MARKOVBURG

MARKOVIA

It could have been a side effect of the tranquiliser or his hangover coming to the fore but Brion was more than a little confused. Blinking so that his eyes might focus, Brion watched as the scientists in their basic lab coats marched with self-assured importance around the simple equipment that filled the room. He felt the tension around his wrists and ankles as the redhead looked around him, realising that he was held in the upright gurney by brown leather restraints. He tugged at them but, as expected, failed to free himself. Relenting to the situation, the Crowned Prince of Markovia returned his attention to scientists that buzzed around him.

It was then, in a moment of clarity, that his eyes came upon the stern, taut features of Helga Jace, the chief of science for his father in an earlier time. Her skin was creased and aged whilst her wiry grey hair was drawn back into a tight bun. Brion may have done his best to remain detached from the affairs of his father, that was the duty of his brother Gregor, but even he had known of the illegal experimentations his father had uncovered within the kingdom and how they had led to the former renowned Doctor Jace becoming an exile, living on the fringes of the country in disgrace. It seemed that being an outlaw hadn’t been done much to improve her countenance. She was as sour as the prince remembered.

Doctor Jace turned to look upon him as a smirk formed across her thin, tensed lips.

“Prince Markov,” she said in an affable manner. It was becoming of a time when they’d known one another in passing, yet even her cordiality seemed mocking. “Oh, how times have changed. You’ve grown so big, so handsome.” Her eyes darkened. “It’s almost a shame that it’s come to this but you, and Tara, provide an eternal shadow over the throne. Gregor is a great man, a deserving man, and if everything is to go to plan then loose ends can’t be tolerated.”

She cleared her throat.

“Even your brother understands that,” she continued. “Or, at least, he has come to understand the necessity. The king won’t live forever and when he does finally succumb to his old age, the ascension of Gregor has to be swift and painless.” There was a hint of a smile as she moved across the room, pausing in front of him. “To protect Markov control of the country. For Markovia, naturally.”

“My brother would never do this,” Brion spat. “Not to me, not to Tara.” The words came almost automatically but they carried none of the prince’s trademark confidence.

Jace laughed. “He had no qualms when this procedure was done to your so-called sister. That bastard of a girl was an easy choice to make. Wily as she was, and quick on her feet too. He was more concerned with you but even then, the sway of power is a powerful motivator. Your choice to become inebriated, like clockwork since Tara’s disappearance, may this all the easier. In a way, we should thank you. At the very least we owe our thanks to the breweries of Markovia.”

She raised her hand, as if offering a cheer.

“Well done, chaps. How well you’ve assisted the progress of your country without even being aware.”

Brion felt uncomfortable.

There had always been a tension between Gregor and his younger siblings, whom had always relied more heavily on one another, but Brion had always assumed that was due to the general coldness of Gregor’s personality, not his ambition. Still, despite everything the aged doctor had just said, the prince couldn’t, wouldn’t, believe that his brother was capable of what she was saying. Gregor may not have cared for them as anyone would have expected from a familial bond but to torment them, to deliver them to the crazed experimentations of Jace was beyond even his hunger for power. The Markovian throne was already his, Gregor’s ascension was assured by birth-right.

“You won’t get away with this . . . Whatever this is,” he snarled. “Whatever you’ve done to Tara. If you’ve harmed her . . . I will have your head on a pike at the palace gates before you even have time to breathe a sigh of relief.”

“Your sister is making her own way in the world. Our mission has been threatened once by an escaped subject, Brion. I won’t have it again.”

She squirted the excess green liquid from a syringe.

“There’ll be no need for that, my prince.”

Doctor Jace tore through the skin of Brion’s neck with the syringe as she emptied the contents into his bloodstream. He screamed, briefly, but the world was soon black again.

ARKHAM

By

Paige McMahon

THE ATRIUM

GOTHAM CITY

Katana was amazed by how easily, and readily, Owlman and his ilk, the so-called Outsiders, had permitted her and Black Lightning to accompany them to, what she could only assume, was their private headquarters. Hidden amidst the high arching walls, stained-glass windows, and cupola of an abandoned cathedral in the forgotten regions that belonged to Gotham’s lower classes.

Far from the glitz and glamour of Wayne Industries and the other modern businesses in the centre of the city stood the areas were industrialism still lingered, weary but not yet depleted. It had been the hub of metallurgists, fishmongers and any other craftsman who dreamed of making a name for himself and rising his family from the ashes of poverty. It was almost humbling, not that Katana had known much wealth in her own life before the tragedy that had led her on the path towards becoming the bounty hunter that now stood solemnly amongst the Outsiders.  Despite their welcome, as hostile as it had been from some of their number, Katana was remarkably less trusting and she continued to observe them all with an air of caution and little intrigue.

Black Lightning, the only other true outsider to the group that now stood scattered around them, entered the room almost boisterously. In the brief time that she’d known him, Katana had quickly surmised that he tended to make his presence known, whether it was welcome or not. Drawing the shining black mask from his face, the African-American hero was much more curious and excited by his surroundings than the bounty hunter. With every step, electricity crackled from his heels and offered a momentary glare of light that forced the shadows of the Atrium to retreat. He extended his arms in the centre of the room, taking in the musty scent as he spun like a child.

“This is quite some place you have here,” he grinned broadly. His words addressed no-one specifically, he cared little for who took the credit but he was beginning to wonder if the organisation he now involved himself with might be more than the paygrade of a part-time hero and full-time schoolteacher and football coach. “Makes a change from working exclusively on the streets.”

“We have our fair share of street patrols,” replied Owlman. Despite the invitation that had been extended to them, he remained bolshie and hostile, whether it was his intention or not. There was something intense about the man, the way he turned to the streets with a fervour. It was even more peculiar to her as Gotham already had a protector, one that was as efficient as they came, and he was in no need of the assistance of the five amateurs that now stood before her. “We prefer to maintain an organised, tactical approach to vigilantism. The Gotham City Police Department don’t always take kindly to interference of those in capes.”

To that, Katana could attest. Since her arrival in Gotham City in the pursuit of Tara Markov, Katana had found the GCPD to offer more resistance than assistance to finding her. It seemed that they were reluctant to share their resources with the outside world or, at the very least, to involve themselves in the affairs that would have far reaching, global effects. A missing princess was of no concern to the men and women of the GCPD. Still, Katana remained unconcerned with the explanations the Outsiders offered. She may have assisted with the takedown of Killer Croc but to involve herself further would only detract her from the mission she was truly on, and the payload she would receive from the Crown of Markovia when she was, inevitably, successful in completing it. If there was no benefit to her investigation, she was content to walk away.

“We’ve had more than our fair share of run-ins with the police,” continued Halo as she moved away from the private conversation she’d been holding with the Creeper. “I would say ‘not taking kindly’ to interference is an understatement. When Jack and I were working alone they were ready to kill him and all because they didn’t understand him. They like to think with their guns rather than their heads.”

Black Lightning scowled. “And the Lord knows, there’s been too much of that lately.”

“Agreed,” replied Halo.

“Is this really the time for a geo-political discussion on policing and their use of firearms?” enquired Katana irritably. “We have to get to the bottom of what’s happening at Arkham and I need to know exactly how this connects to the case I’m working on so that we can all go our separate ways. I’ve been in Gotham long enough, I’ve got better places to be.”

Black Lightning furrowed his brow. “Your bedside manner could use a lot of work if you’re actually going to pursue this hero thing, y’know.”

Katana was prepared to ignore him but she found herself replying before she could even stop herself. “I’m not here to be a hero. I’m here to do a job, which is something you vainglorious prats really seem to be forgetting. I don’t care who gets the credit when this all goes down. What I do care about is finding out how this is connected to my case.”

“We can’t just go rushing into Arkham Asylum with all guns blazing,” Owlman’s words felt almost reprimanding. His mask obscured his eyes but she was almost certain he was attempting to stare her down. “As Lightning said, there are a lot of people who still view Arkham as an upstanding clinical outreach centre. This needs to be smoother than that. We need to find a way in.”

Halo shrugged. “We could always do the tried and tested method of getting admitted. I flash this Aurakle and they’ll be chaining me to a bed before we could even snap our fingers.”

Creeper lurched forward, licking his pointed teeth. “Yes, chains.”

“No-one’s getting admitted,” said Katana. “I’m not sure how much use to me you are as it stands but I do know that when they start pumping you with medication, you’ll be of absolutely no use to anyone. We need to find a way in without anyone getting taken off the board.” She shrugged. “And I’m still not sure what the Aurakle is or how you can do what you can but I know for a fact that I sure as hell don’t want them getting their hands on it. Next.”

“I might have a solution,” mumbled Black Lightning. “I have a . . . friend. She interned there a summer or two back, if she has any connections I might be able to reach out and see if she can get them to just let us in.”

Owlman nodded. “You think you can convince her?”

“I think I can plead the case,” he continued. “She’s a good woman. She’ll see the necessity, I’m sure of it. It’s just a matter of making use of any connections she might have left at Arkham. If any. It will mean stepping out briefly. I’ll need to make contact and I’d rather she doesn’t open the door to find several costumed vigilantes staring down their noses at her. She’ll balk.”

“Time is of the essence,” Owlman reminded him. “But if you can get this sorted quickly, it might be our best opportunity to get in without creating a ruckus and drawing the Batman down on us. He’s not my biggest fan as it is.”

Creeper glared. His every movement reminded Katana of a pantomime character. “Stupid batsy.”

“So, it’s agreed,” replied the schoolteacher. “I’ll aim to be back within the hour and if it’s a go, I’ll get her to make contact.”

He left without any further conversation. Katana listened as the door shut behind him and her eyes looked over the others.

“One of yours is missing.”

Owlman turned towards the bounty hunter. “We don’t track our members, they’re free to move as they wish and to assist when they care to.”

Katana narrowed her eyes. “And yet, it bears asking all the same. Where is Metamorpho?”

STAGG ENTERPRISES PENTHOUSE

“Sapphire.”

His words were almost wistful as his cold eyes watched over the sleeping blonde, wrapped in the Egyptian cotton sheets at the centre of her lavish apartment. Rex slid the window open and stepped quietly through the curtains, entering the room. He was much older than the woman but the metamorphosis he had underwent had done more than transform him into an inhumane body, it had halted the aging process. His mind became wiser, keener, but he remained as physically young as he had been when he’d first entered the pyramid of Ahk-Ton in 1968. It had been several days after he’d first betrayed her father, Simon Stagg, who had been a much younger man himself. Still, the years had a way of thawing the soul and soon Rex had found himself back in the labs of Stagg Enterprises. This time he’d not been an employee, but a subject in need of help. It had seemed to work, for a matter of months he’d walked the Earth as Rex again.

During this time, he’d first met, and fallen in love with, Sapphire. The blonde bombshell was finally worthy of her father’s love, a keen academic with a scientific and analytical mind. She’d been promoted to Chief Counsel after he’d returned to the man he’d once been. Rex and Sapphire had quickly succumbed to lust, a brief and torrid relationship began, but as the world quickly changed around them: Rex became Metamorpho once again and was forced to run from Simon again, for her protection as much as his own. He remembered it all so vividly and now, watching her peaceful sleep in front of the fire, he realised he’d made the right decision in running.

If he was trapped in the form of Metamorpho, Rex couldn’t return to her. Solemnly, he returned to the window and shifted into a gaseous form as the wind carried him off.

Sapphire stirred, shrugging off the sheets as she made her way towards the open window, reaching through the billowing gossamer fabric to reach for the latch and absorbing the cold, isolation of the city that stretched beneath her. A smell of sulphur seemed to hang in the air as the blonde paused.

“Rex.”

GOTHAM CITY UNIVERSITY

“Lynn.”

Black Lightning stepped from the shadows and into the brightly lit lab, the dark-haired woman – Lynn Stewart – looked up from the microscope and where he had once noted adoration in her eyes, only anger remained. It had been less than a year since the couple had parted ways. Jefferson continued to blame himself for the split and, in his heart of hearts, he knew that the heroic identity he’d chosen was entirely responsible. A budding neuroscientist, Lynn had agreed with the sentiment of helping people as best they could but when it came to throwing their lives away in the pursuit of something greater, she couldn’t logical agree with it.

She tutted. “I told you I didn’t want to see you again if this was the path you’d chosen, Jefferson. I wasn’t joking about that. I’ve watched enough good men in my life die because they thought it was a good idea to get involved with half-brained schemes that they shouldn’t have. I won’t go through that again.”

She turned her back on him.

“I know,” he sympathised. “And I’ve given you all of the space you asked for but the time has come to speak to you. I’m working on a case and I have need of your particular area of expertise.”

Lynn spun, snapping at him. “Oh, so I get nothing for a year and now that I’m of use to you? Is that how it is now?” She looked genuinely hurt. “No. I’m not one of your associates and I have no interest in getting involved in this farce that you and those like you consider heroism. As far as I can tell, the moment you all started donning masks and capes, the villains you fight got more volatile and hungry for world domination. I call that causality.”

The short-haired African-American woman stared at her ex-partner fiercely, she knew how hard her words had fallen but she regretted none of it. When the masquerade had first started, she’d tried to support him and turn a blind eye but as he had become involved deeper, Lynn blamed herself for allowing him to do so. She’d never verbalised it, she didn’t need to state her role in all of this, but she refused to become a part of it. Vehemently.

“It’s not you I need,” his words sounded harsher than intended and so he tried again. “It’s not you that needs to get involved, not directly. I need to access Arkham Asylum. You interned there a few summers back when you needed experience for the PhD programme and I was wondering if you could get me in without creating too much of a ruckus or drawing too much attention to myself.”

He exhaled.

“I know you owe me nothing. I’m aware of that but I need this, please.”

She sighed. “I’m might know someone.” As much as it broke her heart she continued. “I’ll do this and then I never want to see you again, are we clear?”

Unable to speak, he simply nodded and it felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

ARKHAM ASYLUM

“He’s not here,” Katana grimaced, her impatience was clearly showing.

Owlman glared. “He will be. Just give it some time.”

“Your awfully quick to place your faith in someone you hadn’t heard of until two hours ago,” she replied. Her caution remained fierce. “For all we know, Black Lightning could be part of the problem rather than the solution, with his mysterious connections to Arkham.”

Tension continued to hang between them, two alphas each fighting for control without even being fully aware they were doing it.

“Did I miss something?” asked Black Lightning as he strolled toward him.

Halo shrugged. “Just a dick measuring contest, I wouldn’t worry about it. Are we in?”

“She made the call and an old friend should be en route by now,” he answered.

Creeper bounced from the roof and landed in front of him, startling the heroic African-American.

“Does he have to do that?”

Halo giggled as Creeper stepped behind her, returning to the shadows where he was infinitely more comfortable. “It’s just his way. You kinda get used to it after a while.”

The door slid open as a woman stepped into the open.

She was a petite, red-haired woman. Somewhat plain and hiding behind oversized, wiry glasses. Her hair fell limply across the tensed shoulders of her basic white lab coat. Despite the feebleness of her appearance, the woman hesitated in the doorway. She nervously looked around them all. The sword-wielding samurai. The owl. The girl in the hoodie and her accompanying circus freak. Finally, she rested her gaze on the stoic features of Black Lightning. It seemed that he met the expectations she’d held, the only one she’d been expecting, yet she was still slow to move from blocking their path. Not that she was under any illusions that she was a match for the motley crew who new surrounded her, each eager for the chance to finally strike back at the asylum that had haunted them in different ways. The girl in the hoodie seemed more excited by the prospect than the others.

“Denise Howard?” asked Black Lightning, his voice was deeper than before, masked as small sparks of electricity arced around his body. It was a cool trick. “We’re the friends you should be expecting.”

“Are you going to hurt people?” she enquired, her voice quivering as she spoke.

“Not if we can help it and not good people,” Black Lightning tried to soothe her conscience.

Katana cared little for the women’s conscience as she replied immediately afterward. “Yes.”

She was nudged from his path as Owlman approached the woman.

“Miss Howard, was it?” said Owlman. It was the most endearing any of them had ever witnessed him as he approached the redhaired woman. “I know this is probably frightening and you feel like you’re betraying your colleagues, and your friends, but there are some seriously bad things happening in this facility. You wouldn’t know it. They’re behind closed doors. To save these people and protect many more, we must understand what’s happening here so that we know how to act. Can you let us past?”

He didn’t want to force past her but he would if necessary.

Denise looked down, concerned but not entirely unwilling. “Okay then,” she said as she stepped aside. “Good luck.”

The Outsiders, Black Lightning and Katana entered the facility.

Halo nudged Owlman in the ribs. She was always toying with the boundaries he’d set for them. “Where’d you learn to speak to people like that? It was almost cordial. The first time you met me you had me by the scruff of the neck against a wall.”

Creeper hissed. “Punched me.”

Owlman ignored their questions, instead he led them further into the belly of Arkham Asylum.

BENEATH GOTHAM CITY

Blood spouted from her nose as she paused. A soft smile came across the redheaded woman’s features as she took the stream of blood upon her fingers and licked it, allowing the coppery taste to slither down her throat. The man who had inflicted the wound, bright blue hair and pointed fangs, stepped backward haphazardly and the bombshell allowed her sensual gaze to settle upon him. It had taken her a week of hunting but finally, she’d found her prey and, as brazen as he had been to throw a fruitless punch, he now quivered like a child before her. A dark stream ran down the leg of his corduroys as his bladder involuntarily emptied.

“You could’ve broken my nose, Nathan,” she snarled as her smile faded. Dressed in a mixture of bubble gum pink and black, she sauntered forward until he was within her reach. “Don’t you know my face is what pays my bills?”

Emily Briggs, the model and former sorority girl who had been transformed into a vampire, opened her mouth like a viper unlocking its jaw as she sunk her pointed teeth into Nathan’s jugular and tore his throat apart. Without a moment’s hesitation, Emily spat the remains of what she’d taken into the dirt and grime. Stepping back, the model rubbed the blood from her face with her sleeve and turned to focus on the silent watcher. The dramatics had been partially for his benefit, an attempt to inspire fear that hadn’t worked quite as she would of like. With a sultry expression, she stared him down.

“I told you to stop following me or I’d take yours next, bird brain.”

He stepped from the shadows. His high-tech suit of armour, the source of his powers, seemed in direct opposition to the archaic lanterns and juvenile artistry that lit the pathways beneath Gotham.

Cults and sects had moved freely amongst them once until Brother Blood and his crew had been vanquished from the area. He was still unaware of the details but the handiwork had been more effective than most attempts to eradicate crime in the gritty and downtrodden city of Gotham. Even the Batman failed to deal with matters in quite such an efficient manner, favouring mercy and detention over the need kill. Ethan Cobblepot, the son of the volatile Oswald Cobblepot, was a testament to that. He had watched criminal empires rise and fall for as long as he could remember and indulged in every moment of it. Still, he’d caught the redhead destroying a nest of vampires by the docklands and been curious in her ever since, much to her chagrin.

“I just thought you might be interested to know there’s a flock of heroes currently making their way through Arkham Asylum’s defences,” said Ethan, pulling at his eyepiece to reveal a boyishly charming face. “That seems like your kind of thing, I’d have thought. A chance to meet some of your own kind, and all.”

Emily glared. “Don’t presume to tell me what my kind is. I have no interest in Arkham or Gotham. I’ve told you all this before. If you want to go around spying on people and running back to daddy then feel free. Just keep your bullshit away from my doorstep, Cobblepot.”

He smirked. She was smarter than he’d have given her credit for. “It didn’t take you long.”

“Only the elite carry themselves with such imperiousness,” she snapped. “And I knew there was something criminal about you. I know a thing or two about not believing a pretty face. It’s always too good to be true.” She shrugged off the memories of her reckless encounter with Victor Christiansen, the date from hell, that had transformed into what she now was. “I’m not quite sure what game it is your playing but sooner or later, someone will wipe that smug look off your face.” Emily shrugged as she walked past him. “I’ll leave that to the bat. It’s his city.”

“Yes,” replied Ethan half-heartedly. “You are pretty far from San Francisco. Still, hasn’t all this running around the country murdering your kin made you wonder if maybe, while you don’t belong with them, there might be somewhere you belong. It must be so lonely.”

Emily paused, her mouth tensing.

“Ah,” sighed the youth. “I seem to have struck a nerve.”

“Keep it up and I’ll remove all of yours, Cobblepot,” snarled the vampire, unsheathing her fangs to illustrate her threat.

Without further acknowledgement, Emily stormed off into the darkness of the old mining system. She was attempting to ignore the words that he’d said but something about them ran true. Since she’d abandoned June and Rachel in San Francisco, she’d been at a loose end and wasn’t sure of her place in the world. Still, from the little intel she’d gained on her stalker, he wasn’t to be trusted and Emily knew better than most not to trust until it had been earned.

ARKHAM ASYLUM

Guards opened fire as the hooded Halo took to the fore. Extending her arms and allowing a green hue to wash over her body, she fired her energy beams. Katana wasn’t sure what she’d expected but as the blasts struck the men and women of Arkham’s guard, it was far from violence she’d witnessed in the sewers. They appeared frozen, held in stasis. It was clear that the colour of the woman’s projectiles indicated the power it possessed and, if that went for every colour, Katana was uneasy to think she was staring at a biological weapon beneath the façade of a petite, beautiful young woman. Her attention was soon broken by the blaring of alarms.

“Halo,” commanded Owlman as the lights blazed above them. “Get to the office and find us whatever you can about Tara Markov and any other experimentations that might be there.” He spun to face Creeper, Katana, and Black Lightning, thrusting miniature cameras to each. “If there’s a secret room that can provide us with information, we want to be able to get inside it. It should go without saying but try not to kill everyone you meet.” His eyes fell to the gnashing jaws of the Creeper before he launched a wire from his gauntlet and dove over the metal railings.

“Good luck,” said Black Lightning as his body exploded into an electrical field and fell through the metallic platform.

Only Katana and the Creeper were left. He stared at her in what she could only imagine was some unbecoming sense of familiarity. Brushing past him, she made her way down the steps. When she turned to cast a glance across her shoulder, he was already gone.

Orange blasts tore through the door, knocking it from its hinges as Halo triumphantly entered the office of Bethanie Ravencroft. The woman, previously sat at her desk, was quickly on her feet and pointing a gun towards the young woman. Her hands were unsteady, the use of a gun – although she’d been trained to do so – was unfamiliar to her. It took the psychiatrist far from her comfort zone.

“Marissa?” she said.

Halo grimaced. “Don’t call me that.”

A yellow force exploded around her body as the room was filled with a blinding light. As Ravencroft attempted to protect her vision, Halo was unaffected and lurched forward to pull the gun from her hands. The light was fading as Halo dismantled the weapon with a surprising ease and familiarity. Ravencroft quivered, her knees audibly knocking against one another, as Halo moved to the centre of the room. The familiar sweetness to her girlish features was replaced by a dark glint in her sapphire eyes. It was an emotion that overcame her almost like a dream, a hint of nostalgia paired with a violet hue around her body. She flipped the chair as Ravencroft whimpered. The darkness, and violet hue, faded quickly as Halo seemed to regain control.

“Go,” she commanded.

Ravencroft rushed from the room as Halo began to rustled through the files. Her eyes searched every intricately formatted surname that began with M. To her frustration, Halo was unable to find anyone named Markov. It was then that she began to go through the dossiers for a second time with a new strategy. Drawing a file from the cabinet, under the name T. Markham, Halo was excited to discover that the princess had been using a pseudonym whilst in the United States. It was a eureka moment and she prepared to exit the room when the violet hue returned and she paused in the doorway.

Slowly, she made her way back towards the cabinet and withdrew the file marked ‘Marissa Baron’. An orange flare incinerated it between her fingertips before Halo returned to normal and skipped from the room excitedly.

A silver haired inmate squawked from the floor, outstretching her hands in fear as the former samurai stared down upon with the Soultaker raised high above her head. There was something pitiful about the woman, even if she was locked behind these walls for the safety of the populace but, given Arkham’s track record and her growing concerns, Katana couldn’t be sure if that was even the case. Either way, it was far from her primary objective.

“Move,” she spat as the woman rolled from her path and the bounty hunter took a step forward.

The woman stood behind her, the fear that had previously contorted her face switched to a maniacal smile, so wide that it appeared to stretch ear from ear. Snapping at her fingertips, embers burst to life and formed balls of flame that reached her wrists. She was prepared to attack when Katana spun and slammed the hilt of her sword into the woman’s chest, knocking her backwards. The woman stumbled into the cell, collapsing as she landed against the metallic toilet and Katana slammed the cell shut. The woman wasn’t worthy of residing within the Soultaker. None of these so-called criminals were and she refused to taint the ancient weapon with their blood, even if the sword pleaded for the sustenance. Katana stared down on her.

“Stay there.”

She stormed back towards the stairwell and into the fray that raged amongst the Outsiders and the guards, with a scattering of inmates, beneath. A guard ran towards her when, suddenly, the air distorted and Metamorpho launched forward, seemingly from nowhere, and landed a balled fist against the man’s cheek.

“I hope I didn’t miss much.”

Katana frowned. “It’d be better if you’d been at the briefing but we’ll take what we can get.” She cleared her throat. “Halo’s searching for information on Tara Markov. The rest of us are checking rooms and gaining intel on the goings on at the Asylum.”

He nodded and dove from the platform.

Beneath, Owlman fired his wrist-mounted gas bombs. As the smoke filtered upwards, Katana charged from its path and jumped, catching a guard by the throat with her thighs and twisting so that he was thrown down the stairs. Instinctively, she pulled at the nearest door handle. It was locked. In a split second, Katana had brought the Soultaker down upon it and the door swung open. As she entered the room, three guards rushed past and she noted that the Creeper was chasing them. Observing the area, she saw diagrams that she couldn’t understand but she knew she didn’t have to.

Pulling the miniature camera from her pocket, gifted to each of them by Owlman, Katana captured the room and made her exit. She saw Halo running along one of the upper platforms, six men on her tail, but the blonde urged them to make their exit. Katana leant over the bannister and called to the Outsiders, relaying the message, and then turned and stormed along the platform before crashing through a window and into the night air.

THE DOCKLANDS

“All of that work and all we have to show for it is a half-assed dossier?” frowned Metamorpho, his cheerful disposition had been off ever since he’d disappeared on his one-man mission to God knows where. “It doesn’t tell us where this kid’s going or even where she’s been. It only says she spoke with Ravencroft and, forgive me if this seems blatantly obvious, but you already knew that.” His pointed words were directed towards Katana.

She nodded. “I did. This is confirmation of what I knew and, at the very least, it tells us that Tara Markov was in Arkham Asylum. However briefly that might be. It also gives us an idea that, wherever she’s gone, she’s using an alias. Maybe more than one. Her lack of creativity narrows the field a lot. My search can now extend to the name Markham and if I find another T.M. initial then I’ll keep hunting.”

Metamorpho spun to Owlman. “And why exactly are we here? We got the truth. We confirmed that Arkham is experimenting on the patients, particularly metahumans, we need to speak with someone at GCPD and share this information before someone else gets seriously hurt. Let Katana hunt down the kid. It doesn’t take all of us.”

Owlman glared back at him. “You know as well as I do that Gordon will take no part in the information that we leave behind. Besides, I’ve already leaked it onto their internal hard-drives. More concerning to me is that Ravencroft was clearly involved in something much larger than her operations at Arkham. Why was she involved with a Markovian princess? Where does it lead? How long before we find ourselves in the middle of a warzone that we didn’t even know was coming because we left it all up to the GCPD? I think we should follow this through to the end.”

“I don’t want your help,” bristled Katana.

“Not our concern,” shot back Metamorpho. “When this started we were all united in our agreement. The target was Arkham. As the lady herself just said, we aren’t wanted. There are people we care about here. The princess of Markovia or whatever will be found and snuggled back in her plush sheets before you know it and we’ll have looked like a bunch of assholes for running around the world chasing ghosts.”

Black Lightning cleared his throat. “No offense, Metamorpho, but that’s a little short-sighted. Surely the best way to offer actual protection to the people we love is to make sure that, as well as containing the degeneration within Gotham, we keep the rest the world’s problems out of it. That’s my two cents.”

“Last I checked, bud, you weren’t even an Outsider. I don’t remember opening the floor to a vote.”

Black Lightning stepped forward, electrical arcs jumping from his fingers, as he squared up against the chemical shapeshifter. Halo stepped between them, forcefully pushing them both back.

“Fighting is going to solve all of the world’s problems isn’t it,” she said. “Grow up, boys. You wanted to play hero then act like you know what the hell you’re doing.”

“Fight, fight, fight,” echoed Creeper menacingly behind her, the excitement clear in his bloodlust.

“As I said, I’m not taking recruits,” said Katana. “This isn’t something that I need you trailing me on. I’m more than capable of finding Tara and bringing her back to Markovia on my own. We had a little team-up here, some brawling broke the monotony of the hunt, but this isn’t a detective story. This is life. I’ve got this on my own and this is where we say our farewells.”

Owlman snapped. “Not when Gotham is getting drawn into whatever mess Markovia has found itself in.” He turned to the Outsiders. “I’m not asking any of you to come with me. You’ve done your job for now and you’re freed from any bond you think might be holding you here.” His head spun, the visor resting squarely on Katana. “Equally, I’m not asking your permission. If you want to plough on without assistance, fine, but I will be pursuing the leads we’ve found here today and if Markov can lead me to understand just what Ravencroft is involved in, you can rest assured I’ll be hunting her too.”

“I’m in,” said Halo as Creeper tapped her shoulder. “So’s he.”

“I got nothing holding me here,” replied Black Lightning.

Metamorpho groaned as Katana reached for the buzzing cell phone in her pocket.

She answered. “Hello, your majesty. I’m still–”

“Ka. . . Katana?” his voice choked over the phone, his breathlessness becoming clearer with each pant. “Please, you have to help me. She’s gonna find me. I need you. Please don’t let her get–”

The line went dead as Katana simply looked at the phone, already aware of her next course of action.

“I knew you’d come looking for them.”

Emily had heard him creeping towards her but she’d been too drawn into the sight before her to care. Ethan Cobblepot, or Blacksun as he insisted on calling himself, was of no concern to her. He was less than a fly prowling around a corpse. Instead, she focused on the gathered vigilantes at the water’s edge. Stood atop a cargo container, the vampire hunter watched as the various self-described heroes of Gotham’s assault on Arkham Asylum gathered and spoke amongst themselves. There appeared to be some concern over a file, a sliver of a docket, that had clearly been taken from the offices of Arkham Asylum during their minimally successful raid of the complex. Emily, as she did best, had watched from the shadows and noted the disparity that seemed to be growing between the personal motivations of the so-called Outsiders. If they hadn’t been stumbling upon something she feared could threaten them all, the vampire would have allowed them to implode without her interference. Still, there was something happening in Gotham but it didn’t seem exclusive to the city.

Tilting her head, she continued to watch in silence as Blacksun moved closer to her. Jutting her hand out as a warning, he paused.

“I wasn’t joking when I said I’d tear your throat out.”

He laughed. “I didn’t think you were. I guess I’m just not as fond of it as you’d think.” He took a single step towards her, it was a show of bravado and insolence more than a necessity but Emily didn’t allow him to break her focus. “You were there, weren’t you? Even after all of your huffing and puffing about wanting no part in the goings on of Gotham.”

“Gotham doesn’t concern me,” she spat. “You have your Bat for that.”

“He’s always busy with one serial killer or another,” replied Blacksun somewhat callously. “Meanwhile, seven more are rising as he struggles to contain the first. He’s outnumbered and outmanned. These wannabes helped alleviate some of the pressure but it seems they aren’t going to be of much use to us now anyway. They’re packing up.”

“What makes you think that?” she scowled. She could’ve punched herself for taking his bait but she continued to look at him expectantly all the same.

Blacksun shrugged. “The samurai. She’s here on business and it involved Arkham but they’ve clearly got what they came for so why would they stay? Heroes do tend to band together in times of need, don’t they? Just look at the self-righteous Justice League. Thrown together because of a common enemy. It’s an age-old story.”

“Well, if they’ve been called off somewhere, they might need a little help closing this situation,” remarked the woman as she stood from her crouching position. “And I know just where to start with that.”

“You want a hand with that?” grinned Blacksun.

Emily looked across her shoulders, red hair falling in a cascade across her back. “Believe me, I don’t need any help from the likes of you.”

Jumping from the cargo container, the vampire disappeared into the darkness.

Next in the Outsiders: Brion Markov’s distress call draws Katana back to the kingdom of Markovia with the Outsiders in tow. But is Brion a friend or a foe?