#71: Neverland (Part 1 of 4)

Previously, in JUSTICE LEAGUE…

To save all of humanity from the wrath of ARES, CIRCE, and their daughter DEVASTATION, WONDER WOMAN used a weapon from myth to kill BATMAN!

After winning the contest of gods due to that unthinkable act, the Justice League descended into the Grecian Underworld, intending to bring back their teammate, but that’s not all they managed to do-- helping the team with this trial was the long-dead former Queen of the Amazons, HIPPOLYTA, who also returned to the land of the living, along with BATMAN!

After a period of calm, the Justice League come together once more, looking toward the future, not knowing what horrors lie ahead as their seventy-fifth issue quickly approaches…

With all this in mind, please join us now for the continuing adventures of the JUSTICE LEAGUE--

Majestros, the final living lord of the Kherubim, last survivor of the fall of grand Khera, checked his handiwork. He’d patched the hole in the ozone on a whim many months ago, but he wanted to ensure that the repair job had held. Due to the ingenuity he’d applied to the task, not only did his work hold up, but it was also strengthening the ozone layer worldwide. A job well done, he decided.

He’d made the world a better place, and barely anyone who walked it knew he existed. The helmet he wore when fighting beside the Justice League was designed to hide his identity, but he knew that it was a half-measure. He wore a version of his Kheran warsuit, red and white, the colours of his people, the cape a badge of his office as a lord of war.

The Daemonites were here. He knew that much. Jack Marlowe, the mechanoid known on his world as a Spartan, had become his enemy when Majestros was under the psychic spell of the malevolent Martian Ma'alefa'ak. His only ally in the secret war being waged, and he was dead, obliterated by the Martian in a pique of spite*.


‘Secret war’? He swore under his breath in an alien tongue, knowing full well that the Daemonites were roaming, undetected, across the globe. The HALO array* that might reveal them was lost with Marlowe’s death, so all he could do was bide his time and try and figure out a way forward.


What did he know of his ancient enemies? Barely anything in this new world their war had spilled over into. But-- no, now wasn’t the time. He focused his attention on his current mission.

The Great Pacific garbage patch, located predominantly between 135°W to 155°W and 35°N and 42°N, had caught his attention. Environmental groups in this world made plans, made proposals, tried coming together to clear it, but there were reams of admin and hostility between nations-- who should take responsibility?

The Justice League had said to him that they couldn’t just take it upon themselves to clean up all of humanity’s mistakes, but he was above petty concerns like that, so he took it upon himself to clear the high concentrations of pelagic plastics, chemical sludges and other artificial debris that had been trapped by the currents of the North Pacific Gyre.

With concentrated bursts of his Zoom Vision, he melted the plastic particles into one immense island of dense refuse, and with little effort he folded it in half and half again until it was a manageable size. With one titanic leap he broke through the atmosphere and was in the vacuum of space, and with one hefty throw the refuse was headed toward the sun.

He measured the distance-- there was just under 150 million kilometres between the Earth and the Sun, and he had to calculate the trajectory of his throw so it missed any interplanetary orbits or stray gravitational pulls. By his estimation, the comet he’d created would impact the star by the end of the week.

For a time, Majestros floated there, suspended in the vacuum, no sound but the thump-thump thump-thump of his heart pounding in his chest. No sound but his thoughts. His war had spilled into places new, and the lines were invisibly drawn. If he had time, he might have been able to put his prodigious brain to the task of recreating the HALO array, but alas--

The Guardian’s voice pierced the serenity of the void. His tone was calm and collected, a bit casual considering he was addressing some of the most powerful figures the world-- or universe-- had ever seen. But Majestros listened, and contemplated… {Hello folks, the Justice League requests your presence on Laputa at 0900 hours if that’s all right with you.}

To fight for a world that barely knew he existed… is that what Lord Majestros of the Kherubim was now fated to do? Live for thousands of years, and to live a thousand more, in servitude of a higher calling?

There were worse lives to live-- so he descended-- and made his way to whatever adventure awaited…



Aboard the artificial island headquarters they dubbed Laputa, the Justice League sat assembled around their meeting table to address the events of the last year or so. It had been non-stop, crisis after crisis, month after month of harrowing missions and near-end-of-the-world scenarios, and now? Now, they just wanted to decompress, but that couldn’t happen before they looked back at how far they’d come.

“… I don’t see it as an issue,” Batman said plainly.

Wonder Woman shook her head. “That’s not the point-- if the team feels that--”

“Enough!” The Guardian slammed his fist down on the table, drawing the attention of all gathered. “Thank you and sorry. I’ll say this one final time: In the future, if your plan includes killing a teammate with a mythical weapon that will allow us to bring him back from the dead, just give us a heads up before you nock your bow. We won. No lives lost. In fact, we got one back in the aftermath. How’s your mother, Diana?”

“Adjusting to being alive again,” said Diana. She was quiet for a split-second, hesitant, but then her lips curled into a smile, and her hand found Batman’s. “She’s back. She’s amazing. I didn’t think… I’m jubilant. I’m really, really happy.”

The Guardian clocked Batman’s own smile, but said nothing. He moved on quickly. Even though the ‘chairperson’ role wasn’t entirely necessary anymore, he still led the meetings held on the island. He didn’t mind, nor did he question it. “You had something you wanted to share with the team?”

Wonder Woman was next to Batman, who sat next to Martin Stein and Lorraine Reilly-- collectively known as Firestorm. When their powerset wasn’t required, when they weren’t out in the field, they preferred to stay separate, so now they sat next to Angela Spica, the League’s scientific advisor, who was making notes as she listened to what was being said.

Seated on the curve of the table closest to Hawkman was Majestic, and Big Barda was sat next to her husband, Mister Miracle. Cyborg was opposite the science-minded members, next to Aquaman and Mera.

It was a strong team. A powerful, compact unit that did everything needed of them without external assistance. While others came and went-- the Atom, Blue Beetle and Doctor Light a few months ago* and Green Lantern a few days prior**-- the team endured, and the world had held together every step of the way.


Wonder Woman looked over at Aquaman, who had sat in silence watching the team talk. He’d been a member off-and-on since the team’s inception-- he was a founding member! But duties to his kingdom, and his family, came first. When his brother resurfaced-- no pun intended-- it was in his best interest to be involved, and he’d stayed put ever since. It made a nice change from politics, and as his wife was also present on the team, it meant that they could spend some much-needed time away from the life of royals, and as the adventurers they truly were.

“Arthur?” Diana said, prompting the King of the Seven Seas to clear his throat to speak.

The King of the Seven Seas exhaled, and began to explain. “Yesterday, Diana and I attended a charity gala. The CEO of Aleph Pharmaceuticals, Alejandro Cuetes, died under mysterious circumstances*.”


The Guardian leaned forward. He knew the name and he recognised the company. The stakes had just been raised. The scientific advisor to the team, Angela Spica, furrowed her brow, remembering the name from somewhere but unable to place the exact location. She continued to make notes, trying to make the connection in her head.

Arthur continued. “From all appearances, he experienced a massive stroke. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Diana picked up the thread. “He was always so strong, a brilliant mind, but when we saw him at the event yesterday, he looked like he was wasting away. Like he’d been suffering from a long-term sickness.”

Hawkman bristled. The team had recently discovered that he'd kept a secret from them-- his own cancer had progressed to such a stage that the only thing keeping it in check was the Nth metal armaments he wore*. There were other mysterious sicknesses popping up in their line of work… the mysterious cancer Ronald Raymond, the former host body of Firestorm, suffered from**, for one. Whenever something like this was mentioned, he made sure to inform Harrison Wells at S.T.A.R. Labs… just in case someone was weaponizing a sickness to keep certain players off the board. So far, there’d been no known links between the cases. Still… a third rang alarm bells.


“But you’re thinking foul play?” said Cyborg. He looked over at Angela, who was scribbling something in her notepad furiously. He’d been through his own traumas recently, and was trying to rebuild himself, both mentally and physically. Carrion beasts from myth had torn away all the flesh from his body, leaving just his brain in his metal skull*.


He no longer had a face, and his once-bleeding-edge nanotechnology, designed by his father, struggled to compensate. His face was a metallic mask, far away from the youthful looks of his teenaged years. Angela and he had been in a relationship prior to the life-altering massacre he’d experienced, and they’d been through a rocky road since, but they'd been able to persevere. Still, to see her face twist into the one she was making now, and for him not to be able to ask what was on her mind for fear of breaking her concentration…

Aquaman replied, “That we are. Before his death, he tried passing something to Diana on a napkin. Wine was spilled on it before we could get a good look at it, but I’ve passed it on to Batman for analysis.”

Wonder Woman looked over at the Guardian, who seemed distracted. “James?”

Pulled from his contemplation, the gold-clad avenger decided to share something he’d kept from the team. “Aleph Pharmaceuticals just launched a new cancer treatment package. Someone I know… she’s one of the first to be given it*. The effects so far as positive. She’s coming back to me. Us, I mean.”


He redacted key parts of his experience. He didn’t mention that it was his daughter, Marjorie, in her seventies and riddled with cancer they claimed was incurable*. The new treatment from Aleph made her sick to her very cells, but when the first round was finished, the tests the hospital performed found the cancer’s grasp loosening…


“I’m glad to hear she’s doing well,” said Wonder Woman. If he didn’t feel it relevant to share more, then they wouldn’t push him. They respected him that much. But for someone like her, with an intimate relationship with the truth beyond any that those around her might have, she knew he was holding something back.

She smiled warmly. The Guardian felt his spy senses bristle. Did she know something? Don’t be stupid, he thought, tamping down on that straight away. She was Wonder Woman. She was Diana of Themyscira. She simply cared more than anybody he’d ever met. He was just an old soldier, and the cynicism that came with that was hard to shake.

“That’s it!” said Spica, clicking her fingers suddenly.

“Something to add, Angela?” asked the Guardian.

She nodded enthusiastically. “Cuetes was one of my father’s old lab partners. They worked together on early nanotechnology, before Alejandro branched off into medicine and my dad went off the deep end. Man, that would have irritated me if I didn’t remember…”

“They worked together?” repeated the Guardian.

“Yeah, why?” asked Angela.

“I… met the man, a few weeks ago* to discuss a private matter. He gave no indication he knew your father. In fact… he insinuated he’d never heard of him.”


“You met the victim. That’s interesting,” said Batman.

“Yeah, and the managing director, Swain. Odd bunch, but I didn’t… it didn’t set off any alarms,” said the Guardian. Maybe it should have, he thought. But he had an ulterior motive for going, for securing their services. He began to grow concerned, a dark fog falling on his thought processes. Maybe he’d compromised himself, and by extension, the Justice League.

“We’ll discuss this in further detail soon. But going back to Angela’s input…” Batman latticed his fingers together, considering this new piece of information. “Perhaps this should be passed to you.”

He tapped something into the pad in front of him, and a holographic representation of the napkin Aquaman had taken from Cuetes before his death formed in front of Spica. She fumbled with her glasses and held them up to her eyes, taking in the crudely sketched design that had been soaked with what appeared to be merlot.

“Care to share with the group, Batman?” said Hawkman.

“Aleph’s new CEO, Malik Swain, went private with Cuetes’ autopsy. Results came back to say he died from Atherosclerosis leading to a major stroke. The coroner signed on this assessment and it’s not being looked into as suspicious. He said his body was a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off.”

Mister Miracle nodded, following so far. “But you are suspicious?”

“We all are,” said Aquaman.

“Now, Cuetes’ family has had a history of stroke-related deaths, but there’s no way to verify that claim. While the digital records state that fact, there aren’t any paper records to check this, and no living doctor that treated the family to corroborate. This could be a coincidence, or it could be a cover-up.”

Martin Stein, the brains behind the Firestorm transformation, began to clean his glasses. “That doesn’t sound like suspicion, Batman. That sounds like paranoia.”

“You didn’t see the man’s face before he died,” said Wonder Woman.

Stein held up a hand. “I understand that, I’m simply playing devil’s advocate. Perhaps the man died from a massive stroke. And there’s nothing more to it.”

Hawkman considered that. “That’s never the case when it comes to our line of work though, is it?”

The Guardian bristled. He’d been alone in a room with Cuetes and Swain, and had been so focused on his reason for being there-- to procure the treatment that would cure his daughter of her previously untreatable cancer-- that perhaps he’d ignored the war computer in his brain and any warnings it signalled.

Meanwhile, Stein cast a glance at Lorraine, who returned a meaningful look, and then replaced his glasses. He gestured toward Angie. “I apologise, I’m out of practice. Please, continue.”

“That’s the basic shape of a schematic for a nanite control circuit,” said Angie, pointing her finger at the holographic projection in front of her. She typed something into the pad in front of her, and the wine-washed out lines of the hastily scribbled napkin tightened. The red wine stains vanished and within a matter of seconds, the circuit drawing was a stone-cold blueprint. “But all… all his work was lost… this is one of my father’s cutting-edge designs. How did Cuetes get a hold of it?”

Stein offered an answer. “When they shared a lab, perhaps?”

“Not possible. Back then, it wasn’t… he wasn’t where this is. This is new. Like… a generation beyond what my dad was using before he got taken down. This isn’t possible.”

“Maybe Cuetes was able to--” started Stein.

Angela shook her head. “No, but you don’t understand. My father erased all his work when he became the Engineer*. Every book or paper he had a hand in, every piece of information uploaded to the internet or downloaded to a computer, he just… it’s all gone. We all had to start from scratch. This should be impossible.”

Batman had stayed silent throughout the exchange, intent to watch Angela’s response to his initial query. Now it was his time to pose a question. “We deal with the impossible every day. What’s the implication?”

“My father never stopped working. That’s the implication. But his cell is supposed to be technology-free, away from anything that might allow him to reconstitute his work. We need… is he… is he still locked up?”

Cyborg’s eyes went blue, then red again. “According to the Slab’s live datastream, he’s still locked up tight, but he has an appointment with his attorney this afternoon. They’re currently in holding, awaiting his transfer into a secure area.”

“We can’t let that happen,” said Angie.

“I’ll contact Shilo. He’s the warden, he can pull rank in there,” said Mister Miracle.

“And then I want to check; I want to see, I need to make sure it’s him, and he has nothing to do with this,” she replied.

“You will, don’t worry, Angie,” said Batman.

The Guardian rapped his fingers on the meeting table, then pointed the discourse in another meaningful direction. “I have something else that might pique our collective interest. You all remember Pathfinder?”

Barda spoke up. “That was the name of the source who pointed us in the direction of the Apokoliptian weapons cache*.”


“And led us to my sister Zenobia after she was assaulted by Devastation last month*,” added Wonder Woman.


The Guardian gave a nod in the affirmative. “And before he left, Green Lantern informed me that someone going by that name slipped one of his fellow Corpsmen some intel about a series of murders on the West Coast*. So, yeah; all his intel has led to us doing some good. Well, guess who managed to dead drop another lead for our attention?”

A projection of a note appeared in holographic form above the meeting table. “The note includes a date and time stamp, a location and the usual sign off, along with a very interesting word that rang all the bells in my head.”

“What is ‘Neverland’?” asked Majestic, reading the word that was underlined on the note.

“It’s a shadow operatives wet dream because nobody knows for damn sure,” said the Guardian.

“Dreamland is the codename for Area 51, where they store all the alien tech that falls out the sky,” said Cyborg. His attention was split between following the second part of the meeting, and noticing how fraught Angie now looked.

The Guardian, also noticing Angie’s concern, began to talk faster, wanting to wrap up the meeting sooner rather than later. “Before they distribute it for study across the country, yes, but Neverland is supposed to be something else entirely; a place the worst technology in the country goes so it can’t be used for evil. No one knows what it is or where to find it, just that it holds some dangerous stuff.”

“And Pathfinder suggests this is where we can find it?”

“Correct,” said the Guardian.

“To what end? Take it off the streets? Like we did the Silver Swans.” asked Barda.

“We’ll soon find out. But I have a different kind of proposal today. I want to split the teams in three. The first team goes to the coordinates. If Neverland is there, I want it-- like Barda says-- off the streets. Team two investigates the identity of Pathfinder. I want to know who this guy is, along with whatever his agenda is.”

“His, or hers,” said Lorraine.

“Right.”

“And the third?” asked Cyborg.

“Follow up the Cuetes case. First stop, the Slab. We pay a visit to Angelo Spica, aka the Engineer.”

“I volunteer,” said Angie, raising her hand.

“I think that’s fair,” said Wonder Woman.

“I’ll take the lead on the investigation into Pathfinder’s identity. Aquaman, Aquawoman, Hawkman-- would you care to join me?” asked Batman.

“Brains, brawn and political ties,” noted Mera. “A heady mix. I’ll try not to drown in the testosterone.”

“‘Brawn’? I’ll try not to take offence,” said Hawkman. “You forget, one of my duties in the Hawk Knights was policing. Just because I carry this,” he held up his mace, “doesn’t mean I’m not a detective as well.”

Mera held out a hand and manifested an array of hard-water spikes in her palm. “Who said I was referring to you, Katar?”

Hawkman leaned back in his chair. “I stand corrected. My apologies.”

Wonder Woman stood. “I’ll handle Neverland. If it has ties to the Silver Swan case, I’d like Barda and Majestic with me.”

The Guardian stood and looked around the table. “The rest of us will follow up with the Engineer. If he could somehow get intel out of the Slab, I want the New God of Escape there. Living computer and walking CSI lab makes a good combination as well,” he said, looking from Mister Miracle to Cyborg and the Firestorm duo. “And Angie, if you’re confident you can handle this…”

“I’m confident, Jim. Let’s go,” she responded, sharply.


“This is outrageous. You do realise that this is giving my firm fuel for one hell of a lawsuit?” said Ray Gauss.

He had been an attorney at Sterling & Harris for five years now, and was beginning to get the interesting cases. Serving as defence attorney to Professor Angelo Spica, a great man he felt had been driven mad by his own work, was gratifying, and made a change from the boring corporate work the rest of the firm was getting dragged into.

His client was polite and understanding, whip-smart and well aware that due to the severity of his crimes he would never be allowed to leave prison, but that’s not what these conversations were about. Spica’s nanotechnology had been drained from his body so now he was as normal as the next baseline human prisoner. The conditions he was being kept in, away from any kind of technology that he might be able to interface with, was barbaric. He'd been the Engineer once, but now he was a meek former professor, and all he wanted to do was pass the time on his concurrent life sentences in relative peace.

“Mister Gauss, we can only apologise, but this directive has come from the warden,” said Officer Bukowski, raising his hands to try and calm the lawyer down. “We’re to escort you back to the waiting area, and when the Justice League arrive and clear the situation up, you can speak to your client alone.”

They were in an interview room; on one side was a table for the visitors, chairs, a small desk lamp. Across on the other side was a ten-inch thick plastic wall that, if you pulled the plaster and concrete away from the edges, would have been revealed to be a cube. There was a single seat, and a single prisoner, sitting inside. He was sat patiently, waiting for his time with his lawyer. The plastic was a next-generation design, something that allowed any vibrations inside to be amplified so the ‘null zone’, as it was called, didn’t prevent communication. One of Shilo Norman’s many inventions, designed for performance but co-opted to keep those in the Slab safe and sound.

Angelo sneezed.

“Bless you,” said Gauss, glancing over his shoulder.

“Thank you,” said Angelo, quietly.

“Please, Mister Gauss, this way--” Bukowski motioned toward the door, and then yelped as he felt something bite his ear. “Jeez!” He clamped his hand down sharply on the pained area, and his brow furrowed as he looked at his lowered palm. There was no sign of blood. “Ow. Weird.”

“Are you all right?” asked Gauss.

“Yeah, sorry, some kinda insect.”

“Then listen to me. This is a gross violation of my client’s civil rights. If you don’t let me speak to him in private, then the lawsuit you and this prison will be subject to--”

“Okay, fine, fine. The Justice League are on their way. Talk to your client. Warden Norman will understand. Not like he can escape, considering the precautions in place.” He rubbed his ear, obviously in pain. “Stupid bugs…”

“Well-- oh. Thank you, officer. Thank you,” said Gauss. He’d been flustered, but as the prison official left, he managed to collect himself. He placed his attaché case on the table in front of him and opened it up, a number of papers inside that he had to run past his client.

“He must have had a change of heart,” mused Angelo.

“Smart man, that’s all. So, you wanted to go through the motions to--”

“How do you feel since we last spoke, Ray?”

“Me? Um, I’m fine. How have you been? Is there anything you want to report to me that might strengthen our-- your-- case?”

“I’m not one to brag, but I’ve had a breakthrough.”

“Oh, yes?”

Angelo stood, hands behind his back, and approached the plastic wall separating the two of them.

“Oh, yes,” he said, smiling


A second ago the trio were aboard Laputa, and then the next they’d stepped through a portal into the mountainous region that Pathfinder’s instructions had stated. Between them, Big Barda, Majestic and Wonder Woman had enough power to crack the world in half, and with the abilities they held they could travel the world under their own steam in wonderous ways-- flight, Boom Tube or invisible aeronautics.

Instead of doing so, they utilised the Door technology that the Guardian had introduced to the mix when he joined the team. It allowed for instantaneous travel from one point to another via glistening orange portals that manifested with a word-- Door. No one had asked how it worked, but Angela

“That air…” murmured Majestic, breathing in deeply.

“I always forget that there is such serenity out there in the world, away from Themyscira,” said Wonder Woman.

Big Barda trudged forward, her heavy boots crushing stray twigs and moss underfoot. “What are we looking for?”

“An impossible place full of impossible things. We should be right on top of the location that Pathfinder provided,” said Diana. “How strange. We’ve been displaced from that location by twenty kilometres.”

“Door”, said Barda, focusing on the coordinates they’d been provided. She stepped into the portal that formed and then appeared next to where she’d vanished.

“Something’s playing havoc with the targeting,” noted Barda.

“I can see the cause-- some kind of energy field hanging heavy in the air-- coming from… over there,” Majestic pointed toward the east. “There’s some kind of visual distortion in that valley too. Cloak and dagger.”

Barda and Diana couldn’t see what Majestros could, but they had no reason to doubt him. “How far?” asked the New God.

“Thirty kilometres,” noted Majestic.

“Makes sense. Then we walk,” said Wonder Woman, unspooling her lasso from her side. “They probably know we’re on our way anyway.”


Due to the security measures in place at Slabside Penitentiary, the Justice League couldn’t simply appear in the halls of the prison. Instead, they arrived in the parking lot out back and had to walk the rest of the way.

Thankfully, they were expected, or the energy-disruptor cannons used to keep the place safe would have been levelled at them, but the guards simply opened the rear doors to the institute and let them inside.

Shilo Norman, former assistant to the first Mister Miracle, Thaddeus Brown and then later the second, Scott Free, welcomed them to the place he’d revolutionised, flanked by a squad of his guards. Using his labyrinthine intellect that the Miracles had utilised for the stellar deathtraps they required for their touring show, Shilo had created technological marvels that kept the prisoners in the Slab locked down.

“Hello, boys and girls! Welcome once again to the stupefying sights of the Slab,” said Shilo, punctuating his welcome with a bow. He winked as he straightened up, “Please tip your waiter.”

“If you showed that much enthusiasm when we were on the road, we’d have a residency in Las Vegas by now,” said Mister Miracle, embracing his old friend. “How have you been?”

“Me? Fine, fine. But I know you’re not here for a social call. I’ve got the Engineer in holding. We’re having to keep his lawyer in--” His attention turned to one of the prison officers who wandered into his line of sight. “Bukowski? What are you doing up here? I thought you were keeping Mr Gauss entertained?”

Officer Bukowski looked at his boss and then shook his head. He was pale, sweating profusely, and had a dazed look across his face. “Dunno, warden. Dunno… just… don’t feel very well…”

Cyborg stepped forward and raised his hand, his limb changing configuration to resemble a finned scanning device. “His internal temperature is skyrocketing. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Firestorm nodded in agreement. “I can sense something-- odd-- happening-- some kind of transm--”

Bukowski cried out as his body erupted, a fine mist of darkness exploding out toward all comers.

Firestorm erected a shield of aluminium oxynitride-- transparent aluminium-- between the Justice League and the eruption, but didn’t generate it in time to prevent those standing behind Bukowski from being exposed. They cried out as they inhaled the mist, and then their bodies underwent a horrible transformation-- their skin fell off in chunks to reveal a black carapace underneath, something horrible and insectile-- their fingers grew to become talons-- and their faces melted into featureless, terrifying masks.

There was a half dozen of them, then a dozen-- and they were clawing at the partition separating them from the Justice League. Eight-feet tall each, every inch of their bodies transmuted ink-black and as solid as steel, every inch of their elongated limbs covered in sabre-sharp blades!

“Black Razors,” whispered the Guardian.

“What?!” asked Firestorm.

He didn’t elaborate, instead he surged forward, shield raised, and prepared for a fight as the creatures’ claws tore through the aluminium like it was nothing-- “Shut them down!”


“…Let me know what you find,” said Batman, finger to his ear.

“Am I interrupting something?” asked Aquaman.

The Dark Knight had been alone in the meeting room of Laputa, while the trio who he’d asked to join him on this assignment were in the monitor womb. The King of the Seven Seas broke the quiet reverie the former had been existing within.

“Sorry, no. I’ve asked Robin to do some background work on the Engineer’s case, while the others deal with the present concerns.”

“We have something you might find interesting.”

Batman followed Aquaman into the monitor womb, where every wall was lined with monitors piping in feeds from across the globe and some beyond. Aquawoman turned at their arrival, but Hawkman didn’t pay them any heed.

“What have you found?” asked Batman.

Hawkman motioned toward the monitors, and the feeds coalesced so every monitor displayed the same scene. “This is the dead drop the last piece of intelligence was left at.”

The feed showed the interior of a bus depot, where rows upon rows of lockers were situated. Katar indicated where they should be watching, and then fast forwarded the footage. People walked past, people walked past, there was an awkward blip in the footage, then people walked past, people walked past, and then James Harper arrived and opened the locker to pull out a note. He vanished into a Door, and the time signature fell in line with when the meeting had been called.

“There was a cut in there. Something’s missing,” noted Batman.

“Yes. But that’s not all,” said Hawkman.

“It’s good,” noted Aquawoman, as Katar lined up the footage.

“This is live,” he said.

The lockers were now covered in graffiti-- large numbers denoting some sort of location. The numbers faded the further away from the dead drop they went, and depot security were hitching their hats up and looking bamboozled. They were as confused by this as the Justice League.

Batman leaned forward. “When did they appear?”

“When we started reviewing the footage. Five minutes ago. Door.”

“Someone’s monitoring the networked camera feeds then. Someone who knew we’d hacked in to check them out,” said Aquaman. “They wanted us to see these numbers.”

He turned to Batman, but the Caped Crusader was already gone. A door portal snapped shut where he’d been standing, and when the trio left in Laputa looked at the camera footage, they saw Batman appear from nowhere in front of the security guards. He loomed over the numbers and did something, then looked behind him, at the bank of lockers behind him.

“What’s he doing?” asked Mera.

Hawkman nodded in understanding. “Taking a sample. While he does that, let’s run the coordinates, see where we’re being told to go now.”

Batman appeared back in the monitor womb holding up a vial of paint scratchings. “The paint contained some sort of thermal barrier coating. And the locker facing the dead drop contained a directional heat lamp. Still warm. When triggered--”

“It revealed the message. That’s quite smart,” said Mera.

Batman couldn’t help but agree. “Whoever was monitoring the security system, they had something else they wanted us to see.”

Hawkman came back with an answer. “It’s an abandoned building overlooking Sarajevo, on Mount Trebević. ‘Čolina Kapa Astronomical Observatory’.”

Batman nodded, remembering the name from the history lessons given by Alfred back in his youth. “It’s a military fortress they converted into an astronomical observatory after the Second World War. Long abandoned now.”

“And there was nothing else in the message left on the lockers?” pondered Mera.

“Nothing but the coordinates, no,” said Hawkman.

“Talk it out,” said Batman.

“Usually Pathfinder gives us coordinates and a reason to go there. This breaks the pattern. Seems kind of desperate. ”

Hawkman agreed. “Because we’re onto him.”

“Or her,” added Mera. “But we’ve never been led astray before, from what we’ve seen?”

“But by the nose, which could be construed as worse, my love,” said Aquaman.

Mera considered it. She couldn’t disagree. “So, we go to Bosnia. We see what Pathfinder is leading us towards. And then we double down on figuring out once and for all who he-- or she-- really is.”

“Let’s get to it,” said Hawkman. “Door.”

If they’d continued viewing the live feed streaming from the bus depot instead of transporting to Bosnia, they’d have noticed a man walk into view and look directly at the camera. Except, you’d have to assume he was looking, as his head was an obscured blur of white light. But alas, the Justice League had already moved on, headed to Sarajevo…


As the sounds of battle raged overhead, Angelo Spica approached the thick dividing wall keeping him from his lawyer and smiled. “I hope the Justice League are all right.”

“The Justice League? What about us?” asked Ray, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

“I’ll be fine,” said Angelo.

“You’ll--?”

“Yes, the containment cell is quite secure. Designed to prevent escapes. No access to technology for me to take advantage of, if I had the capability to do so. You remember the brief, do you not, councillor?”

“You, uh, mentioned a breakthrough, Angelo?”

Spica’s eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! It’s difficult to get any work done when you’re not allowed access to a proper lab, but I always find a way to keep my research going. See, I’m not one to brag but I am very, very smart. So smart, in fact, that I created a type of nanomachine that perfectly mimics whatever matter it’s programmed to mimic.”

Ray was baffled. How could he have done anything considering the circumstances of his imprisonment?

“Yes, quite sophisticated, these little machines are. Think of them as artificial stem cells, capable of fitting into whatever gap they’re needed in and growing to fill it.”

“Angelo, as your lawyer, I must--”

“Hush, now,” interjected Angelo.

And Ray did, words failing to emerge from his mouth, even though he knew exactly what he wanted to say.

“Imagine if a batch of these nanites were programmed to replicate a specific type of biomatter. And then someone was infected with them. The way I’ve designed them, a secondary subroutine could be introduced to, say, devour any delineated biomatter they touch to fuel the process and duplicate themselves to replace whatever they eat. You could duplicate electrical impulse, memory, autonomic function, you could kill a man and he could keep walking around for months and months. And you could also hide one of the nanites in your own brain, using it as a micro-computer powered by the electrical impulses of the brain. I never stopped working. I kept building. You thought I was content to sit in my cell, sitting on my thumbs? Think again. Come home, children.”

Ray froze in place, his skin immediately taking on a dim, grey tone. He didn’t blink and he didn’t breathe, instead he exploded in a swarming, spinning tornado of sparkling mites of what could have been dust, but were clearly nanomachines due to the context of the one-sided conversation.

The nanites shot forward, past all the security measures designed to isolate Angelo Spica. They tunnelled through the wall that kept Spica isolated-- massive cracks formed across the gaps that were immediately filled with more nanites, devouring the compounds that made up the sheet of transparent metal until Spica was reunited with the nanomachines that fuelled his devastating powerset-- they inserted themselves into his body, hooked up with the nanites hidden inside his head, and began to configure across his body so that he was nigh instantaneously covered in a suit of emerald armour that almost looked liquid under close inspection.

“It’s time to move on from here. My research requires further human testing.”

He felt connections to systems far from here, and began the process of activating them. His lab needed to be ready for his arrival, and his plans required immense amounts of energy. They also required the appropriate security, so he began the defrosting process on two containment tubes deep in his lab, many leagues away from here.

With a glance he looked up at the security camera that had recorded everything that had occurred in the holding area, and then he smiled, because it was all too late.

The Engineer was back. And he was better than ever. Humanity would soon learn that for themselves!


“No security guards on patrol, no automated systems… this is almost too easy,” mused Barda, as they entered an immense clearing in the middle of nowhere. “I shouldn’t say things like that. Wouldn’t want to jinx us.”

“Can you see that?” asked Majestic, gesturing ahead of them.

“No, what is it?” asked Wonder Woman.

“The energy field is originating from this location. I can see two versions of the valley. I can focus, find the projector, disable it?”

“Perhaps I have a more elegant solution,” offered Diana, as she passed a length of her lasso to Barda and Majestros, and when she could feel it become taut with their grip, she whispered, “Show us the truth.”

Slowly but surely, their vision began to cloud then cleared, until it was rimmed with golden light. As they looked out across the valley, the world that was melted away, revealing an immense vehicle that resembled a cargo freight train. It was armoured, there were no visible windows, but at the back of the train was a solid-looking door. Beneath it, there were thick rails that ran back behind them and out of sight, as well as in the other direction ahead of them. The rails were sleek and black, unlike any kind of network any of the assembled heroes had seen in their time.

“How could I have lived the life I have lived and not know that such a thing as this existed?” Diana asked aloud.

Big Barda rubbed the bridge of her nose and squinted. “I’m having trouble focusing on the rails… as if there’s some kind of perception filter on them. Like they don’t want to be seen.”

“But Pathfinder’s intelligence is correct,” said Majestic.

“When has it not been?” asked Barda.

Diana considered the question, but couldn’t disagree. “I hope the others are safe, then.”

The trio approached the rear of the train, where the sole entrance to the vehicle resided.

“What’s that?” asked Barda, pointing at the moonlight glint that caught their eyes.

On the black door on the black train on the black rails riding into the black night, a silver placard: ‘We giue and graunt to our trusties to discover, search, finde out, and view such remote, heathen and barbarous lands, countries, and territories, not actually possessed of any Christian Prince, nor inhabited by Christian People.’

“What does that mean?” asked Majestic.

“I don’t know…” murmured Wonder Woman.

The Kheran warlord floated toward the rear of the train, and pressed his hand against the door. He closed his eyes and then with a flash of his eyes, obliterated the locking mechanism that kept it shut. With the door open, he gestured inside. “Shall we?”


Firestorm transformed the oxygen around the heads of two of the monsters into halogenated ether, hoping it would knock them out, but they didn’t seem to be effected by the knockout gas! They pounded forward on all fours, human-sized devil dogs, and leapt forward. Cyborg shoved Firestorm out of the way at the last second and raised his white-noise cannon arm, causing a handful of the creatures to reel back in agony.

“Thanks, Vic,” said Firestorm, transmuting the floor beneath the suffering creatures into a liquid that absorbed them down, before transforming it back into indestructible promethium.

“Anytime, flamehead,” replied Cyborg, pressing their advantage.

Escorted by a cadre of unaffected guards, Shilo Norman and Angela Spica rushed into a secure area of the prison, relying on the Justice League to buy them time.

“What did Guardian say when those things appeared?” asked Norman.

“Black Razors! They were killing machines designed by the boss of Stormwatch. He transformed some of his elite soldiers into them against their will, but the team took them down!*”


“Can-- is there anyway to turn them back?” asked Norman.

“Ugh, I’m an idiot!” said Angela, skidding to a stop.

“You can be an idiot once we’re behind a forcefield, Ms Spica!”

She shook her head and began to back-pedal in the direction they’d just come. “I can help!”

Norman sighed and slumped his shoulders, before turning to his men. “Get to the secure unit! Make sure no one takes advantage of the chaos! I’m going back with her!”

“You sure, sir?” asked one of the officers.

“Nope!” shouted Norman, chasing after Angela as she rushed back toward the commotion.

{Vic, I know you’re busy, but I need you to connect with my bracelet!} said Angela, over the nanotelepathic link the Justice League shared.

Angela’s bracelet allowed her to control the brain chemistry regulating nanites in her own body, the ones that prevented her crippling depression from overriding every other impulse in her head. It had saved the day once, months ago*, but that was the extent of it-- she could regulate her feelings-- and she’d nearly considered turning off her sadness a few weeks back due to the rocky place she found herself in with her boyfriend, Victor Stone**, but had thought better of it.


{What am I looking for, love?} he asked.

Angela explained quickly, and turned a corner to see the Black Razors nearly overwhelming the team. Mister Miracle dodged one, caught its head in his cape and then ran up a wall using the act to gain purchase, but another barrelled into him, knocking the escape artist to the floor. The Guardian rolled back, shoved his shield at the creature, but was pounced on by another two. Firestorm was overwhelmed, trying to transmute the relevant patches of the floor into something that could contain their attackers, but there were too many--

Cyborg raised his hand as it transformed into a transmitter, and with it linked to Angela’s bracelet, he sent out a signal--

“Stop!” ordered Angela, and the Black Razors did as they were told. “Transform back!”

The creatures shrieked, but they couldn’t resist-- whatever control she exerted over them, they were folding back in on themselves, the prison guards’ bodies rejecting the nanites that had controlled them moments before. A dozen or so men and women were suddenly human once more, naked and writhing on the ground.

“Wow,” murmured Norman.

Angela nearly doubled over, her knees going week. “Wowwww” she slurred, before Cyborg caught her.

“What did she do?” asked Norman.

“She’s one smart cookie-- she used me to hack into the control systems used to transform them. But the bracelet is powered by her biological processes, so it’s burned through her energy reserves. Got any chocolate lying around?”

“Wouldn’t have worked if he was still on site though…” said Angela.

“What do you mean?” asked Cyborg.

“My dad. He’s escaped. Must’ve. Must’ve used this as a distraction. He’s out, and he can turn people into monsters… this… this isn’t good…”


“See anything?” Batman asked, a pair of binoculars covered his own eyes.

“Nothing,” replied Hawkman. His naturally enhanced eyesight didn’t require any additional equipment, just a solid squint in the general direction he wanted a closer look at.

“Satellite take tells us there’s no movement on the ground, but there’s a massive heat signature under the observatory,” said Aquaman, looking back at the others.

“Let’s move in,” said Batman. {Quick and quiet.}

The foursome headed toward the observatory, but found nothing in the interior. There were gaping chunks of the roof missing, allowing moonlight in to guide their way. Batman checked for surveillance equipment, but his search wasn’t fruitful.

{What’s that?} asked Mera.

There was a new-looking trapdoor in one of the corners of the main telescope room. Next to it was a small electronic panel, with alien characters on the visible display.

{Some kind of locking mechanism?} offered Aquaman.

{It’s Rannian,} noted Hawkman. {But these characters… the operating system appears to utilise a derivative Coluan base code.}

{Who’d use something like that?} asked Mera.

{No idea, but I have something that can get us in.}

Hawkman unbuckled one of the pouches on his belt and pulled out a small device. He unclipped two nodules at the top and attached the two newly revealed wires into the Ranninan lock, and then pressed a button on his device. A few seconds later and the lock buzzed and opened, and the Justice League had their way inside.

Hawkman went first, his wings folding into the compartment on his back, and he found that they’d gone from one door to another. He recognised the Rannian markings on the wall, and attached his lock pick to the panel next to the nearest hatch. A second later it opened, and the team joined him inside a series of winding corridors.

{Well, this is weird,} mused Aquaman.

The underground tunnels were lined with metal, as if they’d left one world and entered another. Mera pressed her hand against the cold surface and her nose scrunched up. {There are cooling systems lining these bulkheads.}

{Bulkheads?} repeated Aquaman.

Hawkman considered their situation. {This is a ship. A Rannian cargo vessel. That wasn’t a trapdoor, it was an airlock. Someone’s buried a spaceship here.}

{Who would do something like that?} asked Mera.

{Despero. Kanjar Ro. Starro. Overmaster. We’ve faced off against quite a few alien threats.}

{I’ve been on my fair share of Rannian vessels. This way, to the bridge,} said Hawkman.

The group moved slowly, Hawkman pointing out surveillance equipment that might have picked them up, and timing their movements so they weren’t detected. They soon made their way to the bridge of the ship, where they could hear a screeching-voiced man talking in an alien language.

{What’s he saying?} asked Batman.

Hawkman listened intently. {It’s pidgin Interlac. He’s talking to his client-- saying he went to great lengths to get this latest shipment. Risked his neck a hell of a lot. Traversed multiple variables… oh. I know who this is. This won’t take us long at all.}

Hawkman made sure his mace was secure in his hand and then nodded at the others. They entered the bridge and Mera spun the captain’s chair around, latching the man sat on it securely in place with hard-water chains.

“Whaaaaat? No, not you! Not you sprockers!”

“Xotar, the self-declared ‘Weapons Master’. Didn’t you get the picture last time we took you down*? Earth is off limits,” said Hawkman.


The diminutive Xotar seethed in his restraints, his aged, bulbous head bobbing backwards and forwards as he strained to escape. He wore a purple bodysuit and a head cap that did little to make his foreboding forehead look any smaller. “How did you find me? The client said I’d have protection!”

“I think it’s time we met your client, Xotar. Tell us, who are you working for?” said Batman.

“You think I’m sc-scared of the likes of you? I’ve seen what they’re capable of! I’ve seen what they’re building toward! And-- and-- grife-- they’ll kill me if I told you!”

“I can think of worse things than dying,” said Batman, looming over the alien villain.

“You really can’t, not the way they do it!”

Xotar laughed, and pressed a button on his sleeve with his long, agile fingers. The team were taken aback by a sudden shrieking sound, and the sound of metal on metal.

“What did you do, you little bastard?” asked Aquaman.

“I just activated the pièce de résistance of my latest haul,” said the Weapons Master, grinning. “The crown jewel! Jewels, more accurately!”

Smoke began to flow into the bridge, and the sound of heavy footsteps intensified.

“What is it?” growled Mera. “What have you done?”

Silently, Amazo smiled as he came into view, the smoke rolling off his plastic, pristine, inhuman muscles. Behind him stood another Amazo. Then another. And another. Seven. A whole league of Amazos. All with the combined powers of the Justice League.

Against Aquaman, Aquawoman, Batman and Hawkman.

“Oh, crap,” whispered the King of the Seven Seas.


Majestic led the way, his larger, invulnerable frame acting as an inhuman shield just in case there were black hats further down the carriages. So far, each compartment had held wooden crates packed on top of each other, and the trio had yet to look inside any. They wanted to speak to someone, to find out what they were doing here. ‘Neverland’ was supposed to be top secret and contain dangerous artefacts… but did that secrecy extend to not employing anyone to actually watch them?

{I can hear a singular heartbeat,} said Majestic.

{How far away?} asked Barda.

He closed his eyes and listened intently. {…The next carriage.}

{We don’t know what we’re walking into; Majestic, take the rear, allow me to go first,} said Diana.

Majestros turned, his brow furrowed. {Why?}

{In case this is an ambush and we’re being penned in-- I’d like our rear guard to be the strongest of us; no offense, Barda. And if this isn’t an ambush, I’d prefer to extend a hand in peace rather than raise a fist in anger in the first instance.}

{…Understood,} said Majestic, floating behind Barda.

Before Wonder Woman entered the next compartment, she noticed a clipboard hanging next to the door. She lifted it off its hook silently and looked through the names and the dates listed under the title, ‘Tenured Academics’.

“I know some of these names…” she said.

“Hello? Is there… is there somebody out there?”

Diana looked up in surprise at the woman’s voice. She checked the list again, found the latest name and date, and said aloud, “Lyla? Lyla Michaels?”

“Uh, yeah, in here.”

Barda looked at Diana, but the latter shrugged and entered the next carriage. The trio were surprised to find it furnished like an academic’s study. The walls were filled with books, and there was an oak desk at the end of the carriage, though the space itself looked like it was smaller than the rest of the compartments they’d travelled through so far. Sat behind the desk was a woman, who was surprised by their arrival. She’d been combing through a book, a sharpened pencil twirling between her fingers, but the shock of seeing the Justice League caused her to drop it.

“Wait-- what are you doing in here?” Lyla asked, scrambling to her feet.

“My name is Diana-- our group were informed that this place would be here, and that there might be--”

Lyla shook her head. “You’re Wonder Woman-- I know who you are. Big Barda. And… Majestic, is it? I don’t understand-- this place is supposed to be a secret-- no one should know we’re here--!”

“Tell us, what is this place?” asked Majestic.

“Whoa, whoa, big boy, take it down a notch; you’re not supposed to be here, you don’t get to ask questions like that of me,” she said, finding some bravery in herself.

Diana held up her open hands. “We mean no offense, but our source informed us that this place was dangerous, and we had to investigate to be sure. What are you doing here? What’s your name?”

Lyla looked Diana up and down, taking her in. Measuring her. She bit her bottom lip and then shrugged. “You, uh, you know my name. I’m the tenured academic, bought in to study the artefacts under our protection. The train travels across the country because we have to keep it in motion, so no one finds it…”

Now Barda’s interest was piqued. “‘It’?”

“Listen to me, no one was supposed to ever find out about the train. We ride the secret railroad, built to last until the end of time. We refuel once a decade. The train is automated. When I’m not onboard, another academic will be. The artefacts here… the history… it’s the story of America. The secret story. Centuries of history that no one can know about. But the… the sphere… the emissions have become increasingly more powerful. If you’re here… maybe it’s meant to be… and as the academic-in-station, I can… I can let you see it.”

“I don’t understand any of this, but if there’s any way we can help, we will,” said Diana.

Lyla laughed. “How old is this nation? How long has the train been going? I don’t know if you can help, but I can let you see it.”

She approached the wall behind her desk and found a secret panel. She typed in a code-- Majestic saw the sequence of numbers by looking through her-- and then the entire wall slid away, revealing an industrial-looking containment area. What drew the trio’s eyes was the thing in the centre of the bolted steel chamber-- suspended on thick metal wires, reflecting their faces back at them, was a translucent sphere.

“What is…?” murmured Barda.

“I know what this is,” whispered Majestic, his distorted reflection looking back at him from the surface of the sphere.

Lyla was taken aback. “You do? It’s the biggest mystery the train carries… and you know what it is?”

Diana reached her hand out to Majestic, and squeezed his shoulder, trying to draw his attention back to them. “…Majestros?”

His trembling fingers moved toward the sphere, and his expression was an unreadable mixture of fear and trepidation. “It’s a Kheran tesseract bunker. A bubble reality. My people… any survivors… they could be inside!” He spun around and looked Diana in the eye. “Don’t you see? I’m not alone anymore!”


NEXT ISSUE: Majestic finally learns the truth about the survival of the Kherubim! Batman and his compatriots face off against the world shaking threat of Amazo(s)! And the Engineer’s diabolical scheme begins in earnest! You want to miss a moment as we approach our historic seventy-fifth issue!