These Wicked Few

September 21, 1940

Clifford DeVoe or as he was known to his new compatriots, the Thinker, was unsure of whether or not the group would survive their first true meeting. Each of them had been visited by the Wizard, multiple times in the Thinker's case, but this was the test of how they could cohere into an actual team. He estimated a forty percent chance of failure with a thirty three percent chance of bloodshed. The personalities conducive to producing a supervillain were not inherently inclined to be cooperative.

Their meeting was in the parlor room of a stately manor in rural Maryland. The Wizard informed that it was a recent acquisition, taken fresh from the old owners. When the Fiddler inquired as to where those old owners were now, the Wizard gave a slim smile and told him they were in the garden.

"What's with the funny helmet?" said Sportsmaster.

It was clear he took this the least seriously of anyone in the room. There was a mercenary bent to him. All of them were here for money, power and revenge, but the Thinker knew that the Wizard must be paying him up front for his participation.

"The Thinking cap enhances my cognition," said the Thinker.

"Which means?"

"It makes me smarter."

"So if I popped that thing on I'd be an egghead too? No offense Brainwave," said Sportmaster, in a mock apology to the other villain, who had a bald and prodigious forehead, distended beyond normal anatomy.

"I don't know that you would be able to tell the difference."

"Ain't you a riot. And here I was worried the pencil neck was gonna be a wimp," said Sportsmaster.

The others did little to acknowledge him, beyond silent dismissal or disgust in the case of Thorn, a woman in a revealing green costume with a flared collar and a long, jagged cape.

"Tell me Wizard? You invite anymore broads to this club? Too many men and the one dame we've got runs too hot," said Sportsmaster.

The Thinker could tell what he was doing. The man wanted to see which of the villains couldn't control themselves. He was testing them. From the looks of it, there was equivalent odds if it would be Brainwave or Thorn.

"If you can't take a woman with real heat, then maybe you should leave now. Before you get burned," said the last of their members, coming from the hall. She wore a tight bodysuit with stripes reminiscent of a big cat.

When at last the lithe form of the woman calling herself Tigress joined them at the table, the Wizard said, "Time to begin."

Isaac Bowin did not give much thought as to how he came to be at a gathering of such people. How he qualified for the description of "supervillain". His life had long ago stopped to follow any path that made sense. This was merely one more bend in the road.

If he were to trace it back, it began in India. The Bowin family was wealthy enough to live comfortably in England, but such luxuries deprived Isaac of adventure. His brother, Randall, felt the same way and the two of them left their home behind for the wider world. Their travels took them around the globe, all the while burning through the money they had taken for granted up until now. Randall sensed the changing circumstances and opted to return to Europe, to study in a conservatory. Both boys had been trained in a variety of instruments during their upbringing, but Isaac lacked the discipline to stay with any one style. Isaac refused to consider a return to the stolid life he left behind. He voyaged on, alone this time.

His wanderlust took him to India. In the streets of Bombay, he found himself penniless. At that point, it was only natural that Isaac resorted to petty crime. He stole from local merchants and unguarded homes. He misjudged his mark in the form of a local tailor and wound up in prison.

It was here that Isaac met a fakir, one possessed of power beyond that which ordinary men and women could see. The man noticed Isaac's talent for music, unkempt as it was and instructed him in his craft. He unlocked the potential of Isaac's music to tap into a well of mystical abilities. This only confirmed what Isaac already knew. That he was special, bound for a grander destiny than those around him, even his instructor. Certainly more than Randall.

He bided his time and constructed a makeshift violin out of stolen scrap and contraband traded with his fellow inmates. When it was complete, Isaac hypnotized his captors into freeing him and killing themselves. He escaped with the fakir, who he left as food for the crocodiles in a nearby swamp. One last stop at the tailor's house and the Fiddler was ready to return home.

America came calling when Isaac discovered that Randall was performing there, having become a maestro in the time that Isaac rotted in a cell. It was an insult too far. If the Fiddler wasn't the headliner, then no one could be. A reckoning was due in Keystone City, the latest stop on the tour. And his first meeting with the Flash.

There was an absurdity to this meeting that did not elude Joar Markhent. His entire life had lived in the absurd ever since his falling out with Dr. Irene Kalda. If only that woman had been willing to accept his shortcuts, his sampling of her work. Her desire for accolades stood in the way of science. Of progress. The cryogenics research they were working on could have countless applications from the medical to the military. Joar could not let that stand. The Icicle would have been a short-lived identity were it not for the arrival of Green Lantern.

That evening sent everything else into free fall. Arrested in a foreign country, ousted from his laboratory. There was nowhere left to go. When he realized that he could build a temporary replacement for his freeze ray, Joar seized the chance at freedom. If America would make him a criminal, then a criminal he would be. They deserved the Icicle.

There was also the matter of Green Lantern. Joar still awoke from nightmares of falling off that skyscraper, the emerald glow above him pulsating with malice. That man had wanted him dead. Only shame had kept him from finishing the deed. It sickened Joar to see the public applaud him, when he knew that murder lived in Green Lantern's heart. If this group got their way, the Icicle could serve it up on a frozen platter.

Thorn wished that the Wizard would quit droning on and get to the point. That was always the issue with men in power. They loved to hear the sound of their own voice. Everyone knew why they were here. To destroy those soft-hearted fools from the Justice Society.

There was another reason for Thorn's impatience. She had no way of knowing when her other self would resurface. The weak one. The coward. Rose Canton. Rose was always trying to find ways to constrain Thorn. To keep her far from everyone else, where she could do no harm. Twice, Thorn had awoken in a sanitarium. Twice, Thorn had cut her way out.

She wanted nothing more than to find whatever part of her mind sheltered Rose and crush it. To destroy that last trace of the ineffectual, emotional creature that dared to reign Thorn in. This was another part of her uncharacteristic patience with the Wizard and the many boorish criminals with which he surrounded himself. One of them could be the key to snuffing out Rose once and for all.

Out of all those present, Solomon Grundy inspired the most fear and revulsion. The creature loomed in the corner of the room, his dead, unblinking eyes affixed to the Wizard. Grundy did not know why he was here, only that he was to listen to the man in the top hat.

There was much that Grundy didn't know. How he was still alive after his fatal encounter with Green Lantern. How he rose from Slaughter Swamp in the first place, full of power and hatred, but without a mind to make sense of it. How all this started the night Cyrus Gold was murdered and dumped in the bog nearly a century ago.

It didn't matter to Solomon Grundy. He would play the only role he knew.

Destroyer.

A part of Henry King was enthralled by this meeting. It recalled tales from his books on the Knights of the Round Table. Of faraway kingdoms where magic ruled and feats of incredible heroism were performed. That these were villains did little to break the illusion.

What did trouble Brainwave was how little respect he was being shown. He possessed the most formidable mind in the room, no the country, and he was relegated to a seat next to a man who could throw baseballs with precision. Insulting was too kind a word.

The jabs from Sportsmaster were of no consequence. Men without any interior thought were prone to such taunts, to distract from their own inadequacies. Brainwave could crumple him up like the refuse he was at any time. No, it was the other so-called intellectuals that bothered him. The Thinker sat there smugly, confident in his superiority. Yet, he required his paltry thinking cap to achieve what Brainwave could do entirely on his own. Icicle was a scientist, but he was content to remain at his station, a notion the others should take note of. The Shade was polite, though that disguised the same arrogance that Brainwave could not stand.

And the Wizard. Brainwave could give him credit for assembling this group, but it was ridiculous to seriously consider the man as their leader. He was out done by Brainwave in every conceivable metric. If they were serious about destroying the Justice Society, then the group deserved a leader that was truly capable of the task.

He debated whether or not to lend his psychic powers to reaching within the Wizard's mind and twisting it to his will. Or perhaps crushing it outright, leaving the man a drooling husk. That would illustrate nicely that the others were to obey.

He hesitated. The group was too volatile. It was liable to fracture, particularly if a power struggle was introduced so early into the dynamic. Their personalities dictated that they would try to confront him. Brainwave settled on another course. Better to allow the Wizard to lead, while Brainwave laid the groundwork for his downfall. When the time came to take his position, all it would take was a slight push.

Lawrence Crock was here for the money, plain and simple. Enough money to take all the worry out of life. As long as the money was there, Sportsmaster would listen to all the speeches from the Wizard and work with this parade of weirdos. It wasn't all bad. A chance to get one over on Green Latrine and his loser pals was a benefit too. Plus, the view with a few of his new "teammates" was nice enough. Thorn was liable to throw one of her spikes in his face if he looked too long, but Lawrence could use the practice. And Tigress… There was something about the way she kept glancing at him that made the prospect of sticking around that much more enticing.

Paula Brooks knew this would be a thrilling experience. A group full of the most powerful, angry and disturbed supervillains, all bent on the destruction of the Justice Society. It beat debutante balls and being cooped up in the house. The heroes had had their chance to let Paula join them. They weren't appreciative enough of the skills she brought to bear. A mistake they would rue soon enough.

She wondered how long it would take her to insinuate herself with everyone that mattered here. The Wizard was the obvious target, though he likely knew that, so she would have to be subtle. The Fiddler would be easy. As would the Icicle. Thorn would likely despise her, but that woman despised everyone from the looks of it. She already had Sportsmaster on the hook, from the lecherous glances he was directing her way. Paula hoped he was at least handsome beneath the mask. Brainwave could be a rewarding toy. She could see the route to take, appealing to his insecurities. A man with his appearance had no doubt received his share of rejections and abuse. She would have to be careful though. He had the temperament of a man who would lash out if he felt he was being manipulated. The Gambler seemed disinterested, as did the Thinker. The Shade was attractive in a mysterious sort, but he maintained a bemused distance from the proceedings. He would take effort to unravel. Grundy was a dog, but Paula could use a loyal dog.

Paula knew what the others saw in her. A dangerous woman, but only a woman nonetheless. They seldom changed that mindset even when it was too late. When it was her holding their leashes.

There was no telling if this assembly of crooks would be a winning hand, but the magic was in the game, not the outcome. That's the way Steven Sharpe had lived his life for the past three decades. The Gambler was the oldest one in the room by a fair amount. There had been a long stretch before all this nonsense with heroes and masked crimefighters, when a criminal, even one with a flair for the dramatic could go as far as they wanted. People like the Flash and Hawkman ruined that. The others, especially the cocky ones like Sportsmaster and Thorn, would mistake his age for an impediment. Only a few would see what the Wizard could. An old man in a profession that killed its young.

Richard Swift was not convinced that he should not have said no to the Wizard and merely returned to England, to see what he could do to help his home country in its darkest hour. He took consolation in the fact that he could vanish at any time. There was no one in this room that could bar the Shade.

He bore no real grudge against the heroes of the Justice Society. In fact, the Flash's interruption of the Shade's assassination attempt was the most exciting thing to happen to him in years. At last, there was color and spectacle in the world again after a dreary decade. The Scarlet Speedster was only the first. Richard clashed with Hawkman, Black Canary and Doctor Fate in the months to come. Each encounter staved off the boredom that so often plagued his existence.

So he listened to the Wizard prattle about his plan, as the others schemed and simmered. This group was likely to collapse as soon as any pressure was applied to it, but Richard did not mind, as long as it was entertaining. The Shade would endure as he always had. As he always would.

There are no heroes in this world. The only impulse that drove anyone was self-interest. Any proclamations to the contrary were a deception, designed to lie to others and oneself about the nature of life. This was what the Wizard knew to be true.

His neighbors proved this maxim early on, when Leonard and Maxine Grell were beaten to death in the street by Franky Mucci. Everyone heard it. Some even watched. No one stepped in to help. William Zard remembered that lesson. He remembered it up to the day that the Mucci family put a gun in his hand and made him one of their own. He carried out their business, but William never forgot that his existence was tolerable only so long as he furthered the aims of his employers.

William was rewarded for his loyalty with five years in prison. When he got out, he refused to return to his previous station. Too long had he toiled under another's will. He struck out to the far east. It was here that he found the pathway to power under the tutelage of a sect of mystics. He understood their teachings because he recognized what they represented. A pure manifestation of the drive to force all around you, even the once dominant laws of nature, submit to your power. William learned all he could and then slaughtered the mystics when they dared to express doubt. There was no point in sharing such abilities with anyone else.

The Justice Society were the biggest frauds the Wizard had ever encountered. They managed to convince the entire country that they were heroes, deserving of admiration and support. It would be his pleasure to unmask their real selves, to remind the world that there is nothing pure and noble in this world. There are only those with the power to accomplish their desires and those that are ground beneath their feet.

The Wizard finished his speech. The room was silent.

"That's the plan?" said Thorn.

"Where did you procure these devices?" said the Thinker.

"That is unimportant my friend. Know that we have allies in high places. There are many who share our goal, though they lack the will and the power to see it through," said the Wizard.

"What does it matter?" said the Fiddler. "So long as the Justice Society suffers."

"Is this really the everyone? Did you ask Craddock to join? I've found he makes things livelier… in spite of his condition," said the Shade.

"Will the simpletons among us be able to keep up with your scheme?" said Brainwave.

"I'd be more worried about yourself egghead. Or the old man," said Sportsmaster.

"Careful son. I've filled graveyards with folk like you," said Gambler.

"Oh how dreadful. The boys are fighting," said Tigress.

Thorn scoffed in disgust.

"...born on a Monday," said Grundy, muttering to himself in the back corner.

"Enough!" shouted the Wizard. His booming voice, enhanced by his power was enough to silence the villains.

"You may have your doubts. Your disagreements. But recognize that this organization does not represent a long term commitment. We are a knife. One that will slip neatly into the heart of the Justice Society. Ask yourselves if you would like to miss out on that opportunity," said the Wizard.

"I believe our host is correct," said the Thinker. "Why struggle alone when we can end our collective woes all at once?"

One by one, the villains agreed. The Wizard snapped his fingers. Trays containing glasses of champagne floated into the parlor, setting themselves at the table without so much as a spilled drop. He took one, prompting the others to do the same.

"To our inevitable victory. To a world without the Justice Society. To Injustice."