Author's Note: This is a reload of the same chapter as before. Whyfore, you ask? Onimar Synn had some missing lines that I wanted to put in, and for some reason they got left out on the first try, plus I had some other things I wanted to exercise my creative hand on. So here it is. Chapter 4, the final iteration, barring an act of God.
Author's Note, Inane Addition:
Funny that I got a review while re-tooling the chapter. To answer your
question markmark261: as I understand it, there's only one Zatanna
(can't say I'm reading Morrison's SSoV, though I probably should be).
But as to her resurrection...well, if Jason Todd can come back, then hope may yet spring eternal:).
Author's Note III: A romantic Owlman you ask? Blasphemy you say? Well, maybe. The point of the exercise, for me anyway, is to hopefully cast the CSA in such a light that gets you thinking "they weren't always evil." Plus, I figure that if bad things are happening in the positive-matter universe (between Diana killing people, Batman getting more reclusive--though that's hardly news to anyone--Superman being mind-controlled, and villains uniting), there are good things of a nature happening in the CSA's world. If only by default rules of matter and anti-matter engagement...but those were altered by Krona weren't they?
Enjoy.
The Panopticon. Headquarters of the Crime Syndicate of Amerika.
Not a cloud in the sky. Good news, all things considered. Especially after the last few months; us leaving our own universe to fight the League and, in turn, watch them derail the weaponers from Qward. It was quite a sight, for all the effort they put into it.
We could have decommissioned the Qwardians much faster than the League. But we didn't…and that's alright. We're not here to be liked, and we're certainly not about to do their jobs for them.
They're the best at what they do. And so am I.
Owlman. Thomas Wayne, Junior. And I wish I was Thomas Wayne—just the name, nothing at the end to link me to a monster among men. A walking anachronism of a bygone age of goodness and democracy—things that don't matter anymore. A time where people were nice to each other. Where things…mattered.
Mother. Bruce.
Not anymore, though, I suppose. Things change. People die.
Even stars burn out.
The moon shines bright in the sky—a round spot of light on the sky, marbled by gray strands of clouds. The second most beautiful thing I knew. Next to her.
Behind the blue lenses of my helmet, my eyes track across my field of vision to Superwoman. She's standing a meter or so away, on one of the platforms on the far side of the Observation Deck, with her hands firmly placed on her hips and an angled stature. Staring at the stars.
"Beautiful night," I say flatly. My voice is neither prideful nor amorous. I'm simply stating a fact. I know beauty when I see it. I see it in her eyes. A beauty of…opportunity.
"You can cut the small talk," she says pointedly.
"I'm enjoying the evening. Take from that what you will."
"Right." She's suspicious. Good. Time was, I would simply walk in and claim her for myself, Kent be damned. But things change. "What do you want, Thomas? Another weekend tryst?"
"Later," I reply. "For now, I'd simply like to look at the stars with you at my side. Is that…so much to ask?"
She sighs and uncrosses her arms. "Fine," she says wearily.
And so we stare at the stars. Current placeholders for the most beautiful things in the world. More conquests, yes. But that's for another day.
And a bright flash against the backdrop of the night sky. A shooting star or something like it.
"What the hell is that?" Superwoman says. She lifts off the ground a few inches and readies for a fight. There are two possibilities as to the shooting star. Either it's an asteroid or some likewise cosmic body coming for us.
Or it's Luthor on one of his trademark sojourns across the dimensional barrier.
The bright spot on the sky becomes bigger as it approaches the Panopticon and the open-air Observation Deck on the top level. Optical enhancers in my lenses zero in on the craft, and identify Luthor at the controls. Strange that he's not firing on us. Yet.
Superwoman lowers to the ground. I step in front of her as the craft lands and a boarding ramp slides out and angles on the deck. Hydraulics hiss and the access door slides open. Luthor steps out, dragging a body behind him.
Behind me, I hear a rush of air. It'll be Ultraman and Power Ring—and Johnny Quick invariably.
Luthor stops a few meters ahead of us. When Johnny Quick tires to rush him, Luthor raises an armored hand and a shock net flies out, trapping Quick and pumping him with 10,000 volts. Luthor doesn't even look at Quick, but instead focuses his attention on the rest of us.
"Ultraman."
"Luthor, you worthless piece of—"
"Hold your tongue for a moment, Kent, and pretend you're interested in what I have to give you."
"And what would that be?"
"Something you may enjoy."
"Such as?"
"Me. At least, another version of me. One far older and…darker. You'd like him."
My eyes roll away from Luthor and that smug self-righteous grin across his face, to the crumpled body at his feet. Bald, shackled, dare I say unconscious or getting there.
The rest of the group does the same: eyeballing Luthor dubiously and staring at the other Luthor with a scientist's scrutiny. "It's the perfect gift," Luthor says calmly. "For the man who has everything."
Enough kid's play. "Luthor," I interject. "What makes you think we want whatever it is you're peddling?"
"What happened to you, Lex?" Johnny Quick chuckles from the back. "You were the honest one."
"I don't expect you to want anything I have, Owlman. But he is yours for the taking, if you wish. If not, I can just as easily return him. Or throw him too close to a pulsar. I'm feeling adventurous today."
"So what do we do?" Johnny Quick murmurs. He's just about as clueless as usual, but as taken aback as any of us. Why is Luthor being so…charitable all of the sudden? A peculiar question.
"Think about it," Luthor says slowly, as if he's trying to prove a point.
"No deals," Ultraman says forcefully. He steps close and points a finger in Luthor's face. "What's in it for you?"
"Clemency," Luthor says without missing a beat. He begins pacing. "I think it's only fair that I provide you a service and I should get something in return. You can take the positive-matter Luthor and do whatever you want with him or without him, or on top of him. The point is, I'm out of your hair and you have a new protégé."
Superwoman leans in close to Ultraman and whispers in his ear. Her voice is bleak and hoarse. "Manipulation is in the Luthor genes," she says. "We should kill him."
"She's right," Power Ring echoes. "This is too good to be true."
"No," Ultraman says. He's deep in thought. Like his positive-matter counterpart. The epitome of a personality that sees the world in terms of assets and detriments. "Don't kill him."
"What?" Superwoman seems taken aback at Kent's pronouncement. "Who the hell do you—"
"If we kill Luthor now," Ultraman speaks slowly and intently, as if spelling it out for the rogue Amazon. "We won't learn anything. And so we should keep him alive."
Alexander Luthor smiles. He extends an open arm at his side, offering the positive-matter Luthor to the Syndicate. Ultraman gestures behind him, and Johnny Quick steps forward, taking custody of the shackled Luthor.
"All right Alexander," Ultraman says. "This may be of some use to us."
"I'm sure of it."
Power Ring raises an arm. His ring lights up and extends a sphere of green around Johnny Quick and Superwoman and their positive-matter prisoner. I cast a cross look at Luthor before stepping into the bubble with Superwoman. Power Ring lifts into the sky, with the sphere hovering three feet below him. Alexander Luthor makes a mental note of Power Ring's demeanor. He seems like his mind is…elsewhere. Curious.
The sound of Ultraman's over-personified fatherly-tone reaches Alexander Luthor's ears again.
"All right," Ultraman says sternly. "Clemency, Luthor. For now."
"Of course," Alexander replies with a gracious smile. He bows humbly and turns back to his ship.
The Positive-matter Universe. Brainiac's Skull Ship.
A green-colored hologram materializes in front of Brainiac's gaunt steel frame. It is the figure of a man, tall and proud, wearing ornate robes that drape from his shoulders and bunch at his feet. A thin smile creases across his withered and savage face.
Onimar Synn.
"Brainiac," Synn enunciates. His voice, altered by the hologram and voice-capture technology, is a deep rumble.
"What is it?"
"Progress report." The automaton's eye sockets narrow.
"Yes," Synn replies, baring sickly teeth, sharpened and blackened with age. "The female Hawk is dead. I only wish I might take credit for the act."
"Acceptable."
"Acceptable? Do you understand what this means?"
"There is still one more obstacle, Sin Eater."
Onimar Synn's eyes narrow. "Such as?"
"Donna Troy," Brainiac replies curtly. "She is a threat, and must be dealt with."
"How do you intend to affect this?" Synn replies expectantly. "She is powerful."
"She is fallible, Sin Eater. As are her Amazon compatriots."
"And I assume you have a plan?"
"I shall activate the Observational Metahuman Activity Constructs and send them to find Donna Troy, and the rest of the Amazons. In the interim, carry on with your particular operation. I will keep you apprised of the situation."
"Agreed," Synn replies. He bows curtly, and the hologram fades away.
"Noah."
"Talia. What can I do for you?"
"Have you launched the missiles yet?"
"As soon as I have confirmation from Adam, I press the button. No sooner."
Brainiac is in the middle of a system-check when the wall behind him shatters. His emerald optics roll in their sockets, and he turns around to see the first of the so-called assault team. Sinestro, with his arm held at waist level. Behind the renegade Green Lantern is a wall of yellow, undoubtedly placed there to prevent a loss of pressure from within the ship. Brainiac presses a button on his chest-frame. A solid panel of gray steel slides down from the ceiling and covers the crude hole Sinestro had so callously blown in the hull. Sinestro glances crossly at the wall behind him, and the yellow light from his ring fades. He lowers to the ground.
"Sinestro," Brainiac says curtly. "Where are the others?"
Half of Sinestro's mouth curls into a smile. He snaps his fingers—a useless display of power—and the other Society members become visible. Black Adam, hovering three feet from the ground, with a stern look across his face. Deathstroke the Terminator standing next to Adam, and one of the Amazo androids standing next to Deathstroke.
"The others are no doubt tearing my ship apart as we speak," Brainiac says. He clasps his steel hands behind his back and begins pacing. His metal claw feet echo across the floor. "You are here for Luthor yes?"
Black Adam is the first one to speak, and when he does there is no hint of fear in his voice. "Yes, automaton."
"We know you know where he is," Deathstroke interjects. He raises an arm behind his head and levels a shotgun at Brainiac's head. "And you'll tell us."
"Homo sapiens and their guns," Brainiac patronizes quietly. "When will you ever learn that there are more ways around a situation than with puerile brute force?"
Silence. Deathstroke's arm doesn't waver. Black Adam's eyes narrow. Sinestro's ring sparks to life; whatever he is thinking of, he is obviously planning on using it. The Amazo android cracks it knuckles strangely.
"Very well," Brainiac says, after a pause. "Your Luthor is no longer in my possession. He left mere minutes ago."
"Where is he?" Deathstroke says grimly. Brainiac's audio receptors filter the sound of a bullet entering the chamber on Deathstroke's shotgun.
"With the Crime Syndicate. In their universe."
Deathstroke turns to Black Adam. "He's lying."
"Possibly," Brainiac replies. He angles his head toward the ceiling. If Brainiac were human, he might just look bored. "Can you take that chance?"
Silence.
"Can you?" Brainiac reiterates, turning away from the Society. His attention shifts to the far side of the room. To a body standing in the threshold to the main chamber. Confident, overpowering. His physical skills may be impressive, but he is humanoid nonetheless. Frail. Breakable.
"Kal-el."
"Brainiac," the Kryptonian says through narrow eyes and clenched teeth. "Tell me where he is."