The Others

An isolated beach, one that was not as isolated as it used to be was the place they came together. A small Atlantean ship, a typical fighter type that was cast in the form of a hammerhead shark rested on the shore. Its pilot, King Orin, stood on the sand, faced the group of six who had convened here.

It had been a long time since the Others had stood in the same location together. It was a long, overdue reunion that could have had better circumstances behind it.

The king took in the sight of each one. The first his gaze rested on was Kahina, or Kahina the Seer. Much of herself was covered in garments, white in color, with only her dark eyes visible. Above, over her forehead, was a pendant of sorts, a substitute for the third eye he had been told once. A short, curved, yet thick sword was sheathed at her side.

In her possession was the Seal of Clarity. The Seal was a figurine, one cast of a creature that had long since been forgotten, even by Atlantean standards. It was a tool, one that allowed the wielder to understand any language, whether through reading, hearing, or speaking. The ultimate translator.

Next to her stood a man who wore a burlap sack over his head. Indentations in the fabric hinted at eyes and a mouth. The rest of his body was clad in military-style fatigues, from a tight, green t-shirt that suggested at the muscular body under it, the khaki-colored cargo pants and laced boots over the lower body, and a necklace filled with numerous dog tags settled over his chest.

He was Prisoner-of-War, and he bore the Manacles of Force. This was a weapon, one that could primarily be used defensively as it could form powerful shields around the wielder and those around him. Prisoner-of-War had figured a way to use them offensively as well, not that that was surprising. He had once served in a military prior to his friendship with the Others, though he would never say which one. All Orin knew was that he was the last of his band-of-brothers, and there were hints their spirits had yet to leave him.

Ya'Wara, she was an old friend, and their history…could have put a wedge between himself and Mera at one time. Native of Brazil, she wore the garments of her tribe, which did not leave a lot to the imagination. Much of her skin was bare, exposing naturally tanned skin that—ahem. Living in the rainforest, her body was tough, muscles defined from constant activity. Her hair was luscious, dark in color with a natural white streak embedded in it. Long, sharp daggers made of a material she had never revealed tended to be her weapons of choice, that is if her jaguar wasn't close by.

She held the Globe of Transportation. Looking like a pendant, the Globe did pretty much what its name implied, allowing its wielder to teleport anywhere in the world. Naturally, Ya'Wara had figured out how to utilize it in battle, disappearing and reappearing wherever she chose and acting as the ultimate wildcard.

A man who wasn't a wildcard called himself the Operative. In a tight-fitting black suit that covered the entirety of his body, a utility belt filled to the brim with all sorts of small, handheld weapons and gadgets that needed two thick suspender straps that wrapped over his shoulders to hold it up, and a fitting mask that covered all facial features that came complete with two angled, green lens over his eyes, there was no way to identify this man unless he removed the mask. What Operative did when he wasn't with the Others, who could say, but what Orin had managed to learn, whatever it was it kept him on the move, always flying, never touching back down unless it was to refuel.

Operative had been entrusted with the Key. It looked like a key, was handled like a key, and could open any and every lock ever created. The ultimate skeleton key that could fit anywhere, and so a man like Operative knew how to use it, and use it well.

Lastly, there was Vostok-X. Much like Operative, this Russian man wore a tight-fitting bodysuit, though it was blue in color with red highlighting the boots, gloves, belt, and the X-crossed straps over his chest that connected to a jetpack. Red gun holsters hung from his waist, his firearms of a unique kind held within.

Vostok wore his treasure as part of his ensemble, the Atlantean Helmet. Gold in color, its luster never fading, it was designed with the face of an ancient Atlantean warrior, again, one whose name was long forgotten. Whoever wore this helm could live in any environment, without needing food, water, or even air. The places Vostok could have gone to with it…

These were them, the Others. Allies and friends, and hopefully that remained true even with the passing of time itself.

Offering the best smile he could under the circumstances, and probably succeeding with a bastardize grimace, Orin greeted, "Thank you for responding. I wasn't sure you would have, and…I would have understood if you hadn't."

"Though distance and space and time separate us, when one of us is in need, we all respond," Kahina spoke in answer.

"Something was going down the minute he appeared in Gotham," Operative stated. "We were all ready in case you called. I hope you appreciate my effort in keeping close to the Eastern Seaboard."

"Why is it that you have exposed Atlantis to the world?" Vostok asked, his thick accent clear even muffled by the Helm.

"You haven't been paying attention to the news, have you?" Operative stated to the Russian, though there was no antagonism in the man's voice. Operative tended to be blunt, no nonsense, and straight to the point. Keeping those green lens eyes on the king, "This is about Black Manta."

There was no need to make that a question. It was a statement of fact.

He could feel Ya'Wara's eyes on him. "Is this true?"

There was a level of alertness among them, and Orin understood it. They too had experienced the trials Black Manta had forced onto him. Hell, many of their misadventures had been to stop that bastard from whatever revenge scheme he had planned next. They had suffered alongside him, known a shared pain, and were always ready to hit Manta where it hurt the most.

Would this be the same?

Nodding his head, "He's currently being held in the jail at the Gotham City Police Department. Major Crimes Unit. I attempted diplomacy to try and negotiate with the locals and later the Feds. I fulfilled a threat to withdraw all sea life from their fishing boats and nets. Still, they refuse. And now, I find myself contemplating…extreme measures. I do not wish to go that far, so now, after all these years, I turn to you and ask for help."

There was no surprise in any of the visible eyes. They knew what he could do.

"Why did you not call us sooner, Arthur?" Ya'Wara asked, placing a hand on her hip.

Kahina answered for him. "You wished not to bother us. To handle the situation by yourself."

There was no need to give an affirmative. Yet, Orin…Arthur did so, giving another nod of his head. It was difficult to hide anything from Kahina. She wasn't also known as the Seer for no reason.

"The Justice League is also present in Gotham, observing the situation," he warned. "This is not going to be anything like the old days. This may be the most dangerous favor I ever ask of you. I beg, steal Manta out of that jail and bring him to me."

A snort came from the Operative. "That's all? I thought you would be asking something harder."

"We've seen too many times with the odds against us. What is one more?" Prisoner-of-War remarked, crossing muscular arms as he spoke for the first time.

"Manta has caused too many too much pain," Vostok added. "Should this be the last time we gather together, dealing justice onto Manta will be worth it."

"Atlantis cannot be implicated," Arthur warned. "As much as I would like to be by your side—"

"Politics, understood," Operative cut in again. "I understand the plan. It would look far worse for the United States if their normal everyday citizens were the ones responsible for turning Manta over to you. Utter humiliation that their authority is undermined. Atlantis can then claim no knowledge of the abduction and offer thanks to those intrepid few willing to bring this matter to a close, and perhaps in thanks, the return of marine life. We all get what we want, and those who were unwilling to compromise look all the worse for it."

Operative always tended to understand the political nature of things. While it gave him an air of intelligence, it also beggared the question of what he did when he was solo.

"It matters not what games are being played," Ya'Wara stated. The hand on her hip rose up to touch at the pendant she wore, the Globe that was entrusted to her. "It will be simple to transport Black Manta to your throne room once we have obtained him."

The twisted smile he once had became genuine. "Thank you. I don't know where to—"

"You can thank us after this is over." This time, it was Prisoner-of-War. The bag-wearing man looked to the rest of them. "Let's bring this to an end, once and for all."

The Globe of Transportation began to emit a glow, that light reciprocated by a larger one that began to form behind Ya'Wara. The only cue the rest needed, five of the six present members of the Others drew closer to one another until the light's intensity became too great, and when it had ended, they were gone.

Arthur remained there, staring at the spot where his friends and allies had once stood, allowing the energy of the moment to grant him a reprieve from…everything. There was something to a group effort, when like minds came together for the purpose of completinga single goal. If only his responsibilities as Atlantis' sovereign did not keep him chained to his throne, he would have wanted to join them.

But his time as Arthur, friend, ally, and comrade, was drawing to a close and his place as King Orin had to begin again. Wishing the Others luck, he turned back to his seacraft, prepared to return to Atlantis and wait for their success.

In his heart, he knew, this would be over soon.

He was back in the restraints; those wouldn't pose much of a problem. Getting out of the cell again, he knew he could just wait for another guard to show up. Seeing as how none had been positioned in the cell after the last escape attempt, that was how he would have to do things.

The problem was the flooding of the dungeon. He needed to get out before the water filled the corridor.

Batman considered this back in his cell. It was at a major disadvantage in the water, something that Atlanteans did not share. Perhaps that was part of their metagenes, an ability to maneuver in water.

Speed would be of the essence. He could not afford to linger when he got loose again. Once out, he needed to engage the guards out in the open, no water. Whether he succeeded or not would depend on when he made his next attempt. He at least had a few more options to use.

The door to his cell began to open. Batman pulled himself out of his thoughts. Either a guard was coming, or an interrogator was coming to get answers out of him. He doubted the king would show up so soon, not to mention he had an entire city's worth of people to order to do things for him.

Much to his surprise, a lovely redhead came walking in. He recognized her: the queen. She had this grace in which she moved, her hips swinging from side to side with every step she took. The transparent gauze she wore showed the silhouette of her legs, the material somehow maintaining its shape.

"Good day, surface dweller," the queen greeted him, the doors remaining open behind her. Batman just stared at her, patiently waiting for her to continue.

"I don't suppose you remember me," she said with a hint of humility as she came to stand before him.

"I do," he answered her. "You're the queen."

Her face was blank. She was trying to keep up a poker face. "Indeed. I cannot say I know who you are, though."

The vigilante remained silent.

"Your stay here will go easier if you cooperated," the redhead pressed. "You do not need to suffer needlessly."

"Who says I'm suffering?"

The queen looked around the two of them. "I would say being in a dungeon is not comfortable."

"It's not like you could put me in any other place. I highly doubt my situation will be improved with cooperation."

"You don't know that."

He did, but the dark-clad man decided to not continue that subject. Maybe she was telling the truth; maybe she was just trying to coax something out of him with false platitudes. While she may have the power to do what she claimed, he hardly doubted he was going to nicer quarters, especially after his escape attempt. "Considering my desire to leave here, it's very unlikely you'll be moving me to a more comfortable cell. I had a good look around while I was out; they were all the same."

"You should know it is futile to escape," she reprimanded him. "Where could you go? You are in a city at the bottom of the ocean. The people of this fair city would track you down before you got too far. Are you that desperate to return to your master?"

Batman snorted. "I have no master."

"Then why did you come here? How did you find this place?"

"You wouldn't believe me, even if I told you."

The queen narrowed her eyes. "So you refuse to talk?"

The Dark Knight just remained quiet, answering her question.

"You're planning another escape attempt, aren't you."

Well, she wasn't wrong, but he wasn't going to confirm or deny it, so the dark-clad man remained quiet. "Surely you must have realized that it is futile to escape."

Again, silence.

"Answer me."

"One doesn't know until they try," he finally responded.

The queen stared at her. "The guards will stop you," she said primly. "And then the city's defenders would stop you should you miraculously get out of here."

"And once I evade them, I'm home free."

"Is that what you think?"

The way she had said that, it made him feel like she knew something that he didn't. "Naturally, you have a military force in the waters around the city," he admitted. "But there's an entire ocean floor with multiple hiding places out there. Do you have enough people to check each and everyone of them should I prove successful?"

"Of course."

Batman stared at her. "I highly doubt that. After all, you purposefully hide your city from the rest of the world. If you have the numbers you so claim, then you wouldn't actively keep your location unknown. Secrecy is just another tool you use for defense."

"Wouldn't you do the same?" she countered.

"I believe I would."

"Then you know why it is we wish to know how you learned of this location."

"You're referring to Black Manta."

She stared at him. "He doesn't know your location, if that's what you're afraid of," he told her. "He's admitted as much."

"And how would you know this?"

"I listened in on his interrogation when he was captured." Batman leaned his head towards her. "Mind telling me why he wants to destroy your city?"

"Did he not tell you this?"

"He has not."

The queen actually let out a sigh, though it was unknown if it was out of relief or annoyance. "What do you know of the Black Manta?"

"Only that he acts like a pirate and is wanted by multiple countries, including your city," the vigilante told her. "Essentially a wanted criminal."

"Yes, he certainly is."

"I know why he's wanted on the surface. What I don't know is why Atlantis wants him so badly."

"If my king did not wish to divulge such information, then I will not either."

"Will not, or cannot?"

"Both."

Batman stared at her. "Then we're at the same impasse."

"It would seem so. Pity."

There was silence between them before the queen began to turn away. "Something I've noticed," he suddenly said, causing her to stop. "I've seen very similar hair colors down here. Blonde, green, black—yours stands out, if I may say so."

The queen raised a hand up, running her fingers through her red locks. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not at all. I am curious as to why yours stand out from the rest of Atlantis."

"Just a mark of my birth, nothing more," she told him.

"A family trait?"

"You could say that. There are many with this color in Xebel."

"Xebel?"

The queen hesitated. It was clear she hadn't meant to say that much to him. Then, "It is a city under the protection of Atlantis," she eventually admitted.

"I assume there are others," he ventured.

"It would be safe for you to assume that."

Now this was intriguing. He had never heard of Xebel in his life, yet she spoke of it as if it clearly existed. If it was protected by Atlantis, then Atlantis clearly knew of its location. Was it an underwater city as well? Were there others?

If there were other underwater cities, did they too have military power?

"When I was a boy, I used to study old legends and myths," Batman decided to say. Perhaps he could learn more this way. "It was something I did with my father before his passing. Atlantis came up naturally. Yet, I don't seem to recall a Xebel."

The queen raised an eyebrow. "And you wish to know more?"

"It's more out of curiosity's sake. Since I'm not going anywhere, I might as well learn something."

She continued to stare at him. Then, "There isn't much to say about Xebel. It's a penal city, nothing more."

Penal—like a penal colony? Perhaps this Xebel isn't a city so much as it was a prison. The dark-clad man kept such thoughts to himself. "I apologize if I overstepped," he murmured earnestly.

That seemed to surprise the queen. "I don't receive many apologies due to my home of origin."

"Sometimes there are subjects that are quite sensitive. I imagine that would be the same for you as it is up on the surface."

A small smile appeared on her face. "Though you dress oddly, there is some wisdom in you."

"I've had a lifetime to get some, though there is still room for more."

It had taken a lot of negotiation, threats of lawsuits, and even a judge to expedite things, but finally the DSR-6M was finally to be turned over to Wayne Enterprises.

The Feds had done everything they could to throw a wrench into the process. It was a piece of evidence in the ongoing case with the international pirate, David Hyde. While processing it was to be expected, unless the radar system had been tampered and transformed into an explosive device, then there was no reason for it to be kept in an evidence locker for all of time.

Lucius was not exasperated. He had expected quite a bit of difficulty dealing with the FBI. That was par for the course with them. Still, that didn't mean he wasn't irritated by the whole process. Getting a judge involved to review things and make a definitive decision had hastened things along.

With an entourage of Wayne Enterprises researchers, Lucuis led the group to the local FBI branch office. The main headquarters was naturally in D.C., but your larger cities had branches for immediate responses. You couldn't expect the FBI to have to fly out to the west coast when having a branch there would save time and manpower. Gotham was no different, especially with its well known history of crime.

Entering the building, the businessman was greeted with a pair of FBI agents, their name tags reading Johnson and…Johnson? There was clearly no relation as one was a towering white man, his face scarred from untreated acne, and the other was a younger black man. Each wore a suit and looked at him expectantly.

"Wayne Enterprises, I assume?" the white Johnson stated more than asked. He had this look like he wanted to be anywhere other than here.

"That's correct," Lucius answered as he came to stand in front of the two agents. "The people with me are fellow—"

"Yeah, yeah," the same Johnson cut him off. "They're your people. Come with us and we'll take you to your radar."

Well, that certainly ended the pleasantries. Instead of replying, Lucuis just nodded his understanding. Both agents turned and led him and his team into a hallway, one that reached deep into the building. The curt response was to be expected; no doubt at least one of these agents was of the opinion that they needed to keep the radar system in their hands.

Eventually, they took a left turn, and then a right, until it felt like they were somewhere near the back of the building. Both agents came to a stop in front of a door, one with a panel that requested access. This time, the black Johnson took action, holding up a keycard that he waved in front of the panel. A green light appeared, along with the sound of a lock clicking out of place.

"Through here, gentlemen," the black Johnson said, his tone more cordial, though professional, than his partner. He opened the door and held it open.

Lucius immediately strode through the door, though he came to a stop, which caused his people to nearly plow into his back. "What's the hold up?" White Johnson demanded from the door.

The businessman's eyes were wide in shock. "I think we have a problem," he said, his voice shaky.

Immediately, Black Johnson looked, his face paling at the sight. White Johnson shoved his way through the crowd. "What the hell is…" he trailed off.

All over the room were bodies. They all wore suits, so they were clearly FBI agents. Blood stained their clothes, some of it even pooling around their bodies. Lucuis lost count of how many they were after five. It wasn't a massacre, but it was pretty damn close.

"Oh, fuck me," White Johnson murmured, running a hand through his thinning hair. Black Johnson shook himself out of his stupor and scanned the room closer.

"Where's the radar?" he asked out loud, a question that was clearly hoping to have an answer from the group assembled there.

Immediately, Lucius looked around the room, and clearly didn't see the DSR-6M anywhere. After seeing it every day for two weeks in preparation for the press conference, he knew exactly how it looked, and he didn't see it at all.

A sinking feeling filled his gut. The older man was beginning to have an inkling as to why these agents were dead.

Cassandra watched as Damian put the final touches to the Batboat. He was nearly done with fueling it. Long ago, he had completed the armament of the vessel. Life support systems were checked; oxygen tanks were filled; it was completely ready to go.

So much for having the boat ready when their father returned.

She was no fool. Everything Damian had done indicated that he was preparing the boat to use it. She didn't blame him, but she also knew he wasn't well-versed in using the boat. Neither was she, to be honest, but she at least knew better than to get in over her head. Damian had never shown the inclination to not get himself into trouble.

Part of her wanted to see him fail in what he was up to. It'd be funny to see him stranded in Gotham Bay, or beached somewhere up the coast. Batman would no doubt be angry upon finding out that the boy had taken one of his vehicles for a joy ride.

Another part, however, was primed and ready.

The teen disconnected the fuel line from the boat and placed it back with the tank it had been siphoning fuel from. He was dressed in his Redbird suit, his domino mask fitted to his face. She was certain he would have dusted his hands as a sign of work being finished if he wasn't so prim and proper.

That's when she made an appearance, coming to stand next to him. "Looks like it's ready," she coolly remarked.

Damian jolted where he stood. "Did you have any doubts, Usurper?" he growled at her.

"I suppose that ends your preparations. Will you be coming on patrol, Jerkface?"

The teen stared at her. "I feel fatigued from all of that work, so I must decline."

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, giving him a dubious look. "After all of your whining, you're not going to patrol Gotham?"

"I do not whine," he sneered back at her.

"Then I must have missed all of those times where you cried that you were 'only trying to help' and 'it's not fair I'm grounded'."

"Don't you have some other family to steal, Usurper?"

"Don't you have another family that wants you, Jerkface?"

Damian bared his teeth in rage. "Father wants me," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"He wants me too," she pointed out. "He adopted me, after all."

The young man was shaking with anger. Cassandra could have kept this up a while longer—she had Harper to thank for all of the new barbs she could throw at him—but there were other, more pressing concerns. "You better make certain your gear is fully stocked if you are calling it an early night," she said. "Maintaining your armor is important."

Damian continued to glare at her before his eyes eventually dropped down to his utility belt. No doubt he was doing a mental count of what he had on him. His hesitation told her that he wasn't certain if he was fully equipped for what he was planning.

"Very well," he managed to say after several moments. "Make certain to protect Father's city. He won't be happy if he finds its smoldering."

Damian then walked off, no doubt heading to the armory. Cassandra just watched him go until he was climbing up the stairs. At that point, she raised her mask that had been in her hand and she pulled it over her head. After situating it, Batgirl then undid the cables keeping the vessel docked and climbed into the empty cockpit of the Batboat.

Her "step-brother" had put all of this effort in getting it ready; it would be a shame if it went to nothing.

Sitting in the driver's seat, the young girl stared at the controls before she found what she wanted. Flicking a switch, the canopy slid shut, sealing her inside. A couple more switches and a few buttons pushed and the boat roared to life. Then she held up a flash drive and shoved it into a USB port. On the drive were a set of coordinates she had taken out of the computer terminal, the one Batman had used when preparing the first Batboat.

Specifically, it held the coordinates to that apparently lost underwater city.

"Computer: take me to these coordinates," she commanded.

A series of buttons all over the cockpit began to flash on and off before she heard the computerized voice respond "COMMAND ACCEPTED. AUTOPILOT ENGAGED."

That was when the engine roared louder and the boat lurched forward. Batgirl felt herself sink into her seat as the boat pulled away from the dock. This thing was going a lot faster than she thought it would go, but she trusted the computer system. After all, her father had designed and programmed it.

For a split second, she wondered if Damian had realized what she had done. Considering she didn't see a mirror that could show her what was going on behind her, it was left to her imagination as to how he was reacting. She liked to think he had come running back down the stairs and was now standing on the dock, shaking a fist after her as he demanded she come back.

She'd have to check the Batcave's security system when she got back. She really wanted to see that happen.

Author's Note: For those who don't know, the Others were a team introduced in the New 52 and had their own title, Aquaman and the Others. I think it only lasted thirteen issues, but it detailed the titular team as they dealt with Black Manta who was hunting them down for the Atlantean treasures they possessed. As some had guessed, Ya'Wara's appearance in Winter Solstice, found on my coauthor, ShadowMajin's, account was a foreshadowing that we were finally bringing Aquaman into this universe.

Also, the FBI agents Johnson and Johnson are a nice little nod to Die Hard.