Justice League Presents... The Guardian #1

On the outskirts of Metropolis existed a secret, high-tech prison designed by the best and brightest minds of the modern era. They’d liberally taken-- some might say stolen-- some of the innovations established by Shilo Norman, warden of the Slab, and put their own spin on them, making them a bit dirtier, a bit cheaper, and certainly a bit painfuller.

The biological energy tethers keeping people intrinsically tied to their cells was all well and good, but the real meat of the place was miles down, buried into the rock. The entire place was lead-lined. Soundproofed. It was meant to keep prying eyes out, be them human or Kryptonian, and it did the job.

There had been talk of converting part of it into a holding area for Kryptonians. Lex Luthor, once again a military-industrial advisor, was pushing for the overhaul, and he had even offered to help fund it. Red sun energy traps, Kryptonite-amalgam cell bars… they’d turned him down so far, but they knew he wouldn’t stop pushing. Did they not remember what happened when General Zod arrived on the scene, all those years ago*?


Lex Luthor would certainly never forget.

Regardless, after passing through all the scanning devices and physical checks, and after taking the elevator down for what felt like an eternity, James Harper-- aka the Justice League’s Guardian-- arrived in front of the prison’s current main attraction.

The duty sergeant had made the situation very clear, though nothing of it was new to Harper. He continued to go on, Harper paying steely attention to every word. “…Any attempt to free the prisoner will result in you being fired upon, sir. The cell’s moorings will disengage and the structure will drop into the pit below, also leading to the prisoner’s death. Out of respect, your conversation will not be recorded, but you are required to report any suspicious information to us upon your return. Do you understand?”

“I do indeed, sergeant, thank you,” said Harper. He had watched the man lie to him. Micro-expressions analysed by his computer-brain told him as much. So, what was the lie? It was most likely the recording aspect, but maybe they’d unclamp the moorings regardless… who knew?

He made his way to the observation ring that surrounded the discus-shaped cell, and surveyed the situation. The prisoner was held inside a sealed environmental bubble. The space they provided him was entirely self-sufficient, which meant no one had to go in and certainly no one got out. Laid out on a disc that was suspended over a mile straight drop, the cell included a small bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen, as well as a recreational area filled with books and some gym equipment. Everything else had been stripped to prevent the prisoner from hurting himself, or staging an escape. There was a worktop covered in carefully ordered paper folders, but there was no sign of any computers. No internet access. Probably for the best.

If the world ended, the prisoner would be here, a splinter under the skin of the world, alive and trapped. He was not an impatient man, and he could learn to enjoy the solitude, if there wasn’t unfinished business outside. Patience bred a certain kind of mind.

Henry Bendix had a very particular, peculiar mind on top of all that already. So, what was he now?

“It’s been a long time, James.”

“I’ve got places to be and I’m not in the mood for this, Henry. Don’t waste any more of my time.”

A grey-bearded Henry Bendix stood bolt upright with his hands behind his back, his orange trousers and white shirt impeccably pressed. He had forgone the orange jacket that would have completed his prison uniform, and looked perfectly at home in his odd cell. What little hair he had was thin and curly up to his temples but reached no higher, his baldness not receding in the face of his life sentence.

“Places to be, yet you came nonetheless.”

“Yet I came nonetheless,” repeated Harper.

“I’m grateful. I know your daughter has been unwell. That must be difficult. I myself never had children. Never met the right woman. Or man. Romantic entanglements never appealed. Never entered into the equation.”

“You kept tabs on my daughter? I can’t say I’m not surprised. But I must say, you’re a lot more talkative since the last time I saw you.”

“Yes, well, I’ve had a lot of time to think. Did you know they pay people to watch me shit, James? This entire cell is transparent. I shit and they watch me. Bloody perverts, the lot of them.”

“I have a number of appointments elsewhere today, Henry. Please, if you have something to say, let’s get to it, shall we?”

Henry nodded and approached the perimeter of the cell, nearest Harper’s own position. “I’ll be honest with you. I was not in my right mind when Stormwatch was granted oversight over the world’s metahumans. You know me, old man. We served together back in the day. You remember the seven, don’t you? So you know-- you remember-- how I operate.”

Harper bristled. Of course he remembered. “I know you’re a vicious old bastard, Henry.”

“But not mad. Certainly not mad.”

“You filled your head with circuitry. Performed illegal, genetic experimentation on your own people. I saw the damage you did to the genome of your Black Razors. You made them into monsters*. Made yourself into a monster. Madness has a way of coming into the equation then, doesn’t it?”


“No, but that’s not all I did. There are others out there, James. Enhanced human operatives. I made so many, and they’re out in the world.”

“Is that why I’m here, Henry? Are you hoping to parlay this into a plea-deal?”

“I will earn my freedom. In my current situation, I act as a data analyst for various government-- and non-government-- intelligence agencies. King sends his regards by the way. No, I’m still fighting the good fight, but in a way that keeps me out the firing line.”

“You don’t sound sad.”

“Oh, I’m not. I’m not a frontline operative anymore. I’m old. Kept together thanks to some homegrown ingenuity. But anyway, to my point: I wasn’t in my right mind these last few years. But being here, isolated in this cell, away from the world, everything’s cleared in my mind. As if a fog has been lifted. I would like you to consider my movements prior to Stormwatch’s formation. I know it’s a big ask, but something happened. I fear…”

He began to pace, eyes low on the floor. Harper watched his movements, and realised what he was doing. He followed the old man’s direction until they settled in a section of the cell that was not covered by the line of sight of the security cameras that James had scoped out upon his arrival. This was a blind spot. How long had it taken for the old man of spies to figure that one out?

Bendix kept one hand low and the other ran through his beard. “Oh, who knows what I fear, James. I wasn’t right in the head. Perhaps I am mad. Perhaps all of this was my life catching up with me…”

Words coming out of his mouth said one thing, but the gestures he made with his lowered hand said something else entirely. He signed quickly, efficiently: Mind control. Possession.

A voice boomed over the speakers fed into the containment area: {Prisoner Bendix, please take two steps to your left.}

Harper shook his head vehemently and pointed an angry finger at his old comrade. “This isn’t my responsibility, Henry. You used up all your favours thirty years ago. I think you’ll rot down here. And by god, it’s what you deserve. The things you did… the things you orchestrated… you reap what you sow.”

The voice overhead repeated itself: {Prisoner Bendix, lack of compliance will lead to punishment. Please take two steps to your left.}

Harper made his own gestures. Do what I can. Then he flipped off the old man and trudged off toward the lift, and Bendix took his two steps back into full view of his handlers’ monitors.

By the time Harper made his way back to the elevator, the sergeant who had escorted him down had already called for it to come back down to their level. “Rough one?”

“Waste of my goddamn time, excuse my language,” said Harper.

Bendix watched his old friend climb into the lift, and when the doors closed, he returned to the files spread out across his desk and continued to do his job. The old Stormwatch Weatherman hoped that the Guardian would find something… and that his name… might finally be cleared…