Infamy

December 7, 1941

There was a thin cover of clouds above the deck of the Akagi. Yuichi Harada could remove them if he wanted to, with no more effort than a flick of his wrist, but he had been ordered to abstain from frivolous uses of his abilities. He stood apart from the other men on the deck of the aircraft carrier. His superiors thought it best to keep him separate. Susanoo could not walk with mere mortals.

There was light rain the day before. It had often rained on their voyage from the homeland. Yuichi took every opportunity to be in the open air, to soak it all in. Even without the urging of his powers, he needed the open air. Too much of his life was spent in tight spaces.

The preparations complete, the pilots briefed, the planes began to take off, one by one from the carrier. Identical rituals played out on the other ships in the fleet. There was a solemn air to the proceedings. Everyone knew the scope of their mission, nothing less than a strike at the heart of American naval power.

Though they kept the details from him, Yuichi had gleaned that there was debate amongst his handlers over whether or not he should partake directly in the raid. The more cautious side emerged victorious, citing concerns over secrecy and the potential loss of a valuable asset. Susanoo was to remain with the fleet, to defend against counter attack. Or superhuman intervention. He was not the only one present. Raijin was on board the Kaga. The officers had asked for a Nuru, but they were even rarer than Susanoo and his peers.

It was a strange thing to be valuable. His parents had pushed him to the naval academy, the same as his brothers before him, but Yuichi lacked the academic discipline that they possessed. That, coupled with a few run ins with the authorities, dashed any prospect of a prestigious education. Yuichi thought his fate was constrained to working in the factory, as his father did, or, with great reservations, enlistment for the war in China, till the officers arrived at his door. They spoke of a special opportunity, a place to draw out talents that would be overlooked in conventional institutions. All it required was a slight change of scenery. To Manchuria.

The official name for it was Imperial Research Station 49. The men inside called it the Last Stop. A barebones camp that rested on top of a hill that they had tunneled out. For the first few months, the recruits lived on the surface. Three groups made up the residents: the scientists, the soldiers and the recruits. Ostensibly, the recruits were there to be a part of the second group, but it quickly became clear to Yuichi that the soldiers were there to keep the recruits in line. New batches arrived every couple of weeks.

Similarities abounded between the recruits. Most were second children or further down the line. Many were delinquents, dropouts and others deemed unsuited for the academies. A few were Chinese or Koreans. Yuichi became friends with a man named Chen, who had a knack for smuggling the others goods and food, which he traded for other bits and bobs or favors. A couple were even women.

They were subjected to grueling training. Forced to run for miles without rest, dash through obstacle courses and carry logs. The instructors shouted all manner of obscenities at them. They beat them when they failed, striking them with sticks or kicking them after they fell. Those that couldn't endure were taken away.

Then came the tests. Endless batteries of medical examinations, where they had their blood drawn, x-rays taken. The scientists were inscrutable in their motives for much of Yuichi's time at the Last Stop. He came to discern that these were filtering processes. Those that washed out weren't seen again. Chen and the others speculated that they were sent to the frontlines, fodder for the next offensive against the Chinese. Yuichi thought himself lucky that he endured, that he made it through the selection. It was a feeling he would regret.

When they were brought into the tunnels, they entered Hell. The tests escalated, as did the punishments for failure. They were injected with strange substances, put in rooms where their bodies were bombarded by energies that made them vomit and convulse. Many of Yuichi's fellows broke under the strain, their bodies unable to tolerate the pressure. Hair fell out, skin sloughed off. People withered. The dead were carried off to chutes that sent them to unknown depths. The horrors were different for different groups. Yuichi heard that some sets were exposed to uncanny metals that would pierce their skin and bind into them. Others were bound to some sort of pillar for hours on end.

Somehow he survived. Most did not. Familiar faces dropped away, the group whittled down person by person. The tenor of their superiors changed the longer they lasted. It went from impersonal assessment and harsh punishment to speeches about how they would be the heroes of the Empire, the vanguard of a global movement, spearheaded by Nippon. Those that did not make it were brave subjects of the Emperor, necessary sacrifices to bring about prosperity for the homeland.

Yuichi's body changed too. His muscles burned for weeks on end, his head pounded. The scientists adjusted his doses, took notes of his condition. He was brought to vast chambers, told to accomplish impossible tasks, like knocking over a candle without touching it. Yuichi was sent to that task over and over and over, made to strain and stare at that damn candle for hours on end. One day it was as though a light flicked on in his brain and he pointed his finger at the candle. A gust of air sent it tumbling. That night he was given the best food he had had since his arrival.

They were given little to go on, even as their group dwindled to a mere handful. The few times they were allowed to converse, some of them tried to put together the snippets they knew. A woman named Kirari told them that they were to be a special kind of soldier. One with abilities beyond common mankind. Some spoke of the Last Stop being built atop some sort of ancient finding, the source of their woe. A few of them wondered why they were chosen. Why not bring in the best and brightest? Chen pointed out how many had died. If selection was so difficult, better to play the numbers game.

As Yuichi's powers bloomed, so too did others. Kirari ignited an entire hall, killing the researchers observing her. Rather than ridding themselves of her, the overseers accelerated her training. Another man produced electricity from his body, that scarred anything it touched. Chen made no such progress. Whatever drive had kept him with the others to this point seemed to break down. Yuichi watched as his friend shrank, as his spirit crumbled at last, having made it so far. He didn't learn that Chen had died until days after the fact.

When he saw the light of day again, Yuichi should have felt relieved. Instead, there was only a pervading sense of numbness. On some level he understood the magnitude of the inhumanity to which he and his fellows had been subjected too, but there was nothing to be done. When the officers came and made their speeches about duty and honor, about how the survivors would be the forefront of the Imperial Superhuman program, Yuichi merely listened. They gave them new identies. New responsibilities. A few, like Amaterasu, formerly Kirari, were sent off for the front. Others, Yuichi included, were to report back to Nippon for their assignments. There would be no reunion with his family, no homecoming. Officially, Yuichi Harada no longer existed. Only Susanoo remained.

Which was how Susanoo found himself on the flagship of First Air Fleet, a few hundred miles away from Oahu. America was mighty. America had heroes. The Emperor needed his own champions to bring them low. Over a year ago, Yuichi had listened to the radio, as it spoke of Superman and how he had saved the sailors on a Nihon-jin vessel. He had been entranced by the description of this flying man, imagining what it would be like to skim over the clouds under your own power. Now, Yuichi could fly and it didn't matter. As the planes left to start a war, Yuichi waited for the arrival of these heroes that he was to kill.

It was on the walk back to his classroom that Jay Garrick heard it. The reveal of his identity to the public hadn't done much to change his life, to his amusement. Many of his colleagues gave him grief about it, particularly those few that claimed they already knew, tipped off by his frequent disappearing acts and the preponderance of Flash sightings around Midwestern. Jay thought most of them were full of it, but he let them have their fun. His students often seemed unwilling to bring it up, with Jay using it as a joke to lighten the mood. Criminals didn't appear to directly take advantage of the information either. It was common knowledge that the Flash could react faster than any ordinary person, so the majority of them never attempted to directly capitalize on it. Beyond the occasional request for an autograph or comments on his latest activities, Keystone lived up to its reputation.

It was the size of the gathering in the staff lounge that tipped off Jay. Nearly everyone in the wing was gathered there, the CBS broadcast playing over the radio. He joined the crowd. Professor Masters had a grave expression. Tilda had tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?" said Jay. Everyone in the lounge looked at him.

"We're under attack," said Masters.

"What?"

"They've done it. The Japanese are attacking Pearl Harbor."

Jay stared at him for a moment.

"Pearl Harbor. On Oahu," said Masters.

Masters had barely finished his sentence by the time Jay was in a dead sprint, passing by his office, where the costume and helmet awaited him. Western America bled by him, a stream of light and color. His feet hit the sand on the beaches of California before striding across the waves of the Pacific, his target set. As he neared the general location of Oahu, Flash ran in a back and forth grid pattern, all the better to locate the island. It could be difficult to navigate on the open ocean. There was land on the horizon, which he pivoted towards. He hit the big island first, before continuing on to Oahu.

In those seconds before his arrival, the Flash performed a series of calculations. He regretted not alerting the JSA with the signal ring. He would need to count on them hearing it as he did, from the radio or listeners. Superman and Wonder Woman were the fastest members other than him, though it would take them a minute or two to reach Hawaii. Green Lantern and Starman were next. Doctor Fate could teleport, but that was assuming he knew about it. The rest of the group was too slow to reach the island in any meaningful timeframe.

All in all, the Flash's trip took around twenty two seconds. He was met with huge columns of pitch black smoke, while fires swam across the harbor, fed by leaking oil. Several ships were already sinking or capsized, the sailors on board abandoning ship or finding places to remain atop as they waited for rescue. Planes buzzed through the sky, dropping bombs and torpedos, while others strafed runways and ships. The Americans returned fire, the air dotted with the black puffs of flak.

It was a lot to take in, even for a man with all the time in the world. Jay's options were limited. The planes presented a challenge. He had no consistent method of reaching them and his maneuverability in the air was slight. Seeing the many sailors in danger, the Flash decided that his efforts were better spent plucking people from the wreckage. This wasn't simple either, the flames a real danger. The whole battle was so dense with explosions and bullets that it took all of Jay's concentration to avoid being hit by a stray projectile.

It was as he dropped off a pair of wounded men by the nearby hospital, that the Flash spotted something odd in the midst of it all. There was another man zooming around, grabbing sailors from the ships and bringing them to safety. A blond fellow with a red and yellow costume, a black, winged Q on his chest and a mask. Through his accelerated senses, Jay could see that the man was moving at a rate comparable to his own. Noticing the scrutiny, the man gave him a quick wave, before he sped off into the harbor again.

Another appeared while Jay cleared out a burning dry dock. This one was clad in a blue, white and red costume with a high collar. The man whirled his limbs into a vortex that blew back the flames, allowing a group of workers to scramble out of the blaze. There was the oncoming sound of an explosion as one of the vessels in the dry dock went up, dozens of people still in the way. Through the field of trailing sparks and the field of nearly frozen bits of shrapnel, Jay caught the man's eye. They gave one another a nod. The Flash and the other man linked arms, giving one another an extra boost of speed as they scooped up anyone they could find, while the flames and debris chased them.

"Quicksilver," said the man.

"The Flash."

There was no time to stop and talk, no time for anything beyond simple gestures and coordination as the three speedsters darted all across the burning harbor, as the planes overhead continued their assault.

The noise of the battle was deafening even from miles away, as Superman reached the skies above Pearl Harbor. Cries for help, cries of pain, of fear, of confusion, commands barked out, the crackle of flame and the roar of cannons hit him full force. The Japanese plans were in full withdrawal, only a couple of stragglers still over the harbor. A handful of American planes contested them, though the flak cannons below continued to belch death.

An American plane spiraled downward, its wings perforated. Superman surged forward to catch it, guiding the craft down to an open space on the runway. He removed the pilot, then darted to a flaming hangar, pulling a pair of firefighters out of the path of a collapsing roof. With a gust of his breath he knocked down the fire, revealing a number of bodies, including another fireman, helped too late.

In the distance, the Japanese planes were far from the island, intent on returning to wherever they originated. Superman surveyed the carnage wrought by their attack, then shot after them, his fists clenched. He sped after the formation of aircraft closing in on the rear craft. His fingers were about to close on the tail of the plane, when he heard the voices of the pilots, talking to themselves, to one another. He didn't speak Japanese, but he could hear the fear in several of their voices, the desperation as they spoke to one another, listed names of comrades lost. The pilot of the plane he was near was breathing frantically. A quick look with his x-ray vision told him the man was hurt, a wound in his side.

What was he doing? Clark let the planes gain on him. Was he going to rip them all out of the sky? Follow them back to their ships and sink them? He shook his head. He was no killer, not even here. Whatever came of this attack, Clark would not be the one to strike first against them.

He turned and flew back to the harbor. A ship, the name California marked on the side, was listing, having taken on water from a number of holes in its hull. It was low in the water, the men on the vessel, abandoning it in rescue craft or taking their chances with swimming. Superman dove underneath it, rising beneath its frame, where he could take its weight on his shoulders. He pressed upwards, balancing the ship as he continued, till the vessel rose, free from the water. There he waited, as the men continued to evacuate.

The sides of the battleship peeled away like a can as Wonder Woman created an exit for the men trapped within. She carried all that she could, bringing them to a series of smaller boats that ferried them to shore. The cannon fire had died down, resuming infrequently. She could not see any Japanese planes above the harbor, though some of the sailors claimed they had come in two waves. A third could come at any moment.

Across the water, she could see Superman towing a damaged battleship out of the mud, to where it could rest on the shore. The Flash and several other quick heroes continued to run about, pulling people out of the water and the burning wrecks. Diana was impressed by the response of the sailors, who helped one another in spite of the shocking nature of their predicament.

After the ship had been evacuated, Wonder Woman flew above, looking for other places in need of her aid. To the south, near the mouth of the harbor a periscope jutted above the water. She neared it to investigate, finding a small submersible, marked with Japanese symbols. It was caught on a reef, its hull scarred and taking on water. There were two men trying to get out, one with his leg caught in the opening, the other attempting to free his companion. Wonder Woman wrenched open the hull and grabbed both of them by the back of their shirts, flying them to the shore. They were too stunned to offer any resistance. A group of American soldiers met her there. One of them pointed a gun at the Japanese.

"Lower your weapon. These men are no threat to you now," said Wonder Woman.

The man didn't listen, taking a step to distance himself from the group. "Look around you. They did this."

Diana set the men down, positioning herself between them and the Americans. "I won't deny that. But, they have no means to continue their attack. They are defenseless before you."

"Good," said the man, firing off a round.

Wonder Woman blocked it with her bracelet. She had the gun in her hands before he could squeeze the trigger again, crushing the barrel in her grip. The man recoiled, falling down. Behind her the Japanese were frozen, mirroring the American soldiers.

"Anyone else?" said Wonder Woman.

The others shook their head.

"Take them into custody. Unharmed."

The Japanese fleet was already underway when Green Lantern caught up with them. He hadn't put much thought into his pursuit, spurred on solely by the thoughts of the destruction inflicted on his countrymen. His approach was not unnoticed, with several ships firing on him. His ring easily protected him from the barrage.

Before he could target any of the ships, there was a shift in the air pressure, a sudden jolt as a bundle of clouds formed in front of him. He was unprepared for the sudden blast of wind that sent him careening away from the fleet, feeling as though he had been slapped in the entire front of his body. He narrowly dodged the bolts of lightning that followed it, one coming close enough to singe his collar. Two figures joined him in the air, each wearing a mask that gestured at humanoid features, bent to inhuman proportions. One wore yellow and black, while the other was dressed in blue and white. Lightning crackled around one, while the air swirled around the other.

There was no time to figure out what they could do. Green Lantern formed a pillar of green light that smacked into the lightning man. Another gust of air hit him from above, though he managed to avoid being thrown as far this time, his will braced against the force. The fight weaved through the air, neither side able to gain the upper hand. The Japanese superhumans were clumsy and heavy handed with their powers, but they were able to cover the deficiencies of the other.

It was right as Green Lantern was getting a bead on the lightning man that his flame wavered. He felt like ice water was dumped on him. He hadn't had time to recharge the ring in his haste to arrive. Another wave of air overtook Green Lantern, causing him to plummet. His charge was nearly gone, only enough left to slow the fall in stops and starts. By the time he struck the ocean, it was lost.

His foes either lost sight or interest as they vanished as soon as he surfaced. It was slim consolation considering he was hundreds of miles away from land. His only choice was to choose a direction and start swimming. He churned his arms and kicked his feet, fighting against the rolling waves. They grew heavy, weakened from the exertion of the fight, the pain of the impact. After a long time, Alan struggled to stay afloat, his head dipping below more and more often. He sank down, his body spent as his eyes closed.

Alan awoke on a beach, the taste of saltwater in his mouth, his face burned from exposure. The costume was gone, lost with the ring's power, leaving only a waterlogged suit, missing a shoe. He sat up, ignoring the ache everywhere. A pair of dolphins crested through the water nearby, moving to deeper waters.

"You alright fella?" said a voice from behind.

There was a man standing on a small grassy hill atop the beach, a car idling behind him. A woman sat in the passenger's seat her gaze fixed on the strange man washed up on the shore.

"You able to hear me?" said the man.

"Yeah."

"You need any help?"

"A phone would be a good start."

The Arizona was still burning as the sun set. Superman and Wonder Woman were still at work, hauling damaged vessels and shifting wreckage. Jay was resting on the ground, his stomach gnawing with hunger, his body spent. The soldiers and firefighters continued to do what they could to help. After a time, the man in the yellow and red costume joined him. They sat in silence for a while.

"Name's Johnny Quick."

"The Flash."

"Heh. I reckon everyone knows that."

Johnny pointed to his chest. "I tried to come up with something original like our friend Quicksilver over there, but I thought why beat what works. Hope you don't mind I stole the color scheme."

"My ego can take it."

There was a dull orange glow from distant fires, small enough that Superman or the others hand't extinguished them yet. Jay thought of the all the bodies he had pulled from the water, the magnitude of the attack.

"This is real then," said Johnny.

"Unfortunately."

December 12, 1941

Hawkman stood in a room filled with a number of the most powerful people in America. He had known this day was coming for a long time, but its arrival brought him no joy. Some distant shred of a past life understood the price that was to be paid.

"We are at war."

December 13, 1941

One had to hand it to the Japanese. They had the gusto to slip into America's backyard and light their house on fire. There were flaws to the plan and its execution, ways that it could have been modified for a superior outcome, but the Ultra-Humanite could not argue with the intent. It meant an end to the proxy conflict and the beginning of the real one.

The order had arrived, delivered from the Fuhrer himself. Japan had its attack. Germany was to have one to match.

December 16, 1941

The attack had been a success. The American fleet lay wounded. The offensives in Hong Kong, the Philippines and elsewhere proceeded as planned. Yet, the Dragon King had his concerns. His country was against America now and it could not leave its fate up to chance.

It was why he was in China, on this desolate plateau, far from the front lines, where even the guerrillas would not dare to venture. A patrol had found the ruin, uncovered by the floodwaters that came with the surging rivers, freed from their banks by the rains. There was no telling its age, at least not with the knowledge that came from worldly studies.

The Dragon King knew better. The Black Dragon Society knew better. Which was why, when his scholars deciphered the carvings in the walls, he understood the scope of what they had found. He had the patrol that found it summoned to his quarters for a celebration, where they dined on the finest of imports from home. Then they were killed in their sleep, their report stricken from the official records. The less oversight the better the results. There was no time for meddling.

Nippon had its empire. Its warriors. Its superhumans, lacking though they were. But, if they were to meet the entire world and find it lacking, it would take more. More power than even the emperor could conceive of. Which is why the Dragon King had personally arrived to see the excavation of the ruins and the prize within. The one that held the key to their ascension.

The one that he would bargain with the devil.