Chapter Four
Depression. . . with Senseless Violence!
Arkham Asylum
"Damn it, how come fight scenes like these don't have good soundtracks?"
Even Stephanie Brown, a young lady who was quite fluent in the art of inane battlefield commentary, could not help but be surprised by the odd question thrown her way. In fact, she soon found it a near blessing that the work of the decidedly anomalous source didn't disturb her stride as she continued going through her paces within the ensuing melee. The frighteningly effective team tactics of Tweedledum and Tweedledee had been quite the distracting nuisance, the latter planting several solid shots to her solar plexus before she finally managed to block the stumpy looking arm that had caused her blood to bubble up from her punished lungs. Fueling her agility with the eldritch energy stored in her Oan power ring, the young Green Lantern carried the portly pain along with her via a forward somersault, the ensuing impact from the full-bodied arm drag causing Deever Tweed to bounce thousands of feet into the air. Keeping her body tensed as her other foe rushed forward to avenge his airborne cousin, the former Spoiler had little problem with dodging the kick fired at her neck before countering with a stern punch to the gut that sent the elder of her two adversaries hurtling into the nearby forest, the man's round body soon bouncing off the tall cedars and pines like an out-of-control pinball.
"What in the Samuel Langhorne Clemenhell are you talking about?" she finally answered after taking her well-earned spot of breathing room. "What? You're mad that you forgot to bring along your Ipod or somethin'?"
"Nooooo," Deadpool replied, his voice harboring a great deal of patience (at least under his depreciated standards). "I mean, the animated series had some really great songs. Well, I guess the movies were pretty good too but I always thought the Prince stuff was a little too noisy," he pondered while leaping off of Amygdala's head, the sight of the mercenary's boot prints upon the nearly hairless skin of his former pedestal quickly fading as the muscular psychopath quickly recovered from his wounds. "But the fact remains that we could use some music to go with this."
The mercenary momentarily shut his highly active trap while employing his twin MP7s to spray his bulky pursuer with several dozen bullets, the small circular bits of metal either crashing against Aaron Helzinger's expansive torso or briefly digging into his abdomen and face before being forced back out again by the sturdiness of his flesh and bone. "Maybe that song where Bats is running away from that forced labor camp run by that Marlon Brando wannabe. Doo. . . doo doo doo. . . doo doo doo. . . doo doo doo. . . wah wah wah wah wah!" he added as Robin finally forced Amygdala away with an emerald-colored force bolt.
"This doesn't make any damn sense!" Stephanie insisted while constructing an energy barrier that prevented her fallen foe from hurtling too far away from the asylum grounds. "And I'm not talking about the whole soundtrack thing because that's too stupid for even me to consider." The Green Lantern continued to move while ignoring Deadpool's plaintive whining. "It's like whoever's doing this just decided to dose the asylum food supply with those candies in the Pokemon games! I mean, there's no way that these guys shouldn't be giving us so much troubAHHHHHH!"
As if the combination of the unknown circumstances of the situation at hand and the constant prattling of her erstwhile comrade wasn't enough to irritate her, the youngest of Earth's Green Lanterns suddenly found herself hard pressed to somersault over a 500-pound mass of clay suddenly thrown her way, the force of the flying lump of orange mass causing some of the blonde hair that hung below her neck to suddenly fly up in front of her face as gravity decided to make her look like a fool. She was following the trajectory of the wayward shot even before her feet once again found solid ground, the fourth person to don the mantle of Robin soon discovering the source of the unwilling projectile just moments before that person had been surrounded by a literal forest of thick, thorn-laden vines many times the height and width of their prey. She couldn't help but feel a note of alarm as dozens of tons of various greenery seemed to crash on top of and around her longtime friend, the impact letting out a massive tremor that forced her to stumble and nearly caused Deadpool to fall onto his ass. Of course, it only took a second for that panic to fade as a ray of red light burst through the organic trap, the blazing heat causing Pamela Isley to let out a scream of frustration at the sight of her trap quickly being smashed to pieces.
"I'm going to check on Arrowette and Arsenal!" Kara informed the young Green Lantern while rushing past her, the half-Kryptonian's kindly words stalled only slightly by the fraction of a second she needed to knock the villainous Pamela Isley unconscious with just a single flick of her finger.
"Why the hell does she always have to make me look stupid?" Stephanie couldn't help but ask once she was confident that The Last Daughter of Krypton couldn't hear her.
"Ah, don't worry about it," Deadpool said rather carelessly as he giddily took to the task of blowing up the fallen Clayface. "Nate used to do the same thing to me all the time. Just be happy she didn't break out the duct tape."
The smell of burning ozone ran thickly through Batman's nostrils as he narrowly avoided the bolt of lightning that had been meant to burn his skull to cinders. Reaching into his belt as he came out of his right sideroll, the longtime vigilante flung a pair of curved, razor-sharp darts at his opponent, his hopes that his carefully aimed Batarangs would dig into the man's quadriceps and distract him long enough to start a more significant counteroffensive. Unfortunately, it was only a small surprise when the electromagnetic energy circulating around his significantly dangerous foe caused one of his shots to slide off course and the other to burn to cinders before it could make its mark. The mad cackle fired back at him as he dodged another attempt on his life was enough to make Batman gnash his teeth in frustration, the thought of being in the situation at hand surprisingly hard to bear.
"Do you now understand the extent of my consecrated splendor? Do you finally appreciate the power bequeathed to me through my father Kronos and the divine right of Mount Olympus?" bellowed Maximillian Zeus, the profoundly delusional former history teacher obviously taking a great deal of joy in being able to control the electrical energy around him as he sent a small portion of it hurtling at the spot where Batman stood only a fraction of a second before. "Where are you mocking words or pleas for sanity, dark-shrouded mortal?"
Despite his vociferous claims of godhood, the longtime Arkham inmate known as Maxie Zeus couldn't help but be distracted by the sudden burst of indigo-colored smoke that seemed to burst in front of his eyes. The disgusted retch that rose from his lips as the brimstone sunk into his throat and nasal cavities was enough to distract his voice into letting out little more than a grunt as Kurt Wagner slapped a long, hard-leather scabbard first against his left shin and then into his adjacent Achilles tendon, the combination of the material covering Nightcrawler's blade and the quick series of teleportations allowing the mutant to avoid much of the damage that any lingering electrical energy could provide. The two quick blows were also enough to cause the self-appointed Greek god of the heavens to stumble forward, his ungainly lurching making him little more than a well-placed lump of flesh to be molded by Batman's skillful fingers. The detective's long fingers went to their work with quick stabs of the peroneal before a Silat-style strike aimed to stun Maximillian's carotid artery finally sent the strangely powered criminal down to the ground in a heap.
"I am guessing that this spirited fellow is usually not capable of such things," Nightcrawler guessed while giving the fallen lightning wielder a curious glance.
"Is this 'Arcade' normally able to pull off such feats of physical augmentation?" Batman fired back, the gloomy gumshoe not even bothering to provide the obvious answer to his colleague's inquiry.
"Nein, Arcade's primary field of expertise has always been engineering, particularly robotics," the elfin-eared mutant explained while making certain that no other strangely augmented nutcases just happened to be gunning for them. "Whatever this is must have been concocted by some other party, either Arcade's so-called employer or someone else entirely."
Batman gave his erstwhile partner a barely perceptible nod while preparing to make his next move. "Black Dog, have you managed to further pinpoint the source of the spatial disruption?"
"Done nothin' more than confirming that it's somewhere in the asylum proper," Lloyd Thomas fired back through The Misfits' telepathic network, his retort clear and focused despite the lingering distraction of keeping Killer Croc from using his mandibles to rip into either Roy or Cecilia's all-too-human hides. "Whoever's behind all this bunk 'as definitely done their homework, boss. A good percentage o' the inmates have been dosed with some kind of dampening charms that's preventin' Steph and I from getting a closer look inside." The British half-demon paused for a moment as he brought his mystically empowered silver saber to bear, his deft maneuvers allowing him to deflect the radioactive plasma blasts of Doctor Phosphrous until he could summon the telekinetic energy he would need to send thelustrous madman tumbling head over heels.
"Very well," Batman sternly surmised, his efforts barely blunted from his exertion as he broke into a run to avoid being trapped in an energy net sent his way by Lyle Bolton. "Nightcrawler and I will infiltrate the facility in order to get a better look," he continued while leaping over Lock-Up as the previously mentioned mutant sent him tumbling to the ground with a cleverly placed, double-footed dropkick. "Be sure you secure the perimeter to your expectations before joining us and we'll keep ourselves hidden until you do."
"Understood," The Black Dog replied, his hazel eyes already quick in looking for something else to help or hinder. "How's the fencing going, Flash?" He continued as his long, lithe body surged straight for Achilles Milo before the longtime alchemist could summon more elemental beasts from the sigils surrounding the ground around him.
"So far, so good," reported The Fastest Man Alive, the physical evidence of a surge of scarlet tumbling over a gaggle of inmates who had tried to choose retreat over valor providing solid proof that Wally was making his presence felt. "This is my 62nd tour of the grounds and nobody's been able to make it any further than a block from the building."
"Man, you guys make all of this look way too easy," Deadpool couldn't help but admit while dropping down next to Lloyd, the mercenary's recent attempts to blast Basil Karlo's arms off with the aid of a high-powered shotgun momentarily satiating his bloodlust. "I mean, you guys keep this up and our cataclysmic crossover event is going to be over before all the snarks on the comic book forums can properly make fun of it."
The Black Dog did not even bother to spare the stranger so much as a glance.
"I'm thinning them out as much as I can but I've gotta admit that you guys seem to be bottling them pretty well on your own," The Flash offered in a complimentary tone while peppering The Calendar Man with dozens upon dozens of jabs and hooks that somehow prompted time to speed up, slow down, and warp around him. "Of course, maybe I shouldn't have said that since it always seems that whenever one of us does say that is when the SHIIIIIIIT!"
Even Lloyd couldn't mask his confusion at the recent turn of events that had also drawn his friend's attention, his eyes narrowing as the center of the battlefield opened up before their very eyes. Grass, soil, and pavement were all easily swept aside as the trap door beneath was finally brought into view, an odd addition to the architecture that had certainly not been there the last time any of The Misfits had frequented the longtime lockup facility. The next bolt from the blue was quick to follow as an enormous machine began to rise from the growing aperture, the construction easily towering over everything around including the towering oak trees and even the asylum itself. Still, as bulky as the creation appeared to be, the construction still seemed phenomenally precise and patient, the solid angles and lack of superfluous features making the red-and-black colored automaton look less like something from a Japanese cartoon and more like someone who took a great deal of pride in getting their job done.
"You know, I can't help but notice that this reality has a great many more exciting things to play with than my own," Arcade confessed, his cocky demeanor punctuated by the massive speakers equipped upon his latest creation. "Of course, I suppose that I could be a mite perturbed about how easy it will now be to kill all of you but something tells me I'll be able to talk my way through it!"
"Huh," Lloyd responded while tilting his head to one side, his hands and mind busy creating a force barrier that kept Deadpool from being liquefied by the blast of superheated plasma firing from the cannon situated just above the massive robot's left arm. "Have to admit that I didn't see this one coming."
The Rock of Eternity
Kal-L could easily taste the trickles of blood dripping from the cuts on his gums and the broken bones around his throat muscles as he weathered the stiff punch to the gut thrown by his younger counterpart. It was the third hit he had chosen to take without complaint or counter, his intentions still more focused upon the hope of appealing to the better angels of his fellow Kryptonian's nature. However, as the impact from the blow forced him to collide with the unforgiving stone walls that surrounded the observation chamber, the old warhorse could almost feel his patience slipping away. His wrinkled hands momentarily stretched outward before contracting in once again, his knees and shoulders slowly bending into a familiar stance he had done his best to master ever since the day he and Pa Kent had watched Rocky Marciano take on Joe Louis on that tiny, black-and-white television cropped up in the corner of the cramped living room.
"Come on, son," he said cautiously while either blocking or swaying around the jabs or uppercuts that Kal-El threw his way, the sure and easy movements looking like something that couldn't have possibly been pulled off by a man in his mid-90's. "Don't let whoever's got a hold of you sink his claws in any deeper," he went on while also providing a physical retort in the form of a left cross to the jaw that left the Superman of Earth-1 wide open to receive a stiff body-blow combination that doubtlessly cracked a fair share of ribs.
To his credit, the enraptured Kryptonian barely let out a grunt as he began to backpedal, his brawny left fist briefly swiping across his lips in order to wipe away the blood that had leaked from that side of his mouth. "But I figured that this was what you'd want to see from me," the younger Clark Kent fired back with a sneer. "A Superman that doesn't take any prisoners. A Superman that doesn't let his heart get in the way of what should be going on his head. And, as far as my mind is concerned, getting you out of the picture will finally give me my shot at what I deserve!"
Kal-L couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he brought Kal-El's spirited offensive to a stop by wrapping up the younger man's outstretched left arm and locking it within a Jujitsu-style arm bar. A quick but sure pivot of his left foot allowed him to bring his other arm into play and turn the temporary hold into a much sturdier front face lock, the move allowing him to hold to keep the fists and feet of the younger Kryptonian at bay while he tried to try and reason with him.
"Clark, I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to convince you that your best could never be good enough," the gray-templed warrior whispered while continuing to pin down his younger counterpart. "But I will tell you right know that you can't do anyone else one lick of good unless you can't do the same thing for yourself. Don't let yourself be controlled like this!"
The old man knew he shouldn't have been surprised by the resentful roar that burst through the other Superman's lungs or that the added anger would be enough to allow the younger man to break free of his hold. The strength behind the hammering blows that followed was a bit more of a revelation, the shockwaves produced by the force of Kal-El's fists meeting his skull and torso causing tremors that shook everything around them. However, the years spent sparring with an occasional angered Superboy Prime provided the older Superman with more than enough insight upon the matter of just how angry any version of him could get when the right buttons were pushed. The wizened warrior's mind chastised itself for the arrogance he had brought to the forefront while the rest of his body worked to bring the battle back to a more even footing, the sting of cracked bones and the lurch of strained muscles providing even more motivation to get back into the game.
"Who says I'm being controlled? I am so sick of you thinking that you know everything there is to know about me!" Kal-El continued to rail, the force of his voice increasing right along with the velocity of his offensive. "I've spent more than half my life fighting for the same ideals that you're always trumpeting about and you never even bothered to pretend to view me as an equal! Always with the lessons and the holier-than-thou speeches! The dry, little monologues about how things were always better on your Earth!"
The vigor and righteousness that had flowed through each and every action cast by the Superman of Earth-1 was already being replaced by frustration, an overflow of emotion punctuated by whatever thrall that had been placed upon him. "And now you're the one being tested? You allowed your reality to be destroyed?! What makes you think you've earned anything that you've received?"
It didn't take much for the vigor to return to Kal-L's formerly tired body. A mere memory of Lois and the decades they spent together was more than he ever needed to do what had to be done. Time seemed to come to a stop as the old man blocked his opponent's left uppercut with little more than the palm of his right hand, the turbulent swirling of the stone shards that had gathered around their feet serving as the only motion for that ever-so-brief span of time.
"Watch your tongue, young man," Kal-L advised before forcing the younger Superman away with a right-handed haymaker that landed squarely on his opponent's chin. "And just what is all this about a test? Is that really what this opening of the dimensional bleed is all about?"
A great deal happened in the next handful of seconds, so much so that even Kal-L had a hard time trying to take it all in. The opening traces of confusion on Kal-El's countenance perhaps drew more attention than it should, or at least enough for the elder Superman to momentarily ignore the familiar CRACK of golden lightning that signaled Billy's return to his ordained home. He briefly noted the look of relief on the young immortal's face and how it quickly faded away at the scene around him.
The collection of all there was to take in made the old man a second too slow to respond to Kal-El's next move, the blur of red, blue, and gold smashing straight into Batson's childlike form before he could even begin to stop him. He bit back the curse of disappointment against his own inactions as the young god's ungainly, backwards crash into the jagged rocks surrounding the young man's observation chambers caused another scent of blood to fill his already busy nostril, the determined old hand focused on bringing his adversary down. Tackling the younger version of himself and pinning him down, he felt his body burn as Kal-El blasted him with every ounce of heat he could generate from his pupils, the sheer wave of crimson energy incinerating the roof of the structure after passing through or past Kal-L's battered body.
"ARRRRGH!"
And now Kal-L was once again surprised, this time by the realization that the scream of anguish was not coming from him. Instead, the outpouring of misery was pouring forth from his foe, the raging man clutching his throbbing temples with enough force to nearly tear the skin clean off the bones and veins. Given all that had occurred in the last handful of moments, it was only natural that the old man needed a bit of time to put the pieces of the puzzle together, or at least more time than he needed to knock Kal-El unconscious with a precise, underhand chop to the Kryptonian's occipital ridge. Breathing a sigh of relief as the Superman of Earth-2 slumped to the floor, he could still feel the skin on his chest bubbling and spitting as he shakily rose to his feet, his recovering eyes still managing to catch the blotchy haze of black and gold that had made its presence felt.
"Did. . . did I do the right thing?" Kal-L heard The Sentry mumble through his worn ears, the perpetrator of the telepathic attack seemingly hiding behind his shoulder-length curtain of blonde hair. "I think I did good," he assured himself, the tone quite similar to the candor that a child would employ when trying to secure themselves after doing something they didn't know was either right or wrong. "They look so much the same."
"You did just fine," the tired but still mindful Superman of Earth-2 said with assurance, his warbled but confident response slightly appeasing the timid champion. "Are you all right, William?"
Billy Batson let out a sigh as he also struggled back to his feet, the former Captain Marvel and current overseer of the Earth-1 momentarily tempted to feel for the cut that had opened up along the back of his head. "I suppose I'm fine," he finally proclaimed. "However, I can't help but think that Shazam would have had my head for that."
Kal-L couldn't help but let out a chuckle. "No need to beat yourself up, son. In fact, your time would be a lot better spent clearing up whatever's been put on Kal-El. After all, now that our enemy has finally tipped his hand, we're going to need all the big guns we can get if we want to put a stop to all this."
"So you know who's behind this?" Billy asked with a genuine display of surprise, the wisdom of Solomon apparently not enough to reach the same conclusion that his guardian had.
"Indeed I do," Kal-L replied, his slow, steady nod lacking a great deal of its usual dignity thanks to the severely singed eyebrows and the still regenerating facial structure. However, even those temporary tarnishes did little in breaking the attention placed upon him as he shifted his gaze. "And, so long as you're willing, you're coming with me to help put this monster back in his place."
"I am?" asked The Sentry, the wide-eyed man immediately looking as if he would rather do anything but.
"Absolutely," confirmed the champion so frequently regarded as the greatest hero of any reality, the warhorse's conviction curbed only slightly as he took in his current state of affairs. "Well, after a quick change in clothes, anyway," he added while examining what little remained of his familiar shirt and cape as he walked back to his own chambers with long, purposeful strides. "Great Caesar's Ghost, they don't make these things like they used to."
The combination of the stark, white-plaster walls and the large circuit of overhead lamps hardly made Arkham Asylum a paradise for those with a taste for espionage. It was a perfectly acceptable architectural decision, mind you, particularly given the importance of being able to see everything around you when dealing with the sickest and most depraved souls that Gotham City had to offer but the lack of shadows still left the two infiltrators far too visible for their current likings.
Even the illumination of the overhead lights seemed to disagree with the scenario, the unyielding illumination shining messily against Nightcrawler's dark fur while forcing The Batman within a milieu that made him look decidedly human and vulnerable. Nevertheless, they had quickly decided to succeed with speed where subtlety had failed, their legs churning in rapid motion as they scurried down the halls and dashed up the stairwells. Their swift travels wouldn't have seemed very natural to the human eye, the everyday observer who would find themselves hard-pressed to answer how a man sporting such a heavy cape and cowl could still move with all the grace and fluidity of an Olympic sprinter. And Nightcrawler, of course, was an entirely different matter, the lithe showman shifting easily between dashing on two legs, scurrying on all fours, and then scaling up and along the nearby walls in the instances where his slower, larger comrade needed the extra room to move freely.
"Just what is this place?" Nightcrawler asked quietly while sliding open the door that separated the second-floor care rooms from the western stairwell, the quick curtsy that accompanied his gesture catered more for self-amusement than as a sign of gentlemanly behavior. "What on Earth would spawn such bizarre creatures?"
"It's a former sanitarium that has been restructured to contain dangerous criminals who the courts have deemed to not be fully in control of their iniquitous actions," Batman quickly replied while moving up the black, metal steps two at a time. "It was recently retrofitted with a variety of security measures that had been highly successful in preventing escape but whoever is behind this obviously found a way to circumvent them."
"Truly?" Nightcrawler asked, the slimmer sprinter able to keep pace by crawling along the nearby railings. "All those criminals in a single place? Mein Gott, Herr Batman, just how frequently are you forced to deal with these wayward souls?"
Despite the lingering urgency, Nightcrawler truly tried his best to read the silent and inscrutable response the shrouded man had to give to him in return. The slamming of the metal door that separated the stairwell from the third floor hallway quickly broke his attention, the longtime X-Man noticing that the quasi-gentlemanly air that he had brought to the previous proceedings remained decidedly absent as Batman waited for him to move ahead.
"We all have our own obstacles," Batman finally replied, a scant of venom in his voice as his comrade finally followed his silent order.
"Ah, indeed we do," Nightcrawler agreed, his undercurrent of whimsy slightly irritating his more curmudgeonly comrade while his own shining eyes caught hold of a decidedly disturbing sight. "And speaking of such impediments. . ."
Batman was already preparing himself to avoid the sickly-green gas rising up from his feet by the time Nightcrawler had grabbed a hold of his right forearm, the gas mask within one of the far left pockets of his utility belt only inches from his lips before his aggressors briefly faded from his sight. A brief sense of vertigo overcame him as he suddenly finding himself above the attacking androids, the timely teleportation provided by the quick-thinking mutant allowing them to literally get the drop on their unwanted foes. Wagner was the first to act, of course, the combination of his metahuman reflexes and his many experiences with enduring the physiological backlash of his mutant gift allowing him to recover almost instantly while bringing his chosen weapons to bear. Two of the three automatons had already been dealt with by the time Bruce could place himself into the fray, the first going down via an efficient, left-handed lash that cleanly removed its head off its shoulders while the second was run through the gut with the other blade, the successful counter offering the blue-furred swordsman's more than enough time to launch a somersault kick that sent the malfunctioning robot tumbling to the ground. A trio of exploding Batarangs took care of the last one standing, the motion-sensor C-4 attached to the bladed projectiles quickly doing its work as the chest cavity of the brightly-colored robot was blown open by the combined forces of the powerful incendiaries.
"A bit overkill, ja?" Nightcrawler asked while raising an intrigued eyebrow.
"I've never been a big fan of clowns," Batman quickly replied, the detective taking a moment to fire a contemptuous glare at the remains of the three security droids, his cowl-covered eyes starting with the giant, purple shoes and baggy, green pants before taking in the big red nose festooned on the broken guard's face.
"Arcade calls them Obnoxios," Nightcrawler exclaimed as Batman once again broke into a run, the younger of the two investigators confident that his comrade knew of where to go. "They're a pretty common creation of his but I hardly imagine that they would be his primary defenses for something of such importance."
"Feel free to stop imagining," Batman quickly replied. "Something else is coming."
As surprised as he could have been by the fact that Batman had managed to spot the new arrivals before he could, he supposed he could reassure himself by at least being able to recognize the next thing that the showstopping mercenary had in store for them. Of course, the matching sky blue and mustard yellow uniforms may have looked more than a little ridiculous (or at least he had always thought so), the figures within them would doubtlessly pose a bigger threat than clowns armed with laughing gas and acid-shooting flowers.
"Do you know them?" Batman asked quickly, the martial arts expert stooping his body into a familiar defensive stance designed to face off against the unknown.
"Indeed I do," Nightcrawler replied before swiftly teleporting them out of the way of the blast of ruby-red energy the lead automaton had sent their way. "They are robotic duplicates of the original X-Men, another of Arcade's favorite tricks," he explained just before another BAMF! kept them from being either skewered by ice daggers or thrown into the wall by a telekinetic force bolt. "And though I am loathe to say it, this little trick tends to be a great deal more effective than the last one."
"Off the left shoulder, through the right arm, graze the twig and berries, nothing but clay."
Arrowette felt that she hardly needed yet another distraction to be thrown into the increasingly hectic mix before her. Setting another steel-tipped arrow to the string, the fair-haired archer could easily tell that more and more of the former inmates of Arkham Asylum were slowly starting to see the value of ceasing their attempts to escape and moving on to the task of trying to tear them all limb from limb. It was a mutual revelation that was quickly causing the quiver strapped to her back to lose even more and more of its once-bountiful supply while simultaneously leaving her with less room to work with, a dangerous combination for someone with her particular talents and defeciencies. It was more than enough to let out a muttered curse as her latest shot failed to do any real damage to her target, her picture-perfect shot to the hulking female's upper-thigh rendered useless by her foe's enhanced constitution.
It was a particularly crappy situation to be in, long story short. . .
"OH YEAAAAAH! WHO DA MAN! I DA MAN, BITCHES!"
. . .and one that was not made the least bit better by the ongoing game of Exploding Horse taking place before her busy eyes.
Heaven alone knows how Roy Harper found enough time to let out a whoop while punching his fist in celebration of his latest successful efforts, the bullets from his twin revolvers apparently hitting the marks he had previously selected to shoot for. The cocksure display was enough for his enthusiastic opponent to let out a swarthy display of defiance before making his own declaration.
"All right, all right, Lifetime Movie. Through the right eye, off the chin, left and right shoulders at the same time, nothing but clay."
It only took a handful of seconds for Deadpool to properly bring his Kechler and Hoch MP7's to his desired position, the skilled marksman apparently having enough restraint to fire off just four shots at his already phenomenally aggrieved foe. The former Special Forces officer remained surprisingly quiet even as the quartet of bullets soon sank into the previously called spots on the body of Basil Karlo, the frustration on the face of the original Clayface continuing to mount with every passing second he remained to be little more than a target.
"Aw, come on, man!" Arsenal fired back, a palpable hint of mockery in his exclamations while vaulting over the hardened stone axe created and then thrown by the shapeshifter's left hand. "I could have done better than that back when I was still a virgin."
"Now, see, I would have thought that you would have said back before you shot up your first dose of da horse," Deadpool countered while also making efforts to avoid a grisly decapitation. "'Cause, I mean, the comics barely ever showed you shooting guns until after you punched that jerkwad Green Arrow in the face. Man, I wish Denny O'Neil was still writing comics!"
"Yeah, whatever!" Arsenal offered while quickly moving to mimic Deadpool's previous feat of marksmanship, the red-haired sharpshooter apparently comfortable enough with what was going on around him to ignore most of the ramblings that his opponent had to throw his way. His reaction to Deadpool's next mistimed leap, an incident that led the former prisoner of Weapon X to being impaled through the gut by a foot-long spike of clay, only further proved proof of his good mood Roy's state of comfort as the uproarious laughter bubbling from the former Teen Titan nearly threatened to drown out the colorful profanity being spewed forth by his fellow compatriot in the standing realm of insanity.
"I wanna go home," Arrowette mumbled pitifully while hastily searching for any part of the battlefield where she could do a bit more good. Following the trembling of the ground beneath her, the markswoman kept an eye out for anybody trying to kill her while shifting much of her attention to the giant robot that had taken up the center of the war zone. The enormous war machine had already captured the attention of Kara and Lloyd, her much-stronger comrades apparently hard-pressed with the task of breaking through the metal beast's impressive force barrier.
"Oh dear, are we having problems, children?" Arcade asked as another blast of heat vision harmlessly scattered off his creation's defenses. "Well, I apologize for the inconvenience but I'm afraid that I'm the only one who's going to be controlling this soiree. After all, I have been promised this complicated little burg in exchange for offering your corpses up on a platter and I'm not one to avoid doing my best to finish something that I've started."
"Playground?!" Deadpool asked in disbelief. "Oh, sweet, merciful Bea, you're going to turn Gotham into a counseling center for gingers, aren't you? You sick, sick freak!"
"Oh, Mister Wilson. You have no idea how much I'm going to enjoy this," Arcade said coldly, his hatred somehow managing to pour through the robot's speakers while he raised the machination's right foot so that it would hover directly over Deadpool's head. "Almost as thrilling as putting a bullet between my old man's eyes, I dare say."
"Well, that whole killing your father thing raises up a whole other set of issues," Deadpool did his best to explain while Arcade moved to squash him into a decidedly quiet red-and-black smear. "Do you think the whole homicidal urge thing may have just been because you didn't get enough hugs from your mommy?"
KEEEEERASH!
"Awwwww," Deadpool whined upon realizing where he suddenly was. "And I was on the verge of making a brekathrough!"
"That's nice," Kara offered with a thimbleful of sympathy. "Wow, I'm really hoping this insanity isn't contagious," she then added, her eyes narrowing in a gesture of acerbic understanding as she quickly shifted her eyes away from the worshipful look in the eyes of the man she had just rescued from a grisly fate. "Lloyd? Sweetie? Pleeeeeease tell me that one of us has an idea pertaining to how to get rid of this guy," she pleaded through the telepathic network, the half-Kryptonian finding it wise to block out the ongoing psychoanalytical conversation provided by one Wade Winston Wilson.
"Just a temporary one, luv," Lloyd said with a hint of chagrin. "All right, lad and lasses! Let's go with a Springboard!"
Kara briefly drifted her eyes toward her lover, the young woman fighting back the urge to bite her lip as the half-demon dipped into the nearly primordial strength of the beast once known as The Condemner in order to gather as much telekinetic energy as he could. She knew that it was never an easy feat for Lloyd to focus so much power onto a tiny spot and she suddenly found herself angry that she couldn't be doing more. A brief flicker of blind hatred began to form for Arcade as she saw the sweat begin to pool around Lloyd's temples while a trickle of blood escaped his left nostril, the sight of the enormous machine being lifted from the ground by its own force shield only providing a modicum of relief. In fact, it wasn't until Stephanie's creation of a giant, emerald-colored spring that launched the askew automaton off its gargantuan feet that she began to focus on her duties once again, the half-Kryptonian confident that Cecilia would do her part.
"GRAAAAAGH! Bloody, buggerin' hell!" Stephanie yelled out as she suffered from the psychic stress brought along by her efforts, the young Green Lantern momentarily falling to her knees as Roy rushed to protect her from anyone that wanted to take a shot at her while she was down. "Why the fuck did we ever think that was a good idea?"
Lloyd couldn't help but snicker at his aggrieved little sister before moving on to his next duty. "How is the containment going, Flash?"
"A lot less thinned out than before," The Flash replied with blunt but somewhat cheerful honesty. "Arcade's tinker toy threw me off for a bit and some of the nutburgers decided to take advantage."
"Bloody, buggerin' hell indeed," Lloyd mumbled, the young field commander busying himself by keeping an eye on Arrowette while she kept looking out for him. "Team, we're gonna have to split up. Kara and Steph, lock on The Flash's motion signatures and bottle up the stragglers as quick as ya can. The rest of us'll stay here an' hold off Arcade and the rest."
"Are you sure about that?" Kara asked. "You'll be putting a lot on yourself here."
"I'm more worried about him having to watch over that Deathpool guy myself," Stephanie added while rising back to her feet, the power in her Oan ring once again making her hale, hearty, and as much of a smartass as ever.
"Well, then hurry and up and catch the stragglers so you kin go on lookin' after me," Lloyd ordered, the slight bit of playful chiding allowing him to put his own mind at ease while convincing the two female vigilantes to move to their next assigned task. He was almost tempted to offer his other soldier a similar vote of confidence before a flash of red sped by his eyes, the wave of kinetic motion knocking over several dozen of former Asylum inmates like ten pins.
"I'll be worried about you too, sweetie bumpkins."
"Yeah, yeah. Off with ya, West," Lloyd grumbled back while moving to marshal his remaining forces, his eyes and mind thorough as he watched Arsenal move to reload his pistols while Cecilia gave another once over of the dwindling supply of arrows within her quiver. He'd be lying if he said that he gave a toss about the black-and-red garbed git hopping about from foot-to-foot but, of course, this would hardly be the first time he was compelled to look after someone he didn't care for.
"Ohboyohboyohboyohboy!" Deadpool enthused while continuing his bizarre jig. "This is gonna be great! We're gonna be like Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid! Or maybe like Captain Shaw's battalion in Glory!" The longtime mercenary and nutcase continued racking his brain as Arcade's robot finally rose back to its full height, theimmense killing machine flanked and forwarded by dozens upon dozens of Arkham inmates who still looked hungry for blood. "Ooh ooh! Or maybe like the good guys in the end of Phantasy Star II! Man, I loved that game!"
"Ummmm, didn't all those things end up with the good guys dying?" Arrowette couldn't help but ask.
"Oh yeah. And rather horribly, might I add," Deadpool answered before taking a last onceover of his own tools of war before the war was once again upon them. "But, hey, since when should dying ever get in the way of havin' a good time?"
The Worldsoul
This was hardly the first time that Robert Reynolds had been leery of his surroundings, when his own troubled thoughts involuntarily served as a safe haven from all the madness that surrounded him. The fog that had momentarily blunted his senses may have had more than enough time to part but the uncertainty was still very much there, the insecurity wrapping around him like a warm quilt would wind around a restless sleeper.
He at least knew enough to remember that it wasn't always this way. He had once been nothing more than a young man, an overly curious one, yes, but also one possessed with the courage to live with what came from taking what had been dubbed to be an advanced sample of the super-soldier serum that had molded Steve Rogers into Captain America. And the solution did prove to be a great deal stronger than what had been crafted during World War II, the unique concoction now lost to human history giving Robert, as the newspapers so frequently put it, the power of a million exploding suns. It was a power and responsibility that he shouldered as best he could, his exploits reaching out to everyone from Spider-Man to The Incredible Hulk to The Fantastic Four to The X-Men as he aided his comrades while receiving the same guidance and camaraderie in return.
It was only years after that fortunate accident when Robert discovered the other side of the coin he had so willingly placed in his anxious fingers. Perhaps it was something that he should have seen coming given his much ballyhooed intelligence and thirst for knowledge but it was not as if he would be the first or the last person to lose themselves simply by looking inward. He could still feel it there, the darkness gleefully clawing at his conscious and unconscious thoughts with every painful second while tempting him time and time again.
How easy would it be for him to lose control? What relief could it bring?
"Are you still with me, son?"
As gentle and placating as the question may have been, the honest inquiry only heightened Robert's already tumultuous train of thoughts. The Void had been relentless with hissing the virtues of the mysterious, old man, his dark half eagerly whispering about the alien's incredible accomplishments and selfless efforts to protect all that lived. Though there was little way of knowing how his lifelong nemesis had learned of this man removed from his reality, the certainty that he could never measure up to the man striding alongside him was constantly made as clear as day. He just too dirty. Too unfit. Too unclean.
"Why did you want me to come with you?" The Sentry finally asked, his large, right hand sweeping back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.
Kal-L first responded with a curious tilt of the head, the Superman of Earth-2 taking measured movements to evaluate everything the question could have meant. "Just call it an old man's instinct," he finally replied, the small smile he delivered in return specifically designed to calm his audience down. "There must have been some reason why the architect of all this sent you after me out of everyone in your reality and I want to know what that is."
The Sentry replied with a fairly certain nod, his occasionally buried heroic instincts slowly making their way to the forefront. "And. . . and you're saying you know who's responsible for this?"
"There's not a doubt in my mind," Kal-L quickly answered back, his eyes already focused on the sapphire haze that seemed to be collecting itself around the tip of the large, stone precipice that dwarfed them more than ten times over. "Whoever's behind this has the ability to shift spatial and temporal phenomenon, possesses the rare knowledge of how to connect multiple realities and, most importantly, is both intelligent and arrogant enough to try again where he once failed."
"As if you are one to talk, Kal-L of Krypton," a booming voice replied as the blue mist began to coagulate and form the physical representation of the creator of the dimensional bleed. The creature's sky-blue skin and prominent forehead both served as surefire signs of his Oan heritage but the cold detachment in his black eyes revealed intentions a great deal more sinister than ensuring the safety of all that existed. The muscular frame encased within royal-purple armor only served to exacerbate the confidence in his countenance and gestures and present a degree of self-certainty that could only be maintained by someone who had seen more creation and destruction than most would be able to fathom. "After all, did you not attempt to restore your own reality upon escaping from Alexander Luthor's haven?"
Kal-L lowered his eyes while The Sentry looked up almost curiously at the somewhat familiar presence. "I'll admit that my intentions were nothing but a foolish mistake," the old Kryptonian admitted. "And Alexander died thinking that he could reshape everything into his own image. What makes you think you'll be able to do any better?"
A deep chuckle preceded the craftsman's eager response, the former scientist and current god marveling at how much these two, poor souls beneath him were unable to see.
"The answer is quite simple really," Krona finally answered. "Because only one who witnesses all of creation can know how to shape it."
"So let's make the most of this beautiful day, since we're together we might as well say, would you be mine, could you be mine, won't you beeeeee. . . my target?"
FRA-KOOM!
Deadpool let out a wonderfully innocent laugh as his recently acquired rocket launcher was successful in turning three former inmates of Arkham Asylum into burning and bleeding piles of mystically augmented flesh and bone. "Hey! Did any of you ever see Mister Rogers' acceptance speech when he got the Lifetime Achievement Awards at the Daytime Emmys?" he asked while loading another HE round into the barrel with a childlike glee. "Man, I wish I was that willing to cause so much pain to those who deserved it!"
Arrowette once again shook her head in utter dismay while trying her best to bring a stop to another of Amygdala's mad charges with her last explosive arrow. "I repeat. I want to go home," she said again with as much petulance as before while witnessing her efforts have next to no effect. "My weirdness quota has successfully been met for the month and now I need some time to catch up on my sleep and reconsider my career options."
"Oh, is the little trollop of an archer wishing to make an ill-timed exit from the festivities?" Arcade asked his prey from the safety of his attack robot. "Well, give me a few moments more of your time and I can make all your troubles go away."
"And I'm not even going to begin to read into that one," Roy Harper declared while unloading half a magazine into the legs and shoulders of The Great White Shark, the pale-faced monstrosity flashing his blood-soaked teeth in defiance as he unwilling crumpled to the ground. "And look on the bright side, Cissers. There's no way that this situation could get any weirder!"
ZAAAAARK!
Arcade was only one of a handful of people on the battlefield who paid any attention as a ruby-red blast of energy crashed into his force field from the left-hand side, the vast majority of fighters still far too focused on either causing or avoiding harm. Turning a small array of cameras to the source of it, the well-dressed mercenary clenched his teeth and growled at the unwanted arrival. "Hang it all! I thought I already killed you!"
The first reaction of the current object of Arcade's ire was to continue his unusual offensive, the object in his right hand letting out shot after shot of concussive energy that tore into the rank and rabble around the robot's feet. Keeping the chaos up as he ran towards the small front that The Black Dog and the others had established, the familiar fellow quickly made his way to The Misfits' second-in-command with his usual prompt but critical manner.
"I'm guessing I have all of you to blame for this," Deathstroke hypothesized while continuing to employ the decapitated head of Arcade's android duplicate of Cyclops to great effect. "After all, for all your attempts at shadow ops and keeping matters under wraps, your team seems to have quite the penchant for making public spectacles that I inevitably get forced into."
"Awwwww, is that your way of saying you like us?" Roy Harper asked while adding his own artillery into the mix. "Well, we missed you too, Unca Slade."
Slade rolled his one remaining eye while working to get back into sync with his younger compatriots, the aged mercenary almost pleased that he could work with people that he had at least a modicum of respect for. Even Cecilia and Lloyd seemed a bit more relaxed, the two of them soon trading off some friendly jibes while doing their best to ward off their exceedingly larger number of opponents away.
Deadpool, on the other hand, looked truly worried for the first time all day.
"Hey, Matt? Thiiiiis, is so not going to end well for me, is it."
And somewhere, someplace above all the madness and destruction, a lone voice let out a long-withheld chuckle.
Misfits Confidential
Okay. I've got plenty of answers to why the update took so long to write. For one, I had a surprisingly difficult time trying to write some of this stuff out. Maybe it was the 55-hour work weeks but the fact remains that I've got so much I want to write about this that I can't figure out where to start. Kind of an odd dilemma given my penchant for rambling on and on and on but it is what it is, yo. On a more important note, thanks to everybody who's been reading and reviewing this little story of mine and I hope that you and the rest of my dozens and dozens of fans will enjoy this and what's to come. I'll admit I'm still on the fence about what I want to write about next but I'm sure I can think of something. On the other hand, some friendly feedback/advice might be just the thing to get my cerebral cortex up and firing, especially feedback/advice from people I haven't heard from.
And I know you're out there too. I can see you. (Insert maniacal laughter)
Next Chapter Preview
Well, I'm guessing that some of you thought the big fight scene was going to start up in this chapter, didn't ya? Well, it turns out we were still setting the table and now it's time for a real feast. We've got X-Men robots, Arcade and his giant robot, Gotham's craziest running around the city, and even the original mad scientist of Earth-1 all ready to torment our beloved array of heroes. Oh, and just who are those two shadows hiding inside Arkham Asylum just waiting to pounce? Strap yourself in and find out in two weeks time in the next installment of With Apologies to Bea Arthur: Acceptance. . . with Asskicking! Until then, remember to say what you think and write what you feel!