The Gold Corps: Shattered, Chapter 15: First Battle

….

I don't own Young Justice or the Green Lantern Corps. Would be fun if I did, though.

…

Chapter 15: First Battle

Rose had discarded her disguise, as had Ragnar. Quietly, they moved down the darkened hallway; it was after hours, and everybody was supposed to be in bed. The occasional night guard would pass through, but they had timed his movements so as to avoid him.

Rose had determined that one particular room had to have whatever they were looking for. It was never opened, never used, in the experience of any of the staff they'd talked to. As far as anyone knew, it was empty. Rose didn't think so. It was home to something.

She had to find the area where the drugs were stored that had been used on the kids who'd been killed. That was the only realistic scenario. They'd already searched the dispensary, and determined that there was nothing of interest there. So they had to be kept somewhere mega-deep undercover.

They came to the corner that led to the room they sought. Backs against the wall, Rose whispered, "See that guard?" For there was a staff member positioned at a desk just outside the forbidden room.

"Of course I see him. I'm not blind."

"Shuddup. You distract-*"

"There you are!" Brother Smith was just coming around the corner. "I'd wondered where you two had gotten off to!" He rubbed his hands briskly, gazing at the surprised duo. "Going to make your big break for it? Well, you picked an excellent time for it. A teammate of yours is in considerable danger, and maybe setting off this powder keg will be enough to jar him loose out of the trap he's fallen into."

Rose was surprised enough that she forgot what she was about to do. "What're you-*"

"Before we continue." And Brother Smith nodded at the hallway attendant, who rose, without a word, and moved off down the hallway. His eyes seemed somewhat glassy to Rose, and he moved like a sleepwalker. "There. Gets the flotsam out of the way. Now. Before things start getting intense, I believe you were wanting to take a look at this room?" And he gestured toward the very room they had been about to invade.

…..

"So you're saying," stalled Red Arrow, "That this Brother Smith is actually a, a psychic virus?"

"Perhaps 'organism' would be a better term. I have been tracking him across the millennia."

"Millennia? You don't look that old…"

"Quit stalling. You've seen my body is quite malleable; what should I look like? There are mountain ranges younger than I am. Now. Are you going to tell me what I wish to know, or do I have to dig it out of your wetware?"

Roy Harper deliberated. Then, "I think I can safely say we're after the same guy. My…group…feels he has some connection with the Sinestro Corps."

"The yellow ring wielder? Yes, I surmised as much. Though I cannot fathom what they would get out of any such arrangement."

"World domination? That's usually their MO."

"Maybe. But they don't know what they're really dealing with. All right," abruptly he stood up. "You've given me all I really need to know, at least for now. I'll leave you here, while I go…" he smiled slowly, "…settle some accounts. Your own people will be along shortly to free you."

"Let me help."

"You're of your league. The creature would eat your mind right out from inside your skull."

"I've got friends here. I need to warn them."

"If I succeed, there'll be no need to warn them. If I'm not, there'll be no point."

"Where's the tactical advantage in refusing additional firepower?"

"When the additional firepower would only get in the way." He narrowed his eyes. "But something tells me you'd have no trouble getting out of those bonds, were I not around to keep an eye on you. I'd rather have you go before me, than behind me, so…" A black blade snapped out from the dark warrior's hand, shearing through Roy's bonds like a razor. "But we'll do this my way, or I'll just knock you out again."

You mean you'll try, thought Roy, careful not to show it in his face.

"I mean I would," replied the dark warrior.

….

"By all means, enter freely. This is where I keep some of my personal mementos."

"It's a trap," hissed Rose at Ragnar. She kept her swords at the ready, but things sure weren't going as planned.

"No," said he, scanning the room beyond the doorway Brother Smith had just opened for them. "It's a pile of junk."

Brother Smith actually had the nerve to pout. "It's not junk. All of these things are items I've collected over the years. See?" He picked up an ancient seeming rusted metal idol. "This one's a bank. You put the money in here, and there's a plate on the bottom….and take a look here." He gestured towards some porcelain plates. "Genuine Blue Willow plates. Worth quite a bit of money on today's market, if I was interested in such things…."

"Okay, hold it!" Rose was determined to bring back some semblance of control to this crazy scenario. Ragnar was actually beginning to enjoy himself, albeit cautiously. It was rather amusing to see the normally unflappable Rose Wilson, the Bane Of His Life, so discomfited. "If, if you're determined to be so, so open and above-board about this, what about those dead kids?"

"They were volunteers. Oh, yes. They believed in my cause enough to sacrifice themselves in order to attract the attention of the one you call Sinestro, so that I could have this." And he held up his hand, showing off the yellow ring. "It seemed like it might come in handy. After all, my goals haven't changed; society as you know it has an expiration date. Perhaps I can do something about salvaging some remnant of civilization from that apocalypse." He turned to Rose, suddenly, and she drew back slightly. He hadn't made any threatening moves, so her combat reflexes actually hadn't come into play, but she was clearly feeling attacked on one level or another. "Why didn't the two of you mate? I gave you every chance. And believe me, medical care would have been no problem. I can't speak for you, young, er, whatever you are," he said, indicating Ragnar, "but you," turning back to Rose, "whoever you are, would produce some excellent children for the benefit of the species. Why, the two of you could easily rise to positions of considerable importance, solely on your bloodline alone. It's happened before. So I'm curious: why didn't you two mate?"

Rose sputtered. Of all the ways she thought this night would go, this was definitely not one of them.

"Well, here he comes. We'll have to continue this discussion at some other time." And Brother Smith gestured….

The pair found themselves blown back into the hallway they'd just exited, the shockwave catching them both by surprise. Ragnar raised a shield with his ring, at the same time interposing himself between Brother Smith and the fallen Rose, who was struggling to rise to her feet, her hand to her head, shaking off the stun effect of the shockwave.

At that exact moment, one of Red Arrow's tear gas arrows landed at Brother Smith's feet, exploding in a cloud of noxious gas. "Oh, please," mumbled Smith, "that old trope." The gas didn't seem to affect him at all.

A figure that had been just behind the origin of the arrow now leaped forward, dark blades already extending from his arms. With a movement almost too fast to see, he swiped at Brother Smith.

Or, rather, the place where Brother Smith used to be. The portly figure moved with the speed of lightning, zipping effortlessly down the hallway, past the "secret" room. "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't destroy my treasures."

The dark warrior followed, pirouetting, like a living dervish, arm blades sizzling through the still air. For every move he made, however, Brother Smith countered it, either moving aside with a graceful ease, sometimes using the yellow ring to throw up a shield. The dark warrior's blades appeared able to slice through the yellow energy, but not without some evident effort, and this slowed him down. Still he did not let up, but continued a barrage of sword-blows and swipes, one right after the other, forcing his opponent back, ever back. Brother Smith himself swirled down the corridor in what would look like a retreat on anyone else, but he did so in such a casual way as to imply anything but. "Well, I see this night's productive conversation is effectively over with. I bid you all adieu." And thus saying, he let loose with another shockwave, more powerful than the last, which threw the assembled group back down the hallway and away from him.

When the smoke and dust cleared, all that remained of Brother Smith was a dried, desiccated husk, lying on the floor. There was no trace of the yellow ring.

The dark warrior grabbed a still semi-stunned Rose by the lapel of her uniform. "You! If you hadn't interfered, I'd have finally killed him!"

"Leave her alone!" Ragnar interposed himself between them, shoving the warrior back. "None of this is her fault!"

The dark warrior narrowed his eyes. "Don't try me, ring wielder. I'm in no mood."

Ragnar brought up his ring, looking the warrior in the eyes. "Neither am I."

For a long, long moment, the two locked gazes, taking each other's measure. Then, the dark warrior withdrew his blades. "This is pointless. The creature's escaped, again, and now I've nothing to go on." He glanced around. "And I'm hearing alarms going off, and of first responder vehicles approaching. I certainly don't intend to remain here any longer. The three of you can do whatever suits your fancy." And with that, he flared a brilliant white light, and was gone.

….

Mt. Justice: Rose and Ragnar submitted their respective reports, along with Red Arrow's. It might have been Ragnar's imagination, but it seemed that Rose was a trifle subdued. A little quiet, it seemed. "Quiet" and "Rose Wilson" didn't seem to go together very well.

Well, it was over with. And all he had to do now was, make sure he was never paired with this…this…person ever again. He'd already informed Nightwing, rather vehemently, that he never wished to be associated with Rose again for any reason whatsoever. Dick had just nodded, as though he'd expected something like this.

Well, this had certainly been a night. It wasn't too long until morning. While he didn't get tired in the human sense, he'd learned that his body nonetheless had a circadian pattern that benefitted from his getting a certain amount of sleep at night. That wouldn't happen tonight. Oh, well. It was a small price to pay for being rid of Rose for good.

He'd gathered his wash cloths, soap, and towel, and gone to the showers. The feel of hot water running over his skin was soothing; he wondered if the time would come when he wouldn't be able to feel hot or cold water. He hoped not, even if it was a trade-off with invulnerability.

And this was the first shower he'd been able to have in a long time without having to have any dealings or communications with that detestable Rose Wilson. What was her problem? –he wondered. How could anyone be that unpleasant? Especially to people they didn't even know all that well? He had, long since, deeply regretted confiding in her his doubts about his own sanity. The nightmares hadn't ceased, but, he reasoned, he was not human, so it was quite possible human levels of sanity just didn't apply to him. And she certainly hadn't been the one to confide in, anyway. Anybody but her. He was actually surprised at the depths of his, not hatred, but certainly dislike.

Oh, well, it was ov-*

"Hope there's some hot water left," said a hatefully familiar voice right next to him. She'd entered the shower just to his left. Gods, no. Not here. Not now. Not after all this.

"The women's shower is on the other side of the hallway," he said, stiffly.

"I'm not lost." She paused while soaping up. Ragnar knew that Rose Wilson was considered extraordinarily attractive by human standards, but, even if his heart hadn't belonged to a certain green Martian girl currently forty-two million miles away, he could think of no-one on the entire planet, past, present, or future, whom he'd rather see less of. "I…I wanted to…ask you a couple of things."

"So ask." Ask and get out.

She was silent for a few moments, going through the motions, washing off. "I know this sort of operation wasn't anything you were ever trained for. But…from your perspective, did it seem like I…overlooked anything?"

He thought. He could sense her…sincerity? Was that the word? Concern, maybe? Some emotion he wasn't able to easily identify…and there was pain in her mind, but not the same kind as before. It was not the kind he was drawn to, like a moth to a flame. Not a pain he could do anything about. And he knew she had really tried with this mission, tried her best, but circumstances had just simply played out another way. "I cannot think of anything. There was evidently a lot to this 'Brother Smith' that we…were unaware of. I don't see how that was anyone's fault, certainly not yours. And I don't see how the night's misadventure could have ended more productively, what with this unknown fighter in the fray. What was Red Arrow's report on this metahuman?"

"He didn't have any more information than what he told us about. Apparently, the guy's been around a whole lot longer than any of us, and been tracking the creature we called 'Brother Smith' for a good portion of that time."

"It sounded that way." She continued washing, and turned slightly towards him. He found he didn't really care. He certainly saw nothing in her, and if, for some completely unknown reason, she wished to get a look at him (but why?), well, for all he cared, she could look all she wanted. Somehow he doubted that was it, however.

But instead, she buried her face in her hands and just stood there for a moment, turned partially away, head inclined downward, features invisible behind her hands. What was she doing? Washing her face? Then he realized something.

Rose Wilson, aka the Ravager, the tough-as-nails daughter of Slade Wilson, aka Deathstroke the Terminator, was crying.

She had her head underneath the water stream, which effectively obscured the tears flowing down her face, but nothing could obscure the slight shaking of her shoulders. Oh, no. For some reason, this just struck him as wrong. He had to do something.

"Come here," he ordered, drawing her into an embrace.

"No….don't need your shoulder to cry on…."

"Who said anything about crying? I need you to check my back and shoulders for spikes. I can't see back there, you know, and my arms won't bend back that far."

She barked a laugh into his chest. "Such a liar!"

"I'll get better at it. Now. Check that for me? I mean, since you're in here, anyway, bothering me…"

Okay, already. Anything to keep him from laughing out loud at her. It was bad enough that all the others were sniggering at her behind her back; she honestly didn't think she could take it if this numbskull started laughing at her, too. She sighed and played along with the gag, running her fingers along his shoulders, down his spine. She came up to slightly over his chest, so it wasn't that much of a reach for her. "I don't feel anything obvious; nothing breaking the surface of the skin, and I can't feel anything unusual beneath the surface. Maybe we were all concerned over nothing." What had worried them the most was that snippet of information found on Ragnar's deserted ship, supposedly from his geneticist father, who'd claimed Ragnar possessed genetic material taken from Doomsday himself. But that was from this universe's Doomsday, the killing machine, the monster without a heart.

So, yeah, it was important to keep in mind. But as she ran her hands over him, she realized something, something just as disturbing, at least, to her.

This was kinda nice.

It felt…restful just to lie here, in his embrace. Comforting. The tensions of the day (and which she felt like she'd had more than her share of, lately) just seemed to melt away. Those tensions and worries would come back, she knew, but for right now, they had subsided. And she also realized something else.

She was getting wet. And not from the shower, either.

No, not that. She had more pride than this. She wasn't falling for this clown, no way. It wouldn't be right, anyway. And she definitely wasn't one of those sappy girly types who just couldn't live without a man. It was just…it had been a while for her. And here she was, buck naked in a warm shower with a guy who was, yeah, okay, a bit of a stud. She was horny, that was all. Nothing more.

So, knowing it was only that, why didn't she move?

It was just so soothing here. Part of her wanted to stay here forever…

For just a moment, she wrapped her arms around him, and gave him harder, more personal, hug, just for an instant. Then, with a supreme effort, she wrenched herself away from him. "Well, okay, I pronounce you good to go. Now, g'wan, gettouttahere." And she threw him his towel.

"You're running me out of the men's shower room?"

"Yeah. Go on, for Christ's sakes. Give a lady some privacy. What, don't you have any manners at all?"

He took his towel, got dressed, and exited the room, a smirk on his face he was careful not to let her see. Okay, that was better.

To be continued…