Previously in Justice League…

They are Earth’s greatest heroes, united in a common goal against threats too large to face alone. Standing for truth, justice and freedom, they form the Justice League… or they did, once.

On a quest to cleanse them from time, the cosmic headhunter, Chronos, targets each member of the forgotten league. Now only one remains: Superman. On the eve of Earth’s destruction, what will Chronos’ mission spell for humankind?

EXECUTIVE ORDER

Part V

By Miranda Sparks

Southern California:

She remembered in movies the way characters woke with a throbbing headache in strange surroundings with no idea how they’d come to be there. More often than not this was the result of alcohol consumed in excess, but Kendra Sanders didn’t drink – nor did she venture to foreign deserts without a purpose.

Flapping the sand from her wings, she pieced together the scene in which she’d landed. A battle, perhaps? Her body ached, but that may have been on account of a fall. Any signs of conflict had already been blown away, and her mace sitting idle on the ground was not a sign in itself.

For what reason had she come to be in this place, and why couldn’t she remember? Hawkwoman beat her wings and took to the air. Despite the pain, it felt good to stretch. She went north, and decided to work her way from there.

The Mojave Desert:

The plan was sound in theory, but crazy in execution.

Mr. Terrific explained. “In order for you to reach Ceres before it negatively affects the Earth, we’ll have to launch you into orbit, then initiate a second launch in space. As you know, there’s no drag to counter your momentum in a vacuum. But in order to generate enough thrust… Superman, I don’t know how to say this – we need to strap you to a nuclear weapon.”

Nothing but a high yield fission bomb would do the job. Not unless a new technological marvel became available at very short notice. There was hesitation, but Superman owed it to the world to hide the cracks in his resolve. Shooting a nuke into his back? Even shielded inside a reinforced lead canister, he was going to feel it. Perhaps he was doing humanity a disservice by taking on their hopes. There was every possibility that he could fail. Then what?

Regardless, it was better than the alternative – all the things people do when they panic. For all his trepidation it was better this way, and for that reason the Man of Steel pressed forward without regret. In the back of his thoughts he could still hear Ma and Pa, joking about the boy with the weight of the world on his shoulders. They couldn’t have known how right they were.

The hours before launch dragged for a short eternity. Soldiers, scientists, and launch site staff all took turns shaking his hand, offering well wishes, thanking Superman for his service to humankind. As much as he appreciated it, another part of him wanted solitude.

There’ll be enough of that in space, he thought.

“Uh, Superman?”

Something was off. He could hear the scrambling inside, along with the words ‘intruder’ and ‘air space’. The Man of Steel patted the soldier’s arm and smiled broadly. 

“Don’t worry. I’m already on it.”

Firestorm shot through the air, en route from DC to California. Simple for some, but even the strongest of fliers felt fatigue after three hours without rest.

“It would have been faster to fly commercial,” Ronnie whined.

His boyfriend echoed in his mind. “Taking into consideration booking fees, wait times, take off and landing, plus disembarking? I don’t think so.”

Maybe he was right, but Ronnie was damned if he was going to admit it.

“I’ve been stretching my neck and my arms for god knows how long. This is worse than running laps. No, this is worse than one-arm push ups!” Not that Ronnie didn’t show off that skill whenever he could.

“We need to speak with Superman,” Jason said. “Somebody’s messing with time!”

“Are you sure you didn’t – I don’t know – imagine it?”

Jason groaned. “I really hate having this conversation. I know, I know,” he said, anticipating protest. “You don’t remember, but I do. And I’ve got to tell you, it sucks when your boyfriend talks to you like you’re crazy.”

“Sorry,” Ronnie said, and meant it more than it sounded. Good thing Jason was in his head to understand. They soared like a human missile, fire spewing behind them over the sand covered plane.

“You sure we’re going in the right direction? It’s hard to tell so high up.”

Jason hummed. “Mostly sure. Go a bit further, then we’ll see if we can draw him to us.”

Ronnie grinned. “You think Superman likes fireworks?”

“Maybe save them for the fourth of July.”

Firestorm turned away from the ground where, out of the literal blue, the Man of Steel appeared. He was leaner in real life, but no less imposing – no less able to steal Ronnie’s breath away with a look. Searching for Superman was one thing, but actually finding him, sharing the same air?

“It’s him!” 

“It’s you!” Firestorm gasped.

The concern twisting Superman’s brow softened. Perhaps he thought the kid with the flaming hair was a bad guy. No, this was just a fanboy. That much was obvious. Regardless, he had to put his foot down.

“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you mean no harm,” he said, “but this is restricted airspace. You’ll have to fly elsewhere.”

“Yes! Of course, Superman! Sir!” Definitely a fanboy. Who says no to Superman? Except, you know, the wrong kind of people.

Jason cleared his non-literal throat. “Babe,” he said, pointedly.

Right. They were there for a reason.

“Um, actually, I was hoping to talk to you,” Firestorm said.

The Man of Steel frowned. No doubt people wanted to talk to him all the time. It was amazing that he had this much patience, really.

“I’m sure what you’ve got to tell me is very important, son. But I’m juggling a life or death problem as we speak – for you and everyone else on this planet.”

“Ask him about the Justice League!” Jason cried.

Ronnie balled his fists. “He doesn’t know anything about a ‘Justice League’,” he whispered. Nobody had heard of this ‘Justice League’.

The only reason he’d come so far was out of love for a boyfriend he could swear was turning loopy, but bugging Superman in the middle of a crisis? There were real, tangible problems in the world that allowed no time for conspiracies, especially when they broke the laws of physics.

“This is important!” Jason barked.

Ronnie said nothing. He hugged his chest and the cocktail of shame swirling in it. Not only had he drawn Superman from the front line, but he dismissed the love of his life as crazy. Sometimes there were just no right moves. Superman, however, stopped in mid-air. His brows arched in surprise.

“Excuse me, but did you say ‘Justice League’?”

He wouldn’t have believed it without seeing with his own eyes, but Superman could not deny the supernatural division of Firestorm into two seemingly mundane college aged men.  Mr. Terrific too was in awe, and searched the results of his ever-scanning T-spheres for a more detailed explanation. It was exactly the sort of metaphysical puzzle he lived to untangle.

The two couldn’t be more opposite; not just cosmetically, but in the manner they carried themselves. One was tall, physically developed, and exuded the kind of bravado one needed on charge against other grown men. The other was small, not just in stature, but in the way he looked down and squeezed his limbs close to his body. How could two individuals so different function as a single being?

“My name is Jason Rusch,” said the smaller of the two. He offered his hand to shake. “I’m sorry to bother you like this, Superman, but I believe your life is in grave danger.”

Not the first time those words had been said, and definitely not the last. Only a few times did they hold any weight. It would have been easy to dismiss the kid as a crackpot, if not for the power he had.

“Tell me everything,” Superman said.

And he did; about the Justice League – Green Lantern, the Flash and more; about Chronos, and the deadly weapon that left no trace. One by one the heroes vanished, past, present and future. Nobody would search for them if their histories were wiped clean. It was too fantastic to be believed – to be entertained! Their lives were brimming with the extraordinary, the unexpected, the impossible, but time travelers with cosmic erasers? That was something else.

Jason frowned at the pair and waited for the inevitable. He shrugged Ronnie off, despite the efforts to soothe him. They would have words, but later. Superman blinked.

“I… I don’t know what to say.”

“The way I see it, we have two options,” said Mr. Terrific, who had no shortage of words. “We either believe you, or we don’t. Even if we can’t speak to the knowledge of your character, we know what you are. That alone gives you some credence. But let’s follow this thread to its conclusion.”

A flurry of holographic screens bounced off the floating T-spheres. They blew into large proportions, enough that all could read the data, even if only a handful could parse it. Jason could barely keep up. Ronnie, not at all.

“Look at this, Superman,” said Mr. Terrific, pointing to one of the readouts. “Do you know what these are?”

The Man of Steel narrowed his gaze. “I think so. Anti-chronitons?”

He nodded. “Particles that when sufficiently manipulated negate matter on a fourth dimension level. Leveled against a human being they can act just as Jason here describes, making it so that a person was never born.”

Ronnie balked. “So Wonder Woman, Aquaman-”

“Were all real,” Jason said. “I told you!”

There weren’t many things in the world too heavy for Superman’s shoulders, but the things too heavy for his heart were multitude. This absence, which he could barely grasp, numbered among them.

“They were my friends,” he said, “but… I don’t know enough to mourn them.” What a tragedy, both for him and those lost.

Jason wasn’t lying. He knew that the moment he opened his mouth. He could hear the boy’s heartbeat. Perhaps it took Mr. Terrific’s know-how to remove all doubt.

“Superman,” the young man said. I’m sorry, he didn’t say, at least not in words.

“Don’t feel bad, kid. There won’t be anyone to mourn him, either.”

They all reeled. There, from out of nowhere, stood the figure Jason had described, clad in silver and blue, and brandishing a sword more than half his size. Not a practical weapon by any means, but one that he’d made the most of.

The Man of Steel clenched fists that could uproot a building. “You!”

“Maybe a reunion will change your mood,” Chronos said.

He turned the dial of his clock and mounted it to the sword. It droned in an electronic voice. “ACCESS SYSTEM: EARTH-OMEGA > GREEN LANTERN, AQUAMAN, WONDER WOMAN, MARTIAN MANHUNTER, FLASH, BATMAN.”

Heroes are, by their very definition, brave. Shock and awe are ineffective tools against those who, by their trade, are larger than fear. As a man who hunts heroes, Chronos is keenly aware of this fact, and so he employs other methods to meet his task. Drawing ghosts from oblivion might prove jarring for some, but that was not why Chronos called upon them. And not for their firepower, either. A large part of it was to satisfy the coinesseuer in him; to answer the age-old question asked by those in his position.

“Who would win in a no-holds barred contest between Superman and Batman?”

He knew from the very first that the answer would be inconclusive – that though his phantom had no misgivings about lethal force, and the still living Man of Steel had no knowledge of his former respect for the Dark Knight, that the results would be muddied by any number of confounds. Regardless, why spoil a good show? Even a repeat performance. The Omega Batman had more than just a kryptonite ring. He’d upgraded to kryptonite knuckle dusters. Truly a classic.

The scene was awash with conflict. Former would-be allies tore across the airbase, sending staffers running. It was Mr. Terrific and Firestorm against the better part of a Justice League, Earth’s greatest champions, whether they knew it or not. Chronos might have summoned popcorn were he able. Alas, there was a job to do. He adjusted the stopwatch on his sword, and awaited the anti-chronitons to reach peak agitation. Best to be prepared for when the fight got interesting.

“In a way this is all because of you,” he remarked, seemingly to nobody – but the Man of Steel heard, even to a mile away.

“The heroes of this age, both real and imagined, are your children. They follow your example. It wasn’t something planned; it wasn’t even something you necessarily did, but by the virtue of existing, by imprinting your shape on the world, a whole array of heroes followed.”

He smirked without humor. “They love you, you know. Hell, I love you. The very idea of you makes the world brighter. But ideas, like weeds, grow out of control. They get into places they don’t belong, and some poor sucker has to come and pull them up by the roots.”

The ‘Omega’ Superman. He wasn’t the first to hear the screed, nor would he be the last. Looking upon the Man of Steel’s swollen cheeks brought him no joy, but nor did Chronos flinch from the pummeling he served. It was a job, after all. Very rarely was it pleasant. He turned the sword in his hand, feeling oblivion in its heft.

“Now to finish this,” he said.

“Not even close, chrome-dome!”

Chronos twisted under the blow that shattered one side of his helmet into fragments. Next he knew he was on the ground, prying himself from the tarmac, fighting to make sense of the world through the throbbing in his temple.

Hawkwoman. He should have known. That woman and her damn mace, landing blows with all the grace of a semi-trailer. Her metal wings allowed her to move with guile that all but defied her temperament. She wouldn’t land a second shot. Mace and sword clashed, ringing through the din. Hawkwoman was as tough in this reality as she was in countless others, equal parts strength and skill. Most relied on either one or the other, but hawks, amazons and lanterns were too measured to be undermined directly. Fortunately, he was not alone.

The Flash – or a reasonable facsimile thereof – turned the air currents against her, moving at speeds that generated whirlwinds. No amount of deftness could guide her through the crimson cyclone, especially with time enough to keep Chronos from his quarry.

Superman, meanwhile, was a shambles; more a mess than kryptonite could do alone. What had this Batman dreamed of? Poison gas? Solar absorbing nano-gel? Any number of things to answer the call of necessity.

Chronos flexed, shaking off the bleary haze of adrenaline. He needed a clear mind, still capable of reason. Heroes were brave, greater than their fears, but that climb often dulled their wits, leaving them only the tools of survival. That mindset was powerful, primal, but most of all stupid. He couldn’t afford that. With his hands gripped around the hilt of his sword, Chronos charged. No more talk, no more reminiscing. Just action.

The Man of Steel threw his fist down, cracking the foundations beneath their feet. The tremors threw Chronos, along with allies on both sides. All it did was offer Superman a moment’s reprieve.

“Please,” he gasped. “I don’t know… why… you’re doing this… but… if you kill me now, the Earth is… is doomed!”

Chronos bounced upright, though more sluggishly than he would have liked. He loosed his anger, just enough to drive him on.

“That’s always been the plan!”

He shouldn’t have opened his mouth; shouldn’t have given the hero a target for all his frustration. These past days and the slow building tension wore more on the Man of Steel than any direct blow. Those cracks might even have broken him, given enough time. Between the beat of a hummingbird’s wings, Superman bound to his feet and launched at the villain. 

Chronos had less than the blink of an eye to evade him, but for one who controls time it was more than enough. He turned the dial on his weapon, and the flow of the world slowed from a rush to a dribble. Seconds dragged for minutes, minutes dragged for hours, with Chronos able to move freely between them – to take aim and put down his final target. 

The crackling blade was inches away when he felt the sudden pull. Time had ensnared him as well. But how was that possible? Chronos searched the chaos of his surroundings, and found the words frozen in mid-speech; of Mr. Terrific crying the ‘u’ in ‘Superman’ stretched in a sustained moment.

Halfway between Chronos and the other hero was a machine, a vest; warping the universe around it. Gravitons! Whatever the design of the device, it altered its mass to such a degree that it affected the passage of time. Chronos, for all his tricks, stood in a radius that moved slower than it did for the greatest of heroes.

Superman’s blow was inevitable, as was Chronos meeting the ground. His personal force field absorbed the worst of it, but left him no less rattled. It was a miracle his brain hadn’t liquefied on impact. Time returned to its normal pace.

“So you’re the one putting the Earth in harm’s way,” Superman said. “Why? To get to me? To get to the Justice League?”

Chronos rolled in the dirt, barely able to make out the heroes standing in judgement. Mr. Terrific, Hawkwoman, Firestorm – all capable in their own right. All a pain in his proverbial backside.

Superman shook his head. “What I don’t understand is ‘why’. Why would you-”

The charged blade shot through the shield on the hero’s chest, prompting cries from the others. Chronos grinned with satisfaction. He didn’t have to be the one to plunge the dagger, so long as the job was done. Wonder Woman, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, could do just as well.

Like sands falling between the cracks, so too did the Man of Steel, his personhood, his history, and the impressions he’d left on a fragile world. He, in relative seconds, was as absent from the cosmos as the planet of his birth. Nobody would know well enough to mourn their greatest champion.

Chronos too fell out of notice, leaving the unlikely gathering of heroes at a loss. What were they doing at an air base in the middle of nowhere? The answers were scattered in the wind, far from their reach.

How do you write a eulogy for an entire planet? Not just for humankind, but for every animal, every creature with some semblance of understanding. And why write a eulogy if there’s not going to be anyone to read it, to mourn? I don’t know. Catharsis? Something to do with my hands while waiting for the time to come? A last ditch effort to cling to sanity? Who can say.

Perhaps, by some cosmic miracle, this document will survive like the black box of an aeroplane after a bloody crash. Some distant people from the stars will come along, unlock a file and piece together the last words of Lois Lane, only to wonder how someone with my spelling ever made it as a correspondent.

Thank God for autocorrect.

Jokes. That’ll be my legacy. In a hundred thousand years my pithy attempt to make light of doom will garner a laugh. If that’s the case, then you’re welcome. This will all have been worth it. 

Dear historians, we call that ‘sarcasm’. We exaggerate what we don’t mean in an attempt at humor. Not very clever, is it? But it’s how a good many of us deal with our feelings, by deflecting from the grim reality that hangs over us. Joke about it and death becomes less than the absolute thing that it is.

Make no mistake, we are going to die. Each of us were always destined to go at one time or another, but to see snuffed out in one fell swoop is more than any can bear. At least when facing death alone, we do so in the knowledge that the world continues to turn. We’ve had our time, and left an impact on events, our friends and our loves. We don’t expect those things to end with us.

Two days ago, astronomers at STAR Labs tracked the dwarf planet, Ceres, as it veered from its orbit. Then it gained traction, and that six hundred mile wide hunk of dust and rock was on a collision course with the Earth. Our home. Our delicate sanctuary. Nobody seems to know why Ceres decided to turn on us, but the result is the same. Two celestial bodies, once so distant in the scheme of things, will meet – one colliding with the other, likely obliterating both.

Human beings are fragile things. We need oxygen to breathe, water to drink, can only survive in a specific range of temperatures, and are not equipped to withstand solar radiation. Our vision is confined to a limited band of the light spectrum, and all too many elements harm and poison us. Mother Nature offered a rare kindness on Earth, enough to give us a start, but the universe at large is less forgiving. We are not prepared to endure.

I’ll admit to a certain petulance here. It’s not right that this is happening. It’s not fair, and it’s not just. But what is? There’s no use crying when there’s so little time left, and so much that deserves to be celebrated.

I had a career I loved, full of mystery and intrigue. Every day came with a new challenge, new meaning, and so many avenues to discover. And it was filled with people, good and bad, starting with family – Mom and Dad, my sister, Lucy; my co-workers – Perry, Jimmy, Kat, Steve, and more. All deserving eulogies in their own right, but time is short.

And let’s not forget the invention of peanut brittle ice cream. Why even start a day without the promise of peanut brittle ice cream at the end? As of this writing, I’ve just finished my second punnet for the day. All things considered, why hold back?

This life, as temporary as it was, came as a gift. None of us were ever promised today or tomorrow, and as difficult as life can be we embraced it with open arms. We did it as best we could, until there were no days left. It’s with that dignity that I finish, and confer upon unlikely future historians that humanity, for all its ugliness, were also a beautiful, hopeful people. We struggled to love ourselves, and each other, but carried in us always the potential for greatness. Sometimes we even achieved it.

Somewhere, somewhen:

Walker’s shoulder gave him hell. Whatever. Hazards of the job, and he could afford a new one. Call it a ‘business expense’, claimed on tax. But first he had to collect on services rendered.

Mr. Uxas’ son turned bodyguard was more beast than man. Something from his mother’s side, no doubt. It was a far cry from his father’s menace, which begged the question, why have a bodyguard at all?

The assassin looked around, taking in the environment he knew so well; streets given the shape of glamor, painted over with sparkle and sheen, but devoid of substance. Big hair, padded shoulders, long sleeves and leggings to cover the scars. For some reason the lesser folk aspired to the place, though Walker could barely imagine why. Maybe it appeared beautiful from a distance.

The bodyguard, Kalibak, ushered him past a velvet rope. It was a material only a fool would touch, for despite its apparently smooth texture, the countless threads were razor sharp. More effective than barbed wire, and infinitely more attractive.

Mr. Uxas sat alone at a large, round table on the balcony. In front of him was a steaming plate of meat and vegetables, more alive than they had any right to be. He skewered them tactfully, and ignored the screams. He swallowed before he spoke, but did not look up. 

“Mr. Gabriel. Is it done?”

Walker nodded. “Yes, sir.”

What a strange thing it was, that he should wipe a world clean of the Justice League, only to see their likeness on a billboard across the street. A version of them, at least; in muted colors and wearing a collective grimace. ‘STREAMING NEXT YEAR,’ said the promotion. A Justice League, Walker thought, in name only.

“The Omega Earth is prime for destruction in twelve hours, relative time,” Walker said.

Mr. Uxas set down his knife and fork, and dabbed his stony lips with a napkin. “Excuse the observation, Mr. Gabriel, but you don’t sound at all satisfied with this development.”

“People are dying, sir,” he said. “It’s part of the business, but I don’t delight in it.”

“People die every day,” Mr. Uxas said. “In droves. Some are mourned, some are not. Ultimately it doesn’t matter. They are gone, and the slate is clean.”

Walker shifted, and buried his hands in his pockets for lack of anything else to do.

“It’s as you said, Mr. Gabriel. It’s business,” the executive continued. “You may find it distasteful to rob people of life and hope, but the symbol of that hope is the trademark of [REDACTED] Media, a corporate individual that thrives or suffers to the tune of its bottom line. Do you understand?”

Chronos more than understood. More damning was how well he could live with it. 

NEXT ISSUE: There’s no Justice League. Only oblivion. This and more in the conclusion of ‘Executive Order’!