JLA
"Necessary Force"
By Paxwolf
Note: Please see all disclaimers, warnings, notes, and acknowledgements at the front of the First Part of this little novella of mine, "Necessary Force", or on the headers for each Part. Thank you!
Part X:
"Gauntlet"
The oblivious object of Batman and Wonder Woman's concern flattened himself against the rock beside the cave opening as the footsteps of his returning guard grew in volume. Waiting, tension building, the minutes ticking by until he could feel the strain in his muscles and his heart beating ever faster, Superman held himself completely immobile.
Any second now ... any second ....
Now.
Carefully timing his move to an inhuman degree of precision, he lashed out with a lightning-fast backfist, rotating his arm with restrained force from the elbow. The unfortunate approaching merc's head whipped back in pain and shock, but before he could fall backwards out into the corridor, Superman twisted forward, grabbed the guard's shirt and brought his knee up into the man's jaw with a resounding crack. The guard slumped into his arms, unconscious, not having even emitted a squeak.
Well. There it is.
He inwardly sighed and then swiftly dragged the limp body back into the holding chamber to prop it up against the rusty desk, feeling a strange mixture of guilt and satisfaction. He was sure he had accidentally broken the guard's nose and jaw, having not quite pulled his blows enough to prevent injury.
Sorry, mein Freunde.
He had, however, overheard the man's (Romanian) conversation with his partner out in the corridor, and his plans to go in and further torment the old, seemingly helpless dreg they had arrested before the overseer's return, which was apparently imminent. He had grimaced and readied himself, knowing he didn't have much time to make good his escape. He could ill afford to get caught by someone who would quickly recognize that he didn't belong down there.
And then he had heard the guards discuss their new ideas, with great glee, on how to further subjugate and intimidate a particular family of Czech 'refugees' who had recently arrived at the base, and were still in the process of ajusting to their new lives and their new lord. The mercenaries' plans had been particularly nasty in both cases. Superman had quickly realized that these guards regularly got off on the torture and abuse of their less fortunate fellow denizens of this underground base, and for whatever reason, he couldn't quite bring himself to feel overly regretful of his use of force.
We've got to bring these monsters down, for the good of all these people. No matter what it takes.
At any rate, it was past time for this sickly, frail, helpless prisoner to take his leave. Long past.
He catfooted back to the cave entrance, listening intently to the sounds without, counting the number of different heartbeats audible. How to best slip out unnoticed?
He thought for a brief moment, and then lowered himself silently to the cold floor. Inching his body slowly forward until he was in a position to act once his x-ray vision told him he was safe from the immediate notice of both his remaining guard and the squad of armed mercenaries loafing directly across from the detainment cave on the other side of the wide passageway, he drew a deep breath. Steadying himself, he peered straight through the rock wall, and patiently waited for an opportune moment.
The seconds ticked by. Any moment the overseer would be back.
There.
Seizing his chance, he pushed his head out quickly, directing a narrow stream of air in a powerful burst at three of the pre-fabricated wall struts directly behind the lounging soldiers. His aim and control both proved true as the entire set of walls collapsed with a loud clatter direclty on top of the squad, causing instant and total chaos. They didn't shatter into pieces, and therefore he hoped the collapse would appear to be a result of their shoddy construction. He couldn't quite help the smile that escaped him as the walls fell with perfect precision.
Well, I'm no Joshua and that's no Jericho, but hopefully the results will be as good!
The pandemonium was terrific; men falling under the walls like ten-pins, passers-by cowering and covering their heads as they screamed that the stone ceiling was caving in. His own remaining guard shouted in panic and raced over to help the others, even though it was obvious to Superman that no serious injury could possibly result from the light pre-fabricated material. But the instant all attention was focussed away from his side cave, Superman shot to his feet and MOVED.
Thankfully, no meta-ability scanner thingamajigs were set up nearby, and so, with any luck, his employment of super-speed would go entirely unnoticed.
Too bad I can't just run my speedy way straight out of here, he thought wryly as he ran beyond the sight range of the mess behind him. It would certainly save a lot of time and trouble.
He narrowly avoided bowling over a trio of workers as he twisted and angled his way through the maze of makeshift corridors and side tunnels. With no time to stop and too late to simply fly straight up at his speed, he reflexively used his momentum to vault over the heads of the three men into an aerial somersault, feet hitting the floor silently behind them. He whipped around to ensure that he hadn't hurt them, vanishing from sight as they were turning to gawk at where the mysterious rush of wind had hailed from.
"What was that?" he heard one ask in Hungarian.
"Beats the hell outta me. Felt kinda good though, a breeze down here in this damned heat."
He sped further away.
There were simply too many people and obstacles in this part of the cavern system for the continued use of super-speed, and the cave ceiling was either too low or cluttered with hanging equipment and banners to fly or float unnoticed along it. With an uneasy feeling Superman was forced to slow down, burying his frustration – and his awareness of his growing need to already rest - by noting how the suspended banners showcased a giant red and black eye. The heavy symbolism was not lost on him.
Superman pulled up in the first unoccupied sheltered alcove he could find. He was a bit breathless, and finally acknowledged the faint tinge of alarm he felt at the physical evidence of overexertion his body was exhibiting. He stilled his shaking limbs and recovered his breath, leaning over the slight pull of a stitch in his side. Rao, he felt tired. And his ribs which had broken when the Mantle Drill had exploded on him had begun to ache persistently again. He supposed he never had fully healed from that particular incident after all.
He frowned and bent forward, testing the pull in his side muscles, and had to draw up short with a sharp gasp at the sudden spike of red-hot pain.
Oh, this can't be good.
He calmed his breathing and ran an unsteady hand across his brow, feeling sweat, grime, and dark makeup come away with it.
There was no help for it. He would have to be more careful.
At least he had escaped from the mousetrap he'd been in. But what now? Getting back into the upper levels of the base and into the estate above wouldn't exactly prove a piece of cake, what with every elevator and access ladder guarded like maximum security cells at Belle Reve. And once the alarm was raised after his absence was noticed …
He sighed. Well, there was nothing for it but to try.
Falling back into the guise of old Gunter Czerwinski, he once more withdrew his walking stick and limped out into the passageway, striving to bring as little notice to his presence as possible. On the long trip back to the access shafts he became expert at avoiding the patrolling guards and the lounging merc squads. Fortunately, his rather homely appearance and undeniably artfully manufactured odour served to keep most of the resident labourers from accosting him, as Kyle had figured. A few, however, did cast him glances of disgust, and at times pity, as he shambled past.
The humanity hasn't been completely beaten out of them. Not yet.
He turned into another corridor to be faced with two heavily laden men staggering towards him, unable to clearly see their path over the top of the stack of cardboard cartons they was carrying. Superman twisted aside, unable to back out of the way in time. The first box just grazed him, and he sidestepped as the second passed, pressing himself hard against the makeshift wall on the right. Nevertheless the unbalanced topmost box scraped against his shoulder as the man weaved from the weight, and the contact caused the carton to slide off and begin to tumble to the floor. Superman quickly stooped and caught the box before it hit, turning to face the man's sudden glare.
"Watch it, you," the worker snarled in Cockney-laced English. "Nearly made me tip me whole load, you did."
Superman blinked. "I beg your pardon," he only said politely, and lifted the carton in his hands, offering it back.
"An' gimme back me property, scuzzheap," the man shouted, "or I'll 'ave ye 'rested fer stealin', won't I?"
Fearing the scene would attract the attention of a patrol, Superman did not protest or debate the merits of common courtesy, and simply heaved the box on top of the man's load as if it weighed a great deal. The man spit out a vile oath, glared further daggers at him, and tottered off, muttering acidly to his companion, "Jesus, the folks they let in 'ere. You'd think they'd 'ave some standards, yeah?"
Superman shook his head in sadness as he turned to continue, recognizing the desperation in the worker's bile.
This is a deplorable situation down here indeed.
Again, he thought of the finery and extravagance of the opulant estate above. He wondered how these regular denizens were brought down to these lower levels. Was there another entrance and exit way?
That would be very good to know. He shook his head. But I can't afford to try and find out anything further, I'm afraid. Not now.
They would have to manage the best they could with what information he did carry.
He checked the time counter in his head. He had been down there for long enough that he was hours past his original rendezvous time with Batman. And he knew that the League wouldn't be able to hold off the questions from Luthor or the UN for much longer. And who knew what Ayestrom was planning next, or if already more Mantle Drills had been targetting weak points in the Earths' crust in vulnerable countries, or if more cities had been attacked, or if more diplomats had been abducted, or if ... or if ...
I've got to get out of here.
He was concentrating so fiercely on keeping a low profile that he shuffled right past an elevator door that led to the upper levels before his brain caught up with his eyes and realized what his peripheral vision had spied. Carefully not pausing, he continued past the bored watch of the exit's guards and, when their attention was trained on a group of men in hardhats approaching the old lift, slipped behind another wall. He studied the ensuing interaction through the wall with x-ray vision, watching how the foreman flashed an ID card read by a high-tech scanner that had been produced by the sentries. The helmeted men appeared to be mining engineers. He noted that each man bore a stylized red tattoo of an eye on his left wrist.
Interesting. He likes to mark his people.
With mounting frustration, he saw how each member of the group was diligently carded and searched before being permitted to board the lift. There would be no feasible way he would be able to pass as one of them, especially without an ID badge or the now-visible tattoo. But then again, this might be his only opportunity to get into an upper level before Czerwinski's disappearance was noticed.
It would have to be now or never.
Straightening his spine, he tensely waited for the precise moment between the last engineer's step into the lift and the doors' closing. He edged cautiously around the corner, carefully calculated the air current and pressure, and at the millisecond the last man's foot was clear of the threshold and the elevator began to hiss shut, he inhaled a stream of thin air sharply and completely. He snatched the oxygen straight out of the farther guard's airspace. The guard gasped, clutching helplessly at his throat, lungs straining at the sudden decompression. He fell forward as his partner gave an alarmed shout and sprang forward to catch him. In the split instant between his leap and the doors' close, Superman flashed into the lift, hitting the access panel he'd spotted in its ceiling, and streaked onto the exterior roof. He was out of the elevator before the occupants of it could comment on the strong breeze or the blur of grey they thought they'd seen from the corner of their eyes.
It had all happened so fast that less than two full seconds had elapsed between the start of Superman's dash, and the time he was on top of the elevator.
Wally, you'd be proud of me.
Slightly releasing the iron control over his limbs, his neck knotted painfully in tension, Superman dared breathe again as he crouched lightly on the roof of the rising lift, letting the thick cables slide against his palms. He couldn't quite quell the slight tremor in his legs as he risked a few seconds of rest and reconnoiter.
Thank goodness I don't have to do that too often.
That had been touch and go there, but with any luck, he'd escaped that deathly cavern scot-free with none the wiser.
No sooner had he entertained that hope than he heard the telltale soft thumps from below his feet of several bodies falling to the floor.
Wha-?
His eyes widened as he quickly looked through the lift ceiling and saw the engineer corps lying unconscious; simultaneously, he detected the very faint scent of gas filling both the elevator interior and its shaft. Immediately he expelled the rest of his last breath and closed his throat, not daring to ingest even a whiff more of the poisoned air, not without knowing if the unrecognized substance could affect even his physiology. He couldn't afford to take that chance.
Poetic irony, he thought with a grim smile, holding his breath determinedly, hoist by my own petard, it would seem! A breath for a breath.
He figured that the elevator had to be equipped with sensors that measured the slight weight increase as he'd settled on its roof. Dammit, he thought as his lungs began to feel the strain. I should have simply kept flying upwards and not paused to rest. But I ought to outlast this newest trap. I have no choice! I must!
He knew a normal man would have either passed out by then or succumbed to the increasingly painful need to draw a breath, but even without the necessary inhalation for the storage of air, he could resist breathing for much longer than could any ordinary human being. Still, with his solar cells near drained, even he wouldn't survive for too long in that shaft without any oxygen supply at all. Sooner or later, he would have to take a breath or risk passing out.
Looking up, mouth tightly compressed against the growing strain of airless lungs, black dots already beginning to dance around the edges of his vision, he saw that the shaft didn't extend all the way into the mansion proper but ended at the lowest of the sub-level basements.
Good enough, he thought a touch desperately, and heaved himself up, moving with tremendous effort to the top of the shaft, losing momentum foot by foot as he painfully ascended.
With the last of his will, blackness clotting his sight, the ache in his chest nearly unbearable, he hurled himself bodily through the basement's doors, heedless of possible sentries or scanners he had no time or energy left to check for. He smacked messily into the cement floor, skidded across it with the crushed steel doors curled around his body, and fetched up hard against the far concrete wall.
He sprawled there unmoving for several precious seconds, gasping at the clear air like a decked fish, feeling like he could never get enough.
Rao.
Slowly – too slowly – he regained his equilibrium and peeled the broken metal off of him before pushing himself to his knees. He scanned around him carefully for approaching guards or cameras or the meta-power detectors that were rapidly proving the bane of his existence. None were in immediate view or hearing range. Thanking his lucky stars, he untangled his legs from the remains of the lift doors and slowly got to his feet, chest still heaving.
What a mess. If Batman could see me now, he thought with a sigh. So much for subterfuge.
Never mind that this base – this Ayestrom – was far better protected than even their hard-won information had suggested. Never mind that the whole organization was far better implemented, funded, and supplied than any of them had thus far believed. Never mind that this whole situation was far more dire than anyone could have possibly guessed.
I've got a lot to still report to the League before we can finally make our move.
Thinking of his colleagues as he silently melted into the shadows of the sub-basement, having little choice but to leave the broken doors as they were, Superman carefully activated his tiny commlink. Despite the risk of detection, he had to attempt contact. The League would likely be mad with worry. He grinned a bit strainedly at the thought.
Oracle's attitude must be rubbing off on me.
"Superman to League," he said, sotto voce.
He waited. He moved further into the level, searching for another means of egress.
Still no response seemed forthcoming. He frowned.
"Oracle. Come in, please."
Nothing.
"Batman, Superman here. Please respond."
Only static answered him.
With a spiraling feeling of dread, he removed the miniscule device from his shirt and inspected it with microscopic vision. His heart sank as he saw that its circuits were clearly fried. Somehow in the past hour's worth of excitement, it had been irreversibly damaged.
Damn. He would truly be on his own now.
He closed his eyes and then his fist, crushing the communicator into dust. It wouldn't do for it to be discovered now, either on his person or lying about somewhere.
Setting his teeth, he resumed his creeping oh-so careful pace, on the sharp lookout for ways out of this madhouse. He had little doubt that he would soon be tracked.
I have to get out of here. And I have to find a way ... now.
Despite his care, it wasn't until he heard with his accentuated hearing the condemning click of hidden machinery that he zeroed in on the meta-scanner that had, at long last, detected him.
Oh no ... no ...
He squeezed his eyes shut in an instant of self-recrimination before gazing through the wall at the hidden scanner. This one didn't include a camera at least, so whoever was monitoring these things still wouldn't know to describe him physically. It merely recorded sound and motion. He burned the device a second after spotting it, and took off at a run from the vicinity in an unpredictable super-speed zigzag pattern. He knew he was being illogical in his hope that Ayestrom's men would assume that there had simply been a malfunction in the detector. And that was confirmed an instant later when he saw ahead of him a previously static sensor suddenly activate.
As if on command.
All over the level, backup sensors and scanners were alerted and came online.
Uh oh.
Instantly, he came to a wary stop, crouching in the shadows. Try as he might, he couldn't see any clear path through to the rest of the immense sub-basement, or towards any possible access points.
Except for one.
He suddenly spotted a short corridor ahead, leading through a series of fortunately lead-free walls. It seemed suspicious as it had only a single sensor monitoring it, but already his ears were picking up the unmistakable sounds of a search on that level.
Going back certainly isn't an option.
Whether summoned by the wrecked lift doors, or the elevator's activated weight sensors and subsequent gas release, or by the destroyed scanner that had finally managed to pick up his presence, there was no way to ascertain just why a search patrol had been sent out.
Probably because of all three, he mused in growing anxiety, scanning in all directions desperately. More meta-detectors, and more guards, everywhere he looked. I'm sorry, Bruce! I've really botched it up here.
The sounds seemed to be closing in on his position. Wildly, he looked around for another avenue of escape.
Anything. Any means ...
There were none. He'd be driven right to that little corridor unless he wanted to turn and try to power his way straight through the surrounding walls or ceilings. But if he did that, the infiltration game would surely be up, bringing every mega-weaponed goon or meta-powered lackey straight down onto him. And what would happen to the hostages then?
I've got to think ...
Clenching his jaw, he rose and scuttled to the edge of the open corridor, and staying out of range, concentrated on its single sensor.
If he could just fool it into believing no one had passed through its corridor …
He studied it and with a sinking heart saw that it was not a visual scanner nor an audial one, nor even a meta-power detector. Any of those he might have been able to think a way around. But this one picked up on heat, of any sort. No living being would be able to get through that passage undetected, not even one moving at super-speed. Indeed, the air friction of his passing would cause the air molecules in the confined space to be registered at an even higher temperature than the norm. It was hidden, powerful, and nearly foolproof. He shouldn't have been able to even see it.
The security around here sure knew what they were doing when they set up their plethora of devices.
Damn, even the back-ups have redundancies built right in. Back-up built on back-ups. For just how long has this base been in operation here?
He knew the distant signs of pursuit were growing closer and felt his spine tighten. So little time! But there was simply no way on Earth that he could allow this one invisible, intangible barrier to stop him now.
There might be one way around this, crazy as it is ...
Thinking quickly, he braced himself, taking a wide, balanced stance. He focussed inward with all his might, all too aware of the fast-approaching guards.
Please, please let this work!
Superman applied all of his formidable will to precision control over his physiological functions. Little by little, his ambient body temperature began to drop. His heart slowed its frantic beating, his blood began to run sluggishly through his veins, and his internal organs began to stop producing heat.
Of all the incredible things Superman could do with his body, this was one of the most difficult. And he'd had little need to practice or perfect the technique. Perhaps it was as challenging as it was, he and the Atom had once theorized together, because it was so completely contrary to what his cells naturally did: store and amplify solar energy. But it was theoretically possible to do. He'd just never had to take it as far as he would have to now.
But I can do this. I have to!
He had once spent several months of weekends training with J'onn J'onzz on the moon, pushing his powers and abilities to their maximum capacity, trying to stretch to the limits of his power potential. He smiled grimly as he realized that this entire mission had so far proved those past efforts in very good stead.
Thank you, J'onn ...
Concentrating with all his strength, Superman felt his body growing cooler with each passing second, along with a thrill of hope.
It was going to work.
If he could slip through the passage without tripping the sensor, and with no other way out into the upper recesses of the base from this particular point, the searchers behind him would be forced to conclude that no one could possibly have come by this way. He would then be free to escape up into another basement level, and eventually get out through the mansion above, with everyone searching in other areas for a spy no one would ever find.
It's working ... I'm getting cold ...
But even as his body grew several degrees cooler, he suddenly saw that as slowly as the cooling process was taking, he just wasn't going to make it in time. Not before the searchers reached the passageway and spotted him. Unwilling to give up, seeing no other feasible alternative, he realized he would have to speed up the process, and thereby up the risk factor.
In his mind's ear he could practically hear Batman's disapproval.
But what else can I do?
In sheer desperation, he opened his mouth and began to forcefully exhale hard and fast, directing his super-cooled breath against the surface of his body itself.
His already cold limbs began to freeze over, his clothing and skin becoming coated with layer after layer of ice, spreading over his back and up over his neck and the back of his head. The cold self-generating ice spread and thickened. Every ounce of moisture on his person and in his lungs served to freeze him even more deeply, until he was thoroughly covered with ice and frost from head to foot. Dimly through the ice filling his ears, he heard the increasingly loud footfalls and shouts approaching his corridor.
No ... I don't ... I don't know if I'll make it in time ...
At the same time, he began to be aware of the pain.
God, Bruce ...
The cold was so intense as it enveloped him completely, inside and out, that it became an overwhelming struggle just to continue. He nevertheless fought to keep going, to keep growing colder, colder, still colder ...
I ... have to ... go on ...
But interminable seconds later, he abruptly knew he had no more physical strength to continue. His body just stopped cooling, of its own accord, against his mental will to keep going, to keep freezing.
It was as if his power had suddenly shut down.
That's ... that's it, then.
He knew instinctively that if he became any colder, he wouldn't be able to just not function, he could very well die.
S'funny, he thought as if from a great distance, how the ... absolute zero ... of unprotected space ... seems somehow ... less frigid than this ... self-generated ... cold.
It, in fact, felt more like he was being burned alive than frozen, the pain was so great. The cold seared his skin, eyes, and insides as if iced over with licks of pure flame.
I ... have to ... move ... but I ... don't know ... if I can ...
He forced himself to snap out of his strange, drugged reverie, and pushed his leaden legs to move forward.
I ... have to!
Sluggishly, he staggered into the heat sensor's zone of detection, and if he had had any breath at all to spare, he would have held it.
No immediate alarm sounded; the sensor could detect no heat source.
He felt a surge of relief and so he kept going, moving solely on hope. It took every bit of willpower he could muster to force himself step by hurting step into the corridor, an even harder struggle to resist activating his heat vision there and then and turn it on himself. His dragging feet, numbed beyond sensation, tripped abruptly over a crack in the concrete floor, and no longer having the energy or speed left to flail for balance, he fell, hard. The impact felt like it had shattered every bone in his body, the agony centering around his ribs, and he had to bite his blue lips hard to keep from screaming aloud.
Was he too late? Were the guards and mercenaries of Ayestrom already at the mouth of the passageway, watching and laughing as he floundered and flopped on the floor like some broken thing? He felt the fear rise in him as he realized he could no longer hear anything at all save for his own laboured breathing and the too-slow beat of his heart. But he wasn't about to lie there and be taken helplessly either.
Calling on all his reserves, he started to drag himself painfully forward, down the last indeterminately long yards of the endless-seeming corridor, no longer able to feel anything but the bone-searing cold.
It began to feel like he would never know what warmth was again, and every drag of his body along the rough floor was surely tearing and cracking his brittle skin right open. He tried to ignore the horrible sensations and kept going, inch by precious inch.
Must not stop … keep moving … crawl … scramble … pull … whatever it takes … just ... keep going …
Bit by bit, foot by foot, Superman clawed his way across the floor, praying he would clear the corner before his pursuers could catch up to him, that they weren't behind him already, watching his painful and awkward progress in indolent mockery.
His eyes finally hurt so much from the dry cold he had to squeeze them shut; they had filmed over with a spreading frost anyway until sight was useless, and all he could see were glimpses of translucent, dim light. Blind and deaf, unable to even feel the floor or walls when his elbows and knees struck them, he had to rely on his memory alone to judge if he had wormed his way far enough to reach the corner and therefore be safely out of immediate view.
Safe only if his pursuers weren't already there, or didn't just pound down the little corridor anyway, he amended, allowing that worry to distract him from the fiery cold. Whether they did or not, he was forced to acknowledge to himself that he had at last reached the end of his limits.
He could push himself no further.
He knew he was seconds from passing out, and he couldn't permit that. Not yet.
I ... can't. I can't.
In his mind he called up his memory of the corrridor, and calculated his position. He visualized himself having reached the end of the hallway of hell and forced his rapidly failing strength to make his body turn. He moved so agonizingly slowly, the sloth compared to the light-footed cheetah he had been only a half an hour earlier.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
He suddenly felt his forward progress impeded and knew he'd pressed up against an unyielding wall. He curled into a tight ball against it, feeling even the searing cold fire fading into utter, blessed numbness. How completely exhausted he was. How very tempting it would be to sink into the painless false warmth now spreading throughout his limbs and just rest for a while. Vaguely, he could feel his brain begin to shut down; his heart was barely beating at all anymore. How very easy it would be to simply let go, just float off into the inviting darkness that was beckoning him with seductive warmth. The darkness had such welcoming arms …
He would rest for just a little bit.
Yes, what harm could there be in that? Just a short breather to recover some strength so he could press on again.
Just a few seconds of rest …
He no longer felt cold. He no longer felt anything.
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