"Master Bruce, I believe the evening news might be of some interest to you tonight."
Alfred set down a silver tray balancing steaming tea and a midnight snack at the Batcomputer desk console. Bruce was leaning forward, chin rested on his steepled fingers, immersed in a data file he had pulled up. The batsuit cowl was for show and protection, it had no practical use otherwise, so Bruce had removed it upon arrival and set it aside, letting the musty cave air cool the sweat on his scalp.
He glanced sidelong, reverie broken.
"Thank you, Alfred," he said tiredly, but appreciative. Tapping a function button on his keyboard, the file minimized and slid aside, making way for an enlarged Gotham news feed window.
"—going to Donna Gibbs at the scene in Philadelphia. Donna."
"Thanks, Jack. Behind me, clean-up crews are still ascertaining the extent of the damage, but in a miraculous turn, no casualties have been reported."
Using his peripheral to reach for his tea, Bruce kept his eyes trained on the screen to absorb every detail, audible and visual.
Donna was awash in the news camera's spotlight, given the nighttime hour. Flecks of gentle snow fell at a slant against her black peacoat and the breeze teased her blond curls. Behind her was a scene straight out of a National Geographic extreme weather documentary. Colorful Christmas-themed debris was scattered in an excessive diameter that far exceeded the camera's margins. Stringed lights were draped and dangling, or pulled taut from their broken anchors, with very few bulbs surviving the wreckage. Most notable was the misshapen remains of a toppled ferris wheel, cast on its side, freed of its moorings.
A normal first inkling would suggest that violent high winds tore the area apart, but Alfred would not have diverted Bruce's attention to a natural disaster in a city seventy miles away. No, not since the emergence of beings beyond all human capability...
Bruce lowered his teacup before it touched his lips. He narrowed his eyes.
Donna strolled along the taped-off perimeter she was allowed to traverse, speaking into her microphone. "According to eyewitnesses tonight of what was the Chilladelphia Winter Festival, many reported a caped, red figure coming to their rescue, before a group of similarly-dressed individuals eventually joined him."
Bruce set down his tea promptly. He leaned forward.
"One eyewitness trapped in the stalled ferris wheel, rescued before its collapse, managed to capture this part of the destruction on his cell phone. We do warn that the images you are about to see may be shocking."
The feed cut to grainy amateur footage with a high vantage point, over a much cleaner festival. Muscle ticks and frightened panting by the operator gave the image an unsteady picture, but the recording's focal point centered on a showdown happening below, between a blurry yellow glow bordered by a pop of red, and black coated figure opposite. When the picture finally steadied in momentary lapses, Bruce could discern the brighter figure better—a man clad in a red bodysuit bearing a glowing lightning bolt over the chest, with a hooded, white, two-tier cape billowing behind.
The mysterious man's dueling partner was much harder to dissect. Though the Festival boasted an impressive collection of end-to-end Christmas lights, their reach could only do so much after sundown. The shadows seemed to follow this other man in the black coat. He carried a staff topped with a luminous blue orb of some kind. He jutted it forcefully and a crack of blue lightning shot from the point. The camera holder was so startled that the picture jostled and Bruce was not able to see the result of where the lightning hit, but the aim seemed dead set on the one in red.
After a few disorienting seconds, the camera found the man in red again. No battle damage marked him. In retaliation, he shot forward so powerfully that Bruce was instantly reminded of Clark. This new superhuman possessed the power of flight.
The owner of the camera had zoomed in too far for both figures to be in the same shot for long. Bruce spotted two red pinpricks in the periphery, which he dismissed as a Christmas light reflection, until another pair joined the first. Bruce squinted. Smoky shadow seemed to unfurl and follow their movement. Bruce soon discovered that these were disembodied glowing eyes, and the further he tried to make sense of the picture, he pieced together that the eyes belonged to some horrid, gargoyle-like creatures.
The footage froze and then cut off. Donna was back on. Bruce vacated his chair, walking away.
"Now, we have received reports of over thirty attendees in hospital with injuries sustained in the attack, but as of now no official word on an exact number."
Alfred stood dutifully aside, watching the screen. "Shall I call in for the Mercedes or the jet?"
"Jet. I'm going to need more seats."
Philadelphia Decembers were not particularly kind, but at least the lovely twilight offset the air's gentle bite.
Arthur sat atop the roof's A/C unit, legs splayed in a very alpha stance, leaning one elbow on his knee. "Don't know why we had to call in a meeting when Supes and Speedy could do all the recon work in two minutes."
Bruce had one booted foot poised on the lip of the downtown apartment rooftop they were using as a scouting position. "We're a League. Not a sovereignty, not a regime. Everybody should have a say on what we make of this guy, and to do that we need to all be witness to what he can do."
Arthur thoughtfully considered those words. Then, he quirked his head and stared over the edge for a view of ground level. "Hey, democracy works for me," he said agreeably.
Barry walked out from behind the A/C unit. "Seconded," he added, raising his hand. "Plus, not gonna lie, it feels great to be in this thing again." He affectionately poked one of the scuffed red plates on the arm of his costume.
"Wearing our armor is a precaution," reminded Bruce as a minor gust of wind rustled his cape. "We don't know what this person is capable of yet, and I'm still not fully on either side if he's friend or foe."
"So until we know for sure, it's dress rehearsal. Got it," said Barry with a curt nod, the feeling of importance swelling in his chest. But it was only momentary. "By the way, I know I already told you, like, two hundred times, but really, thank you for the lift."
Not that Barry was a member who really needed to hitch a ride on the Wayne jet to get to Philadelphia (he could dash there in five minutes, with four minutes and fifty-eight seconds to spare for drive-thru) but the seats were leather-wrapped heaven and he ate so many complementary Skittles on the plane.
Diana also stood on the rooftop's threshold, though a little more boldly than Bruce. Her feet were both planted firmly on the risen edge, a steep drop just one wrong move forward. Her hands were rested on her hips as she surveyed the street twenty stories below. A burgundy cloak was draped over her shoulders and hung quite regally. A rounded protrusion on her back gave away the concealed presence of her shield. It was strapped and tucked away for now, but she was ready if the time would come to use it.
Victor wore a dark jacket and track pants to hide the glint off his mechanical parts. Their target tonight was clearly super-human, so super eyesight was probably a given. "So what is this guy going by?" asked Victor, looking past Diana to Bruce. "What are we calling him?"
"Haven't been able to find an official one. News agencies nickname him, but it varies. Lightning Man. Mister Philadelphia. Captain Marvelous..."
Arthur changed position. His butt was getting numb. "Whatever it is, you gotta hand it to him, the guy definitely stands out. Not in a good way, but I guess not all of us can choose our look."
Victor looked over his shoulder sardonically.
The last hint of sunlight winked out of existence, bringing the night. Artificial city lights, flicked to life an hour ago, picked up the slack.
Victor acknowledged Bruce. "You tracked him all the way down here?"
"It took a couple days to find the pattern, but most sightings after the Winter Festival seem to be frequent in this general downtown area," Bruce said. "There is a higher than average crime rate on this street. If he shows, we'll be ready. If he is a threat to innocents, we'll jump in."
"Well," said Victor, looking down at their target peeking around the building's corner, "can't say you were wrong."
The Man In Red wasn't quite learned in the disciplines of stealth yet, it seemed. The League had been waiting for him to emerge from the alleyway between the two apartment complexes for quite a while now. One of Bruce's surveillance drones spotted him there, but The Man In Red had not moved since. Stoicism did not seem to be in his repertoire, either. He paced back and forth rather fitfully, talking to himself or to the trash cans, like he was psyching himself up. The League kept their presence a secret, standing back to wait in the wings and observe. Amateur footage on the nightly news and Youtube uploads were one thing, but it only told half the story.
"Where is Superman?" asked Diana. Though their coded identity names seemed formal after everything they had been through, in today's Big Brother world, only code names were allowed in the field.
"He'll show," assured Bruce. "He needed to make a detour. I sent him an overview."
Six of them against one seemed like overkill. But this wasn't overkill. If this new super-being had abilities anywhere near Clark's range, even to the point of overtaking them, Bruce would take every single precaution thinkable. He would never let the crisis in Metropolis happen again...
Clark, fortunately, proved well-meaning, trustworthy, and disciplined to a noble moral code.
That did not mean that every act that followed would do the same.
"Hey, hey," said Barry swiftly, tapping the rooftop barrier, signalling for everybody's attention. "Looks like your bait is attracting some potential clients."
A rather fancy Aston Martin was parked curbside in front of the apartment building; way too fancy for such a run down area typically avoided by sensible people. Especially after sundown. An Aston Martin would be sure to attract less-than-ideal passerby, like a magpie to a shiny ring.
Luckily for anyone naive enough to leave their expensive car unattended on this particular street, this one was provided courtesy of the Wayne garage.
Four nondescript individuals turned a western corner underneath The League's vantage and strolled the sidewalk. The glint off the sleek black car acted like a beacon. Judging by the way the group paused, huddled, and then spoke among themselves, they had seen it. Adopting more of a skulking, nonchalant lope now, they eased their way closer in. A lookout straggled behind, walking backwards to make sure no witnesses were watching from the rear.
Catching up to the car, one of them shielded his eyes and pressed his face close against the passenger window to peer past the black tint. They talked among themselves. Opening their jackets, they started trading tools hidden in compartments of their clothing, pointing to some and disregarding others as they tried to decide the best way to get what they wanted.
They were going for it.
Arthur drummed his fingers over his knee. "Anytime now, hero..." he said.
The seconds were ticking. The gang had officially graduated to would-be criminals as one of them wedged a Slim Jim down into the Aston Martin's passenger door. Clearly they realized the futility in utilizing such a simplistic tool on a modern, high-end vehicle when nothing was happening. Another member got impatient and sent his elbow into the glass, shattering it.
Something else shattered the night right after.
"License and registration, buddy!" a strong voice called down below, inflated with bravado that could be heard from the rooftop.
Arthur smiled. "There we go." Plucking the trident leaning on the vent, he hopped off his seat and joined the others in their VIP front row seats to the action.
Bruce tapped a few buttons on his gauntlet's computer interface. The wireless transmitters in everyone's ears switched on. They would be able to hear everything coming from street level, even from their lofty position.
In unison, the four criminals turned.
"Seriously?!" cried one of them. "Another one of you spandex clowns?"
The Man In Red's bold manner faltered briefly. He paused to pinch his costume and pull the fabric experimentally. "Actually, if I'm being honest, I don't know what this is made of."
The thug who smashed the window pulled a switchblade from his pocket. "Who cares. He bleeds like the rest of them. Let's make one less..."
As he spoke, more darkly-clothed gang members appeared out of the woodwork, seemingly from the very mortar making this street. Reinforcements were hiding everywhere, or perhaps just happened to be in the area and were alerted by the noise. But whether that was lucky (the thugs could gang up on The Man In Red) or unlucky (eleven people would be on a mission to be admitted to the emergency room tonight) remained to be seen.
The Man In Red was surrounded. He swiveled, taking in his surroundings as more of the gang closed in.
Lacing his fingers together, he flexed them outward, cracking his knuckles. "All right," he said, shaking his fingers out. "Who wants to go first?"
The gang did not take their notes from movies; they rushed The Man In Red all at the same time in groups. Some pulled standard street weapons from their jackets, some had nothing but their fists.
But what they were all going to have by the end of this were broken bones.
The ones charging from The Man In Red's left were blown back with one powerful backsweep of an arm. Some went sprawling on their backs, while another was caught before he fell. Unfortunately, it was by way of the lamppost. The sound of teeth colliding on steel made Barry flinch. The ones who charged from the right were suddenly swiping at air when The Man In Red disappeared in a blur, showing up again casually leaning against the building, goading the thugs to try again. If anybody, excluding Barry, blinked, they would have missed it.
Clark picked a wonderful time to show up, floating down from above, stopping to hover a few feet over The League.
"Catch me up," he said, touching down to land, joining the cluster.
"Right on time. What do you think?" asked Bruce. "Alien?"
Clark honed in on The Man In Red down below and tightened his eyes. Bruce waited, letting Clark study the mysterious man's insides.
"Not alien," concluded Clark. "The physiology is fully human. This one got his abilities some other way."
"Not even breaking a sweat here!" bragged The Man In Red. Some of the downed thugs quickly learned their lesson and bolted, but clearly not enough of them.
Bruce looked to Diana. "What do you make of his combat style? Any strategy patterns you can pick up on?"
Diana concentrated for a further extended second. When she shook her head, the movement was very light. "His pattern is...I can't really explain. It's almost like he has no strategy at all. It's not of any I've ever seen."
Arthur came up beside Diana, following her eyeline. "It's bad form," he agreed. "The stance is messy. He's gotta be winging it."
"He must be very powerful to be that confident, then," mused Victor. His red cybernetic eye whirred as it tracked the brawl, sorting information as it collected. "He's pulling his punches."
Barry winced as he watched a thug be catapulted three car lengths away, skidding and rolling on the sidewalk where he landed. "That's pulling his punches?"
"His joule-per-punch capacity far exceeds what he's giving," analyzed Victor. "He's being merciful."
Like Clark, Bruce thought. If Superman lacked the discipline to hold back, his punches would be akin to forty-five megatons of dynamite.
Bruce fell particularly quiet, studying quite intently. He was analyzing patterns and moves The Man In Red was displaying, trying to find weaknesses to develop a contingency plan to contain him should he prove uncontrollable and dangerous to the populace. The Man In Red already had the Winter Festival rescue under his belt, but one good deed does not a trustworthy man make.
None of the criminals got far—as far as bringing down their adversary went. Bruce was even certain that no switchblades grazed The Man In Red, but that could have been owed to a possible skin inpenetrability. Or perhaps the color red was more of a strategic choice than an aesthetic one.
The street brawl was winding down. It could hardly even be called a brawl, it had mostly been one-sided. A couple thugs had been smart in the beginning; one display of super-human feat and they were scattering. The brave ones came back for more. The bold ones put a bet on third time's the charm. And the senseless ones were writhing on the sidewalk. Nobody returned for another round.
"Give him one more minute to cool down," said Clark. "We're moving in. He can fly, so I'll take position above. Remember formation."
Everyone nodded, settling in and prepping for the signal to move.
"So," Barry said, trailing Arthur. "King of the seas, huh? So, do, like, lakes fall into your jurisdiction, too, is it kind of like a Commonwealth deal, do we dryfolk need to be wary of any freshwater versus saltwater wars..."
Arthur blinked. Then he looked into the distance ponderingly. "Yeah, man," he said in an exhale, "the frogs are thinking of expanding their territory. I just got back from weeks of negotiations over an amphibian uprising."
Barry tensed.
Seven Minutes Earlier...
Oh God! Okay, okay, calm down, Billy, he coached himself inwardly, peeking from around the alley corner. Even his inner voice was panting. Think of it like an audition. Impress them! This is your shot.
Of course he was aware of who was watching him. Super senses kind of came pre-installed with the whole Shazam package.
Maybe they'll think you're cool under pressure if you use a one-liner! You got this, you got—
"I've got a better idea," one thug said impatiently. Bringing his arm high, he smashed his elbow against the car window, exploding it to pieces.
...Woops. Hurry up, GO NOW.
A/N: I was extremely excited for this idea when I thought of it last week and immediately got started, but the enthusiasm got weaker and weaker as the days went on and I wasn't so confident in it as I thought I was. The story wasn't unfolding as entertainingly as I intended, and there were a lot of technical hiccups, but I had already written so much that I thought it would be a waste to not upload it and get it all out. I've got the bare bones of an outline, but I'm just winging it for a lot of this.
Tell me what you think, though. If readers actually legitimately like it, I'll get that initial spark back again.
I know that Freddy is the one typically considered the superhero fanboy, but I'm sure Billy has an admiration for heroes too, especially after what he's been through. They're basically celebrities after all, I'm sure he'd gush a bit and be a little starstruck himself.
