MARKOVBURG

MARKOVIA

Hers was a tale like so many, built upon the foundations of idealism and idolatry but quickly descending into nothing more than betrayal and resentment. For as long as Helga Jace could remember, she had worshipped at the altar of a man who was no God but, in her twisted view of the world, their allegiance offered her more power than she had ever dreamed of in her youth. Scientific endeavour had twisted into madness through this servitude to the man known as Baron Frederick DeLamb. It had been a college romance; he’d taken her from her lowly beginnings and elevated her to a level beyond what her parents had ever achieved. It had been doomed from the beginning, even amid the constant galas and elegant balls, their worlds had been too different.

Still, her passion for evolutionary theory had led her down a road of genetics. Baron DeLamb had found a use for her in his life even long after their relationship had dissolved. The pair were the platonic variation of soulmates, intricately entwined in their ambitions for the future. Those ambitions had led to this moment, with Helga staring down upon the frozen features of Prince Brion Markov. Just as she had done with his younger half-sister, Tara, months before. She had failed the Baron in that endeavour, she had allowed the remnants of her compassion and humanity to cloud her judgement, but she would not fail him again.

The Baron needed her to succeed. Markovia needed her to succeed. Helga had to meet that goal at any cost.

Still, it would be dishonest to say that Helga felt nothing as she investigated the chiselled features of the Prince. Stigma had played a significant role in her own life; it had plagued her through the actions of her parents and the consequences of said actions being forced upon the child. Yes, Helga had pulled herself from the cold din of mediocrity, but she was also aware that she’d needed the help of a powerful man, a deposed lord of rank and circumstance, to do so. It was a self-loathing she carried with her, the significant chip on her shoulder that propelled her recklessly forward as she sunk further and further in the pit of a revolution that she was unsure she could escape from unscathed. Even where she to come forward with the leaps and bounds that she’d made in the realm of genetic evolution, the discipline that allowed her to play God amongst the mere mortals that jumped at her command, she would never be revered or lauded for her work. Helga had broken too many of the rules for such a reaction, her actions and ambition had veered so far from the ethical that she would be little more than a madwoman who had become so hungry for fame that she’d sacrificed the very core of her humanity. It was through thoughts such as this that Helga was reminded that if she’d come this far, if she’d bent all the rules already, then why shouldn’t she go further still? Why should this be the limit of her ambition?

Neither Helga or DeLamb could pretend that their actions had been purely altruistic, or that they fought only to save Markovia from the usurpers that had claimed it. King and Queen Markov where dead. They couldn’t answer for the crimes of their family. That responsibility then had to rest squarely on the shoulders of their children: twins Gregor and Brion and the considerably younger bastard of the dynasty, Tara. Gregor held all the poise and diplomacy that had been instilled by his parents, he was much like his father with his dark hair and beady eyes. Helga saw beneath the veneer that he presented to their people. Gregor, only several minutes older than Brion, was an opportunist who had seen his chance to claim the power of a coveted throne and seized it. With the expectation that Gregor would always claim the throne, Brion had descended into debauchery – made worse still by the absence of his father’s stern hand and the disappearance of Tara. It had been through yet another evening of drinking and whoring through the town beyond his gilded gates that Brion had so easily been subdued by her enforcers. Still, despite their superior rank, Helga have found her interactions with both the princes – although former now proclaimed himself to be a king – to be much as she would’ve expected. They were fine, if haughty and privileged, representations of the Markov Monarchy.

Yet, if Brion had become wild amidst his grief and trauma, Tara had always been as such. From a young age, the once illegitimate child of the King and a lowly servant, had been paraded before the people of Markovia as a symbol of elegance and refinement. Pretty, blonde and blue eyed, she’s fit the picture of an animated princess. Helga had seen something more in her. Tara was unlike the others, perhaps through the influence of her mother rather than the cold, regal teachings of the Queen. There was a darkness in her eyes, a wisp of lingering anarchy in the arched way she smiled before the cameras. This had been there for as long as Helga had watched her from beyond a screen, but it wasn’t until Tara had been held in her lab, against her will, that Helga had witnessed the dangers of the shadows that rested in the princess’s mind. Helga had watched Brion as he’d writhed and struggled for his freedom. Tara had been more tranquil. Originally, the scientist had thought the princess had accepted her fate but soon she’d realised that Tara had wanted this, she wanted the power that Helga promised to bequeath upon her, and she cared nothing for the risks.

Drawn from her thoughts as the prince roused from his medically induced slumber. Pushing back a strand of her grey hair, a reminder that whilst she had once been beautiful that age had not been kind to her. Slowly, she moved towards the metallic bedside table, lined with sterilised tools at her disposal. Yet, she had use for only one. In a swift movement, befitting the years of experience she’d accumulated, the scientist lifted a syringe filled with the same green liquid and plunged it into the prince’s left shoulder. He hissed against the pain, but she remained undisturbed, there had been many test subjects before the elixirs perfection and only then had the Markov children been approached. They were important to DeLamb and so, regardless of what she was doing to them on a genetic level, she treated them as she would have been expected too had she stood before them in a royal court – with respect and grace. Grace, which was at odds with her jaunty, aching steps.

“Hush now child,” she whispered softly, like a mother coddling an infant. The kindness of her words was betrayed only by the lack of emotion that rested in her eyes. “I know you must be confused. To be reborn can be a difficult transition, leaving behind your old live-in favour of the great opportunity that now lies before you. My name is Helga Jace, I’m a scientist, and I’m here to assist you on the journey that now lies ahead.” He continued to struggle against the restraints, but she rested her hand firmly on his wrist, a warning that he ceases and desist. “Now, we’ll have none of that. I’m happy to unbuckle you when you’ve calmed down and listened to me. For now, I’ll remove the gag.”

Helga did as she’d said.

Brion, despite her warning for restraint, almost jumped out of the bindings. His voice was gravelly, certainly more so than before. Auburn hair flopped across his forehead, matted with sweat, and shielded the despair in his sapphire eyes. “Why are you doing this to me? I’ll give you anything you want. We can pay any ransom. Just let me go and it’s yours.” He begged through the overwhelming head that stretched through his body. His mind couldn’t focus on that, it was racing for an escape, darting from thought to thought almost faster than he could process the information before him.

She tutted. “The wealthy have always been the same. Carrying the misguided belief that money will cure all their problems as they turn a blind eye to the struggles of those who hold up their throne. No, Brion, I don’t require a ransom. This goes far beyond that now. You, and those you’ve sprung from, made a decision a long time ago and a debt must always be collected, and a punishment given.” She paused, considering the harshness of her reply before continuing. “Not that this is to be a punishment. You are greater now than you ever where before, and you’ll understand that eventually. Your sister certainly did.” Helga’s eyes were no longer emotionless as she spoke, they echoed with pride and if he was able to ascertain it correctly in his groggy state, a hint of madness.

“My sister?” He asked. “What do you know of Tara?” His body tensed, blue eyes shifting to a molten orange as he snapped forward in anger before being forced back against the gurney by his restraints. “What have you done with her? Where is my sister?” His tone was aggressive, and he spat every word uttered.

Helga remained calm. “Tara was fine when I’d last seen her. Originally the desire had been that she would serve as our emissary, the bridge between the high and the low. Unfortunately, she proved to be more spirited than we’d expected and found herself as little more than a loose end. You’ve been searching for her, yes? Enlisting the assistance of that Japanese bounty hunter?” She noted his surprised expression. “Did you expect us to know so little of you and your activities? All science begins with research into the subject. We’ve been hoping your investigation would provide some leads into Tara’s whereabouts, but we’ve been sorely disappointed. As have you, I’d gather. The stench of alcohol is rife on your breath still.”

Brion glared. “You still haven’t said what you want from me?”

Looking down at him through her wire rimmed glasses, she was amazed that he’d not managed to piece together her intent, but she decided she’d simply granted his intelligence too much credit. Few could match her own. “You’re the emissary of a new age, Brion. Just as your sister should’ve been. You’re going to show Markovia, show the world, that the dynasty of the past is no match for the future that lies ahead. We live in a world where Supermen fly. The old ideals of Markovia can’t survive what’s the to come, we need new ambitions and above all else, we need new leadership. Leadership that neither you nor Gregor are capable of providing.”

He scoffed. “And Tara was your candidate? She could barely focus long enough to get an education.”

“No, much like yourself, Tara was only a pawn. She was to distract from the reality of what was to come by destabilising everything that the Markovs held dear.”

Brion had been listening, despite the growing feeling of discomfort from beneath his skin, but the words almost felt as if they were washing over him. It was clear to him that Helga was working for someone else, a higher power with the wealth and privilege to enable her activities, but he’d never been a major component in the political sphere of his family nor had he much cared for the history lessons he’d daydreamed through. He knew enough to keep himself on the right side of a formal occasion, but he’d accepted that Gregor would take the crown and that he’d never have to harbour the monotonous responsibility that came with it. Tara had been where he was now and had disappeared into the wind, launching his investigation with the aid of Tatsu Yamashiro. Everything in his life had already been difficult and it wasn’t without irony that he felt that as he knew lived upon a pedestal of privilege. In the past several months, he faced a lot of upheaval through the death of his parents, his sister’s disappearance and, most recently, the legality of his brother’s crown being threatened by the Markovian courts. Now, he was faced with the maddening babbling of Helga and the ever-growing discomfort of whatever she’d done to him.

“See?” She asked. “Isn’t this much more pleasant when we’ve calmed down?” Her condescension rubbed him the wrong way, but he found himself grateful as she loosened the leather straps that had bound him, noting the pressure marks they’d left against his wrists.

Collapsing to the ground, Brion found his legs were as useful as if they consisted of jelly. Freed, his mind wandered from the woman that looked down upon him to the continuing sensations that filtered throughout his body. His head throbbed as he attempted to rise from his lowly position, to little avail. Unbeknownst to the prince, his eyes shifted from blue to orange in an erratic exchange. His outstretched hands seemed to be heating the metal plates that composed the laboratory floor.

“I think I’m dying,” Brion choked.

Helga sighed as she moved from the emptied gurney towards a cabinet, pulling open a drawer. “Don’t be so dramatic, my liege.” There was a hint of mockery in her words. “You’re experiencing nothing out of the ordinary for a man in your position. It will pass and you’ll be stronger than you could ever have imagined.”

He didn’t find her words to be comforting nor was he sure she’d intended them to be such.

She continued. “I believe the time has come for us to proceed.” Brion was unaware that this change in her demeanour was due to his eyes having settled on a vibrant shade of orange. “This will only take a moment.”

Through his groggy eyes, Brion saw that she now held a metallic item that somewhat resembled a makeshift variant of the crown that had rested upon his father’s head, and now belong to his brother. It was a further humiliation. Brion may not have understood everything that had happened to him in the last several hours, but he was observant enough to see the intent of the scientist, if not the reasoning why she would wish for him to wear the mechanical device. He shuffled backwards instinctively as Helga approached him.

“Let’s not play these games,” she stated bluntly. “Be still, my prince. This will only take a moment.”

Before Brion could disturb the plan any further, Helga forced the metallic crown upon his sweat-matted auburn hair. It whirred to life as the headache he’d been experiencing worsened. Brion would never understand what he was feeling but Helga watched with a semblance of a smile as she studied the subtle changes in his face and posture. He was overcome with an increased sense of docility as the device sent electrical currents through his neurological pathways, negating the free will he’d so readily abused in his past.

Void of emotion, Brion was able to brush away the pain and discomfort he’d previously felt surging through him as he stood. He stared blankly into the creased features of the scientist, the woman who had created him, and awaited her instruction. No more was the prince, instead he’d become a pawn to be used not only at the disposal of Helga but also of her beneficiary from within the shadows, Baron DeLamb.

“Are you ready to comply?” as the scientist.

Brion replied flatly. “I’m yours to command, Doctor Jace.”

MARKOVIA

By Paige McMahon

ARKHAM ASYLUM

GOTHAM CITY

Spreading her cold, dead hand against the wet window, Emily Briggs slipped into the lead psychiatrist’s office with more ease than she would’ve expected or should’ve been able to. It was a testament to the rate in which insane individuals arrived and exited the premises, normally seeming to use the detention centre as nothing more than a day centre when they wished to have a rest and three full meals a day. The reputation of Arkham Asylum had stretched across the length and breadth of America, Emily had known of it before she’d ever set foot in the city of Gotham. In the hunt for vampires, and the destruction of the entire species of which she’d recently become a member, she’d no reason to become involved with the likes of Arkham Asylum. Yet, the redheaded woman had found herself intrigued by the role it seemed to have played in whatever mission the random gathering of heroes had found themselves embroiled in.

Damp auburn hair clung to the shoulders of her leather biker’s jacket as she prowled around the room. There had been a time when her ambitions had been nothing more than finishing her college education and becoming a supermodel – it was much harder to achieve the latter when she no longer possessed a reflection or could be caught on film. Even the runways she’d dreamed of walking presented an obstacle, there would always been recordings and photos that would expose her for the monstrosity she’d become. The blue-eyed beauty found the décor of the room to be gaudy, an example of those without wealth at their backing attempting to portray they possessed it. If the room hadn’t informed her of that, the unpaid bills in the incoming mailbox where the giveaway.

Making her way languidly towards a filing cabinet, Emily shuffled through the assortment of beige coloured files. She was unaware that as Katana possessed the dossier on Tara Markov, she would find no connection of worth within these pages. Still, she searched before she lost interest in the cabinet and turned her attention towards Doctor Bethanie Ravencroft as an individual. Beyond the garish assortment of oak and gold that plastered the room, it was far from well-kept. It looked almost lived in, more so than it gave the appearance of a place of work.

It was with that thought that Emily heard the shuffling of feet down the hallway, a blessing from her vampiric abilities, which was quickly accompanied with the rattling of keys in the lock. With an elegant bounce, Emily sprung from where she stood into the shadowed crevices in the corner of the room. A slight blue glow formed in her eyes as Ravencroft entered the room, a signature of her mental abilities, as she blocked the psychiatrist from seeing her. Still, she couldn’t move. Her psionic abilities accounted only for a person’s mental capacity, she couldn’t risk being bumped into or felt. Even then, her telepathy and telekinesis were the weakest and less tested of her skills. She’d been largely unaware of them before her transformation and much of the time since then had been focused on her vampiric abilities.

“Why’s it so . . .” Bethanie was caught off mid-sentence as her eyes turned towards the fluttering curtains, bringing the stormy night inside. Dropping her bag and keys on the desk, she pulled the window shut and removed her coat, settling at the desk with her head in her hands. Blissfully unaware that the redheaded woman watched her from the shadows.

Turning away from her miserable existence, Bethanie replayed the moments of the day. Her mind honed-in on her interaction with private investigator Tatsu Yamashiro and the missing Tara Markov. She knew she had protected herself and those who employed her, but she couldn’t help but wonder if some small nuance had betrayed her to the woman. There’d been a superhero assault in the asylum. She’d even come face to face with the long presumed dead Marissa Baron, a charge from an earlier time. Ravencroft felt as though she’d barely escaped with her life.

Tara Markov’s file had been taken, although it had been labelled under the pseudonym of Tara Markham, but there was nothing in that which connected Tara to her employer. Still, she knew that she couldn’t sit on the information forever. It was peculiar that a woman of her profession should be so inherently anxious, but she paused as her hand hovered over the telephone, unsure of what she should say or if she had the strength to break the news that someone was on the hunt for Tara at all.

Exasperated, Ravencroft picked up the receiver and dialled.

There was a beat, a moment in which the person on the other end of the receiver must have been speaking. Even with her enhanced hearing, the use of technology challenged Emily’s powers so she couldn’t hear.

“This is Doctor Ravencroft calling with an update,” she said into the phone. Another beat. “It’s best we speak directly. This is a matter of urgency.”

There was a short pause as silence crept along the room. It seemed like an eternity to the anxiety-ridden psychiatrist, but Emily saw it as the matter of moments it truly was. Oddly, as the phone seemed to connect with the intended person, Ravencroft gave a curtsy – even though it would be unseen.

“Your majesty,” she continued. “I’m sorry to disturb you but I’ve news I need to share. Arkham Asylum was attacked this evening by a group of so-called heroes. Vigilantes really. It happened after a woman, a Tatsu Yamashiro, arrived asking questions about the princess and from what I’ve been able to gather the only thing that was taken was Tara’s file.”

A beat.

“I understand this is an inconvenience, but I’ve taken every measure we agreed. I just wanted to make you aware in case they do find something in their hunt that can draw them to you.” Ravencroft’s face contorted, sullen and almost childlike, as if she’d been rebuked. “Of course, I’m not implying you can’t protect your lands. They’re just . . . they all seem to be empowered and they could be a problem.”

She nodded.

“I understand. I’ll investigate it. I already have the names of two. Tatsu Yamashiro who was sent at the behest of the princes Markov and Marissa Baron, a previous charge under my care.”

Ravencroft hung up the phone and, in a singular swift movement, she grabbed her coat and bolted through the door and into the depths of the asylum in pursuit of answers. Emily wanted answers of her own. Stepping from the shadows as the glowing dimmed in her eyes, the beauty reached for the receiver and hit *79 as it redialled. It took a few moments but finally an answer came.

“Hello. You’re through to the Embassy of Bialya. How may I direct your call?”

Emily abruptly hung up, turned to the window, and disappeared into the stormy night.

CASTLE MARKOV

MARKOVBURG, MARKOVIA

“Your majesty.”

Gregor, the self-proclaimed King of Markovia, turned from facing the gilded throne that his father had once held with such authority and focused her sharp features on the Japanese bounty hunter. She’d been under the employ of his brother, against his judgement, but Gregor had been forced to turn to her in fear of his own safety. She’d been searching for his sister Tara but with the disappearance of his twin brother, even the calculating Gregor had come to believe there to be a larger conspiracy against the Markov family and, at least as he saw it, his inevitable ascension to the throne. Dark haired and beady eyed, a stark contrast to his much fairer siblings, Gregor knew all too well of the rumblings of dissent within his kingdom, but he struggled to recall a transition of power that hadn’t been accompanied with such sentiments – particularly when old prejudices from the supporters of the DeLamb family had never truly died.

He’d no desire to be called into a civil war with his people and he’d even less interest in being a victim to this unseen force that had seemingly claimed both of his siblings. Gregor had been quicker than Brion to place the blame of disappearance of their sister on her unruly and petulant nature, claiming it to be nothing more than a plea for attention – as if she hadn’t already been coddled enough. It was no secret to anyone in the castle, except for the doe eyed and amiable Brion, that tension had always rested between Gregor and Tara. His snobbery meant he considered her to be beneath him, always quick to remind others that she was nothing more than a half-sister with a mother of no renown. Still, whilst he’d been boarded up in meetings and tutorials for when he would someday rule Markovia, she’d been free to enjoy the privileges his rank should have afforded him. It would be an understatement to state that Gregor was bitter and whilst he’d initially been dismissive, now the threat seemed to have its focus rested squarely on him.

In many ways, Gregor wished he could turn back time and erase the role he’d played in the whole charade, but he wasn’t about to spill his guts to the relative stranger or the motley crew she’d amassed before him for some unknown reason.

“Yamashiro,” he said formally, before turning his placated smile into a smirk. “I see you’ve brought company.”

Tatsu nodded, stepping back slightly as seemed to be suggested by his cold gaze. She’d normally dealt with Brion, for which she was thankful, but news of his disappearance had reached her as soon as she’d arrived in Markovia. “I apologise for this intrusion. Our paths crossed in the hunt for the princess and it seems their goals have become interconnected with mine.” She paused momentarily, breaking the traditionally stern expression etched across her face to offer a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry to hear about the prince. I can assure you that I will get to the bottom of this.”

Noting that the empathetic gesture was unappreciated, her solemn frown returned.

The King scoffed. “And why should I believe that now? You’ve thus far been largely unsuccessful in any attempt to find my sister, despite the generous renumeration package from my brother’s personal reserve, and now I’m to place my trust in you that you can bring him home too? Why? Because you’ve gathered an assortment of vagrants to parade around my gardens?” His eyes rested squarely on the Creeper and Metamorpho who, despite being humanoid, were certainly the oddest of the gathering. “What are they even supposed to be? This is ridiculous.”

The Creeper and Metamorpho, yellow and white skinned respectively, seemed agitated by the harshness directed towards them by the King but they were stalled in their place by a series of reproachful looks from Tatsu, Jefferson and Violet. The blonde-haired Violet slowly rested her hand on the forearm of the loathsome creature as a further reassurance that he would remain calm in the face of their current company. Tatsu still carried a distaste for their company. The so-called Outsiders had been intended as temporary allies in the Gotham search but now she found them lingering around her when she preferred to work alone. She also found it irritating that their presence seemed to be rapidly costing her whatever goodwill she may have previously held with the King, and it had been tenuous at that.

“I understand your disappointment and even the lack of faith,” said Tatsu diplomatically. “But despite the failings and loose ends we’ve encountered, I’m still your best chance of finding Tara. With Brion gone, I’m probably the only chance you’re going to have that can act on quick notice before his trail goes cold.” She stopped, the words catching in her throat as she prepared herself. There was no lower position for a woman such as herself to be placed in the position to plead or beg, and she struggled to do so. “I just need more time. I will bring them home.”

The conviction with which she spoke was enough to convince herself, but she remained unsure about whether she could placate the King’s concerns. He seemed to be short-sighted enough that he’d already forgotten it was through his call that she, and those tangentially associated with her, had been brought from the docks of Gotham. All the fear and worry that had echoed in his broken words then had been displaced by the calm frustration he now unleashed upon her. Tatsu was not a child and she never enjoyed being rebuked. Yet, she was an employee and her traditional values encouraged her to know her place as simply a cog in the machine.

Jefferson stepped forward in a mixture of bravado and confidence that was unfitting of the situation he now found himself. “If I could interject, your majesty. Katana has help now. We may not be much but we’re ready and willing to assist you in finding your siblings and stopping whatever has started here.”

Gregor glared at him. “Your input is unwanted. I was speaking with Yamashiro.” He continued to stare down the American until he’d retreated from the throne.

“Well, in that case, if I may,” stated Tatsu as she finally verbalised the thought that had been plaguing her mind since she’d received his urgent call. “On the phone you said she was coming for you. Who is this she, King Gregor?”

It was the first time she’d noticed his composure break. He seemed to be uncomfortable.

“It must have been a momentary lapse into panic. I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

Before Tatsu could question him any further about the shadiness in which he’d answered, an explosion sounded in the distance. All eyes in the room turned to the windows as Violet and Roy rushed towards the windows to inspect the molten, fiery flume that shot towards the sky. There was a strong juxtaposition against the otherwise blue skies. Roy turned to cast a look towards the hooded blonde, noting the scene echoed through her blue eyes. Chaos reigned supreme in the distance as buildings started to collapse in sequence, much like dominos.

“I think the search might be shorter than we’d thought,” said Tatsu as her fingers wrapped around her katana.

Metamorpho seethed. “Well, I guess we might as well investigate that.” His dark eyes shot towards the frozen king to accompany his pithy remark. “That is, if the King will even grant us permission to do so.”

Unwilling to engage the beastly man, King Gregor merely offered a curt nod and rolled his eyes towards the large oaken doors.

MARKOVBURG

MARKOVIA

Molten rock shot from the newly created glowing chasms within the streets, flying forcefully into the air before thundering to the earth and colliding with cars, buildings and even screaming pedestrians. The marked look of terror arched on their faces as they bore witness to the wrathful attacks of Prince Brion – the media darling of Markovia and resident palace party boy rolled into one. Despite many of their joint misgivings on the prince’s usual lack of decorum when his mind was swayed by the power of alcohol, the unprovoked attack on their nation’s capital had left all of them shaken and petrified. Lives flashed before their eyes as they attempted to escape or hide from his ongoing attack but there seemed to be no haven for safety.

Olena Stepanova had graduated top of her class at the University of Markovia. She’d dedicated her life to nursing those who needed her, spending several years abroad as a military nurse with Markovian Armed Forces before returning to her homeland to settle down and start a family with her dashing Colonel Artem Stepanov. Her life had been one of sacrifice and patriotism in the name of the Markovian Royal Family and their interest. Yet now, as she cowered in the doorway of a florist’s, Olena wondered what her life had amounted too and what her sacrifice had been for when a member of the very family she’d made those sacrifices for was about to slay her on the altar of the power he’d amassed.

The heat from another flume of molten rock washed over her, closer than before, and Olena closed her eyes to pray. Her mind drifting from the fear she felt to a sense of relief. She thought of her children. Of her husband. Of her ailing mother. She didn’t think of herself as she’d accepted her fate. It was to her surprise when there was a momentary relief from the searing heat against her skin, a wind that rushed over her. Looking upwards, the blonde nurse saw the green feather-collared, yellow skin creature – was it a man? – rushing along the side of the buildings with an animated fervour. He seemed almost gleeful, chortling heavily as he bound forward, closer and closer to the mad prince.

The Creeper, as he was known, was a man turned demonic entity that had been in the shadows even in his own country. There was no way for the Markovians, such as Olena Stepanova, to know him. Yet, fame had never been his primary goal. Despite his attachment to Halo and, loosely, to the other Outsiders, he was a being of chaos and disorder. He delighted in the darkness that now descended upon the nation’s capital and its people. Or at least half of him did. It was a little-known fact that beneath the grotesque, devilish exterior of the Creeper rested another mind, a man who had made the wrong decision and continued to pay for it with his existence – Jack Ryder. It was the influence of Jack, who despite the many attempts of the creature had yet to be mentally overthrown, that Creeper was kept in line.

“We could end this, you and me. We could destroy this all, the prince and his people, and Markovia would be ours to rule. Wouldn’t you like that Jack?” hissed the Creeper maliciously in his mind.

Jack scoffed. “No. We do this my way, demon. No-one gets hurt. We bring down the prince and investigate what’s happening here or I’ll find a way to put you back in your cage!”

“Good luck with that,” laughed the Creeper.

The vibrant green-haired hell-dog open his jaw as he homed in on the menacing auburn-locked prince and unleashed a cackle. It’s bloodcurdling echo negating every other sound amidst the hustle and bustle of the street. Dubbed his sonic laugh, the Creeper’s ability had a disorientating effect on all those struggling to escape and his rapidly approaching teammates as they stopped to clutch their ears. However, they were a side-thought, as a sonic force of concussive energy was unleashed from deep within the Creeper’s vocal cords and smashed directly into the prince, lifting him from the earth and tossing him several feet with a crash. Creeper catapulted himself from the wall and landed as gracefully as an acrobat in the centre of the street before hunching into an animalistic stance and giggling insanely.

His giggling ceased as the chasms around him started to glimmer back to life. In the distance, the prince steadied himself and turned his attention towards the demon with a snarl. Extending his hand, the prince drew upon his powers to tear the earth asunder and launch it towards the Creeper. As it was about to collide, Halo crashed from above in a shade of crimson red. Rotating her hands rapidly, the young woman summoned forth a defensive shield that deflected the fiery rocks into a nearby shopfront to the sound of shattering glass. Lowering her shield and taking an offensive position ahead of her friend and ally, the Creeper. Their kinship was beyond anything the others could imagine, they were tied together for better or worse through the series of deeds that had led them to face the maddened prince in the streets of a distant country, far from home.

Brion, now on his feet, stared her down. It was almost like an old Wild West confrontation as the regal prince faced off against the scrappy blonde. Each waiting for the countdown to draw and fire. Red faded to the less aggressive orange as the ever-impatient Halo made the first move. Hurling herself forward, hands glowing and circled with orange energies of her creation, she started to throw these energies in a style that could only be described as American. She took no time to consider accuracy of her assault, instead, she threw as many blasts as she could in as short a time as she could manage and hoped that one or more would strike at her target. Brion was prepared for the Outsiders now that Creeper had exposed them and he tossed several rocks into the blasts, disrupting them before he could reach them.

Deciding on a change of tact, Halo smirked as she spun like a ballerina and transformed into a deep shade of ocean blue. Each turn unleashed a similarly blue hued doppelganger until the prince was surrounded within a circle of Halos. They swapped positions quickly, causing him to lose track of who had been the original Halo. Angered by the variation in her powers, he grunted and started to launch rocks into the surrounding women, or multiples of the same woman, as those he struck glitched like a holograph and faded from existence. Content with her distraction, the original Halo – who’d manoeuvred her way behind the prince – returned to orange and thrust a blast of energy into his back. Thrown toward the Creeper in surprise, the creature unleashed the sonic laugh and Brion was tossed skyward before crashing to the street with a thud.

Not easily disturbed and tired of their interference, he caught the earth in his mind and with an upward thrust, it shivered before bursting upwards and knocking Creeper and Halo from their feet.

His eyes widened as he caught sight of a bolt of electricity rushing toward him, accompanied by an African American man in a sleek blue and black uniform. Hastily, Brion pulled the tarmac skyward and created a shield to defend himself. He deflected the electrical current back to Black Lightning, who merely reabsorbed it as he continued to run forwards.

Arcs of electricity formed between his fingertips as Black Lightning skidded to a halt face-to-face with Brion. With a joyful smile, he greeted him. “Sorry, your highness. This might hurt.” With that, the former professional footballer placed his hands against the princes concealed abs and unleashed the force that had been bubbling beneath the surface, a jolt of bioelectric energy shocked the prince and threw him backwards once again. He landed with a skid; his teeth clenched as he seethed from the pain. His neck twitched involuntarily, but he was angry not subdued. Much like Halo, the prince was unaware that Black Lightning had been nothing more than a distraction.

Unseen but to his left, Katana raced along the parked cars and unsheathed her blade. No sooner was she behind him than she jumped, sliding on her knee as she forced the weapon closer. It tore through the flesh of his calf, causing the prince to fall on bended knee. She’d no intention of killing him but she couldn’t allow him to hurt anyone either. His eyes rested on her for a moment as she moved out of his path should he attack. It was then that she noticed the cold, vacant expression and the glistening metallic crown above his head. Much like that of Gregor’s from their previous rendezvous.

Coming to a stop beside Black Lightning, she sighed. “It’s not him.”

“We’re not fighting Prince Markov?” he asked, confused.

Katana shook her head. “We are but he’s not the one in control. It doesn’t add up why he would do this. Between the mindless expression and that fancy new toy on his head, I’m betting he’s a puppet of whoever turned him into this.”

“Well then, we take it off and see if the prince would like to answer some questions.”

Halo, clutching her side and appearing a little less for wear, stepped beside them. “I can help with that. We just need to make sure he doesn’t see it coming.”

Owlman, who had been quietly analysing the scene as he was prone to do, finally saw an opportune moment to join the fray. He was a man of intellect rather than the brainless bruiser that so many of the others seemed to be. That thought was accompanied with a glance towards Halo, a woman he wasn’t sure could be trusted. “And I can help with that.” It surprised them that there was an almost playful tone in his voice.

Metamorpho bounded forward, his chalk-white hands growing exponentially as he came upon the prince. Not eager to be outdone by the multi-coloured assailant, Brion unveiled a new party trick. His clenched fists touched the earth before the tarmac started to roll around them, moving clunkily but in a somewhat liquified manner. Rising to his feet as Metamorpho finally descended upon him, the prince displayed his newly rocky fists – enlarged to mimic his foe. They collided to a riotous sound, each of them evenly matched for the other in a battle of the brawn. To the others, it looked much like a pissing contest as each sought to outdo the other, but each was accomplished in their own rite.

“Metamorpho,” called Owlman as he jumped into the air and flipped over the pair. “Coming in.”

Mid-flip, Owlman reached into his utility belt and drew forth several metallic circles – three caught between the fingers of each hand. With a swing of his arms, he tossed them in the vicinity surrounding the ongoing Clash of Titans beneath him. Grunting upon impact, the whole seen was quickly drawn into a smokescreen as the smoke bombs exploded upon contact with the earth that had previously served as Bruin’s greatest weapon against them. Sprinting, Owlman disappeared into the clouds around them as Metamorpho took a punch to the face. Yelling wrathfully, Metamorpho rebounded by pummelling his fists against the makeshift rocky gloves of the Prince. Gloves with had now been drawn into a cross above his head for defence, deflecting the elemental’s attack despite the flakes that fell from them. In the haze of the smoke, a green glow burst to life. It seemed distance, distorted against the smoke, like the light at the end of West Egg’s pier. However, the source of the light was no inanimate object nor was it the idealised picture of an unattainable woman. Halo stepped forward, firmly taking her place behind the duelling behemoths and extended her arm towards them. A beam of light shot forward and caught the Prince, his arm in the air as he’d been preparing to deliver another blow to her teammate.

Eyes of solid green looked at Metamorpho as she smiled. “I’d move if I were you, big guy.” Glancing across her shoulder, she called out in the shrouded beyond. “He’s caught!”

Katana and Black Lightning paced forward. She investigated his chiselled features with her usual severity. “Give me a boost.”

“Anytime,” he said. Extending his arm and stretching his palm wide, Black Lightning generated two sparkling electrical steps.

Katana took this as her signal. Charging forward, she bounced along the steps and felt the force of the second as Black Lightning lifted it and thrust her into the air. Much like Owlman before her, Katana caught her core and transitioned her body into a flip. “Drop it!” she yelled to Halo as the blonde released the stasis field. Before Brion could react, Katana caught the crown upon his head and used her bodyweight – propelling herself from the flip toward the ground – to pull it from his head. Landing with a thump, she spun to face Black Lightning where she left him seconds before.

“Lightning, it’s yours!” she called, throwing the crown towards him.

Rushing forward, Black Lightning drew back upon his skills as a footballer and jumped into the air, catching the crown as he would have caught the pigskin from his field days. Brion wasn’t looking, his head was lowered as he fought the neurological backlash of sudden separation. Holding the crown under his arm, Black Lightning fried it with his powers as Katana approached the prince in the distance. No sooner had she knelt before him than the other Outsiders came to crowd around him, their faces representing every variation from anger to disappointment to confusion.

“Brion,” Katana said. “We need to know what happened? Who did this to you?”

The prince looked up sombrely. His once vacant gaze was now so full of emotion that he could barely control his tears. Still, he choked out her answer. “Jace. She said her name was Helga Jace.”

Katana nodded. “And how did she do this? How did she give you powers?”

“She experimented on me,” he sobbed. “She injected me.” His face was suddenly focused. “But I wasn’t the only one. She said there’d been others. She said she’d done the same to Tara.”

“We should get him back to his brother,” said Black Lightning.

Katana shook her head. “No. Brion, do remember where you were held?”

He nodded.

“Tatsu. He’s in shock. These people are going to turn on him now that he’s down,” replied the electric hero. “He’s not safe here.”

She stood facing him. “You heard him. This Jace is creating empowered people. She’s obviously controlling them to do her work. That’s something that needs to be stopped” Sighing, she concluded. “And above all of that, she’s the closest lead that I have to find Tara Markov. Your free to go back to the palace, I don’t need you, but I’m going to find her and end this.”

Their difference of opinion seemed to breed animosity between them.

“There’s no alternative,” stated Brion as he rose and stood between them. “I’m going with you.”

Black Lightning frowned. “I don’t think that’s wise.”

Owlman interrupted. “I don’t think he’s asking for your approval.” He shrugged. “He’s a grown ass man, I say let him make his decision. I’m in. Anyone else is free to do as they like.”

Brion snarled. “Let’s end this bitch.”

There were mumblings of agreement, although they were not entirely without dissent.

The door gave way to reveal Brion, flanked by the Outsiders, with his arms outstretched and a flurry of rocks scuttling into the room post-impact. Scientists and guards scurried around the room as the Outsiders stormed the laboratory to the sounds of slicing blades, electric static, and explosions of assorted equipment. The Outsiders scattered against the guardsmen’s rapid gunfire. Katana, Owlman and Brion sprinted to the left whilst Halo, Creeper and Black Lightning went right. Only Metamorpho remained front and centre, his durable body had made it so that bullets didn’t concern him. Turning his body into a sponge-like material, the bullets were pulled into his chest as they struck. Seamlessly, the composition of his body transitioned to rubber and the bullets bound forward, striking several of the men and women who’d fired them moments before.

Metamorpho marched forward triumphantly as the guards rushed from his path, giving the Outsiders time to re-enter the scene from their shielded positions. Turning from chemical transformation to brute force strength, Metamorpho caught a scurrying man by the throat, allowing his chalky breath to roll across his face, as he whispered. “Where’s Jace?” The man gurgled that he didn’t know, not attempting to protect his employer but simply a dim-witted follow of a cause that he didn’t understand. With a swing, Metamorpho threw him into a nearby machine that shot forth electricity.

Black Lightning caught the stray electrical currents in his grasp and used them to thrust forth a blast of energy where several of the guards had taken refuge. Some scuttled from the path of his attack but three were unlucky enough to have been holding the metallic conduit as his blast hit. Their screams filled his ears as the sound of scorched skin and plastic filled the air. It’d be a lie to say that he felt no remorse for the devastation of his attack, but he tried to focus on who they were – villains.

Creeper slid past him as he directed his sonic laugh at those who’d been fleeing Black Lightning’s assault. Knocking them from their feet as they skidded towards where Katana was drawing her Soultaker from the chest of another. If Creeper’s attack hadn’t taken them off the board, Katana’s follow-through certainly did the job. Creeper rushed further into the fray, passing the mortal Owlman who delivered a traditional beat-down on a guardsman who continued to fire his gun haphazardly into the lab – taking out one of his own teammate’s in the process. It was then that Creeper saw Brion standing before the frightened, cowering scientists. Molten rocks danced on the air as he screamed at them.

“Where is she?” spit rattled from his words. “Where is Jace?” Hoisting his hands skyward, the rocks moved above the scientists but even the threat of death didn’t give them reason to answer. Or perhaps they were simply frozen in fear. “Tell me!”

He was about to drop the boulders when a beam of orange concussive energy struck him, throwing him and what he’d been controlling to the right. Halo stood, glimmering. Her eyes narrowed and focused on the volatile Prince of Markovia. She moved towards him; each step seemed to charge the vibrant energies dancing around her fingertips.

“Stand down,” she warned him. “Who are we going to interrogate if everyone is dead?”

No sooner had the words left her lips than she noticed the scientists attempting to flee. Spinning on her heels, the blonde shifted from orange to green and caught them in her stasis field. Not before returning a curt glance towards the prince, she addressed them.

“Not so fast. We aren’t done with you yet.”

Finally, a scientist seemed to break under the pressure of fear. He was the portliest of them, bearded and balding, but his reply came in Markovian. A language Halo didn’t understand. However, Brion understood him clearly.

“She’s gone,” translated the prince sorrowfully. “She left after she unleashed me. We’ve lost her.”

Katana stepped forward. “She can’t have gone far. We’ll find her. She’ll still be in Markovia.”

“Somewhere,” grunted Owlman.

Black Lightning nodded. “Then we’re done here. We recoup and we find her before she can cross the border.”

Katana pointed her blade at the scientists. “And you’re coming with us.”

The Outsiders exited the way they’d came, stepping across the bodies of fallen guards.

CASTLE MARKOV

MARKOVBURG, MARKOVIA

“Brion is with the Markovian Police now,” stated Tatsu as she entered the foyer, closing the large door behind her.

The other Outsiders had been gathered, waiting for word of what to do next. For many of them, they realised that they were in a far away, strange land from that which they’d always known, and it was difficult for them to find comfort in that. Markovia was a world unto itself, a country built on a legacy of destruction and war. It was a war that several of the Outsiders weren’t sure that they should be involved in. It was a skill to know when to fight but it was a better attribute to known when you needed to walk away. Tatsu, alone, seemed to stand steadfast in her belief that the war was worth fighting to search for the missing princess and the disgraced Doctor Helga Jace. The mission statement, to uncover the truth behind Arkham Asylum, had veered so far from its original focus that they weren’t even sure why they were still here.

Yes, Arkham Asylum had been connected to the princess and something much larger than Gotham, but some considered dismantling it in Gotham to be more than enough. Roy Raymond Jr, the man known as Owlman, was not amongst that number. Whilst he saw little benefit to joining the Markovian war, he knew that the foundations of what Arkham Asylum was really doing would be found in this country and in this mystery that surrounded Tara Markov. Ravencroft was an intelligent if misguided woman, but she lacked the strategic mind required of developing an international organisation. Beyond the lack of finances required for this, she lacked the foresight. Roy wanted answers and, even if the others were shaken in their conviction, he wasn’t.

Jefferson broke the silence. “So, what now? It doesn’t seem like we’re much further ahead other than having yet another metahuman to look after.”

“I’d argue we’ve made progress,” recounted Roy. “Look at it this way. We now know that Tara was part of some experiment that was running here in Markovia under this Jace. We know that Tara is also associated with Arkham. That connects the works of Jace with whatever Ravencroft is doing in the asylum. It’s far from conclusive but it’s a lead that can be followed.”

“Roy’s right,” nodded Tatsu. “We definitely know more now than –”

Her words were interrupted by the low, guttural growling of the Creeper. All turned towards him as his eyes, which had borne only a little humanity in them before hand, had become feral and focused. Without warning, he unleashed the sonic laugh and threw Tatsu through the air as she crashed against the door with an agitated grunt.

The Outsiders took the offensive position, eyes focused on the Creeper, as Violet jumped between them. “Stop!”

Violet, glowing the heretofore unseen purple, moved towards Creeper as he paced in place like a wolf. She reached out, resting her opened palm against his forehead. The energies she produced then washed over him, coating his body in the vibrant purple shield. Opening her eyes, Violet whispered. “Jack.”

Before their eyes, the Creeper’s body wreathed and cracked as if bones were breaking and reconstructing. The green hair that gathered around his shoulders and head flitted to the ground as the yellow creature was slowly replaced by a fair-haired lithe young man, handsome of the face and muscular. His body was completely exposed as Violet removed her jacket, offering him a chance to protect his dignity which he took readily. She softly caressed his cheek, a moment of relief shooting between them. It was as if they were the only two in the room, until Roy cleared his throat.

“Care to explain?” he directed his question to them.

“Guys, this is Jack Ryder,” answered Violet.

Jack continued. “I’m the host of the Creeper.” He looked towards Tatsu as she returned to the group. “I’m sorry. It’s a struggle to keep him and his base desires under control. Sometimes I lose, especially if I’ve remained in his form for too long. It can be hard to swap back and forth since he rarely rescinds his control. He wants to overcome me entirely, to erase me so that he can be free to rule and destroy the planet. That’s where Violet comes in.”

“My purple aura is one of healing. It’s a short-term fix but it can draw Jack forth.”

Jefferson extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jack.”

“You too,” replied the man, shaking it heartily.

“Now that we’ve covered that,” Roy broke the tender moment. “I think it’s time that we considered the next step. If anyone wants to go, then now might be the time. I’m assuming we can count on the assistance of Brion since he’s a particularly useful asset. He knows the lay of the land and he’s powerful thanks to Jace.”

“Don’t you think this is a little sudden? I mean, yeah. He’s a prince and all that but this isn’t what the Outsiders started. We were together so that we could get to the bottom of Arkham and protect Gotham but you’re so quick to chase after any semblance of fame that you’ll throw it all away and invite someone who has already lost control and almost killed us once,” snapped Violet as she turned away from Jack. “We can’t forget that he was created by the very villain you’re asking us to chase.”

“That’s rich,” Roy furrowed his brows. “I wouldn’t be the one to cast stones, Violet. Marissa Baron isn’t quite so far in the past.”

Violet was immediately silenced.

Tatsu watched the growing sense of animosity between the pair. She’d noted it in their previous interactions as Roy seemed to be particularly uncomfortable with Violet’s presence. Tatsu had originally assumed it was due to the fact she was accompanied by her then pet Creeper, but it seemed to go further than that. It begged a simple question. “Who’s Marissa Baron?”

Rex shrugged. “Not someone I’ve heard of.”

“It rings a bell, but I can’t think,” replied Jefferson.

Tatsu turned, her eyes focusing on the flushed face of Violet. “Who’s Marissa Baron?”

Violet looked to the ground, unwilling to answer the question that was now directed squarely at her.

A RUN-DOWN MOTEL

KASNIA

Rushing, Helga pushed the doors of the hotel and moved directly towards the desk clerk. He was what she would’ve expected from a den iniquity such as this, a slovenly man with more hair across his shoulder-blades that atop his head. Despite what she’d done, Helga was well-aware that her matronly appearance opened a lot of doors for her. She could pass through the masses without raising suspicion as a woman of a certain age, with a matronly face. It was why the desk clerk immediately turned his attention to her, a way to show respect for a woman who he saw as his senior – in reality, Helga had just been unfortunate enough to have her hair grey early and age badly. Although there was a hint of confusion on his face, what was a woman such as this doing in his motel?

“How can I –?” he started.

Helga interjected, she’d no time for niceties after witnessing Brion’s freedom from her control. “I’m in need of a room. Immediately.”

Those previously unknown heroes, certainly not of Markovian stock, had freed Brion and, as she’d expected, raided her facility. Her foresight had allowed her to leave before anything major could disrupt her plans. Her life’s work had been hurriedly gathered and placed into the brown satchel she now carried with her. Tapping her fingers impatiently atop the desk, the man shuffled for a room key and in return, she pushed money towards him. Without a further exchange, she turned and moved towards the room she’d been given.

The bag was placed on the bed as she removed her coat. Slowly, she opened it and pulled forth a syringe of the same green elixir that had been injected into both Tara and Brion Markov – not to mention all the failed experiments that had preceded them. Yet, it was time for drastic measures and Jace was running out of options. She had to be able to defend herself if she couldn’t outrun the individuals who now hunted her.

With a swift jab, Helga emptied the vial into her shoulder and sat on the bed.

She felt none of the heat that had been described by Brion, but her body did develop a tingling sensation. It was brief and Helga was left to wonder if she’d experienced any effect from the serum. She certainly didn’t feel as if she were any more powerful than she’d previously been. Rising from the bed, she moved towards the bathroom and was amazed by what stared back from the bathroom mirror.

Long, dark hair had replaced her ageing grey and her eyes were brighter and more youthful. The serum unlocked something within everyone and, as she’d seen, this was normally a destructive power. Honestly, she’d hoped for a stronger ability. Yet, as she caressed her cheeks and turned to view her angles, Helga found the return to her youth to be the perfect stroke of her ego. It provided a minor sense of anonymity; she wasn’t the woman that Brion would have remembered. Adjusting the glasses, she turned to grab her goat and bag as she headed back onto the walkway outside the room.

This mightn’t have been what she wanted, but it was certainly going to provide her with a head-start.

The desk clerk was startled as she slid the key across the smooth surface, the elderly woman – who had seemed too respectable to be staying in a place such as the motel – no longer stood before him. She was younger than she’d been only thirty minutes beforehand, prettier and fuller of life. Yet, despite the beauty she held on the surface, there was something insidious about her smile and it unnerved him. “You . . . your one of them, aren’t you?”

Helga pointed the gun at the desk clerk, her smile widening. “My dear, you have no idea what I am.”

She pulled the gun from her pocket and fired.

Next in the Outsiders: Halo’s history stands revealed and the Outsiders must decide whether she can truly be one of them. Just who is Marissa Baron?