VELOCITY
A Justice League Fan-Fiction by neomage
(DISCLAIMER: Justice League, Justice League Unlimited, and all characters therein are owned by DC Comics and the Warner Bros. animation studios.)
Chapter 21
Central City Hospital, 11:52 a.m.
The nurse walked quickly along the corridor, her clipboard in hand. Stopping at the elevator, she pressed the UP button and waited…then, ding! The elevator doors opened up, and she stepped in. "Time to go check on that policeman that was brought in," she mused as she pushed the button for the floor she wanted.
By and by the elevator reopened, and the nurse stepped out onto her designated floor. She promptly began to head for one of the hospital rooms, only a few doors away. As she did, she glanced down at her clipboard. "I hope you've woken up, officer…although considering what you had to have gone through, I guess that's not likely," she sighed.
Now she was only two feet away from the door. Out of habit, she reached out a hand to grasp the doorknob while still glancing at the clipboard—
—but then all of a sudden a terrific gust of wind blew right past her! "Eek!" she shrieked out, instinctively reaching down to hold her skirt in place lest it be blown up to reveal what she'd rather keep hidden. Her hair wasn't so lucky; formerly in a bun and held in place by a pin, now it got blown all over even as her nurse's cap flew off from the force of the wind a second ago. Momentarily disoriented, she inadvertently grabbed the doorknob and stumbled forward…
…and there, in the room, sitting up in bed, was Hunter Zolomon, in the act of sipping from his glass of water. Now he looked up at her arrival, blinking in confusion. "Nurse? Are you all right?" he asked, concern in his voice.
"Uhhh…" The nurse shook her head and managed to steady herself. "Oh…Mr. Zolomon! You're awake now? How do you feel?"
"Well, much better now, actually," Hunter answered. "In fact…I feel just about ready to leave this place! I just seem to have a whole lot of energy now!"
"Now, now, Mr. Zolomon, don't strain yourself," the nurse warned, coming over to him. "You were struck by lightning and covered in numerous unknown chemicals, after all…wait, you were brought in with burns and bruises from your accident, but you don't look like you have a scratch on you!"
"Oh? I was?" Hunter looked down at himself, then rolled up the sleeves of his hospital gown and examined his arms. "How interesting…guess one of those chemicals I got covered with was some sort of miracle healing agent?"
"Nonetheless, you need to stay right here so the doctors can give you a full examination," the nurse said firmly. "They'll be the ones to decide whether you can leave…"
"Thanks for the concern, nurse, but I feel fine—really." Hunter then shifted and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching for his walking cane as he did so. "More importantly, I need to head back to the police department and get back to work on my criminal profiling. And as for you…you look a little stressed. Maybe you should consider taking some time off, hmm?"
"Wh-what?" the nurse stammered, taken aback at this sudden turn of events.
"Well, I mean, just now you looked like you were going to fall over when you came in—and you don't look very organized." Hunter shrugged. "No disrespect, but take a look at yourself in a mirror—you look frazzled."
Eyes widening, the nurse put a hand to her head, and only then noticed the state of her hair. "Oh…well, uh…I guess I have been working a bit too hard today," she muttered, somewhat embarrassed. "But at least let me call the doctor so he can give you a basic exam, and then you can go…if he says you can."
"Well, whatever makes you happy," Hunter replied, reluctantly sliding back into bed. "But somehow, I have a feeling the doc will see things my way."
Shaking her head in bewilderment, the nurse turned and exited the room. Hunter watched her go…even as a sinister smirk suddenly appeared on his lips.
----------
Central City Channel 4 News, 12:00 p.m.
"WHEW!" Linda burst into her office, running a hand through her hair. "Isn't the rain ever going to let up? I thought I'd never get here!"
Marla, seated at the desk and eating a sandwich, now looked up. "Oh, hey, Linda," she greeted her partner. "Back from your love tryst with the Flash already?"
"WHAT are you TALKING about, Marla?" Linda asked indignantly. "He just carried me home to change out of my wet clothes, then he carried me to the coffee shop so I could meet up with Wally! That's all!"
"Oh, yes, your date…I'd forgotten about that," and Marla allowed herself a smirk. "How'd that go, I wonder?"
"Marla…It! Was not! A date!" Linda practically spat the sentence out. "Although, it did give me a lead as to the whole Thinker debacle…"
Marla was immediately attentive. "You learned something about the Thinker case from that guy? What'd he tell you?"
"Well, basically, the Thinker was using some sort of military-grade reinforcing chemical agent on his Think Tank," Linda explained. "And that stuff was smuggled here from Japan's STAR Labs branch. What I want to know is how Thinker got his hands on the stuff, and who sold it to him. Who knows—there just might be a super-villain black market in operation, and if I can make a report on that…!"
"But how do you intend to find out about that?" Marla asked.
"Well…" Linda chuckled. "How'd you like to take a trip with me to Iron Heights Penitentiary?"
Marla's eyes widened. "Iron Heights, Linda? Are you insane?"
"What?" Linda asked.
Marla stood up and shook her head, standing with arms akimbo in front of Linda. "Girl, let me remind you, because you don't seem to remember," she said. "They built Iron Heights just on the outskirts of Keystone City, because Central City's prison wasn't equipped enough to hold the costumed nut-jobs that the Flash has always had to fight. It's just like Arkham Asylum in Gotham and Styker's in Metropolis…they house super-criminals there before and after their court trials."
"I'm not seeing where this is going, Marla," and Linda crossed her arms. "So Iron Heights is like Arkham and Styker's, and everybody knows about those two. So?"
"So?" Marla repeated. "The word is, Iron Heights has a shoot-on-sight policy for all super-criminals housed there who try to escape—their guards have some very itchy trigger fingers, Linda. And don't forget about that creepy warden of theirs—remember when you interviewed him back when they were just opening Iron Heights?"
"Huh." Linda made a sour face. "I remember him, all right. A real jerk."
"And yet, remembering all that, you're willing to risk running into him again just so you can get an exclusive interview with the Thinker?" Marla eyed Linda. "This story must really be a big one for you to want to go back there, huh?"
"I'm willing to do what I have to, to get this story," Linda answered. "So, Marla, what d'you say? You up to it?"
"Well, if you really think I'm going to just let you run off and get into trouble on your own…" Marla began.
"Super!" Linda beamed. "Just let me get my stuff together, ten! Tell the guys to get the news-van ready—we've got an exclusive to snatch up!"
----------
Salem Tower, Massachusetts, 12:10 p.m.
Dr. Fate was still in his library, dozens of books piled up in front of him. Sighing very audibly, he leaned forward. "Still nothing," he muttered. "Amazo, have you still not found anything?"
"Nothing, Dr. Fate," Amazo spoke up from an obscure corner of the library. "I have searched through all 4,491 books in this library—three times each—and still have not found anything substantial."
Hearing that, Dr. Fate shook his head and sighed again. "How disappointing…to think that we've got nothing whatsoever on this Speed Force…"
"Actually, I believe we do."
Dr. Fate turned at the sound of Inza's voice. "Inza, have you found something?" he asked hopefully.
"Only a moment ago," Inza admitted, stepping forward from the doorway. In her hand she held a worn, leather-bound tome. "I'd gleaned nothing from my meditation, so I thought I'd take a break and read up on American history."
"A favorite pastime of yours?" Amazo inquired, walking up to the couple.
"I wouldn't say 'favorite,' Amazo; it's just something to do," Inza shrugged. "In any case, while I was going through my own personal library, I came across this book. I'd bought it from an old historian a few years back, but I'd forgotten I had it…until now."
"I would say it's chosen a providential time to let itself be found again," Dr. Fate chuckled. "So, Inza? What does the book say?"
Inza flipped the book open, turning the pages. "There's an account in here that dates back to the 1800's," she said. "It tells the story of a conflict between the US Army and a Native American tribe, the Blackfoot clan. According to that story, the US Cavalry was planning an ambush for the Blackfoot Indians, in the hope of wiping them out. However, an Army scout was friendly with the tribe…so, in order to prevent a massacre, the tribe's shaman imbued the scout with magical energy that allowed him to move at superhuman speed. In the end, the scout was able to disarm both sides completely, stopping the bloodbath from ever happening…and ever after, he was known as Ahwehota—meaning Windrunner, in the Blackfoot Indians' ancient tongue."
"How fascinating," said Dr. Fate, crossing his fingers under his chin.
"But the account does not end there," said Inza. She then read on: "Legend has it, one night many years later, Windrunner felt and heard something calling to him. So, he went outside…and he ran. He ran for what seemed like hours…running faster than he'd ever gone before…and as he ran, he felt himself coming closer and closer to heaven, almost eye-to-eye with God…and then he blinked and disappeared."
Amazo looked from Inza to Dr. Fate. "Could this be a reference to the Speed Force?" he wondered.
"Even if it isn't, it's a lead at least," Dr. Fate answered. "Inza, could you lend me that book a little while? I need to show this information to Superman directly."
"Of course," and Inza handed it over. "I'm just happy I could help you in this research of yours."
"Believe me, you've been a big help," Dr. Fate assured her, gently grasping her hand.
"Perhaps you should rest before you set out again, Dr. Fate," Amazo suggested. "You have been at this research non-stop for a great number of hours, after all."
"True enough," Dr. Fate acknowledged. "I'll head up to the Watchtower later on, then."
----------
Hub City, Illinois, 12:15 p.m.
"Hmmm…I see…so this is what you were up to, then, eh?"
Question was back in his apartment, in front of his laptop, beholding the information that currently lay there on the screen in front of him. "Cadmus, Cadmus, Cadmus…what wouldn't you do to ensure a power base for yourselves?" he asked aloud.
He reached for his ear, and the comm.-link that lay there. "Question to Watchtower…Mr. Terrific, are you there?" he asked.
"Go ahead, Question," Mr. Terrific's voice buzzed in his ear.
"I have the information on the Lubrilon, as you requested," Question reported. "And it seems there was more than enough reason for Cadmus to keep this little project of their under wraps."
"All right then," Mr. Terrific replied. "I'll beam you up and you can show me what you've found."
"Just a moment—I'm copying this information to a disc as I speak," Question informed him. "It should be done right about…"
Before he could finish the sentence, the disc drive on the laptop popped open, revealing a silver-plated disc that he'd been copying the information to. "Done!" he said triumphantly, snatching up the disc. "Now let me cover my tracks a little…"
He went back to typing some more—then a big screen popped up asking, Are you sure you want to delete? Below that were two giant buttons with the options YES and NO. Question quickly moved the mouse cursor over the YES option and clicked; a moment later he sat back and watched as the information was systematically erased from his hard drive. "One can never be too careful where they leave traces of their digging around, you know," he commented to Mr. Terrific.
"Whatever suits your fancy," said Mr. Terrific. "You ready to be beamed up now?"
"Quite so," Question answered—and then he got caught up in a shimmering beam of light.
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Central City Hospital, Central City, 12:30 p.m.
"Coffee, Chyre?"
"Thanks, Morillo; I could use it."
Chyre accepted the steaming Styrofoam cup from Morillo, who in turn sat back down with his own cup of coffee. "What's taking them so long? You'd think they could've given us at least a little bit of news by now!" Morillo complained.
"I agree," Chyre nodded. "But what're you gonna do about it, Morillo? The best we can do is wait…"
Suddenly he turned his head to one side, his expression brightening. "Well! Would you look at that!"
"Huh?" Morillo turned and looked in the same direction as Chyre. "Well, I'll be…!"
Coming toward them was an orderly pushing a wheelchair…and in that wheelchair was Hunter Zolomon, clad in a hospital gown but otherwise looking like his usual self, his cane in his lap. "Oh? Chyre, Morillo…you guys were here?" he asked.
The two cops got up and approached Hunter. "Zolomon, it's good to see you! How're you feelin'?" Morillo exclaimed, reaching forward and patting the man on his shoulder.
"You make it sound as if I've been gone for months," Hunter answered good-naturedly.
"Well, you were brought here in pretty bad shape…you might've been gone longer than just months," Chyre told him with a smile. "But look at you. You look as fit as ever!"
"Sure, sure," Hunter chuckled. "Anyways, the doctors just finished their little examination of me. They said I could probably leave the hospital if I really felt I was able—which I do—but they did say to take it easy for the rest of the day."
"Well, knowing you, you'll probably just sneak back to the department and dive right back into the case-files," Morillo laughed.
"Actually, taking a little time off doesn't sound like a bad idea at all," Hunter informed the two. "Maybe I'll take a sick-day tomorrow and just relax."
"Zolomon taking a sick-day? Help, it's the end of the world!" Morillo joked.
"It'll be good for you, though, no doubt about that," said Chyre. "So…leaving here with a souvenir, huh?" and he tugged at Hunter's gown sleeve.
"They said they were going to send my clothes over to the lab back at the precinct for analysis," Hunter explained. "They wanted to be sure that the chemicals I got bathed in during that accident weren't in any way lethal and wouldn't leave me with any nasty long-term effects."
"Makes sense," said Morillo. "Well, anyway, what say we get you down to the parking garage? We'll give you a lift home."
Hunter nodded. "I appreciate that."
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Iron Heights Penitentiary, Keystone City, 12:35 p.m.
On one side of Central City, there was a massive bridge that separated the city from its sister metropolitan area, Keystone City. Like Central, Keystone boasted numerous skyscrapers, some of comparable height to those within the distant city of Metropolis. Central and Keystone, in spite of being separated by the aforementioned bridge and a large bay area, were nevertheless close enough that anyone unfamiliar with the twin cities would've mistaken them for one giant conurbation. It was sometimes said, too, that just as Central City was nearly always portrayed as bright and sunny in much the same way as Metropolis, Keystone was nearly always portrayed as darker, grittier and more foreboding, though it was perhaps not portrayed as such to the same extent as Gotham City. Just as Central City had its sign boasting to visitors upon entry that it was the home of the Flash, for its own part Keystone had a few signs informing the world that it was the country's blue-collar capitol and king of heavy-industry cities.
And…
Just a few miles outside of Keystone's borders, there sat a massive compound, surrounded on all sides by tall, solid concrete and iron walls reinforced with barbed wire at the top. It bore a great iron door on its front wall, with a sign above that door spelling out the name of the place for all outsiders to see: IRON HEIGHTS PENITENTIARY. At the walls' top corners were lookout points, where stone-faced guards with heavy weaponry stood, keeping an eagle-eye out. On the grounds far below, more guards walked by on patrol, armed with guns and accompanied by huge Dobermans and German Shepherds.
Further inside, even more guards walked along the corridors on patrol, past numerous steel doors. The doors themselves immediately caught one's eye for a special reason—engraved on each door was a metallic plate with a name on it…specifically, the name of the prisoner who was encaged behind the door in question. Some of the metal plates were simple enough, bearing the first and last names of the prisoners within. However, going even further inside, many of the plates began to bear two names each, a given name and a second, colorful-sounding nickname.
There was one such door that bore two sets of names on the engraved plate. Loudly and proudly for any passerby to see, it declared the identity of the cell's current inhabitant: Clifford DeVoe, aka The Thinker. Inside this cell, the man who all of Central and Keystone Cities knew as the Thinker sat on an old, dusty-looking mattress. He was clad in his familiar costume—his purple and black outfit—but, of course, he was sans his infamous helmet that had earned him his criminal moniker, the Thinking Cap. And at the moment, he was just staring at the wall ahead of him, pursing his lips as if in deep thought.
Clank clank!
"Hmmm?" Thinker was broken out of his reverie at the loud banging of his door.
"Up and at 'em, DeVoe! You've got visitors!"
"Visitors, eh?" Thinker marveled, getting up. "I wonder who could be so kind as to pay a visit to such a place as this?"
He heard the sound of keys jingling on the other side of the door…and then in stepped two burly guards, flanked by two men in dark suits—one of whom was holding a large metal box. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," Thinker greeted them. "To what do I owe this unexpected honor?"
"You're suited up already…good. That makes this easier," one of the suits remarked.
"It's not like I have a choice," Thinker sighed. "Or didn't you know? In this place, they keep super-criminals in their costumes for easy identification…minus their various toys, of course."
"Well, Mr. DeVoe, seems you're in luck today," the second suit answered. "You're getting paroled early."
Thinker blinked. "Early parole, you say? But my court date hasn't even come yet…"
"That's how much power we're representing, you see," the first suit told him. "You used to be a lawyer—you're well aware of how far power can go to influence the right people."
"And the power that we represent wants you as…an avatar, so to speak," the second suit added. "We're here to bring you in for an interview to that effect."
"Hmmm…" Thinker frowned. "Well, good sirs, nothing would please me more than to just be out of this place. Except—there's no way I can do such a thing in and of myself. And I doubt that even you, or whoever you're representing, has such power as to release me just so."
"Come now, Mr. DeVoe, don't sell yourself short so early…surely a brilliant mind such as yours can comprehend exactly what we're offering…?" The first suit then stepped forward with the metal box, prying its cover off.
Thinker's eyes widened when he saw what the box contained. "This is…"
"Our employer is that powerful, Mr. DeVoe—it's just that it pays not to let too many people know that fact," the second suit said with a small smile. "Our employer's power was enough to convince Iron Heights' chief of security to, ahem, look the other way while we secured this novelty item from his little storage facility. Plus, these two guards here, as well as a few more that happen to be on our employer's payroll, will be getting a few extra bonuses added to their salaries just for helping with your release."
Thinker looked from the box to the men and back again. "No joke?"
"No joke, Mr. DeVoe."
A smirk crept onto Thinker's lips. Carefully he reached into the box…and pulled out his Thinking Cap, setting it in place on his head, fondly rubbing his hands over the white helmet and its purple circular designs even as it now masked the top half of his face. "Yes…yes, I see it now," he chuckled. "The good warden knows nothing of this, does he? And that's how it should stay, yes?"
The two suits smirked, too. "You read our minds, Mr. DeVoe," said one.
Thinker then turned to the bed, where he'd been sitting only moments ago. Putting a hand to his now-helmeted head, he seemed to concentrate—and then, in an instant, from out of nowhere an image of himself sans helmet appeared seated in the very same spot where he'd been before! "Gentlemen, never underestimate the power of the mind!" he declared.
"But of course not, Mr. DeVoe," the second suit calmly assured him. "This is precisely the reason our employer wants to speak with you. So…let us not delay much longer, then."
"Indeed, let us not." And Thinker's eyes narrowed again, and he chuckled even as a semi-transparent wave seemed to emanate from the circular design on the front of his Thinking Cap and swept outward from his cranium…
CHAPTER 21 COMPLETE! CHAPTER 22 COMING UP!
(NOTE TO BE MADE: To those of you who have been sending me PM's asking when I'll update my other in-progress work, Yu-Gi-Oh! Eternal, heed my words: (:-P) When I first started this story I was writing it concurrently with Eternal, but then I got ahead of myself and updated Eternal faster than this story, effectively leaving this one in the dust. So, what I'm going to do is to update this one until it's reached at least as many chapters as Eternal, by which point I hope this one will be finished…and then I'll definitely go all-out on Eternal! And not to worry, I've been drafting up story ideas and arcs for Eternal while writing chapters for this story as well! So, have patience and fret not—Eternal is not through or over with yet!)