Post by HoM on May 16, 2016 5:08:40 GMT -5
Previously, in GREEN LANTERN CORPS…
At his lowest ebb, HANK HENSHAW’s power ring abandoned him, expelling the troubled Green Lantern from the Corps.
The former Green Lantern has been through it all since his induction into the Corps. Stepping up to the plate when HAL JORDAN was unable to answer the call. Soon after, he was viciously murdered by the intergalactic despot MONGUL. Eventually resurrected and used as a puppet by the malicious entity known as the PREDATOR, HENSHAW was then imprisoned beneath Oa by the GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE, before redeeming himself during the RED LANTERN CORPS invasion of the Corps’ home world.
After a confrontation with LEX LUTHOR and HANK'S long-thought-dead wife, TERRI, that he doesn’t remember in full, HENSHAW’s ring left him when his will was at an all-time low.
JOHN STEWART knew a place where his friend could get better, and since then, HENSHAW hasn’t been seen...
Meanwhile, GUY GARDNER and JOHN are on the hunt for BLACK HAND, who is roaming America searching for HAL JORDAN, who is currently hidden from their rings.
In addition, KYLE RAYNER has been removed from the memories of nearly everybody who knew him, and SINESTRO wants to get to the bottom of the mystery!
Back on Oa, a colony of Daxamites who were placed in the Phantom Zone after their exposure to lead by the mad Kryptonian XA-DU are about to have a mysterious cure tested on them so they can be freed from their exile. Will it be successful? SODAM YAT obviously hopes so!
Welcome back to the ongoing adventures of the GREEN LANTERN CORPS!
Hank Henshaw thought he had grown used to the nightmares, but every night he surprised himself by just how much he wasn't. Be it the vertigo of the looming, haunted dreamscapes, the catastrophic horrors he was forced to witness again and again, the nightmares were a constant, agonising part of his life, and as he burst forward from his bed, a night terror clutching at his throat, he gasped for breath, trying to calm himself.
It's not real, he repeated to himself, it’s not happening again.
Catching his breath, Henshaw glanced around the room he found himself in, the dim light from the streetlights outside illuminating his quarters. It was a simple, plain room and it had been his for the better part of three months now.
A writing desk under the window, a seat in the corner. There was a door that led to the bathroom, and another that led to the corridor outside, and the rest of these rooms for all the other inhabitants. Everything was off-white, no colour apart from the clothing he'd brought with him for his stay. His battered old leather jacket was hung on the back of the desk chair, his large carry-all half-unpacked on top of the desk. Next to his bag was a lump of inertron metal, an odd gift from John Stewart, and beside that was a telephone-looking device he'd been told was called the telepaphone.
Hank's clothes were cleaned overnight, he found, something in the air doing the work of a washing machine and dryer for him. He wondered what the tiny machines-- he assumed they were machines, nanites probably-- looked like, but it would take a powerful microscope, or his ring, to find that out.
His ring.
Henshaw sighed and looked at the blank patch of pale flesh on his ring-finger. What they didn't tell you about wearing it was that it emitted a low level amount of harmless light constantly. You wouldn't notice it usually, but the absence of the ring left an odd, visible tan line, even after all this time, and as he rubbed his wrist and felt the tenseness in his body begin to pack together and compartmentalise, he pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. A white t-shirt would do, the grey jogging bottoms too. He only had one pair of shoes, what he was wearing when he arrived, , and he didn't want to tread around in those, so he went bare footed to exit his room.
The hospital was quiet, mostly. He heard the chatter of the nurses down the corridor, in the station. His name was printed in Interlac-- the intergalactic common tongue-- beside his door, and he pressed his calloused fingers against the raised points. Even without the ring he understood the alien language. One of the many advantages of his love of learning. But it was strange. Everything was so strange...
He stood and said to himself, his voice a barely audible murmur, "what's next?"
"Are you sure you're all right about this?" asked John. Bald head, trimmed goatee, his brow furrowed in concern for the situation at hand.
Henshaw shrugged and scratched his thick, grey, unruly beard. "I guess I need to be."
"I guess you do," replied his friend. The smile he was wearing was a brave one, for Henshaw's benefit more than himself. They'd flown a long way, and the journey had left Henshaw tired. But if exhaustion was the price to pay for peace of mind, he'd gladly stay up for the rest of his life... a thought that both amused and terrified him in equal measure.
"What is this place?" asked Henshaw. He slung his go-bag over his shoulder, the gentle pressure of the strap digging into his arm at the collar bone. The discomfort allowed him to focus on something other than his own pitiful situation. He wore an old pair of jeans, his beloved leather jacket and a white shirt, unbuttoned so strands of his chest hair were visible.
“Jeq. It’s a hospital world in a sector full of them,” said John, glancing around. He was in uniform, so the people all around gave them wide berth. Ice cold black and throbbing, heated emerald. Over their heads numerous alien ships careened, floated and generally sailed the skyways. “I… learned about it when a few friends of mine, back from my marine days, fell into our world.”
Our world? He knew the one. “Huh,” said Henshaw, remembering his life up until this point. Cosmic monsters. Galactic threats. Trolls that blew the chest out your heart and parasites that dug their claws in as they pushed it back in. Rings and wars and loss. Everything that led him to feel as broken as a shattered mirror.
“They needed help getting back on their feet. This place came up in conversation with some others back on Oa. Their rehabilitation has been astounding. They’re here now, getting back to, or as close to, one hundred percent as possible, considering.”
“Are they okay--*?”
“Yes,” said John. “The surviving members of my squad were taken apart and put back together by a sadist*. Put back together wrong. He tried to use them against me. It didn’t stick. We saved lives, they nearly lost theirs again but we got out of the hot zone and landed here.” He looked over Henshaw’s shoulder and straightened up. “Here’s one of them now.”
“Hey, Builder,” said a modestly beautiful woman, her blonde hair whispering white in the dual suns above their heads. She wore a black tank top, cargo bottoms, and her exposed flesh was riddled with cybernetic prosthesis. Both her arms were a combination of what appeared to be flesh and metal, but Hank knew the difference. It was some kind of pseudo skin. The way her arms hung, the way she moved, she was a double amputee. He pulled himself out of his analysis as she caught him staring. “Who’s your friend?”
“Alice, this is Hank, Hank, meet Alice.”
Alice took Henshaw’s extended hand and took the newcomer in, her eyes obviously trained and her mind ticking away at the information gathered with her concentrated, considered glances. As their eyes stayed together, he saw something behind her irises, a hint of movement, of her own emerald light. Artificial? “Hank. Call me Dresden.”
“Dresden…” said Henshaw, slowly, with a consideration that showed his mind working. Nicknames in the military. He knew how they worked. John was a trained architect, therefore ‘Builder’. Dresden? “…Demolitions expert?”
“You got it in one,” said Alice, her face lighting up.
“One of the best in the business,” said John. “Save my ass more times than I care to count.”
“I kept a count,” said Alice, nudging Hank. “But after what he did for me on War World… after what that sadist did to me and Tom… slate’s wiped clean.”
John said nothing. Henshaw knew the type of man he was. The kind to keep count of the times someone helped him, but not caring how many times they helped him back. You show this man kindness, he would be yours; he’d be your warrior, your friend, your brother. Henshaw had benefited from the kind of man John was. But he also kept count. And he knew he owed this man more than he cared to admit.
“Where’s Tom?” asked John.
“Psychotherapy,” said Alice. “The damage done to him…” She trailed off. Cleared her throat. Readied herself. “Look, Hank, I don’t know you, but if John vouches, you’re good in my book. Back during the Apokolips invasion, I got torn to shreds by a super-weapon in the Middle East. Left for dead--”
John winced. Something between them. He’d obviously been there when it happened. That weight, the weight of failure, of being unable to act, stayed with you forever, even if you made up for it. God damn. Poor man. She didn’t seem to care, to count it as mattering, but he always would.
“--And immediately after I was abducted by a mad scientist who replaced my arms with weapons, took my eyes away, drained me of any hope I had for being me again-- being normal-- but John saved us*. Tom you’ll meet and… Tom got it worse. We’ve been here for over a year now. They replaced the weaponry, replaced them with functioning, state of the art limbs--”
Alice held up her hands. Hank could hear it as she moved them, a slight servo buzz, but she moved her fingers as if they were real digits, and he could see goose bumps manifest when a stray gust of wind caught her.
“--So when I’m ready to go back home, they’ll cover up the exposed metal and plastics with pseudo-skin, and no one will ever know the difference. My eyes were harder to sort out, but the scarring’s gone since the last treatment, the artificial peepers work amazingly, and I’m confident that as soon as Tom is back, when he gets his head straight, we can go back home without a hitch.”
“That's great," said Henshaw.
"And that's why I've been chosen to come collect you," said Alice. "John, you know the rules. I'm afraid this is where we have to leave you."
Henshaw's brow furrowed as he looked at John. His friend explained. "Some of the patients here have seen some pretty damaging things. As the universe's main police force, we've been at the centre of a lot of that. The staff know we do good, but the ring, the symbol, it can trigger episodes in certain patients." He shook his head. "Not all, of course. But just to be safe. Here, look." He led Henshaw away from Alice, who waited patiently in the middle of the arrivals plateau. "I got you this. I know you're without your ring, but you need something to focus on, okay?" He handed him a small slab of charcoal metal, big as Henshaw's fist. "It's made from inertron."
"The so-called ‘God metal’? "How'd you get your hands on this?" asked Henshaw, surprised.
"Long story," said John. "It has a psychometric quality. If it was in the form of chains, or handcuffs, it'd sap your will, your energy. As is, right now? It's just a lump of metal. Just hold onto it, all right?"
Confused but trusting, Hank nodded. “Sure.” "
John shrugged. "It's a metaphor."
"Sure," repeated Henshaw, his tone flat. He stuffed the lump into his go-bag, felt the weight of it increase mightily. "Look, John. I appreciate everything you’re doing."
"You saved my life*," said John. He began to lift up off the ground. "Let me save yours this time."
Hank remembered the events well. He’d been locked up under Oa in their maximum security prison, the one only the Guardians knew about. Patrolled by reprogrammed Manhunters, in a cell next to Mongul, Weaponers from Qward, and more. John had been killed before Hank’s eyes, but through the quick thinking of both Hank and Sinestro, they’d dragged him back from the brink.
Back in the moment, Henshaw watched as John headed up into the sky and out of orbit, an emerald streak from one point to the next. But John had saved him already. Arrived in that prison under Oa, where Henshaw had been labelled an Inversion, and through sheer chance allowed him to be re-inducted into the Green Lantern Corps. Given his life meaning. So what was this, now? Karma? Chance had its day, now it was time to heal, to do the hard work of living. Even as he was lost in thought, Alice walked up behind him. "I'll never get tired of seeing that man fly. So, you don't look army, what are you exactly?"
Henshaw turned, hitched the bag on his shoulder up to alleviate the discomfort, and smiled. "You're going to hate me. I used to be Air Force."
"Ack," spat Alice, feigning hurt, "and we were getting on so well." She sighed. "You best come with me then..."
After reporting to Salaak, current head of the deciding council that led the Green Lantern Corps, about the events concerning Parallax*, Sinestro had decided that he needed to get to the bottom of the Kyle Rayner situation. Somehow, this young man, the one he’d helped train in the use of his so-called ‘White Lantern’ abilities, had vanished off the face of the universe. He’d mentioned the name briefly in conversation with Lanterns he knew would know of the boy-- hells, the lad had reignited the Central Power Batteries of both the Green and Love Lanterns, both based on Oa-- but they’d not taken the bait.
Kyle Rayner had been removed from the collective memory of nearly every member of the Green Lantern Corps, and Thaal didn’t know how, but after the thrashing they experienced at the hands of Parallax, Sinestro knew he had to find him, no matter what the cost.
Now, Thaal Sinestro knew that none of his colleagues-- his friends-- in the Green Lantern Corps had it easy. Those he had found himself closest to over the last year or so had all been through their own hells, and the fact that they made it out the other side of the dark tunnels in which they travelled meant that they were stronger for it.
But something tickled on the edge of Sinestro’s consciousness about the absence of Rayner. “Think it through,” the regal, purple-skinned alien told himself. He ran a hand through his close-cropped, slick black hair. With a turn of his moustache he walked through the events of the last four years or so.
Infection-- the Legion virus overtook his ring and led him to commit terrible acts, culminating in the attack on Hal Jordan after Abin Sur’s power ring selected him as the latter’s replacement in the Corps.*
Trauma-- a gun shot to the head rendering him into a state of near-death. Guy Gardner had been the man behind the trigger. A conversation between the two had never taken place. Ancient history? Not likely. But a moment, a movement, a momentum, deferred*.
Imprisonment-- his body taken into custody by an earth agency that quickly found that his alien physiology meant he could survive a .45 round to the cranium. A discovery Thaal made, of course, the hard way. The painful way*.
Possession-- the dread parasite Parallax, the first Green Lantern, ancient enemy of the Corps, assumed control of Sinestro’s faculties, leading him to attack Hal Jordan once more.*
War-- Parallax driving him to battle the heroes of Earth, battling the first Green Lantern that the Earth knew, the man-- more God than man-- Alan Scott, he of green flame and a heart as big as the stars, duelling over Washington streets as America went to war against the Justice League*.
Death-- escaping the clutches of Parallax, using the last bolt of energy in his corrupted ring to scurry to the Forbidden Sectors and lay low on a lush world that could have been an Eden, his only companion-- *
Survival-- wait-- there wasn’t just-- there wasn’t just the displaced daughter of Hal Jordan, Jessica, and that was where his memories seemed to blur and fragment. Something in his brain not letting him fully reintegrate his memories of that time. There was a Kyle Rayner-shaped hole in his memories, and brushing up against the recollections helped make them real. Helped solidify what he knew to be fact*.
Whatever happened, Kyle’s memory had been removed. Thaal looked down at his power ring, then grimaced. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget. Not when Parallax was still out there, and Kyle was one of their few shots at ending the threat once and for all.
"Mister Henshaw, welcome to Jeq and welcome to our facilities," said the lead nurse, a regal looking humanoid with pale blue skin and a bald head. She was more angular than a human woman, but her eyes were wide and full of warm expression. Her small nose was high, her mouth low, and it created the impression she was looking down at whoever she was talking to, but Henshaw felt no condescension from her. "We're so glad to see you arrive safely. How was your journey?"
"Fine, thank you," said Henshaw. The orderlies took his bag from him and he watched them head down one of the corridors. He took his situation in for a moment. He was in the middle of a nexus that led eight different ways. Behind him was the entrance to the hospital, and the seven corridors let to who-knew-where. The nurse had been waiting for him, and the orderlies appeared down the second corridor, to his right. "I'm going to get those back, right?"
Alice, stood behind him, covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"Your possessions are being transferred to your room," said the nurse. "I am Malco. I am the head nurse of this facility. For the sake of clarity and in the spirit of openness, our initial diagnostic on your person started as soon as you arrived on the plateau outside. We have taken deep body scans and mapped your brain in accordance with standard procedure. Now, Doctor Dolchechk is in stasis at the moment, but he will be joining us shortly."
"Stasis...?" started Henshaw.
Malco looked over to Alice, who Henshaw could hear wanted to provide an explanation. She nodded and Alice began to speak. "Doctor Dolchechk is quite old at this point, over three thousand years if what I've been told is correct," Malco nodded at Alice's words, "so during downtime, instead of sleeping, he goes into stasis to extend his lifespan."
"Helping other people is killing him?" said Henshaw.
Malco and Alice were shocked by his statement.
"Yes, but it's worth it," said an eight-foot-tall, white-haired humanoid, closer to looking like Henshaw than Malco. With pale, peach skin and three eyes-- one smack dab in the centre of his age-weathered forehead, meaning he had to comb his hair so his fringe didn't get in the way of it. He wore an odd pair of glasses that covered his right and centre eye, and his left eye's pupil was in a permanent state of dilation, blacker than black, while the other two seemed to shimmer yellow. "I've never seen Chief Nurse Malco so shocked. Ai, it's absolutely fine." He laughed. "It's absolutely true! But worth it, don't you think?"
Ai Malco shook her head. "Will you be escorting Mister Henshaw the rest of the way, Doctor Dolchechk?"
"Yes, I think I will," said Dolchechk, looking down at Henshaw. He quickly looked at Alice. "Miss Brand. How are you feeling today? How are your ocular implants?"
"Great, thank you," said Alice. "If I squint I can see beyond the usual spectrum... I don't know if I'll ever get used to that."
"Don't over extert yourself," said Dolchechk. "We wouldn't want you to blow out the optics so soon. Get used to your normal visual range, then apply yourself." He patted her on the shoulder. "I need to speak to Mister Henshaw alone. I know Mister Slaughter is due his latest physical therapy treatment. Your encouragement would be rewarding to him at this point."
"Sure, I get it," said Alice. "Henshaw, I'll see you around. The telepaphone in your room will connect if you want to chat. You just have to think my name." She slapped him on the back and headed down the third corridor, where an elevator waited. She waved as she ascended. Henshaw had said nothing during the exchange, giving nothing more than a smile.
"Shall we?" said Doctor Dolchechk, beckoning Henshaw forward. “Your friend, the Green Lantern who dropped you off, he checked in two of his old squad here a year or so ago. They’d been broken down by an alien intellect and built back up in the worst possible way,” he frowned, his head shaking, “but we’re putting them back together.”
“He mentioned something along those lines,” said Hank. He stuck his hands into his pockets and proceeded to follow Dolchechk down the fourth corridor, toward another elevator, and began the tour of the facility. What next?
“Where do we even begin?” asked Guy. “There’s been no more murders since the one outside Jordan’s old house in Coast*. Black Hand has gone to ground. The trail’s gone cold.”
“And wherever Jordan is, he’s masked from our rings as well. Who knew it was that easy…” mused John. “But if he doesn’t want to be found, we can only hope that the same problems apply to Hand.”
Guy nodded. Hopefully. Black Hand wanted Hal Jordan for whatever reason. The discussions Gardner had with the facility that held Hand after the events that drew Jordan and Hand inexplicably together* had their theories on the whys, the idea that Hal had something of Hand’s after they swapped their bodies back**, but it didn’t matter to Guy the whys and wherefores. Hand needed stopping. That was it.
“And luck with the Justice League?” asked Guy.
“None, their satellites are powerful, but they can’t track a man who doesn’t seem to exist anymore,” said John. “You could have gone in there yourself, you know. You used to be their GL too*.”
“Back in the day, sure, and for one hot minute,” said Guy, “but nah, I’m done with that. I’m a one-team-man. Not to say you playing around is a bad thing, but hey.”
“To each their own, right?” said John.
“Right,” said Gardner. “I have a few ideas worth batting around. We’re being attacked on all these fronts, and it’s difficult to focus on the priority.”
“I know what you mean. Parallax. The Manhunters he has hidden in the Forbidden Sectors. The Yamada girl. Then there’s the Red Lanterns, Kyle being missing, no one remembering him…”
“Sinestro said he’d be back in the sector after he reported back about Parallax,” said Guy. “To continue the hunt.”
“Good.”
“Any word on Henshaw?” asked Guy. He didn’t know, of course, where Henshaw was. John kept that close to his chest and intended to keep it that way. Let Hank work through his problems and hopefully come back to them one hundred percent.
“None,” said John. “But that’s fine.”
“Sure,” said Guy. “It’s fine.” But that didn’t stop him from wanting to know more.
As Sinestro moved through the Citadel of the Green Lantern Corps, he continued to think about what had happened since he’d returned to the fold. It had been some time since the Guardians of the Universe had been in residence, apparently preferring to leave this reality with the ancient females of their race, the Zamorans, to usher in a new age of their immortal lives. But Thaal knew that they were barely missed by the Corps at large. Remembered by the veterans-- and there were few veterans in this age of chaos in the universe-- and only as legends to the rookies-- of which there were many, the Guardians of the Universe weren’t well remembered. Better they build their own universal order in the absence of their old patrons.
Thaal had been taken off sector duty after his return to the Corps. His skill set, his experiences, meant he was best served by Honour Lantern duty, troubleshooting across the galaxy with the Lanterns who patrolled specific stretches of space. He was an expert in threat assessment and removal. That, combined with his experiences under the thumb of Parallax, his immense will to escape, meant he was instrumental in training those who showed great promise when it came to wielding the near infinite power held with a Green Lantern power ring.
“Is something troubling you, Lantern Sinestro?”
Thaal had moved on auto pilot through the hallowed halls, absent-mindedly finding himself in front of the large room that Science Division had transformed into the Phantom Zone projection room, where they studied the Daxamites who had been sent there after their infection by Doctor Xa-Du*.
Sinestro looked up at the orange-skinned man stood outside the room, a throbbing emerald gem embedded about two thirds of the way down his forehead. He wore a green mask, a common occurrence for some members of the Corps, and Thaal knew him from interactions in the past.
“Lantern Saarek,” said Sinestro, a nod of acknowledgement. “How goes your communication with the Daxamites?” He had ignored the Lantern’s question. He had kept the Kyle Rayner case close to his chest. Let the humans and himself worry about it. Katma Tui knew, but she would let her former mentor take the lead. He had a reputation to maintain, regardless. Troubling him, Sinestro? Don’t be foolish.
“Difficult,” admitted Saarek. “There are… Other forms of life inside the ‘Phantom Zone’. They interfere with longer communications. I find myself having to limit my attempts. It’s frustrating.”
“The Phantom Zone has been called many names, discovered by many races other millions of years,” said Sinestro. “Ghost Zone. Limbo. The White Space. The Kryptonians used it as a prison dimension,” he waved his hand, all this information common knowledge to anyone with access to the Book of Oa, “things lurk in those empty spaces that defy description. We are lucky to have any communication with them at all.” We’re lucky to have you was the suggestion, a pat on the back from an old hand that the old hand himself was unwilling to come out and give.
“We have a volunteer for the serum, the one that Xa-Du left behind,” said Saarek. “Your protégé, Sodam Yat, has pushed for its use. I’m leading the extraction of one of the infected later today. Lantern Sinestro? Sinestro, what’s wrong?
Sinestro’s face had twisted when Sodam Yat was mentioned. Had Kyle been replaced in all their memories by Sodam? He didn’t want to press the issue. They’d interacted sparsely, but he had no feelings of mentorship toward the young Daxamite. He was a hothead, didn’t like the rules, but eventually did as he was told when push came to shove. Like Hal Jordan had been given super powers and been trained in chain of command properly.
“Nothing, Lantern Saarek,” said Sinestro. “Will you keep me appraised of the progress being made with the Daxamites?”
“Of course,” replied the Lantern. “Safe journeys, Sinestro.”
"You met Ms Brand," said Doctor Dolchechk, as the two men strolled across the bridge that covered the interior of the hospital. Below were what appeared to be glass domes, and inside each of them gardens, parks, all manner of green. Others appeared residential. Others were medical in nature from the way the white-clad doctors and nurses rushed around.
"She speaks very highly of this place," said Henshaw.
"From what you’ve seen so far, the prosthetics, the physical therapy, you’re probably unsure of how tihsp lace is going to help you?" said Dolchechk.
Had the doctor read his mind?
Dolchechk continued. "Our facilities here focus on those damaged by war. Be them planetary or intergalactic, we provide a service few are capable of. Now, we both know that the damage inflicted by war differs from person to person. Be it physical, or psychological, the toll is taken on those who experience it. The work done to return Alice to her intended state has been some of my most dedicated, focused work."
"I'm not a soldier though," said Henshaw. As he spoke, a small cluster of patients moved past the two of them, being shown the way by the orderlies. Hank saw a bunch of men and women ravaged by war, healed scars and state-of-the-art prosthetics fitted.
"Mister Henshaw, let me blunt: You are a startling case. You have experienced trauma after trauma after trauma, and yet you refuse to break. The cracks are showing, and the cracks are numerous, but others in your position would have simply killed themselves, or others, by now. You are suffering from severe psychological damage and I am qualified to assist you in dealing with it."
Dolchechk's shoulders slumped, almost in defeat. "I have this conversation with nearly every patient who enters my hospital. You think your pain is not worth consideration. That you aren't worth the time. But if I can improve your life, if I can do... something... anything... that improves your quality of life, then I have done my job. Are you going to help me help you rid yourself of the ghosts that haunt you?"
Henshaw stood silent, his eyes wandering toward the duals suns as they set at the horizon line. Mongul killed him. The Predator dragged him back to life and possessed his body, committed atrocities wearing his face, atrocities that he remembered as if they were performed by his hand alone. Imprisonment with the Inversions, beneath Oa.
Surrounded by the worst the universe had to offer. Barely sleeping. Barely surviving. It all came back to his experiences; the ones he couldn't erase. The ones he couldn't move past. His ring abandoned him, and now he was here, on the precipice of something new. An opportunity for a better life...
Finally, Henshaw replied, "I want to live again."
Dolchechk smiled. "Our therapies are keyed specifically to your psychological and physical profile. Our scanners detected no physical component to your ailment, but your brain shows significant trauma. Have you ever been checked for brain damage, Mister Henshaw?"
Henshaw stood silent for a moment, before answering. "...No."
Dolchechk nodded. "Your patient history is confidential. Of all the staff in the faculty, only I know you are a member of the Corps. I know of your death and resurrection, and subsequent possession by an alien parasite, a cosmic entity. Any of those experiences could have left you with brain damage. Your brain has adapted to this damage. New connections made, more than likely thanks to the power ring you wore for so long. But that damage should be explored.” He paused. “It’s best we know the context of a trauma. Unless you request otherwise, the information will be kept between myself, your primary physician and yourself. It’s… against recommendation… to lie or obfuscate your reasons for being here, Lantern Henshaw. Truth is part of the healing process. But I understand that being a member of the Green Lantern Corps brings with it…” Dolchechk searched for the word. “…Baggage… beyond what others might carry. Your limited life expectancy for one.”
"... Brain damage?" repeated Henshaw.
Dolchechk nodded. "If I was concerned we wouldn't be talking on the walkway, we'd be in surgery, Mister Henshaw. In addition to the physical structure of your brain, there is always the psychological make-up. Your mind. I am a latent telepath, Mister Henshaw. With your permission, I would like to read you."
"...Brain damage?"repeated Henshaw, his incredulity growing. "How did I not know?"
"Oan psychic-resonant and energy-channelling material is an absolutely fascinating element," said Dolchechk. "A device, completely opaque to deep scans, that stores psychic profiles of previous users, links with a database containing millennia worth of information, and can conjure and cast emerald energy into shapes. When was the last time someone did a purely scientific study on such things?"
"I don’t know," said Henshaw. "But the things I've done with the ring surprise even me."
“Such as?” asked Dolchechk, a little too firm, a little to inquisitive.
A Green Lantern’s power ring stored the personalities of the bearer so that upon their death, their memory engrams can be used as an avatar by the ring’s CPU. Something about making the transition from civilian life to the life of a Corps member smoother. Hank had mapped his consciousness onto the ring so that if it was separated from him, it would always seek him out. It saved his life. But he wasn’t in the mood to share this information. Not today.
“So there is a precedent then,” murmured Dolchechk.
What did that mean? wondered Henshaw. He asked the question aloud.
"Oh, I’m sorry, you were broadcasting your thoughts, and I overheard them. But that’s a conversation for another time, perhaps," said Dolchechk.
Hank didn’t like having his mind read without his knowledge, but the two had continued to walk, and were now in front of a large transparent door that Henshaw could see led to a lush study. The two men entered, and the doctor beckoned his patient to sit.
"My psychic abilities will allow me to read your mindscape and begin to understand the trauma you underwent. If there's a connection between the brain damage and your psychological problems, we'll soon know. Rest your head back, and close your eyes."
Henshaw did as he was told, but before closing his eyes he quickly said, "About what you said before, about being a member of the Corps? I'm a former member now. I don't have my ring."
"We'll see," said Doctor Dolchechk, smiling. He began to count backwards, and when he reached zero, he quietly said, "contact."
And the world fell out from under Hank Henshaw.
NEXT ISSUE: As John Stewart briefs the Justice League on the hunt for Kyle Rayner and Black Hand, Hank Henshaw begins to face his demons. Meanwhile, a pair of brand new enemies with ties to a dirty secret of the Guardians of the Universe rear their ugly heads… Who are they exactly? And why do they hate the Green Lantern Corps so much? FIND OUT NEXT MONTH!
At his lowest ebb, HANK HENSHAW’s power ring abandoned him, expelling the troubled Green Lantern from the Corps.
The former Green Lantern has been through it all since his induction into the Corps. Stepping up to the plate when HAL JORDAN was unable to answer the call. Soon after, he was viciously murdered by the intergalactic despot MONGUL. Eventually resurrected and used as a puppet by the malicious entity known as the PREDATOR, HENSHAW was then imprisoned beneath Oa by the GUARDIANS OF THE UNIVERSE, before redeeming himself during the RED LANTERN CORPS invasion of the Corps’ home world.
After a confrontation with LEX LUTHOR and HANK'S long-thought-dead wife, TERRI, that he doesn’t remember in full, HENSHAW’s ring left him when his will was at an all-time low.
JOHN STEWART knew a place where his friend could get better, and since then, HENSHAW hasn’t been seen...
Meanwhile, GUY GARDNER and JOHN are on the hunt for BLACK HAND, who is roaming America searching for HAL JORDAN, who is currently hidden from their rings.
In addition, KYLE RAYNER has been removed from the memories of nearly everybody who knew him, and SINESTRO wants to get to the bottom of the mystery!
Back on Oa, a colony of Daxamites who were placed in the Phantom Zone after their exposure to lead by the mad Kryptonian XA-DU are about to have a mysterious cure tested on them so they can be freed from their exile. Will it be successful? SODAM YAT obviously hopes so!
Welcome back to the ongoing adventures of the GREEN LANTERN CORPS!
Hank Henshaw thought he had grown used to the nightmares, but every night he surprised himself by just how much he wasn't. Be it the vertigo of the looming, haunted dreamscapes, the catastrophic horrors he was forced to witness again and again, the nightmares were a constant, agonising part of his life, and as he burst forward from his bed, a night terror clutching at his throat, he gasped for breath, trying to calm himself.
It's not real, he repeated to himself, it’s not happening again.
Catching his breath, Henshaw glanced around the room he found himself in, the dim light from the streetlights outside illuminating his quarters. It was a simple, plain room and it had been his for the better part of three months now.
A writing desk under the window, a seat in the corner. There was a door that led to the bathroom, and another that led to the corridor outside, and the rest of these rooms for all the other inhabitants. Everything was off-white, no colour apart from the clothing he'd brought with him for his stay. His battered old leather jacket was hung on the back of the desk chair, his large carry-all half-unpacked on top of the desk. Next to his bag was a lump of inertron metal, an odd gift from John Stewart, and beside that was a telephone-looking device he'd been told was called the telepaphone.
Hank's clothes were cleaned overnight, he found, something in the air doing the work of a washing machine and dryer for him. He wondered what the tiny machines-- he assumed they were machines, nanites probably-- looked like, but it would take a powerful microscope, or his ring, to find that out.
His ring.
Henshaw sighed and looked at the blank patch of pale flesh on his ring-finger. What they didn't tell you about wearing it was that it emitted a low level amount of harmless light constantly. You wouldn't notice it usually, but the absence of the ring left an odd, visible tan line, even after all this time, and as he rubbed his wrist and felt the tenseness in his body begin to pack together and compartmentalise, he pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. A white t-shirt would do, the grey jogging bottoms too. He only had one pair of shoes, what he was wearing when he arrived, , and he didn't want to tread around in those, so he went bare footed to exit his room.
The hospital was quiet, mostly. He heard the chatter of the nurses down the corridor, in the station. His name was printed in Interlac-- the intergalactic common tongue-- beside his door, and he pressed his calloused fingers against the raised points. Even without the ring he understood the alien language. One of the many advantages of his love of learning. But it was strange. Everything was so strange...
He stood and said to himself, his voice a barely audible murmur, "what's next?"
Issue Sixty-FOUR: “Haunted Houses”
HoM / JOUTEL
THREE MONTHS AGO:
"Are you sure you're all right about this?" asked John. Bald head, trimmed goatee, his brow furrowed in concern for the situation at hand.
Henshaw shrugged and scratched his thick, grey, unruly beard. "I guess I need to be."
"I guess you do," replied his friend. The smile he was wearing was a brave one, for Henshaw's benefit more than himself. They'd flown a long way, and the journey had left Henshaw tired. But if exhaustion was the price to pay for peace of mind, he'd gladly stay up for the rest of his life... a thought that both amused and terrified him in equal measure.
"What is this place?" asked Henshaw. He slung his go-bag over his shoulder, the gentle pressure of the strap digging into his arm at the collar bone. The discomfort allowed him to focus on something other than his own pitiful situation. He wore an old pair of jeans, his beloved leather jacket and a white shirt, unbuttoned so strands of his chest hair were visible.
“Jeq. It’s a hospital world in a sector full of them,” said John, glancing around. He was in uniform, so the people all around gave them wide berth. Ice cold black and throbbing, heated emerald. Over their heads numerous alien ships careened, floated and generally sailed the skyways. “I… learned about it when a few friends of mine, back from my marine days, fell into our world.”
Our world? He knew the one. “Huh,” said Henshaw, remembering his life up until this point. Cosmic monsters. Galactic threats. Trolls that blew the chest out your heart and parasites that dug their claws in as they pushed it back in. Rings and wars and loss. Everything that led him to feel as broken as a shattered mirror.
“They needed help getting back on their feet. This place came up in conversation with some others back on Oa. Their rehabilitation has been astounding. They’re here now, getting back to, or as close to, one hundred percent as possible, considering.”
“Are they okay--*?”
“Yes,” said John. “The surviving members of my squad were taken apart and put back together by a sadist*. Put back together wrong. He tried to use them against me. It didn’t stick. We saved lives, they nearly lost theirs again but we got out of the hot zone and landed here.” He looked over Henshaw’s shoulder and straightened up. “Here’s one of them now.”
*Green Lantern #41-43
“Hey, Builder,” said a modestly beautiful woman, her blonde hair whispering white in the dual suns above their heads. She wore a black tank top, cargo bottoms, and her exposed flesh was riddled with cybernetic prosthesis. Both her arms were a combination of what appeared to be flesh and metal, but Hank knew the difference. It was some kind of pseudo skin. The way her arms hung, the way she moved, she was a double amputee. He pulled himself out of his analysis as she caught him staring. “Who’s your friend?”
“Alice, this is Hank, Hank, meet Alice.”
Alice took Henshaw’s extended hand and took the newcomer in, her eyes obviously trained and her mind ticking away at the information gathered with her concentrated, considered glances. As their eyes stayed together, he saw something behind her irises, a hint of movement, of her own emerald light. Artificial? “Hank. Call me Dresden.”
“Dresden…” said Henshaw, slowly, with a consideration that showed his mind working. Nicknames in the military. He knew how they worked. John was a trained architect, therefore ‘Builder’. Dresden? “…Demolitions expert?”
“You got it in one,” said Alice, her face lighting up.
“One of the best in the business,” said John. “Save my ass more times than I care to count.”
“I kept a count,” said Alice, nudging Hank. “But after what he did for me on War World… after what that sadist did to me and Tom… slate’s wiped clean.”
John said nothing. Henshaw knew the type of man he was. The kind to keep count of the times someone helped him, but not caring how many times they helped him back. You show this man kindness, he would be yours; he’d be your warrior, your friend, your brother. Henshaw had benefited from the kind of man John was. But he also kept count. And he knew he owed this man more than he cared to admit.
“Where’s Tom?” asked John.
“Psychotherapy,” said Alice. “The damage done to him…” She trailed off. Cleared her throat. Readied herself. “Look, Hank, I don’t know you, but if John vouches, you’re good in my book. Back during the Apokolips invasion, I got torn to shreds by a super-weapon in the Middle East. Left for dead--”
John winced. Something between them. He’d obviously been there when it happened. That weight, the weight of failure, of being unable to act, stayed with you forever, even if you made up for it. God damn. Poor man. She didn’t seem to care, to count it as mattering, but he always would.
“--And immediately after I was abducted by a mad scientist who replaced my arms with weapons, took my eyes away, drained me of any hope I had for being me again-- being normal-- but John saved us*. Tom you’ll meet and… Tom got it worse. We’ve been here for over a year now. They replaced the weaponry, replaced them with functioning, state of the art limbs--”
*The aforementioned Green Lantern #43… but it didn’t exactly happen like that…
Alice held up her hands. Hank could hear it as she moved them, a slight servo buzz, but she moved her fingers as if they were real digits, and he could see goose bumps manifest when a stray gust of wind caught her.
“--So when I’m ready to go back home, they’ll cover up the exposed metal and plastics with pseudo-skin, and no one will ever know the difference. My eyes were harder to sort out, but the scarring’s gone since the last treatment, the artificial peepers work amazingly, and I’m confident that as soon as Tom is back, when he gets his head straight, we can go back home without a hitch.”
“That's great," said Henshaw.
"And that's why I've been chosen to come collect you," said Alice. "John, you know the rules. I'm afraid this is where we have to leave you."
Henshaw's brow furrowed as he looked at John. His friend explained. "Some of the patients here have seen some pretty damaging things. As the universe's main police force, we've been at the centre of a lot of that. The staff know we do good, but the ring, the symbol, it can trigger episodes in certain patients." He shook his head. "Not all, of course. But just to be safe. Here, look." He led Henshaw away from Alice, who waited patiently in the middle of the arrivals plateau. "I got you this. I know you're without your ring, but you need something to focus on, okay?" He handed him a small slab of charcoal metal, big as Henshaw's fist. "It's made from inertron."
"The so-called ‘God metal’? "How'd you get your hands on this?" asked Henshaw, surprised.
"Long story," said John. "It has a psychometric quality. If it was in the form of chains, or handcuffs, it'd sap your will, your energy. As is, right now? It's just a lump of metal. Just hold onto it, all right?"
Confused but trusting, Hank nodded. “Sure.” "
John shrugged. "It's a metaphor."
"Sure," repeated Henshaw, his tone flat. He stuffed the lump into his go-bag, felt the weight of it increase mightily. "Look, John. I appreciate everything you’re doing."
"You saved my life*," said John. He began to lift up off the ground. "Let me save yours this time."
*Green Lantern #50
Hank remembered the events well. He’d been locked up under Oa in their maximum security prison, the one only the Guardians knew about. Patrolled by reprogrammed Manhunters, in a cell next to Mongul, Weaponers from Qward, and more. John had been killed before Hank’s eyes, but through the quick thinking of both Hank and Sinestro, they’d dragged him back from the brink.
Back in the moment, Henshaw watched as John headed up into the sky and out of orbit, an emerald streak from one point to the next. But John had saved him already. Arrived in that prison under Oa, where Henshaw had been labelled an Inversion, and through sheer chance allowed him to be re-inducted into the Green Lantern Corps. Given his life meaning. So what was this, now? Karma? Chance had its day, now it was time to heal, to do the hard work of living. Even as he was lost in thought, Alice walked up behind him. "I'll never get tired of seeing that man fly. So, you don't look army, what are you exactly?"
Henshaw turned, hitched the bag on his shoulder up to alleviate the discomfort, and smiled. "You're going to hate me. I used to be Air Force."
"Ack," spat Alice, feigning hurt, "and we were getting on so well." She sighed. "You best come with me then..."
PRESENT DAY; OA:
After reporting to Salaak, current head of the deciding council that led the Green Lantern Corps, about the events concerning Parallax*, Sinestro had decided that he needed to get to the bottom of the Kyle Rayner situation. Somehow, this young man, the one he’d helped train in the use of his so-called ‘White Lantern’ abilities, had vanished off the face of the universe. He’d mentioned the name briefly in conversation with Lanterns he knew would know of the boy-- hells, the lad had reignited the Central Power Batteries of both the Green and Love Lanterns, both based on Oa-- but they’d not taken the bait.
*Last issue
Kyle Rayner had been removed from the collective memory of nearly every member of the Green Lantern Corps, and Thaal didn’t know how, but after the thrashing they experienced at the hands of Parallax, Sinestro knew he had to find him, no matter what the cost.
Now, Thaal Sinestro knew that none of his colleagues-- his friends-- in the Green Lantern Corps had it easy. Those he had found himself closest to over the last year or so had all been through their own hells, and the fact that they made it out the other side of the dark tunnels in which they travelled meant that they were stronger for it.
But something tickled on the edge of Sinestro’s consciousness about the absence of Rayner. “Think it through,” the regal, purple-skinned alien told himself. He ran a hand through his close-cropped, slick black hair. With a turn of his moustache he walked through the events of the last four years or so.
Infection-- the Legion virus overtook his ring and led him to commit terrible acts, culminating in the attack on Hal Jordan after Abin Sur’s power ring selected him as the latter’s replacement in the Corps.*
* Tales of the Green Lantern Corps #1-3
Trauma-- a gun shot to the head rendering him into a state of near-death. Guy Gardner had been the man behind the trigger. A conversation between the two had never taken place. Ancient history? Not likely. But a moment, a movement, a momentum, deferred*.
*Tales of the Green Lantern Corps #4
Imprisonment-- his body taken into custody by an earth agency that quickly found that his alien physiology meant he could survive a .45 round to the cranium. A discovery Thaal made, of course, the hard way. The painful way*.
*Tales of the Green Lantern Corps #10
Possession-- the dread parasite Parallax, the first Green Lantern, ancient enemy of the Corps, assumed control of Sinestro’s faculties, leading him to attack Hal Jordan once more.*
*Green Lantern #12-14
War-- Parallax driving him to battle the heroes of Earth, battling the first Green Lantern that the Earth knew, the man-- more God than man-- Alan Scott, he of green flame and a heart as big as the stars, duelling over Washington streets as America went to war against the Justice League*.
*See the Justice League vs America event
Death-- escaping the clutches of Parallax, using the last bolt of energy in his corrupted ring to scurry to the Forbidden Sectors and lay low on a lush world that could have been an Eden, his only companion-- *
*Green Lantern Annual #2
Survival-- wait-- there wasn’t just-- there wasn’t just the displaced daughter of Hal Jordan, Jessica, and that was where his memories seemed to blur and fragment. Something in his brain not letting him fully reintegrate his memories of that time. There was a Kyle Rayner-shaped hole in his memories, and brushing up against the recollections helped make them real. Helped solidify what he knew to be fact*.
*Events covered across Green Lantern #44-50
Whatever happened, Kyle’s memory had been removed. Thaal looked down at his power ring, then grimaced. He wouldn’t allow himself to forget. Not when Parallax was still out there, and Kyle was one of their few shots at ending the threat once and for all.
THREE MONTHS AGO; JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
"Mister Henshaw, welcome to Jeq and welcome to our facilities," said the lead nurse, a regal looking humanoid with pale blue skin and a bald head. She was more angular than a human woman, but her eyes were wide and full of warm expression. Her small nose was high, her mouth low, and it created the impression she was looking down at whoever she was talking to, but Henshaw felt no condescension from her. "We're so glad to see you arrive safely. How was your journey?"
"Fine, thank you," said Henshaw. The orderlies took his bag from him and he watched them head down one of the corridors. He took his situation in for a moment. He was in the middle of a nexus that led eight different ways. Behind him was the entrance to the hospital, and the seven corridors let to who-knew-where. The nurse had been waiting for him, and the orderlies appeared down the second corridor, to his right. "I'm going to get those back, right?"
Alice, stood behind him, covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"Your possessions are being transferred to your room," said the nurse. "I am Malco. I am the head nurse of this facility. For the sake of clarity and in the spirit of openness, our initial diagnostic on your person started as soon as you arrived on the plateau outside. We have taken deep body scans and mapped your brain in accordance with standard procedure. Now, Doctor Dolchechk is in stasis at the moment, but he will be joining us shortly."
"Stasis...?" started Henshaw.
Malco looked over to Alice, who Henshaw could hear wanted to provide an explanation. She nodded and Alice began to speak. "Doctor Dolchechk is quite old at this point, over three thousand years if what I've been told is correct," Malco nodded at Alice's words, "so during downtime, instead of sleeping, he goes into stasis to extend his lifespan."
"Helping other people is killing him?" said Henshaw.
Malco and Alice were shocked by his statement.
"Yes, but it's worth it," said an eight-foot-tall, white-haired humanoid, closer to looking like Henshaw than Malco. With pale, peach skin and three eyes-- one smack dab in the centre of his age-weathered forehead, meaning he had to comb his hair so his fringe didn't get in the way of it. He wore an odd pair of glasses that covered his right and centre eye, and his left eye's pupil was in a permanent state of dilation, blacker than black, while the other two seemed to shimmer yellow. "I've never seen Chief Nurse Malco so shocked. Ai, it's absolutely fine." He laughed. "It's absolutely true! But worth it, don't you think?"
Ai Malco shook her head. "Will you be escorting Mister Henshaw the rest of the way, Doctor Dolchechk?"
"Yes, I think I will," said Dolchechk, looking down at Henshaw. He quickly looked at Alice. "Miss Brand. How are you feeling today? How are your ocular implants?"
"Great, thank you," said Alice. "If I squint I can see beyond the usual spectrum... I don't know if I'll ever get used to that."
"Don't over extert yourself," said Dolchechk. "We wouldn't want you to blow out the optics so soon. Get used to your normal visual range, then apply yourself." He patted her on the shoulder. "I need to speak to Mister Henshaw alone. I know Mister Slaughter is due his latest physical therapy treatment. Your encouragement would be rewarding to him at this point."
"Sure, I get it," said Alice. "Henshaw, I'll see you around. The telepaphone in your room will connect if you want to chat. You just have to think my name." She slapped him on the back and headed down the third corridor, where an elevator waited. She waved as she ascended. Henshaw had said nothing during the exchange, giving nothing more than a smile.
"Shall we?" said Doctor Dolchechk, beckoning Henshaw forward. “Your friend, the Green Lantern who dropped you off, he checked in two of his old squad here a year or so ago. They’d been broken down by an alien intellect and built back up in the worst possible way,” he frowned, his head shaking, “but we’re putting them back together.”
“He mentioned something along those lines,” said Hank. He stuck his hands into his pockets and proceeded to follow Dolchechk down the fourth corridor, toward another elevator, and began the tour of the facility. What next?
PRESENT DAY; NEW YORK:
“Where do we even begin?” asked Guy. “There’s been no more murders since the one outside Jordan’s old house in Coast*. Black Hand has gone to ground. The trail’s gone cold.”
*Green Lantern #61
“And wherever Jordan is, he’s masked from our rings as well. Who knew it was that easy…” mused John. “But if he doesn’t want to be found, we can only hope that the same problems apply to Hand.”
Guy nodded. Hopefully. Black Hand wanted Hal Jordan for whatever reason. The discussions Gardner had with the facility that held Hand after the events that drew Jordan and Hand inexplicably together* had their theories on the whys, the idea that Hal had something of Hand’s after they swapped their bodies back**, but it didn’t matter to Guy the whys and wherefores. Hand needed stopping. That was it.
*Green Lantern #62
**Green Lantern #15-17
“And luck with the Justice League?” asked Guy.
“None, their satellites are powerful, but they can’t track a man who doesn’t seem to exist anymore,” said John. “You could have gone in there yourself, you know. You used to be their GL too*.”
*From Justice League #31-37
“Back in the day, sure, and for one hot minute,” said Guy, “but nah, I’m done with that. I’m a one-team-man. Not to say you playing around is a bad thing, but hey.”
“To each their own, right?” said John.
“Right,” said Gardner. “I have a few ideas worth batting around. We’re being attacked on all these fronts, and it’s difficult to focus on the priority.”
“I know what you mean. Parallax. The Manhunters he has hidden in the Forbidden Sectors. The Yamada girl. Then there’s the Red Lanterns, Kyle being missing, no one remembering him…”
“Sinestro said he’d be back in the sector after he reported back about Parallax,” said Guy. “To continue the hunt.”
“Good.”
“Any word on Henshaw?” asked Guy. He didn’t know, of course, where Henshaw was. John kept that close to his chest and intended to keep it that way. Let Hank work through his problems and hopefully come back to them one hundred percent.
“None,” said John. “But that’s fine.”
“Sure,” said Guy. “It’s fine.” But that didn’t stop him from wanting to know more.
PRESENT DAY; OA:
As Sinestro moved through the Citadel of the Green Lantern Corps, he continued to think about what had happened since he’d returned to the fold. It had been some time since the Guardians of the Universe had been in residence, apparently preferring to leave this reality with the ancient females of their race, the Zamorans, to usher in a new age of their immortal lives. But Thaal knew that they were barely missed by the Corps at large. Remembered by the veterans-- and there were few veterans in this age of chaos in the universe-- and only as legends to the rookies-- of which there were many, the Guardians of the Universe weren’t well remembered. Better they build their own universal order in the absence of their old patrons.
Thaal had been taken off sector duty after his return to the Corps. His skill set, his experiences, meant he was best served by Honour Lantern duty, troubleshooting across the galaxy with the Lanterns who patrolled specific stretches of space. He was an expert in threat assessment and removal. That, combined with his experiences under the thumb of Parallax, his immense will to escape, meant he was instrumental in training those who showed great promise when it came to wielding the near infinite power held with a Green Lantern power ring.
“Is something troubling you, Lantern Sinestro?”
Thaal had moved on auto pilot through the hallowed halls, absent-mindedly finding himself in front of the large room that Science Division had transformed into the Phantom Zone projection room, where they studied the Daxamites who had been sent there after their infection by Doctor Xa-Du*.
*Green Lantern Corps #59
Sinestro looked up at the orange-skinned man stood outside the room, a throbbing emerald gem embedded about two thirds of the way down his forehead. He wore a green mask, a common occurrence for some members of the Corps, and Thaal knew him from interactions in the past.
“Lantern Saarek,” said Sinestro, a nod of acknowledgement. “How goes your communication with the Daxamites?” He had ignored the Lantern’s question. He had kept the Kyle Rayner case close to his chest. Let the humans and himself worry about it. Katma Tui knew, but she would let her former mentor take the lead. He had a reputation to maintain, regardless. Troubling him, Sinestro? Don’t be foolish.
“Difficult,” admitted Saarek. “There are… Other forms of life inside the ‘Phantom Zone’. They interfere with longer communications. I find myself having to limit my attempts. It’s frustrating.”
“The Phantom Zone has been called many names, discovered by many races other millions of years,” said Sinestro. “Ghost Zone. Limbo. The White Space. The Kryptonians used it as a prison dimension,” he waved his hand, all this information common knowledge to anyone with access to the Book of Oa, “things lurk in those empty spaces that defy description. We are lucky to have any communication with them at all.” We’re lucky to have you was the suggestion, a pat on the back from an old hand that the old hand himself was unwilling to come out and give.
“We have a volunteer for the serum, the one that Xa-Du left behind,” said Saarek. “Your protégé, Sodam Yat, has pushed for its use. I’m leading the extraction of one of the infected later today. Lantern Sinestro? Sinestro, what’s wrong?
Sinestro’s face had twisted when Sodam Yat was mentioned. Had Kyle been replaced in all their memories by Sodam? He didn’t want to press the issue. They’d interacted sparsely, but he had no feelings of mentorship toward the young Daxamite. He was a hothead, didn’t like the rules, but eventually did as he was told when push came to shove. Like Hal Jordan had been given super powers and been trained in chain of command properly.
“Nothing, Lantern Saarek,” said Sinestro. “Will you keep me appraised of the progress being made with the Daxamites?”
“Of course,” replied the Lantern. “Safe journeys, Sinestro.”
THREE MONTHS AGO; JEQ, THE HOSPITAL WORLD:
"You met Ms Brand," said Doctor Dolchechk, as the two men strolled across the bridge that covered the interior of the hospital. Below were what appeared to be glass domes, and inside each of them gardens, parks, all manner of green. Others appeared residential. Others were medical in nature from the way the white-clad doctors and nurses rushed around.
"She speaks very highly of this place," said Henshaw.
"From what you’ve seen so far, the prosthetics, the physical therapy, you’re probably unsure of how tihsp lace is going to help you?" said Dolchechk.
Had the doctor read his mind?
Dolchechk continued. "Our facilities here focus on those damaged by war. Be them planetary or intergalactic, we provide a service few are capable of. Now, we both know that the damage inflicted by war differs from person to person. Be it physical, or psychological, the toll is taken on those who experience it. The work done to return Alice to her intended state has been some of my most dedicated, focused work."
"I'm not a soldier though," said Henshaw. As he spoke, a small cluster of patients moved past the two of them, being shown the way by the orderlies. Hank saw a bunch of men and women ravaged by war, healed scars and state-of-the-art prosthetics fitted.
"Mister Henshaw, let me blunt: You are a startling case. You have experienced trauma after trauma after trauma, and yet you refuse to break. The cracks are showing, and the cracks are numerous, but others in your position would have simply killed themselves, or others, by now. You are suffering from severe psychological damage and I am qualified to assist you in dealing with it."
Dolchechk's shoulders slumped, almost in defeat. "I have this conversation with nearly every patient who enters my hospital. You think your pain is not worth consideration. That you aren't worth the time. But if I can improve your life, if I can do... something... anything... that improves your quality of life, then I have done my job. Are you going to help me help you rid yourself of the ghosts that haunt you?"
Henshaw stood silent, his eyes wandering toward the duals suns as they set at the horizon line. Mongul killed him. The Predator dragged him back to life and possessed his body, committed atrocities wearing his face, atrocities that he remembered as if they were performed by his hand alone. Imprisonment with the Inversions, beneath Oa.
Surrounded by the worst the universe had to offer. Barely sleeping. Barely surviving. It all came back to his experiences; the ones he couldn't erase. The ones he couldn't move past. His ring abandoned him, and now he was here, on the precipice of something new. An opportunity for a better life...
Finally, Henshaw replied, "I want to live again."
Dolchechk smiled. "Our therapies are keyed specifically to your psychological and physical profile. Our scanners detected no physical component to your ailment, but your brain shows significant trauma. Have you ever been checked for brain damage, Mister Henshaw?"
Henshaw stood silent for a moment, before answering. "...No."
Dolchechk nodded. "Your patient history is confidential. Of all the staff in the faculty, only I know you are a member of the Corps. I know of your death and resurrection, and subsequent possession by an alien parasite, a cosmic entity. Any of those experiences could have left you with brain damage. Your brain has adapted to this damage. New connections made, more than likely thanks to the power ring you wore for so long. But that damage should be explored.” He paused. “It’s best we know the context of a trauma. Unless you request otherwise, the information will be kept between myself, your primary physician and yourself. It’s… against recommendation… to lie or obfuscate your reasons for being here, Lantern Henshaw. Truth is part of the healing process. But I understand that being a member of the Green Lantern Corps brings with it…” Dolchechk searched for the word. “…Baggage… beyond what others might carry. Your limited life expectancy for one.”
"... Brain damage?" repeated Henshaw.
Dolchechk nodded. "If I was concerned we wouldn't be talking on the walkway, we'd be in surgery, Mister Henshaw. In addition to the physical structure of your brain, there is always the psychological make-up. Your mind. I am a latent telepath, Mister Henshaw. With your permission, I would like to read you."
"...Brain damage?"repeated Henshaw, his incredulity growing. "How did I not know?"
"Oan psychic-resonant and energy-channelling material is an absolutely fascinating element," said Dolchechk. "A device, completely opaque to deep scans, that stores psychic profiles of previous users, links with a database containing millennia worth of information, and can conjure and cast emerald energy into shapes. When was the last time someone did a purely scientific study on such things?"
"I don’t know," said Henshaw. "But the things I've done with the ring surprise even me."
“Such as?” asked Dolchechk, a little too firm, a little to inquisitive.
A Green Lantern’s power ring stored the personalities of the bearer so that upon their death, their memory engrams can be used as an avatar by the ring’s CPU. Something about making the transition from civilian life to the life of a Corps member smoother. Hank had mapped his consciousness onto the ring so that if it was separated from him, it would always seek him out. It saved his life. But he wasn’t in the mood to share this information. Not today.
*As revealed in Green Lantern #50
“So there is a precedent then,” murmured Dolchechk.
What did that mean? wondered Henshaw. He asked the question aloud.
"Oh, I’m sorry, you were broadcasting your thoughts, and I overheard them. But that’s a conversation for another time, perhaps," said Dolchechk.
Hank didn’t like having his mind read without his knowledge, but the two had continued to walk, and were now in front of a large transparent door that Henshaw could see led to a lush study. The two men entered, and the doctor beckoned his patient to sit.
"My psychic abilities will allow me to read your mindscape and begin to understand the trauma you underwent. If there's a connection between the brain damage and your psychological problems, we'll soon know. Rest your head back, and close your eyes."
Henshaw did as he was told, but before closing his eyes he quickly said, "About what you said before, about being a member of the Corps? I'm a former member now. I don't have my ring."
"We'll see," said Doctor Dolchechk, smiling. He began to count backwards, and when he reached zero, he quietly said, "contact."
And the world fell out from under Hank Henshaw.
TO BE CONTINUED
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NEXT ISSUE: As John Stewart briefs the Justice League on the hunt for Kyle Rayner and Black Hand, Hank Henshaw begins to face his demons. Meanwhile, a pair of brand new enemies with ties to a dirty secret of the Guardians of the Universe rear their ugly heads… Who are they exactly? And why do they hate the Green Lantern Corps so much? FIND OUT NEXT MONTH!