"Allies" Part One
The ten gathered in their temporary headquarters, a warehouse just outside of Ontario, Canada. They sat in silence for a few moments, reading the newswires. They needed something spectacular, or at least something that would attract enough attention. Nothing major had occurred for a few days now, but they were sure that something big was on the horizon. At 8:16 p.m. Eastern Standard Time, on March 10th 2002, the newswires seemed to erupt. One of their number stood up, and picked up a large square object from his feet. “It’s time,” he said softly. Silently the others stood up and followed him out of the door. Central City John Jones and Eel O’Brien took their seats at the seafood restaurant and were handed menus by the waitress. “Can I get you guys anything to drink?” she asked. “Hmmm,” Eel said, leaning forward. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke to start with.” “Eel,” his dinner partner chastised. “We’re on duty.” “Eh,” Eel said sheepishly. “Hold the Jack in that, would ya?” “Water for me, please, miss,” John said quietly. “Sure,” the waitress said. “I’ll give you guys a few minutes to look over the menus. If you need anything, just give me a holler. My name’s Pam.” “Pam,” Eel replied with a grin, as pushed his sunglasses down his nose. “You can bet on it.” The waitress smiled as she wandered away. “Get a load of them apples,” Eel sighed. “I must ask her next time if she has five sisters.” “Let's order, shall we?” John coughed, as he opened his menu, a maroon PVC affair with “Simply Seafood” emblazoned in faux gold across the front. “John, you’ve got to chill out a bit,” Eel said, opening his own menu. “Hey, now I know why we didn’t invite the fisher king.” John closed his menu and leaned forward. Eel slowly edged backwards, using his own menu as a shield. “Plastic Man,” John whispered. “We’re on a stakeout, remember? Please can you be serious for one minute?” Eel’s right index finger extended slowly until it was almost a foot long, and then it curled until it had formed a hook shape. Finally, the nail made contact with Eel’s chin and he began to scratch. “Hmmm,” Eel said, his eyes rolled up to look at the ceiling. “Let me think about that one.” “You do that,” John sighed, and with that he sat back in his chair and opened his menu once more. “What are you going to have?” Eel asked, returning his gaze to the menu. “Not sure,” John replied. “It all looks very good.” “Ah, here comes Pam and our drinks,” Eel said excitedly. Pam reappeared and set the drinks down on the table. “You guys ready yet?” she asked, fishing her order pad from her pocket. “I have a question,” Eel began, pointing at a page on the menu, “Does the starfish come with mind control, or does that cost extra?” John Jones glared at him. Chicago The bank vault doors flew open a split second after the explosion. Debris rained down over a radius of twenty feet or so. The robbers cowered behind an upturned table, but still managed to be hit by small shards of concrete. They were not concerned - a few bumps and bruises would easily be resolved by retirement to Antigua. After two minutes had passed, one of them popped their heads out and tried to look through the huge dust cloud that stood between them and the contents of the vault. They could see nothing, but as the seconds went past the view improved until he could see that the doors were gone and their way to the treasures within was clear. “Let’s go, lads!” he bellowed as he leapt over the table. “Robert, you take watch.” With that three of the four other robbers stood up and followed him in his dash for the vault. Robert stayed crouched down, watching for any potential interference. Pittsburgh The new automated rail management system had only been installed for three days when the first major malfunction struck. A viral worm had been inserted by a disgruntled ex-employee and had worked its way through the entire network until it had maxed out the CPU. By the time it became obvious to the controllers that the network was down, the 43 from Philadelphia to Pittsburgh was speeding up towards the 29 from Washington to Pittsburgh, which had been stopped by lights for 20 minutes. Memphis Five drunken teen superheroes decided that it was high time they visited Graceland. However, when they found it was closed they weren’t best pleased. “Right,” slurred Disorientation Boy, a skinny youth in a purple and yellow padded costume. “I didn’tsh come all the way here to - hic - missh out on sheein’ where the king lived.” “Whatrewegonnadothen?” a girl in a green, blue and violet two-piece with cape called out. Her name was Vole, but she was toying with the idea of changing her name of Vivacious Gal. “Hey,” Stout, the fattest of the troupe dressed in his orange and yellow caftan-cum-costume said as he bounced up and down on the street below. “We’re superheroes, right?” Most of the others nodded in agreement. Heaving Lad threw up on a passing cat. “Well then,” he continued, trying to stay still. “Let’s open the joint for ourselves.” “Cool!” the others agreed. Edinburgh (Scotland) Eric Hume climbed up the steps from the basement bar and stopped to fish for his house keys. However, in his drunken state he was finding it difficult to have a good root around in his trouser pockets, and keep himself from falling back down the steps. He decided to forget finding the keys, and instead found himself trying to focus on Edinburgh Castle which stood in its usual majestic spot overlooking the entire city. Something was wrong though. The picture didn’t look right to him, even in his inebriated state. It took him a few seconds before he realised what the problem was. Half of the castle wasn’t there any more. Washington The protest march began outside Planet Hollywood, with a group of fourteen dedicated to abolition of genetic testing. Slowly they made their way around the city, stopping off at the Washington Monument where they gained four drunken students but also lost eight of their original number. When they reached the Vietnam War Memorial, one of their number leapt from the crowd and began waiving his hands around and shouting. “What’s this asshole up to?” one of the students asked. The others laughed behind their hands. “Stop laughing,” the erratic protester called out. He grabbed the zipper on his jacket and waited for a few moments. “What’s he gonna do now?” the student asked. “Strip?” The laughter built rapidly, and then died as the zip was pulled right down and the jacket was pulled open. A bomb was strapped to his chest. “Yeah!” he roared. “Now you’re listenin’. Time to move this protest to a new level. Time for us all to die!” Central City “Hey, this stuff ain’t half bad,” Eel cried, tucking into his lobster. He had refused the bib offered by Pam, and instead had used his own version that he created from an extension of the skin under his chin. The lobster he lost, he merely scooped back up into his mouth. “Could you please be a little more subtle?” John sighed, gently flicking though his house salad with his fork. “We don’t want to attract any undue attention.” “Can I just say,” Eel whispered, “that I’m probably not the best person to have brought along to something covert.” “The Batman said you would be,” John replied. “Look, the only reason Bats keeps recommending me for these little missions is because I have nudie pictures of him and a certain talk show host.” John Jones stared at Eel O’Brien. His eyes narrowed as Eel’s smile widened to almost three feet long. Then, a sudden realisation hit him and he raised his eyebrows. “You are joking, of course?” he asked. Eel simply opened his huge mouth and shovelled in a lobster tail, shell and all. John was about to delve further when he caught sight of their quarry, standing up at his table and pocketing his change. “He’s on the move,” John breathed. “Bet he’s a lousy tipper,” Eel grumbled. Oracle! I read you, J’onn. The subject made his way slowly towards the door. He’s leaving. We will pursue. “Waitaminute!” Eel protested. “I’ve not even remotely finished. And I want some banoffee pie for dessert.” John Jones reached across the table and grabbed Eel O’Brien by the collar. “Plastic Man,” he growled. “This is very important. Listen very carefully.” Eel nodded rapidly and swallowed hard, faking terror. “We only have one shot at this, so for once, please try to be professional.” Eel O’Brien thought briefly of altering his shape to that of a buxom prostitute, but decided it would be best to do as he was told. Chicago Whilst the others filled the bags, Robert sat in silence. He checked a hand held proximity detector frequently, but nothing registered. It looked as though they were going to get away with this one without injuring anyone. He checked his rifle anyway, just in case. As he did so, he felt a slight breeze stroke his cheek. The bang that followed made him look up. His face froze in horror as he saw the vault doors were closed. “What?” he muttered. “We blew the doors off. How…?” At that moment, the proximity detector’s alarm began screaming at him. He looked down at it, and as he saw the two new dots that were within the range of the radar, he realised that his rifle was no longer in his hand. “Classy.” He looked up and saw two men; one dressed in a green uniform with a white lighting bolt cutting across the diagonal and the other in some sort of armour. “Certainly is,” the green uniformed one said, turning the rifle around in his hands. Robert tried to talk, but he couldn’t. “My name is Quickening,” the man in green said and then pointed to armoured man. “This is Bot.” Bot nodded. “And you, my friend,” Bot said, “are done here.” Pittsburgh The driver of the 43 train to Pittsburgh saw the 29 train dead ahead and as he tried frantically to hit the brakes, he used a free foot to sound the horn. But he knew it was useless. At this speed, there was nothing he could do to stop the train, and even if his colleague driving the 29 did hear him, there would be no way he could get the vehicle out of the way in time. He hadn’t been to church in twenty years; in fact, he hadn’t believed in God for almost the same amount of time; but as the collision loomed he closed his eyes and prayed. A minute later, and realising that there should have at least been a loud bang, the driver opened his eyes. What he saw wasn’t a wrecked train, or even a host of angels but instead the grinning blue face of Behemoth who was trying his best to stop the 43. “How ya doin’?” he growled. The driver passed out. Memphis Breaker Kid stumbled against the main doors and they easily caved in under his accidental onslaught. As per usual. “Right!” Disorientation Boy roared, pointing a bony finger at the hole in the sacred mansion. “Onward!” “Hold it right there, young man!” The voice came out of nowhere, and in their drunken state, the teen heroes took quite a few seconds to first locate the source and then actually focus on it. There, flying high in the air was the man named Astonish, his body a glowing mass of energy. “Wassit to you, buddy,” Vole slurred. “Yeah, we’re superheroes,” Breaker Kid shouted, rubbing his bruised shoulder. “What you are,” Astonish growled, “is out of control. Back away from the mansion or deal with me.” “And who are you?” Stout shouted. Heaving Lad threw up in the doorway. “My name is Astonish,” came the reply. “Now, move!” Disorientation Boy concentrated, throwing out an unseen bubble of power. It hit Astonish full on, the force knocking him backward. Rapidly his senses were filled with kaleidoscopes, custard, rocking horses and snow globes. He froze, his limbs tightening in turn with his stomach. “Yeah,” Stout cried. “You got ‘im DB!” “’Twas nothin’,” Disorientation Boy laughed, as he added paper aeroplanes, spirit gum, midget dancers and fried capsicums to the mental onslaught. Astonish tried his best to shut out the mass of images, smells, sounds, tastes and textures that ripped through his being. Although his body was made up of almost 100% anti-matter, which helped in most physical battles, they didn’t help prevent a mental assault. He gripped his stomach and pulled his knees up to his chest, as his body became totally overwhelmed with pain. He felt as though he was going to throw up, and as the thought flooded his mind, he unwittingly found a solution. Unfortunately Disorientation Boy had a potential weakness, as most heroes do. Although he could throw out disorientating mental projections, rendering his enemies immobile, the thoughts flowed both ways. So, as Astonish’s thoughts of vomit flowed back down to Disorientation Boy, they hit with the alcohol coursing through his veins and had a not very desirable way. As he began retching, he gave Heaving Lad a run for his money. “DB!” Vole shouted as she ran to her friend’s aid. “Uh,” Stout cried, pointing to the sky. “I think we should be bothered about someone else.” Astonish, his head now clear, was mad. Very mad. He shot down from the sky, his fists clenched and ready to hit someone. He was going to get his chance. Washington “I said we’re all going to die!” “I heard you,” a voice called out just as a gloved fist smashed into his face sending him reeling. “What the hell?” one female protestor cried out. The owner of the fist stood over the protester with the bomb strapped to his chest. He was dressed from head to toe in a variation of green army fatigues. On his right arm he held a square shield, reminiscent of the ones used by Roman centurions. “My name is Patriot,” he said softly. “You are going to jail for a very long time.” “My ass!” came the response as the bomb wearing protestor reached for the detonation button. “I’m going into the history books.” “Do something!” one onlooker shouted. Patriot grinned. The finger hit the detonator. “Already did,” Patriot laughed. “What? What’s wrong with this thing?” The finger jabbed against the detonator again and again and again. No explosion followed. “What have you done?” he stuttered. “What have you done?” “Nothing,” Patriot replied. “I did though,” a tiny voice called, and from the innards of the bomb flew a miniature woman just an inch or two tall. “Good job, Bug,” Patriot said, and as he did so she landed and his feet and began to grow to normal size. “I…” but the bomber never had the chance to finish his sentence, as Patriot stepped forward and hoisted him easily into the air. “Quiet!” Patriot roared and at that the bomber fainted. “Sucker,” Bug laughed. Patriot turned to her and frowned, as he dropped the bomber. “Bug,” Patriot began. “Let’s not resort to their kind of language.” Bug glared at him. Edinburgh (Scotland) Felix Faust stood on the top of Arthur’s Seat looking out at the Forth and waited. He didn’t have to wait for long, as his superhuman henchmen landed just a few feet behind him with their treasure, half of Edinburgh Castle. “Got it!” one of the henchmen shouted. “Excellent,” Felix Faust said turning to see his prize. “You have definitely earned your b…” His mouth dropped open when he saw how much of the castle they had brought. Both henchmen looked at each other and smiled. “What…have…you…done?” Faust asked incredulously. “We got the Stone,” they replied in unison. “You got all of the stones!” he shouted. “You idiots. I wanted the Stone of Destiny!” “It’s in there,” said one. “We didn’t want to waste your time searching for it,” said the other. “Didn’t want to waste my time?” Faust growled. “Well, I suppose I will just have to stop wasting your time…” He raised his arms high into the air and concentrated. “In fact, I’m going to have to stop you wasting your entire lives!” The two henchmen looked at each other as they felt the tingling flowing up their legs. In the distance, a flash of lightning shot across the sky, lighting up the entire area. “Huh?” they both said, as their bodies began to disintegrate. “Goodbye,” Faust said just as both men disappeared. Faust sighed and then started walking towards the half castle. As he did so, a peal of thunder ripped through the air. “You want something done, you have to do it yourself.” “Hold, varlet!” Faust stopped in his tracks. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once and he frantically looked around for the source. “Thou hast done wrong this evening,” the voice continued, as fork lightning descended from the heavens all around Faust. “Oh?” Faust called out, still searching the skies for the voice’s origin. “And what exactly have I done?” “Murder,” the voice replied, under cover of an explosion of thunder. “You didst murder those incompetents.” “And your point is?” Faust asked. Faust froze as he caught a glimpse of the man floating down from the storm clouds above. He seemed enormous, muscles covering every inch of his torso, straining as if ready to explode. A yellow cape trailed above him as he lowered himself to the ground, fluttering in the air with his long dark hair. “Taking a life is wrong,” Idol growled. “Even worthless ones?” Faust asked as Idol finally reached the ground. “Thou art given the ability to create life,” Idol responded, as he strode towards Faust. “Thou art not allowed to take it.” Faust raised his arms high into the air and concentrated. “Let’s add another to my rap sheet,” he bellowed. “Unwise,” Idol said. “Thou wouldst be best to look behind.” “Not falling for that one,” Faust laughed. Idol stopped and looked down at the ground at Faust’s feet. “Then at least look at your feet,” he said softly. Faust took his eyes away from Idol for a few seconds and looked down at his feet, which were now covered by the freezing cold waters of the Forth. “Wha…?” Faust began to ask, raising his head and looking back at Idol. Before he could do anything else he felt the full force of Torrent’s fist hammering into the back of his head. He groaned and fell to the ground, sprawling out at Idol’s feet. “Stupid man,” Torrent hissed, water streaming down seemingly from his skin. “These surface dwellers are so idiotic with their dreams of world domination.” He bent down and grabbed Faust by the scruff of the neck and pulled his unconscious form to its feet. “I should end his miserable existence for him,” he growled. “Hold, good Torrent,” Idol said, raising his hand to stop his colleague. “Ours is to stop these foul fiends by means fair, not foul. That is their lot, not ours.” “Pah!” Torrent barked, tossing the limp figure of Faust onto the ground. “Let us return the castle to its proper place and join the others.” Idol smiled. Central City John Jones and Eel O’Brien followed their quarry at a safe distance. On occasion, he would turn around and look behind him, but there would be no one there. Both would have disappeared into the shadows, the Martian Manhunter having detected his thoughts a split second before he acted on them. Eh, J’onn? Yes, Plastic Man? Why do we keep ducking when he turns around? I mean, couldn’t you just turn invisible and follow him that way? How can I put this, Plastic Man? Perhaps I like the old ways of detection. Wow. Never thought of you as a traditionalist, J’onn. You would be amazed at some of the things I like. Eel O’Brien looked up at John Jones, his right eyebrow raised on a stalk about three feet above his head. Not sure I like the sound of that, J’onn. Their prey turned the corner on the left and the two hunters quickly resumed their pursuit. John Jones flew a few inches above the ground, but still stood upright. Cheat. I thought you said you liked the old ways? John Jones laughed. Pittsburgh Mammoth gently placed the No. 29 train on the grass verge. He saluted the driver, who returned the signal but a little more shakily. Mammoth grinned, showing off a mass of pearly white teeth, each almost two feet tall. “Got to get to the bottom of this,” he bellowed, trees buckling under the force of his breath. With that, he took three steps to cover the mile or so to the nearest switchbox. A second later and he had shrunk back down to his normal size of six feet. He pulled a small handheld computer from his back pocket and a couple of cables. He hooked the computer up to the switchbox, and began work on eliminating the virus that was coursing through the rail network. Behind him, Behemoth leapt over the mountain before landing heavily in the grass field, creating a huge crater and leaving some cows extremely confused. “Stopped the train, Behemoth?” Mammoth asked, as he tapped away on the computer. “Just,” Behemoth replied as he swaggered over to his colleague. “They’ll have to lay about two miles of track again, but it’s stopped. How about you?” “Almost…” Mammoth began as he watched the anti-virus detection program scanning and repairing the virus. “That’s it! All services should be resumed, once this remote reboot takes effect.” “Excellent,” Behemoth said. “Then perhaps you can do your growth spurt again and carry both of the trains on to the station.” “Will do,” Mammoth said, as he began to grow once more. “Then it’s off to Washington.” “Our coming out party?” Behemoth asked. Central City J’onn? Oracle? Any progress? He’s ducked into a bagel shop. We were just about to go in. Let me know when he makes a move. Will do. Martian Manhunter out. With that John Jones changed his shape and colour, to reveal his true form as the Martian Manhunter. Both he and Plastic Man quickly approached the bagel shop. Inside, all was dark and quiet. Plastic Man, I’m going to become invisible and move in. Cover me. Plastic Man’s body twisted and stretched until he took the appearance of a blanket. Funny. J’onn’s body faded and slowly vanished. In his invisible state he picked up speed and checked in all the possible rooms. Each one was empty. “Strange,” he muttered to himself. “Where is he?” “Eh, Jolly Green,” Plastic man said calmly. “I think you’d better take a look at this.” J’onn turned around and looked at Plastic Man, who was pointing at the main oven. He thought it was strange that for once Plastic Man was pointing as himself, and hadn’t turned into a giant arrow or a pointer dog. He followed his colleague’s finger and saw that the oven was open and a strange yellow light was emanating. “What the…?” At that, their quarry’s head leapt out of the oven and rolled along the floor. His head had been severed half way down his neck, and the wound had been cauterised already. Ten blue tentacles appeared from the yellow light in the oven, closely followed by another three. Plastic Man turned to look at the Martian Manhunter who had revealed himself once again. J’onn’s eyes were transfixed on the oven developments. “We’ve just entered Weirdsville again,” Plastic Man sighed. Washington The press conference was set up rapidly just beside the Vietnam War memorial, and word spread just as fast. The newswires were buzzing ever since they made their first appearances around the globe. Television and radio news crews were dispatched quickly to the scene, and many newspapers had representatives too. One who didn’t think they would have - Metropolis’ Daily Planet - were slightly surprised to find that their star reporter Clark Kent was on the scene and would file copy within a few hours. At his side stood Wally West, who had been on vacation with his wife Linda in Italy when he received the call to attend. That had occurred three seconds ago. “What have we got here?” the voice of the Batman asked. “Not quite sure, but I don’t think it’s going to be good,” Wally replied, touching the radio transceiver in his ear. “I have a feeling it’s linked to the protestors and the bomb earlier tonight,” Clark said. “Apparently a couple of superheroes intervened.” “Word has come in about similar interventions in Pittsburgh, Chicago, Memphis and Edinburgh,” Batman said. “By all accounts we may have some new kids on the block.” “Great,” Wally sighed. “This is all we need.” “Wait,” Clark said as he used his telescopic vision to focus on the ten figures milling around on the podium. “We have action.” Patriot stepped up to the microphone and cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” he began. “My colleagues and I have been operating for some time in the shadows, dealing with problems that have arisen, which others could not; problems which threatened one, two or even hundreds of innocent people. We believe that now is the time to reveal ourselves in order that we can help educate people and perhaps stop some of society’s ills at the core.” “Haven’t we heard this someplace before?” Wally asked. “The Hyperclan.” Clark sighed. “And we all know how that turned out,” Wally continued. “Where’s J’onn?” “On a stakeout,” Clark replied. “Batman?” Patriot turned and beckoned the others to step forward, which they did. “Allow me to represent,” Patriot roared. “The Redressers!” “Catchy name,” Wally sighed. “Batman?” Clark asked again, slightly irritated that the Dark Knight hadn’t responded to his last request. “I’m thinking,” Batman replied. To Be Continued... Next: The Redressers have revealed themselves to a skeptical public and an even more skeptical JLA. They then allow themselves to undergo tests to check their authenticity. Meanwhile events in a bagel shop in Central City call on the resources of the JLA. However, that doesn’t stop Batman beginning his investigation. 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