When Worlds Collide

The return to Atlantis was uneventful. Orin strided his way through the city's port and through the streets back to the palace, an armed guard around him. His trip to the surface was being kept a secret for now, and should the Others prove successful, then his actions would be judged worthwhile.

He trusted in those former comrades of his. Before the responsibilities of the throne grounded him, they had quite the adventures under their belts. His time as superhero had gone relatively unnoticed, and he didn't mind. While there were times he longed for those carefree days, the call of duty was stronger still.

You didn't change the world by trying to ignore it.

Would he have preferred Atlantis' arrival to the international scene to have been under less heated circumstances? Yes. Retrieving Black Manta was too important, and so now, everybody knew.

He would receive updates once he arrived back in the palace. Orm informed him that the fleet on the surface was still awaiting his decision. His instructions were to wait a little longer, let the surface dwellers stew in uncertainty a while longer. There was a plan in motion, and soon everyone would know about it.

After that, it was to Mera. He was curious about her attempt to interrogate the Batman. Had she managed to crack through that man's hard exterior?

"He still refuses to say whom he serves. It would be best to secure any vessels and vehicles we have. This man is smart enough to intuit how to use them, and they will be his way out," Mera told him.

He shouldn't have been surprised. The rumors about the Batman's intelligence were well founded. It made him wonder if maybe this man served no one and was here for his own agenda, whatever it may be.

"He asked about Manta," his wife continued when he did not speak. "I was able to confirm that that monster does not know the location of Atlantis."

"But he schemes to find it all the same," Orin stated. It wasn't a secret to them that Manta was trying to find the lost city. What his intentions were, he could guess, but they all had one thing in common and that was to cause him suffering.

No, not just suffering. More suffering. The bastard was relentless.

"He has a very observant eye. He noted…the difference between myself and the rest of the kingdom. I don't know what else he may have discovered before he was captured." There was a slight crease in her brow. She was thinking, but her thoughts would always be a mystery to him. He would never get tired of discovering what they were, however.

"He lives up to his reputation," Orin remarked, his attention miles away. He remembered a time long ago, hearing the whispered stories, reading the headlines, and feeling inspired. Not that he would say Batman was an inspiration, but…the stories about other people with gifts soon followed.

But not everyone rises and becomes accepted. Not everyone is respected when they try to help.

He had thought he had been doing the right thing…

The right thing sometimes causes more problems than its worth. Doing the right thing was what had led them all here.

"Arthur?" That name, spoken by the only one of a handful of people who could still call him it, broke through his thoughts. He could see Mera's worried green eyes. He remembered a time when there was nothing but grief and sorrow in them.

He could remember a cry forever silenced.

No more.

"One last time," Orin stated, turning from Mera. "I will speak with that man one last time. Then I will make a decision about him."

"Arthur," Mera repeated, her voice alarmed.

"I'm tired," he admitted. "I'm tired of the games. The games above the surface, and the one in my dungeon. I'm tired of the nightmare that never ends. I'm tired of my family broken after all these years. It changes now, and it starts with making Batman talk."

His word was made and now he was keeping it.

The last thing he had wanted was a fight, but that's exactly what he had in his hands. These people, Atlantean sympathizers went on the attack. As J'onn changed himself transparent, their numbers were suddenly even. They split, and Superman found himself facing off against the man in combat fatigues and wearing a bag over his head.

The lower arms were clad in a gold metal, some kind of gauntlet, and when the bag-wearing man clashed them together, a shockwave struck the Man of Steel and knocked him back. He hadn't expected that, but his recovery was quick. If a fight is what they wanted…

Stopping the pushback, Superman flew back at this man, one arm pulled back with the other outstretched in front of him. Once he was close, he went in for a grapple, hoping to restrain him. The Kryptonian didn't want to risk hitting him and possibly causing severe damage to his body. Stopping him from using those gauntlets seemed like a good first step.

From the gauntlets, two chains slipped out and as if they had minds of their own, they wrapped around the Man of Steel's arms. Surprised, he found himself being swung to a side, spun faster and faster until the chains released him.

Away from the rooftop he flew, but he was quick to stop the sudden flight. As if he was a glutton for punishment, Superman flew back to his opponent, determined not to let up.

To try and put this man on the defensive, the Kryptonian's eyes lit up with a red color, and two beams of energy fired. Striking the rooftop in front of the bag-wearing man, the beams moved towards the man, an intimidation tactic to try and get him to flinch or back away. Instead, the man rose his arms up and clashed the gauntlets together again. Instead of a shockwave, a barrier formed around him, the beams of energy striking the shield and failing to break through.

This man had a few tricks on him, didn't he? Now that a shield was up, Superman was more than willing to use his strength. Flying fast, he landed a punch against the barrier, watching as it rippled from the force it absorbed. He barely heard it—barely—but a grunt escaped the man in combat fatigues.

A second punch landed, further disrupting the shield, and a third punch broke through. The sense of triumph ended quickly as one of the chains snaked around his arm and jabbed him in the face, striking the curve of nose and just under the forehead. He was more dazed than stunned, which left him open for the other chain to wrap around his other arm.

Suddenly, he was pulled and slammed into the rooftop. His body bounced off ot it, then he was pulled again the other way, only stopping when the chain grew taut and he was slammed against the roof again.

The Man of Steel's hand rotated and latched onto the chain. As he pushed himself back onto his feet, Superman pulled on the chain which had the effect of yanking the bag-wearing man off his feet into a short flight of his own. That was short due to Superman stretching his other arm out and clotheslining him.

Landing on the roof with a grunt, the bag-wearing man kicked his feet up and rolled. A fist swung, but the results were predictable. Even with those gauntlets, this man did not have the strength that would have gotten through his invulnerability. Any other person would have been floored, no doubt.

The fist impacted the red S and stayed there before slowly withdrawing.

"There's no need for us to fight," he tried once more, the bag-wearing man clutching at his hand. "I don't want anyone getting hurt."

Okay, those last words were a bit late. It was clear that this man may have fractured a bone or two in his hand.

The bag-wearing man shook his head. "This is too important. We…I can't give up. One way or the other, the madness, it needs to end."

He held back a frown, but that didn't stop him from noticing that word choice. What madness was he speaking about, and why was it the reason that he and his friends here were outside the GCPD?

Could it be they knew more about what was happening?

The chains returned, one wrapping tightly around his neck. Invulnerability should have protected him, but he could feel the tightness and pressure mounting in his head. Grabbing at the chains, he tried to pull them off, but none of the links budged around his neck. He squeezed with his hands, but nothing gave against it.

Briefly, he wondered if there was kryptonite nearby. Then he had to consider another prospect. The gleaming of the gold hinted at…was it magic? It was unfortunate that whatever punishment his body could take and endure, magic had a way of getting around it.

"It needs to end," the bag-wearing man repeated.

So did this strangulation. Breathing in through his nose, he unleashed an arctic gale of wind from his mouth, blowing the man back with ice crystals forming on his body. The chains began to slip, probably needing the man's concentration, but it was an opening all the same and one the Kryptonian would take.

While he agreed that this madness needed to end, he was also sure this fight was not yet over.

A woman more scantily clad than the Amazon had leapt at her. A top that only covered her bosom and a small loincloth that provided modesty for her hips was all she wore. Diana had waited, her defenses high.

The woman attacked with a palm strike, one Diana blocked with a forearm. It was a simple thing. However, before she could retaliate, her world changed. She felt a disoriented feeling hit her, just as her world changed to…well, a different view of Gotham's skyline.

She realized she was alone, which put her on high alert. Looking around, she realized she hadn't gone very far, teleported to a building perhaps a block or so away from the GCPD. She caught sight of green light, which must have been Green Lantern. And up in the air to her right was Shayera, who was swooping down at her own foe.

Yet, she was alone. What sort of tele—

Her hearing was the only thing that saved her. That and her enhanced reflexes. She just heard the sound of metal slicing through air, which caused her to jerk to one side, her right forearm shooting up. She was just in time to block a knife from cutting her, the metal of her bracer clashing against the short blade.

Her foe was not deterred by this. In fact, she flowed like water, sliding into Diana's natural blindspot, that being her back. Twisting her head to attempt to keep her opponent in her sight, she realized there was a second knife being thrusted at her, heading right for her shoulder blades.

So she allowed gravity to do what it did naturally, leaning backwards far enough to begin falling. She even used Hermes' gift of speed to drop herself quicker. The knife stabbed where she had been, revealing the tanned skin of her opponent's outstretched arm.

Diana abruptly stopped her fall using her flight, then spun to her side as she lashed out with one leg. She kicked out the legs of her opponent, causing her to begin her own fall, her eyes wide from the surprise leg sweep.

And then she vanished. The Amazon was quick to right herself, maneuvering herself until she was standing on her feet again. She began searching again, finding her opponent a short distance away.

"You are proficient with that ability," the dark-haired woman observed.

"I have had time to learn how to use it," the scantily-clad one said. She had long dark hair as well, though there was a white streak that went right down the middle. It was a signature of sorts.

"To what do I call you?" Diana ventured. "In my culture, we normally introduce ourselves before a fight."

Her opposite number stared at her before she nodded her acknowledgement. "I am Ya'Wara of the Others. To whom do I address?"

"Diana, Princess of the Amazons. I thank you for humoring me."

Again, Ya'Wara nodded. "It is not often I am in conflict with one versed in the martial arts. This should be…interesting."

And then she vanished again. Immediately, Diana took to the air, rising into the sky. She had a feeling this Ya'Wara was used to combat on the ground, using her surroundings to her advantage. In the air, there was no such cover. In fact, the only way to get the drop on someone…

Spinning around, Diana angled herself upwards, just in time to see Ya'Wara appear, legs coiled beneath her, both of her knives held above her head, her hands gripping the hilts in reverse. She dropped down on the dark-haired woman, swinging her weapons down to stab her with them.

In response, the Amazon held up her arms, pressing them together. The moment the blades connected with her bracers, she split them apart, forcing Ya'Wara's arms outwards. Finally, Diana went on the offensive, lunging forward as she landed a headbutt to her foe's head.

Ya'Wara was thrown back from the blow, a cry escaping her lips. She began to fall through the air, only to vanish once more. However, Diana saw her opponent reappear on the roof, taking one knee.

Leaning forward, the dark-haired woman rushed down towards the roof, her body as stiff as an arrow, her fists extended out in front of her. The distance between them shrank with every passing second.

It was only when her foe actually looked up and saw the Amazon practically on top of her that she realized what danger she was in. Her wide eyes showed she was surprised upon seeing her. And then she teleported again.

Which left Diana to plow right into, and then through the roof. The surface gave way without much resistance, the dark-haired warrior entering the building through the ceiling. She stopped herself from going any further, floating in the air of what looked like a ruined boardroom. Debris had fallen on a long table, the piece of furniture somehow still standing.

Suddenly, a pair of legs wrapped around Diana's waist. She felt a body press against her back, right before she felt two simultaneous blows on the side of her head. Namely, she was struck against her ears, the force of each blow traveling into her ear canal and throwing off her balance. Diana cried out briefly as she dropped through the air, landing on the table with her feet. Somehow, she didn't topple over, managing to remain standing.

But then Ya'Wara wrapped an arm around her neck, a hand grabbing onto the back of the Amazon's head, forming a chokehold. Pressure was applied against her throat, and Diana was indeed choking. She stumbled a step or two, nearly tripping over the debris lying on the table. She could feel her foe's body weight on her back. A wretched gag escaped her lips.

Then Diana grimaced. Lifting up into the air, she leaned forward before flying straight up for the ceiling. The plan was to ram Ya'Wara there, that was until she teleported at the last second, causing the Amazon to smash into the ceiling on her own.

This time, Diana just stayed there, removing a direction she could be attacked from. This teleportation, it was beginning to irritate her. She needed a new plan before she had a knife end up in her kidney.

So what to do…

J'onn had sensed five minds. Four of them had been found outside of the GCPD. That left one unaccounted for.

As the others began to engage, J'onn had turned transparent and rose up into the air. There wasn't much that could harm him in this state and he wanted this so he could locate the fifth mind.

It wasn't difficult, especially as the others began to spread out around the area. As he spread his awareness, the Martian began to pick up the minds of others. Many were ones that he could readily ignore, such as civilians and local police.

And then he found it. A mind with determination, one focused on Black Manta.

It was inside of the GCPD.

Remaining transparent, J'onn flew over to the building before he dove headfirst into the roof. He passed through it and entered a hallway. He continued going downward passing through the floor and out of the ceiling of the floor below.

And then he entered a hallway where he found a man in a dark bodysuit. He was covered head-to-toe, a silver belt, knee pads, and wristbands the only splash of color. Green lenses allowed the man to see.

Maneuvering himself to land on his feet, J'onn allowed himself to return to solid form, which caused the man to come to a stop in his tracks. Surprise and chagrin were the dominant emotions within the man.

"Who are you?" the Martian asked.

"No one in particular," the man responded, taking a step back.

"You cannot run," he warmed him. "I am much faster than I appear."

The man turned his body, angling it so that his profile was towards the Martian. This allowed him to hide a hand behind him. "This doesn't involve you," the man returned.

J'onn heard one word in his head. Fire. Suddenly, the man yanked his hand out, only for J'onn to fire a burst of his Martian Vision. The white beam struck the moving hand, the equivalent of a hand slap. Whatever it was this person was attempting to do, it was stopped right then and there.

The man hissed, grasping at his hand. J'onn's eyes glowed orange as he sought out his mind. As sudden as it began, it ended. "You call yourself 'Operative'," he announced.

Operative kept massaging his hand. "And you seek to apprehend Black Manta," the Martian continued. "A promise to your friend in Atlantis."

"You've read my mind. I always wondered how useful that sort of ability would be," Operative finally acknowledged. "But then, you must know that I can't fail here."

"Neither can I," the green-skinned man replied. "Please, before this incident spirals out of control, I urge you to reconsider your actions."

"Wish that I could; unfortunately, this is personal."

Suddenly, Operative spun on his heels and took off running, turning a corner. J'onn gave chase, becoming translucent before passing through the wall next to him. He ignored the room he was in, entering the new hallway and seeing his opponent still fleeing. Whatever distance he thought he had had been cut in half by J'onn's action.

Pulling on speed, he rushed ahead of Operative, passing right through him. He pulled ahead before he solidified again, turning around just in time to see the man skidding to a stop on his feet.

But then he threw out his hands, a couple small metal balls flying through the air.

In the interest of self-preservation, J'onn fired a quick burst of his Martian Vision at each ball. This proved to be a mistake as smoke immediately erupted from them the moment his white eye beams made contact. The entire hallway filled with smoke, hiding Operative from sight.

The only lasted for a moment before a knife burst through the smoke cloud, heading right for J'onn's head.

The Martian went transparent again, allowing the weapon to pass harmlessly through his body. The blade struck the wall further down, embedding itself into the sheetrock.

Racing out with his mind, he detected Operative on the other side of the smokescreen. He was considering the merits of retreating once more, or attacking again. He wasn't certain if his knife had done any harm.

Leaning forward, J'onn charged through the smoke, erupting out on the other side. Leading with his shoulder, he rammed into his opponent, sending him flying backwards through the air at a rapid pace. Operative ended up slamming into the wall at the end of the corridor, a pained cry escaping his mouth.

More minds opened themselves to J'onn then. Many of them were alarmed; apparently there were multiple people that heard of Operative hitting the wall, alerting them to the fight. Next came thoughts of investigating the commotion.

That was just as well. Those minds belonged to the police present here. They could block off other routes of escape, which would lead to the ultimate apprehension of Operative.

Which meant J'onn needed to finish this altercation quickly.

Shayera wasn't one to back down from a fight. The moment she saw these "Atlantean sympathizers," she knew there was only one way this was going to end.

So she launched herself at the first instant, her wings spread out, her mace held at her hip.

The woman with the sword seemed to be the ringleader here. She had done most of the speaking, a lot of cryptic bullshit in her opinion. The Thanagarian would take her down fast.

The woman waited, keeping her hands on top of the hilt of her weapon, its point dug into the roof. It was like she wasn't concerned with the approaching Thanagarian, which was the first sign of a mental illness. "Haaaaaaaa!" Shayera shouted as she swung her mace.

In an instant, the sword flashed and metal upon metal rang out. Her foe parried the strike, even as she threw herself out of the way of the winged woman's charge. Shayera flew by her foe, heading out over the edge of the roof. Immediately, she angled upwards, swooping out so that she could make a turn and rush back at her opponent. She went a little higher than intended, but that was alright. She tucked her wings in and zoomed in towards her target.

At the last moment, she flared her wings out, causing her legs to swing out in front of her as she held her mace above her head. "Haaaaaaa!" she cried out again as she dropped down onto the roof, swinging her Nth metal weapon down. The woman in white held up her sword and blocked the blow, the clashing sound of metal ringing out again. However, Shayera didn't fail to notice that this woman buckled a bit from the hit.

"Stand down," the redhead ordered as she used more of her strength. In terms of Kryptonian or even Amazonian strength, she was the first to admit she was far weaker. Against a normal human, however, she definitely held the upper hand.

"That is what I would say to you," the woman replied, her Middle Eastern accent very noticeable. For a brief moment, Shayera wondered if she was wearing a white hijab. "But it seems this unnecessary fight has become necessary."

Suddenly, the woman shoved the mace away, drawing her sword back before she swung it back at the winged woman. Shayera just knocked the approaching blade back with a perry, then promptly went into a backswing.

That should have knocked a crap ton of sense into…whoever this woman was. Instead, the hijab-wearing gal leaned backwards so far that the head of the mace missed her. Suddenly, she spun to one side, slashing with her sword as she made a complete circle.

Eyes widening, Shayera flared her wings as she leapt back, only to have to move her mace in front of her as her opponent pulled her sword back, holding it at her hip with the tip pointed right at the redhead. Without breaking a sweat, she lunged forward, thrusting the blade at her. Thanks to her mace, she blocked the thrust.

However, the sword immediately jerked to one side, its edge scratching against the mace. If it had gone outward, this would have been fine. However, it went inward, and Shayera just barely jumped to one side to avoid getting stabbed. This left her upper arm to get cut by the blade, a glancing cut, but a cut nonetheless.

Hissing, Shayera attempted to keep backing away, but her opponent kept at her. She immediately went for a head slice, which the Thanagarain blocked. She was certain to make sure the sword didn't bounce off and cut into her again.

Suddenly, the woman in the white hijab leaned to one side, allowing her to swing a leg up, landing a kick to Shayera's midsection. It wasn't the best kick, but it certainly got her attention. Pushed back, Shayera gritted her teeth before she leapt back at her foe, swinging her mace again.

The woman parried once more, but instead of countering, she began backpedaling. Undeterred, Shayera gave chase, swinging her mace and forth, unable to hit the woman as she managed to stay just outside of hitting range.

Then she changed tactics. As Shayera swung once more, her foe leaned backwards to avoid the swing, and then lunged forward, once again trying to run her sword through the Thanagarian. Again, she tried to dodge, but this time the thrust hit closer to home. It managed to bite into her side before cutting right through her shirt, biting into her skin as it cut her.

Immediately, Shayera flared her wings out, but this time she shot up into the air. She pressed a hand to her side where she had been cut, feeling the wetness of blood there.

What…what the hell was going on here? She had the advantage in strength, and seemed to handle this chick on her own. Now…now she was landing better hits, meaning better cuts to her person. First her arm was grazed, now her side had an actual sword slice in it. It was as if this woman had been keeping her real skill under wraps until now.

Was that the case? Shayera could very well believe it; yet, she couldn't help but think that something else was going on. It was almost as if the woman was anticipating exactly where the redhead would be and what she would do, and was using that to accurately counter. That wasn't unheard of either; there were fighters that could predict an opponent's move just off of body language.

If that was the case, then she needed to be a hell of a lot more careful. One wrong move and she could be skewered.

The man wearing the golden helmet did not run. He flew.

While the rest of the League handled their choices, Green Lantern flew up into the air, his opponent rocketing after him. Noticing the flames left in the man's wake, Lantern realized that the red-colored pack was not there for aesthetics. It was a jetpack.

So this fight was going to be aerial. Fine by him. The power of his ring let him move however he wanted, and after fighting in deep space, a three-dimensional battleground was like home to him. However, he needed to keep level with this man; firing a blast from his ring downward threatened to endanger anyone below. Firing upwards would be preferable, the angle letting the beams go harmlessly up into the air. Gotham had a lot of tall buildings, so there was a chance there might be so damage to the upper floors if he wasn't careful.

But care tended to have no place in a fight. The jetpack-flying man withdrew his firearm from its holster. Knowing a shot was coming his way, Green Lantern readied himself.

The firearm didn't shoot a bullet. Too late did he learn that it was more of a blaster, shooting a condensed beam of energy that packed a punch behind it. The dark-skinned Lantern could not have gotten his spherical shield up in time to block. He felt the hit against the shield, the construct powered by his will.

It was an odd feeling. As strong as the barrier was, anytime it was hit, he would feel pressure in his mind, a sort of feedback from the ring. The feedback could help with concentration, but sometimes it could do the opposite.

So long as he kept his concentration, whatever he made was invincible.

A few more shots from the golden mask-wearing man struck the barrier. Each one was endured, and noticing the lull, Green Lantern lowered the shield so that he could fire back with blasts from his ring. This served a two-fold purpose, letting him get on the offensive and seeing just how maneuverable this other man.

He was maneuverable, moving through the air with similar ease as the Lantern. Right, he had better bearings now. Time to get creative.

Instead of a short burst, the beam that he fired from his ring split several feet in front of him, forming a pair of hands that reached out towards his opponent and tried to slap down on either side of him. The hands were dodged as the golden mask-wearing man fired a burst of propulsion from his jetpack, shooting up higher into the air.

Tilting his head back to watch the ascent, Green Lantern ended the hand construct while raising his ring-bearing hand up to keep his enemy in the line of sight. Several block-shaped constructs were created, all emitting a transparent yet green glow. A push of his will had these block fling themselves at the golden mask-wearing man, acting as a swarm instead of an individual assault.

The blaster fired several times, and because his will was divided so, some of the blocks were destroyed like their physical counterparts would be. The rest was avoided as the man dropped altitude abruptly, the trajectory a sideways U as he flew directly towards the Lantern.

In response, Green Lantern went on the run, letting himself be chased. He fired a few blasts from his ring behind him, trying to distract the man as he got himself ready for the next construct he wanted to use. Taking inspiration from his previous block attack, he formed a brick wall instead, placing in between the two of them. Momentum and speed were about to be turned against his opponent.

A couple blasts were fired to try and weaken it, but a single construct was so much easier to maintain. To his credit, the jetpack-wearing man did his best to turn, but he couldn't do it sharp enough. He clipped the edge of the wall construct, his body spinning and flipping out of control as a result.

Away went the wall, now for a net. Catch this guy, hold him tight, make sure he didn't make a menace of himself. Easy.

Green netting was fired from the ring, aimed so that it would be right in the patch of the out-of-control flier. Green Lantern could feel the heartbeats with each passing second, his construct about to intercept his man.

The jetpack was shut off for a second. A powerful blast from it served to give the man some control over his trajectory, and that led him to narrowly dodging the net construct. With his bearings regained, the flying man circled about, firing his blaster at well-timed intervals. Each shot nearly scraped against the green aura that surrounded the Lantern's body, and once more he led the chase higher up into the sky.

This guy had some tricks on him, his aerial maneuverability being a big one. There was a part of him that admired such skill; if this man had a strong enough will, he'd be a fantastic Lantern himself.

There was a reason why he had the ring though. Imagination was the only limit here, so it was time to use more creativity. Had this fight happened under…different circumstances, a friendly spar for example, he would have enjoyed this a lot more. These weren't different circumstances, though, and so this fight had to be taken seriously.

As his ring emitted an intense glow, he readied the next construct, hoping this one would be the one to end this fight.

Hands placed on top of a console, eyes trained on a radar screen, the Scavenger read the data being fed to him. According to it, those were the positions of every ship circling the Gotham Harbor. Both were of American and Atlantean make.

If there had been any doubt about Atlantis' existence, there was the proof.

"Sir, everyone is in place," the technician manning the radio reported.

Good. That meant the next move was his. His action was the signal for them to act and none would move until he did. It was all part of the plan.

So many eyes were on Gotham right now. Trying to pull anything, like getting that damn sub out of there, was going to be noisy and very noticeable. How could anyone pull off the theft—second in this case—of such a large vehicle?

The answer was simple. Give everyone something else to look at. Nothing captured the attention like a war.

War was funny. Everyone thought that wars started because of something big. An invasion, a terrorist attack, assassinations, or a border dispute, those were what people thought of when starting a war. History had a different opinion. Mere insults, greed, once a bucket. Anything could start a war.

When you thought of it like that, it didn't take much to get one started, and a stalemate was the perfect fertilizer. By now, tempers were fraying, and all it would take was a simple mistake.

In this case, it was going to be a push.

"Arm torpedoes," he ordered, his instructions being carried across the airwave.

He waited until confirmation came, "torpedoes armed" almost like music to his ears. The tension was mounting, and dead ahead were two unsuspecting military forces gnawing at the chance to fight one another.

"Fire."