Gotham City.
Robin, the Boy Wonder.
Hero.
Zoom leans against the outside wall of the hangar, his arms folded over his chest and his head bowed. He looks like he's smiling. I can't really tell, though; the man's a ghost. Hardly visible to the naked eye.
He has Wonder Woman's knife. He seems to be throwing it in the air and catching it every few seconds. A foot or two away from Zoom, an equally pretentious grin presents itself across Dr. Light's face.
Hush pulls twin Colts from inside his brown trenchcoat and levels them at us.
Prometheus throws back the white cape from over his shoulder and brings out a silver-colored nightstick in one hand.
We're all frozen; staring intently at the four men in front of us. Wonder Woman can't move fast enough to take them without Luthor bringing in another goon squad. Bart seems surprisingly quiet. He's just standing there staring right back at Prometheus. And me…well, as soon as I move my arm, Hush would blow it off.
High risk kinda life here.
Prometheus extends his index finger towards a small button in the middle of the nightstick. Before he can press it, Bart's gone. Stupid Bart. Trying to head him off.
The end of the nightstick crackles to life, giving off blue electricity. All Prometheus does is stick it out on front of him. For a man who can run somewhere just below light speed, he doesn't see it coming. The end of the nightstick crackles and sparks to life. Thin bolts of blue electricity dance around the end of it. Prometheus scowls and extends the nightstick forward.
The voltage hits Bart square in the lightning-bolt logo on his chest. With a painful cry, he falls to the ground. Unconscious—or stunned at the very least. Hard to tell from here, though it looks like he's breathing at least.
The bigger problem, now, is Prometheus, Hush and Dr Light.
Prometheus clicks off the nightstick and throws it over his shoulder like a bindle.
"Care to try for two?" he asks. Clever, or so he thinks. I call it pride. It's a weakness.
Wonder Woman grimaces in anger and forms her hands into fists. She's ready to fight, as always. I slide a hand into a compartment on the backside of my belt; go for a batarang. One of the explosive ones.
Prometheus' power comes primarily from his helmet. It allows him to download the knowledge—fighting skills particularly—of others directly into his brain. The upshot is that this information isn't retained indefinitely; the helmet has no hard drive. And so he has to change disks in the helmet to access different knowledge. If I can get to the helmet and override it—or better, destroy it—I can even the odds, if slightly.
He slides one of his hands behind his back. If he has a gun he'll be going for it.
I remember one of the first lessons Bruce taught me. Thre are two types of criminals: the talkers, and the fighters. The fighter will come at you, guns blazing, without thought for himself or anyone in his way. The talker thinks only of himself and so he's always thinking of ways to weasel out of the fight. Luthor, for instance. The perfect talker. Prometheus, Bruce said, is a perfect synthesis of both traits. That makes him dangerous.
Again, pride.
"I hope you know," Prometheus says with a thin smile. "You're impossibly outnumbered. Even if you manage to beat me, you can't change what's going to happen. Because every now and then, the world gets shaken up. And you know what, peaches? I'm the one to do it."
"Hold that thought." The voice booms from somewhere behind me. A blue and red blur streaks past me and knocks Prometheus to his feet. Prometheus stands and stumbles a bit, dazed and confused at what just happened. He's still holding the nightstick.
It dawns on me that Dr. Light has disappeared. And the lights inside the hangar are off now.
Superman lands in front of Prometheus and hoists him in the air with one hand. Superman bats away the nightstick, and it skids away from us, across the battered asphalt.
Zoom materializes behind Superman, and before I can get out a warning, he's already throwing fists. Zoom starts laying into him. Prometheus falls from Superman's hold. Punch after punch after punch knocks Superman to the ground. When Zoom stops for just a moment, Superman throttles him and rockets away from the hangar as fast as he came.
Hush turns to see Superman and Zoom leave, and then turns to see Batman and both Green Arrows coming at him. Oliver's already got an arrow lined up. When he's inside a hundred yards of Hush, he lets it go. Halfway to its destination, the end of the arrow pops open and a green-colored boxing glove presents itself. Hush doesn't have time to react before the boxing glove nails him in the nose and sends him to the ground.
Hush tends to his bloody nose, inspecting the puddle of red liquid in his hand before raising his head back to Green Arrow. Oliver stares down at him intently—if I didn't know anybetter, I'd almost say sadly—and lands a right hook across Hush's temple. He falls the ground, motionless, except for the slow rising and falling of his chest. Unconscious.
Oliver turns away and walks toward Connor, whose already trying to get in on Wonder Woman and Bruce's discussion.
"Zoom?" Bruce asks. "Are you sure?"
"Very," Wonder Woman. "As you can see, he brought Hush and Prometheus with him." She turns around and motions away from the group—where Prometheus fell.
But he's not there.
"So where is he?" Oliver asks.
"I-I don't understand," Wonder Woman says. "He was right here."
"There," Bruce says. He drifts away from the group and approaches the hangar. Without hesitation, he steps over the threshold.
The explosion is blinding. Loud. The shockwaves send everyone flying away from the hangar. Bruce, Oliver and I are the first to stand. Bruce grabs one end of his cape and swings it through the air, trying to fan away the dust.
Oliver coughs a few times. "What…what hit us?" he asks. He turns around and pulls Connor to his feet.
Up ahead of us, dark shapes stand amid the dust.
Deathstroke and Deadshot standing next to each other, with Catman and Prometheus on either side.
Connor leans clsoe to Oliver and whispers in his ear. "Now would be a good time for back-up."
"Max."
Luthor's voice is quiet. Serene.
"Lex...? What...is it?"
"They're here," he replies. A hint ofsatisfaction creeps in. "Our old friends are back, Max. Everything's working as planned, you see."
"That's...good news."
"Yes. It is. Are you ready to begin?"
"Whatever...you say."
Max Lord's voice is weak. Airy.
"Good," Luthor says. He pulls a small recorder from his pocket and holds it to his mouth. "OMAC protocol, black side; Lord, Maxwell recipient. Activate."
Continued...
