Battlefields and Bloodlines: Fight for the Future

by RivalsAreAllies

Our greatest heroes are lost. Some remain, but to stand against this new threat they'll need help. Can the next generation achieve the impossible? They will learn what it means to be a hero. But this world doesn't need a hero. It needs a CURE.

4. Retribution

Disclaimer: I do not own DC Comics, or anything associated with said franchise. I also do NOT McDonald's, or ANYTHING associated with said franchise, as I mention them in this chapter.

Accolades/Appreciation: Thank you to ALL of you have reviewed, favorited, subscribed, and/or, otherwise contributed constructively to this story's progress, as I take into account ANY/ALL reviews, comments, and/or ratings, and I use them to correct mistakes (MOSTLY Grammatical Mistakes—Because, Although I Proofread A LOT, This Is A VERY LENGTHY/LONG FanFic, And Thus, It Is Difficult To Revise/Rewrite COMPLETELY, But I Have CAUGHT MANY/MOST Of My Mistakes, And Corrected Them—As My Organization, And Plot Already Have An Outline, And Are Usually Mistake-Free), so as to make the story more enjoyable for ALL who are reading it, AND for all those will be reading it in the future. Once again, thanks, and I greatly appreciate it! Don't stop now! ONWARD!

IV. Retribution

John sighed as he surveyed the wall before him. The wall was a terrible reminder for him. It was a reminder of all that had happened—of all that he had lost. It reminded of all that everyone had lost. It reminded of the heroes that once were.

The aged, experienced, drained, trained, dark-skinned man had eyes that were heavy with emotion, as he continued to scan the vast and vacant steel wall in front of him. He was currently gazing—and very intently gazing, at that—at the large central wall in the old "Justice League Watch-Tower." The large steel wall in front of him contained the symbols, icons, names (but none of their secret identities), commendations, lists of accomplishments, honors, badges, and other representations of the world's best, brightest, and bravest heroes.

They were all lost, tired of fighting, crippled, or otherwise dead. They were dead, and the wall that held their memories was covered in soot, blackened by the large conflicts, bloody battles, and struggles for survival—for both the villains, and the heroes—that had taken place in and around the Watch-Tower since the "Hero Hunting."

The wall itself looked like a terrible, torn, and trashy mess, but this was not the most demeaning, degrading, or otherwise distracting aspect of the Tower that John currently stood in.

He sighed once again, and he turned his head to view the shattered and tattered remains of the living quarters of the "Justice League." The room, its furniture, and almost all of the items it held were in ruins, broken, shattered, or otherwise, completely destroyed.

John's dark, jaded, well-trained eyes caught sight of the viewport of the Watch-Tower, and he, for slightest of moments, was lost in the vastness of the blackness of space that surrounded not only the Tower, but that surrounded himself as well. He sighed for the third time in mere minutes, and he turned his attention back to the wall in front of him.

The wall was worn, torn, and blackened, but it was still very readable. John's hand slowly, surely, and hesitantly graced the yellow lightning symbol that had been blackened, and that now had a slight green tinge to it.

The symbol had been seared by the "Hero Hunter," that had been assigned to kill the hero "Green Fury." Green Fury's Hero Hunter was infused with her DNA and genetic information, and thus, she had her pyrokinetic abilities as well. Thus, the Hero Hunter had burned "The Flash" symbol with her green flame, and although she was in the middle of a fight to the finish at the time, it was a small and easily accomplished task for her.

Green Fury had put up an excellent fight, though. She had managed to severely injure her Hunter, but in the end she had been beaten, leaving her Hero Hunter free and able to assist the other Hunters in their attack on the Justice League.

John took a deep moment to seriously chastise himself for not being here when the Hunters had come—when they had attacked. He could have helped. He could have made a difference. The Four had managed to correctly copy, implement, and grow the DNA and genetic information of many heroes into their trained Hero Hunters, and as such, these Hunters now had the same abilities, skills, and training—or more training, as was often the case—as the hero that they were assigned to "hunt."

"The Green Lanterns," however, had not had a problem dealing with their Hero Hunters because, while the Hunters were extremely well-trained, well-skilled killers, who had their target's DNA in their system, they were no match for the Lanterns. This was due to the simple fact that the Lanterns' power came from their rings, and not from their own bodies or biological systems. Had all of the Green Lanterns been on Earth at the time of the "Hero Hunting," they would have made a serious difference, and John knew that. He wasn't there, though. He didn't help. He hated that he didn't help.

He looked up at the lightning symbol once again. He had lost his friend, his closest friend. The Flash was dead. They were all dead. Wally West was dead. Barry Allen was dead. Jay Garrick was dead. Iris West was dead. Jai refused to don the costume, and even if he could, he had been sapped of almost all of his abilities, and what had happened to Bart, no one really knew, nor cared.

They had a valid reason for not caring, though. It wasn't like Bart could make difference. He was only one man, speedster or not. The Flash Family was dead. The Bat Family was crippled. The Green Lanterns were out of commission. The Kryptonians had all been killed or crippled—all except for Kara and Sam, but no one knew where Kara had taken off to, and Sam was too young, and to unstable and distraught to do what her father or brother had done.

Samantha Lane knew that she was unstable, though, and she hated herself for it. The Amazons, albeit strong and determined to the end, were gone, and with them, went their ways, their knowledge, and their logic went as well. John silently wondered who, if anyone, was left to defend this decrepit and dying world.

He looked down at his own power ring, which was currently locked tightly in place on his right middle finger. He looked intently at it for a moment, and then he sighed more deeply than he had ever sighed in his entire life. He had failed. John Stewart did not fail, yet here he was: a failure.

The "Emerald Energy" which surrounded his body was weak and faded. His adventures, his exploits, his training, his many near-death experiences, and life in general had taken its toll on the man, and it showed. He was twice the man he was in experience, but he was half the man he was in power or will. He was a Green lantern, and he was lacking willpower. That was simply an oxymoron, an unfortunate, degrading, inconvenient truth.

He wondered if Hal felt the same way. He sighed for fifth time. Hal. Hal hadn't even let the color green pass through his mind since the Earth had been paid a visit by Nekron, and he had to summon the power of the "White Lanterns," in order to defeat him.

The physical and mental toll that it had taken on Hal was immense, and the man scarcely wanted to relive that experience. After that, Hal had a new respect for life, and a new fear of it as well. He took this respect and this fear, and he took the opportunity to tell Jennifer Maxim that he loved her. He wasn't going to lose her—not like he lost Kari, or for that matter like he lost Carol.

According to the last piece of information that John had heard, Hal still recruited, met, and trained a few plausible choices for future Green Lanterns. But ever since the "Sinestro Wars," the "Black Lantern Wars," and the emergence and implementation of the "Shadow Slayers," by their leader, Vandal Savage, many of these new Green Lanterns had been targeted and killed, and unfortunately, their rings destroyed as well.

John cringed slightly at the thought of the "Shadow Slayers." They were Savage's latest creations, and they were his "solution" to the Green Lantern Corps. They were Hero Hunters, like the rest, except they had one clear advantage, or "upgrade," over the other Hunters.

They had power rings, and an extensive knowledge of how to use them. Although this was true, however, their rings used the "Switched Shadow Spectrum," or the reversed version of the original version of the "Emotion Spectrum." The Emotion Spectrum, although ancient and old in thought and implementation, was still a useful tool for keeping order in the universe.

Each of the seven colors of visible light spectrum represented, and controlled, a different, tangible emotion, and when a ring-bearer was chosen by a power ring of that color, it was because the potential ring-bearer had demonstrated an immense use, possession, and control over the emotion that the ring used to wield its power.

At the far end of the spectrum, was the "Red Lantern Corps," whose members were fueled by rage, and on the other extreme of the spectrum, was the "Star Sapphires," who were fueled by the emotion of love. In the direct middle of the original Emotion Spectrum was the color green, whose main emotion was willpower, and the chosen ring-bearers of Green Lantern Power Rings, Green Lanterns themselves, kept the other Corps in-check.

Unfortunately, Savage was able to take this Emotion Spectrum, and literally flip it. In this new, destructive, spectrum, these new colors, or abscesses, as Savage called them—as they weren't truly colors, but more the absence of any color—had the exact opposite effect as their corresponding original color had in the original emotion Spectrum.

The most useful—useful to Vandal Savage anyways—of these new abscesses, was the abscess of green, which allowed the user of an emerald abscess ring to enforce their own willpower, over others. Savage's ideal goal was to merge all of the new abscess colors into one, immensely powerful ring, and thus outfit this ring, either on himself, or on his most-trusted and most well-trained Hero Hunter.

Savage had created many Hero Hunters, who were now outfitted with green abscess power rings, and as such, they went to do battle with the Green Lantern Corps. The results were disastrous. The aftermath of the battles had the central city of Planet Oa, the main refuge for the Green Lanterns, looking very similar—at least in color—to the main lair of the Red Lantern Corps.

The Green Lanterns had put up much more of a fight than Savage had ever expected, and the Green Lanterns had won the battles, but Savage never expected his creations to be so effective. The Green Lanterns had won the ensuing battles in the infamous "Shadow Slayer Conflicts," but their cost was grave and dire. Their numbers had been drastically reduced.

Savage had since named his new "creations" "Shadow Slayers," and John knew very well that he was far from done with them.

Hal Jordan blamed himself for a lot of what had happened during that time. Hal had become increasingly worried, and guilty. He felt that every time a Lantern died, that he should have taken his or her place. His worry then began to extend to his girlfriend at the time, Jennifer Maxim. He had even tried to give her his own power ring, for her own protection.

However, when she had learned of his true identity and the reasons for his constant disappearances, she was not only relived, but rather excited. Soon, she found herself with child, and Hal now insisted that she take the ring. She still refused, stating that as long as he was there, she would not have to worry about defending herself.

Hal, however, argued that he was old, tired, "out-of-shape," worn-down by life itself, and tired of using the ring, and as such, he would be a terrible defender to his soon-to-be wife and his young son. She disagreed. Hal took this as a clue, and he left her. He left Gotham City, leaving his small son, the love of his life, and his Green Lantern Power Ring, in his wake.

Hal had left with tears in his eyes, but they were nothing compared to the tears in Jennifer's eyes, when she had tracked down John, and asked him to—no, made him—take Hal's former power ring. She wanted nothing to do with it, or him. Hal, after hearing this, tried his best to get her to reconsider, but she refused at every advance he made and at every step he took. She was done with him. She still loved him, but she was done with him.

That didn't stop Hal from coming around Gotham City, though. Almost nothing could stop Hal Jordan. It was an inevitable fact. He still loved her as well, and his son needed a father, so Hal was intent on giving him one.

John chuckled. John Stewart was chuckling, and he did not chuckle. Hal was unstoppable. If only he would put his ring back on, the world might not be so devoid of heroes, but John knew better. Once Hal had his mind set, it was impossible to deter or change him.

John and Hal were the only two human Green Lanterns remaining. Guy was dead. Kyle was dead. John knew that Alan had died as well, but that had happened long before, by the hands of a Gotham vigilante—one named "The Reaper,"—and John had not known him personally, and thus it did not affect him as much as the deaths of the others.

The Green Lantern sighed for the sixth consecutive time since he had come to the Tower, and he shoved his hand in his suit's left pocket, and there, in his protective pocket, he felt the ring that he had kept for so long—Hal's ring.

John's gaze had refocused on the wall in front of him. His dark eyes locked on the lightning symbol once again. The faded, blackened, yellow-green symbol of a lightning bolt in front of him was at the top of the wall. It was in the section designated for "The Original Seven"—the original founders of the Justice League. Beside the Flash's symbol was a chaotic pink hex symbol.

John chuckled once again. Jinx was not a founding member of the League, but she had her symbol beside Wally's for one simple reason: even Bruce Wayne would not argue with her. She was very convincing. It was only suitable that her symbol be directly next to Wally's icon. Just as John thought this, he remembered why he had come to this place in the first place—to this tomb. He had come to get something for their daughter.

He had come to get Jinx's necklace for Control. He wasn't exactly sure how the pendant on Jinx's necklace affected Control's telekinesis, but somehow they did, and he didn't question it. If she needed it, then he would get it for her, and that was just what he intended to do.

He loved those two like his own flesh and blood, and although he rarely showed this, they knew it. Wally had entrusted them to him, and John would not fail his friend. Chaos and Control—"The Schism Siblings," as they cleverly called themselves—were fraternal twins, and the biological children of Wally West and Jinx. Wally had left Linda many years before he and Jinx had rekindled their relationship, but he had done so, only to protect her. He had done so because of the "Speed Stealers."

The "Speed Stealers," as they called themselves, had set their sights on their Flash Family, and as such, Wally leaving Linda was the only way he saw to protect them. The Speed Stealers were not only chaotic, cruel, and ceaseless, but the fact that they could rob one of all of his or her speed, metabolisms, and motion, simply by coming into contact with them and reversing their own molecular speed, made them walking speedster killers.

They had been sent by the organization called "Cadmus"—one dedicated, to "preserving order and peace—and although Cadmus was intended to be a global governmental force for good, they did more harm than good.

The Speed Stealers were sent in by Cadmus in order to deal with the "carless," and supposedly useless, speedsters, and they performed their "duties," with effectiveness, and efficiency.

"The Tornado Twins" were the first two to suffer the wrath of the Speed Stealers. Don was killed, and his sister had barely managed to escape alive. When Wally heard about the attack, he took it personally. They had attacked his family. His cousin. They had killed his cousin. Wally explained everything to Linda and his children, and he promised to keep them safe, but he failed.

The Speed Stealers found his daughter—who was then operating as the third "Kid Flash" at the time, which was something that Wally seriously disapproved of—and they tortured her, to the point of near-death. They wanted her to reveal her father's secret identity, but she never did. That violent invasion upon his life made Wally want to kill the Speed Stealers.

He could not handle putting his family in danger, so he left them, and he told them that he was not to return until he could do so without threatening his family's safety. He left, and he began to hunt the Speed Stealers, and he did not intend to arrest or detain them. He intended to kill them.

Iris, Wally's daughter, believed that he had left because of her supposed "weakness," and her inability to take the torture that had been inflicted upon her. She constantly believed that her father never wanted to take up "The Flash" title, because she wasn't worthy.

The truth was, however, that he didn't want her to do so, because he didn't want her to put herself in danger. No matter how much she disbelieved it, he was proud of her, and he always would be. When her father had sent her his old Flash costume for her sixteenth birthday, she finally realized what his real reservations were about her becoming the new Flash.

But then again, if she didn't do it, no one would. Her brother was far too uninterested in the "hero business," and Wally actually seemed to like that uncaring attitude in his son. Wally's son, Jai, never really expressed interest, of any kind in using his abilities, for anything other than helping himself.

Wally noticed this in his son, and eventually, he gave into his daughter's wish to become "The Flash." He gave her his old costume, not only because he was proud of her, but also because he had no further use for it. He was no longer a "hero" in the traditional sense of the word, as he had begun to kill his enemies. Thus he had abandoned "The Flash" persona, for a more effective title: "Burnout." When Wally became Burnout, he became brutal.

Wally made his way around the world, annihilating the Speed Stealers. He and Dawn Allen, his cousin and the sister of the late Don Allen, began to track the killers. The hunters became the hunted. Wally made an effective job of tracking, and terminating them all. He had missed some though, and those last few targets took him to India, which is where the unexpected happened.

He never expected to meet the supervillain that had single-handedly been responsible for bringing "Captain Marvel" to his knees. He hadn't expected to meet the villain who had, on more than one occasion, tried to kill him. He hadn't expected to meet the villain who was a former member of the "Teen Titans," the villain who wasn't really a villain. He hadn't expected to meet Jinx.

He hadn't expected to meet the villain he had been in love with so many years before, and that she would be in a fight of her own. He hadn't expected that she would have agreed to help him, so long as he reciprocated and helped her as well. He had expected that she had a score to settle with "Madam Rouge," but he hadn't expected that he would assist her in settling that score. He hadn't expected to fight back to back with her.

He hadn't expected her to save his life—instead of trying to end it. He hadn't expected that he would also save her own life. He hadn't expected to fall in love with her again.

He hadn't expected to have her join the Justice League. He hadn't expected that she suggest that he stop being "Burnout," and return to his former title of "The Flash." He hadn't expected to find that Iris was more than happy to relive herself of her Flash costume, to assume the alias of "Impulse" instead.

He hadn't expected that Linda would suggest that he not pretend to love her anymore. He hadn't expected that Linda would have filed for divorce, upon seeing that her husband was happier with the enchantress, and suggest that he was only trying to please Linda by lying to her.

He hadn't expected that his former wife, and very recent ex-wife, would suggest that he propose to the pick haired girl. He hadn't expected Jinx to turn him down. He hadn't expected the pink-haired girl to, instead of marrying him, say that that she loved him as well. He hadn't expected to have two more children, with her. There were a lot of things that Wally had not expected. Yet, they had all happened.

Linda had expected all of that. Iris had as well, but she would never have admitted it.

John sighed—for the seventh and most dire time. He was done with these haunting memories.

He lifted into the air, as he gently, gracefully, floated throughout the deep hallways, recesses, and corridors that littered the interior of the Watch-Tower, and he slowly, but surely, made his way to sleeping quarters in the back of these hallways.

He stopped outside a sliding metal door, and waited. After some time, the old rusted, singed metal creaked as it slowly slid across its axis, thus revealing the room beyond. John descended to ground level, and he entered the room.

The door slid shut behind him. It was his room. It was the room that Wally and Jinx shared, in her short time here on the League. He made his way over to the bedside table, and he opened the drawer. There, just as Control had said, was the necklace. He swiftly snatched it up, and he proceeded to quickly vacate the Tower, necklace in his grasp. He didn't want to be here anymore.

He surrounded himself with a field of emerald energy before he left the tower, and before he flew into the unforgiving vastness of space. He created this field of energy, in order to trap the air and environmental norms inside the field with him, so as to ensure that he did not suffocate or otherwise implode in the harshness of space. Just as he redirected his path-of-travel, and began to descend into Earth's atmosphere, he saw a blur of darkness out the corner of his eye.

He knew immediately what it was, but unfortunately, he also knew that he could not handle it alone. He would need help. He remembered the second ring that he had inside his pocket, and he quickly began to process all of the possible candidates. The recipient of the ring would need immense willpower. He finally decided on a recipient for the ring. The Green Lantern entered the lower-most level of Earth's atmosphere, and he headed straight towards Russia, while a squad of Emerald Shadow Slayers was quickly following on his tail. It was time for retribution.

---

Rex walked along the streets, his torn jeans and ruffled green shirt looked like they hadn't been changed in ages. They looked that way, because they hadn't been changed in ages. Rex walked along the desert road, the sand constantly getting into his socks, his throat constantly feeling parched, and his stomach as empty as ever.

He felt all of these sensations, but he registered none of them. He could only think of his father. His dead father. He had hated his father. He hated that man with all of his being. Then, in his dying words, his father had made him love him more than a son could ever love his father, and now the lonely boy felt as guilty as no mere mortal could ever possibly fathom.

His father had pushed him so hard. He had drilled him, beyond belief. He had taught him self-defense. He had made read any and every book that he could get his hands on. He had made sure that his son was constantly observant, and that he knew when, where, and how to expect danger, and what danger looked like—in all of its many forms.

He tested his son on any and every single piece of information, knowledge, defensive tactics, and overall trivia that he could possibly fathom. For the most part, Rex had followed his father's instruction, without question or objection, although most of the time he really wanted to object.

However, when he failed at something, when he got a question wrong, when he failed to properly block one of his father's incoming attacks, the consequences were dire, and very, very painful. His father was fair man, though, and he always explained his actions. He always told his son how unforgiving the streets were. Rex could never understand why he should have to be trained to the extent that his father wanted him to be trained to, though. He never understood, and he constantly hated his father, until his father died.

Connor Hawke was Rex Mathis's father, and in his dying words, he explained everything to his confused and ashamed son. Connor only wanted his son to be safe, to be healthy, to be alive. He was his flesh and blood, and by extension, a part of himself, and thus he wanted nothing more than for his son to excel, and to do better.

He explained all of this, and more. He told Rex how he would never be able to be "better," in this world because of him, because of his own father. Connor Hawke was "The Green Arrow," and as such, he had enemies—many enemies. He had more enemies than he had friends. He wanted none of these enemies to hinder his son's success, or worse, his life. That is why he pushed his son so hard, to his limits, and beyond them. He was proud of Rex, no matter how little the boy believed it. In the end, though, Rex was forced to believe it.

Connor Hawke died with a gunshot wound to the chest, but the man who had fired it died with an arrow to the heart, and so did twelve of his accomplices. Connor had died, but he had taken any possible threat to his son with him. Although the threat was gone, the incident still sent Rex to the hospital.

After being injured and hospitalized, Rex was asked to name any relatives with whom he had blood connection, to name anyone he could contact. He could only think of one person: his mother. At that point, he was in a hospital in Sarajevo, Bosnia—the city where his father had died—and his mother was in Sacramento, California.

Even though this was the case, she found her way to her son as quickly as she could. She was in his hospital room the next morning. After learning of her son's fate, Marry Mathis had made contact with her son in an attempt to comfort him and rekindle some kind of relationship with him. Rex had met with her, but he had scorned her.

He asked her where she had been, why she wasn't there, there with his father, there with him. She tried to explain everything, but he didn't listen. She tried to explain that his father had taken him when he was just a baby, and that she had tried very hard, to get in touch with either of them. She tried to explain that Connor had done that for her own safety, but that it had not stopped her from looking for him, or for he her son. Rex heard what his mother had said, but he left the hospital upset, and he was determined to keep her out of his life. His resolution did not last though.

Two weeks later, his mother was kidnapped. The same men who had been after his father had taken his mother. He had been forced to conclude that she was telling the truth, and that she was being honest when she told her story of how she lost contact with Connor and Rex.

Rex couldn't just sit there and allow his mother—the one piece of his family that he had left—to die. He was sure that he still felt some animosity towards her, but he was also sure that he loved her. So, deciding these two things, he went after her.

Using the skills, knowledge, and prowess that his father had taught him and instilled in him, he had easily and stealthily infiltrated the main compound of the armed captors of his mother, the "Men of Masks," as they referred to themselves. He had freed his mother, and while the two were making their escape, his apology to her came out chopped-up and somewhat rough, but it came out, nonetheless, and she gladly accepted it.

Then, at the exact moment that everything seemed to be going perfectly, everything went horribly wrong. The leader of the "Men of Masks," Gisborne, as he called himself, had apprehended the teenager who was responsible for the break-in of his lair. He was seething angry at the young masked teenager, and the fact that the young masked man had knocked many of Gisborne's men unconscious only made the situation worse.

Gisborne had Rex's hands behind his back, and he pushed tighter and tighter and made the pain worse and worse at every swiftly stupid smart-mouthed comment that the teenager made—and he made many such comments. He was just like his father in that regard, a smart-mouth. Gisborne had, at this point, had enough of this, and he was preparing to kill Rex.

Rex was prepared to sacrifice himself that night—sacrifice himself to save his mother. Instead, the opposite happened. His mother reentered the room that Rex had made sure she leave only moments before, and she promptly pointed-out the fact that it she who they wanted, not the child.

She pointed-out that she was Green Arrow's accomplice, and that the child was just a misplaced civilian. Rex tried his best argue against her logic, but they ignored him. After hearing this, Gisborne released Rex, after a thorough beating, and he proceeded to kill his mother.

Rex would constantly have nightmares about that night for the remainder of his young life. The hero, "Black Bat," had apparently been tracking Gisborne and his men for some time, and she proceeded to end him and his operations some time later.

Rex didn't care, though, because Black Bat had come far too late—too late to save either of his parents. His parents had died because of him, and that unforgettable and inescapable fact would haunt the young man for the rest of his foreseeable future.

Rex's dark jade eyes scanned the dusty desert road around him. The seventeen-year-old continued walking along the side of the road, not having a destination in mind. He had no target, but he simply did not want to be here. His dark brown hair rustled in the wind, as he continued on down the dark road. This part of Cairo, Egypt was a bad part, a very bad part. Rex knew that.

He had hoped that he would come across someone that he could justifiably take his anger and frustration out on. He wanted to encounter a criminal—a murderer, a thief, a terrorist, anyone. The teenager continued walking down the deserted desert road, all the while his eyes scanning anything and everything around him. He did this, so he could pinpoint the exact moment that he had entered hostile territory, just as his father had taught him to do.

He walked down the road, his eyes constantly down, yet always vigilant. Rex soon came across a close line directly in front of him, and with no one watching him, he swiftly grabbed a green hooded sweatshirt from the line and expertly pulled it over himself. He then proceeded down the road as nonchalantly as he had before he had swiped the sweater.

He pulled the hood up and over his head as he continued to walk. Cairo was a city in the middle of the desert, but regardless of that fact, it was still fatally chilly at nights. Rex continued to walk blindly towards a destination of no tangible nature. Just as he was about to change his direction and head down a different side street, he heard a cry that he could not ignore.

The boy now increased his speed, and although his already starving stomach gave him much protest, he continued to sprint at speeds approaching the maximum limit of a human being. He cleared the road before him, and at the next intersection, the cry become louder, more demanding, and seriously urgent.

He followed it to its source, and there, lying on the cold dusty road, was small girl. Her face was bruised, and even in the moonlight, Rex could tell that she was injured. He stopped, and he stooped down in front of the small girl. Her forehead had a shallow cut on it, and there some fresh blood leaking down her small pretty face. She looked to be about the age of five years, no more.

He tried to help the girl up, but she resisted, and she screamed, "Mujhē jānē dō! (Let me go!)" She kicked and screamed as loud as she could. "Mujhē jānē dō, tuma rākṣasa! (Let me go, you monster!)" she bellowed once again.

Rex silently and swiftly subdued the girl. He covered her mouth, and he gently whispered in her ear, "Maiṁ tumhēṁ dukhī nahīṁ jā rahā hūm̐. (I am not going to hurt you.) Maiṁ yahām̐ hūm̐ tuma madada. (I am here to help you.)" The girl's soft small brown eyes were filled with tears, as she slowly but surely nodded in response to the boy's soft, soothing tone. She believed him, but she did not know why.

He released the girl from his grip, and he helped her up. He noticed that she had a slight limp as well, but she did her best to hide it. For such a young child, she was full of pride and instinct—good instincts. She had parents; she had to have parents who taught her those instincts. Those instincts were not learned, they were taught. Rex knew that more than anyone else.

He looked down at the small girl before him. He was kneeling down in front of her, but she was still somewhat shorter than him. Her brown eyes, now dry, looked up into his emerald green ones. The boy cocked his head to the side, and he remembered something that he found very weird about the girl's words to him.

He comically chuckled, as he asked her, "Tuma hindī kyōṁ bōla rahē haiṁ? (Why are speaking Hindi?)"

The girl folded her arms, and she did not look amused by his mocking tone he took regarding her language skills. "Maiṁ kisī bhī arabī patā nahīṁ hai. (I do not know any Arabic.) Maiṁ yahām̐ sē nahīṁ hūm̐. (I am not from here.)" she replied to the boy's remark. He looked taken aback, but he nodded.

"Maiṁ māphī cāhatā hūm̐ (I am sorry.) Maiṁ tumhēṁ apamāna matalaba nahīṁ thā. (I did not mean to insult you.)" Rex replied to girl, as he smirked and lightly chuckled at the girl's assertiveness and abrasiveness. He, for some reason, found it endearing.

"English?" Rex asked the girl. She nodded. It was at this point that he was now very thankful that his father had insisted in him learning so many different languages. It was tedious and boring task, but he had completed the task in its entirety, and it was now paying off.

"Who did this to you?" he asked her.

She replied by pointing off in the distance. He followed her gaze to a distant road on the horizon. He turned back to her and nodded.

"Parents?" he inquired.

At this remark, the girl's eyes began to well up with fresh new tears, which clearly told a tale of immense trauma. He scooped the girl into a hug, and he tried his best to sooth her.

"Shhh. Shh. I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it." he addressed the girl, who was now done crying.

She dried her eyes. "Sep-ar-ated. Back there." the girl chocked out in Hindi-tainted English. Rex turned to see where she was pointing, and he nodded.

"C'mon, we'll find them." he said, smiling at the girl. She smiled back. He reached out his hand, and she took with slight hesitation. As they began to walk, however, Rex noticed her limp, and he quickly addressed it. The girl whimpered ever-so-slightly with every step she took, but soon the pain was gone, as she was in the older teen's arms.

She looked shocked at first, but she did not resist him, or try to pull away. She really didn't want to walk, and somehow, he knew that. She liked this boy. The two began to walk back down the streets, the girl directing them at every turn, until they made their way into a large clearing at the center of a set of crossroads. It was a bizarre—a market.

Littered across the market square were many injured and badly wounded individuals. Rex's fist clenched and unclenched constantly at the sight of this carnage. The girl scanned the crowd, and almost immediately, she pointed to two figures in the distance, and yelled out to them. "MOMMA! PAPPA!" the girl erupted, and Rex turned his view to the two people in question.

Across the courtyard were two people of the same apparent skin tone and ethnicity as the girl that he held in his arms. They both had dark, jet-black hair, with matching dark brown eyes. The two immediately noticed the girl, and they rushed over to her. Rex removed his hood from his head, and he looked at the young girl and she nodded. He willingly handed her over to her parents.

"Oh, Anissa!" the two shouted in unison, as they smothered her, and simultaneously inspected her. Upon seeing her apparent physical injuries, their tempers flared, and their attentions immediately turned to the boy in front of them. The father stepped forward and Rex got into an instinctive defensive stance, but before he could reach the teenager, his daughter spoke up.

"Papa!" she shouted, shaking her head, indicating that he was mistaken about his assumptions. He turned to her, and he reluctantly nodded. "Usanē mujhē bacāyā. (He saved me.)" she told her father, clarifying things. He nodded once again. He turned back to the teenage boy in question.

"Śukriyā. (Thank you.)" he addressed the boy, and properly thanked him. Rex nodded in response, and he loosened his tensed form.

"Āpakā svāgata hai. (You are welcome.)" Rex responded, and the older Indian man was slightly taken aback by this slightly tanned Caucasian boy's proper use of his native Hindi language.

"Āpa hindī bōlatē haiṁ? (You speak Hindi?)" the older man asked the teen.

"Haan. (Yes.) Lēkina maiṁ aṅgrējī mēṁ bahuta bēhatara bōlatē haiṁ. (But I speak much better in English.) Kyā āpa aṅgrēzī bōlatē haiṁ? (Do you speak English?)" Rex replied to the man's inquiry. The astounded man simply nodded in response.

"What happened here?" Rex asked, gesturing to the countless injured and wounded individuals around him.

"Riots." the man responded simply. As he spoke, he held up a pendant that was attached to a chain around his neck. The pendant held the holy symbol of Hinduism: "The Om."

Rex now understood. The tensions between Hindus and Muslims, all across the globe were terrible, and they had only escalated with the end of the "Hero Hunting." The general population of Muslims were happy regarding the outcomes of the "Hero Hunting," as they thought of the now-eliminated heroes as nuisances, who had no right to judge individuals and carry-out punishments as they often did. Most Hindus believed the exact opposite. There were obviously exceptions and moderates on both sides, however. But most Hindus or Muslims fit this mold.

Rex now looked around the market square once again. This was something different, though. This wasn't simply a religious riot. It was something…more.

Rex scanned around the bizarre once again, and he noticed a torn flag at the center of the square—the flag of the PLO, the "Palestine Liberation Organization," a terrorist organization. They were more interested in killing innocents than liberating Palestine. It was a shame, really. Those who truly wanted to liberate Palestine now permanently had their good name destroyed.

Rex turned back to the family that he had just helped reunite. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, his stomach spoke for him. It growled so loud, that it may have scared a small child. It didn't scare Anissa, though.

She simply laughed at Rex's discomfort, and her mother gave her a scolding look that made the small girl suddenly become silent. At the rumbling of his stomach, Rex realized that he hadn't eaten for almost a week. He was in dire need of food, and Anissa's mother realized this very quickly.

"My dear, you must eat." she ordered him in her slight Hindi accent, leaving no room for debate. Rex raised his hand to protest, but her husband simply shook his head, indicating that it was no use. Rex dropped his hand, and he reluctantly nodded.

He followed the family, as they led him to a food stand on the far side of the square. They placed an order, and soon some wrapped Egyptian tammia appeared on the counter. The father exchanged money for the food, and he led the rest of the family, Rex included, to a table in a corner near the wall of the square that they were closest to.

They all sat down, and Rex promptly thanked the two adults. He unwrapped the food and began to eat. He wanted to cram all of it down his throat, but somehow, he maintained some level of decorum and table manners. Anissa looked at her savior with curiosity as he ate. After he was done, he caught her stare, and he returned it, smirking at her. She giggled. He then turned his attention to her parents.

"Thank you both, very much." he addressed them both.

"Oh, it is not a problem at all, dear." the girl's mother responded light-heartedly.

Rex smiled at her kindness. It reminded him of his own mother. "…So, what are you all doing here? …If you don't mind me asking." Rex inquired.

The two adults looked at one another, and then back at the teenager before them. "We left India to escape the riots, and the constant bloodshed. Muslims killing Hindus. Hindus killing Muslims. It got very numbing after a time. Unfortunately, we did not realize that moving here," the man gestured to the city around him, "would be just as bad. Sometimes, I wonder if the human race is even capable of compassion at all. That is why I believe we need to have the heroes: to help us understand it." he finished.

Rex processed what the man had said, before he aptly responded. "The reason that the heroes were so good at keeping peace, at showing compassion, at being fair, was that they had only ever seen or experienced things of the opposite in nature. They were human once too. Some were aliens. But they were all mortal. There was nothing special about them, except that they saw perfection in an imperfect world, and they fought to preserve it. Unfortunately, the forces and beings that sought to destroy that perfection prevailed in the end. It would appear that, not only the human race, but every race out there, would rather be imperfect beings of violence and bloodshed, than try to fix themselves." the teenager finished his rant.

The man smiled at the teenager before him. "...Ah… …But, they did not prevail."

Rex raised an eyebrow. "…I do not understand…"

"The forces that sought to destroy that perfect world did not prevail. Just the opposite, in fact." the man finished, smiling at the boy.

Rex was now truly curious. "How so…?" he inquired.

"When a being comes into this world, he or she is given a purpose, a reason, a drive. However, it takes someone else pointing-out that purpose, for the individual to realize that he or she not only has a purpose—an ultimate goal—but someone who believes that they can accomplish it. The world gives you life. You give it back. That is the way it works. We are still working in that same way. They haven't changed a thing. Evil has not won. Not yet." the man finished.

Rex was now fully into the conversation. "Perhaps, and that is a very interesting way of looking at things, but…" Rex trailed off.

Now it was the man who was intrigued. "…But, what...?..." he urged the boy on.

"…But… …The fact that they have not changed anything is a testament to the fact that evil has won. The way that things were, was terrible. People killed people. People plotted against their own brothers, against their own sisters, against their own communities, nations, and planets. People practically ate each other. You were right: things have not changed. They have stayed the same. …And that is the sad part." Rex explained himself.

The man chuckled. He liked this young man. "Very good. But, you say things like you are one who wants to change the way things are, no?" he asked the young boy in front of him.

Rex was now taken off guard. "...Perhaps… …But, what does that have to do wit—" he was cut off by the rest of the man's explanation.

"…If you want to change things, then you will change things. As long as driven, enlightened, people like yourself want to change things, then things will change." the man said sincerely. Rex did not speak. The man continued.

"You are a young man who has suffered greatly, but who has also endured greatly. I know this, because I was a man just like yourself. You will fight to change this world, and you will change it, or you will die trying. That is the kind of person that you are. You are tired of the way things are. You have had a very difficult time finding worth in yourself, or finding worth in anything worth fighting for, worth saving. And, it has taken you some time, but you have may have finally found something that is worth fighting for. You found something that is so valuable, that you know that it deserves a world that is just as valuable as itself—a world just as pure. Perhaps this value is not something that you see in yourself, but nonetheless, you have seen it in something. I can tell." the man finished, and he had a look that said one thing: 'checkmate.' He had just "won" the discussion, and Rex knew it.

The boy just sat there, slightly stunned, as he took in all of what the man had just said, and he came to a conclusion: he was right. He was completely and utterly right. Rex smiled at the man, and he smiled back. For the first time in many years, Rex felt like someone actually saw something other than worthless pile of flesh in him. He had only one other person who had seen that kind of value in him: his father. His father had sacrificed himself for Rex, and the boy believed that he deserved none of the selflessness that either of his parents had shown him. He didn't believe that he was worth it, and the man in front of him was right in that regard. He still believed that fact, but now, he saw three people in front of him who were worth it, who were worth fighting for, and Rex smiled at that.

"…And, there is one other thing that I can see in you." the man trailed off.

Rex looked up at him. "…Yes…?..."

"…You will not fail. You will change this world." the man finished, smiling and sure of himself.

Rex smiled at the man. "…Thank you, um…" Rex trailed off, embarrassed that he did not know the man's name.

"…Mr. Arular. Mr. Anil Arular." he stated, smiling at the boy.

"…And, Mrs. Sonia Arular." his wife finished for him, nudging him in the ribs playfully.

Rex smiled at their display of affection. "Well, thank you, for everything, Mr. and Mrs., Arular." Rex replied, smiling at the two.

The couple was about to respond, when an earth-shattering explosion rocked the ground below them. Rex quickly got up and he surveyed his general surroundings. The loud boom had knocked many of the individuals in the square off of their feet; however, Rex had managed to keep his balance. He caught sight of the billowing cloud of smoke that was rising higher and higher into the sky. Rex turned his attention back to the family before him, and he addressed their small girl.

"Hey, Anissa, isn't that the direction that you said those mean men ran off to?" he questioned, and she simply nodded in a sad and sullen manner. Rex turned his attention back to the smoke cloud. His dark jade eyes burned with intensity and determination. He started walking in the direction of the smoke, until he was called back.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Arular asked him.

He turned around and addressed her in the most heartfelt tone he could muster—which for Rex Mathis was a very difficult task. "I'm going to take care of something."

He could tell that she wanted to rebuke his comment, but a sharp look from her husband made her remain silent. Mr. Arular knew what Rex was going to do, and he knew that there was no use in trying to stop him.

"…Well, it was very nice meeting and talking with you mister…" Anil trailed off, and Rex filled in the rest.

"…Mr. Mathis. Mr. Remy Oliver Mathis." Rex responded, smiling. The two adults smiled and nodded in return.

"…That's a funny name…" Anissa spoke up, chuckling slightly.

"I know." he chuckled in response.

He turned to leave, and as he did so, Anissa's voice called out to him. "…Be safe…?..." she stated, but she made it seem like more of a question. Rex looked directly at her and he smiled and nodded. Then he was gone, heading towards the direction of the smoke. He pulled his hood over his head as he did so, constantly gaining speed, and always staying in the shadows.

---

Control looked at the billowing smoke cloud before her. She knew who or what had caused it. Terrorists. She sighed. Her deep pink irises scanned the small settlement before her, and she made a conscious decision. She turned to her brother, and her noticeably pink hair—which was currently up in a single braid—whipped around as she did so.

"K, we're going down there." she said to him, gesturing to the small settlement before them—the settlement that held innocent civilians, and now apparently, terrorists as well. As she said this, she tossed her brother a blue bandana, which he proceeded to tie around his mouth and nose, tying it off in the back of his head.

Control did the same with a red bandana she had in her back pocket. It effectively hid the brunt if their facial features, allowing for minimal recognition by any of their enemies. However, it kept their eyes completely unprotected, which is just the way they liked it. They preferred to look their enemies in the eyes when the beat them.

Her brother's light blue eyes looked back at her with comical disdain. "Let me guess, I'm the decoy. …Again." he stated, already knowing the answer. She nodded, and he sighed as he rose from his knelt position, to meet her at eye level, but he couldn't see her eyes. She wasn't looking at him. She was still scanning the settlement before them and assessing the situation.

The two twins were on a cliff overlooking a small desert on the outskirts of Cairo, Egypt. They were supposed to wait here—silently—while they awaited John's return, but of course, Chaos and Control weren't the kind of people to let helpless civilians become the playthings of a group of bloodthirsty extremists.

Chaos looked at his sister, who was still scanning the settlement for anything that she could use to her advantage. She was constantly looking for advantages, weaknesses in her enemies, and flaws in a design. She was always planning. Chaos was just the opposite. He just did things. He didn't fancy plans, per se. He was, for lack of a better word, chaotic. Control always had to be in control of things. These were the obvious reasons that they used the aliases that they used: "Chaos" and "Control."

Chaos briefly scanned over the settlement in the small desert below the two twins. The chilly night air picked up, and it ruffled his light brown hair slightly, making the natural blonde highlights that he had look like small streaks of lightning. Chaos noticed how his blonde steaks resembled lightning in his reflection in a nearby spring below him, and he smirked. 'How appropriate,' he thought to himself, knowing full-well that in mere moments, "lightning," was exactly what he intended to become.

Chaos smirked at his sister, and even though she couldn't see him and his mouth was covered by his bandana, she knew he was doing it—she knew he was smirking.

"What?" she asked him, slightly annoyed.

"Got your plan all figured out, yet?" he comically inquired, in the most cynical tone that he could muster.

"Yes." was all she responded with.

He raised an eyebrow and responded, now truly curious. He did not like thinking of plans, but he never minded using one of his sister's ideas. They always seemed to work. "…And that would be…?" he asked again.

"Kill them all, and don't get killed." was her level-headed response.

He deadpanned. "…And you're the genius in the family?" he questioned her "plan."

"No. Mom and Iris were the geniuses. I'm just the 'not-so-stupid' one in the family." she replied, finally facing her brother, and smirking as she did so. He rolled his eyes at her obvious quip directed at his intelligence. Their "masks" hid their facial features well from their enemies, but they knew each other well enough to tell what the other's face looked like at any given moment, even if they were wearing masks.

"Seriously, what's the plan?" he asked, now wanting a real answer.

This time, she gave a real answer. "You draw their fire from the northern-most entrance of the settlement. Once you have their attention, make sure and keep it. Redirect their fire at the secondary guards at the east entrance, making them confused and disoriented, and I'll take out the south and west ones, with my 'Flash Freeze." she concluded, and her brother nodded in response.

'That's more like it,' he thought to himself.

"…Okay, so—" Control started talking again, but she was cut off as her brother left her side, and in his place was left a noticeable blue streak, as he ran away from their current location at superhuman speeds.

Control rolled her eyes. She had an idea of where he was going, but with Chaos, one was never sure. Even after seventeen years of living with him, he truly was unpredictable. She was a lot like her brother in many ways, but they were very different as well. Their personalities were very different, and that was a given, but even their metahuman abilities were vastly different, yet somehow, exactly the same.

Thanks to their father, they both had a connection to the ever-present "Speed-Force." The "Speed-Force" was the force that controlled all motion in the known universe, and as such, gave speedsters their metahuman abilities, after they had been able to vibrate fast enough to tap into it. Furthermore, both of the twins had a certain kind of telekinesis, thanks to their mother. But the ways their separate abilities worked were astonishingly similar in very different ways.

Control could only slow down time around her, while Chaos could only speed up his own being or metabolism. The effect it had on the two was that, while they both looked like they were traveling at the same speed at maximum speed—approximately the speed of light, give or take—Control was really traveling at normal speed, while her brother was traveling as fast as light. She only slowed everything down around her, her brother included, so that she looked like she going that fast, and in all actuality, even though she really was, she didn't feel any faster.

The only difference between their speeds were that, while Chaos and Control could technically move at the same speed, only Chaos could breeze through it quickly, while control had to endure the entire normal length of a trip, albeit arriving at the same time as her brother. For instance, in a trip around the world, both a Chaos and Control would have left and arrived at the exact same time—less than a second later—but only Control would complain about having to walk around the entire planet at normal human speeds, while Chaos would have no such recollection.

The downside of Chaos's "quick fix" type of movement, though, was that it limited his sight, hearing, and other sensory perceptions that Control would have easily picked up on, while on the same trip. Not only was their use of the "Speed-Force" different from each other, but their use of telekinesis was vastly different as well.

Control could only fix things—only repair them. Her telekinesis allowed her to locate the strong and weak points in a structure or object and reinforce them, or make it stronger, thus fixing or reinforcing the entire object or structure. While this was true for Control, the opposite was true for her brother. Chaos could only break things. His personal telekinesis allowed him to only locate to strong and weak points in a structure or object, and break or destroy them, thus destroying the object.

Alone or separated, they were very skilled and trained, but together and united, they were best of friends, the greatest of rivals, a true force to be reckoned with.

Chaos had been gone for a half of a second. Control waited for another half-second, and then she began to get restless.

Her brother finally popped back into view. He was holding two cans of spray paint. One was red paint, and the other was white paint. She raised an eyebrow at him, and he smirked at her. He proceeded to undo his blue button-up shirt, revealing a well-defined physique with obvious muscles, which had clearly taken some good effort to get to that point.

Control raised her eyebrow even higher. Chaos proceeded to spray paint his chest and torso with the two cans of paint, and within a second he was done. After the toxic cloud of red-and-white paint dust cleared, Control took a look at her brother, and she rolled her eyes once again. He had painted a large red-and-white "bulls-eye target" on his chest.

"If I'm gonna be the decoy, then they're gonna need something to shoot at, right?" he questioned with a comical smirk crossing his face.

"You are just like dad." she sated with a sarcastic smile.

"Why, thank you." he responded, giving her a mock salute as he did so.

"What took you so long, anyways?" she asked him.

"Well, they didn't have any of the colors that I was looking for in any store in Cairo, so I had to stop off in France, and well, you know how the French are…" he trailed off, making an obscene gesture as he did so.

She arched her eyebrow once again. "K, you did pay for those, right?" she questioned him.

"…Define pay…" was all he could muster in response.

"CHAOS!" she boomed at her brother.

"Alright, alright! Chill! It's probably only like a measly five dollars anyways, so—" Chaos was cut off by his sister.

"…Then go and pay the 'measly' five dollars!" she retorted.

"Can't." he stated matter-of-factly.

"What? Why not?" she asked him quizzically.

"I'm broke." he smiled sheepishly at his sister.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You spent all your money on that tramp in Belgium, didn't you?" she asked, demanding an immediate answer.

"HEY! Don't call her a 'tramp!' It's not like she was a hooker or anything! I took her on a legit date!" he defended his actions.

She narrowed her eyes even further. "You didn't get any, did you?"

Chaos turned red in the face. "That is NONE of your business, nor is it any your concern!" he hastily replied back.

Control chuckled. "I'll take that as a 'no.'" she said in a sarcastic manner. Chaos shot her a dirty look.

"Haha, alright then, fine. Take this," she held out a French ten dollar bill, "go pay for the spray paint, and don't worry about paying me back. …And, next time, think long and hard about whom you spend your money on." she stated comically.

"Fine, 'mom.'" he retorted, taking the money and zooming of into the night. Chaos returned not even a full second later.

"…Better…?" he asked his sister.

"Much." she smiled at him. He rolled his eyes, but smirked at the same time.

The two refocused their attentions on the settlement before them. They were about to speak to each other when an ear-splitting scream was emitted from the settlement—a cry for help. Both siblings turned to each other, and just as Control looked at her brother, she swore that she saw a pair of dark emerald eyes in the shadows, staring back at her, but when she glanced a second time, they were gone. She narrowed her eyes on the spot where she had seen the pair of jade eyes, and she focused on it for a second, before her brother snapped her out of her reverie.

"Hey, CONTROL! We have a problem down there!" he yelled at her. She turned to face him and she nodded. The two Schism Siblings descended the cliff and headed for the settlement, quickly and quietly, but all the while Control kept her eyes peeled for a certain set of emerald eyes.

---

The girl awoke, and she slowly opened her eyes. Her dark brown eyes scanned the room before her. She was in the same hospital room that the blonde had brought her to. At the sound of a distinct 'beep,' the small preteen girl tilted her head upwards just the slightest to see where the beeping had originated. The origin of the sound was the heart monitor that she was attached to. She traced the line of the I.V. bag that was on the pole next to the heart monitor, and she found that the line ended inside her wrist. She cringed slightly. She hated needles.

She sighed deeply, and suddenly remembered something. 'The blonde,' she thought to herself. She hadn't kept her promise. She didn't come back. The girl wanted to cry, but she did not. She was far too used to things not going her way, or to people breaking their promises to let this bother her. But that was lie. It did bother her. Just as the girl was about to silently shed tears, she heard a sound that made her stop.

It had originated from the other side of the bed she was currently lying on. The girl took a deep breath, and she steadied herself. She mustered all of the remaining energy that she could—which was barely any at all—and she slowly, surely, painfully, turned her body around to face the other side of the room. As she turned, she discovered that her deep dark-brown-red hair was damp with sweat—probably from the nightmare that she had last night. What she saw next took her breath away.

The girl looked on in awe, as she watched the blonde—whose legs were hooked onto the bed's curtain-railing by the creases of her knees—perform a great number of vertical sit-ups, and every time the blonde raised her abdomen to meet her knees, she increased her efficiency, speed, rate of retraction, and general intensity of the exercise. She continued with this process, until she reached a count of 435 sit-ups. The girl assumed that she had done much more than that, before she had woken up. The blonde then quickly dismounted the curtain-railing, and she made not a single sound as she did so.

Next, the blonde dropped into a push-up position, and she began to do a great number of the exercises, clapping once, twice, and even three times each time, before she raised herself back up to her starting position. The small girl looked on in awe, and she counted 500 push-ups.

What the blonde-haired woman did next was truly a shock to the preteen girl in her bed. The blonde drew ten short, sharp, pointed, curved knives, and she extended them all, so that their length and points increases as well. They were throwing knives.

The woman then proceeded to fling the ten knives at the corner of the wall that was directly opposite her. She threw the knives at such an angle, that all of the blades returned to the blonde, bladed edge first, and the blades' new target was now clearly the blonde woman's face.

The girl in her bed wanted to yell to the woman, but she knew that it would do no good. The woman already knew about the dangers approaching her. In fact, for some unforeseeable reason, she had purposefully caused the danger that now threatened her life. So, knowing this information, the girl knew that yelling at the blonde would not help her. In all actuality, it might have done more harm than good, for if she yelled, she had a good chance of distracting her, and that wasn't a good thing—especially while professional throwing knives were hurtling right at her face. So, instead, the girl just laid there, still shell-shocked at the apparently insane actions of the older woman.

Rose did not look at the girl once, but she knew that she was watching her, and she smirked as the blades came towards her face at speeds faster than any professional knife thrower could have possibly fathomed. Rose moved her body in an expert manner, in and out of the blades' paths, and she quickly, effectively, and efficiently, dodged all of the incoming knives.

There was now a new problem, though. Rose had successfully and efficiently evaded the blades, but they were now headed directly at the small girl. The girl looked at the approaching doom heading straight for her with a wide-eyed expression. Before any of the knives left Rose's general vicinity, though, she quickly snatched each and every one of them out of the air. She quickly holstered her throwing knives, and she turned her attention the small girl who simply looked like she was about to pass out.

In that instance, Rose realized what she may have done. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't going to let any of them hurt you. I was only—" Rose started, but she was cut off, by the excited exclamation of the small girl before her.

"That. Was. AWESOME!" she exclaimed at the top of her lungs, and Rose rushed to her side, quickly placing a firm yet gentle hand over the girl's mouth.

"Shhh." she addressed the girl. She nodded silently in response. Rose released the hand that she had over the girl's mouth.

"…How… …Why… …When…" the girl asked and trailed off all in the same instance.

Rose smirked at the girl. "Years of practice." she replied.

"…Really…?... …Could you teach me how to do that…?" the girl asked, seeming hopeful.

Rose looked intently at the girl. "I know that it looks 'cool,' but, trust me, it is skill that people should only have to learn, when they have the type of life that I have." Rose replied very somberly.

The girl looked down. "I bet you have cool life. I bet you have people who care about you. I'd want that. Maybe if you taug—" the girl started, but she was cut off, when Rose sat down on the girl's bed, trapping her in a gentle embrace—one that neither of them fought.

"No. I'm sorry, but no. That is a skill that I had to learn, because, if I didn't then I wouldn't have been able to do things I did. The thing is, though, I did not want to do the things I did. I didn't have a choice to learn that skill, like you do now. I was forced to learn it. I didn't even know what I wanted, until I was nearly an adult. I only did what I was told, and that wasn't always the best of things. Trust me, it's not a useful skill." she said, as she continued to hug the girl. The two eventually pulled apart. The girl looked up at her.

"What did you do that was so bad?" she asked innocently.

"Look, I wasn't exactly… …a… …'good,' or for that matter, a 'decent' person. I was the kind of person that made the good guys necessary. I am that type of person. You shouldn't look up to me. I'm not worth it." she stated very seriously.

The girl's soft brown eyes looked into the blonde's ice cold blue eyes. "…Did you ever… …You know, kill anyone?" she asked the blonde. Rose looked very somberly at the girl, and she took that as her answer.

"I don't believe that you are a bad person, though. I don't believe that you were ever a bad person." the girl said.

Rose raised an eyebrow and looked at the girl intently. "…Oh… …And, why is that?" she questioned the small child.

"Because you made mistakes. But, you admitted to those mistakes. That doesn't make you bad. It makes you human." she smiled up at the blonde.

Rose looked wide-eyed. "How old are you?" she asked her.

"…Um… …I'm twelve. I'm almost thirteen. …Why?" replied the girl.

"…You're twelve, and you're over here, spouting 'Western Philosophy?'" Rose asked the girl comically.

The girl looked at her with a funny and unreadable expression. She obviously had not understood. "Never-mind." Rose cleared it up.

The girl nodded. "…So, why were you so interested in learning knife throwing, anyways?" Rose asked the brunette.

"…So I could stop being so weak." she responded, sounding down-trodden.

Rose looked her in the eye. "You. Are. Not. Weak."

"Yes, I am. I want to be someone like you. Someone who actually stands up for themselves. Someone who is worth standing up for. Someone wh—" the girl began her rant, but Rose cut her off.

She grabbed the girl's chin, and she lifted it to her eye level. "Who told you that you weren't worth standing-up for?" she asked the girl seriously.

"…The guys who attacked me…" the girl answered uneasily, and she cringed lightly as she did so.

"You are worth standing-up for. You are worth saving. That's why I saved you." she answered the girl. The girl looked up at the blonde, and she smiled half-heartedly.

"…Hey, um… …What did you do to those guys, anyways?" she questioned, and Rose looked away.

"I did what bad people do best." Rose answered abruptly.

The girl put her hand over the blonde's hand, and Rose turned back to face her. "…But, if you do bad things, to bad people, then doesn't that make it a good thing?" she asked the blonde, and Rose smirked.

"If only it was that easy. When the good guys do what the bad guys do, then what is the difference is there between them? There is none. That's why I'm bad, kid." she said, smiling cynically at her. She chuckled.

"You can call me Collin." she replied.

Rose smiled. "That's a pretty name."

"No, it's not." she refuted.

"Yes, it is. It's certainly better than Rose." she responded.

Collin looked at her with a sweet and sincere expression. "You're name is 'Rose?'" she asked.

Rose nodded.

"Wow. That's really pretty."

Rose chuckled. "Yeah, that's the problem. Do you know how many teeth I have to knock out of a guy, before he realizes that I can do more than look good?" she posed her rhetorical question, and Collin broke into a fit of near-uncontrollable laughter.

She stopped laughing after a while. "I still don't think that you're bad." she stated.

"Trust me, kid. I'm bad." she retorted.

Collin looked at her seriously. "Well, if you're so bad, then why did you save me?" she questioned.

Rose looked at her seriously. "I saved you because you were worth it." she smiled down at her.

Collin narrowed her eyes. "You said that already. What I want to know is, why did you think that I was worth it?" she inquired, getting deeper into the blonde's psyche.

Rose looked at her, and she sighed deeply. "I thought that you were worth it, because you did not deserve that. But, it still happened to you. You are the kind of person who would hold no animosity towards those who hurt you. I knew this, because I was like you. I was like you, but I no longer am. I wanted to save that part of you that I saw as the only decent part of myself. You are the kind of person, who when pushed to forgive and forget, or avenge, would do the sooner. You are a peaceful person. You are a person who wants nothing more than to stop pain—all of the pain. You want to stop it, because you know how bad it feels to feel pain. All you want is to make the world better, and if left alone, that is exactly what you will do. Who knows, you may grow-up to cure cancer or found the first alien ambassador center, or something. You could actually do those things, because that is who you are. That is who you would become, if you were left alone. However, those monsters did not leave you alone, and they never would, unless I stopped them. So, I did. I stopped them. You are more valuable to this world then they were, and if they were left alive, then they would have ended you, or people like you. The world had to make a choice—who was better, who was worth saving. It made that choice, through me. I found them, and I ended them, so that you could grow-up, and be free of the fear that inhibits this wayward world from being a 'good' place. I saved you because you can make this world better, and that is exactly what this place needs right now." Rose finished, looking at Collin with the most endearing expression that she could muster.

"…Wow. Do you really mean those things?" she asked in awe. Rose nodded her head at her solemnly, and Collin hugged the girl's waist tightly—very tightly. Rose was a little shocked by the action, but she eventually gave-in and returned the embrace.

"You're still a good guy, just sayin'." Collin snuck in, as she was hugging Rose. "You saved me because it was good thing to do. You do bad things to bad people. I don't know about you, but that sounds like a 'good guy,' to me." Collin finished, as she pulled away from Rose, smirking, because she knew that she had just won the argument.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Oh, just shut up and eat." she said. Collin looked at her with an amused and confused expression. Rose took the McDonald's bag off of the nightstand near the bed, and she placed the bag in the girl's lap. Collin grinned hugely up at the blonde, as she began to open and devour the contents of the bag. Rose watched the way she ate, the way she acted, the way she sounded, and the way she…looked. Rose went wide-eyed for a second.

'She couldn't be. …Could she…?...' Rose thought to herself.

"…Hey, Collin?" she asked the girl, who currently had her mouth stuffed with mounds of a "McSkillet Burrito," and some pieces of a hash brown.

"…Hmmm…?..." Collin responded, after managing to swallow her large mouthful.

"…Um, where are, well, you know, your, um…" Rose trailed off, not sure as to how to continue.

"…My parents…?" Collin finished for her.

Rose nodded.

Collin shrugged. "I was adopted at birth, and I really liked my family. …But, then, this doctor who said he could help us, he, um, well, he did really bad stuff to them, and I…" Collin trailed off, her voice getting weaker and weaker with every passing word, as she began to shed new tears. Rose engulfed the girl in another crushing embrace.

"…Oh, Collin, that's okay. I'm sorry." she comforted the girl. Collin quickly dried her eyes, and she smiled up at Rose. Rose smiled back. After a few moments, a nurse entered the room, and she began to check on the girl, ask her some routine questions, and monitor her vitals. After she was done, Rose escorted the nurse out. Collin was a little skeptical about this sneaking around, but Rose assured her that she would be back soon, and thus Collin believed her.

Once outside in the hallway, Rose addressed the nurse. "Do you have any information on anything about her? Birthparents, birthday, last name?" Rose asked her frantically. Unfortunately, the nurse shook her head.

"Unfortunately, ma'am, it could take some time, to get the test results back." the nurse responded, referring to the blood and DNA tests that they had ordered done on the girl.

Rose nodded her head solemnly, but she had one final piece of input. "…Well… …While we're waiting, do you think that you could run a test on one specific possible birthparent?" she asked the nurse, and she nodded.

"What's the name?" she inquired.

Rose looked the nurse dead in the eye. She spoke solemnly, "Jason Todd."

---

"Dammit, Cain! I have gone over this with you time-and-time again! I am not putting that damn suit back on!" Dick erupted at the Commissioner of Gotham City Police. Commissioner Cassandra Cain—who apparently had taken up smoking since her promotion to commissioner, as she had cigarette in her mouth as she inhaled deeply—looked unfazed as she continued to talk with Dick.

"I know that you have your reasons, Dick, but, godammit! This city—no, this world—needs Batman! You cannot just sit your ass there, while that crazy clown runs around town, unopposed!" Cain erupted back. The slender dark-haired, dark-eyed, physically fit, and obviously oriental woman shot back. Dick ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, and he sighed very deeply.

This conversation, which had quickly turned into an escalating argument, was currently taking place on top of Gotham City Police Department's main precinct building, in downtown Gotham. There were being so loud and furious that, had it not been for the tall height of the building, everyone on street level would have been looking up at them by now.

"I know. But, I'm not—" Dick started, but he was interrupted by Cassandra's rebottle.

"Yes. Yes, Dick. You are Batman! Bruce left the cowl to you! To you, godammit! How can you arg—" she started, but Dick cut her off.

"...Because, Cass…" he trailed off.

"…Because, WHAT?" she pressed him further.

"…Because he trusted me with that responsibility, and I broke his rule—his one rule! The moment that I did that, Cass, I became one of Gotham's criminals. I cannot stand to wear that suit after what I did. I would be the biggest hypocrite with the biggest ears." he answered.

Cain sighed, and puffed out a breath of smoke. "Dick, you know that he deserved what he got. That clown had it coming for years. After what he did to Lana, I can't beg—" Cassandra started, but Dick interjected, rather angrily.

"It doesn't matter what he did! It doesn't matter what he didn't do! I had no right to judge him, determine his fate, or execute him—especially because of personal vengeance! I loved Lana, but to honor her, and our love, I should have done what Bruce wanted me to do—not kill that maniac! Now, look what's it's done! Another, better, smarter, somehow incredibly well-trained, and new Joker has come to Gotham, and he is not only just as bad as the old, he is worse! I caused that! I cannot do this anymore, Cain. I'm done." he finished, exasperated.

She sighed, and with her sigh, came another puff of smoke. "I know. But, Dick, if you want retribution, then now is the time to get it. Now is the time to avenge yourself." she reasoned. "Lana was a good woman, Dick. You and I both knew that. She was strong and brave, and intelligent. She was one of the few people who went up against that maniac and died without a hint of fear on her face. But, this city needs someone who cannot die! It needs Batman!" she finished.

Dick, surprisingly, nodded. "You're right, Cain. It does need Batman. But it does not need me. Call Terry." he said as he began to walk off the roof.

"He won't pick up either. Ever since Damian left, it's like you're all dead." she said sadly, shaking her head as she did so. Dick stopped in his tracks.

"Then revive 'Black Bat,' if you're so concerned." Dick retorted, cynically.

She smirked. "Can't. 'Black Bat,' or the new 'Black Bat,' rather, is in Hong Kong, seeing to her own business." she responded.

Dick turned around and raised an eyebrow at her. He walked back to where she was standing. "You let Steph take the suit to Hong Kong?" he asked, in utter disbelief.

Cain shook her head. "Nope. I sent her there." she said, smirking. Dick shook his head.

"I thought it'd be good for her. She is still really hung-up on Tim's demise and that guilt will eat her alive, if she doesn't keep it in check. So, I sent someone to keep an eye on her." Cain said, smirking once again.

Dick was now truly curious. "Who'd you send?" he asked, unsure if he truly wanted to know.

"Jon." was all she responded with.

Dick went wide-eyed. "You sent Jon Kent with her? Oh, you're evil." he said chuckling. Dick hadn't chuckled in a very long time.

"Yes. Yes, I did. They both need to get over themselves. After the 'Hero Hunting,' Jon wasn't the same. He opted to die, instead of using Kryptonite to stay alive. Of course Lois and Sam argued him out of it, but it seems that he would have been more useful dead. At least then, he would have served as inspiration or something of the sort. Now, he just mopes around and whines about being crippled and being 'half the man his father was,' and it was really driving the rest the family crazy. So, since Steph seemed to be the only person to truly be able to get through to him, I sent them to Hong Kong, together. …And, since Lois passed, and Jon became Sam's legal guardian, she just had to go with him…" Cain trailed off, smirking even wider, blowing another puff of gray smoke out of her mouth.

Dick's mouth nearly fell open. "You sent Samantha Lane and Stephanie Brown to Hong Kong? Was your intent to destroy the city?" he asked quizzically, but also, somewhat comically.

She shrugged. "Besides, the 'kryptonite claws' that I built-into the new suit, although primarily meant for alien menaces, would be very beneficial to Jon's special 'treatment.' So, it only made sense." she explained.

"You know that trying to get her to date the Kryptonian won't fill the void that Tim left, right?" he asked her.

She looked at him seriously. "She loved Tim, and everybody knew that. I respected that, and I loved Tim like a brother—we all did. But, now, after his death, she is closing herself off from all forms of emotion. She is worse than an android. She loves Jon, too. She just won't admit it. So I'm forcing her to realize it." Cain stated solemnly.

"…And, what about you?" Dick asked curiously.

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What about me?" she questioned.

"I would only assume that Tim's death would have affected Steph, as much as Jason's would have affected you." he elaborated.

"Let me stop you right there. Jason Todd was a lawless, loose-cannon, lunatic, and he was my rival. Do not think anything otherwise. He was nothing more than my enemy, my rival, an obstacle, and a constant thorn in my side." she argued adamantly.

"You know, sometimes rivals make the best allies." Dick responded, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

"I was adopted by Barbara Gordon. She and Bruce taught me right from wrong, and Bruce tried the same thing with Jason. Apparently, though, he failed. Jason was a hero, but he became a criminal. He had every right to feel the way that he did towards the Joker. That crazy clown took my mother's legs from her. He beat Jason to death. He tortured Tim to the point of near-insanity, and near-death. The fact remains, though, that, as you said, 'When we act like the villains we fight, we become them, and as such, we kill the hero within ourselves.'" she said, looking Dick right in the eye.

"In the end, Jason died to protect and preserve this world. He died to save his brother. Jason was a hero, no matter what you say, or how you phrase it, and I know that you know that. You were always the first to sympathize with him, the first to defend his actions, and when he went after the Joker for revenge, you were right on his tail, seeking that same exact revenge that he sought. You two were the vastly different, yet exactly the same. I can see that you miss him more than you let on, that is, if you let on at all. He did bad things—murderous things—yes. But, he did those things to bad, murderous people. You and him were the only two, to ever kill anyone in costume, and it was always justified. Bruce may not have agreed with it, but I saw the good in it. Granted, I didn't always agree with it either, but that doesn't change the fact that he was good, the fact that you were good. You two killed, to stop others from feeling pain, to stop others from killing. You did bad things, yes, but you did them in good ways. It's okay to admit when you miss someone, Cass. I miss him. I miss Tim. I miss Bruce, my father. I miss my father, and I miss my brothers." Dick ended his rant.

She looked him straight in the eyes. "Fine. I miss him." she confessed. Dick smiled at her nodded.

"I wonder how Black Bat is holding up in Hong Kong?" he asked no one in particular.

"I'm sure that she is doing just fine." the Commissioner responded, puffing out more smoke.

"Well, it is somewhat comforting to know that there are at least some heroes left." he replied, surprisingly somewhat upbeat.

"It doesn't change the fact that the world still needs Batman—very badly." she stated, as Dick had now resumed his previous action of walking away.

"…And it doesn't change the fact that I am not putting that suit back on." he responded over his shoulder.

Cain smirked. "Give my regards to Laura." she said, just as he was disappearing through the door of the roof.

"You do know that she probably won't remember you, right?" Dick questioned.

"Probably. You know, Dick, you've got a strong girl there." she responded smiling.

He smiled in return. "I know." was all he said.

"I mean it. I see the way that she looks at the world. It's the same look that her mother had. It's the same look that you had. She is very skilled, you know. She could do great things, if you'd allow her to—" Cain was cut off by Dick's adamant response.

"No." he said hastily, as he turned around to face her once again.

"…But—" Cain was cut off once again.

"…She can never be great at being in a mask. I won't let her. What she can be is be great at being a normal human teenager. That is what she'll do. I refuse to put the burden of this godforsaken world on her shoulders." he shot at the Commissioner.

"She could handle it, though. She's strong, and you know that. You know, if she actually knew who her father actually was, she might think differently. If she knew what you had done—knew that you were Batman—she might change her mind." Cain responded.

"That's why she does not know." he replied. He turned around and began to walk off of the roof for the final time.

Commissioner Cain sighed, taking a drag of her cigarette as she did so. "Take care, Dick." she called after him.

"Will do, Commissioner." Dick responded, without so much as turning around.

Cain looked out over the city, thinking that it needed more than Batman. It needed retribution.

A/N: Well, hot DAMN! I still have so MUCH to introduce, and SO MUCH to INTER-TWINE! Hmmm… Can you see the next generation of heroes lining up nicely? Haha, who got the fact that the ENEMY of Connor Hawke (Rex Mathis's FATHER—A.K.A "The Green Arrow") took his name from "Robin Hood?" Oh, C'MON, I KNOW That SOME of you got it—Gisborne (Robin Hood's GREATEST FOE)? What about the NEW, OLD, AND, IMMENSELY, POWERFUL foes that our heroes will have to face? I'm JUST GETTING WARMED-UP! PLEASE R&R! …And, to answer those burning questions in the back of your skull, STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT UPDATE!