Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 5: Mysteries
I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. I'd like to, but I don't.
Oa: Arisia came back into the waiting area where the others were sitting in knuckle-popping silence. She noticed Doomsday was sitting, cross-legged on the floor, close by Ragnar, with Hal on his other side. They'd already delivered both the unconscious Doomsday 1 and its insane creator to the Guardians. "Anything?" she asked. The Guardians were checking Megan out, and they'd been in there a very long time.
Nobody said anything, and she felt her heart sink. Surely, surely there had to be something…just then, the door irised open and Ganthet floated in, hands tucked in his sleeves. But his expression was not reassuring.
"I…we have examined the Martian girl quite thoroughly, and we are continuing to do so," he told a distraught Ragnar, "but as to what has been done to her…mind you, she wasn't hurt, as such, not physically, but evidently, Bertron used his technology to somehow alter her neural pathways, especially in the emotive centers of her brain. She is fully conscious of everything, and under no delusions, you understand. She knows who you are…and what you mean to her. It isn't that. It's just that, apparently, the sight of you causes feelings of horror to arise within her. She," and here he paused, and shrugged apologetically, something none of the GLs in the room could ever remember a Guardian doing, "simply feels horror whenever she sees you. She still knows you and," pause, "cares about you, but the actual sight of you activates a mental circuit that produces the reaction you saw."
Ragnar turned away. Arisia wanted to go over to him, reassure him somehow, but she didn't know how. Instead, she turned to Ganthet. "But you can fix her, right? I mean, that sort of thing ought to be child's play for you guys…" Please tell me it's child's play for you guys…
Ganthet paused just long enough for a held breath. Then, "I…am sorry, Lantern Arisia, but the matter is not quite so easy. The method of meme implantation Bertron used is very advanced, and the simple truth is, we've little experience with Martians. There are things we can try, but success cannot be guaranteed." This last he said with a downcast expression. He clearly wished he had better news. Ragnar kept his back turned to the group, but Arisia noticed his shoulders shake, just a little. Doomsday reached out and put a hand on his back.
She turned to Ganthet. "Can I see her? I mean, she's okay with everyone else, right?"
"Of course. And, yes, you may. In fact, that might be the very best thing that could be done for her at this time." And he ushered her back into the medical complex to the room where Miss Martian lay on a small exam table.
"Arisia?" Megan looked very small and vulnerable, there on the table, the golden GL thought. So very vulnerable. "Arisia? What—what's happened to me?"
Arisia gathered her up in her arms. "I'm not sure, but we'll find a way to beat it, whatever it is. If a thing can be done, it can be undone." She could feel the Martian girl's sobs against her chest. "It'll all work out, you'll see." There's not enough pain in the universe to pay that monster back for what he did to you.
Outside, in the waiting area: Hal moved over to Ragnar's private island of misery. The Gold Lantern hadn't turned to look any of them in the face since Ganthet's report; Doomsday still kept a supportive hand on his back. "Ragnar? I…I really don't know what to say right now. I'd say I understand what you're going through, but that would be a lie, and we'd both know it. I can't fully understand what you're going through, except in the ways I've had such…things…happen in my life. I can assure you that everything that can be done to help Megan, will be done. I know that's not much comfort right now, but…"
"I, I know what you mean, Hal Jordan. I…appreciate your attempts to make me feel better." It doesn't help a bit, but I thank you for trying, anyway.
…
Mt. Justice: the Team, minus Miss Martian and Ragnar Rok, had convened in the main meeting hallway, with Doomsday sitting off to one side a bit, again crosslegged on the floor. None of the chairs could hold him, anyway. "So that's the story. We don't know how he did it, but Bertron apparently instilled some kind of automatic feeling of horror in Megan, for whenever she sees Ragnar. And, given his current mental state, Bertron himself appears incapable of reversing the process, or, in fact, of even saying his own name. You've all seen the report.
"So I don't know what we're going to do next. Basically, we've got two members down. Ragnar's expressed a worry that his being around Megan for any extended time will affect her, and that's a legitimate concern. If she even catches a glimpse of him… And Megan…well, we may as well call it what it is: she's a victim of what amounts to a kind of psychological rape. Nobody knows how this will affect her in the long run, or if this is only one of several autonomous subroutines Bertron implanted in her. Even she doesn't know what she'll do next. So for now they both need our support. She's taken an indefinite leave of absence, and I understand J'onn J'onzz will be taking her back to Mars, to see if the Martian mystics can help her. It's for certain we can't do anything for her here.
"Doomsday? How's Ragnar holding up?"
The giant shook his massive head. "About like you'd expect. Blames himself, of course. Says if only he'd awakened earlier, etc. And I don't guess I have to tell anyone he's pretty much an emotional basket case right now." He paused. "I…don't know if he'll continue with the Team or not. Painful memories, you know."
"See if you can talk to him. You two seem to have a bond, sort of. Not only do we need him now more than ever, but he needs something to do. Sitting around brooding all day is about the worst thing he could do."
"I'll talk to him. I understand he went up to the Watchtower to speak with J'onn, give him a report. I'll get with him as soon as he gets back."
"Good deal."
On board the Watchtower, J'onn J'onzz was standing with Ragnar on the flying bridge of the main control room. The monitors showed the Earth, half in shadow, with the shadowed half brightly lit by the lights of cities and towns. Ragnar glanced at it, unable to see any beauty at all in the sight. How could there be any beauty, anywhere, he thought, when she had been taken from him?
There was no beauty. Not for him.
"So that is all you remember, young Ragnar? There was nothing else?"
"No, sir. We encountered the theta-bomb at the asteroid near where I'd left the mindless Doomsday body. That's the last thing I remember until I woke up in Bertron's lair, with my ring gone, and Megan…not there" He found he couldn't say any more.
J'onn studied him a moment. "I see you've a new finger. That indicates that Bertron probably severed your old one in order to acquire your ring. That seems to be a regrettably standard practice with some beings." Ragnar looked at his hand, noting, for the first time, the brand-new finger upon which his ring rode. "I had not noticed that, sir."
"Given all that has happened to you since, that is hardly surprising." Suddenly, he turned to face the Gold Lantern. They were about the same height, J'onn noted. Although the Martian had never really noticed before, he didn't think that had always been the case. "Young man. I comprehend that you are undergoing a great deal of…anguish right now. But keep in mind: you are not to blame. What happened to my niece was not your fault. You should not be overwhelming yourself with these feelings of guilt I sense coming from you."
"Thank you, sir." Ragnar's face was completely impassive, but J'onn knew his words had had no effect whatsoever. Emotions simply do not respond to logical analysis. Martians had emotions, but the older of them had managed to subjugate their emotions to their intellect. But with young people of any species, that isn't always possible.
How would I feel, were I him? –J'onn asked himself. And he truly didn't know the answer to that. "You do know that my niece's emotions regarding you have not changed, do you not? This, that has happened to her, is more on the order of, of an acquired reflex. I believe it can be overcome with proper meditation techniques. Have…have a little faith." Even as he said it, he realized it sounded weak.
"Thank you, sir."
Well, I've done all I can do here, thought J'onn, checking the time. M'gann should be arriving shortly, and the two of them would be leaving for the hidden Martian city beneath Mons Olympus, to confer with some of the Martian elders. I wish I felt as confident as I sounded to him.
After he'd left, Ragnar stood at the monitors, looking at the world he'd promised to protect, and remembering. He knew better than to go to the receiving area, since M'gann would be arriving, and he had no wish to cause her any more pain. So he'd just stay here until it was safe to go, then return to the base at Mt. Justice.
M'gann. Almost his very first memory of Earth was of her; she was one of the first people he'd ever actually talked to, in his entire existence, the first one who'd even showed much interest in talking to him. When he was a yellow lantern, wielding the light of fear, he'd thought his purpose in life was to teach others to be afraid, so they'd be ready, so they wouldn't have to die, the way his parents had died. But since meeting her, and yes, the others as well, his horizons had grown somewhat.
Now there was so much more to be afraid of.
"Penny for 'em," said a familiar female voice. Arisia had come up beside him while he stood, unseeing. Yep, she thought, he was definitely taller now than before. Growth spurt, maybe?
"I don't think my thoughts are worth that, right now, Arisia." He leaned over the railing, pretending to examine the wall monitors, in reality seeing nothing but the look of horror on Megan's face.
When she'd seen him.
When she'd seen him.
"Ragnar. You know we'll find a way to beat this, don't you? You've too many people working on it for this to be anything other than temporary." The golden GL leaned over the railing herself, resisting the temptation to put an arm around him. "I don't care what it takes, whether it's Guardian superscience or Martian mysticism, we will find a way." Silence. "I know it's hard to see daylight from the bottom of a well, but that doesn't mean the daylight isn't there. Just that it's hard to see." More silence. "C'mon. It's lunchtime. Buy a girl lunch. Or let a girl buy you lunch, either one. Come on, now." And she put her arm through his, tugging him in the direction of the commissary. "We both gotta eat, even if we don't feel like it." And he let her lead him away.
Hidden in the lift doorway, on the other side of the room, Guy Gardner watched them go.
…..
It was nighttime, and again he walked the streets of the city.
He'd learned, long ago, to avoid certain areas, not out of fear, but simply due to a desire to be alone. Of course, that, with reservations, since, if he really wished to be alone, there were many places on the Earth where he could go to be completely away from any human being.
So it might be more accurate to say that he preferred to keep a certain distance between himself and the rest of mankind. He'd seen so much, over the course of centuries…
In appearance, he was of medium-tall height, with dark skin, thick black hair, and wearing what appeared to be a dark tan trenchcoat that had seen better days. He seemed to be wearing some oddly marked dark red and black gloves and boots, though a closer examination of either would have revealed something much more disturbing.
He heard the old woman's cry from just around the corner, and sighed to himself. Sometimes, humanity could be "a pain," as the current saying went.
It had been a very, very long time since he'd felt pain, as humans understood it. But some things you don't forget.
The muggers had already taken her purse, and the larger one was holding her up against a building. "C'mon, I know ya got more'n that. You ain't holdin' out on us, are ya?" And he shook the terrified woman.
He moved out of the shadows. "Leave her alone."
The gang members looked up in amusement. "Oh, we got us a hero, do we? Hey, boys, show 'em how we respect heroes down here." The others drew wickedly-sharp knives and converged on the dark-skinned man.
Who simply held up his arms. Suddenly, long, curved blades extended from the backs of his wrists. The gang-bangers fell back, fear on their faces. "You had your chance."
Faster than the human eye could follow, the dark-skinned man pirouetted through them like a ballet dancer, his blades slicing through their bodies like butter. In less than a heartbeat, the gang members had been reduced to steaming piles of bleeding, quivering flesh.
He looked at the woman, who was watching him with the same fear she'd felt for her attackers. "Go your way. Remember, this place is not safe." He held up his wrists, the blades retracting into his arms, snickting into place with a very slight metallic sound. "I will go now." And with that, he vanished as swiftly as if he'd become one with the night.
The Watchtower: Arisia had to practically insist that Ragnar get a tray of food. Watching him pick at it reminded her of not long ago, when she'd deliberately picked a fight with M'gann, to lift her spirits, when M'gann thought she'd driven Ragnar away permanently. "C'mon, at least pretend to eat."
"I'm sorry, Arisia. I just have no appetite."
She nodded. "Look, believe it or not, I understand. You feel like you've lost the world, don't you?" He nodded. He was just so very young, thought the twenty-something year old Green Lantern of Graxos IV. "But it's like I said: whatever's been done, can be undone. There's bound to be a way. And, and, in the meantime, there's one thing you can take comfort in." He looked up in surprise, and she nestled her chin on her interlaced fingers, looking at him across the table. "What Megan's feeling, this horror whenever she sees you, is artificial. It was imposed on her from outside. It's not the way she really feels. It's not a genuine feeling, is what I'm saying. And because of that, it's something she—and we-can fight.
"You know, I talked with Megan quite a bit before she left. She still loves you, wants to be with you. Once she works through this…"
"Arisia, I thank you for what you are trying to do, but what I'm hearing everybody being very careful not to actually say is, there may not be a 'cure' for this…condition."
"What you're hearing from me is, I don't believe that. There's bound to be a way. You know the Earth saying: it's always darkest before the dawn."
"I've never understood that."
Grin. "To be honest, neither have I. But still. You gotta think of the future. The immediate future, I mean. What will you do now?" Across the room, Arisia saw Hal and John enter with their trays. Hal gave her a look, an upraised eyebrow: join you?
She gave him the tiniest shake of her head. Not right now. This was too private, too intensely personal a conversation for more than just her and Ragnar.
He had paused, unaware of the interplay. "I am not really sure. I know the Team needs me, Nightwing has said, now more than ever. But I still…" He looked off, still seeing nothing but his lost love. "It will be…very painful."
"Well, you're not alone in this, remember. And not just the Team. There's me, Hal, John, Kilowog, hell, the Guardians themselves, not to mention pretty much everyone in the Justice League."
"I know, Arisia, and please don't think I'm not grateful. It's just…" he trailed off.
She reached over and rubbed his arm. "It's a bad time, Ragnar. I know that. But bad times don't last. You'll see." They both stood up to go, and impulsively, she hugged him. "Just…just hang in there, okay? And, and stay in touch. I mean, with me, personally. I want to know how you are, okay? That's what friends are for."
"Thank you, Arisia. I will do that." He turned and left, heading for the teleport chamber. By now, Miss Martian and her uncle would have come and gone, and he supposed he needed to report back in to Mt. Justice.
Oa: Ganthet and Llianna were communicating in the main meeting hall. None of the other Guardians were present; this suited them perfectly, as what they had to say was of a sort and nature as to not require immediate sharing with the group. No, not immediate at all. {{You have examined the alien, Berton?}}
{{I have. There is nothing physically wrong with him, and nothing of a psychological nature that we can detect. Were we limited to superficial senses, I would say he is faking, but deep scans indicate he is not.}}
{{What has happened to him?}}
Pause. Then she drew a deep, unnecessary breath. {{I do not know. Apparently, his mind suffered from some outside influence that…drove him into the condition he now is. The only matter of significance is that the pathology of whatever has afflicted him seemed to begin right around the time he removed the Gold Lantern's ring, and began to keep it for himself.}}
Ganthet frowned. {{So…what are you saying? The gold ring drove him insane?}}
{{Simply put, but essentially, yes, all evidence seems to indicate that that is exactly the case. This in marked contrast to other power rings.}} And this was true. Power rings could be stolen, taken by force, from their rightful owners, and even used, to some limited degree, by others of sufficient willpower. However, they generally had no overt effect on the minds of their unauthorized users. Apparently the gold ring was different.
But why?
…
Happy Harbor High: Ragnar was staring dejectedly at the contents of his locker, wondering if he could request one a bit farther away. Hers was just two lockers down.
"…heard about that stuck-up Morse girl? You heard she took 'extended absence,' right?"
"Yeah." There was a rather nasal laugh. "We know what that means!"
Ragnar looked up slightly, not wanting to be seen listening to the exchange. What did that mean? He knew nobody here could possibly know about Megan's true condition, any more than they could know her secret identity.
"She'll be back in about a year, probably telling us all about how beautiful France is, some cock and bull story."
"Wonder what she'll name the baby?"
Baby? Waaiiiiiit a minute…
Some deeply buried instinct warned him that it was probably not a good idea to remain here where their words could reach him. He closed his locker, taking care not to slam it, and did his best not to stalk off down the hallway.
Midnight: On a hillside not far outside of town, Sinestro sat, cross-legged, at the mouth of a cave, ironically the same one Ragnar had stopped at, briefly, when he first fell to Earth. He thought as he looked over the lights of the sleeping city.
Thaal Sinestro of Korugar both hated and loved puzzles. He hated not knowing the answers to problems, not knowing how to apply those answers to his own uses, but he grudgingly admitted that puzzles simply meant (usually) that opportunity existed, waiting to be seized.
Were it not for puzzles, the Guardians would have permanently exiled him from all the physical universe as they knew it. But they had not foreseen his journey to the antimatter universe of Qward, of his convincing the Weaponers to fashion him a power ring that used the yellow light, which, at that time, the green power rings were completely vulnerable to. Were it not for puzzles, for the unknown factors of the universe, he'd have been unable to create such rings for himself and his new Corps, by directly accessing the power of the emotional spectrum.
So puzzles, once solved, represented opportunity. He knew that. But he chafed at the slowness of the solving process.
"Master?" Lyssa Drak emerged from the darkness of the cave. Darkness was her natural home. Seen from a distance, or through obscuring agents, she could easily have appeared exotically beautiful, with her deep-blue skin, wavy shoulder-length midnight-black hair, and curvaceous feminine form, which she usually displayed to full effect. But a close-up look, especially of the lines and angles of her face, the coldness in her eyes, tended to cure anyone of any amorous notions. Sinestro, of course, was unaffected by her, either way. "You have been silent for some time. I sense a quandary, within you."
He raised his eyebrow at her, barely turning his head. "Do you?"
"It occurs to me that perhaps additional information may be needed in a case such as this." This was Drak's typically passive way of telling him he was in a deadlock. None of the Corps members dared hint that Sinestro might not know the answer to something, and Lyssa Drak had been with the Corps longer than most.
He thought. He knew Lyssa Drak almost better than she knew herself… "And I take it, you've a suggestion for remedying that?"
"We've already tapped into the computers of the Earth heroes, and learned nothing. Our means of acquiring information from the Guardians is, of course, limited. However, one notes that the young boy you interviewed earlier said something odd."
Sinestro rubbed his chin. "Yes, he did. The ring, the Gold ring, being the key to pain. And that it must not be removed from young Ragnar Rok's finger. I could sense," he narrowed his eyes, thinking, "I could sense he really knew no more beyond that, or I would have questioned him further."
"How did he come by this knowledge? Feeling? Intuition? Or…" She paused, significantly, for effect. "He is the only one who has gone mind-to-mind with the Gold Lantern and not had his brain negatively affected. It would seem that, if answers, at least answers available to us, are to be found, that is where they must be."
"Hm. Perhaps…" And Sinestro did what was, for him, a very odd thing: he actually took her advice, without even trying to keep to any pretense of previous or original knowledge. "You and Arkillo. Come with me." Soon, the trio found themselves, once again, in the sky over the house of Tommy Walker's new family.
Once again, as the other two kept guard, Sinestro soundlessly teleported into the boy's room. The child should be asleep, and in waking, would be all the more vulnerable to a few quick, carefully worded questions. And more easily terrified, if it should come to that.
But something was wrong. This room…the bed was made, and the objects in it…many were not there. Thaal Sinestro had a very good eye for detail, and he noted a fine patina of dust over the dresser and the furniture, such as might collect over a period of months. There were even a few cobwebs in one corner. Cobwebs with dried insect hulls in them.
On the drawer were some small framed pictures. He picked one up, blowing off the dust, frowning at it. It showed a man and a woman, Tommy's parents, presumably, before the Blackest Night incident took them from him. They were huddled in the center of the picture, half kneeling down, smiling at whoever was holding the camera, and the man had his arm around the woman, who also was laughing. It seemed to be at some Earthly amusement park.
But both their arms were draped around a vaguely child-sized emptiness, as though they were only pretending. But there was no sign of pretense in their faces or body language. There was no one else in the picture, save for some humans walking in the background.
Thaal Sinestro, the undisputed intergalactic master of fear, could not help but feel a tingle run up the back of his spine.
Wenesday: Dick Grayson put his head in his hands and groaned. As the only locatable representative of the Wayne Foundation, "Ragin Ramanujin's" sponsor here in the US, the school notice had come to him. "Three days suspension, Ragnar? For fighting? Wanna tell me how that happened?"
"Certainly." The Gold Lantern sat across the desk from him, in uniform, one leg casually crossed over the other. "I was walking down the hallway during class changes, when I overheard some boys saying something about Megan. I would really rather not go into detail. I turned to leave the vicinity, but then one of them saw me, said something about me being something to her—frankly, it was a word I don't understand-, and asked me a question about her. Again, I'd really rather not go into detail, but, to put it as delicately as possible, the overall gist of it was-*"
"Never mind, I can guess." Hell is high school.
"I know I am still an alien here on your world, but there still seemed to me to be only one appropriate response."
Dick sighed, looking over the reports. Several lockers had been damaged, the doors smashed inwards, and two of the boys had required medical attention. Actually, I probably would've done the same thing. Maybe even a little less restrained. Aloud, "Well, I'll…deal with this." The damage had been significant. Was Ragnar stronger now than he had been? When they'd first encountered him, he'd really not been that much stronger than an average, well-muscled human of similar age, height and build. Of course, he had been training with the rest of the Team, but…Nightwing made a mental note to come up with some way of measuring his strength. After all, he did have some of the same genes as Doomsday… "I hope you didn't use your ring."
"Of course not. I do have some sense, Nightwing." Hm. Ragnar had given a good account of himself back at Bertron's fortress, apparently standing up to Bertron's security drones even without the aid of his ring. Yes, it seemed like he might be changing…
"Well, anyway. I've got a mission for you, and now that you're…free from your academic schedule for a few days, it fits you perfectly. There's been a series of deaths on the south side of town, evidently by a metahuman. The only eye witnesses give contradictory reports. I want you to check into it. Go by police headquarters and see if your ring can tell you anything about the victims…beyond what we already know, I mean. Take Conner with you."
….
"Superboy! Glad you could make it." Lieutenant O'Neal greeted them at the door. "Don't really know what we've got here, but it looks to be something right up your alley. Who's this?" He pointed to Ragnar.
"Lieutenant, this is one of our newest members, Ragnar Rok. He's a Gold Lantern. You know, like a Green Lantern, only...Gold."
"Gold Lantern." O'Neal looked Ragnar over. "For a minute there, I thought you were one 'a those yellow lanterns, what do they call em? Sinister Corps? Or something like that."
"Sinestro Corps. And no, sir, I am not a Sinestro Corps member. Not any more." Ragnar saw the lieutenant's quizzical look. "It's a long story."
O'Neal shrugged. He didn't really know that much about the various corps, or what they did. "Well, I don't care if you're Polka Dot Corps, as long as you're on our side. Anyway, let me show you what we've got."
He showed Superboy and Ragnar into the morgue, down in the precinct house's basement. The two heroes studied the fragments of the bodies before them. "And we can't even figure out what kinda weapon did this. Look at these cuts. A laser wouldn't cut that smooth and sharp. Besides, a laser would leave burn marks, an' there ain't none."
Superboy walked around the gurneys the ME had pulled out of the wall. The pieces of the bodies of the gang-bangers had been arranged in as close to natural order as was possible; some had to be propped, or otherwise held together, however.
The cuts themselves were very fine, and showed the use of some instrument completely unknown to either of them, far sharper than anything either of them were familiar with. "Ragnar? Can your ring sense anything unusual?"
Ragnar passed his ring hand over the corpses, frowning as he registered the information it fed him. "Nothing all that unusual, Superboy…but you might not want to get too close."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"I'm sensing a very small trace of kryptonite." Superboy looked up, alarmed; no one who'd ever felt the effects of the deadly cosmic substance could ever take the notion of being in the vicinity of kryptonite lightly. "Are you sure?"
Ragnar nodded. "It's very small, but it's there. I suppose it could be naturally occurring, in that small an amount…"
"One way to find out." At Superboy's request, the ME's assistant opened up another vault, rolling out another body. "Scan this one."
Again Ragnar passed his hand over the shrouded form. He shook his head. "I'm not picking up anything. Perhaps this body is too old?"
"Here; try this one." The assistant pulled out another gurney. "This one just came in. MVA."
Ragnar scanned the body. "No. I am sensing no trace of kryptonite in either of these. But these…" he indicated the bodies of the gang members, "there is a small trace. But that is the only true anomaly I can sense."
"No way that ring of yours could tell us what could have made these cuts?"
Ragnar thought. "No, lieutenant, not really. The ring has some computing ability, but it doesn't actually have any real intelligence, or deductive or reasoning powers. But I can think of one possibility."
"Yes?"
"This is only a thought, you understand, but if these people were subjected to a field of spatial displacement, it might produce a similar result."
"Spatial displacement?"
"In other words, if their bodies had been subjected to some form of teleportation effect. But it would have to be weaponized, producing a razor-thin cutting beam, rather than a beam of actual transportation. A slicing beam, in other words. However…I am not sure I believe that." He frowned, and passed his ring over the bodies again. "No, I'm sensing what Nightwing tells me are called draw marks."
"Draw marks?"
"When a sharp object is drawn through a medium. In this case, human flesh."
"Hm." He'd been paying attention to Nightwing's lessons, and it showed. "But…you're saying the killer, then, used some kind of kryptonite weapon?"
"The amount I'm sensing isn't nearly enough for a weapon or device of any kind. If it was, you'd probably be affected. Although I don't have that much experience with this sort of thing, I would think it more likely the killer was exposed to kryptonite at some point. What we are seeing is more likely secondary or even tertiary exposure."
"Great," said Superboy, frowning. "But this may actually help us. There aren't that many people who have access to kryptonite, in any form, to any degree, especially with the Justice League rounding it up and getting rid of it over the years. I'll check with Nightwing, but I doubt anybody outside of a very few people could get any of the stuff. So that ought to narrow it down some.
"But these cuts…wish I'd brought a camera. I'd like to get Batgirl's opinion on them."
"I can use my ring to take photographs and deep scan three dimensional holographs, if you like."
"You can? Good, yeah, do that. That's a handy gizmo you've got there. Er, no pun intended." He was thinking of what Batgirl and Wonder Girl had told them about, about the mysterious being they'd run across in the American Civil War, and how the bodies had been in fragments. Fragments like these?
And Nightwing had said something about some unknown sword or blade wielding entity, and who'd appeared in ancient records. Coincidence?
Somehow, he didn't think so.
To be continued…