The Multiversity
Issue Three: Earth 77-"The Great Truth n' Justice Swindle"
Part One by Joey West
Present Day
"Can you tell me what was going through your mind when you decided to start the band?"
John Jones's bloodshot eyes stared into those of his interviewer. John's crackling pale green skin shifting slightly as he adjusted his jacket. The old, fractured man looked uncomfortable, unsure of what to say to the camera, unsure of what to put out there. He opens his mouth, words trying to escape but he's lost for words. He rubbed his scarred and dry face, looking at the marks on the palm of his hand and finally figuring out what to say.
"I... I have very faint memories of it. They flicker a lot through my head but as I go back on it again and again it starts when I wake up from my coma, which I had been in since the White Martian War... I was hit by one of their green gases as you can see. Heh. I don't know if it was exactly as I woke up from the coma but that's how I remember it.
As my eyes opened for the first time in years and I saw the world how it was, I thought... sorry for my language but "fuck this, I've got to go out there and do something. I gotta go out there and change this world." But, y'know... I sounded like I'd been smoking 20 packs a day. I didn't play anything. So I had to search for talent. All I had was me and my driver... Barry Allen his name was. And... and that's the start of Justice for Us. And it all goes downhill from there. Heh."
His interviewer laughs, John giving him his distinct smile.
"Did you have any idea of who you were looking for to be... members?"
"No... not really. I just gathered this squad of losers who'd either runaway or failed in life. I'd heard rumours that Bruce Wayne was going across the country doing gigs. And I thought "Bruce Wayne? That one hit wonder who was only famous cause of his parents? I gotta see this" Finally tracked him down to Saint Marion's College."
Saint Marion's College
John and Barry sit, watching a black haired, leather-jacketed young man seemingly eat his microphone as he screeches into it, guitar in hand. Bruce Wayne. College students surround them, dressed in a similar garb to Wayne, their heads practically hit their tables as they bob up and down. They two look to each other, Barry giving John a curious look. Barry looks back at the snuff film of a performance, shaking his head.
"He's fucking terrible, mate."
"Shut up."
"Really though. His song writing's naff, his sounds like a bloody gorilla and he looks like he hasn't washed for days."
Take a fad and turn it into a REVOLUTION
Take it, go and take it
Take it as you touch your dying mother's breast
Cause I'm the goddamn BATMAN
And as you look into my eyes
Know that I'm the one man who beat you
"He's not that bad..." John says in an unsure voice. He sinks into his ridiculously long blue jacket, thinking, praying to god this doesn't blow over.
"I mean seriously, what's a goddamn Batman?"
"Do you want this job or not? I pay you to drive, not critique."
"Fine... I'm just saying if you hire him, unplug his mic."
"Ha. Look at it this way. This bloke's got a following-this is all the news now. It's rock and roll."
"He is far from the bloody Beatles, mate."
"Then it's something else. But I like it. It's new and it has something to say."
"WHAT THE HELL DOES IT HAVE TO SAY!?"
Five Minutes Later, Backstage
"So you're SAYING you're putting a band together?"
"Yeah."
"And that you want me in it?"
"Yes."
"I'm sorry, my art isn't for the factory of COMMERCIALISM, it's for the OUTISDER, the intellectual among SHEEP... the PUNK."
John pauses, Bruce Wayne sitting before him, trying to dye his hair an even darker shade of black without being interrupted. John turns, Barry sitting there in the audience giggling at the guttery voice of the next act. He looks back to Bruce, who begins to paint his nails a dark black.
"That's what I'm looking for, Wayne... I think."
"Funny. Because you don't LOOK like you represent the PUNK. Look at you. A PATRIOT. A soldier who fought an ALIEN invasion. I recognise you, I've seen you. John Jones, you were a part of Operation Green Martian. You people FORGET the victims of your little WAR. The Kryptonian refugees... the LOST country of RANN."
"No. I'm here because I remember the victims. I remember the cries that the fall of Krypton brought. I remember what happened when Hippolyta became the bloody Prime Minister. I remember the Atlanteans that died trying to prevent that bitch from killing us all. And now I want to stop it. Show this world for what it really is."
"And WHAT is that?"
"The goddamn big militant dick of the universe. And I'm not proud of what I did... but I'm even less proud of what happened after. But look at you. You were born in privilege, and you've turned yourself around. Now listen to me, Bruce. I want to change this world as much as you do. But I don't think you're going to get far by doing underground gigs in shithole colleges. "
"Heh. GOOD. You'll make a fine ADDITION to MY team."
"What?"
"I'll join under ONE condition. I get to pick the team."
John then gives himself a moment to think if he really wants to give this madman free reign. He comes to a decision.
"Yeah. Fine."
"EXCELLENT. And another thing-don't call me Bruce."
"...okay. 'Goddamn Batman'?"
"GOOD."
"I figured."
Present Day
"And then—all of a sudden—we were a punk band being led by this tosser who called himself the goddamn Batman."
"That escalated quickly."
"No shit. Anyway, he'd invited us to the Watchtower, he called it. It used to be Wayne Tower, the place his parents owned when they were alive. It'd been trashed in Hippolyta's crackdown on crime, it was found to have been storing heroin in the warehouse."
Wayne Tower, AKA the Watchtower—a few days later
"...Batman... who is this guy? Is he going to-?"
"Shh, Jordan, he's a FRIEND."
As Jones steps around the rats that scurry across the rotting and cracked floor, he finds his way into a spacious room filled with surprisingly normal looking people—and Bruce Wayne. In the corner, a brutish looking man in a blue shirt, with a red and yellow shield placed boldly on his chest. The insignia looked almost tribal, maybe Kryptonian, the print faded. Towards the centre sits a small man in a green shirt and sunglasses, he bashes his drumsticks against the sofa out of boredom. And finally, a young boy. He's no older than fourteen years old and wears a bizarre grouping of colours, a red and yellow shirt with green shorts. He sticks out like a sore thumb, with a giddy look on his face and short cut hair. Bruce steps forward to greet John.
"This is quite a group you've got here, Br—Batman."
"YES. They are ALL in their own way PERFECT for my team."
"So, introduce me."
"Of course." The Batman says with a menacing smile, he points to the man in the blue shirt, who looks back at him, confused. "His name is KAL-EL. He's a Kryptonian refugee, doesn't speak a WORD of ENGLISH. He'll be playing bass."
Having finally caught up with what is happening, Kal smiles and waves at John, who waves back at him awkwardly. Batman then turns to the man in green, who gives John a little smile before cowering in the corner of the sofa, burying his head in his arms.
"Hal Jordan. Our drummer. He's a tad shy. His parents threw him out at the AGE of 15, they didn't even CONSIDER his condition."
"Y'alright, Hal?"
"...yeah."
John looks to the goddamn Batman, who brushes his hands across the bristles on his jaw. He then looks to the child sitting patiently on the other side of the sofa, Batman noticing and chuckling as he turns to his protégé.
"Oh. This is ROBIN. He's my protégé, I'm TEACHING him. But for now, he can be our DRIVER."
"I—don't think that's going to work. How old is he, like 13? Besides, we already have a driver."
"Hmn. You're right."
Robin's face turns sour, "I can do vocals."
"You're funny, BOY. I'll handle the GODDAMN vocals."
"Then what'll I do?"
"You just stand there and look PRETTY. You have much to learn."
John hesitantly nods before Robin goes to throw himself back onto the sofa. Batman growls at him, Robin's mood lightening up a little, putting up a sickly smile.
"Alright. We'll have to discuss stuff. Gigs. Songs. Distribution."
"Already covered. I have EVERYTHING, every minor DETAIL, all wrapped up in this head. In my mind. Plenty of people offered me a record deal. I turned them DOWN, but we're gonna HAVE to get our message across somehow. I'll CALL them. Tell them about the band."
"You're really—taking lead on this one, eh? We'll need a name."
"Justice for US."
"Good enough. I have a place ready for us, a test audience if you will. They're full of snobbish critics, but it'll be fine. I think this might work out."
Present Day
"Do you think Justice for Us worked well together?"
"Y'see. What the general public sees is us in our heydays—and our eventual violent downfall. But there was a time where Bruce Wayne was our lead singer and that could either be seen as our finest hour—or at our very worst. So... at first... no. Not at all."
Crowsbourne College—a few weeks later
A loud bang, an echo throughout the stage as Batman coughs into the mic, staring at his crowd. He gives them a faint smile, looking at them, staring deeply into their souls. He chuckles, the audience giving him a curious face, along with his band. John peeks from backstage, hoping all goes well.
"Don't fudge this up, Wayne."
"Oh, he will. He's a bloody nutcase. It's bad enough you let him in the fucking band, let alone lead singer."
John turns, Barry munching on a chocolate bar behind him, waiting for the fireworks to explode. Bruce turns to his band, who smile at him awkwardly, he then speaks.
"This is to all of you. The lower class. The peasants. The punks. ONE-TWO-THREE-..."
"Wait, we're starting now? I'm not ready!"
"...SHUTTHEHELLUP-FOUR!"
A half hour later
"WELL FUCK YOU TOO!"
Hal Jordan screeches as he runs off stage in a huff, a shower of boos is rained upon the band as Batman observes, looking at the kinds of people he was performing in front of. He laughs into the mic, his eyes bulging out psychotically. He utters a lone word.
"Soon."
From backstage, Barry gives John a snide smile before mocking him for his decision.
"What the hell does "soon" mean? The man's a fucking psychopath. Drop him. Drop that bastard. Y'see that following you were on about? It's nothing, it's for fucking freaks, people who think they have something to say but really have no fucking idea of what they're on about."
John stares into blank space, rubbing his chin.
"Are you even listening to me!? This is going to blow up in your face!"
"You know what you said earlier, a couple of weeks ago? Far from the Beatles?"
"Yeah, what about it?"
"No. They're not the Beatles. But that's what's gonna make them unique. Look at these guys, hippies, Lennon's stamped all over the place. Too peaceful. Pink Floyd, whatever. I bloody well hate Pink Floyd. This is something new. Something your parents will hate, something—yeah. Punk."
"Wait a sec, didn't you form this thing to preach peace?"
He looks to Batman, who continues his maniacal laugh into the mic, while the rest of his group have fled. Batman drops the mic, walking off stage, his wide smile turning into a grimace.
"We'll HAVE them. They'll be OURS."
"Yeah. Maybe."
"You got the place all WRONG, though."
"I did, and it'll be better next time. By the way, I think your boy Hal is crying in the toilets—better get him."
"Hah. SOON."
To be continued...