Chapter Three
Bargaining. . . with Exposition!!
Earth Space Coordinate 12'42" and 47 degrees – 2,731.25 kilometers from Artificial Dimension Breach #2B79 as classified by the Oa Council
Given his 50-plus years experience with going toe-to-toe with the best and worst that a number of realities could throw at him, the Superman of Earth-2 usually had little trouble seeing when he would have a hard road to hoe. Just as his adopted father had been so diligent in teaching him that surviving life's difficulties was a task done through patience rather than strength, Kal-L had long endeavored to remember the value of keeping just a little bit extra on the back-burner until the time was needed to bring it to play, that spark of strength and persistence that had seen him through countless situations.
He didn't need that in his battle against Gladiator, whose name he had discovered through the timely assistance of Billy Batson. Whatever advantage the amethyst skinned warrior had temporarily gained was garnered through the element of surprise and the willingness he held in sacrificing his life for whatever his cause happened to be. His latest adversary held neither one of those advantages but, judging from the determined look on the towering man's face and the nearly blind force behind the haymaker that had just crashed against the left side of his jaw, Kal-L quickly presumed that his antagonist didn't think it was necessary. Indeed, the mass of muscle looked almost disgusted as he waited for Superman to rise back to his feet, the self-satisfied smirk that crept onto his lips a near perfect duplicate of the look that greeted Superman when the new opponent first made his impression felt.
The forward rush was frighteningly fast, the velocity of the attack so focused that the golden cape flowing against the man's back almost broke free entirely of the red-and-yellow battle gear it had been fastened to. Kal-L was just a little bit faster however and his quick veer to the right allowed him to easily dodge the assault before delivering a harsh punch to his foe's stern gut. The next dozen or so strikes were delivered with similar speed and efficiency, the short scant of recovery time between each throw of his fists allowing his opponent just enough time to recover and keep himself modestly covered up from suffering too much damage. His opponent's backpedaling was long expected, just as Kal-L's decision to stand by and wait the brief recess out was made with more than enough time, the sight of the broad gashes along the blonde-haired man's left eyebrow and upper lip clear signs as to who had gained the advantage.
The added distance was all that Superman needed to be ready for the storm of energy that poured from his rival's eyes, the aged Last Son of Krypton countering almost instantly with his own wave of heat vision that poured from his steaming pupils. The two mighty forces met quickly but silently within the blackness of space, the struggle lasting for little more than a second before Hyperion's own efforts were pushed back towards him. Any effort that Mark Milton could have made to defend himself from the solar energy being forced down upon him were quickly cut short as Kal-L's left fist crashed into his sternum with such force that the Kryptonian's hand pushed his way straight through his sternum. It was only thanks to his unnatural durability that the defeated man had the chance to howl in agony, the determined glare on the old man's face providing him with a frightening precursor for the reaper that awaited to collect him.
The widening look of alarm and panic on Hyperion's face did not deter the Kryptonian in the least as he began to vibrate each and every molecule in his body with a well-practiced ease. The strain brought upon his anguished foe clearly too much to be properly endured. The long seconds that passed were quick to destroy the once confident murderer from the inside out, his stern frame soon scattered by the surrounding vestiges of a well-traveled solar wind.
Just like the first one, Kal-L observed as his active mind continued to peruse the possibilities. Something tells me William is going to want to hear about this.
Gotham City – The Batcave
As was often the case when it came to the things he took pride or comfort from, Kurt Wagner had never been shy when it came to confessing his love for classic films. The star-filled nights he spent huddled within the attics of aged cinemas with his adopted brothers and sisters, his enthusiastic eyes wide with wonder as he pored over the exploits of the greatest heroes of the silver screen, were times he would always consider to be among his most cherished memories. He could still remember how he would draw a deaf ear as his family around him and the audience members below would cheer and laugh and startle with excitement, his attentions firmly focused upon the work of Flynn, Granger, and Hudson. It was there that the restless performer was born, the daredevil that became relentlessly determined to outshine them all one day.
That being said, while the standing results of Nightcrawler's body of work was still up for debate, the indigo-furred mutant was rather confident that he had done his share to show what he could do upon his own chosen stage, or at least enough to find enjoyment within the wonders these deep catacombs had to show him. The various memorabilia and trophies collected by the master of the house each seemed desperately determined to tell him a story, to immerse him within the same types of tales that fascinated him so many years ago as he hung from the rafters. He did his best to listen in to these accounts while still attempting to guess the fates of the characters within them, the situation that had been at hand, and which little events within the yarn had lead to the physical memory being placed at this very spot. There was no way that he could have guessed correctly, of course, but the contest that came with expanding his imagination still made the journey quite worthwhile.
The surprisingly soft steps of well-maintained dress shoes sounded off on the cave floor under Nightcrawler's feet, the noise prompting him to turn towards Alfred Pennyworth with a rather sheepish smile. "Please forgive me. Given sights such as these, the desire to explore was perhaps a bit much for me."
The kind but understanding smile the butler gave to him in response quickly put Kurt at ease, the younger fellow still somewhat surprised that so many of the people he had encountered in this reality appeared to not be the least bit alarmed by what many would have considered to be his freakish features. "It is quite alright, Mister Wagner," the gray-haired caretaker replied. "If it sets your heart at ease, you are hardly the first person to pay undue attention to the various baubles here before us."
"Ah," Kurt replied with a knowing chuckle. "A longtime colleague of mine would post similar complaints during and after our various forays," he explained as his fingers briefly hovered over the deck of sharp-edged playing cards perched upon a nearby pedestal. "Scott would always chide us for our lack of professionalism or criticize us for diverting from the dream that Charles had laid out for us. Of course, who is left to listen to one whose voice is so strident that it metes punishment upon all objections or kindly advice, ja?"
"Quite so," Alfred countered, a hint of prudishness within his quick relent as he rose to his full height before crossing his arms across his modest gut. "Would this 'Scott' be relegated to the task of maintaining your various memorabilia during your times of presence and absence by any chance?"
"I'm afraid that he did not even have that defense," Kurt answered, his long fingers now sorely tempted to reach for one of the masterly made epees and cutlasses safely nested within the various apertures of a nearby cabinet. "Such exquisite craftsmanship. . . I must confess that I have always had an admiration for artful weaponry such as this."
"Is that right?" Alfred asked, his keen mind beginning to make some half-hidden connections as his face threatened a smile.
"Ah, yes," Nightcrawler replied, his eyes fully upon a particularly sharp cutlass that Alfred's master had liberated from the clutches of Ra's Al-Ghul. "My heart was always drawn to pirates and swashbucklers as a child. Such stories have fascinated me ever since I had the pleasure of watching Scaramouche in the old theater in Gorgoli."
"Well, you appear to have quite an eye for the silver screen," Alfred guessed. "I don't suppose you enjoyed The Mark of Zorro by any chance?"
The dreamy, almost childish smile was all the reply that Alfred needed. "Ah, yes. I've always had a weakness for the silent films of old. It would always be easier for me to pretend that it was I upon the screen. Are you a fan, Herr Pennyworth?"
Alfred let out an amused sigh. "I'm afraid I've always found it to be a rather acquired case," he answered shrewdly, the carefree shrug of Nightcrawler's shoulders a strong indication that he took no offense. "My apologies for the interruption but your presence has been requested. They are awaiting you within the cave's central chamber.""
Nightcrawler needed only a moment to turn his eyes away from all there was to see and return to the task at hand. "Ach, yes. I shall return immediately. My apologies for the unnecessary excursion, good sir."
The longtime X-Man took just enough time to properly receive Alfred's returning nod before returning to perch upon a file cabinet that stood adjacent to the trio of Cray supercomputers which stood at the center of The Batcave. Traveling nearly 75 yards in a fraction of a second, his ability to access pockets of space available only to a select few had turned what most would be an impossible feat into something as simple as breathing. His lithe, lightly fuzzy frame was soon rendered almost completely hidden by the catacomb's looming shadows, the only truly discernible traces of his presence stemming from the glow of his yellow eyes and the potent stench of brimstone that had been dragged with him upon his journey, the bizarre odor quickly wafting through the noses of those around him.
"Awesome," Robin remarked in appreciation.
"Reeking," Arrowette offered in defiance.
Nightcrawler couldn't help but chortle while scratching the back of his head with his long fingers in a somewhat defensive manner, his eagerness for the spotlight merging with an occasional hint of discomfiture. "I will admit that it is not the greatest price to pay in return for the gifts provided by my mutant gene," the X-Man offered. "However, I have also found that there are greater costs available for my kind."
"Is there any significance behind the brimstone filtrate?" Batman asked, his strong right hand wrapped around his chin in a gesture of contemplation. "I ask because one of our comrades shares a similar ability, albeit without the tangible byproduct."
"And the blue fur and cool looking devil tail," Robin added, her unexpected addendum earning her a pointed glare from Batman and a snigger from the elfin-eared mutant in front of her.
"Well, as far as my appearance is concerned, I'm afraid that it is best explained by the old adage 'one may pick their nose if not their family'," Kurt explained, his words bringing a round of smiles and understanding nods that spurred him on to elaborate. "My mother was a shapeshifting mutant named Raven Darkholme and my father was a creature named Azazel, an entity that someone from our reality would describe as a greater demon."
The easy confession caused some widened eyes and one particularly impressed sounding whistle from Kurt's attentive audience. "Sounds like an entertaining family reunion," offered Roy Harper, the sharpshooter known as Arsenal offering his pithy remark while checking the barrel of one of his revolvers for any flaws or scuffs.
"Well, I have tried my best to avoid such gatherings," Nightcrawler gamely countered, his eyes momentarily locked on the red-haired gunman while his words eagerly stretched out to all he could draw in. "Though my unique gifts may have not come from the kindest of sources, the chance I have to employ my talents for a greater good is something I will always consider to be a blessing from God. It has allowed me to find a new home, it inspires my calling to teach the glories of our God and my efforts to protect those who cannot protect themselves and, apparently, it has temporarily led me to all of you."
"Cooooool," Stephanie Brown repeated, her beaming smile continuing to broaden.
"But still smelly," Cecilia King-Jones also recurred, the jocular words earning the archer a playful cuff on the head from her fellow fair-haired Gothamite.
"Well, thank you for the compliment as well as the criticism," Nightcrawler noted with his usually smooth and easy drawl. "Still, I cannot imagine that this is why you have summoned me here."
"Indeed not," Noah Kuttler began, the veteran hacker staring back at Nightcrawler over his well-polished spectacles. "The Black Dog is returning with your fellow dimension hopper despite his phenomenal amount of ineffectual opposition."
Nightcrawler did his best to withhold any grumbling or sighs, the former leader of Excalibur momentarily chastising himself for his short-lived irresponsibility. "Allow me to once again apologize for his actions. Though I am afraid that I do not know as much about Herr Wilson as I would like at the present time, I have frequently been told that his intentions are generally beneficial, if a bit skewed."
"What was up with that whackadoodle anyway?" Stephanie nearly snarled while swiping back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. "And how did he know so much about us?"
"I imagine that Deadpool would be more than happy to speak of such manners," Nightcrawler replied, his words almost completely interrupted as the sound of sliding metal echoed from the far western corner of the cave. Shifting his eyes toward the rays of sunlight filtering through the quiet gloom, the veteran swordsman was able to barely catch the blur of red to follow before it slid to a stop nearly 10 feet away from him, the mastery of motion startling even his experienced nerves. The Flash's arrival was soon followed by the graceful, gliding entrance of a woman with long, blonde hair and surprisingly bright blue eyes made to look even brighter by her tasteful attire of a sea-green sweater and dark blue jeans. The raven-haired man flying beside her was similarly dressed though any attempt to look into his eyes were momentarily interrupted by his efforts to carry in the mass of broken bones and stretched muscles appropriately garbed in a familiar red-and-black battle armor. The sight of the foolish lump of skin and bone caused Kurt to sigh while shaking his head back and forth in amazement.
"Hardly the most auspicious way of making your presence felt, Herr Wilson," Nightcrawler reminded his erstwhile partner while examining the damage more extensively. "I imagine that you have something to say for yourself?"
Wade Wilson slowly wafted his head up and down to indicate that he did. "Baaaaat-daaaaance," he rasped out, the bizarre reply causing him to burst out laughing before the blood trapped in his throat caused him to let out a ragged cough.
"I am not even going to ask," Arrowette said while also taking a peek at the shrouded troublemaker, her heart-shaped face tilting to one side as the markswoman leaned in to take a closer look. However, before her examination could go any further, a deafening KRAAAAAACK! resounded through the caverns that forced her and many of the other denizens to startle in surprise. As surprising as the incident could have been, however, the source of the clamor was quick to reveal itself as a golden sigil appeared to etch itself within the solid limestone, the brief smell of ozone making it appear as the essence of nature itself had chosen to make its presence felt.
"Oh my," Nightcrawler observed while momentarily shutting his eyes in response to the sharp luminosity. "I am assuming from the grandiose entrance that this is the one responsible for bringing us together?"
"Most likely," Batman replied, a definitively sour note in his delivery as Billy Batson quite literally brought himself down to earth. "And just what has you brought down upon our doorstep now?"
The youthful heir to the secrets within the Rock of Eternity weathered the critical inquiry with an easy laugh, his left hand rushing through the well-arranged array of black hair on top of his head. "I am pleased to see that all of you have gotten together so quickly," he began while looking upon his selected champions. "I had hoped to hasten the progress myself but I'm afraid that there were other matters that needed tending to. . ."
The god innocently masquerading as a boy then caught a glance of the barely conscious Wade Wilson, the psychotic responding to the newly acquired stare with a cheery, if somewhat tired-looking wave of his left hand as Batson's eyes widened with alarm.
"Okay, I'm finally going to say it," Arrowette finally snapped as the wheels began to turn in Billy Batson's head. "Am I the only person seeing a definite resemblance between this guy and a certain crazy old coot?"
"Dare ya to tell him that," Roy blithely replied while also having no problem making the connection. He would have likely had more to say about the somewhat intriguing matter if it didn't look as if the former Captain Marvel was nearly ready to implode in shock and worry, the young entity's nervousness hastily spreading into everyone around him.
"Oh, dear. Something's gone terribly wrong."
Boston
This was hardly the first time that Slade Wilson had reconsidered his recent change of profession. After all, as troublesome as the life of a professional assassin could occasionally be, it was also a job that rarely ever led to any brooding, stewing, or contemplations of others' unpredictable futures. There was also the freedom that came from killing anyone that he had issues with, a lifestyle option that not only allowed him to quickly rid himself of any annoying nuisances that crawled within his livelihood but also allowed him to further cement his reputation as someone who could finish what you asked him to start, at least so long as you didn't piss him off.
The man known to some as Deathstroke the Terminator took a moment to shake away that dismal line of thinking as he slumped further down into his chair, the most recent of hectic arguments with his daughter still quite fresh in his mind. Resisting the urge to fuss and fester like a wailing brat in a toy store (or a silver-haired, rebellious 19-year-old, take your pick) the former mercenary did his best to restrain himself while diving his hands into the inner recesses of his newfound seat, his skilled fingers searching for the remote control that Rose had doubtlessly left within the cramped passageways. Hardly needing his chemically-borne ability to employ ninety percent of his brain to complete his search, the aged supersoldier soon emerged with his decidedly modest reward and brought it to good use by activating the television in front of him.
"What you gon' do with all that junk? All that junk inside yo trunk?"
"I'ma get, get, get, get, you drunk, get you love drunk. . ."
"Damn MTV," Slade grumbled while hurriedly changing the channel, his desire to avoid anything that could be found the least bit appealing to the mind of a teenager nearly becoming too much for even him to properly control. "Damn stupid teenagers and their music videos. In my day, we had good music," he noted while perusing and passing through CNN, C-Span, and BBC America in quick succession. "Not a bunch of preprocessed refuse that gets played once in a studio before being lip-synched 2,000 times on a live tour."
He resisted the urge to let out a sigh of relief as The Golden Girls popped up on the high-definition contraption that his daughter had insisted he buy for her, the mere idea that he could be comforted by such an occurrence threatening to warp his powerful brain. Several seconds passed as he momentarily allowed the not-so-sagely words of Rose Nylund to wash over him like an unexpected balm, the charm of the simple entertainments laid before him making him feel just a little bit better.
Of course, it was the two shots he fired from his revolver towards his unexpected intruder that started off what he imagined would really make him feel better, the pair of rounds embedding themselves into the plaster as his target swiftly leapt to the right to avoid the opening assault. The noise of the canned laughter launching from the speakers was soon forgotten as his acute senses continued to search for how many visitors he had, his sharp ears picking up three different sets of movements before the feral growl of the one rushing up to him finally drew his attention. Dodging the swipe of the man's razor-sharp claws with a well-practiced ease, the Vietnam War veteran swiftly countered by ramming his right knee into his attacker's stomach before twisting his left hand into a knifepoint and stabbing his middle and ring fingers at one of the vital pressure points along his attacker's neck. The results he had garnered from his first successful strike warned him that his precise follow-up would not have the effect he was looking for and that mistake nearly cost him the left side of his abdomen as his opponent ripped a trio of deep gashes along his hip, the efforts Slade made to momentarily shut down the flow of blood to his opponent's brain seemingly not the least bit effective.
"Nothing worse than a new face," Slade noted as he avoided the two-handed lunge that followed by mere centimeters, the timely evasion allowing him to shove aside the claw-wielding man with enough force to send him tumbling into and over the nearby barcalounger. As disappointed as he could have been about the exchange, the need to avoid the blindside rush of the colossal man coming at him quickly took precedent. The metallic-looking appearance of his newest challenger was a mild surprise but nothing he couldn't overcome, the former assassin simply employing his phenomenal reflexes to first slide around the rush before ducking under the swiping backhand that followed. He only needed a fraction of a second to prepare his body for what he needed to do next, his hands grasping his attacker's left wrist with a steady grip as the massive limb swung forward. Pushing his powerful body into a tight forward roll, the veteran of the battlefield wisely employed the added fulcrum to make a short but focused leap that allowed him to lift his 500-pound opponent with ease before flinging him through the western wall of the room with a picture-perfect judo-style arm drag.
The sudden urge to fume over the loss of yet another security deposit was the next priority to be shuffled away as Deathstroke twisted his body through a double forward somersault, the added height made a necessity by the ruby-red lance of energy that easily blasted through the southern wall before missing him by inches. The counter shot from his revolver was an equally near miss, the fact that the newcomer had surprised him leaving Slade mildly impressed as he came to realize the numbers game was getting more than a little dicey. The flash of concussive energy that nearly exploded in front of his eyes merely provided another reminder of his predicament, the conclusion that the blonde-haired female with the disturbingly bright bodysuit had clearly been assigned to the task of disorienting him while her male counterparts did the damage coming quickly to his mind.
Looks like it's time to cut my losses, Deathstroke silently decided as while paying close attention as the claw-wielding man in the tan-and-brown battle armor rushed at him once again. Pivoting his body to the right so that the three short blades in his foe's left wrist would sink into his shoulder rather than his heart, the grizzled warrior barely let out a hint of a grunt as he held the bulky fellow down with all the strength his left arm could offer. Sliding to his knees, he tried to not take too much satisfaction as his involuntary shield was pummeled by the optic blast that was clearly meant for him, the impressive impact not only searing off the skin of his unfortunate foe but even doing enough damage to melt the man's neck enough for his head to slump backward in a decidedly unhealthy manner.
"On the other hand, there's nothing more fun than proving an hypothesis," Deathstroke said to no one in particular as he tossed Wolverine's broken body aside, the shower of sparks and the whining of shattered servos providing the last bit of evidence he needed to prove that his attackers were decidedly something other than human. Hungry for more experimentation, the former adversary of The Teen Titans took a moment to send the blonde-haired android scurrying away with a series of gunshots while allowing enough time for the largest of his attackers to rush at him once again. Deciding to let gravity do the work for him once again, Slade hastily slid onto his back before sending the robotic duplicate of Colossus head over heels with a monkey flip, the strength of his leg muscles essentially transforming the large automaton into a quarter-ton missile. The effectiveness of his newfound weapon was soon demonstrated as it crashed headlong into the android that had been pestering him with its optic blasts, the impact enough to snap the head of the visor-wearing robot straight off of its stern shoulders. The combination of a flash grenade and another spray of gunshots was enough to stave off the last robot as he quickly dashed toward the nearby window, his athletic leap through the glass and wood enabling him to avoid the ray of hard light that the female-looking automaton sent his way in response.
It didn't surprise Slade in the least when his three-story trip down to the pavement below did not go on uninterrupted. The fact that the disruption came in the form of a bolt of lightning, however, was more than a bit unexpected and left him quite grateful for the near miss as he soon found solid ground once again, the controlled crash causing a brief spray of dried cement to flutter onto his boots. His eyes and ears were quick to pick up both the white-haired source of the lightning as well as the robot with the blue synthetic fur teleporting at his back, the realization that the two opponents he left behind in the loft would soon be making their return as well.
"All right, so I'm being attacked by robotic equivalent of creatures I don't recognize for reasons that I currently can't understand," Slade noted aloud while keeping an eye on his incoming aggressors. "Something tells me that I should be making my way to Gotham."
The Batcave
"Saaaaaaay. . . what now?" asked Robin as the rest of her fellow Misfits looked on with either growing concern (Bruce, Cecilia, Noah, and Wally), mild annoyance (Kara and Lloyd) or anticipation over who they would have to shoot in order to get back to doing something more enjoyable (Roy). "What do you mean you got the wrong guy? Well, I mean I understand that he could be the wrong guy 'cause he's basically a sex-starved, psychopathic pain junkie. . ."
"Scaaaaaaandalous!" Deadpool screamed back in defiance, his singing voice far too wobbly to be considered lucid under even his standards. "Talkin' 'bout foo and fee," he reiterated before collapsing into another pain-induced stupor.
"Isn't this your job?!" Robin spat out while shooting an angry glare at the self-appointed Merc with A Mouth, the young Green Lantern somehow even more annoyed than Batman about this latest turn of events. "I mean, aren't you supposed to be this Albus Dumbledore type who knows all the secrets and says just a few of them with that charming twinkle in their eye so nobody realizes that you're more than a little creepy?"
Billy Batson, though not entirely certain of what to make of his dubious distinction, did at least try his best to not only display his apologies in the face of all the anger and confusion around him but also keep any possibility of a sparkle emerging from any part of his body as he proceeded with his explanation. "I created a temporary rift within Mister Wagner's universe in order to summon him and his colleague here to this one without risking any further expansions in the chief dimensional breach. However, before I could make my presence felt in that reality, the portal was forced open by Mister Wilson and, given the current state of hyperdimensional travel, there was nothing that I could do to stop it."
"'S all right, Batson," Lloyd said in appeasement, The Black Dog's eyes busy shooting a warning glare at Stephanie in order to quickly silence the complaints of his adopted little sister. "We'll work with wot we've been given."
"Agreed," Kara added, the combined effect of her determination and the Batglare Bruce fired back into the eyes of all possible dissenters finally bringing an end to all complaints. "So what is this about dimensional breaches? Are you saying that our reality and these guys' reality have been merged together somehow?"
"I'm afraid that the situation is significantly graver than that," Batson replied softly. "What is taking place right now is a phenomenon known as a dimensional bleed, an event where a bridge is created between two separate planes of existence that is so vast that aspects of both realities are temporarily able to exist within the same space."
"Welllll, that doesn't sound too bad to me," Stephanie replied while casting a look around to see if anyone was nodding in agreement. Finding none, she was understandably half-hearted when adding, "I mean, I think the world would be a lot cooler if there was two of me runnin' around."
"But two solid forms of matter aren't supposed to be able to inhabit the same space," Batman elaborated, the detective's sharp mind wisely avoiding the myriad of frightening possibilities that could have came with the scenario offered by his junior partner. "And, if what you're saying about this 'dimensional bleed' can be applied on an all-existing scale. . ."
"Indeed," Billy Batson replied, the young immortal unable to hide how impressed he was by the accuracy of Batman's quick conclusions. "The strain would be too much for either reality to maintain its integrity. The flow of duplicate matter would eventually overwhelm both dimensions and cause them to implode upon themselves, a catastrophe that could possibly affect other realities should it not be sufficiently contained."
"Ahhhh," Nightcrawler hummed, the blue-furred mutant nearly surprising himself with how much he was able to take from the complex explanations. "So this is another matter of potentially saving everything in existence, is it?" The potentially frightening realization caused the lanky swashbuckler to momentarily consider his place in life before responding with a relaxed shrug of his shoulders. "Well, it has been a while since I've helped in such a manner."
"Is this something you're used to?" The Flash asked Nightcrawler with an upraised eyebrow, the speedster quickly amused by the blithe display.
"Oh, yes," Nightcrawler gamely fired back. "Why, there was that little incident with The Red Skull and that Cosmic Cube, the one with Kang trying to take over time with some doubtlessly overcomplicated plot." Kurt took a moment to wave his hands about while thinking of other relevant examples, amused by what he could take from what was being offered to him and his erstwhile colleagues. "Ah, and let us not forget the times I doubtlessly had my mind erased after performed other similar deeds of daring-do."
"Oh yeah," Roy Harper said with a knowing nod of his head. "Ya can never forget about them."
"Okay, so we know what we're dealing with and what it could eventually do," Kara broke in, her quick, forward steps briefly bringing her away from Lloyd and closer to their unexpected harbinger. "So who's doing it and what can we do to stop them?"
"I've managed to restrain the physical anomalies to this reality in order to have better control should things get to the worst point. Furthermore, I have asked Kal-L to investigate the bleed in order to help determine the orchestrator of all of this," Billy explained, the mention of the Superman of Earth-2 causing Stephanie to burble excitedly until Cecilia was able to shush her. "As for the matter of who is doing this, the only thing we've been able to truly determine is that, whoever it may be, they are highly proficient in both robotics and dimensional transport."
"That doesn't exactly narrow the field down as much as I would have liked." Batman countered, his mind already abuzz with the possibilities. "But why robotics?"
"Kal-L has run into his fair share of resistance during his investigation. Not enough to be considered an honest threat in stopping him but more than enough for us to realize that we're being watched. More specifically, he has been attacked by robotic duplicates of the most powerful warriors from Earth-616."
"May I ask who they are?" asked Nightcrawler, his brief times spent on the fringes between realities allowing him to recognize the designation of his chosen reality when he heard it. "Or at least who they're supposed to be?"
"Kallark of the Shi'ar Imperial Guard and Hyperion of the Squadron Sinister."
"I see," Nightrcrawler mused while wrapping his left hand around his chin and considered the possibilities. "I've heard of the both of them, the first one a bit more than I would have liked," he confessed while not-so-fondly remembering the power of the sternest of Lilandra's guardians. "However, I must confess that I do not see any connection between them."
"Weeeeeellllll, that one sounds easy peasy to me. . ."
Every eye in the room turned to face Deadpool as he shakily hefted himself back up to a sitting position, the cracking of several of his ribs causing Arrowette to wrinkle her nose in disgust. Taking notice of the attention he was getting, he gave what he thought to be a charming nod to his repulsed audience before continuing to push his point.
"They're both rip-offs of that big, honkin' boy scout of yours. Purple Trojan Man was meant to blatantly copy from the whole alien origin thing while Hyperion is just a shameless fleece of the whole, 'big hero stupidly masquerading as big shot journalist while nobody can seemingly figure out who he is' cockamamie." Deadpool took a moment to soak in all the bewilderment he had spawned with his stunning revelation, the brash buffoon reveling in the confusion he could bring to the matters at hand.
Billy Batson, on the other hand, had a decidedly different reaction. Levitating over to the unlikely source of assistance, the boyish galactic guardian tilted his head to one side as he took a closer look at the unwanted straggler. "Well, I had heard of your unique perspective to interpreting the world around you," he confessed while continuing his once over, "but I never would have believed that it could possibly be translated into something useful."
"No problem, Little Red Cheese," Deadpool said easily, the deformed psychopath taking no real offense to what could have been perceived as unkindly words. "Still, given what I know about the power that be, something tells me that Old Man Supes should be getting his next visitor. . ." He stooped down to check the imaginary watch wrapped around his right wrist while allowing a few seconds to pass by for both accuracy and artistic merit. "Riiiiiiight. . . aboooooout. . . NOW!"
The Rock of Eternity
"All right. There's no need to be alarmed, young man. Just tell me who you are and why you're here."
Kal-L already knew of many of the possible reasons why a stranger would be waiting for him on his return through the portal, the vast majority of them not being the least bit savory for either himself or everything he had been asked to help watch over. As concerned as he was, however, it was the peculiar glow in the man's crystal-blue eyes that momentarily gave him pause. Everything else about the unexpected visitor seemed to fly in the face of what was in those eyes, the long, blonde hair, muscular frame, and yellow-and-black bodysuit giving him the presence of a grand and stalwart hero returning triumphantly to an adoring crowd. It simply didn't fit a man who looked as if he had seen the world burn in front of him time and time again.
"I am. . . The Sentry," the fair-haired stranger said, his delivery slow and shaky as if he couldn't believe it himself. "NO! No! That isn't all of me! My name is Robert Reynolds! I was born in Chicago, Illinois and I. . . I. . . that isn't me either."
The rapid beating of the man's heart revealed to Kal-L that this wasn't another android sent to attack him. Of course, that answered question only led to a plethora of others but his concern for the unknown entity in front of him momentarily overrode his desire for answers. He made sure to be slow and steady with his steps as he crossed the gap between himself and The Sentry, his right hand easily grasping the quivering man's heaving shoulders. "It's all right, son. You're safe here."
"NO!" The Sentry nearly howled, the long-forgotten hero throwing off Kal-L's grip with a strength and vigor that momentarily startled the wizened Kryptonian. "I'm not safe! I'm never safe! I'm just dirty! Too unfit! Too unclean!" Another step forward by Superman only prompted him to jump backwards like a frightened rabbit as tears began to leak from his eyes. "You're too good for me. I can't possibly measure up. Not with this thing inside me."
Kal-L's eyes narrowed out of both sympathy and concern, his x-ray examination of The Sentry's body revealing nothing out of the ordinary. "You're from the other reality, aren't you? Do you know what's going on? Did you get here through the bleed?"
The Sentry's eyes grew wide as saucers, his senses apparently clutching to the questions like a drowning man. "Bleed, bleed, bleed," he replied with a sing-song like lilt. "The great pretender wants everyone to bleed except me. He said that he wanted to see you die extra 'cause you didn't belong. He wanted me to do him that favor but I just couldn't. That's why he bit into him. Sunk his teeth into the worst parts of him."
Earth-2's Superman had been on enough battlefields to know madness when he saw it, to realize when a brave soul had simply seen too much in too short an amount of time. He briefly wondered just who was the man in front of him before everything happened to him, fought himself over whether he could or should help the broken soul. Of course, it was these contemplations that allowed him to be caught momentarily unawares as a hard fist crashed into the small of his back, the speed and strength of the arm that came from it enough to throw him hard into an array of crystal monitors that Billy frequently used to see what was going on around him. As he shakily stumbled back to his feet, his vision momentarily swathed in red, it still didn't take long at all for him to recognize the attacker. Indeed, it was someone he had always known.
"Always being compared. Always being ridiculed. Always being said I was second best and never being the one that people want to be!"
Kal-L could only watch as The Sentry scurried away in fright of the newest arrival. As much as he wanted to help the stranger, the madness, hatred, and frustration in the more recognizable face was something that forced him to attend to it.
"Clark?! What in heaven's name are you doing?"
Kal-El, the Superman of Earth-1, began his retort with a hate-filled snarl. "I deserve to be the one being tested! I've proven myself time and time again and still I'm denied what I've earned so long ago!"
"What you want?" Kal-L asked, his mind still struggling to peace the bizarre puzzle together. "You know this isn't you, son. Whatever this is you're going to have to fight it."
"But I am fighting it," the younger Superman countered with a dangerous and toothy smile. "And once I kill you, I can finally prove that I'm better than you ever were!"
"All right, we've run over the small stuff so let's get to the big enchilada here," Arsenal broke in, the metaphor earning him a thumbs up from Deadpool that thankfully was ignored by everyone around him. "How do we stop this dimensional bridge or whatever from annihilating everything?"
Billy Batson, as deities are often so fond of doing when being interpreted by mortal beings, chose to answer the valid question by asking one of his own. "Are any of you aware of the Wiccan Rule of Three?"
"Whatever energy a person puts into the world, be it positive or negative, will be returned to that person thrice fold," Kara answered, the verbatim reply earning her a variety of interested looks.
"Been studying your boyfriend's work habits, have you?" asked The Flash with a knowing smile.
The Last Daughter of Krypton fired back at both the answered and unanswered question by primly crossing her arms across her chest. "And just how did a car mechanic ever come to learn so much about investigative journalism?"
"Point taken," Wally relented while throwing up his hands, the gesture earning him a laughably smug grin from both Kara as well as her aforementioned lover. "Okay, so we know the Rule of Three. Doesn't really explain how we can put a stop to all of this though."
"Opening up a dimension breach like that would require an enormous amount of eldritch energy," The Black Dog began, the British half-demon feeling confident that he knew enough of the matter to give a knowledgeable reply. "That much energy couldn't be kept in one place for long without some pretty dangerous consequences to the caster. It would only be safe if they split up the residual backwash of the spell onto a different number of sources."
"And would it be safe to say that this sorcerer would most likely divide that energy into three separate parts?" Nightcrawler hypothesized.
"Well, it'd be the safest way to do it," Lloyd answered.
"And if we shut down those three source points," Batman continued. "We should be able to stop the spell and close off the bleed."
"SWEET!" Stephanie said while pumping her fist in the air. "And I am soooooo glad I didn't have to do any of that detective work. So, any idea where these mystic whatsits are at?"
Billy almost felt the need to pause and see if anyone else could provide the answers, the shock of how much those around him had already established surprising even someone with the wisdom of Solomon. After a couple of silent seconds provided him with enough confidence that he could retake the floor, he went on. "Kal-L and I have managed to shut down the focal point at the physical sign of the bleed. Now all that is left is the source of the magic itself and the triangulation mark between the caster and the physical source."
The meaning behind Batson's words caused Batman to crease his forehead with such fervor that even the hard material of his cowl seem to knit up in frustration. "And just where is that mark?" he asked with a menacing growl.
Even Shazam's most beloved pupil felt a little afraid to answer right away.
"Gotham."
"Greeeeeeat," Arrowette said while resisting the urge to slap her hand against her forehead. "'Cause, you know, it's not like the gates to hell can ever open up in Jersey like it's supposed to."
"ALL RIGHT!" Deadpool added with a yip, the happy dance he chose to break into crushing his partially recovered right lung against his still broken ribs. "Gonna save a couple realities and stay in Gotham the whole time we're doin' it! Why, I can feel my Q rating going up as I YOUCH!"
No one bothered to lend the blood-soaked mercenary a hand as he fell to the cave floor in a very ungainly manner, his awkward fall brought about by the equally ungainly rush of a frantic computer expert.
"Everyone! The G.C.P.D. radio band has just become completely swamped!" Noah Kuttler said in a frenzy, the middle-aged hacker apparently not even noticing that he had just caused one of their guests an impressive degree of bodily harm. "The security measures in Arkham Asylum have been completely shut down and the inmates are making a full escape."
"Do we know what caused the shut down?" Batman asked quickly but strongly.
"No cause has yet to be determined," Noah replied with definitely less decorum. "It's. . . it's as if everything shut down for no logical reason."
United by a shared understanding, the other denizens of The Batcave all took a moment to let everything settle in by employing their own individual means and ends. Wade Wilson, for example, suddenly felt quite disappointed at how a certain author had chosen to gloss over what many people would consider to be an important plot point in favor of meeting his deadlines.
Roy Harper, on the other hand, chose a more gallow-worthy route. "So Arkham Asylum, which has been running almost perfectly ever since Lloyd's old boss put his money into it, suddenly decides to shut down for no real reason?"
Another handful of seconds passed as reality's chosen champions silently dared one another to speak.
"Well, surely this has nothing at all to do with the cataclysmic magical catastrophe that's causing reality to be warped around us," Nightcrawler openly pondered, the murky humor earning him a small round of chortles from his compatriots.
Batman turned to glare at Batson, the silent order to bring a stop to the chatter immediately followed by each and every one of his soldiers. "Find a way to put a stop to whatever's going on. We'll do our job here."
"Of course," Batson replied, the spell he would need to bring himself back to the Rock of Eternity already on the tip of his tongue.
"Whatever," Deadpool barked out in what could only be considered a scornful manner. "All I care about is calling shotgun for The Batmobile."
"He is not coming with us," Batman growled, his voice holding a conviction that he usually reserved for dearly departed family members. In response, his second-in-command let out a sigh while rubbing his right thumb and ring finger against the bridge of his nose, the somewhat experienced leader quickly but reluctantly choosing to perform his duty.
"Well, look at it this way, boss. Would you prefer to leave him here?"
Interstate 65 – 11.4 miles from Arkham Asylum
"OOOOOOOOH! I am so marking out right now!" Deadpool shouted while drumming his hands against the surprisingly soft leather beneath him. "I'm in The Batmobile and I didn't even have to wear the pixie shorts!"
Batman wisely bottled up his first, second, and third instinctive responses to his noisy companion while patching a controlled portion of his cerebral cortex into The Misfits' shared telepathic link. "Team One, what's the situation?"
"Not sure what to make of it yet," The Flash crisply replied, his troubled thoughts running along much the same wavelength of the comrades around him. "All the inmates are out but none of them are attempting to escape. They're just. . . lining up in front of the place like they're waiting on somebody. Should we move in?"
"Negative," Batman quickly answered. "Just contain the area and contact me if there's any changes. We'll keep going on our pace in case they have a separate target."
"Wow! I have no idea who I'm going to shoot first!" Deadpool declared, his crisis of faith drawing nothing less than unadulterated hatred from The Dark Knight of Gotham City. "Maybe I'll see how many times I can blow up Clayface in a minute! Ooh! Or maybe I'll take a shot at Poison Ivy 'cause, y'know, who wouldn't mind planting a few seeds in that garden, huh?"
The former guinea pig of Weapon X at least had enough presence of mind to resist the urge to give Batman a comradely slug to the shoulder. Still, noticing that his distinguished host wasn't looking at him, his diseased mind suddenly deduced that the total lack of response was because he wasn't talking enough and resolved to solve that problem immediately.
"Say? Is Hush in Arkham or is he in Blackgate? Or is he even in custody right now? I can't even remember anymore. Damn, even I can't keep track of the number of people who want to kill you, Bats! You have no idea how cool that is! You are my idol, man!"
Batman's move to put The Batmobile on auto-pilot was quick, decisive and (thankfully) not the least bit noticed by the overly charged psychopath sitting next to him. The decision to allow Deadpool to ride in the car in the first place was merely an effort to put a stop to the fool's whining but now the detective was deeply regretting his hasty decision. His frustration continued to bubble and boil as he put a great deal of what was taught to him by Mahareshi Mahesh to practice, his strong mind quickly searching for a quiet and serene place while staying aware of any sign of definitive danger. The next ten seconds passed in blissful silence, the lone sounds stemming from the slow and steady breathing in the car and the silent roar of the powerful engine underneath the hood.
"Hey, Bats," Deadpool whispered. "Are we there yet?"
"Bugger," Lloyd said from his vantage point of several hundred feet above Gotham. "I know he always kept threatening to use the ejector seat but I never thought he would actually do it!"
Deadpool allowed himself a twisted, little smile as he allowed himself to be carried by the half-demon. "Well, it's a story I'll be able to tell the grandkids," he said happily before turning to look upon the man who had reluctantly kept him from becoming a smear on the highway. "You know, I think I'm really beginning to see what Kara sees in you. I feel so safe in your arms, Lloyd."
Lloyd took a moment to regard both the bizarre words and the far more bizarre source of them while continuing to surge his way to the northwestern corner of Gotham City. "Well, I know they're a little skinny but I like to think they can get the job done."
"Oh, definitely," Wade replied. "I never really liked it when somebody drew me with huge freakin' biceps and forearms. They always made it a pain to get through narrow doorways. But anyway, are you and that demon of yours picking up any of that strange hoojoo The Artist Formerly Known as Captain Marvel was talking about?"
"Bits and pieces," The Black Dog honestly replied. "Still, something tells me we're going to have to get a little closer before I can really sink into it."
The Black Dog found himself quite surprised that Deadpool decided to let the matter rest at that until everyone arrived at their joint destination. As The Flash had described, the dozens of former inmates at the decades-old sanitarium stood still and ready like the sternest of armies. It had been months since Lloyd had to give any of them a moment's notice, the last major sweep of Gotham's more star-studded rogues either capturing the last of the dregs or convincing those who had escaped to search for greener pastures. He recalled the relative ease that came with the task of bringing the colorful, dangerous, but all-too-human criminals to justice and soon grew strongly suspicious that things would not be as easy in this particular exchange.
"AH! SO ALL OF MY DISTINGUISHED GUESTS HAVE FINALLY ARRIVED!" said a voice that boomed across the open field between Arkham and the outskirts of Gotham, the source of it unseen even by Kara's eyes. "PLEASE FORGIVE ME FOR THE DELAY BUT MY EMPLOYER WAS QUITE SPECIFIC THAT EVERYTHING WOULD BE PREPARED PROPERLY!"
"Oh, great. Somebody else decided to go and be The Voice of God," Stephanie observed with a roll of her eyes.
"BOOOO!" Deadpool shouted while leaping free from Lloyd's arms. "We want Graham Chapman back!"
"FOR GOD'S SAKES, CAN'T YOU EVER BE QUIET?!" the booming voice fired back with a decidedly more irritated tone than before. "OH, YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING TO KILL YOU, WILSON. I'LL JUST CONSIDER YOU TO BE THE CHERRY ON THIS DELICIOUS LITTLE SUNDAE!"
"I know that voice," Nightcrawler whispered, the hairs on the back of his neck already beginning to rise at the memories that came with his revelation.
"AS WELL YOU SHOULD, MISTER WAGNER. YOU'LL PARDON ME IF I DECIDED TO LEAVE YOU AND THE REST OF THE X-MEN WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE BUT I FELT THE NEED TO SET UP SHOP ELSEWHERE. STILL, I THINK THAT THE CURRENT NAME OF MY NEW PLAYGROUND IS JUST A LITTLE TOO DRAB FOR MY TASTE."
The crafter of the chaos to come took a moment to peek into the all-seeing eyes provided to him by his employer, the scarecrow-framed man with the fiery, red hair taking a great deal in pleasure both in seeing the anger on Batman's face as well as the money he would receive after peeling the skin off that angry looking skull.
"FORGET ABOUT GOTHAM CITY, BOYS AND GIRLS!!" Arcade screamed while throwing his arms wide. "WELCOME TO MURDERWORLD!"
Misfits Confidential
Well, it's official. This story is simply asking too much of me to be written in just five parts so this has now we're only at the halfway point. Granted, this will carry the story past the month of August and no longer entirely be my Sizzlin' Splashin' Summer Spectacular but I'm willing to make that sacrifice in order to satiate my creative interests. There's also the added benefit of stalling my decision to figure out what I'm going to write next after I finish this story up? Do any of you lads and lasses have any ideas?
And while you ponder that, peruse this next chapter preview, will you?
Next Chapter Preview
Well, given that Deathstroke is on his way to Gotham, Kal-L is busy taking on his Earth-1 counterpart, and Deadpool, Nightcrawler, and The Misfits are making their way into the newly dubbed Murderworld, it certainly seems like business is picking up. But who is Arcade's enigmatic employer? What does the mysterious Sentry have to do with the chaos that continues to mount? And who would have ever guessed that The Batmobile actually had an ejector seat? Find out the answers to the majority of these questions in the next installment of With Apologies to Bea Arthur: Depression. . . with Senseless Violence. Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!