#78: Corpsing (Part 4 of 6)

James Harper used to be a cop. He walked the Metropolis beat, back in those innocent, heady days before the Second World War broke out, back before near literal hell spilled over the Earth like a tsunami. Come 11th December 1941, the day that the United States of America and Nazi Germany mutually declared war on each other, he volunteered to serve. Within a matter of days, he got drafted into a special program that made him the man he still is today. Made him the Guardian.

He lived a long life. Longer than he deserved, he thought. And over the decades, across the near century of his life, he only married once. Sure, when his wife died, he opened himself up to the prospect of love time and again, but she held his heart forever and always, and nothing ever compared.

In the present day, in this very moment, Marjorie, his last surviving daughter, looked up at him with tears in her eyes, blood staining her lips and teeth as the cancer treatments-- the ones he had played a pivotal role in getting her access to-- began to undo all the good work they’d done across the last few months.

For the first time in a lifetime, he froze up. The computer in his brain screamed at him, told him what to do, to run, to escape, but as her eyes began to change color, from pale blue to dark red, he was stuck in place. He held her, felt her brittle body shake, and he couldn’t do anything other than curse his own existence-- because he had inflicted this on her.

When she exploded, he couldn’t even cry out. Skin burning and hair on fire, he was thrown backward, slamming through the wall behind him and into the ward next door, where he skidded to a stop next to one of the occupied beds. Belmont / Presbyterian Hospital wasn’t supposed to see action like this. It was a place of recuperation, of healing, not a war zone. It was named for Lawrence Belmont, a former New York DA who later became a philanthropic force for good at the behest of his daughter, Dian, who was one of the most acclaimed crime novelists of the 20th century.

Though he never met Lawrence, Harper had met Dian on occasion, as well as her beau, Wesley Dodds-- the Sandman. Good people. They led great lives and performed great acts, both from the shadows and in the spotlight. And the fact that James was fixating on a small detail rather than the chaos at hand was a sure-fire sign that his brain was resetting, that the blast had rattled his skull and he was healing from a major concussion faster than his senses could handle.

Back in the other room, at the centre of the explosion, Marjorie Lawson (nee Harper), was standing awkwardly, strands of smoke drifting off her now bare skin, her gown disintegrated in the aftermath of the energy that had been expelled from her body. Her parchment-thin flesh had changed color, taking on a chalky appearance, and her mouth was contorted into a horrible grin, the corners pinched tight in a painful-looking smile.

Vision clicking back into place, James Harper couldn’t see his friends, his teammates, those who had been caught in the blast. All he could see was his once beautiful daughter, her visage twisted into something ghoulish. Even with his ears ringing, even with his body screaming as it worked to process the damage it had experienced, he could hear the noise coming out of her mouth.

He could hear his daughter laugh.

And throughout the hospital, and in medical facilities across the country, across the globe, she wasn’t the only one…

JUSTICE LEAGUE

HALL OF JUSTICE, METROPOLIS:

Disappointed tourists out, entire building on lockdown. Cyborg revved up the unique, hyper-tech generators and the entire place began to shift and reconfigure. Rooms sunk into their foundations and vaults began to seal their heavy doors. Areas that held visitors moments before simply folded into themselves, until the hall was battle-ready, prepared for the expected arrival of those who could do battle against the forces of evil…

“Right, so, the Joker’s back and energy grids across the globe are dropping out. Big bad. Big trouble,” he murmured. “All hands on deck?”

Elsewhere in the building, Superman was doing the last checks on the emergency broadcast system situated in the main monitor room. “Zealot is readying her forces. I’ve spoken to the president personally. He understands the situation but wants us to keep the Joker’s name out of it. He doesn’t want to spread undue panic.”

“There is nothing ‘undue’ about the panic his name instills,” said Batman. He hadn’t said much since Wonder Woman dropped him off and he’d began his own checks on their systems. He was focused on the task at hand.

Clark could hear his friend’s teeth grinding, his heartbeat racing. “I know what he’s done to your city… to you,” he said.

“He’s capable of atrocities. And if he’s changed his scope… his focus…” The Dark Knight’s words trailed off, and he looked away from the Man of Steel. “The emergency broadcast system is ready. Are you ready?”

“Me? I’m not--” Superman caught himself. “Yes. Of course.”

Batman pressed a number of the buttons on the console next to him and watched as a blue light began to flicker around Superman’s head and shoulders. The light was scanning him, recording him, and as he spoke, that footage was holographically projected into homes across the world, the state of the art-- and alien-- technology utilised by the Justice League co-opting any device that could receive a signal so that the message could be transmitted.

This was the Justice League emergency broadcast system. A combination of Martian, Kryptonian and New God technology, designed by some of the best minds the team had to offer and beyond.

Superman breathed in and then breathed out. He appeared to the world at large, his words translated automatically by the immense technical power behind the broadcast system.

“Please do not be alarmed. This is Superman, contacting you on behalf of the Justice League. By now, you will have noticed the power outages occurring across the globe. You’re probably wondering how I’m talking to you right now, but I don’t have the time to explain. Anyone who can hear me, who has ever been a Justice Leaguer, who has ever been a Titan or a JSAer, anybody and everybody, we’re gathering at the Hall of Justice. When you’re--”

“What’s wrong?” asked Batman.

“I can hear-- screams-- and laughter--” said Superman, looking toward his friend. He was still being projected throughout the world, and the look on his face, visible to all, sent shivers down their collective spines. Screams. And laughter. He turned back so he was facing the world again. “Please hurry. We need as many as we can to combat this. It’s the Joker. He’s back and means to hurt us like never before. And for those of you seeking to take advantage of the chaos caused by this situation… don’t. Because when we’re done with him, we’ll find you.”

The Man of Steel terminated the transmission, and then looked to Batman.

“Enough?” he asked.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to cause undue panic?”

“There’s nothing undue about the panic he instills,” replied Superman. “You can’t hear what I can hear. I need to go… I’m needed out there…”

The Caped Crusader clamped a hand around the Man of Tomorrow’s shoulder. “We’re needed. Let’s go.”

Across the threshold of the mystical gateway connecting Patriarch’s World to her homeland , Princess Diana could see Paradise Island-- namely her mother’s private chambers. Queen Hippolyta stood with her back straight and her hands crossed, listening intently as her daughter spoke.

“…You say this Joker is a threat worth mobilizing the military forces of Themyscira?” the queen finally asked.

“We don’t yet know what threat he poses, but from what Bruce has told me… it is his belief that whatever is coming is--” Diana turned as emergent screams began to clap through the open windows of her home. “Gods…”

“What is it, daughter?” Hippolyta asked.

“I can hear screams… and laughter… it’s started. Whatever it is, it’s started. I need to go. They need me. But please-- prepare-- we don’t know what’s coming, and I fear this might be the worst it’s ever been.”

“Diana, I’ll speak with Phillipus, I’ll do what I can, but you know our people’s feelings toward coming to the aid of Patriarch’s World in such a way. And with the dissolution of the monarchy… I cannot order them to do that which they do not feel to be right and true.”

Wonder Woman was standing atop the balcony ledge, but she turned back toward her mother, torn between the chaos below and the matter-of-fact speech she was receiving. “I know what’s right and true. And I’ll act accordingly. Be well, Mother.”

And then she dove toward the streets, the Lasso of Truth pulled taut between her hands, ready for whatever maddening thing had unfurled itself across the streets of London…


Firestorm’s skin prickled as if she was suffering from a major case of pins and needles. She looked at her outstretched hand, at the cerulean swirl of energies she wielded, and realized that at the last split-second before Marjorie detonated, she had merged with Martin Stein from across the room and done as much as she could to transform the explosion into something less deadly.

But the strange thing was, she had been Firehawk at the point of merging, activating the Firestorm Matrix while her other power set was in full swing. Flames crackled blue instead of red, and she could hear the vibration of the molecules in the air. She felt supercharged and sick at the same time. Not where she wanted to be right now.

{And yet, it’s where we’ve ended up,} Martin’s voice whispered in her head, {But you’re right… this feels weird, Lorraine. I never considered what impact your alchemical Firehawk abilities could have on--}

Lorraine shook her head. “Yeah, yeah, let’s focus on changing the kinetic energy of the explosion into something a little less deadly first, all right? I flipped the switch on it when she erupted-- sublimated the matter into carbon dioxide-- dry ice-- so we got some cover, but I didn’t catch it all--”

“Ex… explains… why I… hurt so…. So much…” grumbled Hawkman, adjusting his charred helmet. A lens was gone from one eye, and Lorraine could see glass slowly be pushed out of his skin as the healing powers of the Nth metal he wore went to work. It was a horrible sight. He smelled of burned meat and hair, but he was knitting back together slowly, albeit with a stench.

{Don’t be sick, Lorraine. I can feel our stomach turning. He’ll be all right.}

Nearby, his temple bleeding from a vicious wound, lay the unconscious form of S.T.A.R. Labs’ Doctor Jeffers, who’d been caught in the same blast that had engulfed the rest of them. He was in a rough shape, but thankfully they were already in a hospital…

“Where’s Guardian? Miracle?” asked Firestorm, her eyes searching the scene. She could see through the chemical composition of the dry ice, but--

“Are you haaaa haaaa looking for thissssss one?” came a distinctly female voice, as Mister Miracle was flung into Hawkman and the pair were sent sprawling backwards, only to land in a hastily erected pile of cushions assembled by a wave of Firestorm’s hand.

“Well, I was,” replied Firestorm. She felt strong. Stronger than she had in a long time. She waved her hand in the direction of the voice and was horrified to see the transformed form of Marjorie Lawson, naked and pale, her shoulders shifting up and down as she barely contained the laughter bubbling up inside her. “Holy cow,” Lorraine whispered.

Marjorie’s eyes began to crackle. Martin had seen this before, back in the days when Superman fought side-by-side with the Justice League. Heat vision pooling around her eye sockets and the distortion in the air was superheated molecules beginning to pop and burst.

“How is that possible?” Lorraine asked.

“Down--!” barked the Guardian, wrapping his arms around his elderly daughter to throw her to the ground, with him breaking her fall-- but instead his legs swung around her front like he’d clasped his arms around a tree trunk and couldn’t make it budge. He winded himself on impact, lost any sense of balance, and she lifted her frail arm up to consider him below it.

“Oh, daddy. Don’t make me laugh,” she said, and with a brutal downward chop, she shattered his collarbone with the edge of her palm. He cried out, but that wasn’t what hurt the most. His daughter was twisted, broken inside and out, and she couldn’t stop smiling. Each haggard breath was heavy and wheezing, filtered through a gauze of laughter.

Miracle rolled forward, clutching his throat. “She… she…”

Ever the pessimist, Hawkman pulled out his mace. “Yeah.”

“Y-you can fight this, Marj, you can--”

The Guardian was cut off by a kick under the throat, sending his bottom teeth into the top and shutting him up immediately. She looked over at the Justice Leaguers who standing assembled against her, then tipped her head back and cackled.

“You really think I’m the only one?” she asked.

Behind her, the other cancer patients who’d been filled to the brim with Aleph’s drugs stumbled forward like chalk-skinned zombies, their faces rictus-grinned and their eyes beginning to burn red.

“Seven Hells,” whispered Hawkman.


“I don’t actually know what I was expecting by way of turnout,” said Cyborg.

“Really? You didn’t think we’d come running?” replied Beast Boy, grinning as he patted his old friend on the back.

The Hall of Justice was teeming with bodies. Men, women and the occasional kid sidekick (both current and former) had flocked to Metropolis, and they were ready and willing to do whatever they could to help save the day. The massive space in front of the building was filled with aircraft and other vehicles, as anybody who could make it did whatever they could to be part of what was happening.

“Well… yeah, actually, I don’t know why I doubted you all,” Cyborg said.

“What do you need from us, Cyborg?” asked the JSA’s Flash.

“Communication is our priority and then getting out on the streets. Power grids are revving back up, so whatever the Joker hit us with is temporary, but our nanotelepathic link is down, as are phone-lines and the internet. We’re deaf and blind, but by no means dumb. I had a few ideas. Did Omen manage to make it in?”

“Yeah, she’s over with the rest of the Titans,” said Beast Boy. “I’m just standing next to you for moral support.”

Cyborg smirked. “Oh, and by god, I appreciate it, Gar. Can you grab her for me, please? I need to get everyone on the same page.”

Jay Garrick, aka the Flash, took a step forward. “Everyone wanted to be here, but the country is a mess. I checked in with the Justice Society on my way over, and they’re dealing with problems in their home cities. Hawkman and Northwind are in St Roch, Starman is in Opal… we’re pretty spread thin. There’s looting… riots… it’s only been a matter of hours, but things are already going to hell in a handbasket.”

“We’ll put it right,” said Cyborg, adamantly.

Garrick tipped his hat up, so the younger hero could see his eyes. “Oh, I’m sure, and I have no doubt. Look at the people you folks have gathered here. We’ll wrap this up faster than lightning and be home in time for supper.”

“Victor… what’s up?” asked Omen.

“Apart from the obvious? End of the world? Joker’s back? I think the worst of it is that it takes all these things for us to hang out. Hey, Lil.”

Lilith Clay smiled and tucked her scarlet hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we’ve got to start being better at the whole ‘friend’ deal. Being a superhero is one thing, but that’s not what we got into the Titans for, is it? Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t send Gar over to get me so we could reminisce. What do you need?”

“Communications are down across the globe, but we need to be able to keep in touch. Miss Martian is over there, talking to Wonder Girl… we need to get all the psychics we have in a room together, and establish a mind-link, like the old League days.”

“That we can do,” Lilith replied. “M’Gann is here… so’s Lia Briggs… and I saw Steve Dayton lurking in the corner… ugh, I mean, he might not be the best for this kinda thing…”

“We need all the help we can get, Lil,” said Cyborg.

“Yeah, I get that, but that Mento-Helmet of his is dirty psionics… but, okay. When we link up, I can spread the new mind-link from your mind to anybody else’s…”

Cyborg shook his head. “I’m not exactly organic nowadays, and my brain is now a super-computer, so maybe it’s best if you routed it through somebody else?”

“We’ll make it work,” Omen said, a smile on her face.


“Oooph--!” Superman flew backward, a punch catching him hard on the jaw and splitting his lip down the middle. Blood and spittle flew, and he careened into a parked car, which was then thrown back into a lamppost. “Good grief…” he murmured.

Batman was somersaulting over the heads of a pair of disheveled, Jokerised men and women, careful to dodge their blazing eyes and thunderous fists. He was purely playing defense, utterly bamboozled by the strength exhibited by their attackers.

“Can you-- ooop-- see anything?” he asked, skidding to a halt near his friend.

“That one just broke their hand punching me. My God,” said Superman. “They’re… brittle.”

“Strong but not invulnerable? They’re demonstrating a Kryptonian power set, but with flaws,” said Batman.

“Yes, they’re strong, but something’s wrong with it…” His eyes flashed, and he frowned. “Oh, god. They’re riddled with cancer, and there’s something else swimming in their bloodstreams.”

“Nanites?” asked Batman.

“Looks it. Similar to… wait…” Superman’s brow furrowed. “That can’t be right.”

“Talk it through,” said Batman, jumping backward. Their attackers moved awkwardly, unsure of themselves, and the one who punched Superman so hard his own hand broke was cackling with laughter as he clutched his mangled fingers. Strong, blasts of heat vision, but no flight yet and their speed stop-started in bursts, their legs flashing over with friction burns if they leaned into that power longer than a few seconds.

“Within the nanites, I can see a DNA marker, something… overlaying their own. It’s my genetic code-- it’s Kryptonian--! But how is that possible?”

“No earthly computer could compute that information,” said Batman.

“Said like a man who’s tried,” replied Superman.

Batman grunted. “We need to try and subdue these people. They’re victims. They need medical attention.” He looked back at the Man of Steel, who was looking across the city, his brow furrowed. “Superman?”

“I know the answer,” he said. “Or rather, an educated guess.”

Batman followed his friend’s gaze toward LexCorp’s twin tower headquarters and grimaced. “Luthor.”


<Hiro, can you focus for just one minute?>

“I am focusing, Ultimon-San! You deal with the symptoms, I’ll figure out the cause.”

<C’mon kid, you can’t fault the man for getting aggravated by you, you’re a pain in all our necks!>

“Metamorpho-San, I know you are an honoured guest here in our country, but please, let me do my work. Toymaster, going offline.”

<But--!>

Deep within the nerve centre of his Akihabara-based headquarters, Hiro Okamura leaned back in his chair, and watched as the heroes of Tokyo and Japan did their best against the hordes of Jokerised hospital patients.

The young genius had sent his autonomous Superman figurines out into the field to act as their eyes and ears, and thanks to his hyper-advanced technology, they hadn’t lost power when electrical grids had gone down across the world.

Now, he acted as the central hub of communication between the numerous superheroes operating in the city and beyond, directing them to where their presence would be best served. There was a pattern here that he wasn’t seeing, a jigsaw with a piece missing, and it would take all his focus to figure it out.

He hurriedly tapped into the hospital records floating around in the Cloud and used his Big Science Action credentials to access the confidential information that he suspected would hold an answer. Facial recognition running through the eyes of his Superman dolls identified who the Jokerised rioters truly were, and with their names at hand, he could look into their individual cases…

“Oh! That is interesting…”

They were all recipients of a special drug provided by Aleph Pharmaceuticals, a pilot scheme for a new cancer treatment they were spearheading. Every single one of the now superpowered former cancer patients had been treated with this drug that had seemingly cured them of their affliction, but now here they were, shambling across Setagaya, Shibuya and Shinagawa, eyes blazing with fire one moment, their bodies lifting up into the air the moment after!

He flicked communications back on, “Metamorpho-San, are you still there?”

<He is indisposed at the moment, Toymaster. I am nearby, can I help?> replied Jiro Osamu, aka Batman Japan.

“Yes! Can you get me a line to the Batman, or the Justice League? I have information that might be of importance to them!”


Wonder Woman learned quickly that the super-powered bruisers attacking weren’t as invulnerable as their punches suggested. She’d dodged out of the way of a haymaker, and the young woman’s fists had slammed into a wall-- bone splintered out of her knuckles, but she still managed to keep laughing through the tears.

“This is awful,” murmured Wonder Woman. But she couldn’t stop-- not unless--

“Pip-pip tally-hoooooo--!”

With Knight driving and Squire aboard the sidecar, the converted Norton Commando motorbike roared onto the scene, a jet of anesthetic smog shooting out of its converted exhaust pipe. Her face covered by a gas-mask, the young Squire gave Wonder Woman a thumbs up and then indicated for her to fly up into the sky. With the heroine clear, the pair of British adventurers did a quick lap of the Joker’s shambling victims, their smog filling the air, and then disembarked as it faded.

“Hey up, Lady Di,” said the young lady riding shotgun.

“Squire,” said Knight.

“Oh, crap. We’re in uniform. Hey up, Wonder Woman!” said Squire.

Knight shook his head but Wonder Woman could see him crack a smile. “Sorry it took us so long to get on the scene, but we had a few run-ins with these poor buggers on the way into the city. We’re nearly out of knockout smog, and we had to tweak the formula on the fly to make it stronger. They’re a burly lot.”

Squire cleared her throat.

Knight nodded. “Oh, sorry, Squire had to tweak the formula. Credit where credit’s due.”

“Thanks,” said Squire.

Knight looked around as the Jokerised men and women lurched toward them. “’Ey, surely you’ve got better places to be than here, Wonder Woman. We can hold the line in London. You go where you’re needed.”

“Are you sure? I need to link up with my team, but once I’m with them, we can send a contingent your way,” she said.

The Squire shook her head. “We’ll be fine! ‘Sides, I’m sure the Hood’ll turn up soon enough, and London has a couple of other heroes kicking about that are chipping in across the city. G’wan, get going, WW!”

Diana smiled, thankful that there were heroes in the world, and lifted off, hoping to make it back to America as soon as possible. As she picked up speed, a voice filled her head, and she came to an abrupt stop above the beaches of Weston-super-Mare. {Uh, sorry for the intrusion-- hopefully you can hear me-- this is Lilith Clay, uh, the Titan called ‘Omen’. I’ve patched you into a mind-link at the direction of Cyborg. I’m currently linking together all the active members of the Justice League.}

{This is Wonder Woman. I’m online. Can anybody hear me?} she asked.

{This is Hawkman. We can hear you. Who else is online?} came the gruff Thanagarian’s thoughts.

{Yup, this is Ang-- uh, the Engineer. Yeah, I’m going with that. Is somebody going to relieve us from Arkham duty yet? What’s the deal?}

Lilith’s voice replied. {I’m patching you through to everyone I could reach-- I’ve never tried anything on this scale, and with as many high-functioning minds-- before--}

Batman’s terse thoughts flowed through the link, {Superman and I are following a lead in Metropolis, but we need to get to Aleph Pharmaceuticals in Switzerland. This all started with them. I think the Joker has something to do with the company, but I’m not sure what.}

{I can be in Basel in under an hour,} said Wonder Woman.

{Be careful, Diana,} Batman replied.

Wonder Woman was already on the move.


“Fall, damn you! Fall!”

Albrecht Krieger was the embodiment of the fascist ideal, better known as the vicious monster Captain Nazi, and he was currently hammering his super-strong fists against the face of his opponent.

“N-never!”

But Albrecht von Mannheim, the savage hero known to the world as the Wild Huntsman, refused to yield! He took shots to the face and sternum that could rock Captain Marvel, that would cause Superman to take pause, and never surrendered! Bloodied and bruised, bone and teeth breaking, he tried his best to keep his guard up, to protect himself, even as he was being chipped away at by the heavy ham-hock fists of Krieger.

In the chaos of the global power outage, Captain Nazi had emerged from the shadows to devastate various synagogues and mosques in the capital, but like the thick-headed monster he was, he had been travelling in a straight line, and Huntsman had been able to prevent him from finishing the job at his fourth intended target.

They’d been fighting for the better part of an hour, even as the shambling hordes of super-powered cancer patients shuffled through the streets.

While the Die Rakete-Auslese-- Germany’s version of the Rocket Red Brigade-- tried their best to control the chaos unfolding in the cities, Wild Huntsman had gone on ahead in an attempt to stem the tide of Captain Nazi’s destruction. Von Mannheim’s trusty steed named Orkan and loyal dog Donnerschlag were unconscious nearby, and now it was just him and the super-soldier Nazi, fighting for their lives!

“Get off of him, you monster!” bellowed Gerri Brauer, the muscle-bound mutant known as Donner, as she threw her arms around Captain Nazi’s throat, and locked in a chokehold.

“Silly-- stupid-- girl--!” growled Krieger, sending his fists back into Donner’s head and causing her to release her grip. He turned his attention to her, shaking his head and rubbing his throat. “You used to walk alongside us! You used to follow the right path. But you’ve turned on us. Turned on your people. Now, there will be no--”

Donner vanished.

“--What?”

“Sorry, did I make you lose your thread? My apologies, Herr Nazi.”

He turned, and another woman was standing behind him, wearing a dark blue skin-tight suit with a lightning bolt emblazoned down her chest.

“Another degenerate…” murmured Nazi.

The super-smart speedster Valerie Kameya, aka Blitzen, shrugged at his comment and then gestured for him to check his back. “You might want to…”

Captain Nazi turned, and was caught square under the ear with the flat of Wild Huntsman’s enchanted axe, Eisenbär. It was like a switch had been turned in Krieger’s brain, and he was immediately unconscious, his limbs useless and his body unresponsive.

With Captain Nazi down, Wild Huntsman nearly fell as well, but Donner hooked his arm around her neck and held him aloft. “You did it, Albrecht.”

“I… could not… have… without… your… help…” mumbled the bearded hero.

“Of course not, but I didn’t want to say,” replied Brauer.

Huntsman stifled a laugh, but he hurt so bad that he convulsed instead of chortled. “The… riots?”

“Still ongoing, but the attacks by the Fourth Reich have been stemmed,” said Kameya.

“Then we need… need to get out there…” said Von Mannheim. “But first… Orkan and… Donnerschlag…”

“I moved your pets to a medical facility, don’t worry,” said Kameya.

"Not pets... partners," said Huntsman, “Regardless, onwards. Let’s get Krieger… locked down… and get back on.. on the streets!”


“Marjorie, no-- !” The Guardian reached out to his daughter, ignoring all his better instincts.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to tell me what to do anymore,” she said.

Her eyes exploded with fire, catching Harper in the chest and sending him to his knees, burning through his flak jacket uniform and causing his nerves to scream. He grimaced, tried not to make a sound, because he could see his daughter-- she was right there-- and it didn’t matter if she was compromised by the Joker’s schemes, or possessed by the devil, or a closet supervillain-- she was his daughter, and somewhere, she was in there, and he needed to save her!

“We can’t fight these people,” said Mister Miracle. “They’re clearly not in their right minds.”

“Doesn’t meant they won’t fight us,” said Hawkman.

“Can you be quiet?” Firestorm snapped.

She waved her hands in front of them, and a wall was erected between them and the Jokerized patients. With another wave, the side facing their attackers was wrapped in styrofoam and would prevent their brittle fists from shattering if they began to pound on the barrier. Hawkman helped the Guardian up but was pushed away by the Winged Avenger.

“Don’t touch me,” the Guardian said. “My daughter is out there-- we need-- I need-- to do something.”

Hawkman held his hands up. “Calm yourself, Harper. I know this is bad, but we can come up with a solution.”

“Nice. Breathing room,” said Mister Miracle, pressing his hand against the wall.

Firestorm shook her head. “They’re cancer patients. I can’t just… I want to knock them out, but I don’t want to compromise their systems any more than they are already…” She paused, and they could all hear the muffled pounding of fists against the barrier. “…But we have to do something…”

As they looked at each other, uncertain as to what their next move should be, Omen’s voice entered their minds, and some of the colossal weight on their shoulders diminished-- communications were back up! Wonder Woman gave word that she was headed to Basel, and then…

{…So you’re aware that cancer patients are running around with Joker faces and superpowers?} asked Mister Miracle.

{The connection is Aleph. They’re the ones who have supplied the medication that has transformed the patients into these living weapons,} answered Batman.

“Good grief…” whispered Anton Jeffers, the S.T.A.R. Labs representative who had been knocked out in the explosion that erupted from Marjorie Lawson. He was helped up by Hawkman but then stumbled over to the window. He wretched, and then wiped his mouth. “Oh. That’s… that’s… oh, thank god.”

Mister Miracle leaned over and looked down, and then said, “Army is here. National Guard.”

“Hawkman, get down there, update them. These people are victims, not the enemy. We need to stop this escalating any further,” directed the Guardian.

{There’s something else you all need to be aware of,} said Batman.

Katar hopped out the window but lingered for a moment on the sill. “Be careful.”

“What else can we be?” Mister Miracle replied.

Batman continued, {Robin has been digging into Aleph’s history, looking into recent business moves they’ve made. }

“Okay, I’m going to transmute the styrofoam into Benzodiazepine, it should start sedating them, as long as whatever’s amped them up doesn’t… well… we have to give something a shot,” said Firestorm.

“Do it,” said the Guardian.

{They recently signed a contract to supply the army with immunizations. It’s been rolled out recently. This means-- }

Gunshots rang out from beneath them.

“What the-- ?” Mister Miracle looked out the window and could see Hawkman laid out on the ground, the army approaching him with their rifles raised, smoke already drifting from their barrels. “By the Source…”

Gunshots rang out from behind them.

“Lower the barrier! We need-- ” started the Guardian.

Mister Miracle dove out the window, plummeted down and then slipped his Aero-Discs onto his feet. Within seconds, he was standing over Hawkman, who was bleeding profusely from numerous bullet wounds across his sternum. He spun his cloak around, looked at the soldiers, and said, “What are you doing? We’re Justice League!”

But then he realized. What Batman had been saying. Aleph. Immunisations. The army. The National Guard.

All the soldiers were grinning. All the soldiers were barely holding back their laughter.

Gunshots rang out in front of him, and the New God cried out in surprise as the bullets tore through him--


Lilith wiped the blood from her nostril, and leaned backward, her teeth gritted together as she bore the psionic strain of maintaining a global psychic network!

“Are you all right?” Cyborg asked, crouching in front of his former teammate.

“I’m… learning to appreciate… my elders…” she murmured.

Miss Martian grimaced, her flesh literally rippling at the temples of her head, but she was able to maintain her Green Martian form. Cyborg could make out barely audible whispers from her, a name he recognized as H’ronmeer, her people’s god of art, death and fire, of life and light. She was praying.

Beside her was Looker-- also known as the international supermodel Lia Briggs-- who was sweating buckets and digging her nails into her thighs as she rocked back and forth. Nearby, Mento was tended to by Elasti-Girl as he gibbered random phrases and names, nothing of which made sense to the former Titan and current Justice Leaguer.

“Victor…”

Lilith's hand reached out, and Vic transformed his armored gauntlet to be flesh and blood. He gripped her fingers and could feel the pace of her heart drum-solo-ing through her body. His eyes flickered, his inbuilt medical scanners taking a read of her body, and saw the amount of stress her nervous system was experiencing.

“Lilith… you need to pull back… your vitals are all over the place,” he said, his voice cracking with a hard note of concern. He looked around, and he could see that all four of the psychics he’d gathered were suffering.

She shook her head. “J’onn… used to… used to do this all the time. And even with… with four of us… one of us being an actual Martian… and even tapping into friendlies across the globe… it’s like… we’re… I can’t… I can’t even think of an accurate metaphor…” She smiled, almost laughed, but instead, she coughed and blood bubbled up from inside her. “Oh, hell….”

Cyborg shook his head. Enough was enough. “All of you-- you need to break it off! Now!”

“I know what we can do,” said Mento, fiddling with buttons and toggles on the side of his helmet. “We just ah we just need to boost the signal, yeah, that’s it,” he continued, a hint of mania creeping into his voice.

Dalton’s wife, Rita Farr, the heroine known as Elasti-Girl, shook her head. “Steve, we didn’t come here for you to blow a gasket in your brain again. Do as Cyborg says. Pull back.”

“No, no, push back,” he said, and then psionic lightning crackled around his head, bolts of it flying between Miss Martian, Omen and himself. “Ahaha yeah that’s the one!”

“Mento, no!” shouted Cyborg, his eyes opening wide as the miniature psychic lightning storm caused the walls to shake, and an ichorous condensation to form where bolts found purchase.


“--Jones? Dammit, Jones! John!” Montoya pulled the handbrake of their car, causing it to skid to a stop, and then looked at her partner.

Riding shotgun, John Jones was clutching his head and rocking back and forth as the juddering convulsions riddled his body. Between the thunder strikes of pain, he lowered his hands and saw that blood lined the lines of his palms, fresh from his nose. “What… what is happening?”

“Don’t you remember? Communication is down across the city-- we have to assume it’s just as bad across the country. We need to get back to Arkham. We need to make sure all hell doesn’t break loose any more than it has already.”

John grimaced. “Drive. Just keep driving. Ah, God… my head…”


“I’m sorry, Steve,” said Cyborg. He clamped a hand around the psychic’s shoulder and a syringe formed in his palm that sent a heavy-duty dose of sedatives into Dayton’s system, knocking him out instantly.

Mento keeled backward into Elasti-Girl’s arms, who pulled him close as he faded into unconsciousness. She nodded at Cyborg, who wore a grave expression, and then Vic turned his attention to the other psychics.

“Whatever… whatever he did…” murmured Lila, “…it worked.”

“What do you mean?” Cyborg asked.

Colour was beginning to return to the three conscious psychic’s faces, and Omen wiped the remaining blood from her nose with her sleeve. “It’s like… we were pushing a boulder up a hill and it was getting heavier with every shove. Now it’s like… we’re gliding. I don’t know what he did, but it’s like he turned off the gravity. There’s no more pain.”

Vic could see that their vitals were normalizing, but he wasn’t an expert on the brain chemistry of psychic-minded individuals. He took a step back and wondered what Dayton had actually done to make life easier for them…


“…Oh.”

He had been dreaming of evil starfish. What an odd recollection to have when one wakes up. He had been dreaming of evil starfish, floating at the bottom of a vast ocean of space, staring up at the stars through a film of viscous fluid, and he could feel their hatred radiating out. They’d clamped their tentacles around his consciousness, shorted his brain out, and now, for the first time in god knew how long, he was awake. How long had he been sleeping?

A tray clattered to the floor, water spilling everywhere, a sponge sliding toward the hospital bed. He turned at the sound, nearly jumping out of his skin, but when he saw the nurse standing there, her entire body shaking, he began to calm, even though confusion still riddled his consciousness.

“M-my God! M-mister President!” said the nurse. “You’re awake.”

“I am?” said Maxwell Lord, former President of the United States of America. For he had been asleep, and now he was awake, and that didn’t seem strange to him, simply par for the course when it came to sleeping and waking, but with the nurse’s reaction, he couldn’t help but reconsider his position on the matter.

“Y-yes! You’ve… you’ve not been very well,” she said. “I should call the doctor-- !”

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand.

She waited. “O-okay?”

“How long have I been asleep?” He asked. Blood dribbled from his nose. His head hurt, but he tried his best to ignore it.

“N-nearly four y-years,” she said.

Lord’s eyes widened. “Four years? What happened to me?”

“I-it’s a long story, I think. Maybe a doctor-- ”

“Stop talking about a doctor! Answer my question!” He said.

“You were infected with a xeno-parasitic organism that altered your brain chemistry to such a degree that the medical staff here didn’t think you’d ever wake up. President Stuart directed us to make you as comfortable as possible while also studying what the parasite did to you, to make sure it didn’t happen again.”

“Xeno… xeno-parasitic…” murmured Lord, “…the Star Conqueror…”

“Y-yes,” said the nurse. She looked toward the door, but could not move her feet to leave.

Vague recollections filtered through Lord’s head, like a stop motion movie. An entity from the deepest recesses of space coming to him, a visitation… an agreement… a compact… and then America-- his America-- turning against the Justice League. A war. The Star Conqueror’s tentacles stretching out across the fringes of humanity, before pushing deeper in. Flickers of… the Flash attacking him? Later… the Justice Society’s return? The death of heroes… the rise of villains… and then darkness… and dreams of evil starfish…*


“Louise! There’s water everywhere-- what’s-- ”A male nurse stumbled into the scene, saw the puddle of water and then noticed that Lord was perched on the edge of his bed, pale and sweating. “Holy Hannah, Mister President, you’re awake! I’ll call-- ”

“No, you won’t,” said Lord. He looked at his hands, four years older. Hair where he wouldn’t have allowed it to be seen. He checked his face, fingers drifting across thin stubble, pockmarks where he’d been nicked. “Who shaves me?”

“Uh, we take it in turns. Every couple of days. W-why?” asked Louise.

Anger bubbled up from somewhere deep and dark. “I’m President Maxwell Lord. This… this is unacceptable. We need to call a staff meeting.” He tentatively took a step off the bed, but immediately noticed he had no strength in his limbs. Muscular dystrophy. “Get me a wheelchair.”

The male nurse did as he was told. “S-sir, I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Lord wiped his nose on the nurse’s sleeve. “You’re doing as you’re told. As it should be. Let’s go see my adoring masses. I need to get my message out. All over again.”


“Superman! We need-- to move-- cautiously--!” shouted Batman.

If the Man of Tomorrow could hear him, he didn’t indicate as much. He’d moved so fast from the streets to the skies that the Caped Crusader hadn’t had a chance to ask for a lift-- not that he would have, that would be out of character for the dark and brooding hero-- but with the throw of a line and expert aim, a bat-line was secured around the Kryptonian’s ankle, and the pair were flying through the air, one with grim determination and the other with all the elegance of a kite in a wind tunnel.

With a flash of heat vision and his hands before his face, Superman crashed through the usually unbreakable glass that led to Lex’s public-facing office, and then shrugged off the shards of now mostly liquid material that shuddered and tried to reform where he’d broken through. Superman sighed, recognizing yet another major advancement in technology and human achievement, but wasted by Luthor’s singular focus.

Batman landed with a quiet thud and rolled to a stop beside his friend. “Don’t do that again,” he said.

“He’s in here,” said Superman, his eyes shining as he glanced around the room. “Somewhere.”

A low wheeze came from behind Luthor’s desk, “heeeeeee heeeeeeee haaaaaaa”

In one motion, Superman flipped the desk away and it crashed into a nearby wall, papers and pens flying from the now open drawers. Laying on the ground, wracked with seizures and twitching uncontrollably was Lex Luthor, half his face twisted in a smile, the other locked in a pained grimace.

“Stay back,” Batman said, taking a step forward. He pressed a button on his utility belt and a mask covered his exposed face, filtering out any potential toxins that might cause him harm.

“What is it?” asked Superman.

The Dark Knight gestured toward an open Jack-in-the-Box that had fallen nearby, and a curious purple residue lining its mouth and the front of Lex’s shirt.

Superman’s eyes flashed once more. “I recognize the chemical composition. Smilex.”

“Smilex. Joker toxin. Happy gas. Doesn’t matter. I have the antiserum,” Batman took a vial from his utility belt, placed it within a small syringe gun, and plunged the needle into Lex’s carotid artery, causing the laughter to reach fever pitch for a moment-- before subduing entirely.

“Heeee… heee… poisoned… me…” whispered Lex.

“We can see that,” said Superman. “What did you give him, Lex?”

“G-give him?” Lex pushed himself back, away from the pair, and looked at his hands. “I wouldn’t give that laughing maniac anything! But… but he…” Luthor pointed toward the Jack-in-the-Box. “He took something. From before.”

Superman picked up the discarded toy and held it up to the light.

“There’s a tape recorder inside.”

He delicately removed the cassette, rewound it, and allowed it to replay. First a crackle and a pop, and then the nails-down-a-blackboard voice of the Joker emerged from the Smilex-stained mouth of the jack.

“Lexy, Lexy, why so sexy? Sorry for the nasty surprise, but I can’t have you ruining all my fun! I might have been a naughty little court jester and snuck a peek in your databases, and who’d have thunk it-- I found Super-hunk’s genetic sequence! I know you had such high hopes for your Bizarros for their military application, but I’ll do you one better. Why make something new when you can make something old better? Why be a human when you can be a superhuman? Sweet dreams, my sweet prince. See you on the other side.”

“He stole my genetic structure. From you…” said Superman.

“Something doesn’t track,” said Batman.

Before he could offer supposition, a voice filled the heads of both the Dark Knight Detective and the Man of Tomorrow. A woman’s voice, unfamiliar to the Man of Tomorrow, but recognizable to the Dark Knight as an old friend of his ward-- the psychic empath Omen!

“The mindlink is back,” said Superman.

“What are you talking about?” snapped Luthor.

“Quiet,” said the Caped Crusader.

The mind-linked conversation continued, with Wonder Woman saying, {I can be in Basel in under an hour.}

{Be careful, Diana,} replied Batman.

That settled, the Man of Steel shook his head. “You caused this, Lex. You helped him.”

Lilith’s voice came through again, {Batman, I’m on a secure line with you. Cyborg told me you’d want to hear from Robin as soon as we could establish the connection. He’s got some information for you.}

{Put him through,} Batman replied, turning away from the pair of old enemies.

“He tried to kill me, Superman! I’m not involved in whatever this madness is,” said Lex.

Superman took a step forward. “I don’t care that you’ve passed every test that’s been set for you, I don’t care that everyone believes you’re on the side of angels. I know the truth. You’re working the system. I don’t know how, but I’ll find out. And when I do, this house of cards of yours will all fall down.”

Batman interrupted him by stepping between the pair. “This is just another piece of the puzzle. We need to move. We’re needed outside.”

Superman hadn’t taken his eyes off Luthor. Batman’s hand was clasped around his friend’s shoulder, and after a lingering moment, the Man of Tomorrow nodded and then scoured a hole in the window and the pair shot away, leaving Luthor in the ruin of his office.

He watched as the World’s Finest sped off, and then waited patiently for the window to seal itself. “Silence,” he said, and the room was suddenly closed off from the world, a forcefield preventing any noise from entering it, or any noises escaping it. He looked at the Jack-in-the-Box and smiled. He’d have to fire the building’s security, of course. How could they let a biological weapon land on his desk? How indeed…

Clicking his fingers, his office restructured so that his desk was back where it should have been. He took a seat and laughed to himself, before saying, “That was easier than expected.”


“Okay, that’s scary and weird and scary,” said the Engineer. She flexed her fingers and her second skin of nanotechnology thickened. Didn’t stop a shiver going down her spine, though.

Doctor Light looked up from her microscope. “Kryptonian DNA spliced into cancer patients? That’s horrible. And we think the Joker is behind it?”

“I think at this point, that’s a lock,” said the Engineer.

Doctor Light rubbed the bridge of her nose. “That’s what caused Harley’s power-up, then. She’s infected. But does that mean she’s a carrier too?”

“What… oh, that would be nasty. That’s…” The Engineer looked around. “Did… did you feel that?”

“No? What?”

“A shiver. Like someone was tap dancing across my grave,” she replied.

“You’re a super-scientist infused with an army of nanomachines. What does that shiver mean to someone like you?”

Wonder Woman’s voice broke across the psychic link. {Can anybody hear me?}

“I don’t know. I’m running a diagnostic. Bear with,” said the Engineer.

“Grr,” replied Doctor Light.

{You’re patched through to everybody-- we’re reading you loud and clear,} replied Omen.

The Engineer jammed her eyes shut. “Not a shiver,” she said.

“Then what?”

“Some kind of… signal. Oh. Oh, balls.”

Below them, where Harley Quinn was strapped to a gurney, came a noise. They closed their minds to the conversation taking place across the psychic link and watched as the Maid of Mischief writhed about. She shook violently, and the doctors attending to her rushed over and tried to calm her.

“What’s--?” started Doctor Light.

Harleen gagged. Jerked. Seized. Frothing at the mouth it looked like she was going to tear herself apart, violent convulsions causing the gurney to rattle as the two Justice Leaguers watched.

“We’re both full of nanites, mine are more in tune to my biology, and hers is a dirty hack, but they can still hear each other if signals are being sent… I just heard… I just heard a signal,” said Angie, pressing her hands against the reinforced plate glass window.

Harley began to scream, and then a vortex of grey matter exploded out of her gaping mouth, past the medical staff and straight into the air-vents of Arkham Island.

“An activation signal,” whispered Angie. “I can’t interrupt it. It’s…”

The nanites inside Quinn had been released, and now they were loose.

Flying free throughout the madhouse, where the inmates laughed and jeered, their bodies waiting… and ready…

And across the psychic link, all the pair could hear was a man laugh, and say, { I’m the worst kind of monster…}


Even in Europe, the power grids were down. Buildings with emergency generators, hospitals and the like, shone like beacons in the dark, but from the British coast, across France and now touching down in Basel, in the early hours of the morning, Wonder Woman only saw darkness. The twilight haze that comes with being close to the day but too far away for the light to reach it…

As Diana soared toward the capital, she wondered what threats places like this faced, where the superhero population wasn’t as dense or as well-known as the one you might find in the west. In France, there were a handful of masked adventurers she was aware of; Belphegor, Crimson Fox, Fleur-de-Lis, Musketeer, Nightrunner… but the Global Guardians had been defunct for some time now…what dedicated protection did Europe have, other than that of the Justice League’s global UN mandate?

Aleph Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters was lit up like a Christmas tree. The vast building was located behind the Museum Tinguely, so the height of the building, combined with the location, allowed her to look out across Solitudepark and see Roche Tower, the tallest building in the country, as she began her descent. It was beautiful if you ignored the circumstances.

Generators shoved power into it after the public electrical grids had fallen. She landed on the promenade in front of the main entrance, and the doors hissed open. Glancing back, she saw that the carpark was full, but there was no noise in the vast stretch of space the premises took up. The fenced gate around the site was sealed, and nobody was going to get in or out any time soon.

“Something isn’t right,” she murmured. {I’ve arrived. I’m going in.}

Turning back toward the building itself, she entered tentatively, immediately noting with a great sadness that the lobby was strewn with bodies, their faces contorted into horrible, fake smiles, blood staining their skins in scabs where it had poured from their ears, eyes, mouths, and noses. They’d been dead for some time.

Elevator doors pinged open in the center of the lobby. “Who’s there?” she asked.

No response and nobody emerged from the lift. But it had been sent down for her, she could tell. Diana stepped inside and looked at the panel with all the floor numbers on. The button for the top floor, the thirty-fifth, was already lit up. Whoever was leading her by the nose wanted her up there. And she followed, because what else was she to do? The truth was up on high, and she was dutybound to follow it until she held it within her grasp.

“Je suis ici pour vous donner une leçon!”

A grating, playful voice crackled into her ears as the building’s PA system powered up. The tone, like sharp nails-down-a-chalkboard. French accent leaned into like Peter Sellers playing Clouseau. Diana recognized the voice, just as well as she understood the words. I’m here to teach you a lesson, he had said. Who?

“…Joker,” Diana whispered.

“...Et le nom de cette leçon est 'Pourquoi vous ne devriez jamais faire de compromis, même pas face à Armageddon.'“

The name of that lesson, he had said, 'Why you should never compromise, not even in the face of Armageddon.'

“Who are you to teach us lessons?” she asked aloud.

“I’m the last man standing, honey.”

The elevator shuddered and then the cables driving it up snapped, causing the entire compartment to plummet toward the basement levels! Though she couldn’t know it, the emergency brakes were offline, and there was no way the lift was going to come to an uneventful stop, but she guessed as much.

Diana threw her hands above her head and propelled herself upwards, smashing through the elevator’s ceiling and into the lift shaft itself. She kept going, flying away from the elevator as it careened downwards, and then watched as it crashed into the ground, pancaking the metal and causing the entire shaft to shake.

She looked up and then kept flying until she reached the top floor. She wrenched the elevator doors open, and then stepped into the lush reception hall of the CEO’s office, noting that the doors to the office were wide open.

Wonder Woman stepped inside, and Malik Swain, the swarthy CEO of Aleph Pharmaceuticals spun around in his chair, feet planted on his desk with aplomb. “Were you expecting somebody else?”

“I don’t understand… the Joker was…” started Diana. She unclipped the Lasso of Truth from her side and looped it around her fists. “…What’s going on here?”

Malik shrugged. “Was I too subtle? I didn’t expect it to be you to find me here. I expected it to be him. Ha.”

“…You’re the Joker,” she said.

Malik ran his hands across his face. “Am I? Do I look like him? Do I act like him?”

“I don’t have time for this--!” She surged forward, shoved his desk out of the way and then reached out for his lapels, but her hand slipped through him. He was a ghost, a specter, or more accurately, a holographic projection. “What in--?”

“Did you think it would be that easy?” Malik shook his head. “I’m not even here. Did you figure it out? Did you put two and two together?” He hooked his fingers in the corners of his mouth and pulled them up into a smile. “Dih yuh geh ih?”

Wonder Woman glanced around the room. {Can anybody hear me?}

{You’re patched through to everybody-- we’re reading you loud and clear,} replied Omen.

{What’s going on?} asked Batman.

“I’d been off the board for so long, I knew my return had to be dramatic. And so, I started putting pieces together, with no real endgame in sight… just set piece after set piece, punchline after punchline… dominoes, ready to topple. And then I saw you two’s coming out party. Saw the pair of you making nookie on all the TV channels*. That hurt.”


“You’re him. You’re the Joker. But how?”

He turned away from her, hands running through his hair. The color was fading from the roots out and shifting into another as he spoke… “Malik: Arabic for ‘Prince’; and Swain, an archaic word for ‘Clown’.” He looked back, his thin lips thickening, dark ochre skin paling. “When we met at the charity event*, I looked you in the eye, you stupid Wonder-bimbo, and I gave you the keys to the castle. The answer to the question. Who am I? Who else? I don’t know what he sees in you, honey! You’re thick! Thicker than mud! Thicker than blood!”


Wonder Woman said nothing, instead, she watched as the man’s form changed. Brown hair to green. Dark skin to beyond albino levels of pale. A neutral expression twisting into a smile. Malik’s entire facial structure reorganized until he was no longer the tight-mouthed executive of a pharma company, instead… he was the Clown Prince of Crime. He was the Joker. Revealed at last.

“I took over this company twelve months ago. Put my hands around its throat-- around Alejandro Cuetes’ throat*-- and I squeezed it until it let out its death cackle. Or should that be rattle? Who knows? I made all the connections in the world! After I saw the promise in his research, I funded the Engineer’s work, snuck him a treat in the Slab so he could keep developing his masterpieces, all the while applying his pre-existing patents to my own ends. Disguising my super-Smilex nanites as cancer treatments. How wonderful!”


“But… why?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Because it was funny, my darling. All those brittle-boned little victims, their bodies riddled with cancer, getting a singular ray of hope because of me? And then having it snatched away because I’m spiteful and mean and bitter and resentful? That’s hilarious.” He reached his hand out and then clasped it into a fist. “I am a god, aren’t I? You know what that feels like, don’t you?”

“You’re a monster,” she replied.

He chuckled. “I’m the worst kind of monster, thank you… now, here’s the thing. I’m sure you figured out a way to communicate after I crashed all your systems, so I can guess that Batman is hearing all of this-- yes, I know he survived. And really, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I actually felt sad when I blew him up yesterday but having him alive now… means I get to make him explode again and again and again. I’m sure you can see the appeal. And speaking of explosions--”

Without any further warning, Aleph Pharmaceuticals’ headquarters exploded in the early hours of the morning, with Wonder Woman still inside.