Young Justice / Green Lantern Corps: The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 7

Pain

I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps

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Back at Mt. Justice, Ragnar suddenly jerked awake from a deep slumber, his hand going automatically to his head. What? What had…?

Oh. Yes. His dream. His usual dream. Absently he rubbed the back of his hand, feeling a subtle itch there.

It was the same as before. Death, destruction, fire…everywhere, as far as the eye could see. Nowhere, even with the senses his ring afforded him, could he sense any life, not even any microbial life. What could possibly produce that effect?

And, over and above it all, a golden clad figure laughing madly.

Who are you? –he'd wanted to scream, but he already knew the answer.

He sat up, rubbing his forehead, got up and went into the bathroom. Turned the shower on full force, and stepped into the water stream. Leaned against the wall underneath the shower nozzle.

These dreams had been coming on more and more frequently. He'd told Batgirl—Barbara Gordon—about them, and of course, Nightwing, but so far, the others didn't know anything was really wrong, though a couple of them, he suspected, were under the illusion that he was suffering from sleep disturbances.

Well. He was, sort of.

He hadn't even told Doomsday about it, and he'd found himself confiding in the monster more and more. They had a lot in common, and not just genetically. Both had spent the vast majority of their lives without any parental figure, though Doomsday did have memories of his "mother," the alien genius Bertran, who had apparently been the victim of a raid by space pirates. Ragnar was glad his alien "brother" at least had that. What few memories he had of his parents were either of the recorded files they'd uncovered back on his ship, or of the Black Lanterns pretending to be them.

He could do quite well without those last memories, thank you.

Lost in his own thoughts, he leaned against the force of the shower. Was it just his imagination, or did he seem….bigger…now than before? Not that any of that really mat-*

And suddenly, a pair of slim, green feminine arms encircled him from behind. He could feel a soft, warm female form pressed up against him from behind, feel a most welcome sensation of a head resting on his back. He could feel someone's wet hair tickling his spine, her breath against his back….

"No," he groaned. "You…you cannot be here. This…this is a dream. I'm not awake yet, not fully awake, that's all. You…you cannot be real." He fought the urge to turn around, to lose himself in the moment. Oh, how he longed to. How he so very much longed to.

Whoever, whatever it was behind him made no reply, but only pressed in closer, her hands moving down his body. He closed his eyes, more in a refusal to accept what was happening that a desire not to see. He gritted his teeth in determination. "Go away," he whispered. It was the hardest thing he'd ever had to do in his entire life.

Was that the softest hint of a sigh from behind him? Was it even a sound at all, or just an echo of the water falling around him? He didn't know. But the illusion faded away, leaving him standing in the shower, alone. More alone than he'd ever been.

He fell to his knees there in the tub, the tears springing out automatically, washing down the drain along with the shower water. Wasn't it enough that he'd lost her, that he'd lost every reason he'd ever had to live in the first place? Did his mind have to torment him with images of her, too?

Completely unnoticed, the small bony spurs protruding from the backs of his knuckles disappeared, retracting back underneath his blue skin…

The enigmatic Mr. Smith's plan was simple, Sinestro thought. So simple it had been attempted numerous times, across the stars. With varying degrees of success.

A previously uncharted asteroid was on a collision course for Earth. Normally, Earth's defenders, the Justice League and/or the Green Lantern Corps would, of course, intercept and either divert or destroy the asteroid outright. But this time, they were not to know about its approach. Sinestro's Corps had been tasked with the job of concealing it from the League's detection systems. This was no small feat, in itself.

But it was not the intention to simply let the asteroid impact Earth. No, that would have destroyed the world, and to no benefit to anyone. No, the Corps was to keep its existence a secret until it was basically too late to stop, at least, with no harm to the planet below, at which point, the illusion would be dropped, and all would see death coming from the sky.

"But Master," began Arkillo, "I do not understand how this will benefit the Corps! What purpose will it serve? It is true it will produce great fear, but to what end?"

Sinestro considered. There might be a tactical advantage to allowing Arkillo in on his though processes. To a degree. "It is really very simple. When the people of Earth see the asteroid approaching, they will naturally look to their 'saviors,' the Justice League, to once again rescue them from certain peril. But we are to see to it that the Justice League has…other problems, complications, shall we say, that will…negatively affect their ability to ride to the rescue. And so, the people of Earth will need new saviors." He turned to his compatriots. "Us. When the Justice League is shown to be unable to protect them, they will have no place else to turn. They will accept our rulership gladly."

Lyssa Drak was thoughtful. "Er. Master? It…it seems…wanting, somehow. May I speak freely?"

Sinestro smiled. Now was the time when they'd have questions, and he, of course, had answers. Sort of. "Of course."

She turned to face him fully, drifting there in space, her ink-black hair floating weightlessly in space behind her. "It seems…too simple, somehow. There are too many factors not under our control. And how does this profit this human Smith?"

Sinestro considered, stroking his chin, his eyes on the distant planet. "You are correct, Lyssa Drak. It is too simple. That is one reason I agreed to it. Simple plans can be easily redirected to suit one's own ends.

"As for how it benefits our 'ally,' he clearly intends to reap the benefits of the empowerment of fear, combined with his new association with our Corps. Our victory will be his. He will, in short, be the Sinestro Corps representative for sector 2814, and therefore rule by proxy.

"At least, that's what he thinks."

…

Stacey McAllister was closing up shop for what she was at least felt like the millionth time, when something made her turn around. All around her, the mall shops were closing, the kiosks already closed, merchandise moved out, and cabinets locked, security systems activated. Usually, the mall wasn't that crowded this late at night, except for those attending movies, or the late night dinner crowd.

But something told her she was being watched, something ancient. With a tingling sensation on the back of her neck, she carefully turned around…

Standing across the mall was a young boy, with sandy-blond hair, wearing a plain pullover shirt and jeans. Staring right at her. He looked to be about nine or so.

What was the kid doing here, this late? There were no adults near him, nor was he close by any shops where they might have ducked into. And it was a little unnerving to see how he just stared at her, unblinking. Who could he be?

Well, no matter. She'd continue locking up, then see if she could find his parents. Barring that, all she knew to do was take him to the local police station, see if anyone had turned in a report…and she'd heard nothing about an Amber alert…

But when she turned back, the strange boy was gone. As if he'd never been.

…..

"A-hem." Nightwing looked up. Cassie Sandsmark, aka Wonder Girl, was standing at over his desk, arms folded across her chest, and a distinct frown on her lovely face. "Yes, Cassie? Something I can do for you?"

"Not for me. Ragnar. Or do you mean to seriously tell me, you haven't noticed anything…unusual about him lately?"

Nightwing rubbed his eyes. "Well, he's been training a lot. But that's to be expected. And, I suppose the extra training helps keep his mind of M'gann." He shrugged. "He's got some things to work through. Why?"

"'Got some things to work through'? Dick, are you serious?"

He was completely puzzled. What could she mean? "Well, I mean, yes. I know he's going through a lot right now-*"

"That's an understatement!"

"—But that's to be expected. I've been in touch with J'onn, and he seems to think it's only a matter of time until M'gann gets a handle on this implanted meme. And you know M'gann; she's no lightweight when it comes to mental power. Plus there's the Martian mystics to help her…in the meantime, the only thing we can do is try to keep him busy."

She leaned forward, placing her hands on his desk, fingers pointing in opposite directions, her blond hair falling around her face. "I can't believe the human race made it as far as it did, if this is an example of how you men look at problems like these."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the guy basically falling apart right in front of your eyes! He's up all hours, training, he hardly ever communicates with anyone, he's not eating properly—hell, he's not eating at all. The last time I saw him actually take a bite of anything was when he shook the last of a bag of chips into his mouth. Wally had gotten to 'em first, so he didn't get much, but haven't you noticed he doesn't even take any food to his room? Like, ever?"

Nightwing leaned back in his seat and looked up at her. Yes, he'd noticed these things, but…."Cassie, maybe it'd make things easier if you just came out and told me exactly what you expect me to do about it. We know he's suffering. We know he misses M'gann. So do we all, but especially him. Okay, no argument there. But," and here he spread his hands, "there's only so much we can actually do. I can't wave a magic nun-chuck or something and suddenly make M'gann all better. I wish I could. I would've done that a long time ago. So, tell me, what do you suggest I do?"

"Well, for starters-*" But she was interrupted by an urgent signal from the Watchtower. "Excuse me, Wonder Girl, but I have to take this."

"Alright. But we are not finished." She turned and left.

…..

Cassie Sandsmark went from Nightwing's desk straight to the small kitchenette. She was surprised to see Ragnar there, in full uniform, preparing a sandwich. Well. That was good news. Maybe…maybe…

"Hey, Ray," she greeted him, using the nickname they'd come to call him by. "Been a while."

"Yes." This was spoken in a monotone, as though his mind were completely elsewhere.

That's because it is, Wonder Girl reminded herself. She glanced at the sandwich he was making. "Bologna?"

"I believe that is what it is called." When he'd first come to Earth, he'd had a hard time with some foods humans took for granted. Aqualad, who'd checked him out medically, had said something about differing taste buds, differing chemical receptors…but just some ideas took some getting used to. Like why would anyone eat something called "liver worst" anyway? Or name a food that, to begin with?

Fortunately, the origins of most food names were sufficiently obscure so as not to cause him any undue alarm.

Shrug. "Some people like it." Get him to talking. Say something, say anything. Every single one of them had already told the Gold Lantern that, anytime he felt like talking, they were more than willing to listen. But he had not availed himself of that opportunity, not even with Doomsday.

Growing up like he had, in such complete isolation, he'd never learned how to depend on others, or even that he could. Cassie could barely grasp such an upbringing, if you wanted to call it that. Did he even know how to talk to others?

She came up alongside him, as he spread the sandwich spread over the meat, and placed a hand on his shoulder pads. Odd; she'd never actually touched him before, but she hadn't realized he was this solid. Those pads didn't look to be all that thick, but evidently they were. And it might've been just her imagination, but it seemed like he stiffened, slightly, beneath her touch. "Look, Ray. I can tell you're hurting. But it's going to get better." She knew she was saying more than she should, but she could only imagine how she might feel in a case like this. Even if M'gann did succeed in breaking whatever technological spell Bertron had placed on her, there was no guarantee they'd ever be able to go back to being a couple again. Many burgeoning relationships had been nuked by far less.

Or, she reminded herself, this might be just the thing they both needed. She'd always had a sneaking suspicion that M'gann was maybe just a little too careful in her relationships, stemming, no doubt, from the simple fact that things seldom worked out like an American sitcom.

"I appreciate what you are trying to do, Cassandra." That was pretty much what he'd told them all, every time any of them had tried to console him. She'd been prepared to jump all over Nightwing for not doing something about Ragnar's condition, but, truth was, she wasn't altogether too sure, herself.

"Well, I-*" Just then, Nightwing signaled the entire Team. "Everybody, report to the briefing room, STAT."

….

"Alright, here's what we have. J'onn just sent me a file on ten corpses the police found over by the tracks. No ID on them, but seven of them were known runaways, on a couple of lists. The rest we aren't sure about, but they fit the same pattern: young people, good homes, family problems, you know.

"As to what killed them…we don't have that much information. However, there's indication that they were given some sort of chemical treatment that spiked their limbic system fantastically. Post-mortems indicated major stress, enormously increased blood pressure, and a number of chemical markers consistent with fear. In short, they basically died of fright.

"But we don't know why. That's our job. Three of them, as you'll see in the files I've given you, have some connection with something called the Church Of New Enlightenment, a cult that's developed a following among disaffected young people."

"You think this cult could've killed them?" Batgirl was thoughtful. It certainly wouldn't be the first time….

"I think there's a high probability. This wasn't a small-caliber operation. The procedure necessary to so explode their nervous systems wouldn't be one the average street thug would have access to. And there's some evidence this Church has some serious financial backing.

"But what got the League's attention was, that Hal Jordan has been apprised of Sinestro Corps activity in this area. And, as you know, those guys are fueled by fear. So there could easily be a connection."

"Could the yellow lanterns be responsible?"

Nightwing shook his head. "Unlikely. The members of Sinestro's corps don't rely on chemical means to produce fear; they don't have to. Most of them don't even need their rings. They were chosen because they were already really good at making others afraid of them."

"Even as I was, I suppose." Ragnar's voice was low, but it carried.

"That brings me to my next point. Ragnar, you've been a yellow lantern. Can you see a connection here?"

"Only the obvious one. Someone used the fear of these murdered young people to send some sort of signal to these corps members. Possibly to get their attention." He shrugged. "It…would make a certain kind of sense. Yellow rings are extremely sensitive to fear, as you know. Only a natural empath would be equivalently affected."

"That's exactly the conclusion I came to. Which means that someone tried—we have to presume, successfully—to signal, to communicate with the Sinestro Corps members in this area. The question remains: why?"

Superboy spoke up. "Sinestro's a conqueror, pure and simple. And he's cunning. If he's here, it's a safe bet he's looking for weak spots, something he can exploit."

"Again, the exact conclusion I was driven to. So here's our task: we are to infiltrate this 'Church of New Enlightenment,' and find out more about it. I doubt we'll find enough to result in any legal action, but perhaps we can uncover a connection between them and Sinestro.

"For make no mistake: it's Sinestro himself we're dealing with. His underlings don't even go to the restroom without his say-so. If they're active in this solar system, he's either here, in person, himself, or he's orchestrating the whole puppet show from a distance.

"Find the connection, and we'll find him."

…..

Rose had just gotten to sleep when her communicator went off. Grumbling, she picked it up. Nightwing? Calling at this hour? "Yeah, 'Wing?"

"Rose, are you still up for helping us out?"

"Helping you out? Don't tell me you're short-handed."

"We are. If you're still game, we could use you. I can't tell you what's been going on over this line, but if you'll report in-*"

"Whoa. Wait. 'Report in'? The last time I 'reported in', that blond bitch backhanded me across the room."

"A misunderstanding. But you'll be well compensated for your time and trouble, of course. But we need your skills, particularly your intelligence and undercover recon skills. Again, I'll have to tell you why when you get here-*"

"Seem pretty sure of yourself. 'When I get there.' Not 'if.'"

"C'mon, Rose. I know we've had our differences in the past, but we really do need you."

Rose Wilson hesitated. Her last time with the Team hadn't been a day at the beach, but she had told Nightwing to let her know if they needed her. And the 'Con was over, so there'd be no conflict there…. "What the hell. I'm in. When do you need me?"

…

"Wait. So…you're telling me somebody messed with Little Miss—uh, I mean, M'gann's mind?" Rose Wilson was about as tough as they came, but she had had her own experiences with psychological manipulation, and she wouldn't wish that on anybody.

"Yes. So now, whenever she sees Ragnar—whom I'll introduce you to, shortly—she feels an overpowering sense of horror. It's a conditioned response, an implanted meme, we think. But…well, I don't think I have to tell you how it's affected their relationship."

"God. I can only imagine." Two high school kids…was nothing sacred, anymore?

"Oh, and Rose, this is Ragnar Rok, our newest member. He's a Gold Lantern." Nightwing gestured to Ragnar, who'd come up silently.

Rose looked him over. Big guy, pretty powerfully muscled looking. The gold uniform, which she knew to be a product of his ring, contrasted sharply with his sky-blue skin and thick black hair. Hm. I can see why M'gann would be attracted. "I'm Rose Wilson. I go by Ravager. Nightwing, here, has been telling me about your recent…er, troubles."

"Yes. That is certainly a good way of putting it." And Rose Wilson recognized something that even Dick hadn't, not yet: this guy was a time bomb. He was keeping his emotions in, not letting them even be seen on the surface…she could almost feel the pressure building.

Change the subject. "So. Gold Lantern, is it? I've never heard of one."

"I appear to be the only one, at least thus far."

"Okay," Dick said, drawing their attention away from each other, "I'll fill in the others on the plan shortly, but right now, I need you two to come with me." He led them to one of the underground meeting rooms. Rose looked about for Doomsday. Last she'd heard, he was still here. Another individual she had problems with.

Correction: another individual who had problems with her.

Nightwing led them to a table with two dossiers lying on it. "Here's the plan. I need you two to go undercover and infiltrate this 'Church of New Enlightenment.' See what you can learn about it, what its aims and goals are, everything you can find out. In particular, I need you to be on the lookout for any connection to the Sinestro Corps, or, for that matter, any off-world agency of any kind. We had a rash of kidnappings a while back; that seems to've slacked off, but there could, conceivably, be a connection. Rose, I know you're a master of disguise. Ray, you can use your ring to change your appearance, right? Good. So…open these files, and let's get busy."

The files were sketchy at best. Evidently, the Church of New Enlightenment had started back during the "Y2K" scare a few years ago, announcing an end to the world, and admonishing everyone to prepare themselves for the End Times. They were peculiar for their odd lack of reliance on faith so much as espousing fear as a means of preparing oneself for the worst. Ragnar found this to be a disturbingly familiar chain of thought.
"So this Smith guy…he's like, the pastor? Priest?"

"Uncertain as to what his actual rank is called. He refers to himself as 'Brother Smith,' and his followers, those in the hierarchy refer to themselves as 'Brother—or Sister-This or That.' But none of them have any standing with any organized religion. No ties to any Christian denomination, Muslim, Judaic, Buddhist…nothing. No affiliation with any of them. There's not even any affiliation with any of the right-wing extremist or survivalist factions that were so popular back during the Y2K thing. It appears to be a complete stand-alone organization. Because it's incorporated as a church, the amount of actual information available isn't as much as it might would normally be. But one thing I can tell you: it definitely has some serious funding. I've been trying to follow the money trail, but whoever's responsible is very good at hiding themselves."

"Alright." Rose looked over the skimpy reports. "So…just how do we go about infiltrating this thing?"

"Leave that to me. Here's where you two need to be in a certain place at a certain time, in disguise. I'll spread word that two young runaways have come to town, brother and sister, seeking 'enlightenment.'" He gave them some papers, false IDs, and maps. "You'll be staying at this seedy downtown hotel, on the run from the law. I put your age, Rose, as sixteen. Evidently, that's the age this group seeks to recruit."

"Good." Rose nodded in approval. It wasn't that much removed from her actual age, anyway. And Ragnar, she guessed, wouldn't even need that…. "So…you want us staying at this cheap dive?"

"Yes. You are, of course, strapped for cash, so one room. And, of course-*"

"Wait. One room?"

Nightwing hesitated, then led her over by one corner of the room, while Ragnar kept studying his dossier. "Trust me, Rose. It won't be an issue."

….

He hit the nail on the head there, thought Rose Wilson, now going by the name of Kimberly DeMato. She and Ragnar had checked into the motel Nightwing had reserved for them yesterday with little more than the clothes on their backs, a condition consistent with the cover story of being two runaways from a wealthy family, trying to "find themselves" here in California. At first, Rose had been a bit uncertain about sharing a room with a guy she didn't even know, but Ragnar had displayed a complete lack of interest in her, aside from that which was purely work related. He has it bad for M'gann, thought Rose. Even though she didn't like the Martian girl, she could sympathize with what she was going through. To have your brain hijacked like that…

There was only one bed in the room, but Ragnar had already taken the couch, without comment. It barely fit him. Right now, he was hanging up some of his Earth clothes on the hotel's hanger. Neither of them had, of course, brought any of the dossier materials with them; the risk of being found having such was too great for a mission this deep-cover.

Rose sat by the vanity, checking her appearance in the mirror. She'd dyed her hair to a kind of stringy brown, arrayed into dreads. Her false eye, the bionic eye she used for operations like these, was working perfectly. When she'd first put it in, Ragnar had watched, fascinated. She waited for him to ask her how she'd lost her eye, but he never did. Maybe he just didn't care? Not that it mattered to her.

"So, Ray," she said, going over her appearance in the mirror, "Care to tell me a little bit about yourself? No big if you don't want to, and I understand about, uh, you know. Things. But we do need to know a little about each other, if we're to work together."

He sighed and sat down on the couch. The room's TV didn't work; a condition that displeased neither of them. "I grew up on a deserted planet, in a crashed starship. My parents died when I was a baby, and the ship's computer basically raised me." He proceeded to give her a thumbnail version of his life up until the time when he was cornered by the predators. "And then, a yellow power ring quite literally fell out of the sky to me. It saved my life. I then thought my mission in life was to teach others to use fear to protect themselves, but…I became dissatisfied with that mode of thought. I suppose you might say I got lonely. Lonely for the company of others like me, others with whom I could communicate. My wanderings led me here, and it was here that my power ring…changed, in a way nobody seems to understand. It's no longer a yellow power ring, but a gold one, and functions differently. And so far, nobody knows anything more about it."

"A gold power ring? Huh. That's…different. Can I see?" She came over and sat by him on the couch as he showed her the ring. "Huh. You're right; I've never seen that symbol before. And it just changed, like that? No warning, no nothing?"

"None. The only clue we have is this mysterious entity, Sarah Marshall, who appears to be some sort of cosmic being. But even she's never actually said she changed my ring. She only drew my attention to it, and taught me the correct oath."

Rose sat and thought. "So you lived all by yourself for so long…then you came here. And, and met M'gann?"

"Yes." She could sense him "closing off," emotionally. Okay, sensitive subject. None of her business. "So you've actually been a yellow lantern? That might give us an advantage, if yellow lanterns are involved. How do they think? What do they seek?"

"I was never actually in the Sinestro Corps, you understand. But from what I was able to glean, they seek to rule the universe by fear. Fear of the consequences of opposing them, primarily."

She drew her legs up underneath her. "Yeah, that seems to be their MO." They were silent for a while. "Well, you've been pretty open with me. Guess it's my turn."

"Only if you wish it to be, Rose Wilson. Nightwing briefed me on your father, the supersoldier serum, and…some of your troubles with him. You do not have to tell me anything you don't want to."

Silence. "You still confided in me. And I could tell it wasn't easy for you, Ragnar. So…I will tell you one thing: I kinda envy the way you grew up. At least…at least you weren't made all crazy. I gouged out my own eye." She dropped her head. Now why had she said that? It wasn't work-related.

But he was looking at her steadily. She noticed he had very dark eyes, even with his ring camouflaging him as a nondescript Caucasian male. Very dark, indeed. "Pain encircles you."

Pain? Well, yeah, she guessed it did, but everybody had things they wished they could forget….but that was still a kind of an odd thing to say.

He brought up his right hand, moving up towards her head, slowly, never taking his eyes off her. Something about his gaze seem to almost hypnotize her…

He placed his hand on her head. She was about to protest the unwanted contact when something like a jolt of electricity went through her. She saw her mother raising her as best as she could, her father, Deathstroke the Terminator, trying to mold her into his image, the constant training…and above all, the feeling that she'd never be good enough, somehow…

And, just like that, it all went away. It didn't just disappear, as if it had never been. She could still remember the horrible times, the horrible things she'd done…but it was different, somehow. The memories were still there, but the pain was gone.

And…and there was something else. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, there was another presence, a presence that stood with her, between her and the pain…and would always do so.

He took his hand away, and just like that, the contact was broken. She leaped up from the couch. "What did you just do?" she hissed, halfway in combat stance.

He looked up at her from the couch, honest bewilderment on his face. "I…I don't know."

To be continued….