Fear the Unknown
By Dante
Chapter 16: Legends and Whispers
Wayne turned his steely gaze toward Kent, and the fire burning behind the armored warrior's eyes sent a chill down his invulnerable spine.
"I have studied Bliss intimately and even your erstwhile benefactor for all his arrogance and bluster, is not foolish enough to think that he could challenge the man openly. You forget, Bliss has all the resources of an entire nation filled with petrified but fervent supporters to call upon. Astounding though your abilities may be, Mr. Kent, I doubt even you can take on the assembled might of an entire country leveled against you."
Wayne spoke with a cool calculation that seemed at once implacable and frightening, but even that stoic certainty of insurmountable odds could not rattle Clark's newfound hope.
"It isn't just me though, don't you see? Look around you. You're standing here talking to living, breathing proof that hope for freedom still loves. We've faced Bliss and beaten his men..."
"Nearly getting yourselves killed in the process."
"Beaten his men and survived, with your help. We could do it again."
"No one wants to see Bliss tossed upon the ash heap of history more than I do, but be reasonable. Even if we assume that what you're suggesting is possible, it would take vastly more firepower than even the three of you can supply. Bliss has the manpower, the Intel, and the advantage of being the party in power."
"Power isn't everything, though, isn't that what you've been saying."
"No, its not. Tangible power isn't everything, but Bliss has all the intangible advantages a despot could ask for, and more."
"Then what, Wayne? We sit here in this factory, plotting until we all become as bitter and hopeless as you?"
"No, we plan and try to find a way to undercut his power base and grind him down to nothing."
"In other words, we sit in this cave and plot."
"Okay, Kent. So you want to go charging off into glorious battle. Do it. Bliss has had you on the dissection table once this week already, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to be given a second chance."
A chilly silence filled the room as the two men glared at each other. To the gathered observers, it seemed as if they were watching opposing forces of nature battling for supremacy in the echoing vastness of the factory. It was John Henry who was the first to break the deafening quiet.
"There may be a way."
John Henry steepled his fingers as the others turned their eyes his way, his massive dark frame making the silhouette he cast in gray on the wall all the more imposing.
"I think we can all agree that something needs to be done and, my apologies, Bruce, but I think that Mr. Kent is right that action is the proper course."
"Thank you very much, now..."
"Now the problem is, even though anyone in this room could easily dismantle a squad of Bliss's troops, none of us are trained for war, and that's what this is."
"So what are you suggesting, then?" Hal asked, a stern look carved on his face as he leaned against one of the myriad computer terminals arrayed in the makeshift war room.
"There are rumors, stories mostly, from veterans of the Eastern Bloc war, of government agents, super-soldiers who possessed inexplicable powers. A man who could outrun any bullet, another who could lift tanks above his head, bird-men, shadowy mystery men whose very existence was denied by the military authorities at the time."
"This is all very interesting John," Bruce interjected. "But what does it have to do with us?"
"Several years ago, when I was still working for the government's Special Weapons Lab, I came across records from a Doctor Sivana, a geneticist from the Lab who talked about studies documenting the capabilities of these people. He was trying to find a way to artificially duplicate their abilities in the lab, but this was in the earliest days of genetics, and no one was willing to acknowledge that it was possible for such powers to be inborn in humanity. That would have put a bit of a damper on their attempts to convince the average person that super humans are demons. The last entry I found was by a Doctor Charles McNider, stating that his research had determined that their abilities were one of a kind and could not be duplicated. The odd part about this was that McNider was regarded as one of the top geneticists in the country, and modern research bears out that his findings were completely wrong. He had to have known that, so I went looking for him, but he'd disappeared."
"If he's disappeared, then we're looking at a dead end."
"Not quite. I did some checking into his personal history, and McNider did a term of service in the military, and his duty stations just so happen to match up rather well with some of the more easily substantiated reports of these super-agents. I abused my government access a bit more and discovered that shortly before he disappeared, McNider did an extensive amount of traveling to cities all over the country, Kansas City, Star City, and a lot of time in Langley."
"When did he drop out of sight?"
"It was shortly after the end of the Themyscrian war, when some of the bootleg footage of what was done to the survivors found its way into the public. I understand that there's still a bit of a market for it in some sicker circles."
"Where's this all leading, John?"
"Examination of service records from McNider's duty stations showed me several things. First, when he was shifted from post to post, he was never officially assigned to any outfit and, second, there were at least five individuals at every post who also fit that description. That number changes a bit between occurrences, but it backs up my theory."
"And what theory is that?"
"McNider was a part of something, some government strike force comprised of people who would now be hunted like the rest of you. Men and women trained in a different kind of war."
"But if none of the people you're talking about have been seen since after the Themyscrian war, how are they supposed to help us?"
"Ah, that's the good part. You see, I've found McNider."
New Amsterdam
The modest brownstone was situated in the older part of the city. Small, closely situated houses and apartment buildings crowded narrow streets, which dated back to before the Salem Rebellion. Wayne, Kent, and Irons stood out front, none of them speaking.
"So this is where heroes end up?" Wayne rasped.
"No, Bruce. This is where outlaws end up. Come on."
John Henry's face was tight as he walked up the front steps and tapped on the door. A voice answered back from inside.
"Who is and what do you want?"
Mr. Nocte, my name is John Henry Irons and I'd like a word with you. About the war."
"Irons?"
The door opened and a man in his early fifties appeared. He had an athlete's build, which only made the presence of a pair of thick, dark sunglasses on his face all the more odd.
"Aha. Doctor Irons. We've been expecting you for some time. Please, come in. And your friends as well."
The three men entered the house and shut the door behind them. As McNider led them toward the living room, the questions came hard and fast from, of course, Bruce Wayne.
"You say you've been expecting us? Why?"
"Well, I was never quite sure when it would happen, but when the research facility at Area 51 was attacked last week, we knew if couldn't be long now."
"That's twice now you've said 'we' Dr. McNider, since I know that's your name. Do you have a mouse in your pocket?" Kent asked.
"No, son. He's talking about us."
Sitting in the darkness of the study was a gray-templed man with a runner's physique. Behind him were a pair of blond-haired men, one in a business suit, the other in what seemed to be a set of battered desert clothes, with a tall, steely-eyed woman at his side. Another man sat at the desk, smoking a mother-of-pearl pipe and toying with some sort of metal rod and finally, standing in the corner shadows, a squat man with his arms crossed who looked as if he was spoiling for a fight.
"Now, Doctor Irons, I know who you are. Now who are your friends?"
Clark stepped forward.
"I'm..."
"Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, based in Metropolis. You wrote a rather nice expose on the corruption in the government Judiciary system last year when you were working for Newsweek. I enjoyed it a great deal." It was the suit-wearing man who had spoken, a small smile decorating his ruddy face.
"What are you talking about? That piece was never printed. Mr. Thornton said that it would never have made it past the government censors."
"You just don't get the same papers as I do, son."
"And you are?"
"Alan Scott, pleased to meet you."
"Alan Scott? The Alan Scott who ran WGBS out of Gotham? The Alan Scott who was executed on charges of treason three years ago?"
"Of all people, Mr. Kent, I think that you would be one of the first to know that you should only believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear. Every man in this room is either 'dead' or 'presumed missing'. That includes you, by the way."
McNider put a hand up, ceasing the chatter.
"We're wasting time. We know why you're here."
"Bliss."
"Yes. Dominic Bliss, one of the most diabolical men ever to curse the Earth with his presence."
"Not a fan, I see."
"Not quite. Now, to business. I presume you boys are here to talk about how we're going to put an end to the good Reverend."
NEXT: Chapter 17: Unified Justice. Green Lantern, the Flash, Doctor Midnight! And, finally, the secret of The Doctor!!!
Preview:
The Doctor's hand gripped the control tighter as he twisted the dial higher.
"I always knew that I should have tried harder, done something more. But then, I guess it was to be expected."
He twisted the dial again and Batman's teeth ground into each other as he tried to he reject the pain.
"Unfortunately, the time for help is past. Now it is time for you to die."
Chapter 16: Legends and Whispers
Wayne turned his steely gaze toward Kent, and the fire burning behind the armored warrior's eyes sent a chill down his invulnerable spine.
"I have studied Bliss intimately and even your erstwhile benefactor for all his arrogance and bluster, is not foolish enough to think that he could challenge the man openly. You forget, Bliss has all the resources of an entire nation filled with petrified but fervent supporters to call upon. Astounding though your abilities may be, Mr. Kent, I doubt even you can take on the assembled might of an entire country leveled against you."
Wayne spoke with a cool calculation that seemed at once implacable and frightening, but even that stoic certainty of insurmountable odds could not rattle Clark's newfound hope.
"It isn't just me though, don't you see? Look around you. You're standing here talking to living, breathing proof that hope for freedom still loves. We've faced Bliss and beaten his men..."
"Nearly getting yourselves killed in the process."
"Beaten his men and survived, with your help. We could do it again."
"No one wants to see Bliss tossed upon the ash heap of history more than I do, but be reasonable. Even if we assume that what you're suggesting is possible, it would take vastly more firepower than even the three of you can supply. Bliss has the manpower, the Intel, and the advantage of being the party in power."
"Power isn't everything, though, isn't that what you've been saying."
"No, its not. Tangible power isn't everything, but Bliss has all the intangible advantages a despot could ask for, and more."
"Then what, Wayne? We sit here in this factory, plotting until we all become as bitter and hopeless as you?"
"No, we plan and try to find a way to undercut his power base and grind him down to nothing."
"In other words, we sit in this cave and plot."
"Okay, Kent. So you want to go charging off into glorious battle. Do it. Bliss has had you on the dissection table once this week already, I'm sure he'd be thrilled to be given a second chance."
A chilly silence filled the room as the two men glared at each other. To the gathered observers, it seemed as if they were watching opposing forces of nature battling for supremacy in the echoing vastness of the factory. It was John Henry who was the first to break the deafening quiet.
"There may be a way."
John Henry steepled his fingers as the others turned their eyes his way, his massive dark frame making the silhouette he cast in gray on the wall all the more imposing.
"I think we can all agree that something needs to be done and, my apologies, Bruce, but I think that Mr. Kent is right that action is the proper course."
"Thank you very much, now..."
"Now the problem is, even though anyone in this room could easily dismantle a squad of Bliss's troops, none of us are trained for war, and that's what this is."
"So what are you suggesting, then?" Hal asked, a stern look carved on his face as he leaned against one of the myriad computer terminals arrayed in the makeshift war room.
"There are rumors, stories mostly, from veterans of the Eastern Bloc war, of government agents, super-soldiers who possessed inexplicable powers. A man who could outrun any bullet, another who could lift tanks above his head, bird-men, shadowy mystery men whose very existence was denied by the military authorities at the time."
"This is all very interesting John," Bruce interjected. "But what does it have to do with us?"
"Several years ago, when I was still working for the government's Special Weapons Lab, I came across records from a Doctor Sivana, a geneticist from the Lab who talked about studies documenting the capabilities of these people. He was trying to find a way to artificially duplicate their abilities in the lab, but this was in the earliest days of genetics, and no one was willing to acknowledge that it was possible for such powers to be inborn in humanity. That would have put a bit of a damper on their attempts to convince the average person that super humans are demons. The last entry I found was by a Doctor Charles McNider, stating that his research had determined that their abilities were one of a kind and could not be duplicated. The odd part about this was that McNider was regarded as one of the top geneticists in the country, and modern research bears out that his findings were completely wrong. He had to have known that, so I went looking for him, but he'd disappeared."
"If he's disappeared, then we're looking at a dead end."
"Not quite. I did some checking into his personal history, and McNider did a term of service in the military, and his duty stations just so happen to match up rather well with some of the more easily substantiated reports of these super-agents. I abused my government access a bit more and discovered that shortly before he disappeared, McNider did an extensive amount of traveling to cities all over the country, Kansas City, Star City, and a lot of time in Langley."
"When did he drop out of sight?"
"It was shortly after the end of the Themyscrian war, when some of the bootleg footage of what was done to the survivors found its way into the public. I understand that there's still a bit of a market for it in some sicker circles."
"Where's this all leading, John?"
"Examination of service records from McNider's duty stations showed me several things. First, when he was shifted from post to post, he was never officially assigned to any outfit and, second, there were at least five individuals at every post who also fit that description. That number changes a bit between occurrences, but it backs up my theory."
"And what theory is that?"
"McNider was a part of something, some government strike force comprised of people who would now be hunted like the rest of you. Men and women trained in a different kind of war."
"But if none of the people you're talking about have been seen since after the Themyscrian war, how are they supposed to help us?"
"Ah, that's the good part. You see, I've found McNider."
New Amsterdam
The modest brownstone was situated in the older part of the city. Small, closely situated houses and apartment buildings crowded narrow streets, which dated back to before the Salem Rebellion. Wayne, Kent, and Irons stood out front, none of them speaking.
"So this is where heroes end up?" Wayne rasped.
"No, Bruce. This is where outlaws end up. Come on."
John Henry's face was tight as he walked up the front steps and tapped on the door. A voice answered back from inside.
"Who is and what do you want?"
Mr. Nocte, my name is John Henry Irons and I'd like a word with you. About the war."
"Irons?"
The door opened and a man in his early fifties appeared. He had an athlete's build, which only made the presence of a pair of thick, dark sunglasses on his face all the more odd.
"Aha. Doctor Irons. We've been expecting you for some time. Please, come in. And your friends as well."
The three men entered the house and shut the door behind them. As McNider led them toward the living room, the questions came hard and fast from, of course, Bruce Wayne.
"You say you've been expecting us? Why?"
"Well, I was never quite sure when it would happen, but when the research facility at Area 51 was attacked last week, we knew if couldn't be long now."
"That's twice now you've said 'we' Dr. McNider, since I know that's your name. Do you have a mouse in your pocket?" Kent asked.
"No, son. He's talking about us."
Sitting in the darkness of the study was a gray-templed man with a runner's physique. Behind him were a pair of blond-haired men, one in a business suit, the other in what seemed to be a set of battered desert clothes, with a tall, steely-eyed woman at his side. Another man sat at the desk, smoking a mother-of-pearl pipe and toying with some sort of metal rod and finally, standing in the corner shadows, a squat man with his arms crossed who looked as if he was spoiling for a fight.
"Now, Doctor Irons, I know who you are. Now who are your friends?"
Clark stepped forward.
"I'm..."
"Clark Kent, reporter for the Daily Planet, based in Metropolis. You wrote a rather nice expose on the corruption in the government Judiciary system last year when you were working for Newsweek. I enjoyed it a great deal." It was the suit-wearing man who had spoken, a small smile decorating his ruddy face.
"What are you talking about? That piece was never printed. Mr. Thornton said that it would never have made it past the government censors."
"You just don't get the same papers as I do, son."
"And you are?"
"Alan Scott, pleased to meet you."
"Alan Scott? The Alan Scott who ran WGBS out of Gotham? The Alan Scott who was executed on charges of treason three years ago?"
"Of all people, Mr. Kent, I think that you would be one of the first to know that you should only believe half of what you see, and none of what you hear. Every man in this room is either 'dead' or 'presumed missing'. That includes you, by the way."
McNider put a hand up, ceasing the chatter.
"We're wasting time. We know why you're here."
"Bliss."
"Yes. Dominic Bliss, one of the most diabolical men ever to curse the Earth with his presence."
"Not a fan, I see."
"Not quite. Now, to business. I presume you boys are here to talk about how we're going to put an end to the good Reverend."
NEXT: Chapter 17: Unified Justice. Green Lantern, the Flash, Doctor Midnight! And, finally, the secret of The Doctor!!!
Preview:
The Doctor's hand gripped the control tighter as he twisted the dial higher.
"I always knew that I should have tried harder, done something more. But then, I guess it was to be expected."
He twisted the dial again and Batman's teeth ground into each other as he tried to he reject the pain.
"Unfortunately, the time for help is past. Now it is time for you to die."