by CSyphrett
Continued from Tales of the Green Lantern Corps: Wearing the Green
The Director was a shape-shifter, this month in the guise of a Coluan with skin of vivid emerald. His eyes were sharp and questioning as he regarded the man before him. Battly, his ever-efficient aide, stood at attention, his expression a mask of professionalism. The report on the subject of his experiment had arrived, and while the progress was expected, the revelation of the subject’s desires caught the Director somewhat off guard.
“He wants to take revenge on Earth?” the Director’s voice was low, laced with disbelief. “Ah, still a trace of megalomania, I see.”
“Yes, sir,” Battly replied, his tone steady. “Should we delete the imprinted memory and see what would happen if he had no experience? It might yield a more… manageable outcome.”
The Director shook his head, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “No, Battly. Give him what he wants — within reason — and let him pursue this fool’s errand. If it calms him down, all the better. And if he is captured, we simply delete him. We can source another memory elsewhere if needed.” He paused. “Have the special parties arrived yet?”
“They’re gathered in the designated meeting area,” Battly confirmed, his eyes flickering with anticipation.
“Good. Let’s get this over with,” the Director said, his voice firm.
***
In a hidden room somewhere on the planet Colu, tension crackled in the air. A group of hitmen and bounty hunters fidgeted, their impatience palpable. They had been summoned to address a problem, but the nature of it remained shrouded in mystery. Each of them was a predator, skilled in the art of bloodshed, and they were eager for the hunt.
The Director’s holographic image flickered to life, his Coluan features stark against the dimly lit room. He spoke, his voice smooth and commanding through the transmission.
“Gentlemen,” he began, “I have a situation that requires your expertise. Certain individuals have become a thorn in my side, and I wish for them to be… removed. The primary target is a Green Lantern, Noleon Fae. He’s been meddling in my shipping business. The secondary target is Vril Dox; his government is becoming increasingly troublesome. Upon confirmation of their deaths, your accounts will be credited.”
With that, the hologram vanished, and gathered killers began discussing strategy.
***
The Director glided into the control room, where Battly monitored a small team of operators. The screens displayed the trajectory of a miniature warship he had recently outfitted, now leaving the system.
“In transit to Sol,” Battly reported, eyes glued to the data streaming across his console as he tracked the subject. “Leaving hyperspace in ten minutes.”
The Director scrutinized the diagram of Mongul, skepticism etched across his features. “I hardly think that brain in a box will make much of an impact on that world,” he mused aloud, arms crossed.
His aide, recognizing that tone for what it was, kept his opinion to himself. He knew the Director simply liked to think out loud at times.
“Dropped into the system, heading for Earth at top speed,” Battly continued, his voice steady as he tracked the ship controlled by the disembodied mind of Mongul. “Weapons gearing up. We’ve detected a ship in orbit. Firing particle throwers at full power. The ship has lost power and is falling out of orbit.”
“What’s the make of the ship?” the Director inquired, his interest piqued.
“Thanagarian, according to the threat assessment,” Battly replied, a hint of concern creeping into his voice.
“Just marvelous,” the Director said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “Didn’t the subject have dealings with Thanagarians?”
“A Thanagarian police officer was responsible for his condition,” Battly answered. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See Hawkman and Hawkwoman: Mind Games.]
The Director’s lips curled into a knowing smile, his thoughts racing with possibilities. “Then let’s see how this plays out. At the very least, it may prove quite… entertaining.”
***
It was just another typical day in Metropolis, where the rhythmic sounds of phone calls and animated chatter filled the air of the downtown office buildings. For Dexter, a recent transplant from Coast City — his surfer’s tan still a testament to his origins — it was just another day of crunching numbers and typing reports. The young man sat hunched over his terminal, the infectious beat of James Brown’s “Living in America” pulsating through his headphones. His fingers danced across the keyboard to the rhythm until, in a moment of distraction, he accidentally dropped his pencil.
With an annoyed sigh, he bent down to retrieve it. Just then, a blinding beam of light sliced through the air, effortlessly cutting through the walls of the building and everything within it like a hot knife through butter.
Still lost in his music, the strange sound barely registered in Dexter’s mind. As he straightened up, a puzzled frown crossed his face when he noticed that the top of his monitor had been sheared off, knocked behind the rest of the terminal. Even more alarmingly, the headrest of his office chair was missing, cleanly severed.
“What the–?!” Dexter exclaimed, adjusting his glasses in disbelief. A peculiar creaking noise echoed from above, prompting him to glance up.
Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, the ceiling began to crumble. Panic surged through him as chunks of concrete and rebar cascaded down, tearing the office apart as if it were paper. Without thinking, he dived under his desk, seeking refuge from the impending disaster.
“What the heck is going on?!” he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper as he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for impact. The world above erupted into chaos — steel and concrete rained down, shaking the very foundation of the building.
Tearing off his headphones, Dexter peeked out from under his makeshift shelter. The hole above him widened, and with a terrifying crash, he and his desk were sent tumbling to the floor below. He landed with a thud, the air knocked from his lungs.
“I thought I was done with this kind of thing when I left California,” he groaned, pushing himself up and surveying the wreckage around him. “Whoever heard of an earthquake in Metropolis?”
***
Clark Kent was no stranger to trouble, but the unmistakable sound of destruction sent a chill down his spine. He had just settled into his work at the Daily Planet when the commotion outside reached his super-hearing. A quick glance out the window confirmed his worst fears — chaos had erupted in the streets below, dust and debris swirling ominously in the air.
“Not again,” he muttered, rising from the freelance desk.
As the newspaper staffers rushed toward the windows, eager for a glimpse of the latest disaster, Clark seized that moment to make his escape.
Dashing into the stairwell, he began shedding his civilian guise, ascending toward the roof with purpose. With each step, he peeled off his blue suit, revealing the iconic red, blue, and yellow of Superman’s costume beneath. He tucked his glasses into a hidden pocket in his cape, and with that, the transformation into the Man of Steel was complete.
Bursting onto the rooftop, he paused to survey the scene. A silver craft hovered ominously above the building, reminiscent of the ships he had encountered as Superboy during his adventures in the far-flung future with the Legion of Super-Heroes. A sparkling rod of plasma shot out from the top of the disc, slicing through the air and carving a line across a nearby building.
“That’s enough!” Superman declared, thrusting his hand forward to block the beam.
“About time you arrived,” a cold, computerized voice emanated from the spacecraft. “I have been waiting for my revenge, and now I have the means to achieve it.”
“Brainiac?” Superman asked, confusion flickering in his eyes.
“No,” the ship replied, its tone dripping with malice. “I am Mongul. Prepare to die.”
***
Many light-years away in the depths of space, Noleon Fae soared through the cosmos. Unlike many of his fellow Green Lanterns, he had traveled extensively, his home planet of Alvarin serving as little more than an occasional stopover as he pursued justice across the galaxy. His primary duty involved tracking down fugitives, ensuring they faced the consequences of their actions.
But Noleon had his limits. He had no interest in pursuing fugitives from the Dominion or other aggressive regimes unless they were attacking shipping lines outside their own territory. In his view, any resistance to those authoritarian, warlike governments was justified.
However, when it came to outlaws from democratic governments, he drew the line. He believed in fairness and justice, and he would relentlessly hunt down any criminal who threatened that delicate balance.
Piracy was increasingly becoming an alarming concern, which was why he found himself in this desolate system, scanning for signs of trouble with his power ring. Ships had gone missing, and he was determined to uncover the truth behind their disappearances.
***
Vril Dox sat behind his expansive desk, the soft hum of his computer filling the silence of his large office. As he put the machine on standby, a familiar knot of anxiety tightened in his stomach. The Cabinet meeting loomed ahead, and he anticipated it with a mix of dread and determination. Reports of raids along the borders of Coluan territory were escalating, and whispers of unrest in neighboring systems grew louder by the day. Yet here he was, mired in the mind-numbingly slow progress of bureaucracy, instead of confronting the source of the problem directly.
“Sir?” His aide M’rissa, a raven-haired young woman with sharp features and an even sharper intellect, stepped into the room. Her expression conveyed a blend of concern and urgency. “Are you ready for the meeting?”
“Not particularly,” Dox replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “But it seems we have no choice. The Cabinet won’t wait for my enthusiasm to catch up.” He glanced at her, his green eyes piercing. “What’s the latest on the raids?”
“More reports from the outer colonies,” she said, her voice steady. “The raiders are becoming bolder. I’ve also compiled a list of incidents in the neighboring systems. It appears there’s a pattern, but–”
“I know,” he interrupted, frustration creeping into his tone. “I suspect one mind is orchestrating these seemingly disparate attacks. But without solid proof, it’s all just speculation.” He stood and began pacing the room, his thoughts racing. “In the days of the Great Revolution, I would have acted on instinct alone. But we live in a very different world now, and I must tread carefully. There could be an enemy in our midst, someone feeding information to the raiders.”
M’rissa nodded, her brow furrowed. “You think there’s an inside man?”
“It’s the only explanation for the police forces’ repeated failures,” he replied, his voice low and intense. “We need to expose this traitor before we can confront the real threat.” He paused, looking out the window at the sprawling cityscape, the weight of leadership pressing down on him. “We must act swiftly. If we don’t, we risk losing everything.”
He turned back to the young woman, who regarded him with admiration. Like most Coluans, she saw only the hero who had saved their people from the Computer Tyrants. Only he knew what a flawed man he truly was within. “I am sorry, M’rissa, but I need some time alone to prepare for the Cabinet meeting. If you don’t mind…?”
“Not at all, sir,” she replied, excusing herself with a nod.
Vril Dox sighed as he walked the halls of his presidential quarters, lost in thought. His mind was filled with plans to expose the internal enemy before identifying the outer source of the problem. The fate of Colu depended on him, as it always did. He was now the President of Colu, and had been for awhile, but he often wished he could return to his former role as a resistance fighter and take on the raiders himself.
***
The sun hung high over Metropolis, casting its warm glow on the bustling city below. Yet, an ominous shadow loomed above, as Superman hovered in the sky, staring incredulously at a massive silver craft that emanated a sinister energy. The ship loitered like a dark omen, casting a pall over the vibrant streets below.
“Mongul? But how…?” Superman murmured to himself, his thoughts racing back to a month prior, when Mongul’s comatose body had been stolen from the Fortress of Solitude. According to Green Lantern’s account of the incident, Mongul was believed to be dead after the alien body-snatcher’s ship had been destroyed during a fierce battle with the Green Lantern Corps.
Using his super-vision, Superman scanned the ship, hoping to locate its pilot and prevent further damage to his beloved Metropolis. However, he detected only internal mechanisms consistent with a robot or android.
“You’re not the real Mongul. You’re just a machine that thinks it’s Mongul!” Superman shouted, his voice echoing across the skyline.
The ship’s loudspeaker crackled to life, a mechanical voice dripping with arrogance. “What difference will that make to a dead man?”
Without warning, a green beam of light shot from beneath the disk-like craft, searing through the air and striking Superman with a force that sent him crashing to the ground. The impact rattled the earth, debris scattering as he struggled to regain his composure, the world spinning around him.
The mechanical marauder’s voice filled the air, a chilling glee evident in its tone. “Now to destroy this city!”
Pain shot through Superman’s body, but he quickly pushed himself up, determination igniting within him. “Not if I have anything to say about it!” he gritted through clenched teeth.
Superman launched himself into the air, ready to confront his enemy. He was all too aware that the safety of Metropolis — and perhaps the world — depended on his next move.
***
Noleon Fae glided silently through the vast expanse of space, his mind sharp and alert. The power ring on his finger pulsed with energy, scanning the region for any signs of the missing merchant ships that had vanished en route to Colu and other nearby systems. After weeks of chasing leads, the pressure was mounting.
As he navigated the star-studded void, a glowing green bloodhound materialized from the ring, its ethereal form sniffing the cosmic winds for clues. With a gentle tug, it guided him forward, leading him toward a moon orbiting a distant gas giant. Fae felt the familiar hum of his ring as it shielded him from the atmospheric friction that awaited.
When he touched down on the moon’s surface, an unsettling sight greeted him. A grove of trees loomed ahead, their bark and leaves an unnatural shade of yellow, while the grass beneath them bore the same sickly hue. Fae’s instincts kicked in, and he scanned the area with a wary eye.
“Something’s not right here,” he muttered under his breath. Yellow was a color of special concern in his line of work. Despite centuries of secrecy in many circles, it was now common knowledge that a Green Lantern’s ring could not affect anything of that color. Ambushes were frequent, often resulting in death at the hands of enemies armed with yellow-hued ammunition specifically designed to bypass their protective shields.
“Stay sharp, Fae,” he whispered to himself, his heart racing. He had faced countless foes, but this felt different. The air was thick with tension, and he could almost sense the heartbeat of the moon beneath him.
***
In the Parliament chamber of Colu, Vril Dox stood before a sea of anxious faces, each member of his Cabinet hanging on his every word. Just behind him, Garryn Bek, his head of security, stood as a silent sentinel. President Dox’s mind was heavy with the grim realities of his situation; piracy was ravaging his planet’s trade routes, and the losses were mounting with each passing day.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice steady yet laced with urgency. “We must confront the escalating threat to our trade. If we do not act swiftly–”
Suddenly, a glint of light caught his eye from the back of the room. Before he could react, a deafening explosion erupted from his podium, showering the chamber with splinters.
“Get down!” Garryn shouted, lunging forward as he drew a handgun from beneath his coat. But the chaos unfolded too quickly; Dox barely registered the flash of a weapon before darkness enveloped him.
Pain erupted in his cheek as he pulled a splinter from the wound. “Move! Move!” he shouted, adrenaline surging through him as he sprinted for the exit, already separated from his security detail. The walls trembled with each explosion that rocked the chamber, debris raining down like confetti.
He skidded to a halt in the corridor, his breath coming in ragged gasps. But his escape was cut short as two armored humanoids emerged from the shadows, rifles raised and ready.
“Dox!” one of them growled, malice dripping from his voice. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Vril’s heart pounded as the barrels of their rifles gleamed menacingly in the dim light. There was no time for thought, no time for retreat; he could only respond. As the first shot echoed through the corridor, he instinctively ducked, adrenaline surging through him with each movement. The stakes had never been higher, and the game was just beginning. But Vril Dox was in his element once more; these assassins had no idea who they were up against.