Gotham City. The Davenport Towers.

The Secret Six.

Allies.

Luthor stands from the Admiral's Chair, slides one hand into his pocket. He holds the other at waist-height and starts talking.

"Surprised?" he asks. He seems to be genuinely interested in our response. But we're all silent. Too busy troubling our little minds over the implications of this…revelation. What this means to us.

Luthor is Mockingbird. The bald bastard had me do his dirty work for him the entire time he was in the White House; scaring Lois Lane with an exploding bullet to keep her from going Woodward on Luthor's ass…trying to kill David Cain so he couldn't rat Luthor out to the police. Or worse: Batman.

Yeah, Deadshot the sucker. Deadshot the man who cleans up loose ends. Loose ends Luthor didn't see coming, but he needs someone with absolutely no scruples to do it. Because I'm the only one who can be trusted. Right. Luthor played me. Played all of us.

Luthor is Mockingbird.

Cheshire seems to be the only one confused by the development.

"So…" she pipes in and promptly trails off. "Our mission is to…what?"

"Kill him," Parademon says forcefully, stepping forward. He brings up his massive arms and pounds one fist into a waiting palm. But he keeps his distance. Living on Apokolips or whatever the hell it's called, I guess you learn to pick your fights.

"No," Catman says. "We're not supposed to kill him."

Luthor enunciates: "He's right, you know." His voice is utterly calm. Especially seeing as how the six of us could kill him before he even saw it coming. Maybe he's counting on that. Ahead of me, Luthor clasps his hands behind his back and starts pacing. As he speaks, he stares at the floor. Counting tiles or some damn thing.

"And greater besides, you don't want to kill me. I'm too essential to you—all of you—ad I have great things in mind for the six of you."

My arm shoots into the air in a flash. The wrist-mounted Colt is ready to fire. All I have to do is squeeze.

"You're the one who threatened my daughter. My family." My teeth clench and my jaw muscles tighten. This is me holding back anger. This is my daughter's mother—the woman who by rights should be my wife—telling me that she doesn't want my dirty stolen money; that she can raise her daughter just fine. By herself. It's everything or nothing with me. Everybody wants Deadshot's services but none of the overhead. A gun without a gunman is useless.

Luthor used me. When Lois Lane threatened to go Woodward on his ass, he had me scare the shit out of her with an exploding bullet. He had me track down David Cain, to keep him quiet in case he decided to testify against the White House.

Deadshot the sucker. Deadshot needs the money. He's got a kid, don't you know. Wouldn't it be bad for business to kill him? No orphans after all; Wayne takes the cake there. But…Luthor did front the bill after Cain shot me all those months ago. The man shows his gratitude in strange ways.

"It was a veiled threat, Floyd. I think we both know that. Now…put your arm down." He's calm. Oddly so, especially considering he's staring death in the face. Does he know he could be dead before hitting the ground? Probably. Maybe…he's counting on it.

"What's the catch, Lex?" Catman chimes in. "What do you want?"

Luthor returns to the Admiral's Chair. A smile creases across his face, and he dances around Blake's question.

"Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design. The Eclipso diamond that possessed Jean Loring? LexCorp's acquisitions department sent it to her, after spiriting it away from the, ah, original owner. The Brother Eye satellite? A fusion of my proprietary designs, Batman's genius used against him, and some…off-world technology.

"This Society?" Luthor says and points a finger to his temple. "My brainchild, Mr. Blake. After all, we carry the most dangerous weapon on the planet inside these little skulls."

I glance behind me. The five of them are still fixed on Luthor. How could one man fix this all?

"You've undoubtedly heard of they did to Dr Light? They stole his memories. Changed him into so much less of a man. Shrunk that blackened heart of his three sizes in a day. We seek to give it back to him. To avenge his losses and to make sure it never happens again. We want them to learn the consequences of their actions."

"Since when do you care about some no-name like Light?" I ask. "He doesn't mean anything to you."

"Oh, but he does," Luthor says quietly, with that convincing smile of his. "He's a rallying point, Floyd. We can help him. And we can help you."

Catman folds his arms over his chest. "Who is this 'we'?"

Luthor snickers and pulls a remote from a pocket in his suit. He presses a single red button, and the house lights come on. Rows of harsh white fluorescents shining down, illuminating the entire room. And a group of people surrounding the Admiral's Chair.

"As you can see, I've brought some friends."

Deathstroke, with a sword in-hand, right next to Luthor; Talia, holding an old C-96 Broomhandle Mauser in my general direction; and Dr. Psycho stadning next to Talia—diminutive and as outward appearances go, he's not exactly threatening unless you have a phobia of goatees. The top of his head is just about at her waistline. He's the only one not holding a weapon. Just standing there with a devilish smile across his face and his arms crossed.

Silence.

"I don't want to do this the hard way, ladies and gentlemen." Luthor inspects a hangnail. "You can join us. Ensure that your own minds will be safe from the League's tyranny."

"And if we refuse?" Catman's the bold one.

"There are ways around dissenters, Mr. Blake," Luthor says passively. "If you can't help us, then you're only in the way."

"Then we'll be in the way," Blake says. He turns to leave. I glance at him for a send or three, and turn back to Luthor.

"You'll get Africa, Blake," Luthor calls after him. "Imagine it. Your own world. So vast you won't know what to do with it. Where no one can get to you for lack of trying. A place you may call your own…to craft in your own graven image."

Blake stops short of the door and leans a hand on the frame. His head droops. Way to weigh your options, Blake. After a minute or four, he turns back to the group.

Dr. Psycho starts pacing in front of the Admiral's Chair, glancing at each of us as he goes. He stops only once to wink at me, and keeps pacing.

"Alright," Blake whispers. "I'm in."

Blake seems to collapse in on himself; still holding his head to the ground. I glance at him, and back at Luthor. Psycho's pacing is…distracting. Stand still you horrid piece of crap.

"If I do this…"

"Yes, Floyd?"

"My daughter will be safe?"

"You have my word on that."

"You're sure?"

"After Cain shot you full of lead, who fronted the hospital bill? Who got you out of that hospital and back into life?"

"You did," I say quietly. And I think I understand why Blake was so apprehensive. Getting what you want so easily is one thing. Getting it from a real bastard of a man—one you know is undoubtedly right—that's something else.

"You asked me what the catch was," Luthor says intently, steepling his fingers again. "Well, this is it, boys and girls. Join me, Floyd. Join the Society, and you will be able to live your lives as you've always wanted."

Luthor stands from the chair. Dr. Psycho takes his place. Luthor walks a few feet from the chair and stares up at the ceiling. Gathering his thoughts, trying to dig himself out of a hole, who the hell knows. Either way, he starts talking again.

"The League's actions are indefensible, my friends. Understandable, yes, perhaps noble. But inexcusably shortsighted. They must be punished. This brigade of super-powered—and I might add, unlicensed—policemen must be stopped. That is what this Society intends to do. But I need your help--each of you. On your own you're completely useless. Completely vulnerable. But together, you constitute a deadly force. Join us—avenge yourselves against the so-called heroes.

Luthor stops pacing, half-turns his head to us, and smiles thinly. Dr. Psycho peeks his head out from behind Luthor and smiles. Again. What's this midget trying to pull--a testimonial?

"And when this war is over, we will rule an empire of man."

And it comes to me. Luthor sold me out in the past. Used me—like he uses everyone—and then threw me aside. But this is something new. A new chance.

A new wish.


The Moon.

The Justice League.

Targets.

Connor and I show up to the 'tower a few minutes after everyone else. I bring Blake's letter along for good measure. Clark, J'onn and Wally take it for what its worth—a warning. Bruce and Diana roll their eyes.

"Even if it is Blake warning us, we can't be sure he's just blowin' smoke up our ass!"

"Calm down, Oliver," J'onn says. He's the kinda guy who'll take your side, but keep you grounded. He's…interesting like that. Martian intelligence allows for the kind of level head you only see in old episodes of Star Trek.

"He's right," Clark says. "On the off-chance this isn't a hoax—"

"It's not a hoax," Bruce interrupts. "Blake's dropped off the radar since he crossed paths with Oliver last year. It's unlikely this Society has any interest in him."

Clark nods along slowly. "Aside from cannon fodder."

"Then we have to see what's going on," Wally pries. When the group looks at him like he peed in the swimming pool, he shrinks in on himself and says, this time more quietly, "Don't we?"

"Yes," Diana says. "We need to check this out. It may give us the lead we need to this 'Society'."

Superman stares out the cathedral-height window, and comes back to us. I could be wrong, but I detect a hint—and not much more—of anxiety in Clark. For a bulletproof man, he's awfully worrisome.

"Alright," Clark says hesitantly. "Bruce?"

"What?"

"You're sure Blake can lead us to Luthor?"

"Very." Bruce says it without hesitation.

"Good." Clark turns to leave. He's heading for the Monitor Womb. "We'll need any available units—Titans, JSA, anyone. I'd like to catch Lex off guard for once. Rendezvous point?"

"Goodwin Airport," Bruce says after a pause. "That's where Tim and Bart found Superboy. It's possible that Luthor's headquarters may be static."


Gotham City.

Noah Kuttler.

Spy.

Their voices are tinny over the wire—not much more than I expected from a substandard bug, thank-you-very-much-outmoded LexCorp technology. The media calls it a wiretap, and that's not entirely true. This little contraption—my own set of ears on the Justice League—is better than a wiretap. More useful. More...clandestine, while we're at it.

It's a bug, in the simplest term; capturing your everyday sound waves, converting them into higher-frequency streams for faster transmission, and emitting them back to a transceiver at base. Sounds advanced? Not really. But I can make out enough. I'll have to thank Prometheus when next I see him; guy plants a bug on the tower back when he was working for Lex and it's still paying off.

Superman's voice stands out the most. "Rendezvous point?"

Batman shoots him a reply: "Goodwin Airport."

I almost lose some coffee snickering. Wild goose chases are always fun.

Poor Mister Wayne. It appears the League took more than ten minutes. They took away your detective skills. How many times has the Joker--of all people--gotten away thanks to a constantly mobile headquarters? If I weren't picking sides here, I'd almost feel bad for Wayne.

Almost.

I pick up the old-style rotary phone next to me. The '7' button connects directly into Lex's chambers. In the 45 second it takes for the signal to charge across decaying lines, I think about why the rest of us don't have 'chambers.' We certainly merit such treatment, don't we? The other end of the line crackles and hisses, and Lex's voice picks up.

"Noah."

"Good news, Lex. They're looking for us in the Goodwin locale."

"We moved out of there weeks ago."

Lex can't see it, but I'm wearing a smile anyway. "Yes. We did."

"Strange," Lex says distantly.

"What?"

"Call the reserves," Lex replies. "It's time to meet aggression with aggression."


Continued...
Author's Note: if you're up for it, I'd love to hear some suggestions on what 'reserve' Societeers (I made that word up;)) should show up when the battle comes to a head. Toss 'em in your reviews--again, if you're interested (like anyone reviews this stuff anyway). Kidding. I know you do:)