"Those who make peaceful revolution impossible, make violent revolution inevitable."

-JFK

Watchtower Orbital Station

Sometime in the morning

Though he was certainly no saint, and had woken up in a few strange beds before, Wally West was pretty sure this was the first time it had happened aboard the Watchtower. Startled by the realization, he shot up, only to elicit a muffled groan of protest from the woman lying next to him.

"Oh wow," he muttered, knowing even before he looked down that it was the Brazilian beauty Fire. She made some unintelligible comment in Portuguese before passing back to sleep and yanking more of the covers her way. He gulped and tried to remember exactly what had happened. They'd drunk, danced. . .she'd invited back to her place but he thought he remembered wanting to say no, for some reason. A really good reason, if it made him think twice about a night with Fire. Shoot, what could it have been?

A knocking on the door shook him from his thoughts. "Beatriz!" came a somewhat familiar voice. "Open up baby, it's me, Alex. I wanted to talk about last night."

This woke Fire up pretty quickly. "Merda!" she hissed. "This is bad."

Wally blinked, acutely aware of the fact that in addition to being in bed with his teammate, he was also quite naked. He wasn't sure which part she was referring to.

"That's Alex!" she said, urgently. "Atom Smasher, my boyfriend."

Oh, right, that's why it had been a bad idea. "You-you have a boyfriend?"

Fire was already out of bed, desperately throwing clothes at Wally and trying to put her own on at the same time. "Yeah, technically. We had a fight yesterday."

"Uh huh." He imagined the next party having a disclaimer attached: Guaranteed to ruin steady relationships, singles only. "You and Atom Smasher? Really?" He next imagined getting hit by the gigantic Leaguer. It wasn't a pretty thought. "You think he'll be mad?"

The look Beatriz gave him was completely incredulous. "Lemme put it like this: how fast can you run?"

Watchtower Orbital Station

Cafeteria

"Sleep well?"

John Stewart chuckled. "I'm a Marine I never-"

"Sleep well," finished Shayera from behind him. It was an old routine of theirs, usually caused by Shayera waking up first and teasing him awake. The familiarity of it made John's heart skip a beat, just for a moment. He set his tray down at the first table available, and unsurprisingly she joined him.

"I like what you're doing with the hair," she said conversationally between the first mouthfuls of sushi.

John self-consciously ran a finger over the short layer of hair he'd allowed to grow on his formerly bald pate. Contrary to popular belief, he hadn't shaved it off in the first place due to balding, and it was a minor relief to see it coming back in evenly. "Haven't decided whether I'll keep it or just cut it all off again."

"Makes you look younger," said Shayera. "Call me nostalgic I guess."

John chuckled at this. "Not hungover?"

"What, from last night?" She laughed dismissively. "I was drinking more than that fresh out of the Academy." She took a sip of orange juice. "How're things with Mari, you talk to her yet?"

"Not exactly."

"Doesn't sound like the John Stewart I know, waiting to clear the air."

"She left on a mission, actually.

"Oh?" There was a tinge of mirth in Shayera's voice. "Taking avoidance a bit far, is she?"

"Maybe," said John. He didn't look up. "Maybe she has a right to be mad."

"Oh, she definitely has a right to be mad," said the Thanagarian. "Doesn't mean she has the right to run off instead of talking things out."

John gave her an odd look. "I guess it wouldn't be the first time a woman's done that to me."

Her smile was amused and sad at the same time. "Touché."

K'Naedi Headquarters

Kasnia

Though it resembled a cave, the night's meeting location was completely manmade. Carved out of the mountainside by rural peasants as a place of shelter and safety, the structure stood to this very day as a reminder of the ingenuity and determination of the land's native people.

These, reflected Viktor as he leafed through the latest report, were the true masters of this land. The Naedi and their descendants, who had built, toiled, and prospered for so long, only to have their home overrun with foreignerz and crumpled into the country known as Kasnia. It was the sad story told to Viktor by his father and their fathers before him, but only in this generation could something be done about it.

K'Naedi. In their language, literally 'sons of the Naedi'. It was an apt name for the group, which under Viktor had seen an unprecedented swelling in the ranks. It was a feat that he could take partial credit for, though the real reason behind this was the now-deceased King. Toward loyal Kansans, he had been a benevolent and gracious ruler. But his disdain for ethnic and cultural minorities, such as the Naedi, had gone further than even his predecessors. His secret police had been dispatched by the thousands to maintain strict martial law over the region, meeting even the slightest hint of dissent with public beatings and humiliations, imprisonment, and in some cases summary execution.

That was the fate that had befallen Viktor's younger brother, Mikhail, three decades earlier. A rash, hotheaded youth who had punched an officer for harassing his girlfriend. Viktor could still remember those exhilarating few seconds, followed by a horrible dread as Kasnian soldiers poured into the bar raining vicious blows from their rifle butts and steel-toed boots down onto poor Mikhail, the girl screaming and pleading until she too was silenced by a brutal backhand from one of the officers.

Mikhail was dragged outside, his hands roughly tied behind his back. It was late in the evening, but thanks to all the commotion the villagers had begun to wander outside, curious what was going on. The officer in charge didn't stop them; he wanted them to see what came next.

A suitable tree was found, and soon one of the soldiers emerged from a nearby shop with a large coil of rope in tow. And a bucket. The younger townspeople were confused, not even able to comprehend what was going on. The older knew better, but they also knew that Mikhail's fate was out of their hands now. They had no choice but to stay silent, lest they suffer the same fate.

The bucket was flipped over, and Mikhail forced to stand on it. He was slowly coming out of the shock of his earlier beating, realizing what was happening to him. When the noose was roughly slipped over his neck, he knew for sure. His eyes widened and he struggled futilely, unable to even budge an inch with the two soldiers grasping him firmly on either side. Viktor could remember screaming 'No!' and rushing toward his brother, only to be smashed in the face with a rifle stock. The skin had split from the blow, and it was a scar he wore to this very day.

The commanding officer's words were simple. "This boy forgot his place," he pronounced to the assembled villagers. "Take care that you don't share his mistake." He then gave a soft nod to one of his subordinates and the bucket was kicked from beneath Mikhail's feet, leaving the boy to flail helplessly, suspended by the rope. The village watched in abject horror as he died, his struggling body finally going into its last death throes before sagging into lifelessness, swinging idly under the night sky.

If there was an ounce of remorse on the officer's face, it did not show. He unsheathed his saber and in one clean stroke cut the rope, allowing Mikhail's corpse to fall to the ground. Viktor remembered the soldiers leaving, satisfied that an example had been made. And then his mother, Mikhail's girlfriend, and the other villagers rushing to his dead brother. He didn't join them. Not in reclaiming the body, not in planning the funeral, not in laying Mikhail's body to rest.

Instead, he went to the local craftsman and used all of his savings to buy some supplies. No guns, they had been outlawed for the Naedi to produce or possess. But a superb hunting crossbow. And a knife.

He methodically packed other supplies from home. An old set of binoculars, a compass. And some rope. By the time his family returned from the funeral, he was long gone.

Now, thirty years later, Viktor was no longer the bold individual he'd been in his youth. With experience had come maturity and a razor-sharp intelligence that had allowed him to amass the greatest revolutionary force in Kasnia's history.

The Javelin

"So that was a good party, huh," said Wally, officially breaking the stale silence that had settled in the Javelin's cabin. Vixen seemed trapped in her own thoughts, while Vigilante was trying (and failing) to reclaim lost sleep.

Vixen looked up from the passenger seat. "Yeah, it was nice."

The lack of enthusiasm in her voice was obvious, but Wally didn't press her on it. Everyone knew that something major had gone down between her and John during the party, after which she'd disappeared and John had been seen commiserating with Shayera. Rumors abounded, but then where John and Mari were concerned that was nothing new.

He turned back to Vic, whose cowboy hat was sloped down, covering the part of his face that the bandana didn't. "You missed out man, it was a good time."

Vigilante sighed. "Wasn't interested then, not interested now."

"What if I told you that Ice was asking about you," mused Wally. "I mean, Fire and I hit it off pretty well, but I distinctly remember Ice asking if I'd invited you. Bet you could've at least scored a date Vig."

Mari laughed. "Wait, never mind that, doesn't Fire have a boyfriend?"

"Um, yeah." Flash gave a nervous cough, his eyes now on the controls. "Found that out this morning."

"Aww, poor baby," she teased. She turned to Greg. "That said, whatever you do don't listen to Wally. I'd say his matchmaking skills are suspect at best."

Vic tipped the brim of his hat up with a solitary finger, peeking out at the two of them from underneath. "I have an idea, how about we discuss the actual mission briefing."

He said it so mildly that Mari didn't even find herself bristling as she normally would have at such words. She shrugged. "Not much to it really. The new queen of Kasnia requested our assistance, partially for peacekeeping and partially just for good P.R. We all know what the country's been through recently, with Vandal Savage and. . .all that. Now Queen Audrey, who's also a good friend of Diana's, is trying to launch a new scientific initiative which will generate a lot of much-needed revenue for the country. But, there's been an increase in terrorist activity, including a nearly-successful assassination attempt. So here we are, to bolster public confidence and also protect the queen until the project is unveiled." She eyed Vic. "That sum it up for you?"

Democratic Republic of Kasnia

Illyentov, Captial City

Queen Audrey saw the transport craft appear in the sky even before the reporters, but she made no move to show it. Soon enough, the journalists and cameramen caught the day's biggest news story approaching too, and half of those cameras would be watching her as intently as a hawk, looking for any sign of emotion. Elation, fear, apprehension. . .the slightest facial twitch could provide fodder for hours of 'expert analysis' on the news cycle, even in a country as small as Kasnia.

So she remained impassive and serene, surveying the crowd of reporters and civilians with what she hoped was a dignified and regal grace. Today, hopefully, would be the beginning of a resurgent public confidence in the throne, and a concurrent decrease in terrorist attacks and assassination attempts. She didn't even bother to try to hide the hopefulness from her face. The Justice League, to her rescue again. . .

To her right she saw Diric raise a hand briefly to his ear. He flashed her a reassuring smile, as if to say that whatever he'd just been notified of was already being taken care of. Public relations bonanza or not, the welcoming ceremony for the Justice League envoy was a security nightmare. No one was really concerned for the superheroes of course- whoever the League sent would be more than capable of taking care of themselves. The queen however was an enormous target, and this was one of her most public appearances in months. No better opportunity to send a permanent message, which was why the royal guard and several contingents of the national armed forces were swarming the area. Diric and ten men stood at the podium next to the landing platform with her. Another dozen sharpshooters were positioned in every tower and parapet within an approximate kilometer-and-a-half radius. Diric told her he wished it could've been two. A bright, sunny day like this was a sniper's wet dream, and an extraordinary talent with extraordinary equipment could put a bullet through the Queen's forehead from even further away than that.

She thought of the other security precautions. Blocked off road, reinforced with armed guards. Military helicopters circling above. She was as safe as she was ever going to get, as she'd told Diric. And shying away from everything that posed a security risk was no way to govern effectively as Queen.

The aircraft, a new model Javelin from the looks of it, descended perfectly onto the pre-designated landing platform. The sun was almost but not quite overhead, making for some pretty dramatic shadow effects. Audrey's own heart was starting to race a little, despite herself.

"Here we go," said Diric softly.

K'Naedi Headquarters

Kasnia

"It's like they want us to strike," mused Talin, a senior K'Naedi commander. He couldn't see her face, over the telephone but he could picture the eagerness etched across it. Her wishes were clear.

"I can see it as well as you," he replied neutrally.

"Then surely you understand. We must attack. I have drawn up several plans, and begun amassing the necessary forces. The queen is well-protected, but exposed. They are screening attendees to the welcoming ceremony, but they've completely ignored the fact that behind the landing platform is forest edge. It presents a difficult angle of attack, putting the Justice League craft between us and the queen. But if we could get even two of our fighters into that forest, a well placed rocket would destroy the entire platform.

"The forest is guarded," he said wearily.

"By a minimal contingent of poorly-trained troops. They won't be expecting an actual attack- it would be suicidal-"

"Yes it would."

"But," she continued insistently, "who among us wouldn't give their life to strike back against the royal house. Two rocketmen, and a few others to dispatch the guards posted around the forest perimeter. Even a god distraction should do the trick. We have the rocket launchers, and our men know how to use them. Even myself, if need be."

"Wholesale slaughter does not sit right with me," he said, simply but forcefully.

"Our people have been slaughtered, 'wholesale', for generations!" She paused. "One might think that the years have dulled your sense of duty."

"You know nothing of my sense of duty," he told her, his voice hard as granite. "I have seen too many comrades, too many innocents, both K'Naedi and Kasnian, die. Blood spilled for its own sake holds no interest for me, not anymore. Killing the queen now would only bring us further from our goals."

Talin laughed. "What goals? Complete submission to the royal house, to the Kasnian government. Perhaps we can become their fawning slaves, fighting over their table scraps while they take the last of our ancestral land and eliminate us at leisure!" There was anger in her voice. "What goal?"

"Peace," said the old man.

"Oh, and that's why you ordered a hit on the queen."

Viktor froze. "What?"

"Check the news. Or ask that spy you have hidden in the palace. There was an assassination attempt. If you did not order it, then someone certainly wants it to look that way."

"Where did this happen?"

"The Gardenia. The assassin was identified as one of us."

"Impossible," snapped Viktor. "Who was he?"

Talin laughed. "How should I know? If anything, I'm surprised that you do not."

"Watch your tone," cautioned Viktor. "I will investigate this. You, refrain from acting rashly."

"I only act in the interests of our people," she said. "Talin out."

"Viktor, out."

Democratic Republic of Kasnia

Illyentov, Capital City

Audrey's heart sank when she saw the Javelin's occupants disembark. Mr. Terrific had informed her that whoever the League sent depended completely on availability. Still, she'd been hoping her old friend Diana might be coming. Or even that surly Batman. He might not have been all that sociable, but the name recognition would have helped her, and he was extremely popular in Kasnia.

Neither were anywhere to be seen. In fact the only one with any remote connection to Kasnia as far as she could tell was the Flash. He was also the first to get off, striding jauntily to the center of the platform, a huge smile plastered on his face. He'd been invaluable in stopping Vandal Savage's henchmen from controlling that awful rail gun, true. Still, he looked like an idiot, in her opinion. Hardly the serious beacon of power and stability she'd hoped for from the League.

The second to exit was a strikingly beautiful black woman, Vixen, if Audrey recalled correctly. She looked somewhat familiar, though the queen was certain they'd never met. This one was a step in the right direction, and would certainly help sway the minds of Kasnia's heterosexual male demographic. Even Diric seemed a bit taken aback by the woman's beauty.

Last to step down was a cowboy, straight out of America's infamous John Wayne movies. White hat, red bandana pulled up beneath his eyes. . .this one didn't even look like a superhero. Audrey had never even heard of him, and his posture and stride gave nothing away, save a calm, quiet strength. He received just as much applause as the others, but seemed not to even notice.

So, all in all a serviceable group that might be useful, though certainly not politically. Critical y elements of the Kasnian media would no doubt deride the League's assistance as a third-string throwaway gesture Nevertheless, they seemed a capable group and with the rising tensions at home, she would take all the help she could get.

A technician gave her the signal, meaning that her collar mic was now active. She smiled beatifically at the crowd, then at the newly arrived Justice League representatives.

"Good morning," she said warmly, her gaze fixing upon the trio. "And welcome to Kasnia."

Kasnian countryside

Thirty Years Ago

Finding out the commander's name had been easy. Lyman, he was told. A man whose ruthless reputation preceded him. He was one of the King's most trusted advisors, even more so than some of the generals. That he had been inflicted on Victor's village was, as they said, the worst sort of misfortune.

Viktor agreed. But it was nothing compared to the misfortune he would visit upon Lyman. His entire life now consisted of vengeance, retribution for that single horrific act. Consequences be damned. Viktor certainly didn't expect to survive his revenge, nor did he much care to. As long as the act was done.

Lyman himself lived well. On his military commission, added to royal bonuses, the commander had been able to construct an expansive lake house for himself. It was fifty odd miles away, but Viktor could almost taste the freshwater air. He traveled on foot, avoiding the military convoys and patrols that frequented the roads. He survived on small game. Rabbits, squirrels, and fish when he could find a decent stream. Sometimes he used the crossbow, though he also took the opportunity to become familiar with the hunting knife. It's heft, its weight, its feel. One unfortunate mountain lion earned the dubious honor of being its first victim. If Viktor had his way, Lyman would be the second.

He caught up with him in a matter of weeks. It could have been a swifter trip, but contending with random troop patrols and forest wildlife itself had delayed the journey. He'd nearly died many times, frozen from hypothermia or cornered by ravenous wolves, even an infected wound from an old bear trap.

But yet here he was, he'd made it to the clearing of forest where Lyman was said to live. Twenty odd foot soldiers that he could count, which meant maybe a dozen more that he couldn't. Seeing their hateful uniforms, their military cadence and stride, he wanted to kill all of them right there on the spot. The anger had returned, brimming hot and volatile.

He was going to do this smart though. So he waited until the weekend. A Friday night. The entire day he spent observing the commander and his men go about their daily business. Interestingly, there was also a pretty young woman. And a boy. They seemed very affectionate.

Not that it changed his plans in the slightest. He watched patiently as the men hitched rides out to town, where most likely they planned to drink free beer at the Naedi taverns, humiliate the men and take some of the women for the night. Such things certainly weren't unheard of, though most of the Naedi did not dare fight back. He hoped, tonight, that they didn't. He hoped the soldiers stayed out all night.

Few remained with the Commander and his family. Here, in the forest, the night was quiet, save the soft chirping of crickets, or the occasional rodent scampering in the grasses. It was time.

He pulled the crossbow's lever, nocking a lethal poised bolt into place. The timing on this was going to be tricky, since the guards would only come into range once during their rounds. Closer to the house, they were protected by the open grassy field. No way Viktor could close to them then without being seen.

So, at the edge of the forest, he waited. It was nighttime and a little cold, but strangely enough he didn't shiver. His focus was absolute. The crossbow, heavy in his hands, remained still, tilting ever so slightly with the rise and fall of his breathing. No moon, though he could see his targets well enough with that lantern they were carrying. They moved like sentries who guarded nothing of importance. No alertness, no caution. They were for all intents and purposes out on a stroll, certainly not expecting to have to act in the capacity they'd been assigned.

The sentries stepped into the killzone blissfully unaware. And then the further one died, a crossbow bolt entering and exiting his neck so fast that it didn't even alter his stride. He made it another step, then almost another before his body registered the fact that he was dead, and missing most of his throat. The corpse pitched forward just as the closer guard realized something was amiss.

Viktor had chosen the further of the two for a reason- it hemmed in the closer one, forcing him to maneuver around his newly-deceased companion in order to escape their mysterious killer. And it gave Viktor all the time in the world to nock another bolt. The scream beginning in the surviving guard's throat was cut brutally short, as the lethal projectile entered through his temple and flung him sideways, over his partner's body.

Viktor allowed himself a smile of satisfaction. He rose. Went over to inspect his handiwork. They were as dead as anything he'd ever seen, killed within the span of a few seconds. They wouldn't be missed until morning, and by then someone a whole lot more important was going to be dead too.

Viktor bent over and relieved them of their weapons. Shenlong submachine guns, decent Chinese-made knockoffs of the Israeli Uzis. No suppressors, so it was going to sound like Armageddon, firing the things. He opted, in the end, to leave them. The silent and deadly crossbow would be more than sufficient, if he could do this job right.

He took one of their keyrings, and then moved in toward the house. The lights were all off, which would make his job a bit harder. Still, as big as the house was there couldn't be that many rooms. And once he found the one, he didn't intend to take long doing what needed to be done. Not too long, anyway.

The third key on the ring proved right, and with the turn of a knob he was in the house. Softly, he closed the door behind him and latched it. Then he froze. Someone was walking around.

"Ivan, is that you?" came a sleepy voice from above. Viktor's head flew up to where he could just barely make out a stairwell and a balcony. "Ivan?" The lights came on.

Viktor ran toward what he guessed was the living room, just as the third, and quite unexpected guard realized the truth. The man was well-trained, he didn't waste time ordering Viktor to stop, or surrender. In a flash, his sidearm was out and Viktor saw a sofa cushion right next to his head explode in a cloud of feathers. He scooted further behind the sofa, nocking an arrow. The guard was flying down the stairs now, pistol at the ready. His other hand was fumbling for his radio. A matter of seconds, if that, before he sounded the alarm to every soldier in the entire province.

Acting almost on autopilot, Viktor grabbed another sofa cushion at threw it at the soldier, who'd just arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The clapping reports of two more shots rang through the air, and this cushion seemed to combust in mid-flight, sending more feathers and cotton flying in every direction. In one fluid movement, Viktor and rose, crossbow coming to bear. He felt a round enter his shoulder. His left shoulder, which was saved his life and doomed the third guard. Because a fraction of a second later, Viktor's fully functional right arm was able to pull the crossbow's trigger.

The bolt pierced the guard's heart with a dull thunk, wheeling him back onto the stairwell.

Viktor wasted no time. Lyman couldn't possibly have slept through all that. He raced up the stairs, ignoring the screaming pain in his arm. He dropped the crossbow- difficult to impossible to reload without the use of both arms. He slipped the hunting knife into a reverse grip and skidded to a halt in the hallway, just as Lyman was running out of his bedroom with a shotgun. The commander's eyes widened. And he stumbled back, desperately trying to pump the chamber mechanism.

Victor gave the knife a small toss, catching the tip of the blade between his thumb and forefinger. The ominous crunching sound of the shotgun echoed through the hallway. Thirteen feet between him and Lyman. A little over a second before Lyman splattered him all over the wall.

He threw the knife, putting the force of his stride, of his entire body behind the throw. The blade seemed to hang between them, like a frozen moment in time.

And then it seemed like it couldn't happen fast enough. The razor sharp blade sunk through Lyman's arm, causing the commander to howl out in pain. He fell backward, discharging the shotgun into the ceiling and sending down a million chunks of wood and rafter.

In an instant, Viktor was on Lyman. He savagely kicked the shotgun out of the other man's grip, then yanked the knife out of his bicep, prompting another pained grunt. Lyman, who was bigger than Viktor, tried to leverage him off with his knees. Viktor headbutted him, breaking his nose. Then he brought a vicious elbow down into the commander's face, the satisfying crack of something in Lyman's jaw resonating throughout the hallway.

Lyman's eyes rolled up. He was lapsing into unconscious, which was the last thing Viktor wanted just yet. So he slapped him. Palm, then backhand. Quick and brutal enough to jolt Lyman awake.

Viktor brought the knife up, letting the blade hover in front of the commander's panicked eyes. Then he let it fall, downward until the tip rested just at the edge of Lyman's throat. "Do you remember me?" he asked, hoarsely.

Lyman said nothing, he was trembling so hard that even if he did it would have been unintelligible. Viktor lifted the knife just a bit, relaxing the pressure on Lyman's trachea. "Do you remember me?" he repeated.

"No," whispered the commander, insistently.

Viktor pointed to the scar on his own face, the one he'd received from the commander's rifle butt. "You gave this to me," he said. "Right before you executed my brother. He forgot his place, as you put it. So you strung him up, you piece of shit. You hung him, for nothing. And then you left our little village, you and your soldiers. You probably intended to forget all about what you'd done. And you would have too, except that I tracked you down, patiently. And waited. For this moment.

Lyman laughed, his head lolling to the side. "Ah, yes. The stupid Naedi boy. I do believe that sounds familiar. And you were the other one, the pesky little brat who tried to interfere." He chuckled again, despite what was clear pain from the broken nose. "My, can you hold a grudge."

"You think this is funny?" screamed Viktor. "You killed my brother."

"And it served him right," Lyman shot back. "At least his lesson was learned quickly. Not like yours, my angry little Naedi friend." His eyes met Viktor's. "Do you have any idea what my men will do to you? You'll be begging for death in the first five minutes, because that five minutes will feel like an eternity. Your imagination cannot begin to conceive what we do to upstart maggots like yourself. So go ahead, kill me. You'll be captured, and tortured until your sanity is nothing but a quaint memory. And then when you are a broken, disfigured shell of your former self, you'll be made to watch your entire worthless village burned to the ground. Everything you love destroyed. Everyone you love, made to suffer until they die cursing your name."

Viktor smiled. "Are you done?"

Lyman closed his eyes, in response. And Viktor, his eyes hardened, did what he had come to do.

He was no expert, so it didn't last long. When he was done, he rose and slumped against the wall. His hands were bloody and shaking. The knife clattered to the ground before he realized he'd even dropped it. What he'd just done- it was different than he'd imagined. It made him sick.

He walked on unsteady feet into Lyman's room, hoping to sit and clear his head. Shockingly, there was already someone there, huddled up on the bed. No, make that two people. A beautiful woman, blonde and blue-eyed. She was crying.

And a boy, no more than five or six. Clearly the woman's son, though he'd inherited Lyman's jet black hair and pale gray eyes. He didn't cry. But there was something burning in his gaze that made Viktor immediately look away.

He didn't know what to say. And so when the words 'I'm sorry' left his lips, he was as surprised as anyone.

The woman just clutched her son tighter. That they'd been in the room the entire time while just outside he'd killed Lyman sickened him. He thought he might throw up.

"Mitleid, Mitleid!" sobbed the woman. German, if he wasn't mistaken. He'd heard that higher ups in the armed forces often took German wives and mistresses- there was still a sizeable refugee population of German natives who'd fled the Red occupation in the aftermath of Hitler's war. Few spoke Russian, English, or any of the tribal languages. This woman, Lyman's wife, was clearly not one of them.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tried, the words sounding laughable even as he formed them. Standing there, covered in her husband's blood. He stepped forward, raising a hand to calm her but with a shriek, the woman recoiled, pulling her son even closer. Her eyes were squeezed shut and she was repeating something over and over, a prayer perhaps. The child was still staring, an unsettling fury in his eyes.

So Viktor backed out of the room. He walked down the stairs, numb. His arm throbbed, but it was a pain that seemed removed, distant. Still, he had the presence of mind to rifle through the contents of the bathroom cabinet, where he found bandages and medicine for the pain. No antiseptic, but the liquor cabinet had massive quantities of vodka. Crude, but effective- though it hurt like hell.

On the way out, he caught a glance of his reflection in the living room mirror. In fifteen minutes he had aged ten years. He didn't recognize himself. The blood on his clothes, on his face. . .it repulsed him. His back was stooped, and lilting, an unconscious posture to help ease the pain from his bullet wound.

He'd expected to feel. . .something. Gratified, maybe. Relieved, at having killed his brother's murderer. Or even at a grander level, having struck a blow for his people, against the military machine of Kasnia.

Instead, he felt sick. It was a miracle he made it outside before vomiting. It helped, though, and when he finally reached secluded stream where he could rest, the clarity was refreshing. What he'd done would resonate for time to come, and no doubt cause serious repercussions. Part of that risk could have been eliminated by killing the woman and the child, but he couldn't allow himself to go there. Besides, they would remember, what, a young Naedi man, with dark hair and dark eyes? That would narrow it down to thousands in dozens of different villages. Even Kasnia's military couldn't wage that kind of war.

But they would try. And they would wreak unspeakable horrors upon his people in the process. . .

Unless they had a leader. One who could show them how to fight back.

Democratic Republic of Kasnia

Illyentov, Capital City

Now

Audrey's speech was as perfunctory and charming as any career politician's though she certainly was not one. It was so good, in fact, that the League's complete silence went largely unnoticed. Seen and not heard, had been their maxim, and while Wally might have been inclined to try some of his trademark humor out on the Kasnian throngs, Audrey had specifically requested that none of the newcomers speak. At least, not until they could become acclimated enough to Kasnia to keep from making some awkward cultural gaffe. She'd been looking directly at Wally, in fact, when adding that last bit.

So, with a wave and a smile, the three were whisked away by Audrey's security team to a waiting limousine. Not through the crowds, but via a network of underground tunnels leading to an offsite garage. From there, three limousines, and two Bentleys would take off in separate directions. Four of the vehicles decoys to protect the fifth.

Inside the limo, Flash whistled. "Pretty elaborate security setup, I must say."

"Like it or not, I have many enemies," said Audrey curtly. "Such precautions are quite necessary."

"The K'Naedi are like ghosts," supplied Diric. Seated beside the diminutive Audrey, he looked like a giant. Albeit a rather relaxed one. He ran a hand absently through his jet-black hair before explaining. "They are well-trained, well-armed, and while not suicidal would certainly be willing to sacrifice themselves if it meant getting to the queen."

"Sound like pleasant folks," muttered Vixen.

"They are not," said Audrey emphatically. "However, it is hard to root them out. They are only a small minority of the entire Naedi population, but even the majority are extremely reticent to cooperate in the apprehension of these terrorists. They are viewed as something more akin to freedom fighters, really. Very difficult to root out."

"I hear your father had some pretty effective methods of 'rooting them out'," said Greg. It was literally the first thing he'd said since the inbound flight, and it caused every eye in the spacious limo cabin to turn his way.

Audrey blushed a deep scarlet and Vixen immediately whirled on her companion. "Greg!"

He shrugged. "I did a little research before coming, nothing a quick Google search couldn't turn up. Sounds like your father's answer to the K'Naedi involved a lotta dicey tactics. International treaty violations and the like-".

"Now wait just a minute," interjected Diric. The King did nothing more than what needed to be done-"

Audrey held up a hand, silencing her security advisor mid-sentence. "He's right, Diric." She turned to the three Leaguers. "I loved my father. But his policies were misguided, at times. Never more so than in his handling of the Naedi. You see, the Soviet occupation of this country completely upset the balance of power. In the eyes of some, including myself, it was a balance that needed to be upset. But the fact remains that the nobles and royalty, my family included, lost everything. Many were executed outright, or sent to the gulags. Priceless treasures were destroyed, the palace ransacked and the capital city nearly razed, only to be renamed the City of the Sickle or some such nonsense. The Naedi, who had been oppressed and impoverished for so long, reveled in this reversal of fortune.

"But it wouldn't last long, as I'm sure you know. The Iron Empire was weakening. Stalin had gone mad, and his successors could barely stop the hemorrhaging his purges had caused. Their influence was spread too thin; they were waging too many proxy wars. So they began to loosen their grip. Kasnia was one of the first to be let go. As quickly as they had come, they were gone."

"And you father was restored to the throne," said Vixen, her eyes rapt with attention.

"Yes. He immediately militarized, built up the army. He retaliated against the Naedi with a vengeance. Pacification, he called it. Though the thousands of dead and wounded civilians his army left in its wake might have considered things differently. The terrorist attacks increased for awhile, only to be met with more military force. Then my father relented somewhat, and peace came."

Wally nodded. "Until his death at least."

"Yes. The rebel hardliners see me as a second incarnation of my father. Just weaker, and therefore an easier target." She paused. "My goal is to break down the social and economic barriers that have perpetuated this segregation between mainland Kasnians and mountain peoples, such as the Naedi."

While Mari and Wally watched Audrey, Vigilante's focus had gone back to Diric. The security advisor had a neutral, genial expression, but he'd seen something twitch in Diric's eyes when Audrey mentioned the Naedi. There was a back-story there, he thought. Not that it mattered, since the League wouldn't be staying that long. He turned to Audrey. "How well are those efforts going?"

The queen gave a sheepish smile. "This is indeed the heart of the matter. You see, I myself only learned much of what I told you in the past few weeks. Under my father's rule, I was obsessively shielded from any reports of terrorist activity or the K'Naedi. Even my father didn't know who they were, he just saw the mountain people as a collective threat. This past month, my intelligence services have been working overtime to piece together much of what my father neglected to."

At that moment, the limo came to a sudden halt. The three visitors looked out to see themselves in the middle of a sprawling estate, complete with fountains, gardens, and immaculately-maintained walkways. Even the occasional Greek statue was scattered about.

Audrey cleared her throat. "Enough political talk for now, I would hate to bore you to death on your first day in my country, after all." She nodded to Diric, who stepped swiftly outside and held the door open for the queen.

"Very nice," murmured Wally, clearly impressed. For a moment, the queen even smiled back at him before reverting back to business. "I unfortunately have some matters that I must attend to, but Diric will be very happy to show you to your rooms. Your luggage will be arriving shortly, and will be transported by the palace workers as soon as possible. I will be checking back with each of you tonight."

"Thank, on behalf of us all," said Mari sincerely. "I hope that our presence will be able to make a difference here."

The queen nodded as she turned to leave. "So do I."

Kasnian Mountains

Echo Cell HQ (Talin's Command Post)

"Yuri," barked Talin impatiently. "I need the comm. frequency for our contact."

The thin, prematurely balding member of Talin's cell regarded her warily. "You can't mean Viktor's-"

"That is precisely what I mean. We must have that information here."

Yuri gulped. "Viktor would not approve. He is the only one who has ever spoken to the contact."

"Viktor will approve, if we are successful. And we will be." Talin's voice brooked no dissent.

Her underling nodded, and ran to one of the many consoles that lit the underground space. "We should have a record. . .here we are. Frequency as follows. Five-two-one-seven-seven-nine/ Eight-three-three-zero-eight-five."

"Arrange it," ordered Talin.

His fingers were a blur on the keyboard. "What if the contact doesn't answer? After all this is an unscheduled-"

"Who is this?" came a muffled voice over the speakers. Yuri nearly jumped out of his chair. Talin, for her part, only smiled.

"I am Commander Talin, one of Viktor's direct subordinates. Am I to assume that you are his contact within the palace?"

"Yes." The voice wasn't just muffled, it was digitally modulated. Very clever- even if their transmissions were intercepted, whoever it was could never have his voice traced back to him via voiceprint. "I must say, you sound rather. . .young."

Talin scowled. To many others, she did indeed appear quite younger than her thirty-five years. Born with pleasant, open features, it took a strict discipline to maintain the constant look of consternation she wore. Added to her general ruthlessness and efficiency, this kept most from underestimating her for her gender or age. This man, whoever he was didn't know her though. She poured an extra bit of gravity into her voice. "I assure you, I'm quite seasoned in this struggle against the imperialist Royal House."

Despite the digital masking, amusement was still evident in the contact's voice. "Very well. Why have you contacted me?"

"Because I am concerned. As you know, a group of foreign so-called 'superheroes' have been invited onto Kasnian soil by the Princess. Clearly as a means of aiding her aggression against the K'Naedi. Our intelligence on them is limited, for the moment, but a preemptive strike would seem called for."

"A risky move."

"Certainly."

"So what do you want from me?" the contact asked.

"Simple. Within the palace they are untouchable. The queen and her superpowered allies. I want you to find a way to get them out into the city. My people will take care of things from there."

"You're asking a great deal," said the contact.

"You're being paid a great deal," countered Talin.

"Indeed. Still, I want something else, if I am able to accomplish this for you."

Talin frowned. Money was one thing. Simple, easy to transfer, and relatively safe. She had a feeling that the contact's request would complicate things much further. "Name it."

"I want to meet Viktor."

Her frown deepened. "Why?"

"I admire the man greatly, it is only natural I should want to meet him in the flesh."

"Perhaps, but it simply can't be done. Even if I trusted you that much, which I don't, Viktor certainly doesn't. You ask for the impossible."

The contact didn't answer at first, making for an unsettling silence throughout the command chamber. Talin wondered if he would actually refuse to help them. With all the money he was being paid, it was unlikely, but there had been an odd insistence on the prospect of meeting Viktor.

"Ah, well," the contact finally answered. "It was worth a shot. I will do what you ask, for my usual payment."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. Commander Talin out."

The connection clicked off.

Democratic Republic of Kasnia

Iyentov, Royal Palace

The first thing Mari did when she was ushered by the palace staff into her room was fall asleep. She awoke four hours later, groggy but well-rested, and set about arranging the expansive area to her tastes. It was a beautiful bedroom, with large windows looking out over the decorative gardens and a gorgeous manmade lake. The closet had room for all of her luggage and maybe five other peoples' as well, which was surprising considering how much Mari tended to pack. There was a widescreen television and audio system with surround sound, as well as a full bathroom (complete with Jacuzzi) and a kitchenette area. The queen, she thought, certainly knew how to treat her guests.

Mari showered and decided to dress in the civilian clothes she'd brought along. An orange blouse, designer jeans, and heels, the last of which she was just putting on when she heard a knock on the door. "Come in," she called. "It's not locked."

The door opened, revealing none other than Greg in the hallway. Vixen's eyes widened. He wasn't wearing his costume either, not even the damn bandana. Rather, he was attired in a white button-down shirt, jeans, and some nice Italian loafers. His hair was still on the longish side, and he still sported a bit of light stubble, but Vixen wasn't complaining. She whistled. "You clean up nice, Greg. How'd they ever get you to lose the costume?"

He looked a bit embarrassed. "I was getting too many weird looks, to be honest. Kasnians see 'cowboy' and all they've got in mind is John Wayne or George Bush, neither of which goes over too well here I guess. Diric suggested it, even provided the clothes. I thought, the hell with it. When in Rome and so on."

"Well I approve," stated Mari. She stood at last, the heels putting her almost at eye level with Vigilante. "What about Wally?"

Greg gave one of his endearing 'aw shucks' shrugs. "Who knows. Way he was eyein' the queen on the way over, he's probably tryin' to sweet talk the poor thing into a private tour or somethin'."

Mari chuckled. "I can't blame him, she is beautiful."

"Yeah," said Greg noncommittally. Mari's eyes narrowed at the lack of enthusiasm.

"You don't think so?"

He shrugged again. "Oh, she's a sight for sure, just not my type is all."

Vixen cocked her head, curious. "Well, what is your type then?"

Greg opened his mouth to speak, but then Wally appeared in the room, the only sign that he hadn't been there all along the still-swinging door and the slight breeze that his entrance had created. "Hey you guys," he said cheerfully.

"Hey," said Mari, quickly hiding her disappointment at not being able to hear Greg's answer. "I like the outfit."

"Really?" Wally leaned into range of the dresser mirror to get another look at himself. He was in civilian clothes as well, his red hair stylishly gelled up and a pair of designer glasses replacing his mask. He'd shaved, but left a trim goatee behind. He wore a beige button-up under a dark brown leather jacket, and as a package was completely unrecognizable as either the Flash or Wally West.

"You all look wonderful," said a voice from the doorway. The trio turned to find Diric standing there, hands clasped behind his back and a smile on his face. His pale gray eyes twinkled with amusement. "Shall we go then? I have a feeling tonight's going to be more exciting than you all can imagine."

Author's Note: Chapter 2, ladies and gentlemen. No beta, again, so all goofs and whatnot are mine. I also promise that future chapters will focus more on our beloved Leaguers, there was just some important backstory I wanted to establish, especially given that this fic is rather OC-heavy. Anyway, hope you liked and really hope you'll take the time to review.

Thanks for reading!

-C