Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps, Chapter 3: Unsanity

Unsanity

"Yes, Lantern Jordan, we agree completely. The retrieval of the Doomsday body takes precedence over all other matters, considering the damage a revived Doomsday could cause. Have you any indication of a trail? Any ion trail, or spatial disturbance that might be indicative of an enemy ship?" The three of them were floating in space, their holographic images "standing" in the Guardians' meeting chamber, even as the Guardians' images floated before them.

"We've a very faint trail, leading off towards the Pegasus cluster. We'd like to follow it."

"Do so. And we will send Lanterns Arisia and Kilowog to assist you in this matter. It is imperative that the Doomsday body be found. And, yes, your other colleagues, as well."

"Masters, something else. You remember the Doomsday from an alternate timeline? He's still back on Earth. If this Doomsday has in fact been reawakened…."

"He could prove invaluable, yes, I see your point. Very well. Lantern Gardner!" Guy looked up upon hearing his name. "You and Lantern Stewart will return to sector 2814. You are to remain there, as our representative during this crisis, and Lantern Stewart will escort this other Doomsday to your current position. You," Ganthet paused, addressing Hal, "Lantern Jordan, are to await the arrival of reinforcements before beginning your search. If necessary, we will send other corps members to assist you, but sector 2814 must not be without a Green Lantern, especially with evidence of Sinestro Corps activity there. Once you've assembled, then proceed with your search. Understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Yes, sir."

"Yeah. I get'cha. I'll handle those yellow bastards myself."

"Do not get overconfident, Lantern Gardner. It is quite possible Sinestro himself may be among the group present in Sol's system, and he is not to be taken lightly. You have your orders."

…..

Earth: Doomsday, hiding in the alley, looked one way, then the other. Aside from the usual seething crowds, he saw nothing out of the ordinary.

He'd been just itching to go to the Comic-con, only Superboy had nixed it, saying there was someone there who was trouble. Doomsday didn't know what he meant by that; some supervillain, maybe? At a Comic-con? Whoever it was, he'd made it sound like it was some major league heavy hitter, so Doomsday was being cautious. But either way, this convention looked to be about the only place on the entire planet where he had a chance to pass as anything remotely resembling "ordinary."

He'd prepared a cover story: he was actually a normal, albeit technologically gifted, human being wearing an exoskeleton he'd built in his home workshop. No, he couldn't open the face plate; no, he was going to patent it, so he couldn't show anyone how it worked. If matters came to a head, he'd just have to leave, claiming he needed to use the restroom, and would have to partially disassemble his "exo-suit" to do so. It wasn't perfect, and he knew he'd probably get "talked to," when he got back, but if he had to put up with one more round of "Divorce Court," he felt he'd go postal.

The receptionist looked up, up, and even more up to meet his gaze. "Uh, how many, sir?"

"Just me." Getting his name tag (and how was he gonna stick it on, anyway? His hide was like a frictionless surface), he moved into the interior of the building.

All the people! And all the costumes! Doomsday felt like his nonexistent heart was about to overflow and burst with wonder. Some—most—of the costumes he didn't recognize. There were several young women there in black mini-skirt type outfits carrying makeshift scythes—he wondered what that was from. And some who seemed to have stenciled in what looked like stitch-marks across their faces and hands, and even across their clothes. Those usually had a large, fake screw affixed to the sides of their heads. Who could they be? He couldn't wait to find out.

And of course, there just as there were a bewildering variety of costumes he didn't recognize, so, too, there were some he did: several women were dressed as Wonder Woman, and there were more than a few young men dressed as either Batman or Superman.

Superman. There was that name, again. He was still getting used to it. Evidently, in this universe, the planet Krypton had gone on to produce some sort of intelligent humanoid life, who'd then later instigated some sort of catastrophic disaster that had caused the whole planet to explode. The only surviving member of their race (at least, initially; as time went on, it seemed others had managed to survive, too) had been evac'd to Earth, where he'd been raised as a human, and become the human race's greatest hero. And then he, or, rather, that other version of him, had come along and killed him. So that explained their fear of him.

But surely by now they saw he wasn't a monster like that. Yeah, a monster, so okay, yeah. But not like that! Still, he guessed he could see the point. That other Doomsday had killed a lot of people. Even if the entire human race knew he wasn't the same monster, they'd still be perfectly capable of hating his guts, just by association alone. And could he really blame them?

But he just had to get out some. He was goin' stir-crazy back in the basement at Mt. Justice.

He knew that a lot of the cosplayers were professionals, and their workmanship showed it. And then there were some who simply enjoyed dressing up, with varying degrees of excellence.

Doomsday found himself strutting, just a little. His costume was superb.

"Wow," said a voice behind him, "That…is one HELL of a costume." Doomsday turned. Behind him was a slender young female with snow-white hair, wearing a form-fitting blue and tan outfit resembling a kind of scaled body armor, with two katana-like swords in locking scabbards across her back. She was wearing an eyepatch over her left eye, arms crossed across her chest, and gazing up at him amusedly. He noticed she had a "security" tag affixed over her left breast.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. Took me a long time to make it, y'know." He moved back just a bit. She was a little close.

But now she moved in even closer, and in the press of the room, it was impossible to move farther away. She suddenly reached out and fingered his chest spikes, and he saw her eye widen. Uh oh.

"Whoa," she said, almost to herself, "that shit's real." As fast as a striking snake, she sprang back and snatched one of the swords from behind her back, holding it in front of her face with what was clearly practiced familiarity. "Keep calm, everyone," she said, to the other convention goers, "Keep calm and move back!"

He held up his hands in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. "Look, I'm not here to fight."

"Yeah? It'd be the first time." She was fumbling with something on her belt. Yep, he thought, I'm definitely in for it now.

"Look," he said, with resolve, "you wanna fight me, you're gonna haveta do it over there," and he motioned towards of the hallways, one less crowded that the main one, "'Cause that's where I'm gonna be." And with that, he turned and strode off towards the hallway in question, hoping she wouldn't follow.

No such luck. She followed him out into the deserted hallway, now having drawn both swords. "Who are you?" she hissed, "What are you? Some kinda mental organism, you've taken control of Doomsday's body? 'Cos I swear, if you've come here to harm-*"

"Nobody's controlling me but me. Yeah, I'm Doomsday. But I think it oughtta be clear by now I'm not the Doomsday you're thinking of. I'm from a different timeline. I got stranded over here…it's a long story."

"Riiiiigghhhtt." She still clearly didn't believe him, and kept tracking his movements, her head moving side to side, gauging depth with her one eye. "And I'm Little Bo Peep. This is just a disguise I use to find my lost sheep."

"Alright," he said, exasperated with the stubborn human, "Suppose you tell me who and what you think I am."

"Dunno." Still tracking him, back and forth, back and forth. "Even the stupidest shapeshifter in the world, even little Miss 'Hello, Megan!', would know better than to shift into you. That's like disguising yourself as Adolf Hitler…"

"Hey! Leave M'gann outta this! She's my friend!"

The girl gaped at him. "You know M'gann?" She lowered the swords, but didn't sheath them.

"Of course I know her! And by the way, just who the heck are you?"

Perhaps, just perhaps, in light of the trouble this human female seemed intent on causing him, Doomsday could be perhaps forgiven for thinking of a term that rhymed with "itch."

It was not "witch."

…

Nightwing was finishing up some reports when someone signaled from the outside. Now who could that be?

The number of people who actually knew of the Team's existence was quite rare, and the number who knew how to contact someone on the inside of Mt. Justice—or even that there was anybody to contact—was even smaller. And there was no record of anybody currently in residence needing entry…

He pulled up the screen. Whoever was calling already knew the proper identification codes anyway, just to be able to use the intercom. To anyone else it would look—and act-like a rusted-out piece of junk somebody had forgotten about. "Yes? Who is it?" Then his stomach clenched when he saw who was standing in front of the external camera.

"I'm Little Bo Peep. But I think I've found one of your lost sheep." Rose Wilson gestured to the silent giant behind her.

"I am so not a sheep!"

"Quiet, you. So open, up, 'Wing, or I'll huff and I'll puff an' I'll blow your mountain down."

Dick Grayson groaned and leaned his head against his hands. He could figure out what had happened at a glance.

Why, oh why, did it just have to be Rose?

…

Ragnar gradually came to consciousness, fighting his way past whatever force it was keeping him under. He could feel, from the tingling sensation in his body, that his nervous system was evolving to overcome that force, whatever it was. But what had happened?

The last thing he remembered: he and Megan had gone to the Source Wall to retrieve the comatose body of the Doomsday they'd fought. He'd gone out of her bioship…and then nothing.

Even though his reasoning faculties were not fully online yet, he deduced they must have been waylaid in some way. But by who? Doomsday? He didn't think so, didn't recall any memory like that. Besides, if that Doomsday had overpowered them, he doubted he'd be waking up.

Megan! He had to wake up! She was in danger!

His fear for her lent his body additional strength, and he could feel his head clearing. Odd; he couldn't feel his ring on his finger, but first things first. Megan was more important.

…..

"I was working security at the 'Con, when Tall, Gray, and Gruesome here walks in," said Rose. "He was obvious as all hell. Whaddaya mean lettin' him run around like that? He could'a caused a city-wide panic or somethin'. Hell, a planet wide panic."

Nightwing sighed. Rose always managed to get on his nerves, somehow. Actually, she got on everybody's nerves. "In the first place, we didn't know he was gone, to be honest…."

"And second," spoke up Doomsday, from the other side of the room, "I'm a grown boy now. I can cross the street without anybody holding my hand. And I wasn't doing anything. So what's yer problem?"

"My problem, asshat, is what if you'd caused a panic? People still remember that other Doomsday. There coulda been people rushing for exits, getting trampled, even gunfire."

He crossed his massive arms across his chest. "And were there?"

"N—no, but…-*"

"So YOU coulda caused the very panic you're accusing me of? Pot, meet kettle."

"Look! I don't give a howl in hell if you wanna go to the park or the beach, but the Con is MY RESPONSIBILITY! So keep your monsters to yourselves, is all I'm saying," she said, poking Doomsday in the chest. She turned her head sideways to look at Dick. "Some of us haveta actually work for a living, y'know."

Nightwing made what he hoped was a soothing gesture. No point in starting World War Rose all over again. Last time had been bad enough. "Look, Rose, it won't happen again, okay? Will it?" And here he tilted his head at Doomsday.

"Gods, no, not if she's gonna be there. I'd sooner be tortured to death. Or watch a 'Two and a Half Men' marathon. Same thing."

"It's a perfectly nice Con! We just don't need any trouble!"

"So they hired you? You're trouble personified."

She tilted up her head. "I get the job done!"

"Yeah, if the job is running everybody off. With an attitude like that, you'd scare Trigon himself away." He paused while she seethed. This was actually kinda fun. "Besides. Was there any legal reason why I shouldn't have been at the 'Con?"

Silence, while she tried to come up with something. Technically, there wasn't actually any law that said Doomsday—or any other monster-couldn't attend the 'Con. Nobody had ever felt the need for one.

"So what you're really saying is, you just don't want anybody like me there. Isn't that closer to the truth? Cheese Louise. Plants probably wilt when you walk past."

"One more word, I swear, one more word, an' I'll castrate ya!"

"Bring it on, witch. I'll break your sword with my sword."

"QUIET!" Nightwing shouted. They both fell silent, looking at him. "Look, Rose. It's over. Get it? And Doomsday: this is precisely the reason we were keeping you under wraps.

"Now. We need to move on, and I need to summon the Team. There've been some developments with regards to Ragnar and Megan, and they aren't good."

"Wait," said Rose. "First off, who's Ragnar? And what's wrong with Little Miss Goody Two Shoes this time? She hit the wrong person with a pie? Again?"

Nightwing signaled the others to come to the meeting. "Even though it's none of your business, Rose, Ragnar Rok is our newest member. He's a power ring user, uses a gold ring. He and Megan have become an item, and now they're missing."

"An item? Oh, wow….that is…." Rose trailed off, an expression of mirth coming over her face. She hurriedly hid her mouth in her hand; too late. "And, and M'gann? She…she's actually got a boyfriend? Oh, that's priceless! The poor guy! He must be fifty shades of desperate!" And she started laughing, holding her sides.

Doomsday looked at Nightwing. "Can I please retcon punch her now?"

…

Hal, Arisia and Kilowog were scouring an area measured in light-years. Fortunately for them, they had light to work with.

"I'm getting a faint trace over here," announced Arisia, her voice coming in clear, in real time, even though she was a good ten lightyears away, "Kilowog? It seems to be heading in your general direction."

"I'm not gettin' anything more'n the usual background static, Arisia. Hal? Did it change course?"

"It must have." Hal was less than five lightyears closer to galactic north, northwest. "I'm getting some anomalous readings here, but I can't swear it's what we're looking for. Damn it! If only we could track Ragnar's ring, we'd have found them both by now!"

As if on cue, John Stewart materialized with Doomsday in tow. The others gathered around the newly arrived pair. "'Bout time," grumped the monster. "I was about to haveta slug the single most irritating female in the entire history of the universe."

"Oh?" muttered Hal. "How is Rose, these days, anyway?"

"How'd you-?"

"Er, lucky guess. Anyway, here you are. Can you sense Ragnar, anywhere in the area?"

"Lemme see." The giant spread out his hands in the general direction they were looking, panning from left to right, then back again. "Feels like….something…in this direction. But how far, that I can't tell you."

"It's a start. Let's go!"

…

Happy Harbour Mall: Stacey McAllister was about to decide men were just no damn good.

This was the third time she'd broken up with Jake, and, as far as she was concerned, the last. No matter how much he begged.

She sat there, behind her counter in the "Victoria's Secret" shop where Ragnar had once taken refuge, in order to escape a most persistent saleslady outside. She sighed. Yes, men were definitely jerks. And, worse, the jerks always seemed to zero in on her.

It was no mystery why. Not only was she young and pretty, but she actually had a decent job. Quite a few boys were attracted to the notion of a "cash cow" they could milk at their leisure, then go back to playing their stupid Xbox or something. And she always seemed to fall for it.

Well, she was tired of being used like that.

Surely, surely there was somebody else out there for her. There had to be. Somebody steadier, more mature. But then she sighed again, chin cupped in the palm of her hand. Men were like parking spaces: all the good ones were already taken. And that was a depressing conclusion for her to draw, here at the ripe old age of eighteen.

There just had to be somebody. But how to find him? Her last three boyfriends had found her, saying all the right things, being oh so nice…but then things started to come apart, especially once she made it clear she wasn't about to…do certain things. Not yet, anyway.

Anybody can be "nice"…for a little while. It's how you deal with trouble that tells the tale. She was tired of "friends" who were only friends so long as it was convenient for them.

Social media didn't help, and was a good way to find a stalker or worse, for a stalker to find you. She didn't trust it. Because of her job, she was limited in the activities she could go to, and besides, she was trying to gear up to go on to college in the fall. So she didn't have time to just go out and mingle, like some girls did. She'd never been one for the nighttime scene anyway.

And her parents frequently needed her to babysit her little brother while they went out of town. Thinking about them, she shivered slightly. She'd come that close to losing them altogether when that piece of shit that called himself "the Joker" had taken the whole PTO meeting hostage, with the clear intent of murdering everyone in the room. All due to his twisted idea of a "joke."

Saaaaaay. That reminded her. That new superhero, the golden guy. The one who'd saved her parents that night. He was unattached, wasn't he? Yeah, he'd said he had a "special friend" who "was a girl" (hey, at least he was into girls; these days, that wasn't a given), but he had said he didn't have a "girlfriend," as such. That's right. He'd said just that. Hm. Yes. Hm, indeed.

Of course, she hadn't seen him since that last time, and (and here she sighed, resignedly) probably wouldn't ever again, but…he'd be…he'd be kinda perfect. Wouldn't he? He already had a job, so he wouldn't be latching onto her for money…and he seemed like a really nice guy. And cute, too. Not to mention kinda exotic, with that robin's egg blue skin.

Okay, Stace, she told herself firmly, reality check here. He's a superhero. You're a store clerk. He's out there flying over the city, saving mankind from things like the Joker or Brainiac; you're here selling see-through "sleeping apparel" to guys with sweaty palms and partial erections. And he did say he had a "special friend." "Special friend" "who's a girl." So. Probably a girlfriend. Get your head out of the clouds. And besides, you haven't even seen any sign of him since then. Still….a girl could dream, couldn't she?

Maybe….maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to…maybe look him up? Surely he couldn't be too hard to find. Stacey hadn't dated all that much, concentrating, as she had been, on getting accepted by and getting into a good college, but…maybe…maybe the right guy….And, and…you know, just a suggestion of lunch. That wouldn't be any big deal, would it? Just lunch.

All of a sudden, she couldn't help but chortle at herself. Listen to yourself, girl. Here you are, prepared to go hunt down a superhero and practically throw yourself at him. Well, perhaps not throw, not throw as such, but….

But…

Yeah, "throw" pretty well covered it.

I must be desperate, she thought savagely to herself, if that's the best plan I can come up with.

Still…

Ragnar walking back into Victoria's Secret, and approaching her directly. "I'd like to buy something for a very special young lady in my life."

"Certainly, sir. Would you like that gift-wrapped?"

"I would."

Not meeting his gaze. "And whose name should I put on the card, sir?"

And Ragnar looking intently at her with those deep dark eyes of his, leaning forward ever so slightly…"Stacey. Stacey McAllister."

Chin resting on her interlaced fingers, there behind her counter, eyes seeing nothing in this world, Stacey McAllister smiled dreamily.

…..

"Ff—ffaather?" The word was barely recognizable as such, and it emerged from the Doomsday monster's lips.

"Yes, yes!" urged Bertron, standing over by his console, "That's right! Come on, son, you can say it! Say 'father.' I'm your father. I created you. If it weren't for me, you wouldn't exist. So come on, say 'father' again."

"Fffaa…ffaath…" The beast stumbled over the unfamiliar sound coming out of its mouth. It was used to uttering unintelligible roars of rage, but modulating those sounds into communication was a brand new skill.

But Doomsday was nothing if not adaptable. It would adapt, if need be. And apparently, the need was there.

After all, it couldn't kill anybody, tied up like this.

…..

Several lightyears away: the Green Lanterns and Doomsday were slowly but surely closing in on what their Doomsday swore was where he was sensing Ragnar Rok. "I don't know how I know this, but I know he's somewhere in this star system." He pointed to a small, four-planet system on the edge of charted space.

"But how do we narrow it down?" Hal bit his lip. "That's still a huge area to search. And there's nothing to say whatever we're looking for is even on a planet. It might be in orbit all by itself. Or hiding in one of the gas giants' atmosphere." True to form, this system had produced two exo-planets, both larger than Jupiter, with atmospheres that could hide Earth and Mars combined.

"Let me try a hunch." Doomsday said, as they conferred on the outskirts of the system. Kilowog's ring was projecting a 3D map of the system, though not to scale, of course. "Most people, seems like, tend to put their bases on planets of some sort or another. Sort of a psychological quirk. So whoever kidnapped our friends—and that other me—is probably hiding on one of the planets. It would make sense he—or they, or, well, you know—would probably choose whichever one would be the most likely to scramble sensors, right? I mean, let your environment do as much as it can for you by itself.

"BUT…they wouldn't depend on the planet's natural camouflage. Chances are, they've enhanced, or added to, an already turbulent environment. See what I'm saying?"

John Stewart rubbed his chin. The architect within him was studying the matter intensely. "I think I see. They'd pick the most active spot—and make it worse, somehow. Add to the electromagnetic interference, or throw out strange matter chaff or something to enhance the place as a hiding spot. So…how do you propose to find them?"

"I'll go in, to the biggest, nastiest spot in the solar system. And my body will adjust, my senses will adapt to that environment. It shouldn't take all that long, an' I'll be seeing as clearly as you guys can on a summer day.

"And then…. then I look for an area I can't see so good into. We're assuming these goons know something about me, my genetics. Maybe they don't know about me personally, but I bet they've used what knowledge they have to make their bolt-hole as impervious to my senses, not to mention all other senses, as they can. Just in case."

Kilowog shook his head. "You'd be literally zooming in ta see who takes a shot at'cha. No matter how tough you are, you can't depend on that invulnerability, especially if these poozers know anything at all about you. Best case scenario: you find the hidden base. But then you've blown our cover. Worst case scenario: you get killed, have to regenerate all over again, and still alert our foes. And it is possible you might get killed so completely you wouldn't come back, at least not for a long time."

"If you've a better suggestion, I'm open to it. Remember, whoever this is, they've not only got that other Doomsday body, but they've also had Ragnar Rok and Megan Morse for all this time. Gods only know what they've been doing to them. That they haven't been able to escape or even signal us…is anything but a good sign." He paused. "We actually ran outta time a while back. Now we're just playing catch-up."

"Weeelllllll," thought Hal, "I admit, we need to do something. I don't like the idea of you making a living bulls-eye of yourself, but we do need to find our people. As you say, we've no idea what's being done to them. What's been done to them." Pause. "Alright. Let's go."

…..

Rose was working her security shift at the 'Con when the psychic impression slammed into her mind like a harpoon. It actually made her lean up against a wall in order to catch her breath, it was so strong. A quick glance around; no indications of trouble, just the usual cosplayers and fans….

She made her way to a private corner, and pulled out her communicator. Everyone who'd ever been affiliated with the Team had one, and although they'd parted on less-than-ideal terms, she still had the communicator "for emergencies."

If her psychic flash was correct, such an emergency was about to occur. "Nightwing? 'S me, Rose. Yeah, I know it's late, but-saaaay. Since when do you care? You're up all hours anyway. Well, never mind. Listen. I just got one of my psychic flashes. Yes. That kind. This one damn near knocked me on my ass." Pause, while she listened. "That's just it; I can't be sure what it was about. You know how these things go: unless it's dealing with me personally, there's almost never any detail. But I did get one very strong impression. It's about Little Miss I-Think-A-Pie-In-Rose's-Face-Would-Be-So-Funny. Yeah, her." She stopped a moment and gathered her thoughts. "Something bad's about to happen to her. Something really bad. I mean, like, really bad. Like dying bad." She drew a deep breath. What she was about to say was gonna hurt... "If you…like, need…you know, reinforcements, backup, or, or something, or just somebody to take up the slack, I can get off from here for a day or so." Pause. "'Wing? You still there? Whaddaya mean, who am I and what have I done with Rose Wilson? What's that supposed to mean? Look, I don't haveta actually like M'gann to not wanna see her dead. So…just letting you know."

…

Ragnar fought off the effects of the field that was keeping him under. With each passing second, that became easier to do; he could only guess that his body's own healing factor was adapting to counteract the effect.

He had to get to Megan.

He automatically tried using his power ring, only to discover that it wasn't on his finger anymore.

…

Bertron was a happy scientist indeed. He grown the perfect son, and that son's training was coming along nicely. The Ultimate had been placed within a specially reinforced chamber, and been given toys to play with. True, he'd mostly torn the toys to bits, but all children did that. All told, it was a good anatomy lesson for his offspring.

Right now, the Ultimate was busy pounding on the walls of his spheroid cage, roaring inarticulately. Bertron tsked. He'd thought they'd made more progress in that area than they had

But maybe….maybe the Ultimate was trying to communicate with him by means of the blows. And maybe factoring in all the destruction, maybe there was some underlying meaning to what it was trying to say. Yes! That made perfect sense! Bertron knew he had enemies, jealous, no doubt of his intellect and accomplishments. Sooo….the Ultimate, having come to be aware of these jealous individuals, was trying to communicate with his father in a safer way than mere speech. Yes, yes, of course, that must be it! His son was trying to warn him about some peril he'd previously not suspected!

Bertron delegated a large portion of his base's memory systems to decoding the seemingly random patterns for violence. Then he immediately thought better of it, and switched it off; his enemies could have insinuated spy programs into his computers, even in spite of his defense programs. No, he couldn't risk them being aware that he was onto them. So he got out a pencil and paper, and started trying to figure out the pattern by hand.

Hm, thought Bertron. Violence as a means of covert communication. The thought struck him as funny, and he laughed for nearly a day at that, alone.

To be continued…