#67: Apostates and Orphans (Part 1 of 4)

Even now, as an older man who had seen so much in his life, whenever Reverend Norman McCay prayed, he usually felt a sense of relief. There wasn’t an answer to his prayers per se, but a connection-- a compact-- was made between himself-- a mortal man-- and something bigger, a presence that he could extend a hand toward and receive a sense of reverie back from.

Worshiping-- trusting in-- a great, unknowable god made him a better man, that was something he believed, through thick and thin, through the best times and the worst. Even with Ellen undergoing treatment, Norman trusted that his wife would overcome this crisis and emerge stronger. He was no fool-- it would take hard work, it would take more than prayers, but he was fortified by his faith.

When he prayed that night, and extended a quivering, metaphorical hand toward the heavens, toward where his god resided, he couldn’t help but feel afraid when there came no response. ‘Holy father…’ but nothing. ‘Hear my prayers…’ but nothing. Norman felt very small then. And very afraid. His was a life based on a foundation of faith, and when he couldn’t feel the presence of his god, a violent crack formed in his very soul…


Wonder Woman paced the floor of her bedroom, trying to compose herself and devise a strategy for whatever would have to come next. Her sisters had been attacked, nearly killed*, and she’d been in space when it had happened**. That caused her heart to ache, the thought that she was so far away when those who trusted her needed her the most.

**Justice League #66

Over in Gateway City, Cassandra Sandsmark, the young heroine known as Wonder Girl, had been ambushed on the last day of school, and it had only been thanks to the intervention of her ally Arrowette that she’d survived*. The female attacker was a mystery, a blur, and that wasn’t the last that had been heard of her--

Mere hours later in Los Angeles, Donna Troy, her ‘foster’ sister and the heroine known as Troia, had been attacked in the car park of a power station, next to a beach, and if it wasn’t for the fact that passers-by had started approaching the area, Donna was firm that her attacker would have finished the job.

“Your mystery assassin doesn’t want to be spotted, but that doesn’t stop her from ambushing your allies in public places,” mused Bruce Wayne, dressed in a pair of jeans and a black, slogan-less t-shirt. It clung to his body tightly, showing off his muscular frame and the rows of scars that highlighted his forearms in the stark light of the Themysciran Embassy in New York.

Diana was dressed casually too, a ruffled cream skirt and a blue blouse, while her wrists were covered by her silver, ceremonial Amazon gauntlets. She looked over at the man she was currently dating, and he smiled, trying his best to comfort her without words.

“They said she was wearing a version of my costume, that they couldn’t see her face. She wore a hood. Why…?”

Bruce lowered his notebook and then paced over to her, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. “Diana, listen to me. You know that Cassie and Donna are safe. Young Justice are currently enjoying the run of Wayne Manor, courtesy of Robin. That’s the safest place for the kids. Donna made the flight back to New York and she’s with the Titans. We can take them to Laputa if you think it’ll make them more secure, or perhaps it’s better they go into hiding on Paradise Island. It’s up to you. But they are safe and we need to focus not on the why, but the who. We find out who, then the rest will come together.”

Diana looked at him, all conviction and determination, and she rested her head on his shoulder. “Bruce, I…”

There was a knock at the door. “Madame Ambassador?”

Bruce smiled again. He seemed to do that more and more since they’d started their relationship, and the lack of frowns did wonders for his face. “I’ll give you the room. We don’t want your staff knowing you’re dating Gotham’s most eligible bachelor.”

“If you do say so yourself…” said Diana, kissing him on the cheek. When he was out of sight in the annex next door, she opened the door to her bedroom. “Amy, how can I help you tonight?”

Amy Danielewski, one of the staff at the embassy, smiled one of those weak smiles that came with a great weight on one’s soul, and held out a small note. “Umm… this came for you just now, delivered by courier. I thought you’d want to see it.”

Diana’s forehead furrowed and she thanked Amy, before turning to close the door.

“Madame Ambassador…” started Amy, her voice quiet.

Diana looked back, smiled warmly, and then cursed herself inwardly. She saw the division in her staff member’s heart, and put a hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “Amy, I’m so sorry, what’s wrong?”

“Do… do you pray? No, I’m sorry, that’s such a stupid question…”

Diana closed the door so the privacy was returned to her quarters, then looked her young friend in the eye. “What seems to be troubling you?” she asked.

“You’re busy, Ambassador, I’ll, uh, I’ll speak to you later. It’s fine, really.” Amy half-shrugged Diana’s hand off her shoulder then turned tail, walking quickly back down the corridor to the office area of the embassy.

Perturbed, Diana watched her go until she was out of sight, then returned to her chambers.

“Everything okay?” asked Bruce.

“I… I’m not entirely sure,” said Diana. She looked at the note in her hand and read the single word written on the outside fold: Zenobia. Doubt struck her-- was her fellow Amazon, the one who’d been corrupted and coerced to Ares’ side all those years ago, before redeeming herself countless times since, behind these attacks?

“What is it?” asked Bruce, hands on hips.

Diana unfolded the note and read the message inside, then a different emotion struck her. “Hera…”

Bruce prompted her. “Diana…”

“A location,” said Diana. It read, They have her, and beneath that an address in Chicago. The sign-off caused the Queen of the Amazons to cock an eyebrow. “Look.”

Bruce grimaced. How many people had handled the note? How much trace evidence had been allowed to evaporate thanks to the lack of proper handling procedure? He was part of the problem now, but was careful to place the note down and then reopen the folds with a pen from Diana’s desk.

He cursed under his breath. “Pathfinder. It says it’s from Pathfinder.”

There was a certain gravity to the name. Over the last year or so, the Justice League had received word from this somewhat-anonymous source before, and it had helped them save lives. But a mystery was a mystery, and mysteries, when sent to the World’s Greatest Detective, demanded to be solved…

First came the information about Mad Hatter’s attempted kidnapping of President Stuart’s granddaughter, Alice*, then later the source’s intelligence had helped the team take a legion of Silver Swan armoured suits off the streets**.

**Justice League #55

Even the Green Lanterns of Earth had been fed information from this person-- or persons*-- but they’d yet to discern this person’s identity. They’d not put much effort into it yet, but after this, Bruce knew they would have to.


“My sister is in danger. We have to go,” said Diana, peeling off her blouse and heading over to the cabinet that contained her Wonder Woman costume. She looked back at Bruce, and he had opened an attaché he had carried with him into the embassy. Inside sat a very familiar black and grey costume.

“I guess date night is cancelled,” said Bruce, removing the cowl of the Dark Knight from his case. “Shall we call some friends?”


Even with a muzzle covering his mouth and nose, Vandal Savage looked grim as the scientists removed the sensors from his head. Pulling back, you could see the thick, restrictive bindings that were slung around every joint on his body. The former caveman and current immortal was situated in S.T.A.R. Labs, undergoing some well-earned tests.

“This is absolutely fascinating…” murmured Doctor Linda Gray, co-director of the New York branch of S.T.A.R., as she analysed the readings her team’s instruments had taken.

“What is?” asked the Guardian. He was flanked by Firestorm and Majestic, the trio having escorted the warlord from his cell in the Slab all the way to New York.

Gray turned to face them, thumbing her glasses up her nose so she could see the heroes clearly. “Sorry. Look here, at the monitor. There’s a gap in his memory engrams. Selected portions of his long-term memory have been wiped away. The psychic signature is distinct. We’ve seen something similar during our tests of the Martian Manhunter’s brother.”

“Early on in his scheme to incinerate all life on the planet, Ma'Alefa'Ak posed as the Manhunter to scan Savage’s memories for something… important to me*,” said Majestic.


“Then possibly, instead of locating the memory, in an act of spite against you he removed it,” posited Gray. “But what were you looking to find?”

Savage began to chuckle. Even if he couldn’t remember what had been taken from him, the looks on the faces of those who had imprisoned him* amused him no end. He sat back, relaxed as much as his restraints would allow, and his chuckling became a hollow, mocking laughter.


Majestic clenched his fist. “You…”

“Stand down, soldier,” murmured the Guardian, placing his hand on his teammate’s shoulder.

Shrugging off the gesture, Majestic grunted and left the room, leaving Firestorm and the Guardian with the doctor and their prisoner. Firestorm looked sheepish, and Gray kept looking over at her, curious for some reason the Nuclear Heroine didn’t understand.

The Guardian pressed on. “Sorry about him, he’s a bit testy over this whole thing. He was held captive by Vandal Savage, for how long we don’t know, and his release was some world-ending contingency engineered by a future version of Savage. But the world didn’t end, and we want to know why all this happened. Why was Majestic held captive? What was the endgame. But if the memories have been expunged…”

Gray removed her gloves pointedly. “There’s nothing more we can do here. I’ll see if there’s any way we can undo the damage, but unless we could locate the engrams that were removed and reinsert them, I think we’re a bit stuck.”

“Ma'Alefa'Ak did the damage and now he’s stuck in the powerless, chimeric form he intended for his brother*. He can’t talk, he can’t think… all he can feel is pain…” said the Guardian.


“No less than what he deserves, from what I’ve heard,” said Gray.

“Not an observation I’d expect from someone who upholds the hippocratic oath,” said the Guardian.

“Ma'Alefa'Ak and Vandal Savage are both monsters. I don’t think there’s any arguing that. Knowing that won’t stop our treatment of the pair, but it’s something I remember throughout. Regardless, I think it’s time for our guest to go back to the Slab. They’re keeping his cell warm, aren’t they?”

The Guardian nodded and headed toward the door. “I’ll have the marines outside prepare him for transport.”

“I’ll, uh, go with you,” said Firestorm.

“Could I have a quick word before you do?” asked Gray.

“Yeah, of course,” said Firestorm.

{I can sense your unease, but there’s nothing to be worried about, Lorraine. I’ve known Linda for years, she’s one of the good ones,} said Professor Martin Stein, his consciousness floating in the Firestorm Matrix that allowed them to wield the supreme elemental powers that allowed them to fight crime in their own imitable way.

Lorraine Reilly, currently in the driving seat of the matrix, along with Stein riding shotgun, knew Doctor Gray was responsible for Ronnie Raymond’s treatment after his series of seizures that had led to this new status quo for the Nuclear Hero. But it wasn’t who she was that concerned her, more accurately the fact that Lorraine’s boyfriend, the person who held the mantle of Firestorm before her, was currently dying and no one knew why.

Stein’s lab assistant, Jason Rusch, had been there when Ronnie had stumbled into the campus laboratory in the throes of what Martin had at the time described as a ‘psychotic break’, but with hindsight it was clear this was nothing of the sort.

Ronnie’s body had always struggled to mainline the powers of the Firestorm matrix. He’d experienced a sort of radiation build up before that had nearly ended both his life and Stein’s, but after they expunged all that excess energy, the cancer had gone into remission*.


Entering a side room, Gray removed her glasses and began to clean them on the edge of her lab coat. “We respect the secret identities of all the enhanced entities that utilise our facilities, Firestorm. But in the course of our treatment of Ronald Raymond, your partner in the ‘matrix’ informed us of his identity, an old friend of mine, Professor Martin Stein.”

Firestorm cleared her throat, and a man’s voice emerged from her mouth. “I’m confident that you’ll be able to get to the bottom of this mystery, Doctor.”

Gray was taken aback, not expecting to hear her former colleague’s voice coming from this young woman’s mouth, but what else should she have expected from a hero whose head was on perpetual fire?

“Sorry, Doctor,” said Firestorm, Lorraine’s voice reasserting itself, “as well as sharing this body, we share the use of it as well.”

“Fascinating. Absolutely fascinating. Well, let me get to the crux of this: If Ronald is sick and he’s been the ‘pilot’ of Firestorm for however long, how do you know that the current pilot isn’t getting just as sick right now?”

Firestorm blinked. Why hadn’t she thought of that?


Ever cautious, Batman had sent out a general alert to the Justice League and back-up had arrived en route to the location Pathfinder had leaked to them. Diana had been edgy when word came in about Zenobia, and Bruce knew that. The way her grip tightened around her lasso when her fingers wandered to her side.

Something odd occurred to him, but he hadn’t mentioned it yet.

Why hadn’t she prayed to her gods for guidance?

“What are you thinking?” asked Wonder Woman, catching her Dark Knight’s eyes as they wandered from her hip to her eyes.

Batman deflected. “Somehow this location has been leaked to us by an anonymous source with ties to various agencies across America. Someone who knew about caches of arcane weaponry, of cosmic entities on the loose in the backwoods of the country. I’m just concerned that we’re being led by our noses…”

“If they have my sister…”

“--And I believe they will. But how is this ‘Pathfinder’ gathering all this information?”

Before their conversation could continue, there was a signal from overhead, a strobe of green, and suddenly Aquawoman, Big Barda, Green Lantern and Mister Miracle became visible, floating above their heads wholly enshrouded in an emerald stealth sheath projected by the power-ring slinging hero’s weapon of choice.

Green Lantern nodded in the duo’s direction. “I’ve scanned the building; numerous heat signatures going about their presumably villainous day. I have their locations keyed into the ring. How do you want to play this?”

“Any movements we make could lead to Zenobia’s execution. We need to go in quick and quiet,” said Batman. “Miracle?”

“We need one?” offered Mister Miracle.

Batman didn’t crack a smile. “We need you. I want--”

“Holy--!” said a startled Green Lantern, as Wonder Woman threw caution to the wind and dove down toward the building, raising her gauntleted wrists to protect her face from debris as she pummelled through the walls with ease.

Aquawoman and Big Barda charged after her on instinct, while Batman cursed as he aimed his grapnel toward the ground. Diana meant everything to him, and he knew that her sisters meant everything to her, but this kind of reckless behaviour wasn’t in her nature. But perhaps when those she loved were threatened she was capable of more than he expected?

Green Lantern and Mister Miracle bought up the rear, but by the time Batman made it down into the tunnel Wonder Woman had created and the exit that spilled out into an elaborate, technology-laden sub-basement, there was nothing left to do, no fight left to have.

“Where are the heat signatures, Lantern?” asked Big Barda.

“Damn, those generators were sending out a false-positive,” he replied, gesturing to the humming machines that lined the walls. They glowed an incandescent scarlet and heat trails hung in the air where they’d been projected by artificial means.

“Disable them all,” said Batman.

Wonder Woman was trudging across the floor, her eyes darting from side to side, trying to find any sign of Zenobia.

John held up his ring and beams of light were sent every which way, a series of small explosions signalling that the generators were destroyed.

“And now?” asked Batman.

“I’m disregarding any ambient heat, and can find one human-sized heat signature,” said Lantern.

“Where?” asked Wonder Woman.

John held his hand out, palm up, and a sphere of light formed, before shooting off in the direction he’d been asked about. Wonder Woman followed swiftly, then so did the rest of the team. The sphere zipped around corners, down another level or so into a sub-sub basement, before it came to a stop inside a horrific, retrofitted hospital ward. There was one bed, and it was currently occupied.

In piles around the bed were men and women, their necks broken, their faces caved in where they were on the receiving end of a horrific beating. They were dead. All of them. A brief scan from Lantern’s ring confirmed it.

“What in…?” asked Mister Miracle.

“Zenobia?” whispered Diana.

The Queen of the Amazons couldn’t be sure. Laying there was a woman, her face a smorgasbord of bruises and contusions that disfigured her presumably once-beautiful face. She was covered in blood-- presumably hers-- but trails led from the bodies of the men and women who lay dead to where she had collapsed on the gurney.

“D-- D--” she stuttered through split lips, the sound of her name causing her to turn her head to try and look at the speaker, but to no avail. Her eyes were swollen shut and the wheezing that emanated from her mouth chilled Diana to the bone.

“I’m here, I’m here,” whispered Diana. Kneeling at her sister’s side, she began to assess the extent of the damage. Every bone in her hands was broken, her wrists faced the wrong way, as did her elbows. Someone had dismantled one of Themyscira’s greatest warriors, one of the few people alive who had bested Diana herself to claim the mantle of Wonder Woman.*


“She needs medical attention,” said Batman. “Lantern, can you stabilise with your ring?”

“On it. Barda, Scott, maybe your Mother Box can assist?”

Green Lantern knelt on the other side of Zenobia and placed a warm hand on her shoulder, allowing threads of light to drift over her ravaged body and begin to preserve her so that they could get her to a hospital. At the head of the gurney, Big Barda unbuckled her Mother Box from where it sat on her shoulder and placed it on Zenobia’s sternum. The Amazonian warrior exhaled horribly, as if breath was being dragged from somewhere deep inside her, but after a long second of Diana holding her own, Zenobia inhaled, her airwave seemingly cleared.

“D-D-D…” mumbled Zenobia. “C-can’t…”

“Who did this? Who did this to you?” asked Diana.

“Oh, what the hell, what in the hell…” said Green Lantern, looking at his ring as it finished its review of Zenobia’s medical status.

“What is it?” asked Batman, stepping forward tentatively.

Diana looked up at John, and followed his eyes to where a thin sheet covered the majority of Zenobia’s body. She lifted it up and her jaw dropped, the scarification that covered her sister’s body shaking her to her core. Someone had cut her open, stitched her back together, and didn’t care if she survived the experience.

“Who… who would do such a thing?” asked Mera.

“They vivisected her… I’ve never…” started Barda.

“Who did this to you?” asked Wonder Woman.

“D-demons… d-d-demons did… did… this…” managed Zenobia. “T-took… t-took s-some-- thingggg”

“I need to get her to a medical facility, all we can do is stabilise down here,” said Green Lantern.

“Door,” said Batman. A portal opened up leading to the only place Diana would feel comfortable taking Zenobia. If you stepped through you’d be on the beaches of Paradise Island, a few hundred years from Themyscira itself.

Lantern lifted Zenobia up with his ring, preserving her in emerald amber for transport. Wonder Woman followed them as they went, but before they went through the threshold of the portal, Zenobia grabbed her sister’s wrist tightly, and managed to open her eyes a fraction through the bruises and swelling.

“She s-sent m-me here,” she said, sharply.

“Who?” asked Diana.

“Devastation,” whispered Zenobia, before the warrior finally passed out from the pain.

“Go,” said Batman. “We’ll work the scene. Make sure she gets the medical attention she needs.”

Wonder Woman said nothing, before slipping through the portal with Big Barda and Green Lantern, to finally take her sister home. She only wished it wasn’t under such circumstances…


“Uh, sir, I’m not allowed to let you in, not, not after… after last time,” said the nervous security guard.

His hand hovered over his taser, and then he clenched his fist and lowered it completely, resigning himself to the fact that whatever he had in him, whatever grit or gusto, it wouldn’t be enough to do what needed to be done to turn the man in front of him away from the gate.

Arthur Curry-- aka Orin, the King of the Seven Seas-- or better yet, known to the world as Aquaman, looked down his nose at the portly gentleman, and shook his head. “If you folks couldn’t stop me last time, do you really think you can now? Besides, I’m not here to cause trouble. Looks like that boat has already sailed.”

He pointed behind the security guard, who glanced back at the scenes of mayhem that had only just calmed, then sighed, before shaking his reddening head.

“It’s just… they… oh, this job isn’t worth it anyway…” he said, his shoulders drooping as he stepped out of the way of the gold and green clad hero. He unclipped his radio from his belt then unbuckled that, throwing all his security-related tchotchkes and paraphernalia into the small kiosk he’d emerged from moments before, then simply walked away.

“Well… that was easy…” said Aquaman, before strolling forward.

After some time away from the surface, Arthur, along with his wife Mera, was back on active duty with the Justice League. Beneath the waves, his friend and protégé, Garth, aka Tempest, was the regent of Atlantis*, learning to rule in anticipation of the time that Arthur’s son would be ruler, and need an advisor as trusted as Vulko was to him.


Even though he was back fighting the good fight, his wife had insisted that he didn’t push himself too hard yet. He was still weak-- though not addled-- after the events that had led to his return, namely his kidnap at the hands of his half-brother Orm, aka the Ocean Master, and the eventual revelation that Orm’s descent into madness had been engineered by Xebel’s mad king, Nereus.

So here he was, answering a call from Hawkman for assistance, while Mera had headed to Chicago with the rest of the team to support Batman and Wonder Woman on a rescue operation.

Approaching where Hawkman’s signal emanated from, Arthur noted the dilapidated state of Seaworld. It really hadn’t recovered since he broke in after dark one night and released all the so-called ‘attractions’, and thanks to a number of lawsuits started by an old-money friend in Gotham and then continued by his kingdom, Seaworld never managed to repopulate. A victory, in a world where ones like it are few and far between.

Helmetless, the winged avenger was leaning against the entrance to the Manta rollercoaster, breathing deeply. Aquaman noted that whatever had unfolded here earlier had ended, and he was only here for what appeared to be clean-up.

“Hawkman? Aare you all right?” he asked.

The half-Thanagarian’s shoulders moved up and down, and when he turned to face the King of Atlantis his face was flushed, like he was recovering from a heavy exertion or a panic attack. “Aq… Aquaman… what’re… what’re you doing here?”

“You sent out the call for back-up, and everyone else was headed to Chicago, so I’m here.”

“I did?” Hawkman rubbed his head then shook it. “Of course I did. Sorry. This fight must have thrown me for a loop.”

“Is that a pun?” asked Aquaman, as his teammate led him across the threshold of the Manta rollercoaster ride.

“No,” replied Katar.

“Then what’s going on?” said Aquaman.

“I’d like you to meet Maisie.”

“…Maisie?” repeated Aquaman.

Sat on top of the help desk was a small girl, no older than six, with big pigtails and a wide-eyed look of sadness on her face. She had recently been crying, and Arthur could taste the salt in the air, distinguishable from the salt water previously pumped into the tanks that had once stored all the attractions that made this place successful.

“I… I… I wanted to see dolphins,” said Maisie, quietly.

“Oh, dear,” said Arthur, crouching in front of the young girl. “Seaworld stopped keeping dolphins here years ago. They weren’t treated very well, so someone came and released them back into the wild, where they belonged. All the dolphins and whales, all the animals, they’re out in the ocean now, free to live the lives they deserve with their friends and families.”

Hawkman made a noise, and Aquaman looked up at him. “‘Someone’?”

Aquaman shook his head. “Anyway, Maisie, where’s your mom and dad? Do you know?”

He studied the girl once more. She was dressed for a day out, but a small bracelet covered in multi-coloured stickers stuck out to him. Beneath all the accoutrement was a technological marvel, humming as they all gathered there.

“What’s this?” he asked, gesturing to it.

“Bird-man gave it to me,” said Maisie, pointing at Katar.

“Power dampening tech from S.T.A.R.,” said the winged avenger, leading Aquaman away from the girl. “Nearly a year ago, Hawkgirl and I stopped a superpowered child from destroying downtown Platinum Flats*. But it didn’t end there. We’ve been tracking occurrences of power manifestations in children across the country, and this was the latest flare up. Maisie here displayed hydrokinetic powers, but I was able to get the inhibitor bracelet on her and bring her… attack… to a stop.”


“Who’s ‘we’? I don’t recall reading about this in the League mission logs,” said Aquaman.

“Not everything I do is affiliated with the League, Aquaman. Just as you don’t ask the team for assistance when your kingdom is troubled, I deal with things on my own from time to time. Anyway, I need to take Maisie to S.T.A.R. I’ve been working with Harrison Wells on this thing since the beginning, and he’ll want to run some tests on her.”

“What does it mean though? Spontaneous power manifestation? Are we seeing metagenes triggering earlier now? Or are they mutants? What’s the cause?”

Hawkman began to count off on his fingers. “No metagene present. No mystical intervention detectable. No mutation to the base genome. No biological or cybernetic enhancements S.T.A.R. can find. Whatever this is… it’s a mystery.”

Aquaman nodded. “Then let’s get to S.T.A.R., I want to hear what they make of this so far.”


“Something troubling you, Firestorm?”

Vandal Savage had surprisingly been returned to his cell in the Immortals wing of the Slab with little fuss. His cell was tailor-made for the kind of monsters that posed a standing threat toward humanity. No one knew he had come and gone because each cell he had to go past on his way out or in was strategically blacked out to prevent anyone from seeing things they weren’t meant to. That meant no leaks, no escape attempts, and no ‘malarkey’, as Warden Shilo Norman called it.

The first cell in the Immortals wing, down in Cell Block A-- initialled for how low they were in the building’s layout, so Cell Block Z was the highest strata, on the top floor, where less high-risk metahuman prisoners were kept-- was occupied by the indestructible and mysterious Kenyan, who had killed hundreds before being put on death row for the murder of HALO CEO Jacob Marlowe*. When execution didn’t take, his sentence was reduced to life imprisonment, which was just as bad, if you thought about it.


Though empty, there were cells designed for General Immortus, Ra’s Al Ghul, and many more. Invisible tethers ensured that even if the prisoners made it outside their cells they would be drawn back, as if a rubber band had snapped back into place after being extended too far.

“Firestorm?” repeated the Guardian.

Lorraine turned, a trail of fire crackling into the sky as her attention focused on her comrade. “Oh, uh… the doctor… she raised some… uh… concerns about my… our… health.”

The duo were stood outside in the prison yard, catching some air after going into the depths of the Slab to deliver their prisoner. They’d say ‘Door’ and be on their way, but the Guardian had held off, preferring to take advantage of a moment’s peace to check on his newest teammate’s disposition. She’d been quiet since they left S.T.A.R., and he wanted to make sure she-- they-- were okay.

“We’ve ran a number of tests since Ronald’s condition manifested,” came Stein’s voice from Firestorm’s mouth. “I’m confident that whatever afflicts him does not--”

Lorraine’s voice interrupted. “--That’s not my concern. He didn’t manifest the sickness until it manifested. No warning signs, no hint that something was going to happen--”

Firestorm shook her head, Stein pressing on: “--The best doctors are treating Ronald--”

“--What if that’s not enough?” pressed Lorraine.

“Guys, guys, please. If we’re going to have this conversation then you either take turns or you separate. And this place isn’t where that should happen. I’ll be straight with you: Ronald’s condition is troublesome, but I also trust that S.T.A.R. has the resources to help. In any case, we’ve invited our brain trust into a consult, so the best brains this world has to offer-- and some not of this world-- are going to be on this until he’s cured.”

“…Or dead?” countered Lorraine.

“Lorraine!” gasped Stein, his voice once again emerging rom her mouth.

The Guardian unclipped his helmet and ran a hand through his damp hair. His expression had shifted to one of sadness, though he was trying to show determination instead. “I don’t think like that. I have to believe… that… that if we work hard enough toward a goal then we’ll see that goal reached. That if your friend is sick, we can find a cure. That if she… she…”

{'She'?'Who’s she?} Martin asked Lorraine in their private mindscape.

The Guardian sighed, but Lorraine didn’t press him on his slip. She stepped forward and reached a tentative hand. “What is it?” she asked.

Harper’s expression became unreadable. “I have a few errands to run*. Batman and Wonder Woman put out a general alert and I doubt Majestic is going to answer. Reconvene with them and put a call out if you need further assistance. Door.”


An orange, translucent portal opened in the air before the elder hero and he stepped through, leaving Firestorm alone, a small bonfire rustling atop her crown, on the Slab’s grounds.

{Something’s wrong with him,} mused Stein, their conversation taking place inside the Firestorm Matrix they both occupied.

“Yeah. But maybe he’s right… maybe… all we have to do is hope and pray and that… that…”

A tear formed in the corner of Firestorm’s eye but immediately evaporated. She shook her head, dismissed the thought, and shot up into the air, toward Chicago.


The Justice League’s island headquarters was quiet. Vandal Savage was being transferred back to the Slab by the Guardian and Firestorm, and Majestic had exited early, his frustrations keenly audible over their nanotelepathic link. The Kheran warlord had a habit of flying out of range of communications when he got aggravated, and after tracking his flight path toward the moon, Angela Spica gave up keeping tabs on him.

A half hour earlier, Batman had sent out a call for assistance for Wonder Woman and himself; they were playing it cautious on some kind of rescue operation, and Angie hadn’t read into the details. That wasn’t like Angie. She was a big brain, that’s what the Guardian kept her around for, that’s what paid her wage-- that and her ability to unpick high-science problems behind the scenes.

Where was everyone else? Flying solo, Hawkman had just stopped an attack in Florida. He’d asked for some assistance and Aquaman had agreed to head down. The location of the attack amused the King of Atlantis, and it amused Angie to see the usually regal man chuckle. She needed that, right now. Which brought her to…

…The final member of the team, down in the lab, coming to terms with his current situation.

Victor Stone, aka Cyborg, had been torn to shreds by flesh-devouring carrion beasts, and it had left him… without anything to call human in his body*. No skin, no bone. No musculature left over, just a brain in a pan, and even that wasn’t enough for him to feel human anymore.


click

Standing tentatively at the threshold of the large laboratory, Angie tried to blink what little light was emanating from the monitor Vic was stooped over into her eyes so she could see what he was doing.

click

What was she thinking? Of course she knew what he was doing.

click

Her initial attraction to him was based on the fact that his nanotechnology-based prosthesis was absolutely fascinating, and Silas Stone, his father, was ahead of his time when it came to designing the technological marvel that saved his life all those years ago.

So yes, she would be the first to admit she had an agenda when she first sidled up to him in Laputa’s canteen. But then she got to talking to him, and found out that there was more to him. His enthusiasm for life-- not just his own, but for those out in the world, for those around him-- even though he had been in a terrible accident that had left him trapped in a body that was more like a tank. Football. Music. Hiking. Hell, he could still bust a move on the dancefloor, even though Angie insisted he must have downloaded those moves from the internet…

click

“Vic?” she said, into the dark.

“I’m here,” came the noise his cybernetic voice box synthesised when a thought process reached its internal server.

click

She missed his deep, vibrant voice. She missed his warmth. Now he was cold. Literally and figuratively.

click

“The team is all out on missions… do you want to… come up to the monitor womb and, uh, monitor with me?”

Vic looked back at her with the only face he had left. Visible above his brow was the translucent casing that suspended what was left of his brain in a nutrient bath. That was it. The last living part of him. But he couldn’t even completely claim that as his own, as the accident that rendered him in this state of living roboticism required new inputs to be constructed directly into his neural tissue, and when they ran diagnostics on his body they found that more and more cerebral matter had been almost devoured, by the nanomachine processers that kept him functioning, in favour of the creation of those connections.

click

A visible brain, surrounded by a cybernetic framing that not only protected the last remaining part of his original body, but also created the illusion of a human bone structure. Covering that were innumerable lengths of nanomachine tubing that allowed him to reconfigure his body-- both internally and externally-- into white noise generators, non-lethal armament, riot suppression modes… that allowed him to be Cyborg, the Teen Titan, the Justice Leaguer…

click

“Could you stop that? Please?” asked Angie.

Vic looked back at the monitor. In his hand he held a remote control, one that he was pressing every few seconds to change the image on the screen. A slideshow of images, of better days, of when he had a face, when he had a life he could claim was worth living, it showed them all. What was his identity now? What did he have left?

click

Vic shook his head. “I used to get so caught up in the fact I wasn’t entirely human anymore. That I was surrounded by a prosthesis that kept me alive, but also set me apart from life. But look at that smile. Prancing around with Gar and Kid Flash, having a laugh, forgetting my problems… that wasn’t what my lfie was supposed to be, but it was a life, y’know?”

“I do, Vic, but… we need to figure out our next steps.”

“Next steps? I ran a full diagnostic. I am a fully functioning cybernetic organism. Battery power is at 99.8% and I have been active for less than a decade. If I remain undamaged I can exist for close to a thousand years… or I could just recharge and exist in this state forever.”

“But that’s not what you’re going to do, Vic. I… I care about you so much, but I can’t let you spend the rest of your life--”

“What life?” growled Vic.

“The one we were sharing! The one where we talked, where we solved problems, where we overcame everything. You think this changes that? You think that I’m out? That I give up? You’re still in there, you stupid lug and that means I’m still in this.”

“In here?” Vic tapped his forehead. “My brain is being eaten by my body. Replaced by more and more computers. I’m being backed up to a computer, killed in increments, then backed up again. I don’t even know what my brain does anymore. It’s just the part of my corpse that those monsters didn’t tear off my chassis.”

“Look… you can sit here and wallow, or you can talk to me. I’ll be upstairs, but I’ll be waiting. I’ll wait for as long as it takes. But just because you’re going to be here for a thousand years doesn’t mean I will be. So, process this. Deal with this. Hell, let me help with both of the above. But I’m not going to be here forever. And I don’t want to waste any of our time left together. Okay?”

click

“I think it would be best if you left me alone for a while, Angela,” said Vic, any emotion that had been present in his synthesised voice previously now gone. He had turned his back on her once more, and was watching images from the past play across the screen.

Alone, Angie swallowed hard. “Maybe you’re right.” She turned tail and left the lab, sealing the door behind her.

Around her wrist was a device of her own design, one created to regulate the nanites that she had injected into her bloodstream to moderate her brain chemistry. Early on, she had found that being one of the world’s premiere scientific minds came with a few burdens. One was a raft of mental illnesses that she engineered a way out from. Anxiety, depression, and a hefty dealing of bipolar disorder meant that one day could be the darkest in her entire world and the next would be golden. Ups and downs. Peaks and troughs.

What was life like before? Hypomanic episodes on one end of the spectrum that had manic episodes on the other? Life a balancing act that both rewarded and punished you for living it. There were good days and bad days and on one of them, when it all seemed insurmountable, she did something about it.

One fateful night, she injected herself with machines that would crawl across her brain and make sure that she only ever felt what she wanted to feel. Since that point, they’d been deactivated once, when what was effectively a mystical EMP triggered across Laputa with Batman and herself-- along with some rather compromised Justice Leaguers-- still inside* and it had been one of the most traumatic moments of her life.


Angie had, in the figurative palm of her hand, the ability to turn off any emotions she didn’t want to feel. She managed her mental illness through a different kind of medication than most, but it was effective nonetheless. So what if she turned off the feelings that created the immense gaping wound in her heart? She could think hard enough, the master-controller nanite in her head would send a signal to her bracelet that would then distribute a new directive to the rest of the nanomachine fleet in her body… stop feeling.

The option was there, and she considered it for a moment longer than she felt comfortable.

“No,” she said, finally. “I’m not giving up on him yet.”


“Supposition?” asked Mister Miracle.

Aquawoman stuck to the edge of the horror show of a hospital floor, watching Batman do his work. Mister Miracle floated, cross-legged, above the crime scene, trying to follow the Dark Knight’s reasoning as he combed through the evidence at hand.

“Excuse me?” asked Batman, glancing up at the New God of Escape.

“You’ve stopped grunting every second step, your breathing has slowed. You’re thinking something through. Sound it out. Let us in on your thought process,” said Miracle, spinning upside down so his aero-disc-mounted feet almost touched the ceiling. His cape fell down past his head, but he was still careful not to disturb any more evidence than they might have already.

Batman never underestimated his enemies, and that went doubly for his allies. Scott Free may have looked like a normal man under the green and red and yellow circus costume, but he was a celestial being, a god that walked amongst men; that meant his senses were sharper than those of a normal man. While he was weaker than Superman, he could still hear the heartbeat of a man across the room from him. He could still throw a punch that could lay another god-being low. He’d once told Bruce that he could hear prayers directed at him, but as a New God, those came few and far between. Not many knew he even existed…

“I initially thought that, due to the blood splatter, Zenobia managed to overpower her captors before collapsing from the damage they’d done to her… but the scene has almost been staged…”

“What do you mean?” asked Mera.

“Even though we disturbed the scene, I’ve mentally been able to restructure the footprints that were left over in the pools of blood around the bodies. It’s one attacker, moving superhumanly fast, delivering killing blow after killing blow.”

“Do you recognise the movement?” asked Aquawoman.

“My turn to ask: Huh?” said Miracle.

Mera leaned forward off the wall and carefully made her way from her vantage point to where the Dark Knight presided over the scene. “Under the sea, when movements occur, a ripple is left in the water after them. I move my hand up, I move my hand down, you could extrapolate my movements from the wake. Combat is similar. Combat has a style, a signature. So, each movement, every footfall, suggests a combat style. Do you recognise it?”

Batman shook his head. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Violent. Direct. Vicious. No motion wasted, no action unnecessary. But the footprints themselves… that’s what’s troubling me.”

Mister Miracle twisted around so he was now floating above the ground, his head closer to the ceiling than the others. “What about them?”

“It belongs to a size 7 foot. The average American woman's foot currently sits between an 8.5 and 9. So our attacker was either a child with large feet, or a woman with small ones. Did you know Wonder Woman’s other allies were attacked yesterday? Wonder Girl and Troia? By a young woman who wore a version of Diana’s own costume…”

“So you think…” started Mera.

“The confluence of evidence suggests that whoever attacked them was here, and she murdered Zenobia’s captors. But how did Zenobia get here, and why did they do these things to her? Can your Mother Box take an impression of the scene?”

“Already done,” said Mister Miracle.

“Let’s move out. The authorities have held a perimeter, let’s hand them full control of the scene. We’ve got work to do elsewhere now,” said Batman. “Door.” An orange portal formed before the trio. “We’re going to Themyscira.”


Beneath the sprawling grounds of an estate located in upstate New York, a state of the art facility designed to do the kind of things in private that would be frowned upon if they were done in public buzzed with activity, though anyone driving by wouldn’t have a clue…

When it was announced that the European Organization for Nuclear Research-- CERN-- would construct their ‘Large Hadron Collider’ near Geneva, Switzerland, there was uproar, fears that the particle collisions inside the immense device might produce so-called doomsday phenomena. Eschaton events were dreamed up involving the production of unstable black holes or the creation of hypothetical particles called ‘strangelets’ that would cause all of known reality to invert or whatever the fear-mongering press decided to claim on that day…

So instead of announcing they were doing things that might be construed as worse, Harrison Wells did whatever he had to do, paid whatever he had to pay, to ensure that the public would not concern themselves with the construction of S.T.A.R. Labs’ Esoteric Research and Investigation Centre.

‘Mad science is only mad if done without proper safety precautions’, Harrison had once said. And the world hadn’t ended yet because of S.T.A.R. Labs’ work, had it?

Aquaman and Hawkman led Maisie into the grand reception hall of the immense manor house that they’d stepped through a portal to reach, and Arthur was blown away by the place. A pair of young women dressed in pristine white S.T.A.R. Labs uniforms approached and scooped Maisie up.

Arthur noticed Katar’s hand twitch, almost rise up to reach out as Maisie looked back at them teary-eyed, but he set his jaw and they began to walk through the premises.

“Since when did S.T.A.R. get so upscale?” Aquaman asked. He kept glancing around, noticing small surveillance devices lining every inch of the place. High security for such a nice-looking place…

“People are less scared of a country home than they are a laboratory,” said Hawkman. He led him down the hallway, passing a number of researchers and scientists, until they reached a pair of old oak doors that opened up to an elevator. “We’re heading down. I think… I think you should meet Harrison.”

“Okay, sounds fine. You seem to know your way around.”

“Yes. I’ve been coming here a lot since this whole thing started.”

“How many children have you found with this power manifestation phenom?”

“Too many…”

They entered the elevator and Katar pressed a button marked ‘-42’, and they began their journey down. Aquaman leaned backwards and forwards whistling to himself, while Hawkman stood silently.

It was the latter of the pair that broke the silence.

“Why did you come?” asked Katar.

Arthur glanced over in his direction. “What do you mean?”

“I put a call out, sure. I needed to get Maisie here, basically. Anyone could have come. I could have done it myself. But you did. Why?”

Aquaman was quiet for a moment, considering the question, then smiled. “…Diplomacy.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hawkman.

“I’m a founding member of this team, but my duties as king pulled me away early on, and my time with the team since has been… intermittent, at best. When I took a step back a year or so back*-- after we found out Kobra had been supplied with Xebel weaponry-- it was to fortify my kingdom, make sure that we would never experience a disaster like we did a year before that**. With Tempest acting as regent, with all my plans currently in motion, I thought it time to surface, and Mera loved her time on the team when she was last here--”

**Aquaman #21-25

Katar held up his hand. “That’s not what I asked. And I mean no offense by the question, but--”

It was Arthur’s turn to interrupt. “I’ve known you as long as the rest of the founders, but I barely know you, Hawkman. I trust everyone else with my life. And while I trust you with my life, I want… it… it would be good for there to be some weight to that. Not some passing, ‘oh, we fight side-by-side so we have each other’s backs’, nonsense… I mean, you spend your time here? Trying to figure out what happened to these kids? I would never have guessed. And I think that’s sad. I want to know you better, especially if you’re the kind of man who does things like this.”

Hawkman considered the answer. It was true, they’d never really interacted, even though Aquaman was part of the Justice League team that helped save Thanagar from the wrath of Despero*. After that, they’d interacted, but never really spoken. Not properly. And maybe that was because he kept himself to the edges of the team. Kept quiet unless he needed to speak. Maybe that was his mistake…


“Well, I--”

The doors to the elevator pinged and opened, the pair having reached the bottom 42nd floor of the underground complex.

Doctor Harrison Wells, the founder of S.T.A.R. Labs, met them at the door in his wheelchair. “Katar, thank you for-- oh, I didn’t realise you were bringing company.”

“No need to act so surprised, Doctor Wells,” said Arthur, extending his hand, “you’ve got cameras all over this place… you’ve known I was here since I stepped through the door.”

Harrison was expressionless for a second, before a smile began to form, lighting up his face. He took Arthur’s hand and shook it, and a wave of nausea floated across the King of the Seven Seas, something that riled his stomach something nasty. “Smart. Smart,” said Wells.

“Observant,” corrected Arthur, taking a step back to compose himself. What was that feeling?

“Same thing. What has Katar told you about our work here?”

Hawkman grunted. “CliffsNotes.”

Harrison watched Arthur as they moved through the metal corridors, deeper into the complex.

Aquaman elaborated, “Yeah, children manifesting mysterious powers with no discernible cause. They’re bought here for tests. That much, I know. I was wondering what you had learned so far.”

Harrison bobbed his head from side to side, considering what to share. “Well, the children are perfectly normal apart from the fact they’ve manifested superpowers. And it’s not just a small-scale event now. Across the country, children are turning up with superpowers. Hawkman and the Birds of Prey find them and bring them here.”

“What about their families?” asked Arthur.

Wells was quick to answer, “No living relatives. Orphans, all of them. It’s so sad, and so strange. There’s an epidemic of superpower manifestation across the country, and we can’t figure out why, or how, or what’s even causing it.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed and he looked over at Katar. “And you didn’t bring this to the League?”

Hawkman shook his head. “We’re still putting the pieces together. S.T.A.R. have dedicated an entire branch of operations to the singular focus of diagnosing what’s happened to these children. They’ve given the ERIC facility over to the study completely and Doctor Wells is overseeing the project personally. The children are kept safe, they’re given a home, and when we know how best to accommodate their needs, they’ll be fostered.”

“Fostered… they’re all orphans? Isn’t that a horrible coincidence? What happened to them?” asked Aquaman.

“The Birds are investigating that aspect of it,” said Hawkman.

“Makes sense, sorry,” said Aquaman.

Harrison led them to a new door and then cleared his throat. “Power dampeners work, so we’re able to integrate them with regular, un-powered children. They’re fine. Social services pay weekly visits, but they’re given everything they need to live a happy, normal life… considering.”

“Considering,” repeated Arthur.

“And Hawkman visits every week as well. They love seeing him. Everything helps.”

Hawkman made a grunting sound. Aquaman nearly laughed. The door in front of them opened and Wells wheeled himself through. He looked back at the two heroes and then forward again, where dozens of children were demonstrating the immense powers they had manifested.

Energy bolts flew at targets, those who could fly were zipping through hoops high up above their heads at high speeds. Water was spun into shapes by some then frozen by others. It was a miraculous sight, unlike anything Arthur had ever witnessed before. So many powers were on display, and they were all being wielded by such young children. Scientists with tablets were recording what they were seeing, and even more state-of-the-art surveillance systems were in play, their gentle hum clearly audible to someone who can hear the ping of echo location in Challenger Deep-- 36,070 feet below sea level.

“As you can see, their care is our utmost priority,” said Wells.

“You’ve got them running drills,” said Arthur.

“Excuse me?”

Aquaman gestured to what was unfolding before them. “Loop-the-loop, target practice; they’re all drills, aren’t they? Testing their abilities, but with a martial application.”

“It’s not that straightforward,” said Hawkman.

“I’m sure, but from an outsider perspective… it looks how it looks.”

“I understand your concerns, Aquaman. Please, both of you, I want to show you what we’re doing now”

Harrison led them to a plain room to the side of the training area. He wheeled around and pressed a button on the wall that sealed the entrance after them, and Hawkman removed his mask, wiping a sheen of sweat from his forehead. Aquaman noticed how strained he looked, a pulsing vein visible at his temple.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Hawkman’s not particularly well,” said Wells.

“Doctor…” started Hol.

“Bit under the weather is all, I’m just saying.”

Something was grating against Aquaman’s head now. The nausea had passed, but he had a dull headache, a pulsing throb that hurt more than what it reminded him of would normally. Talking to marine life wasn’t as simple as having a conversation, it was more empathic, being an antenna for feelings and being able to interpret them, then transmit an intention back.

As a psychic-- low level or not-- being an open book was a difficult position to be in. He had noticed Hawkman’s own discomfort, his own confusion. Why had he seemed to forget that he had put a call out for help? He’d recovered quickly enough, played it off, but his hesitation at times, the disconnect between action and inaction… and this feeling in Aquaman’s head, like something was being transmitted…

Katar shifted so he was looking at his comrade. “Are you okay?”

Arthur looked at him. “Headache. Strange. Just…” He touched his nose and found a bead of blood travelling down toward his lip. “What is…”

“You don’t look at all well, Aquaman. Sit down. I’ll check you out personally,” said Harrison. Was he smiling? Through Arthur’s blurring vision, he could have sworn he saw the doctor smile.

“No, no, I’m sure--” Aquaman froze. His vision wasn’t blurring. It was clearing. “Oh.”

“What?” asked Hawkman.

“Oh,” repeated Wells. “You’re a psychic, aren’t you? That’s how you’re resisting my charms.”

“I am,” said Aquaman. He clenched his fist, but was still weak.

“Oh, well, sure, of course you’d bring a psychic with you,” said Wells, throwing his arms up in exasperation. “Don’t think I couldn’t sense you pushing back against my orders, Hawk-twit! Don’t think I couldn’t sense you resisting! And you managed to put a call for help out! That’s just ridiculous. And a psychic at that… ridiculous…”

“What… what…” mumbled Hawkman, his eyes wide. “He’s in my head I can feel him moving, what is-”

“That’s not Harrison Wells,” said Aquaman, grimly. He moved to Hawkman’s side and gripped the half-Thanagarian’s shoulders, trying to push some of his own psychic resistance-like waves over them both. “I don’t know who it is, but it’s not Wells!”

“Who are you?” growled Hawkman. He reached forward and grabbed Wells by the collar, but suddenly he found his hand round the throat of Hawkgirl, who was clearly dead and had been for some time, her limbs set at awkward, horrible angles as she rotted in the wheelchair. He stumbled backwards. “N-no, what-- what?!”

“It’s an illusion! Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real!” said Aquaman, blinking away the sight of his own wife and their child, half-eaten by some foul beast but still twitching, still writhing with maggots and other horrors--

“It will be though. I’ll make them all suffer.”

--Aquaman and Hawkman cried out as bolts of psychic force struck them in the brain, knocking them to the floor. Arthur looked up, his vision blurring, as his dead wife dissolved and a small man hopped off the wheelchair and looked down at him.

“Nothing lasts forever. But I think our fun can stretch a little bit further,” said the dwarven man who kicked the King of Atlantis in the face.

“Wh-who…?” slurred Hawkman, his hand groping toward his mace, but losing feeling as he put the effort in.

“Back when I earned my doctorate, I went by Edgar Cizko… but you two-- my beautiful, handsome victims-to-be-- you can call me Doctor Psycho.”

The worlds of Arthur Curry and Katar Hol faded to black. Doctor Psycho had them.


“Where… where is everybody?” asked Mera, as she stepped through the portal that led to Paradise Island along with Batman and Mister Miracle. They arrived in the centre of the city of Themyscira, but there was nobody to be seen, when usually this entrance point was guarded by Diana’s most trusted soldiers.

Tentatively, Batman reached out using the nanotelepathic link. {Batman to all active Leaguers: Is anybody receiving?}

There was a scratching, discordant sound, but no response.

“Someone’s blocking the link,” said Miracle.

“The throne room,” said Mera, pushing forward through the city. She had been here, some time ago, on a royal gathering to celebrate ties between the kingdom of Atlantis and Themyscira, and Diana had taken the time to show her around the place, so she knew exactly where she needed to go.

“Why the throne room?” asked Miracle.

“If you’ve just silenced an entire island of Amazon warriors, where else would you be?” growled Batman.

The trio made their way up the immense stone stairs that led to the throne room of Themyscira. It had been some time since any woman had sat on the throne-- even though Diana was the Queen of her people, her mother was the only woman she felt deserved such a position of prestige, so it was a shrine now, a monument to the woman who had led the greatest sojourn in history away from chains and to freedom.

Aquawoman burst through the doors and the men behind her joined her in wide-eyed disbelief-- crackling stalactites and stalagmites of unearthly energy held the warrior women of Themyscira in stasis, their bodies jutting out of the walls, ceiling and floor. Toward the throne itself were four more columns of crackling energy-- and they held Big Barda, Green Lantern, Wonder Woman and Zenobia perfectly still, trapped mid-charge toward the throne itself.

And sat atop the throne only the Queen of Paradise Island had a right to hold?

Atop the throne was a man. No-- not a man-- a god!

Glibly amused with himself, Ares leaned back on the throne and looked down at the three newcomers.

And he wasn’t alone… to his left stood two women, one at the tail end of her teenage years but wearing a twisted version of Wonder Woman’s costume and the other was quite clearly the Witch Queen Circe, who was grinning from ear-to-ear as her hand drifted over the god’s shoulder! To the god’s right was a man clad in a purple cape and a fiery lion-headed mask that obscured his features. At his side, a sword sat in its sheath, but in his hand he held an immense spear, and his flexing grip suggested he wanted to loose it given the opportunity.

Ares smiled. “You’re too late. It’s already begun.”