Episode 15: A Grave Miscalculation

The Watchtower grapples with the new marked individuals, and Batman grapples with his own mortality.

“Justice League case file logs, case file number 011992.”Superman said, speaking into the microphone at the evidence room desk. “Reader, Kal-El. Update. Martian Manhunter and I just brought up the next batch of ‘marked’ individuals. The count is up to twenty two now. We still have no idea how the victims are receiving these marks on their bodies. There seems to be no correlation between age, location, or even position, because while this whole time they have all been politicians, or at least employed by the government, the last person we picked up is the CEO of a pharmaceutical company. The symbols are increasing in frequency, as many as four a day now. Spreading the word has been difficult. The general public are terrified that they too might receive a mark on their backs, and if we don’t hear about it in time we can’t save them. We’ve lost six lives just because we had no idea they had a symbol until it was too late. The situation is grim, and to make matters worse we just lost our two best workers. Hal Jordan is off investigating a private issue, and Batman’s injury has infected. He’s resting in the medical bay now, but he needs constant surveillance or else he makes another escape attempt. We’re going to conduct a thorough questioning of every civilian on board. There must be something one of them remembers that we can start looking into. If they fail to give anything up, we’ll have to resort to having Martian Manhunter scan their minds for memories. I’m still hoping to not have to resort to that. I’m going to check on Batman now. I’ll start the questioning as soon as I’m through. Keep praying for us. Out.”

            Clark stopped the recording and put his face in his hands. This was the absolute last way he wanted to spend the first four days of his engagement. He was supposed to be celebrating with friends, staying up late drinking champagne by the fireplace, having fun. Not housing the lowest of the low in the one place he thought safe.

            It was starting to get disheartening. There were good politicians out there, Clark was certain of it. There had to be, there’s no way this country could run without them. But what Clark was being forced to realize was that either the good ones were the vast minority, or they were all putting on an act to seem good, because these people were the worst cultural offenders he could possibly imagine.

            It wasn’t just the inside trading, Clark could understand that. If all they did was buy a bunch of stocks every time they changed a law then perhaps it could be understood. But some of these mayors and senators went out of their way to inflict as much cruelty as possible. Taking bribes and turning a blind eye to pollution, building hostile architecture on every square inch of terrain, tearing up public spaces like parks and libraries to build more roads, these men seem to get off on hurting others. And young girls, they get off on those too. Because somehow despite these men having a history of abuse and narcissistic behavior underage girls still end up on their phones, in their bedrooms and in every waking thought these self obsessed monsters can form together.

            It wasn’t a question of “did they deserve to be saved.” Clark knew he was going to save them. He was going to work just as hard as he did with everyone else. It just felt like such a waste of effort when he knew he had put away criminals with less of a history then them, and they were the ones being protected.

“Such is the life of a superhero” he supposed. “You can’t only save who you want to.”

            He powered his steps out of the room with a deep slow breath. He was heading straight for the medical bay, preparing to get harassed by spoiled government men all the way. He shored up as much patience as he could muster as he walked past the central observation deck, where most men were waiting. The observation deck had a large section of floor dedicated to the teleporter. A few feet from that was the large desk that whoever was on duty that day used to monitor communications, scan global events and manage teleportation. The rest of the room was a large hall of empty space. It was the main hub where anyone arriving at the Watchtower first set foot, and where important meetings occurred so people could leave as fast as possible afterward. It was covered in windows from nearly every angle. You could look out in any direction and get a view of the majesty of space, your home planet or on special occasions even planets further away. It was a view that people trained their whole lives to get, and these congressman were getting it for free. Yet all they could seem to do was complain. Clark walked by Martian Manhunter investigating one of their marks, and someone else yelling at him.

“Why haven’t you caught this guy yet?! You said it would only take a few days?!”

“We’re trying.” Jon said. “We’re doing everything we can.”

“How do we know we’re really safe up here? What if he comes up here to get us?”

“I assure you, Senator Henry, if the killer were to be so bold as to step foot on the Watchtower there would be no surer way of us catching them. You are safe here.”

“Why haven’t you slackers caught this animal yet?”

“Perhaps, it would go a little smoother if you gave us anything to go on.” Clark interjected.

            The group all turned their attention towards the building tension and watched the argument continue. Superman was obviously out of patience, and they had never seen that in him before. Some were afraid, most were prurient. They all wanted to see what happened when the man of steel finally broke.

“The killer has left no evidence at the scene. The only scraps of usable information we have to work with are the wood used in crucifixion, and the methodology, both we are tracking as thoroughly as we can. Any input from you as to where your mark came from, what it’s made of and when you got it would be instrumental.”

“I don’t know anything!” Senator Henry barked. “I already told you people I have no idea where it came from!”

“Then you need to stay out of our way and let us do our job!” Superman’s voice boomed through the air. Even the ancient curmudgeon of Senator Henry had to shrivel away in fear. The voice of Superman was something few could defy. “Your choices are, let us delve deeper into your personal lives to find a connection, have us send you back to earth in the hopes that we catch the killer trying to get to you, or sit down, shut up, and do as your told!”

            The entire room dropped it’s gaze in shame then. These men had gotten so used to lying about their personal lives to the general public and the media that they had grown a presumed feeling of immunity. They felt for certain nobody could foil them even if they found out. But this was different. Superman didn’t need to act within the law. He did to respect them and to do things the right way, but if push came to shove and lives were on the line they were next on the chopping block and they knew it. They’re only hope of getting out with their freedom intact was to be cooperative and quiet. No matter how dark the situation became.

            Superman felt satisfactorily like he shut the situation down and left the room. He walked all the way down the many halls and sign posted turns to get to the medical facility, right next to the hanger. The automatic doors opened for him and the sterile smell of medicine instantly hit his nostrils. The med bay was small, but it hadn’t been tested beyond it’s measure yet. It was a room wider than it was long, and it housed twelve gurneys, seven on the far wall, five on the wall with the door. A window on either side kept the reminder of space in the room at all times. Bruce was laying in the bed on the far left, an I.V. in his right arm. He was breathing heavily, likely trying to fight the anesthetics in his system. Hawkgirl stood in the opposite corner, mace at her side working on a laptop.

“Any escape attempts?” Clark asked her.

“Not since I got here.” She replied. “Flash said he tried a couple times.”

            Clark shook his head in wonder and rage. All that strength and he refuses to let it heal. He stepped towards his friend and confronted him.

“We’re wasting valuable resources on you.” He said. “Think of all the good Hawkgirl could be doing right now if she didn’t have to stay babysitting you.”

“Think…of all the good…I could be doing…if you hadn’t…strapped me…to this bed.” Bruce replied, struggling mightily to stay awake.

“Your injuries were minor when I saw them. They’re worse now and they’re infected. Can you not see why rest is better for you?”

“I don’t…have time…to rest…Gotham needs me, and we haven’t…”

“The symbols are a big deal, yes. But what are you going to do about it? Even if you were in perfect condition we still have no leads.”

“But…Gotham…”

“What’s going on in Gotham? Tell me, I’ll cover for you while you heal.”

“You can’t.”

“Bruce I know you face dangerous things in your daily life but I promise you there is nothing The Penguin can do to hurt me.”

“You don’t… get it… if you… stop them… it shows them… that I’m not… strong enough…”

“You aren’t. Bruce, face reality, it isn’t 2006 anymore. It isn’t you and one city against organized crime. You’re fighting crime on a global scale, facing enemies way outside your power level.”

“And doing… better… than you.”

“Yes. You are doing better than me, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have allowed you to pick up so much slack in Metropolis, I should have been doing more. Now’s my chance to make up for it. You need to heal. You need to rest for at least a month. If you truly must help, then do digital research with Lois on these symbols. I’ll keep Gotham and Metropolis safe, I promise.”

“You’ll lose.”

“If it gets that bad you can put the suit back on and help.”

“I can’t…”

“You can, you will. You’ve already proven to me that you’ve got the resolve to always work harder, now prove to me you’ve got what it takes to take a day off.”

“Clark…”

“Goodbye Bruce. I’ll contact you if I need anything, and I’ll visit you every morning, if I can. Rest well. You deserve it.”

            Clark strode confidently out the door before Bruce could respond. He went straight to the bin where Batman’s things were kept and he grabbed the earpiece out of the cowl. After wiping it against his shirt, he placed it in his ear and turned it on.

“Alfred, are you picking this up?” He asked, his fingers to his ear like a spy movie.

“Y-yes? Is that you, sir? I don’t recognize your voice.”

“This is Superman, Alfred. Bruce is taking some time off to rest and heal, I’m taking care of Gotham for now.”

“Oh, what marvelous news! I cannot tell you how much this means to me!”

“The feeling’s mutual. Fill me in, what open cases is he working on?”

“Are you sure, sir? There are, rather a lot of them.”

“I’m sure. Tell me everything.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

            Alfred began detailing all of the many case files Bruce was working on before he was shot, omitting the Amazo incident for Clark’s sake. It was a dizzying list, it was all Clark could do to pay attention and walk towards the hanger at the same time. He leapt into the vacuum of space and hurtled his way to the earth, ready to take on the list of challenges. He thought of Bruce all the way, certain he was doing the right thing, as Bruce himself slowly faded into unconsciousness.

Two hours later.

            Bruce awoke groggily from his medically induced coma to the sound of laughter and quiet chattering, like two teenagers in a library. His eyes blurred their way open and eventually started to take in their surroundings. He was still in the Watchtower’s medical bay, and he was still strapped to the bed. His I.V. drip was almost empty, swaying gently as the air conditioning vent above his bed breathed upon it. He turned his head agonizingly to the left to see who was in the room and he found it to be Lois Lane talking to Hal Jordan. Lois had a genuine smile on her face and she was trying to conceal her laughter. Hal was making some grand gesture, obviously telling jokes about his many adventures as “Green Lantern.” He was wearing that same leather jacket he was always seen in, with badges of the green lantern symbol and the United States Air Force. He rolled his eyes, the effort of which set off the pain in the rest of his body. All of it hit him at once and he couldn’t help but groan.

“Am I in Hell?” He asked, to summon the two to his side.

“Look at that!” Lantern exclaimed. “He is awake.”

            Lois and Hal came over to his side, Lois carrying her laptop and setting it on the adjacent bed. They came close and immediately started the questions.

“How you holding up?” Lois asked. “Is the pain terrible?”

“I’m fine, how long was I out?”

“Look at this guy,” Hal mocked. “’I’m fine’ when he’s literally strapped to a hospital bed. Martyr complex, much?”

“You were out for a little over two hours.” Lois said. “Hawkgirl changed shifts with Hal about halfway through.”

“Yeah, and I thought it was super boring watching the most miserable man on earth fall asleep so I decided I should bring Lois up here and get to know her a little better. After all, she’s just as much a part of this team as you are. Right, part timer?”

“You’re not actually a part timer, right? Clark said you’re doing stuff for the League all the time?”

“Legally,” Bruce began through much effort, “I am considered a ‘part-timer’ so that I can be dispatched of and moved around easily. But by man hours alone I put in about twice as much work as everyone on the team but Jon. Except Hal, I put in seven times more than he does.”

“Oh I’m so happy you’re awake.” Hal retorted. “What do you need, man, meds? We’re out down here but I can have somebody bring more pain meds for you.”

“I need to get back in the field. I don’t have time to be useless like this.”

“Clark’s down there, what possibly could be going on that Superman can’t handle it?”

“Can Superman follow the trajectory of a bullet that ricocheted four times and then calculate the density of gunpowder in the air two hours post ejection and figure out the make and model of a custom built sniper rifle and trace it’s parts and ownership back to its original buyer to find out who or where the person who shot me is?”

“Do the police not do anything in Gotham? Why is this all your job?”

“That’s just one of countless. I’m so behind in Gotham it would make your head spin. It’s not about proving anything. It’s not about insecurity. It’s about that I literally…don’t…have…time…”

            The labor in Bruce’s last three words displayed how desperately he needed the break. With every word he spoke he convinced everyone further of how direly he needed to get back in the field, whilst simultaneously proving that he cannot afford to spend another minute fighting crime. That wasn’t what hurt though, what made it so painful to listen to was the despair in his voice. Bruce seemed fully aware of how self destructive it was. He seemed to want to take a break just as much as everyone else. But because nobody else did the kind of work he did he had no choice but to keep at it until either he fixed it or he died. The pain was enough to break through Hal’s invincible sarcasm and he offered Bruce a hand.

“Look man, I can help out in Gotham for a little while.”

“No.”

“No, I mean it. You’re right, I don’t do enough. I can spare a few hours every day, let me help.”

“I don’t trust you with Gotham.”

“C’mon, seriously? You’re dying, you don’t have a choice. I know you don’t like me, but I wear this ring for a reason. I’m good at what I do, I can help. I’m not even useless at the detective stuff, I can scan things, my ring can follow bullet trajectories.”

“You don’t scare them.”

“A chainsaw to the kneecap is terrifying whether it’s green, black or heliotrope.”

“Bruce, please.” Lois chimed in. “They need you. They need you at full strength. Don’t throw yourself away just because you don’t trust them. There has to be something he can help with.”

            Bruce took a deep breath to argue back, and in doing so felt a jab of pain in his lungs.It was such an intense surge he couldn’t even continue to speak. The energy required to keep up this battle was too much. He knew his own mortality was creeping up on him. Could he really be broken? He had survived so much worse than this and kept going. Why can’t he cope with this one? It filled him with a kind of rage he hadn’t felt in a long time. The kind of futile, broken rage,that comes from someone actually losing.

            He entertained the thought of them being right. What happened if in his weakened state he made a mistake? What if his reaction time was just a second slower and he got shot by the same gun? It could kill him. What if it caused him to overlook an important detail? What if his back gave out during combat and he was captured? He would need Justice League help anyway, then. Did he really not have a choice? His rage began to morph to despair, and his emotions compounded nearly to tears. He could hardly entertain the thought of being past his time for even a second before he broke down. He bottled it for now, and gave up on winning this argument.

“If you fought another green lantern, would you win? If he was just as good as you?”

“’Would I win,’ are you kidding me? It’s like the one thing I do all day.”

“Are you sure? Even if they had exactly as much will, and exactly as charged a ring? You would always win?”

“Of course. That’s my job. I’m not just ‘a green lantern’ I’m a ring hunter. I’m being considered for an alpha position, it’s my thing, Bruce. It’s like asking if you would win a brooding contest.”

“Then there is something you can help with.”

“Lay it on me.”

“A few weeks ago Clark asked for my help with something in Metropolis. While I was there, I encountered something at the dockyard. It was a crew stealing a shipment of goods…inside one of the shipping containers they were lifting was an Amazo.”

            Hal’s face darkened in a flash and he stood up from his reclined position instantly.

“Are you serious?!”

“Yes.”

“You fought an Amazo?! And you didn’t tell anyone?!”

“Why would I tell someone? To make my fight with an Amazo even harder?”

            Hal opened his mouth to scream but he did realize the truth in that argument. Amazo’s weren’t programmed with in built combat skill. They had basic self defense functions, but they were supposed to take the power’s they absorb and use them to their fullest. If they didn’t take any powers from Batman then they would basically be a human with metal skin and no fighting training at all. That would be a whole lot easier than fighting some metal version of a League member. Hal let go of the anger and calmed himself.

“Touche, but I still wish you had told somebody AFTER you killed it.”

“Well I don’t know that yet.” Bruce replied. “I killed the one I fought, sure, but where did it come from? Who built it? Are there more? I was investigating that myself. I know another one is going to be on the Lextrack tomorrow at 11:00pm. It’s starting in Flagstaff and is planning to stop somewhere in Oregon. If you intercept it in the desert you can fight it and not worry about explosions.”

“I’ll be there.”

“What’s the Lextrack?” Lois asked, visibly concerned. Bruce answered.

“It’s Lex Luthor’s private railway company.” Bruce explained. “He has specially made trains and train cars that carry all sorts of things around the country for him. He built it back when we were building the Watchtower, and he’s used it ever since. The Amazo will be on the locomotive named ‘Destiny.’ That’s his favorite.”

“It’s the most heavily armored vehicle of any kind since Air Force One.” Hal said. “It has more guns than a battleship, it’s piloted entirely by machines, and it’s armor is made of more than a three feet thick reinforced Titanium-Lithium alloy. It runs on nuclear power, the reactor of which is made of Kryptonite so even the man of steel can’t get close.”

“And in one of the fourteen cars of that train will be an Amazo. Can you beat it?”

            Hal cracked a smile so evil it would have been seen on the Joker. He cracked his knuckles and released his retort.

“I’ll bring some friends. We’ll hang that train by it’s neck and beat it like a pinata.”

“I’m counting on you Hal.”

“Don’t worry. If there’s one thing I’m really good at, it’s blowing things up. We’ll take it down.”

“Jesus Christ…” Lois sighed. “How does the government allow Luthor to get this kind of stuff?”

“They gave it to him.” Bruce said, sharing her sentiment of doom saying dismay.

“Don’t worry, babe,” Hal said, trying to be reassuring.“When my guys are done with it that train won’t be anything but a smoking pile of rubble on the Nevada floor. I promise.”

“Don’t call me babe.”

“Sorry.”

            The awkwardness of that moment held in the air for longer than anyone would have liked, forcing Hal to make his exit quickly.

“Well I guess I better go. I’ll start rallying my guys up. Oh by the way, I gave the guardians your ring, and they said they would try and get rid of it for you. So as long as you don’t call it the ring should be out of your hands from now on, Bruce.”

“Great.”

“Yeah. It is great. So I’ll be going now, I’ll see if Flash can cover my shift babysitting you.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s what I like to hear!” Hal shouted as he left the room.

            Bruce and Lois sat in silence until the door sealed back up. After a few beats, Lois opened back up.

“Have you guys made any headway with this thing with the marks?”

“Some. Waller’s friend gave me a lead. They think the killings have to do with some monastery in Switzerland.”

“Something about St. Dumas?” She said, finding some of her documents on her laptop.

“You know about them?”

“They came up during my research. If this is the right thing, than the marks are a secret language.”

“Can you translate it?”

“I couldn’t do the whole language, but I think the specific mark we’ve been seeing translates to ‘sinner.’”

“So that’s the key. The killer is going after those marked with the most sins. We just need to set one of them out as bait, and we’ll catch them red handed.”

“Hell yeah let’s do it.”

            Lois and Bruce proceeded to in fact do nothing at all, as Bruce was strapped to the bed, and Lois didn’t know her way around the Watchtower. The irony was not lost on them, and Lois couldn’t help but remark on it.

“Well, not US obviously.”

“Yeah I’ll have to get Diana on that.”

“Are you two a thing?”

“Did she say that?”

“Clark did.”

“Then no.”