It was April of 1938, and the days of the classic Chicago gangster were over – and other forms of organized crime were beginning to move in.
Several months prior, Lee Travis had learned that his cousin, well, distant cousin, Britt Reid had begun a criminal career as the gang leader named 'The Green Hornet'. It was supposed to be a secret, but his chauffeur Wing had overheard his cousin and HIS chaffeur, Kato, discussing their activities in Japanese. Unaware that Wing spoke that language, as well, they freely admitted to each other their activities against their fellow crime lords.
This angered Travis, who decided he had to avenge his family name. Taking the name of the Crimson Avenger, he and Wing planned on stopping the crook, and clearing their name – and tonight was the night.
"Ready, Wing?" asked Travis. He was wearing an outfit he assumed would hide his identity, and draw any attention away from his face. It was a bright red trenchcoat, fedora, and domino mask, and he had finished a special gas, thanks to the resources of his newspaper. This gas would be a combination of smokescreen, and would also partially sedate his enemies, to slow them down. Both Wing and he had doses of stimulants that would prevent them from succumbing to it, however.
"Sure am, boss," said the shorter man. His real name was something he only kept to himself, though he was known to everyone as Wing Shen, which he said meant "Glory of Heaven". Where Travis was all in red, Wing was dressed entirely in slate blue – and his mask covered his entire face. His lack of accent, and a fully covered face, would keep people from identifying the Asian chauffer.
Unlike his cousin, Travis had learned a great deal of the Chinese martial arts from Wing, and from the man Wing only ever referred to as 'Sifu', ever since the both of them were in their early teens. Travis was also taller, and much more physically fit than Reid. If it came to a physical confrontation, he was confident Wing could handle Kato, and he himself could easily take out the so-called Hornet. The anaesthetic gas only added to the imbalance.
As they turned to leave, all of the lights in the house suddenly shut off. "You go nowhere yet, Lee Travis," rang the creepiest voice the man had ever heard. "Not until you hear the truth! And who knows truth better... than The Shadow!"
Wing unerringly grabbed his boss's sleeve. In Cantonese, he muttered, "Heard of him, boss. He's one of the angels, supposedly, but can do things nobody can explain."
"Indeed," came the voice in the same language, this time behind them. "Though tonight I am here to prevent a crime, not to end a criminal."
Travis swallowed the fear he felt, and straightened up in the darkness. "Well, then, go ahead. What do you have to tell us?"
"You shall not hunt the Green Hornet this night – or any other! His so-called criminal activities are a sham, to use the confusion to bring down the greater criminals!" A tall, hook-nosed form dressed entirely in black somehow manifested in the darkness before them. "And soon, he shall be needed – as shall you, and many other cousins you have, by blood or otherwise, from an incident more than a hundred and forty years ago."
This stopped Travis cold, and he removed his mask and hat with his free hand. Wing, feeling the motion through his sleeve, correctly interpreted it, and likewise removed his mask. With this action, the lights somehow returned, and the three men stared at each other for a few long moments.
Wing was the first to speak. "Sirs, shall we retire to the parlor? It would perhaps be best for us to discuss this in some comfort, at least.
XXXX
"This... this is incredible," said Travis. "All of these legends... we're all descended from people who were near that meteor?"
"Indeed. Your cousin, in fact, through two different lines. I, myself, am, as well. The coming conflict in Europe is almost guaranteed to be one that affects the entire world, as the sino-Japanese conflict will be drawn into it. And while countless soldiers and officers will be needed, so will icons. Heroes and symbols, to maintain morale during the dark days to come." The Shadow drank from his glass – only water, a strange choice for a gentleman of this day and age.
"But how do you know all of this?" demanded Travis.
"The stranger told me," simply said the Shadow.
Wing shook his head. "With all due respect, sir, how could you trust the word of a stranger?"
A fourth voice rang through the halls of Travis' home. "He said THE Stranger, not A Stranger."
In the doorway stood a tall man, in blue-gray opera attire. His hat covered his eyes, which seemed to glow white from under the brim. "Some call me... the Phantom Stranger."
XXXX
The train was out of control, there was no doubt about it. Alan Scott was a passenger on the Express from Metropolis to Gotham, and some maniac had decided to rob the thing. A stray bullet had ricocheted into the engineer's compartment, where he lay bleeding. Scott, though a mechanical engineer, struggled valiantly to both save the engineer's life, and get the vehicle back under control. If he didn't, a large number of passengers would die.
Somehow, his eye was drawn to the old-fashioned lantern on the floor near the engineer. It didn't really belong on a new, modern E2 Streamliner, but he couldn't afford the distraction. He thought he had stopped the engineer's bleeding, however, so he turned his attention out the window to see what was coming up. This, of course, turned out to be a bad idea.
Of course, the bridge ahead was out, washed out in the heavy rains of the past week.
He slumped to the floor of the cab, and shuffled over to grab the emergency brake. There was no way the massive train would stop in time to save all of his fellow passengers, but he had to try. There was no way in hell he was going to give up, and even fear for his life was nothing compared to his need to rescue these passengers.
His hand lightly brished the lantern as he thought this, and a blinding flare of green filled his vision. In his mind, he heard, "Once, I brought death. Now, I bring life. Soon – I bring power!"
The glow filled the cab, and he felt the train leave the tracks. Stunned, he kept his hand on the lantern, and watched as the engineer not only stopped bleeding, the pooled blood actually withdrew back into his body – and the nasty wound from a deformed .45 bullet sealed itself.
He almost didn't notice when the train, powered down and brake applied, set down on the tracks across the bridge from where they had started – he was too busy watching the engineer's eyes flutter open. "D-did I just..." wheezed the formerly injured man.
"Um... almost die? Yep. Some fool tried to rob the train, you were shot, and we were all about to go off the cliff into the Gotham Narrows." Alan glanced around. "Looks like we're on the Gotham side, now, though."
"I... I saw white. Lots of white. Then... green?" He shook his head. "Names Jordan, Henry Jordan." The engineer extended his hand.
"Alan Scott."
"Is... is there a reason my old lantern's glowing? And why it's now all green and not just the center glass?"
"I have no idea."
XXXX
"I don't care if you make it to the weight limit, you're still too small to face Ted Grant in the ring, Al!"
"Joe, you said yourself I'm one of the best you ever trained! What's this Grant guy got that I ain't got?"
Joe Morgan, retired boxing trainer, looked down at his last pupil. Al Pratt was short, barely five foot one, but stockier than any two men – and all of it muscle. "What's he got? An extra foot and a half of reach, that's what! You might even be able to knock him out with one punch, but you ain't never gonna get that punch!"
Al sighed. "There's gotta be some way. I'm too heavy for the lighter classes, but you say I can't make it in the heavier ones."
Joe walked over to the edge of the ring, and sat down. Al followed. "Son, you did me more of a solid than I ever thought when you helped me back on my feet four years ago. But we both thought you'd stay a light welterweight through your training, not turn into a pint-sized Hercules. You're one of the best fighters I've ever seen, but there's really no place for you in the pros."
The conversation was cut short by the popping sound of gunfire, and the screeshing tinntinabulation of shattering glass. Blood blossomed on Morgan's chest, and his eyes widened as he slumped over onto Pratt's chest.
"J-Joe? JOE!" Al knew it was too late, just looking at his friend – the man had died almost instantly when the bullet reached his heart. Glancing out the now shattered window, at the bank across the street, he saw two men struggling with a lone guard. One of them was reloading his revolver, and the short man knew it had to have been him that just killed his friend. Anger filled his heart, and he charged out through the shattered glass.
The guard would later describe the fight as 'watching an angry bull move like a tornado'. Fists collided with bone, sending the robbers flying, with bone shattering impacts on every punch. It only took seconds before the would-be robbers were laying in groaning heaps at the guard's feet.
The short man looked up at the guard. "Keep an eye on them. They didn't just rob this place, they're murderers, too." With that, he walked across the street, climbed back in through the window, and sat with the body of his friend until the ambulance arrived to take him away.
XXXX
It is now November, 1940. The home of Lee Travis, the Crimson Avenger, was host to a collection of some of the least likely individuals in a very long time.
First among them was his own cousin, Britt Reid, and his chauffer, Kato. The two had reconciled when Travis learned the truth, and the Hornet soon after abandoned his scheme of 'pretending to be a criminal'. They would often work together, and Kato and Wing would trade friendly barbs about whether Chinese or Japanese styles were superior.
Travis, Wing, Reid, and Kato were all in costume, because of the collection of other men and women present. In all, there numbered more than twenty individuals, in costumes and outlandish garb designed to either provide stealth, or draw attention. Among these notables were the Shadow, Wildcat, Liberty Belle, the speedster known as Johnny Quick, Hourman, and many others.
"So...why we here, eh? Gonna make a Union for us longjohn types?" asked the Wildcat.
"Close, but not quite," said the Shadow. "We are gathered for a greater purpose. And there remain a few to arrive."
The ringing of the doorbell interrupted the conversation, as the newest guest arrived. Clad in a yellow and blue suit, with full face mask and detatchable cape, the Atom strode in, as if he were seven feet tall instead of merely five foot one. And Wildcat took one look at him, and his mouth spread in a grin. "Hey, Atty, glad ya made it!"
His face wasnt visible, but Al Pratt grinned anyway. "You too, kitty cat. Boy, they must be scraping the bottom of the barrel, eh?"
"'Course they are, otherwise it woulda gone right over ya!"
Johnny quick leaned over to the next closest person, who turned out to be Liberty Belle. "Either those two are best friends, or worst enemies."
From his other side, Wing casually noted, "They have the same teacher. They move the same, and both seemed to lift the left shoulder a bit when they saw each other."
From the other end of the gathered heroes, Doctor Mid-Nite spoke up. "Is he the last one?"
The Phantom shook his head. "There is one more due to arrive. Please, try not to gawk."
Green. That was the first thing anyone saw, when the final hero arrived. He wore a red shirt, and green pants, with a green cloak – and was covered in an aura of green. The man passed soundlessly through the ceiling into the room like a ghost, then became fully solid once more.
"The Green Lantern," gasped Mister Terrific. "Long way from Gotham, eh?"
The Lantern smiled from under his domino mask. "Not so far as you might think. Now, why the need for this meeting, eh?"
Knowing his cue, Travis stepped forward. "I am the Crimson Avenger, and the man in grey over there is my partner, Wing. And after that debacle last month with the ultra-Humanite rampaging through all our cities, I thought we might want to do something to be better prepared for something like that if it happens again."
"Like what?" asked the Sandman.
"Like a society, where we could contact each other if we ned help, or if one of our foes is heading to someone else's territory. Or if there's a situation that none of us can handle on our own.
"Effectively... a Justice Society."
XXXX
World War II was hell, for those who fought it and for those trapped in the line of fire. Atrocities unheard of were committed, and the true depts of Man's evil came to light with the discovery of the Death Camps. And, through it all, men and women in bright costumes fought as symbols, and as heroes.
Many of the Justice Society did not survive the war. Most were mere mortals, simply exceptionally skilled or with a single, useful gimmick. It was from these that most of the fatalities came. Red Torpedo, Amazing Man, Captain Triumph, and the Americommando were the most notable of those who died.
After the war, crime was down, and the forces of the Axis powers diminished dramatically, so many of the heroes retired. Senator McCarthy's anti-communist witch hunts persuaded most of the ret it was time to hang up the cowl. Only the Green Lantern, Wildcat, Atom, and Doctor Mid-Nite kept up their self-apponted tasks, the last remaining members of the Justice Society.
In Gotham City, Jonathon Wayne built an economic empire. Wayne Industries went from being a small car parts company to one of the biggest suppliers of military vehicles to the US Military, and his three sons grew up in the lap of luxury. The youngest was Thomas Wayne, born in 1955.
Korea soon took center stage in the American worldview, then scarecely a decade and a half later, Vietnam. And it was there that Jonathon Wayne's world nearly fell apart before his very eyes. Both of his older sons were drafted, and both answered the call. His youngest, Thomas, was granted a deferment due to being in college when his number was drawn. And both older sons died heroes, leaving the responsibility for the massive multinational corporation on the shoulders of the woefully unprepared future doctor.
Lucius Fox was one of the biggest risks Jonathon Wayne ever took. He was a young African American man, one of the first to graduate from the formerly all-white Gotham University, and bore an accounting degree so fresh the ink was almost still wet. But he had an eye that could not be denied, and under the elder Wayne's tutelage and with the friendship of the younger, rapidly rose until he was, for all intents and purposes, the number three man at the company. As the Black Rights movement grew, he was frequently held up by the more militant side as an 'Uncle Tom', but also by the more peaceful side as 'an example of what we can achieve'.
By the time Jonathon Wayne died of lung cancer, and Thomas Wayne took the reins, he could be said to be actually running Wayne Industries. And, in 1974, Thomas Wayne married Martha Kennedy, with young Bruce arriving a year and a half later.
XXXX
The lab crumbled around Jor-El, as his greatest fears came to be.
B.R.A.N.I.A.C. Was, in fact, behind the errant readings he had been detecting – and it appeared to be because of deliberate alterations in its programming. Some external, possibly extraterrestrial, agency had decided the Kryptonians were not worth their efforts anymore, and the very core of the planet was being altered to be radioactive, emitting frequencies of radiation that sickened entire cities.
And, like all radioactive substances, there was such a thing as critical mass – and this substance in the core was rapidly reaching that state. Already smaller amounts had begun to go critical closer to the crust, causing earthquakes that shattered the once great civilization of Krypton. Soon, enough of the core would reach critical mass for a cataclysmic explosion, and nothing could save his beloved homeworld.
The cultural paranoia about space travel and exploration was purely psychological, he knew. And for that reason neither he nor his wife could escape. However... his son could.
He and his wife both regularly encoded their mental patterns and memories into data crystals, and it was these he placed in the computer that would guide his son's escape vessel. Perhaps long-lost Argo might survive, but of all this planet, only young Kal-el would.
There was a planet, nearly twelve hundred light years distant, that their stealth probes had indicated had a technologically primitive race that looked dramatically like their own. Among them, Kal-El could grow up in peace. In addition, they were of a moral bent similar to Kryptonians, meaning he could have a happy life.
Seeing his wife, he drew her close. Nothing needed to be said as the small probe launched, and Krypton died.
XXXX
Sol found herself in a small antechamber to the Parliament of Stars. There, with her, was Rao. Ma'al had vanished millenia ago, leaving the red giant as her closest friend. Now, however, he looked concerned.
"My friend... Maltus once came to me with similar news – and a similar request."
She was confused. "What sort of news and request?"
"I am dying. The last of my children even now leaves my solar system, and the world that once held life shall soon be no more. When that happenes... I will rapidly fade, until I am no more." He sighed. "And they chose your world for him to escape to."
One hand raised to her mouth. "No, Rao! Please, no!"
"Yes, my friend. But, please, do not grieve. I have come to ask you... to take my place among the council." He sighed. "And, if possible, to take care of my last remaining son."
She could only nod, before she embraced him and cried, as she had not cried since the loss of Ma'al.
XXXX
The island nation of Themiscrya was in an uproar. One of their own goddesses had appeared before them, to inform them that some aspects of "Man's World" were now more egalitarian than even their own.
Diana, daughter of Queen Hippolyta, stepped forth. "Divine One, may I ask what is meant by that? How, exactly, are they more egalitarian?"
Athena simply asked, "What if one of their sailors crashed on your shores? What would you do?"
Phillipus, bodyguard to the Queen, spoke up. "His life would be forfeit, as would any man who set foot here."
"And there it is. If one of your own washed ashore on most of the nations of Earth, she would be given medical treatment, and possibly even assistance with living expenses until she could stand on her own feet." Athena sighed. "It is not something I admit readily, but the outside world has surpassed my own Amazons in terms of equality."
"Then what shall we do, Divine One?" asked the Queen. "Change comes slow to us, I fear, for thousands of years of fear and distrust will not fade swiftly."
"Send an emissary. An ambassador, if you will. She will learn if this is so, and help the gradual proccess of bringing Themiscrya back to the modern world." She turned, and looked directly at Diana. "And she shall be the only one of you untouched by the abuse of ancient men.
"Train her. Teach her. Make of her the best of you. And when she is ready – call on me. She shall have gifts at that time."
Athena faded, and the throne room of the Amazons fell silent.