Author's Note:
New chapter up! As always, let me know what you think:
Beta's Note:
Hey, everyone, here's another great chapter for all of you. Be prepared for a lot of great action sequences and another plot twist or two, of course. Also, Edward Crane is currently seeking more HA! fanfic writers to do alternate earth stories for this fic. Basically you take a scene from one of your fics and rewrite it so that Arnold gets killed off by the same mysterious murderer who's been bumping him off in all of the other alternate earth parts of this fic. If you're interested, please contact Edward Crane via PM. Thanks and enjoy the chapter!
Basil Karlo, a former Academy Award-Winning actor who had been transformed into the monstrous Clay-face, directed a cold stare towards the man who had, yet again, brought him to justice. Batman returned the cold glare with one of his own, causing the villain to shift his gaze towards the wall of his cell.
"I'm going to ask you one more time," said the Dark Knight, "what is your employer's interest in Helga Pataki?"
"You've already tossed me back into Arkham," Clayface informed. "What more could you possibly do to me?"
There was a brief silence and Batman turned towards the lone (yet heavily armed) security guard in the far corner of the room. "Open it."
"Alright, alright," the captured villain conceded, putting his hands in the air. "He didn't say much. Only that he had 'invested' a great deal in the Pataki girl and that her continued presence in Gotham City was very profitable to him."
"Profitable how?' Batman asked and Clayface merely shrugged his shoulders.
"He didn't say. All he was willing to discuss was how he needed her to stay in Gotham. That's all he told me and I didn't care to know anything further."
Batman eyed the criminal warily, but he was fairly certain that Clayface was not lying to him. It wasn't entirely uncommon for criminals (even ones as talented as Basil Karlo) to be kept in the dark when it came to tasks involving money.
"If I find out you're holding anything back…"
"I've told you everything I know," Karlo assured and this seemed to placate the Batman.
The Dark Knight turned away from Karlo and headed towards the exit of the Asylum, pondering the information he had learned from the captured supervillain.
Apparently, he had been hired by a mercenary going by the name of "Ebony": a mercenary with, no doubt, insidious designs on the Helga Pataki. What did he want the teenage girl for, anyway? And why was it so "profitable" to him for Helga to remain in Gotham City? Either way, this mysterious enemy was definitely worth further investigation.
"Computer," Batman spoke as he entered his powerful, black vehicle. "Give me any information regarding the activities of a mercenary going by the name of Ebony."
"Searching…" the computer announced in its warm, yet unemotional voice. "Information not found."
Batman merely nodded, already assuming that whoever this man was, he was clearly quite capable of keeping his actions in the dark. The crime-fighter's contemplations were interrupted by a familiar voice emitting from the speaker on the Batmobile's computer console.
"Master Bruce," Alfred addressed.
"What is it, Alfred?"
"You have a message from a Mr. Rip Hunter, sir."
The Batman's eyes widened behind the lenses of his mask at the mention of the time traveler's name. "Patch it through."
"Batman," Rip's voice came through from the same speaker. "This is Rip Hunter. I have urgent business with you that requires your immediate attention. Meet me at Gotham Harbor at midnight. See you then."
A sharp beep indicated that the message had ended, allowing Batman to reflect on its urgency.
"Alfred, trace the source of the message and find out where it originated from."
"I have already seen to it, sir. According to the computer, the message was sent from an unknown location."
Rip Hunter was a man that Batman believed could be trusted, but the shortness of his message, along with the sense of urgency in his tone and the fact that it could not be traced gave the Dark Knight pause. Whatever it is that seemed to be alarming Hunter in such a way must be of great importance. But why come to Batman when there were so many others more experienced in dealing with time travel?
Unless, of course, Rip felt that Batman was the only one he could trust at this time for some reason…
Regardless, Batman definitely intended to meet up with the time traveler at the appointed location, but he was no fool. The message could easily have been a trap, and Batman was more than determined to ensure that he would be ready for it should be it sprung.
Helga pulled off her mask and tossed it atop her kitchen counter. She sighed wearily and took a seat at her kitchen table, pulling off her boots and gloves in the process. What was she to make of this mysterious "Ebony"? He had helped her in escaping from the Batman (which was a very good thing considering that she had no intention whatsoever of returning to Hillwood), but there was just something about the ominous mercenary that just didn't sit well with her. Perhaps it was his sudden appearance in the airport hallway, along with the fact that he was not above putting innocent lives in danger if it meant getting what he wanted. But was Helga so different? Was she willing to sacrifice innocent lives in her career as a… What? A super-villain? Helga shook her head at the notion. While she was indeed quite ruthless (and perhaps even merciless), killing a completely innocent civilian was something she just wasn't willing to do. Then again, no one is truly innocent, right?
Perhaps, but there was something more unsettling about this man that Helga couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that this man was responsible for the death of Arnold's parents. Of course, this was merely a theory. While the man wore an outfit resembling the ones Ra's Al Ghul's soldiers wore, this didn't necessarily mean that he was the one who had rigged and set off the bombs that destroyed the plane Miles and Stella Shortman had been on. When Roman Sionis had told her and Batman of his encounter with the black-garbed mercenary, Helga had been quite preemptive with her declaration that it was Ebony who had murdered Arnold's parents. It was, in all honesty, just a hunch. But it was a hunch Helga had to pursue further, so she had decided to feign ignorance of any knowledge about Ebony in order to get closer to him and find out just what the mysterious mercenary was up to, and if he was really the one responsible for the deaths of the Shortmans.
The reminder of that terrible tragedy sent the young woman reeling and Helga brought a trembling hand to her face; the very same spot Arnold had slapped her before she hit him back and stormed off into the jungles of San Lorenzo. Why did the memories of that day still resonate so fully in her mind? Why did it still seem to have such an effect on her? Deep down, in the darkest recesses of her mind, Helga knew the answer clearly.
She still blamed herself for their deaths.
The Shortmans had been like the parents she never had. Upon meeting them, the two had treated her with such kindness and love the likes of which Helga had never known and, considering her feelings for Arnold at the time, she truly felt as if they were her real family. She still felt that if she had only allowed Arnold to try to save his parents, he might have been successful.
"Arnold…" she whispered as if the name had brought back some painful memory and, indeed, it had. She crumpled her face in anger and shot up out of her chair. Why was she still thinking about that stupid football-headed little twerp? That was part of her past – no – part of Helga's past; and Helga Pataki was dead.
Wasn't she?
The young woman growled in frustration and stormed off into her bedroom for some much needed rest.
Tomorrow was her meeting with 'M'.
"What can I do for you, Dr. Crane?"
Jonathan Crane looked up from his literature to see Warren White, aka the Great White Shark, swaggering towards him, two rather large inmates on either side of him. Crane smiled a greeting and set his book down so that he could properly discuss his business with the disfigured criminal.
"Hello, Warren," Crane greeted warmly, "How are you feeling today?"
White took a seat across from the good doctor and casually draped his right leg over the arm of the chair. "Not bad. Meds got me feeling kind of antsy but, eh, I can't complain. I hear you wanted to talk business?"
Crane nodded and pushed up his glasses. "Yes, I would like to hire a skilled individual to perform a minor task for me. My current benefactor is a mysterious individual whose motives I am beginning to question."
"Who did you have in mind?" White asked, scratching his chin.
"Is Deathstroke available?"
Warren's eyes lit up for a moment and he shook his head. "No, he's workin' on a contract already, last I heard. Gotta say, though, bit of an overkill, don't you think?"
Crane merely shrugged, not entirely disappointed with the news. While he did require the skills of an experienced mercenary such as Slade Wilson, his services didn't come cheap.
"I hear Crazy Quilt's lookin' to make a few easy bucks," White suggested, drawing a chuckle from Crane.
"I don't find that at all surprising. No, I need someone a little less… pathetic…"
"I think I've got just the guy," Warren replied smugly.
"I'll trust in your decision then. Nothing too expensive, I hope?"
"Nah," Warren scoffed with a wave of his hand. "I mean, he ain't cheap; but he ain't Deathstroke. Plus, the guy's got the skills to pay the bills. So, what's the job? Recon?"
"Something like that," Crane said, leaning back in his chair and resting his head in his palms. "I need him to determine the identity and motives of my current benefactor, as I have already stated. The problem is, I know very little about this person and I'm not quite sure if I can divulge any useful information your man might be able to use in his investigation."
"That's gonna be a problem," Warren said, stroking his chin. "But I gotta tell you, this doesn't seem too out of the ordinary. I mean, I deal with guys like that all the time. If he wants to remain anonymous, that's his business if you ask me."
"Normally I would agree with you," Crane spoke as he nodded his head. "But I am beginning to suspect that my benefactor may very well be mentally unstable."
"So?" Warren reasoned.
"I mean very unstable. I'm talking Joker-level unstable."
Warren's eyes widened in surprise and he leaned away from the doctor. "Whoa, just what kind of nutcase are we dealing with here? I mean, I didn't even know they got as bad as the Joker until I met the guy! I just assumed he was a 'special case', y'know?"
Crane shrugged helplessly. "I didn't either, but something just isn't right about this person; and I don't want to be on the business end of that instability when the time comes. If this person is as bad as I suspect, I want to be prepared for the eventuality that I might find myself at odds with their scheme."
"Can't say I blame you," Warren agreed. "Alright, I'll have my man do what he can. Do you have any information at all he might be able to use?"
"Only that the target has a place on Avenue X. Although I'm not sure if it's been used recently. This was about two months ago."
"Well, that's a start," Warren said optimistically. "I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, you know where to find me."
"There's… one other thing," Crane began, lowering his voice and Warren leaned in close.
"I need to get out of here."
Arnold looked around in the cold darkness, trying to make out the shape of the tree house directly above him. It was hard to see and he didn't want to wind up falling from the rope ladder he was now climbing, but a small light from inside the tree house made it a little easier for him as he ascended.
"Helga?" he called into the tree house upon entering. He saw the girl staring up at the sky outside the makeshift window of the tree fort.
"Come sit with me, Arnold," she softly requested.
Arnold scurried towards the little girl he cared so much about and sat down next to her.
"What are you doing out here, Helga?" the boy asked. "It's pretty late for you to be out."
"I could say the same about you, Short-Man," Helga retorted.
"Well, when I got your phone call, you sounded like you were on the verge of tears. I was worried. Is everything all right, Helga?"
The little blonde girl looked up at him and smiled, her brilliant sapphire eyes glistening beneath the paleness of the moon. Arnold's eyes widened in shock as he noticed the shiner under the girl's right eye.
"What happened?" he asked, reaching over to touch the bruise.
Helga backed away, gently pushing the boy's hand back. "It's nothing. Bob just got a little angry with me tonight."
A mixture of desperation and pain crossed Arnold's innocent features as he regarded the little girl next to him. "You have to tell somebody about what he's doing to you, Helga. It isn't right."
"I can handle myself, bucko!" Helga shot back angrily. "Besides, it's not like anyone in this shit-hole town gives a damn about me anyway."
"What are you saying?" Arnold asked incredulously. "I care about you. And so does Phoebe. And the boarders. Lots of people love you, Helga. Why can't you just realize that?"
The pigtailed girl stared at her football-headed boyfriend for a moment, her eyes piercing into Arnold's form. "Do you mean that?"
"What?" Arnold asked, his face twisting in confusion.
"Do you mean that?" Helga repeated, adding a bit more force into her tone.
"Well… yes, Helga. I know Phoebe hasn't been spending as much time with you as she used to, but she's with Gerald and it's hard splitting up time with friends and… more-than-friends."
"I wasn't talking about Phoebe," Helga clarified.
"The boarders love you too, Helga. You know that. Why, just the other day, Mr. Hyunh and I were-"
"I'm talking about YOU, idiot!" Helga cried.
"M-ME?" Arnold stammered, not knowing where Helga was going with any of this.
"Yes, YOU. Do you love me? It's a simple fucking question, Arnold."
"Where did you learn that language, Helga?" Arnold had to ask.
Helga just glared at the little boy, causing him to shrink back a bit towards the other side of the tree house.
"Do. You. Love me?" Helga asked again.
"… Yes," was Arnold's answer.
"Then why did you hesitate?" Helga demanded.
"I-I didn't," Arnold tried to from an explanation, but nothing came to mind. Why did he hesitate? Arnold had to wonder.
"Yes you did," Helga shot back angrily, tears forming in her eyes. "Now tell me why, Arnold. I think I deserve to know."
Arnold fumbled with his words for a second, trying to decipher his feelings towards the girl at that moment. "I… I just…"
"TELL ME!" she screamed.
"I'm scared of you!" Arnold yelled back and Helga was stunned.
"W-What-?"
"I'm scared of you, Helga. Jesus, you scare the hell out of me sometimes. One minute you're bullying me, another you're trying to kiss me, then another you're completely inconsolable and talking about how you're not 'good enough' for me!"
"That's not true…" Helga tried to argue.
"Yes it is, Helga! You walk around school all day treating everybody around you like crap, and nobody says anything because they think you're a lunati…" Arnold let the sentence end there, realizing what he was saying and the impact it had had on the girl in front of him. Arnold, ashamed at what he was about to say merely looked away from her, a sad and regretful look on his face.
"Is that what you really think, Arnold?" Helga asked in all seriousness. "You think I'm crazy or something?"
Arnold just shook his head slowly, still unable to look the young woman in the eye.
"Well maybe that's a good thing, then," Helga told him, her voice trembling then in a mixture of sadness and anger. "Maybe people should be afraid of me. I mean, after all, nobody can hurt you if they're too afraid to, right?"
Arnold said nothing and Helga just shook her head helplessly.
"Maybe I am scary," Helga said as she stood up and made her way to the tree house exit. She turned towards the young boy one last time before descending down to ground level. "Or maybe you're just a coward."
Arnold just looked away, still incapable of saying anything to the young girl as she climbed down the rope ladder and ran home.
Arnold's eyes fluttered open as he awoke from his dream, one that recalled yet another time that Helga Pataki had confounded him. Why was he reliving these moments of is life with her? The Phantom Stranger had told him that his dreams were important somehow; that they meant something. But Arnold still couldn't wrap his mind around what any of it might mean. He got out of bed and got dressed before walking into the living room to see Robin in the kitchen making breakfast.
"I got your letter," he said as he flipped two pancakes over in a cast-iron skillet. "Thought you were leaving."
"So did I," Arnold groaned as he stretched and felt something in his back pop.
"What happened?" asked Robin.
Arnold sighed and walked over to a stool by the kitchen counter. "Well, I made it to the airport when some crazy mud monster attacked. Next thing I know, I'm getting crushed by the thing while Batman's running it over with his car."
Robin nodded his head while preparing breakfast for the two of them. "Yeah, I heard about that. It was on the news this morning. Did you get a chance to talk to him?"
"Who?"
"Batman," Robin clarified.
"Oh," Arnold began, shaking his head. "No…" Arnold was quiet for a long moment as he replayed the events of the previous night in his head.
Robin, noticing that Arnold had just trailed off, glanced back at the blonde teenager over his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked, his tone one of concern.
"Robin…" Arnold began, tears forming in his eyes. The boy slipped off of the stool and fell to his knees on the floor, sobbing profusely.
Robin immediately set down the skillet and went to his friend's aid. "What happened, man?" he asked gently, yet his voice was filled with concern.
"She's dead, Robin…" Arnold stated, his voice cracking and full of pain.
A sense of inescapable dread washed over the Boy Wonder and he began trembling. "Wh-Who's dead, Arnold…?"
"HELGA!" Arnold cried out in agony, his sobbing increasing a hundredfold.
Robin wrapped his arms around his good friend, trying desperately to comfort him. "How…" the masked teen began, "… how do you know that?"
"That monster… the one from the other night… the one who attacked me…"
"Yeah…?" Robin coaxed, understanding whom Arnold was referring to.
"She said she killed her!" the teen cried out.
"You don't know that for sure," Robin stated, his voice filled with hope.
"She was talking to the same man who killed my parents," Arnold explained between sobs, "The one called 'Ebony'."
"We'll just have to go investigate, then," Robin said, holding Arnold back at arms length.
"But…" Arnold tried to argue.
"Look, man," Robin spoke confidently, "in my line of work, you have to realize that things aren't always what they seem. I can't count the number of times I thought one of my friends – or, hell, even enemies – were dead, just to see them come back the next day."
Noticing the positive effect his words were having on his blonde counterpart, Robin flashed a confident smile. "Trust me, man; Helga Pataki is one of the toughest people I know. I wouldn't bet on her being dead until I saw a body and the autopsy results."
Arnold nodded, still sniffling. "Yeah," he agreed. "You're probably right."
Robin, satisfied that he had calmed his friend, patted the young man on the shoulder and went back to preparing breakfast. "Tonight, we can head downtown and meet up with an old friend of mine. If anybody knows anything about this 'Ebony' guy, it's him."
Arnold just nodded and got back up to sit in his chair.
"Now…" Robin announced, turning back to face his companion. "… How do you want your eggs?"
The Batmobile pulled up between two warehouses and the cowled crime-fighter soon emerged from the vehicle. He took a good look around, making sure that no one was there waiting to steal or otherwise tamper with the car in any way. Not that it would matter; the Batmobile's security systems would alert Batman to anyone attempting to even touch the car. Plus, the vehicle had many security measures to prevent any intrusion.
Batman walked out onto the wharves of Gotham Harbor and observed the man standing by the water, looking out over the harbor.
"Rip," Batman addressed as he made his way towards the figure.
The man turned around to regard his black-garbed visitor, his red hair billowing in the breeze.
"Batman," he greeted back and the two shook hands.
"What's this about, Rip," the Dark Knight got straight to the point.
"There's been a series of grizzly murders throughout the multiverse, Batman. Strangely, the victim appears to be the same in each Earth: Arnold Phillip Shortman."
The Batman's eyes widened beneath the lenses of his cowl and he nodded his head slightly.
"Any leads?" he asked.
"None," Rip answered, shaking his head in frustration. He reached into the folds of his tan jacket and produced a manila folder, then handed it to the world's greatest detective. "These are photos taken of the crime scenes," Rip continued as Batman studied each photograph carefully. "We have reason to believe-,"
"We?" Batman interrupted.
"I've been working on this case with the individual who first brought these murders to my attention. He calls himself 'Gold Glory'."
"Gold Glory," Batman said under his breath, as if tasting the word on the tip of his tongue. "And you say it was he who brought you these photos?"
"Some of them," Rip explained. "When he told me about the deaths, I had to do a little investigating of my own. I took a lot of the other pictures myself. You wouldn't believe how horrific some of these deaths are."
Batman flipped through the photographs of the murders and determined that Rip was correct in his opinion of how grizzly these murders were. But, having witnessed the aftermath of maniacs like the Joker, Batman was more than used to this kind of thing by now.
"I'd like to speak to this Gold Glory, if possible," Batman requested.
"That shouldn't be a problem," Rip said simply.
"Why did you bring this to my attention?" Batman asked.
Rip shrugged his shoulders, as if the answer should be obvious.
"You're the world's greatest detective, are you not?" Rip answered. Batman nodded slowly, but he knew that there was more to his involvement than just his detective prowess.
"There's another reason, though, isn't there?" asked the Batman.
Rip paused for a moment, then looked around, as if suspecting the killer to walk right out of the shadows and attack them then and there. He took a few steps closer to Batman and crossed his arms over his chest. "Whoever the killer is, he or she has some kind of grudge against Arnold Shortman."
"That's obvious," Batman agreed.
"Well, what if I told you that Arnold happens to be here; in Gotham City?"
"I already know that," Batman revealed and Rip went back on his heels.
"How?" he asked.
"Robin informed me that he had picked up Arnold on his way back from a mission in San Lorenzo," Batman explained. "The two have been roommates for the past few weeks now."
Rip nodded his approval and Batman held up the folder.
"You can keep those, if you think they'll help," Rip said.
Batman nodded as he flipped through the photographs one more time. He stopped on one picture in particular and held it up for the time-traveler to see. The image depicted a version of Arnold with his heart torn out of his chest and the words "Make it Right" written in blood on a nearby wall.
"Any idea what this means?" Batman asked.
"Not a clue," Rip answered, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders helplessly.
"The same message can be seen in some of the other photographs, but they're a bit more subtle than that."
Batman examined a few more and discovered that Hunter was right. One photo depicted a version of Arnold with his throat slit; but, upon close inspection, the Batman could make out the words "Make it Right" written into the puddle of blood next to the young man's lifeless body.
The Caped Crusader placed the envelope into the folds of his cape.
"I'll need any evidence you can find from these crime scenes: fingerprints, murder weapons, even a sample of the air might lead to a clue."
Rip merely shook his red-haired head. "We've tried all of that. No toxicity levels in the air, no murder weapons left on the scene, no fingerprints that lead to a suspect, nothing. So far the only thing we have to work with are the crime scenes themselves and most of them were bleached clean; with the exception of Arnold's blood."
Batman grunted in frustration as he slipped the folder into the folds of his cape. He then produced a small transmitter from his utility belt and handed it to the red-haired time-traveler.
"You can contact me from anywhere on Earth at any time using that transmitter," he explained. "Keep me updated and let me know when you can schedule a meeting for me with Gold Glory."
Rip nodded as Batman turned to depart and headed towards his car.
"What will you being doing until then?" Rip called after him.
"What I do best."
According to Black Mask's sources, the Venom dealer known as "M" was currently using an old landfill barge on the outskirts of Gotham to store his supplies of the deadly drug. Scattered throughout there were large shipping containers filled with crates containing thousands of vials of the liquid. "M" would use the barge to move the Venom from place to place without anyone being the wiser. Helga had to give it to the guy; it was a clever plan. But the Scarecrow was determined to confront this mysterious drug dealer to find out everything he knew about the mysterious "Ebony" and, if necessary, take down his whole operation.
Helga snuck aboard the barge and was surprised at the lack of security throughout the vessel. She counted only three men, armed with simple SMGs, patrolling the area. She knew there had to be more men than this aboard the ship, otherwise how could four men possibly load these massive containers on and off the barge? She carefully made her way throughout the vessel and observed a man wearing a black sweater, ski mask, and cargo pants speaking to another man in a grey suit with blonde hair and sunglasses. Flanking the suited man were four men – two on each side – armed with AK-47s and wearing black suits.
"Your drug wears off too quickly, my friend," the grey-suited man spoke with a thick Russian accent, "I have a feeling that you are, how you say, 'ripping me off', eh?"
"The money you gave me was counterfeit," the masked man explained. "So I gave you the 'cheap stuff."
"Who is caring if money was counterfeit, Em?" the outraged Russian shouted. "It is still good."
"I don't accept fake money, Motlatov," the masked man, now revealed to be "M", shot back. "Counterfeit money can be traced by the cops; and the last thing I need is for the feds to come sniffing around my barge."
"This is not problem of mine," Motlatov explained. "Either you give me what I came here for, or my men and I take it from you. Your choice, my friend."
"You're welcome to try, Motlatov," the masked man said without hesitation, "But that would be a very unwise decision."
The well-dressed Russian laughed heartily at his masked host's warning. "Look around you, my friend," Motlatov cried, gesturing towards his well-armed associates. "It is five against one! And I have more men who have already infiltrated your vessel and slaughtered what little people you had. You are in no condition to fight me."
Helga looked back at the three men who were patrolling the barge to see that the Russian's claims were true. Each man had been shot and replaced by one of Motlatov's own henchman, each wearing fine Italian suits.
But if the one called "M" was at all disturbed by the odds against him, he wasn't showing it. He merely chuckled softly and shook his head helplessly. "I can easily find new dregs willing to work for me," the masked man assured.
The Russian raised an eyebrow at "M"'s statement and scoffed. "I do not think that you are understanding the gravity of the situation, my friend. Have you noticed that this is a one-sided battle?"
Before another move could be made, a pistol appeared in the hand of the enigmatic masked man and he fired at the over-confident Russian. The grey-suited man jerked backwards and reached for his own weapon as his thugs lifted their AK-47s and opened fire.
Several shots missed their mark, but the ones that did garnered no reaction from "M" as the masked individual continued firing upon the group of Russian gangsters. Down each mobster went as bullet after bullet tore through their bodies. The ones who had killed "M"'s men started firing upon him as well, but the results were the same as the gun-toting drug dealer hardly seemed to notice. He turned his aim towards the remaining henchmen and gunned them down as well without ever re-loading his weapon. When the smoke had cleared and the violence had settled, "M" walked over to the gasping, bleeding form of Motlatov still squirming on the ground dying slowly from his bullet wounds.
"You…" the Russian sputtered as a spray of blood escaped his lips and dripped onto the floor. "… You… will p-pay… for… this…" the dying mobster coughed up some more blood as "M" sauntered towards him. "I will… see you… in hell…"
"Hell," the masked drug-dealer said as if hearing the word for the first time. "Yes, I know of hell. I have spent many years in a hell created by a man more evil than the Devil himself."
"M" lifted his pistol and aimed for the Russian's head.
"Where you're going will seem like a paradise compared to the hell I live with every second of my life."
Motlatov started to reply but his voice was cut off by the sound of a bullet piercing through his skull, and the foreign gangster hit the ground, dead.
"M" dropped his pistol to the floor before turning his back on the dead Russian and walking away. He got five feet before a blue metal container rolled towards his feet, emitting an invisible, odorless gas from a nozzle on top of the can.
"What is this?" said the puzzled drug-dealer.
The Scarecrow leaped from her hidden perch and landed in a crouch behind the blue canister.
"Welcome, Mr. 'M'," the dangerous female rasped as she slowly brought her lithe form to a standing position. "Welcome… to your nightmare…!"
The man known as "M' stared at the frightening-looking figure addressing him, seeming very unimpressed by the whole display.
"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" he asked plainly.
Helga was taken aback for a moment, a confused expression pasted on her face beneath the burlap mask she wore as she realized that her fear toxin wasn't having any effect on the man. 'What happened?' Helga wondered. 'Did I not make a strong enough batch? No, it couldn't have been that. The stuff I cooked up last night was powerful enough to drive fifty grown men completely out of their friggin' minds!'
"Excuse me."
Helga was interrupted from her thoughts by the man standing in front of her. She looked up to see that he was now holding her fear canister in the palm of his hand.
And it still wasn't having any effect!
"Does this belong to you?" the masked man questioned before hurling the canister towards the costumed teenager.
Helga ducked and the can whizzed over her head and crashed into a nearby shipping container.
'Maybe the mask he's wearing prevents him from inhaling deadly toxins,' Helga thought to herself. 'After all, he is on a moving landfill. Guess I'll just have to get up-close and personal.' The Scarecrow bared her syringed fingers menacingly and sprinted towards her opponent with lightning-fast speed, her body enhanced by the performance enhancer administered to her by Poison Ivy during her time in San Lorenzo. She thrust her toxin-filled claws towards her enemy and scored a direct hit right to his heart.
And was quite startled when her syringes snapped like dry twigs against her adversary's body.
"Was that supposed to hurt or something?" "M" asked dryly before bringing the back of his hand across his attacker's face, sending the young woman hurtling through the air and crashing into a large shipping container several feet away. The blonde teenager groaned in pain and confusion as she turned back to face her attacker.
And was utterly shocked to see him lifting a massive steel girder over his head with only one hand.
"Didn't your mother ever tell you to look before you leap?" the masked superhuman shouted as he aimed his enormous projectile.
"M" paused to look down at the two black pieces of metal that were embedded into his left thigh.
"What the-?" his voice was drowned out as the metal pieces – having plastic explosives attached to their centers – exploded in an ear-shattering "BANG!"
The explosion engulfed two barrels of fuel, causing a fiery inferno to spread throughout the ship.
Helga looked up to see a black-haired young man – possibly in his early or mid twenties – standing over her. He wore a tight-fitting black costume with a stylized domino mask and blue hawk emblem that stretched out over his chest and onto his shoulders.
"Name's Nightwing," the costumed man introduced, extending a helping hand towards the young woman. "Are you all right?"
"You stupid son-of-a-bitch."
Helga and Nightwing turned back towards the source of the explosion (and the very pissed-off voice coming from it) to view the image of a battered and furious android heading towards them. The half of his face that wasn't a machine with a glowing green eye bore the likeness of a tanned, blonde man. The artificial skin on his torso had been burned away by the explosion, revealing the metallic gleam of the android's chassis underneath.
"What the hell is he?" Helga gasped.
"His name is Metallo," Nightwing answered grimly. "And he doesn't look too happy at the moment."
Metallo hefted a large chunk of flaming debris and hurled it towards the two costumed individuals. The Scarecrow narrowly leaped out of the way of the projectile and, by the time she looked up, her black-garbed companion was already engaged in combat with the dangerous machine.
Nightwing leaped into the air, hurtling several more explosive batarangs (though none as powerful as the ones he previously used) at his opponent, then spun in mid-air, delivering a kick to the side of Metallo's face, sending the villain staggering backwards.
Nightwing hit the landing on his right hand. He kicked out with both feet at the dazed android, sending the villain flying backwards and into one of the shipping containers. The hero then whipped out a few more stylized batarangs (or "wing-dings" as he liked to call them) and hurled them into Metallo. The projectiles exploded upon impact, igniting the flammable venom within the container.
Nightwing then tossed another wing-ding at a lever by the container, shutting the door and trapping Metallo within the raging inferno within.
"Not bad," the Scarecrow congratulated as she approached the older (though not by much) vigilante.
"He'll regenerate soon enough," Nightwing assured, and, as if on cue, the door to the container flew open revealing the burning android.
"Get down!" Nightwing shouted as Metallo hurled the door at the two costumed individuals. They ducked just in time for the projectile to hurtle over their heads and go spinning off into the distance.
Nightwing looked back towards his opponent just in time to feel the mighty grasp of Metallo's right hand close around his throat.
"You're pretty good, kid," Metallo spoke as he lifted the hero into the air by his throat. "But you're no Superman."
Nightwing desperately struggled to free himself as his vision slowly blurred from the lack of oxygen.
Suddenly, Helga sprang into the air and launched herself at the mechanical man, bringing both legs into a kick that had the villain releasing his grip on the older hero and stumbling backwards from the blow. The female Scarecrow ricocheted off of the metal criminal and she landed in a crouch, skidding backwards along the deck of the barge.
"Thanks," Nightwing coughed and shook away the dizziness that had threatened to overwhelm him.
Before Helga could say "you're welcome," Metallo shot out his hand towards the costumed female, which extended and slammed her in the center of her chest, sending the teenager flying backwards and tumbling across the deck. Nightwing reached behind him and pulled out his twin truncheons and spun the metallic sticks around in each hand as he sprinted towards the awaiting villain. Metallo fired a powerful laser from his green-glowing eyes and Nightwing dropped down to a skid in order to avoid the beams. He righted himself and continued his advance on the android, dodging and ducking searing beams of energy sent his way.
Nightwing somersaulted over the villain, bringing his truncheons down hard on Metallo's shoulders in the process as he landed behind him. Nightwing spun on his left foot, bringing his right one upward and side-kicking Metallo in the head.
But the mechanical criminal was too quick for him, grabbing the vigilante by the ankle.
Nightwing immediately leaped up, using the villain's grasp as a makeshift step, to bring his other foot down on the android's face.
Metallo released his hold on the hero and staggered backwards as Nightwing quickly removed a pair of solid steel knuckles from his blue utility gauntlets and slid them over his fingers in the blink of an eye. He then launched into a series of furious blows, hitting the villain from nearly every conceivable angle as Nightwing rolled, leaped, and tumbled around the android to stay in constant motion and prevent any counter-attacks.
Helga slowly got back to her feet, her face and chest aching painfully from the hits she had taken from the powerful super-villain, and stared in awe as the acrobatic crime-fighter unleashed a barrage of vicious attacks on Metallo, utilizing fists, kicks, and his durable truncheons in a successful attempt to keep the villain subdued and off-balance.
But Nightwing was only flesh and blood, and would soon tire, while the dangerous android would stay as strong and as powerful as ever. It was only a matter of time before the hero would slip up and wind up at the mercy of his deadly foe, so Helga decided she needed to act fast.
She looked around for something that could be useful against the mechanical monster and her eyes fell upon the pistol still wrapped in the fingers of the now deceased Motlatov. Helga darted for the weapon and tore it from the corpse's grasp, then reached into her satchel and produced a can of highly flammable fear toxin.
"Duck!" she cried before hurling the canister at the mechanical villain.
Nightwing, heeding the young heroine's warning, backflipped away from Metallo just in time for the canister to hit the android in the chest and explode upon impact with the bullet Helga had fired after tossing the canister. The explosion tossed the older hero several feet and had him skidding to a halt in a crouching position.
"When are you fools going to learn that I am invincible?" the villain gloated as he slowly began to regenerate from the damage the explosion inflicted upon him.
"So, what now?" The Scarecrow asked grimly.
"Metallo's greatest strength is also his weakness: he's made of metal. Well, we're right on the water, so all we have to do is try to get him off the ship."
The two then leaped out of the way as several beams of concentrated energy were fired at them.
"Easier said then done," the Scarecrow noted.
Nightwing sprinted towards Metallo, then feinted to the left and ducked right in an attempt to confuse the villain.
"Hold still, damn you!" Metallo shouted as another beam of energy emerged from his glowing eyes.
Nightwing sprinted for the nearest wall and practically ran up the seemingly sheer surface, finding various small footholds to help in his ascent. He backflipped off of the wall, firing a grapnel line at the villain and landing atop a suspended shipping container held up by a nearby crane. Nightwing wrapped the nylon chord of the grapnel line around a hook used to suspend the crate and began tying it off.
The container suddenly jerked violently, almost sending Nightwing toppling over the edge, as Metallo, grapnel line in hand, gave the chord a mighty tug.
The Scarecrow was on him in an instant, though, and sprang into a series of punches and kicks. She knew that none of her attacks would do any significant damage to the machine, however, but it would definitely create just the diversion needed for Nightwing to enact his plan.
While the two were fighting, Nightwing pulled himself up over the edge and continued tying the grapnel line to the container. When he was done, he back-flipped off of the crate and headed towards the crane's controls.
Realizing what was going on, Metallo shape-shifted his right hand into a powerful buzz-saw and brought it up towards the grapnel line that had wrapped around his neck, while fending off the feisty heroine with the other. Helga, realizing the danger at hand, brought out Motlatov's pistol from her satchel and fired into one of Metallo's green-glowing eyes at point-blank range. The villain cried out in frustration and stumbled backwards, bringing his left hand to his face. Helga used the distraction as an opportunity to keep the villain off-balance. She leaped towards the android, crashing into him and sending the two tumbling to the ground.
Meanwhile, Nightwing hopped into the controls of the crane and steered the container out towards the harbor. He then quickly flicked the release button and watched as the crate hurtled down into the water, taking the grapnel line along with it.
As the crate was dropped, Metallo was lifted from the barge, along with Helga, who released her grip on the android as the mechanical criminal plunged into the murky waters of the harbor.
Nightwing hopped out of the crane and made his way towards the Scarecrow, who was grinning beneath her burlap mask.
Before the two could celebrate, however, the sound of rushing water was heard as Metallo leaped off of the shipping crate, out of the water, and back onto the barge.
"Very, clever," he congratulated. "But the water down here is not so deep. Even without the container, it would be easy for one with my strength to leap right out of the harbor."
Metallo's eyes glowed menacingly as he eagerly approached the two costumed companions.
"Your efforts are admirable, but utterly fruitless," he replied simply, then shape-shifted his hand into a large laser cannon.
"Prepare to die."
Bruce stared at the image on the massive computer screen, pondering the meaning of the words "Make It Right" and trying to unravel the mystery brought before him.
He was brought out of his thoughts by the arrival of his faithful butler, Alfred Pennyworth.
"Any luck yet, sir?" the well-mannered butler asked, setting a tray of coffee and sandwiches on a table next to his employer.
"Not yet," Bruce answered as he absentmindedly reached for one of the small sandwiches and plucked the tasty treat into his mouth.
He clicked the mouse near the computer and the next photograph appeared on the screen.
"Hunter was right," Bruce stated after swallowing his morsel. "Other than the bodies and the blood, there doesn't appear to be any other evidence at any of the crime scenes. Still… I wish there was a way for me to investigate the scenes of the murders first-hand…"
Bruce navigated the computer away from the images and leaned back in his chair, sighing deeply.
"Any word from Mr. Hunter regarding an audience with this 'Gold Glory' person, Master Bruce?"
"Not yet," Bruce answered darkly.
"You believe that this person is involved in these murders in some way?" Alfred asked while pouring a hot cup of black coffee for his employer.
"Possibly. But I don't like going on hunches alone, Alfred."
"Perhaps today's paper might shed some light on the subject," the butler suggested as he handed Bruce the morning paper.
The weary, yet now intrigued, detective opened it and narrowed his eyes as he read the headline:
FAMOUS EXPLORER FOUND DEAD IN MUSEUM
Bruce became even more intrigued as he continued reading the article and sipping his cup of coffee.
"According to this," Bruce explained, "Calvin Carson, a long-time friend of Rip Hunter's, was found dead in a museum here in Gotham. Police thoroughly examined the crime scene, suspecting a possible robbery may have also occurred, but found nothing of value missing. Apparently, a security guard, Warren Adams, found Carson's body as well as the murder suspect and opened fire, but the suspect quickly escaped. When questioned about the appearance of the suspect, Adams gave the description of a thin, clawed figure wearing what appeared to be a burlap mask."
"Am I correct to assume that you won't be visiting your bed this evening, sir?" Alfred asked dryly as Bruce threw on his cowl and headed for the Batmobile.
"Not tonight, Alfred," the Batman answered.
"Where to know, sir?" the butler asked curiously.
"To find some answers," the Dark Knight said as he entered the vehicle and sped off back to Arkham.
It was time to pay a little visit to Dr. Jonathan Crane.
Nightwing and the female Scarecrow leaped to the side in opposite directions as another blast from Metallo's deadly laser cannon soared past them, blasting a shipping container to pieces.
"We need to come up with a plan!" Helga shouted while taking cover behind another container.
"I'm open to any ideas," Nightwing shouted back while making his way to higher ground.
The agile hero dived, ducked, and somersaulted over the searing beams of energy while throwing wing-ding after wing-ding at his opponent.
Metallo had gotten smart by now, however, and used his free hand to create a large shield that regenerated after each explosion from the projectiles. He took aim for the container Nightwing was running on and opened fire, causing the large, metal crate to roll off of the barge and into the harbor.
Nightwing, as dexterous as they came, hopped upwards as the container turned, keeping him on level ground. Before the container hit the water, the crime-fighter leaped from the crate and hit the deck of the barge, going into a tumble and diving out of it into a sprint as yet another blast from the deadly cannon hurtled past him.
Helga, not possessing the unique gadgetry of her companion, picked up one of the dead mobster's AK-47s and fired it at the android in an attempt to create a diversion while her agile partner tried to get behind their enemy and find a way to take him down.
Nightwing reached into his gauntlet and pulled out his single-charge taser, hoping that the device might somehow overload the android and shut him down.
The key, however, was getting close enough to the villain to put the object to use.
Luckily, his female counterpart had the mechanical criminal distracted enough for Nightwing to sneak in.
He dashed towards Metallo as stealthily as possible and almost made it before the android spun his head around a complete one-hundred-eighty degrees and let loose a blast from his eye beams. The agile crime-fighter deftly leaned back as far as possible, feeling the intense heat as the twin beams soared just past his chest. He knew, however, that he would be ill-prepared in case Metallo decided to make another attack, so he came forward with his forearms crossed out in front of him, absorbing the impact as Metallo's vicious fist slammed into him.
Despite the durable, armored gauntlets Nightwing wore on his arms, the powerful blow fractured the bones in each forearm and sent him soaring into the air and clear over the harbor. Thinking quickly, the young vigilante threw out a grapnel that wrapped around the crane he had previously used and grimaced in pain as the sudden stop in momentum dislocated his right shoulder and sent searing waves of agony throughout Nightwing's already injured arm.
He sailed back towards the battle on his grapnel line, swinging over the crane several times before finally releasing his grip on the line and expertly sliding along the arm of the crane. Upon reaching the end, he front-flipped off of the arm, landed onto a busted shipping container, and leaped off the edge to land just beside his amazed companion.
"Well, at least if this whole super-hero thing goes sour, you can still get a job at the circus," Helga quipped.
Nightwing grinned and gave the young woman a sly wink.
"I've got an idea," he informed as Metallo prepared to fire another blast from his beam cannon.
"I'm all ears," Helga replied.
"Try to get behind him with this," he said as he tossed the taser to his female partner, "and just follow my lead."
Nightwing charged towards Metallo with the Scarecrow right on his heels. The android fired his beam at the two approaching vigilantes, but Nightwing stopped and went into a crouch, with Helga front-flipping over the beam. She came down in front of Nightwing and the older crime-fighter brought his hands out under the girl's feet, giving her a stepping stone as well as a little added boost to send her somersaulting over the android and landing behind him. She went in, taser in hand, but Metallo was ready for her, his green eyes charging up for a powerful blast.
Suddenly, Metallo's body jolted upright as ten thousand volts of electricity coursed through his metallic body. Nightwing had reached out and touched the villain with his gauntlet, utilizing the device's built in electrified security taser (used in case of any unwanted tampering with the gauntlets).
The taser, however, couldn't determine the difference between friend and foe, thus sending searing waves of agony coursing through Nightwing's body as well. Even with the added insulation of his suit, Dick Grayson felt the charge profoundly and, once the taser lost its charge, fell to the floor in a smoking, unconscious heap.
Helga immediately rushed to the aid of the fallen crime-fighter and checked for a pulse.
It was faint, but it was there.
She directed her attention back towards the now motionless android and cautiously approached. His formerly green eyes were now darkened with inactivity and the smoking android was as still as a statue.
Helga started to breathe a sigh of relief but it was cut off as Metallo's hand shot up and wrapped to grasp the young woman by the throat.
The android's eyes blinked on and he slowly lifted his head to look the costumed female in the eye.
"A bold move," Metallo commended. "But an ultimately futile one. Can you not see that I am invincible?"
He lifted the teenager off the ground and held her in the air as he gloated.
"Before I kill, I am curious as to why you are here in the first place. I originally assumed that you were just some punk vigilante trying to make a name for yourself, but now I sense there is something more…"
"I…" Helga gasped. "I wanted… to know… about Ebony…"
An intrigued look crossed the remaining human side of Metallo's face upon hearing the young woman's words.
"Ebony…" the android echoed. "What do you know of Ebony?"
"He…" Helga began to explain while gasping for air. "He came to me… told me he had plans… for me…"
"Ah…" Metallo said, finally putting the pieces together. "So you're the Pataki girl I've heard so much about…"
"Yep," Helga croaked.
Metallo gave out a little chuckle and eased his grip on the masked teenager.
"Well, I'm afraid you're out of luck. Ebony is as much a mystery to me as he is to you. The only thing I know is that he and I were involved in a mercenary operation code-named 'Project Knightrise'. As for what the operation itself entailed, well… That's classified information that I have been paid a great deal to keep secret. My involvement with the Black Mask, however, is a mystery to me. Ebony gave me the venom and told me that the crime boss would pay a great deal for the serum. I didn't bother to ask questions. After all, it was easy money. What benefit my operation was to him was none of my concern, so long as I got paid."
Metallo tightened his grasp on his victim's throat and Helga could feel the icy grip of death closing in around her.
"But it would seem that you and your friend have crippled my operation here, so, of course, I've been left with no choice but to make an example of you."
Helga, her vision blurry, caught a glimpse of someone standing right behind the android.
"Huh?" Metallo muttered as he turned to regard the newest intruder, a man in gold futuristic armor and a visored helmet that concealed his entire face.
"Put her down," the armored figure warned. "I'll not warn you a second time."
Metallo growled and sent a powerful fist towards the armored man's face. The man easily caught the punch and held it there for a moment before pulling back with tremendous force, tearing the arm from its socket.
Metallo let out a roar of anger and blasted his newest opponent with his fully charged eye-beams. The lasers hit an invisible force field surrounding the armored individual and quickly dissipated, the field rippling around the man and flashing in shades of green similar in color to Metallo's energy blasts, as if absorbing the attack completely.
"You were warned," the armored man said as he lifted his right arm and sent a beam of white energy into the chest of his android opponent, seeming to vaporize the criminal instantly.
Helga fell to her knees, coughing and gasping for air, then looked up to see her rescuer extending an armored hand to assist her.
"Are you all right, Helga?"
"Criminey," the young woman complained as she accepted the offered hand, "why does everyone in this city know my name?"
The armored man chuckled as he helped the grumpy teenager to her feet.
"Who are you?" the female Scarecrow asked.
"My name is Gold Glory," the man introduced.
"How do you know my name?" Helga asked, pulling off her Scarecrow mask.
"I know much about you, Helga Pataki. Let's just say, you inspired me to become what I am today."
The intrigued teenager raised an eyebrow at Gold Glory's enigmatic words and crossed her arms over her chest.
"And just what exactly did I 'inspire' you to be?"
"A super-hero, of course," Glory answered simply, as if it should have been obvious.
"Are you from around here?" Helga asked.
"No, I am actually from an Earth very different from this one, but with certain similarities."
"Uh-huh," Helga muttered, not quite believing the story. "So what brings you here?"
"I'm trying to solve a murder mystery."
"A murder mystery?" Helga echoed skeptically. "In an alternate reality? You must be pretty committed to your job."
Gold Glory chuckled beneath his all-concealing helmet.
"Well, it has affected other Earths as well. Plus, I have already eliminated crime in my world; therefore, I often take it upon myself to investigate any threats to the net that holds each universe together."
"Net?"
"Yes," Glory explained. "You see, along with this Earth, there exists an infinite number of alternate Earths – each one reflecting the opposite outcome of a decision or event occurring on another Earth."
"What?" the young woman gawked with a tilt of her head.
"To put it simply: for every choice we make on Earth, there exists a different Earth where an alternate choice was made. For example: Let's say you're walking along a road and you come across a branching path, one going left, the other going right. You think about which one to take and decide to go with left path. Well, somewhere in the multiverse, there exists an Earth where you decided to take the right path. This effect is known as the Theory of Infinite Earths."
"I've heard about that!" Helga cried out. "That's Rip Hunter's theory."
"Precisely. Now, regardless of the differences in each Earth, there exists certain similarities."
"Such as…?"
"Well," Gold Glory thought for a moment. "Take Superman, for example. In each Earth there always exists a Superman in some way, shape, or form. He may be of different ethnicity, alignment, or even gender, but there is a Superman for each Earth."
"I think I get the picture," Helga replied.
"But despite the differences or similarities, each Earth is connected by the Multiversal Net."
"And what's that?"
"The Multiversal Net is what allows the Infinite Earths to exist. Without it, we lose the connection we have to the other Earths, thereby rendering the decisions we make to create them meaningless. No matter what decisions you make, your outcome will be the only outcome."
Helga nodded slowly, starting to put the pieces together.
"But how could that happen?" she asked, shaking her head in confusion. "I mean, it's not like the net actually physically exists… right…?"
"Right," Gold Glory confirmed. "The net isn't an actual net, it's just what we call it."
"Then how would it be possible to destroy it?"
"It would be a difficult process indeed, but there is a way. See, for every decision, there exists an Earth where that decision has yet to be made. We call these Earths 'Alpha Points'. For example, let's go back to the branching path: One version of you chose left, while another chose right. But somewhere in the multiverse there exists an Earth in which you have yet to even walk that road and chosen a path. If someone were to somehow travel to that Earth and prevent you from going down that road, it would cause a chain reaction that would eliminate those decisions from the previously mentioned Earths."
"Sort of like going back in time," Helga simplified.
"Exactly."
"So, if somebody traveled to an Earth where mankind hasn't been made yet and somehow prevented that from happening…"
"Then humanity would cease to exist in every other Earth in the multiverse," Gold Glory finished.
"Whoa…" Helga muttered, finally coming to an understanding. "So you've made it your job to prevent stuff like that from happening?"
Gold Glory nodded.
"Well… I guess I should thank you, then."
"You don't have to thank me, Helga. I'm just doing my job."
"So… What's your Earth like?" Helga asked curiously.
Gold Glory flipped open a panel on his wrist and pressed a sequence of buttons. A bright light emerged from projector in the armored adventurer's belt and a holographic utopia appeared all around them.
"Wow…" Helga gasped in amazement as she took on the sights.
It was a large futuristic city complete with flying cars, floating billboards, and majestic skyscrapers that seemed to disappear into the deep, blue sky above.
"It's beautiful," Helga said as she spun around to better take in the sites and sounds of the futuristic city.
"It is," Glory agreed. "It is a world free of pain and suffering. Free of crime and hate. A world where people no longer live in fear of terrorism, prejudice, or religious persecution. A perfect world."
Helga paused and looked back at the armored hero.
"You did all of this?"
"I had help, and it didn't happen overnight, but yes. I spent so many years trying to fix the world's problems. So many years trying to right the injustices in the world."
He was quiet for a moment as he stared off distantly into space.
"So many years…" he whispered.
He shook his head, bringing himself out of his thoughts and turned to regard the marveling young woman.
"But, finally, it happened," he concluded.
Helga turned around and stared at the golden-armored hero.
"How did you know I was going to be here?" she asked curiously.
Gold Glory merely shrugged his armored shoulders.
"I was sort of in the neighborhood, actually," he casually explained. "My partner was meeting up with someone down by the docks and I stuck around for a little while after they left."
"What made you stay?"
"I just… I had a feeling, I guess. A feeling that I should be here…"
The perceptive blonde wasn't buying any of it, though.
"You've been watching me…" she accused with a sly grin.
Gold Glory went back on his heels, waving his hands defensively in front of him. "It's not like that…" he tried to explain, drawing a laugh from the amused teenager.
"Calm down, Captain Jitters, I'm sure you had your reasons."
Glory eased back and composed himself.
"So, what now?" Helga asked.
"I could give you a ride home, if you'd like," Glory offered, and Helga could detect a hint of nervousness in his voice that made her grin.
She started to accept the offer, but paused. This wasn't how things were supposed to be anymore. This miraculous man in front of her was kind, brave, and noble.
In short, he reminded her too much of Arnold.
"No," she refused, shaking her head. "Thanks, but I can take it from here."
"Are you sure?" Glory asked gently.
Helga nodded her head. "I'm sure."
"Well… okay, then."
The armored hero slowly lifted off of the ground and into the air.
"Good-bye, Helga," he replied as he floated away. "Hopefully, we'll meet again someday."
Helga smiled and waved after him as Gold Glory ascended into the sky like a brilliant, shining angel, and soared out over the harbor and out of sight, leaving Helga Pataki all alone.
She grimly decided that she preferred it that way.
