Bruce calls me down to the Cave, thus cutting short my winning edge over Dick in "Medal of Honor." So much for a record. But I tell myself whatever Bruce has for me, it's important.
When has it ever not been?
I descend the steps to find Bruce steeped in darkness, sitting in his chair, lost in the glaze of the computer screen. And then the sound of his voice echo across to me. He's talking to someone.
"Right," he says. He's talking to someone via his earpiece communicator; probably one of teh Leaguers. J'onn. Superman, maybe. "Everyone should be there by now. Right, well, he's got better things to do. Or so the legend goes."
I hear a muffle across the line that can only be a 'yes' answer. I move behind Bruce's chair, and clear my throat, making myself known. Bruce's chair turns around in place and he regards me for a moment. I purse my lips, and he holds up a preemptive finger for me to be quiet.
"Copy that," he says, and then turns to me. "Standby."
"For what?"
"Something happened in San Francisco. The Tower is destroyed. The Titans aren't responding."
"What about Conner?" I ask pressingly. Bruce rises from the chair, his cape drapes over his shoulder, forming a dark cloak over his body. Even through his mask I can see the scorn in his eyes.
"He's disappeared," Bruce says.
"What do you mean disappeared? What happened?"
"I don't know," he says quietly.
My shoulders slump in disappointment, and I feel a sudden jolt. Blue energy bands appear around me, covering me from head to toe. We're being teleported.
I open my eyes, and I'm in the Watchtower. It's been…a long time since I've been here. At least since that Imperiex fiasco a few years back. Yet another victory for Lex Luthor…at the cost of people's lives. But that's small potatoes—contextually anyway—compared to what's going on. Superboy unaccounted for, possibly missing-in-action. The rest of the Titans missing, injured or worse.
Something wicked this way comes.
Bruce and I have been teleported to the Watchtower—more specifically, the Observation Deck on one of the upper decks.
Superman stands on a platform on the far side of the room, staring out into space and the prevailing view of Earth in the distance. Aquaman—who I'm almost surprised even bothers to show up anymore—stands on the next level down with his chest puffed out proudly and his hands formed into tight fists. I've had…limited contact with him, but he seems to have a personality somewhere between Bruce and Vic Sage; paranoid and defensive, but not entirely crackpot. Can't say I blame him, though. Man's got a kingdom to look after.
Wally and Diana stand in the middle of the room talking in whispers to each other. They both look like they've just seen ghosts. Martian Manhunter—J'onn J'onnz—sits in a chair near Wally and Diana.
Surprisingly absent is a Green Lantern—any Green Lantern. Not John, not Hal...and not Kyle; he was 'replaced' by Hal Jordan, as it were.
"Is everyone here?" Superman's voice echoes across the room.
"We're here, Clark. What did you want?" Bruce is short and simple—as usual. He folds his arms over his chest and moves next to J'onn, standing. I do the subservient sidekick thing and stand next to Bruce. It's...uncomfortable.
Being in the presence of gods.
Superman turns from the glass cathedral-height windows to the group. He looks terrible. Hair messed up, and stubble laced across his jawline.
"What do we know, J'onn?"
"Forty minutes ago, there was an explosion in San Francisco at Titans Tower. The Tower collapsed in on itself. All the Titans except Speedy were reported as on-duty. I sent Firestorm to investiagate, and he came back with Kid Flash and Wonder Girl."
"So what does that mean?" I interject. I freeze for a moment, half-thinking one of the Leaguers will call me an idiot for speaking or shoot me a dirty look. Lucky for me that they don't.
"It means someone was able to get past the Tower's defenses. And potentially ours," J'onn replies with concern.
"What else do you have?" Superman asks.
"Twenty minutes ago, there was another explosion, this one in orbit. It was a satellite."
"Do we know which one?" Superman seems…unnaturally stoic. I wonder if even Bruce sees it. Probably, and he probably loves it.
"There are thousands of satellites in orbit," Wally chimes in. "Unless we have a smoking gun—some fragment that didn't burn up on entry—we'll never know."
My eyes track across to Bruce. I can see his jaw muscles tighten. Wally glances at Bruce and then back at Superman. My eyes lock on Bruce's. He glances at me momentarily, and goes back to Superman. It was Bruce's satellite that blew up. The Brother Mark or whatever the hell he calls it. Part of me wonders of the two incidents are linked...
"The larger concern right now is Titans Tower," J'onn says steepling his fingers.
"The real question" Aquaman says, "is firepower. Who has the capability to destroy a building like that?"
"It could be anyone," Wally says. "Grodd, Zoom…hell it could even be Deathstroke."
"Unlikely," Bruce says. "It had to be someone who knew the Tower's defenses. Someone who's studied the building—in and out."
"What are you saying, Bruce?" Superman asks.
"I'm saying it had to be an inside job. Period."
"We're all thinking the same thing," J'onn says. "Superboy."
Superman tries to protest. "That's not—"
"True? It is, Superman."
"He's right," I say sternly. "It's Luthor. Somehow controlling Superboy."
"Luthor is dead," Superman says intently.
"No," J'onn says. "He's alive. Underground. Reorganized. Broke, yes, but his resolve is as strong as it ever was."
Wonder Woman's been surprisingly silent the whole time. But that changes.
"Either way, Robin is right," she says, turning to Superman. Wally stares over her shoulder at the Man of Steel. He looks like he's having a hard time digesting this. How could Superboy do it? I ask myself the same question…
"Wonder Girl and Bart are in the medical bay a deck below us. If you don't believe us, Clark, perhaps they can change that."
And so the League (plus myself and minus Aquaman and J'onn) takes a field trip down to B-Deck to see Bart and Cass. Both of them are lying in hospital beds with tubes going in and out of their arms…like they're about to undergo surgery. Bart's got a burn mark across his shoulder, muslin wrapping around his ribs, some minor lacerations around his pectorals. One of his wrists is wound in an Ace-wrap. Cass' only visible damage is an arm in a lets-be-honest-here ugly beige sling.
But despite that, they look surprisingly good; for what I can only assume they've been through. Bart's stuffing Jell-O pudding into his mouth two messy spoonfuls at a time and Cass is watching "The View" on the plasma screen at the foot of her bed.
"Hey!" Bart yells in a muffle. He's too gluttonous for his own good. Not that it matters, I suppose, with a freakishly-high, non-Speed Force related metabolism and a runner's build.
"Long time no see," he says to me. "I was beginning to think you didn't love us anymore."
I crack a smile and approach Bart's bedside. Pat him on the shoulder extra-light, making sure not to excite the wounds too much.
"Nah," I say reassuringly. "Nice to see the ravages of battle haven't, ah, messed wiht you too badly."
"Only my eating habits," he says confidently. "But I'm ready for anything."
"Good. We might need that."
I look at Cass sitting her bed. "The View" has gone to a commercial and she looks over at me. My attention drifts from Bart for a moment, and my eyes lock with Cass'.
"Hi Cass. How are ya?"
She swallows whatever's in her mouth, smiles curtly and gives me a thumbs-up.
"Just okay?" I ask with a wink, trying my damndest to play the 'smooth criminal' card. "Not…wonderful?"
She smiles curtly and returns to her turkey sandwich and television. Wonder Woman sits on the edge of Cass' bed and starts talking to her. A second later, Clark and Bruce are in on it. I feel something tugging at my glove, and my head drifts down. Bart.
"Hey," he says. "Control yourself, killer."
"Yeah, yeah," I say, dismissing it. "Bart, can I get serious for a minute?"
"Sure," he says, waving a hand in approval. "G'ahead."
I kneel beside his bed and grab his hand. "Bart, I need to know what happened. Who did this to you?"
"You don't waste any time," he says.
"Come on."
He eyeballs me curiously for a moment and a corner of his mouth flashes upward in prying disdain. He doesn't want to tell me what happened, and were the circumstances different, I wouldn't ask him to.
"These wounds didn't just happen, Bart. I need to know—the League needs to know--what happened in 'Frisco. They think it was Superboy."
"You have to understand," Bart says haphazardly. "We should have seen it coming. God knows we had to the means to stop him, but we didn't. We were too late."
"What happened?"
"He came out of nowhere. Raven, Cyborg and Gar tried to stop him, but he took em out before they knew what was going on. Cassie and I didn't have a chance."
"But it was Superboy?" I ask intently. "You're sure?"
"Yeah," Bart says distantly. "He really beat the hell out of us."
"It's okay," I say in half-reassurance. I stand and crack my knuckles. Lousy PS2…gives a guy arthritis, it does.
"What are you gonna do?" Bart asks.
I give a short sigh, glance around the room, and look back at Bart.
"I'm going after him."
"No!" Bart protests. "You don't stand a chance, Tim. He's not himself."
"I know," I say quietly. "I intend to use that."
I turn to leave, waving at Cass, who's still talking to Diana and company. Bart calls to me again.
"Tim," he says calmly. I turn around in the threshold and lean against the doorframe.
"Yeah?"
"Just…take care of yourself."
"What is this!" Maxwell Lord's voice echoes across the space of the control room at the heart of Checkmate's European branch. A few meters away from him stand three members of Lex Luthor's Secret Society: Zoom, the new Reverse-Flash; Deathstroke the Terminator; and Black Adam, first bearer of the power of Shazam and ruler of Khandaq. It's an impressive group to assemble. But there's a loophole. There always is.
"Your usefulness has outlived itself, Maxwell Lord."
"I don't think so," he says tightly. Lord removes a small remote control from his belt loop and speaks into it. "OMAC protocol, Black Adam recipient, Black si—"
Before Lord can finish his sentence, he looks down at his open hand. The remote is gone. Taken…by Zoom.
"It's an impressive gesture, Max" Deathstroke says. "But you can't win." Next to the Terminator, Zoom materializes out of thin air—a yellow-clad ghost on a higher plane of existence, almost. Again, impressive.
"I beg to differ, Wilson. It doesn't matter what happens to me, so long as Checkmate goes on."
"There are ways around that," Deathstroke says patronizingly. In an instant, he throws an arm forward. A bowie knife slices through the air and embeds itself in Max Lord's shoulder. With a painful grunt, Lord falls to his knees. Deathstroke and company approach the Black King. Deathstroke pulls a shotgun from its holster slung around his back and angles it at Lord's forehead.
Lord's head lifts slowly and his glazed eyes stare at Deathstroke.
Blood trickles from his nostrils.
"Nice try," Deathstroke says with contempt. "Parlor tricks don't work on my brain, Maxie. Your little computer should have told you that."
"You're a bastard," Lord whispers ruefully. And the loophole presents itself: death. Betrayal. Treachery.
Deathstroke pulls the trigger, and the back of Maxwell Lord's head explodes over the computer console behind him. Lord's body falls to the ground with a dull thud. A pool of blood forms around his head and neck, and his dead eyes stare back at Deathstroke.
"Turnabout's fair play, padre," Deathstroke says lightly, strapping the shotgun back in its holster.
Black Adam taps his ear, accessing his communicator.
"Mission accomplished," Adam says sternly.
"Good," Luthor's voice replies. "Once you're outside, have Zoom destroy the castle with one of those sonic booms of his. Then return to base. We might have a situation here."
Continued...