Chapter Eight: Children Play
I woke up, my head pounding.
Fuck that.
I woke up, my whole body at peace with itself, and an incredible sensation of well-being seeping down to my soul. The bed sank just a little more, reaching optimal softness. Ghostly, phantom-like hands gently massaged my sore neck and back. My naked chest, my legs.
I didn't purr, but it was a close thing. Damn that felt good.
Wait. My eyes snapped wide open.
"What the…?"
I took in the pulled paint on the walls, the old, defunct TV on a shady desk in the corner, the beige curtains to complement the gray of the rest of the room. I think my stomach never quite sunk that low before, because the first thing that came to mind was the hangover movie, and fuck if my life needed that at this point in time.
Someone cleared their throat to my left and proceeded to shave a year off my life.
"John?" I said, half relief, half dread at seeing him sitting by the bed, with only his pants and unbuttoned shirt on. "Did… wait, did we…?"
"Well, after the cream pie, I really had no choice," he deadpanned, and wow I could actually hear the rumbling anger beneath the flat tones. "Yeah, go fuck yourself a bit, love. You were drunk out of your mind. And I'm not sure how literal I am being. So, no, I did not take advantage because I'm a lot of things, but never that."
"… Shit. Sorry." My face heated up. "Sorry, woke up in my underwear and-"
Time stop.
John's gaze remained on me, but, too fixed, too solid to be real anymore. His entire body remained frozen, and something in the air felt wrong. Too stiff. The low humming of the radiators had stopped.
He had already manipulated my memories once.
Right. I didn't have to take any of this at face value.
True knowledge.
Scenes came to me in flashes, of John slipping an arm under my armpit and lifting me up my seat, helping me walk out of the bar, us on the street walking, my eyes half-closed.
A mugging attempt ended with someone's clothes exploding into paint. And an embarrassed, freaked out would-be robber running away covered in rainbows. It was lucky I hadn't ki- I heard myself laugh again, and John's gaze sharpened at the hysterical noise.
His steps were a little faster after that.
"Just gotta give me a second to tweak my wards, mate," he had whispered when he'd brought me before a seedy hotel. "Wouldn't want them to blast you while you're out of it."
I heard my thoughts then, felt the eye roll and a simple mumble that wiped the wards clean off.
He sighed. His features smoothed over. He almost looked fond, in a gentle, exasperated way. "Sheesh, that only took me two hours to put up."
"Be back once we're in," I had slurred.
Past the reception desk, where the clerk had not blinked at a guy carrying a very drunk pal back to his room, John had pulled out a cheap electronic card and swiped it over the lock. Just before he could drop me on the bed, I lost most of the alcohol left in my stomach.
I winced at the sight. Oh man, that looked nasty. John had cursed under his breath and proceeded to dutifully strip my dirty shirt off me. The pants, I'd done all by myself. Sort of. At the last second, I had tripped over my foot and fallen on the bed. John had just pulled it off my right ankle.
For a second, the flashes slowed as black overcame the rest.
Knowledge could have stopped there. After all, I'd lost consciousness more or less the moment my head hit the pillow. But, well, near omnipotence.
I simply saw the event as if I had been an invisible camera. John remained sitting in his chair, swearing a bunch under his breath and alternating between taking puffs of his cigarette and scribing runes into the walls.
True Sight.
The room came into clarity, the off-colored walls covered in red markings. I even noticed a handful on the bed itself, and one on my back. Dead center. An awkward angle to notice even in the mirror. I would like to say that I didn't have a clue about what they meant, but my powers supplied me with a sharp, coarse answer. Restraints.
"Bastard." I punched my mattress, once, twice. "Damn it! Why did I accept a drink from you? I know you're technically a good guy, you want to help people, so why are you such an asshole?!"
John didn't reply, of course. He remained every bit as smug and bitter as before. He just oozed that noir-style assholery. I ought to, to -
'Have you recently punished a mortal disproportionately for something most modern day people would call a minor inconvenient?'
'YOU! WILL BE! A FUCKING AMAZING FATHER TO YOUR SON!'
My hand clenched into the bedding. Calm down. Deep breath. Swallow the knot in your throat.
John Constantine was entirely at my mercy. That was not, in fact, a good thing.
Calm down. Don't jump to conclusion. You have an extremely wide variety of almost unlimited powers. Use them.
I forced myself to look straight at Constantine. Off his silhouette radiated a pale yellowish purple aura, a representation of his feelings, his intentions. It settled as a few words in my mind.
Concern. Fear. Affection.
That last one made my breath catch. Shame curled around my throat, not tight enough to squeeze, just lovingly gripping at the skin. Threatening to.
Convincing, but powerless fakes.
Every rune in the room flashed a brief, bloody red.
With a sigh, I let myself fall back against my pillow – my very soft, fluffy pillow. "Okay. Okay. Crisis averted. Twice over. Good, good. Now, I just had to calm down, and not run the fuck away from Constantine out of misplaced embarrassment. Surely, there's something else I could focus on?"
What else but his smug face? His insufferably hot yet cocksure attitude. It was more or less writ in his blood, for even immobile, it clung to him. He had good reasons too.
And there, I got my distraction.
I had my defenses up. I know I did. I wouldn't have accepted the offer if I had thought he might use magic to manipulate me. But he managed anyway, which should be impossible. Could be. I haven't dealt with magicians before yesterday, but of all DC spellcasters, Constantine shouldn't have the raw power for it… So, this means…
"This ball is blue, and it is impossible for it to be anything but blue. Nothing, not even my powers could change it from this point forth."
I summoned a bucket of yellow paint and watched it slid over the ball harmlessly, letting it remain the exact same shade of blue, not even a little bit green.
I created a red filter and wrapped it around the ball, but it might as well as been transparent, for the shade did not change.
More or less what I thought would happen. Now, for the kicker…
"This ball is yellow."
The ball turned canary yellow.
"It does overwrite it…".
I forced myself to smirk. The latest desire always had priority over the older ones, regardless of conditions. And, sometimes, like when I dearly wanted something but refused to express it, it took things into its own… hands. Conclusion? My power was absolute over itself? Or it wasn't? Same thing, ultimately. I had to at least want my protections to be effective, otherwise, there would be holes.
Might have been the one good thing to come out of this. A little extra knowledge.
Previous position, I thought, letting my body move back to where it was moments' ago.
And go.
"-I guess I was scared as to why," I finished, looking to the side.
Constantine gave no indication he had noticed a jump in time. He leaned back into his chair, shoving his hands in his pants' pockets. "You threw up on your shirt. I left it in the sink."
"… Thanks, and sorry again." Did that sound sincere?
A cigarette appeared out of thin air. "I'll live," he mumbled, smoke seeping through his mouth. "Heard a lot worse over the years."
That ticked a few old memories in the back of my head. Some fresh ones too. He'd screwed up about a demon early on in his career, been haunted by that for years, or so. He had a reputation for disasters too. Always got out by the skin of his neck, and not all his allies could say the same.
Ah, in for a penny, whatever.
If John noticed the slight weight added to his pants' pockets, he gave no indication. By my estimate, he'd carefully examine my gift in details the second he was out of my sight.
Speaking of…
"You look like hell. Well, no, hell has a lot more color. You share coloration with a zombie."
"Didn't sleep last night."
"You know," I started, sitting up and stretching, "you have a knack for phrasing things in the worst possible way. That is creepy. And I already know you don't have lots of qualms about erasing my memories. Which, since I'm sober now, pisses me off more than a little."
Ominous rumbling would have been pointless. He already knew I could bypass the Price of Magic?
"I suppose you'll be wanting that never-ending pack back now?" he offered with a smug smirk. "And I was just getting used to it, too."
It pulled a grin out of me. "Fuck off, why did you-" I snorted. "Damn it, I'm trying to look scary! You know what, fuck you! You get to spend the day wearing a tutu. Aaaand, you don't get to reschedule your meetings for the day. Have fun."
John's eyes did not even have time to widen. He looked down in indignation at the hideously pink frilly dress fluffing up his waist. His cigarette dropped from his mouth as his scowl shifted into a disgusted groan. The little death stick bounced off the swan head attached to his groin.
Very classical.
"Oi, mate, really?" he protested. "I can't pull pink. I don't have the smooth skin to go with that shit."
Slipping out of bed, I willed my clothes, clean and smelling like fresh citrus, back onto myself. Then, in a puff of smoke, bacon and eggs blinked into existence on top of the desk. In the mirror on the wall, I caught John's eyes.
"Well, I guess I could fix that part too. Would you like baby butt smooth or kitten smooth?"
"I'm gonna tell Bats that you're an evil god." He crossed his arms petulantly, a spark of amusement in his eyes. "Do you know how many hours I spend not shaving and not eating avocado to pull my rugged looks?"
"Don't forget the drinking. And smoking." – I cut into my eggs and let the yolk cover the bacon. My mouth watered at the sigh. "Honestly," I said, chewing carefully, "I'm more curious about what occult shit you've done to have white teeth despite all that."
"Contract with a demon."
For a few seconds, I pretended that joking answer didn't rattle and took a sip of milk.
"Right. Well, you hungry?"
"Famished."
"If you're not suspicious, here's, I dunno, eggs and beans and mushrooms."
The tray landed directly on top of the swan head. Why, yes, I am a petty little shit sometimes. Youngest of four children, remember?
He sighed. One could read in his eyes the moment of realization that this was gonna be a long day. After an all-nighter, to boot.
"Look," I said after swallowing a bite of jelly-covered toast, "I know you didn't do it to be a creep. So, why did you just spend the night watching?"
John grumbled something about shit coffee, then deigned make eye contact. "You ever wondered if you could use your powers in your sleep?"
I blinked. Oh. "Right. Honestly? If I do, I never noticed before. So, eh, it's possible, I guess. Usually though, it takes a bit of mental effort to use my powers? Not to mention, I don't have dreams that often. Otherwise, I guarantee you that there would be monsters roaming Gotham at this very moment. All Alf noticed so far is that I snore sometimes."
"Yep. You do. Wish you'd told me all that before passing out on me."
"Should have thought of it before you got me drunk," I sang song, specifically because he clearly hadn't the energy to deal with me, and I might still recall the memory incident.
But, okay, I had had my fun, and honestly, I was fucking lucky the person to bring attention to the flaw in my power hadn't actually taken advantage. Disaster averted.
I clapped my hands once. Refresh.
John jolted in his chair, the tray miraculously staying in place. With a wild look, he ran a hand over his face, whose colors had returned to a much more healthy – and, okay, sexy – peach-like shade.
His glare was only half-hearted. "Warn a man, will ya?"
"Would you have warned me?"
He smirked. "Touché."
Having conceded the point, John dug into his breakfast, once or twice making a grateful sort of grunt. Poor guy must have been starving after staying up all night. When we were both done, John stretched and gathered up his stuff.
"I'll be giving back the room key now. We probably won't see each other for a while, I've got some bullshit to deal with, and apparently, a lot of dignity to try and salvage today. Don't worry, I'll tell Bats you're an arse, but mostly a harmless one. Though, word of advice, mate? Don't get cocky." Ominous. But, really, the tutu…
He must have noticed my attempt at stifling my laughs, because he sighed and lit another cigarette. Smoke drifted from his lips. His grin sharpened, which immediately made me wary.
"I suggest you check your phone."
The delicious breakfast I'd just finished did a few somersaults inside my stomach.
There were… eight missed calls from Maria.
Huh. So that's how it ends. Murdered by my new mother figure.
"I'll give her your home address!" I called after his retreating form.
He very visibly winced, and shot me a betrayed look. Like I'd stepped over an invisible line in the code of jackasses.
Well, not my problem. "I couldn't let you have the last word. That would be too cool for your British buttocks," I said with a grin.
It almost looked like he wanted to throw off a pithy one-liner. Instead, he looked down at his tutu. Silence was the better part of valor. Winking, he snorted and flipped me the bird as he left.
***
Maria opened the door and slapped me.
Twice for my stupidity. Almost a third time for good luck, and insolence.
I was surprised she let me inside the car at all.
"Not one word from you?" she hissed. "You leave with a strange magic man, for a talk, and you only show up at eleven the next day?! Do you have any idea what I was imagining?"
"I swear, I only planned to talk for a bit. But we were drinking, and maybe I got carried away. Sorry. I must have figured I shouldn't wake you up."
Eyes shining, the glare aimed my way would have made a demon beg.
"I don't care if you wanted to stay the night!" Her hands slammed against the driver's wheel. "You should have called! Told me you would not return until now! I was this close to calling the police."
I ignored the bubbling warmth in my chest. It would make my guilt even worse than it already was. "… Wouldn't the police be forced to arrest me? I got rid of the Joker, it's everywhere on the Internet."
"Better you in a cell than in a ditch somewhere!"
After a few seconds, I reached over and took her hand in mine.
"I promise, it won't happen. You don't have to worry."
She laughed, but it was a wet, bitter sound. "You really think I can choose not to, Corazòn? The second I saw you on that sidewalk, miserable like a drowned dog, it was already too late. I can't not worry anymore. But I thought we were helping. So, why did you do this? Are you unhappy?"
Words got stuck in my throat. "I… I dunno. I was feeling good yesterday. Things had been going great, I swear. It didn't seem like a big deal that I wanted to have a couple of drinks with a rugged man."
"A couple," she repeated, taking a turn left on the road, her gaze flitting to the path ahead.
"It's… I have to think. To, I dunno, to decide. Can we go… somewhere with a forest. Or big open fields." I couldn't help but smile, toying with the map, and suddenly every piece of it was in relief, like a hologram. "Somewhere away from the big cities. Just our little corner of the world for a while."
"Mhm," she hummed, "but first, you will go take a shower. I still smell the whiskey on you."
Blushing, I took off my seatbelt and traveled to the back of the car. Alf looked up from his screen, lounging on the couch.
"I dunno why Mama was so worried," he told me in confidence from behind his handheld console "You're the strongest guy around."
I glanced back to Maria, to make sure she didn't see or hear me, then I leaned in to whisper: "I think I could be ten foot tall, covered in body armor and channeling the powers of a deep old one, and your Mama would still tell me off for not warning her that I would not show up for supper."
Alvaro's chuckling told me, if anything else, that I was pretty spot on.
***
The egg jerked left, nearly out of its nest of rocks and branches. It might have, if I hadn't placed my hands on the shell to stabilize it. Heat pulsed under my palms, going off at a steady, gentle pace. A heartbeat. I was grinning from ear to ear. God, I could have been doing that before.
Another jerk cracked the black shell right down the middle.
I held my breath.
A large piece of eggshell fell to the ground, and through it, my newest creation tumbled.
This one was silver-white, with black accents around its frills and the edges of its scales. Bat-like wings unfolded, dripping with the viscous liquid it had grown in. Goop of it clung to its tail. It wasn't really cute. Too lizard-like for that. At least, I hadn't intended for this one to be. Dragons weren't cute. No, not even as babies.
But it chirped like a bird! Crooned with a small reverberation to its cry. And it rolled on its back, trying to use its head as a stand but only managing in stretching its neck. Legs with soon-to-be deadly talons on their ends batted the air sort of like a doggy paddle.
I chuckled and pulled him up. "And now I remember why I have created every other race with fully functional adults from the get go."
The chirping got a little louder.
"Here, here," I ran a finger over his snout, cleaning off the remains of his egg-life. "You'll be flying in no time, won't you? Just let your Creator have his moment."
Claws ran over my shirt and might have even torn it, if my hoodie hadn't long since been made indestructible. The chirping grew louder, demanding. Oh, alright, you impatient little thing. Gold coins appeared in my free hand, and the hatchling's head whipped around.
Then he dug in.
"Alright. You need a name," I told the little glutton. "Now's not the time for references though. Maybe for your descendants, but you deserve your own thing, don't you? A good strong name to guide your kind."
Something for power. For Might. The gnomes for self, the elves for kindness, the wills for change and the gargoyles for protection. But this one is for wonder and power.
Fire and change. Hmm, perhaps, phoenixes ought to be next. But this one was the first of my wonders.
"Oh, I think I got it. I'm gonna call you Primerion." I held him up to my face, scouring for signs of disapproval in his big shiny eyes. He chirped again, his wings beating the air like he wanted to take off. "You'll be the father of a race, the first of many. The one destined to lead your flock across Fantasia's skies. And perhaps this Earth's too, one day…"
Primerion happily flapped his wings, crooning. Chips of gold fell off his fangs, but he seemed to have had his fill. For now. If my experience with newborns was anything to go by, it wouldn't take too long to reactivate that growing metabolism.
Sandals crunched sticks behind me.
"A fiery serpent," Maria deadpanned. "You decided the world wasn't already full to the brim with monsters and gods, you had to make your own."
"The lack of dragons in this universe was criminal."
She gave me a Mom look. It followed a very clearly enunciated question. "Under what laws?"
"The Rule of Cool, Maria."
She crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her left elbow. She had changed into beach wear, a black swimsuit and a flower towel around her hip like a makeshift dress. Somehow, the vacation outfit didn't really hamper the scolding she clearly was holding back.
"Are you sure you're ready to keep a pet around?" she asked instead.
"No. I'm not. Primerion's not a pet anyway. I'm not responsible enough to own a pet." Maria scoffed loudly. "Fine. I don't want to own a pet. Primerion… well, he'll grow… oh man, he will grow to be the largest of my creations. One day, he will obscure the sun."
She looked up to the sky in silent prayer. No, no, nothing like a sense of fear for the future. More like, a wish for God to show her a sign. Anything. I heard her muttering something like 'hombres'.
"But, for now," I said, snuggling my boy against my chest, "he's still just a baby."
Her lips pulled into a smile. "Oh, good luck with that."
I couldn't help a small shiver.
"It's not forever. I want him to remember." Primerion looked up at me curiously with his clear blue eyes. Something inside my chest pinched. "I want him to know that he was born because I wanted him to be."
"Corazòn…"
"Seven days, seven nights. Then, I'll bring him to Fantasia. Give him a whole world worth's of skies to fly at his leisure. To make his own family. But first, I just want to take a little time with him."
A soft hand delicately brushed my hair.
"Well, you do what you need to," she began, softly, "but I'll be relaxing on the beach. Your Father knows how much I deserve it. And this one is your baby."
I snorted and Primerion jumped out of his skin in shock. So, yeah, a few minutes had to be spent reassuring my little boy that, no, Dad wasn't exploding or some other reason for that loud noise. Geez. Babies.
"Jesús! You won't believe how far we went!"
Primerion scrambled to nest into my hair. Ah. This was going to take some delicate handling. Why had I gone for this again?
Alf, wearing a backpack and a baseball cap, came running at me from the pedestrian path. Behind, his robo-bodyguards secured the perimeter around our tent and campfire.
Hey, you never knew what sort of crazy shit you might find in a DC forest.
"You better not have left the path like I forbid you, Alvaro Martinez!" Maria called out from the beach.
"No, Mama!" he drawled. "The robo-jerks wouldn't let me."
I winced. Oooh, tactical mistake there.
Maria lowered her sunglasses just long enough for her son to understand the depth of his folly. "Then, they were doing their job. Preventing little imps from doing whatever crossed their overactive minds. And if I hear one more thing about you breaking rules, there will be no marshmallow roasting tonight. It will be an early night. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Mama," he said, kicking at a pebble.
I patted his back. Poor little imp.
"So, Jesús, can we play rocket soccer again?"
"Well, I had something else planned… Something holy spirit-like, you know?"
Dragon shape.
I blinked. And then I was looking down at Alf from about thrice my previous height. On second thought, that might have been a little too much. Could have scared him. But no, he whooped at my golden form.
"That is too awesome! Make me a dragon too!"
"Are you going to step out of the path if I do?"
"Never! Please, I promise I'll listen to you. Come on, a dragon!"
I rolled my eyes. On the one hand, I was probably contributing to Alf becoming the most spoiled brat in the universe. On the other, if there was a single kid out there that had not once thought turning into a dragon was the maximum amount of badassery possible, then I'd eat my shirt.
Still, what was the point of absolute power if I didn't use it for my own fun once in a while?
'Don't get cocky.'
I paused mid-thought. There was no real reason for me to heed Constantine's warning now. There wasn't much to fear in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps some plant monster. And the amount of protection I had placed on all of us would allow us to survive a nuke no problem.
But imagine, for a second, that you fall unconscious. He's stuck till then. Why risk it?
"Do it yourself," I told him with a rumble.
Alf, his eager grin frozen, tilted his head to the side. "Huh?"
I waved a claw at him and snorted fumes of pitch black smoke. "I said, turn yourself into a dragon if you want it that bad."
His gaze darkened, his hands balling into fists. Never mind that the little squirt was glaring at at freaking dragon. Then he caught the expectation in my eyes. His mood did a rough 180. His face scrunched up even more, his eyes shut, wrinkles on his reddening forehead from sheer effort.
Blue scales sprouted on the tip of his nose. Spread like wildfire over his skin and his clothes. His eyes shot wide open in surprise, the pupils thinning into black slits in amber irises. With a cry of shock, he lost his balance and fell unto his side.
Well, on a wing, to be precise, which is where the yelp of pain came in.
Alf scrambled on all four, almost trying to stand upright before remembering himself. I reigned in a snort, realizing he only reached my elbows. It certainly didn't bother him. His eyes sparkled with pure, unfiltered joy, his grin the largest I'd ever seen – and the sharpest, most shark-like to boot.
"Do I breath fire?" he asked, jumping up and down and pulling his lips together like he wanted to start whistling.
We were camping in a forest, for crying out loud!
"What else?" I droned.
"Electricity! It's cooler." Alf pouted, or tried. Really, it was hard to tell on a dragon hatchling's face. His lower jaw jutted a bit forward, his fangs sticking out of his mouth like a boar's defense. Not all that cute. Poor brat lost his best weapon.
"Either fire or lightning. You get one. And you can't ask for a different one at the drop of a hat."
"Electricity, duh."
I could, technically, not give in. Show a firm hand, or paw, whatever. Of course, I had already given him the power to transform into a dragon, so that was like me handing him my car keys and saying 'just don't drive on the highway'.
Thank fuck I wasn't a parent. "Say please."
"Pleeeeeeeeeassssse," he immediately replied, his word turning into a strange hissing noise by the end of it.
Admittedly, I had asked for it.
Maria's gonna murder me twice today. Maybe thrice if she hasn't forgiven my drinking binge yet.
Alf twitched and perked up, the frills on the side of his head flaring and his tail swishing. His chest plate puffed up. Low rumbling reached my ears as Alf reared on his hind legs and scrunched up his face.
White light filtered through the slightest opening of his jaws. Then he threw his head forward.
With a burp.
And a ball of lightning that incinerated a tree.
I facepalmed. "Alf, that's gross."
"You're smiling," he pointed out, laughing.
"No, I'm not. It's my resting bitch face. Dragons have resting bitch faces. I do so declare as their makers."
Atop my head, chirping erupted as the weight shifted and claws gripped my scaly brows. As gently as possible, I tilted my head and let my boy slide down onto my snout.
Alf gasped and stood up to meet the little hatchling. Primerion held out a paw for Alf' bright yellow horns, but pulled back at the last second with a frightened chirp.
"His name is Primerion, Alf. He's the first dragon I created."
"Hi, Primerion, I'm your uncle!" He grinned lopsidedly, his forked tongue poking through his fangs.
Curious chirping replied, and then little paws and claws ran over my skull to hide behind my horns.
"He's shy," I deadpanned.
"Eh. He won't be for long! I'm going to be the best uncle ever, Jesús. Can we fly? Do a loop the loop in the air? I bet I can do it better than you!"
"If either of you crash, Corazòn, you will understand the meaning of 'sorry'!" Maria suddenly shouted from her long chair on the beach.
My dorsal spikes stood straight up. With perhaps a smidge of hesitation, I spread out my wings and took off. Alf would be hot on my heels, nipping at my tail. And Primerion experienced the first of his flights with his father.
Fifthborn. My great beasts. My monsters of wonders.
I'm stuck in a world of monsters and gods. Might as well make my own.
***
Sound bubble.
Hesitantly, I pulled myself into sitting position and glanced at Maria and Alf.
Their sleeping bags rose and fell evenly in the dark. Sometimes ruffling with shifts in their position, though with nothing more than a weak groan or a sigh. Primerion's curled form hung in his nest by the tent's top net.
The little brat. He'd woken up twice tonight alone, begging for more scraps of precious metals.
Sis, I'm so sorry for having ever mocked you. I understand your pain a little now.
Well, I wasn't falling back to sleep anytime soon. Nor had I that much desire to. With a fingersnap, I summoned a small portable TV and a few more cushions for me.
"Interesting programs," I whispered as it flared to life.
It showed a broadcast, an evening talk show, with a woman and a man sitting next to one another in plush chairs. I vaguely recognized the woman as a reporter. Apparently though, she also doubled as a TV Host for…
"Crime in Gotham on the rise?" I repeated the headline under my breath.
Is this a joke? I got rid of Joker and stopped Ivy, Clayface, Killer Croc and a handful of others. Not to mention the new security measures in Arkham. What the hell?
Well, I had used my powers to get something riveting. Wish granted.
On the screen, a middle-aged guy with an olive green suit pushed his glass up on his nose. "You see, criminals in our society have continuously integrated themselves to a point of forming a second, underlying dark mirror of ourselves. Such societies have structures, and in the criminal world, force is even more influential than in ours. Gotham City's notorious crime rates can sometimes serve as an effective point of comparison for a larger scale situation. The Joker's death was a clear trigger for this sudden escalation of violence in the street."
The woman put a finger on her chin.
"Would the presence of a metahuman capable of killing the clown not act as a deterrent in and on itself? Doctor Powers, one of the, if not THE, most prolific and horrific criminal in the history of the United States is dead. There are rumors villains told themselves Joker stories to scare one another. I don't understand how his disappearance can be considered a 'loss' for law enforcement."
"Well, Miss Grant, you have said it yourself. Most criminals were terrified of crossing path, ideas or even invisible taboos with the Joker. They dared little when his presence loomed so dangerously over the city. The fact of the matter is that Gotham City's police forces are underpaid and understaffed. Scandals of corruption that would be black marks in other cities are barely considered newsworthy. Commissioner James Gordon has had a record time holding his post without being implicated in any sort of scandal. As for the metahuman referred to as the 'Miracle Man'," – the tone alone suggested sarcastic air quotes – "evidence and census seems to indicate that he skipped town after his disproportionate act of self-defense."
I stared. From someone like Batman, I could accept the criticism. After all, he was well-aware of my capacities and he had personally faced the Joker in battle himself. Numerous times. Whilst flawed, I could at least acknowledge his expertise on the subject matter.
Miss Grant's brow lowered only for a second, before going back to a more neutral, encouraging expression.
"And what of the city's vigilante, Batman?" She gestured and a blurry picture of the man jumping across rooftops appeared in the background. "Surely, a founding member of the Justice League and one of the greatest heroes of our times should be a factor in this."
Doctor Powers leaned back in his chair, perfectly stone-faced, but I could have sworn he wanted to chuckle. "Studies have found that whilst vigilantes like the Batman have greatly increased the swiftness of criminal arrests, they don't have much of an effect as a deterrent. Over the last few decades, they appear to have simply become part of people's perception of law enforcement itself. Superpowered or insanely brilliant criminals have become out of reach of traditional police forces after this constant escalation."
I held my breath. It… I didn't want to say it made sense. Or that I had had similar questions over the years of reading comic books.
Doctor Powers spread out his hands. "The death of the Joker thus become only one more step on this war on crime. The US government must now find a way to quickly stem this new wave of crime before it overwhelms Gotham."
"Is this live?" I mumbled. Surely enough, a small blinking red dot, and the mention underneath were in the bottom right corner.
"Thank you, Doctor Powers. We will now open up our lines to see what our public thinks of the ongoing situation."
There was a very artificial sound effect of a ring tone.
"Hello, you're on air for-"
"You brown-nosing, scum-feeding, ass-sucking motherfucking four-eyes better watch out before me and my buddies take those pretty glasses and shove them down your d-"
Someone cut the line. Silence reigned on the studio for a scant few moments, the doctor reddening in indignation Miss Grant gathered her wits.
"Ah, it appears your analysis is quite controversial, Doctor."
I slammed a hand over my mouth to stop myself from guffawing. Oh. Oh, man, they shouldn't have cut the feed so soon. Grant motioned for another caller to be connected.
"Hello, you're on air for the War On Crime special with Doctor George Powers."
"Doctor Powers, you don't live in Gotham."
"Madam, studies are clear cut on this matter."
"That's the thing with you academics," the caller replied. "Our lives are just numbers. You say that the Joker's demise is a bad thing? You don't know nuthin' about what it was like, living down there. I stopped my daughter from going to school for two weeks, because the Joker had been sighted out of Arkham. I lost my nephew to that madman, and he was just a little boy playing football with his friends."
"This is undoubtedly tragic, madam, but the numbers-"
"It's people like you that let him torture our city for so long! Goodbye!"
The next caller however, agreed. They worked for the justice system in Gotham, but wished to remain anonymous to prevent retaliations. "It's gotten worse. We've got twice as many calls in certain sectors."
Some former worker in Arkham Asylum ranted for two minutes about me.
Two other callers swore at Doctor Powers, and one made a threat on his person.
That seemed to be the tone for this discussion.
Biting my lips, I fished out my phone. My mess, my responsibility. Fast connection.
"Hello, you're on air for the War On Crime special with Doctor George Powers," said both my phone and my portable TV.
"I'm Deus Ex."
"Ah," said the doctor, smiling benignly, "from the Greek terms Deus Ex Machina, the god in the machine, correct?"
"Yeah. That is roughly the extent of my talent with naming stuff." They couldn't really see me shrug, so I went on. "Anyway, I've gotten a lot of names recently, but the most relevant in this case are Miracle Man and The Saint of Crime Alley."
The good doctor paled till he was almost bone white. Even Miss Grant stood at attention, a wary look in her eyes.
"Relax. I'm not going to explode or whatever. You mentioned me, so I figured we could have a better discussion if I called."
Miss Grant cleared her throat. "Well, go ahead, Mister Deus, I am certain our public is dying to hear your opinion."
"For the most part, Doctor Powers right." Oh man, the look on their faces. "I was not thinking about the fragile equilibrium of crime organizations held at bay by the Joker. At all. Congrats on reading my motives there. I, along with a few hundred innocent people, were being threatened by a mass murdering maniac. There were… admittedly, an infinite amount of alternate solutions. I went with the simplest. The Joker is gone forever."
"Well, most lawyers and judges questioned about the footage declare that it would be considered self-defense, if you ever presented yourself before a court of the law."
I ignored the dig. "Forgive me, Doctor, I have trouble stomaching this part. Are you saying that it would have been safer for Gothamites if I had left the Joker alive to be a force of order for this city?"
There was a clear quiver to the doctor's lips. And yet, his gaze hardened behind his spectacles and his back straightened. "Yes. There is no telling what the resulting unrest will bring."
Bitterness tasted acrid in the back of my throat. Chuckling almost hurt. "Right. Have you ever heard that phrase, Doctor? 'Criminals are a superstitious cowardly lot.'"
His chair creaked as he leaned forward. "Oh? I cannot say that I have, but I agree on the sentiment. Who said it?"
I kept my face straight and my tone pleasant. "Batman."
Both the doctor's eyebrows shot up to his receding hairline. His eyes had gone wide as saucers.
Miss Grant seemingly fought with herself not to say something unprofessional. Her eyes though, I could tell she wanted to lord it over the good doctor. Something about how he spoke, probably.
Eventually though, he recovered. "Might I ask you a question as well, out of professional courtesy?"
I shrugged. "Knock yourself out. People have asked far more out of me before."
"Mister Deus Ex, do you believe yourself above the law?"
Whatever I intended to reply vanished in a puff of smoke. I… I hadn't… The shock wore thin within a few seconds. No, I had never really put it in those words, but hadn't I acted that way regardless? Fraud with money out of thin air, influence on people, metahuman neutering and, of course, the big old disappearing act.
"I haven't turned myself in, have I?" I said, as evenly as possible. "Same as most vigilantes."
Most vigilantes don't kill, a dark corner of my mind helpfully supplied.
"Are you declaring yourself a vigilante then?"
Surprisingly, that one had come from Cat Grant. Might be her reporter instincts wetting her appetite, might some sort blood in the water for her.
"No. I'm just a guy with power. I might help people in need if I feel like it, but no, I don't actively look for people to arrest. Ultimately, I'm a criminal."
The doctor's lips twisted. "Mister Deus Ex, people rarely believe themselves to be anything but good from a certain standard."
"Correct again. I did not think the law did its job of protecting people. But back to our topic, please. At least, I can understand that the police forces in places as corrupt as Gotham need help. I see your point. It's true, I left without really thinking about what would happen afterward. I figured the government would do its job now that the biggest fishes in the barrel were under lock and key."
It wasn't quite an accusation. Least of all, directed at the doctor himself, but on the screen, the man took a sip of coffee with a slightly trembling hand. "It is not a simple problem, sir."
"How deep does the corruption run? Does anyone know how far it's gotten?"
"Mister Deus," Grant cut in, "might I ask if you have anything you wish to say to the citizens of Gotham before the end of our program?"
I took a deep breath.
I wouldn't be able to take it back. Right there, on the tip of my tongue, the words didn't want to leave. There would be a retaliation for this. People were watching this as it unfolded, and no doubt none of the powers that be – whether for or against justice – would stay silent. They would search for me.
The people of Gotham… they were scared. The Clown had been overthrown and their savior had left and chaos reigned on the street now.
It was tempting to call it a hellhole and leave it to die.
But I'd met with thousands of citizens, desperate, weighted down by an unfair life in an unfair city, crying and begging for a chance, just a chance to turn their destiny around. They'd call me the Saint of Crime Alley, the Wishmaker, the Miracle Man. I knew, deep down, that people went to bed praying I could make things better again.
"Yes. If you really need it, my people will help you. This part though is for the rest of Gotham," I said, neither shouting nor whispering. "For every crook that saw the empty throne and figured they had a shot at it. For every costumed freak that want it now that their rivals are dead or neutered. Remember what happened, please. I didn't even have to try and I didn't lose sleep over it. That monster deserved far worse than I did. I went to Arkham and I sealed the revolving doors. I can do worse."
Doctor Powers dabbed his forehead, the only sign of anxiety from him. Cat Grant clutched her mic with white knuckles.
"This is the only warning you will get. I don't want to, but I will if you force my hand."
Echoes of my despair and anger filtered into my voice. A threat. A real threat. Binding as words writ in blood.
"Don't make me come back."