The World of Tomorrow, Today!
May 8, 1939
It was the skyscrapers that sold Jay. Sold him on that promise of New York City. Keystone had its own weight, the skyline jutting out from miles and miles of flat lands around it. But, New York was a world unto itself. He and Joan pressed their faces to the windows the entire last leg of the train ride into the city. He had originally argued for running them there, but Joan had wanted a real trip, a proper trip. Jay had to admit it was worth it.
His work at the lab kept him busy, with Professor Clariss pushing his assistants to work long hours. His responsibilities as the Flash consumed a lot of his free time. The scourge that was supervillains had not spared Keystone. Joan was understanding, far more than Jay had any right to demand of her, but he knew that this trip meant a lot.
They got off the train, all wide eyes and upward stares, marked for certain as tourists. The two of them sought out their lodging in the city proper. He was amazed by the density. Of people, of cars, of life being lived. There was a rhythm to it, one that matched a far faster beat than back home.
Jay and Joan dropped their bags off at the hotel and made for their real destination: the World's Fair. They caught a taxi that deposited them in Queens. Throngs of people streamed through the area, all heading to the same location. The fair was to be an oracle of the future, a sign of the changing times or simply a place to enjoy a day out. Hand in hand, Jay and Joan joined the crowds, ushered forth into the world of tomorrow.
"I still think they should have hosted this in Metropolis."
"Careful, Lois. You sound like Luthor," said Clark.
"That's a low blow Smallville," she said, playfully punching his shoulder. Clark subtly rolled away as she hit, to avoid hurting her.
They strolled through the crowds of the fair. The sheer scope of the grounds was impressive, packed as it was with guests. They were gradually making their way from exhibit to exhibit, gathering all they needed for a story.
"It's too bad Jimmy couldn't come," said Lois, as they rode an electric staircase in the Westinghouse exhibit, along with dozens of others excited guests. "He's always gushing about this kind of thing."
Jimmy had come down with a bad flu right before the trip. If it was bad enough to put him out of commission, it had to be serious. He watched that boy work in the most absurd of conditions.
"I bet he'll have a chance later. We'll just have to field his questions when we return."
"That can be a job for you. I don't have a few years of my life to give up."
The Westinghouse building contained the wonders of electricity. They viewed all manner of advanced contraptions. The crowds were especially entranced by an automaton named Elektro, who walked and lit cigarettes to raucous applause. Clark did a brief scan of its internal components with his x-ray vision. It was truly impressive what the people of this planet could produce when they set their mind to it. Earlier, they had seen a strange device called a television, which they were told would project images on its screen, sent to it via a remote signal. Everyone seemed swept up in the promise of what all this represented, a vision of the world to come.
Clark was taken by the displays of technology, while Lois seemed to be on the lookout for people to interview. He was impressed, as always, by the way Lois could track down what was going on below the surface of any given story. She had a way of viewing the underlying threads that tied together events.
It was during his observation of the Westinghouse time capsule that Clark felt a familiar melancholy seize him. The contents of the capsule were a glimpse at the here and now, the 20th century in a sliver of its complexity. It was not to be opened until the seventh millennium, a moment so far ahead it was impossible to conceive of. Would a humanity so distant from the present unearth this vessel and reach into their past? Or would it be left for ghosts? His rocket was its own capsule, a last relic of his people. Clark took joy in sharing this time with others, in watching them see what they could strive for, but it was tinged with a reminder that a civilization so advanced as to cross the stars was unable to save itself.
Earth was this precious, delicate gift. Since he flew, Clark had taken every opportunity to observe his home from above, to take in the full majesty. There were boundaries he hadn't crossed yet. As Superman, he traveled to other countries that needed him, such as the earthquake in Chile. But, he stayed absent from the turmoil in Europe. There was no telling what his intervention could do. He didn't want to cause a war. His flights brushed up against the upper limits of the atmosphere, but never past it. That realm remained a mystery to him.
"You okay, Clark? It looked like I lost you there for a moment," said Lois, emerging from the crowd.
"I'm alright. Just lost in thought."
Lois looked at the capsule and whistled.
"Don't spend too long exploring the future there, Smallville. I found someone with a story to tell."
"Who?"
Lois flashed him a devious smile.
"Bruce Wayne."
People liked to compared New York City to Gotham, but the differences were apparent to Bruce from the second he stepped off the train. The architecture lacked the gothic flair of his home, the way that they would loom over you. The locals, for all their purported gruffness, were nothing compared to Gothamites, with their suspicious stares and hasty retreats. The atmosphere was lighter. Bruce didn't care for it.
There were other reasons for his mind to wander back to Gotham. An unfinished case. One that involved a new player on the scene, a hustler with the flair for the theatrical. Called himself the Penguin. The various criminal dynasties felt the walls closing in around them as Batman carved through their operations, but that provided opportunities to a new breed.
He was also still combing through the remains of the Hugo Strange affair. Maroni remained at large. Bruce managed to trace the source of Strange's chemical concoctions. A ship registered as missing had unloaded its cargo in one of Gotham's many covert docks. Its original owners were from Europe, a connection that troubled him. There were no leads on the other half of Strange's correspondence.
This departure to New York was mandated by Bruce Wayne's commitments. The World's Fair included an exhibit by Wayne Enterprises, one that demonstrated the future of medical technology. He had to make at least a halfhearted appearance. It would do him no good to allow the company to flounder in the face of its rivals. Lexcorp refused to share the stage with others, instead choosing to present their own exhibit in Metropolis. Queen Industries held no such reservations, instead proudly showing off their latest aeronautics advances.
Alfred was always reminding Bruce of his responsibility to be out in public as the last member of the Wayne family. The man was right, Bruce begrudgingly acknowledged. The mission required his cover be maintained, even when it took away time from his pursuits.
"This really is lovely, Bruce," said his companion, Linda Page. She leaned on a set of railing that overlooked much of the fairgrounds. The enormous Perisphere and its accompanying pillar, the Trylon, stood nearby, dwarfing everything around it.
He had asked Julie to come, but she was busy. It was her who had suggested bringing Linda in her stead. "A break, from all those stresses," Julie had said. Linda wasn't the type to let the strain show on the surface, but Bruce knew that the kidnapping had done a number on her. He no longer saw her on the circuit of socialites he was forced to endure. Even here, in the calm light of the afternoon he noticed the way she flinched at loud noises.
"It's made lovelier by having you to share it with," he said, joining her at the railing.
"Careful Bruce, you might make Julie jealous."
He laughed. "I could say the same about your friend. What was his name? Mario?"
Linda sighed. "I doubt that very much. We haven't seen each other in some time. Since.. well since it all happened."
Her eyes winced, as if avoiding having to look back at that time. Bruce began to extend a hand to her shoulder, then reconsidered.
"My apologies. I didn't know."
"It's okay, Bruce. It really is. You don't need to treat me like I'm fragile. And I know it's Julie you'd rather be here with."
Bruce did miss Julie's presence more than anticipated. There was a growing danger of his attachment to her, far more than the mission allowed. He enjoyed their dates, walking hand in hand through the park, watching the latest motion pictures, going for a drive in the countryside. In many ways, Julie was the only part of the Bruce Wayne side of his life that he looked forward to. It made the inevitable break that waited down the road for them all the more unpleasant.
"Linda, please, I'm glad you agreed to come. These company outings always bore me to death. You've added a bit of joy to the mix."
"There are worse things than being in the gossip rags next to Bruce Wayne."
They shared a smile, with only a trace of sadness in Linda's. A man and a woman approached them at the railing.
"Speaking of," said Linda, acknowledging their guests.
"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," said the woman, extending a hand. "And this is my colleague, Clark Kent."
"Mr. Wayne, ma'am," said Kent. He was slightly taller than Bruce, with wide shoulders and a broad jaw.
Bruce took a moment, before shaking Lois's hand. She had a firm grasp. Her eyes were a striking purple shade. Quite rare that.
"I'm familiar with the names if not the faces. Quite the article on that housing scandal Ms. Lane," said Bruce.
"Thank you. I'll keep this to the point, Mr. Wayne. Would you be available to answer some questions?"
Bruce conjured up a series of excuses, but Alfred's voice chimed in his head. This would be a perfect opportunity to make Bruce Wayne's attendance at the fair felt. A necessary evil. The Daily Planet was one of the better newspapers out there.
"I guess I could. Linda, do you mind?"
"Not at all. I'll catch up with you later, Bruce."
Linda excused herself, while Lois gestured over to a table on the balcony. The three of them took a seat. They ran through the basic questions at a rapid clip. What was he doing at the fair? What did he think of it? What was Wayne Enterprise's contribution? It all came out so fast that Bruce was nearly surprised when Lois pivoted to more substantial lines of inquiry.
"What of the rumors that Lex Luthor has made attempts at purchasing a significant amount of stock in your company?"
"Wayne Enterprises has been in my family for numerous generations. I don't intend to alter that arrangement."
"You've recently made investments into a number of neighborhood clinics within Gotham. Why?"
Lane had done her research.
"My parents always wanted the best for the people of Gotham. They knew that the city could only reach its true potential with healthy, secure citizens. My father contributed to that with his own programs, as well as his service as a doctor. My mother was an advocate for a variety of social movements. I wanted to honor that commitment in my own way."
"A noble sentiment," said Lois. "Why did it take you so long to do?"
"Excuse me?"
"You've had control over the Wayne family fortune for over a decade. Beyond legacy contributions put in place by your father, there have been no substantial shifts in policy over that entire time. Why change now?"
Lois's expression hadn't changed, but Bruce could feel the satisfaction that she had thrown him at all. Kent was also looking at him closely. This was where Lois was in her element, going for the kill.
"I was not involved in the day to day workings of Wayne Enterprise for a long time…"
"On account of your sabbatical," said Lois. She was relentless.
"Yes," said Bruce.
"One you began in 1929."
"Yes," said Bruce. This was not the first time a reporter started down this path.
"A decade where you were effectively missing, Mr. Wayne. What were you doing all that time?"
"I've given this answer elsewhere as I'm sure you're aware, but I'll indulge you, Ms. Lane. I was young and rather foolish. I thought that running away from my problems would be the solution. So I spent that time as many young people wish they could spend it. Trying and failing to find myself, until at last I tired of travel."
"An entire decade of that? Really?" said Lois.
"Truly."
"What of the report of your sighting in Paris in 1931? Or Hong Kong in 1933?"
There was no satisfying this woman. A change of tactics was required.
"Ridiculous stories. All of them. And here I thought that the Daily Planet took the truth seriously. Maybe Mr. Luthor is more accurate about you than I gave him credit," said Bruce, doing his best indignant tone. He stood hastily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've kept my companion waiting long enough."
Lois stood stood, with Clark following.
"We're going that way too. May as well accompany you. If there's anything else you'd like to share along the way, we'd be delighted."
Bruce gave them a withering look. Lois smiled back, while Clark gave a conciliatory shrug.
The surface of the lagoon contained the shimmering reflections of the many statues that lined the walkways of the fair. Wesley Dodds admired the craft on display, if not the message that underlined all of it. Where others proclaimed the future, Wesley saw the crass language of consumerism. The various exhibits were less visions into a utopia to come than an invitation to purchase a new product. The underlying structure of the American society.
He drifted about the fair, doing his best to enjoy the exhibits all the same. He took the most pleasure in the pavilions of the other nations that had a presence here. The imposing steel tower of the Polish pavilion. The garden of the Netherlands. The Shinto shrine of the Japanese. They reminded him of his travels in his youth, with his father. A bit of architecture here, the wafting scent of a specific food here and he was back on those adventures. He missed those days, if not the impetus for their journey.
Wesley's attendance at the fair was not dictated by nostalgia or simple curiosity. It was brought about by the same overpowering force that commanded his life so forcefully these days. He had a dream a week ago. One that spoke of deceit and mayhem, to be visited upon this vision of tomorrow. Wesley did not know what shape the threat would take, only that it would arrive soon. So, he wandered the grounds, never straying too far from the location where he stashed his gas mask and tools. When danger finally reared its head, the Sandman would rise to meet it.
The scotch was finally setting in, too late for Alan Scott to truly enjoy it. He was in a lounge, on the upper floors of the Gotham Broadcasting Building, nestled comfortably away from the crowds below.
"Mind if I sit near you?" spoke a voice. Feminine, with a lilt that indicated English origin.
A woman in a floral dress with a short bob cut stood over Alan, a glass in her hand.
"If it's not too much to ask," she said.
"Not at all," said Alan. The woman sat beside him, her view fixed outside the window on the people below.
"Magnificent."
"It is."
"It's nice to see what humanity is capable of. Of what we can aspire to be," she said. "Circumstances have gotten rather dire back home."
Alan nodded and sipped his drink. He took her to mean England.
"How rude of me. I haven't introduced myself. My name is Nancy. Nancy Benton."
"Alan Scott."
"What is it you do, Mr. Scott? Beyond drink alone and look rather solemn, if I may be so bold."
"You may. I'm an engineer."
"Is that so? Of what sort?"
"Mechanical."
"What brings you here, to the GBC?"
"My firm helped work on the fair. Got a few last minute projects completed."
"Quite the accomplishment."
There was comfort to be taken in having helped the organizers make it past the finish line. That accolade was a boon for their firm, a check they could cash for the next few years, at least in New York. Alan's mind had already left to other ventures. Namely, this broadcasting company. He had told Martin he needed a change in scenery. The firm held too many bad memories. Too much weight. A fresh start was required. A few chats with the right people and Alan had an in with the Manhattan branch of the GBC. He had come to the fair today to talk with the elusive Bruce Wayne about his thoughts on the company, which Wayne Enterprises held a significant stake in. Wayne had looked at him like Alan spit in his drink. Told Alan to contact his people, the ones that actually cared for that side of the business.
"It hasn't hurt, that's for sure," said Alan. "I've decided to make some professional changes. The GBC happens to be one of them."
"A man of many interests. A life not without its risk though," Nancy said, pointing to his left arm, which rested in a sling. A parting gift from Grundy.
"Slipped on a patch of snow a few weeks back," said Alan, a well-worn lie. One he fed to Martin and the others.
"Enough about me," said Alan, "What about you? Here for work or recreation?"
"A little of both. Mostly work. I'm a consultant. A specialist."
"In what field?"
"Archeology. Art history."
"How does the fair have need of that?"
"I travel to the various country exhibits. Observe the works of art. Verify them." Nancy continued in a low voice, almost conspiratorially. "There can be an aftermarket for events like this. A place for private collectors to add a rare find."
A black market, Alan was sure.
"Sounds fascinating."
"It can be. Mostly it's tedious. I do get to travel though." Nancy set her drink down. She looked straight at him, her face framed elegantly by her bob. "Are you looking for recreation Alan?"
"I'm afraid you'll have to look elsewhere. That's not currently my strong suit."
Nancy's face didn't change a bit, her warm smile maintained.
"Worth a shot," she said, retrieving her glass. "If you change your mind, I'll be around Mr. Grant."
She left Alan to his drink and his thoughts.
The fair proved to be one of the few times where Jay felt entirely blessed to have his powers. He could watch the intricate machinery on display operate at a snail's pace, examining every nook and cranny. He could take in the vast sea of people wandering the grounds, witnessing every minute interaction. Best of all, Jay could watch carefully as Joan glowed with happiness as they explored the fair.
The two wandered through all the exhibits. They saw the city of tomorrow in the Perisphere. They roamed the motorways of the General Motors exhibit. Swam in the Aquacade. The Amusement Zone was Joan's favorite. It was like stepping to a separate world from the rest of the fair, one governed by carnival barkers and sweet scents, as the excited screams of guests sailed through the air. They rode in the Water-Bugs, smashing into laughing patrons in their miniature bumper boats. The Parachute Jump was particularly fun, as they floated down from a great height, with Joan letting out whoops of joy.
It was as they watched the intricate display of the railroad pageant that Joan turned to him and said, "This has been the most delightful day."
"I'm glad you talked me into this."
"You say that like it was hard."
"What can I say, darling? When you're the one making the suggestion everything gets a bit easier," said Jay.
"Such a charmer when you want to be," said Joan. Her grin lessened slightly as she looked deep in his eyes.
"Something the matter?"
"I don't want to ruin today, but.."
"But, what?"
"Is this sustainable Jay? Can we really be together?"
Jay felt a punch in his gut.
"Joan, what's causing this?"
"We're at the end of college Jay. Between the lab work and your... other activities, will there be room for us? For something real? Something that lasts?"
"Why wouldn't there be?"
Joan pulled in her knees, tighter to her body. She stared back at the pageant. A new train was rolling by them.
"You've got this gift. You help people. I won't take that from you. I can't."
"But?"
"But I need to know that there's a place for me in your life. Going forward."
Jay realized they were truly on the gulf of something vast. Something new. There was real potential that this trip wasn't merely a fun diversion, but a final hurrah, a recognition of a newfound incompatibility.
Time stopped. He looked at Joan's tender expression, framed as it was against the depths of possible heartbreak. He cast himself into the future, into all the possible futures he could imagine. Not a single one of them lacked Joan by his side.
Carefully, Jay lifted her chin up, to properly meet her gaze. He noted the slight tremble on her lips.
"Joan, I'd give it all up in a heartbeat for you. There's no me without you."
The blessing of his powers let him witness the full transcendence of her face. The way the fear, the doubt, melted away, buoyed by the love that poured out of her. Jay's lips met Joan and once again all was right in the world.
Lois asked Bruce questions the entire time they walked together. He understood how she produced so many stories for the paper. If she was this dogged in a chance encounter, there was no telling the depths of her resolve. Bruce evaded or ignored most of them.
It wasn't the first time he had faced questions about his travels, but Lois seemed better informed than most. Bruce had done a thorough job covering his tracks, particularly in preparation for his homecoming, but there were always a few vulnerabilities. Most people were content with his vague musings of years of debauchery and self-searching. Lois must be a profoundly mistrusting person, because she would not settle for his version of events. An appropriate sentiment for someone that had to coexist with a man like Luthor. Kent, for his part, only chimed in occasionally, though Bruce could tell the man scrutinized him.
"You know, Ms. Lane, if you're so interested in asking me these questions, perhaps we could do it over dinner? My treat," he said.
Clark Kent tensed ever so slightly upon Bruce saying that. Lois merely scoffed.
"I bet that works all the time for you," she said. Kent relaxed.
"It's a genuine offer," said Bruce.
"I'm enjoying this too much. Not every day you get to enjoy a stroll with the favorite son of Gotham."
Bruce finally spied Linda, standing near a batting cage. Guests swung in vain at a pitch served straight from a professional ball player.
"Ah there you are," she said. Noting Lois and Clark, Linda said, "Is the interview still in progress?"
"It is," said Lois.
"No," said Bruce.
Linda looked amused by his mounting exasperation.
"Maybe a break is in order?" She pointed to the batting cage. "Care to show off, Bruce?"
"This would be great for our interview," said Lois.
He started an excuse, but her glare shot him down. Fine. Better to present as carefree to the snoops.
"If you insist," he said.
"Smallville, why don't you give it a go too," said Lois.
"Why not, Kent?" said Bruce.
"Alright," said Clark.
The two men entered the cage. The man running the attraction explained that they got three attempts to hit the ball. A single hit granted a prize. Two or more improved the value.
"After you," said Clark, all downturned eyes and manners. Bruce took the bat and stepped to the plate.
The pitcher smirked at the sight of the rich boy he was up against. A chance to show off, Bruce presumed. He held the bat awkwardly, giving off the sign that he had little experience.
The first pitch sailed by him without a response.
Lois let out a muffled laugh. Linda giggled.
"Come on Bruce, at least swing," said Linda.
He flailed in vain at the second one. The two women found it endlessly amusing. Bruce ignored the reflexes that yearned to hit the ball. He knew exactly where he could put it if he was permitted to.
The third one was another failure. Bruce feigned disappointment, handing the bat off to Clark.
"Let's see if you have better luck," he said.
Clark also stood at the plate with an ungainly stance.
"Come on Clark! Didn't you play ball back home?" shouted Lois.
Clark turned to reply right as the first pitch sailed by him. He whipped his head back and nearly fell. The pitcher chuckled.
"Oh dear," Clark muttered.
The next two pitches flew by him in a similar manner. Something was off though. Bruce couldn't pinpoint the cause, but there was an aspect to Clark's body language that gave off the tone of acting. The man was pretending to be bad at batting, similar to Bruce's display.
"Seems I fared no better," said Clark.
"Don't let their jeers bring you down," said Bruce, "I'd love to see them give it a go."
"No, no," said Linda, wagging her finger for dramatic effect, "I'll save the displays of athletics for you boys."
"I wouldn't want to upset your egos," said Lois.
There was, at last, a way out from this ordeal. He just had to play the embarrassed playboy.
"I have been patient, but you've used up enough of my time, Ms. Lane. If you'll excuse us, Ms. Page and I have more to see of this fair."
Lois was clearly weighing her options. She had plenty of material, but he hadn't given her exactly what she wanted out of this exchange. Bruce linked arms with Linda and began to leave.
"It was a pleasure, Mr. Wayne," said Clark, offering a hand to Bruce. He gave the man his an impassive stare and strode past him.
"Don't take it personally Clark. That we got anything out of Wayne is impressive," said Lois. "For a man so important to his city, he doesn't speak out much."
They were still by the batting cages, with Lois putting the finishing touches on her notes. The sky was taking on the character of late afternoon, the sun midway through its descent. If he focused, Clark could hear from one end of the fair to the other, though it was difficult to pluck out specific noises from the clamor.
"It's not my first time getting the cold shoulder," he replied.
The man perplexed him. Clark knew about the Wayne family murders, he even remembered that news from his youth. It had been infamous enough to spread by radio across the nation, everyone taking their time to leer at the unfolding tragedy of the orphan prince of Gotham. Public attention waned as it always did, but Bruce clearly had to keep going. Perhaps his aloof attitude was the only way the man could make sense of the world in the wake of that violence. Clark already had to reckon with his home planet being gone, but he could scarcely conceive of losing Ma or Pa at a young age. The thought made him shiver.
The dull thwack of a patron striking a baseball nearby reoriented Clark's attention. Bruce Wayne had been faking it in the cage, at least to an extent. Clark could see the way his eyes tracked the ball, the way he inadvertently tensed in preparation for a swing, before letting it miss completely. Most amateurs couldn't even see the ball coming out of the pitcher's hand. Wayne had skill, skill he had refused to display to them. Why?
"Looks like we have a competition on our hands," came the cry of a carnival barker, from the cages. The thwacks continued in a one-two pattern. Clark got closer to see, as did a growing crowd.
Two men were in the cage, alternating one at a time. The first was a tall man, with a rough face covered by a scraggly beard. His eyes reminded Clark of a predator, a big cat. The second man wasn't quite as large, but he had a lean athletic build, his shirt sleeves rolled up. There was an easy going ambivalence to his face, a calm, as if this contest were an afterthought.
"Normally, we only give you three pitches, but after this display I think we can bend the rules. A batting contest. Eight pitches. Whoever hits the most wins the prize,"shouted the barker, a portly man in suspenders.
One at a time the competitors walked to the plate for their pitch. The big man was focused solely on the pitcher, his attention never wavering. He struck the ball over and over with a practiced athleticism that was obvious for all to see. He reminded Clark of a few of the boys back in Smallville, the ones that you could drop into any athletic endeavor and they would excel. Even with his natural advantages, Clark envied such prowess. The big man hit the ball like he was trying to smack it through the cage, with a ferocity that drew a murmur from the crowd each time.
The lean man lacked the same level of technique that his rival possessed, but it never appeared to faze him. Before each pitch, he would look out to the crowd, to a woman with blond, curly hair. She looked at him with a tender expression, one Clark could see he returned. It felt almost voyeuristic to be able to see such a moment in close detail. He heard the woman call out, "Go get him Jay!"
This Jay had an odd manner with which he hit the ball. He waited far longer to begin his swing than most batters Clark had ever seen, almost to the point where it looked like the ball would pass him by. Clark made a comment to the man standing next to him, but he looked confused by the statement. Clark realized that he was the only one who could see the strange method on display.
The men hit all eight pitches with ease. And another eight after that. And another ten. At last, backed by the cheers of the crowd, the carnival barker announced that they would both receive a prize. He wheeled out a cabinet of toys and gimmicks. The large man took one look and left, a sneer on his face. Jay carefully plucked a music box from the assortment and hurried to his companion.
"Clark. Clark, it's time to go. We have to catch the presentation at the Ford exhibit," said Lois, nudging him.
They were on their way, when a snippet of conversation snuck up on Clark.
"..was that display of skill entirely necessary? It drew unneeded attention."
"Lighten up. Consider it a warmup."
"I can overlook such a discrepancy if you maintain your proficiency in what is to come."
"I'm ready and raring to go. Let's get this started."
"Soon. Very soon."
Clark scanned the crowd to determine the source, but the voices vanished, their speakers lost. Lois urged him to continue. Reluctantly, Clark followed Lois through the stream of people, as dusk made its presence felt, the lights of the fair blinking on all at once.
The City of Tomorrow display involved an intricate diorama of a city, a demonstration of a dense, interconnected series of roadways and a ride that took guests through an automated display of the kind of modern conveniences that the 20th century would bring to their lives. Long distance phone calls, televisions, better automobiles, more advanced radio, toasters, the list went on and one. From his searches through, Wayne Enterprises R&D department, Bruce was not particularly surprised by many of the technological wonders, but he was struck by how utopian much of it seemed. Is that all the people of Gotham needed to change? A new device? Or was the problem inherent to their condition as humans, outside of technological solutions.
It was as Bruce and Linda stepped off this ride that there was a distinct shift in the atmosphere around them. It started with an abrupt scream. Linda's hand grasped his tightly. The slow crawl of cars along the track of the model freeway had sped up, with the passengers inside looking panicked. An automatic door had shut unexpectedly on the leg of a woman, who was now trapped. All throughout the building lights began to flicker.
"Bruce? What is this?" said Linda.
"I'm.. I'm not sure. It can't be part of the show."
Another series of shouts echoed out behind them, as a mechanical whirring rose in volume. The track of the ride was spinning faster and faster, the people in the carts trapped. Panic set in fully at this point, as people began to dash for the exit. The various parts of the exhibit flashed on and off in random, stuttering patterns. The loudspeaker was a distorted voice, stretched out beyond recognition.
Bruce guided Linda towards the exit, as they got pressed into the throng of frenzied guests, all running for the door. Elbows and shoulders bashed them, as they struggled to stay on their feet. They were liable to get trampled in this mess. Bruce led Linda, gradually through the crowd, through the bottleneck of the door.
When he was relatively confident in her safety, he let his hand slip, allowed the shifting tides of the crowd to split them. Linda cried out to him, tried to make her way back to him, but there was no overcoming the unconscious, fearful will of so many people, spilling out into the fair proper.
"We'll reunite when we can!" he shouted above the noise. "Just get somewhere safe!"
Bruce took a final glimpse of her, before pivoting into the mass of people. All across the fair grounds lights were coming on and off and the screams were everywhere. Too distributed to be random chance. An attack then. Exactly why Bruce had prepared for this.
He pushed his way past the others, his destination the Wayne Enterprises exhibit. Even it was not spared from the problems, the lights inside out, the interior displays operating with a life of their own. Chemicals spilled form their containers, medical devices overloaded and popped. Bruce snuck past the beleaguered staff, into the backrooms, into the private room he had requested. There, behind the desk, inside a panel he had installed, was a hidden closet, just large enough to contain the suit.
As Bruce donned the cowl, he considered what was about to happen. In Gotham, the Batman was a known entity, but one of mystery and fear. Many people had seen him at this point, but their stories retained the quality of urban legend, of myth. To go out into the fair, even with perfect execution, would be a public display of massive proportions. There would be no ignoring the existence of Batman after tonight.
The moment passed. People were in trouble. It was as simple as that. The mission demanded it be as simple as that.
All across the vast boundaries of the World's Fair, a similar ritual took place.
The marvel from Metropolis uttered a hasty excuse to separate himself from his intrepid companion, before discarding his civilian guise in a phone booth.
Jay Garrick spirited Joan to safety, before dashing to his hotel room for a quick change in attire, an act that took under ten seconds, round trip.
Alan allowed the flames to reshape him.
In a dark corner of the fair, the Sandman emerged from shadows to combat his dark dreams made reality.
Behind the bushes of the Netherlands garden, a woman from Gotham slipped into her leather outfit, the blond wig firmly attached.
And in a dimly lit restroom, a man placed the pill of power beneath his tongue, ready to spring into action.
Batman crossed the fairgrounds swiftly, headed back to the City of Tomorrow exhibit. There was too much going wrong all, so he was forced to prioritize. Small groups of people still fled the building, but it appeared that many were trapped inside, stuck within the various parts of the exhibit.
Ignoring the malfunctioning doorways, Batman made short work of a window on the second floor. Perched above, he could see that a woman was still pinned by the automatic door. There was a group of people around her trying in vain to lift it off of her. If they couldn't do it collectively, the addition of him would not make a difference.
The cars on the model streets were colliding with the sides of the tracks and one another, as the conveyor style belt that pushed them along continued to accelerate. Glass and chunks of twisted metal spilled onto the track. People were still trapped in the cars, unable to dismount safely between the speed and the impacts. The ride through the mechanical displays was also hurtling by, the screams of the trapped passengers cascading out of the tunnels as they were looped through the ride again and again.
It was useless to try and fight the symptoms on his own. Batman needed the source. Wires and cables snaked up the walls, tying together into access panels. One of them might hold the solution. He used his grappling hook to ascend to the catwalk, high above the exhibit. He wrenched the hatch open on the main panel, then yanked the emergency lever.
A surge of energy shot through the cables, spilling out of the box. The shock sent Batman stumbling back, his lower body striking the catwalk and nearly tumbling over. His cape flared out over the railing. Below a woman shrieked.
"Look, above us!"
"He's trying to kill us," another person shouted.
They were hysterical, but it was no use trying to correct them. There was the grating sound of metal scraping near the door the young woman was trapped under. The door was lifted up by force, as a man in a yellow hood and black costume entered the exhibit hall. The masked man checked to see if the woman was alright, before directing his attention to the fearful cries of the others.
One of the trapped guests yelled to him, "It's that fiend! The Batman. He's causing this, up there." Others parroted this belief.
The hooded man ordered them to stay back and leapt to the catwalk in a single bound. His opponent was between him and the power box.
"Surrender or this will turn mighty unpleasant," said the hooded man. His voice was loud, brash. It was almost parodic in its quality. Overplaying it.
Up close Batman recognized the interloper as Hourman. A masked crime fighter from this city. Eyewitness reports cited him as being able to lift cars over his head and withstand gunshots. No ordinary human. Unfortunate.
"I didn't cause this," said Batman.
"If that's true, turn yourself in and we'll work it out."
Not an option. Batman prepared a defensive stance.
"Poor choice friend," said Hourman.
His opponent darted forth and swung wildly at Batman. He avoided Hourman's strikes, careful to dodge rather than block. The man was blunt in his attacks, clearly untrained.
One of the punches clipped the catwalk railing, smashing through it. The supports on the wall groaned, as the entire walkway slid hazardously to one side. Hourman cursed and held on. Batman used the distraction to get behind him.
As he ran for the power box, hands yanked on his cape, sending him to the floor of the catwalk. Overconfident, Hourman closed in, leaving his knee open for a kick, as Batman vaulted back to his feet. The man tumbled over, his grip lost.
Batman procured a miniature explosive, planting it on the box. He didn't have time for finesse. With any luck, this would sever the power supply to the rides.
Before he could turn, Hourman grappled him around his midsection. His grip was implacable.
"Give up before I have to hurt you," said Hourman.
Batman brought down his elbow with force on Hourman's head. His foe grunted, but held firm. It was painful to strike the man directly, his skin felt like concrete.
Another surge of power rippled to the box. White light flashed as the explosive went off, with both men sent careening through the air, as the catwalk plummeted. Batman was unable to grab his grappling hook, instead smacking into the wall, before landing hard beside Hourman, who took the brunt of the explosion.
His body wracked with pain, Batman stood. Beside him, Hourman groaned and got to his feet, fists already raised. So he could be hurt.
A gust of wind flew through the room. A flash of red and blue. Both masked men turned to see Superman floating beside them.
After changing into his costume, Superman saved a few dozen people from being trampled by the panicked crowds. He stopped a runaway horse carriage. He plucked a pair from the lagoon. He got a child down from an exhibit that was malfunctioning. He held back one of the trains at the pageant, which had come loose from its breaks.
Satisfied with his initial progress, Superman soared up above the chaos to get a better view of the problem. All across the fair, lights flickered and popped. The cries for help were deceptive, as fear had spread far and wide. The police and staff members were already directing many towards the exits. Rides and exhibits were malfunctioning all over. The problems appeared to ripple outwards. It had not spread everywhere, not yet. The focal point, where Superman could hear the most trapped, was the City of Tomorrow.
His destination fixed Superman arrived to find a man in a black cowl squaring off against a yellow hooded man. He recognized the former by the ghastly descriptions of the Batman of Gotham. It was peculiar to see him in person, like plucking a creature of myth and casting it into the light. The effect was oddly humbling.
"What is going on here?" Superman demanded.
All the training in the world couldn't have prepared Batman for seeing a man defying gravity with such a casual ease. Superman hovered off the ground, his muscles relaxed, but powerful, his cape moving ever so slightly.
"I'm trying to apprehend this criminal, uh, sir," said Hourman. His voice had lost some of the bravado, his jaw slack with awe.
"What did he do?" asked Superman.
"As I understand it, this man is the reason for all this destruction."
If Hourman could convince Superman, an already difficult fight would become impossible. Batman couldn't be captured here. The mission didn't allow it. He shifted his weight, prepared to run.
"I gave him the chance to explain himself, but he chose to fight," said Hourman.
Batman began to back away. Hourman spun and threw out a punch. With blinding speed, Superman caught his fist, suddenly between the two of them. He held Hourman back without the slightest hint of effort.
"I think there's been enough fighting," Superman said. To Batman, "I still think you have explaining to do."
Batman dropped a capsule that hissed out a thick plume of smoke. He fled into its depths. Too risky to remain.
Superman responded with a gust of air, blown from his mouth. Batman was hit with a forceful wind, raising his arms to steady himself, as the smoke was scattered.
A straight fight was pointless. Batman flipped backwards, fanning out a handful of flash bombs as he did. They popped violently in front of his opponents. Hourman yelped. Superman merely turned his head slightly. If they worked at all, it was minimal.
Another electrical surge rocked the exhibit. Cables fell from the wall, as lights exploded around them. The ride had ceased working, as had the car track. Batman used the chaos to run for an exit.
In his retreat, Batman saw on one of the upper levels of the track, a car leaned precariously over the edge, having plowed through the safety railing. It lost the fight with gravity. Below was a child, no older than eight, crying for his mother.
Without a thought, Batman sprinted to the child, as the car began to fall. The timing was all off, there was no room to scoop the boy up and get away. He shoved the kid out of the way, as the car neared its destination. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the end.
Steel bent and relented as Batman realized he was not dead. Superman had caught the car, cradling it on his back. The boy was safe next to Batman.
"Maybe we need to try this again," Superman said.
"There's others that need to be saved," said Batman. "And we have to put a stop to whatever's causing this disturbance."
"Let's get to it," said Superman.
The Flash ran through the fair, rescuing others wherever he found them. The stampede of frightened guests did more harm than good, nearly crushing countless others in its wake. While he sped around, he saw Superman fly by, helping others on his own. There was also a green burst of light from the nations pavilions, holding up a damaged bridge. Other heroes. It felt like a dream.
He cleared out the GBC building, the Aquacade, the Cash Register. It was tiring work. His powers gave him strength, but he found he could still run out of steam, particularly with the sheer volume of people he had to carry. The Flash took a quick breather, leaning on one of the statues by the lagoon as he caught his breath.
There was a low click from behind. It was followed by a strange hiss and the sound of something hitting the pavement. A man was sprawled out on the path, unconscious. Standing above him was a figure in a dark trench coat, with his face covered by a sinister gas mask. In his right hand was a gun with a thick, silver barrel, a small wisp of a sickly green gas leaking from the barrel.
"I mean you no harm," said the man in the gas mask. "Unlike our companion here." He nudged the unconscious body with his foot, revealing a pistol.
"Why?" asked the Flash, still unnerved by the unblinking lenses of the gas mask, the eerie way the man's voice whispered out from it. It was a voice that conjured such visions of overgrown cemeteries and cobweb choked halls.
"There is more to this than simple accident. The chaos that befalls the fair bears the markings of intentional intervention. This man saw an opportunity to do away with you, a potential wrench in their plans."
"What could be gained from all this?"
"Unclear thus far. But knowing that there is a game afoot at all will grant us ample opportunity to upset it."
"You're not exactly the most trustworthy looking fellow. No offense."
"I know my guise inspires a particular response. The Sandman requires it."
The Flash extended a hand to his new companion.
"Sandman. Nice to meet you. Even if it's in these conditions."
The strange man shook it.
"We must find the root of our problems. It would be best if you continued to help those still trapped. I will look into…"
He was interrupted by a thunderclap, in the direction of the City of Tomorrow. Green light filled the twilight sky, almost as bright as the midday sun. Successive thunderclaps followed.
"What in God's name is that?" asked the Flash.
"Another foul twist in our enemies' plan," said Sandman.
"We have to locate the origin. Cut it off at the source," said Batman. The man's voice was barely above a growl. What seeing him in the light had initially diminished for Superman, Batman had quickly regained with the confidence he orchestrated their plan. Superman was tempted to take a peek below the cowl, but that would be a violation. His new ally had earned that respect.
"There are people at risk right now. Hourman and I can deal with them. You prioritize finding the root of this crisis," said Superman. "The problems appeared to be spreading outwards when I looked at it from above."
"All the more reason to act quickly," replied Batman.
They left the City of Tomorrow, the last of those trapped within freed. Hourman carried a pair of injured guests.
"I'll need a vantage point," said Batman, surveying nearby buildings.
Before Superman could respond, a fiery glow permeated the air around them. The smell of smoke filled his nostrils.
Something powerful collided with Superman's chest, sending him crashing back through the exhibit. He ruptured wall after wall, his body demolishing the diorama within. The impact was so forceful, that Superman was spit out the other side.
The glow followed his trajectory. Gliding over the rooftop of the GMC building was a flaming form, a mass of raging fire. It bellowed smoke and cinder as it flew towards Superman.
This time he was ready for the attack. He darted to the side, following up with his own blow. The flaming figure spun through a thicket of trees, splintering them into pieces. The fire formed a bubble around the figure.
The flaming figure surged towards Superman, its arms extended, fire pouring out.
One moment, Green Lantern had been setting down a collapsing bridge, the next heard screams from the City of Tomorrow. A creature reminiscent of Solomon Grundy stood in the wreckage of the exhibit, its pale flesh painted with blood. Without hesitation, he had assailed the creature.
They clashed in the air, its fits meeting his flaming strikes. He ignored the pain that lanced up his injured arm, supported as it was by the green flames. His foe was mighty, capable of withstanding his most ferocious blows. The air surged out from the collision of their forms.
He imagined a cage of fire, one that trapped the creature. The being looked momentarily confused, before it grabbed the bars of the cage and flung its limbs back. A sharp twinge pierced Green Lantern's mind, as the construct exploded, the creature free.
The blows rained upon him by the flaming figure actually hurt Superman. He could feel the rising ache of bruises around his midsection and on his face. There was no time to speculate as to why his defenses were breached. All his concentration remained on overpowering the being of fire.
Superman let out an icy billow of breath, in an attempt to put out his opponent. The wall of cold wind tossed the figure away, but the flames only increased in intensity.
They met again and again in mid-air, the stalemate unrelenting.
Batman watched in horror as Superman and Green Lantern battled one another above the fair, the sound of their combat thunderous in its immensity. Appeals to their reason fell on deaf ears. It was as if each man was in their own world, unable to see what was going on.
He had ascended the nearby Ford building. The fair grounds were emptying, anyone who could leave having left. The staff were helping anyone on the outskirts, but the power malfunctions still swept through the area.
Another substantial shock wave rocked the area, as Superman impacted with the pavement. Green Lantern conjured a hammer of green energy and brought it downwards onto his foe, the force of the blow sending out fragments of debris. Their fight was too dangerous to continue.
His eyes settled on the Westinghouse electric building. It was devoid of the fluctuating lights of the rest of the fair. Even from this distance, Batman could see the tiny outlines of people moving around the entrances. They lacked the frantic quality that marked the vast majority of the people fleeing the fair. If there were answers to this disaster, that building could be the answer. He left the gods to their battle in the heavens.
A closer look only enhanced his suspicions. The men at the Westinghouse concealed their faces with masks. Many of them held guns. Guarding something. Batman subdued a handful of them and entered the building, creeping through an open window. The interior was empty of guests, the lighting stable. A long, expansive hall led to a raised platform where the boxy form of Elektro, the mechanical man, stood still.
A man in a purple ribbed vest, with green trousers and a black, cloth mask covering his face conversed with a pair of men dressed like the ones Batman had handled outside.
"Nearly there boys. This is where things get dicey. Keep this place locked down and we're home free."
"What about the man up top?" asked one of the henchmen.
"Best to leave him be when he's working his magic. He'll know when to make an exit." The man in the vest had a set of three javelins slung around his shoulder. From his belt dangled what looked to be baseballs. In his hand was a bat, waved loosely for emphasis. Enough detail to make an educated guess. Sportsmaster.
"Give us a signal if any of the boy scouts get too close," said Sportsmaster, vanishing into a doorway below the podium. A metallic screen slid over the entrance, making it appear as if there was never any exit to begin with. The henchmen took up posts by the stage, while Batman counted another four of them around the hall. Enough to complicate a direct assault. The man up top was also intriguing.
Movement below drew Batman's attention. From his elevated position he saw a pair of people slip in from one of the entrances. A man in a trench coat, holding a strange firearm and a woman with stark blond hair. The latter he clocked as Black Canary. She was from Gotham. He'd been investigating the reports of her activities, fighting crime on her own.
A low whistle from Black Canary lured in a pair of the guards, while her companion released a chemical from his weapon that dropped them. When the other set noticed their allies absence, Batman glided silently behind them, smacking their heads together and relieving them of consciousness.
A grunt from the stage was followed by a cry of pain, as Black Canary finished off the remaining two on her own.
"I like your style Batman," she said. "Figured we would meet eventually, though I'm surprised it's so far from home."
"We're close to the perpetrators of the attack," said Batman, striding towards the hidden doorway. He ran his hands around it, searching for a mechanism to reveal it.
"Straight to business. I like it," she said.
Her companion approached them. The Sandman of New York.
"They have ensnared Superman and Green Lantern, forced them to battle. I suspect they are not in their right mind," said Sandman.
"Sportsmaster left through this door," said Batman, as he found a release for the screen. "He spoke of a man on the roof. The two of you can handle them. I'll pursue Sportsmaster."
The door opened to reveal a dimly lit corridor. A maintenance tunnel of sorts.
"I get you work solo, but isn't it risky to go it alone in there," said Black Canary.
Batman was already entering the tunnel. "There's no telling who's on the roof. It's safer to have both of you handle them."
"Come Canary. Batman can manage," said Sandman.
"Suit yourself spooky," said Black Canary.
Batman descended below the fair.
The fighting between Superman and Green Lantern had spilled over into the Amusement Zone that Jay had enjoyed only a few hours ago. They seemed scarcely aware of the danger they posed to the people still trapped in the area.
A tremendous blow sent Superman crashing into the parachute tower. The cries for help confirmed to the Flash that there were people stuck at the top. The support girders groaned from the strain inflicted on them, as Superman flew back to his fight, his body having left a prodigious dent in the structure.
A screech drew his gaze to a tumbling figure, someone who had slipped from their seat in the impact. The Flash held his arms upwards and spun them in a circular fashion, creating a cushion of air to slow their fall. The falling man lost momentum until he landed softly in the Flash's arms.
The prospect of performing that maneuver for each person on the ride was unpleasant, so the Flash took a deep breath and bolted for the tower. Without hesitation, he ran at the side of it as if he were going for an ordinary run on the sidewalk, his feet never slowing down. Miraculously, the Flash kept his speed as he hit the tower, looping around it in a vertical formation as easily as if he were on flat ground. He retrieved each passenger and set them down below.
The airborne combatants had moved once again, drifting further towards the Star Pylon, a mighty tower that still pulsed with electricity.
Sandman inhaled sharply, his nerves steeled as he pushed open the access door to the roof of the Westinghouse building. The shockwaves of the battle were drawing near. His companion, Black Canary, moved stealthily as a cat.
On the edge of the roof, standing on a ventilation duct was a man in a black suit, with an exaggerated top hat. A cape flew dramatically in the evening breeze. He waved a stage magician's wand back and forth, in time to a concert of unheard dimensions. The man was fixed on the duel between Green Lantern and Superman.
Black Canary gave Sandman a nod, as the two split their approach. She snuck behind a bundle of machinery. Sandman readied his gas gun.
A few steps in and the rooftop began to wobble and fray. The floor beneath Sandman's feet swallowed them like tar, the sticky strands rising up around him. He resisted the urge to shout.
"Interrupting a performance is undeniably rude," said the man.
Sandman struggled against his sinking. His body was caught in the muck, the weight growing on his chest and limbs. It was nearly to his neck.
The man only glanced back at Sandman, before returning his concentration to the fight.
"A revelation I must say. You all put on such presumptuous airs, but give you a real challenge and it becomes prudent to show your true colors.
I know those two are certainly revealing theirs. Brutes and charlatans. Another act for society to applaud."
"Why do any of this?" said Sandman through the strain.
"Why do anything at all? Because I can and I want to. Self-interest is the highest motivating force."
The tar was lapping at his mask. Would it keep him breathing or would his lungs be filled with the sludge? Sandman was acutely aware of how fast his heart was beating. All the meditative techniques in the world were doing little good at the moment.
"I am curious as to who will come out on top of this barbarous contest. If you had asked me prior to tonight, I would have bet on Superman. Yet, the Green Lantern is no slouch at present."
Through eyes half obscured by the tar pit, Sandman now saw that the man was standing over him, his smile wide and sinister. His wand continued to flick with purpose.
"Before you die here, let it be known that it was the Wizard who bested you. You who thought you could parade about full of self-righteousness. You who ultimately amounted to little."
It was in his lungs now. It burned beyond anything Wesley had felt before, the dense ichor blocking him from breathing. Those dark eyes looming above him, the hunger in that smile.
A resounding thwack rang out. The Wizard let out a slight groan and fell face first onto the rooftop, his hat falling off of him. The wand bounced out of sight.
Wesley yanked off his mask, taking great heaving lungfuls of air, as he realized he was on his rear end, sitting on the roof, not drowning in a tarpit after all. Black Canary was before him, her face full of concern. He hastily put his mask back on.
"Don't worry buddy. I don't kiss and tell," she said. "You okay?"
"I, I was sinking. Into a pit. It burned."
"All I saw was you rolling around on the ground, yelling, while magic man over here gloated."
"It was real to me."
"Hey, I believe you. Might account for why Superman and Green Lantern were tussling for so long."
Sandman leaned over the edge of the roof to see that the two heroes were on the ground, apparently talking to one another. Green Lantern held his left arm close, while Superman stood with his hands on his knees.
"We did it," he said.
"That we did," said Black Canary.
She held out a hand. Wesley took it.
Superman's head hurt. So did his chest, his ribs, his shoulders. More than anytime since he was a child, this had been a real fight. It was slim consolation that Green Lantern was feeling it too. The man grimaced with pain and from a quick scan, Superman could see that his left arm was fractured.
"The first time I meet you and we end up wailing on each other. Typical," said Green Lantern.
"It wasn't your fault."
"Still. We've got a lot of cleaning up to do."
"And we'll do it," said Superman. "You able to keep going."
"If you are, I am," said Lantern.
The wind kicked up as the man in a red and blue costume appeared next to them. The Flash tilted his helmet up, as if to take in the view.
"Hoo boy. That was one hell of a fight," said the Flash. "Where are my manners? I'm the.."
"The Flash," said Superman. "I've heard of you. You do good work in Keystone."
"And Central," added Green Lantern.
"Aw shucks," said the Flash. "Means a lot from you. Both of you." Superman studied the man's features closer. There was a faint blurring at the edges of them, as he realized that he recognized him. He was the man from the batting cages. Jay.
"I don't mean to end the mutual admiration, but we don't have long," said Green Lantern, as he pointed to the Amusement Zone, then the Star Pylon. "There are people trapped on that ferris wheel. That coaster. Plus the pylon's damaged. It'll collapse before too long"
"Leave the pylon to me," said Superman. "You two can handle the others?"
Green Lantern and the Flash looked at one another. The Flash produced a smile.
"Race you there."
The maintenance tunnel had to sprawl out over half the fairground, Batman estimated. Sounds cascaded haphazardardly through it. He stalked through the passage, certain his quarry was near. The end of the line was a metal blast door, one left open by its last user. Batman slipped through it. He took refuge in the shadows of the room it opened into, a cavernous, utilitarian space, what was likely once a room for storing and moving the logistical elements of the fair.
At the center of the room were rows of chairs, arranged to face a makeshift podium and stage. A chalkboard sat behind the podium, scrawled with monetary amounts ranging in the thousands to ten thousands. Sportsmaster was on the podium, accompanied by a woman in a floral dress and a man in a green suit with long white hair. The other man rested a fiddle on his hip.
Their concentration was locked on a glass case that rested on the podium. Within the case, on a satin pillow, rested an enormous, magenta gem, shaped in an oval. It resembled a half-lidded eye, rising to lucidity or falling to sleep.
"You took your sweet time Fiddler," spoke Sportsmaster. "I was almost staring to doubt ya."
"Our acquaintance was not so easy to acquire," said the Fiddler. "She was not where we anticipated."
"Save the play by play for later," said Sportsmaster, leveling his bat at the glass case. "Have the broad open it."
The Fiddler took up his instrument and began to play. The notes were soothing, melodious in their delivery. The woman interacted with the glass case, her hands moving mechanically at it's silver base. Batman noticed the vacant look on the woman's face. A few twists and clicks later, the glass split in two, the gem free for the taking.
All this for a simple robbery.
"All yours," said Sportsmaster. The Fiddler plucked the gem. He placed it within a small box he procured.
"What of the Wizard?"
"He either makes it to the spot or he doesn't. No need for us to worry either way."
"How mercenary of you."
"That's why you brought me."
Batman didn't like facing down two at a time, and he didn't know enough about the Fiddler, but there was no time. He had to intervene. Three batarangs sat between his fingers.
The first one struck the Fiddler in his hand, forcing him to drop his instrument. The second smacked his nose, drawing blood and curses. Sportsmaster deflected the third with his bat, the batarang now wedged in the wood.
"Oh ho ho. A challenger approaches."
Batman rose from the shadows.
"Get out of here. Take her, I'll handle the ghoul," said Sportsmaster, putting himself between Batman and the Fiddler. The musician hurried along to the far side of the room, the entranced woman in tow.
Batman attempted to bypass Sportsmaster, but the man matched his pace and drove him back with several swipes of his bat. Batman withdrew to a safe distance. His opponent waved the bat in anticipation, commanding the space between them.
"Not gonna lie, I was really hoping for Green Latrine to be here instead of you," Sportsmaster said. "Had a few new tricks I wanted to try on him." He patted the javelins on his back. "But, I ain't too picky. You'll do."
"Enough talk," said Batman.
Sportsmaster tossed a baseball underhanded. Batman avoided it, before realizing his mistake as it ignited. The blast sent him flying through the rows of chairs.
A second ball was on its way. Batman dove to the floor, as the next explosion ripped through the room. He countered the third one with a batarang. The back blast knocked Sportsmaster on his rear.
Batman sprang at his foe. He unleashed a flurry of strikes and kicks. Sportsmaster was skilled, but Batman slipped blow after blow through his defenses. He used his gauntlets to protect against the brutal swings of the bat. His enemy wasn't going for elegance. He wanted a killing blow, pure and simple.
Mid-swing, Batman caught the bat on his forearm spikes. He wrenched down hard, twisting it from Sportsmaster's grip. He snapped the weapon in two.
"Damn. You're the real deal, ain't ya."
Sportsmaster hurled a javelin at Batman. He side stepped it, using the whirl of his cape to disguise his movement, drawing in close. The second volley ripped through it. He took a deep lunge and drove his fist upward, erupting into the man's jaw. A kick to the solar plexus followed it up. Sportsmaster was down, gasping for air.
"You're finished," said Batman. He put a boot on his foe's chest, pressing hard.
"Probably, least for now. Still got one last trick."
"Where did the Fiddler go?"
"Wrong question," Sportsmaster wheezed. "Right one is, just where are all those bombs we planted before this all happened. Should be going off soon."
"Where are they?"
"Mighty forgetful these days. Must be all the blows to the head."
Batman knocked him out with a punch. He didn't have time for his delaying tactics. The Fiddler and his captive would have to wait. He bound Sportsmaster's wrists and ran for the surface.
Superman responded in an instant to the summons from Batman. They were by the Perisphere, the symbol of the entire fair.
"I've subdued one of the villains responsible for this: Sportsmaster. He's informed me that there are bombs planted throughout the grounds. We have to find them."
"Could it be a bluff?"
"The consequences are too severe if it's not."
Superman agreed. He took to the sky and scanned the fair from above. Within a minute he traced out a bundle of suspicious signals, all returning to a point, fixed at the apex of the Trylon, the tower that stood beside the Perisphere.
"There," said Superman, pointing at his find. "I'll bring you in for a closer look."
Batman begrudgingly allowed Superman to carry him to the peak of the Trylon. Delicately, he used his heat vision to slice away a cross section of the angular surface. Within it was a whirring machine box, full of gears and wires. A steady signal was sent out across the fair. Superman counted at least two dozen receivers, many located on the outskirts, where civilians were still being evacuated.
"Can we destroy it?" he asked.
"No. If the signal cuts out abruptly the bombs will detonate," said Batman, studying the device intently.
"Can you defuse it?"
"It's our only option."
Batman opened several of the pouches he kept on the belt around his waist, producing a set of mechanical tools. Methodically, the man probed and prodded through the machine.
"This is complicated. There's a few points that are near guesswork. If I had more time to study it…"
"What are you missing?"
"I need to know the full gear sequence. Or where this wire connects."
Superman peered into the device with his x-ray vision.
"I may not understand all of it, but I can see inside the entire thing."
Batman was unfazed by this revelation, immediately giving out orders for Superman to search for particular aspects of the design.
Piece by piece, Batman disassembled the device, as the signals flicked out one by one. Every time, Superman braced for the sound of an explosion, wondering if he was fast enough to reach the source before the full detonation. By the time the last signal shut off, Superman was holding his breath. Not that he really needed to breathe.
"Marvelous work," said Superman.
He thought he saw the threat of a smile at the corner of Batman's mouth, but he couldn't be sure. Even the small bit of exposed flesh at his jaw was like carved granite in it's stoic presentation.
"Now to catch up with the Fiddler."
Green Lantern followed the red blur that was the Flash as best he could from above. He felt perpetually a step behind, a common sensation he imagined with that man. Superman had informed them that the Fiddler was on his way to escape, with both a ludicrously expensive gem and a woman that Alan knew had to be Nancy Benton from earlier.
They spread out to search the fair, while the Flash zoomed through the perimeter. It wasn't long before he picked up the trail, leading Green Lantern a few miles out from the fair, to a modest airstrip on the edge of the city.
A prop plane was taking off. A red streak spun around it, marking it for Green Lantern. He flew in close, to get a glimpse of the cabin. A man in a green suit was at the controls, an unconscious woman slumped over in the rear seats.
Green Lantern forced an unplanned landing, enveloping the plane in his green flame. He lowered it back to the runway, even as the propeller strained against it's confinement. With a flick of his wrist, he yanked that component free for good measure. Before the Fiddler could climb out of the cabin, the Flash had already disassembled his fiddle and bound him, with Nancy sitting dazed but free on the side of the two heroes.
"You're a long way from Keystone, Fiddler," said the Flash.
It took some doing, but Clark spotted Lois in the crowd on the edge of the fairgrounds, cordoned off by the police. She had to have waited hours, between the apex of the attack and the cleanup undertaken by the heroes that could in the aftermath. It was typical of her.
"Lois! Over here," he said, raising his hands to her.
"Clark. I was looking everywhere for you," she said. She stormed to him, face stern at first, before easing up. She appeared worried. Her hand touched his cheek.
"That's a nasty bruise," she said.
He hadn't noticed it. A bonus from his scrap with Green Lantern.
"I got elbowed in the crowd. It's fine. I'll be fine. I'm glad you got out okay."
"You know Perry doesn't pay you more for how much of a beating you take getting the story," said Lois, her voice returned to her usual sardonic quality.
"I guess I'm just lucky in that respect."
"Careful, Smallville. I've gotten used to having you around. Don't know what I'd do without you at this point. Who would carry all my papers?"
"I'll do my best, miss."
Lois groaned, but he could tell she was holding back a smile.
Alan Scott sat on the edge of his bed, shirt unbuttoned, tie loose, exhausted. It had been a few days since the incident at the fair, and between his work as Green Lantern and the new contracts required to patch up the damage done, he was run ragged.
The public was electrified by the appearance of all those superheroes in one place. They used phrases like team-up with abandon. There was a dash of concern raised by a few newspapers, particularly in regards to the battle between Superman and Green Lantern. Alan was embarrassed by that part of the affair. The first time he meets his hero and he punches him. Though there was a certain pride in knowing he had gone toe to toe with Superman and come out intact.
The three villains were in custody, though they refused to divulge any details of their plan. If anyone hired them. How they came to work together. The gem that they targeted was known as the Eye of Midnight, a plundered relic from India. Nancy Benton had not come out of the ordeal clean, as the attempted robbery highlighted an illegitimate racket being run by wealthy individuals within the fair. That part was being largely kept out of the papers, save for the Daily Planet, which had the courage to muddy the reputation of the World's Fair.
He let his head hit the pillow, collapsing into sleep. A fitful while later, Alan's eyes opened to the dense shadows of his room. Something wasn't right. His curtain trembled with the wind, his window cracked open. The ring flew to his finger.
"There's no need for that," said a low voice from the corner of his bedroom.
Alan's eyes honed in on the noise. Shrouded in shadow, an absence in the room, was the Batman. Two white, narrow eyes peered out at him. There was an unreality to the moment, one that Alan could not acknowledge, lest he lose his composure.
"How?" asked Alan.
"Alan Scott has a broken arm. Green Lantern favored his right. You've confirmed the hunch."
"If this is blackmail, you've picked the wrong victim."
"This is about the attack on the fair. The transports carrying Sportsmaster, Fiddler and the Wizard have gone missing en route to a containment facility."
Alan sat up fully, his legs hanging over the edge.
"A backup plan. They had more help," said Alan.
"Apparently so."
"Still, we stopped the theft. There's no chance of them stealing the gem now."
"And if that wasn't the real target?"
Alan was silent.
"An inventory of the fair found that an entire display of Egyptian artifacts from the Ismar valley dig of 36'. Reports by the chief archeologist indicate that the artifacts were made of a previously undocumented metal, in pristine condition."
"It was all a distraction," said Alan. His feet touched the ground. He paced back and forth by his bedside.
"Why come to me?" he asked Batman.
"Our enemies are well organized, well informed and outmaneuvering us. The longer we're in the dark the harder the fight becomes.
It's time we dragged them into the light."
Wesley Dodds sat in the grimy booth of a dive bar at least a decade past its prime. The transgressive allure present during Prohibition was stripped from the local, unable to disguise the feeling of desperation and filth. The clientele were old timers, going through the motions as they sipped their drinks and jabbed the same old stories. An easy place to avoid notice.
He clocked the person he was to meet with as soon as she walked in the door. Even sans the blond hair, Black Canary moved with a lithe swagger. There was no need for her to conceal it. Up close, she was stunning as ever, but with short black hair. The woman took a seat in the booth by Wesley.
"Glasses. Seems appropriate, but it's funny squaring this version of you with the man in the mask."
"That means the disguise does its job," said Wesley. "Maybe I should wear the glasses on top of the gas mask."
She gave a curt laugh, before lacing her fingers together, as she leaned on her forearms.
"I know this isn't a social call. Why'd you reach out?"
"I was impressed by your performance at the fair. Quite frankly, I was impressed by all our costumed compatriots. For being such a disparate group, we worked together well."
"It was a sight to see. I got chills just being that close to Superman. And Batman."
"The point, Ms. Laurel."
"Call me Dinah."
"The point… Dinah, is that I propose we take that one time cooperation and make it a more long term affair."
Dinah leaned back in her seat, her head tilted as if she were trying to see the whole picture.
"You're talking about a team."
"Indeed I am."
"And you want me for it? You came to me first. Not the guys that can fly, or run fast or vanish into the night. Or even Hourman. But me?"
"The others are mighty. But, I had firsthand experience alongside you. I know you can be trusted. If you think it's a worthy idea, then it's worth pursuing."
Dinah whistled dramatically.
"Big decision here."
She crossed her leg, her gaze flicking up at the smoky haze of the ceiling. Wesley waited patiently. Her eyes finally shifted back to him. The corner of her moth curled.
"I guess I've only got one question."
"Which is?"
"Who do we recruit first?"