, his city. That was how he thought of it.
He had only one more appointment for the afternoon, but he longed to be out there, in the skies, looking down on it all, the air whipping past him as he soared. You see, Kevin Gravlin was the city's hero, Battery. Well, one of the city's heroes, and certainly the most well-known and media friendly hero.
Kevin's abilities had begun developing in his teenage years. He was able to absorb energy, fire, cold, and electricity, channeling them through his body to fuel his other abilities. He found that he could fly, and fast, though not overly so. He found that he could blend into whatever background was behind him, though that particular effect worked much better when he was standing still than when he was moving. He found that he could manipulate the innate energies around him to put a shield around himself, protecting him from physical harm, and also to make small discs of pure force which he could throw at targets nearby. He could even wrap up another individual in this force and hold him, or her, in place.
Today, however, even when he left for the day, he'd have to delay taking to the skies. He smiled while he contemplated the upcoming evening. Ami Benton, his neighbor, and friend, had invited him to a showing of her work at the Rousseau Gallery, well hers and another pair of artists. She was a painter and sculptor, a little bit odd in some ways, like the green streak she kept in her naturally blonde locks, but very sweet, and pretty too.
And Kevin wasn't one to pass up an invitation from a pretty lady. To call him a gigolo would be going too far, but a player…that was just simple truth. Other than nicotine, his primary weakness was pretty girls. He was tall, around six feet, with a slender, athletic build. He kept himself in very good shape. His blonde hair and chiseled features only solidified his attractiveness to most every single woman he met, and some who weren't quite so single.
He'd been a little more careful about pursuing Ami than most others. He really did like her, and she was his neighbor.
He reminded himself, yet again, that he needed to stop on the way home and pick up the new suit he'd purchased for the event. The tailor had called earlier to tell him it was ready. Armani, it was expensive, but he had money. He'd started with around a million in insurance, and inheritance when his parents' house in Oklahoma City caught fire. He'd used a good bit of it to drown himself in drink after the move to California, for about a year. Then he'd straightened up, applied to Stanford, studied business and investment. He'd been recruited by Diane Kole right out of college. He made a very good income at Kole Financial, middling six figures each year, but he'd also taken what remained of his inheritance after getting the job and invested it. Within a year, the three hundred thousand that had remained in his accounts had become a million again. Now, five years later, he estimated his net worth at around twelve million. He was no Bruce Wayne, but he certainly didn't need for money.
After the showing, he thought. After the showing, maybe I can offer Ami a ride home. Who knows what might happen?
The intercom on his phone chirped, and his secretary's voice came on the line. "Mr. Gravlin, you're three o'clock appointment in here."
He moved to the desk and punched a button on the phone. "Please show him in, Lydia." He smiled. Kole Financial had been lobbying hard to get some business from Obidiah Stane, and when he'd finally agreed, he'd asked for Kevin personally. His star was certainly on the rise.
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Around the time that Obidiah Stane was settling into the client chair across from Kevin's desk, roughly sixty miles away on the South Jersey Shore, Jared Michaels was getting himself ready for the same gallery showing.
A little shorter than Kevin, at around five-ten, and broader through the shoulders, Jared also had the body of an athlete. After all, he'd been one. A meteoric rise through the minors and a nine game call-up for the Phillies a few years back had put tongues wagging throughout the Majors, but all of that was before the accident.
A chase through the streets of Gotham City between the police and a band of bank robbers had led to Jared throwing himself between a child in a crosswalk and the oncoming vehicles. The child suffered a few bruises and cuts when Jared shoved him aside, but Jared had been hit by one of the speeding cars, and thrown through the plate-glass window of a nearby store. When he reached the hospital, doctors hadn't expect him to live. The fact that both his eyes had been ruined by shards of glass was a distant secondary concern to them.
Everyone was amazed that he made a complete recovery within half a year, except for his eyes. He was blind, except that the accident triggered something within him. He could not see any longer, but he could still sense everything around him. Somehow, his brain could sense his surroundings, in a full circle around him. He'd never again see the beauty of a sunrise, or know the joy of gazing upon the face of a beautiful woman, but he was nowhere near the handicapped man he pretended to be. In fact, his other senses were, if anything, sharper. He could smell the nose of an opened bottle of wine from the other side of a house. He could hear a shoe drop in the apartment next to his. He could read by using his fingertips to feel the ink on a newspaper. His reactions were almost impossibly fast, like a cobra.
This all led to an initial, ill-fated attempt to put his new abilities to good use. He'd survived, but barely. Not long after, he was approached by a man who claimed that he knew about his failure. He offered training. The man called himself Richard Dragon. Jared took a six-month sabbatical, retreating to Dragon's cabin in upstate New York, where the man taught him how to center himself, to seek calm and peace, and when he was ready, how to fight, Ju-jitsu, Karate, Escrima, and Chin Na. When he returned to Gotham, Jared made himself a costume and took the name Perdition.
Unlike Kevin, who was born into a middle-class family and made his fortune, with a little help from the insurance money, of course, Jared was born into wealth. His parents were two of the four Senior Partners in one of Gotham's largest and most influential law firms, Michaels, Richmond, Eberhaus & Michaels. He'd received regular payments from a Trust Fund they'd established for him when he was five years old, and the contract he'd signed with the Phillies coming out of school had been for another four million dollars.
The law firm had offices in New York, Gotham, Philly and Metropolis. His playing career over, Jared accepted a flexible time position with the charitable arm of MRE&M. One of their regular contributions was making charitable grants to local artists, which was his reason for attending the Showing at the Rousseau Gallery. Ami Benton had received a ten thousand dollar grant allowing her to produce her work. Jared would be MRE&M's representative at the showing.
Jared finished tying his tie. He couldn't see if his suit looked good, but he could visualize it, and he figured he would look sharp, black suit coat and dress slacks, deep crimson button down oxford, and a black tie. He had a system for the labels on his clothing that let him know the colors and sizes. And of course, he could tell you the fabric by touch, even the type of blend, with surprising accuracy.
He'd be a little bit warm, with his costume on under the outer layer of clothing, but such had become the norm for him. He was actually looking forward to the event. He couldn't "see" the paintings of course, not without running his hands over them, but he'd be able to sense the sculptures, even if no one else knew that he could.
He had a small bag packed, and sitting on the couch, with spare clothes, a travel alarm, and his toiletries bag. In a hidden compartment at the bottom were his Escrima sticks and a few other accessories for his night-time activities. The car would be there to pick him up soon and drive him the sixty miles to Philadelphia. He had a reservation at the Prince House Hotel, just a few blocks from the Gallery, for the night. They had an excellent restaurant, so the thought of a nice fillet mignon with béarnaise sauce made him smile. He should have time for that, between checking in and the showing. Smiling, he picked up the bag and his walking stick, which was a big part of his ability to maintain his cover as a blind man, not to mention his other activities, and he walked out the door.
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In New York City, Kyle Rayner strode back and forth across the dining room in the apartment of his girlfriend, Jennie-Lynn Hayden. He was dressed to the nines, in his best suit. It wasn't Armani, but it did look good on him. At least he thought so, and Jen had told him she liked it.
"Jen," he called out for about the fifth time, "you're going to be late for your own show." Like most men, he didn't, couldn't understand the various rituals that women went through when getting ready for an evening out. "Jen, you look amazing when you roll out of bed in the morning. What could possibly be taking so long?"
His answer was the opening of the bathroom door. Jennie-Lynn Hayden stepped out, wearing a long black dress which clung to her figure in all the right places. Her black hair was swept up, revealing the emerald skin of her long neck. In a word, she was beautiful. Of course, she's beautiful, you idiot, he thought.
"Wow," was what he said out loud, stepping toward her.
She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. "Was it worth the wait?" she teased, her voice just a tad amused. His stammering nod was all the confirmation she needed that she looked good. Deep down, she liked that she could still have this kind of effect on him, even though they'd been together for more than a year, and they'd spent the night together dozens of times.
Of course, Jennie-Lynn had once been a model. Her smooth, green skin making her exotic and in demand for some time. She'd made a fine living for a while, until she'd come to understand that she wanted to spend her life behind the camera, not in front of it. She'd become a photographer. A dozen or so of her pictures were part of the show at the Rousseau Gallery.
Kyle, on the other hand, was an artist of a different kind, a graphic artist. He drew a weekly comic strip for Feast Magazine. He was accompanying Jen to the Gallery Show as her date.
Of course, they also shared something else, something big. Kyle Rayner was a member of the Green Lantern Corps. Jennie-Lynn Hayden was the hero known as Jade, and the daughter of Sentinel, Alan Scott. While Kyle's power came from his Green Lantern Ring, Jennie had the same power within her own body, though at a much lower level than the Ring supplied him. That energy was what had left her with her distinctive emerald skin.
Kyle looked at his watch. "Even if we leave right now, I don't know if we can get there on time."
"If we take a car, Sweets," she said. Taking his hands in her own. She stretched her neck up and stood on her toes to brush her lips lightly across his, so as to avoid messing up her makeup. As she settled back into her normal stance she tapped his Ring with her thumb. "I think we can find a way to get there on time," she purred. He couldn't help but to grin.
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Dick Grayson loved the feel of the night wind in his hair as he gunned the cycle across the Sprang Bridge and up the ramp onto I-62 toward Philadelphia. His Nightwing costume was insulated and temperature regulated so that he would remain comfortable in temperatures from 110 all the way down to 0 degrees farenheit. It was a late April evening, and the temperature in South Jersey was a balmy sixty-one.
He accelerated up alongside a Volvo station wagon. A young boy, perhaps eight, or nine years old, tried to get the attention of his parents, who were busy arguing in the front seat, to point out to them the superhero next to their car. Dick flashed him a grin and quickly waved before punching the gas again, zipping forward, weaving in and out of traffic. By the time the two adults looked, he was gone, but little Jimmy couldn't wait to tell all his friends at school that Nightwing had waved to him.
It had been nearly two weeks of hard work. Batman and Oracle had him running down leads all over the northeast. Well, he and Robin. The lead he was running down tonight was thin, but Bruce's gut had told him that they might get lucky. Thus, Dick was on his way to Philly.
They were hunting Slade Wilson, better known as Deathstroke: the Terminator, one of the world's premier assassins. They'd gotten wind that he'd come to the States from Africa, but almost as soon as he'd hit the ground in Miami, he'd disappeared. There'd been only one high profile death in that time, a Corporate CEO in Dallas. That might have been his work, but there'd been no confirmation.
Tonight, Dick was headed for some ritzy art gallery in Philly. There was some showing there tonight, a local artist, a sculptor from Pittsburgh who made bizarre metal sculptures, and some of Jennie-Lynn's Hayden's photographs.
There was also going to be a Philly cop, a former GCPD guy who'd transferred over a few years back, by the name of Alex Holden. The last time Dick had seen Holden, he'd been wearing his Robin pixie boots. He was a good man, a good cop. And, there'd be a lady Assistant DA, Julie Trei, beautiful, smart, and tough as nails. The two of them had been going hard at the Philly mobs. As a result, a contract had gone out on them both. It was a large sum of money. It was the only thing Frankie Sapelli and Bruno Corelli had ever co-operated on.
He grinned. If Jennie was going to be there, then Kyle would likely be as well. It was no secret that Jennie-Lynn Hayden was Jade, and also no secret that her photos were part of the show. Any assassin worth his salt would know she'd be there. And any assassin of Slade's caliber would know that if she were there, Kyle would likely be there as well. Who the hell would try to kill two LEOs under the very nose of a pair of Green Lanterns. He barked out a laugh. Slade would. He might even do it just because he'd be doing it under their very noses.
Kyle and Jennie were good. They could probably handle just about anything, but Bruce was worried that they wouldn't be able to handle Slade, and he was right. Not that Dick was deluded enough to think that he could take Slade either, but with the three of them in the same place, they'd take him down. If there was one thing Dick had never lacked, it was confidence.
A quick glance down at the speedometer showed him that he had topped a hundred miles per hour. He grinned to himself and pushed it just a little faster.
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Detective Alex Holden stood up from his desk at the fifteenth precinct. He opened the right hand, top drawer and removed his Department issued Sig-Sauer P225 and slipped it into the Cordovan leather holster at the back of his belt. He shrugged on his herringbone sports coat and walked to the restroom, so he could check that his tie was straight. His ex-wife had bought it for him before their divorce, specifically to be worn with that jacket. She'd told him more than once that, if left to his own devices, he'd end up looking like a train wreck every day.
He gauged his own reflection in the mirror. He was tall, early forties, dark hair slowly going grey, neatly trimmed moustache which was mostly grey, not a bad looking guy, but not a looker either. The tie seemed alright to him, but he definitely wasn't happy about the planned night's activities. Julie was tough and stubborn. He'd tried to convince her that exposing herself like this was a completely unnecessary risk, but she'd insisted. The gallery owner was a friend. His own Captain had suggested that they shouldn't both be there, if she insisted on going, he should stay out of it, but that wasn't his way. There was no way he wouldn't be there to keep her safe, him and three other plainclothes detectives.
Word on the street was that Bruno and Frankie had teamed up, for the first time ever, pooling resources to put out a major contract on them both. He shuddered to think about the kind of talent that might lure to Philly. He'd considered leaving a message for Battery. The last few months, he'd become the unofficial police contact for the city's resident hero. In the end, he'd decided against it. He'd handle it. The first day he'd put on a uniform, he'd known and understood the risks involved.
A quick glance at his watch told him it was time to head over to Miss Trei's apartment building. He double-checked the knot on his tie once more and left.
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Julie Trei paced around her apartment. She'd been ready to go half an hour ago. She was just waiting for her police escort to arrive. She hated having to be escorted everywhere she went, but it only strengthened her resolve to bring down Frankie Sapelli and Bruno Corelli. They were long overdue for their comeuppance.
She wore a long, dark blue dress that showed a bit of cleavage, but not too much, with flesh colored stockings and black two inch heels. She was relatively petite, only five foot three, and she liked the extra height. She wore small silver earrings with a tiny pearl each, and a pearl choker. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair she left down, allowing it to frame her face. Her eyes were also brown, and perfectly made up, so that they seemed like near endless pools. She carried a black clutch purse.
Finally, just as she was getting ready to take out her phone and call Alex, there came a knock at the door. She checked through the peephole, just in case. The Officer outside, Officer Perry, she thought was standing there, just as he was supposed to be. When she opened the door he said, "They just called in Councilor. Detective Holden has arrived. I'll walk you down."
"Thank you Officer," she said. He didn't proffer an arm for her. She assumed that was so he wouldn't be hindered in reaching for his weapon, should the need arise. His partner, Officer Lankford remained by her door. Soon enough they were downstairs, and she was in Alex's car and they were off to the gallery.
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Batman sat in the large swivel chair in front of the Batcomputer. The cowl was pulled back away from his face, and a hot cup of tea sat near his right elbow, courtesy of Alfred. He was compiling reports, trying to make some sense of a jumbled picture.
Something big was happening, but he hadn't yet been able to put all the pieces together. Every instinct he had told him it was huge, maybe Earth-shattering. It was why he'd sent Dick to Philly to deal with Deathstroke. Under normal circumstances, he'd have gone himself. Slade was a challenge that even Batman didn't take lightly. But, between Nightwing, Jade and Green Lantern, they should be able to handle things.
A small window popped up on the lower left corner of the screen, and he was greeted by the welcome sight of a head of wavy red hair and prim glasses. She never went out of her way to make herself beautiful, but there was also no way that Barbara Gordon, or Oracle to many of her heroic contacts, could ever be anything but.
"I've got something I think you're going to want to see," she said without preamble, having long been acquainted with the Batman, and well aware of his disregard for small-talk. "Sending you a link now to a video feed I downloaded from a security company in Sao Paulo."
The link popped up on his screen, and Batman immediately clicked on it, not bothering to scan it for viruses first. If it came from Oracle, it would be clean. The footage appeared to be from a loading dock at a port. Large containers were being off-loaded from a ship. The name of the ship was "Porthius". The video was two days old. He ran a check. The Porthius was a Liberian flagged vessel that was supposed to be running medical supplies from Britain to Haiti. What was she doing in Brazil. He asked the question aloud, knowing that Oracle would hear him through their video/audio link.
"She's not," Barbara said. Another link popped up. It was a US Navy ship report. The Frigate Reuben James had encountered the Porthius in the waters SW of Florida earlier that same day, bound for Haiti. An injured crewman from the Porthius had been transferred to the Reuben James and then flown to Miami for medical care.
"The ship in Brazil is a fake," Batman said. "Do we know what they're off-loading?"
"Not yet," Barbara answered, "but I put in a call requesting that one of our contacts look into it."
"Beatriz," he said. There was nothing of a question in his voice, and she didn't bother to confirm what he'd already guessed.
"If those are the missing industrial components," she said, "then we have a serious problem, bigger than we'd originally imagined."
It was a terrifying scenario. Thefts had been taking place around the world for the better part of the last year, from major technology companies, in New York, San Francisco, London, Osaka, and Sydney. It was only linked together by Oracle a few days earlier, after a theft in Atlanta earlier in the week. With the right scientists to do the work, whoever had stolen all of that technological equipment would be capable of sending a person, or maybe two, on a one way trip through time, at least theoretically.
"The Red Skull," Batman said. "His base of operations is in Brazil, and he'd have the money and the people to pull off an operation like this, not to mention the motive."
"He sends someone back, warns Hitler of the Allied plans, changes history to suit the Nazis," she finished the thought for him. She let out a low whistle, obviously grasping the gravity of the situation.
"He's had two days to integrate that last piece of tech," Batman said. "Get the JLA and the Avengers both on the line. We need to move on this now."
"On it," she said. Her pretty blue eyes, normally so determined and calm were filled with apprehension.