Hello, everyone! ShadowMajin here with the next installment of Anonymous Void and my's series. This one is promising to be a long one, but hey, it's a Crisis story! Now, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the latest story of our series.

It had been clever of them. In all of the systems and galaxies, they had taken great care to hide themselves and the precious cargo every world would kill for.

The ship was best described as a bucket of bolts and nuts. It meandered through space, clunky and fat. Its outer hull was dented in places, smeared with rust in others. No one would have given it a second thought if they saw it floating in a field of space junk.

Their mistake was including the Kalanorian Galex-class thrusters. Though they had taken great pains to make them look just as ill cared for as the rest of the ship, their distinctive exhaust port shape had given it away.

Stupid Kalanorians.

The ship chugged and scrambled for every scrap of distance it could cross. Behind it was a Citadel-class Cruiser. In comparison to the Kalanorian freighter, the cruiser was easily a hundred times larger, displaying its powerful cannons on its sides. A multitude of other smaller cannons took up the incredible face of the ship, many of which were firing green blasts at the fleeing freighter.

It would not be long now.

In the command center of the cruiser sat a man, large, bulky, sleek. He was of an evolved species that did need opulent, unnecessary body parts needed for mating. His black, muscular body was perfection. There was no need for the narrowing of a neck when one's head sleekly extended into shoulders. Only the finest of gold covered his body, a breastplate covering his chest and a loin cloth wrapped around his hips and over his groin. Boots swallowed his legs up to the knee.

He was Lord Damyn, the rightful heir to the throne of the Citadel. One day it would be his. Capturing the freighter would be the latest step to ensuring his rise.

Through a large screen he saw the Kalanorian ship begin to charge up its Galex-class thrusters, their exhaust ports beginning to glow a brilliant blue. A blast from one of the thousands of guns from the cruiser came flying in and struck the thrusters, an incredible explosion ripping through the thrusters and crippling the freighter.

"Freighter has been fatally damaged," a fellow Citadelian reported from a nearby computer station. "Its momentum is all that is carrying it forward."

"Prepare retrieval team," Lord Damyn ordered. "The Gordanians will fight first, die first. Me then will follow and complete capture."

"Yes, Lord Damyn."

Sharp teeth appeared as Lord Damyn smiled. Soon, it would be his name that others feared throughout the cosmos. The Kalanorians and their backwater world had admittingly given it a run, causing concern to grow within the Citadel, but the Citadel was forever. Nothing would bring it to its knees.

The Citadel-class Cruiser had reached them. Its bulk hovered over the small ship, a shaft descending to the freighter. Once it reached an airlock door, it attached to it. Saw-like blades began cutting into the hull, a loud whine that never let up.

In the hallway that led to the airlock door, Kalanorians took up position, aiming their weapons at the door. They had always known this day would come, when the Citadel had caught up to them. Now they were the last line of defense. If they failed, all of Kalanor would fall with them. It may not be that exact moment, but their home world would never recover.

Sparks began to erupt around the airlock door. Soon, the spinning saw blades emerged, forming a crude circle around the door. Then they came to a stop before sliding back into the crevice they had made. It took a moment before the airlock door groaned and then collapsed inward into the ship.

There was no point in waiting. The Kalanorians immediately opened fire, blasting the invading force on the other side of the door. Smoke filled the opening, pouring out into the ship. They never let up as they fired their onslaught.

Suddenly, green energy beams fired from the opening, a couple Kalanorians being struck. They cried out as they fell, hurt, dead, who knew.

And then the first invader entered. The reptilian features and power staffs revealed him to be a Gordanian, the shock troops of the Citadel. Letting out a monstrous cry, it took aim with its staff and fired blast after blast at the Kalanorians. He was shot down by the continuous firing of the Kalanorian weaponry.

But then more Gordanians flooded in, attacking, blasting. Their armor was thick, allowing them to brush off some of the Kalanorian firepower, but eventually the armor gave way and the Gordanians fell.

But not fast enough.

With brutal means, the Gordanians reached the Kalanorians, bashing them with their staffs, their clawed hands ripping through flesh, blood spurting all over. The screams filled the corridor as the fighting intensified.

They weren't going to make it.

With his arms behind his back, Lord Damyn entered the freighter. Dead Gordanians and Kalanorians filled the hallways, their weapons lying at their sides. Everything had its use, even something as lowly as a Gordanian.

Lord Damyn couldn't help but lick his lips. He could feel his hunger rise and he had learned to appreciate Gordanian meat. It would also be his first to taste a Kalanorian.

"Has it been located?" he asked loudly as he strode through the carnage. "Me want to be brought to it now."

"We are still looking," a Gordanian shock trooper informed him, holding his staff at attention. "The Kalanorians are still resisting—"

A large fist slammed into the Gordanian's face, crushing it as the face caved in. Blood splattered over the fist, dripping thickly from it. The useless Gordanian collapsed to the floor.

"Me want no excuse. Me want results," Lord Damyn growled. "Take me to it now."

There was some scrambling from the rest of the trash, but they did as ordered. Lord Damyn did not wait as he began walking down the corridor. He did not care; he would see his entire crew annihilated so long as he had his prize. None of their lives were worth more.

It was minutes later when another Gordanian appeared before him, this time with better news. "We have located the cargo," it reported. "It is being held in one of the cargo holds. We are pushing back the Kalanorian resistance from hold as we speak and should have it secured by the time we reach it."

"Me am pleased," Lord Damyn told him. "Lead me there."

"Yes, Sire."

He was brought right there as well. Through hallways that matched the freighter's outside in their neglect, they were now freshly covered in blood and guts. Lord Damyn's hunger grew with every step, but even his insatiable appetite could wait. A different hunger was growing and this one demanded satisfaction first.

They eventually reached the cargo holds. A large corridor with several large steel doors placed at even intervals along the walls. Every so often was a small door, the reason why escaping Lord Damyn. He did not understand Kalanorian architecture and he did not care to. They were of inferior designs anyhow.

Stepping onto the corpses that littered the floor, bones snapping beneath his feet, he was soon led to one of the doors, which was open. Looking into it, he came to a full stop. His sharp teeth appeared as he smiled, placing a hand on the doorway.

There it was, after all of this time. And it was finally his.

"You know, I'm the Fastest Man Alive and I gotta say, I've never been more tired than I have been now."

That had been Flash and he was currently sprawled in his seat at the table, one leg hanging over an armrest, arms dangling at his sides, leaning back as far as he could without tipping the chair over. He was the most expressive of the group in regards to fatigue.

A look around the table showed the rest of the Justice League was just as tired, if not more so. They just held themselves better. John held himself in his usual rigid posture, but his head was slumped, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. Diana held herself primly, but her shoulders were sagging, her hair riddled with strands that stuck out at random places. Hawkgirl had given up all pretense and was lying face down on the table, arms stretched out in front of her. J'onn seemed to be the only one unaffected as he sat as he usually did, but the color of his orange eyes were duller than usual.

Batman wasn't even here, but he hadn't participated in the latest mission either.

As for Superman, he was slouching in his chair, trying to find it in himself to sit up straight as Ma Kent had taught him. Her voice in the back of his head was currently losing to another one that suspiciously sounded like Jimmy telling him it was alright to just hang loose.

It wasn't that the mission was hard either. Just a terrorist threat at an embassy on the other side of the world. They had handled it rather efficiently, but it was just one in a long string of missions. Bomb threats, military coups, and killer robots just to name a few.

And all of that had been in the last week.

"Anyone else feel like we've been running a marathon long after it has finished?" the speedster continued to complain.

"Yes, we're all tired," Superman told him. "We still need to debrief."

"What's to debrief?" Hawkgirl said, her voice muffled by the table and her arms surrounding her head. "Bad guys invaded embassy, took hostages, and made their demands. We went in, saved the hostages, no casualties, and beat up the...uhhh…"

"Revolutionaries of the Kindred Sons," Diana supplied for her.

That caused the Thanagarian to lift her head up. "Revolutionaries of the Kindred Sons?" she repeated. "Where do they even come up with those names? They aren't even trying!"

"I believe Hawkgirl has succinctly summarized the mission details," J'onn said. "Do I have a second?"

"Seconded," the winged woman deadpanned.

"I'd like to revisit an issue," Flash then announced. "The one where I can be a part timer like Bats. Anyone object?"

"I think we all could benefit from part time status," Superman replied with a wry smile.

There were plenty of grunts of approval, but that only caused John to perk up, or at least perk up as much as he could manage. "I think we've got a big problem, guys," he declared.

"When don't we?" Hawkgirl grumbled.

"Just look at us." He gestured with one hand at the table's occupants. "We're all exhausted and that's just from Justice League duties. I'm not even counting our own responsibilities in our own cities, or sectors. We're getting stretched too thin."

"Trouble doesn't exactly stop so we can have a break," the redhead snorted.

"But we all could use one, or at least a little down time when we're not running ourselves ragged."

"We've had times where a lot was going on," Diana pointed out. "We were tired then, but we recovered."

"None of us are getting any younger, your immortality aside," the Green Lantern pointed out. "In fact, some of the threats and missions we've gone on, I don't think it needed as much fire power as we've thrown at it. Take the embassy today; it didn't require all six of us, but we went because it was high profile and had a chance to go south real fast."

"So what are you saying, we hire some B-listers to handle the less important cases?" Flash asked.

"What I'm saying is that we should consider opening our ranks."

The others glanced to each other, Hawkgirl even pushing herself up to brace herself with her arms. It wasn't the first time they had thought about expanding the League, but those discussions hadn't gone anywhere. Much of it was that they weren't certain who could join the League, ones that they could trust, or even could stand up to the rigors being a member entailed.

Yet, at this time, they weren't immediately dismissing it either.

"I'm not hearing any arguments against," Superman spoke after awhile. "But how would we go about this?"

"Superhero drive?" Flash suggested.

"A proper interview process, I would think," Diana added.

"Are there any candidates we would seriously consider?" the Kryptonian asked.

"Oooh! Oooh!" Flash piped up, having a hand above his head back and forth. "That blonde chick from Gotham! Umm, ummm...Canary."

"Why her?" Hawkgirl questioned, a suspicious tone in her voice.

"Why not her? She's an experienced crime fighter with a voice that can shatter Supes' ear drums. Not to mention we could always use another lady."

"I wouldn't be opposed to more women," Diana agreed.

"You just want another pretty face," the redhead accused.

"Looks should always be secondary to potential and ability," the speeder sniffed haughty.

"A very close second, I'd imagine."

"I believe I may have a solution," J'onn interjected, stopping the back and forth. "I have been keeping up with a database of various meta-humans and crime fighters throughout the world. I did so to keep an eye on various areas that had higher levels of crime, or the potential to warrant Justice League intervention. We could review those files to see if there is anyone we would like to approach for the expansion."

"That isn't a bad idea at all," John remarked. "But before we do, I think we need to make this official; we put this to a vote. All in favor for expanding the League, raise your hand."

John immediately raised his hand, though he was beat out by Flash. Hawkgirl glanced at the two and before she raised her own.

That left three of them, Superman, Diana, and J'onn. The three of them shared looks with each other, then one by one began raising their hands. "I think it's unanimous," the Green Lantern ruled.

"Then I put forth that we wait until tomorrow," J'onn said. "In our current mental states, we may not adequately decide who should join."

"In other words, you think we'll just agree to anyone," Hawkgirl retorted.

"I...yes."

"Seconded," Superman quickly agreed. "Everyone, take the day off. We reconvene tomorrow morning and begin going over files. Also, if there is anyone you think would be a great asset, prepare to make their case. Do your due diligence because whoever we decide, they will be working with each and every one of us. We need to make this expansion as cohesive as possible."

Superman could see his words were reaching his colleagues, each one seemingly contemplating what he had said. There was an inherent risk here, one where they recruited the wrong person and it gets them killed. This wasn't a matter of just inviting whoever caught their eye; it was about making sure they brought in the right people. The wrong person could destroy the teamwork they had cultivated all of these years.

And that was something they couldn't afford.

"You must be joking."

The room was dark, lit up only by the large computer screen in the wall. Its light did little to remove the darkness from the room, revealing only J'onn in its glow. He stood, staring at the screen.

On the screen was Batman.

He was in his Batcave, seated at what the Flash called the Bat-computer. His mask was on, so the usual stoic facade was firmly in place. His tone, however, was enough to convey just how he felt.

"I am not and it is a completely understandable," the Martian replied calmly. "The League is experiencing a level of exhaustion and fatigue, and this is only a natural solution to remedy it."

"Making a decision when you're not in full control of your faculties is never good," Batman retorted. "Anything sounds good when you're tired. You're not able to think it through."

J'onn had expected the resistance. Though the Dark Knight was a part timer once more, he still wasn't involved in the usual League missions like he used to be. He collaborated certainly, but one could not tell the difference between his time away and now. While it was true that the man had done more with less sleep than was desirable, giving him a perspective few others had experience with and could voice…

...yet, six meta-humans with incredible powers being on the verge of collapse from exhaustion was a worrying thing in its own right. Such a situation could not happen and he could not see any other viable situation that could prevent such an outcome.

"Then what would you suggest we do?" J'onn asked.

"For one, the League can't get involved in every little problem," he pointed out. "The League's activity has been high for quite some time, so you're all burned out. None of you has ever had to face your limits like this and you don't know how to cope with it."

If J'onn had an eyebrow, he would have raised it, a very human gesture that he didn't find all that odd. "Much like your own preference for exclusion from League activities?"

Batman nodded. "As I've pointed out numerous times, I don't have powers that give me increased endurance like the rest of you. I can't do a League mission, then do my patrol in Gotham, especially when Arkham has a breakout and the inmates turn Gotham into a warzone."

That was a good point, J'onn had to admit. He was aware of the recent conflict in Gotham, where two of Batman's enemies effectively declared war on each other, involving other enemies of the hero. This led to the involvement of other unexpected parties, namely the man known as the Iceman.

"So you're suggesting the League begin screening missions? Scale back their operations?"

"I wouldn't use those words, but they're effectively what I am saying."

"You know the others, however. How likely do you think they would accept such a suggestion?" the Martian pointed out. "Long term even?"

Batman was silent, which J'onn took to mean he had also made a valid point. Would Superman ever turn down someone that needed help? Of course not. The others were much the same and asking them to pick and choose who they helped was not a winning strategy.

"Even if you were to voice your concerns," he continued, "I believe the League will go forward with the expansion. All six of us have voted in favor, so your one dissenting vote will not change the outcome. You are welcome to participate in the application process."

There was still silence, but Batman did eventually respond. "I'll see if I can make it. There's still some fallout from Joker and Strange's war that I need to handle. They damn near blasted out Gotham's sewer system at the end and I need to make certain vulnerable areas weren't damaged to the point part of the city will collapse."

Though J'onn was no expert, someone placing explosives in a sewer, which was filled with methane gas from the waste products circulating within it, would have such an effect. He was aware of the destruction of the Monarch Theater, but it seemed there was still fallout. From reports he had read, fires had spread throughout the Gotham sewer system and it was taking quite some time to get them under control.

"We will be reviewing potential applicants tomorrow morning," J'onn told him then. "I hope to see you then, but I will understand if you cannot make it. I'll inform the others of the reason for your absence."

The Dark Knight nodded his acceptance before he tapped a button and the screen went dark. The Martian continued to stare at it, his eyes adjusting to the darkness.

He had expected the resistance. The points made were still valid. He wouldn't have been surprised if Batman skipped out on the meeting, practicing what he preached about not overextending himself. It was something to bring up to the others.

He rather doubted they would accept that solution, however.

From the highest echelons of LexCorp, green light flooded out through the windows, faint from a distance, but more intense as you moved closer to the source. The office was bathed in green, the small rock that emitted it practically thrumming with it.

Close to the rock, a man with a distinctive S on his chest writhed in agony, groans and moans slipping through dried lips. Eyes were clenched shut, teeth clenched tightly, a back curled while fingers spasmed and legs slid up and down against the floor.

Standing over the pained man was another, one dressed in a suit so black it absorbs all colors and with whites so pristine, nothing could capture its purity. Hands were held behind a broad back, shoulders squared in a power stance, and two content eyes gazed at the sight before them.

Lex Luthor was enjoying every single second of this.

How long had he yearned for this moment? To see the self-appointed "savior" of Metropolis, the Boy Scout, like this? Weak. Pathetic. So very satisfying. But it wasn't enough. Not yet, oh no. The best was yet to come.

"Superman, hmm?" Luthor mocked, his deep voice smooth and regal. "From here, you don't look so super. A super menace, perhaps. A menace that has caused me no end of problems. Why anybody sees you as a 'hero' is beyond me."

There was a whine. It was not the most dignified of responses, yet it was like sweet music to the industrialist. So many years and he could finally see him, this man, this alien man, down on the floor, at his feet, exactly where he belonged. So much time, so many resources, so many headaches and fits of anger, but it was all worth it, would be worth it to finally see...this.

But now it was time to make this even better.

"I had this prepared. A bit barbaric some would say," Luthor said conversationally as he slipped an arm from behind his back and put it in a coat pocket. A handle was removed, one he gripped tightly with his fingers. There was nothing else that seemed special about it, at least not until pressure was allied, and a small blade popped out, radiating green much like the kryptonite on the floor. "However, there are times when one needs to get their hands...dirty."

The billionaire's eyes were now on the fallen alien, no, the fallen god, and he took one, then several steps closer. Once he was towering over his adversary, he pushed with the toe of his dress shoe to force the agonized man to roll over. Then he knelt down, looking over his conquest.

In a tone of voice softer than anyone could ever imagine coming from him, he spoke, "I gave you a choice. I gave you a choice to work for me. Bought or broken, and you chose broken. It did not have to be this way, but you chose to not get in line. This is what happens to those who oppose me."

His wrist angled the blade and then his arm plunged it into the god's side. The scream, oh the scream, it was everything he had ever pictured it to be. Loud, high in pitch, and drenched in pain. It was far more exquisite than even the most aged and expensive of wines. It sent shudders up and down his spine and he knew he wasn't done. Not yet.

No, he needed this, to see this. His other hand held the god's head back and he was able to see those eyes, those damnable, self-righteous blue eyes slowly glazing over in death. Every second was precious, priceless, and the death rattle…

Moments passed, the kryptonite knife left in the cooling corpse, and once more, Lex Luthor was victorious.

A digital panel flashed into existence in front of him, asking, "Would you like to restart?"

There were two options below the question and the billionaire chose the negative. Then a second panel appeared, inquiring if he wanted to log off. Another press of a digital button and everything before him pixelated into darkness. Luthor was unseeing, but that did not stop him from raising his hands and putting them on either side of his head.

Off came the Omnicron VR headset and reality was instantly restored. His office was as pristine as it always was, opulent and expensive in every sense of those words. Standing up from his crouch, Luthor marveled at the tech he held.

He was going to need to retain the programmers and builders of this device. They were too valuable to allow them to fall through the cracks during the restructuring of Computron. Rebranding was going to be needed. Perhaps a merging with another of his subsidiaries. For some reason, he was warming up to the name Competitron.

Nevertheless, it could only give him a fantasy, this Omnicron. What was truly important was that after over a decade of trying, he finally had a foot in the door to Gotham City real estate and it was only a matter of time before he began to expand operations there. That would take time, and fortunately, he had bigger plans for this machine. Speaking of which, time, what was it and how long did he have?

The simulation could not have ended at a better time, as his answer came in the form of his right-hand woman entering his office, right on time. Mercy Graves, when she wasn't at his side guarding him, carried out his will with ruthless efficiency and professionalism. In an arm, she carried a set of files, all of them important and Luthor led her to his desk.

Mercy appeared thin, that was what her dress implied. Beneath it was well-honed muscle and terrifying martial arts. The stiff posture, the severe expression, and the body language that screamed, "do not provoke me," did more than you thought to hide that part. Her best trait, however, was her loyalty. Whoever earned hers, earned it for life; it was a good thing that it was none other than himself that had accomplished that.

"Here are the documents you requested," Mercy stated as she placed several files onto his desk. All Luthor needed to do was glance at the file tabs and read the names to know who these were about. Prospective recruits in a new investment scheme he was ready to put into play. These, though, were lower on his priority list.

Another folder was placed on top of the first stack, this one singular. "This is the latest update on the Omnicron," the stern woman explained. Here, the business mogul picked up this particular file, skimmed the first few pages until he found what he was looking for.

It wasn't just enough to get his foot in the door for new real estate opportunities. He was genuinely interested in the Omnicron. That a madman in a green suit had held a city hostage with it had clued him into the various possibilities that were contained in the headset.

The Omnicron 2.0 was going to be something brand new. Something that probably wouldn't go onto the consumer markets, but nonetheless held so much potential. In addition, there was another use he intended it for, and according to this update, they had a prototype up and ready. All that was needed was a human volunteer.

Perfect. He already had a few individuals in mind.

"Everything looks good," he commented as he closed the file and set it aside. He noted Mercy held one more, one that she hadn't placed down yet. "Something else?"

"Ivo," was all she said, handing out the latest report. Luthor took it immediately, disregarding how thin the file was, or the fact it only had a single page in it.

Ivo was always to the point and this point…

"Everything is all set then," he declared as he closed this file. "And at roughly the same time. Some would say this is a sign, but I call it convenience." Turning away, he strolled across the large floor to ceiling windows that took up one whole side of his office. The view of Metropolis was his and his alone, a window out into his little kingdom, his niche on the pitiful little planet.

"What are our next moves?" Mercy asked as she came up behind him, keeping several feet distance away.

"I will need to speak to Ivo personally. I'd like to hear the good doctor's report from his own mouth. In the meantime, I would like for you to handle the matter of recruitment. What comes next will require I keep everything close to the chest. Speak of nothing that is not necessary, and do not be direct. The last thing I want is to alert the Boy Scout that I finally have the means to rid myself of him. Most importantly, make sure that there are no traces left behind. He has friends who can find such trails and I want nothing left to chance."

He had not gone as far as he had and evaded so many potential stints in prison to be undone now. No, what he was to enact would be comparable to man overthrowing the Gods themselves.

His eyes rose above the Metropolis skyline and to the sky itself. Up there, somewhere, there was a satellite where so-called gods looked down on the world below, declaring they would protect it from all threats.

Right. Like how they almost lost his city to the Brainiac alien.

No, man had overthrown gods before. These gods would be no different. Weapons changed over time, but the one thing that was sure to kill a god was disillusionment.

As stars twinkled in the sky, the true owner of Metropolis uttered, "If you won't be bought, then be broken."