Crisis on Immortal Earth

Introduction to the Golden Age Heroes of DC Comics

They followed the trail blazed by the first and greatest hero of all, Superman. Many heroes donned costumes to fight crime and protect the innocent. The mightiest of them joined together to form in the Justice Society of America in 1940. Together they stopped an invasion of England and a plot to kill Franklin Delano Roosevelt. A number of other heroes joined together in the Law’s Legionnaires, later renaming themselves the Seven Soldiers of Victory.

After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the President ordered all American heroes to band together to form the All-Star Squadron. On that fateful day, Uncle Sam had led the original Freedom Fighters in stopping an invasion of the West Coast. The invasion was stopped, but the Freedom Fighters paid a steep price for their victory. The Squadron fought menaces of the criminal and Axis variety upon the homefront. Fawcett City was protected by the Marvel Family and the Crime Crusaders Club. The All-Star Squadron and the Freedom Fighters disbanded after hostilities ceased.

The 1950’s were a grim time for the heroes. The Seven Soldiers of Victory were scattered throughout time after defeating the Nebula Man. Fawcett City was shocked when the Marvel Family and the Crime Crusaders Club disappeared. Paranoia was on the rise. Virtually all the heroes went into retirement after the House Un-American Activities Committee demanded that the Justice Society reveal their identities. Only Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman continued to crusade against evil.

In the early 1960’s, the political climate had changed and the members of the Justice Society returned from retirement. Some other heroes followed suit. The Justice Society had frequent contact with the Justice League of America, the premiere heroes of another universe.

In the early 1970’s, the Seven Soldiers were returned to the present. The heroes of Fawcett City re-emerged from their mysterious absence. Some heroes returned to semi-retirement; some even fell in the line of duty.

In the present day, a number of the heroes’ children have formed Infinity, Incorporated, under the leadership of the Star-Spangled Kid. They seek to uphold the tradition of all who came before them.

It is a world full of legendary heroes: some are old, some are young, and some are Immortal.

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OUTER SPACE

MAY 29, 1985

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Miles above the Earth, in one of the many universes that populated the multiverse, a strangely-detailed yellow spherical satellite orbited silently. Its orbit changed constantly as it continued in its efforts to prevent detection. In the core of the satellite, a solitary man was seated in a technologically complex command chair.

In front of the figure was a giant viewscreen. The viewscreen depicted hundreds of events happening in many of the universes at various points in time. The figure’s pronounced brow furrowed as he examined the events occurring on the various screens.

He looked down at the control pad on the right armrest. He punched a few buttons and most of the screens shifted to different scenes. One screen in particular caught his attention. With a few quick keystrokes, that screen enlarged and filled the entire viewscreen, covering all of the others. The watcher saw an Earth with red-colored skies. A wave of surprise crossed his face as he hurriedly punched a few keys on the left armrest. Streams of data were now superimposed on the viewscreen. As the data rushed by, the watcher ‘s surprise was replaced by a moment of relative relief.

"No sign of anti-matter," he sighed.

Concern still held sway over his demeanor. "No indication at all of the anti-matter wave. The red skies are the product of some technological shield," the watcher muttered to himself. He checked the chronological index on the viewscreen. It read ‘2018’. Manipulating the buttons on both armrests, he was able to produce some summary information about this universe.

The watcher scanned the data with interest. "Hmm, this Earth destroyed its ozone layer and had to replace it with an electromagnetic shield." A name caught his interest and so he brought up some corresponding information.

"Connor MacLeod," he read, "an immortal from the planet Zeist." The watcher was once again surprised. "Another planet? I don’t remember that being the case in any other universe."

The screen returned to its previous state of portraying a multitude of scenes. With the twist of a dial, the individual screens ran through a number of Earths before settling on one each.

The watcher looked at the multiple Earths shown. The common element that ran through all of them was one man - Connor MacLeod. He saw Connor beheading a large barbaric Russian in the heart of New York City. Another screen showed Connor lying helpless on the ground, at the apparent mercy of an evil-looking, white-skinned giant in green armor. A third depicted Connor facing off against a sadistic opponent in an abandoned refinery. The scene that caught the Monitor’s attention was an innocent looking one. It portrayed Connor standing alone outside of a fancy high-rise apartment building.

The watcher noticed from the information superimposed on the screen that this Earth was similar to one of his favorites, Earth-2, which was home to the first and greatest superhero team in any universe - the Justice Society of America. Their legendary members would certainly be at the forefront of the forces he needed to gather in the upcoming struggle against his eternal opponent. The watcher discovered that in addition to the many heroes that inhabited this world, there were also Immortals. He noticed with keen interest that even a version of the Marvel Family and some others, more properly seen on Earth-S, were on this Earth as well. He was mildly surprised to see from the streams of data flowing across the screen that some of the heroes were Immortals as well on this world.

A moment of optimism took hold of the watcher. This Earth showed much promise, but he needed to know more. He turned away from the screen and asked, "Lyla, could you please download all of the information about this Earth to the central console?"

Behind him at a complex computer workstation, an attractive blond-haired woman in a pink, one-piece outfit dutifully replied, "Yes, Monitor. I’m transferring all of the information about Earth-H now." With a few commands to her computer, the task was accomplished.

The Monitor returned to his observation of the screen. "Thank you, Lyla." he stated appreciatively. His gaze now focused on the events occurring on Earth-H. The place was New York City, the year was 1985...

AUTHOR’S NOTES

- The Monitor and his assistant Lyla were two of the main characters in DC Comics’ "Crisis on Infinite Earths" maxi-series. They had gathered heroes from a number of different universes to stop the Monitor’s opposite, the Anti-Monitor, from engulfing all of the positive matter universes with the anti-matter universe.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 29, 1985

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A man in a white raincoat approached the tall apartment building. He looked up at the number inscribed above the double glass doors. He compared it to the number scribbled on the scrap of paper in his hand. He smiled and walked through the doors, throwing the paper scrap in an available trash can.

Inside of the apartment building, the residents of the penthouse were startled from their housecleaning activities.

"Shiera, do you feel it, too?" the man of the house asked. He brushed his hair back, revealing some grey at the temples of his otherwise blond head.

Shiera’s answer was clear as she took into her hands a medieval sword from a well-polished suit of armor in the hallway. "What do you think, Carter?"

Carter decided that his wife’s response was the only appropriate one. He scooted over to the mantle over the fireplace. He carefully removed the long scimitar from its wooden scabbard.

"If someone is coming for us, do you think they’d ring the bell?" Carter wondered out loud as he brandished the sword with both hands.

"Maybe to catch us off-guard." Shiera responded grimly.

Carter could not argue with that logic. He took his scimitar in one hand now and approached the door. He took a quick look through the peephole as he gripped the scimitar. He turned back to Shiera and smiled and began unlocking the door.

"Who is it, Carter?" Shiera demanded.

Carter opened up the door and revealed a man in white rain-coat holding something behind his back.

"Connor MacLeod! What a surprise!" Shiera exclaimed.

Connor took a slight bow and entered the apartment. He gave Carter a hearty handshake.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Hawkman. Or should I say Hawkman and Hawkgirl?"

"I haven’t gone out as Hawkgirl in a while, Connor. Carter is the one who still likes to dress up in the hawkgear. Not that I mind, what with all the skin he shows in that outfit," Shiera giggled.

Carter started to blush. A change of subject was most sorely needed. He asked, "What’s that you got there behind your back, Connor? A sword for us?"

"Heh, heh, heh," Connor laughed, "Nope, some brandy."

Carter examined the bottle closely. Even before he looked at the label, he knew that it was of an older vintage. As he read through the faded French on the label, he was able to make out the year. "Very nice. 1783."

"1783 was a good year," Connor commented.

Shiera darted over to the wet bar and came back with three wine glasses. "Let’s have that bottle," she demanded.

Carter handed the bottle over immediately, "After all these years of marriage, I still do whatever she tells me to, Connor."

Connor laughed "You’re a lucky man, or should I call you Khufu here in the privacy of your home."

Carter laughed as well, "Nobody calls me that much anymore, except for Shiera here when she’s angry with me."

"That’s a nice job of make-up you’ve done there, Carter. I’d swear you were a blond-haired all-American guy instead of the dark-skinned, dark-haired Egyptian that I know you to be. The wrinkles are a good touch. You look as old as your comrades. But even they don’t look as old as they should," Connor commented. He turned to the lady, "You still look great, Shiera, even with that fake grey in your hair."

"Oh, Connor, you always were a ladykiller," Shiera replied. "No pun intended." She handed a glass to each of the men. "Here you go boys."

"Thank you, dear." Carter said. "Oh, about the other JSAers looking young, I’ll tell you about that. It was due to another Immortal by the name of Ian Karkull. To make a long story short, he exploded after we stopped his plan in 1941 to kill all of the future Presidents. His Quickening was scattered over all of us there, including some of our loved ones. It had the effect of retarding the aging of the mortals there, though it didn’t do much for us Immortals."

"To what are we drinking," Shiera asked as she raised her glass..

"To old friends - those here today and beyond." Connor replied.

"Here, here," Carter responded as he clinked the glass of Shiera and then that of Connor.

Connor got up and walked around the penthouse. He marveled at the priceless collection of ancient weaponry that decorated the place. He picked up a framed pictured of his two hosts outfitted in the beaked masks, the leather harnesses, and the grey wings of the Winged Wonders - Hawkman and Hawkgirl.

"That ninth metal of yours certainly is handy stuff," Connor commented.

"That it is. Without its anti-gravity power, we’d never by able to fly even with the strength of our wings," Carter responded.

Shiera added, "It took us a long while of metallurgical testing in order to produce it. Even today it takes an extraordinary amount of time to manufacture it."

Connor nodded, "So how do you explain your knowledge of the old days - the ninth metal and the rest - to your comrades."

"We never told you before? Reincarnation," Shiera stated simply.

"Reincarnation," Connor thought about it for a second, "That’s a good one. And the rest of the JSA buy it?"

"Look, Connor," Carter said with a chuckle, "when you’ve got Dr. Fate and the Spectre to deal with, our story is a lot easier to accept."

Connor found another picture frame. It was of their adopted son, Hector. Next to it was a wedding picture. The date said 1952, but Connor knew better.

"You two must have the record for the longest marriage on Earth. How long has it been?"

"Let’s see." Carter started to twiddle his fingers, "Today’s the 29th of May. Converting from Egyptian to Julian to Gregorian calendar. That will be 4700 years in October."

Connor raised his glass "Make sure to invite me to your five thousandth. I expect a big party."

Carter raised his in turn. "You ought to have seen the four thousandth. It lasted two weeks."

Shiera nodded "And twice as long to recover." Her laughter was joined by that of her husband.

"But what a party," Carter sighed. "There were so many Immortals there. One might have thought it was the Gathering."

"Oh, speaking of Immortals," Shiera interrupted, "there’s another Immortal in the JSA."

"Who? I thought I had met them all. That would make," Connor frowned, "Five? Six? Seven now, counting you, Shiera?"

"Not that they ever invited me to join their little club." Shiera snapped.

Carter put his hands to his temples, "Honey, we’ve had this discussion a million times. Are you going to harp on it for the rest of our Immortal lives?"

Connor could sense a big argument brewing. He tried to get the conversation back on track. "So, who’s the new one?"

"It’s Robin," Carter replied. "He wasn’t that active of a member back when we last saw you. We only interacted with him once or twice back during the war. We never picked up him being a pre-Immortal. We figure it was because Dr. Fate and the Spectre were around. They tend to interfere with the Sensing."

Connor nodded. "I can believe that. Hmmm, so the ex-Boy Wonder is one of us."

"He’s not a boy, anymore. He must have experienced his first death sometime around ‘74."

"I think it was ‘75, dear," Shiera corrected.

"Ha ha. Once again, my darling wife is correct." Carter laughed. "He’s protecting Gotham now, and he has a sidekick of his own."

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GOTHAM CITY

MAY 29, 1985

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On the rooftops of Gotham City, a colorful avenger of the night perched on a ledge as he scanned for criminal activity. With a yellow cape, red vest, yellow leggings and green boots and gloves, one would think that this man would have difficult time not being seen. Somehow, he managed to keep to the shadows. With an almost effortless grace, he leaped from the ledge and somersaulted to the next building, landing with perfect balance. Not that it would have really mattered if he had missed the landing and fell ten stories to the ground. He was Immortal now. It had been over ten years since Robin discovered his Immortality.

He wondered what Bruce would have thought about it. Had it really been six years since he died? Bruce Wayne, Batman, his mentor, his friend. It had been such a senseless death. However, he knew that his mentor would not approve with what his life had become. Robin had the highest respect for the law, but the Rules of the Game took precedence sometimes.

He wished that he did not have to kill, but he had no choice. Others came after him, looking to take his head. They were not criminals that he could put into jail time and time again. There were, however, a great deal of Immortal criminals that plagued Gotham, but none of them ever came for his head. The thought had crossed his mind on occasion, particularly when he was forced to take a head, that maybe he could apply this more permanent punishment to mortal criminals. However, the respect that Bruce had taught him for the law and life prevented him from doing so. Also, there were the teachings he received in Paris before he started his appointment as ambassador to South Africa. Thus, he continued to stop crime the way he learned it as the Boy Wonder, the way that Batman taught it.

He was grateful for all of the lessons that Batman had taught him. Batman had shown him a lot of tricks over the years, but none of them were as good as this one. Robin still was not sure how he was able to hide his sword in his cape, much less do his acrobatics without hurting himself.

"It must be some kind of magic," he thought.

He was somewhat surprised that Bruce had not seen through the "aging" disguise of the others. Maybe he had and had just not bothered to mention it. For all Robin knew, Batman knew all about the Immortals, especially those among the superhero community. There really was not anything that Batman could not discover once he put his mind to it.

"What was it that they said at Batman’s funeral - ‘Only legends live forever’?" They obviously didn’t know about us Immortals."

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WAYNE MANOR - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 22, 1974

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In a cave deep beneath the stately Wayne Manor, a pair of costumed heroes stood before a giant Lincoln penny. Though a stuffed green dinosaur cast a dark shadow across them, the gleam of the sword that Hawkman handed to Robin was quite bright.

"And that, in a nutshell, is what you need to know about being Immortal." Hawkman stated. His wings folded behind him as he sat down.

"Well, this certainly explains why villains like the Joker and Hugo Strange can seemingly come back from the dead." Robin tested the weight of the sword in his hand. It was a good blade, it was a strong blade, of that Robin was sure. What he was unsure of was whether he had the ability to kill. The Game required killing. Hawkman had been perfectly clear.

"Now that you know the Rules, what are you going to do?" Hawkman asked.

"I have to think about this, Carter. It’s hard enough having two identities - Dick Grayson and Robin. Now to have another, as an Immortal, is going to be hard. I have to get out of this place, away from the superheroics."

Hawkman was a bit surprised. "Where are you going to go?"

"I’ve been given the opportunity to become the ambassador to South Africa. I’ve already talked to Bruce about it. I think I’m going to take it. I’m supposed to go to Paris first to get some more diplomatic training. I leave Friday."

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CALVIN COLLEGE - CALVIN CITY

MAY 29, 1985

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Professor Al Pratt, chairman of the physics department, settled in and leaned back in his chair. His office in Palmer Hall was not the biggest in the department, but being the only office in the hallway and having easy access to an otherwise unknown door was quite useful for exiting unnoticed. Between his teaching, his research, his administration, and his crimefighting duties as the Mighty Mite - the Atom, he rarely had a moment to just kick back and relax. Then there was Mary - more specifically, Mrs. Al Pratt. How could he forget about her? That was just it. He spent so much time working and crusading that he never seemed to have enough time for her.

He looked up at the clock. It was nearly 5 o’clock. For once, he would go home at a reasonable hour. There would be no quick looks at the Tokamak, no pondering of equations on the blackboard, no writing of grant applications. He would go home and enjoy one of Mary’s hot meals while it was still hot.

He grabbed his hat and briefcase. He locked the door behind him and headed over to his secretary’s office. He wanted to make sure that she knew he was leaving.

The secretary was startled by Al’s sudden appearance. "Oh, Professor Pratt. I didn’t know you came back from the office. I’ve got a message from your wife." Jean’s tone was a bit harsh, but Al made no mention of it, since he knew that she was right.

"What did she say, Jean?"

"She said that she was going out shopping and wouldn’t be back until around eight, not that she was expecting you to be back by then anyway."

Al frowned. This was a disappointment. He really ought to do something to surprise her. Mary had been somewhat in bad spirits lately. Quite a number of their friends had passed away recently. Mary was having trouble accepting the fact that they were growing old. Actually, only she was growing old. Granted, she did not look quite as old as she should, thanks to explosion of Ian Karkull back in 1940. Al, on the other hand, did not look a day older than he did on that fateful day in 1942 ...

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METROPOLITAN HOSPITAL - NEW YORK CITY
JUNE 9, 1942

{Based on All-Star Squadron Annual #2}
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Atom and the rest of the wartime All-Star Squadron were in a pitched battle in the middle of an operating room. The Mighty Mite was accompanied by two youngsters, the winged Northwind and the Amazon-like Fury, who both claimed to be from the future. Lying upon two nearby beds were the Ultra-Humanite and the metallic form of Robotman. It was clear that Ultra was planning for a new brain transfer. As Fury burst through the hospital roof, Atom and Northwind came rushing in behind. Fury and Northwind teamed up against one of Ultra’s flunkies, the electrically-charged Deathbolt, while Atom raced after the atomic-powered Cyclotron. Atom could still see the yellow and blue outfit of his quarry. Atom noticed the blue mask with the red crest upon the villain’s head..

"Now that’s a good costume," Atom mused.

Cyclotron yelled at his pursuer, "Keep back! I’m warning you!"

The Atom thought as he closed the gap, "Got to tackle him fast, or he’ll cream me with those powers of his!"

Cyclotron was almost pleading as he removed his gloves, "I ... I don’t want to do this, Atom. I swear I don’t, but you’re not leaving me much choice!" His hands glowed with deadly atomic energy.

The Atom leapt at the human atom-smasher, but as he grasped Cyclotron, he could feel the powers of his opponent. "No good!" he thought. The molecular radiation flowed into him like a tidal wave.

Cyclotron broke out of Atom’s hold and put the cowled crimefighter in a headlock. The Atom struggled but his strength was quickly drained.

Cyclotron started to loosen his grip. "I’ve expended so much atom-energy ... I may have doomed you already!" He then wound up and let loose with a powerful right cross to the Atom’s chin. "But if I haven’t, then maybe this will save you."

The Atom groaned as he flew across the room. When he landed, his form glowed with radioactivity. The other heroes did not notice his plight as they continued to battle against Ultra and the other villains. Slowly, the glow about the Atom began to fade, but then so did his life.

After a few minutes, the Atom rose, surprised to be alive again. The fighting had apparently spilled outside. He rushed out there to join his comrades.

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CALVIN COLLEGE - CALVIN CITY

MAY 29, 1985

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Al smiled as he thought of his incredulity when Hawkman explained Immortality and the Game to him. It was right after the Spectre’s old foe, the wizard Kulak, had attacked the JSA while Al was recovering from the radiation poisoning. The concepts seemed so far-fetched to him, but the years proved the truth of those words. In the time since then, he had met a number of Immortals - in the JSA and in the All-Star Squadron. There were Immortal villains, Kulak being one of many.

Al pondered the changes in his life since he discovered his Immortality. He chuckled as he thought, "It wasn’t til 1948 that my atomic strength surfaced. I guess it was my Immortality that resisted the changes that Cyclotron’s energy had done to me. I guess there’s some things that the healing ability of an Immortal can’t overcome."

Al stopped his reminiscing and headed out to the parking lot. He hopped into his little sportscar and sped off for home. When he pulled up into the driveway, there were no lights on in the house. Mary was definitely away. Al walked dejectedly inside.

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MOLDOFF MALL - CALVIN CITY

MAY 29, 1985

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Mary Pratt carried her packages to the car. She fumbled through her purse as she tried to find her car keys. Unbeknownst to her, a mysterious figure climbed out an ambulance parked nearby. The figure quietly approached.

"Darn that Al." Her thoughts burned with indignation. "I’ll bet that he isn’t home by the time I get there. Sometimes I wonder why I put up with him - between the Justice Society and the nuclear accelerator, he’s always gone."

As the mysterious man came closer, he called out "Mrs. Al Pratt?"

Mary turned "Yes, I’m Mrs. Al ... ." Before she could finish, the owner of the voice had grabbed her and covered her mouth. He wore a black leotard and his face was painted up like a mime. He quickly dragged her into the ambulance. Once they were both inside, the door was quickly closed.

A ‘paramedic’ inside had a syringe in hand and injected Mary with its contents. Within seconds she was out. "She’s out, Kuyler." he declared.

"Good," Kuyler replied. He gently laid Mary within one of two transparent tubes that lay within the ambulance. The two tubes were connected by a vast array of electronic machinery. In fact, nearly every square inch of the interior was covered with medical machinery of staggering complexity; none of it, however, was typical for an ambulance.

Kuyler pressed a sequence of buttons and most of the machinery came humming and blinking to life. He made sure that the mental programming device was operational. It was the most important device in this scheme.

He smiled and said, "Now we wait. In a few hours, we’ll have the perfect assassin for the Atom. Then it’s off to Metropolis."

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PRATT HOME - CALVIN CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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It was six am when Al Pratt woke to the sound of activity inside of the kitchen. He looked over to the other side of the bed. It had not been touched in the slightest. Mary had never been there. Perhaps she had slept on the couch?

"She’s already up making breakfast? That’s really strange." Al thought. He threw on his bathrobe and stumbled towards to the kitchen. He saw her rummaging through the drawers, apparently looking for something.

"Mary, honey. I was worried when you got back so late last night," Al said with genuine concern.

"Why?" Mary replied curtly. She continued to dig through the utensil drawer.

"Why? Because I’m your husband, that’s why. Now where were you?" Al said loudly. He had tried to be nice, but apparently it was for naught.

"Getting a new perspective on my life," Mary said with a sneer. "Aha." Apparently she had found that for which she had been searching.

"New perspective? Did you find one?" Al was puzzled.

"Yes, and it’s that my life would be much better without you," she said defiantly.

"What are you talking about? You want to get a divorce?" This was becoming even more confusing for Al.

Mary pulled out a large steak knife. "No, I want to be a widow, and I want you to be dead!" She rushed at Al with the knife in hand, intent in driving through his heart.

Al stepped out of her way. "Mary! What are you doing?"

Mary turned and came at him again. "Eliminating your threat to the Master."

"Master? What Master?" Al did not have an inkling of what was going on. Once again, he avoided her charge. He momentum sent her crashing into the refrigerator. She crumpled to the ground and remained there.

"Mary!" Al cried "Mary!" He rushed to her side. In the collision, the knife had slipped from her hand and cut across a major artery in her leg. She was dead by the time Al reached her. He checked for a pulse, but there was none to be found.

Al held the lifeless body in his arms and cried out, "Why, Mary? Why?"

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SHUSTER & SIEGEL BANK - METROPOLIS

MAY 30, 1985

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A rather large man in a long coat and hat that completely shadowed his features stomped through the bank doors and headed straight for an open teller’s window.

Upon arriving at the window, the teller asked, "Sir, can I help you?"

"I’d like to deposit this." He placed a small metal box upon the counter. He pressed a blue button and stepped back. Waves of energy emanated from the device. In a matter of seconds, everyone was motionless within the bank, except for the mysterious man.

He threw off his overcoat and hat to reveal the frame of a mutated white ape with an enlarged head. Even stranger, the ape was wearing a red leather tunic and harness.

"Ha ha. My temporal stasis generator has frozen everyone and everything within the bank. Now, I, the Ultra-Humanite, can make my withdrawal in complete safety."

Ultra removed a small pistol from his tunic. "This bank will supply me with the gems that are paramount to my next scheme against the Man of Steel and the rest of the hated Justice Society." He walked to the back of the bank and found the main safe. Activating the pistol, Ultra began to cut through the thick steel walls with little difficulty. As he waited for the tool to complete its task, Ultra thought with some rage, "To think that I, the Ultra-Humanite, have been reduced to petty armed robbery. But gems such as these are necessary to focus the energy in my newest weapons. This theft is just a mere sidenote; the destruction of the Justice Society and control of the world is my true agenda."

It was not long before the pistol had cut away an appropriately-sized hole for Ultra to climb through. Once he was inside the safe, he adjusted a dial upon the pistol. Firing the pistol upon the reserves held inside, the currency shimmered momentarily and then disappeared.

Ultra patted the gun, "Matter teleportation. Such a brilliant invention of mine. If only I could adjust it to work on organic matter. It would make travel so much easier." He stepped out of the safe and was surprised to see a man, dressed in black with a face painted like a mime and armed with a strange gun - pointed directly at Ultra.

Ultra sighed, "A new hero on the block. Doesn’t this world have enough already?"

The mime clicked the trigger and a small flag popped out. The writing on the flag said "Bang! You’re dead."

Ultra laughed with no fear. "Ha ha, very funny. I’d ask you your name, but I’d bet that you were playing the part of the mime completely."

The mime smiled wryly, "Ultra-Humanite. My name is Kuyler. I bring you a message from Vandal Savage."

A large white ape showed some surprise, or at least as much surprise as a mutated ape could how. "And what does the esteemed Immortal Villain want with me now?"

"You failed Vandal Savage, Ultra." Kuyler’s face became expressionless.

"It wasn’t my fault," Ultra stated defiantly. "I hadn’t considered that the Brain Wave would side with the heroes."

Not an ounce of sympathy appeared on Kuyler’s face. "Vandal Savage had employed you to destroy the Justice Society - specifically, Hawkman and Hawkgirl, Green Lantern, Atom, Wonder Woman, and Robin."

Ultra extended his simian arms as if to protest his innocence. "And I almost did, with a plan full of exquisite irony. Their adopted sons and daughters almost killed them and vice-versa." Ultra used a soothing tone as he tried to lower Kuyler’s guard.

Kuyler continued to point the gun at Ultra. "Vandal Savage does not accept excuses." His painted face remained expressionless.

Ultra raised his pistol, but Kuyler was too quick for him. Kuyler’s gun emitted a purple ray which enveloped Ultra’s simian form. The purple beam paralyzed the strong muscles of the giant ape.

"Too slow, beast," Kuyler smiled.

Still, Ultra was not worried. He would simply execute the escape plan that he had utilized on many occasions in the past. By considerable mental exertion, he would teleport his brain back to his lab, where he had other host bodies readied for himself. Focusing his thoughts, he attempted to teleport. He was surprised to find out that he could not.

Kuyler noticed the look in Ultra’s unmoving eyes. "Yes, Vandal Savage prepared me for your escape attempt. The energy field will hold you, all of you, inside of it." He drew his rapier out of his jacket and brought it crashing down upon the great ape’s skull. It split Ultra’s head in two.

"You won’t transfer your brain to another body this time." Kuyler laughed. He sheathed his sword and sauntered out of the bank.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Connor got up to refill the glasses once again. He took Shiera’s glass first and then Carter’s.

"Here you go," Connor said as he handed the full glasses back. While he was up, he took a look at some of the pictures upon the wall. There was one of the Halls with their adopted son, Hector, now a student at UCLA. There were some pictures from some archaeological digs. There were a number of Justice Society team photos. The one that caught his eye was at what was probably a war bond rally. The team was standing upon a stage: Dr. Mid-nite, Hawkman, Hawkgirl, Spectre, Dr. Fate, Sandman, Starman, and Atom. Connor took a closer look at the photo. He examined the ages of the non-Immortal JSAers. "I’d guess this was from during the war."

Carter replied, "You’re right. It’s from 1942. It was right after we returned from that mission to Scotland."

Shiera looked up after taking a sip from her glass. "I remember that one. It was when we first met you, Connor ..."

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GLASGOW, SCOTLAND

AUGUST 14, 1942

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The green American transport plane came to a soft landing. The aircraft taxied for a while until it came to a rest near the terminal. The youthful pilot turned and called back to the passengers, "There you go, Justice Society. Glasgow, Scotland, courtesy of the best pilot in the American Army Air Force, yours truly, Hop Harrigan." Despite his apparent bravado, he was still somewhat in awe of the passengers that he had transported up from Coventry - Hawkman and Hawkgirl, Dr. Fate, Dr. Mid-nite, the Sandman, and the Spectre. He was really surprised that the Spectre had come along. From what he had heard, the Spectre could do just about anything, much less fly across the British countryside on his own power.

Hop paid close attention to each hero as they passed by. Hawkman and Hawkgirl wore nearly identical hawk headgear, leather harnesses, green tights, and red boots. Hop was quick to notice that Hawkgirl had some material attached to her harness which covered her chest, unlike Hawkman. Both of them were armed with ancient swords.

Hop saw that the crested yellow helmet only covered half of the mysterious sorcerer’s face. He remembered seeing some newsreels in which Dr. Fate’s helmet covered his whole face. The rest of the costume was as he remembered it. His trunks, boots, and gloves shone in golden contrast to his blue bodysuit. An amulet of some sort hung from his neck.

Dr. Mid-nite wore blue-tinted goggles over his black mask. A green cape draped over his shoulders. His red tunic was held together by three crescent-shaped buttons, which matched he shape upon his forehead.

The Atom was the next to disembark. Despite being small in nature, the Atom looked quite the physical specimen. His face was completely covered by his blue hood which trailed down to a cape. His yellow vest was highlighted with a red collar. His brown leather trunks seemed to be made of the same material as his wristbands. Red boots completed the ensemble.

The Sandman left right behind the Atom. Hop had seen in the newspapers his old costume of a suit and gas mask. These days, however, the Master of Dreams wore more standard superhero fare. While his tights were yellow, his mask, gloves boots, and trunks were all yellow. He had holsters on either side of his belt.

The Spectre waited until the others had disembarked and then simply floated through the walls of the aircraft. His head was shrouded by a green hood and cape. His trunks, boots, and gloves were also green. The rest of him was white. Hop could not tell if that was part of his costume, or if it was his ghostly flesh. He did not really want to know.

"I wish we could do more for the war effort," Hawkgirl said impatiently as they stood upon the airfield.

"So do I, but we’re under the orders of the President now. He wants us to protect the homefront. It’s rare that we actually get to leave American shores to lend a fighting hand," Hawkman replied.

"I guess I should be grateful that I’m getting to help you boys, even thought I’m not a member of the JSA." Her gaze was icy, and Hawkman knew that he would have his hands full with her once they returned home.

"Well, some of us could be fighting over here," Dr. Fate pointed out, "but heroes like Spectre and I couldn’t get near Axis lines without falling under Axis control."

"Right," Dr. Mid-nite agreed, "That mystical zone of influence that Hitler and Tojo put up. Heroes that are magical in nature would get brainwashed into fighting for the Axis cause."

Atom added, "Too bad Starman got asked to do some submarine spotting on the East Coast. He’s gonna miss all the fun here."

The Spectre looked around for a moment and then quickly took off into the sky. In a moment, he was out of sight.

"Where’s the Spectre going?" Dr. Mid-nite asked.

"He’s heading out to sea to make sure that no new Nazi ships make it into the Loch. It’s up to us to root out any Nazis that might be here already." Hawkman replied.

"OK, Hawk. You want to repeat exactly why we’re here." Dr. Fate inquired.

Hawkman gathered the team together. "British intelligence has intercepted some Nazi communiqués. It seems that the Germans are planning on establishing a stronghold in the Scottish Highlands."

The other heroes listened intently as Hawkman laid out the plan. Dr. Mid-nite thought about some of the ancestors, of the clan MacNider, who had come from the Highlands. He had always thought about visiting his roots, but he never imagined it would be during wartime.

"The reports are unclear as to what extent the Nazis have established themselves in Highlands," Hawkman continued.

"But why did they call us in, Hawk?" Atom asked.

"The Highlands are virtually impregnable to conventional assault. If the Nazis could set themselves up here, they could launch their buzz-bombs at England with impunity and with much deadlier accuracy. They wouldn’t have to lob them across the Channel anymore."

Dr. Mid-nite nodded with a sense of ancestral pride, "Right. The Highlanders managed to harry the English troops from these hills for centuries. We can’t let the Nazis get a foothold here."

The Sandman slapped his right fist into his left palm, "Well, let’s get cracking, people! Who’s gonna give me a lift? It’s not like there are buildings here that I can swing by wirepoon on."

Dr. Fate scooped up the Mighty Mite while Hawkman picked up Dr. Mid-nite. With Hawkgirl flying in close formation carrying Sandman, the heroes set off for the Highlands.

Upon arriving at the location specified by British intelligence, the heroes spread out as they searched for any Nazi encampment. Each of them took a moment here and there to admire the beauty of the landscape. Dr. Mid-nite, more than the others, was awed by the majesty of the land.

After a few hours of fruitless searching, the heroes gathered together to discuss plans for a further search. Unbeknownst to them, they had chosen to rest within close proximity to the actual Nazi stronghold. A number of Nazi soldiers peered out of an obscured cave at the collection of heroes. They were out of range of conventional weapons, but were within the capabilities of the mortars.

"So where are we, Hawk?" Atom asked as he rested upon the ground.

The Winged Wonder pulled out a map from his belt and peered at it. "Hmm," he said as he traced his finger over the map. "The nearest town is Glenfinnan. That body of water over there," Hawkman pointed accordingly, "is Loch Shiel." The others saw the ruins of a few old habitations in the distance as well.

Inside of the cave, there was a great deal of activity. Soldiers shuttled back of forth. Arms and ammunition were being checked and double-checked. With their field binoculars, they had spotted the heroes gathered below them.

"Herr Major," a soldier approached the commanding officer. "The Amerikaner heroes are gathered together. Shall we utilize the mortars?"

The imposing figure of Major Ernst Daimler stepped out of the shadows. "Nein, they are not accurate enough. I shall lead an assault team to deal with these costumed fools myself."

He barked a few curt orders in German and a number of soldiers lined up in front of him. They were all armed with submachine guns and stood at perfect attention.

"These are the orders," Daimler began. "We shall descend down the hillside until we are within killing range. No one is to fire until I do. Understood?"

"Jawohl, Herr Major!" they all replied in unison.

"Sehr gut," Daimler said. "Now, we go!"

The detachment of Nazi soldiers made it down the hillside stealthily. None of the heroes were aware of their approach. They continued to look at the map of the vicinity and divide the area up into sectors.

Suddenly, Hawkman and Hawkgirl looked up and then at each other.

"What is it, you featherheads?" Sandman asked.

The Hawks ignored the question as they tried to locate the Immortal of whose presence they were now aware. Hawkman’s keen eyes picked out the Nazi force that was dangerously close.

"Over there! Ratzis at 5 o’clock!" Hawkman exclaimed.

The heroes wheeled to see the black uniforms of the Nazi commandos converging on their position.

"Herr Major?" one of the soldiers asked. "We are in range."

"Donnerwetter!" Daimler grunted. The Sensation in his head was unmistakable. "Some of those heroes are ..."

"Are what, Herr Major?" the soldier inquired.

Daimler smacked the soldier with his right hand. "It does not matter. Kill them all." He opened fire and the other Nazis followed quickly with their own barrage of gunfire.

The heroes scattered, all save Dr. Fate. The mage flew straight at the Nazis as the bullets bounced harmlessly off of his body.

"I may not be as tough as Superman," he laughed, "but it will take more than these bursting shells to penetrate my hide."

As the Nazi fire was drawn towards the blue and yellow figure hurtling toward them, Hawkman and Hawkgirl took to the air, brandishing their swords with eagerness. Soon they were cutting their way through Nazi submachine guns and Nazis themselves. They were careful not to administer any fatal blows; their cuts and slices were only just enough to incapacitate.

Dr.. Mid-nite had a grenade-like object in his hand. With a quick toss, it landed amongst a group of soldiers. Upon impact, the grenade exploded into a cloud of pitch blackness.

"Just what the doctor ordered," Dr. Mid-nite said as he leapt into the cloud, "a little blackout cloud."

The Atom meanwhile had relieved a Nazi of his gun and was now using it as a bat to smack other opponents. A single stroke was all it took to render each Nazi unconscious.

The Sandman was sending Nazis into dreamland even faster. He would tangle up a number of them together with the wire from his wirepoon gun. A quick burst from his gas-gun then put them quickly to sleep.

Daimler tried to train his gun on the flying Hawks. He was certain now that they were the ones whom he sensed. However, try as he might, the aerial duo managed to avoid injury, though their wings had a few holes in them now.

"Verdammt," Daimler thought. "We must destroy them all." He took the rather large radio from his belt and called to the camp to ready the mortars.

"But Herr Major," came the call back. "Won’t we also hit our own soldiers?"

"I want the Amerikaner super-schwein dead. Fire the mortars!" Daimler raged.

The men back in the cave complied and began to set up the mortars. Shells were brought forward from the nether reaches of the cave.

Daimler felt that even a temporary death on his part was well worth the price of killing all of these American heroes. The Fuehrer would undoubtedly reward and promote him. None of the German super-agents had been successful against their American counterparts. But Ernst Daimler would be successful.

The Nazi Immortal was distracted from his dreams of glory as the sensation of another Immortal pulsed in his head. Had one of the winged ones flown away and come back. Daimler searched the sky and saw that both of them were still relatively close. So where was this other Immortal? He turned to look back at the cave. He was surprised to see a man in traditional Highland garb armed with a very untraditional submachine gun scaling the hillside to the cave.

Daimler screamed into the radio to warn his troops of the Immortal approaching them unseen, but it was too late. The Highlander had gotten close enough to get a clear shot at the cave entrance. He opened fire and dropped the men preparing the mortars. He continued firing until the mortar shells began exploding. A chain reaction ensued and the multiple explosions emanated from the cave. The entire area shook with the force of the explosions. After the last of the explosions died out, the cave entrance collapsed upon itself.

The man threw his gun towards the rubble and drew a decidedly non-European sword out of the folds of his clothes. He raised his sword aloft and cried out, "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. And this is my land!"

Daimler could see that the cause was lost. The only course of action was escape. He barreled his way through the battlefield. Most of the heroes were still busy with the other soldiers to even notice him, much less hinder him. The Hawks did notice but they were both embroiled in close combat.

Connor saw the fleeing figure and shouted out "This is my land, Nazi. Don’t ever come back!"

Daimler reached the shore and uncovered a motorboat that had lain hidden under the brush. In a few seconds, he was out of sight as he sped across the water.

"Ve shall meet again, and I shall crush you all!" his voice could be heard trailing off.

It was not much longer before the heroes had subdued all of the Nazis. Connor came down to the hillside to meet with the American heroes.

Connor now stood before them. Instead of expressing the thanks they all expected, he demanded "Why don’t you heroes chase after him?" Connor demanded.

"We don’t dare stray too far from Allied lands. The Axis has put up a magical barrier around their territory. If we cross it, we’re liable to get brainwashed into fighting for the Axis cause." Hawkman explained.

Connor looked at Hawkman and Hawkgirl strangely now. He was not sure anymore if they were Immortal. It had seemed clear enough earlier, but now it felt different.

Dr. Fate now stepped between Connor and Hawkman. He looked down at the katana that Connor carried. Connor was somewhat uncomfortable with the way that the sorcerer looked at him.

After a few seconds of silence, Dr. Fate said "You have an ancient air about you, Connor MacLeod. My magic senses aren’t what they used to be, but it seems similar to that of Hawkman and Hawkgirl. Are you reincarnated as well?" Dr. Fate then thought silently, "My arch-nemesis Wotan also has a similar feel. I wonder ..."

"Heh heh heh, not exactly." Connor chuckled. The nearness of this magician seemed to confuse Connor’s Sense even more.

"That is an exquisite sword that you have. It belonged to Mirze-Ra, no doubt." Dr. Fate said matter-of-factly.

"Mirza-Ra? That was one of Ramirez’s Egyptian names? How could this magician know about him? Ramirez didn’t even have this sword back in Egypt when he went by Mirza-Ra," Connor thought. He then replied, "Why, yes, but how could you know that?"

Hawkman and Hawkgirl also seemed surprised at the mention of the name, though Connor did not notice their reaction.

Dr. Fate scratched his golden helm. "I, or rather Dr. Fate, was in Egypt many centuries ago. There was a great warrior named Mirza-Ra. I can feel the markings of his soul on the blade."

"You said you aren’t what you used to be." Connor looked with bewilderment at Dr. Fate, "But aren’t you Dr. Fate?

Hawkman patted Connor on the back, "He is, but not completely. Look, it’s a long story. Let me and Hawkgirl tell you about it. If you and the other can handle the clean-up, Mid-nite?"

Dr. Mid-nite called out as the Hawks accompanied Connor on a little stroll, "Sure thing."

Once they were out of earshot of the other heroes, Connor turned towards Hawkman, "I don’t think you want to explain the mystic mumbo-jumbo about Fate." He then stopped suddenly "Hey, now that we’re away from that magician in the tin-can hat, I can sense both of you for certain. You’re both Immortals, aren’t you?"

Both Hawkman and Hawkgirl nodded affirmatively. Hawkgirl spoke up, "Yes, we are, and no, we don’t want to talk to you about Dr. Fate."

"Then what do you want?" Connor demanded.

The Hawks’ eyes drifted down to Connor’s katana. Connor saw that they seemed to recognize.

"It’s about my sword?" He gripped the blade tightly now.

"Yes, we noticed the sword, too." Hawkman replied, "I assume that you acquired it from Ramirez. At least that’s what he called himself the last time I saw him. The question is, did you take it after you took his head?"

Connor gripped the sword even tighter "He was killed by the Kurgan; I found the sword after the battle. I’ll take your heads if you try to fight me!"

Hawkgirl took hold of Connor’s shoulders. "Easy there, I don’t want to fight. I just wanted to know what your relationship to Ramirez was. I take it then that he was your mentor."

"My first mentor, yes." Connor nodded.

Hawkgirl stared at Connor through her decorative mask. Connor could also feel his stare. After a few intense moments, she relented and smiled. "We’ve been around for quite a while, Connor MacLeod, and I think I’m a pretty good judge of character, mortal and Immortal, alike. We’d be proud to call a student of Ramirez our friend." She offered her hand and Connor shook it wholeheartedly.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Carter drained his glass. "So what else did you do during the war? We never ran into you again back then."

"Oh the usual, fought some Nazis, rescued some damsels in distress, took a few heads. Nothing spectacular," Connor replied.

Shiera replied "Oh, come on. There has to be some story you could tell us. Maybe from after the war?"

Connor smiled. "Well, there was one incident. After seeing the horrors of what the Axis did, I made it my business to hunt down any Immortals that were part of it. In 1949, I tracked down one who was somewhat noteworthy. It was a samurai that the All-Star Squadron fought against a few times." He took a long sip of brandy. "His name was Sumo."

Carter put his glass down now. "Right, I remember him. He was a part of the strikeforce that tried to get Starman’s cosmic rod back in ‘42. He was crushed under some bricks by Kung."

Shiera snapped her fingers. "Yes, and then he was there with Baron Blitzkrieg when Wonder Woman and Superman tussled over that prototype atomic bomb."

"And then he went up against Wonder Woman solo." Carter smacked his forehead. "We should have figured from the reports that he was an Immortal. Then again, all sorts of villains that we superheroes face seem to come back from the dead, and they’re not all Immortals, are they? Anyway, what happened when you faced him? Obviously, he didn’t take your head."

"No," Connor shook his head. "He wanted to commit hara-kiri. I assisted him." Connor then began retelling his meeting with Sumo...

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UNNAMED ISLAND - SOUTH PACIFIC

MARCH 23, 1949

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Connor quietly secured his small boat to a nearby bamboo tree. He stealthily made his way to the lone hut on the island. He soon felt the Sensation that told him his target was there.

Connor could see a large Oriental rise from the lotus position and remove his kimono. The man revealed a suit of armor - a samurai outfit. As the man walked from the hut towards MacLeod, Connor could see that the man was aptly named. He was as large as, if not larger than, any sumo wrestler Connor had ever seen."

"I am Sumo the Samurai, and I am out of the Game. I have no wish to fight. Leave me in peace." He bowed slightly and then turned to walk away.

"You’re a war criminal, Sumo." Connor pulled out his katana from his trenchcoat.

Sumo caught sight of the blade, and he seemed somewhat astonished. He faced Connor now. The antiquity of the sword was not lost on him. "How does a foreigner come to wield such an old and exquisite blade?"

"It was given to me by my mentor, to whom it was given by Masamune," was Connor’s reply.

"Masamune," Sumo sighed. "A most honored name in swordmaking."

Connor leveled his katana at Sumo. "We were talking about your war crimes, not swordmaking."

Sumo sighed again. "Yes, I committed many heinous acts in the name of the Empire. I tried to make up for what I knew was wrong, but my actions have stained my honor beyond the point of redemption."

Connor was moved by the sincerity of the samurai’s words. His arm and sword fell to his side.

Sumo continued, "I have spent the last few years bringing peace to my soul. I now realize the depth of my vile acts. I had been caught up in misguided patriotism."

Connor was at a momentary loss of what to do. His zeal to wipe out Immortals who had fought for the Axis flickered but then reasserted itself. "You have to face justice. I’ll give you a fighting chance, Sumo. Face me."

"No," Sumo waved his hand and shook his head, "My days of killing are over, though your offer does you honor."

"I can’t just leave you here," Connor stated.

"You can assist me," Sumo replied

Connor was confused by the giant’s reply. "Assist you with what?"

"Committing hara-kiri. I would be honored if you would assist me. The act will not truly kill me, as you well know."

Connor was even more surprised by this request. "Then you want me to ..."

"Yes. If I cry out in pain, behead me before I dishonor my ancestors. Otherwise, once I am dead, take my head."

"When?" Connor was surprised by this development. It was not at all what he expected when he acquired the information from his last kill, the shapeshifting Kung, that Sumo could be found out in the Pacific.

Sumo looked to the sky. "At sunrise. I would like my last sight to be that of the dawn of the rising sun." He turned to Connor, "But for now, join me for a meal. It has been a long time since I had another soul with whom to converse."

This was certainly one of the most unusual encounters that Connor had ever had with another Immortal. Still , he could not doubt the sincerity that he felt from Sumo.

The two Immortals sat down and discussed many things - some of them intimately concerned with Immortality, others simply about the nature of things.

One topic burned itself into Connor’s memory. Sumo recounted his first battle with the All-Star Squadron.

"The All-Stars were honorable foes. I sensed one destined to become one of us among them, but I was not certain which. Perhaps it was The Guardian, the one whose shield was proof against my blade. If it is him, that shield of his should serve him well in battle with other Immortals," Sumo recalled.

They talked about many things through the other night. As dawn approached, Sumo ended the conversation.

"Please, step outside while I make my final preparations and don the ceremonial outfit."

Connor waited patiently outside of the hut. The first rays of the sun were beginning to become apparent upon the horizon. After a few minutes, Sumo stepped out of the hut wearing only a kimono of purest white. In one hand, he carried a small blade with an ornately carved handle. In the other hand, he held a patterned tapestry.

The two Immortals walked to the beach and stopped just at the point where the water lapped up onto the shore. Sumo spread the tapestry so that the incoming waves barely touched its edge. He knelt down upon it and took the small blade in his hands. He turned the sharp point towards him. He held it there for a few seconds and then closed his eyes.

Sumo tensed up as the blade pierced his abdomen. His eyes were open wide now, but he did not make a sound. Connor stood over him, katana at the ready. Sumo began to shake a little, but it quickly subsided. His hands fell away from the blade and his head drooped. Connor took a deep breath a swung through.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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"He just let you behead him?" Carter was astonished. He shook his head in disbelief. He had never heard of another Immortal willingly relinquishing his Quickening.

"It was a matter of honor for him," Connor replied.

Shiera collected up the glasses now that the bottle of brandy had been finished. "It’s nice that we can talk about old times, but I’d guess that you came here for a reason."

"You’re right, Shiera. There’s trouble on the horizon. Big trouble."

"What kind of trouble?" Carter and Shiera asked in unison.

Connor frowned and leaned back in his chair. "I think it’s one of your old JSA foes ... Vandal Savage."

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MILLER HOTEL - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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The Immortal known as Grayson, attired in a gray Italian suit and raincoat, stepped out of the black limousine. It had been a relatively quick trip from the airport. A porter offered to help him with his bags, but Grayson told him that no help was required. The driver opened the trunk and Grayson took out a garment bag and a briefcase. He handed the driver the fare and a generous tip.

After checking in, Grayson found his room and deposited his belongings there. He flipped open his briefcase. He had a few days before the gala affair at the community center. He had arranged to meet some reputable and disreputable people there in order to further the goals of his organization. This trip also afforded him the opportunity to check up on some family, as it were. He hoped that he would be able to reap a bonus on the trip, one that could end up being more valuable than any deal he could negotiate here.

Before leaving the room, Grayson checked that his sword was safe and secure within his raincoat. He had felt the momentary twinges of other Immortals within the city during the drive.

"This city must abound with Immortals," he thought to himself. "However, there is only one in which I am interested right now."

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SOMEWHERE UNDERNEATH GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Vandal Savage sat back and relaxed within the security of his new lair. He had just gotten his first report from Kuyler. The Ultra-Humanite had been dealt with. The cloning of the Atom’s wife had been a complete success. Another report would be forthcoming soon. Savage congratulated himself for sparing Kuyler’s life on that day two years ago. The master assassin had proven a quite capable underling.

Savage thought about how this newest stratagem was similar to his last foray against the Immortal members of the Justice Society. He had supplied the Ultra-Humanite with funds and technology to find and utilize the legendary Koehaha - the Stream of Ruthlessness. Savage had heard of the legends that those who drowned within its waters did not die; rather, they came back to life with minds set on evil. This had sounded like another ancient legend that pertained to Immortals. Savage had heard rumors of a mystical pool that could undo the effects of a Dark Quickening. This "Stream of Ruthlessness" had sounded like the antithesis to the mystical pool, though its effects were said to be only temporary.

Ultra was supposed to use his own arch-foe, Superman, to draw the Immortal JSAers to the Stream and ‘drown’ them. All the JSAers, save the Flash, converged on the spot and were subsequently drowned. Acting out their own evil impulses, the JSAers engaged on a reign of terror across the country. Savage had figured that the JSAers brash actions might direct them to foolhardy encounters with other Immortals, encounters in which the JSAers might lose their heads. At the very least, Savage expected that the experience would weaken the JSAers’ spirit, perhaps to the point of relinquishing their Immortal existence, once they tried to deal with the guilt of their heinous actions.

However, the plan was squelched by the intervention of the young heroes of Infinity, Incorporated. These adopted sons and daughters of the JSAers put and end to their parents’ rampage before much damage, both physical and psychological, could be done. Ultra was defeated and the JSAers emerged relatively unscathed from the experience.

The new stratagem would take advantage of the JSAers’ concern for the mortals in their lives. These mortals, or rather clones of them, would be the instruments of the JSAers’ destruction. Savage recalled how delighted he had been to hear from his operatives that there was a secret government genetics laboratory located just outside of Metropolis. He had contracted with a mercenary organization to acquire the secrets that were housed in this project. The organization displayed an extraordinary understanding of cloning technology. The organization had successfully returned with files and equipment that would allow Savage to undertake his own cloning program.

With the success of the process upon the Atom’s wife, Savage would now deliver to them the requisite payments. It was a more than equitable fee for the service they had done him. Only one thing bothered him about him. The look of the representative reminded him of someone, but he could not for the Immortal life of him pin his fears down. "For the Immortal life of him" - perhaps that was the problem. Savage had seen so many people in the millennia of his life that he had seen many doubles, some separated by centuries. Eventually, Savage attributed it to simply a bout of apprehension about this master plan that was soon to reap such a rich harvest.

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MCNIDER MEDICAL COMPLEX - WASHINGTON, DC

May 30, 1985

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Deep beneath the examination rooms and operating tables of the medical complex, Dr. Charles McNider worked diligently in his secret laboratory upon the task at hand. What was most noteworthy about his efforts was that they were being performed in pitch darkness. The room did not even have a light switch. Still, the man who operated as a crimefighter under the guise of Dr. Mid-nite was not impaired by the darkness. His strange visual abilities gave him even better vision in the dark than a normal person could hope for in bright daylight.

The effort was concentrated upon the development of infra-red goggles. As Dr. Mid-nite, he wore a special pair that allowed him to see in the light; without them he would be blind. He was now fine-tuning his latest project - infra-red goggles that would allow normal people to see in the dark with far more acuity than current models allowed. He was making the last adjustments before they could be unveiled to the public.

Outside the locked doors of the complex, Pallin Wolf turned on his flashlight. After a few minutes of deft lockpicking, he was inside the main hallway. Now he had to determine where the passage was to the secret lab that he was told was here. Wolf turned off his flashlight and slipped on his night-vision goggles. They were not too strong, but then again, that the was point of this mission.

"Might as well start in Dr. McNider’s office," he concluded.

Weaving his way through the hallways, Wolf came to McNider’s office. The door was locked, so it was time for the lockpicking tools once again. He flipped off his goggles and shone the flashlight into the lock. It was a matter of moments and he was slowly opened the door. The flipped the goggles down once again and turned off the flashlight.

He surveyed the room. He saw the thermal "footprints" of someone. The prints were relatively recent. He looked down at the doorway. There were no prints leading out.

"Ha ha," Wolf thought. "This must be the place."

Still standing outside the door, he followed the path of "prints" until he saw them stop at a wall panel covered with plaques.

"That’s the secret door," Wolf surmised.

After softly walking to the panel, Wolf closely examined the panel. His goggles showed him the thermal profile of the panel; it was a clear that there was something behind it. Now the only problem was to determine what the opening mechanism was. That was preferable to just barging through, assuming that the door was weak enough to be broken down.

Wolf felt along the edge of the panel and found a slight bump. He pushed down on the bump and the panel quietly slid away to reveal a set of winding stairs. Wolf tiptoed down the stairs until he reached a metal door.

The door displayed an electronic lock. Wolf cursed himself for not bringing along the necessary equipment to deal with it.

"I guess I’ll just have to do this the crude way," he decided.

Affixing a small plastic explosive to the lock, he set the timer for ten seconds and raced back up the stairs. Dr. McNider heard the commotion outside and looked towards the door. The explosive detonated and blew the door open. The concussive force knocked Dr. McNider and a great deal of equipment to the ground. Wolf bounded down the stairs and quickly spotted Dr. McNider underneath a table. Wolf took a pair of handcuffs from his belt and cuffed Dr. McNider to the table before the doctor could recover.

Wolf was relieved to find that the goggles he expected to find were undamaged. "I’m sorry for the rough treatment, Doctor, but we need these devices for the cause." He placed the goggles inside of his backpack.

"What cause?" Dr. McNider demanded to know. His head throbbed with pain. He noticed the strange logo that the intruder had on his wrist.

Wolf did not answer as he rifled through the shelves. Eventually, he found a shelf filled with silver-colored grenades. "Perfect! The blackout bombs." He took a bag out of his backpack and filled it with the grenades.

Dr. McNider was astonished. "He’s taking the night-vision goggles and he knows about blackout bombs?"

"My cause, my dear doctor," Wolf finally replied, "is the cause of humanity. To save humanity from an eternity of darkness - a darkness deeper than these blackout bombs could ever hope to make." Wolf draped the bag over his shoulder and raced up the stairs, leaving Dr. McNider alone in the laboratory.

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LAW OFFICES OF CRANSTON, GRAYSON, AND WAYNE - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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The intercom in the office of Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson buzzed. The female voice said, "Mr. Grayson. A Mr. Harper here to see you."

The brooding figure in a large leather chair turned away from the window and to the desk. He pressed the ‘Talk’ button and replied unthinkingly, "Thank you, Harriet. Send him in."

"Right away, Mr. Grayson." Harriet responded.

As his senses sharpened, he realized the possible significance of the name. "Mr. Harper? Roy Harper?" he said to himself. He got up to greet his visitor. Before he was halfway to the door, a sharply dressed young man walked through the doorway. The blond-haired man was outfitted in a very nice dark suit. His red power-tie was held in place by a arrow-shaped tie-tack. A smile replaced the brooding frown on Dick’s face.

"Roy! Great to see you! It’s been awhile, " Dick said enthusiastically.

Roy smirked, "Yeah, it’s been awhile, Dick. Not since Mr. Terrific’s funeral."

Dick nodded glumly, "That was right after Bruce’s. Two deaths in such a short time." The talk of death had quickly erased the momentary happiness in Dick’s soul.

Dick tried to change the subject. "Where have you been keeping yourself? How’s Oliver?"

Roy took a seat in one of the comfortable chairs. "We operate independently now."

"So much for that idea," Dick thought to himself, though it was obvious that there was much more to that story. He sat down behind his desk once again. "I see. We really should have done something together back in the old days. Have you heard about how some the JSAers kids have started their own team - Infinity, Incorporated. They’re incorporated no less. We could have been the Sidekick Squadron or the All-American Kids or something like that."

Glumness still prevailed in Roy’s face. "Yeah, I heard about the Infinity, Incorporated thing. Sylvester mentioned some thoughts about it back at Lee’s funeral."

"Oh great," Dick sighed mentally. "Everything seems to get back to death.

"Lee? Lee Travis? The Crimson Avenger died? When? I never heard about it ," Dick inquired,

Roy stretched out a little bit in his chair. "About two years ago. Saved a city in the process. He was dying of cancer anyways, didn’t have long to live. It wasn’t until a couple of months later that we Soldiers found out. We figured we’d keep it low-key." Without a pause, Roy changed gears, "Look, I know what you are."

"What do you mean?" Dick was somewhat taken aback by this rather strong statement. Could Roy really know what he was now?

Roy sat back up in his chair. "Don’t play coy with me, Dick? We go way back, remember? Besides, you and Batman didn’t corner the market in terms of detective skills. Oliver and I did pretty well in that regard, though the Dynamic Duo got all the national press. But that’s beside the point. I know what you are. I know all about Immortals and the Game and the Prize and so on. I’m sure you’ve found out about the Watchers. I’m sure we couldn’t keep our existence hidden from you."

"‘We’, ‘our’, then Speedy is ..." Robin thought.

Roy read the look on Dick’s face, "Yep, I’m a Watcher, my uncle’s Immortal, in fact." Roy rolled up the sleeve of his jacket and revealed his Watcher tattoo. "You know my uncle, The Guardian ..."

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METROPOLIS UNIVERSITY - METROPOLIS

SEPTEMBER 12, 1978

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Roy Harper left his dorm room and was on his way to another long day at the City Clerk’s office. He had spent the past few days going through the city’s birth and death records. He was trying to find some members of his family. His grandparents had lived for a while in this city, and he was hoping that he could find some relatives here. He lugged the mimeographs that he had made so far of anyone with the name ‘Harper’. It was not an inexpensive enterprise, but the monthly allowance that Oliver gave him was more than he could ever spend in one month.

"Ollie," Roy thought for a second. Oliver Queen was practically the only family Roy had known for most of his life. Roy’s father had died in a plane crash that stranded him with the old Indian, Quoag, up on Lost Mesa. Quoag had raised him until that day when Oliver came to Lost Mesa, looking for a gold mine. Quoag was too old to raise him, so Roy went off and became the adopted ward of Oliver. He also became Oliver’s partner in crimefighting.

It had been a few years since Roy and Oliver as well as the other Seven Soldiers of Victory had been rescued by the Justice Society and the Justice League. The titanic battle against the Nebula Man had scattered the Soldiers across time. Roy had been a prisoner of the sorceress Circe upon her isle of beasts. It seemed like a dream now, especially the fact that he had been transformed into a centaur for a while.

Roy hoped that Ollie would not be offended by his search for family. Ollie had always been there for him. By the time Roy reached the City Clerk’s office, he had convinced himself that Ollie would not mind. Once inside, he cleared off the desk that they were allowing him to use. He took out a fresh notebook and pencil. He would have to take a great deal of notes to establish his family’s genealogy.

After a few hours of work, he found his grandparents’ birth certificates. Once he found the cross-referenced death certificates, he checked the names of the survivors. There was his dad, a sister Mary, and a brother Jim.

"Hmm," Roy thought. "Dad mentioned to me about his sister Mary, though they were never close. But he never mentioned anything about a brother Jim."

Roy could not find anything else on Mary Harper on the files, though he was disheartened to find a death certificate for his mysterious Uncle Jim. That report said that he was a policeman and had died in a shoot-out. He scanned over the record and found that the box for birth information was left blank, all that is said was that he was adopted.

"Hmm, nothing at all on his birth. It looks like he just appeared on the face of the earth one day." Roy thought. "Let’s see what I can dig up about this policeman Jim Harper." Roy started to pack up his materials.

"Metropolis City Library will have some records on him, I hope."

In a few minutes, Roy was buried in the newspaper archives section of the City Library. He opened up the voluminous Metropolis Daily Star index and looked up the name "Harper." He copied down all the issues in which "Jim Harper" appeared.

Roy found a fair number of articles in the archives. The first one was from 1942 and it reported that Jim Harper was officially named the legal guardian of a group of orphans - Tommy Thompkins, Anthony "Big Words" Rodrigues, Patrick "Scrapper" MacGuire, John "Gabby" Gabrielli.

Roy then found something from later than same year. It was an interview of the protector of Suicide Slum - The Guardian."

"Here’s one by a cub reporter, Jimmy Olsen," Roy mused. "It has an interview with the Newsboy Legion in 1943. It seems that they think that The Guardian might be Officer Jim Harper."

Roy paged through a number of other articles about Jim Harper. All seemed to deal with the Newsboy Legion and The Guardian. Then Roy found the article from 1970 that he feared finding:

"Captain Jim Harper, longtime police officer, was shot and killed last night in a confrontation with unknown assailants. Mr. Harper had been assigned a beat in Suicide Slum back in 1941. He earned numerous citations over the years for valor in the line of duty. Despite his promotions, Mr. Harper insisted on being assigned to the Suicide Slum area. Mr. Harper was also noteworthy for being the legal guardian to the Newsboy Legion - a quartet of newsboys that invariably became involved in the cases of the other Metropolis superhero, The Guardian."

Roy now searched through the files for articles on The Guardian. There had not been much mention of The Guardian in the 50’s and 60’s. Then, starting a week after Jim Harper’s death, The Guardian was back in action, albeit wearing a slightly different costume. Roy combed through the reports. A common question in all of them was whether this was the original Guardian or a new one that had taken up the shield. Roy noticed that the reports of The Guardian’s exploits were almost exclusively in the Suicide Slum area.

"It seems obvious where I have to go," Roy decided. "I’ll go check out Suicide Slum."

Thirty minutes later, Roy stepped off of the Metroliner bus. The bus stop was at the northern end of the neighborhood known citywide as Suicide Slum. As the name suggested, it was not a nice place to live. The urban legend as to the origin of the name was that the only way you got out of this slum was by suicide.

Roy walked around the area for a few hours. It was by far the most downtrodden neighborhood he had ever seen. He noticed a few shady deals being made, and he wondered what exactly was being bartered. There seemed to be a lot of questionable activity happening. Roy wondered how The Guardian managed to cope with it all. The residents were quite unfriendly in responding to Roy’s queries if The Guardian had been seen lately. Roy was getting depressed until he saw a gleam of something golden shining down from one of the rooftops. He looked up and caught a glimpse of the policeman-badge shape of The Guardian’s shield.

Roy took off running, following the blue and gold figure as it leapt from building to building. Finally, the figure climbed down a fire escape to street level where Roy intercepted him.

Roy caught his breath and looked at the man before him. He wore a blue bodysuit. His trunks, boots, and gloves were all golden. He looked exactly like The Guardian that Roy had known back in the 40’s. The only difference was that this Guardian wore a golden helmet that covered most of his head, while Roy’s memories placed a golden crash helmet and a blue mask on The Guardian’s head.

"You’re The Guardian, right?" Roy asked hopefully.

"Yes, I’m The Guardian. Is there trouble somewhere?" was the stern response.

"No. No trouble." Roy replied. "What do you know about Jim Harper?"

The Guardian seemed quite uncomfortable with the question. "Well ... that is ... I mean ... it’s hard to explain ..." His disjointed response was interrupted by a stylish car pulling up to a sudden stop one block away. Three scruffy men in sharp suits got out of the car. They all carried large, technologically advanced rifles in their hands. The started walking up to a small candy store.

The Guardian noticed the weaponry. "Intergang," he muttered under his breath.

"Inter-what?" Roy asked perplexed.

The Guardian took off with a sprint. "Look, kid. No time to chat."

One of the men could be heard to laugh quite loudly, "So Luigi thinks he doesn’t gotta pay for his protection."

"A protection racket," Roy thought. "Maybe the Boy Bowman could give him a hand. He stepped back into the alley and shed his outer clothes, revealing the red outfit underneath. He reached into his gym bag and unfolded his cap. He also took out a quiver of arrows which he strapped across his back. Finally, he unfolded his bow. It was just a matter of seconds before he was ready and off to The Guardian’s aid.

"The sooner we mop these Inter-whatever goons, the sooner I get some answers from The Guardian." Roy thought.

The trio turned to the approaching Guardian. They leveled their guns at him and were ready to fire. The Guardian continued to rush toward them, unfazed by their deadly hardware.

"Let him have it!" one of the men shouted and they are discharged their rifles.

Three volleys of high-intensity energy sped through the air at The Guardian. He caught each blast on his shield and turned them harmlessly to the ground.

"It ain’t possible," one of the crooks exclaimed. "There ain’t nothing that can stand up to one of these babies."

The Guardian paid no mind to the man’s words. He was on them before their weapons could recharge. The first man went down for the count from a right cross by The Guardian. The second man tried to bash The Guardian with his rifle but The Guardian blocked the blow with his shield.

Speedy had meanwhile gotten within range of the battle. He spotted the third man aiming at The Guardian’s back. Speedy notched an electro-arrow and let it fly. The arrow struck the gun and short-circuited it, but only after it had fired. The blast tore a hole through The Guardian’s back just as he rendered the second criminal unconscious with his shield. The Guardian stumbled to the ground and lay lifeless on the ground.

"No!" Roy cried. He notched a boxing glove arrow and pointed it at the murdering crook. The villain had dropped his rifle once it had short-circuited. He dove behind the car. Speedy did not have a shot now.

Suddenly the car started and Speedy could see that the crook had slipped from the passenger side. The car peeled out from the sidewalk, and Roy gave chase. He replaced the boxing glove arrow and now notched a razor-sharp drill arrow. He only had a few seconds before the car would have sped out of range. Expertly taking into account his own motion as well as that of the car, he sent the arrow flying straight and true at one of the car’s tires. The arrow found the mark and tore through the tire. The car spun out of control and crashed into a garbage dumpster.

Speedy quickly reached the car. He dragged the man out and bound him securely with a cable arrow. Then he rushed back to The Guardian’s side. He held the fallen hero in his hands. The energy blast had apparently cauterized the fatal wound it had given The Guardian. He could find no trace of blood, nor any trace of life - no heartbeat, no pulse, no breathing.

Speedy cursed himself. If only he had been a split-second quicker, then his electro-arrow would have kept that deadly blast from being fired. He was shaken from his self-recriminations by a sudden spasm of The Guardian’s left arm. Then the Guardian’s entire body convulsed and his eyes opened. He was alive.

"Guardian?"

"Yeah," The Guardian winced in pain. "What happened? I feel like hell." Then he recognized the one who was holding him. "Speedy?"

"Yeah, I just happened to be in the neighborhood. One of them blasted you before I could disarm him. He had your dead to rights. You should be dead. I thought you were dead."

"Hey, weren’t you that kid who was asking me about Jim Harper before all of this happened?" The Guardian slowly rose to his feet.

Speedy nodded and slipped off his mask for a brief second, "Yes, that’s me."

Speedy extended his hand, "I’m Speedy, Green Arrow’s partner. I knew the original Guardian way back when."

"Original?"

"Well," Roy explained, "I’m pretty sure you’re not the original article. I think that Jim Harper was the original and that you took over once he was murdered."

The Guardian looked at Speedy suspiciously. "So why are you asking about Jim Harper then?"

"I’m really Roy Harper. Jim Harper was my uncle. I figured that you could tell me something about him. But first, I want to know how your survived that energy blast. They hit you at point blank range. You should be dead!"

The Guardian tugged at his helmet as he sheepishly said, "They must have improved me when they made this clone."

"Clone?"

"Yes, a clone. Jim Harper did die. But he was cloned. That’s me." The Guardian took off his helmet and revealed a face that Roy recognized from the newspapers photos as that of Jim Harper.

"It really is you. You’re Jim Harper."

The Guardian shook his head. "I’m his clone, but I do have all of his memories." He donned his helmet once again.

"Who made you then?" Roy asked

"It was part of a secret government installation called the DNA Project. Look, I can’t talk now. I’ve got to take these Intergang thugs in and go after the next step in their organization’s ladder. Where can I reach you?"

"I’m going to school at Met U. You can find me there." Roy was exhilarated despite all of the questions that he had.

"Great, I’ll be in touch soon, Roy." He grabbed the two thugs and started to drag them over to the smashed car.

"Talk to you later ... Uncle Jim." Roy said with a wide smile.

Meanwhile, in a nearby alley, Joe Dawson busied himself with reading a Watcher Chronicle as he waited for the events between Speedy and The Guardian played out. Joe noted the author of the Chronicle.

"Ah, Jonathan Law. He managed to acquire a lot of information about the costumed Immortals during World War Two." Joe thought with amusement. Law had fooled them all as the Tarantula, saying that he doing the research to compile his ‘Altered Egos’ book.

Joe put the Chronicle back into his jacket and followed Speedy through the streets of Suicide Slum. Speedy was lost in his thoughts as he was mentally composing all sorts of questions for The Guardian when he saw him again.

Joe called out to Speedy, "Hey you with the bow!"

Speedy turned around and stopped. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yeah, unless you see anybody else in a red Robin Hood suit around here." Joe continued to approach Speedy.

"The name’s Speedy, pal," Speedy sounded somewhat perturbed.

Joe reached Speedy’s side. "Yeah, I know. My name’s Joe Dawson." He extended his hand and Speedy shook it.

"What can I do for you, Joe?" Speedy really wanted to get back to Metropolis University.

"I saw what went on back there. You saw what went on back there. You saw The Guardian die," Joe stated.

"No, he didn’t, not really." Roy protested. "It must have passed through him and not hit any vitals. We superheroes are made of stern stuff. Who are you, anyway?"

"The Guardian did die, and then he came back to life." Joe said defiantly

"How could this guy know about the cloning at the DNA Project. Is he part of it?" Speedy thought. "He’s just as hale and hearty as he ever was." Speedy wondered how this ordinary guy could know so much.

"He just died there. No mortal could survive a wound like that. You know it and I know it." Joe hobbled along the sidewalk now, going nowhere in particular. Speedy kept pace.

"What are you trying to say, mister?"

"We know what he is," Joe said with determination.

"Are you with the Project?" Roy was confused. "How do you know he’s a clone."

Joe shook his head. "I’m not with the Project, whatever that is, and he’s not a clone. I’m a Watcher and he’s an Immortal. That’s why he’s still alive."

This was certainly becoming a day to remember for Roy. Somehow, he felt that this guy was telling the truth. Now that he thought about it, The Guardian’s words were not too convincing.

"We’ve come to realize that there are more Immortals in the superhuman community than we had previously thought. We need someone to work for us."

Immortality? That had to be ludicrous, Speedy thought. "Hold on a minute here. You’re throwing a lot at me here at once. There are other Immortal superheroes? What am I saying? I don’t believe that The Guardian is one, much less others are."

"You’ve worked extensively with one in the past and didn’t even know it." Joe smiled.

"Green Arrow? No way." Roy protested.

Joe took out the Chronicle and opened it up. "I’m talking about the Shining Knight ..."

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CAMELOT
JULY 9, 525

{Based on Adventure Comics #66}

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Sir Justin, a knight newly admitted to the Round Table of King Arthur, had volunteered to stop the menace of the Northland, the ogre Blunderbore. Many a brave knight had struggled with the loathsome giant, and Blunderbore had bested them all. Arthur had proclaimed that he himself would journey to the Northland to vanquish the beast, but his loyal knights had dissuaded him from putting himself in jeopardy. Justin had volunteered to prove himself to the Table.

On his way north, Justin and his trusty horse Victory had been waylaid by two mounted brigands. Justin had quickly dispatched the first when the second bolted and ran. Justin gave chase until he caught his lance upon an ancient oak tree.

As fortune would have it, the blow from his lance had freed the prisoner held within - the wizard Merlin. As a reward for freeing him, Merlin transformed Justin’s rusty armor into a suit of golden metal. Over the armor he now wore a bright red tunic with a black eagle emblem. Justin’s sword he likewise changed into a mighty blade. However, the most wondrous of his acts was the spell which gave the stallion Victory wings.

Flying now over the plains of Britain, Justin quickly journeyed to the frozen fields of Northland. He quickly found Blunderbore upon a cliff overlooking an icy river. Justin dismounted and they engaged in battle immediately. The melee raged back and forth for a time, until Blunderbore managed to disarm Justin of his blade.

"A curse upon me for a careless fool!" Justin exclaimed as Blunderbore hoisted him in the air with one hand.

"If it’s curses you want," Blunderbore bellowed, "I’ll make a mountain full of them - over your grave." With that he hurled Justin into an ice bank.

Justin was grateful for the magic armor that Merlin had bestowed upon him. He was even more grateful to find that Blunderbore had thrown him next to his blade.

"You are a fool far greater than I was, giant, to have hurled me so near so near my sword." Justin took hold of the sword and rose to his feet.

He charged at Blunderbore with determination. "And now another victory for my liege - lord Arthur!" He drove the point of his sword through the ogre’s right lung.

Blunderbore clutched at his wound. "Y-you have wounded me unto death." He collapsed to his knees as Justin and Winged Victory approached. "But Blunderbore dies not alone!" With the last of his strength, he stamped the ground underneath the knight and his steed. The ice gave way and Justin and Winged Victory plunged into the icy river.

Blunderbore’s cries of agony loosened even more ice and that ice came raining down along with the two falling figures. They hit bottom and were trapped underneath the avalanche of ice.

"Trapped!" Justin thought as the cold overcame him. "The ice hardening about me. I do feel the eternal sleep of death coming over me! How terrible to die so young - when I have still so much to do to fulfill my vow of chivalry ..."

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METROPOLIS UNIVERSITY - METROPOLIS

SEPTEMBER 12, 1978

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"That wasn’t the end of Sir Justin, as you well know." Joe continued. "He washed up on the shores of New England back in 1941 and thawed out."

"That’s some tale you have there. I still find it hard to believe." Roy shook his head.

Joe stopped and put his hand on Roy’s shoulder. "You find it easier to believe that a normal human could survived while entombed in ice for over a thousand years."

Roy resumed walking as his head bobbed back and forth. "You might have a point there." He had seen a lot of strange things in his years as a crime-fighter and had accepted a lot of it unquestioningly. He had gone to college to expand his horizons. Already, those horizons were expanding rather quickly.

"And what about all the super-villains?" Joe asked. "Like the Hand, the villain who was responsible for the forming of the Seven Soldiers?"

"What about them?" Roy did not know what this question was leading to.

"How do you think some of the keep coming back, despite seemingly meeting their doom in evading capture?" Joe sighed.

"There are evil Immortals?" This certainly was a day for revelations. There certainly been a lot of super-villains who seemingly returned from the grave, like the Hand.

"They come in all shapes and sizes, just like us." Joe continued to walk along the path, as well as he could.

Roy stopped and looked at Joe. "So what do you want me to do?"

Joe put his hand on Roy’s shoulder once again. "We want to recruit you into the Watchers. We want you to be the Watcher of the Guardian."

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LAW OFFICES OF CRANSTON, GRAYSON & WAYNE - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Roy continued, "After some further discussions, they convinced me to join the organization. I trust that you won’t mention this to anyone. There are mortals out there gunning for Immortals like you."

Dick looked at Roy questioningly.

"Let’s just say that there are certain fringe elements of our organization, elements that aren’t content just to watch. These people feel that the only good Immortal is a dead Immortal - dead in the decapitated sense of the word," Roy said coyly.

"Why are you telling me this?" This was all very strange for Dick.

"Because you’re my pal. You helped Sylvester and me adjust to the modern age after the JSA and JLA rescued us from the past. I think we would have gone crazy if you hadn’t helped. I know you did the same for Sandy when he got changed back to normal, from that silicon monster form. We kid heroes have sure lived some screwed up lives."

"That we have, that we have." Dick mused. "Look, Roy. I don’t want to sound condescending but I have been around for a few more years and I’d like to give you some advice. Try and patch things up with Oliver. There was a time when Bruce and I didn’t see eye to eye and we didn’t speak for years. But we reconciled our differences eventually. It would have killed me if we hadn’t done that before he ... passed away. It’s a dangerous line of work we’re in. Anything could happen."

"Dangerous for us mortals, not for you Immortals" Roy said. "Most villains just try to shoot the superheroes, sometimes put them in deadly traps, but they usually don’t try to behead the good guys." He shook Dick’s hand. "Thanks for the advice, but some things can’t be mended. I have to go."

"Will you keep in touch?" Dick said hopefully.

Roy’s response was glum. "I don’t know. I really shouldn’t be talking to you, no interference and all. We’ll see. Watch your head."

Roy Harper turned around and walked to the office door. Dick got up and wanted to say something but could not find the words. Roy stepped through the doorway and closed the door behind as Dick stood there speechless. He slumped back into his chair suddenly and tried to assess the implications of the conversation. His thoughts drifted back to the events of his death ...

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GOTHAM MEMORIAL CEMETERY - GOTHAM CITY
JUNE 1 1974
{Based on JLA #124}

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A grim, ghostly figure materialized upon the graves of the fallen comrades. It had only been yesterday that a contingent of Justice Society members - Wonder Woman, Dr. Mid-nite, Robin, Wildcat, and Johnny Thunder - had faced off against a new incarnation of the Injustice Society. Evil had prevailed and under the orders of the other-Earthly Cary Bates, the JSAers had been disguised to appear to be the Injustice Society. When the heroes of an alternate dimension, the Justice League, appeared, they were tricked into fighting the disguised JSAers. In the ensuing battle, the JSAers were slain. They had been promptly buried before the heroes of both worlds went to track down the real Injustice Society.

One JSAer had not joined in the quest. It was the spirit whose ectoplasmic form coalesced upon the graves, a Justice Society member who had only partaken in JSA missions of the most dire sort in recent years - the Spectre. Though the years of fighting against mystical menaces had made the soul of Jim Corrigan even less human, there still resided within him a spark of concern for his comrades. He could not ignore the sounds of rejoicing from the netherworlds at the demise of such stalwart crusaders against evil.

With a wave of his hand, the lifeless forms of the deceased heroes floated out of the ground. Even the Spectre’s cold soul was moved with emotion at the loss of his comrades. He looked up into the night sky and decided what he must do.

"The time has come for the Spectre to intervene."

The Spectre took to the air and slipped through the dimensions that separate this world from the next. The images that surrounded him would have been indescribable to mere mortals, but the Spectre paid them no attention.

"Never have I undertaken to carry out a plan of this magnitude, but if justice is not to be counterbalanced, I have no alternative," he thought somberly. "I only hope that in His wisdom, He will give me permission to do it."

After a period of time that had no earthly duration, the Spectre stood upon a billowy cloud before a shining source of light. He addressed the Voice that had given him his avenging mission over forty years ago.

"When I lay dead, you gave my spirit the power to revive my body with the Ring of Life. Now grant me your consent that I may use its awesome power to return life to the inert shells of these great humans."

There was no response.

The Spectre implored even more fervently. "I only plead on behalf of the nobility brought to this wretched globe by those who called themselves the Justice Society of America. I ask in the greatest solemnity."

After what seemed an interminable period, a deafening voice emanated from the light. "Ask no longer, my son ... for your reasons are good and your heart is pure. I shall consider."

The Spectre waited upon the cloud until the decision was made. After an immeasurable amount of time, the Ring of Life appeared on his hand, and The Spectre knew that he had been given leave to undertake his request. He offered his thanks and slipped back through the dimensional corridor back to the mortal world.

Once again, the Spectre stood before the graves of the fallen heroes. He calmed himself as he strove to summon forth the mystical energy that resided within the ring. Before he could utilize the power of the ring, he was astounded to see that Robin and Wonder Woman had already returned to life. The Spectre had seen the wonders of heaven and hell and many things in-between in his years, but he had never seen a human body return to life of its own accord.

He thought to elicit a response from the Voice, but decided against it. He had never called out to it before today; to do so twice might prove dangerous. He put his concentration back to the task at hand.

A red glow emanated from the ring, growing increasingly larger until it encompassed the JSAer. After a few moments of exposure to its mystic power, their eyes opened and they were among the living once more.

His mission here completed, the Spectre faded away to resume the battles in this and in other realms - battles that only he could fight.

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CALVIN CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Al Pratt watched the police and medical officials depart with the body of his dead wife. He had dealt with all of the questions that were put to him, and the detectives seemed to believe his account, however strange, of what had happened. Al sat down glumly at the kitchen table and rested his head in his folded arms. He hoped that he would wake up and realize that this was all just a bad dream, but he knew better. He thought about what he could do. Mary had mentioned something about a "Master." Could that have been one of his old foes? Could one of them have brainwashed Mary and set her on this destructive course?

Al thought for a while about this possibility. None of his personal foes would have been up to such a scheme, but maybe one of the arch-criminals that he had fought as a member of the Justice Society. There certainly were enough of them with an axe to grind.

"I could call the JSA in, get their help." He took out his JSA communicator. Al considered this option but then discounted it. "No, this is my duty. I owe it to Mary." In anger, he threw the communicator against the kitchen wall and it shattered into a multitude of electronic pieces.

Al stood up and went into his secret lab where he kept his costume. Donning the atomic-styled outfit, he spent a few moments developing an investigative plan. The message that he had received from his secretary had said that Mary was planning to go shopping the night before. It was a good bet that she would have gone to Moldoff Mall. It was clearly her favorite place. He decided to begin there.

A few minutes later the Mighty Mite pulled up into the Moldoff Mall parking lot in his red sportscar. He was not sure what he was looking for, but he hoped that he would find some clue to this mystery. Perhaps he could start asking the shopping mall proprietors. Maybe they would remember something involving Mary.

The Atom found a parking spot with relative ease. He opened the door and started to get out of the car when he detected the Presence of another Immortal. He leapt out of the car and scanned the surroundings. His eyes came to rest on a burly bearded man dressed in black atop a big Harley Davidson motorcycle. The brute seemed to notice the Atom at the same time and turned sharply towards the Atomic Avenger’s position. The rider sped toward the Atom with no intention of stopping. A quick tensing of his atomic-powered muscles and the Atom leapt over the incoming cycle.

The bike skidded and turned around. The rider was surprised to see how far the Atom had leapt. The cycle’s motor growled and launched itself again. The Atom leapt again and cleared an entire row of cars and landed in a fenced-off trash area. He turned to see the cycle come crashing through the fence. The rider jumped off the bike and drew a long broadsword from his black leather jacket.

"A pipsqueak who can jump. You aren’t going to be much trouble," the rider exclaimed.

"If you had a brain, you’d know I’m not a pipsqueak. I’m the Atom - as in atomic power!" The Atom replied as he drew his sword out of his cape.

The rider laughed hard. "I’m Kern, and I’m sooo scared."

The Atom sized up his opponent. This Kern was a strong looking fellow. Still, Kern could not have anywhere near his own strength levels, unless Kern were a superhuman of some kind. Yet, strength was not everything when it came to Immortal combat. Experience was a great equalizer, and the Atom had no idea how much experience his adversary possessed.

"I’m not looking for a fight. I’m trying to find out what happened to Mary Pratt," the Atom stated. He was not certain if another Immortal’s presence at the same place where Mary had last been was just a coincidence. "If you didn’t have anything to do with it, you can just walk away."

"Walk away?" Kern laughed again. "Why. I was looking for a fight. Now I got one. I never killed a superhero Immortal before, but then again I didn’t know any of you costumed freaks were among us."

"I don’t want to kill you," the Atom said as he cautiously approached.

"Don’t worry," Kern sneered and twirled his sword. "You won’t kill anybody because I’m going to take your head!"

With that, the battle was joined as Kern’s sword came crashing down up the Atom’s. Kern put all of his weight upon the locked swords, but it was pointless against the Atom’s strength. Kern drew his sword back and pondered his plan of attack.

"So you’re worried about some woman, hunh, squaw-man. Is that it?" Kern shouted.

"What do you know about it?" the Atom demanded as he steadied his sword in his hands.

"Maybe nothing, maybe everything." Kern feinted and almost caught the Atom off-guard. The Mighty Mite was lucky to avoid being impaled by Kern’s deft lunge.

The Atom realized that Kern had a good deal of swordfighting experiences, perhaps centuries more than he possessed. He would have to be wary. He could not allow himself to become overconfident in his own atomic-powered strength.

Kern engaged the Atom with a flurry of skillful blows. It was all that the Atom could do to parry them. There was no opportunity for him to bring his strength into play. He started to worry about the battle’s outcome. Kern continued to goad him with taunts and threats.

The Atom tried to block out Kern’s words, but they were having the desired effect. His concentration was starting to dissipate, and his anger was being fueled to ever higher levels. The Atom fought to keep his composure.

In the midst of yet another concentrated attack, the Atom noticed that Kern had lunged a bit too far this time. Taking advantage of this mistake, he summoned up his strength and brought his blade smashing into Kern’s. The brute’s broadsword shattered upon impact. The Atom followed up with a vicious slice across Kern’s chest.

Kern clutched at his chest, vainly trying to stop the massive flood of blood streaming from him. His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

"What do you know about Mary?" the Atom raged.

"Nothing ..." Kern gurgled. "Not ... a ... damn ... thing!"

The Atom grimaced and swung through, severing Kern’s head. The decapitated bottom wavered for a moment and then tumbled over. The Atom replaced his sword inside the folds of his cape and waited for the Quickening.

"Damn," he thought. "What a waste. And I’m no closer to finding out what happened ..." The first wave of the Quickening ripped through him and threw him against the fence. Sparks assaulted him repeatedly. Bolts of energy conducted along the fence in all directions. The Atom screamed from the agony and then collapsed.

"I’ll find who’s responsible, Mary. I swear to God I will," the Atom whispered before he lost consciousness.

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JSA HEADQUARTERS - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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A number of members of the Justice Society of America were gathered in the main meeting room. Wildcat, in his blue bodysuit and feline cowl, leaned back in his chair and read through the sports pages.

"Tommy Sullivan!" Wildcat blurted out. "He’s still managing fights? Geez, Tommy’s been around for ages. He was already a veteran manager back when I was working my way up to the heavyweight championship of da world."

Across the table from Wildcat sat the red-costumed and green-caped Starman. He was thumbing through the science section of the Sunday paper. "I’m sure it can’t be the same Tommy Sullivan, Wildcat. He’d have to be ancient to still be managing."

Wildcat turned the paper towards Starman, "Look at this picture here. It’s the spitting image of him, I tell ya!"

Starman looked briefly at the picture and then returned to his own reading with a simple "Hmm". He also muttered something about know-it-all guys who stare at the stars too much.

Wildcat turned the paper back and resumed his own reading. "Hmm to you, too."

The blond-haired Johnny Thunder looked up from the comics section. "Too bad Sandman is laid up still. With a nurse like Dian, who would want to get up? Talking about looking young, you know, she looks a lot younger than she should." He tugged at the black bowtie which really didn’t match his green plaid suit. "Hubba hubba, if you know what I mean."

"We all are younger than we should be, Johnny, thanks to Ian Karkull." Hourman arose from his daydreaming and fiddling with the hourglass about his neck. He stood up, allowing his yellow cape to drape down from his yellow cowl and along the length of his black top and yellow leggings.

Johnny made a confused face. "Yeah, but she wasn’t even there."

"Yeah, but neither was I, or Doc, or Al’s wife," Wildcat said without looking up from the paper, "and we’re all looking better than we should be. I think it’s from hanging around those of you that did get blasted. But I’m no scientist or wizard, just a brawler."

"I’m an astronomer," Starman added, "so I’m no expert when it comes to stuff like this, but it sounds like a good theory to me. Dr. Fate said that the ‘temporal energy’ that Karkull had stored in him irradiated us and is keeping us young. If the ‘temporal energy’ is like radiation, then it makes sense that those who are in frequent contact with us who were irradiated would be similarly affected."

Suddenly a streak of red and blue sped into the room. The sections of the paper that were lying on the meeting table were blown into the air by the sudden appearance of the Flash.

Hourman said to the new arrival, "As the first chairman of the JSA, Jay, I guess you have dibs on calling something to order, if you want."

Flash adjusted his Hermes-style helmet, "I don’t know, Rex. There’s no business to attend to. Besides, Hawkman’s been chairman for so long, it would seem strange to have a meeting without him."

Starman tossed his cosmic rod to the Scarlet Speedster, "Here you go, Jay. You can use this as a gavel."

With the Flash’s lightning quick reflexes, there was no chance that he would miss the catch. "Thanks, Ted." He was about to bang the rod on the table when he was interrupted by Wildcat.

"Hold on there, Flash," the feline fury snarled. "You bang Starman’s star-stick and set it off and you’re liable to blow us all halfway to Metropolis."

"Yeah," Johnny Thunder agreed. "And it’d impolite not to tell Superman that we were coming."

"Not to worry, JT," Starman explained. "I deactivated the rod so that nothing could happen."

Wildcat grumbled but said nothing further, at least not out loud.

Flash was ready to bring the rod down once again when the incoming message indicator lit up on the communication board. All of the heroes rushed over to the console to hear the message.

"JSA," the message began. "This is ... Doc ... lab ... been attacked ...<crackle>."

"Doc! Come in, Doc!" Johnny Thunder hollered.

"He ain’t responding," Wildcat said grimly.

"Nobody could have just stumbled upon Doc’s lab. Somebody must have known about it. No common burglar could have found it, much less broken in." Hourman pointed out. He quickly scanned the board and saw that the other JSAers were all off-duty, except for the Atom, whose communicator was inexplicably deactivated. The Man of the Hour decided that this was not the time to investigate that mystery.

Johnny put his hands to his cheeks. "Say, you guys don’t think that somebody knows that Doc is really Doc. I mean, that Doc is really Doc and vicey-versey?"

In response to Johnny’s uttering of "say you" (close enough to the Badhinesian "cei-u"), a flash of lightning flew into the room and from it the pink electrical form of the mystical Thunderbolt appeared. "Ever the eloquent poet, Master John."

Johnny frowned at the Thunderbolt. "Hey, T-bolt. I don’t pay you to make wisecracks."

"I’m a Badhinesian thunderbolt. You don’t pay me at all," the Thunderbolt replied smugly.

"Yeah, well, all you’re gonna get is my two cents worth and that is don’t be expecting a raise any time soon."

The Thunderbolt conjured up a penny and tossed it to Johnny "Here’s your change."

Johnny caught the coin "Hunh? Whaddaya mean?"

"I didn’t want to leave you without any cents, or sense." The Thunderbolt’s face sparked as he smiled widely.

The other JSAers chuckled and the antics between Johnny and ever-amusing Thunderbolt. The Flash then took charge. He tossed the cosmic rod back to Starman. "Let’s get to DC, fellas. Starman, can you take the others?"

Starman had anticipated the request. He reactivated the cosmic rod and formed and energy bubble large enough for Wildcat, Hourman, and Johnny Thunder.

"I’ll bet that my Thunderbolt can give you guys a run for your money." Johnny boasted.

"Just make sure you get there. Washington, DC, Johnny. Not Washington state." The Flash vibrated his way through the wall and was off to the nation’s capital.

Johnny hopped on the Thunderbolt’s back. "I’m riding T-Bolt. Last one to DC has egg on their face. The Thunderbolt streaked off while Starman with Wildcat and Hourman in tow followed.

A few minutes later in Washington, Johnny Thunder rolled off the Thunderbolt to find his teammates already there. He turned back to the Thunderbolt and scolded "You’re such a piker, T-bolt. We lost the race. Didn’t I tell you to win?"

"You didn’t say to beat them." the Thunderbolt replied. "I took your words to mean that you wanted to be close."

Johnny put his hands on his hips in disgust. "Darn it, T-Bolt, when are ya ever gonna understand me?"

The Thunderbolt shook his head. "I don’t think anyone will ever understand what goes on in that head of yours, Master Johnny."

Johnny started to stamp away, frustrated yet again by his Thunderbolt’s interpretations.

"Master John?" the Thunderbolt asked with insincere politeness.

"Yeah, whaddaya want?" Johnny turned back.

"Just to give what you asked for." the Thunderbolt tossed an egg that splattered all over Johnny’s face. "Loser gets egg on his face, remember?"

Johnny was fuming. Wildcat made some comment about Johnny’s anger frying the egg, much to the Johnny’s annoyance.

Starman calmed Johnny quickly down. "Look," the Astral Avenger said, "We’re here to check on Dr. Mid-nite. Let’s find out what happened to him."

"Right," Flash agreed, "but let’s be careful. Whatever attacked Doc might still be around."

The other JSAers nodded and quickly commenced a reconnaissance mission of the complex. No words needed to spoken. They had worked together for so many years that actions like this came naturally and effortlessly. After a few minutes, they were satisfied that the rest of the complex was secure.

Starman’s cosmic rod allowed the team to pass directly through the structure down to Dr. McNider’s secret laboratory. They found the injured doctor on the floor in a daze, handcuffed to the overturned table. A beam from the cosmic rod quickly freed him. The Flash rushed over to the faucet and brought back a glass of water for their downed comrade. The water seemed to help bring Dr. McNider out of his daze. He was a little startled to see all of the JSAers hovering over him.

"I’m OK now, fellas." Dr. McNider told them. "I guess I must have been overcome by some of the chemicals that were spilled in the struggle."

"Who’d ya mix it up with, Doc?" Wildcat asked.

"I don’t know. He somehow got through the defenses and got in here. He took some new night-vision goggles I was working on as well as a cache of blackout bombs. He seemed to know what he was looking for."

"Anything you can tell us about him," Hourman inquired.

"Nothing of importance, although ... He had a strange tattoo on his wrist." McNider took a notebook and scribbled out a drawing. "It looked something like this."

The Flash’s mind fixated on the description of the tattoo. There was something familiar about it. He knew that he had never seen it before, but he had encountered it somehow. "Maybe I’d better ask Max about this," he thought to himself. Max had always been there for him, since the beginning ...

------------------------------------------------------------

INFANTINO LABORATORY, MIDWESTERN UNIVERSITY - KEYSTONE CITY
APRIL 2, 1940
{Based on Flash Comics #1}

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Jay Garrick stood next to his mentor, Professor Hughes, in front of the hard water experiment table. There was a wide range of flasks containing differently colored solutions. Some of them bubbled under the influence of Bunsen burners, others just bubbled of their own accord.

"Well, Jay," Professor Hughes began, "You’ve spent three years studying the gases emanating from this certain kind of hard water. If we can just confirm our results with this final experiment in time to get the results published ..."

Jay nodded glumly, "I’ll stay here tonight and separate the elements." He knew what Professor Hughes was implying.

For hours upon end, Jay slaved over the various solutions, distilling and drying, separating and identifying. He looked up as the clock struck 3 am. "This publish or perish stuff is really putting a strain on the prof and on me." He needed to take a break. He stepped back from the table and took out a cigarette. "I need a smoke - in training or not." His thoughts were just on relaxing right now, not on his heretofore unspectacular football career.

"I know I should give these things up but I ..." Jay lamented as he enjoyed the taste. He leaned back against the table as he took a deep puff. His weight against the table caused one of the beakers to teeter. Jay turned around to try to right it.

"Uh-oh the hard water!" he exclaimed.

Jay’s speed and dexterity failed him and knocked over even more beakers in the process. The glassware shattered upon impact with the floor, releasing their contents into the air. Jay tried to clean up the glass with his bare hands. The gases mixed together to form something potent.

"Whew. That gas is powerful," Jay thought as he foolishly tried to clean up the mess he had created. The noxious cloud continued to grow in intensity. Jay lurched forward. "It’s too much for me." With that, Jay lapsed unconscious.

The next morning, Professor Hughes returned to find his student sprawled out amidst the broken glassware. The medics were called and Jay was quickly carted to the university medical center.

A few hours later at the medical center lounge, Professor Hughes asked the supervising doctor what Jay’s conditions was. "Is it serious?"

Dr. Gardner replied somberly, "I don’t know. It’s a new gas, you know. I can’t foresee it’s results."

A nurse rushed in from Jay’s room. "Dr. Gardner. Come quick. It’s the patient, Jay Garrick!"

"What is it?" Dr. Gardner asked.

"He’s conscious!" the nurse exclaimed. "He’s conscious and seemingly in perfect health."

"Alive and well?" Professor Hughes sighed in relief. "I would have thought a mixture of those gases would be definitely lethal."

Jay remained in the hospital for a few days for observation. He was surprised how well he felt. He felt more alert and more alive than he had ever before. He also felt ravenously hungry. He ate with gusto whatever food the nurse brought him.

"Boy, that food tastes good!" Jay commented heartily. "I could eat a horse!"

The nurse laughed, "You’ll eat mush for another week and like it."

Jay laughed as well. "Whatever it is, keep it coming."

The nurse got up. "I’ll see if the kitchen has any left." She headed out to the cafeteria, leaving Jay alone with his thoughts. He could not believe that he was alive and well. He did not feel any adverse effects from the experience. Just then, his mind was assaulted with a overpowering sensation of discomfort. He doubled over and in pain. Slowly, he became accustomed to it. He looked up and in the doorway he saw a figure dressed in a red-and-blue mask and a white costume with a large blue collar.

"Who are you?" Jay demanded as composure returned.

"I’m Max Mercury, also known as Quicksilver. You must be Jay Garrick."

"Yes, I’m Jay Garrick. What are you doing here?" Jay asked.

"I’m here to help you. I’m here to explain to what happened to you."

"I almost died, but I’m alive," Jay recounted uneasily.

"No," Max countered, "you died but you returned from death. And you returned with something more."

Jay was perplexed. "I have no idea what you’re talking about." Obviously this Quicksilver was a few cards short of a full deck.

"Look at the clock," Max pointed to the wall. The clock seemed to be moving extremely slow.

"What about it? The clock’s slow." Jay replied.

"No, it’s not slow. You’re fast."

"What?" Jay exclaimed. He looked out the window and saw some people walking in slow motion outside. "I don’t understand. What happened to me?"

"You’re an Immortal now, but you’re also more than that. You’re linked to a special part of the Quickening that I call the Speed Force. That’s how I found you." Max continued to explain for the good part of an hour. Jay was eventually convinced.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Connor looked at the antique grandfather clock against the wall of the Hall penthouse. It was now mid-day; he had speaking with Carter and Shiera since yesterday afternoon. They certainly had a lot of information to share. There was a momentary lapse in the conversation as Carter went to find a bottle of wine.

"Oh," Shiera broke the silence. "Did we mention that Wonder Woman is finally one of us, as we always suspected she would be?"

Carter came back into the room, carrying a fresh bottle of wine. "Well, coming from Paradise Island, an island of Immortals - the odds were pretty good that she was going to be one of us." He removed the cork and took a whiff of the wine’s aroma. He walked over to Connor and took the Highlander’s glass.

"But back to Savage? Why do you think Savage is up to something," Carter asked, filling Connor’s glass again.

Connor downed the glass quickly. "Savage killed my friend, Kastagir, in Morocco."

"I’m sorry, Connor," Shiera said with the empathy of one who had also lost many old friends.

Connor spun his tale. "It all started in Argentina last year ..."

------------------------------------------------------------

ARGENTINA

JANUARY 12, 1984

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Connor MacLeod hid unseen in the bushes outside the palatial estate. A pair of brown-shirted armed guards wearing brown caps stood on either seen of the metal gate. He noticed that they were armed with German-style submachine guns.

"Should have expected that," Connor thought to himself. "Could make things tricky." He watched for a while as they made their rounds. The guards performed their task with mechanical efficiency. Checking their movements against his watch, Connor measured how long each round took. One went clockwise around the compound, the other counter-clockwise. The one who went clockwise always returned thirty seconds after his counterpart. Connor decided that the other would be his first target.

As the guards took up their rounds once again, Connor waited until they were both out of his sight. He crawled stealthily out of the bushes and proceeded quietly around the stone walls in a counter-clockwise fashion. He plastered himself against the wall behind a particularly sharp bend. He listened for the sound of the guard’s breath as he made his way back to the gate. When the guard came by Connor’s position, the guard was greeted by a sharp thrust of a katana hilt to the solar plexus. As the guard doubled over, Connor knocked him unconscious with a hard blow to the base of the skull.

"Gute nacht, Fritz," Connor whispered as he quickly exchanged clothes with the downed guard.

Now dressed as the guard, Connor hurried back to the metal gate. He made it back exactly thirty seconds before the other guard returned. The submachine gun felt uncomfortable in his hands. It would be easy to dispose of the guard with it, but Connor knew this was not a wise option. He was not interested in killing these guards; it was only the man inside who deserved death. For all he knew, these guards could be completely oblivious to the monster they were guarding. Somehow, he doubted that, but he would not kill them needlessly.

The other guard now returned. Connor kept his chin to his chest, allowing the cap to hide his face.

"Are you feeling sick," the guard asked in German.

Connor shook his head.

"Was ist los?" the guard asked as he seemed to notice something strange about his comrade.

Connor surprised the guard with a quick upswing of the submachine gun. The barrel caught the guard under the chin and sent him flying. Connor was quickly on top of him, but it was unnecessary since the blow had rendered the guard unconscious. He now dragged the guard into the bushes and opened the metal gate.

He took a single step onto the interior compound when he heard the fierce yelping of attack dogs. Connor took off like a shot for the main entrance to the estate. He looked back to see a pack of German shepherds closing in on him. He reached the main entrance and slammed the down on the faces of the pursuing hounds.

He caught his breath and then felt the sensation of another Immortal. He had no doubt about the other’s identity. It had taken decades, but Connor had finally tracked down another Immortal war criminal. He could hear the sounds of music wafting into the foyer from the parlor to the north. Connor dropped the submachine gun and drew his sword. He marched slowly towards the parlor.

The parlor was decorated like a German alpine house. A strong fire roared in the fireplace. A large couch stood in front of the flame. Above the mantle was a large portrait of perhaps the most diabolical madman in the history of the world - Adolf Hitler. Connor gritted his teeth. He now recognized the music being played upon the phonograph.

"Wagner’s Goetterdaemerrung?"

A man in a yellow metal mask arose from the couch. He wore a brown outfit similar to the guards outside. "Ja, it was a favorite of the Fuehrer." The man turned, and Connor could see the hateful eyes behind the thin eye-slits of the mask.

"Forget your plans of a Fourth Reich, Baron Blitzkrieg. You’re not going to walk away from this fight." Connor exclaimed.

"I don’t know who you are," Baron Blitzkrieg said as he lifted an ancient Teutonic sword from the couch, "but I am Baron Blitzkrieg, the greatest fighter the Reich ever had. Alone, I battled the All-Star Squadron to a standstill on many occasions. And you are just one man."

"I may be just one man, but I will be your executioner." Connor twirled his sword as he continued to approach. "I am Connor MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod."

"You are threatening me, Scotsman?" the Baron laughed. "I have the strength of an Uebermensch!"

"Whatever you say, Baron." Connor shook his head. "You Nazis were the master race."

Baron Blitzkrieg brought his sword to bear. "We are the master race. We shall rule the world. We shall rule with a Thousand Year Reich. And I shall be there to lead the new National Socialist regime!"

Connor sighed, "I've heard this before." He stepped forward and swung at the Baron's head.

Blitzkrieg parried the blow easily and responded with a powerful strike of his own. His blade struck the floor as Connor sidestepped the blade. Blitzkrieg came down again with his sword, but Connor was once again able to dodge.

"You can't hope to match my strength, Scotsman. Power shall decide this battle," Blitzkrieg exclaimed as he launched another powerful attack. Connor was able to turn away the Nazi’s sword with his deft skill each time. The ease with which Connor was able to turn away Blitzkrieg's strikes infuriated the Nazi.

"Don’t you remember your allies back in World War Two?" Connor pointed out. "The Japanese have developed all sorts of martial arts disciplines. Even the strongest foe can have his strength turned against him."

"Dummkopf! Strength is all that matters in this world," Blitzkrieg raged and continued to strike with fury.

Connor parried each attack as it came. He was able to lock up their swords together. Despite Blitzkrieg's great strength, Connor had the leverage and was able to hold the clenched position for a few seconds.

"The Nuremberg tribunal thought they had executed you." Connor said "But I knew better. I had heard that you were Immortal."

Finally Blitzkrieg was able to break the clench. Connor was thrown a few feet back.

"Immortality," Blitzkrieg proclaimed. "Once I became Immortal, I understood how that insipid Red Bee survived after I broke his back!"

Connor rushed back in to resume the battle, "I'm sure he'd like to return the favor, but I'm afraid that he won't get the chance once I'm done with you." Connor's repeated attacks drove Blitzkrieg back, step by step towards the fireplace. One of Connor's lunges sliced a huge tear in the Nazi flag that hung on the wall.

"I had heard rumors that you were down here in Argentina with all of the other hiding Nazis. Then I tracked a lot of communication going on between here and some other old Nazi strongholds. I figured if anyone was ready to try to make a Fourth Reich, it would be Baron Blitzkrieg."

Blitzkrieg grabbed one of the pokers by the fireplace and hurled it at Connor. The Highlander was forced to block it with his sword, and this gave Blitzkrieg the opportunity to spring away from the wall and back out into the open space of the parlor.

Connor turned to where Blitzkrieg was now. "What I want to know is if there are any other Immortals involved in this plot - Captain Nazi or Daimler or any of the others?"

Blitzkrieg leapt at Connor swinging furiously. "Neither of those simpletons are involved. I've heard that Daimler was dead. There was that fool Vandal Savage. He had hoped to ally himself with my new Fourth Reich, but I told that Cro-Magnon cur that I did not need the help of a member of an obviously inferior race."

"Vandal Savage?" Connor was momentarily surprised by this revelation. Connor had not been able to get any information about his whereabouts for years. Savage had helped with an attempted Nazi takeover of America back in 1943; he was on Connor’s list.

Blitzkrieg swung high and low but could not get past Connor's guard. "The barbarian is establishing his own power base in Morocco. There is no harm in telling you, since I shall soon have your head."

"Really?" Connor said. "I don't think so." Connor allowed Blitzkrieg to overreach and scored a massive cut on Blitzkrieg's chest. The Baron was staggered, and Connor pressed the attack with cool efficiency. He drove Blitzkrieg back against the wall. The Nazi was beginning to panic. He made an ill-chosen swing at Connor that left himself exposed. Connor brought his sword up quickly through the flesh just under Blitzkrieg's mask.

Blitzkrieg’s helmeted head bounced a few times on the floor before coming to rest against the wall. The torn Nazi flag fell from the wall onto his headless corpse.

"Thousand year Reich? I don’t think so."

A pulsating cloud of energy drifted up from the Nazi's body. The cloud slowly enveloped Connor. When he was completely surrounded by the cloud, sparks of lightning assaulted him repeatedly. The sparks traveled the length of his body, firing off practically every nerve inside of him for what seemed like an eternity.

"Donnerwetter!!!" Connor screamed and then collapsed.

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MOROCCO
MARCH 14, 1984

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Connor stepped off the plane at the Moroccan airport. His mission here was clear enough - to kill Vandal Savage. From the information he was able to gather at the late Baron Blitzkrieg's estate, he was certain that Vandal Savage would be found here.

He picked up his baggage and walked towards the taxi stand. Once he was outside the air-conditioned walls of the airport, he felt somewhat warm in his trenchcoat under the Moroccan sun. He hailed a taxi and gave the driver the destination. He would get to Vandal Savage soon enough, but while he was in Morocco, he would pay a surprise visit to his old friend, Sunda Kastagir.

The taxi ride seemed to have taken virtually no time while Connor was lost in memories of his times with Kastagir. He stepped out of the taxi and paid the fare. He looked at the impressive house that Kastagir had. It was completely in keeping with the other architecture in the area, but it had some subtle features that made it stand out from the others.

He walked toward the door and felt the sensation of another Immortal tugging at his brain. Kastagir was home, Connor surmised. "So it won't be a complete surprise, then." He knocked on the door and was surprised that no response was forthcoming. He knocked again, but there was still no response. He tried the door and found it unlocked.

He stepped inside and continued to feel the presence of another Immortal. "Kastagir?" he called out. He tried to home in on the sensation, but he knew that would not be successful. He listened closely for any sounds and soon picked up a low moaning in the basement.

"He's probably down there, drunk out of his mind," Connor thought. "He always did like his alcohol."

Connor took the stairs and quietly went below. He saw Kastagir slumped over the bar. He shook his friend's shoulder but received no response. Connor grabbed him by the shoulder and lifted him up.

"Kastagir, it’s been a while ... what?"

Connor was horrified to see that Kastagir's head was not there. He looked over the edge of the bar to see Kastagir's head and sword.

"But if Kastagir's dead, then ..." Connor thought and then instinctively ducked as a sword sliced through the air above him. He dropped Kastagir and turned around to see a man in a black military-style outfit. The man had a bushy black beard and hair. His facial features made him look somewhat barbaric. Connor was sure of who the assailant was.

"Vandal Savage!" Connor dashed to the other end of the bar.

Vandal Savage laughed and pointed his sword at Connor. "Ah, with an accent like that, I'd assume you were one of the Immortals of the Clan MacLeod."

Connor drew his sword from his coat. "Connor MacLeod and your death, for war crimes and for killing my friend."

Vandal ignored the Highlander's bravado. "Yes, I’ve heard of you, though I’ve never had the pleasure of being properly introduced."

"C'mon," Connor said with determination as he advanced upon Vandal Savage.

Vandal smiled with an innocent look. "This was just a sidelight, a bit of personal pleasure for myself. I'm sorry I didn't recover soon enough to be away before your arrival. Killing Kastagir was not part of my overall plan for world domination, mind you."

Vandal darted past Connor and reached the foot of the stairs. A quick strike of his sword against one of the supports brought the ceiling crashing down upon Connor. Vandal meanwhile bounded up the stairs out of harm's way.

"I’ll stop you, Savage," Connor screamed through the wreckage.

Savage laughed "I will win the Prize, and not even the super-powered Immortals of the Justice Society will be able to stop me. I have plans in action to take care of them. Watch your head, Highlander. I’ll be coming for it soon enough."

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NEAR ST. JOSEPH’S CHURCH - PARIS

MAY 30, 1985

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Duncan MacLeod strolled along the cobblestone street. A quick look at his watch told him that he was a little bit early for today’s chess match with Darius. He decided to saunter around the park a while. Suddenly, his senses were piqued by the presence of another Immortal.

"Darius?" Duncan initially thought this but soon dismissed it. "No, it can’t be. I’m not close enough to the church and he never leaves it."

Duncan scanned the street looking for the source of the sensation. His eyes came to rest on an older looking gentleman seated on a bench. He was throwing bread crumbs from a bag. Duncan noticed the blue bowtie as well as red and white striped pants of the other Immortal beneath his trenchcoat. The face was quite similar to a number of patriotic American posters from the past. The man’s hair was white, as was the small goatee upon his chin.

"Excuse me, but you look like ..." Duncan said.

The man looked up. His hands went from the bag to the inside of his jacket. "Yep, I know. Like Uncle Sam. Well. I’ll tell ya. I really am Uncle Sam. Never had much use for one of them secret eye-dees. At least, not since I became Immortal."

"I’m here to see Darius." Duncan said, hoping to avoid any unnecessary confrontation.

Sam picked up the bag once again. "Well, how ‘bout that. So am I. ‘Cept he’s hearing confessions for the next little while longer, so I figgered I’d just wait hear and feed the birdies." He tossed a few bread crumbs to some eagerly expectant pigeons.

"So you’re really Uncle Sam, leader of the Freedom Fighters?" Duncan scratched his head. "I never knew that any of us were superheroes. Are there other Immortal superheroes?"

"Well, sure there are, sonny. I ain’t gonna tell you who they are exactly, though. If you want ‘em, you’ll have to go find ‘em." Sam stood up and looked a little perturbed about the question.

Duncan raised his hands in innocence. "Hold on. I’m not looking for anyone. I was just wondering."

"Allrighty then, my mistake, sonny," Sam sat back down. "Sometimes I just fly off the handle. Patriotic fervor and all. Some of those guys and dolls did a bang-up job of keeping democracy safe from Uncle Adolf and crew." Sam continued, "You know, I probably shouldn’t be calling you ‘sonny’. For all I know, you could actually be hundreds of years older than ol’ Sam. How old are ya?"

"I’m coming up on four hundred, ‘old man’. How about you?"

Sam smiled and stretched his legs. Then he began to spin his tale. "I’ve been around since the great country called America and I call home has been around. Born in 1746, an’ I found out I was Immortal in 1777 ..."

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NEAR VALLEY FORGE, PENNSYLVANIA
JULY 4, 1777
{Based on National Comics #1}

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A supply train destined for Valley Forge was being closely pursued by Hessian soldiers through the Pennsylvania woods. The train pulled off at a stream to water the tired and thirsty horses.

"At the speed we’re movin’ the enemy’ll soon be upon us."

Samuel leaned against a tree, his arms folded across his chest. "If these supplies are lost to the British, then so is the war." He continued, "It’s gonna be a harsh winter, and General Washington can’t survive without provisions."

One of the revolutionaries asked from his wagon, "So what are we gonna do, Samuel?"

"Someone’ll just have to distract the Hessians, lead ‘em on a wild goose chase while the wagons slip off."

A fellow revolutionary agreed, "Sounds like it’s the only way."

"What say we draw straws to see who acts as bait?" another suggested.

"Forget it, boys. It was my idea, so I’m the one to go." Samuel objected.

"But, Samuel, it’s certain death." His compatriots tried to dissuade him from volunteering for a suicide mission.

"Mebbe so, old friend, but I ain’t going alone." Samuel rummaged through the items in his wagons. "I’m bringing’ along some protection." Samuel pulled out an American flag and held it out in front of himself. "Figger if I wrap myself in the stars-an’-stripes, ain’t nothin’ that can hurt me."

Minutes later, the wagon train was reassembled and was ready to take to the road on the way to Valley Forge. Samuel had rolled up the flag and carried it very respectfully under his arm. He heard the comments by the drivers, but he ignored them. He knew what he had to do.

"There goes a brave man," one revolutionary exclaimed.

"You mean a foolish man," another countered.

The first revolutionary paid him no mind. He called out, "Lord be with ye, Samuel."

Sam acknowledged the man’s good wishes. "C’mon, let’s get goin’."

After about a half an hour of waiting in the brush, Samuel spotted the Hessians, moving quickly on horseback. They wore blue, as to differentiate themselves from the regular British redcoats.

"Yep, here come the Hessians," Sam thought to himself. "Got to make myself seen, make ‘em follow me." He popped out onto the fork in the road, along the path that the wagon train had not taken. He unrolled the flag and began waving it vigorously.

"Hey, you miserable mercenaries! Why not try fightin’ with a real American?"

The Hessians quickly caught sight of him. They turned to converge upon him. The horses trotted quickly towards the lone revolutionary.

"Amerikaner Schwein," one of the Hessians exclaimed as he approached.

One of them, obviously an officer, quickly barked some orders in German, "<Do not let him escape. He can lead us to the others.>"

Samuel took off running, holding the flag in one hand. It trailed behind him as the Hessians closed in.

"Halten Sie!" the officer called out, but his German command of "Stop!" was just gibberish to Sam’s ears.

Another Hessian cried out with a strong German accent, "Halt or ve vill schoot!"

Samuel ignored their commands and continued to run for all he was worth. "Can’t stop. Gotta lead them further away from the others." Samuel thought. "Nothin’ else matters except making America ..."

The Hessians realized that their quarry was not going to stop. Halting their horses, they readied their rifles.

Sam’s thought was interrupted by the gunfire that the Hessians unleashed. The first shot tore a hole through his hat. The second tore a hole through his heart. "... free" was Samuel’s dying thought. He collapsed face-down on the flag that lay spread out underneath him.

As the last rays of the setting sun spread across the azure sky, Samuel awakened, confused but alive. The red streaks of light that cut across the cloudy background made the sky look like the flag.

"It’s a flag," Samuel thought. "Our flag. Then we’ve won."

Samuel’s mind was deep in hallucination. He saw the image of a man, dressed up in an outfit of a blue jacket, red and white striped pants, a light blue vest, and a red bow tie. On the image’s head rested a top hat with red and white vertical stripes and a band of stars going around near the brim.

The image spoke to him, "Yes, Samuel. We have, thanks to selfless sacrifice of men like you."

Samuel was utterly bewildered. "Who?" He took a closer look at the image. The man behind the clothes was Samuel himself. "Why you’re me!"

The image took a proud pose, hands on hips. "So I am, even as you are the indomitable Spirit of America."

The image offered its hand to Samuel. "Are you willing to give up eternal rest to help defend our country always?"

Samuel took the hand of the image. "Anything for America."

Then image squeezed Samuel’s hand and smiled. "Then, come Samuel. We shall be one, you and I, helping to guide American into a glorious future."

With that the image vanished. Samuel was alive again and alone with his thoughts.

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NEAR ST. JOSEPH’S CHURCH - PARIS

MAY 30, 1985

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"It was quite a time before I realized that it was all a hallucination. But my imagination sure came up with a cracker of a costume," Sam beamed as he tugged at his blue cutaway coat.

"What did you do after the Revolutionary War?"

"Well, in 1812, I was one the salt-soaked warships of American warships as the United States battled Britain on the high seas ... Then in 1861, I had to stand in sorrowful silence, helpless to act as brother battled brother ... I was there in 1865 and smiling as wide as the Delaware as Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant at Appamattox Courthouse. We were one country once again." Sam continued, "I charged up San Juan Hill with Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders during the Spanish-American War ... I was there in 1918 with the doughboys in France in the war that we thought would be the ‘War to End All Wars.’"

"Have you back to France, Sam? Before now, that is?" Duncan asked.

"Once. It was near the end of double-yah double-yah two, right after D-Day. And wouldn’t you know it, I ran into another Immortal. A real rascally goosestepper by the name of Daimler ..."

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NEAR ST. JOSEPH’S CHURCH - PARIS

OCTOBER 23, 1944

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Uncle Sam and the Freedom Fighters stood upon a stage in front of a huge French crowd to address the Free French. Most of the eyes of the crowd were staring intently at the skimpy yellow halter top of Phantom Lady. Her green goggles and cape did not serve to cover much of her body either. In contrast, only the eyes of the Human Bomb could be seen through his white helmet; the rest of him was encased in his white protective suit. The Ray literally shone in his yellow bodysuit, yellow sunburst collar, and yellow finned cowl. The Black Condor looked somewhat sullen. His eclectic costumed consisted of blue trunks, boots, and wristbands. Cape-like wings stretched from his wristbands to his back. A blue strap with a white diamond shape lay across his chest.

Uncle Sam stretched his arms out. "Like a certain General said during the last war, Lafayette, we are here!" Once the translation came over the loudspeaker by the interpreter, the crowd shouted in jubilation.

Sam took off his hat and took a bow. He put his hat back on and said, "Thank you kindly. Us costumed types up here only had a little bit to do with it. You people are the true Freedom Fighters!"

The crowd roared once again after the translation had been delivered.

The Human Bomb adjusted his helmet. "Something wrong with the microphone?" There did seem to be a strange humming sound in the air.

Phantom Lady adjusted her green goggles and looked up into the cloudless sky. "Look up there, guys." She pointed to a black dot getting steadily closer. "Good Lord! It’s a Nazi V-2!"

Uncle Sam smacked his knee. "Those dad-blamed Nazis. Launching a buzz-bomb right inta the heart of Paris. We gotta stop it. Ray, Condor! See if ya can disarm or divert it."

"We’re on it Sam," the Ray replied enthusiastically.

"Sam, let me go with them." the Human Bomb pleaded, "I can blow it up in mid-air." The Ray and Condor paused momentarily as they awaited Sam’s reply.

"Yer liable to get yourself killed and spray shrapnel all over town. No, Ray and BC got the ball."

The Ray and Black Condor launched themselves into the sky. After about twenty seconds, they had intercepted the missile. The Ray got underneath the projectile while Black Condor went to work on its nose.

The Ray strained to keep the bomb airborne. "Any chance of disarming it, BC?"

Black Condor had unscrewed the nose cone and examined the innards of the bomb. "Nope, looks like they’ve changed the wiring. I couldn’t figure it out before this baby hits."

The Ray groaned. "OK, then get down here and help me fly it. Between the two of us, I think we can direct down into the Seine."

Black Condor crawled down to the missile’s underbelly and took hold. Straining their flying abilities to the limit, they were slowly changing its course.

"Sam, are they gonna make it?" Phantom Lady asked as she watched the aerial spectacle unfolding.

Sam put his hat over his heart. "I sure hope they do, PL. I sure hope they do."

Up in the air, the Ray’s strength was beginning to falter. "BC, I can’t do much more."

Black Condor looked down. They were past the square now. Gauging their trajectory and looking down towards the inviting waters of the Seine, he encouraged his comrade, "Just a few more seconds, buddy. Just a few more seconds."

The duo gave their all and then limply fell away from the buzz-bomb. The missile’s course now took it crashing down into the river. It made a large splash as it initially struck the water, followed by a tremendous explosion. A massive cloud of steam was vaporized into the air, and the nearby buildings shook from the concussive force of the explosion.

After falling for a few seconds, the airborne Freedom Fighters gathered their remaining strength and floated to the ground. They smiled and shook hands at a job well done.

The explosion sent ripples down the length of the river. Waves, with heights of a few feet, bobbed up and down. All sorts of debris from the riverbed was dislodged. Some of it came aground, including a man-sized sack that was bound with chains. Something came to life inside the bag and started thrashing wildly. After a few moments, the chains had been shed. Then the bag was cut open by a sword from within. The former captive, Ernst Daimler, emerged from the sack and tried to shake himself dry. He looked around and so no signs of the occupying forces.

"Was ist los hier?" Daimler thought as he continued to scan the area. "Where are the German flags?" He noticed one of the Free French flying upon a nearby building. "How long have I been trapped? Have the Allies taken Paris back?" His thoughts were then interrupted by the sensation of an approaching Immortal.

A few blocks from the riverfront, Uncle Sam felt an Immortal presence as well. He looked around, but he did not think it was any from the crowd gathered here. He had to find out.

Sam raised his hands to get the crowd’s attention "Look folks, I gotta go. You go on back and go on celebrating. Viva La France and God Bless America!" The crowd roared once again.

"Sam? What is it?" Phantom Lady asked.

"Just something I gotta do. Now the rest of you Freedom Fighters go and enjoy yourselves, hear?"

The heroes nodded grudgingly and joined the crowd in revelry. Sam, meanwhile, was heading directly for the riverfront. Once he got within sight of it, he saw the damp form of Daimler standing on the riverbank, sword in hand.

"Who are you? By the looks of your rotten clothes, yer a good-fer-nothing Nazi!" Sam shouted out. He took out his sword from the folds of his jacket. The hilt was circled with red and white stripes. The pommel was blue and covered with white stars.

Daimler peered at the colorful costume of the Immortal approaching him. "I am Major Ernst Daimler, and you are one of those Amerikaner super-schwein, I take it."

"The name’s Sam, Uncle Sam. I’m just a patriotic American servin’ God and country."

"You will be serving God in a more direct fashion once I take your head." Daimler sneered.

"You and what army, Ratzi?" Sam demanded sarcastically. "Look, lemme take you prisoner. Ain’t no need for us to fight."

"You’re an Immortal and an enemy of the Fatherland. That’s enough reason for me." Daimler launched himself at Sam, but Sam stepped under Daimler’s swing. Daimler turned after rushing past his opponent. Sam now had his sword out and was ready for battle.

"You ain’t gonna blitzkrieg me, you dad-blamed Nazi." Sam twirled his sword and took the offensive. His rhythmic attack drove Daimler back towards the river. Daimler was parrying each blow, but he was continually giving ground. Soon Daimler was in the river, the water rising to about halfway up his boots. Sam still stood upon dry land and was methodically getting closer to landing a fatal blow. His whistling of "Yankee Doodle" was beginning to annoy Daimler. The Nazi made a desperate effort for a counterattack. However, his footing gave way. Sam took advantage of his opponent’s lack of balance and drove his sword through Daimler’s right shoulder. Daimler screamed and dropped his sword into the water. Sam yanked his sword back and Daimler screamed once again. Sam now held the point of his sword underneath Daimler’s neck. Daimler stared with fear as Sam drew back his sword.

"Thousand year Reich? Even if it would be, you ain’t gonna see it." With a clean stroke, Daimler’s head was sheared from his body. The head fell into the river. The body stood upright for a few seconds and then fell backward into the water.

Sam put his sword back within the folds of his jacket and sighed, "Oh boy, here come the fireworks now. The Fourth of July ain’t got nothin’ on this."

Daimler’s body was illuminating the water around it. Small sparks were jumping up from the water’s edge. Sam steeled himself as the first bolt of the Quickening struck him. A multitude of waterspouts began erupting from the water’s surface. Water and lightning came falling down upon Sam. Gradually, this storm abated, the water and the lightning ceasing to crash. Sam took off his tophat and wrung it out. "God bless America."

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ST. JOSEPH’S CHURCH - PARIS

MAY 30, 1985

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Dressed in his typical priestly garb, Darius came to the outer gate of the church and invited Duncan and Sam inside. "Duncan, I’m glad to see you." He shook the Highlander’s hand. "Samuel, it’s been a while."

Sam shook Darius’ hand with earnest. "I was in the neighborhood, so I figgered I stop by and talk about this whole Immortality Game."

The ancient priest sat his guests down inside the church. "I’m sorry to be rude, Samuel, but there are grave matters that must be attended to. Grayson was here a few days ago. He said that he was going to America, to Gotham City, to kill a student of mine. I think this student may have known Grayson at some time in the past. He used to be a diplomat to South Africa, now he’s a lawyer. His name is Richard Grayson," Darius reported coldly.

"Dick Grayson?" Sam exclaimed, "Dagnabit, he’s one of us now."

"He’s an Immortal?" Duncan asked.

"Darn tootin’ he is, and that’s not the only secret he has," Sam replied.

"Other secrets?" Duncan thought. "Maybe he’s a superhero as well. But which one?"

"Now, Darius old man," Sam asked, "Is this Grayson feller as nasty as you say he is?"

"He is evil and determined, Samuel." Darius’ words did not even begin to describe what Grayson was.

"Righty-then. Come on, Duncan. We gotta get goin’. But let’s stop in Londontown before we pop back to the good old U.S. of A." Sam suggested.

Duncan wondered why Sam did not want to go directly to America. "Why? Are you thinking of bringing in the cavalry to stop Grayson or something?"

"Or something," Sam smiled.

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WATTS STUDIO - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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The smiling blond figure of Johnny Chambers sat behind a desk. Along the length of the desk rested a wide variety of tablets and drinks, all packaged with a label with a large 'Q' on it. Johnny continued to smile into the camera that focused on him.

"Annnnnnd, cut!" the program director exclaimed and stepped out in front of the camera.

"Thanks, Jimmy," Johnny replied. "Yet another smashing infomercial for Quick Enterprises - the maker of Quick products, designed to make you healthier and happier."

"Great job, Mr. Chambers!" the cameraman said.

"Thanks, let me know when the editing department is done slicing and dicing it." Johnny said as he went back to his dressing room. He sighed as he thought about his current occupation. It was a long way from Sees-All, Tells-All News. Working with Tubby Watts on the newsreels was much less lucrative but much more fun. He hoped that Tubby would have liked this studio that he named in his honor.

Johnny retired to his dressing room and sat down in front of the mirror. He took his time removing all of the makeup from his face. He could have done it faster, much faster, but the last time he had done that, he had given himself a bad case of windburn. After a few minutes, his face was once again clean. He undid his tie and threw it into the closet. He got out of the navy blue suit and donned a sweatsuit. He grabbed his wallet and keys off of the table and walked out of the room. He wound his way through the halls. He opened the exit door and entered the alley outside. He took one step outside when his senses were overcome by the Sensation of another Immortal.

At the other end of the alley, Michael Christian and his Watcher, Rita Luce, were just returning from another successful mission. Rita had obtained information about a new Immortal over in Greenwich Village. The ‘newbie’, as Michael called him, had only discovered his Immortality a few weeks ago after a drug overdose. The ‘newbie’ had been using the drugs at even more lethal levels. They had found him completely insensate in the Village. Michael did not have to exert himself at all to gain the relatively small Quickening.

Michael stopped suddenly and looked down the alley. He was not able to determine exactly where his potential opponent was.

"What is it?" Rita stopped as well and peered down the dark passageway. "Another Immortal?"

"Yep," Michael nodded. He sized up Johnny’s appearance and dress. "Looks like another easy kill to me."

Rita grabbed Michael’s arm with a firm grip. "No, we don’t know anything about him."

Michael shrugged Rita off. "Who cares? He’s mine for the taking." He slipped his sword out of his trenchcoat and marched down the alley. Rita remained behind and stood silently.

The feeling of another Immortal rushed through Johnny’s mind. He reached into his sweatjacket and realized that his sword was not there.

"Damn," Johnny cursed himself. "I left it in the suit." He looked up to the sky, hoping to see Hawkman or Hawkgirl or any other friendly Immortal superhero, but no colorful costume crossed the starry night sky. The Immortal in question was undoubtedly the man coming towards him, now with sword drawn.

Johnny was about to say his ‘magic formula’ but Michael was upon him too quickly. Johnny rolled away from a downward swing that would have separated him from his head. Michael struck again and again, but his sword only found the sidewalk as Johnny rolled away from each strike. Johnny then managed to sweep Michael’s right leg with his own. Unable to balance on one leg, Michael fell to the ground. Johnny sprang to his feet and caught his breath. He tried to concentrate and access the power, but he could sense a resistance.

"3X2 (9YZ) 4A," he said to no effect.

Michael was on his feet once again. He got a good look at Johnny now. "You’re the guy from the Quick Infomercials! I’ve never whacked a celebrity before."

Johnny had to rely on his natural agility to avoid Michael’s sword now. He tried to clear his mind, but it was difficult with deadly steel coming just inches away from his vulnerable neck. "So hard to tap into the Speed," he thought. "Max told me it would be difficult to tap it in the midst of Immortal combat. But I gotta do it. Without a sword, I’m dead meat without the Speed."

The situation was getting desperate for Johnny. He needed the Speed and he needed it now. "Gotta get the Speed. Concentrate. Use the mantra!" Johnny’s mind was racing.

"3X2(9YZ)4A!" Johnny cried out.

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NEW YORK CITY
FEBRUARY 27, 1939
{Based on More Fun Comics #71}

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It was a stereotypical dark and stormy night when a speeding car went over a steep embankment. Johnny Chambers was in that car. So were his mother and father, but the only one walked away from it. What Johnny did not realize is why he had been able to walk away from it. He had died, but risen again as an Immortal.

Johnny became the ward of Professor Ezra Gill. Professor Gill took care of Johnny while the youth recovered from the loss. He also worked on his pet project - the secret of space and time. Eventually he believed he had found it. His formula would supposedly coordinate gravity and electricity, or so he said.

"3X2(9YZ)4A!" he told Johnny. "That’s the secret. Now to find a way to harness it."

Johnny wanted to dismiss this crazy notion, but Professor Gill insisted. Johnny learned the formula easily enough, but it took him a long time to visualize the mathematical concepts that the variable represented. Sometimes, he could feel it stirring something within him, but it soon passed.

During a harsh winter storm, Professor Gill collapsed from his rapidly declining health. Johnny rushed out to the car to bring a doctor. However, the accumulation of snow and the road soon made the way impassable. Johnny got out of the car and tried to make it on foot.

"Can barely run in all this snow. If only I mastered that blasted formula," he thought to himself. "3X2(9YZ)4A!" but nothing happened. He continued to trudge but he made little headway

"No go! Gotta keep saying it, thinking about it. The Prof’s life is at stake!"

"3X2(9YZ)4A!" Still nothing was happening to Johnny Chambers. He gritted his teeth, both from the cold and from concentration.

"Nothing! What’s wrong with me, anyway? It’s just a bunch of numbers and stuff." He tried once more, marshaling all of his concentration as never before.

"3X2(9YZ)4A!" and Johnny Chambers was off like a lightning bolt. He made it to the local doctor’s office in a matter of seconds.

He gathered up the doctor and they both returned to Professor’s Gill side, but it was too late.

"Prof!" Johnny choked with grief as he looked at the silent form of the man who had been a second father to him. "If only I’d been faster."

"I couldn’t have saved him if you’d flown me here, Johnny" the doctor replied, trying to comfort him. "Sometimes no amount of speed is enough."

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OUTSIDE WATTS STUDIO - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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"Right now I need any amount of speed!" Johnny thought. "3X2(9YZ)4A!!!" He cried out again. This time, he could feel the effect. It was as if every cell in his body was energized. He was locked into the Speed Force. He had the Speed.

Michael could notice that a subtle change had come over Johnny. He saw that there was worry no longer in Johnny’s eyes. "A loonie," Michael thought. "He still doesn’t have a sword. Those magic words of his didn’t make one appear." Michael wound up for a killing blow, but Johnny didn’t even flinch. Michael swung through, confident that he had hit the mark. He looked up and saw that Johnny was standing a few feet away now.

"Waitaminute," Michael said as he drew his sword back momentarily and recognized the face from Rita’s Watcher files. "I know who you really are. You’re Johnny Quick!"

Michael barreled forward once again. Johnny’s right arm met Michael’s flashing blade while his left leveled Michael with a flurry of one hundred punches in the span of a second. Michael tumbled to the ground. As he clambered back to his feet, his face showed his utter surprise as he looked at what was left of his sword. Johnny had sliced off the upper half of the blade with his bare hand.

"That’s right. I’m Quick, and you’re dead." Michael never even saw Johnny bound forward. He never saw the King of Speed’s hand slicing through his neck at super-speed. The headless body collapsed to the sidewalk. Johnny paid his fallen adversary no mind as he rushed over to Rita.

"Who are you? What were you doing here with him?" Johnny grabbed her by the arms.

Rita struggled to get away as tears streamed down her face. "Get your hands off of me, you bastard." As she struggled, the sleeves of her blouse were pulled back revealing her tattoo to Johnny’s eyes.

Johnny stared at the tattoo for a moment. "Look, I want answers and I’m going to get ... Aarrgh!" The Quickening set upon him then. His hold on Rita was released as sparks of energy leapt across the length of the alley towards him. Rita collected herself and hurried away. Johnny writhed in agony as the transference continued. He tensed up for a few seconds and then the ordeal was over.

Johnny rested on his hands and knees and waited for his head to clear. "That tattoo. I think Max said something about it once." Johnny got his bearings, dashed back for his sword, and then headed south at supersonic speed.

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MANCHESTER, GEORGIA

MAY 30, 1985

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A red and blue blur came to a sudden halt at the city limits of Manchester, Georgia. The blur coalesced into the form of the Flash. He tilted his helmet as he tried to spot the location of another Immortal in the vicinity.

"Quicksilver?" he called out hopefully.

"Nope, just little old me, Johnny Quick." A red and yellow blur skidded to a stop right in front of the Flash. Johnny had switched to his costume in transit. "Gee, if I’m not being confused for you, I’m being confused for him."

The Flash rubbed his chin in embarrassment. "Sorry, Johnny, it’s just that ..."

"Forget it, it’s his home town. You figured it was him. Fair enough." Johnny smiled, showing Flash no offense was taken. "So Flash, what brings you here?"

"I need to talk to Max. I assume you’re here for the same reason, Johnny."

Johnny nodded. "Race you to his door?"

"C’mon, Johnny," The Flash sighed. "There’s no need."

Johnny was adamant. "People always think that you’re the fastest, because you made the splash on the public scene first."

"We both know who the fastest is, and he was active long before either of us."

"Yeah," Johnny agreed, "but he didn’t keep a superhero profile until much later. He never was big on publicity. You, on the other hand, you go and reveal your secret identity to the whole world. Now are you ready to race?"

"OK, Johnny." The Flash sighed. He thought that perhaps someday Johnny Chambers would develop some maturity. "You’re on. On your mark ... get set ... go!"

A half-second later, both Johnny Quick and the Flash were at the doorstep of the house. They looked at each other and said in unison "Dead heat." They both could sense the presence of an Immortal inside. Undoubtedly, it was Quicksilver.

The Flash removed his helmet and held it with both hands behind his back. Johnny leaned forward to press the doorbell, but the door swung open before he could do so. He looked up to see an white-haired man in an Atlanta Braves T-shirt and shorts, holding a tomahawk in his hands.

Johnny jumped back at the sight of the Native American weapon. "Uhh, Quicksilver, good to see you again." There was a touch of nervous surprise in his voice. He looked over to the Flash who mouthed the words "He’s still the fastest."

"I’m not in costume. You can call me Max." Max said graciously as he put the tomahawk down into the umbrella stand just inside the door. "Good to see you, Jay, Johnny. It’s been a while."

"What brings both of you, my former students, to my door at the same time?" Max asked. Both Johnny and Flash stepped inside and found recliner chairs in which they seated themselves.

"Something happened in Washington ..." Flash began.

"Something happened in New York City ..." Johnny said simultaneously.

Max put up his right palm, stopping both of them from talking, and then snapped his finger. "Coffee?" Max offered. Both Flash and Johnny nodded. In the blink of an eye, Max was back in the living room with a pot and three empty cups. He handed a cup each to Johnny and Flash. He was about to pour the contents when he realized that pot was cold.

"Just a moment, boys," Max said as he applied some super-speed friction to the outside of the pot. In a few seconds, the coffee was once again piping hot. Max smiled and filled his students’ cups now.

"Now." Max sat down in the recliner and placed his hands behind his head. "What’s the occasion of this visit?" He turned to the Flash.

"Dr. Mid-nite was attacked. I think it was by someone you might know about."

"Why is that? Was it another Immortal?" Max asked.

"I don’t think so. Doc noticed a strange tattoo on the guy’s wrist. It looked something like this." The Flash drew the Watcher symbol in the air at super-speed. The after-images of his hand allowed Johnny and Max to see exactly what he meant.

"Ah, the symbol." Max sighed.

"You know what it means now?" Flash asked.

"Hey, that’s the same symbol that I saw in New York. A lady had it, and she was with an Immortal who tried to whack me." Johnny blurted.

"Calm down, Johnny. Yes, I know more about it now. It’s the symbol of a secret society. They call themselves the Watchers."

"Watchers?" Johnny and Flash said in unison.

"Watchers of what ... or of whom?" Flash added.

"Of us." Max replied.

Johnny smiled. "Superhero groupies!"

"No, recorders of our history." Max took a sip from his cup. "Of Immortal history."

"These who we encountered seem to be adding to history." The Flash stated.

"Yeah," Johnny agreed. "I was almost history because of her."

"No, that’s not their style," Max replied. "From the information I’ve been able to gather about them, they seem content just to observe us. They have one of their number assigned to each of us"

"But Max!" Johnny protested. "This Watcher was with the Immortal who almost took my head!"

"Listen to me. I’ve been around a little bit longer than either of you. Immortals like us can access the portion of the Quickening called the Speed Force. I’ve heard of other Immortals who can use the Quickening to do other things - create empathic links with animals, move things almost telekinetically. Most Immortals can only harness the smallest portion of the Speed Force. Wounds heal at an accelerated rate. We three, however, can tap into it completely. Johnny here was even able to access the Speed even before he became Immortal. But that’s not my point. I’ve found out some things about these Watchers, and they are simply historians."

"Things change, Max." The Flash pointed out. "People change. Maybe these Watchers have changed."

Max took another slop sip from his cup as he pondered Flash’s words. "I never seemed to have the time to find out exactly what these Watchers were about. We’ll have to figure it out now."

"Right," Johnny smacked his right fist into his left palm. We’ll scour the country. Find an Immortal and we’ll find a Watcher somewhere in the vicinity. Right, Max?"

Max nodded. "Most likely."

"From there," the Flash added, "we’ll follow them, listen while vibrating into invisibility and figure out what this society is about."

Johnny finished his coffee and searched Max’s house for a map. "Let’s scope out what parts each of us gets to cover."

"Something is definitely going on. The Watchers are supposed to keep to the shadows. For both of you to have encounters with these people can’t just be a coincidence." Max grimaced as he pondered what the future might bring.

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WEISINGER WHARF- METROPOLIS

MAY 30, 1985

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The wharf lay in the most downtrodden section of Metropolis - Suicide Slum. There were a number of derelict boats resting at the docks. There were no indications of any type of harbor patrol. Boats were free to come and go as they pleased, with no official interference. It was a prime place for crime.

A bald-headed man stood on the dock beside one of the badly-weathered boats. He was issuing order for the unloading of hundreds of five-pound plastic bags. The operation was nearly completed as the bags were put into a quartet of waiting trucks. The bald man checked to see that the trucks were all secure after his underlings had boarded the vehicles. He gave them the "thumbs-up" sign and they started their engines. He sighed as he saw the trucks leave. "To operate out of Kalbia and now this hellhole. How I wish I was once again ahorse and living like a true Cossack."

From behind a rack of wooden pallets, The Guardian stepped out of the shadows as he saw the trucks drive away from the wharf. He cursed himself for being late, but he could not turn his back on the candy store robbery that had resulted in the delay. He felt the Sensation of another Immortal, as he knew he would. "You’ve been shipping drugs into my city," he called out.

The bald man felt the Sensation as well. He turned to see the golden helm and shield of The Guardian glistening in the dim light of the wharf. He replied with a strong Russian accent, "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Suicide Slum has enough problems as it is. Compounding with drugs isn’t going to help. I’m The Guardian, and I protect Suicide Slum."

"I am Kristov." He drew out his saber in front of him. "Are you challenging me?" His tone sounded more like a threat than a question.

The Guardian stood his ground. "I’ve heard of you, but not your name. About a drug runner whom the police and other gangs have shot, but doesn’t seem to stay dead."

Kristov approached defiantly with slow methodical steps. He held his sword with the skilled hand of centuries of experience.

"This doesn’t have to be about the Game." The Guardian drew his sword out from behind his shield. "This is about right and wrong."

"There is no right, there is no wrong. There is only life and death for us." Kristov held his sword with both hands and bowed slightly to his opponent.

"If that’s the way you want it. One way or another, you won’t be bringing drugs into Suicide Slum anymore." The Guardian returned the respectful gesture.

"We shall see." Kristov hissed as he launched into a furious attack.

The Guardian brought up his shield to block the swing. Kristov’s blade bounced off of the golden metal, but Kristov was quick to recover and clanged his sword repeatedly against The Guardian’s defense. The Guardian, for his part, hoped that he would be able to fend off Kristov’s blows long enough in order to incapacitate the Cossack. He really did not wish to take Kristov’s head, if that were possible.

Kristov seemed undaunted by his inability to break through The Guardian’s defenses. Though his every thrust and strike was blocked by The Guardian’s shield, his blade was quick to press the attack again. The Guardian, for his part, did not bring his sword into play. His shield kept Kristov’s sword from inflicting any damage at all.

The Guardian could not find an opening in Kristov’s overwhelming offensive. His concentration was momentarily broken by a mysterious movement at the end of a nearby run-down warehouse. Kristov saw his opportunity, and with a quick slice was able to knock The Guardian’s sword from his hand.

"You are unarmed, costumed man," Kristov mocked. "Not that you used your sword. Do you not know how to?"

The Guardian ignored the tauntings of his opponent. Now he would have to depend on his shield to stay between Kristov and himself, most specifically his neck. Kristov was the most skilled combatant he had ever faced. Most of the criminal element that he battled was known for brute strength. Skill was a rare commodity. Even the minions of Intergang relied on heavy-duty weaponry.

The Guardian was hard-pressed to fend off Kristov. The Cossack continued to laugh and taunt as he came ever closer to breaking through and landing a vicious strike. The Guardian tried a few times to swing at Kristov with his right hand, but his mastery of fisticuffs was out of place in what should have been a swordfight.

Kristov baited The Guardian by feigning fatigue. The Guardian swung at Kristov’s sword with his shield, expecting some resistance from the Cossack. But it was all a deception. Kristov applied no pressure and The Guardian was put off balance. As The Guardian stumbled, Kristov spun all the way around and sliced a deep gash in The Guardian’s back. The Sentinel of Suicide Slum tensed up until Kristov pulled his blade free. Then he fell, sprawled upon the dock.

Kristov looked up and down the length of his blade. He smiled devilishly as he checked both sides of the Cossack saber. He did a casual victory stroll over the downed hero. Then he came to a stop, level with The Guardian’s vulnerable neck.

"Die well, Guardian." Kristov stood poised over The Guardian, ready to administer the killing blow.

The author of the mysterious movement at end of the warehouse stepped out from his concealment. He was Roy Harper, the Watcher assigned to The Guardian. He was driven to interfere.

"Uncle Jim!" Roy thought frantically. Superheroic reflexes took over. His Watcher oath was forgotten as he dug into his jacket and pulled out his crossbow pistol. The bolt that was already fitted flew from the weapon after Roy had taken aim. The missile struck Kristov in the lower spine. The Cossack reached back towards the stabbing pain. He convulsed and dropped his sword. His knees began to wobble, and he crumpled to the ground.

The Guardian looked up, still in extreme agony, surprised to still have his head attached. "What the ...?" His eyes focused on the figure above him.

"Speedy ... Roy? What are you doing here?" he said with incredulity.

"I know what you are, Uncle Jim." Roy helped The Guardian to his feet.

"I’m not your Uncle Jim," The Guardian protested, his voice weak with pain. "I told you, I’m his clone."

"I know that’s a lie." Roy draped The Guardian’s right arm over his shoulder and dragged him away from Kristov’s still-motionless form. "We’re not supposed to interfere. But I couldn’t just let him kill you."

"Interfere? What are you talking about?" The Guardian figured that his confusion might be due to the extreme pain he was still in, but he felt lucid, or at least he thought so. He knew that other Immortals could not interfere in a battle once it was joined, but Roy was not an Immortal. why would he be prohibited from interfering?

Roy continued to drag The Guardian off of the wharf, far enough away that The Guardian could no longer sense Kristov. Finding a bench at a deserted bus stop, Roy put The Guardian down. By now, the Immortal had nearly completely recovered. The two sat down and caught their breath.

Roy leaned his head back in contemplation. Then he turned and looked The Guardian straight in the eye. "Ever since that day that I stopped that robbery with you back in ‘78, I’ve been your Watcher."

"Watcher?" The Guardian frowned. The term had no meaning for him.

"We’re a society dedicated to recording the history of Immortals." Putting ‘family’ ties before Watcher responsibilities, Roy then proceeded to explain a good deal about the Watchers to The Guardian.

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TYLER CHEMICAL COMPANY - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Rex Tyler scribbled his signature on the last of a long line of purchase orders. Sometimes he wondered why he left Bannermain to form his own company. He was a man of action, in this as well as his cowled identity of Hourman. He did not relish the paperwork and bureaucracy that he had to suffer as the owner of his own chemical concern.

He considered packing things up and calling it a night. It had been a long day already, what with dealing with the attack on Dr. Mid-nite. He hoped that the JSA would be able to solve that mystery and soon. He had hoped to make it back home in time for dinner with Wendy and his son Rick. "Rick," he thought. He would definitely need to have a talk with Rick. He would need to be calm and composed. He really could not fault Rick for taking the Miraclo and taking up the guise, if not the costume of Hourman, as a new member of Infinity, Inc. The thrill of adventuring, as well as the body chemistry that made Miraclo work, was in the Tyler blood. But Rick did not know the price that Miraclo could exact. The enhanced strength, speed, and endurance were not the only effects that the wonder drug would have on his body.

Rex decided that he was still not ready to have that talk yet. Besides, he really needed to go over the records from the pharmaceutical division one more time. There was something strange about the finances from that division that made Rex uneasy. His accounting staff was already overworked with all the tasks that the new expansion and acquisition had brought.

"The boss’s work is never done," Rex sighed. Sometimes he longed for the simple life as a mere chemist.

He flicked on his computer and waited for the machine to slowly start up. Once it was ready, he noted that a high number of requisitions were coming from the pharmaceutical division. Most of these requisitions were signed by the newly-hired Bernard Bailly. Bernard had led a troubled life; Hourman had busted him for a minor felony a few years ago. Rex had given him the benefit of the doubt and brought him onboard. It seemed that this degree of trust may have been misplaced. It could be just a coincidence, but Rex felt that it merited investigation. But that would be tomorrow’s work.

The following evening, Rex, in his Hourman guise, hid among the trees overlooking the Tyler Chemical Company parking lot. He waited for Bernard Bailly to find his car once the five o’clock quitting time whistle had blown. As Bernard started his Buick Century, Hourman popped a Miraclo pill. He could feel the effects of the Miraclo upon his system almost immediately. He would have more than enough speed to keep up with Bernard, no matter where he went.

The Century pulled out onto Thomas Boulevard and headed straight for the seediest part of town. Hourman had no trouble keeping up on foot in the forty miles per hour zone. Hourman kept to the bushes along the roadside so as not to be seen.

Bernard finally stopped the car in a garbage-strewn alley. Hourman had stopped a few blocks behind, as the rundown downtown landscape did not provide him much cover. He noticed that someone had slipped into the alleyway a few moments after Bernard had pulled in.

Hourman cautiously and quietly made his way to the alley. Once there, he could see the Bernard Bailly was there with some other man. This man had quite a disheveled look to him. His face was scruffy and his sandy blond hair was unkempt. He did wear a nice-looking coat though.

"I got you the stuff just like you asked, Brian." Bernard said nervously.

"And I got your money. Brian Cullen always pays for his stuff, doesn’t he?" the scruffy man answered.

"Yeah, you been a good customer, Brian." Bernard replied. "But what I don’t understand is why you want this stuff. This kind of junk is strong enough to kill you. And there’s no way you could be using all of it yourself."

Brian was pouring some of the capsules into a syringe as Bernard was talking. Sticking the now-filled syringe into this left arm, the injected himself with the contents. "Ahhh, that’s good stuff." Cullen put his hand on Bailly’s shoulder. "You see, Bernie, I got a pretty good constitution. This stuff is not going to kill me."

Bernard tried to push Cullen’s arm off, but found that he couldn’t do so. "Whatever you say, man."

"But you’re right," Cullen continued, "Even my system couldn’t handle all of this stuff. I got a contact that buys the stuff, water-downed of course, from me for a pretty penny."

Hourman had heard enough. He leapt into the alley and struck a typical superhero pose - hands on the hips, legs spread wide. "You’ve been running drugs out of Tyler Chemical," Hourman proclaimed.

"Oh, geez!" Bernard exclaimed as he dropped the capsules he was still carrying. "It’s Hourman!"

"You fool! You led him here." Brian shoved Bernard hard. Bernard stumbled back until he was stopped by the brick wall. With uncanny speed, Brian slid a sword out of his jacket. "Can’t leave any loose ends, Bernie."

"C’mon, Brian. Don’t!" Bernard begged.

Hourman sized up the situation. Just based on how quickly Cullen drew the sword, Hourman could tell that this man possessed great speed, enough to make him unsure of whether he could wrest the sword from Cullen before Cullen could harm Bailly.

Cullen turned towards Hourman. The Man of the Hour could see that’s Cullen’s eyes told the story of a drug-induced mental state.

Cullen looked his opponent over and snarled, "Oh, I suppose you’re going to stop me?"

"One way or another," Hourman replied as his muscles tensed.

Cullen looked at Hourman, then at Bernard, then at Hourman again. He took a step towards the Temporal Titan. Hourman crouched and made ready to tackle the swordsman. Cullen stepped back and wound up to swing at Bernard’s head.

Hourman’s reflexes took over as he launched himself with Miraclo-enhanced strength at Cullen. Bernard screamed as he saw the blade coming for his head. Then he noticed that the blade had instead fallen and imbedded itself in his thigh. Bernard felt relief for a second and then excruciating pain as the blood started to flow from a severed artery.

Amidst a number of garbage cans about thirty yards from his last position, Hourman untangled himself from Cullen. He looked down and saw that his opponent was lying deathly still.

"Oh my God!" Hourman thought. "I must have killed him. I could feel his neck snap." Then he heard Bernard’s screaming. He dashed over and sized up the situation. He removed his yellow cape and tore the end of it into a number of strips. He tied the strips tightly around Bernard’s leg, producing a makeshift tourniquet. He gently removed the sword and smashed it against the wall.

"Damn!" Hourman grimaced. "I’d better get Bernie an ambulance." A quick dash to a phone at the end of the block notified the police department to send officers and medical help. Hourman returned to the alley to find Bernard mumbling about dying.

"I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die." Bernard repeated constantly.

"No, you’re not," Hourman replied, noting that the bleeding had slowed down to a barest trickle. A rustling sound from the garbage cans caught Hourman’s attention. He turned to see Cullen staggering to his feet.

"What the?!" Hourman thought. "I was sure that I killed him."

Hourman strode down the alley and grabbed Cullen by the neck. His thoughts were troubled. "Obviously, he’s a tough character, but nobody’s going to run drugs out of my company. I have to find out who’s in his network and put an end to it all."

"You talked about a contact." Hourman shook Cullen forcefully. "Who’s your contact?"

Cullen said nothing, as his mind eyes showed his mind to be in a different reality.

"Who’s your contact?" Hourman demanded and shook Cullen more violently.

"C-c-contact?" Brian sputtered. "Contact ... contact is Kristov"

"Where can I find this Kristov?" Hourman’s grip of Brian’s collar did not slacken.

"Metropolis," Brian choked out. "Kristov’s in Metropolis."

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MAYER AIRPORT - CALVIN CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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Oliver Queen went up the to the National Airlines counter. The female service representative smiled as she inquired how she could help. Oliver fumbled through some documents in his briefcase as he did a convincing act of appearing absent-minded.

"Just a second," he said. "I know it’s in here somewhere." He cursed himself for losing the trail of his target. He would never be able to find him in this large metropolitan airport. He would have to squeeze the information out.

"I’m Oliver Queen," he said as he continued to rifle through his briefcase, looking for an innocuous looking page that he could utilize.

"As in Oliver Queen, the wealthy art collector and philanthropist?" the representative beamed with an even larger smile.

"That would be me," Oliver admitted sheepishly.

"Oh, I just love art ... it’s so ... artistic. I’m Sheila, by the way."

"Ah ... yes. You’re quite correct, Shiela," Oliver said, suppressing a smirk. "Perhaps you could help me with something."

"Oh, anything, Mr. Queen. Anything."

Oliver finally located a sheet that had something to do with a Navajo purchase from a few year’s back. Why it was still in the briefcase, he did not know. However, he was thankful that it was. It would make the deception much more believable.

"One of my associates," Oliver began, "came to the airport a little while ago and I forgot to give him this very important document." He showed it to Shiela. "I was hoping that I could find out what flight he was on and catch him still at the gate."

"Where was your associate headed," Shiela asked.

Oliver grinned with feigned embarrassment. "Actually, I’m not sure. A whole brigade of my buyers went out today and I’m not sure where this one was going."

"I see," Shiela replied. "Well, it’s not exactly proper procedure, but if you could give me his name, I could check it on the computer."

Oliver’s face showed embarrassment once again. "It’s ... um ... sort of like this. He’s a new employee, only been working for a short time. I’m not exactly sure of his name. It think it’s something like Kyle or Kylie or maybe Kuyler."

"That’s a start," Shiela responded as she started to type furiously into the keyboard before her. "I can just pull up an alphabetical list and see what names we have under the letter ‘K’. Um, are you even sure that he’s on our airline, Mr. Queen?"

Oliver flashed the embarrassed smile once again, and Shiela knew what the answer was.

After a few moments of waiting, a number of names appeared on Shiela’s screen. "Let’s see. We have a ‘Kyle, Albert’, a ‘Kyle, Robert’, and a ‘Kuyler, Marcel’."

"Marcel Kuyler," Oliver thought. "As in ‘Marcel Marceau’ - the famous French mime. That has to be him." He slapped himself on the forehead. "Of course, Marcel Kuyler. How could I forget that name? Could you tell me what flight he was on, please?"

Shiela checked the screen. "He’s on Flight 39 to Gotham City, but it took off about five minutes ago.

"Gotham City," Oliver thought. He took out one of his gold-edged business cards and handed it to Shiela. "Thank you for all your help. Any time you go to a museum, just show them this and you’ll get in free."

"Thanks!" Shiela gushed as she marveled at the card.

"No, thank you," Oliver replied. He put together the contents of his briefcase and headed directly for a pay phone. He dialed the number and waited for an answer on the other end.

"This is Queen. I’ve picked up the trail of the target Immortal. It looks like he’s headed for Gotham. Alert our people there. I’m on my way."

"This is Wolf." the voice on the other end replied. "Message acknowledged. We’ll meet up with you there. Oh, and I’ve got the goods from McNider."

Oliver Queen hung up the phone and thought back how he had gotten involved in this new crusade against evil - once he hunted criminals as Green Arrow, now he hunted Immortals ...

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O’NEILL MUSEUM OF ANCIENT HISTORY - NEW YORK CITY

NOVEMBER 16, 1978

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Green Arrow waited patiently in the shadows of the museum and continued his surveillance. His eyes fixed upon the ancient Greek pottery that was displayed within an ornate glass case. He noticed the electronic eye beams that criss-crossed the floor. He noticed the security cameras that swung back and forth, scanning the area with monotonous diligence. He could hear the footsteps of the armed guards in the outer room. Still, he didn’t think it would be enough. There had been a rash of robberies of Greek antiques all over the country in the past few weeks. Something told him that the O’Neill was going to be next on the list. Green Arrow took a personal affront to the robbery of archaeological treasures. He was going to stop this crime wave.

"I wish Speedy were along on this case," he thought, "but Metropolis U’s Thanksgiving break isn’t until next week."

A slight noise overhead caught Green Arrow’s attention. He saw a dark, female figure above carefully cutting a hole through the skylight. After the cut was completed, the piece of glass was removed with some sort of suction cup device. The figure slowly lowered herself through the hole, her body supported by a steel cable attached to a harness that was wrapped around her. She also wore a backpack. She held a small cylindrical device in her left hand. As she approached an all-but-invisible electronic eye beam about fifteen feet above the display, she halted her downward progress. It was clear that she was aware of the security device. She punched a few buttons on the cylinder and it emitted a faint red beam. She focused the beam on the receptor plate of the eye beam. Then she resumed her descent. Once she slid passed the beam, she deactivated the cylinder. Slowly and quietly she inched ever closer to the display. She was reaching back and sorting through her backpack when Green Arrow decided to put an end to this robbery attempt.

Within split seconds of each other, Green Arrow fired two arrows with exacting precision. The first sliced through the cord that supported the cat-burglar The second expanded into a spider-web shaped next that anchored itself along the walls. The cat-burglar dropped into the net. As she bounced up, the webbing came with her. Once her bouncing ceased, she struggled against her sticky bonds but found that she could not extricate herself.

Green Arrow smiled briefly as he noted the success of his new spider-web arrow. "Yet another ingenious weapon in the arsenal against crime," he thought somewhat immodestly as he stepped out of the shadows.

Pulling out a broadsword which could not have possibly fit in her backpack, the cat-burglar started hacking away at the webbing. She freed her arm and balanced along a single strand with the skill of a world-class acrobat.

"All right, lady," Green Arrow stepped forward, a boxing glove arrow trained straight for the cat-burglar’s head. "That was some skillful work you’ve done there. One of the best examples of cat-burglary I’ve ever seen. Too bad for you I happened to have the museum under surveillance. I figured someone would make a try for these ancient Greek artifacts."

"Damn," the cat-burglar tore off her facemask, revealing the stunning beauty of Immortal thief extraordinaire, Amanda.

Green Arrow was taken aback momentarily by her appearance. "Um. let’s make sure that these artifacts stay in the hands of their rightful owners."

"Rightful?!? Ha!" Amanda laughed scornfully.

"And what do you mean by that? Certainly, you don’t believe that all these treasures belong to you?" Green Arrow replied.

"No, but they belong to the Greek people." Amanda responded. "The British looted and plundered the national treasures of Greece and brought them back to England."

"True," Green Arrow admitted, "but that doesn’t mean that you may steal them now."

"If I’m taking them back to the rightful owners, the Greeks, it does." Amanda sneered.

"You’re telling me that out of the goodness of your heart you were going to take these treasures and return them to Greece?" Green Arrow had never faced a crook with such an original explanation for his or her criminal deeds.

"Not completely out of the goodness of my heart." Amanda had a devilish smile. "The Greek government has given me a healthy retainer for my efforts."

"I assume you have proof," Green Arrow said as he continued to train the boxing glove arrow on Amanda.

Amanda rolled her eyes. "If you were going to engage in international theft, would you bring the paperwork along?"

"I suppose not." Somehow Green Arrow wanted to believe her. "How am I supposed to believe you?"

"You superheroes are supposed to have all sorts of contacts plus being brilliant detectives. Or was that just Batman? You should be able to find out," Amanda replied.

Green Arrow grimaced. Batman had not been active for years, and Green Arrow still could not get out of his shadow. All those years that Green Arrow had spent lost in time had only served to increase his obscurity relative to Batman’s fame.

"What do I do with you in the meantime?" Green Arrow let his bow and boxing-glove arrow come down.

"You let me go free," Amanda smiled. Her tone was quite matter-of-fact.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because you want to believe me. Because you know what I’m saying is the truth." Amanda crossed her arms in front of her chest. "Because you can appreciate the beauty and historical significance of this work."

"Perhaps I can. But can you?" Green Arrow put the boxing glove arrow back in his quiver.

"Try me," Amanda said confidently.

Green Arrow surveyed the items within sight. He selected a relief that depicted a number of mythological figures engaged in some sort of battle.

Amanda described it in exacting detail, mentioning facts that only a true art historian would know, and adding some intellectual tidbits that mad it appear that she had known some of the great past masters personally. She concluded, " ... and so it’s clear that the creator was a student of Egyptian art."

Green Arrow wiped his brow. Now, he truly wanted to believe her. "OK, but where will I find you once I’ve verified or disproved your story?"

"Constellation Park. Eight o’clock. In three days." Amanda smiled. She used the spider-web strand like a trampoline and flew into the air. She grabbed hold of the remnants of the cable and climbed back up to the hole in the skylight.

Three days later, Green Arrow arrived in Constellation Park. He found Amanda sitting on a green park bench in the middle of a grove of trees. Green Arrow’s eyes widened a little as he noticed her appearance. Her dress was a black, low-cut evening gown. Her hair was drawn back and held in a silver broach. A pair of black high heeled shoes were at the ends of her stockinged legs.

"A little overdressed to go to jail," Green Arrow commented.

"I’m not planning to go there." Amanda crossed her legs seductively. "Are you planning to take me there?"

Green Arrow tugged at his collar. Was it getting warmer? "No. It took some doing, but your story checks out."

"Good. I thought it might," Amanda said coyly.

"May I?" Green Arrow asked, and, upon Amanda’s nod, sat down next to her. "How do you know so much about the exhibit? You speak with an almost first-hand knowledge of the work."

"Not first-hand, but I’ve known some great artists in my time."

"I see," Green Arrow replied, although he really did not. This woman was certainly intriguing. They spent the next hour talking about art, architecture, sculpture, weaponry. Green Arrow was quite impressed by the breadth of her knowledge. It seemed implausible that someone could gather as much knowledge as Amanda had in a single lifetime.

At a lull in the conversation, Green Arrow inquired, "So what do we do now?"

"Well, I for one am famished. There’s this fabulous Greek restaurant on the waterfront."

Green Arrow looked down at his crimefighting costume. "I’m not exactly dressed for the occasion."

Amanda poked him in the shoulder. "Well, then get dressed. Don’t all of you superheroes carry your civilian clothes with you?"

"Well, yes, but ..." Green Arrow stammered. "You expect me to reveal my secret identity to you?"

"I believe in reciprocity. You reveal something to me, and I’ll reveal something to you." Amanda said as she pulled back her dress and bared her right leg.

"I see," Green Arrow said with definite interest. "I’ll be back in a moment." He slipped into the bushes. Amanda tried to peer through the branches at the source of the quiet rustling, but she could not make anything out.

After a few moments, Oliver Queen stepped out of the bushes. He was impeccably dressed in a three-piece black suit and a green tie. "Hello, I’m Oliver Queen."

Amanda recognized him immediately. "And I’m impressed. A man of your wealth fighting crime."

"Shall we?" Oliver offered his arm.

Amanda slid over to him and took hold of his arm firmly. "Let’s. Where were we?"

Oliver tilted his head and looked up at the starry sky. "I believe we were discussing the Egyptian influence on late Hellenistic architectural style..."

Amanda’s eyes met his eyes as he turned to look at her. "Ah," she said in a seductive voice.

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QUEEN MANSION - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 12, 1983

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Amanda looked at the calendar above her hand-crafted, oaken dresser. It was now 1983. In November, it would be their fifth anniversary of living together. Oliver was getting serious now. He was talking of marriage. Amanda did not know what to think. Oliver had shown her a life of luxury and elegance that even all her Immortal years of thieving would have been hard pressed to purchase. However, his heart was just as big as his pocketbook, if not bigger. The only problem was that he was mortal. Eventually, the years would catch up with him. This was what Amanda feared. She did not know if she would be able to cope with it. Marriage. It was so permanent. Immortality had allowed so much freedom. Now she was considering surrendering her freedom, or at least a part of it. Before Oliver, she had never considered the possibility. She corrected herself, there was one other - Duncan MacLeod. She stared out the window and thought of Duncan.

"My boy scout of a Highlander," she thought as she peered down through the third story down to the roadway below. She spotted a long-haired man on the street a few blocks away. In her mind’s eye, she constructed the features of Duncan’s face to this indistinct image approaching. Then the sensation of another Immortal assaulted her senses. She peered closer at the approaching man. It was Duncan MacLeod.

Amanda shrunk down below the window sill as indecision grew stronger in her mind.

"Duncan!" she gasped. Suddenly her heart was filled with the memories of all the times that she had shared with the Highlander over the centuries. Old urges overtook more recent feelings.

"I can’t just leave Ollie. It would break his heart. What can I do?" Then her cunning mind came up with a plan. "I can take the Immortal way out. I’ll fake my death."

A week later, Oliver Queen sat slumped in a plush white coach in the study. His face was one of sadness as he absent-mindedly swished his glass of red wine. All of the friends and family had now departed from the after-funeral dinner. Only his erstwhile partner and ward, Roy Harper, remained.

Roy stood behind the couch, a glass of red wine in his hand as well. He would have to return to Metropolis University for final exams on the first flight tomorrow morning. He thought of the pain that Ollie must be experiencing. The official police report stated that Amanda had lost control of her Ferrari and ended up in the East River. Three days of underwater searching finally uncovered the car, but no body was to be found. The funeral had been held this morning, only two days after the police ended the search. However, Roy knew that Amanda was not dead. Her Watcher had located her catching a flight to Paris, most likely to resume her on-again-off-again romance with Duncan MacLeod. Though they had been partners for years, and Ollie had been like a father to him, Roy felt that he could not betray his position as a Watcher this time. The existence of Immortals was to be kept to the society. It was not for public consumption.

Roy tried to buy into the official line, but he could not. This was not for ‘public consumption’, this was for a friend, a dear friend, in fact. Roy could not bear to see Ollie grieve for someone who was not truly dead. Not that Roy believed that Ollie would ever see Amanda again. Immortals were generally reliable about not revealing themselves to their ‘survivors’ after their ‘deaths’. It was a question of competing loyalty and, in the end, the longtime loyalty of friendship won out. Roy decided that he had to tell Ollie. "Amanda’s still alive, Oliver."

Ollie did not even bother to turn around. "Roy, don’t give me the sentimental ‘She’s still alive as long as we remember her’ line."

Roy put down his glass and walked around to the front of the coach. He looked Ollie straight in the eye. "No, I mean she’s still alive, living and breathing."

"What are you talking about? Are you taking after your other-Earth counterpart and doing drugs?" Oliver shook his head. "She’s dead, Roy, dead."

"She can’t die, Ollie. She’s Immortal."

Oliver sprang to his feet and a stream of splashed red wine now marred the white couch. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"There are Immortals out there. They can’t die. Amanda was one of them. So is Sir Justin. So is my uncle Jim ... The Guardian," Roy explained.

Oliver stared into Roy’s eyes for a moment. Despite the incredulity of the tale, he could see the sincerity in those eyes. Then he exploded. "You knew what she was, and you didn’t tell me?" To say Oliver was noticeably upset would be an understatement.

"I couldn’t tell you then," Roy said sorrowfully, "and I shouldn’t have now."

Oliver grabbed Roy by the lapels of his coat. "Get out. Get back to Metropolis. And don’t come back."

"But Ollie!" Roy argued as Oliver released his grasp and pushed the Boy Bowman away.

"Out!" Oliver pointed at the door and anger burned in his eyes.

Roy looked at Ollie but saw there was no reasoning with him. In both of their hearts, they knew this was the end of a partnership and a friendship. Roy grabbed his bag that rested by the doorway and closed the door softly behind him.

Oliver slumped once again into the stained couch. His mind was a chaotic ocean of a multitude of emotions. Love, hate, remorse, anger, betrayal. All of these emotions fought for pre-eminence in his mind. After a period of a few minutes of hard-fought psychological battle, the mental war was interrupted by a ring at the door.

"Damn it. Can’t I be left in peace?" Oliver rose to his feet and answered the door.

He opened the door to find a slightly under-average height man with receding sandy-brown hair waiting upon the doorstep. He did not look he was a salesman, but his face indicated that he had something to offer.

"Hello, Mr. Queen. I believe I might have something of interest for you. You feel lost in this modern world, don’t you - Green Arrow?"

In his rage, Oliver did not pay much attention to the fact that this stranger knew of his costumed identity. "If I did, what business is it of yours? Are you trying to ‘convert’ me to some cockamamie religion?"

"We can give you a purpose, a reason to live," the man stated.

"I’ve got crime-fighting, what more do I need?" Oliver sneered.

"There’s a bigger battle going on than that going on between the forces of crime and the forces of law. There is a battle whose outcome will change the future of the world. These Immortals are vying for ultimate power. We cannot allow any one of them to capture that power. All of them should be eliminated."

Oliver thought about it for a minute. The mental war was won. Revenge was the victor. "All right, I’m in. But who are you?"

"We are hunters, Mr. Queen, hunters of Immortals." The man offered his hand to Oliver. "I am Horton, James Horton."

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CORNER OF SIMON STREET & KIRBY AVENUE - NEW YORK CITY

MAY 26, 1983

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Oliver Queen, dressed in a green trenchcoat and his Green Arrow cap, stepped out of the black Mercedes and walked with determination to the nervous Italian man waiting nervously against a lightpost, seemingly reading a newspaper. The Italian did not seem to notice him as Oliver removed a hand-sized crossbow from inside of his coat.

The Italian heard the rustling and turned to face the newcomer. Oliver’s outfit was unknown to him, but he recognized the signature cap. "You’re Green Arrow, right?"

"I’m a Hunter," Oliver replied grimly.

"Oh, I see." The man laughed nervously. "A manhunter. Reaching out with the long arm of the law and all."

"No, I’m a Hunter. A hunter of Immortals, Benny Carbassa."

"Uh-oh," Benny thought. "He knows who I am and that I’m Immortal."

Benny put on his best con-man smile. "So why’re ya hunting me, Green Arrow?"

"Because you’re an Immortal, and you’re a danger to humanity."

"To humanity? Me? No, not me." Benny argued nervously, "Maybe to the naive public, but not to all of humanity. C’mon, I’m not even a big time player. If you know me, I’m a penny-ante operator. Okay, maybe I roll up some big debts sometime."

Oliver stood there with an emotionless expression on his face.

"He’s gonna kill me, fer cryin’ out loud," Benny thought. He decided to do what he did best - run. He tossed the newspaper at Oliver and took off with a mad sprint. Oliver brushed the paper away. He fitted a razor-sharp bolt to his bow and took careful aim. The bolt sped through the air and found its mark. Benny felt a pain in his back and looked down to see a bolt protruding through his heart. His body tensed, Benny stumbled, and then he landed chin first on the ground.

Oliver rushed over to the spastic form. Despite his best efforts, Benny could not pull the thick bolt out of his chest. Benny stopped struggling as he heard an all-to-familiar sound of scraping metal.

"The Game is over." Oliver snarled.

Benny turned over, and his last sight was a machete slicing down towards his neck. Oliver Queen had successfully hunted down his first Immortal.

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CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY
MAY 30, 1985
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Robin watched as the police paddy wagon took away the last of the jewel-heist gang. He had pursued them across town from the scene of the crime, the biggest jewelry store in town - Finger’s Jewelers. This bunch had tried to make off with Finger’s collection of giant-sized jewelry. Robin followed them on his custom-made red Robincycle and managed to puncture their tires with some well-thrown bat-darts. The ensuing scuffle had lasted only a few minutes before he had subdued all of them.

Crime Alley. This was a place that he had visited many times before with Batman. Crime Alley was not always the bad place it was now. Back in the late thirties, it had been the most fashionable part of Gotham. It was here that Thomas and Martha Wayne, parents of a young Bruce Wayne, were callously murdered. The tragedy was the genesis of Bruce Wayne becoming the Darknight Detective - Batman. His late mentor had made a point of visiting this place regularly and rededicating himself to the fight against evil.

Robin broke away from his memories and looked closely at his right shoulder. One of the mugs had gotten off a shot that had wounded him there. It had completely healed by now, as Robin knew it would, but he was always impressed by the wonders of his Immortality. Now his brain registered one of the other features of Immortality - the ability to sense another in the vicinity. Robin scanned the surroundings.

"Another Immortal," Robin thought. "Green Lantern, perhaps?"

Robin slipped his hand into his cape and drew his sword. The other Immortal dropped to the ground. In one fluid motion, Robin turned and swept his opponent’s leg out from under him. The opponent moved his leg with the swipe and was barely touched by the blade. He did a quick forward somersault in the air and landed in a position that Robin recognized as derived from a form of ancient Chinese martial art.

The opponent wore a white tunic with flared shoulders over a red bodysuit. The tunic was open at the chest and revealed a blue leather harness. The sleeves of the bodysuit were large and flowing. They were held somewhat in place by gold armbands. The bands around his wrists were gold as well. The entire ensemble had an Oriental look to it, accentuated by the two throwing stars affixed to either side of the tunic.

"Pretty good move, kid," the mystery-man declared as he drew a large Bundi dagger out of his left sleeve.

Robin studied the features of the face behind the red mask. Slowly he realized that the face was familiar to him. He had not seen it for a long time, but it was Paul Kirk.

"Manhunter?" he said with a small degree of uncertainty.

"In the flesh, and with a much more distinctive outfit these days," Manhunter said proudly.

Robin shook Manhunter’s hand and marveled at his costume. "Batman had said you died during that mission in the Far East."

Manhunter brushed some dirt off of his costume. "As you can tell, I got better."

Robin continued to hold his sword at the ready "So, are you here for my head?"

Manhunter put his blade back with the folds of his sleeve. "No, just to talk. I’ve found out some interesting things in the past few years. But first let me tell you a little bit about myself."

Robin and Manhunter pulled up a pair of garbage cans. Once both were seated, Manhunter began to spin his tale.

"I was Paul Kirk, a wealthy business. In the Thirties, I was also one of the best big game hunters in the world. By the time the Forties arrived, game hunting was not challenging anymore. So I decided to hunt a more dangerous game - criminals. I took up a mask and costume and became Manhunter."

"Right," Robin nodded. "We met briefly at a few All-Star Squadron meetings."

"Right, then in 1943," Manhunter continued, "I was contacted by the government. They needed someone of my skills. Someone to perform secret behind-the-lines jobs. These weren’t pretty missions. They knew who I was and knew that I was right for the task. So I quit being Manhunter and disappeared into Europe for the rest of the war."

"Aha, we wondered why you didn’t show up at All-Star Squadron meetings anymore," Robin noted.

"Now you know," Manhunter answered. "After the war, I was sick with the whole ‘good and evil’ thing. I went to Africa in 1946. I wanted to get back into hunting, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t sport anymore. It was just senseless brutality. On one such safari, I deliberately missed a shot at a tiger. The sound resonated through the brush and startled a elephant. The pachyderm rushed out of the brush and headed directly for me. The rest of the hunting party fled, but there was nowhere for me to run. I raised my rifle up again at the sight of death rumbling to me, but it was a futile gesture. The world became a horrid haze and red and black. I died ..."

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UNDERGROUND COMPLEX - ARCHIEWALTA, AFRICA

SEPTEMBER 24, 1973
{Based on Detective Comics #432}

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Paul Kirk awoke and was surprised to find himself alive. He found himself in a large glass tube whose door had just been opened. His clothing consisted of only a pair of shorts and his entire body was wet. By the feel of it against his skin, he could tell that it was not water but rather some other strange substance. He shook off some of the liquid as he stepped out of the tube. "I’m alive! H-how?"

An Oriental man standing in front of the tube waited for Paul to regain his composure. "Greetings, Paul Kirk. I am Dr. Oka. It has taken almost 25 years to bring you back from the brink of death. While you were frozen in cryogenics, memory tapes playing to your unconscious, countless operations were done as medical and technological advances made them possible. Now you are healed, Paul Kirk. Thanks to our breakthroughs in genetic surgery, you are, shall we say, improved. We have incorporated a healing factor into you. It allows you to metabolize wounds a thousand times faster than even the healthiest man."

Paul looked around to see that the tube was just the smallest part of a massive technological complex. There were all types of mechanical devices and vehicles and equipment that far surpassed anything that Paul had ever seen in a Flash Gordon or Buck Rogers movie serial.

Dr. Oka interrupted Paul's reverie. "So far, we have only been able to supply you with the healing factor. Your brethren do not seem to take to the procedure."

"Brethren?" Paul asked, still in an obvious state of confusion.

"We have appropriated some technology from a top-secret laboratory in Metropolis. Look at what it has produced." Dr. Oka pointed to something behind Paul.

Paul turned to see a bank of about fifty glass tubes, identical to the one that he had been in. Inside of each of the tubes, there was a male figure. Paul squinted his eyes again as he adjusted to the brightness of the complex after so many years in darkness. Looking at the figures inside of the tubes was like looking into a mirror. They were his exact duplicates.

"Yes, Paul Kirk," Dr. Oka said. "They are clones of you."

------------------------------------------------------------

CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985
{Flashback based on Detective Comics #432}

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"They didn’t know that they had no part in producing a "healing factor" in me." Manhunter explained. "It was all a result of my Immortality. They put me on ice mere minutes after I died and kept me locked up in that cryogenic chamber for a quarter century."

"Who are ‘they’?" Robin asked.

"They are, or were, the Council of Ten. The Council wanted to save humanity from itself. They made those clones of me. The clones were to be my agents and I was to be the head of the Enforcement Branch. They wanted me to assassinate an Interpol agent. But I refused and was hunted by them. I took the battle to them and ended their menace."

Robin nodded. "That’s when Batman said you died, blowing up their complex."

"I did, but I got better, like I said." Manhunter replied. "Unfortunately, not all of my clones were at the base at the time. They’re still out there and I have to hunt them down. I’m my own Manhunter now, you could say" Manhunter let a wry smile slip through his otherwise stern face.

"Are your clones Immortal, too?"

"No, they’re mortal. Apparently whatever it is that makes us Immortal doesn’t get copied in the cloning process. They don’t die easily, though. And they know just about everything that I do." Manhunter grimaced.

Robin joined Manhunter in a grim visage when both of the costumed men detected the presence of a third Immortal nearby.

"Expecting company?" Manhunter said as he got up from the garbage can. The Bundi dagger appeared in his hand again.

"No. You?"

"Actually, yes." Manhunter said mysteriously.

Both Immortals instinctively ducked and assumed combat positions. A whir in the air could be heard, and a small dark figure dropped down from the rooftops. Manhunter looked up and he was struck square in the face by some sort of metal truncheon. His head snapped back and he collapsed to the ground.

The dark figure let go of the silken rope upon which he had descended. He was a strong boy, about ten years of age. He had a mop of curly, sandy blond hair. His eyes were covered with a blue domino mask. He wore a grey short-sleeved shirt with a blue bat emblem upon the chest. At the top of the emblem was the letter ‘B’ encircled in blue. A blue collared cape rested on his shoulders. His shorts and boots were the same color blue. A well-stocked utility belt circled his waist. He put his hands to his hips as he gazed down on his victim. Then he looked up and smiled at Robin.

"Batwing," Robin sighed.

"Hiya, boss!" Batwing replied. "I bonked him good!" He picked up a batarang from the ground and fitted it back into his utility belt.

"Batwing, what are you doing here?" Robin exclaimed. "You’re supposed to be at home studying for school. Besides, Manhunter’s not an enemy."

"Oops," Batwing smiled mischievously. "Hey, chill, boss. No harm, no foul. It’s not like I could kill him with a batarang, could I?"

Robin sighed again. "Batwing ..."

------------------------------------------------------------

MILLER HOTEL - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 5, 1983

------------------------------------------------------------

Atop the Gothic-styled building, Robin stood watch once again over the night in Gotham City. Since his return from his position as ambassador to South Africa, he had spent most of his time re-establishing himself at the law firm of Cranston, Grayson, and Wayne. He had not had much time to devote to superheroic activities. He wondered how Helena, Bruce’s daughter and the Wayne of CG&W, was able to find the time outside of her lawyer responsibilities to do so much crusading as the Huntress.

"She’s Bruce’s daughter, all right," Robin mused. Helena certainly was a determined crimefighter like her father. Her dedication was partly based on the tragic deaths of her mother, Selina Kyle Wayne (formerly the Catwoman) and her father. Robin also attributed a part of her dedication to something in the Wayne blood. Robin sighed as he knew that there would not be any little Graysons to take up the Robin mantle in the future.

Robin felt a slight twinge in his head. He looked down to see a ten-year old youth scampering down the street below with two beat cops in close pursuit. Robin could see that the kid had a number of boxes of candy in tow. He figured that the kid had just appropriated them from Billy Winka’s Chocolate Shop which was just up the street. The police officers were closing in rapidly and Robin concluded that his assistance was not needed. However, some strange feeling was nagging at his brain, and so he hooked up a batline to a nearby exhaust vent and rappelled down to the street below.

As he descended to street level, he could see that the chase had led to the busy intersection of Kane Boulevard and Robinson Street. As he reached the intersection, the youth looked back to see that the cops were almost upon him. He never saw the yellow taxi cab that struck him as he stepped out onto the roadway.

The cab had slammed on its brakes, but it was much too late. The impact sent the youth flying twenty feet down the boulevard. The police rushed over to the stricken youth. By this time, Robin had made it down to street level and was only a few yards behind the policemen now. One of the officers knelt down to check the youth’s pulse. The cop looked up and shook his head sadly. The other officer called for an ambulance with his walkie-talkie. Robin just stood there as he tried to determine what had drawn him to this scene. The Sensation he had felt upon the rooftop was unlike anything he had ever felt before.

"No, that’s not right," he corrected himself. It was somewhat akin to the Sensation of another Immortal. It was not quite the same, and certainly not as powerful, but there was a distinct similarity. What had Hawkman told him during his training?

Hawkman’s words echoed within his head. "Sometime we Immortals are able to detect a person who will become one of us."

That was it, Robin assured himself. Someone here was an Immortal in the making, and his instinct told him that it was the lifeless youth here. The sensation had begun when he first noticed the kid, and it had ceased when the kid was struck by the car.

The ambulance pulled up and quickly loaded the kid into the back. A few words with the officers informed Robin that the kid would be taken to the morgue at Gotham Memorial Hospital. Robin then disappeared into the shadows.

A few minutes later, Robin reached the rooftop of Gotham Memorial. Entering through an exhaust vent, he made his way through a ventilation shaft until he reached the basement morgue. He looked through the metal grating to see the medical examiners place the kid’s body into one of the cooler vaults. He waited for the medical examiners to depart before he kicked out the grating.

Robin crept towards the door and made certain that it was locked. He rummaged carefully through the reports on the nearby desk until he found the chart filled out with information about the kid in question. Robin put the chart back down and then opened the vault door that housed the kid’s body. As he opened the door, he could sense the presence of another Immortal. Simultaneously, the kid revived and sprang up from the cold metal table upon which he had been. The kid looked up to see Robin and was completely confused.

Robin scratched his chin and whispered, "What am I going to do with you, Richard Ryan?" He signaled with his finger across his lips for Richard to remain silent. He led them back to the ventilation grating and the exited from the morgue via the ventilation shaft.

"What am I going to do with you, Richard Ryan?" Robin asked. It was morning now, and Robin had taken the boy to the Batcave. He had explained to Richie the story and the Rules of Immortality. The kid had accepted all of it matter-of-factly.

"It’s Richie," the boy insisted he be called. Richie was in complete awe of the crimefighting complex.

"You wanna know what you’re gonna do with me?" Richie said as he started to push every button and turn every dial in sight, only to be pulled away from the machinery, with an exasperated sigh, by Robin. "It’s obvious. You gotta make me your partner."

Robin shook his head. "I suppose I do, but you’re going to need superheroic identity if you’re going to be my sidekick."

"I gotta get a name. Something like a bird." Richie mused. "Sparrow, Eagle, Hawk, Nightwing, ... Batboy?

"How about putting those last two together?" Robin suggested.

"Hmm, Batwing? Yeah, that sounds cool. Batwing it is!" Richie exclaimed. "Now all’s I gotta do is put together a neat-o costume!"

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CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey, who’s the ninja?" Batwing bounced up and down with youthful exuberance.

"I said that his name is Manhunter," Robin replied.

Batwing scratched his head. "Oh yeah. I remember reading about Manhunter in all that old stuff from World War Two that you made me read. Hey, weren’t there two Manhunters? One with a dog and one with a blue facemask?"

"Yes, there were. This is the one who wore the blue facemask - Paul Kirk."

"Paul, are you all right?" Robin helped Manhunter to his feet.

"Yes, I’m fine now. Nice shot there, kid. Not many people can get the drop on me."

"I’m a bad boy with a batarang!" Batwing proclaimed. "Besides old Ex-Boy Wonder here has taught me lots."

"Pleased to meet you, Batwing," Manhunter shook the youth’s hand.

"Likewise," Batwing said enthusiastically.

Robin patted his young partner on the head. "You were saying that you were expecting somebody? Whom?"

"I don’t know." Manhunter scratched his chin. "An Immortal’s been trailing me for a few years now as I’ve been hunting my clones. I’ve never seen who he is yet. He must be an expert tracker because I’ve used all of my tricks and I can’t lose him." Manhunter sat down on a garbage can. "I was hoping that I could get some help in tracking my tracker down. Batman’s the only one who I ever considered my equal when it came to pursuing quarry. I hear that you’re not too bad yourself, Robin. I’m sure that you learned a lot from Batman, may he rest in peace. And I hear that there’s another masked crimefighter in Gotham. From her motif, I’d say that she had something to do with Batman as well. I’ve heard that she’s an expert as well."

Batwing frowned with an indignant face. The expression was not lost upon Manhunter.

"I’m sure you’re a good tracker, too, Batwing," Manhunter said politely.

Batwing smiled quite widely at the compliment.

"But back to my needs," Manhunter continued. "I also know that one or more of my surviving clones are here in Gotham as well, so if you could keep an eye out for them. They have their own agenda, now that the Council of Ten has been destroyed."

Robin nodded. "Sure, we can keep our eyes open."

"Yeah, we’ll do that," Batwing chimed in.

"Great," Manhunter replied. "I’ll get back to you if I discover that my hunter is on my tail. Then maybe among the group of us, we can turn the tables." He crawled up a nearby fire escape and disappeared into the night.

A few blocks away and distant enough so that his Quickening could not be detected by them, the Manhunter’s pursuer, Martin Hyde, watched the discussion through a pair of high-powered binoculars. Manhunter had led him on a merry chase, but now was the time to end it. He laughed silently, "You call yourself Manhunter, Mr. Paul Kirk. Perhaps we should call you ‘Manhunted’ instead."

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NODELL OFFICE BUILDING - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

------------------------------------------------------------

In the high-rise corporate office of the Gotham Broadcasting Company, the director of programming, Alan Scott, settled into his comfortable leather chair. His desk was covered with covered with all sorts of administrative details that needed to be dealt with in order for Gotham Broadcasting to function.

He started sorting the papers from his in box into those that required his personal attention and those that he could delegate to his personal secretary, Molly Maynne.

Molly Maynne was the ideal person for the job. She had been with GBS for almost as long as Alan himself had. While Alan had climbed the corporate ladder to become executive director of the station, Molly had not been quite as successful. Still, her position as his assistant gave her ample power over station business. Alan liked having her around, though she seemed to be more interested in his Green Lantern alter ego.

As Alan finished dividing up the papers, he noticed the presence of another Immortal. Alan got up with a start but then relaxed.

"Probably just Robin and Batwing," he thought to himself. Gotham would probably count itself lucky to have so many Immortal heroes protecting its streets; that is, if the general populace even knew about the existence of Immortals.

Alan went back to sorting the documents. It was a common enough occurrence for the new dynamic duo to pass within range and then quickly move away. However, this feeling just stayed there. It was as if someone was deliberately trying to remain at the edge of the perception envelope. The caped crusaders would never do that.

"Maybe if it is trouble, perhaps the Green Lantern could be of help." Alan thought. He buzzed on the intercom, "Molly, hold all my calls, please. I don’t want to be disturbed as I go over the latest Arbitron ratings."

Molly buzzed back, "Sure thing, Mr. Scott."

Alan got up and went over to close his window shades. Soon the room was completely dark, save for the mystical glow of the green ring on his left hand. A spark emerged from his ring, and an ancient lantern materialized upon his desk. Inserting his left hand into the lantern, which also burned with a mystical flame, Alan recited the oath whose words he had been saying for nearly a half-century now: "And I shall shed my light over the dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light, the light of Green Lantern!"

With a thought, Alan’s form shimmered and his suit was replaced by the colorful costume of the Green Lantern. He tugged at the purple domino mask on his face, making sure it was snug. He reached down and straightened his green tights, and made sure that the yellow straps on his red boots were tight. He tucked his red shirt in and straightened his brown belt. Wrapping his purple cape about him, he flew at the window, passing through it intangibly by the magic of his ring.

Floating above the streets of Gotham, he attempted to get a bearing on where the other Immortal or Immortals would be. Summoning up a pair of green binoculars, he scanned the immediate area. As his gaze reached Rogers Park, he saw a black clad figure suddenly dart off. At that same moment, the Sensation suddenly stopped. From the brief glimpse, he had a good idea of who the other Immortal was.

Green Lantern streaked down into Rogers Park to where he had sighted the other Immortal. He saw that his quarry had blasted a trail through some dense bushes and was headed towards to the caves at the edge of the park. He floated down to the ground to get a better look at the trail that had been blazed. The branches had been cut clean through. Either it was a very fine energy beam or a quite sharp sword that had done it. Green Lantern was about to take to the air again when he heard the unmistakable sound of the Gotham-to-Boston Express rumbling along the tracks a few miles away.

"A train," he thought. "That’s how this all began ..."

------------------------------------------------------------

ONBOARD THE HASEN EXPRESS - MAYER, ARIZONA
JANUARY 19, 1940
{Based on All-American Comics #16}

------------------------------------------------------------

The mighty Hasen Express rumbled down the tracks as it neared the newly constructed trestle bridge that spanned a wide gorge. Inside of the locomotive, a conversation between the two engineers foreshadowed events that would come to pass all too soon.

"I tell you Alan. I’m worried," Jimmy Henton said nervously.

Worried, Jimmy? How come?" Alan Scott replied as he checked the engine temperature gauge. The new engine was running in fine form.

"It’s Dekker. He isn’t one to take things lying down. He’ll try something." Jimmy kept on looking outside the window. It was as if he were expecting catastrophe to strike any moment.

Alan reached up to rub the ancient green lantern that hung from the ceiling. He had picked it up at a Chinese antique store the other day. The proprietor had told him that the lantern would bring him luck. Then again, Alan had overhead the proprietor telling every prospective buyer that every item would bring good luck.

Alan rubbed the lantern a few times and wondered what type of magical spirit the proprietor expected the lantern to house. "Just because my company's bid to build this bridge was lower than his?"

"You may have been the engineer in charge of the construction, Alan, but that doesn’t mean that you understand Dekker." Jimmy was becoming even more agitated. He grabbed Alan by the collar. "He’s dangerous I tell you. He’ll ..."

Suddenly there was a massive explosion from somewhere ahead of the train. The locomotive lurched from side to side. Some of the linkages between the cars snapped and set the cars free. Those cars tumbled off the side of the bridge into the gorge. The locomotive itself managed to stay on the track until it reached the gaping hole that the explosion had torn into the bridge. The locomotive’s wheels left the rail and it descended head first towards the bottom of the gorge. The engineers floated helplessly within the locomotive as it plummeted. There was a horrific crunch as the locomotive crashed into the ground.

Sometime later, a seemingly unharmed Alan Scott crawled out of the tangled mess of metal that the locomotive had become. He was utterly surprised by his survival and by the fact that he felt relatively little pain. His clothes had been torn in the crash, and they were stained with blood as well. He assumed that the blood was his, but he could not find a single cut on his body.

He rubbed some soot out of his eyes and noticed that there was a body sprawled out on the ground about ten yards away from the wreckage. Alan crawled over to the body and recognized it as his second-in-command. He checked for a pulse and found none. He checked for any sign of breathing, but all life had departed.

"J-jimmy? Oh, God - he’s dead!" Alan cried out.

Alan now noticed that he was carrying the green lantern in his hand. "This lantern - I must’ve grabbed it when we fell. But what’s wrong with it? It’s ..."

The lantern became increasingly warm to the touch, so much so that Alan had to put it down on the ground. He could see that there was now an eerie green flame burning within it. It was a very unnatural flame, of that Alan was sure. The flame grew in intensity until it erupted out of the opening. Then a hauntingly powerful voice emanated from the heart of the lantern.

"Three times shall I flame. First, to bring death. Second, to bring life. Now to you, I bring the fulfillment of the third prophecy - power. I, who am green as are the plants, the growing things, give you this power to shed over the dark, evil things for the dark, evil things cannot stand the light."

Alan could not believe what he was hearing. This lantern was talking to him. He figured that he must already be dead, or this was some sort of delusion caused by the crash.

"My power shall be yours if you have faith in yourself. Lose that faith, and you lose that power - for will power is the flame of the green lantern. Utilize a part of me to make a ring of power, a ring which must touch the green lantern once every twenty-four hours."

Alan pulled out his pocket knife and quickly fashioned a very crude ring in the shape of the lantern itself. He slipped the ring onto his left hand and took a deep breath. Going against his better instincts, he thrust his ringed hand into the lantern’s opening. The green flame was warm, but it did not burn his skin. He could feel raw energy flowing into the ring. When the flow stopped, he removed his hand and lifted it to the sky. He thought about flying and, before he could realize what was happening, he was airborne.

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ROGERS PARK - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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"It wasn’t until I joined the Justice Society," Green Lantern thought, "that I realized that I had survived the crash not because of the power of the lantern, but rather because I was Immortal."

Green Lantern took to the air again and sped off in pursuit. In a few moments he was outside of the park and amongst the cavernous hills. Forming a powerful lantern with his ring, he set off to investigate the caves. The Sensation was in his mind again - the other Immortal was near. Without warning, an ebony bolt of energy came slashing through the air and struck the Emerald Crusader square on the chest, singing the emblem of his namesake.

Green Lantern was knocked to the ground by the blow, and with his concentration was jarred by the impact, his lantern energy construct dissolved away. He rubbed his chest and found that he was not seriously injured. He should have expected such a greeting from the other Immortal, an Immortal whose identity he was sure of now - The Shade.

A black-clothed figure with a black tophat emerged from one of the caves with a slight laugh. "Ha ha, I figured that I could lure you out here, Lantern."

"What do you want, Shade?" Green Lantern demanded. "Tired of the Flash putting a quick end to all of your crime sprees in Keystone City? Hoping for a easier pickings here in Gotham?"

"Nothing of sort," Shade grinned.

Green Lantern thought about how it seemed as if the Immortal superheroes and super-villains of the world had an unspoken agreement not to go after each others’ heads. There had not been one case of a villain and hero clashing in Immortal combat, at least not as far as Green Lantern knew. For some reason, he felt as if that fact might be different after tonight.

The Shade twirled his cane. "I tracked you down courtesy of the Psycho-Pirate. Everyone else thought he was mad when he said he knew who you were. But it seems that he messed with your mind a few years back."

Green Lantern grimaced at the memory. The Psycho-Pirate had indeed used his emotion-controlling power to take advantage of Alan Scott. The Pirate had later influenced Commissioner Bruce Wayne and started a civil war within the Justice Society. It had taken Green Lantern a while to recover from the Pirate’s mental manipulations.

"I don’t think you lured me out here to recite my psychological history. What do you want, Shade?"

"I want your power, Green Lantern. Both that of your Immortal essence and your magical lantern. I want to be properly armed for when the Gathering commences, and I can’t think of a better weapon to add to my arsenal than your power ring." The Shade’s hand rested within the pockets of his coat.

"However, let us engage in honorable combat. Swords will be the only weapons, my shadow cane and your power ring shall not come into play."

"Fair enough, Shade. Let’s get this over with," Green Lantern removed his ring and placed it down on a flat rock. "I’ve never relied solely upon my power ring. My fists have done me pretty well in stopping crime, though I’d never claim to be quite the pugilist as Wildcat."

The Shade rested his shadow cane upon the ground and removed at thin black sword from inside of his jacket. "En garde, then." The Shade bowed politely and then assumed a traditional fencing stance. Green Lantern reached back and pulled his sword out of the folds of his billowing cape.

"Let’s do it," Green Lantern said with gritted teeth. He held his longsword above his head with two hands, the blade extending practically the length of his body.

The Shade and Green Lantern circled each other a few times. The Shade made the first attack with a bold thrust to the midsection, but the Emerald Crusader easily parried it.

"You’re going to have to do better than that," Green Lantern commented.

"Oh, I shall. Believe me, I shall," the Shade replied slyly. He stepped back and then resumed the offensive with a quick succession of strikes. Green Lantern met the Shade’s sword at every turn with his own. The exchange continued this way for minutes upon end. The Shade could not breach Green Lantern’s guard, but the Green Gladiator never had an opportunity to take the offensive.

The constant defensive work was starting to take its toll on Green Lantern. His sword was feeling heavier with each parry. However, he did not despair since he could feel that the Shade’s strength was ebbing as well. As to whose strength would fail first was anyone’s guess.

The Shade came to the same realization, but he knew inside that he did not have the stamina to continue his pressured attack for very long. His previous battles had been decided very quickly, and always in his favor, as attested by his continued existence. This Green Lantern, however, was much more of a challenge than he had expected. However, this was of no consequence for the Shade had come prepared.

The Shade stepped back from the flashing exchange of swordplay. "I would have preferred to beat you simply in honorable combat," The Shade stated wryly. "However, winning is the only thing that mattered." He held the hilt of his sword in his right hand and the point of the blade in the left. The weapon shimmered with a black glow for a moment and then transformed into his shadow cane.

Green Lantern looked over to where the Shade had put his cane before. He saw that it had now transformed back into its true shape - a black sword. "Your cane! It was your sword all along."

"Yes," The Shade’s smile was quite devilish. "A small bit of illusion, courtesy of my shadow cane. It was quite a simple matter to coat my cane with ebony energy so as to utilize it as a sword. It was even simpler to make my sword appear as if it were my shadow cane."

The Shade pointed his cane at Green Lantern now. "But enough of such pleasant chit-chat. Now is the time for the Green Lantern to die." A black cloud emerged from the cane and plunged Green Lantern into complete darkness.

As Green Lantern tried to see through the stygian haze, he was doubled over by the force of the shadow cane being driven into his mid-section. He gasped for air and then was struck by a powerful blow to the head. He closed his eyes and tried to listen for his opponent. Wildcat had attempted to teach him this trick, but apparently the lessons were not good enough, perhaps it was that the Shade was too skillful of a combatant. In either case, Green Lantern never detected the Shade coming from behind and landing a smashing blow to the back of the crusader’s head.

Green Lantern crumbled to the ground, his sword tumbling to somewhere in the black mist. His body was wracked in pain. Although he could not see the Shade, he was sure that the villain was coming in for the kill. Green Lantern knew that he had only one chance for survival, but his head was throbbing with such tremendous pain that he was unsure if he could muster up enough concentration. He gritted his teeth and put all of his willpower to a single thought.

"Die well!" The Shade exclaimed.

At Green Lantern’s mental command, his power ring went zooming through the air, through the dark cloud, and came to rest upon his finger. He closed his fist and then pointed the ring straight up.

"And I shall shed my light over dark evil, for the dark things cannot stand the light, the light of Green Lantern!" A searing blaze of green energy vaporized the cloud of darkness into nothingness. The Shade was blinded by the intense illumination.

"What?" The Shade cried out in amazement. "I didn’t know you could do that!"

"It’s not like I tell the card-carrying members of the Injustice Society of the World my secrets." An emerald sword now formed in his hand courtesy of his power ring. The Shade was still blinded and never saw the blazing sword cut through his neck.

The Emerald Warrior stood poised over the lifeless form of his obsidian opponent. "The light shall always triumph over darkness."

A pulsating black cloud emerged from the Shade’s lifeless body. The cloud floated above the head of Green Lantern for a few moments. Then it rushed down and surrounded him. Bolts of electrical energy arose from the ground and streaked at the Green Lantern’s enveloped form. The bolts seemed to disappear as they reached the outer edge of the cloud. After a few seconds of this furious electrical assault, the cloud dissipated and Green Lantern collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.

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NODELL OFFICE BUILDING - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 30, 1985

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While Alan Scott, in his guise as Green Lantern, was battling the Shade, Molly Maynne was leaving the building for her lunch break. She slipped on her sunglasses and waited at the corner for the number seventeen bus. She was headed for the Broome Street Cafe. It was less of a hassle to take the bus than to deal with finding another parking spot. She waited alone at the stop for about thirty seconds when the bus appeared. She stepped on to the bus, paid her fare of thirty cents and sat down.

She looked around the bus and noticed that there were only two other passengers. The bus was typically brimming with passengers. She looked around again and did a double take as she saw a pair of strange glass tubes in the back of the bus. She got up to go ask the driver about the items when she was grabbed from behind. A slight prick on her arm sent her quickly into a deep sleep.

The driver pulled the bus off of the busy road and into a deserted alley. He arose from the driver’s chair and walked to the back of the bus. His henchmen had already undressed Molly and placed her into one of the tubes and were busy adjusting a number of tubes and circuits that connected the tubes.

"We’re just about ready to begin, Mr. Kuyler," one of the henchmen reported.

"Good," Kuyler replied. "Once we have cloned Ms. Maynne here, we will have a perfect secret weapon with which to destroy Alan Scott, better known as the Green Lantern."

Kuyler checked over all of the settings once the henchmen had finished their preparations. Content that all was in order, he punched in the code sequence to begin the process. The tube housing Molly began to fill with a clear green liquid. Soon she was completely immersed in the solution.

Lights and dials on the machinery registered the progress of the procedure. Fluid now began to flow from Molly’s tube into the other one. A vaguely human shape began to form in that tube now. After a few minutes, it took on an increasingly more human appearance. A full hour later, the occupant of the second tube was an exact duplicate of Molly Maynne.

The henchmen helped the clone out of the tank. They outfitted her with Molly’s clothes and purse. Kuyler attached a small electronic device to her forehead. The device transmitted a set of commands directly to her brain. Kuyler removed the device and allowed the clone to get her bearings.

Kuyler asked, "Do you understand your purpose?"

"Yes," the clone answered.

"And how do you propose to accomplish your task?" Kuyler inquired further.

"I have a plan," the clone replied. She rummaged through Molly’s purse and pulled out a pair of strange glasses. She donned the glasses and put them on. Her image shimmered from the distinguished lady-like form of Molly Maynne to that of a different red-haired beauty. This new female form was considerably younger - perhaps in her late twenties and quite striking in appearance.

"An amazing device, but why did you take this other form," Kuyler demanded. He recognized the spectacles now as being the trademark of Green Lantern’s nemesis - the Harlequin.

"My original recently discovered the dead wife of Alan Scott. Apparently this Alyx," the clone rubbed her hands up and down her illusory body, "also bore him two children."

"Children," Kuyler replied. "Impossible! We Immortals cannot have children. There must be some other explanation."

Kuyler wrinkled his brow and thought about this revelation for a moment. "Perhaps it was the magic of his power ring that made the reproduction possible. Perhaps the offspring are more correctly the children of the ring and not of the man."

The clone explained further. "The children in question are the Infinitors Jade and Obsidian. They are both gifted with internalized power, something that even their supposed ‘father’ does not possess."

"I care not for the supposed children of Green Lantern," Kuyler replied. "I only care about the mission that you are to undertake."

"I shall kill Alan Scott," the clone said. "And when he is dead, I shall decapitate him."

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KANE COMMUNITY CENTER - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 31, 1985

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Oliver Queen stepped out of the limousine and handed the driver a fifty-dollar bill for the ten block trip. He straightened his tuxedo’s coat and walked up the red-carpeted stairs to the main entrance of the Kane Community Center. A doorman in a fancy uniform graciously opened the door for him. Oliver nodded his thanks and entered the foyer. He noted the schedule board upon the wall. There was a Policeman’s Ball scheduled for the next day. He had heard that Gotham had just appointed a new police commissioner. That would probably be the highlight of tomorrow’s festivities. He wondered if Gotham’s costumed protectors would be in attendance.

Oliver did not have a genuine affection for these sort of affairs. However, it had been pointed out to him that Immortals tended to be a rich bunch. As such, some of them were part of the upper crust of society and would frequent events such as this. It was a charity ball for some worthy cause. Oliver had not taken the time to notice actually what the cause was. His interest was in finding Immortals. He hoped that he might come across Kuyler here. Perhaps he might recognize one of the others. Perhaps even she, the wretched Amanda, might be here. Oliver longed for the day that he could be reunited with her, although it would be quite a brief reunion if he had his way.

As he was lost in thought, he had not noticed that he was now engaged in a conversation with a passing acquaintance, a writer named Thomas Roy. He had been taking care of all the mindless, banal pleasantries without any conscious thought. His attention was perked when his acquaintance was attempting to make an introduction.

"Ollie, I’d like you to meet someone. Come on," Thomas said impatiently.

Oliver dutifully followed through the crowd of tuxedoes and evening gowns. His friend brought him to a grim-faced man in a custom-made tuxedo. Oliver recognized the man, if you could call him that, immediately. Thomas stood between with a hand on each of the men’s shoulder.

"Mr. Grayson, this is Mr. Queen." He looked now to Oliver. "Mr. Queen, Mr. Grayson."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Queen. I’ve read about some of your archaeological discoveries. Very impressive." Grayson extended his hand which Oliver shook. Grayson looked around the room as if he were searching for someone.

"Grayson!" Oliver thought. "One of the truly old Immortals."

"Thank you. I happened to be in town and decided to attend tonight festivities," Oliver replied. "I’ve seen your name in the business reports many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever read exactly what sort of business in which you are involved."

Grayon’s gaze did not meet Oliver’s. He was continuing to search through the crowd. "Oh, this and that. A little bit here and a little bit there."

"Are you a local Gothamite, Mr. Grayson? I know of some other Graysons here in town, such as Richard Grayson of the law firm Cranston, Grayson, and Wayne."

"Ah, Richard," Grayson nodded. "Yes, there is a family tie between us." His head suddenly jerked slightly.

Oliver turned around and noticed the head of GBS, Alan Scott, enter the banquet hall. There was also a number of other guests who were arriving fashionably late. When he turned back to face Grayson, the other man had his eyes trained on the newcomers. Grayson seemed a little disappointed by the sight. He shook his head and then smiled at Oliver.

"A pleasure meeting you, Mr. Grayson," Oliver said. He assumed that Grayson had detected another Immortal among the group of latecomers. However, Oliver did not recognize any of them from the files.

"Likewise." Grayson shook his hand and headed into the throng of people. There were all sorts of local celebrities, as well as those from the national and international scene, in attendance.

Oliver stepped into a phone booth. He made sure that the door was completely closed behind him. He dug out two dimes and dropped them into the pay phone. He waited for someone on the other end to pick up and then he simply stated, "This is Queen. I’ve found Grayson."

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ADAMS HOTEL - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 31, 1985

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Oliver Queen walked determinedly into the lobby of the elegant Adams Hotel. Finely-suited bellboys offered to help him carry his rather large bags, but he waved them off. He would not trust anybody with his deadly belongings. He found a courtesy phone on a glass table amidst an arrangement of ornate wooden chairs. Putting his bags down, he seated himself and dialed ‘O’ on the phone.

"Mr. Giordano’s room, please."

The house operator patched him through. He then heard a voice on the other line answer, "Yes?"

Oliver softly said, "It’s Queen. Password - Marksman."

The voice replied "We’re in room 198, Mr. Queen."

"I’ll be right up." He hung up the phone and hoisted his bags over his shoulder. He passed by the elevator and took the stairs to the next level. He went down the hall until he found Room 198. A "Do Not Disturb" sign hung from the doorknob.

Knocking on the door, he recited again, "It’s Queen. Password - Marksman."

The door opened and Oliver quickly went inside. He closed the door behind him and put his bags down.

"Good evening, gentlemen." Oliver said as he noticed the two men in the room. Both of them were outfitted in green camouflage gear. One was re-stringing a wooden longbow while the other was adjusting the fletching on some razor sharp arrows.

"Good evening, Mr. Queen," one of the bowmen replied. "What type of mission are we Longbow Hunters to undertake here in Gotham?"

"Forget about Kuyler for now. Grayson is here. We take him out." Oliver went into one of his bags and pulled out two folders. He tossed them to the men. "Here’s his file. Read it over."

"Grayson would certainly be a feather in the Longbow Hunters’ cap," one of the bowmen said.

"Maybe we could mount his head on a wall when we’re done, Michaels." the other bowman laughed.

Oliver glared at the man. "This isn’t a sport, Grell, this is a war for the survival of the human race."

Grell nodded meekly. Nobody wanted to get on the bad side of Oliver Queen. Anybody who had been recruited by Horton personally was someone to be feared.

The phone rang. Michaels picked it up. "Yes ... Room 198" he put the phone down again. "That was Pallin. He’s coming up."

A few moments later a knock came at the door. A voice outside could be heard to say "It’s Pallin. Password - Marksman."

Grell unlocked the door and returned to fixing his fletchings. Pallin Wolf came in and locked the door once again. He was all smiles as he came in. He carefully put a black gym bag upon the floor.

"What do you have there?" Michaels asked, looking up from his bow.

"I have the materials you requested, Mr. Queen. I have the blackout bombs and infra-red equipment of Dr. McNider’s. I had a little trouble, but not much."

"What did you do to him?" Queen glared at Wolf. Michaels and Grell were happy that they were not the recipients now of Queen’s displeasure.

"I had to lay into him a little. He wouldn’t give up the IR goggles. He fought amazingly well for a blind man."

As Wolf finished his sentence, Queen grasped Wolf by the neck with a vise-like grip. "I told you McNider was not to be harmed. Which part of my instructions didn’t you understand?"

"What ... was ... I s’posed ... to do?" Wolf gasped desperately for air.

"We’re hunting Immortals. We’re trying to protect humanity from them. What good are we if we hurt humanity in the process? We could become as bad as they are."

"But Queen, this is war. And sometimes in a war ..." Wolf protested.

"Yes, this is a war." Queen threw Wolf to the ground. "I know what war is; I’ve been there. But I won’t allow innocents to get hurt. The ends don’t justify the means. Next time, you have a problem, you’d better come up with a way to solve it without hurting somebody else. Understand?"

"Yes ... sir," Wolf said subserviently as he tried to collect himself.

"Good," Queen said as he turned away. "Like I said, Kuyler can wait. Let’s start putting together the plan to hunt down Grayson."

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PARLIAMENT BUILDING - LONDON

MAY 31, 1985

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Duncan MacLeod and Uncle Sam drove through downtown London in their rented Volvo. Duncan was becoming a somewhat frustrated with his red, white, and blue compatriot since the Arch-American would not tell him who this other Immortal was that he had in mind. As they approached the hallowed halls of Parliament, both of them were struck with the same Sensation. There was another Immortal in the vicinity.

Uncle Sam turned to Duncan, "I reckon that’s him."

Duncan looked out the window and saw that there was a great crowd of people assembled on the street outside of the hall. He pulled the car over and, by some miracle, found an open parking spot. They left the car and joined the spectators. There was a group of legislators gathered on the steps of the ancient building. There was a pair of men standing before a bank of microphones. They were apparently answering questions from the press corps. Duncan strained his ears to try to hear what the subject of the press conference was.

After a few moments of listening, Duncan could make out that this was the first of a series of sessions on the Northern Ireland question. One of the men before the microphones was Brian O’Malley, a representative of the Republic of Ireland. His political rhetoric was expressing the hope that some sort of compromise could be reached on the issue of Northern Ireland.

"The Republic of Ireland is not interested in the forcible incorporation of the Northern Irish counties," O’Malley proclaimed. "However, as they are a part of Ireland, we would like to have a say and to provide input as to how the counties should be governed. We want to insure that Northern Ireland is governed so that all of its inhabitants, Catholic and Protestant alike, are accorded their basic rights."

A smattering of applause emerged from the audience. Uncle Sam now led the way through the crowd. "That’s him, right as rain." He pointed to a man who certainly stood out in the crowd. He was wearing a suit of golden chain mail. There was a red tunic with an eagle emblem over the armor. A flat broadsword rested in a scabbard at his left side. His hand was tightly gripping the sword’s hilt.

Duncan had to think a little before he recognized the armored warrior. "The Shining Knight?" Duncan asked.

"Sure as I love apple pie!" Sam replied. "Old Sir Justin is one of us, and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that he’ll be willing to give us a hand to smack that rascal Grayson."

The Shining Knight was scanning the crowd to discover the source of the Sensation in his head. He noticed Uncle Sam and Duncan pushing their way through the crowd. His hand left his sword’s hilt.

"Uncle Sam. By my troth, it has been many a year since we last crusaded together."

"Good to see ya, too," Sam tugged at Justin’s tunic, "Ya no-good Redcoat!"

"As you well know," Justin laughed, "I had nothing to do with opposing your little rebellion. I was still frozen in ice as your Colonies gained their independence."

"Just joshing with ya, Justin." Sam smacked Justin on the shoulder. "Oh, by the way, this here’s my friend Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, this here’s Sir Justin - The Shining Knight."

"Pleased to meet you, Sir Justin." Duncan offered his hand.

Justin shook Duncan’s hand heartily. "The pleasure is mine."

"So what’re ya up to, Justin?" Sam asked.

"During the war, as you know, I was special protector to the Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, God rest his soul." Justin thought about the injustice done to Churchill. "After I returned from the past with the rest of the Seven Soldiers of Victory, I was appointed a Special Protector by the Crown. One of my duties is to attend, in a ceremonial fashion, events such as this."

Before any of the three Immortals could continue the conversation, they were surprised to detect the presence of yet another Immortal in the immediate vicinity.

Duncan turned to Justin. "An Immortal in Parliament?"

Justin shook his head. "As Special Protector, I have made the acquaintance of all the members of Parliament. None of them are as we." He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly once again. "I shall let no harm come to anyone involved in the peace process."

"Mebbe it’s just a tourist strollin’ around," Sam offered.

"Maybe, Sam," Duncan replied. "However, I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

The Immortals looked through the crowd as they tried to determine who this other Immortal was. Neither the Shining Knight nor Uncle Sam had any luck in the endeavor. Neither of them recognized any faces in the crowd. Duncan, however, picked out the face of a long-haired ruffian in a black leather jacket.

"Over there," Duncan told Sam and pointed at the unkempt youth pushing his way through the crowd.

"How do ya know that’s the one?" Sam asked.

"Because we’ve met before," Duncan said. "His name is Kagan." Duncan and Sam pushed their way through the crowd towards Kagan while Justin jostled to get towards the podium.

Kagan kept on moving through the crowd, ignoring the repeated signals to his Immortal brain. His hand slid into the inside of his jacket, and when he slid it out, it held an Uzi. "One Ireland, traitor!" Kagan leveled the weapon at O’Malley. He pulled the trigger and a rain of bullets headed towards the diplomat.

Justin managed to break through the crowd and leapt in front of the diplomat. The bullets bounced off of his armor. Fortunately, they struck no one on the ricochet.

"Damn," Kagan cursed as he shoved his way out of the crowd. He dashed out to a Mercedes that was waiting for him a few blocks away. He hopped into the automobile and exclaimed, "Drive, man! Drive!" The driver, Tommy Fitzgerald, nodded, pushed the accelerator down, and zoomed away.

Duncan and Sam made it to Justin’s side. The knight had moved to cover the diplomat’s body with his own, in case there were other assassins amidst the throng.

Justin whistled "Winged Victory! To my side!" His winged mount leapt from a nearby building and flew down to the streetside. Once he was certain that the public officials were safe, Justin dashed to his steed and hoisted himself into the saddle. He heard the screeching of tires nearby.

"Away, Winged Victory!" he commanded. The steed complied and took to the air. He called down to Sam and Duncan. "I shall track the perpetrator. Follow as best you can." With that, Justin was off to the chase leaving his fellow Immortals behind.

Sam and Duncan looked at each other and, with consternation, said simultaneously "Englishmen!" With that, they both took off running for the Volvo, constantly looking up to see where the pegasus was carrying the knight.

Kagan picked up the car phone and dialed in. "Yeah, it’s me ... No, I didn’t kill him ... Look, the bloody Shining Knight and a couple of others ... like us ... were there and saved him ... No, I won’t get caught ... We’ll ditch the car in the junkyard ... OK, then, bye!" He slammed the phone down.

Kagan turned to look through the rear window. He muttered a series of Gaelic curses when he saw the winged horse rapidly overtaking the fleeing vehicle.

"Faster, man!" Kagan demanded. "We have to get to the junkyard before he catches us."

"I’ve giving her all she’s got!" Tommy replied. "She ain’t got any more speed!" The car’s tires squealed loudly with every sharp turn. Finally, they had reached Trotter’s Lane and were only a few blocks from the junkyard. Kagan breathed a momentary sigh of relief as he no longer saw the Shining Knight and Winged Victory in pursuit.

"Mother of God!" Tommy exclaimed. Kagan’s Immortal senses were alerted and he turned towards the front to see the knight and steed barreling towards them. Justin had a long lance in his right hand. He held it close to his side. His intentions were clear. He was going to joust the speeding automobile.

"The bloody bastard." Kagan said. "Run him down, Tommy!"

Tommy complied and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. The Mercedes lurched forward and accelerated. Justin was undaunted. He held the lance steady and true. He drove the lance’s point straight through the front of the car. It penetrated deep into the heart of the engine. He let the lance slide from his hand as Winged Victory beat his wings mightily to ascend, with scant inches to spare, above the wounded car.

Tommy’s control of the Mercedes was completely lost. The steering wheel did not respond. They hit the curb and went airborne. It crashed threw the painted yellow fence that surrounded the junkyard. The car came to a dead stop as it gained the ground once again. Tommy’s head hit the useless steering wheel with violent impact which rendered him unconscious. Kagan, bruised and battered, kicked the back door out and crawled out of the totaled vehicle. By the tugging at his brain, he could tell the Justin was still in the vicinity. He looked around the piles of abandoned metal. When his gaze crossed the hole that the car had made in the fence, he could see the golden armor of Sir Justin coming through.

"Ya bloody English bastard," Kagan hissed. "You’ll not be taking me in, and that’s for sure." He drew his sword out from his jacket and pointed it menacingly at the knight.

Justin put his hand to his sword but did not draw it. "Brian O’Malley was a peaceful man. Yours was a callous act. Submit to the authorities. This duel is unnecessary." Justin demanded.

"He was a traitor to Ireland, plain and simple," Kagan crept towards Justin with both hands upon his sword now.

Justin stood his ground. "He was a peacemaker."

"There can be no peace, so long as Ireland is not united." Kagan brought his sword above his head and swung for Justin’s head. The knight ducked under the swing and then drew his own sword.

"Knave!" Justin shouted. "Consider the battle joined!" He drew his sword from its scabbard and brought it to bear.

Kagan stepped back. "Yer head won’t be joined to your body much longer, limey!"

Justin had no response save for the determined look that came over his face. He advanced upon the Irishman, holding his sword before him.

Kagan looked around. There was nowhere for him to run. He would never be able to get out of the junkyard with the Shining Knight still alive. Kagan steeled himself and leapt forward to the attack. His offensive was turned away by a fine bit of swordplay on the part of the Shining Knight.

Kagan continued to slash away at Justin, but the knight's blade parried the revolutionary's every strike. The Irishman had hoped for a quick kill. The longer that the battle ensued, the less confident he became. After a flurry of blows that did not even begin to break down the knight's defense, Kagan had to step back and catch his breath.

Justin took advantage of this momentary lapse and now took the offensive. His sword was a blur as it came at Kagan from every direction imaginable. It was all that Kagan could do to block the knight's singing sword. 'Singing' was the word that came to Kagan's mind as the offensive continued - there was a rhythmical beauty and precision to Justin's attack. If Kagan was not in such fear for his head, he would have been able to better appreciate the expert swordmanship which he faced. His arms became heavier as he brought his sword repeatedly up to save himself from Justin's slashing strokes. The knight did not seem to tire as each blow came as hard, if not harder, than the previous.

Kagan could feel his strength rapidly ebbing. He knew that his end was near unless he could accomplish a dramatic turnaround. Then he remembered the dagger that he had strapped to his left wrist. He knew that he would have to attempt a desperate gambit. He needed to get close enough to be able to drive the dagger home into the knight's unarmored face. He was quite certain that the dagger would have no hope in penetrating the golden armor.

With a seemingly suicidal move, Kagan pounced forward with his main weapon at his side. Justin seized the unexpected opportunity and drove his sword through Kagan's chest. Kagan ignored the pain as best he could as his efforts drove the sword clear through him. A quick snap of his left wrist brought the dagger down into his hand. He wound up and attempted to plunge the dagger into the knight's unprotected face. Justin's caught the gleam of the dagger in the corner of his eye and then turned his head before the dagger could reach its intended target. The dagger instead bounced off of the hard mail that protected the knight's neck. The impact of the steel upon mail jarred the dagger loose from Kagan's hand.

Kagan cursed as he realized that his fate was sealed. Justin gripped the hilt of his sword with both hands. Pressing his foot against Kagan's chest, he was able to push the Irishman off the object off of the object of his impalement. Kagan's hands went to his chest, but his efforts to stem the blood rushing out were pointless. He dropped to his knees and felt his lungs filling up with blood. His eyes were riveted on the life that was flowing quickly away from him.

"I’ll see you in hell," Kagan sputtered. He looked up to see Justin standing above him with sword ready for the killing stroke.

"Mayhap, but not today." Justin’s blade cut cleanly through Kagan’s neck.

As a blur of energy floated up from Kagan's lifeless body, Duncan and Sam's Volvo came to a screeching stop at the edge of the junkyard. They found the damaged getaway car as they entered the junkyard. They momentarily looked up to see the pyrotechnics of the Quickening begin and then went to check on the condition of the driver. Tommy Fitzgerald was still unconscious, but Duncan was quite certain that his injuries were not too severe. With Sam's assistance, they carefully removed Tommy from the wreckage of the car.

Meanwhile, the Shining Knight was undergoing the agony and the ecstasy of the Quickening. There were old and rusted cars in the junkyard that had rested there for years. Now their engines roared to life. Metal scrapheaps were jostled by all of the automotive activity. Windshields that had not been previously broken were now shattered as the Quickening process came to a climax. Justin was battered down by the energy bolts that struck him. He stumbled into the ground once the transference had been completed.

Sam and Duncan had stretched out the unconscious form of Tommy Fitzgerald upon a space of soft ground. Their attention to the Quickening's display was diverted by the Sensation of another Immortal. A blue sedan pulled up behind the Volvo. A short, red-haired woman stepped out of the car, a shortsword drawn in her right hand.

Duncan recognized her immediately. "Annie Devlin?"

Annie looked over to the Highlander. Her eyes greeted him but she said nothing. She took a brief look at Sam and seemed to recognized him. Her eyes then turned to focus on the downed form of Kagan. "He was one of our best men," she cried out.

Justin looked up. "He was an assassin, milady." His words were spaced by deep, gasping breaths.

"He was a freedom fighter, something you should know about!" Annie glared at Sam now. "He was trying to free a land that’s been ground under the boot of English oppression for centuries. From what I’ve heard of you, you were involved in your land’s war for independence."

Sam was speechless. The revolutionary in him wanted to agree with Annie, but the hero in him could not stand terrorism. He stood in mute silence, not knowing what to say.

Duncan stepped forward to try to dissuade Annie from what he was certain was about to occur. Annie turned and scowled at him. She then turned and pointed at Sir Justin, "Yer a dead man!"

Justin met her gaze. While he was still overexerted from the Quickening, his honor would not allow him to turn down a challenge. He was about to respond when the air was filled by police sirens converging upon the area.

"Annie," Duncan implored. "We don’t have time for a duel. The police will be here in a few moments and we need to get to America to stop Grayson."

Annie did not know what Duncan's interest in Grayson was, whoever he was, and she did not care. Not turning her gaze from the staggering knight, "I don’t give a damn about Grayson. I want the limey’s head."

The Shining Knight used his sword as a crutch to get to his feet. "I shall return, milady, in order to give you satisfaction."

"It willna be to the first blood." Annie raged. "You’ll have to take my head to stop me."

"If you so choose," Sir Justin bowed politely. He almost toppled over in the attempt.

Annie hissed and put away her sword. She got into her sedan and sped away. Sam went over to give Justin a hand. The knight looked like he could use the support.

"You have not informed me as to why you and Duncan are here," Justin stated.

"It's about a really rascally feller named Grayson. He's up to no good, and I figgered we could use your help to stop him. I'll tell ya more on the flight over the pond." Sam replied.

"The pond? We are going to America then?" Justin asked as he waited for Duncan to get into the back seat.

"Right as rain, Redcoat. The good ole U. S. of A!" Sam opened the door for Justin and then went over to the driver's side.

Justin put his hands to his mouth and produced a series of short, sharp whistles. Winged Victory's ears perked up at the sounds and understood the command. The steed took the air and flew back to his private stable. Justin then joined Duncan and Sam in the car and they sped off for Heathrow Airport. They would take the first available flight to New York. From there, they would catch a connecting flight to Gotham. That is where they would find Grayson.

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ROGERS PARK - GOTHAM CITY

MAY 31, 1985

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Dressed in a long black overcoat, Vandal Savage paced impatiently. He chided himself for being out in the open. He would have preferred to have sent his underling, Kuyler, to complete the transaction. However, Kuyler was otherwise engaged in the implementation of Savage’s plan to destroy the Immortal JSAers. Savage did not trust any of the other men in his employ to conduct this transaction.

A man stepped out of the shadows. Vandal Savage recognized the man as the one with whom he had initiated this business deal. However, he could still not put a name to the face - a face that Robin would have recognized as Paul Kirk, the Manhunter. While his face and every physical characteristic was identical to that of Paul Kirk, he was nonetheless not Paul Kirk; he was a clone.

"It certainly was not an easy task for our organization to ... obtain ... it from the DNA Project in Metropolis. I trust that you found the equipment effective?" the Manhunter-lookalike asked.

"Yes, the cloning process has been a complete success." Savage replied. "We have utilized on two subjects so far and the clones have been impeccable copies." Savage took out a small briefcase from inside of his coat and handed it to the clone.

The clone opened the suitcase and checked its contents. He took out a stack of the bills and studied it closely, verifying its authenticity. "Right, everything’s in order here. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Savage. Is there any other technology that we might ... appropriate ... for you?"

Savage shook his head. "Not at this time. I’m confident that the cloning technology will be sufficient for my needs." He was impatient to leave. However, he knew that he might find future use for this organization, and tact was necessary.

"Well, if you ever need anything else, we’ll be more than happy to acquire it for you, for a nominal price, of course." The clone closed the suitcase and grabbed it by the handle.

"Of course," Savage agreed.

At the far end of the park, Martin Hyde observed the transaction through his high-powered binoculars. "I’ve never seen him conduct financial affairs like this before, but that is him, the Manhunter" he thought. "Once the other man departs, I shall make my move."

Savage and the clone shook hands and then walked in opposite directions. The ancient Immortal hurried to leave the park and return to his underground headquarters. It was then that he felt the Sensation of another Immortal.

"Damnation," Savage cursed. While he was prepared, as always, to fight another Immortal, he preferred to confront opponents he knew and on terms that he would dictate. Such strategy had served him well over the millennia. Facing an unknown opponent in this park here would not be to his advantage. He stopped momentarily and looked around.

Meanwhile, Hyde had been surreptitiously making his way through the bushes and trees as he trailed the Manhunter clone. He caught sight of the doppelganger upon a cobblestone path leading out to the southern gate of the park. As soon as his visual senses registered his target, his Immortal senses picked up the unmistakable feeling of another Immortal. He was a bit surprised that his target showed no sign of disturbance at the Sensation of another Immortal.

Hyde was upon the clone in a few quick strides. He stopped a few steps short of his quarry. His voice bellowed through the quiet night air. "You have led me on a merry chase across the continents, Manhunter, but now is the time for the kill."

The clone turned. "I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, friend, but I’m not one to mess with." He feinted to the right and then slipped through a row of tall, thick bushes to the left.

At the edge of the park, Savage dashed for the street and leapt into his black Mercedes that awaited him there. There was a quick starting of the engine and Savage was speeding away. Soon he could no longer feel the other Immortal.

Hyde laughed. There would be no easy escape for Manhunter this time. He clawed his way through the bushes and emerged on the other side. Then surprise overtook him. "I can’t sense him. There’s no way he could have gotten out of range already."

Hyde’s keen senses surveyed the park’s landscape. He looked for the slightest indication of movement. Off in the distance, he noted the cracking of some branches. Hyde drew out his sword and resumed the chase. He could now see the tracks that his prey had left in the damp grass. He was somewhat disappointed that the trail had been so clear. Manhunter had been much more deliberate in covering his tracks in the past. Hyde continued to push his way through the trees and shrubbery. While the tracks were quite clear, he still had not re-established contact with Manhunter, either by sight or by Sensation.

Finally, Hyde broke through the bushes into a clearing. He could see the Manhunter-clone racing over the finely cut lawn. The clone was clearly within range but Hyde could not feel his Immortal presence. This thought troubled him. "Could he have found a way to mask himself from other Immortals? That would be the ultimate form of camouflage. If he can do that, I must learn his secret."

Hyde closed the distance between him and his quarry quickly. With a well-timed leap, he tackled the clone from behind. The two of them crashed to the ground. They scuffled for a few moments until Hyde ended up pinning Manhunter on the grass. Hyde’s arms pushed down on the clone’s shoulders.

"Tell me your secret. How do you mask your Quickening from me?" Hyde demanded.

The clone struggled but could not break free. "I’ve told you. I don’t know what you’re talking about!"

"Hold!" Hyde declared. "You are not Manhunter, then."

With a flick of his wrist, the clone brought forth a small pistol that had been hidden in his right sleeve. Turning his wrist slightly, he pointed the weapon at Hyde, thinking that the Immortal could not see the firearm. "You got that right. I’m a clone, but I’m every bit as good as the original."

"Fie! You are as nothing compared to me," Hyde raged. His peripheral vision had sighted the gun. With his left hand, he slapped the gun out of the clone’s hand. He rose to this feet, drew out his sword, and plunged it through the clone’s heart. "If the original is only as good as you were in combat, it will be a disappointing end to this hunt." He withdrew the blade and cleaned the blood off of it with the dead clone’s jacket.

Suddenly, Hyde felt the sensation of another Immortal, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared. He did not notice the caped form of Green Lantern zooming by overhead in the starlit night sky. Green Lantern, for that matter, was too wrapped up in his own troubles to concern himself with the fleeting Sensation of some Immortal below.

A thought entered Hyde’s head, a mistaken one albeit. He concluded that this sensation was due to the true Manhunter. "A decoy. Very good, Manhunter. Very good, indeed! This is the best sport I’ve ever had!" Hyde assumed that true Manhunter wanted to assess Hyde’s abilities or at least draw him out into the open.

"Well done, Manhunter!" Hyde shouted into the air. "You have drawn me out. However, it will avail you not. I shall still have your head, so swears Martin Hyde."

As he sped through the streets of Gotham, Vandal Savage thought about what had transpired as he heard the bellowing voice emanating from the park. This other Immortal Hyde apparently wanted the Manhunter. That was who the man was - Manhunter. Vandal puzzled over the notion of what could have caused a wartime hero such as Manhunter to perform missions for disreputable figures such as himself. It was of no matter. But what of this Immortal Hyde? Whatever this Hyde’s agenda was, it would not interfere with his own. If anything, Hyde’s desire to kill Manhunter would only further his eventual goal to eliminate all the superheroic Immortals. Content that his machinations were unaffected by these recent developments, Savage returned to his headquarters. He marveled at how his situation had changed so much from that day when the fiery star from heaven came crashing down, bringing death and Immortal life to the caveman Vandar Adg.

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SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE EAST
48,000 B.C.
{Based on Green Lantern #10}

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Vandar Adg, leader of the Bear Tribe, was perched upon the hill that lay in the midst of the territory of the tribe. His warriors stood behind him as he surveyed the land. He looked for the Tiger Tribe that had dared to encroach upon their land. There would be war, and Vandar Adg was certain of his tribe’s victory.

He looked up into the sky to see what signs the gods had drawn in the clouds. As his gaze was fixed on the clouds, he was surprised to see the sun burning so brightly in the western sky. The rider of the sun chariot should not have already crossed over to that part of the sky.

He turned to the east to see the sun chariot fixed there. His warriors had noticed the new sun chariot and were fleeing back to the tribe’s caves. Vandar Adg turned back to face the second sun chariot. It was blazing a trail across the sky. Vandar Adg stood his ground. He was chief; he had to be brave. The blazing trail of a meteorite headed straight for him.

Vandar Adg began to cry out his name when the meteorite exploded directly above him. The burning heat seared his flesh and he passed in agonizing pain into darkness.

A few hours later, the members of the Bear Tribe came back out onto the hill and collected the burned corpse of their chief. They brought him back to the cave to prepare him for his burial at the next sunrise.

Vandar Adg’s body was laid next to the communal fire. He was wrapped in ceremonial skins to protect him from the demons of the night. The women of the tribe surrounded him and sung the solemn songs. They were aghast as Vandar Adg began to rumble underneath the skins. Suddenly he threw the skins off and sprang to his feet.

"I am Vandar Adg! I live!" Vandar Adg cried out. "Not even the fire from the gods can kill me!"

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WEISINGER WHARF- METROPOLIS

MAY 31, 1985
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Hourman approached the edge of the rundown wharf. There were all sorts of seedy characters in the area, but there was only one in which he was interested - a drug runner named ‘Kristov’. He had gotten the name out of Brian Cullen, a contact of one of Hourman’s (in his secret identity of Rex Tyler) own employees at Tyler Chemical. He had a few underworld sources in Metropolis and they had indicated that Kristov could be found at this wharf.

"Maybe I should have contacted Superman," Hourman thought. "After all, this is his town." He quickly dispelled his self-doubt. This case was personal. People were running drugs out of his company. Besides, they were only your garden-variety drug gangsters, to his way of thinking. No need to call upon the prodigious strength of the Man of Steel to deal with such scum. Miraclo-enhanced strength should more than suffice.

Hourman moved silently through the many wooden crates that lay stacked upon the wharf. There were a number of old and weathered ships docked here, but none of the them displayed any sings of life. His eyes perked up when he heard the sounds of clashing metal.

"Sounds like trouble," Hourman thought. His battle-trained senses told him that this sound was something out of the ordinary. His right hand went to a secret compartment hidden in his belt. He withdrew a single Miraclo pill. Putting it to his lips, he swallowed it and could instantly feel the strength that it imparted. With a few leaps that would have put an Olympic long jumper to shame, he was upon the source of the clashing metal.

Hourman had come to rest upon the top of a high stack of wooden crates. Below he could see that the unnatural noise was being generated by two swordsmen dueling below. One of the swordfighters was a bald in a long overcoat. His face was a mystery to Hourman. The other combatant, dressed in gold and blue, was someone that Hourman easily recognized.

"The Guardian? With a sword? But who is he fighting?" Hourman thought as he watched the battle unfold.

"Yield to Kristov the Cossack, and I shall take your head mercifully," The Guardian’s opponent exclaimed, his words showing more than a twinge of a Russian accent.

"I guess that answers that," Hourman mused. "We’re both on the trail of the same guy." Kristov’s skill with a sword was apparent, even to the untrained eye of Hourman. The fact that The Guardian wielded both a shield and sword did not keep Kristov from being the one on the offensive.

The Guardian caught most of Kristov’s strikes with his shield, although sometimes he was pressed to bring his sword up to parry. "I won’t yield, and I can tell that neither will you. Prison won’t do anything to someone like you. I’ll have to put an end to your crimes permanently."

"Guardian!" Hourman called out. "What the hell are you doing? Heroes don’t kill, no matter how evil the villain is."

Without taking his eyes away from the battle, The Guardian recognized the voice and replied, "It’s something that’s beyond you, Hourman."

Hourman hopped down the stack and edged closer to the fray. "Heroes aren’t supposed to be judge, jury, and executioner." He could not understand why The Guardian was acting this way. He always seemed so nice, perhaps too nice, in their previous meetings.

The Guardian did not reply this time. His attention was now focused on looking for an opening in the Cossack’s guard. Suddenly he saw it. Kristov lunged forward, intent on driving the point of his blade through The Guardian’s abdomen. The Guardian caught the edge of the blade with his shield. Exerting all of the strength in his left arm, he pushed the shield down and pinned Kristov’s sword against the ground. Before Kristov could react, The Guardian tagged the Cossack’s chin with a brutal upward thrust of his knee. Kristov lost hold of his sword and a few teeth as well.

"This is the end, Kristov!" The Guardian declared as he readied himself to deliver the decapitating stroke.

"NO!" Hourman screamed and leapt at The Guardian with every ounce of his Miraclo-enhanced strength. He used that same strength to connect a crushing blow to The Guardian’s head. The Guardian’s neck popped and his body was sent sailing through the air into a stack of giant wooden boxes. His body crashed partway through the wood, and he dropped to the ground amidst a shower of wooden splinters.

Hourman collected himself and realized what he had just done. "Oh God! I hit him with my full-strength."

Kristov took advantage of this unexpected development. He rubbed the blood off of his still-bleeding face. He spat blood as he found his sword once again. This ‘Hourman’ was between him and the dazed, if not dead, Guardian. Their fight would need to wait for another day. Kristov stumbled to his feet and soon disappeared in the maze of wooden crates.

Hourman’s anguish was interrupted by a voice. "This isn’t The Guardian you knew, Hourman. It’s an improved clone." Roy Harper stepped out of the shadows. As the Watcher of the Guardian, he had been a spectator of the battle since its onset.

Hourman turned from the fallen form of his fellow crimefighter and stared at the newcomer with a critical eye. The voice and face were somewhat familiar, but he could not put a name to the young man.

Roy could tell that Hourman did not recognize him. "Picture me with a red outfit and a yellow Robin Hood cap."

A few moments of careful scrutiny and Hourman recognized the lad. "Speedy," he said. "You said a clone? How? What happened to the original? Why was he using a sword?"

"It’s a long story," Roy replied. "I probably shouldn’t have told you anything. Maybe The Guardian will, but not today. Maybe you’d better get back on the trail of this Kristov. Maybe if you nab him, there won’t be a repeat of this scene."

Hourman dusted himself off. "Maybe you’re right. I’ll get back on the trail, but what was The Guardian talking about, that this was something that was beyond me."

Roy tugged at his collar. "I’m not really sure. Just go get that Kristov guy. I’ll make sure that The Guardian is OK."

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BAILEY STREET - OPAL CITY

MAY 31, 1985

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The Flash skidded to a halt in the middle of downtown Opal City. He always liked the art deco style of Starman’s hometown. However, he was not here to admire the architecture. The plan that he and his fellow Immortal speedsters, Johnny Quick and Quicksilver, developed was for them to meet here and confer about their individual success, or lack thereof, in finding out about this secret society of Watchers.

He looked up to see the clock atop Opal City Hall. It was a few seconds before noon, the time at which they had agreed to meet. He hoped that the others had been more successful in uncovering information about these Watchers. The attacks on Johnny and Dr. Mid-nite, seemingly by their agents, had made it necessary for them investigate.

The clock had just struck the first bell of twelve when a red and yellow blur coalesced next to the Flash. Johnny Quick opened his mouth to say something but the Flash spoke first.

"Always late, aren’t you Johnny?" The Flash kidded.

"Now look here, Flash." Johnny retorted angrily. "One of these days, you and I are going to have it out and we’ll figure out once and for all who’s the ‘Fastest Man Alive’!"

A third man came to a swift stop. Quicksilver came to rest between the two other speedsters. "Boys, boys," he said with a sarcastic paternal tone. "Let’s forget this personal rivalry and stick to the mission here. How about we pool together what we each have discovered about these Watchers."

"Well, I decided to do my own thing." Johnny began before the Flash could, "I raced all over the Big Apple a few hundred times before I could find his ‘Rita’ gal who was with that Michael Christian that tried to get me. I made sure to stay clear of the Hawks’ and Wonder Woman’s places. I didn’t want to pique their Immortal Senses. Eventually, I found Rita and she went and had the weird tattoo removed from her wrist and then she burned everything that she owned that had that Watcher symbol on it. I tracked down all of the people she called, paging through the phone book at super-speed to match the number she dialed with a name. Nobody that she called seemed to be associated with the Watchers."

"Hmm," Quicksilver said. "So we still don’t know what she was doing with Michael Christian." He turned to the Scarlet Speedster. "Flash, what do you have?"

"Well, Max," Flash replied, "I criss-crossed a number of the major cities and detected a number of Immortals. I probably drove a bunch of them crazy as I raced through the towns, giving them split-second Sensations." He chuckled a little and then continued, "Anyway, I kept a close eye on the people around them until I discovered their Watchers. It seems like every single one of them had a Watcher. But none of these Watchers did anything but watch. They watched what their Immortal assignment did and wrote it down. I probably checked out a hundred Immortals since yesterday and the story was the same with every one of them. None of them seemed to be involved like that Rita with Michael Christian, nor were any of them doing anything even remotely like attacking Dr. Mid-nite. I’m stumped. You got anything, Max?"

Quicksilver shook his head regretfully, "Sadly, precious little to help in our task. I found a number of Watchers and I traced a number of their phone calls, using the same trick that Johnny did, although I had a juggle a number of phone books since a lot of the calls were long distance. It seems that there are a number of regional headquarters that the Watchers report in to. A lot of them call this blues bar called "Joe’s" out in Washington state. But like you said, all they seem to do is watch and then report."

"What do we do now?" Johnny asked.

"Well, we deliberately avoided the cities where most of our superheroic Immortals compatriots reside so as not to disturb them, except for you," Quicksilver replied. "I’d say that we should concentrate our efforts on these locales now. Maybe these Watchers have something against superheroes in general or superheroic Immortals in particular."

"Could be," Flash noted in agreement.

"Right then," Quicksilver stated with an air of authority. "Johnny, you take New York City. Flash, you get Gotham, and I’ll cover Metropolis." The three kings of speed agreed to meet back at Quicksilver’s place the next day at noon.

The clock struck for the twelfth time as the three speedsters departed faster than the human eye could see.

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

JUNE 1, 1985

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"OK," Connor said, "Now that we’ve spent over a day talking about this, I think I’ve written down all of the Immortal JSAers and other heroes as well as Immortal villains. But is that all there is? Aren’t there any others?" He tapped his pen impatiently upon a notepad.

Shiera thought about it for a few seconds. There was no point of mentioning the Red Bee - no one had seen him much of him since Baron Blitzkrieg had inflicted his death back during the war. She then suggested, "There’s a lot of electrical activity in Fawcett City, over where the Marvel Family is." She raised an eyebrow. "It might be Quickenings."

"Fawcett City is sort of an insular community. They don’t interact much with outsiders." Carter added. "The Marvel Family is there, along with some other heroes who banded together as the Crime Crusaders Club - heroes like Bulletman and Bulletgirl, Spysmasher, Mr. Scarlet and Pinky, and Minuteman. They didn’t join up with the All-Star Squadron when F.D.R. formed it back in ‘41. Instead, they stayed in Fawcett and protected it from criminal and Axis activity.

"We only teamed up with them on a handful of cases. We never met all of them. You know, I think I’m forgetting someone. A magical type fellow ... he wore a turban like Sargon the Sorcerer." Carter’s thoughts drifted to the fiend that Sargon had become, ever since he took the head of Kantos.

"It was Ibis the Invincible. I’d figure he’s Immortal, although we’ve never met him," Shiera chimed in. "And I think I saw in the Times that he’s still in action and as young as ever. The Marvels are still fighting crime as well. I don’t know about the rest of the Crime Crusaders Club. All of the Fawcett heroes disappeared about the same time that we retired back in ‘50. Maybe some of them are Immortals."

"We’re going to need all the Immortals we can get to stop him," Connor said with grave concern. "What can you tell me about the Marvel Family?"

Carter shook his head. "Shiera and I, we’ve never met them either, so we don’t know if any of them are Immortals. There are three of them - Captain Marvel, Mary Marvel, and Captain Marvel Junior. They’re a lot like Superman - super-strength, super-speed, invulnerability - if what we hear is true."

Connor got up and bowed slightly to Shiera. "OK, then I’m off to Fawcett. I trust you two can take care of mobilizing the rest of the Immortal heroes?"

"You can count on us, Connor, though I can’t guarantee we’ll be able to contact all of them. Some of them we haven’t seen in decades." Carter said as he stood up. "Good luck to you."

Connor headed out the door. "Good luck to us all. I’ll be in touch soon." Carter and Shiera could hear the elevator bell ring. A few moments later, they could no longer sense Connor’s presence.

"That was nice of Connor to visit, even if it wasn’t a social call," Carter noted.

Shiera nodded, "Yes, although I have some concerns about ganging up against Vandal Savage."

"However," Carter replied as he helped clean up, "you know as well as I that Savage is a ruthless bastard, and if he told Connor that he has a way to exterminate us, he at least thinks he does. He’s not one to make idle threats."

"I suppose you’re right dear, but it still feels like it’s against the Rules," Shiera shrugged

"If what we do is against the Rules, then we’ll know it’s against the Rules. It won’t be just a feeling."

The conversation was interrupted as both Carter and Shiera felt the presence of another Immortal. They looked at each other for a moment with concern.

"Connor must have forgotten something." Carter said calmly. The elevator bell rang, and it was soon followed by a simple knock at the door.

Carter opened the door and began with a jovial tone. "So, what did ... YOU!" His tone was replaced with revulsion and surprise.

Shiera leapt from her seat and snatched her sword up. "Carter, who is it?"

Carter stepped away from the door and revealed the brown-bearded man in a green suit who stood outside. It was face that neither he nor Shiera would ever forget.

"Hastor!" Carter replied coldly. Hastor’s face had been etched in his memory since Carter’s days as Prince Khufu. Hastor grinned with an evil that had festered for millennia.

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TEMPLE OF ANUBIS - ABYDOS, EGYPT
2600 B.C.
{Based on Flash Comics #1}

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The brown-bearded Hath-Set, later known as Hastor, stood in his elegant red robes above his beaten and battered victim - the still strong-spirited Prince Khufu. Hath-Set, chief priest of Anubis, raised his hand and addressed his muscle-bound chief torturer, whose whip had stung Khufu repeatedly and savagely. "Enough Kolar. Perhaps he will speak now."

"I’ll never tell you of Shiera." Khufu struggled to get to his feet. Once he did manage to attain an upright position, his hands were quickly held behind him by the strong if somewhat dimwitted Kolar. The prince continued his defiance. "I love her and hate your evil ways. I shall yet win."

Hath-Set sneered at his prisoner. He had hoped to elicit the whereabouts of Shiera from the prince. Once she was also in his power, there would be none strong enough to oppose him in all of Egypt. Khufu and Shiera had been royalty for as long as anyone in the Land of the Nile could remember, despite their outward appearances of being around thirty years of age. In addition to the power that they commanded among the nobility, they were also said to possess knowledge of many ancient secrets. How such knowledge had been attained by them was not known, but that they possessed it was a whispered secret.

Khufu ceased his struggles against the strength of Kolar that pinned his arms behind his back. When the brute loosened his grip slightly in response to Khufu’s feigned submission, the prince drove his elbow into Kolar’s abdomen. With his hands free now, he snatched Kolar’s sword from the torturer’s scabbard. He quickly returned, albeit point first through the heart. "Not yet do you defeat Prince Khufu."

Khufu thought about dealing with Hath-Set now as well. However, he felt that his first priority was to ensure Shiera’s safety. He leapt to an open windowsill and spied a unoccupied chariot below. He turned back to the priest and declared, "I shall return and kill you false priest. And when I do, your death will not be pleasant."

Dropping from the window to the ground fifteen feet below, Khufu rushed into the chariot. Taking the reins and the whip, he urged the horses on to ever-greater speed. "Faster, faster! Hath-Set must not arrive before me!" The chariot raced through the sandy wastes to the small castle in which Shiera was. After mercilessly pressing the horses for the hour-long trek, Khufu reined them in as he caught sight of the small stone castle.

Khufu leapt from the chariot and dashed into the castle. He was surprised to find the castle so vacant. Even their most ardent supporters had seemingly deserted them now. Or had Hath-Set and his minions already reached the castle and slew them all. Khufu’s mind was in a daze. "Hath-Set could not have reached the castle before I. He did not even know of its location. That is why he had Kolar put the whip to me." But where was Shiera?

"Shiera, Shiera!" Khufu called out desperately. He dashed though the few rooms of the castle but found no trace of her. Then, as he approached the main chamber, his mind was gripped by the Sensation of another Immortal. He parted the curtains that shielded the main chamber to find his beloved Shiera there.

The lovers raced into each other’s arms. Khufu embraced Shiera tightly. "Thanks the gods you are safe." He buried his head in her long red tresses.

"Where are all our supporters?" Khufu asked as he held his beloved ever-tighter.

"They have all fled," Shiera said ruefully. "Once news came of your capture by Hath-Set, they felt the cause was lost."

Khufu sighed. He had hoped that the good people of Egypt would have had more backbone to stand up against this would-be tyrant. While he knew that he himself was the leader of this cause, he had hoped that the movement could survive even without him. Apparently, that was not the case.

Shiera looked up from Khufu’s chest and peered outside the window. The sight chilled her soul. "But even now Hath-set strikes. Look, my beloved."

Khufu raised his head out of Shiera’s hair and turned toward the window. He saw the stygian darkness enveloping the entire sky outside. "Blackness at noon of day. More of Hath-Set’s magic."

Shiera looked into her lover’s eyes. "Magic. Why does the Wizard Shazam not protect Egypt?"

Khufu shook his head. "No one has seen him in years, not since he created and then was forced to destroy his champion, Mighty Adam."

The clatter of armed troops resounded through the small castle. Shiera and Khufu heard the unmistakable sounds at the same time. Khufu released Shiera from his embrace and drew his sword.

"The false priest has followed me." Khufu cursed himself under his breath. Hath-Set had no inkling that Shiera was here. Khufu, in his addled state, had led the evil priest’s minions directly to her. Khufu steeled himself for battle. "At least that is no magic. Men I can fight." He stepped in front of Shiera and stood firmly. Shiera wished to help in the fight, but there was no weapon for her to wield. Perhaps Khufu would be able to disarm one of the foemen and she would be able to take up his sword.

The minions of Hath-Set, most of whom were armed with swords and shields, burst into the room. The first few who rushed Khufu were given a quick death courtesy of his slashing blade. The others were a bit more cautious in the attack after seeing a group of their comrades so quickly sliced down by Khufu’s skill. They pressed forward, but the small size of the room only allowed three or perhaps four of them to engage Khufu at a time. While such odds might have been overwhelming to a typical swordsman, Khufu was anything but typical. His sword danced from opponent to opponent, blocking each thrust of the malevolent men, and expertly disposing of them when the opportunity presented itself. Still there was always another foe to replace every one that Khufu slew. Eventually, they began to break through his guard and scored a number of minor wounds. The wounds were of little consequence to Khufu; his Immortal physiology would heal them soon enough. What was of grave importance was his endurance. The battle had been raging at a frantic pace for nearly twenty minutes, and Khufu’s arms were beginning to tire.

"You fiends! My strength ebbs yet ..." Khufu hatched upon a plan. "Yet, Shiera shall die with me in my arms." He would kill himself and Shiera. Hopefully, they would not revive under Hath-Set’s notice. They would have to give up their current lives as Egyptian nobility; however, if they were thought dead, there would be no way for Hath-Set to use torture upon them to gain the secrets that only they knew.

Khufu turned away from his attackers and faced his beloved. His raised his sword and whispered "Trust me" to her. However, before he could stab her, his right shoulder was penetrated by the arrow loosed by a recently arrived archer. The pain was too much for Khufu to continue to hold onto his sword. He collapsed to the ground and was quickly pummeled into unconsciousness by the swordsmen.

When Khufu awoke, he found himself bound tightly with braided ropes upon a cold stone slab. He looked to his right and found Shiera awake and similarly bound. He looked to his left and saw the sinister figure of Hath-Set. A quick look at the surroundings and Khufu was certain that he was back in Abydos, back in the Temple of Anubis.

Hath-Set ran his left hand across the top of an ornate, ceremonial dagger in his right. "My victims, you would have stopped me from becoming master of Egypt."

Khufu struggled vainly against his bonds, but there was no escape. "Only we have that power, Hath-Set. I know the Older Science better than you."

Hath-Set considered further torture for a moment. Khufu had withstood the excruciating treatment that Kolar had meted out. It was unlikely that any other method would force Khufu to divulge the secrets that he knew. Hath-Set doubted that even the torture of Shiera would cause Khufu to break. Thus, there was only one course open to him. "Then die, Khufu. And after you, Shiera!"

Hath-Set whispered a prayer to Anubis and plunged dagger deep into Khufu’s heart. The prince’s body convulsed as the metal tore through skin and bone and penetrated his heart. With every beat of his heart, Khufu could feel his life slipping away. Khufu’s senses focused on Hath-Set and he felt something. At first he thought it was just an effect of the trauma of death, but he convinced himself that this was not so. He realized what the sensation was; he realized what Hath-Set was. The cursed priest was pre-Immortal.

"I die, but I shall live again, as shall you Hath-Set," Khufu gasped. "And then I shall be the victor." Khufu’s voice and life trailed off into nothingness.

"I think not, dead prince," Hath-Set retorted. He walked over the altar and took another ceremonial dagger. He studied the blade as he approached Shiera. "And now for you, dear lady."

Hath-Set prepared the blade with a set of prayers directed toward Anubis. He held the dagger above Shiera’s heart for a few moments and then brought it down forcefully. Shiera gasped as heart was pierced. Despite the agony, her senses were somehow sharpened. She now felt a slight tugging at her mind, and she now knew what Khufu had meant with his dying words. Her vision became hazy now as life leaked away from her. Shiera’s last sight was that of a wave of their supporters breaking into Hath-Set’s temple chambers. They had doubted the resolve of the people, but the people have found their courage once again.

"Death to Hath-Set!" they cried. Then they realized that they were too late, that Hath-Set had already killed their leaders. Their cry became "Death to him who killed our beloved Khufu and Shiera." They burst through Hath-Set’s guards and quickly put them to the sword. Soon they were upon the evil priest himself. His hasty incantations to protect himself were incomplete when he was overwhelmed by the mob. In a few scant seconds, he was dead from the multitude of blows.

A few hours later, Khufu and Shiera awoke inside of a preparation chamber. Their bodies were to lie in state upon a cold stone slab while their people gathered the materials with which to mummify them. Khufu and Shiera embraced once again. They arose from the slab and continued to embrace.

"It’s over. Hath-Set is destroyed. I saw our people enter the temple and kill him," Shiera sighed.

"No, my beloved. Our war with Hath-Set has only begun. Before he drove the dagger through my heart, I could tell what he was. He was an Immortal-to-be. Now that the good people have killed him, he is a full Immortal. His evil is not dead yet."

Shiera nodded. Her last memories before her death had been hazy. Now she recalled that she too had detected Hath-Set’s latent Immortality.

Shiera looked around and then into her lover’s eyes. "But if we leave, what shall the people think when they find our bodies gone?"

"That is not our concern, my love. However, I would hazard the guess that they will think that Osiris himself has taken us to the afterlife." He took Shiera by the hand. "But enough of this talk. We must away from here and start a new life with new identities." With that, the couple carefully made their way out of the chamber and to the outside, taking every precaution to ensure that they were not spotted.

Outside of the Temple of Anubis, the hacked corpse of Hath-Set and the deceased members of his guard had been callously thrown out into the desert sand, there to be consumed by the jackals and the elements. While his dead minions made no attempt to stave off the feeding of the hungry jackals, Hath-Set brushed one away as breath suddenly returned to his body. His movement startled the cowardly jackals, who had thought they would enjoy an easy and uninterrupted meal.

It took Hath-Set a few moments to regain his senses. He was astonished to find himself alive. He was certain that the followers of Khufu and Shiera had extinguished his life. He looked himself over and saw that all of the wounds that had been inflicted upon him in the temple had now healed. Even the marks of the jackals’ gnawing were even now quickly disappearing. The truth of Khufu’s words struck him now. He lived again, exactly as Khufu had foretold. He vowed, however, the second part of Khufu’s prophecy would not come to pass. In the end, Hath-Set would be the victor.

Hath-Set screamed out in the silent desert, "It may take millennia, but I will destroy Khufu and Shiera."

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

JUNE 1, 1985

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Hastor sneered, "Greetings, Khufu. I would hope that you remember this dagger?" He punched a button on a strange metallic device in his left hand. "A little gift from my former associate, Wotan. You remember him, don’t you? You and Nabu and that commoner Mirze-Ra opposed us. Anyway, Wotan calls this a Magnetotron." The device emitted a yellow beam that streaked across the room. In response, a mounted ornate dagger flew across from its mount and into his hand.

Carter recognized it as the same dagger that Hastor had used, as Hath-Set, back in the Temple of Anubis. Khufu and Shiera had retrieved it from their castle shortly after their deaths at Hath-Set’s hand. As he had done over four thousand years ago, Hastor once again plunged the dagger through Carter's heart.

"Aargh!" Carter cried out. He clutched at the blade that penetrated his heart, but his strength was already too far gone for him to remove it. He slumped to the ground with his hands still vainly trying to pull the dagger out.

Shiera had meanwhile found her scimitar. She had also strapped on a harness of ninth metal as well as a pair of hawk wings that she had pulled out of a secret compartment in the wall. She held the scimitar before her and pointed it at Hastor. "You won't catch me by surprise, Hastor, or should I call you Hath-Set?"

Hastor sighed, "I had no illusions of doing so to both of you. My scheme was simple - incapacitate Khufu, behead you, and then do the same to Khufu." He hand went inside of his suit. "With that dagger piercing Khufu's heart, he shall pose no problem." He drew out a short sword. "Nor, do I expect you so trouble me for long."

Shiera shook her head. "What little you know! Since you are now one of us, I would assume that you know about what our Immortality means. Simply put, it means fighting for survival. And that is what I have done, for many centuries before you took your first breath as an Immortal."

Hastor held out his sword and made a slight bow. "I salute your courage, but I know for a fact that you have little knowledge of the Old Science. Knowledge is the greatest power." He pointed the metallic device at Shiera's weapon and fired its beam. The beam struck the scimitar but had no effect.

Shiera floated into the air. "I may not know how to manufacture the ancient alloy in this sword, but I do know that it is impervious to any scientific device you could construct. This battle will be decided by flesh and blade." Her wings flapped and she was quickly upon Hastor. She unleashed a powerful swing. Hastor was able to block it, but the sheer force of the impact knocked him from his feet.

Hastor chuckled, "Well met, you she-devil." He got back to his feet and made a feint at Shiera. Shiera swerved out of the way. This gave Hastor the opportunity to dash across the room to the still-open secret compartment. From it, he removed another ninth metal harness and hawk wings and strapped them on. "These should be simple enough to master." He quickly determined how to get airborne. Shiera came at him once again, but he was once again able to fend off her fly-by strike. With a few unsure movements of his shoulders, he was able to operate the wings upon his back.

"Now I can fly - like you, like Khufu, and like your adopted son," Hastor proclaimed. "I only wish he had not turned out to be Immortal as well. Killing him was rather pointless since he revived and led his fellow whelps of Infinity, Inc. to victory over me."

"So that’s it," Shiera thought. "Hector would never tell me how he discovered his Immortality."

The two opponents hovered a few feet in the air and faced each other. Shiera was somewhat surprised at how quickly Hastor was able to master the flying techniques. She switched her scimitar from one hand to the other while she calculated her next move.

Hastor's mind raced as he tried to determine his best plan of action. While he was quite certain that he could handle the flying adequately, he was certain that Shiera's experience would be a great advantage in closed quarters, such as this penthouse apartment was. He felt that open air combat would negate some of her experience. A quick flex of his shoulders launched Hastor through the air towards Shiera. The winged woman saw him coming, with his short sword leading the way. She tried to turn and fly out of the way. She managed to turn enough that the short sword passed harmlessly by her side, but she could not stop Hastor's shoulder from ramming into her midsection. The impact drove her and Hastor through the large glass window and outside into the New York skyline.

A few blocks away, Duncan MacLeod drove a rented car through the ever-crowded streets of the Big Apple. In the back seat were his two passengers - Uncle Sam and Sir Justin, more commonly known as the Shining Knight. Duncan checked his watch and then the street map spread out on the passenger seat.

"I can’t believe it," Duncan groaned. "Every single flight out of JFK to Gotham was canceled. I just hope we have enough time to get across town and catch that last flight from La Guardia."

"I knew Fiorello La Guardia," Uncle Sam chimed in. "He was a good man, a good mayor and a good American."

"He was mayor of this New City of York, was he not?" Sir Justin inquired.

"Yep, back during double-ya double-ya two he was," Sam replied.

"Excuse me," Duncan interrupted, "but could you fellows please keep it down. I'm trying to figure out how to get to La Guardia quickly, and my recollection of the New York streets isn't too good."

Sam was about to say something in response when he, as well as Duncan and Justin, felt the Sensation of another Immortal. They were at a stoplight in front of the Fox Building.

"Didja fellers feel that?" Sam asked.

"Aye, there be Immortal or Immortals in the vicinity," Justin agreed. "But where?"

From above, the violent clanging sounds of swords could be heard. The three Immortals in the car stuck their heads out of the windows. Looking up, they could see two winged figures engaged in a swooping and swerving swordfight.

"Hey, somebody’s fighting up there," Duncan exclaimed.

"From the looks of it, I’d say that’s Hawkgirl up there, but I can’t figger who she’s fighting. I don't reckon it could be Hawkman. We’d best take a look-see."

"I agree. Hawkgirl has been an honorable ally over the years." Justin assented.

Duncan pulled the car over and parked it in a miraculously open parking space. The trio dashed into the building and hopped into a waiting elevator. After a seemingly interminable time, the elevator finally reached the rooftop. They surged out of the elevator only to find the exit door soundly locked. Sir Justin took a few steps back and then crashed through the door with his armored body. Sam and Duncan helped Justin to his feet. Justin brushed himself off and the trio raced to the edge of the roof. They could now see that one of the winged figures was definitely Hawkgirl; the other was definitely not Hawkman, but none of the three could immediately put a name to the brown-bearded man. Hastor and Shiera continued their aerial joust.

"Varlet! What sort of man are you to attack a woman?" Justin called out.

"Ah, a chivalrous knight." Hastor hovered about twenty yards from Shiera now. "The Shining Knight, is it not? You know as well as I that the Game makes no exceptions for those of the fairer sex."

Shiera said nothing as Hastor halted the battle to converse with the newcomers.

"Stand down, foul wizard, and face me instead," was Justin's threatening reply.

"The battle is joined, you British barbarian. There is naught that you can do to interfere." Hastor laughed and set his sights on Shiera once again.

Sam pushed Justin aside and called out, "See here, sonny," Sam drew out his red, white, and blue sword. "If’n you happen to beat the lady, you’re gonna be too plumb exhausted from the Quickening to stop me from chopping your head like Washington did the cherry tree. So you better high-tail it out of here, ‘less you want to be dead."

Hastor weighed the garishly outfitted man's words. He might take Shiera's head, but one of the these three newcomers would be certain to take his. There would be no hope for him to kill Khufu.

"C’mon," Sam taunted. "I got a couple feet of custom-made U.S. Steel, just waitin’ for ya."

Khufu slipped his sword into his suit. "Soon, Khufu and Shiera. Soon I will kill you and offer you up to Anubis, as I should have done nearly three thousand years ago." With a few powerful flaps of his wings, he was lost from sight among the buildings of the New York skyline.

Shiera floated down to the roof alongside the three other Immortals. "Thanks for the support, but I could have taken him." Shiera took a deep breath. "But no matter. Sam, Justin. It’s been a long time. How are you?" She turned to the one Immortal that she did not know. "I take it your a friend of Uncle Sam and the Shining Knight."

"Sorry about that, Shiera, old gal." Sam slapped Duncan on the shoulder. "This here’s Duncan MacLeod."

"MacLeod?" Shiera's eyebrows rose. "Do you know Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod?"

Duncan smiled, "He’s my kinsman - same clan, different vintage."

"I see," Shiera replied. "Well, you just missed him. He was here only a short while ago."

"Well, I'll see him when I see him. I don't need to be rude, but the three of us need to get to Gotham."

"Is it something to do with Vandal Savage?" Shiera asked.

"You mean that dirty rascal is up to nothing good again?" Sam asked her in return.

"No, milady," Justin explained. "Our mission is to save a young Immortal named Dick Grayson from a similarly named ancient Immortal Grayson. That is must we must hie to Gotham."

"Dick Grayson? Then maybe you'd better hear what Connor had to tell us about Savage's scheme. Let’s go back to my place and get that dagger out of Carter," Shiera replied.

"Maybe you better fill us in with what Connor told you. Maybe these things are related," Duncan said grimly.

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NODELL OFFICE BUILDING - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 1, 1985

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Alan Scott walked absentmindedly into his office. He did not notice the sly smile of his secretary as he walked by. At least, he thought it was his secretary. He had no inkling that this ‘Molly Maynne’ was in fact a clone.

Once seated in his plush leather chair, he thought of the previous day’s battle. He had never heard of an Immortal super-villain going after an Immortal superhero’s head. Of course, he and arch-nemesis Solomon Grundy had fought over the years, but the hulking monster of an Immortal had never tried to take his head. Neither had "Crusher" Crock, a.k.a. The Sportsmaster. Grundy’s mind was a simple one. Perhaps he did not even have an understanding what the Game was. What Grundy did have was an overwhelming hate for Green Lantern. Alan could never convince himself that Grundy was a menace that should be beheaded, even if the behemoth was too simple-minded to understand what he truly was.

"Alan?" the Molly-clone buzzed over the intercom. "You have a visitor waiting."

Alan mentally went over his schedule as he looked at his watch. He did not recall having any scheduled appointments this early in the morning. Then again, his thoughts were mostly elsewhere. He pressed a button and replied. "OK, send him in."

‘Molly’ arose from her desk. She made a quick check to make sure that no one else was around. Dipping her hand into her purse, she retrieved a strange pair of wide-rimmed spectacles. As she donned the glasses, she no longer appeared to be the grey-haired, fifty-something lady she was; rather, she became a voluptuous twenty-something beauty with long, flowing red hair. Even her clothes seemed to change - from a conservative white blouse and red plaid skirt to a white tanktop and green hotpants. She was now the image of Alan’s deceased wife Alyx.

She picked up her purse, moved to the door, and turned the handle. After flinging the door open, she strode into Alan’s office. Alan looked up when he heard the door bang into the doorstop. A wave of utter disbelief crossed his face as he recognized the woman who entered. He stood up and rested his hands on his desk, his mouth still speechless.

"Alan, darling," the clone said seductively, "Aren’t you going to say something?"

Alan shook his head. "Alyx? But it can’t be! You’re dead. Unless ..."

"Unless what, Alan, darling?" the clone replied.

Alan thought back to the night of their honeymoon. They had made passionate love on a ever-so-comfortable bed constructed by his power ring. As they lay nestled together afterwards, the ring had fallen into the still burning fireplace and the entire cabin erupted in flames. No remains of Alyx were ever found. Alan had assumed that his new wife was dead. What Alan did not know was that Alyx had in fact survived. The flames had returned her memory. She knew who she truly was - the villainous Thorn. Faced with her newfound memory, she fled, never to return. Even when she found herself pregnant, apparently through the magic of the power ring, she could not return to Alan. Eventually, she gave up her twin children for adoption, when her evil compulsions became too strong. The children grew up to become the next-generation heroes Jade and Obsidian, but they did not know about their parentage. They believed themselves to be the offspring of Green Lantern, but he felt that this could not be the case.

"Unless you’re one of us," Alan sputtered out. "But you’re not, I can tell. Who are you?"

The clone walked behind Alan’s desk. Alan’s eyes followed her as she moved across the room. She put her hands gently upon Alan’s shoulders. He sat back down in his chair as she began to massage his shoulders.

"One of us," the clone said coyly. "I don’t know what you’re talking about, unless you mean a superhero by ‘one of us’. I’m certainly not that."

"No." Alan argued, "It’s not that, it’s ..." His mind raced. How could she be alive if she was not Immortal?

"C’mon, my big, brave Green Lantern." The clone’s voice was very soothing in tone. "You can tell me. You can tell me anything, now that we’ve found each other."

"I know that you held a torch for the Harlequin for years." Her voice was quite entrancing.

Alan shook his head at this revelation. His mind snapped back into gear as the words sounded in his ears. "I never told her ... I mean, I never told Alyx that," he thought. "I only told one person that - the Harlequin herself. That must mean that she is the Harlequin."

Alan brushed the hands of 'Alyx' from his shoulders and stood up. He turned and faced her. His right hand unconsciously began to rub the invisible power ring on his left. "Forget it, Harlequin. I know that it’s really you."

"How could you tell?" ‘Alyx’ said as her form resumed that of Molly’s other identity - the Harlequin. Her hair was still red, but it was shorter and more demure. Her outfit had changed to that of a sleeveless blue bodyshirt with two big red buttons. Her legs were cased in orange tights that were accented with vertical black stripes. Blue slippers were on her feet. Atop her head was an orange cap, similar to a dunce cap, that had blue pom-poms on it.

Alan stared at The Harlequin and stepped to the other side of the desk. "I never told Alyx about our relationship. That’s why I knew that it must be you."

The Harlequin looked as young she did when Alan last saw her, during that mission with Superman in the early fifties. "She had gone straight; she was working with the FBI." Alan thought. "And she doesn’t look a day older, but she’s not one of us." Alan concluded that this guise must also be an illusion.

The Harlequin frowned with disgust. "I thought I could get you to drop your guard with the image of Alyx." She started to dig through her purse.

"Get me to drop my guard? What do you mean?" As clever as a criminal that the Harlequin was, she had never tried to harm Alan in any serious way.

"To kill you, of course." She pulled out a wooden stake from her purse. With a quick throw, it was now embedded in Alan’s midsection.

"Wood!" Alan groaned. "The ring couldn’t protect me from it." He reached down and tried to pull it out as he stumbled across the room. Although the pain that it was already creating was tremendous, his efforts to remove the stake were making the agony even worse.

The Harlequin brandished a machete, seemingly pulled out of her purse. "I’ve heard that these things are good for killing vampires. You may not be quite like a vampire, but one of these will work quite well for killing you, too."

Alan stumbled back to lean against the door. If only he could make it to the intercom, but the Harlequin stood between him and that possible salvation.

"Now for the head," The Harlequin sneered gleefully as she approached the downed hero. She held the machete in her right hand menacingly. Her intentions were quite clear.

Alan may have been downed, but he was not out. Mustering his self-control, he blocked out the pain. Concentrating on his power ring, he was able to effect a change to the red and green outfit of the Green Lantern.

"Ah, Green Lantern shows his true colors, so to speak, as Alan Scott," The Harlequin laughed. "But then I knew that for decades."

Green Lantern was dumbfounded. Had she really known who he was all these years? But who was she, and why was she doing this? These questions were beside the point right now. The Green Gladiator needed to find a way to survive. The wooden stake was still firmly lodged in his midsection. The Harlequin made his efforts even more difficult when she knocked down one of the wooden bookcases on top of him. Now he was pinned to the ground, and the stake was driven even deeper into his insides. His left hand was completely covered by wood, which made his power ring effectively useless.

"Let’s just make sure you don’t go anywhere. A few hundred pounds of wood should ensure that," The Harlequin laughed.

Green Lantern continued to struggle for freedom. The stake, although it was causing him excruciating pain, was unimportant at this moment. He had to deal with the machete first. He wriggled and contorted himself until he finally worked his right hand free. Just then The Harlequin brought the machete down towards his head. His hand darted out and caught hers. The machete stopped mere inches from his exposed neck. Despite his lack of leverage, Green Lantern still had enough strength to hold her at bay. An unexpected twist of his wrist caused her to drop the machete. Marshaling all of his strength, he punched through the bookcase with his left hand. The action broke a few fingers, but they would heal soon enough. With his power ring now free, the ancient bauble generated a shimmering green claw which picked up Alan’s desk chair. Pushing the chair under the bookcase and using it as a lever, Green Lantern was able to crawl free. He now turned the green claw upon the Harlequin, and it held her tightly in its grip.

"Now what in the world is this all about, Harlequin?" Green Lantern demanded. He gripped the stake one more time and finally removed it. His shirt was even a darker shade of red with all of the blood that had soaked into it.

The Harlequin was looking down at the floor. She did not struggle against the grip of Green Lantern’s ring-generated claw. Then she looked up. "I’ve failed the master." Her spectacles suddenly glowed with the extreme brightness. Green Lantern was caught by surprise and blinded by the intense light. His concentration was broken and his claw disintegrated into nothingness.

The Harlequin turned toward the window. She rushed at it and jumped through. Glass scattered in every direction. She plummeted downward and struck the ground with a dull thud.

"Harlequin?!?" Green Lantern exclaimed. He was still rubbing his eyes. The colored spots were only slowing going away. He had heard the shattering of the glass. When his eyes had cleared enough, he could see the human-sized hole in the window. With painful steps, he walked to the window and peered through the hole.

"Harlequin?" Green Lantern exclaimed again as he saw her body sprawled out on the pavement. He leapt out the window and floated down to the ground.

He came to rest at her side. Her legs were crushed and blood slowly leaked out of her mouth. Green Lantern cradled her head in his arms. "Harlequin?" He knew there was no chance of her surviving the fall.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Alan," The Harlequin gasped. "I ... loved ... you ..." She drew one last wheezing breath and then fell silent.

"Why, Harlequin, why?" It made absolutely no sense. Green Lantern laid her head down on the ground. He gently removed the glasses. Her body shimmered for a moment and then it resumed her true form - that of Molly Maynne.

Green Lantern was aghast. "Molly? Oh, God. Molly!" His right hand covered his mouth. He blinked his eyes a few times in disbelief, but there was no mistaking who the lifeless body was. He looked up into the sky as if there were an answer to be found there. No answer was forthcoming. His gaze came to rest once again on the mangled corpse. Streams of tears now flowed from his masked eyes and down his face. "Molly, I swear to God to find out who was responsible! I’ll find him and I’ll kill him!"

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GARRICK HOUSE - KEYSTONE CITY

JUNE 1, 1985

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A familiar van, now repainted white and carrying a sign of ‘Meskin Cleaners’, pulled up outside the Garrick house.

"What a fool the Flash was, to reveal his identity to the world," Kuyler thought. "It’s a wonder that some other Immortal didn’t just come up to his door and take his head." He led his accomplices to the door. He rang the door bell, and Joan Garrick opened the door. The Flash’s wife was a middle-aged woman in a pink shirt and blue jeans.

"Meskin Cleaners, madam," Kuyler accentuated every word with a flourish. "We’re here to clean your problem."

"Yeah," one of the henchmen agreed. His tone was cruel. "You seem to have a Flash problem. We’re here to rub it out."

"Flash? Why you ..." Joan’s words were cut-off by the actions of one of the cleaners. A chloroform-soaked cleaning rag applied to her mouth stopped her protests. In a few moments, the chloroform had done its work and she was unconscious.

Kuyler instructed his underlings to bring Joan’s limp form back to the van. After making sure that there were no onlookers, they hurriedly carried her there. Once inside, they placed her body inside one of the cloning tanks.

"Take the supplies inside and prepare the house for the Flash’s arrival," Kuyler commanded as he adjusted a large dial. "I shall oversee the cloning process."

A few hours later, The Flash took a little detour from his task of watching the Watchers. He decided to take a short lunch break and have one of Joan’s famous ham and Swiss sandwiches. He came to a sudden stop at the front door. Joan did not like super-speed running in the house. Other super-speed tricks were acceptable, but super-speed running had worn out too many carpets and scratched too many floors.

"Aw, what the heck, I’ll surprise her," The Flash decided. He vibrated his way through the front door. Since he was immaterial and invisible, the Joan-clone did not notice his arrival as she worked at the sink beside the refrigerator. The Flash ceased his vibration and rushed towards Joan to literally sweep her off her feet. However, as he reached the kitchen, his footing was completely lost upon the specially-treated kitchen tile. His arms and legs flailed as he was completely out of control. He crashed head-first into the refrigerator. His Hermes-style helmet was dented by the impact. He shook his head as he tried to clear his senses. He looked up to see Joan pouring the red-colored contents of a dishpan onto him. Upon impact, the liquid solidified into a hardened shell that completely encased The Flash.

It took The Flash a few seconds to completely regain his senses. The shell that covered him was complete now. The Flash did not dwell on what was going on. He needed to get out of this trap quickly. He began to vibrate his molecules into virtual intangibility so as to slip through the shell. However, no matter what frequency he tried, he could not escape.

"Damn," The Flash thought. "Its molecular structure must be too thick for me to vibrate through. Air is running out." His arms and legs could barely move. He could not try to break the shell with thousands of repeated blows; he could not move any limb that much. The only thing that he could do was slightly rub against it.

"The heat of friction." The Flash decided to attempt to melt the shell. If he created enough heat via super-speed friction, the solid shell might revert back to liquid form.

The Flash began moving every part of his body at super-speed. The friction of his body against the solid encasement began to heat the shell. From the inside, The Flash could tell that the shell beginning to melt. What The Flash could not tell was what was happening outside of the shell. The heat was causing the shell to give off a colorless gas. The gas soon enveloped the entire kitchen. The Joan-clone clutched at her throat and slumped to the ground.

After a few more moments of arduous effort, The Flash had managed to melt his solid prison into a liquid sludge. He stumbled to his feet and noticed the strange odor in the air.

"I haven’t smelled something that awful since I died the first time." He looked down to the floor and saw the Joan-clone’s deathly still form. "Oh my God! Joan!" He knelt down at her side and checked her pulse. There was none. He put his hand to her heart. There was no heartbeat. He put his ear to her face. There was no breath. "Oh God, Joan!" He picked her up and bolted out the door. Three-tenths of a seconds later, they were at Keystone Memorial Hospital. He placed her down on an emergency ward bed and called out, "My wife’s not breathing!" Doctors and emergency personnel rushed in, and the Flash stepped aside.

A few minutes later, Dr. Allen Berry came up to the Flash. He had a sad look on his face as he removed his operating mask. "I’m sorry, Flash, but your wife is dead."

"Somebody will pay for this. Somebody made her do it," Flash raged. His mind had completely forgotten about the Watchers now. The only thought in his seething brain was revenge. "When I find him, I’ll tear him to pieces so fast, he’ll never know what hit him." He zoomed out of the hospital with incredible speed. The draft behind him created a snowfall of hospital charts, prescriptions, and X-rays.

Though they were hundreds of miles away, both Quicksilver and Johnny Quick could feel the sudden surge in the Speed Force that the Flash’s burst of speed had created. Instinctively, they both rushed towards Keystone City and the Garrick house. Once there, they discovered the messy scene that the kitchen had become. Quicksilver noted the strange fumes that had not as yet completely dissipated. Figuring that some type of medical emergency had occurred, they raced to Keystone Memorial Hospital.

Quicksilver and Johnny Quick arrived at the hospital about a minute after The Flash’s departure. The floor of the emergency ward was still covered in a sea of paper. Quicksilver made as if to sniff the air. He could detect the residual energy of super-speed. Looking at Johnny, he could see that his former student had picked up on it, too.

"Hey?" Johnny exclaimed. He grabbed Dr. Allen Berry by the arm. "What happened here?"

"The Flash’s wife, Joan Garrick, just died," Dr. Berry sputtered. "When he got the news, he took off like a bat out of hell."

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SUICIDE SLUM - METROPOLIS

JUNE 1, 1985

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In the middle of Schaffenburger Street, The Immortal lawman known as Mako held a semi-automatic to the back of a straggly looking man's head. His other hand held the collar of the man's leather jacket. He had tracked this underling of the drug-runner Kristov through the city of Metropolis.

He had finally caught the unnamed man here in the bowels of the city. The man had been unwilling to supply any information regarding about the operation in general or Kristov in particular.

"Dead or alive, punk. By not giving up Kristov, you gave up your life." Mako pressed the semi-automatic harder into the man's skull. The street was deserted, as most streets in the Slum were after night had fallen.

The man spat and then sneered in heavily accented English "You to go to h..." His words were cut off by a gunshot. Blood began to trickle down his forehead. Mako let go off the man's collar, and the lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

Mako holstered his gun inside of his black trenchcoat and walked away. "Not yet, punk. I'm not going there quite yet." He rubbed his bearded face and contemplated what his next move should be.

A few blocks away, The Guardian heard the gunshot. He raced down Andersen Avenue until he reached the corner of Schaffenburger Street. It was there that he felt the presence of another Immortal. He saw a body on the ground sprawled out in an unnatural way and a dark figure at the

end of the block.

"Stop," The Guardian called out. "Stop in the name of the law!"

Mako turned around and saw the shiny form of The Guardian. "Who does he think he's kidding?" he thought. He could feel the Sensation of this other Immortal. "Name of the law? I am the law," he replied. He stopped and waited for the reaction of this other Immortal.

The Guardian had now reached the dead body. He looked up at Mako. "Why is this man dead?"

"He was a drug smuggler working for the druglord Kristov. He was trying to escape," Mako replied curtly.

"Kristov?" the Guardian thought. "That's the Immortal I mixed it up with the other day."

The Guardian stared at Mako. "You could have pursued and caught him. That's how we do it here. I'm a Guardian of Society, I enforce the law here."

Mako had enough of this costumed vigilante. "I am Mako and I AM THE LAW!" He dug into the pocket of his overcoat and removed a set of stamped documents. "I am duly authorized by the People's Republic of Kalbia to deal with Kristov and his drug cartel. I have the full cooperation of the FBI and the Metropolis P.D."

The Guardian was now an arm's length away from Mako. He took the papers from the lawman. Inspecting them, he found them to be completely legitimate. He handed them back to Mako.

Mako mumbled something under his breath as he returned the documents to his coat. "Kristov has associates here. I'll find them and dispense justice, to them and eventually Kristov. My warrant says dead or alive."

"I can't let you do that, not in my city." The Guardian did not think that his threat would be effective with this driven man, but he attempted it anyway.

"If you get in my way, you're obstructing justice. There's only one way to deal with that." Mako stepped back and drew out his longsword.

"If that's the way it has to be." The Guardian now stepped back and removed his sword from behind his shield. He held the sword before him and saluted his opponent. Mako did the same.

The Guardian held his shield in front of him. He knew that it would provide ample protection for him. He had no fear of Mako doing any damage to it. In all the years of use, nobody had even managed to put a scratch upon its golden metal. One of these days, The Guardian promised himself, he would unravel the mystery behind this seemingly unbreakable shield - some day, but not today. Today he had to concentrate on staying alive. Mako was savage in his initial attack. The Guardian's shield kept Mako's sword from scoring a number of fatal blows. Mako now retreated slightly as he tried to assess the capabilities of his opponent. It appeared that he was not expecting much skill on The Guardian's part.

The Guardian now brought his own sword into play. He slashed again and again at Mako's defenses, but the lawman deftly parried each blow. Mako managed to sneak past The Guardian's guard and slashed a deep streak down the hero's chest.

In a surprise counter-maneuver, The Guardian knocked Mako's sword aside with his shield. Mako had regarded The Guardian's shield solely as a defensive object and had not expected it to be used offensively. The Guardian followed up with a stab straight through Mako's sternum. Mako swung for The Guardian's head with his rapidly fading strength, but The Guardian's shield was once again in the right place at the right time to protect him. The impact of sword on shield was more than Mako's weakening arm could handle, and his sword slipped from his hand and fell to the ground. The Guardian had meanwhile drawn his sword out from Mako's chest

and prepared for the killing blow. With a quick stroke, Mako was no more.

"I'm sorry." The Guardian's voice was tinged with genuine sadness. He wished that he had never become a player in this Immortal Game. However, he did not have a choice. He had to play by the Rules. There can be only one was the most important. Another was that the winner takes the loser's head and his power. The massive bolt of energy leapt from Mako's decapitated form and bowled The Guardian over.

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THE DAILY STAR - METROPOLIS

JUNE 1, 1985

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Clark Kent, Editor of the Daily Star, leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. It had been a long day. The evening edition came out right on time, but the morning edition had encountered a number of problems. Fortunately, they had all been resolved and the presses were running now and churning out thousands of copies.

A knock came at the door. Even without using his X-ray vision, he knew who it was. "Come in, dear," he called out.

In walked his wife Lois Kent, senior reporter for the largest newspaper in Metropolis. "How did you know it was me? Super-hearing? X-ray vision?"

"Nothing so super, just a husband's intuition. That and I know your knock quite well. You've been knocking on that door for about thirty years now." He rose from his chair and embraced his wife. "Lois, you're as lovely as ever."

"Come on Clark," Lois objected. "I know for a fact that I don't look like I did when I first met you, although I do look pretty good for a gal my age. I'd like to take credit for all of it, but I know I can't. It was that incident with Ian Karkull back in 1940 that takes most of the credit."

"I know, honey," Clark agreed as he continued to embrace her. "One of these days I'm going to get an explanation out of Dr. Fate as to what really happened that day." Clark's lips hunted for those of Lois, but before they could meet, the air was rocked by the sound of thunder and sparks of lightning.

"Another one of those freak lightning storms," Lois sighed and commented. "They seem to happen now and then."

Clark turned from his wife and looked out the window. "It looks like it's coming from the Suicide Slum section of town."

"Can you tell what it is?" Lois asked. The booms of thunder and the arcs of lightning continued with deafening and blinding intensity.

Clark pushed his glasses down a little and squinted. He grimaced, "Too much lead in the buildings. My X-ray vision is being blocked by it. I'm going to investigate this personally." He unbuttoned his shirt, exposing the legendary S-shaped emblem upon his costume. "This is a job for Superman," he declared. A second later, he had removed his entire business suit and now displayed the red-and-blue caped costume.

He leaned over and gave Lois a quick peck on the cheek. He pushed open his tall window and leapt out into the warm Metropolis night. "Up, up, and away!"

"Be careful, dear." Lois shouted as Superman's flying form disappeared into the Metropolis skyline. She was afraid that this might be another plot by Alexei Luthor, or the Ultra-Humanite, or maybe even the Lightning Master. Her Super-husband certainly had more than his fair share of

enemies. "Please be careful," she said again, although she knew that he could not hear her words.

Down on Schaffenburger Street, The Guardian had just finished pushing Mako's body and head into the Metropolis sewer system via a conveniently-placed manhole cover. He looked up to see the Man of Steel descend to street level. Despite all of the wondrous things that The Guardian had

seen in his Immortal life so far - dozens of super-powered beings, the DNA Project, the magic of the Quickening, - none of them were as impressive as the first superhero of them all.

"Guardian? What happened here?" The cape of the Metropolis Marvel fluttered for a few seconds before draping itself across his back.

The Guardian was flustered. "Superman? I ..."

Superman noticed the gash in The Guardian's chest and the blue shirt now soaked with dried blood. "You look like you've been hurt, Guardian. What happened?"

The Guardian's mind raced. He needed an explanation, although he hated to lie to Superman. "It was ... it was ... Intergang. They came at me with some new type of energy cannon." He hoped that his tone would be convincing.

"Intergang?" Superman thought aloud. "Why would they need heavy hardware down here in Suicide Slum?"

"I guess they figure they can get a bigger piece of the pie with bigger guns."

"My super-vision isn't picking up any residual energy trails. I guess they must have gotten away clean," Superman concluded. He offered his hand to The Guardian. "Let me give you a hand." He helped The Guardian to his feet. "Would you like me to take a look at that wound with my X-ray vision?"

"No thanks, Superman," The Guardian declined gracefully. "It's not too bad. In fact, it looks a lot worse than it really is." He rubbed his chest and smiled.

"OK, Guardian, but I think you should have that wound looked at." Superman floated up into the air. "If you get a lead on Intergang, let me know. I'd really like to smash that organization." Raising his arms up, Superman easily streaked up into the sky. He was slightly puzzled that his

strength and speed had seemed greater lately. They had been waning for a number of years, but that decline seemed to stop after his apparent "drowning" at the hands of the Ultra-Humanite. In fact, he felt stronger and different in a number of ways. His powers and his awareness seemed to

have expanded. Memories of his home planet of Krypton had been popping into his head, but the memories were not his own. His mind had been grasping concepts that he had never contemplated before. It was beginning to trouble him.

The Guardian cupped his hands and shouted out, "Sure thing, Superman," but the Man of Steel was too lost in thought to respond. He took a deep breath and headed for home.

Hidden in a darkened alleyway, The Guardian's Watcher, Roy Harper, took note of this night's events. It had been a while since The Guardian had last taken a head. However, Roy's thoughts were more concerned with Superman than with his Immortal charge.

"I wonder," Roy thought. "Superman is the only survivor of Krypton. He always said that his powers were due to Earth's lesser gravity and yellow sun. But what if there were an entirely different reason. What if it was because he was the last one, the last Immortal from Krypton?" Roy shook

his head. "Nah, Superman's been getting older like the rest of us. He couldn't be Immortal." With that, Roy Harper disappeared into the shadows. He would write up this battle in The Guardian's Chronicle and deliver a copy to Watcher Headquarters. While he was there, he figured he could

satisfy his innate curiosity and pick up some news on what was happening elsewhere in Immortal circles.

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KANE COMMUNITY CENTER - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 1, 1985

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A 'Meskin Cleaners’ van was seemingly innocently parked down the block from the Kane Community Center. Inside, a number of dangerous men discussed the upcoming events of tonight. They noted all of the wealthy people in formal attire and police officers in dress uniform congregated in the area.

"Are you sure this is wise?" one of Kuyler’s underlings asked. "It’s a Policemen’s Ball, for crying out loud. There’s cops all over the place."

Kuyler, in a skintight mime outfit, reached up to the driver’s seat and grasped the inquisitive underling by the neck. Taking a good hold, he explained, "Our target is the new police commissioner, Kathy Kane. She was closely linked with Batman years ago. We will use her to destroy the former Boy Wonder, Robin."

"Gotcha, boss," the unlucky underling gasped. He struggled to catch his breath after he was released and paid close attention to the detailed plan that Kuyler outlined.

Inside of the community center, mixing amongst the high society of Gotham City were Dick Grayson and his adopted ward Richie Ryan. Both were outfitted in top of the line tuxedoes. Even so, they did not stand out in the lavishly dressed crowd. Dick surveyed the crowd silently while Richie unsuccessfully tried to snatch a glass of wine from a number of the waiters’ trays. Eventually convinced that he was not going to succeed, he desisted.

"Why do we gotta go to this thing, boss?" Richie argued. "And why do we gotta wear these monkey suits. They’re so stupid!" He tugged at his bowtie but stopped after a stern glance from his mentor.

Dick sighed. "Kathy’s an old friend. Both of Robin and Dick Grayson. She used to be a crimefighter, also. She was Batwoman and she and Bruce had an unspoken romance, both in costume and in civilian life. But that was a long time ago."

Richie’s eyes lit up. "Really? She was Batwoman? Cool!" He straightened his tie back up. "When do I get to meet her? She and Batman used to have a thing? And what about you and her sidekick, whatshername? Bat-Girl, right? Is she going to be here too."

"Easy with the questions there, kid," Dick said quietly. "Let’s not expose our identities here." He wished the power of Richie’s inquisitive mind could be harnessed for his studies as much as it was for gossip. "To answer, your questions - I don’t know if she and Batman had ‘a thing’ and I don’t believe that Bat-Girl will be here, although I did hear that she would be in town soon."

"Aha, so you and Bat-Girl had a thing and now you’re going to rekindle the romance!" Richie whispered.

"Rekindle the romance?" Dick thought pensively. "I think Richie’s been watching too many soaps on TV." He turned to see the lady of the hour, Kathy Kane, walking toward them. She managed to push her way through a number of well-wishers to reach Dick’s side.

"Dick! Thanks for coming." she called out.

Dick had to blush a little bit. Although she was in her sixties, she was still a striking woman in her black evening gown. Her days as a circus performer and as a crimefighter had served her well. She still wore her hair long, although her black tresses were now marked with some streaks of grey. Dick blushed even more when she gave him a big hug.

"Nice to see you, too, Kathy. Congratulations on the new job," Dick replied.

Kathy walked Dick and Richie into a secluded corner. "It will be a challenge, living up to my predecessors, Jim Gordon and Bruce Wayne, but I’m up for it," she said graciously. "I just wish my dad could have seen this day. I guess I’ll have to believe that he’s here in spirit, in this building that was named after him."

Dick nodded. "When it comes to memories, everyone’s immortal, in a way."

Richie snickered a little bit at the wordplay.

Kathy sighed, "You’re right. You know, I think about Bruce a lot. I’d like to think he was here in spirit as well. I guess I’ll have to be content with Robin and Batwing being here in person."

Robin looked around innocently, a decades-old instinct to protect his secret identity kicking in. "Robin and Batwing are here? I didn’t see them."

Richie tugged once again at his bowtie. "Yeah, I didn’t see ‘em." His words were a bit less than convincing.

Kathy just stared at them for a few moments. Then she said, "Give me a little credit. Both Batman and Bruce Wayne dying at the same time. I may not have been as good as a detective as you two were, but I was good, nevertheless."

"But ..." Dick objected.

Kathy smiled. "I mean, Richard Grayson adopts Little Richard here, and Robin suddenly has a new partner, Batwing."

"Don’t call me ‘Little Richard’!" Richie protested. He hated it when anybody called him that.

"Sorry, I couldn’t help myself." Kathy giggled slightly.

"But Kathy ..." Dick objected again.

"But nothing. I know I’m right, and you know I won’t disclose it. You two are the most important resource for the department." Kathy replied. "And don’t try any of those grandiose tricks that you and Batman perpetrated to convince I’m wrong. My eyes aren’t covered with love-struck glasses any more."

Dick frowned. Batman had ingrained upon him the necessity of keeping one’s secret identity just that - secret. It was one of the reasons that Kathy had given up being Batwoman, at least for a while; Batman and Robin had discovered her identity and impressed upon her that a criminal might do so as well. But what could Dick do but accept the situation? He offered his hand to her. "Kathy, I can’t think of anyone I could trust more with my secret identity than you - Batwoman and Police Commissioner rolled into one."

Kathy shook Dick’s hand heartily. "Thank you, Dick." She reached over and mussed up Richie’s hair. "You, too, kid." She looked the crowd over for a moment. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go powder my nose and then hobnob with some of the politicians, God help me, for a while." She waved as she headed for the Ladies’ Room. "But we’ll talk later, OK?"

Dick returned the wave. "Sure thing, Kathy." He looked to his partner. "Well, a little unexpected excitement there, wouldn’t you say partner?"

Richie frowned. "You got that right, boss. I hope nobody else figures out who we are. If they do, we’re gonna have to get some new secret identities early than scheduled. You always say that since we’re Immortal we’re gonna have to get new names eventually; otherwise people are going notice that we aren’t getting any older."

"That’s right, chum." Dick put his hand on Richie’s shoulder. "But we shouldn’t have to do that for a few more years. It won’t be as big of a problem for me, since I’m frozen in my fifties. You, on the other hand, might have a problem. We won’t be able to explain your boyish features forever."

Richie had a confused look on his face. "Aw, geez. I never thought about that. What are we gonna do? Hey, I know. I could get killed ‘in the line of duty’ and then you could get a new Batwing, except the new Batwing would be me, of course."

"That could work," Dick replied. "At least for Batwing it would. But what about for Richie Ryan, over-exuberant ward of Dick Grayson?"

Richie smirked. "Who cares? I have lots more fun as Batwing."

"We’ll figure something out," Dick sighed. "Eventually, we’ll figure something out."

After slowly working her way through even more well-wishers, Kathy finally made it to the Ladies’ Room. She did not notice anything strange about the four men milling about just outside of the restroom door. She innocently assumed that they were fellows waiting for their respective wives or girlfriends. Once inside, she did not notice that she was the sole occupant of the restroom.

A few moments after Kathy entered the Ladies’ Room, the quartet outside made their move. Pulling a number of injection devices out of their pockets, they entered the Ladies’ Room as well. As the foursome entered, Richie noticed the strange devices in their hands. He had broken away from Dick’s supervision as his mentor was embroiled in a long and boring discussion with some other lawyers. Richie had taken the opportunity to explore the elegant surroundings. When he saw the sight just outside of the Ladies’ Room. his heart beat with excitement. He turned and raced back down the hall to the Men’s Room where he could hopefully change.

Inside of the Ladies’ Room, Kathy stood in front of the large mirror as she freshened her make-up. She noticed the male newcomers to the room. "I think you fellows have the wrong room. The Men’s Room is down the hall."

One of the men replied, "No, we have the right room. We are here for you, Commissioner Kane." The men brandished their injection devices. One of them stood guard at the doorway. It was his responsibility to make sure that no one else entered. The guard’s face was smacked by the day as the door swung open forcefully. The others turned to face the new arrival. It was a man in a black overcoat and tophat which obscured his features.

The man threw off the tophat to reveal the white painted face of Kuyler. "What is taking so long," he demanded.

"It wasn’t til now that she had to use the restroom, Kuyler. What were we to do?" the guard replied as he rubbed his sore face.

Meanwhile, Kuyler’s other underlings had approached Kathy with the intent of injecting her with the contents of their devices. Kathy had proven disagreeable to this. The first thug was met with a purse to the head. The second was suffering from a fit of coughing that was brought on by receiving a faceful of perfume. The third was rolling around in pain on the floor courtesy of Kathy’s knee hitting his groin.

Kuyler sighed, "If you want something done right ..." He pounced upon Kathy and grabbed at Kathy’s wrists. "Don’t fight me, you witch." Kuyler struggled to get a firm hold upon her.

"I may be old, but I’m not helpless," Kathy countered. She kicked and struggled against Kuyler’s attack. The mime-faced man could not get her under control. Suddenly he stopped grappling with her and looked up. His Senses registered the presence of another Immortal.

The still-smarting guard noticed Kuyler’s reaction. "Boss? What is it?" the guard asked.

"Unexpected guests." Kuyler pushed Kathy down into a nearby chair. "We must leave now." Kuyler scrambled toward the window on the wall and began to climb through it.

"Da da da-da da da da, BATWING!" The kid crusader smashed through the door. He took note of the lavish furnishing for a second. "Wow, so this is what it looks like inside. No wonder you dames take so long in here." Then he remembered that he was here on a rescue mission and that he had sensed another Immortal.

Batwing caught a glimpse of Kuyler’s face as the assassin escaped through the window. "Hey, funnyface!" He was delayed from pursuing Kuyler since he had to deal with the guard whose right cross almost leveled the teenage titan.

Batwing threw an elbow in the guard’s solar plexus. He followed this with a two-fingered poke to the eyes. Satisfied that the man was incapacitated for the time being, Batwing went to check up on Kathy.

He took the seated Commissioner’s hand. "You OK, Miss Commish?"

Kathy looked up at him and brushed some hair of her eyes. "Yes, I’ll be OK, but the bad guys are getting away."

Batwing looked around. The last of the thugs was crawling out the window. He pulled out a batarang, but by the time his toss made it to window, the thug was already gone.

"Aw, belfry bats! The boss ain’t gonna be happy about this," Batwing lamented.

A crowd of people had now collected outside of the Ladies’ Room. Dick Grayson was at forefront of the mass. Batwing saw him and went to his side. Soon the duo were outside of the Center, and Batwing was explaining what happened.

Batwing concluded his tale. "I’m telling you boss, the guy with the white face, it looked like The Joker. I felt the buzz."

"Hmm," Dick pondered with concern. "The Joker is supposed to still be in Arkham. We’ll have to check the Asylum tomorrow."

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ARKHAM ASYLUM - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Robin and Batwing sat and waited in the Warden’s office. Robin had Batwing go over once more all of the details that he could recall from the previous night’s escapade. Robin had talked to Kathy later that night, but she was unable to identify the white-faced man.

Batwing tapped a batarang upon the chair’s armrest. "How much longer do we gotta wait for the Warden?" His mind then drifted to ways in which he could improve the batarang. Thoughts of a sharper edge came to a fore.

"Patience, lad," Robin replied calmly. How many times had the Batman uttered those same words when Dick was just a young crimefighter? Robin now appreciated what Batman had to endure.

"Warden Sprang, good to see you again." Robin rose and shook the Warden’s hand. Batwing did the same.

"The pleasure is mine, Robin," Warden Sprang replied. He turned to Batwing. "Nice to see you again, young feller."

Batwing put his batarang back into his utility belt. "Hiya, Warden. How’s things in the nuthouse?"

Warden Sprang smiled and rubbed his chin. "We don’t like to call it the ‘nuthouse’, Batwing. We prefer to refer to it as a home for the criminally insane. Lord knows we have enough of them here in Gotham." He turned back to Robin now. "What can I do to help you Caped Crusaders?" He sat down behind his desk and motioned for the heroes to be seated.

Robin nodded and took his seat. "I’m sure you heard about the attempt on the Commissioner."

"Yes, Kathy is going to be a great Commissioner. I’m glad they didn’t hurt her. Does your visit have to do with that incident?" Warden Sprang asked.

"Yes, the Boy Wonder here thinks that it was The Joker who was the mastermind behind it." Robin put his hand on Batwing’s shoulder.

Batwing gritted his teeth at the nickname ‘Boy Wonder’. It was almost as bad as ‘Little Richard’. He knocked Robin’s hand off of his shoulder and whispered in a whiny voice, "Boss!"

Warden Sprang picked up an ink pen from his desk and twirled it in his hands. "The Joker, you say. Well, I’ll be the first to admit that we lose prisoners from here all of the time. But I can guarantee you, The Joker has not taken one step outside of this cell since you brought him here last month."

"Just the same, Warden," Robin said. "We’d like to check on The Joker, if you don’t mind."

"Not a problem. Not a problem at all." Warden Sprang picked up the phone and dialed a few numbers. He spoke into the receiver, "Yes, this is the Warden. I’ll need an escort to go to into the maximum security wing. Robin and Batwing are here and they’d like to see The Joker ... OK, thank you."

Warden Sprang hung up the phone. "There. We can go to the entrance to the maximum security wing now. Some guards will meet us there."

A few minutes later, Warden Sprang and the Dynamic Duo stood outside of the maximum security wing of the asylum. The two superheroic Immortals could already detect the presence of a number of Immortals who were inside.

With a nod from the Warden, the guards opened up the thick steel doors to the wing. The trio entered, flanked by a quartet of tough-looking security guards.

Robin’s thoughts drifted to the Immortals who were incarcerated here. "The Joker, of course. And then there’s Hugo Strange, Doctor Death, Cat-Man. I think those are the only ones in here right now."

The Sensation that seemed to be emanating from a door to the right gave the heroes pause. Robin looked to see the nameplate on the door. It was Tom Blake, alias the Cat-Man. Robin peered through the small glass window upon the door. He could see Cat-Man, in his yellow and orange costume, pouncing around the padded cell. His motions were quite feline in appearance. The prisoner caught sight of the face in door and seemed to recognize the Immortality behind it.

"I’ve got nine lives, see." Cat-Man declared. "That’s why I keep coming back. Robins are birds. Birds don’t have nine lives." He then leapt at the wall and tried to climb it. However, his fingers could find no hold in the padding and he fell down. His fall was ended by a graceful landing upon his fingers and toes.

By this time, Robin had left the window and Batwing had taken his place. The window was situated just a bit too high for the Kid Crusader, so Batwing had to jump in order to see through it.

"Hey, howcum these bad guys are still wearing their bad guy threads?" Batwing wondered aloud.

Robin’s thoughts were on his earlier encounters with the Cat-Man. When he and Batman had first faced off against the Feline Fury, they almost believed the Cat-Man’s explanation of his magic cape as the reason for his death-cheating. These days, Robin knew better.

"We let them keep their outfits now," Warden Sprang explained. "It seems to help keep them calm, at least a little bit." They continued down the hallway. "Of course, we don’t allow them to wear the costumes that they are delivered to us in. We learned that the hard way - some of the them hid some ingenious devices inside their costumes that even our thorough searches didn’t uncover. These days, we have replicas made for them to wear."

The group continued to move down the hall. Once again, the Sensation of another Immortal became overwhelming. Robin looked at the nameplate on this door. It was the cell of Hugo Strange.

Apparently Professor Hugo Strange had also felt the Sensation. He thrashed inside of his cell and screamed. "They can’t die! Just like me, they can’t die."

One of the guards knocked on the door. "Quiet down, Professor. Nobody’s going to hurt you. You’re safe in your nice, padded cell."

Professor Strange plastered his face against the small glass window. His spectacles were slightly ajar as he pressed his face even harder against the glass and stared at the Dynamic Duo. "They’re not going to hurt me. They’re coming to kill me. That’s what they do. That’s what we all do!"

Warden Sprang sighed as they continued now. "He’s really snapped since you brought him in here. Keeps saying that he can’t die, and he claims that some of our other inmates can’t die either."

"I hope you’ll be able to help him," Robin commented. Hugo Strange had lost all semblance of sanity after their last encounter. Strange had stolen Starman’s cosmic rod and was wreaking his vengeance against Robin. With Batwoman’s help, Robin was able to defeat him and capture him. Batman and Robin's battles with Professor Strange had ended with Hugo’s apparent death-plummets from cliffs. Now Robin knew how Hugo had survived.

"Hmm," Robin thought. "That was the last time that Kathy donned her costume, and it was the first time in decades that she had done so. Could Hugo have had something to do with it?" He quickly discounted that theory. The attempt on Kathy was just not his style.

Finally the entourage came upon the desired cell - that of the Joker. The Sensation hit both Robin and Batwing, but they did need it to know that the Joker was there. The maniacal laugh of the Jester of Crime was unmistakable.

The Joker’s pallid white face, green hair, and red lips were soon at the glass window. "Well, if it isn’t the Birdboy and the Batboy," the Joker cackled. "How is the big, bad Batman these days ... oh, that’s right he’s dead! Ha ha ha!"

"This isn’t a social call, Joker," Robin began. "Did you have anything to do with the attempt on Kathy Kane last night?"

The Joker rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Let’s see. Kathy Kane, Kathy Kane. She was a pretty girl back in her day. Rich girl, too. Did I rob her? Maybe, maybe not. I don’t know. She has to be old now, doesn’t she, but then again with a name like that, initials of ‘K’ and ‘K’, you never know, do you? Or maybe you do. You probably would if you were close enough. How close are you and Ms. Kane, eh Boy Blunder?"

Robin shook his head. The Joker seemed to become more insane with each passing year. Robin figured that it was only a matter of time before the Clown Prince of Crime made an attempt for his head. "Just answer the question, Joker. Did you or any of your goons still on the outside have anything to do with the attempted kidnapping?"

"Kidnapping Kathy Kane? A multitude of K’s. Three K’s in fact. KKK. Maybe they had something to do with it. Kathy Kane. I heard she’s going to be the new commissioner. Was she ever a cop? I liked the old commissioners better. Jimmy Gordon. Now there was a commissioner. He and his boys in blue could never catch me. Only you and Bats could do that. And then there was that Bruce Wayne guy. He was rich, too. I think I robbed him once or twice over the years. He never was a cop; how’d he become commissioner? Can you buy the job? Is that it? How much is it? I could use the work."

"Kathy Kane, Joker, Kathy Kane." Robin repeated. It was becoming increasingly clear that the Joker’s sanity had completely departed.

"Kathy Kane." The Joker sat down and shrugged inside of his straitjacket. "No, I don’t believe I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting her, and I don’t think I’d want too. She’s too old for me, hee hee hee."

Robin shook his head and turned from the cell. "Thanks, Warden. You’ve been a big help." Robin shook the Warden’s hand and Batwing did the same.

"Yeah, thanks," Batwing echoed.

"Anytime, Dynamic Duo, anytime," Warden Sprang replied.

A few minutes later, Robin and Batwing had wound their back through the asylum and walked down the steps to the parked Batmobile. They climbed into the vehicle and set off for the Batcave.

"Well?" Batwing asked as he played with the police scanner. "Whaddaya think?"

Robin’s eyes never left the road. "I don’t think it’s the Joker at all," he replied grimly.

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ROCK OF ETERNITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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The aged wizard known as Shazam stared through a mystic viewscreen upon his beloved Fawcett City. Shazam’s white-bearded head rested heavily upon his right hand as he watched a scene unfold back on Earth. Here on the Rock, he stood outside of the mainstream reality. From this seemingly infinitely tall spire, one could access other times and other worlds, if one knew the correct path. Shazam had discovered the path to this space-time nexus centuries ago. It had become his place of rest and refuge.

Shazam had grown tired of fighting the evil of the world. He had grown tired of constantly facing Immortals who craved the power that he possessed. Once long ago, he had hoped to create a champion that could take his place, but that effort had resulted in dismal failure. Centuries later, he had tried again with infinitely more successful results. Now he was content to wait here in safety until the Time of the Gathering. He knew that he would not be able to remain here forever, that the call of the Gathering would take him back to Earth.

For now, however, he was content to watch events unfold on Earth. He was a bit troubled by his inability to peer into the future from the Rock. While his visions of the future had never been much in terms of quantity or specifics, it had always been accessible. He had never been able to ascertain who would win the Prize, although he gave himself a fair chance of doing so. Still, he had previously been able to peek through the veil of time and receive portents of things to come. Now, however, the future seemed to be a blank slate. Shazam feared that there might not be a future at all for the Universe. The thought made him tremble. A more comforting thought was that now was a time of temporal instability, when great events were to happen that could unfold in any number of ways.

Shazam held onto the hope of the latter theory as his attention once again focused upon the events of Fawcett City, home of his champions. The protective spell with which he had surrounded the metropolis indicated to him that an Immortal had entered the city limits. The image of the viewscreen became jumbled until it fixed itself upon the newcomer. It was the familiar figure of Connor MacLeod, and he was carefully tucking his katana into his jacket. The man did not give Shazam much pause, but the katana did.

"That sword," Shazam thought. "I know that sword. It was many centuries ago, but there can be no mistake ..."

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EGYPT

832 B.C.

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A middle-aged man with white hair and a short dark beard climbed up the cliff face to the entrance of a deep cave. Centuries later he would be known as Juan Sanchez Villa-Lobos Ramirez. Today he was simply known as Mirze-Ra. He had heard rumors of the ancient wizard Shazam once inhabiting these parts, and so he had sought out this sorcerer in the hopes of finding the answers he most desperately needed.

As Mirze-Ra entered the cave, his mind was assaulted by an all-too-familiar feeling. He knew that the feeling meant that there was someone nearby, but as to who or what that was, he did not know.

Mirze-Ra cupped his hands and called out, "Hello?"

The white-robed figure of Shazam suddenly appeared in front of him, emerging out of a cloud of smoke. "Who dares disturb the wizard Shazam?" A massive sword was held in his steady hands.

Mirze-Ra made no motion to the simple sword that was tucked into the belt of his loincloth. "It is I, Mirze-Ra, though I was once known as Tak Ne."

"What do you want, Mirze-Ra? Have you come for my head? Many have tried but none have succeeded." Shazam held his sword at the ready.

Mirze-Ra dropped to his knees and bowed down. "I meant no offense, mighty wizard. I wish to understand what I am now. I wish to understand this swell of energy inside of me. I wish to know why others seemingly like me wish to fight me for no apparent reason."

The sword disappeared from Shazam’s hand, and the stern look disappeared from his face. "Ah, so you have had no teacher, then. You do not know about the Rules of the Game."

"Rules? Game?" Mirze-Ra was perplexed. He remained on his knees.

Shazam reached out his hand and brought Mirze-Ra to his feet once again. "We Immortals do not just live on through the centuries. There is much more to it than that. I have discovered more about it than possibly any other Immortal ever has or ever will." Shazam studied the face of Mirze-Ra carefully. "I can see in your eyes a willingness to learn, an eagerness for knowledge. I will teach you so that you may understand."

After a few months, Shazam had completed a great deal of instruction with this new student of his. Mirze-Ra had proved an eager student, as Shazam had expected. The wizard was happy that he had found a purpose on this visit back to his homeland. Previous visits from the Rock had only been to assuage his feelings of homesickness.

Shazam pointed out to Mirze-Ra a winged bird in the distance. "See that ibis over there. It reminds me of another Immortal that you might meet someday. But, for now, concentrate on the bird." "Ah, Ibis," Shazam thought as he took a deep breath. "Would that I could have convinced you of the error of your ways."

Mirze-Ra saw a look of sadness could his mentor’s eyes, but he said nothing. He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the bird.

Shazam continued to take deep breaths. "Feel the heart of the ibis beating. Feel the wind as his wings beat against it. Can you feel it, Mirze-Ra?" The wizard could certainly feel the sensations that he was describing to his student.

Mirze-Ra’s face lit in joy as the feelings took hold of him. "Yes, I can, teacher. I can."

"This is one of the magical aspects of the Quickening. It is one of the simplest, though very few Immortals have mastered it." Shazam took one last deep breath and turned to return to the cave.

Mirze-Ra followed quickly after. "Teach me more, Shazam," he implored.

"One day you will reach the east, farther than the maps of today show. To the land of the Japans. There you will find another former pupil of mine. His name is Nakano. You may learn from him as well."

Mirze-Ra did not want to hear about some foreigner. He wanted to know more about his teacher. "I had heard ancient legends that the wizard Shazam was once the protector of Egypt," Mirze-Ra commented. "Why did you relinquish your position?"

Shazam’s voice was tinged with disappointment. "I was weary, and I had failed."

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EGYPT

2659 B.C.

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In a sparkle of multi-hued light, a human figure appeared in the mouth of Shazam’s cave. "Ah, I presume you are the wizard Shazam," the figure called out as its form coalesced into that of a man. The man was dressed in flowing golden robes. His head was adorned with a similarly colored-headdress. His skin had a faint hint of blue to it. "I am Kulak, and I have come for you."

Shazam stepped out of the shadows and felt the unmistakable Immortal Sensation that this man radiated. "I am Shazam. If you know of me, then you must know that many have come for my head, many powerful warriors, and none have survived the encounter." Shazam’s long blade was balanced in his hand.

"Ah, yes. You refer to those mighty figures such as Zeus and Atlas and Achilles and the like, do you not? Mighty figures that the witless mortals have constructed into gods to worship," Kulak replied. "To answer your statement, I have heard of the defeat that these Immortals had met under your blade. However, I am not as they. They relied upon their physical gifts, which were ill-suited for a battle with a master sorcerer such as yourself. I, however, am your match. In fact, I am your match and more. I have more magical power at my command than you could ever hope to attain in an Immortal lifetime."

Shazam but his sword back with the folds of his robe. "You seem quite confident of yourself. However, those that have challenged me in the past were similarly brimming with confidence." He honed his mystical senses for the battle which he knew was imminent.

"I would hazard to say that I ruled my ancient kingdom for millennia before you were even born." Kulak’s hands crackled with eldritch energy.

"Do not ascribe yourself to be my elder when you know it not." Shazam’s entire form was suffused with a blue glow. Bolts of hellfire erupted from Kulak’s hands, but they were harmlessly turned away by Shazam’s aura.

Shazam responded now with an attack of his own. A series of intricate gestures caused emerald bands to encircle Kulak. Kulak’s face contorted as he resisted the unrelenting pressure of the bands. Finally, the bands exploded into small green shards that quickly dissipated.

Kulak stepped back and caught his breath. "I summon all my magical might now, Shazam. I shall decimate you, and then I shall decapitate you."

Shazam could feel the immense build-up of arcane power that Kulak was producing. He was somewhat certain that he could counter it, but the resulting magical collision would likely ravage the world outside for untold miles, and perhaps completely. He could not do that merely to ensure his own survival. However, what other option did he have? How could he save himself and the world outside as well.

"The world! This world!" Shazam thought. "I can protect myself and this world if Kulak is not here." He quickly began the incantation for a spell which he had only recently discovered - a dimension shifting spell.

Kulak was surprised that Shazam was not generating a massive counter-spell. "Is that puny spell the best you can muster? Your legend is quite exaggerated."

"I could do more, but this will suffice." Shazam had finished the incantation and launched its potency at Kulak. The evil wizard had not as yet completed his own spell. "Brag of your might on another world, in the dimension of Brztal!"

A gaping black hole appeared beneath Kulak’s feet. Before he could even say a word, much less another incantation, Kulak fell into the aperture and was transported to that dark dimension. Once Kulak had fallen completely through, the portal closed upon itself and vanished.

Shazam lowered himself to the ground and recovered from the exhausting battle. The dimension-shifting spell had not been very dramatic, but it had depleted much of the wizard’s energy. However, he was not able to rest long when he heard the sound of someone approaching

Shazam struggled to his feet. He hoped that this was not some associate of Kulak, here to fight in case Kulak failed. He pulled out his sword since his magical strength had not yet recovered. "Who comes to disturb Shazam?" he called out.

A large, fair-skinned man approached. His white beard gave him an ancient appearance, but his strong build was that of a young man. A green and yellow headdress decorated his head. Around his neck he more a round golden amulet. A white tunic and sandals were his only clothes. "I detected a magical conflagration in this vicinity. I am Nabu. I take it that you are the wizard Shazam."

"I am. I was engaged in battle with an evil sorcerer named Kulak. I managed to banish him to another dimension. However, I fear that he may return someday, although probably not for millennia."

"Kulak!" Nabu replied. "My crystal ball had informed me that he was spreading his evil once again. I tracked him here and was willing to come to your aid, if need arose. However, I see that my own humble abilities were not required."

Shazam and Nabu then talked for hours about the battle between good and evil while Shazam’s strength returned to him. Shazam was quickly convinced of Nabu’s noble intentions. He decided that this wizard was someone to whom he could pass the responsibilities that he had assumed.

"Evil threatens the land again," Shazam stated, "but I am too weary to confront it directly anymore. I know not what manner of being are you, but I can sense that you believe in the power of good, of order. Please guard Egypt now."

Nabu’s response was what Shazam had hoped. "Rest assured, mighty wizard, I shall fight the forces of chaos and evil whenever they rear their heads in the Black Land. Rest now. You have served the cause of order well for many years."

Shazam bowed modestly. "I thank you for your praise. I have striven to rid the land of the plague of evil, but it always springs anew. I, myself, am to blame for some of it. Black Adam was my creation."

Nabu would have none of Shazam’s self-recriminations. "It was a noble intention, wizard. Sometimes the forces of evil are able to corrupt the weapons that we fashion against it and are able to turn it towards its nefarious purposes." He clasped Shazam’s right hand. "Fret not about this one mistake. I am sure that fate will one day allow you the chance to rectify it, though it may be millennia before that day dawns."

"My thanks," Shazam clasped both of Nabu’s hands. "I know that Egypt will be protected in your hands. I go now to a mystical locus in an other-dimensional realm I have discovered."

Shazam concentrated and a shimmering portal appeared in the air. The image in the portal was of a giant rock stalagmite standing amidst black nothingness. With nothing to compare it to, there was no way to ascertain its size, but Nabu mystic senses indicated that it was quite prodigious.

Shazam began to pass through the portal. "I call it ‘The Rock of Eternity.’ I shall return someday. Protect Egypt well."

"I shall, Shazam," Nabu responded, although he did not know if Shazam could hear him as he traveled through the portal. The portal soon closed and disappeared without a trace.

Nabu allowed himself a few moments to think about this new development and then set about his new task. He mystically summoned his crystal ball and peered into its glassy depths. Already he could sense that another mystic menace was developing. A visage began to form within the crystal ball. It was that of a black-bearded man. His hair was slicked back, and the slight tint of green to his skin only served to make his already-sinister face that much more sinister. "This wizard is fomenting chaos upon the Black Land. This Wotan must be stopped."

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EGYPT

832 B.C.

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"Nabu has been fighting some demonic agents of Chaos demons in a distant land for some time now. That is why he has been away from this place while I have trained you. For you now, it is time for you to go to the Japans. Be advised that it will take many months. I have already notified Nakano," Shazam said sadly.

Mirze-Ra shook his heart downheartedly. He did not wish to leave but he knew in his heart that his teacher’s words were true. He clasped Shazam’s hand. "My heartfelt thanks, teacher."

Shazam shook his student’s hand earnestly. "Thank you for making these days back on Earth enjoyable. It had been so long since I last had such an eager and willing pupil."

After the handshake was completed, Mirze-Ra thought for a moment. "But master, how shall I find this land of the Japans or this Immortal Nakano?"

Shazam soothing tone quieted his fears. "Head east until you can head no more. Nakano will find you, there is no doubt about that. Now, I must return to my other-dimensional abode."

Mirze-Ra did not really understand the term. "Farewell, Master," he said as Shazam created a shining portal that would transport him back to the Rock of Eternity. Mirze-Ra was taken aback by the shimmering aperture. "Master," he called out, "What is that?"

Shazam replied, "It’s a kind of magic." He stepped into the portal and he was gone. Scant moments later, the portal was gone, too.

Mirze-Ra saluted his now-departed master one more time. He looked to the sky and got his bearings. Seeing the bright morning sun, he determined in which direction due east lay and headed out.

After a few hours of walking through some lightly populated villages of Egypt, Mirze-Ra’s journey took him into a rocky, deserted area. He had heard of bands of thieves that ravaged these parts. He checked to see that his sword was secure in its scabbard.

"Let the thieves come," Mirze-Ra thought. "The training that Shazam has given me makes me the fighting match of a dozen of them." His swordsmanship was quite remarkable, as Shazam had often noted. "Besides," he thought further, "if they should overwhelm me, what have I to fear? I am Immortal."

Confident in his situation, Mirze-Ra continued on his way. He nonetheless kept his senses sharp as he traversed the rocky path, noting every possible sound or sight of danger.

Soon enough, he detected danger but not with any of his five senses. The Sensation came directly to his brain, and he knew that there could be only one source for it - another Immortal. His hand went straight for his sword as he turned in a slow circle.

"Come out and show yourself!" Mirze-Ra called out. His earlier confidence was lessened. He had never faced another Immortal in combat. Shazam had told of the Rules and the Quickening, but even the wizard admitted that no mere words could completely describe the experience of receiving a Quickening.

No sign of the other Immortal appeared. Mirze-Ra now had his sword drawn. The silence was becoming nerve-wracking. "I am Mirze-Ra! Come out and face me if you dare!" His challenge drew no response.

Mirze-Ra was about to sheathe his sword once again when a group of green-armored men leapt out from the rocks. They all wore the same outfit - green leather armor, green iron helmets with red glass covering the eyepieces. They all carried jagged short swords and they headed straight for Mirze-Ra.

"Ra protect me!" Mirze-Ra silently implored his semi-namesake. There was still no visible sign of the other Immortal. The minions of this unseen Immortal engaged Mirze-Ra now. He was hard-pressed to fend off their attacks owing to their number. Despite their impressive armor and weaponry, their skills left a great deal to be desired.

Suddenly the Sensation grew even stronger in Mirze-Ra. The other Immortal finally appeared. He stood upon a large craggy boulder. He was outfitted in a more sinister suit of black and green plated armor. He held a massive black sword in his hands. What caught Mirze-Ra’s attention was the man’s skin. It was a pallid white, an albino perhaps. The Immortal called out, "Kill this demon, my hunters. Kill him and I shall then drain away his demonic might. Obey your lord. Obey Kortan!"

Mirze-Ra had been successful in keeping Kortan’s hunters from breaking through his defenses. They attacked cautiously, never more than two at a time. There was ample room to attack him from all sides, but they seemed afraid to hurt themselves. Still, their numerical superiority would eventually win out. Mirze-Ra could fight two of these unskilled easily but he could not do it indefinitely. His confidence was almost completely shaken when he felt the mental tickle of another Immortal.

"Another Immortal?" Mirze-Ra thought. "They can’t both fight me. The Rules prohibit that." A few seconds later, he felt yet another Sensation ripple through him. "A third?"

Kortan had detected the other Immortals as well. He leapt from the boulder to the ground below. Addressing his troops, he said loudly, "More demons approach." However, he could not tell where these other Immortals were.

Suddenly a pair of winged figures swooped down and then rose to the sky again. Along with them they brought two of the armored lackeys that had been oppressing Mirze-Ra. After soaring about twenty feet up, the winged warriors dropped the lackeys. The green armor did not protect them much from the impact with the ground and they lay motionless. The winged figures floated to the ground near Kortan while Mirze-Ra continued to fight off the remaining henchmen.

"You should not involve mortals in our affairs, Kortan," one of the winged warriors said. He was obviously male, dressed in green leather tights. Brown leather straps crossed his chest in the form of an ‘X’; the large grey wings were undoubtedly attached to the straps somehow. His features were completely covered by an orange-colored beaked hawk-mask. In his right gauntlet-covered hand, he held a huge battle-axe.

"Who?" Kortan cried out in surprise.

"Lord Kortan, what are they?" one of his minions asked fearfully.

The female answered firmly, "We are the Hawks of Horus, and we would stand against you and all that is evil." She was dressed in a similar outfit and wings. In her hands she wielded a sleek silvery sword. "Leave this man in peace, Kortan, or face him honorably."

"Lord Kortan, what should we do?" another henchman asked. They had broken off their attack on Mirze-Ra now. Their fear of the newcomers was apparent.

Kortan raised his sword high. "Kill the interlopers. I am your god. I shall have none other, or their soldiers, before me." As his troopers broke off to engage the hawk-man and the hawk-girl, Kortan dashed at Mirze-Ra with his sword held with both hands.

Mirze-Ra steeled himself for a new battle. He was grateful for the assistance of these masked Immortals; he only hoped that his head would not be the price of their aid. He held his sword firmly as he fended off Kortan’s charging attack. Kortan’s sword clanged against Mirze-Ra’s. Kortan’s momentum carried him a few yards past his opponent. Kortan turned and stalked towards Mirze-Ra.

"You are near exhausted, Mirze-Ra. You have no hope." Kortan brought his sword crashing down. Mirze-Ra raised his sword to block the blow, and it took all of his strength to stop the black blade mere inches from his neck. Kortan brought his sword back again. "Almost got you there," he taunted.

"Not good enough," Mirze-Ra retorted. He swung in a wide arc, but Kortan stepped out of range. His arms were quite tired now.

Kortan approached again and began a methodical offensive. Mirze-Ra twisted and turned his sword again and again to protect himself from the deadly black blade. He looked for an opening, but there were none. A moment’s hesitation on his part gave Kortan an opportunity. Kortan sliced a deep cut into Mirze-Ra’s left arm.

"I’ll wager that hurts," Kortan said mockingly.

Mirze-Ra said nothing. He could not afford to get drawn into a war of words when there was a war of swords occurring. He gripped his sword even tighter and readied himself for the next round.

Meanwhile, the hawk-man and the hawk-girl were rapidly dealing with Kortan’s troops. One of the men came rushing at the hawk-girl only to be run through with her silver sword. The hawk-man hacked his way through of group of them with his battle-axe. Their methods were methodical and precise. Kortan’s men were hopeless in the face of these enemies.

Kortan came in swinging again. His sword flashed from side to side, coming ever closer to scoring another massive wound. Mirze-Ra fended off these blows, but his endurance was rapidly being depleted. Kortan stepped back and prepared himself for a final attack. He was sure that Mirze-Ra was too tired to defend himself. He rushed in to deliver the beheading blow. Mirze-Ra ducked under the swinging blade and thrust his own with all his might into Kortan’s chest. Kortan convulsed as Mirze-Ra’s sword came out his back. Kortan’s sword fell to the ground and his hands went to grip the sword that pierced him.

"It hurts, doesn’t it?" Mirze-Ra said derisively. He pulled hard on the hilt and the sword came free of Kortan’s chest. Kortan body convulsed once again, and he fell to his knees.

"There can be only one!" Mirze-Ra spun around with his sword in his outstretched arms. When he had completed his turn, Kortan’s head lay on the ground. Mirze-Ra slowly dropped to his knees, using his sword as a crutch. Every muscle in his body ached, and then every nerve in his body was jolted with pain as the Quickening commenced.

The hawk-man and the hawk-girl surveyed what was left of their opponents. A few of them writhed on the ground in agony; the rest were deathly still. They looked up to see the spectacular display as Mirze-Ra received Kortan’s Quickening.

Sparks of energy raced around Mirze-Ra’s body. His senses were assaulted with sensations that were completely unknown to him. Pleasure, pain, pleasure, pain. It was if there were no differentiating between the two. His body jerked forward from the force, and then his body jerked backwards. He had absolutely no control over his muscles. It frightened him and it excited him. A last furious barrage of energy lifted him a few feet into the air and then unceremoniously dropped him back to the earth. His body struck the ground and he lay sprawled in immobility.

"How do you feel?" the hawk-man said as he and the hawk-girl helped Mirze-Ra to his feet.

"Invigorated and exhausted at the same time. I had never experienced a Quickening before. My teacher’s words did not do its intensity justice." Mirze-Ra’s breathing was labored. "I am Mirze-Ra, and I am grateful for your help." For some reason, he was now quite certain that these winged warriors were not here for his head.

The hawk-man removed his mask and held it in his hands. "I am Khufu. My wife is Shiera. We are known as the Hawks of Horus, and we help protect the land from all evil, both mortal and Immortal."

Shiera removed her mask as well. "Your first Quickening. Ah, that is one you shall always remember."

"Did you know this Kortan who waylaid you with his men?" Khufu inquired.

Mirze-Ra shook his head. "No, but suddenly I have this weird notion that Kortan would have become a great evil in the future, had he survived the day."

"How can you know this?" Khufu asked. He figured that this wild idea was a product of Mirze-Ra’s addled mind after the Quickening. Khufu could well relate to the mental confusion after a Quickening.

"I am not certain, I simply do." Mirze-Ra rubbed his forehead. "Not even my teacher Shazam fully understands this ability and he is a mighty wizard."

"Shazam?" Khufu and Shiera both replied in astonishment.

"The wizard has returned?" Shiera added.

Mirze-Ra finally stopped rubbing his head. "He had returned, but he has once again departed." Now his hands commenced to rub his eyes. "Shazam says that I can sometimes foretell the future, or possible futures."

Khufu was now willing to accept Mirze-Ra’s fanciful theory as truth. If Shazam had felt it to be a true gift, it must be so. "What did Shazam tell you to do with this gift?"

Mirze-Ra blinked his eyes a few times after he stopped rubbing them. "He told me to accept it." Putting his sword back within its sheathe, he continued, "I have a sense that I should in some two thousand years, if I am fortunate to live that long, journey to the land of the Scots to find another like us. However, I do not even know who these Scots are or where they reside."

"Scots? I have never heard of any people of that name, and Khufu and I have been on this world for quite a long time," Shiera commented.

Mirze-Ra paid some notice to the wings upon Khufu’s and Shiera’s backs and recalled the dramatic entrance that they had made. "I saw you fly. Are you mighty wizards as well."

"No, not like that of Shazam," Khufu explained. "Our power of flight is based on ancient science that is not easily replicated."

"Ah, that is unfortunate," Mirze-Ra shrugged. "I would have liked to have bartered for a pair of those wings. It would have made my journey to the land of the Japans much easier."

Khufu put his hand on Mirze-Ra’s shoulder in a sign of friendship. "I know not where the land of the Japans lies, but I wish you a safe journey."

Shiera took Mirze-Ra’s hand. "You a brave man. Today was but the first battle that you must fight as an Immortal. May you live to fight many such battles."

Mirze-Ra acknowledged their kind words. "I hope that we meet again someday," he said as he continued his trek eastward.

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EGYPT

812 B.C.

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Floating a few feet off the ground of the cave that had once been Shazam’s home, the wizard Nabu peered into his crystal ball. The images within the sphere were cloudy as they had been for a few days now. The sorcerer was experiencing a great deal of difficulty in tracking down a troublesome dabbler in the black arts - a man named Wotan. Nabu was becoming quite frustrated with dealing with Wotan. He had fought many pitched battles with the green-skinned black magician in the past centuries, and Nabu was certain that he had killed Wotan on a number of those occasions. Inexplicably, Wotan returned again and again to plague Egypt with his evil.

Nabu was also troubled by the fact that Wotan still lived. He had been fighting against Wotan for nearly two centuries since he assumed Shazam’s responsibilities. Wotan was merely human, as far as Nabu could tell. Nabu’s own prolonged existence was due to the fact that his body was merely a shell that held the essence of a Lord of Order. While Wotan’s efforts served the cause of Chaos, he was not a Lord of Chaos. That Nabu would have been able to ascertain easily. So what explained Wotan’s existence in this day? Nabu knew of no magic that could provide for such long life. After a period of contemplation, Nabu decided that further thought was pointless. The reasons behind Wotan’s extended life were unimportant; the destruction of Wotan and his evil schemes was the only issue of importance.

A mystic alarm wakened Nabu from his thoughts. A sentry spell that he had spun now informed him that someone had entered the cave. He flew to the entrance to see the proud form of Mirze-Ra, bearing an exquisite curved sword before him.

"I am Nabu and this is my home." His hands glowed with magical pulses of light. "You have no business here. Leave or I shall be forced to deal with you."

Mirze-Ra held out his hands innocently. "Peace, I say. I have no quarrel with you. I am Mirze-Ra, a friend of Shazam. By your appearance, I would hazard to say that you are Nabu. Shazam had told me of you when I was last here."

"Ah," Nabu thought. He had been in a seemingly interminable battle with a Lord of Chaos when Shazam had briefly visited the world twenty years ago. This man before him must have encountered Shazam at that time. "Well, greetings then, Mirze-Ra, friend of Shazam. I am indeed Nabu" He offered his hand as he had found humans wont to do.

"Greeting, mighty Nabu." Mirze-Ra put his katana into its sheath shook Nabu’s hand earnestly.

Nabu gave notice to the fine craftsmanship of the blade that Mirze-Ra carried. "That is an excellent sword that you have."

Mirze-Ra sighed, "It was given to me by the father of my late wife."

"The style of the blade is unlike any other in Egypt. From what locale does it originate?" Nabu asked.

"This sword comes from a land far to the east - past Assyria, past Persia, past India, and much more beyond that."

"I see," Nabu replied. "Forgive me for being abrupt, but I must return to my tasks. There is an evil sorcerer who has been performing his evil for centuries despite my best efforts. I must vanquish him once and for all."

"A sorcerer has been plaguing you for centuries, you say?" An explanation was quickly forming in Mirze-Ra’s mind.

"Aye, and I had thought on numerous occasions that I had destroyed him utterly. I know not how a mere human could survive." Nabu’s confusion was quite evident.

"Perhaps I can be of assistance," Mirze-Ra mentioned. "I have some experience in tracking down those of the long-lived variety."

"Speak you the truth? Are there others of his ilk?" Nabu responded. "Do you know what manner of manner of man or beast this Wotan is?"

Mirze-Ra was reminded by Shazam’s words to not divulge the existence of Immortality to those not of their breed. "I know not from where these creatures come, but I am able to locate them, given close proximity."

Nabu smiled. "Then I would most wholeheartedly welcome your aid. Do you also know how to end the menace of these creatures."

"I have some experience in that," Mirze-Ra replied cryptically. "Shall we begin the hunt?"

A few days of searching had proven fruitless for Nabu and Mirze-Ra. Mirze-Ra had Sensed a few other Immortals, but none of these proved to be Wotan. Fortunately, none of those encounters had progressed to battle. These other Immortals were content to let Mirze-Ra go on his way. Nabu, for his part, had been having no luck in tracking the magical emanations left by Wotan’s human sacrifices. Mirze-Ra had been willing to help Nabu in his quest, but the revelation that Wotan had been performing human sacrifices as part of his arcane magic had only served to double his resolve.

Still, despite their fervor, they were unable to find Wotan. The diabolic sorcerer had been through a number of villages in the vicinity and taken dozens of unfortunate victims. Discussions with the inhabitants of these towns had elicited little information. Apparently, Wotan was accompanied by another like him - someone who could not die. In one particular place, the villagers had fought off Wotan and his accomplice and had seemingly slain the pair. However, the next day proved their error and the duo had disappeared along with a few victims.

Nabu and Mirze-Ra rested along the banks of the River Nile for the night. The search had tired both of them. Nabu had magically conjured a fire and then two of them warmed themselves in front of it. There was no conversation; there was nothing to be said. They had sought, but they had not yet found. Then, Mirze-Ra’s head moved suddenly as he detected the Presence of another Immortal

"What is it?" Nabu noticed the sudden motion of his comrade.

"Someone is near." Mirze-Ra stood and drew his sword. Perhaps Wotan had found them. Then he felt the Presence of yet another Immortal. Perhaps it was the unnamed accomplice.

Nabu was perplexed. He saw no one, and his protective spells around their perimeter had not signaled any human presence.

Mirze-Ra moved away from the fire slowly. He strained his senses to discover the location of the two other Immortals. There was no one to be seen on the riverbank or in the river itself. A loud flapping noise made Mirze-Ra look up into the air. He saw a pair of winged human figures silhouetted against the starry sky. "The Hawks of Horus!" he exclaimed.

The pair came to rest upon the ground now. They had their weapons drawn; Khufu carried a spear while Shiera wielded a long sword. They removed their masks and stared at Mirze-Ra and Nabu.

"Mirze-Ra? Is that you, old friend?" Khufu asked.

"Yes, it is. I have but recently returned from the land of the Japans," Mirze-Ra replied.

Shiera took note of Mirze-Ra’s sword. "I take it that your beautiful came from that far off land?"

"Aye," Mirze-Ra. "But forgive me, I have yet to introduce my comrade ..."

"I am Nabu and I am here to deal with the sorcerer Wotan," Nabu interrupted with a brusque tone. "If you seek to aid us, I would welcome your assistance, but we have no time for social reunions."

Mirze-Ra grinned sheepishly. "I take it you are here to deal with Wotan as well. We have tracked his trail of grisly deeds back to this vicinity."

Shiera nodded. "Actually, we are after an ancient foe of ours. We had heard that he had allied himself with a devilish sorcerer. He was taking human lives to power some evil necromantic device."

Nabu floated into the air. "It would then seem that we seek the same quarry. Let us resume the hunt and put an end to this evil once and for all."

Khufu took Mirze-Ra aside. "Is this Wotan one of us?"

"Yes," Mirze-Ra responded. "I would assume that your quarry is too?"

Khufu nodded. "Yes, he is an ancient one."

Nabu was becoming impatient. "Are you three going to assist me, or must I destroy this infection of chaos by myself?"

"We are with you, Nabu," Mirze-Ra declared. Turning to the Hawks, he asked, "Hawks of Horus, will you aid us?"

Khufu and Shiera donned their hawk masks once more and their wings lifted them into the air. "Aye, we will!" they said in unison.

In the faint light of dawn, the quartet came upon a quiet village. There was an eerie humming noise emanating from it. It was quite unlike anything that any of them had ever heard before. Then came a quite recognizable sound - the screams of human agony. All of them picked up the pace and headed for the center of the village. As they drew nearer, Mirze-Ra and the Hawks all felt the presence of not one, but two other Immortals in the vicinity. The Sensations came one after the other. Nabu detected a change in his comrades’ demeanor but said nothing. He simply took it as a sign that they had detected another of their kind; he had already come to the conclusion that these self-styled Hawks of Horus were of the same breed as Mirze-Ra and Wotan. He would not judge them evil for being part of the same breed, as long as their actions served the cause of good and Order.

As the quartet came to the town square, they were appalled by the sight that they beheld. It looked the entire populace was to be sacrificed. A large number of people were penned within mystic shells. The rest lay dead already, their hearts run through by jade-studded daggers. The dead were arranged in a circle around a black monolithic device. There were all sorts of turning wheels and gears upon the machine. It was this device that was the source of the eerie humming. Atop the machine stood a green-skinned man in a red robe. Beside him stood a red-haired and bearded man in more traditional Egyptian dress. Each of them held a pair of rods that protruded from the top of the machine. It looked as if they were feeding off something that the machine was transmitting to them.

Nabu stared at the green-skinned man. "Wotan, what type of infernal machine is this?"

Wotan laughed maniacally, "It is a machine of death and life. The deaths of these hapless mortals feed life to us. Eventually we will have enough to be truly Immortal. Then all reality will have reason to fear us."

The Hawks pulled up in flight as they recognized the man beside Wotan. Behind his mask, Khufu’s face boiled with rage. Shiera’s reaction was only slightly less.

"Hath-Set!" Khufu exclaimed.

"You are dead," Shiera added.

Hath-Set looked up from his vampiric feeding. "Ah, Khufu and Shiera. The sound of your voices was burned in my memory when I killed you, lo those many years ago. Those hawk masks cannot hide your identities from me. As you can see, I have mastered some of the Old Science now."

Mirze-Ra looked around helplessly as the conversation continued. He could understand why these people wished to talk when action needed to be taken. He could see that the stabbed villagers were most certainly dead. His concern was for the people within the mystic cages. He hoped that he might find a way to break them and free the prisoners.

"This has nothing to do with the Game," Khufu shouted.

"Ah, but it does," Hath-Set retorted. "During these sacrifices, we have discovered a number of our kind as well. These sacrifices have also served us well with their Quickenings."

Nabu readied and launched a powerful eldritch blast at Wotan. "I know not of what you and your ally speak, but it cannot bode anything but ill."

Wotan brought his hands up from the device quickly enough to devise a protective counterspell. "It is beyond your understanding, Nabu. How could a mere human hope to understand the Game we play?"

"Mere human!" Nabu fumed. "It is you who do not what you face." He continued to visit torrents of mystical might upon Wotan, but Wotan was able to deflect the bolts away with magical shields.

As the mystic barrage continued, Mirze-Ra had begun hacking away at one of the magical cages. His sword was having only the slightest effect upon the walls, but he was making progress. Khufu meanwhile had swerved through the arcane exchange of fire and barreled into Hath-Set. The two of them tumbled through the air and crashed into the ground. Shiera followed quickly behind.

Khufu and Hath-Set both rose to their feet. Hath-Set had now unsheathed his sword. Shiera stood to the side, her sword at the ready.

"I shall kill you again, Khufu," Hath-Set taunted. "And this time, I shall truly kill you."

Shiera stepped towards the potential combatants. "Khufu, I claim right to his head."

Khufu had his spear in both hands now. "No, my wife. I shall separate this foul wizard from his head. If by trick he should take mine, then you shall take his as he is consumed by his Quickening."

Hath-Set now realized his dire predicament. He had initially counted on the insipid honor and goodness that these two had displayed in the Egypt of old. It now was clear to him that the centuries had made them much more ruthless. Even if he were to win against one, he would lose against the other.

Mirze-Ra had finally broken through the mystic cage and freed the surviving townspeople. Even the darkest spell could not stand up to the fine edge of his katana.

Hath-Set shouted, "Wotan! We must away. There are too many of them. I might kill one Hawk but the other might slay me. You might fend off Nabu but this other Immortal might take your head while you are unaware. The townspeople are already free. Destroy the machine."

Wotan looked around to see the truth of Hath-Set’s words. He cast a quick spell over the dark device and floated into the air. "This machine will destroy itself in a few moments, Nabu. You can pursue me or you can save their worthless lives. Ha ha ha!" With that he disappeared with incredible speed into the night sky.

Hath-Set laughed as he beat his own escape. "Save the mortals, Khufu and Shiera, else you are no better than I."

Khufu tossed his spear at the fleeing Hath-Set but the fleeing Immortal was already out of range. Cursing with words that had not been heard in centuries, he and Shiera swooped down and began evacuating the townspeople. Mirze-Ra gathered up the children and carried them towards safety. Nabu meanwhile worked to set up a protective spell to buffer the inevitable blast. He conjured feverishly as he knew that the device contained a massive amount of necromantic energy. The four champions worked tirelessly until the device finally detonated. Nabu’s shields held in most of the force of the blast. As it was, every structure within the town was flattened, but all the people survived thanks to their efforts.

The quartet gathered together in the ruins of the village. Sweat streaked down the faces of each of them. They stood there in muted silence for a few moments.

Nabu broke the silence. "Wotan yet lives. I must return to my home and develop a new plan to destroy him." Without another word, he was airborne and out of earshot.

"You’re welcome!" Khufu called out bitterly. He turned to Mirze-Ra with a more civil tone. "It was good to see you again, old friend."

"We shall continue to hunt to Hath-Set," Shiera said. "You are most welcome to join us."

Mirze-Ra shook his head, "Thank you but no. These battles of yours and Nabu’s are too much for me. I am a young Immortal, and I have realized that I want no part of these ancient feuds. I am sure that I will have ancient feuds of my own before long."

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DODDS MANSION – NEW YORK CITY
JUNE 2, 1985

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Kent Nelson slowly parked his black sportscar outside the palatial estate that surrounded the Dodds Mansion. As he reached into the backseat to grab his medical bag, Kent figured that the real estate taxes must be outrageous to have a place this big in New York City. The estate must have comprised at least five acres. Then again, Kent thought that the millionaire playboy Wesley Dodds, aka the Sandman, had plenty of money to spend.

He had thoroughly enjoyed the drive down from Salem, Massachusetts. He certainly could have traversed the distance much more quickly in his Dr. Fate persona. He would not have even needed the helm of Nabu. Flight was one of the powers that resided within him, with or without Nabu’s presence. Sometimes, the sheer enormity of Nabu’s consciousness, a god-like Lord of Order, was too much for his human mind. He really needed occasions like this in which he could feel simply human. Driving a car was about as mundane and human as you could get.

The purpose of this visit was not exactly mundane, though. He wanted to check up on his old teammate. The Sandman had not been one of the more active JSAers since the team reformed over twenty years ago. Still, Kent considered him one of his best friends on the team. They had been on the team at the beginning; when the heroes who would become the Justice Society stopped Hitler’s invasion of England and subsequent attempt to kill President Roosevelt.

They also had both gone through transitions of their own. Kent had foresworn the helm of Nabu for a while and continued to fight evil with his own enhanced abilities. He had briefly resumed the wearing the helm in ‘42; the helm was then lost to him for nearly twenty years. He only reacquired shortly before the JSA reformed.

In 1941, The Sandman had discontinued his gasmask and business suit attire and gone with a more traditional superheroic costume of purple and gold. He had retired before most of the other heroes when he suffered his first heart attack. When he emerged from retirement with the other heroes, he returned to the gasmask and business suit. Now another heart attack had put him into retirement once again.

Kent pushed the button on the speaker system at the edge of the front gate. After identifying himself to someone he had to guess was the butler, the gate opened before him. He walked upon the paved walkway, across the finely manicured lawn, and up to the ornate oak doors. The butler was there waiting for him at the door. The manservant escorted Kent inside and showed him to the parlor.

Inside of the parlor, Kent saw the frail form of his longtime comrade. Wesley Dodds was seated in a large leather chair. His thin white hair was neatly combed but his face was gaunt and pallid. It was the only part of his body visible; the rest was covered by a thick purple blanket. Sitting next to him was his wife, the former Dian Belmont. Dian appeared to be in much better health than her husband. She looked like the raven-haired beauty that Kent had always known her to be.

Kent greeted his friends warmly. "Wes, Dian. It’s good to see you." He put his hand on Wesley’s shoulder rather than shake his hand; he did not want to make his ill comrade exert himself in any way. He turned and kissed Dian on the cheek. "As gorgeous as ever, Dian."

Dian blushed. "Now Kent, you’d better watch yourself or I’ll be telling Inza on you."

Kent smiled. "Inza has nothing to worry about. I’m devoted to her as much today as when I married her; she looks as beautiful as she did the day I married her."

"Ahem," Wes interrupted. "I don’t think you came over her to talk about pretty girls all day, did you Kent?"

Kent scratched his nose and turned back to Wes. "No, of course not. I came to see you, old friend. Just a little checkup to verify that your doctors here are taking good care of you."

"And also to check for some things that your run-of-the-mill practitioner might not look for, eh?" Wes added.

Kent was busy getting his equipment out of his bag. "Well, that’s because you’ve encountered a lot of strange things that the typical heart attack patient hasn’t. We’ve been to other dimensions, other times, other worlds. I want to do a little mystic check-up and make sure none of those experiences are going to cause you any complications."

Dian watched as Kent went about his work. "You know, Kent. You’ve never told us why you became a medical doctor. You used to be an archaeologist before you first retired as Dr. Fate back in the Forties. When you JSA boys got back together, you were now a doctor. Why the change of profession?"

Kent was kneeling beside Wes and was checking the frail man’s pulse. "Well, I had decided to get out of the superhero business. There were a lot of reasons behind that. Sometimes I just felt that I didn’t measure up anymore without the helm of Nabu."

"Didn’t measure up?" Wesley laughed weakly. "Even without that full helmet, you were practically as strong and tough as Superman. I could only dream of being that powerful."

"You are the master of dreams though, Wes," Kent replied. "Anyway, when you could go toe-to-toe with the Spectre, just being able to fly and toss tanks around is a bit of a letdown."

"One of the most powerful men on Earth and he had insecurities," Dian commented. "Poor Inza, she must be a saint to have put up with you."

Kent was now busy checking Wes’ breathing. "I’m not bad. It’s not like I was moping around muttering ‘Woe is me. I can’t match up with the gods anymore.’ Besides, Inza and I weren’t married then. We didn’t tie the knot until after I retired as Dr. Fate."

"Still," Dian objected, "I know what she must have had to put up with as a girlfriend. That’s all I was to Wes until after he had his first heart attack."

Wesley smiled despite the mild discomfort that the examination was causing. "I figured, ‘Who knows how much time I have left?’ I almost lost you that one time, when I first started wearing the purple and gold. I thought … I was sure … that you had been killed in that automobile crash. But, back to what I was saying. So I proposed to her and married her. My life’s been perfect since then except for ..."

Kent finished drawing a blood sample. He would have to take it back to Salem to analyze. "Except for Sandy, right?"

Wes shrugged. "Yes, except for Sandy. It tears me up to think about what I did to that poor boy."

Dian walked behind Wesley and put her hands upon his shoulders. She knew how much guilt that he harbored from the accident. She tried to assuage that guilt that Wesley felt for what happened to his old sidekick. "Wes, darling. It was an accident. You had no way of knowing that your experimental silicon gun would turn him into a silicon monster."

Wesley gritted his teeth. He knew that Dian was trying to comfort him, but he would have none of it. "I know that. I know that there were risks in crimefighting, Sandy knew it too. That’s not the problem. I thought he had turned into a menace and I locked him up for decades. I tried to find a cure but I couldn’t for so long. I was too proud to ask for help from anybody - from the medical establishment, from the scientific community, from my fellow JSAers." Wesley’s weak face was wracked with guilt. "Kent, could any of you helped ... if I had asked?"

Kent thought for a moment. He would have to choose his words very carefully. He did not want to intensify Wesley’s remorse. He took a deep breath and replied. "I don’t know, Wes. Your silicon gun was, and still is, years ahead of current mainstream scientific progress. I don’t think magic would have been effective either. Besides, the point is moot; Sandy’s cured now."

"Yes, he is," Wesley sighed. "And he won’t talk to me. And why should he? I stole decades from his life. He was a teenager when it happened back in ‘48. When I cured him just a few years back, he was that age again when he resumed human form. He missed the better part of four decades asleep courtesy of my sleeping sand while I tried to cure him. The world roared by him like a freight train. Who knows how long it will be before he adjusts?"

Dian’s tone turned stern now. "Look, Wes. You’ve done everything you could since Sandy was cured to help him, but he won’t take anything from you. He’s talked to me a little and it sounds like his old pal Robin has been helping him. Just like the ex-Boy Wonder had bone for Speedy. Back to Sandy, He’s angry, but it will pass eventually. Then you two will reconcile and we’ll be like family."

"But will I still be alive when he decides to forgive me?" Wesley lamented. "I don’t know if this old ticker of mine can hold out that long."

Kent was busy finishing up the magical aspects of the examination while Dian and Wesley exchanged words. He thought that it would not be his place to interrupt the conversation at this time. He traced over Wesley’s body with a mystic crystal and watched for any response in the gem.

Exasperated, Dian grabbed hold of Wesley’s shoulders tightly. "Now listen here, Wes. You’re not going to die. Do you hear me? You’re not going to leave me alone in this world."

Wesley looked up and stared into his wife’s eyes. "I don’t want to ever leave you, but look at us. My body’s old, though not as old as it should be. Look at you. You’re just as young as you were back when I first took up the role of the Sandman. You must have caught more of Ian Karkull’s temporal energy, or whatever it was, back in ‘40. What was that anyway, Kent?"

"I can’t say for certain. I wasn’t exactly there. Well, I was there but I wasn’t, not entirely. That’s when Nabu’s consciousness started to take control over Dr. Fate. It was sort of like watching something on television. However, I do have some memory of that event." Kent took a deep breath and put the crystal in his pocket. "Ian Karkull had access to some temporal technology. He had discovered who the next few American Presidents were going to be and decided to kill them in their younger days. Thanks to our efforts, we saved those future Presidents and took the battle to Karkull himself. In the ensuing conflict, Karkull was destroyed and the temporal energy, as you put it, washed over everybody there, the JSAers and their loved ones - Joan Garrick, Lois Kent, Dian, and my Inza." Kent recalled that he stopped wearing the helm after that day. It was not too long after that he lost the helm for nearly two decades as it tumbled through dimensions with the nefarious wizard Kulak. It was only with the help of Sargon the Sorcerer that Kent regained it. Kent thought about the energy pulse that struck Sargon after the sorcerer actually decapitated Kulak. It seemed rather similar to the discharge from Karkull. Kent also seemed to recall Sargon’s behavior turning decidedly evil shortly after.

Wesley shrugged. "Well that doesn’t tell me much more than I knew already. Now, not to brag, but I have to say that some of us fared much better in the aging department than others. Look at Dian and Inza. They’re so much younger than the rest of us."

"Oh, stop your flattery, Wes." Dian blushed. "It’s just makeup, you know."

"No," Kent countered. "Wes is right. You two in particular are indeed much younger. Maybe it said something to do with proximity to Karkull or some kind of other interaction. Or maybe it was something like ..."

"Something like what?" Wesley asked.

"Something like what Nabu encountered over the centuries. Before he started using me as a host body. You know my old foe Wotan?"

"Of course," Wesley replied. "He was one of those working with Karkull."

"Right," Kent continued. "Well, he was also an old foe of Nabu. Apparently, Nabu fought him for centuries and was certain, on a number of occasions that he had killed the green-skinned menace. But Wotan kept on coming back. Nabu seemed to think that there were others of that sort. And that brings up another thing ..."

"And that would be?" Wes hated when Kent drifted off into his own thoughts in the middle of a conversation. Sometimes it was a good thing, because Wesley did not always like to hear some of the things that the mystic had to say.

"Sorry," Kent apologized. "Nabu once passed on a memory of one of his battles with Wotan. Nabu was allied with a simple Egyptian and a hawk-garbed couple. The ‘Hawks of Horus’ I think he said that they were called. Anyway, Wotan was working with another wizard called Hath-Set. I seem to recall that was the name of the old Egyptian priest that killed Hawkman and Hawkgirl, or Khufu and Shiera as they were known in that incarnation. You know how they claim to be reincarnations of that ancient Egyptian couple?"

Wes nodded. Dian’s face seemed to show that she knew something more but she said nothing.

"Well, Hath-Set was supposedly killed after he murdered Khufu and Shiera. But there he was fighting against Nabu about two millennia later. I guess that he could have been a reincarnation of the original, and I suspect those ‘Hawks of Horus’ were reincarnations of our own dear Hawkman and Hawkgirl. Or maybe it was something else ..."

"Which is?" The pattern was certainly getting annoying for Wes.

"Maybe they weren’t reincarnations. Maybe they were same exact beings still alive. Call them ‘Eternals’ or something like that. Maybe they can’t die. By some magic or some technology, they’ve found a way to cheat death."

"And you’re saying that might have happened to us?" This was a question to which Wesley was not sure if he wanted the answer.

"I don’t know, Wes. Maybe whatever that explosion of Karkull did something to us, or at least some of us. It really wouldn’t surprise me, considering all of the wonders we’ve seen. Maybe there are immortal people walking the Earth."

Dian’s eyes perked up at the word ‘immortal’. Kent was getting too close. She would have to give Inza a call and discuss the matter with her. For now, she had to get Kent to leave before the conversation went any farther. "I’m sorry, Kent, but I really think you should be leaving. I can see that this discussion is getting Wes somewhat excited and I really don’t want that."

"I thought I was the doctor," Kent laughed, "but I know better than to argue with a protective wife like you. I have one of my own, you know." He collected his things and walked to entrance to the parlor. "I’ll let you know what the results are, Wes."

Wesley made to get up out of the chair, but his strength was insufficient to the task. "Now look here! Kent came all the way down from Salem to visit, so let him visit!"

Kent shook his head. "Your wife’s right, Wes. You are getting excited and that’s not good at this time. I’ll be back soon, I promise."

Wesley scowled. "I’ll hold you to that." Sometimes his infirmity gave him little patience. If only he knew what his wife’s secret to staying so young was.

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OUTSKIRTS OF METROPOLIS

JUNE 2, 1985

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The Guardian sped along a deserted dirt road on his high-tech motorcycle. The windshield was in the same police badge shape as his golden shield. He made a sudden turn into the forest. After a few hundred yards of fighting his way through the brush, the Guardian emerged onto the ultra-modern road known as the Zoomway. It was as if speed had no meaning on the roadway. The bike’s speedometer was past its last marking, but the Guardian did not feel that he was moving that fast. One day he would remember to ask the personnel at the Project about the Zoomway. He had heard rumors, however, that the Zoomway predated the founding of the Project and that its builders were lost to the mists of time.

Speed and time continued to have little meaning. The Guardian now raced through the strange locale known as the Wild Area. He knew now that he was close to the Project. The strange city in the trees was the last landmark before the Project. The Wild Area was populated by young people who had completely dropped out of society. They had their own insular community among the trees, and they did not have much interaction with the Project or with the outside world.

Finally, the Guardian arrived at his destination - the DNA Project. It was a secret installation known only to a very select few outside of official circles. The entrance to the base was heavily guarded, although one would not know it by looking. In fact, one would not even know that the base was there since it lay mainly underground. The topside entrances were nearly invisible but under the watchful eye of crack troops. The entrance was a pair of steel doors just inside of a dark cave.

The Guardian stopped the motorcycle at the mouth of the cave. He put down the kickstand and waited for the security guards to greet him. A camouflaged soldier came out of the forest and approached the Guardian. The weapon that he carried in his hands was certainly not standard government issue. It looked more like something from a science-fiction show with its double barrel and laser sight. The soldier stopped a few feet short of the Guardian and addressed him. "Guardian, we were notified of your impending arrival. They’re waiting for you inside."

The Guardian saluted the guard. "Thank you, soldier." He put the kickstand back up and rolled the motorcycle into the cave. When he reached the door, he pressed his hand onto a print-recognition device. After he removed his hand, a light on the device showed green, and the heavy metal doors groaned as they opened before him.

Once inside, the Guardian was greeted by more troops. He was escorted to a turboshaft. They waited a few moments for the car to arrive. He entered the car and pressed the "Lab Section" button on the control pad. The car quickly descended into the depths of the Project. After coming to a smooth stop, the car automatically its doors and the Guardian stepped out in the laboratory section of the DNA Project.

The laboratory section was filled with a multitude of genetic experiments in process. The Guardian could not even begin to understand everything that the scientists were doing here. He knew that the overall mission was to perfect cloning so as to better the human existence. However, he did not have a clue as to how the Project would accomplish that. The Project had been operating in secrecy since the late Sixties, and, as far as the Guardian knew, none of their discoveries had made it to the street yet. None, that is, but the Guardian himself, but that was another story.

The Guardian was pleased the greeting party that awaited him as he stepped out of the turboshaft. It was a quartet that he had known since they were the newspaper-hawking members of the Newsboy Legion - Tommy Thompkins, now Dr. Thompkins, MD; Anthony "Big Words" Rodrigues, now the Dr. Rodrigues, head geneticist at the Project; Patrick "Scrapper" MacGuire, now Security Director of the Project; and John "Gabby" Gabrielli, a counselor at the Project.

Gabrielli was the first to speak. "Guardian, we’re glad you could come." He shook the Guardian’s hand and all the other former Newsboy Legionnaires did likewise.

The Guardian was always glad to see these fellows. "I got your message. What’s the emergency?"

"We’ve had another break-in at the Project a few weeks ago. Just like when we first cloned you, someone has stolen our latest breakthroughs in cloning technology. However the real reason that we called you was not exactly an emergency, but because of a mystery," MacGuire explained.

Dr. Rodrigues continued, "We went over the results from your last physical and DNA tests. We expected to find some genetic breakdown in your cells; we’ve encountered that in all of the clones that the Project has produced. However, we found no sign of genetic deterioration in you, not even any signs of aging."

"And that’s a problem?" the Guardian asked innocently.

"No, not at all. We’ve gone over the entire record of your cloning procedure and we can’t find any factors that would explain it," Dr. Thompkins replied.

"Maybe you guys got it perfect when you cloned me from my Number One," the Guardian suggested.

"That could be." Dr. Rodrigues adjusted his spectacles. "It’s a shame that we lost your Number One. Perhaps we could have found something more out from it."

The Guardian looked away. "Yes, it was unfortunate that we lost my Number One ..."

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SWAN PARK - METROPOLIS
APRIL 8, 1970

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Captain Jim Harper walked his beat through one of the few public parks in Suicide Slum. "It’s been lonely here since the boys grew up," he thought with marked melancholy. "The boys" had once been the troublesome members of the Newsboy Legion. With Harper’s guidance, and that of his alter ego the Guardian, the Newsboys had grown up to become productive members of society. The last time that Harper had heard from Gabby, they were all doing quite well. Gabby had related that Tommy had become a doctor, Scrapper was a social worker, and Big Words became some kind of scientist. Gabby was the most conscientious about keeping in touch. Then again, Gabby had always been the most willing to talk, sometimes too much.

As he continued on his patrol through the park, Harper twirled his nightstick. Things had been relatively quiet in this section of Suicide Slum for quite some time. Some of Harper’s friends in the Police Department berated him for continuing to walk a beat. He had been promoted to captain now; he did not have to walk a beat, much less work in Suicide Slum. Harper’s response was that Suicide Slum was his home. This is where he belonged. Even though many of his closest friends had passed away or moved away, like the Newsboys, he just did not have it in his heart to leave.

Still, there was an emptiness to his life. He had cut back on his activities as the Guardian. It was not the same anymore. Superman did a decent job of protecting all of Metropolis. Maybe if there was some spark, some energy in life that he could rekindle, he might take up the mask and shield more often. Maybe if he had a new Newsboy Legion, but that was impossible. They were all grown up now. "Nobody stays young forever," he thought.

Some activity behind a long-dead fountain pool caught Harper’s attention. He heard an all-too-familiar sound of metal upon metal - the sound of a gun safety being released. Harper put away his nightstick and unholstered his pistol. He slowly crept towards the fountain. Hiding behind a tree, he could make out the forms of three males carrying some heavy-duty firepower.

"Look at these high-caliber weapons we got now. We done good signing up with Intergang," one of the men said.

"Hey, quiet down. We don’t want nobody to hear us," whispered another.

"Cool it," said the third. "It’s not like anybody comes here after dark.

"Intergang?" Harper thought. "Great. Another gang to prey on Suicide Slum. As if we don’t have enough problems already." Harper stepped out from behind the tree, his pistol leveled at the trio. "Freeze!" he called out. "Metropolis P.D. Put the guns down."

"It’s a freakin’ copper!" one thug cried out. "What do we do?"

"We test out the hardware," replied another. He pointed his rifle at Harper. Before the crook could fire, Harper put him down with a shot to the knee. Meanwhile, the other two took aim and blasted Harper.

Harper was hit by two high-energy beams. His pistol tumbled from his hand and he crumpled to the ground. He managed to get his walkie-talkie from his belt. The two unwounded thugs picked up their downed comrade’s weapon but left him behind.

"Harper ... Swan Park," Harper gasped into the walkie-talkie. "Need ... ambulance."

The sounds of the gunfire had attracted the attention of four boys who had been playing on a weed-infested baseball diamond a few hundred yards away. The boys were the spitting images of the Newsboy Legion, albeit as they were back in the 1940’s. The quartet rushed over to find the downed form of Jim Harper.

"Holy baloney, it’s Harper." Gabby exclaimed as he recognized the policeman.

Tommy knelt at Harper’s side. He could see that Harper was losing blood rapidly. "He’s hurt bad, Big Words. Whaddaya we do?"

"I say we moiderize the bums that did him," Scrapper declared as he rolled up his sleeves.

Big Words was beside Tommy. He pushed his spectacles down and took a close look at Harper’s wounded body. "My initial prognosis would be that Officer Harper has experienced severe trauma to a number of vital organs. Emergency surgery is of extreme necessity. I fear that we can ill afford to await medical services to arrive and convey Officer Harper."

"Whaddaya saying, Big Words?" Gabby asked.

"He’s saying that we gotta get help for him, fast like. We gotta take him back to the Project!" Scrapper replied.

"But if we go back to the Project, we’ll get in trouble for stealing the Whiz Wagon!" Gabby argued.

"I’d rather be in trouble with our Number Ones than see the Guardian die!" Tommy countered.

"You’re right, Tommy," Gabby replied. His face showed his shame for speaking first and thinking second. Scrapper was sprinting back to get the fantastic Whiz Wagon while Tommy and Big Words tried to do what they could for Officer Harper.

Meanwhile, a senior writer for the Daily Star, Jimmy Olsen, was parked in his car at the edge of Swan Park. He was wearing his trademark green suit and red bowtie. He had been investigating reports about a new gang that was trying to make inroads into the Metropolis underworld. He had heard some gunshots but attributed to the normal criminal activity of Suicide Slum. He sometimes wondered why his pal Superman could not seem to flush the criminal element out of this area. Perhaps it was too deeply rooted. Crime had been a big business in Suicide Slum for decades before Superman made his big splash onto the scene as the first public superhero.

Jimmy was shaken from his thoughts by a loud roaring sound. It sounded somewhat like a jet plane, but there were none in the sky. The sound seemed to be originating from just a few blocks away. Jimmy put the car in gear and tried to find the source.

Scrapper pulled the Whiz Wagon to a sudden stop a few yards away from the wounded Harper and the rest of the Newsboys. To call the Whiz Wagon a car would be an understatement. It was the length of two automotive vehicles, at least. In addition to the open-air driver and passenger seats at the center of the sleek silver vehicle, there were seats situated above each of the oversized wheels.

Jimmy stopped his car in front of a break in the trees. He saw the four boys carefully carry Harper’s limp form into the Whiz Wagon. The sight of the car astounded Jimmy. His first thought was that the Wagon was an alien spacecraft and that the Newsboys were little green aliens. He pulled out a pair of binoculars from his glove compartment and got a closer look at the scene. The sight of the Newsboys astounded him even more than the vehicle did. He recognized the boys. "But that’s impossible," Jimmy thought. "They were just a few years younger than I was back then." They had met after a case back during the war when Superman and the Guardian had mopped up some Nazi agents.

The engine of the Whiz Wagon hummed as Scrapper put the vehicle into gear. Turning it around one hundred eighty degrees, the Whiz Wagon seemed to ride on air rather than on its wheels. Jimmy decided that he could not pass up a story like this. Promising himself that he would make any needed restitution to the Metropolis Parks Division, he turned the steering wheel hard and jumped the curb. Soon he was racing across the overgrown grass in pursuit of the fantastic car.

"Forget this Intergang stuff. I gotta follow these kids," Jimmy decided.

Jimmy managed to keep pace with the Whiz Wagon as it wove through an obstacle course of trees. Before today, Jimmy had never ventured this deep into Suicide Slum. He had no idea that the forest was so dense here. He was even more surprised as they emerged from the forest onto the futuristic Zoomway. Jimmy had no time to take stock of the surroundings as it was all that he could do to keep up with the Whiz Wagon. He noticed, or at least thought he noticed, some houses among the trees that lined the Zoomway. The Whiz Wagon made a sudden turn from the road and headed overland once again. Jimmy hoped that his shock absorbers could take the strain and follow suit.

The Whiz Wagon finally came to a stop at the edge of a murky swamp. Jimmy stopped his car as well and crept out of the car. He was very intrigued about what was going on.

"Hey, what’s the hold up," Gabby shouted. "We gotta get Harper some help."

"I am making the final adjustments to convert the Whiz Wagon to submarine mode. If you will cease your inane prattling, it would allow me to expedite matters," Big Words replied as he worked feverishly at the control panel.

"Submarine? My car can’t do that. I’d better hitch a ride." Jimmy moved quietly up to the Whiz Wagon and slipped into the seat above the passenger side rear wheel. He ducked down and hoped that no one saw him.

"What’s Big Words saying?" Gabby asked.

Scrapper smacked Gabby with his cap. "He means ‘Shaddap so’s I can work’, you stooge."

Big Words finished his adjustments and all of the passenger compartments were covered with a plastic bubble. The Whiz Wagon ventured out into the swamp and sunk into its dark depths. A few moments later, the Wagon stopped before a large underwater door. The press of a button on some sort of remote control device opened the passageway. The Wagon eased forward through the door. Once past the door, its forward motion stopped and it headed straight up. After a few seconds of ascent, the Whiz Wagon was at the surface of a pool inside of the DNA Project.

"We are in need of immediate medical aid," Big Words called out after the plastic bubble had retracted. "We have Officer Jim Harper and he has sustained grievous wounds!"

Project personnel rushed out to the Wagon after Scrapper had guided it to the edge of the pool. Soon a stretcher was there and Jim Harper’s still body was loaded onto it and carried quickly away.

Jimmy Olsen sat up from his concealment and tried to take in the fantastic sight before him. He would never dreamed that there could be such an amazing scientific facility hidden in Metropolis. He called out, "Hey, what the heck is going on here? I remember you guys from during the war. You’re the Newsboy Legion, right?"

The Newsboys had remained in the Wagon as the Project personnel took care of Officer Harper. They turned around to see Jimmy now. Slowly, they recognized who it was, although their memories were of a much younger man.

"Jimmy Olsen?" Tommy gasped.

"Geez, Olsen. Ya’d think after all these years ya’d get a new bowtie or somethin’," Gabby said.

"Now, Gabby we should not denigrate Mr. Olsen’s apparel." Big Words added.

"So it is you!" Jimmy smacked himself on the head. "Holy cow. I did an interview on you guys back in 1943. You guys haven’t aged a day. There were those tabloid reports in ‘The Planet’ about "Eternals" - people who didn’t age and couldn’t die. You guys must be them."

"I would hate to dissuade you of your sensationalistic beliefs, Mr. Olsen. However, the fact of the matter is that we are quite mortal," Big Words explained.

Jimmy was confused. "Then what the heck are you?"

For once, Big Words’ explanation was simple and succinct. "Clones."

------------------------------------------------------------

DNA PROJECT - JUST OUTSIDE METROPOLIS
APRIL 8, 1970
{Based on Jimmy Olsen #135}

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"Clones?" Jimmy had heard the term before, but he was not certain what the term meant.

"Clones," Big Words replied. "An artificially produced copy of a human being."

"See, Olsen," Gabby continued. "You knew our Number Ones, the original Newsboy Legion. We’re their clones that they made a few years ago. We have most of their childhood memories as well. That’s why we remembered you."

Jimmy’s mind was racing as he tried to figure out how he was going to write an article on this - super-scientific lab, clones, and who knew what else.

Tommy interrupted the momentary silence. "We oughta check on Officer Harper."

"Yeah," Scrapper agreed. "They’d take him to Medlab, and I’ll bet our Number Ones are there, too."

The Newsboys and Olsen raced through the winding white hallways of the Project until they reached the Medlab. They burst through the doors and found the older, original Newsboy Legion - Dr. "Tommy" Thompkins, Dr. "Big Words" Rodrigues, Patrick "Scrapper" MacGuire, and John "Gabby" Gabrielli

- gathered outside of a cloning chamber. The originals looked with surprise to see their spitting images, albeit of decades past, along with Jimmy Olsen.

"Jimmy Olsen? Is that you?" Thompkins asked.

"Yes, it’s been a long time. Nice to see you again." Jimmy grinned sheepishly. "You are the real Newsboys, aren’t you?"

MacGuire grabbed his clone by the back of the neck. "Bad enough that you guys run off and steal the Whiz Wagon, but now you bring back an outsider?"

"Hey," Scrapper argued. "We didn’t know that he hitched a ride."

"Someone recently stole our cloning technology," MacGuire lamented as he released Scrapper. "We don’t know who or how." He smacked his right hand into his left. "It’s my job to make sure we have good security, and I blew it."

Gabrielli put his hand to MacGuire’s shoulder. "Easy there, Patrick. Nothing can ever be perfectly secure. Besides, Jimmy Olsen is a pal of Superman. If we can’t trust him, who can we? Besides, if our clones hadn’t been there at the scene, we might not have had this chance to save Harper."

"Well," Jimmy interjected, "if you’re willing to trust me, could someone please tell me what’s going on?"

Dr. Thompkins and Dr. Rodrigues put some final adjustments into the controls outside of the cloning chamber. A metal barrier came down and covered the window into the chamber. Before it could completely close, Jimmy could see two tall, glass tubes inside of the chamber. One of them seemed to have a human figure inside.

Dr. Thompkins motioned for everyone to leave. "Come on. There’s nothing more that we can do. Let’s just hope the cloning takes."

MacGuire gathered up the younger Newsboys. "Let’s talk about what kind of punishment you guys deserve for today’s antics.

A collective "Aw" went up from the young clones. Soon they were locked in their rooms. The original Newsboys and Jimmy sat down in the commissary in front of cups of coffee.

"So, now are you going to explain what’s going on here?" Jimmy asked and took a sip from his cup.

Gabrielli looked at his longtime comrades. They all nodded as his gaze met theirs. "We, the original Newsboy Legion, were called here to do a job. I, Gabby, as a teacher," Gabrielli began.

"Yes, and I, the original ‘Big Words’ am here as a geneticist," Dr. Rodrigues added.

MacGuire was next to speak. "I, Scrapper, became a social worker, but I’m needed here, too."

"And I, once the kid they called Tommy was summoned here as a medical doctor."

Dr. Rodrigues continued the explanation. "This is the DNA Project. It’s a secret government facility to unlock the secrets of human genetics." He went onto to describe the mission and activities in the Project in great detail. Jimmy was tempted to pull out his notebook, but somehow he felt that such action would end the conversation. So he tried to store away every fact that he could in his memory, although he knew he would never be able to remember it all.

The minutes flowed by quickly as all the Newsboys added to the explanation of the Project. Finally, MacGuire looked impatiently at his watch.

"Tommy, do you think he’s ready?"

Dr. Rodrigues checked his watch. "I think so."

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DNA PROJECT - JUST OUTSIDE METROPOLIS
APRIL 8, 1970
{Based on Jimmy Olsen #135}

------------------------------------------------------------

While the Newsboys were discussing the nature of the Project with Jimmy, the cloning of Jim Harper had begun. The still form of the policeman was immersed in some sort of blue fluid. In the tank next to him, a human figure with features akin to Harper’s own were beginning to form. The wounds that the Intergang weapons had inflicted upon Harper were now gone, and Harper’s eyes suddenly opened.

He tried to breathe but all that his lungs sucked in was the viscous blue fluid. His mind began to panic. He looked around to see the other tube beside him. He noticed the mass of colored wiring that connected the two tubes at the top. His hands beat upon the glass walls, but they had no effect. The glass was too strong. The air that was stored in his lungs was beginning to give out. He started to rock the tube from side to side. The supports under the tube began to give way. Finally they snapped, and the tube crashed into its twin. The impact shattered both of the tubes and freed both of the occupants. Harper rose to his feet and shook himself off while his clone remained motionless.

The spilled liquid covered the floor and some of it seeped into the other machinery in the chamber. The equipment began to short-circuit and spark. A massive electric charge raced through the liquid. The soaked clone was horribly burnt by the electric discharge. Harper hopped into the air as he felt the first electrical bite and escaped injury.

Harper figured that this must be the secret lab of some criminal figure. Perhaps it was Luthor’s or one of the other scientific geniuses that plagued Metropolis. But what would Luthor or any of the others want with him? He saw his costume and shield lying on the floor and now noticed that he was stark naked. He slipped on the costume. There was also a new golden helmet. This one extended down to his nose and had eyeslits. He put the helmet on as well.

The Newsboys and Jimmy re-entered the Medlab. They went straight to the control panel and waited as Dr. Rodrigues and Dr. Thompkins took stock of the readings.

"This has been our little secret up til now." Gabrielli said.

"He was one of us - a good friend - a good captain of detectives - who was fatally wounded in a battle with some thieving hoods tonight. But not before I ..." Dr. Thompkins sighed. The readings did not look good.

"You’re cloning this wounded man?" Jimmy said, half-believing what he was asking.

Dr. Thompkins entered the access code and the metal barrier rose. Behind the glass, all could see a blue and gold figure in the chamber.

"No! He was no ordinary policeman," Jimmy exclaimed. "I remember him. He was like Superman himself." Jimmy pointed at the window. "Look. He’s picking up an object. It looks like a shield. I know who you’ve made the duplicate of now. It’s the Guardian!"

Dr. Rodrigues and Dr. Thompkins looked at each other in surprise. They had no clue as to how the clone could have awakened and destroyed so much of the cloning chamber. It was unprecedented in the history of the Project. However, they could not argue with the result. They believed that they had succeeded in cloning Jim Harper.

After some discussion with the newborn ‘clone’, Dr. Rodrigues and Dr. Thompkins set out to make another clone of Harper, albeit a lifeless one. They would need a ‘Jim Harper’ to be delivered to the morgue. The original, or so they thought, was too badly burned to be utilized. In a few hours, they had produced another clone.

Dr. Rodrigues wiped some sweat from his forehead. "We’d better get this dead clone and some fake paperwork to a hospital before too many people ask too many questions."

"I hope we can trust you with our secrecy, Mr. Olsen," Dr. Thompkins asked hopefully.

"Sure, no problem. I’m an established reporter now; I’m not a freckly-faced copyboy looking for his big break anymore. From my dealings with Superman, I know that there’s a lot out there that the public doesn’t need to know. Besides, who would believe me?"

The following morning, Jimmy opened up his copy of the Daily Star. He sipped from his coffee cup as he paged through the newspaper. His article was nowhere to be found in the first section. Finally, he located the article with his byline. "If the public only knew what the story was about ..." Jimmy thought. His article was tucked back on page nine of the ‘Local’ section.

"Captain Jim Harper, longtime police officer, was shot and killed last night in a confrontation with unknown assailants. Mr. Harper had been assigned a beat in Suicide Slum back in 1941. He earned numerous citations over the years for valor in the line of duty. Despite his promotions, Mr. Harper insisted on being assigned to the Suicide Slum area. Mr. Harper was also noteworthy for being the legal guardian to the Newsboy Legion - a quartet of newsboys that invariably became involved in the cases of the other Metropolis superhero, the Guardian."

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SUICIDE SLUM
APRIL 22, 1970
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It had two weeks since he had been cloned. At least that is what the Newsboy Legion told the Guardian back at the Project. After undergoing an extensive series of tests, they had decided that he could leave the Project and go into the outside world.

Once in the city, the Guardian wandered the streets aimlessly. He had been very eager to get "back" to his life, but when he returned to Suicide Slum, he was quickly reminded that he did not have any. Legally, he was dead as Jim Harper. His apartment had already been rented out to a new tenant. His beat had been assumed by a new officer. His friends were in mourning. He did not even want to think about the spiritual ramifications of his existence. Did a clone have a soul? He quickly blocked that unanswerable question from his mind and continued to wander. Somehow, he felt if he wandered enough, he might run into some answers.

Suddenly, the Guardian’s head exploded in pain. Dr. Thompkins had told him that there could be some complications in his cloning, but he had never said that there would be such an unnatural feeling like this. He turned the street corner to see a large oafish man wielding a sword above a smaller man kneeling on the ground.

"Carbassa! You’ve hoodwinked me for the last time," Durgan exclaimed. He was impeccably dressed, but his fine taste in clothes could not hide his ugly countenance. His sword was poised to take the cowering Carbassa’s head. Durgan sensed the new Immortal presence and turned away from Benny.

The Guardian whipped his shield out in front and was ready to charge Durgan. He would sort out the details later. Right now, he needed to keep the swordsman from killing the other.

Durgan faced the Guardian. "You can’t interfere. You know that."

The Guardian laughed and smacked Durgan with his shield. Durgan fell down unconscious. The Guardian went over to Benny and helped him to his feet.

Benny stared at the blue and gold hero for a while. "Guardian? Is that you under the new helmet? You’re one of us?" he babbled.

"Benny?" the Guardian recognized the troublemaker from a number minor incidents with the law. "I’m not one of you. I uphold the law while you break it. Something tells me you’re not exactly innocent in this transaction," the Guardian replied.

"Break the law? Me? C’mon, Guardian. Bend it here and there. Twist it a little sometimes, but break it? No, not Benny Carbassa."

Guardian stared at Benny. "I thought I told you a long time ago to get out of Metropolis, Benny, and to never come back."

"I was going to, I really was. I was having trouble getting some transportation. But look, it’s a good thing for you that I didn’t leave. We can do each other a favor. You already did one for me saving me from that lunatic. Now I can return the favor."

"What do you mean?" the Guardian did not trust Benny one bit.

"I can tell you about what you are." Benny smiled.

"I know what I am." For some reason, the Guardian felt like telling Benny the truth. But somehow he knew it was not the truth. "I’m a clone. What can you tell me about that?"

Benny wrapped his arm over the Guardian’s shoulder. "Clone? No, I can tell you about what you really are. I can tell you all about being an Immortal. But first you gotta buy me dinner."

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DNA PROJECT - JUST OUTSIDE METROPOLIS

JUNE 2, 1985

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MacGuire led the Guardian over a control panel that faced a wall of video screens. "Security cameras managed to get this one picture of the perpetrator. I’ll bring it up. Somebody fritzed them up, but we were able to retrieve this one image." He pointed to a single image of a man, dressed in an Oriental-styled blue and white costume, sneaking through the halls of the Project.

The Guardian studied the man’s features for a few moments. The man’s face was familiar. He searched his memory for it but found nothing. "Can we get a closer view of his face?"

MacGuire punched a few buttons and the screen focused on the man’s face. As the face the filled the screen, everything was briefly tinted with a blue color.

"Gotta get the color fixed," MacGuire sighed. He started to turn some dials, but he was stopped by the Guardian’s grip upon his wrist.

The blue added to the man’s face made something click in the Guardian’s brain. Now he recalled the face.

Gabrielli turned and gauged the Guardian’s expression. "You look like you know him."

The Guardian delivered his conclusion. "He used to be a hero. His name was Manhunter." He had no idea that he was correct about the man’s face but wrong about the man’s identity.

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CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Robin sat alone upon the rooftops. Batwing was back at the Batcave slaving over the Bat-computer. He hoped that the boy was actually working on the crime files and not playing Pac-Man as he was wont to do. Robin soaked in the relative peace and quiet. He tended to do his best thinking here. Sometimes it felt as if the spirit of Batman was most present here.

The Dynamic Duo’s patrols of Gotham City had not turned up any sightings of the Manhunter clones. Robin had also not heard any additional word from Manhunter himself. He was unsure of what to do if he did find one of the clones. Batman’s report of his adventure with Manhunter back in 1973 indicated that Manhunter had become a more bloodthirsty man. Could Robin trust this sort of man to tell the truth? Could Robin really trust any other Immortal? "There can be only one" - that was the overriding truth of their existence. Was there room for trust or honor when all were fighting be the last? Robin hoped there could be.

Robin fixed a batline and rappelled down the building. When he reached the alley at ground level, his mind was piqued by the presence of another Immortal. Robin drew his sword quickly. "Batwing? Manhunter?" There was no response. "Who the hell is out there?"

"Now, Dickie, my boy. Is that anyway to greet family?" a voice called out. "I thought I might find you here."

"Dickie?" No one had called ever called him that. No, that was not quite right; there was someone. He now saw a face that he had not seen for many years. It was a face from a time long before his parents had died from Boss Zucco’s scheme. "Grampa?"

The sinister Immortal named Grayson stepped out of the shadows. "I had hoped to run into you at the Charity Ball the other night. I had heard that you are quite a success in town, what with the law firm and your experience as ambassador to South Africa."

"Grampa?" Robin said incredulously. "You’re one of us?"

Grayson scratched his chin and smiled. "Well, considering that I was an Immortal centuries before you were, we should say that you are one of us."

"Whatever," Robin shrugged. "What do you want? I haven’t seen you since before ... since before Mom and Dad died."

"Ah your father," Grayson replied. "You now know, I take it, that he was not your true father. I had adopted him and had hoped to train your father into an able assistant. With his skills, he would have been the right hand man in my organization. However, I could not dissuade him from his notions about the circus."

The circus. Those were happy days for Robin. The Flying Graysons they were called. Some called them the best trapeze artists in the world. Perhaps they were until his parents, John and Mary Grayson plummeted to their deaths, the victims of a protection racket.

"Once your father joined the circus," Grayson continued, "I figured him to be a lost cause. They adopted you as a mere babe, and then I started to feel the Sensation of something special. I guess my desire to have your father work for me blinded me to the truth.

"I had Boss Zucco in my pocket. I was the one who suggested to him that your parents be the ones to be the example. I had thought that he would become an Immortal. It’s a tricky thing figuring out who will become one of us. Apparently, I was wrong. It was you who was so destined." Grayson felt no need to mention his encounter with Batman after the incident. While Robin brought Boss Zucco to justice in his baptism of fire, Grayson had faced off against Batman and the Dark Knight had bested him. Batman had extracted a promise from Grayson never to return to Gotham City. Now that Batman was dead, Grayson felt no need to keep that promise.

Meanwhile, Robin’s thoughts raged. "My folks died because of him, and I thought it was all Zucco’s doing. How did Batman not discover that Grampa was part of it?"

"I’ve been keeping informed about you." Grayson could see the anger welling up within Robin. "You’re quite something, much more than your adopted father could ever have been. I’d like to make you an offer. Join my organization ... or die. Your choice."

"Organization?" Robin replied. "From what I’ve heard from my underworld contacts about the mysterious ‘Grayson’, I don’t like the sounds of your organization." He pointed his sword at Grayson. "I guess you’ll have to kill me ... if you can."

Unnoticed by both of the Immortals, a cloaked figure rushed away from the end of the alley and headed for a nearby pay phone. He dialed up the Adams Hotel. "Room 198 ... This is Grell ... There are two Immortals fighting it out in an alley. From his voice, I think one of them is Grayson ... I didn’t get a good look at the other. I’m at Crime Alley"

"Ah well," Grayson sighed. "It seems that another Grayson must die at my hand. Such a shame." He slipped his hand into his jacket and it emerged with his jagged Iberian Kris. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

Grayson waited for Robin to make the first move. Robin’s sword darted out, faster than Grayson had expected, and almost fast enough to run him through. Grayson stepped to the side and deflected Robin’s blade.

Robin came at his ‘grandfather’ again. Grayson parried each attack, but Robin was always ready to quickly follow with another. Their two swords danced in the moonlight, emitting bluish sparks occasionally on contact.

Grayson stepped back for a moment. "Not bad, not bad at all." Grayson was impressed. The swordsmanship could certainly be better, but he had to acknowledge that Robin was an excellent fighter with fantastic instincts. He leapt forward and now he was on the offensive.

Robin fought back with deadly ferocity. There was only one thing on his mind now - survival. Any thoughts of revenge upon the man he had considered ‘grandfather’ for the misdeed that he committed upon the people he considered ‘mother’ and ‘father’ were subsumed in his struggle to stay alive. Finally, he was able to pin Grayson’s Kris against the wall and he delivered a stinging left cross to the elder Immortal’s chin.

A voice from the end of the alley called out. "Hey, what’s going on here?"

Both Robin and Grayson stopped at the sound of the voice. There were a group of lowlifes who had watching for a while. Both of them knew that their battle was not for spectators. They put away their swords but continued to stare at each other.

"On your way, boy," Grayson sneered. "I’ll see you around."

"Damn, he’s good," Robin thought. "I was giving it my all, and he wasn’t even breaking a sweat." He walked towards the end of the alley where the spectators were. When they recognized his costume, they scattered. With a quick toss of a batline, he was on the rooftops and gone beyond Sensing range.

Grayson remained in the alley for a few minutes. The not-so-Boyish Wonder had put up a very good fight. Grayson had not expected him to be this good already. If only he could be convinced to give up his mask and cape, Grayson thought. His abilities could be put to much better use within Grayson’s organization.

"He’s been fighting crime in Gotham City for nearly half a century now. Has he really made a difference?" Grayson thought. "There’s a whole world out there in which great accomplishments could truly be made. If I could just convince him of the folly of his ways."

Grayson continued to pace around the alley as he endeavored to find a way to convince Robin. He was unaware of how much time was passing and was equally unaware of a group of bowmen arranging themselves on the shadowed rooftops overlooking the alley.

Above the oblivious Immortal, Oliver Queen directed the Longbow Hunters into position. Grell and Michael were ready with blackout-bomb arrows. Queen and Pallin Wolf had razor sharp arrows fitted to their bows. All of the men wore the infra-red goggles that Wolf had stolen from Dr. McNider. The dark alleyway was as bright as day when viewed through the IR goggles. Queen motioned for Michaels and Grell to fire. Their arrows looped into the alley. Upon contact with the ground, the bombs affixed to the arrows (also courtesy of Wolf’s theft from Dr. McNider) exploded, and the entire alley was now completely shrouded in darkness.

At the sound of the blackout bomb explosion, Grayson’s hands went immediately to his sword. As the blackness engulfed him, he exclaimed, "What’s going on here?"

No answer came. The only reply he received was the arrows loosed by Queen and Wolf. The two missiles imbedded themselves deeply in either leg.

"Aargh!" Grayson initially thought he had been shot. When he reached down to the wounds, he discovered otherwise. "An arrow? What madness is this?" It had been centuries since he had last been hit by an arrow. It was an experience he did not relish reliving.

Queen was impressed by their shots. He had been somewhat dubious about how well he and the Longbow Hunters would be able to shoot in the darkness. Both the IR goggles and blackout bombs performed flawlessly. "Much more effective than my smoke arrows," Queen thought. "And with these IR goggles, we can see in it too."

Queen and Wolf refitted their bows. Michaels and Grell were already set to fire again. A nod came from Queen and they let their arrows fly. Both of Grayson’s arms were now pierced.

"Come out and fight like men, you cowards!" Grayson yelled into the darkness.

Wolf took careful aim and drove his missile deep into Grayson’s heart. The Immortal weakly clutched at it, but he was unable to remove it. Queen, meanwhile, had taken out a special arrow from his Green Arrow days. Just before impact with Grayson, the arrow that Queen fired released a net that tightly wrapped around Grayson. His arms were now pinned to his sides. His sword had fallen from his hands as the netting tightened about him. He thrashed and attempted to free himself from the net. He was bleeding profusely from all his wounds. Soon his strength gave out and he collapsed to the ground.

Queen pushed up his infra-goggles and turned to Wolf. "Take him out."

Wolf put down his bow and hurried over to a nearby fire escape. He quickly made it down to the alley. Collecting Grayson’s Kris, he held it in his hands and admired it for a moment. He could only guess as to the sword’s age.

Grayson had stopped struggling against the net. His eyes were closed as he tried to marshal his strength. He was certain that this was some ploy by another Immortal. However, he was surprised that he did not Sense this Immortal yet. What was his unknown assailant?

Opening his eyes, he saw Wolf hovering above him, sword in hand. "You’re not an Immortal," Grayson gasped.

"No, I’m just a mortal. One that’s saving the world from your kind." Wolf wound up and separated Grayson from his head. "That’s one less Immortal in the Game."

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SOMEWHERE UNDERNEATH GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Deep within the winding ways of his headquarters, Vandal Savage’s thoughts were quite troubled. The cloning process was working perfectly. Under his lackey Kuyler’s guidance, the perfect assassins for the Immortal JSAers were being created. However, none of clones had succeeded in their tasks. The plan had not been successful yet. All of the targeted JSA Immortals still lived.

"I still live!" Savage thought. "I, who was Cheops in ancient Egypt.

I, who helped William the Conqueror, take England. I was with Genghis Khan as he overran the continent. I was there when the Spanish Armada fell. An

advisor to Napoleon, aide-de-camp to Bismarck, I have been all of these. I have brought mighty empires down into ruin. Why will the Justice Society not fall before me? If it weren’t for that damned Roman, they would have surely been destroyed the War. Curse him and his Spear!"

Beyond just the failure in destroying even one Immortal JSAer, Savage was also troubled by Kuyler’s report that he had almost been captured by Batwing. If Kuyler were to be removed from the picture, Savage would have to take matters into his own hands. Or would he? What about the mercenary organization - the one in which Manhunter seemed to operate. They had been very capable in procuring the cloning technology from the secret laboratory in Metropolis. Perhaps they could be employed to meet his needs.

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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A black and gold figure streaked through the skies of Fawcett City. Since he was moving at such great speed, he was well out of Sensing range by the time he came to a stop. The black and gold blur now became the form of a powerful Arabic man in a black bodysuit. His cuffs, boots, and belt were all a shining gold, but they all paled in comparison to the golden lightning bolt upon his chest. "Another Immortal," he thought. "And not just the weak energy of the Marvels." He was Black Adam, and he was back once again to try to destroy his hated enemies - the Marvel Family. The presence of another Immortal in Fawcett City gave him pause. Adding this other Immortal’s power to his own could not hurt his cause.

"I shall find this other Immortal," Black Adam decided, "and I shall take his head. None can stand against Black Adam."

Black Adam looked down from where he hovered in mid-air. He noticed the familiar outline and landmarks of Binderbeck Plaza. The sight of it brought back recollections of a momentous event. "It was underneath this very spot, decades ago," he mused, "that I discovered my own Immortality."

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UNDERNEATH BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY
OCTOBER 24, 1945
{Based on Marvel Family #1}

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In an abandoned subway tunnel that served as the wizard Shazam’s earthly home, Black Adam was locked in his first epic battle with the Marvel Family - Captain Marvel, Mary Marvel, and Captain Marvel Junior. From similarity of all of their costumes, one would think that they would be allies. However, Black Adam was no ally of the Marvel Family. He wanted to be their destroyer.

Captain Marvel led the first charge. Instead of Black Adam’s black outfit, he wore a red costume. He had the same gold ornamentation though. In addition, he wore a white collared cape with yellow fringe. He and Black Adam exchanged right crosses that did neither man harm.

Mary Marvel was the next to try her luck. Her costume was similar to that of the Captain’s, save that hers ended as a mini-skirt. She swung to deliver a left uppercut, but Black Adam turned her blow aside.

Captain Marvel Junior was the last in line. His costume a simply a differently colored version of the Captain’s. Junior sported a blue costume and red cape with similar gold trimmings. He barreled head-first into Black Adam. The two of them crashed into a wall of hard rock. Both were slow to get up, but then the battle quickly resumed.

Meanwhile, another member of the Marvel Family was developing a new approach. He was Uncle Dudley, but when he wore his copy of Captain Marvel’s uniform, he liked to go by ‘Uncle Marvel.’ His lack of super-powers explained his absence from the melee.

"Heavens!" Uncle Marvel exclaimed. "This is a dreadful situation for the Marvel Family. I must summon Old Shazam and ask for his help." Uncle Marvel approached the summoning brazier before Shazam’s throne. Tossing a lit matchstick into it brought the brazier to flaming life. The flaming brazier caused a ghostly image of Shazam to appear upon the throne.

"How can we defeat Black Adam, O Shazam?" Uncle Dudley implored the spectral form.

Shazam thought for a moment. Even he did not have the power to destroy Black Adam. He had decided that millennia ago. Then the idea came to him. There was another way. "Get him to speak my name," Shazam replied.

"Stop kids!" Uncle Marvel called out as he stepped into the midst of the battle. All of the combatants ceased hostilities at the sight of him. "He’s so strong, let’s make him a member of the Marvel Family. After all, he got his powers from old Mazham. I mean ... Hamshaz. No, I mean Shamhaz ... er ... uh ..."

"You sputtering old fool, you mean Shazam!" Black Adam sneered before he could realize what he had said. "No!" However, it was too late. The magic lightning descended from the skies and enveloped him. A moment later, he was no longer Black Adam, he was merely the human Teth-Adam. His impressive costume had been replaced by an Egyptian loincloth and sandals.

"Good work, Uncle!" Captain Marvel called out. "And now before this blackguard can say the word again." The World’s Mightiest Mortal wound up to deliver a knockout punch.

"Shaz ..." Teth-Adam began to utter. Captain Marvel’s fist, however, caught him right on the chin, and he went down completely insensate.

As Teth-Adam’s body lay on the cold floor, it began to decompose before the very eyes of the Marvel Family. His body showed the ravages of old age.

"Look!" Captain Marvel pointed out. "He’s turning into a withered old man."

"Yes, my children!" Shazam said. All turned to hear his word. "You see, he is over five thousand years old. The moment he changed back to his mortal form, he aged. He will be a skeleton in a moment."

As Shazam had foretold, Teth-Adam’s body was now just a skeleton. "My deepest thanks," Shazam said gratefully. "You have destroyed my greatest mistake. I am glad that I have left my powers with the great and good Marvel Family. Farewell." With that, Shazam’s image faded.

Deciding that this adventure was now completed, the Marvel Family made their back through the subway tunnel and back up to Binderbeck Plaza. They paid no heed to Black Adam’s still decomposing remains.

Had the Marvel Family waited a few more minutes, they would have seen a most astonishing sight. The decomposition process slowed and then began to reverse itself. Crumbled remains became bone, and bone slowly became covered by flesh. After a few minutes, the wizened form of Teth-Adam was complete. Upon completion of this weird recomposition, Teth-Adam awoke.

He opened his eyes to see the wrinkled flesh of his hands. He could not believe it. He was certain that he had been dead. He had feared that death would be the result if he ever said the magic word of the wizard’s name again. He was sure that death had occurred. How did he come to be alive again.

Slowly the conclusion became evident to Teth-Adam. "I’m Immortal, just like the wizard."

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EGYPT
2800 B.C.

{Based on Marvel Family #1}

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Inside of the remote cave that Shazam called home, Shazam looked over the man that he had summoned. Teth-Adam was a frail man. However, it was not his physical form by which Shazam judged him but rather what was inside. Teth-Adam was a good man, and it was this type of man that Shazam needed.

"Yes, O great One?" Teth-Adam bowed down before Shazam. He was extremely fearful - why had Shazam called for him? Teth-Adam knew that Shazam was a champion of justice; had he done something wrong and Shazam was intending to mete out that justice upon him.?

"For centuries, I have battled against the forces of evil," Shazam began. "There were those Immortals who set themselves up as gods and tried to rule humanity. They fought amongst themselves as readily as they would against me. Soon, only a few were left - beings of immense power - powers of speed, powers of strength, power of flight among others. With the combination of the magic I had learned and the Quickenings I had taken, I was able to defeat these self-styled gods, one by one. Now all of their mighty powers are mine. However, I have grown weary of the struggle against evil. My body is Immortal but old nonetheless. After years of meditation and contemplation, I have mastered the powers of the Quickening. I can pass a portion of the power of the Quickening on to a mortal and create a champion for good. I choose you to be that champion, Teth-Adam."

"Quickening? I do not understand, mighty wizard." Teth-Adam trembled before the legendary wizard. He still did not dare to look up.

"You do not need to understand everything. I am casting a spell that will forever more allow you to access a portion of the power that resides in me. I shall grant you the stamina of Shu, the strength of Herschef, the power of Amon, the wisdom of Zehuti, the speed of Anubis, and the courage of Menthu. The spell is irrevocable." Shazam’s eyes and hands glowed with golden energy. He crossed his hands across his chest. Then the glowing faded.

"When you speak my name, you shall be granted these powers." The wizard motioned and words appeared on the wall.

"Say my name, Teth-Adam," Shazam commanded. "Say my name and be transformed into ... Mighty Adam."

"Shazam." Teth-Adam said with a tremble in this voice. He did not know what this all meant, but he feared the wizard’s power to know that he should obey. A surge of energy, shaped like that of a lightning bolt, bolted out of Shazam and completely enveloped Teth-Adam. Only his silhouette could be soon amidst the flux. The energy storm quickly dissipated and Teth-Adam stood transformed.

"The magic lightning has changed me," Teth-Adam said with utter amazement. He marveled at the form-fitting black outfit that now covered his body. A yellow lightning bolt was affixed to his chest.

"Henceforth, you are Mighty Adam. Go and fight evil in the world." Shazam pointed to the cave’s entrance which led to the outside world.

A few months later, Adam sat comfortably upon his golden throne. He had performed admirably in mission, at least initially. He had stamped out evil with a fervor that the weary Shazam never could have mustered. However, as his crusade continued, Adam began to have a change of heart. To battle for good for its own sake was not enough any more. Adam felt that he deserved something in return. Perhaps it was a corrupting influence of the Quickenings that Shazam had bestowed upon him. Perhaps it was the result of some psychological flaw that Shazam had overlooked. Perhaps it was simply another example of the adage "power corrupts." Whatever the explanation, Adam now craved more power.

He found this power in the person of the Pharaoh. Adam decided that he himself was more fit to rule. One day, Adam simply went up to the ruler of Egyptian and broke his neck with his bare hands. Adam took the monarch’s asp-adorned crown and proclaimed himself the new ruler of Egypt - the Black Pharaoh.

Mighty Adam, the Black Pharoah, thought about the latest challenge to his rule. While there had been a few revolts since his assumption of power, none had been quite so troublesome of that led by some of the Egyptian royalty. Prince Amentep and his wife Taia had instituted the last revolt. Amentep had been armed with a sorcerous device called the Ibistick. Adam feared its power. He dispatched his troops to deal with this rebellion. They reported back that Taia had been killed in the skirmish. They further reported that Amentep, in his grief, had killed himself and then mummified himself with the power of Ibistick.

Adam now felt content in his rule. Amentep had apparently taken the Ibistick with him when he took his life. There was no other power in Egypt that would dare oppose him.

The royal chamber suddenly sizzled with electrical activity. A cloud appeared in the middle of the room. Slowly, the cloud began to fade. The aged form of Shazam stepped from the cloud’s remnants. "Mighty Adam," he called out. "I am most displeased!"

Adam arose from his throne. He laughed scornfully at the wizard. "How can you punish me? Nothing can harm me or destroy me. You yourself said the spell was irrevocable!"

"That is true," Shazam nodded sadly. "But I can banish you from the Earth. You are no longer "Mighty Adam", you are "Khem Adam" (Black Adam), for your soul is stained with the blackness of evil. Go, Khem Adam … to the farthest star in the universe." Streaks of lights leapt from Shazam’s hands and enveloped the tyrant. Black Adam was surrounded by a bubble of pulsing energy. The bubble flew quickly up towards the ceiling, taking Black Adam with it. Breaking through the ceiling, the bubble and its unwilling passenger were soon rocketing towards the farthest star that Shazam could imagine.

Shazam rubbed his hands sadly. He lowered his head and began casting the spell that would take him back to his cave. His attempt at creating a champion had failed miserably. He was very weary. He needed time to figure out what he should do with his Immortal life now. The spell was completed, and Shazam disappeared.

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Black Adam resumed his flight once more. He recalled his return to Earth back in 1945. It had taken him nearly five thousand years, but Black Adam had flown back from the farthest star to which Shazam had banished him.

"I shall take the wizard’s head. His minions in the Marvel Family shall not stay my hand. But first," Black Adam decided, "I shall deal with this other Immortal here in Fawcett City."

Black Adam reversed his course and backtracked along his flight path. He figured that it would lead him back to where he first Sensed the other Immortal. Keeping his flying speed to conservative levels, he coasted through the air until he felt the Sensation once again. At this point, he dropped straight down to the ground. His hard landing put cracks upon the concrete city sidewalk, but his nigh-invulnerable feet were none the worse for wear. He turned to the right and peered down the street; there was no one to be seen. He turned to the left and his eyes met those of Connor MacLeod. The Highlander stood a few hundred feet away with sword drawn.

"I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"I am Adam of Egypt. I shall be your death," Black Adam replied. He pulled out a long slender sword from the back of his black costume. With an effortless leap, he closed the distance to his opponent to only a few yards.

Connor brought his sword to bear as he tried to recall any information about Black Adam. The Egyptian certainly did not appear to be a weak opponent. Based on the costume, Connor assumed that Black Adam had something to do with the Marvel Family, but he could not remember Carter and Shiera making any mention of him. Still, Connor felt confident. He had faced seemingly unbeatable opponents before and his head was still attached.

Before the fight could even be joined, it was disrupted by a noise from above. The sound of rushing air was quite audible. "What trouble are you up to now, Black Adam?" a voice from the sky inquired. The source of the voice came to the ground. It was the caped form of Captain Marvel. Both Black Adam and Connor felt a slight twinge. It was not that of another Immortal, it was not that of a pre-Immortal, but it was something not altogether different.

"Captain Marvel, my ineffective replacement," Black Adam sneered and spat at World’s Mightiest Mortal.

"We’ve managed to stop you everytime before," Captain Marvel retorted. "I guess we can’t be doing that bad." Captain Marvel’s thoughts drifted back to his own genesis.

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UNDERNEATH FAWCETT CITY

APRIL 1, 1940
{Based on Whiz Comics #2}

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In an abandoned subway tunnel, orphaned newsboy Billy Batson was escorted past the statues of the Seven Deadly Sins by a mysterious stranger. He turned to ask the stranger a question, but the mysterious man was nowhere to be seen. Billy now stood before a throne carved from granite. Upon the throne sat the ancient wizard Shazam. The sorcerer took stock of the boy and was pleased.

"I have selected someone pure in heart. Someone who will not succumb to the temptation of the powers I shall bestow," Shazam thought aloud.

Billy looked around for a moment. Was this ancient man in flowing robes actually addressing him?

"Welcome, Billy Batson," Shazam announced.

"How do you know my name?" Billy said dumbfounded.

"I know many things. I am Shazam," the wizard explained. "Once before, I created a champion, but he was not what he seemed. He turned evil. And there is evil out in the world. It is growing, and so I must create a champion to fight against it."

"To you, Billy Batson, I grant the powers of these Immortals." Shazam gestured and words magically appeared on the cold wall of the tunnel.

"By speaking my name, you can become the strongest and mightiest man in the world - Captain Marvel."

Billy was still confused. He thought it might be a dream. It could not possibly be real, could it? Then again, maybe it was. "Shazam!" he cried out. A surge of golden energy leapt from Shazam’s hands and transformed Billy. He was no longer a small, scared youth; he was the World’s Mightiest Mortal - Captain Marvel. He now appeared to be a strapping man in a red suit and white cape. His chest was emblazoned with a golden lightning bolt.

"Captain Marvel, I salute you," Shazam pronounced. "Henceforth, it shall be your duty to defend the poor and helpless, right wrongs and crush evil everywhere."

Captain Marvel did not know what to say. It was simply unbelievable. "Yes, sire," he finally managed to choke out.

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Captain Marvel stood between Black Adam and Connor now. The sight of sword in Connor’s hand made it clear to him what this confrontation was about. He turned to Connor and raised his hand, "Let me deal with Black Adam, mister."

Black Adam laughed heartily. "You are going to deal with me? I’ve battled the whole lot of you Marvels to a standstill before. You alone cannot stop me."

"He’s not alone, Adam!" a feminine voice cried out.

Connor looked up to see Mary Marvel descending from the sky. She also seemed to create the same sort of quasi-Immortal feeling in Connor’s head. The Highlander could not make any sense of it.

"Ah the good Captain’s sister," Black Adam noted. He pointed at Captain Marvel. "I’ve always wondered, did she steal a portion of your powers?"

"No, I didn’t," Mary replied sternly. "I got them from the wizard as well ..."

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UNDERNEATH FAWCETT CITY
MAY 8, 1942
{Based on Captain Marvel #18}

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Captain Marvel returned with his sister Mary to Shazam’s subway tunnel throneroom. They had come here for answers. Billy had been kidnapped and gagged, thus rendering him incapable of saying his magic word. His newly discovered sister had been also kidnapped. When she uttered the wizard’s name, she was inexplicably transformed into an older, super-powered version of herself. With her newfound powers, she was able to save Billy from the kidnappers. She had no explanation, and neither did Billy. After transforming to Captain Marvel, Billy suggested that they consult the wizard.

Captain Marvel lit the brazier before the throne. A few moments later, the image of Shazam appeared, seated on the throne. "Sire, how was my sister able to change?" Captain Marvel asked.

"You were in mortal danger, Billy," Shazam explained. "I needed to find a way to save you. Since she is your twin sister, it was only a small task to add to the spell that granted you your powers. I could tell that she was pure of heart like you. Thus, it was appropriate to transfer other Quickenings that are housed within my form. To you, Mary Batson, I have given these powers ..." With a slight magical gesture, words were suddenly etched into the wall.

"That’s swell," Captain Marvel exclaimed. "I’ve found a sister and a partner in crimefighting all in the same day!"

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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"Two of you," Black Adam sneered, "will not be enough. Once I’ve handled the Marvels, I shall see to you, Connor MacLeod. You are certainly foolish to face me."

Connor’s hands moved uneasily up and down his sword. He had hoped to find some Immortals here to aid in the smashing of Vandal Savage’s plans. What he had found was a mystery. Black Adam was an Immortal; Connor was certain of that. But what were these Marvels?

Captain Marvel and Mary Marvel converged upon Black Adam. The ancient Egyptian floated into the air and readied himself for combat. Mary and the Captain did likewise and cautiously came ever closer.

Black Adam floated back and forth as he noticed the Marvels’ attempt to get him between them. He was too smart for that. "You two cannot stop me. You don’t have the strength or the numbers to do so."

"I guess that’s my cue," Captain Marvel Junior sped through the air and delivered a devastating right uppercut to Black Adam’s chin. Black Adam stroked his chin as he shook off the punch’s effects. Now he was surrounded by the Marvel Family. A silent face-off ensued.

"Captain Marvel Junior?" Connor thought in amazement. "I wonder what his story is ..."

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PARKER POND - FAWCETT CITY

AUGUST 23, 1942
{Based on Whiz Comics #25}

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On a lazy summer day, Freddy Freeman and his aged grandfather were quietly fishing from their wooden canoe. The air was calm, the water was calm, the temperature was just right. All in all, it was a peaceful day. That would not last, however.

They were unaware that, miles above them, Captain Marvel and Albrecht Krieger (more commonly known as Captain Nazi) were engaged in a titanic struggle. Captain Marvel had found Captain Nazi trying to disable an American Army Air Force plane in mid-air. After a furious exchange of blows, Captain Marvel had managed to stun the villanous Nazi. As Captain Marvel tried to repair the damage that Captain Nazi had wrought, the dizzy enemy agent plummeted to the ground. Captain Nazi fell like a rock and made a tremendous splash about a hundred yards from the Freeman canoe.

Grampa Freeman dragged the unconscious form of Captain Nazi into the boat. "Easy, my boy. You’re in good hands now." It was not until Grampa Freeman had lugged Captain Nazi’s waterlogged body into the canoe that he could tell he should have left well alone. Captain Nazi’s green outfit was emblazoned with a swastika upon a black circle.

Captain Nazi shook the water from his crew-cut head. He saw who his rescuers were - an old man and a mere boy. "Ha! Weak-livered Yankee! Thus I repay your soft-heartedness!" With a slap of his hand, he ended Grampa Freeman’s life. Grampa’s neck had snapped from the impact.

Freddy heard the snap and saw how his grandfather’s head had grotesquely turned. He knew that his grandfather was dead. Rage welled up within him. He grabbed an oar from inside of the canoe. "You’ve killed my grampa. You ... you monster!"

Freddy swung for Captain Nazi’s head, but the villain was too quick for him. Captain Nazi caught the oar in his right had and wrenched it from Freddy’s grasp. Captain Nazi laughed at the pathetic attempt. Even if the boy had struck him, the only damage would have been to the oar. Captain Nazi shifted his grip upon the oar and then struck Freddy with it.

"Paugh! Out of my way, stripling!" Freddy was knocked out of the canoe. His limp body flew about ten yards before it violently collided with a large boulder that protruded above the pond’s surface.

A few minutes later, Captain Marvel descended from the skies down to the pond, after he had made sure the plane landed safely. He checked the lifeless form of Grampa Freeman. "Captain Nazi’s work, no doubt," he thought grimly. He regretted not capturing Nazi before dealing with the plane. He knew, however, that he could not have dealt with both simultaneously. His self-recrimination was halted as he heard the distant moaning of Freddy. He sped through the air to Freddy’s floating body. Captain Marvel carefully lifted him into the air. He checked Freddy’s vital signs. They were present but very weak. Captain Marvel knews that there was only one man who could save this boy - Shazam.

In a matter of moments, Captain Marvel was before the empty throne of Shazam. He lit the golden brazier and the abandoned subway tunnel was suddenly illuminated. The ghostly image of Shazam appeared upon the throne. The ancient Immortal wizard saw his champion with the wounded boy in his arms.

"Shazam," Captain Marvel said as he saw the image of his creator. A burst of lightning enveloped the hero and he was transformed back to Billy Batson.

"I was fighting this Axis agent called Captain Nazi," Billy quickly explained. "He was sabotaging an American plane. I fought him off and saved the plane, but meanwhile he killed an old man and seriuosly hurt this boy. I think this Captain Nazi was one of your kind, an Immortal,"

Shazam thought about the possibility for a moment. "That is not important at this time. The boy is. He has courage, the courage to stand up against evil. We cannot allow such courage to be lost so soon to the world."

Freddy’s weight was too much for Billy to bear. He gently put the injured boy down on the cold floor in front of the throne. His pleading eyes met those of Shazam.

Shazam was touched by Billy’s concern. "What has come to pass cannot be changed. But I can pass on to this boy some of my mighty powers, as I gave to you. Speak my name."

Billy dutifully obeyed. "Shazam!" A flash of lightning transformed him once again into the World’s Mightiest Mortal.

Perhaps it was the flash of the lightning, perhaps it was the sound of the thunder, or perhaps it was a subtle spell cast by Shazam. Whatever the cause was, Freddy weakly regained consciousness. He looked up to see the scarlet form of his hero. "Why, it’s Captain Marvel," he exclaimed.

Another bolt of lightning came crashing down. This time, however, it enveloped not Captain Marvel/Billy Batson, but rather Freddy. When the smoke had cleared, Freddy was on his feet once again, hale and hearty. He was now outfitted in a costume of similar design to the Captain’s, albeit with blue suit and a red cape.

Freddy was astonished by the transformation. All the pain that had wracked his body had now disappeared. He felt as good as new; in fact, he fact better than new. Flexing his arms, he could feel the incredible strength that he now possessed. "I’m ... I’m all well again," he stammered. His gaze met that of Captain Marvel. "And I’m strong like you."

Captain Marvel put his hand upon the new super-powered youth. "You are now Captain Marvel Junior."

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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Connor stood ready with his sword. The three Marvels had the sword-bearing Black Adam surrounded. No one made a move. Some inquisitive citizens of Fawcett City began to converge upon the scene. They had seen the Marvel Family engage in many epic struggles before, but none could recall any in which some of the combatants wielded swords. There had been a multitude of Dr. Sivana’s malevolent machines, the terror of the giant robot Mr. Atom, the plans for the annihilation of mankind by King Kull, the nefarious schemes of a number of incarnations of Mr. Mind’s Monster Society of Evil, but never swordsmen.

Black Adam was the one to end the silence. "The World’s Mightiest Immortal versus the World’s Mightiest Mortals," he proclaimed. "You can’t defeat me." He slipped out his sword back from behind his back. There would be no opportunity to take the head of the ‘mere Immortal’ that he considered Connor to be.

"You know, Adam," Junior said. "Maybe we should take a cue from this guy over here." He pointed at Connor. "We should just cut off your head. Then we won’t have to listen to your incessant blustering."

Rage boiled inside of Black Adam. It infuriated him that the boy dared insult him. "We’ll meet again, whelp," Black Adam exclaimed as he streaked into the sky. Black Adam, despite his earlier proclamation, knew that this was not the time or place for a battle with the Marvels.

The Marvels took the air to give chase, but it was for naught. Black Adam was already lost within the antiquated skyline of Fawcett City. They knew that it was extremely unlikely that they would pick up his trail. From prior expereience, they knew that Black Adam was too canny for that.

When the Marvels reached the ground, Mary grabbed Junior’s shoulder. "Junior! What was that for? We’re not bloodthirsty. Did you want to get someone killed."

"Exactly the opposite," Junior explained. "If we all would mix it up with Black Adam here in downtown, a lot of innocent people would likely get hurt. I figured that we could find him later and fight him somewhere else."

"Spoken with the wisdom of Sophus," Captain Marvel said.

By this time, Connor had replaced his sword within the folds of his coat. He cautiously approached the Marvel trio. He could still feel a slight Sensation in his mind, and it seemed to be emanating from all three of them. "I’m Connor MacLeod. What are you Marvels? You all feel like an Immortal, sort of."

"That’s because of the power that Sh-, a wizard, has given us," Captain Marvel explained. "We aren’t Immortals actually. Well, Black Adam is, but we aren’t."

"I certainly felt that," Connor replied. "But, you know about Immortals?"

"Certainly." Mary smiled somewhat seductively at Connor. It caught the Highlander off-guard. "Immortality actually is the basis of our power."

Immortality. A wizard. Amazing powers. The thoughts rattled around in Connor’s mind, trying to find a memory that connected all of the elements. Then he remembered a story that Ramirez had told him - a story of his early days as an Immortal in ancient Egypt.

"And this power comes from the wizard Shazam, right?" The story was clear in Connor’s mind now.

The Marvels were taken aback by Connor’s question. There were only a handful of people that knew of the source of the Marvel Family’s power.

"How do you know about the wizard?" Captain Marvel asked.

"Heh heh heh," Connor chuckled. "Shazam and I had a friend in common a long time ago."

"If you know about us," Mary commented, "then you know about Black Adam. Were you after his head?"

Connor shook his head. "Actually, I didn’t remember much about Black Adam. And I certainly wasn’t hunting for his head, although I was looking for Immortals."

Junior noticed how the crowd was coming closer to fawn over the premier heroes of Fawcett City. He took a hold of Connor’s hand. "Perhaps we ought to continue this conversation somewhere else."

Mary and Captain Marvel nodded. They leapt into the air, as Junior carried Connor up to the roof of the Costanza Corporate Center. Once there, Junior lightly lowered the Highlander to the roof.

"As I recall, Shazam grants you some of his Immortal powers. This allows you to transform from your regular human forms," Connor recalled.

"That’s right. Here, I’ll show you." Somehow, Captain Marvel knew that he could trust Connor. He took a step back and said "Shazam!"

Mary followed suit with "Shazam" while Junior uttered "Captain Marvel." Three bolts came crashing down. When Connor’s eyes were clear once again, he was confronted by the sight of three kids - Billy Batson, Mary Batson, and a crippled Freddy Freeman.

"I see," Connor said with obvious confusion. "But you’re still young? How is that possible? You’ve been fighting crime since the 40’s." He could no longer feel the slight Sensation. But how could they still be young if they were not Immortal?

"That’s true," Freddy replied. "However, we missed a good portion of the time between then and now. Our old nemesis, Dr. Sivana, trapped us in a Suspendium sphere. We were in suspended animation for about 30 years."

"Sivana and his kids got trapped in there as well," Mary added. "It was us and most of the other heroes of Fawcett."

"Except for one, Ibis the Invincible. He wasn’t trapped," Billy noted. "He’s Immortal, by the way, but he doesn’t take much of a liking to us." Billy frowned. "We have no idea why."

Connor was only slightly encouraged to hear this news about Ibis. The Marvels were probably his only link to him, and he apparently did not think too fondly of them. Still, it was all that Connor had. "Do you think you could help me find him?"

"Sure," Billy said. "We can try, but I can’t guarantee any results. C’mon, Mary, Freddy ... Shazam!"

Mary echoed with "Shazam!" while Freddy said "Captain Marvel!" In a flash, they were transformed back to their superheroic selves. Mary took Connor by the hand and soon the quartet were airborne.

Looking over to her passenger, Mary said "Immortals like you can sense us at very close range, but we can’t sense any Immortals. So I guess we’ll just fly over the city until you notice one of your kind."

Connor nodded grimly. This operation could take a long time. There could be a large number of Immortals in a city as large as Fawcett.

Captain Marvel noticed the dejected look upon Connor’s face. "I see that frown, Mr. MacLeod. Not too worry. There aren’t too many Immortals in Fawcett, and we know most of them personally. King Kull is safely locked up in the city jail, so we don’t need to be going there."

After thity minutes of fruitless searching, Junior snapped his fingers. "I think I just might know where we can find Ibis. Anytime we’ve been with him, he’s always talking about how great things were in ancient Egypt." He changed course and put himself into a nosedive headed for the heart of downtown, beckoning the others to follow him.

The quartet landed on the steps of the Parker Museum of Ancient History. As soon as Connor’s feet touched the ground, he could detect the presence of another Immortal. He nodded to Junior, proving the youth’s hunch to be correct.

Connor led the way into the museum while the Marvels followed closely behind. Connor wove through sections dedicated to various periods of human history. When he reached the Egyptian Room, he was certain that he found his target. There was a solitary man dressed in a black suit who stood before a wall of hieroglyphics. His hand was moving across the pictographs; he apparently could comprehend their meaning. His turbanned head turned to catch sight of Connor and company.

"I am Ibis." The eyes of the Egyptian burned with rage. The displeasure was clearly directed at the Marvels behind him.

"Ibis, I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. I need your help. I don’t know what grudge you have against the Marvels, but all they’ve done is assist me in finding you."

"You want my power." He produced a golden wand from his pocket. The end of the wand was adorned with the depiction of a bird - undoubtedly an ibis. The wand pulsed with magical energy as he pointed it at Connor. "I will have nothing to do someone who associates with the scion of Shazam!"

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EGYPT

2800 B.C.

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"Shazam!" Prince Amentep screamed. The enraged prince shook his ibis-adorned wand at the white-robed wizard. Amentep, now known as Ibis the Invincible by his fellow revolutionaries, had arrived in the Pharaoh’s throne room with the intention of overthrowing the self-styled ‘Black Pharaoh.’ Upon his arrival, he discovered that the ancient wizard had already disposed of the ‘Black Pharaoh’ - Black Adam.

Amentep’s gaze was directed at hole on the ceiling above and the rubble upon the floor below. "Have you caused the Black Pharaoh to flee?"

"No, Prince Amentep," Shazam replied. "I have banished him from Egypt. He shall not return."

The news was not good enough for Amentep. "Damn you, wizard! You should have stopped Black Adam long before I was forced to oppose him. In fact, you should have never created him."

Shazam bowed his head. "I acknowledge my error, Amentep. Adam became corrupted by the power that I had granted him."

Amentep walked up right up to Shazam and took hold of his robe. "Look at the price that Egypt had to pay! Look at the price I had to pay." Amentep’s heart was shattered with the knowledge that his wife, the beautiful Taia, had perished in their struggle to unseat Black Adam.

"But Taia shall live again, Ibis." Shazam had felt the spark of Immortality in her from a previous meeting. He was certain that she was an Immortal-to-be. Whatever the manner of her death at the command of Black Adam (save decapitation), she would rise once again. He had to convince Amentep of the truth of his words.

Before Shazam could begin his explanation, Amentep shook him violently. "You lie. She is dead - dead and mummified. And I shall join her in the afterlife."

"No, you don’t understand ..." Shazam sputtered. It was then that he felt the same spark within Amentep - Ibis the Invincible was also an Immortal-to-be.

Amentep shoved Shazam to the ground. He held the Ibistick in front of his face and closed his eyes. "Ibistick, take my life and mummify me. Allow me to see my beloved Taia once again in the next life." His last thoughts were of the secret tomb in which he had lain the mummified body of his beloved wife. Once his incantation had run its course, his form would join her in deathly silence.

"You fool!" Shazam shouted, but it was too late. The mummification was complete. The mummified form of Amentep shimmered and then disappeared. Shazam attempted to magically ascertain Amentep’s location, but his spell was blocked by the power of the Ibistick. Shazam would try many times over the following centuries to free Ibis and Taia from their mummified imprisonment, but his subsequent attempts also met with failure.

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 2, 1985

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"Because of Shazam, I spent thousands of years as a mummy." The words of Ibis dripped with hatred. "Only when Taia had been freed did the magic I cast upon myself with the Ibistick allow me to revive."

Connor struggled to find the right words. "Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you and Taia. But my business doesn’t have anything to do with him. It’s about an extremely ancient Immortal named Vandal Savage."

"I know not of Vandal Savage. Besides, your personal vendettas against other Immortals are none of my concern." Ibis waved his wand at Connor as if to dismiss him.

Connor decided to come closer and continue trying to convince Ibis. "Look, Ibis, all I’m saying …"

Ibis stared right into Connor’s eyes. There was no reaching him. The sight of the Marvels had infuriated him completely. He stretched out his empty left hand. "Ibistick, grant me a sword." His left hand was now armed with a shining scimitar.

Connor took a step back and drew his own sword. "I’m not challenging you, Ibis."

Ibis smiled slightly. "Good, for I would certainly kill you." He touched the Ibistick to the scimitar and the blade disappeared. He held the Ibistick above his head. "Ibistick, fly me away!" Ibis rose into the air and sped past Connor and the Marvels. He zoomed out of the museum’s exit and within seconds was beyond Connor’s Senses.

The visit certainly had not proceeded the way that Connor had hoped. He stood there scratching his head. "I could use your help, Marvel Family,"

"I’m sorry, Mr. MacLeod," Captain Marvel replied. "The Marvel Family isn’t about killing. I know how it is among you Immortals, but we really can’t be a part of it. If you’re just planning on arresting this Vandal Savage, then we’ll pitch in."

"Sorry, kids," Connor said sadly. "One way or another Vandal Savage’s evil ends permanently. "Thanks for your help, though." Connor shook their hands and walked away. With luck, he would be able to quickly catch a plane back to Gotham. He hoped that Carter and Shiera had more success in drumming up Immortal recruits. He wondered if even complete success on their part would be enough to stop Vandal Savage. A man did not survive for 50,000 years without being extremely dangerous, perhaps even unstoppable.

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SCHWARTZ TENNIS CENTER - GOTHAM CITY
JUNE 3, 1985

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A giant sign was posted to the scoreboard on the southern end of the tennis center. It read "Benefit Match Starring Gotham’s Very Own Betty Kane!!! See the Grand Slam Winner Take On Gotham’s Best!!!" Fans were streaming into the facility to see the four-time Grand Slam winner in action against local celebrities. The event was sponsored by the Kane Foundation to support the Gotham Memorial Hospital. The event was markedly festive - booths hawking tennis-related wares lined the sidewalks, music from loudspeakers filled the air, people sitting on lawnchairs in parking lot ate and drank merrily.

One vehicle in the parking lot appeared to be somewhat out of place. Inside of a Meskin Cleaners truck, Kuyler went over the plan with his minions. They were somewhat cramped inside of the truck, what with all of the complex cloning equipment that was kept there.

"This Betty Kane was once the heroine known as Bat-Girl," Kuyler explained. "It seems that she and Robin were somewhat of an item long ago."

"So what are we going to do?" one of the underlings asked.

"Simple. We’ll dispose of the security guards outside of her private locker room during the match. Once the match is completed and she returns, no pun intended, we’ll take her."

Kuyler’s henchmen nodded. Kuyler rolled back the side door and allowed his men to exit the van to the parking lot. Dressed in nice white shirts and carrying what appeared to be tennis bags, they easily blended with the people that were milling around the complex.

Robin and Batwing stood perched atop the roof of the grandstand area. The elder Immortal superhero scanned the crowd while his younger sidekick tugged at Robin's cape incessantly.

"So, boss, why are we here? I didn’t know you were much of a tennis fan? Me, I like hockey. Hey, you know the difference between hockey and a football? Football game is a game in which a fight sometimes breaks out. Hockey is a fight in which a game sometimes breaks out. Get it? Ha ha ha."

Robin shrugged and thought. "I wonder if I ever got on Batman’s nerves like this." He turned to his partner. "To answer your question, I’m concerned about whoever it was that tried to nab Kathy. I have this feeling that they might try to get Betty. She’s Kathy’s niece, you know."

"Hey, boss, I hear that you and Bat-Girl used to be all kissy-kissy, smoochy-smoochy once." Batwing pursed his lips and kissed the air repeatedly.

Robin was surprised at Batwing’s revelation. He had never supplied the kid with that information about his past. It was not relevant to crimefighting. "Where did you hear that?"

Batwing sported a devilish smile. "Hey, I’m a detective, too. I got my sources."

Though he did not show it, Robin was impressed. The kid had learned well in the two years since he became a sidekick. Robin had figured that this secret would have remained such. Obviously, he had underestimated Batwing's natural talent.

Below the dynamic duo, Betty Kane had just finished demolishing Gotham TV newsreporter Andrew Vinson with an easy 6-0 victory. As she walked back to the locker room, the PA announcer's voice carried through the stadium. "Miss Kane is going to take a short break before she faces her next celebrity opponent. Now, for your enjoyment, we have the Gotham City Trick Tennis Team!" Betty, though now in her fifties, still had her long blond hair as well as the athletic figure that had enabled her to capture the Grand Slam title four times. As soon as she disappeared into the depths of the stadium, an assortment of colorfully clad players rushed onto the court.

While Batwing was transfixed by the spectacle that the Gotham City Trick Tennis Team was performing, Robin's eyes went to the crowds that were gathered outside of the stadium. He noticed a group of men approaching the guarded doors to the women's locker room. Robin was puzzled as to why these men were headed that way. Perhaps they were waiting to meet their wives? Robin dismissed that notion. The locker room was closed off to everyone by Betty Kane on this day for security reasons. Robin had a bad feeling about this.

He snapped his fingers and began to climb down from the grandstand. "Batwing! Let's move!"

"Huh, what's up?" Batwing asked as he followed suit. He knew better than to stand around and wait for an answer. He could only hope that whatever his mentor saw would mean that they would get some bad guys to clobber. That was Batwing's favorite part of the superhero gig.

By the time the duo reached the ground, Kuyler's henchmen had already beaten the guards unconscious with their tennis rackets. The minions were about to go through the door when Robin called out.

"Can't you fellows read? The sign says that's the Women's Locker Room."

"Cripes," one of the men exclaimed. "It's Robin and Batwing. They musta been waiting for us."

"Yeah," Batwing chimed in. "Now we're gonna serve up some justice." He smiled at his clever (at least he thought so) pun.

"Screw this gig," another underling cursed. "I'm not gonna fight the Dynamic Duo for Kuyler."

The name "Kuyler" struck a chord in Robin's mind. He recalled a reference in an Interpol police report about an assassin of that name. That Kuyler had been executed for masterminding the assassination of a number of French political figures. If this were that Kuyler, Robin deduced, then he must likely be an Immortal as well. However, uncovering the identity of their alleged Kuyler boss was secondary to stopping these hoodlums themselves. "Ready, Boy Wonder?" he called out as he prepared to spring into battle.

Batwing rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I'm game, in fact, I'm all set."

"I must say I find fault your puns." Robin retorted.

"I don't know if that was an insult or a backhanded compliment, boss," Batwing laughed.

The henchmen, oblivious to the clever verbal exchange between the Dynamic Duo, decided to make a run for it. Tossing their rackets at Batwing and Robin, they raced back to the parking lot where Kuyler awaited them in the Meskin Cleaners truck.

Dodging under the barrage, Batwing hollered, "What kind of racket are you guys running? Does the Sportsmaster know that you're stealing his schtick?"

Robin ducked under the last of the flying rackets and led the chase. He could not help but smile at his partner's verbal wit. Although Batwing could irritate him, sometimes it was very clear, sometimes painfully clear, that the two of them were quite alike.

"Hey! Why are you guys leaving?" Batwing taunted. "Don't you want to return to the scene of the crime?"

The henchmen reached the van and scrambled to get inside. The Dynamic Duo had closed the gap between them and their quarry, but they were not close enough to nab the goons. They were close enough, however, to feel the Presence the Immortal inside of the can - Kuyler.

"Damn!" Kuyler cursed as he put the van into gear and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. "They must have Sensed me, too."

The tires squealed as the van raced out of the parking lot. Robin's hand went to his utility belt and he withdrew a batarang. Just as the van was passing through the gate, a skillful throw by Robin embedded the point of the batarang into a rear tire. It was not enough to blow the tire out, but air did begin to rapidly leak out of the tire.

"C'mon," Robin motioned to his sidekick. "To the Batmobile. They won't get far." The teammates wove their way through the parking lot to find the Batmobile. Once inside the high-performance navy-blue sportscar, the chase was on once again.

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ROGERS PARK - GOTHAM CITY
JUNE 3, 1985

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Paul Kirk paced along the main cobblestone path impatiently. A wide-brimmed hat served to hide his facial features; his Manhunter mask was pulled down and hidden under his long trenchcoat. The coat looked somewhat out of place, considering that it was the height of summer, but not many people gave him a second look. There were all sorts of eccentric people in Gotham City. One that wore a trenchcoat on a hot and muggy night was not all that remarkable, comparatively speaking.

Manhunter had squeezed some information out of Rat Mathey, one of the local underworld snitches, earlier in the day. The informer had said that a man matching the Manhunter's own description had been conducting a great deal of business in Rogers Park in the recent past. Manhunter had thanked the snitch by fighting off some 'collection agents' - actually the hired muscle of one of the many illegal bookmakers that populated the city. After depositing the downed 'agents' at the local precinct, Manhunter had donned this disguise and set off for the park.

The night had dragged on monotonously without Manhunter catching sight of his own face on that of a clone. He hoped that the Rat's information was correct; if not, he knew that he could hunt down the snitch rather easily. Rat had not been difficult to find the first time.

Any doubts that Manhunter had about the veracity of Rat's words were dispelled when he saw an all-too-familiar face walking behind a row of bushes. There was no mistaking it - it was one of his clones. Manhunter ducked behind a thick oak tree and pulled out his field glasses.

The clone was nicely dressed in a dark business suit. He stopped as he met another man. The clone proceeded to exchanging metal briefcases with the other man. Each examined the contents of the briefcases he received, but the bushes blocked Manhunter's view of what might be contained inside. Manhunter studied the face of his clone's business partner. The face was handsome, at least what Manhunter could see of it. Manhunter could only see the right side of this man's face.

Making sure that there were no onlookers to worry about, Manhunter began to slowly creep up towards his clone and the client. The soft grass made virtually no noise under his crawling body. In addition, the height of the bushes along his path helped keep him out of their line of sight. As he was approaching their position, his mind cried out with the Presence of another Immortal.

The clone's business partner cried out. "What is this? A double-cross? You should have known better than to double-cross me!"

The man turned to look for the source of the Sensation. Manhunter looked up from behind a concealing bush and now saw the full face of this other Immortal. At this closer distance, he could see that the man's face was certainly handsome - at least on the right side. The left side, however, was another story - it was a gruesome shade of green as well as being horribly scarred and misshapen. Manhunter now knew who this man was. He used to be Gotham City District Attorney Harvey Kent, now he was the villain known as Two-Face.

Two-Face's dropped the briefcase and his hands crossed as he put them into the sides of his jacket. When he brought them back out again, each held a sword. The one in his right hand was a sleek, elegantly styled blade with a golden hilt. The one in his left was a dirty, jagged brand with a black grip.

"Come on!" Two-Face called out. "I'm not afraid of two to one odds." He looked back to see that the clone was hurriedly running away from the scene. He turned back again to find the other Immortal, but he could not see the hidden Manhunter in the dim moonlight. Two-Face stalked around for a few moments and then sheathed his swords. Apparently, he decided that this other Immortal was not part of this business transaction. Two-Face walked contentedly away from the bushes.

Manhunter waited for Two-Face to get out of Sensing range. While he would have loved to have taken the arch-criminal down, such a luxury had to be put aside for larger considerations. He needed to get that clone.

After a few moments, Manhunter could detect no further trace of Two- Face. He would, of course, let Robin and Batwing know that Two-Face was up to some no-good scheme. Perhaps such information would more assistance from the Dynamic Duo. Then again, if he could manage to force some information out of this clone, he would not require any assistance in putting an end to these clones. All he would have to worry about was that unknown Immortal that was stalking him. Sometimes he wished for the boring life that was his before he became Manhunter.

While Manhunter's mind was racing through possibilities, his body was racing through the park in pursuit of the clone. The trail was ridiculously obvious; Manhunter probably could have tracked him with both eyes closed. The clone did not realize that he was being pursued by a master; he was only trying to escape Two Face. A leap by Manhunter brought him to a low-lying tree branch. A leap from there landed him atop a public facilities building alongside the banks of Gotham River. From there he leapt and caught his clone with a bone crunching tackle.

Manhunter's hat had fallen off in the process, so his face was clear to see as he rose to his feet over the downed doppleganger. The clone rubbed some blood from his lips and then looked up to see his original.

"Look, I have no qualms about hurting you in any way that I deem necessary to extract the information," Manhunter began. "I've already killed dozens of your doppleganger counterparts."

The clone played it cool. "What is it you want from me?"

"I want to shut down your whole operation, but I'll be satisfied if you can tell me what you and your twins are doing here in Gotham."

The clone continued to show no fear. "We have a special client here in Gotham City."

"And who might that be?" Manhunter wondered if his clones might be in league with whoever it was that was hunting him. Perhaps his pursuit of the clones was part of an even bigger hunt.

The clone thought for a moment. He knew that Manhunter, or Number One as he and his brethren referred to him, had killed a number of the clones. However, those clones had been trying to kill him. Perhaps if he supplied him with this information, he would be able to walk away alive. As things stood now, he did not have much choice. "His name is Vandal Savage."

"Vandal Savage?" Manhunter thought. He had heard of this man, the so-called Immortal villain. Why Savage chose to broadcast his identity for the world to see was beyond the Manhunter's comprehension. He knew that Savage had been involved in a number of plots to destroy heroes in the past. Perhaps Savage was the one stalking him. "Where can I find him?"

"I don't know. Believe me, if I did, I'd tell you?"

Manhunter thought that he would never get used to talking with those who had his face and his voice. He could tell that the clone was scared, but was it enough fear for the clone to tell the truth. Manhunter slid his Bundi dagger down from the folds of his sleeves. He held the sharp edge to the clone's exposed neck. "I need more, if I'm going to let you know."

The clone was shaking slightly now. "All I know is that he's holed up somewhere underneath the city. Maybe the sewers, maybe utility tunnels, I don't know for sure. There's lots of secret places to hide in this town - all of the super-villains that Batman fought over the years seemed to have a secret hideout."

Manhunter slid the dagger back into his sleeve. "That's certainly true. Gotham certainly has had a dearth of deranged criminal types over the years." He helped the clone up to his feet. Both versions of Paul Kirk had gotten quite muddy in the scuffle along the river. Manhunter began to walk away as the clone tried to brush some of the mud.

After he had gone about twenty yards, Manhunter suddenly turned around. "Oh, by the way, I'm Paul Kirk - the one and only." His Mauser slid down from the folds of his sleeve. A quick pull of the trigger left the clone with a bullet in his heart. "There can be only one."

The clone's hands went to his chest. He looked at his original and tried to say something, but no words came from his mouth. He stumbled and then fell backward into the river.

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CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY
JUNE 3, 1985

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The Batmobile had chased the Meskin Cleaners van through a number of the low-rent districts of Gotham City. Despite the large lead that the van had when it left the Schwartz Tennis Center, Kuyler had been unable to throw off the pursuit. Unknown to the evil Immortal and his goons, the batarang that Robin had embedded in their tire was also equipped with a homing device. All of Kuyler’s evasive maneuvers were for naught as the Batmobile repeatedly was back on track every time after Kuyler thought that he had lost them. The sharp turns only served to increase the rate of air escaping from the wounded tire.

As Kuyler rounded the corner in front of Crime Alley, the punctured tire finally gave out. Kuyler was forced to stop the vehicle for fear of losing control. He and his men hurried out of the van and dashed down the alley, not caring what lay ahead.

The Batmobile pulled to a screeching stop when Robin sighted the stopped van. He and Batwing looked around and then quickly entered the alley. A few moments later their Senses detected the Presence of another Immortal. They were now certain that their prey was in the alley.

Kuyler and his men cursed loudly and repeatedly when they reached the halfway point of Crime Alley. A number of smashed automobiles were piled up twenty feet tall - the remnants of a turf war the night before. The pile extended across the width of the alley. Going around the pile was not possible. Going over it would be very treacherous.

Kuyler rallied his men. "All right, then. We take care of them here."

One of the henchmen complained, "Boss, we’ll get slaughtered by Robin and Batwing!"

Kuyler drew out a pistol and shot the man between the eyes. "I will brook no insubordination. Fight them. Double your wages if we get out of this." He stepped back and allowed his men to meet the Dynamic Duo’s charge. "Get Robin first, then deal with the boy."

Robin and Batwing waded into the midst of the henchmen. There were only a half-dozen of the goons, but the cramped quarters made fighting difficult. One of Kuyler’s minions landed a lucky punch to Batwing’s face. The blow stunned the lad, and he dropped to the ground in a groggy haze.

Batwing’s incapacitation allowed the goons to gang up on Robin. Each one that tried to pile on him was met with a quick punch or kick, but they always came back for more. Robin managed to send knock one unconscious, but the remaining five began to overwhelm him. They pummeled him repeatedly and mercilessly. Kuyler meanwhile was fingering the sword that lay hidden in his coat.

Robin dealt another henchman a knockout blow before falling under the incessant attack of the remaining henchmen. He did not realize that his JSA communicator was broken in the onslaught. His head hit the ground hard as his senses left him. Kuyler saw this as a marvelous opportunity - a much more effective way to deal with Robin than his master Vandal Savage’s roundabout plan. Batwing’s death would be icing on the cake.

As Kuyler drew out his sword and approached the downed Robin, Batwing finally shook off haze in his head. He saw the still body of his mentor and the shiny sword of the white-faced Kuyler. He had to act, and he had to act fast.

Batwing leapt at the men who were still kicking and punching Robin’s body. He dove through of the henchmen’s legs and landed a hard punch to the groin. "Zow!" Batwing commented. "That’s gotta hurt."

The man doubled over and collapsed in extreme pain. Before the other two could react, Batwing was on his feet again. A roundhouse kick to one goon’s solar plexus downed him. "Powie!" Batwing exclaimed.

The remaining goon swung wildly but Batwing easily ducked under the punch. Batwing sprang into the air and boxed the goon’s ears in. "Biff!" Batwing added as the man teetered and then slumped to the ground.

"Na na na na na nah! Batwing!" the Boy Wonder exclaimed as he surveyed the downed opponents. However, one still remained. Kuyler stood poised over Robin’s still form, sword in hand. "Holy Headchopping!" Batwing thought. "The mime-man's gonna chop the boss!"

"You do him, and I’ll do you before you recover. Robin ain’t going anywhere. It’s just you and me." Batwing drew out his sword from his cape with his left hand. In his right he took out the special batarang that he had spent the wee hours of the morning. The batarang seemed too shiny along its long edge.

Kuyler looked up and stepped away from Robin. "A mere whelp challenges me?" he laughed.

Batwing carefully felt the weight of the batarang in his hand. He had not had any time to practice with it. The modifications he had devised had changed its feel and likely its aerodynamic properties. He needed a few moments to figure out how to compensate. To gain these precious seconds, he would do what he did best - taunting and ridicule. "Hey, does the Joker know you stole his white-face schtick."

Kuyler shook his head condescendingly. "I was perpetrating crimes with this sort of ensemble long before that deranged green-haired lunatic."

"At least he’s got some color. Hey that reminds me. What’s black and white and red all over?" Batwing asked as he made the last of guesses at how to throw the batarang.

Kuyler took his sword in both hands now. He did not deign to try to answer Batwing’s obviously insipid banter.

"You, after I cut off your head!" Batwing wound up his right hand and tossed the batarang hard. It flew by Kuyler a good five feet from his head.

Kuyler watched the batarang go by. "You missed me with your bat-shaped truncheon, whelp!" he laughed heartily.

Batwing put his right hand to his chin and rested the point of his sword on the ground. "I don’t think so." He smiled widely.

Kuyler could not understand the strange behavior of the lad. Then he heard a whirring sound behind him. He tried to turn, but the razor-sharp batarang sheared his head off. After impact, both the batarang and Kuyler’s head tumbled to the ground.

Batwing’s head nodded his head with attitude. "Well whaddaya know? I was wrong. I can kill someone with a batarang."

He raised his sword into the air as the first wave of the Quickening struck him. The force of the discharge threw him back against a wall and pinned him there. His body writhed as the sparks of bluish energy flowed into him. Finally, the experience came to end and his body fell helplessly to the ground.

Batwing struggled to get back to his feet. "Gee boss, you never told me it was gonna feel like this." He stumbled towards Robin who was only beginning to regain consciousness.

"What happened, kid?" Robin asked groggily. He rose uneasily to his feet.

"Batwing’s got a head in this world," Batwing replied.

Robin saw the still bodies that littered this battlefield. He noticed that Kuyler was indeed missing his head. So the kid had been able to beat another Immortal. Batwing was certainly full of surprises.

"C’mon, we should get out of here." Robin led the way to the Batmobile. A quick turn of the ignition and the Dynamic Duo were on their way. Batwing placed a call to Police Headquarters to report that something had happened in Crime Alley. The Boy Wonder conveniently changed some of the facts, especially those regarding his decapitation of Kuyler.

A few moments after the Dynamic Duo’s departure, Oliver Queen and the Longbow Hunters arrived on the scene. The intense pyrotechnics of the Quickening had gotten their attention. They surveyed the bodies of the henchmen, but they found nothing of interest. Finally Grell discovered the downturned head of Kuyler.

"Queen," Grell called out. "We’ve definitively got a dead Immortal here. It looks like Kuyler. Come on and verify."

The mention of the name "Kuyler" elicited some grumbling among the other Longbow Hunters. Kuyler had been their primary target, and now some other Immortal had beaten them to the punch. They muttered about all of the wasted work that they had put in for Kuyler. While Kuyler’s death did mean that there was one less of the hated Immortals in the world, the fact that another Immortal did the honors meant that the evil power that Kuyler contained remained. All Immortal power was evil in their eyes.

Oliver Queen was oblivious to the mutterings of his men or to the request of Grell. He stood at the end of the alley and tried to process in his mind what he thought he saw. "I’d swear I saw Robin and Batwing driving off in the Batmobile, but what are they doing here, unless ..."

"Queen? Are you gonna check out if this is Kuyler?" Grell asked again impatiently.

"Sorry, I thought I saw someone drive off. It might have been whoever took the Quickening," Queen replied.

"Should we go after them?" Grell said expectantly. Perhaps today would not be a complete waste.

Queen shook his head. "No, we don’t know who we’re dealing with. We only strike when we have information about the target. That way we ensure secrecy and efficiency."

The Longbow Hunters began to grumble again, but they knew that Queen was right. Secrecy and efficiency were the watchwords of their crusade. Sometimes it rankled them that there was no public acclaim for their efforts to rid the world of these Immortal monsters. However, they were united in the belief of the absolute necessity of their activities. Perhaps once the crusade was over and every single Immortal lay dead, forever dead, would they be able to reveal their efforts to the world at large.

Queen’s thoughts were completely removed from any thoughts of glory. Queen was deeply troubled. This was Gotham, and Gotham was the home to many Immortals. It was also the former home to a great deal of truly evil Immortals. "Former" not because they no longer had a residence here, but "former" because they no longer had a head. Gotham was also Robin and Batwing’s town. A possible connection was becoming clear in Queen’s head. It was not a connection that he wanted to make, but it was undeniably a possibility. "If one of them or both is Immortal ... Horton never said anything about any heroes being Immortal."

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BINDERBECK PLAZA - FAWCETT CITY

JUNE 4, 1985

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Luck had not been with Connor MacLeod. There had been no openings on any of the airlines for flights to Gotham. He was forced to spend the night in this disturbingly anachronistic town. As he stared out of the window of his hotel room, he was struck by the unique architectural style that characterized Fawcett City. It was unlike that of any city that Connor had ever visited. The style was definitely retro, but it also had traces of modernity to it. For some reason, it reminded Connor of the projections of the future in movies from the Fifties.

"At least everything’s not silver-colored and atomic-powered," Connor thought. He put his head back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. He would try to get some sleep before his early morning flight to Gotham. After counting a few hundred specks on the ceiling, he finally closed his eyes and began to drift off into sleep. As he fell deeper into slumber, an image of his wife Heather drifted into his dreaming mind. He was back on their little homestead. It was only the two of them and they were happy. Then an image of Ramirez formed in the dream. Connor could sense the presence of the other Immortal quite distinctly.

The dream quickly faded as Connor woke with a start. The Sensation was not a part of his dream world, it was part of reality. There was another Immortal nearby. Connor’s hand went to his jacket which was draped over a wooden desk chair. His hand slipped inside of the garment and brought out his katana. He cautiously approached the door, his mind racing as to who might be outside. Had Ibis come for him? Were there other Immortals in Fawcett?

Connor’s hand went to the doorknob, but before he could turn it, he was startled by the crashing of glass behind him. A black and gold figure now stood before the shattered window amidst the shards of glass.

"You thought to hide from me, eh MacLeod?" Black Adam said derisively.

Connor whirled around to face the super-powered Immortal. Any traces of sleepiness were now completely removed from his body. His senses were sharp, his attention was focused, and his determination was strong. He could ill-afford to be anything but prepared to face such a powerful foe.

Black Adam now drew his sword implausibly hidden within his skintight costume. "Our battle resumes now, barbarian. The outcome is foreordained. Submit to me willingly, and I shall fell you with one swift stroke."

"Better men than you have tried, and I’m still around," Connor countered. He scanned the enclosed surroundings. He figured that it would be to his advantage. Black Adam would not be able to effectively use his superhuman speed.

"There are none better than I," Black Adam exploded. "I shall be the last one, and mankind shall suffer an eternity of darkness at my hand. My despotic rule of ancient Egypt will pale in comparison to the tyranny I shall exact once I have won the Prize."

Connor made a quick feint, but Black Adam was ready for it. Connor stepped back again and formulated his next attack. "With that attitude, I’m surprised that someone didn’t kill you just to stop from hearing your blustering."

Black Adam laughed. "Ha. What foe could stop me? Shazam had not the power. The members of the Marvel Family are too weak morally to kill me, and you have not the strength, MacLeod."

The mention of Shazam’s name caused Connor to recall a story that Ramirez had told him. Ramirez had recounted a story that Shazam had told him. Connor now recalled the story behind Black Adam. "Strength isn’t everything, Teth-Adam."

Black Adam was astonished at the mention of his true name. "You know my name?"

"Heh heh heh," Connor laughed snidely. "I know all about you."

"Precious little such knowledge will do you when you lie headless at my feet." Black Adam wound up as if he were going to strike with his sword. Connor reacted to this move. However, Adam instead launched himself into the air and tackled the Highlander head-on. The two crashed through the broken window fixture and fell to the ground.

At least Connor fell. Black Adam veered off and kept himself from crashing down thirty feet into the cold cement of the alley below. Connor had no such superhuman powers to avoid the inevitable collision. The impact rattled his insides fiercely. He was certain that a few of his ribs were bruised if not broken. He quickly scrambled to his feet since he knew that Black Adam would be ready to resume the offensive.

Connor was up and prepared in the span of a split-second. He had been fortunate to hold onto his katana during the descent and the crash. Without his blade, he harbored no illusions of being able to defeat Adam. "Illusion?" Connor thought. "Perhaps I could try a technique that Nakano had taught me?"

The question that he had posed to himself would have to remain unanswered for Adam gave him no time to perform the necessary mental preparations to create such an illusion. Adam had alighted once more and charged Connor maniacally, his Egyptian scimitar spinning rapidly in his hands.

As the battle ensued, Adam was putting every bit of his superhuman strength behind each strike. Connor could not match strength for strength in this battle. He dodged some of Adam’s wilder swings. The ones that came closer, Connor used his katana to deflect Adam’s thrusts. To meet edge on edge would be folly for the Highlander. Connor simply used his sword to guide Adam’s scimitar from reaching the intended target. The Egyptian’s own strength would then take the scimitar wide of the desired mark.

While Adam continued to press on mercilessly, Connor was having no trouble keeping the scimitar from finding his head. Neither was he able to change the momentum of the confrontation to his own favor. Adam’s speed allowed him to recover very quickly from one failed attack and to proceed to the next. Connor wondered what he would do if he were able to take the offensive. Would the katana even be able to cut the Egyptian’s superhuman skin, much less take off his head?

Though Black Adam was millennia older than Connor, it was the Highlander who had the sizable edge when it came to experience. The development of Adam’s skills had been limited to his time as a mortal in ancient Egypt and the scant fifty-some years since his return from his banishment to the farthest star. Connor utilized all of the subtle tricks that he had acquired over the centuries. He was almost amazed at how they were met by complete surprise by Black Adam. It was becoming obvious to Connor that Black Adam’s hatred of the Marvel Family took precedence in the Egyptian’s life, including active participation in the Game. If Black Adam had even fought a few Immortal since returning from Shazam’s banishment, he almost assuredly would have seen some of the techniques that Connor employed.

Adam’s lack of success was forcing him to higher levels of rage. His attacks became even stronger while also becoming more obvious. Connor pushed each attack aside with relative ease. He thought about trying to sneak a punch or a kick through Adam’s virtually non-existent defense. However, Connor was not willing to break a bone in the process. The apparent stalemate was beginning to vex Connor. Adam was expending a great deal more effort than Connor was. The question was whether Adam’s powers would allow him to outlast the Highlander’s endurance.

Ever-larger sparks erupted from Adam’s scimitar whenever the Egyptian connected with Connor’s sword or with the grey concrete below. Chunks of the sidewalk were being carved out as a result of the Egyptian’s failed attacks. Connor suddenly felt a slight tingling in his head. Obviously, the light and sound show had attracted the attention of another of their kind.

Connor let his sword rest as he saw Adam break off the attack for the present. The Egyptian had obviously noticed as well. Adam turned to face the three caped forms of the Marvel Family marching up the alley. Captain Marvel led the way with Mary and Junior on either side of him.

Black Adam leveled his sword at his old nemeses. "Stay back. This is a battle between Immortals. The power that flows within each of you realizes that you cannot interfere."

At those words, Captain Marvel stopped. Mary and Junior did so as well. The Captain and Mary had unsettled looks upon their faces. Junior’s was one of indignation.

"Ha!" Adam laughed. "The Quickening powers that have been granted you prevent you from coming to this poor Scotsman’s aid. Not that you could do anything to stop me. You’re too weak to kill. The wizard has chosen mere lambs to do his bidding. The strong shall rule, the weak shall perish. One day, I shall slaughter you like the sheep you are."

Adam’s words seemed to affect Junior more than the other Marvels. While the Captain and Mary were still stymied, Junior now stepped forward with a wide grin on his face. "You’re right. We won’t kill and that’s why we’re better than you. Sure, the Immortal power inside of me says that I shouldn't interfere, but we're not like you, Adam. We're mortals and those Rules don't apply to us."

Black Adam drew his sword back. Connor was not altogether surprised that Adam had seemingly forgotten about him. The Egyptian’s hatred of the Marvels was quite evident.

"What are you going do, whelp?" Adam taunted.

"Watch!" Junior countered. The lad was soon a blue blur hurtling through the air at Black Adam. They Egyptian swung his sword at the onrushing boy, but Junior veered up and over at the last instant. As he passed over Adam’s head, he uttered the magical name of his hero. "Captain Marvel!"

Thus invoked, a bolt of magical energy came crashing down from the heavens. The spell did not discriminate. The utterance of the magic word let loose a mystic bolt whose only function was to recall Immortal powers back to Shazam. The fact that it was not Black Adam who had said the word was irrelevant. The mystic energy latched onto the Immortal energy nearest to where the magic word was proclaimed. Unfortunately for Black Adam, the closest Immortal energy was in him.

"No!" Adam screamed but it was too late. Junior was no longer there and the yellow flash enveloped the ancient Egyptian. When the haze around Adam cleared, his face was the same but his clothes were not. His black and gold costume had been replaced by the simple cloths of an ancient Egyptian. He was no longer the superhuman Black Adam but merely the frail Teth-Adam.

Connor saw his opportunity. He rushed at the dazed Egyptian and smashed Adam’s mouth with the hilt of the katana. Adam’s jaw flapped as it loosely hung from his skull. Thus incapacitated, he could no longer form the words that would allow to transform back into his mighty form. Adam swung at Connor with the scimitar, but the attack was weak and ill-conceived. Connor caught the scimitar with his katana. With a deft turn of his wrist, Connor sent Adam’s scimitar tumbling from his hand. He followed this with a kick to the midsection.

Adam fell to his knees and doubled over as he gasped for breath. He looked up to see the katana streaking for his head. Then he saw nothing.

Sparks began to jump from Adam’s headless from even before the body completely collapsed onto the ground. The sparks snaked their way along the ground towards Connor’s bare feet. They then wound around Connor’s body, freezing him into immobility. A large energy pulse, accompanied by a thunderous boom, erupted from Adam’s body and enveloped Connor in a frenzy of electrical activity. Then another pulse came. Boom! A third. Boom! A fourth, boom, and a fifth, boom. With every pulse Connor cried out in agony but he was helpless to resist. After a brief pause, a final sixth bolt electrified him. BOOM! Connor’s entire frame briefly glowed like a lightning rod. The glow gradually faded as did his balance. Connor slowly slumped to the ground.

After a few moments, Connor regained his senses to realize that the Marvels were helping him to his feet.

"Wow, that’s even more impressive than the lightning that Sh- er, the wizard transforms us with," Mary commented.

Captain Marvel nodded as he helped brush some of the dust off of Connor. "I’d say so, but the magic of Sh-, I mean the wizard, is nothing to sneeze at."

"Gee, you’d think after all these years, you two would remember not to say his name." Junior laughed.

"Hey, at least we can say our names, unlike you, Junior." Mary gave Junior a playful slug in the shoulder. At least it was playful for Junior, it probably was strong enough to break a brick wall.

Junior shoved Mary right back with equal intensity. "Maybe I oughta get a new one, then. Marvelman? Marvel Boy? Or are those already taken."

Connor put his hand on Junior’s shoulder. "Thanks for the help, kid. I was beginning to think that I was going to have to fight that old Egyptian forever."

"Not a problem," Junior replied.

Captain Marvel now took Junior by the shoulder and turned him away from the Highlander. "But why did you do it, Junior?"

Junior smacked his right hand into his left palm. It made quite a loud sound. "That taking over the world talk reminded me of Captain Nazi, that’s why!" Junior replied. "Someday I’ll get Nazi and pay him back for what he did to my grandfather and me."

Connor was only mildly interested in Junior’s motivations. The fact still remained that the Marvels would not help him deal with Vandal Savage. As he slipped his katana back into his coat, he was struck with an idea that should have occurred to him much earlier.

"You know, I should have thought of this before," Connor said. "Is there any way that you can contact Shazam?"

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UNDERNEATH BINDERBECK PLAZA

JUNE 4, 1985

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Connor stood now in an abandoned subway tunnel with the members of the Marvel Family. Mary had located a match and was preparing to light a brazier that stood before a stone throne.

"We could take to directly to the wizard at the Rock of Eternity," Captain Marvel explained, "but he doesn’t like to have unexpected guests. We can talk to him from right here."

Connor was unsure how they were going to do that. He certainly did not see any communication device in this cold tunnel. Connor was surprised to see the image of a white-robed old man appear beside the throne as Mary ignited the brazier.

"Why do you summon me, my Marvel Family, and why have you brought Connor MacLeod with you?" the image spoke.

Connor was taken aback by the image of the wizard as well as by the fact that Shazam apparently knew who the Highlander was.

"Yes, I know who you are, Connor MacLeod," Shazam explained. "I saw you as you entered Fawcett City and I recognized the katana of Ramirez that you carry. The Rock allowed me to peer through the ages, so I could learn all about you."

Connor was not sure of what to say, so he simply began with what came to mind. "I’m flattered that you would take such an interest in me. I’m certainly honored to meet a friend of my old mentor. Ramirez spoke most glowingly about all that he learned from you."

"Ah, good Ramirez," Shazam lamented. "He was a most honorable man. I was saddened to learn that he met his demise at the hands of the Kurgan."

"Kurgan". The name grated on Connor’s nerves. Somehow, he felt that he was letting his Ramirez down by not avenging his mentor’s death at this monster’s hands. Then again, maybe somebody else had done the world a service by taking the Kurgan’s head. If someone had not yet, Connor wanted the privilege.

"By your expression," Shazam commented, "I can tell that your thoughts drift towards the Kurgan. From my vantage point here on the Rock, I can tell you that he breathes still. I fear that you may have a reckoning with him sooner than you might think."

"The Kurgan aside for now, wizard. My concern at present is with another one of our kind. Nearly as evil and as dangerous a threat for his ingenuity. He’s called Vandal Savage."

"Ah, the Immortal villain. He is most certainly a threat. Many may fall before he is felled. However, I am too weary to assist you. Most of my strength is used in powering the Marvel Family. I have little too give."

Connor was going to object with some words but the image of Shazam cut him off with a wave of his hand. Shazam explained. "I must conserve my energies. There are dark days coming; it is then that my power will truly be needed."

"What kind of trouble is looming," Connor asked. He was not certain if he truly wanted to know the answer. Ramirez spoke of Shazam as being the nearest thing to a deity that an Immortal could be. If something was on the horizon that worried Shazam, Connor wondered if the threat of Vandal Savage would prove to be inconsequential.

The image of Shazam moved and appeared to sit on the stone throne. "Something very dire. The Rock allows one access to other times and other universes. However, the future seems barred to me now. The entire continuum is in flux. The infinite universes seem to be decreasing in number, as nonsensical as that sounds. There seems to be a cold, calculating force behind it all of the destruction. Our world may soon face a crisis of epic proportions."

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THE BAT CLUB - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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The Bat Club was one the trendiest places for young folks in all of Gotham City. In the years since the Darknight Detective’s tragic death, his legend had only grown larger among the Gotham citizenry. Batman-related merchandise was a very lucrative industry. While most of the Bat-mania centered upon Batman himself, there was also a heavy interest in those linked to the Batman legend. Robin was adequately represented in the product line. Teenagers had quickly latched onto the Batwing paraphernalia. Traditionalists accorded a healthy amount of respect to the Huntress, the acknowledged daughter of the Gotham Goliath. The senior generation clung to the images of two of the shorter-lived members of the Batpantheon - Batwoman and Bat-Girl. All bat things, everything and anything related to Batman, could be found inside of the club.

Inside of the club on this day were two people to whom the mystique of Batman was more than fan-worship. They were among the select few that could call Batman an acquaintance; they were Hector Hall and Lyta Trevor, at least in their civilian identities. Hector, the adopted son of Hawkman and Hawkgirl, was also known as the armored crusader Silver Scarab. Lyta, the adopted daughter of Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor, went by the costumed name of Fury.

Hector, sporting a clean-shaven blond look, stared across the bat-shaped table to the love of his life. Lyta look backed at him and brushed some of her silky blond locks out of her face. They were both enjoying a well-deserved night off from their activities with Infinity, Inc. Their leader, the Star-Spangled Kid, had insisted that the two of them take some time off together. The pair had heartily complied. Slipping on some long-sleeved dress shirts and slacks over their colorful costumes, they had headed straight to the club for quality time. It was still early enough in the evening that the more vocal and energetic Bat-fans had not arrived.

"Have you talked to your folks lately?" she asked.

Hector continued to stare at her as he absentmindedly stirred his glass of ice. His mind then realized that he had been addressed. "Hunh? What was that, honey?"

"Have you talked to your folks lately, you know since we became ...?" Lyta repeated.

"Well, I talked to my mom about it over the phone, but I haven’t seen the famous Hawkman and Hawkgirl since it happened. Anyway, they don’t have much time for their adopted son these days; not that they had much when I was growing up. I think Dad is a little bit upset that I’m took some ninth metal and am now in the family business as the Silver Scarab. What about your folks?"

"She and my dad are just happy to be alive together. That Stream of Ruthlessness escapade really accentuated Mom’s fear of Dad dying and her being left behind. I guess that’s a problem all Immortals have to face. It’s a problem their families have to face as well, I suppose."

Hector nodded. "Yeah, but we get the double whammy. We have folks that are both Immortals and in the spotlight as superheroes."

"Is that how it’s going to be for our kids, too?" Lyta wondered aloud.

"I don’t know. Now that we’re superheroes and Immortals as well, I guess it will. I, however, am not ready to adopt."

Lyta reached over the table and shook him by the ear. "Hey, let’s wait to get married first before we start talking about kids and adoption."

Hector tried to get Lyta to let go, but it was no use. She was just too strong. The Amazon training that she had undergone at her mother’s insistence had increased her strength greatly when she was only mortal. Now that she had discovered her Immortality after her first death at the hands of Mr. Bones, her strength had increased even more. "Hey, come on, let go," Hector pleaded.

Lyta let go of his ear and shook his nose instead. "Oh, all right, but only because I love you."

"I love you, too, my dear Fury. Hell, heaven, and earth hath nothing like you," Hector proclaimed.

Lyta slouched back in her chair and smiled. Hector always did have a romantic way with words.

Hector tried to take a drink from his glass, but then he realized all that was left was melted ice. He put the glass back down. "Where did you come up with the name ‘Fury’, by the way? I always figured you would take the name Wonder Girl if you got into the superhero biz?"

"Well, that was a thought, but I didn’t really like it. I mean we’re in our twenties; we’re too old for kid names. Anyway, ‘Fury’ was the name of a Greek superhero that Mom fought alongside a few times in the War. I never got to meet her, but I guess that she and Mom were sort of kindred souls."

"OK," Hector replied. "I remember my folks talking about her too. She was one of the few foreign mystery-people back then. I wonder whatever happened to her?" The original Fury had been a member of the Young Allied Stars, a loose grouping of mystery-men and women that fought for the Allied cause in Europe and in the Pacific. Fury had represented occupied Greece. There was ironman Ferdinand "Fer" Monreaux from Free France, and the Quontauka shaman, Flying Fox, from Canada. A deadly huntress, the Tigress hailed from India although she was an English girl by birth. There even were a pair of aquatic patriots that fought against their Axis homeland, the Italian Neptune Perkini and the Japanese Tsunami. Hector also seemed to recall his parents mentioning that some, or maybe all, of them were Immortal as well. He began to wonder which ones, but his thoughts were interrupted by Lyta’s response.

"I don’t know where she ended up. She and Mom lost touch back in the Sixties. I thought it was a good name, so I hope the original doesn’t mind me using it."

"If she does, I’m sure you’ll hear from her," Hector replied. A devilish grin formed on his lips. "Then again, this being the Eighties, you’ll probably hear from her lawyer!"

Lyta shrugged and smiled. Hector always did have a warped sense of humor. "If so," she said, "I hope that those bloodsuckers don’t garnish my wages for the rest of my life. I’m planning on living for a long, long time."

Hector reached across the table and took her hand in his. "Me too, honey, and I plan on spending everyone one of my Immortal days with you." She squeezed his hand lovingly and he squeezed back. "Hey, you know what another good thing about being Immortal is?"

Lyta could think of any number of possible answers, but she figured she would let Hector tell her.

"It makes hiding our costumes, not to mention our swords, underneath our clothes a heck of a lot easier. I’m still somewhat surprised that I can hide my Scarab armor under here and not have it show."

Lyta had to agree. While her costume was not as bulky as Hector’s, she did have a breastplate and cape to contend with. Somehow, those items never seemed to bulge out under her clothes.

The couple continued to make small talk while they waited for their dinner to arrive. Unknown to them, their every movement was being watched - not only by the Watchers assigned to them but by others. Looking through the window of the club with a pair of binoculars was the Immortal known as Xavier St. Cloud. He put the binoculars inside of his coat, confident about the identity of his prey. Walking back to a car parked along the street, he issued a few quick orders to the passengers inside. Then he struck off to enter the club.

Hector and Lyta's small talk was interrupted as they Sensed the Presence of another Immortal. They looked at each other, non-verbally asking "Are you expecting anyone?" When neither had a response, they began to look around the club, searching for the other Immortal. Their gaze rested upon the elegantly-dressed black man that was approaching them.

Xavier walked straight up to their booth. "Hector Hall? Lyta Trevor?" he inquired.

"Yes, and who would you be?" Hector started to get up, but a look from Lyta told him not to make a scene.

"A man with a business proposition," Xavier replied. "You can listen to me, or everyone in this club dies."

Hector was incensed. "Look, if you know who we are, then you know we're not your everyday Immortal."

"Of course," Xavier responded snidely. "You are garish superheroes with over-inflated senses of decency and responsibility. That is why you will allow no harm to come to your fellow patrons." Xavier produced a canister from his jacket. "This canister contains a nice little concoction called mustard gas. It was a very effective weapon during the First World War. I should know; I used it quite frequently back then."

Lyta tensed her muscles and prepared to make a move. Xavier put his hand to the tab on top of the canister. "Children, let’s not cause a commotion here."

"Who are you?" Lyta demanded.

"My name is Xavier St. Cloud." After taking a dramatic bow, Xavier continued, "My employer wishes to use you as instruments of his revenge, especially upon your parents, Hector. It seems that he still holds a grudge for what they did to him in the days of Cheops."

"Cheops?" Hector thought. He knew exactly to what Xavier was referring. His father had told him the tale of how they had foiled that Immortal madman.

"So you’re working for Vandal Savage. What’s he planning?" Hector said angrily.

"Come, come, my dear Hector. I’m not like some of those costumed villains with whom you contend, villains who are more than willing to spell out every little detail of their plan. Besides, I don’t really know any more than that, and I don’t need to. Vandal Savage is quite generous in his payment terms." Xavier reached into his coat and removed a gasmask. "You see, I have this gasmask. Rather reminiscent of the Sandman’s wouldn’t you say? Anyway, if I were to release the contents of this canister, I would not be affected. You and the other patrons would however. Of course, you two would eventually revive, unless I beheaded you. So you see, you really have no choice."

After a short pause, Xavier said, "I wish that I could take your heads. However, my finances are currently at low ebb. Right now, money is much more desirable than a Quickening."

Xavier led Hector and Lyta out of the club into a dead-end alley. He placed the canister on the ground and smiled. He walked to the end of the alley, leaving Hector and Lyta about twenty yards away.

"OK, you got us out here. What now?" Hector asked.

"Now we smash this arrogant jerk into the wall, that's what," Lyta replied. She balled up her fists with her Amazon strength and was ready to pounce.

Xavier pulled out a revolver and leveled the weapon at them. "Oh, I know about the different armor that both of you wear. Rest assured, the armor-piercing bullets in this gun are more than up to the task." With two quick shots, Hector and Lyta were down. The specially-treated bullets penetrated their clothes and tore through their armor underneath. Xavier's steady hand had put a bullet through each of their hearts.

Xavier put his left hand to his mouth and emitted a short, sharp whistle. A car zoomed into the alleyway and his underling piled out. Without a further word from Xavier, the men gathered up the 'dead' Hector Hall and Lyta Trevor and stuffed them unceremoniously into the trunk.

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GOTHAM STADIUM

JUNE 5, 1985

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Batwing stood perched on the top of the upper grandstand section. He knew that he should be at home, concentrating on his studies. Dick was sure to chew him out for not focusing on his homework, especially at the expense of flying solo in costume. Still, he had a hunch that something was going to go down here at the stadium.

On the field below, the Gotham Goliaths were in second game of a twilight doubleheader with their arch-rival Metropolis Monarchs. The Goliaths had taken the first game 3-2 and were looking to sweep with a 2-1 lead in the bottom of the sixth.

The scene seemed ideal for a Two-Face crime. The Monarchs and the Goliaths were the top two teams in the league. This was their second meeting of the season. The Goliaths were also offering a two-for-one ticket deal. "Yep," Batwing thought. "This is just up Two-Face’s alley. And if it ain’t, I get to watch some good baseball."

Batwing was watching the Goliaths’ top slugger approach the plate when he got that all-too-familiar Sensation. He cursed his luck. Had Dick found him out already? He turned around to just barely miss getting clobbered by a baseball bat.

Batwing ducked down again and somersaulted a few feet. Who was attacking him, and with a baseball bat, no less? The Sportsmaster? Coming out of his spins, Batwing turned to see his opponent. It was another kid, apparently of the same age (but being an Immortal, who knew how old his opponent truly was). The kid was dressed in a blue and purple pinstriped short-sleeved shirt. He wore blue gloves, in which he held the baseball bat, and his facial features were partially masked by the baseball hat atop his head.

"What does this guy want?" Batwing thought. "My head?" He started to reach for his sword, tucked within the folds of his cape, when another caped figure crawled up to the top of the grandstand section.

"Hold up there Batwing," said the newcomer. She was a dark-haired beauty dressed in a purple and blue costume. Batwing knew who she was at once – the Huntress, daughter of Batman.

"Helena," Batwing responded. "What’s going on here? Who’s the kid with the bat?" Batwing made no mention about the kid being another Immortal. As far as he knew, Dick had not taken Helena into his confidence about that.

Helena smiled. "I see you’ve met my new partner. Batwing, meet Batboy. He wasn’t really trying to hurt you, Batwing."

Batwing walked over to Batboy. "OK, put ‘er there." He offered his hand.

Batboy took the hand grudgingly. "No hard feelings?" His tone was not completely sincere.

The Huntress put her hands on both of the boys shoulders. "I take it you’re here because you think Two-Face might be, right Batwing?"

"Yep," Batwing replied.

"Well, we’re already on his trail," Batboy explained. "So he’s ours. We heard that he might have been sighted the other night in Rogers Park."

Batwing was already beginning to dislike this ‘Batboy’. He would have to tell Dick about this. Maybe Helena should know. "Fine, you take him. Me and the boss got bigger things to do." He shot a mean glance back at Batboy and then threw a batarang line. Soon he was swinging his way back to the Batcave.

"Hmm," Huntress commented. "He took off in a hurry. I was going to suggest that the three of us team up for the night. I wonder what set him off."

"Beats me," Batboy replied with feigned innocence. He knew what disturbed Batwing – the fact that he was a fellow Immortal. Batboy decided that he would have to exercise better restraint in the future. He did not want to put all of the superhero Immortals in this city on their guard against him. He would set their minds at ease, and then he would take their heads with the blade hidden within his bat. Then he, the Immortal known as Kenny, would have more than enough power to claim the Prize.

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CRIME ALLEY - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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Robin paced about the most notorious alley in Gotham. He had left word with some underworld contacts for the Manhunter to meet him here. The former Boy Wonder was flying solo this evening. His youthful partner Batwing was at home studying. At least Robin assumed that Batwing was studying. He hoped that the boy was not wasting time playing on his Atari video game system.

Robin was suddenly struck by the Sensation of another Immortal. He instinctively went for the sword tucked into his cape. While he was expecting Paul Kirk, he knew that there were many Immortals that inhabited this city, and most of them were not friendly.

Peering down the alley, Robin could tell that the approaching figure was not Manhunter. The man was dressed in a snappy suit and the almost-necessary-for-an-Immortal trenchcoat. "Ah," the Immortal exclaimed as he stepped out of the shadows. "I was expecting another of the cape and cowl set. I had heard he was supposed to be here." The Immortal paused. "I am Martin Hyde."

The name meant nothing to Robin.

"I have heard that your mentor was an expert tracker. Batman, ‘The Masked Manhunter’, I believe they called him," Hyde continued. "Right now, I’m more interested in the man called Manhunter. He’s led me on the most exhilarating hunt for the last few years. I think that after I kill him that you will be my next target."

"So this is the guy that has been following Paul," Robin deduced. "He has to be good, if Paul couldn't make him." Robin brought his sword to bear. "If you're after Manhunter, you'll have to get through me first."

Hyde laughed. "How long have you been an Immortal, boy? Do you have any idea of how many centuries of hunting experience that you're facing." Seeing that Robin was not backing down, Hyde drew his sword with a sigh. "I was hoping for better sport."

Robin and Hyde slowly approached each other. Before their swords could clash, they both could feel that another Immortal had come into the vicinity. They retreated slightly from each other as they tried to spy the newcomer.

Connor MacLeod stepped into the alley. "I hear you’ve been looking for me. It’s been a few hundred years, but here I am."

Hyde stepped back in amazement. "Do my eyes deceive me? Can it truly be you?" He had been hunting for Connor back in the 1620’s but had only found his pupil Duncan. He had not even bothered taking the pup’s head; Duncan was too young of an Immortal to have merited Hyde’s attention. Other quarry had busied him over the years, but the head of Connor MacLeod was a trophy that he still craved.

Connor whipped his katana from out of his white jacket. "I’m Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

"Of the same clan as your student, Duncan MacLeod, but of a different vintage, I take it," Hyde replied snidely.

"Let the Boy Wonder go," Connor pointed to Robin. "This is between you and me."

"But of course. It would be a waste to simply kill him now. The hunt, ah, the hunt. That is where the true pleasure of the kill lies." Hyde turned towards Robin. "Run, boy. Run for your life. Enjoy what you can until I find you."

"There’s no pleasure in killing," Connor responded as he braced himself for battle. "There’s only survival."

"Survival of the fittest," Hyde added, "since there can be only one."

The two Immortals closed on each other as Robin backed away. There was no subtlety to the battle. The two swords met with a resounding clang and a ferocious melee ensued. The swordplay was furious. Neither combatant let up even for a fraction of a second. Hyde fought with precise skill, while Connor showed flashes of barbaric fury. In the end, the berserk style of the Highlander won out. Hyde lay headless at Connor's feet, and the pyrotechnics of the Quickening washed over him like a violent storm.

After the effects of the Quickening died down, Robin made his way over to give Connor a hand in getting up. "I suppose that I should thank you, but I could have handled him myself."

Connor looked at him with a smart-aleck glare. "Would you have, then?" Connor sprung to his feet. "Now, let’s see what you’ve got!"

"Wha?!?" Robin was astonished. "You save me and now you fight me? You want my Quickening for yourself?"

Connor had no response and he came at Robin with his sword dancing in the air. Robin had brought his sword to bear and fended off the attacks. Robin had studied the Highlander's style, but the tactics that Connor now employed were quite different. Robin could not anticipate the next strike, but he was quick enough to react to each attack. After a successful parry, Robin was able to connect with a sidekick to Connor's midsection.

After stumbling backwards, Connor doubled over, his left hand pressed against his abdomen. "Heh heh heh." Connor gasped for air. "Pretty good." His lungs heaved. "Truce."

Robin lowered his sword slightly. He had an ear for deceit, and Connor sounded like he was telling the truth.

"I didn’t come for your head. I came for your help," Connor said, seemingly fully recovered from the intensity of the Quickening.

"Then why did you attack me?"

Connor smiled wryly. "I had to see how good you are. As Immortals go, you’re still a child. Still, you have the potential to be the most capable opponent I’ve ever faced. A few more centuries and you could be the best."

Robin frowned at the insult. "Child, indeed," he thought. Bad enough that he had to deal with heroes and villains who still saw him as the Boy Wonder, now he had an Immortal treating him in a condescending manner.

"As I was saying, I need your help," Connor continued "I just got back from Fawcett City on an unsuccessful recruiting drive. I gave a call to Hawkman. He says that he couldn’t contact you by your JSA communicator."

Robin shrugged and tested it. "I guess it must have been broken. So what's the problem that you need to rally the troops?"

"It’s the Immortal villain, Vandal Savage," Connor explained as he put an arm around Robin's shoulder. "We’re meeting at your Justice Society headquarters tomorrow night."

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PRATT HOME - CALVIN CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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Al Pratt, the Atom, sat in the pigsty that had become his home. The formerly pristine household was now a scene of disaster. It had only been a few days since his wife Mary had suddenly attacked him with murderous rage. Al had defended himself, and Mary had died in the process. His bloodthirsty investigation had yielded no clues, although it had netted him the head of an arrogant Immortal named Kern.

He had not talked with any of his comrades in the Justice Society since the tragedy occurred. He had smashed his JSA communicator in his rage. Now, although he was still distraught, reason was once again taking hold. He never was the detective type, he was a brawler. Even before he had become Immortal, even before he gained his atomic powers, that was what he did best. He knew that he had teammates in the Justice Society that were the investigative type. He knew that they would be more than willing to help.

Still, Al had wanted to solve this one himself. He wanted to get revenge for Mary all by himself. Sadly, he admitted that he would not be able to do it. After packing some things together, Al jumped in his car and headed for JSA HQ in Gotham City.

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MILLER HOTEL - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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Paul Kirk, the Manhunter, was perched on a third floor ledge watching the city below him. For the moment, he was the hunter and not the hunted. He had not felt the tingling Sensation of an Immortal for some time now. Perhaps the Immortal who had been tracking him had lost the trail or lost his head. There certainly were enough Immortals in this city, and not all of them were of the friendly variety.

Manhunter would not waste more thought on his hunter. He had his own prey tonight. He was looking for himself, or more correctly he was looking for one of his clones. An encounter the other night with one of them had gained him the information about their employer - the Immortal named Vandal Savage. However, the lookalike had not been able to provide any concrete information as to the Immortal villain's location. All the doppelganger had said was that Savage was holed up somewhere under the city.

"Under the city," Manhunter shrugged. "I think every single foe of Batman had an underground hideout." He needed to narrow the search, and for that he needed more information. He decided that a different clone might know more than the last one.

Manhunter was amazed by his good luck when he saw a very familiar face come strolling out of the hotel lobby. It was one of his clones, dressed in a snappy business suit. The word on the street was that Manhunter's lookalikes were conducting some business there. It appeared that the word was right.

After waiting for the clone to hail a taxi, Manhunter made his move. He quietly dropped down to the ground and hurried towards the lookalike. As the clone entered the taxi, Manhunter was right behind him. Manhunter got into the cab as well. Before the clone could say anything, Manhunter flipped him a ten dollar bill and said, "Turn into the next alley and let us out."

The cabbie willingly did as he was told, especially since he saw that Manhunter had drawn his Mauser pistol. As the cab came to a screeching halt, Manhunter pulled his clone out of the cab. Once his duplicate passengers had exited, the cabbie quickly pulled away.

"Nice suit," Manhunter commented. "That color looks good on me."

"So, I finally get to meet the Original," the clone replied. "What do you want? To kill me, like you've done to some many of my clone-brothers?"

"Oh, I'll kill you all right," Manhunter responded snidely. "It's just a matter of time. For now, I just want information about your employer, Vandal Savage."

"You know that we're working for him? Hardly surprising, since I know how good you are."

Manhunter shook his head in disdain. "You don't know anything about me. You're just a duplicate that the Council cooked up in a test tube." He clutched the Mauser tighter. "I want to know where Savage is."

The clone laughed. "So you can put him out of business and eliminate a very generous customer. I don't think so."

Manhunter put a bullet into the clone's shoulder. "I don't think you understand. I'm going to find out, one way or another. The only choice you have in the matter is how much pain it's going to take."

The clone thought for a moment. He tried to read his mirror image's face. There were no signs of bluffing there. Manhunter was serious, deadly serious. He clutched at the bullet wound in his right shoulder. Manhunter had placed his shot well. The bullet had cut across the maximum number of pain receptors.

Finally, the clone decided on a course of action. "All right, I'll tell you. He's hidden himself in one of the Catwoman's hideouts - the Catacombs underneath the city. The best place to enter them is by the subway stop on Sixth Avenue and Twelfth Street. Satisfied?"

Now it was the Manhunter's turn to gauge his double's face. He saw no trace of trickery, the clone was telling the truth. "I'm satisfied."

"Now what?" the clone said hopefully. Perhaps Manhunter would let him go. If not, he had a pistol hidden on his left wrist, ready for use.

"Now you die," Manhunter said coldly. A precise shot tore through the clone's wrist. "I knew you'd hide a gun there." He holstered his Mauser and drew out his Burundi knife from the folds of his sleeve. He drove the blade through the clone's midsection. "There can be only one."

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JSA HEADQUARTERS - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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In the main meeting room of the Justice Society, a number of JSAers sat with dejection showing on all of their faces. They had been completely unsuccessful in tracking down Dr. Mid-nite's attacker. Returning to their headquarters, they hoped to come up with a new investigative plan. All of those who had first responded to Dr. Mid-nite's plight were there, except for the Flash and also Hourman, who had left notice that he was hot on the trail of a drug runner.

"So what the heck are we gonna do about this?" Wildcat asked gruffly.

"I wish I knew. My blackout bombs and infra-red goggles in the wrong hands could spell lots of trouble," Dr. Mid-nite replied.

"Say, you'd think the Flash would be helping us instead of running off somewhere," Johnny Thunder blurted out. His Thunderbolt, who was hovering next to his master, decided that the Flash would be decidedly unhappy if he brought the Scarlet Speedster here because of Johnny's "Cei-U" invocation.

"Apparently, he has other things to do," Starman remarked.

"I wish we had some other JSAers in on the case. Heck, I'd even be willing to have that Power Girl broad working with us again," Wildcat declared.

"We all know that's not going to happen, Ted," Dr. Mid-nite answered. "Power Girl was never actually real. She was just a simulacrum that Brain Wave constructed from Superman's mind."

"Yeah," Wildcat sighed, "It was all part of his and Degaton's master plan to wreck the JSA back in '74." Wildcat sighed again. "Still, for a tough feminist, she wasn't all bad."

"True," Starman added. "It did make Superman a little happier, making him think he wasn't the last Son of Krypton. We were all surprised when she blinked out of existence when Brain Wave died."

Silence fell on the meeting room. Brain Wave had sacrificed himself to save his son from the Ultra-Humanite. In the process, he had also saved the members of the JSA.

"I move we put this case on the backburner," Starman suggested. "Let's go home. If anybody gets any leads, give a shout on the communicator."

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THE FOX BUILDING - NEW YORK CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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Carter and Shiera Hall were busy reorganizing their penthouse apartment after their recent battle with Hastor. They had tried contacting the other Immortal JSAers and asked them to meet at JSA HQ later tonight. They had not been very successful in their efforts. They hoped that Connor had better luck in Fawcett City.

"The Atom's JSA communicator seems to be off. Either that, or it's broken. I tried calling him on the phone, but there's no answer at either his home or at his office at Calvin College," Shiera commented as she arranged and rearranged a collection of vases.

"The Flash seems to be incommunicado as well," Carter added. "Knowing him, he could anywhere, or anywhen for that matter." Carter knew full well that the Flash could travel in the timestream under his own power.

"That just leaves Robin," Shiera said. "Hopefully our visitors will be able to find him and save him from Grayson."

"I certainly hope so." Carter was concerned about the former Boy Wonder's fate. Uncle Sam, Shining Knight, and Duncan MacLeod - Immortals all - had come across the Atlantic in order to save Robin from the ancient Immortal Grayson.

Carter stood with his hands on his hips. He and Shiera had spent a number of hours cleaning up the place. Hastor's attack had destroyed them a number of priceless artifacts. It had also cost them a ninth-metal harness and a pair of hawk-wings. However, Hastor was a problem to be dealt with later. For now, the focus had to be on Vandal Savage.

"Green Lantern seemed to be upset about something, but he wouldn't say what," Carter noted. "Maybe it has something to do with Savage. GL was the first of the JSA that Savage encountered."

"We'll find out tonight," Shiera replied. She was now busy sharpening her favorite ancient Egyptian sword.

A sound from the door got the attention of the two Immortals. They turned to see that the doorknob was slowly turning. Carter rushed over to the wall and unfastened a battle-axe. Shiera now held her sword ready.

The door opened and the shiny armored figure of the Silver Scarab stepped through.

"Hector?" Shiera called out in surprise. They had given their adopted son a key to the penthouse long ago, but he had never used before.

Carter relaxed momentarily. "What brings you around here, son?"

'Hector' closed the door behind him. "Death." Such were the orders given the clone that Vandal Savage had created.

A sudden realization came upon Shiera. She looked over at Carter. "I can't Sense him!" They had not seen Hector since he had claimed to have come into his Immortality.

"Neither can I," Carter exclaimed.

"You lied to us, Hastor lied to us. You're not Immortal." Shiera's tone was intense.

"No, I'm not, but I'm going to outlive both of you." 'Hector' raised both of his hands and let loose a barrage of solar-powered blasts.

Shiera and Carter ducked as the energy blasts tore through the penthouse. Carter was up first, battle-axe in hand. He had to dodge another solar blast, and his strike only glanced off of the Silver Scarab armor. 'Hector' connected with a burning hot right cross to Carter's chin.

Carter stumbled back over an ottoman and fell to the ground. 'Hector' stood over him, his hands pulsing with solar energy, poised to deliver a gigantic discharge. Before he could unleash the power, his body jerked convulsively as Shiera's sword tore through his back and out through his chest.

"Don’t you touch him!" Shiera screamed as she twisted the sword inside of 'Hector'.

The intense pain that 'Hector' was experiencing subsided as life left the clone's mortal frame. The lifeless armored form tumbled over onto the floor.

"I’ll see you in hell ..." the clone gasped with this last breath.

Shiera stood silently over the still body, waiting and hoping that her son would come back to life. Bracing her foot against 'Hector's' back, she pulled the sword out of the body. She waited and waited but there was no sign of life returning. She turned to face Carter.

"Thanks, darling," Carter said gratefully. "That's twice you've come to aid lately."

"We were wrong,' Shiera sobbed. "We always thought that he was going to become Immortal."

Carter gathered his wife into his arms. "I don't know how, but we were both wrong." He stroked his hand softly through her hair. "Hector would never have done this. Savage must have gotten to him. This was what Connor was warning us about."

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TREVOR ESTATE - NEW YORK CITY

JUNE 5, 1985

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In the elegantly decorated parlor inside of the Trevor Estate, Mr. And Mrs. Trevor were quietly relaxing. It was a very welcome change of pace for the couple. For decades, they had both been exceedingly active. Now they were beginning to enjoy the simple things in life.

Retired US Air Force General Steve Trevor and Diana 'Wonder Woman' Prince-Trevor sat lazily on a pillow covered couch. "So what's this JSA meeting you have to go to tonight?" Steve inquired softly as he played with Diana's hair.

"I don't know," Diana replied softly. "Shiera was being very mysterious." Diana was not really looking forward to the meeting. She was finally beginning to enjoy her semi-retirement. She had been fighting crime almost constantly since she first came to the Man’s World from Paradise Island in 1941. She along with Batman and Superman were the sole heroes that continued with crimefighting during the anti-hero sentiments of the 1950’s.

"Hawkgirl didn’t say anything about it?"

Diana leaned in for a quick kiss. "No, although the implication I got was that it was a meeting for only the Immortal members of the JSA."

"Ah," Steve sighed. "The eternal warriors, the forever heroes. There certainly are a lot of you in the Society. I guess that’s why they let you in the club."

"That’s not the reason and you know it," Diana replied. It was because she was a great crimefighter. She never was angry with the boys for only making her the Society’s secretary in the early days. She was never angry with them for not telling her about Immortality until she came into it in 1974, along with Robin. She was angry with her mother, Queen Hippolyta of Paradise Island, for keeping the truth from her for many years.

Hippolyta had told her the reason for Amazon immortality was the magic of Paradise Island. She had told Diana that an Amazon would lose her immortality if she left the secreted isle. Shortly after she experienced her First Death, Diana traveled in her Invisible Plane to Paradise Island to confront her mother.

It was then that Hippolyta told Diana about the true purpose of Paradise Island. It was a refuge created centuries ago for female Immortals. It was a place that they could train to prepare for the Gathering. It was also Holy Ground. Hippolyta had founded the Island in order to protect the female Immortals that were all too often the easy prey of the male. Occasionally, Amazon agents would be sent out to bring worthy new female

Immortals and pre-Immortals to the Island.

Hippolyta also explained that Diana had been discovered as a foundling on the shores of the isle. The queen had hoped to instruct her until she reached her physical peak, at which time Hippolyta would cause her First Death. However, with Diana’s departure to the outside world, that plan had been abandoned. Hippoloyta decided to let Diana come into her Immortality in the natural course of time. During the passage of time, Diana had adopted an orphan, who Hippolyta later told her, was a pre-Immortal. That daughter Diana named after her mother. Now the younger Lyta was a member of Infinity, Inc. as the heroine Fury.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Steve teased.

"I was just thinking," Diana mused. "There has to be some way that we can be together forever."

"Look, angel." Steve sat up quickly. Despite the passage of the years, Steve was still a strikingly handsome man. His blond hair had almost been completely replaced with white, but the face was still there. It was the face with which Diana had fallen completely in love at first sight. "You tried when you were under the thrall of the Stream of Ruthlessness. It almost got me killed."

"I know. I’m so sorry. Now you have to use that cane." Diana buried her head in Steve’s chest. She had come so close to losing him that day.

"Angel, being with you is better that this old flyboy could ever have hoped for. The simple fact is, you’re Immortal and I’m mortal. I’ve resigned myself to it. There’s nothing we can do."

Diana looked up and stared into Steve’s eyes. She was still enthralled with him. "You’re right, Steve. It’s just that I can’t bare the thought of going on without ... "

Steve lifted Diana’s chin. "You’ll get by. That Amazon strength isn’t just good for throwing bad guys around. Besides, let’s not dwell on it anymore. I still have a lot of good years in me."

"You know, I’m glad my mother didn’t tell me about Immortality. We were able to grow old together, at least until 1974."

Steve poked her. "Oh, I don’t know. Somehow, the thought of being married to a perpetually young woman sounds interesting."

"Steve Trevor!"

"Hey, Angel. I was only kidding. I’d love you no matter what age you appeared to be."

Steve got up to put a new record on the phonograph when he heard a sound coming from the main entrance. He looked over to Diana. "Hon, do you mind putting on the second Sinatra album? I’ll go see who it is."

"Sure," Diana replied. She filed through the album rack. It would not be hard to find the album. Steve was very organized when it came to his music. All of the albums were stacked in alphabetical order by artist and then chronologically by release date.

By the time Diana had placed the phonograph arm down on the vinyl, Steve was standing in the doorway. He was not alone, however. At his side was what appeared to be their adopted daughter Lyta in a long overcoat.

"Lyta!" Diana exclaimed in surprise. "What are you doing home?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Lyta replied coldly. "I brought a gift for you."

"A gift?" Diana got up to embrace her daughter. There was something wrong with Lyta, but Diana could not put her finger on it.

"What kind of gift, princess?" Steve asked.

"The gift of everlasting death!" ‘Lyta’ exclaimed. She pulled out a saber from her overcoat. A quick drive of the hilt to Steve’s chin rendered the Air Force veteran unconscious. The specific orders given to clone of Lyta were to kill Diana Prince.

Diana reacted automatically. She leapt across the room and bowled ‘Lyta’ over. The two tussled for frantic seconds. Diana tried to wrest the saber from Lyta’s hands, but she could not disarm the girl.

Lyta managed to push Diana away. The saber was now firmly in her hands. She approached Diana slowly, murderous intent blazing in her eyes.

Diana steadied herself. There was no chance for her to get to her own sword. It was lying on the oaken table across the room. It would take a variation of the old Amazon game of "bullets and bracelets" to see her through this day. She would have to win a game of "blades and bracelets" to see another day.

Lyta struck again and again, but each time Diana was able to catch the edge of the saber on her Amazonian bracelets about her wrists. With each parry, Lyta became more and more frustrated. Metal sparks flew each time the saber clashed against the bracelets.

With Lyta’s growing frustration, Diana able to simply dodge more and more of the strikes. She could see an opening developing. After one ill-conceived thrust, Diana was able to turn the blade away with her left arm. With her right arm she delivered a powerful right cross. While Lyta stumbled backwards, Diana rushed to get her own sword.

By the time Lyta had righted herself, Diana was armed and ready for battle. Lyta’ face seemed more concerted now. It was no longer filled with rage, but with fierce determination. Any words that Diana uttered were met with complete silence on Lyta’s part. Diana eagerly engaged in the swordfight.

Their blades clashed repeatedly, but neither was able to find its way past the other. With each passing moment, both combatants became increasingly frenetic in their attacks. Soon the blades were slashing through the air with incredible speed. Each attack was parried, each counterattack was turned away.

Diana could feel her own control slipping away. It was the Amazon berserker rage that her mother had taught her about. She was now using her blade with the sole intent of killing Lyta. Before she even knew it, Diana had slipped past Lyta’s guard and driven her sword through the girl’s abdomen. Diana pulled her sword back as she was shocked back to her senses.

She went over to the Steve and cradled his head in her arms. She patted his cheeks. "Steve, are you all right?"

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. His chin was pounding with pain from a massive bruise. "I think so. Lyta ... ?"

"She's dead. I killed her," Diana said softly.

"Oh," Steve replied, his mind still dazed.

Diana helped Steve over to the couch and helped him lie down. Then she went over to Lyta’s side. There was a pool of blood underneath the girl’s body. Diana turned her daughter over and waited.

She waited for agonizing minutes. Lyta’s wound did not heal. Lyta was not returning to life. The realization began to sink in. Lyta was dead, irrevocably dead.

"Oh gods, Steve," Diana cried. "I thought she was Immortal. We all thought she was going to be Immortal."

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MANCHESTER, GEORGIA

JUNE 6, 1985

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The three fastest Immortals alive - Jay (Flash) Garrick, Max (Quicksilver) Mercury, and Johnny Quick - convened once again at Max's home in Manchester. They had met here every day since they began their quest to find out the truth behind the attacks on Flash and Johnny.

The three speedsters were all stretched out on various pieces of furniture. The days of hyper-speed searching had taken its toll. All of them were out of breath from the extended running.

"So, Jay, do you have anything?" Johnny asked.

The Flash lifted up his helmet that had been obscuring his face. "Not a rotten thing. Joan's dead, and I don't have a clue who's behind it."

"Patience," Max offered consolingly. "We'll find out soon enough. It's just a matter of time."

"That's easy for you to say," Jay snapped back. "It's not your wife that's lying dead. How can you be so practical about this? Haven't you ever lost anyone in your Immortal life?"

"I have," Max sighed. "She was the love of my life, and the American government killed her. That's why I never joined up with the All-Star Squadron. I couldn't serve this country, not with what it had done to me." Max wiped a tear from his eye.

Jay did not know what to say in reply. He had never seen Max respond this emotionally before. He had always wondered why Max never answered FDR's call for mystery-men to join the Squadron in 1941. He was not going to press Max for details now.

An uneasy silence fell over the room. It was interrupted by a soft buzzing sound.

"What’s that?" Johnny was the first to ask.

Jay looked down to his belt. "My JSAer communicator." His fingers were a blur as he fiddled with it. "All of that time at super-speed must have played havoc with its circuitry." In a few seconds, the device was repaired. Jay noted that someone was trying to contact him. Pressing a hidden button in his belt, he spoke.

"This is the Flash."

After a slight pause, a voice projected from Jay's belt. "Jay, it's Carter." Both Max and Johnny could recognize the voice of the famed Hawkman. They could also tell that there was an intense sadness in the Egyptian Immortal's voice. "We have a situation in Gotham. One of our old foes, really old, if you know what I mean."

Jay gritted his teeth. He knew Carter would not call unless the problem was dire. "I've got a situation of my own here."

"My guess is that they're related. Come to the HQ tonight."

Jay thought for a moment and then replied. "I'll be there." He turned off the communicator and addressed his fellow speedsters. "Pick this up tomorrow?"

"Sure," Johnny replied. "You want us to tag along?"

"Why not?" Jay answered. "If it turns out to be nothing big, you two can be home pretty quickly." He turned to Max. "Will you come?"

Max stood up and took Jay's hand into his own. "You know I will."

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SUICIDE SLUM - METROPOLIS

JUNE 6, 1985

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In the crime-ridden depths of Suicide Slum, the Guardian was doing his best to give its residents hope. He was putting the finishing touches on the day’s big crime bust. A street gang named the Zoo Crew had tried to rob the Valley Tree Bank, one of the very few financial institutions that still operated in this part of Metropolis. The Guardian had stopped these would-be thieves without breaking much of a sweat.

Once the police had carted the Zoo Crew away, Roy Harper stepped out of a nearby alley. He had been watched his Uncle Jim, the Guardian. That was his job. He was a Watcher; the Guardian was his Immortal assignment.

"Uncle Jim," Roy said very seriously.

"Roy!" The Guardian turned in surprise. Although they were family, there was an emotional distance between them. They had gone so long without the knowledge of their family tie. It was only after Roy had returned from being lost in time that they had gotten to know each other. It was at that same time that Roy became Jim’s Watcher. "It's nice to see you out in the open for once."

Roy shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah, well, you know how it is. Watchers and Immortals, and we’re not supposed to interfere." He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Uncle Jim. There’s something going down in Gotham. That’s the word among the Watchers. There are all sorts of costumed Immortals gathered there. I just thought you might want to know."

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ROGERS PARK - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 6, 1985

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Duncan MacLeod, Uncle Sam, and the Shining Knight were about to split up and commence a search of the park. They had spent the last few days searching for Robin, but they had been completely unsuccessful. They began to fear that perhaps they were too late - that the ancient Immortal Grayson had taken the youngster’s head.

Suddenly the trio each felt the Sensation of another Immortal. Their hands slowly went for their swords as they looked for the newcomer. To their eyes, the park was deserted as far as the eye could see.

"I can’t see nobody around," Uncle Sam exclaimed.

"Mine eyes see none of our kind," Shining Knight said in agreement.

"Then you’re not looking in the right place, Sir Justin," a voice called out from the trees. The yellow-caped form of Robin dropped out of a nearby elm tree. "Have you guys come for me?" Robin had been patrolling the park since the previous night. He had recognized the face of the victim of a death here. The face was that of Paul Kirk, but Robin knew that it was one of the clones.

"Mother and country," Uncle Sam shouted happily. "The kid’s alive."

Robin went over and shook Sam’s hand. "Sure I am. Am I not supposed to be?"

"We had feared for your Immortal life, young Robin," Shining Knight explained. "We want to warn you about another Immortal named Grayson. He had prized your head most dearly."

"Well, I appreciate your concern," Robin shrugged. "But I’ve already encountered him."

"Then .., you killed him," Duncan said in surprise. From what Darius had told him about Grayson, he would have been a formidable opponent. Duncan concluded that Robin must have been very skilled or very lucky.

"No, but he’s dead nonetheless," Robin replied. "I’m sorry, but do I know you?"

"I’m Duncan MacLeod."

"Duncan MacLeod?" Robin responded. "Related to Connor, I take it?"

"We’re kinsmen," Duncan explained. "Same clan, different vintage."

Robin nodded. "Anyways, I’m sorry but you guys missed out on the fun. However, there is something that might interest you. A bunch of the superhero Immortals are getting together later tonight. We’ve got a problem, and his name is Vandal Savage."

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JSA HEADQUARTERS - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 6, 1985

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The main meeting room was buzzing with Immortals. There were all of the Immortals members of the Justice Society - Hawkman, Green Lantern, Flash, Atom, Wonder Woman, and Robin. There were other costumed Immortals - Hawkgirl, Quicksilver, Johnny Quick, and the Guardian. There were also the two MacLeods - Duncan and Connor.

Hawkman, the permanent chair of the Society, pounded his gavel on the oaken tabletop. "People, let’s come to some kind of order here."

"Order?" The Atom shouted. "What we have here is pure chaos. What kind of heroes are we? My Mary’s dead! Jay’s wife is dead! Diana’s daughter, too! Your son for crying out loud!"

"And the love of my life," Green Lantern muttered. It really had not sunk in that Molly Maynne was dead.

The Guardian nudged Quicksilver. "I heard something was happening in Gotham. I had no idea it was this big."

"Neither did I," Quicksilver replied. "Johnny, Jay, and I thought it had something to do with the Watchers, based on what happened to Johnny, but I guess we were wrong."

The Guardian looked at Quicksilver in surprise. "You know about the Watchers, too?"

Quicksilver smiled. "It’s hard to hide from somebody as quick as I am."

Hawkman was pounded his gavel again as the room was once again filed with chatter. "That’s why were gathered together. We have to figure out what to do. It’s obvious that we’re being targeted, just like we were a few years ago."

"You were?" Connor asked. "Who was responsible that time?"

Wonder Woman was the first to reply. "The Ultra-Humanite was after the Immortals of the JSA a few years ago."

"Was he one of us?" Connor wondered aloud.

"No," Wonder Woman answered. "Although he did manage to escape death a few times by teleporting his brain moments before an apparent demise."

The heroes began discussing the Ultra-Humanite's plots against the Justice Society. Connor rose from his seat. "You can discuss this all you want. It all boils down to this. Savage has to be stopped … permanently." Connor’s voice was icy cold.

"That’s not how we operate, Connor," Robin replied.

Connor shook his head. "This isn’t a game of good guys and bad guys where the bad guys land in jail at the end of the day. This is the Game. This is what we do. Savage is behind all of these deaths, I’m sure of it. He killed one of my oldest friends." He slammed his hand on the table. "I want his head, but I’ll settle for his death."

Duncan was unsure about the situation even after Connor had explained it to him earlier in the evening. Now he was certain. "We’re all Immortals. It’s what we do - kill other Immortals. Vandal Savage is evil pure and simple. He’s millennia older than any of us. He could be the oldest for all we know. If we don’t stop him, he’ll get us all, but he’ll get you heroes first. He’s already killed someone dear to all of you. He has to be stopped."

"How would you have us accomplish this?" Robin asked.

"We hunt him down. I’m certain that he’s here in Gotham. However many of us fall in the attempt, we take him down." Connor’s determination could be felt by all.

Hawkman pounded his gavel once again. "I think I speak for all of us that we need to heed Connor’s words. Vandal Savage is too much of a danger for us to handle in the traditional superhero way. He’s an Immortal, and he must be treated as such. He must be made to pay for what he’s done to all of us." He took a deep breath. "The motion is for us to hunt down Savage and take his head. Do I hear second?"

"Seconded," Green Lantern replied dryly.

"All in favor say ‘aye’", Hawkman declared.

‘Aye’ was the resounding reply of all of the Justice Society members. Those who were not members simply nodded their heads in assent.

"The vote is unanimous," Hawkman announced. "Now we have to decide on a plan of action to find Savage."

Suddenly all of the Immortals gathered in the room felt the Sensation of another coming into their midst. It was certainly a surprise to the members of the Justice Society. All of the Immortal members were already there; who else would be able to get by the security systems?

"Could it be Savage?" was the thought that went through a number of Immortals’ heads.

As Manhunter entered the meeting room, all of the Immortals had already drawn their swords. Robin was the only one to recognize the newcomer.

"Put down your swords," Robin implored. "That’s Paul Kirk, the Manhunter."

"Manhunter?" was the collective gasp. None of the heroes, save Robin, had seen him since the War.

"You’re looking for Vandal Savage, right?" Manhunter said, somewhat rhetorically." He had hoped to leave word for Robin and the rest of the JSA. He was pleasantly surprised to find all of these Immortals here. He thought that it was too coincidental for all these Immortals to be gathered while one of their arch-foes was operating underneath them.

There was a collective nod. Then Manhunter continued. "I know where he is. It’s an old hideout of the Catwoman. Her labyrinth beneath the streets of Gotham - the Catacombs."

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THE CATACOMBS - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 6, 1985

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One of the Manhunter clones entered Vandal Savage’s inner sanctum. The ancient Immortal was already in a foul mood. This latest news would only make it worse.

"Savage, we have a problem."

Savage whirled around, his face full of rage. "What is it now?"

"Number 6 was found dead in Rogers Park. A bullet wound and a fatal sword wound. We’re certain it was the Original."

"So," Savage said derisively. "He’s killed others of you clones before."

"Number 6 was one of the few on the outside who knew about this location. Knowing how the Original’s mind works, I’m sure that he would force the information out of him."

"Our location is compromised," Savage mused. "That means that there’s no more time for subtlety. Make sure that the prisoners are secure. They could be of future use."

"Yes, sir," the clone replied.

"Secondly, I want you to gather all of your clone brothers that you can. I want them patrolling the catacombs. Their orders are if they come across any of the JSAers, they are to kill them and decapitate them."

"Decapitate?" the clone said in surprise. "Isn’t that a bit ... pardon the pun, overkill?"

Savage was not amused. The Manhunter clones had no knowledge of Immortality or the Game. "I want their heads because I want proof that they are dead."

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THE CATACOMBS - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 7, 1985

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The battalion of superhero Immortals, along with Connor and Duncan MacLeod, had wasted no time in descending into the Catacombs. While it had been years since Robin had tracked Catwoman there, he still was able to find a secluded entrance relatively easily. He was grateful that there was not a welcoming party as they entered.

Once the battalion had reached the main level, Hawkman imparted the strategy. The Immortals who were not JSA members had acquiesced to his command. Some, like Johnny Quick and Guardian, were still unsure about the ethics of such an undertaking, but Connor argued convincingly that Savage needed to be destroyed.

"Plus," Connor added, "neither of you lost someone to Savage’s plan."

Hawkman issued the orders. Once someone found Savage, he or she was to active the homing device on the JSA communicator. He had issued the devices to the non-members as well. "When you find Savage, take a crack at him, but I want to be sure that the rest of us are there in case Savage wins a battle." Hawkman’s face was very grim. "It may cost us some of our lives, but one way or another, Vandal Savage dies tonight."

There were three tunnels heading off from the current location of the Immortal battalion. They divided themselves among the three paths. As they wound through the underground corridors, they continued to split apart with every branching. In a matter of minutes, each Immortal was following his own path. Each of them was hoping and dreading to be the first to find Vandal Savage, an Immortal millennia older than all of them.

The Manhunter clones were spread out all over the Catacombs. Each one of them regretted that they had not installed a video security system inside this old lair of the late Catwoman. It would have made the task much easier. They did not relish the thought of facing the heroes. The memories of the Original that were stored in their brains recalled how potent these heroes could be. Now that the mystery-men were out to avenge their loved ones would make them even more dangerous.

Because of the immense size of the Catacombs, the clones could not hope to cover the seemingly countless winding pathways. They did not have time to secure the entrances that they knew about, much less the many other entrances that they assumed also existed. It could turn out to be a suicide mission, and none of them wanted to lose his doppelganger life.

The speedster Immortals - Flash, Johnny Quick, and Quicksilver - had discussed the situation and all decided not to go racing through the paths hewn out of the bedrock. It was too dangerous to go speeding through this unknown territory. It would be too easy for Vandal Savage to have equipped this place with traps set to kill an Immortal. A razor sharp wire, for example, could decapitate an Immortal at super-speed. So the three speedsters moved their individual ways at the same speed as their compatriots.

Hawkman and Hawkgirl had both left their wings behind at JSA headquarters. There was no point in wearing them in these cramped underground quarters. Hawkman carried his favorite spear while Hawkgirl was armed with her favored axe. Their paths had run across Vandal Savage's more than any of the others over the years. Now with the blood of their son Hector on their hands because of him, they both vowed it would be their last encounter with the Cro-Magnon Immortal.

Duncan had tried to engage his kinsman in conversation on the way from JSA headquarters to the Catacombs. However, Connor was in no mood for conversation. The reason for Duncan's transatlantic journey was now moot since Grayson was already dead. He had only been given an overview of the situation, but he could tell that this Vandal Savage must be an Immortal of demonic proportions to produce this hunting group. He had never seen Connor so grim in the nearly four hundred years he had known him.

Uncle Sam whistled "Yankee Doodle" as he made his way forward. The tune did not distract his senses, as he kept them sharp for the slightest inkling of the Sensation of another Immortal. While any Sensation could be that of one of his fellow heroes, he wanted his reactions to be razor sharp, like his blade. Vandal Savage had created some painful suffering in this country that Sam loved. That Savage went after the family of the Immortals was lower than Sam had thought possible of the ancient Immortal.

The Atom's hands were wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. With his atomic strength, any normal blade would have been crushed by the pressure that he was exerting. Fortunately, his own scientific expertise, along with that of his JSA comrades, had allowed him to craft a weapon that could stand up to his prodigious strength. He had come a long way since being the non-powered Mighty Mite. However, his thoughts were not on the distant past but rather only on the more recent past. Vandal Savage had caused his beloved Mary's death. Savage would not live to regret it.

The Shining Knight could not help but hearken back to his days at Camelot. These heroes were like modern-day Knights of the Round Table to his way of thinking. However, modern-day 'rules of chivalry' did not allow for the killing of the enemy. These heroes had tried to live a life without death. However, Sir Justin well-knew that death was part and parcel of Immortal existence. Before, Vandal Savage had been content to play the part of a super-villain. He would not be afforded that luxury this time.

Emerald energy blazed from the ring on the Green Lantern's left hand. The sparks danced up and down the sword that he was carrying in that hand. He had been the first Immortal to struggle with Vandal Savage in the modern era. Back then, it was just a game. Now, Green Lantern knew it was the Game. Perhaps the time for colorful costumes was over. They were Immortals engaged in a battle for the Prize.

Manhunter's finely-honed senses were picking up nothing, but he knew that there would be trouble, perhaps around the next bend, or the one after it. His clones were working for Vandal Savage now. It was bad enough when they were working for the Council. He could understand that since the Council members were the ones that had created the clones. He had thought that the clones had perished when he destroyed the Council's base. Hopefully he would find them here. Getting Vandal Savage's head would be a nice trophy, though.

The Amazon fury that raged within Wonder Woman threatened to drive her over the edge. She could now feel the power that must have surged through her sister Amazons when they made their name feared in the ancient Greek world. Her rage came from her pain. Her adopted daughter Lyta was dead. Somehow Vandal Savage had turned the young heroine against her. Now the ancient Immortal would face an Amazon reckoning, if only she could reach him first.

Stalking through the Catacombs brought back memories of simpler times to Robin. How many times had he and Batman tracked Catwoman through this labyrinth? Crimefighting was just a game then. Catwoman had always been adamant about not killing anyone during her crimes. If she had resorted to killing, Robin knew that there was no way that Batman could have ever truly loved her. Now, there could be no thoughts of love. Robin knew that he could be faced with the greatest battle he ever faced in his relatively short Immortal existence. Vandal Savage was an ancient, the recipient of countless Quickenings over the millennia. How could he defeat such a foe? He would have to rely on the training he had received - that from his fellow Immortals in the JSA about the Game but more importantly that he had received from his late mentor Batman.

The Manhunter clones did their best against the encroaching heroes, but they were no match for the enraged Immortals. Luckily for them, the heroes remembered that they were heroes. They all dispatched the clones without resorting to lethal force. The only exception was Manhunter himself. He was not about to let a murderous attack from one of his doubles go unanswered. He had killed them before, and he would do it again, as long as they continued to act as twisted and evil images of him.

Hawkman rounded a turn and felt the burning Sensation in his brain. He peered through his mask to see Vandal Savage standing in front of the control board of a large computerized apparatus.

Savage whirled to see the ancient Egyptian entering the command center. He smirked and gave Hawkman a slight bow.

"Savage, your centuries of manipulation end here!" Hawkman bellowed as he brought up his spear.

"Really, Prince Khufu. You should have learned back on the Nile that your blustering does not faze me in the least," Savage replied. "Besides I have a previous engagement."

"He's mine," Connor snarled as he stepped into Hawkman's view. They could Sense each other now. "I've challenged him. You can have him next, if he defeats me." Connor's katana was drawn and he advanced towards Savage.

Hawkman scowled at Connor. Obviously the Highlander had not activated the homing signal of the communicator. Hawkman activated his and began an impatient wait.

"Connor MacLeod, pupil of Mirze-Ra," Savage said as he circled around. "Now he was an Immortal to be respected, even after he became somewhat of a fop, posing in the Spanish Court."

"Don't try to distract me, Savage," Connor said sharply. "Maybe you super-villains like jabbering when you square off against the heroes, but I only have time for blade upon blade."

"Have it your way, then," Savage replied. He opened the vest to his military outfit and pulled out a sabre. He pointed towards Connor and nodded. "En garde!"

Hawkman watched with surprise. He did not really believe that Savage was actually going to go through with the combat. He had expected the ancient Immortal to flee. Savage must know that a whole cadre of Immortals were here in the Catacombs, a notion reinforced by the deployed Manhunter clones. Did Savage really plan to fight all of the Immortals after his head?

Savage was waiting for Connor to make the first move. He was surprised that the Highlander continued to study him. "Not so impetuous as I would have expected," he noted aloud. "Mirze-Ra must have taught you well. I'm not facing some course Scottish barbarian."

"No," Connor swung sharply at Savage. "You're facing a Highlander."

Savage parried the blow, and the battle was now joined in full force. Hawkman was also joined, by the other heroes. All of them had felt the Sensation as they neared this control room after being drawn here by the homing signal. The combatants could feel the arrival of each of them, first Robin, then Manhunter, Wonder Woman, Hawkgirl, and the rest, but they did not pay them any heed. There were only two things important to both of them - the opponent and the sword he carried.

Savage opened up with a French-styled defense as he parried Connor's strikes. His sabre darted out now and again to test the Highlander's defense, but he could gain no advantage. Changing his stance, he adopted an Oriental style and now pressed his own attack.

The shift in tactics seemed to have surprised Connor. Savage was now advancing upon him while the Scotsman was drive back. Connor no longer answered with counterattacks of his own; he focused on parrying the thrusts of Vandal Savage.

"Then again," Savage thought. "Perhaps he is not so cultured after all." The Oriental form was working to great effect. He would stay with it until he broke through and delivered a killing blow. Once he took the Highlander's Quickening, he could move on.

All of the other Immortals had now filtered into the control room. They were all shouting words of encouragement to Connor, but he was apparently concentrating too much to hear them. While they all wanted Connor to succeed, some of them also wanted their own chance with the ancient Immortal. However, that meant that Connor would have fail, that Connor would have to lose his head. It was a sobering thought.

Savage continued to press forward. It was becoming progressively easier for him to win through Connor's defense. Already, he had tagged the Highlander a few times. He had only inflicted a few superficial wounds, but he was confident that the Scotsman was weakening. Soon, his opening would come, and then he would take the impudent Highlander's head.

Just as Connor seemed to be on the verge of falling prey to Savage's swordplay, he staged a comeback. His own technique shifted now. It was Vandal Savage who was taken by surprise this time. The defense was perfect for the attacks that Savage was launching. Connor turned aside Savage's blade with apparent ease. The Highlander could see the sense of surprise in Savage's eyes.

"Why do you think I'm carrying a katana?" Connor jeered. "I know something of the Eastern ways." He quietly thanked Ramirez for the training in the multitude of fighting styles, for the instruction that Nakano had given him. He had thought them a waste of time back there on the shores of the Loch and atop Mount Niri, now he was extremely grateful.

Connor's attack was too ferocious for Savage to consider anything but keeping the katana from his Immortal flesh. The spectators could see that the tide had turned and strengthened their cheers for Connor. Ignoring them still, Connor unleashed a flurry of attacks. Savage brought his sword up to parry, but with each block, his sabre was gradually knocked out of his grip. Connor sliced again, and Savage's sabre was sent bouncing across the room.

Foregoing any words of conquest, Connor stepped with grim determination towards the unarmed foe. Putting the point of his katana forward, Connor drove the sword home, piercing Savage’s heart. A look of utter surprise crossed the Immortal villain’s face. His complete confidence had not for a moment considered defeat to be a possibility. He had never been wounded so gravely before.

Connor yanked his katana from Savage’s bleeding breast. Savage clutched at his heart, as if to try to put the blood back into his body. He quickly realized that this was a futile endeavor and let his hands drop as he knelt before the enraged Highlander. Connor took hold of his sword with two hands and stepped to the side of Savage.

Vandal Savage turned his head and stared into Connor’s eyes. "You have won, Connor MacLeod. The Game, for me, is over."

"There can be only one!" The phrase reverberated through the cave and through the minds of all of the other Immortals there. Each of the heroes wondered at the skill with which Connor fought. Each tried to estimate his abilities against that of the Highlander. Would any of them be enough to defeat him, once he had received the potent Quickening of Vandal Savage?

Connor raised his sword and then brought it down. Vandal Savage's fifty millennia of Immortal existence came to an end as his head came away from his body. An eerie silence came over the control room. Small grey sparks erupted from Savage's neck. The sparks grew larger with each passing second. Then suddenly a massive pulse of grey energy surged from Savage's body and flowed into Connor. The Highlander was staggered by the influx.

The air inside of the control room was whipped up by the Quickening. Soon the onlookers were pushed back to the walls by the intensity of the induced winds. The air was charged with energy that played havoc with their Immortal senses. This was a Quickening such as none of them had ever seen before.

For his part, Connor was trying to keep his mind from descending into madness as that which was Vandal Savage became part of him. The power that was coursing through him was indescribable. It was as new of an experience as his first Quickening. He could not find the words to describe what he was feeling. Pleasure and pain, neither and both.

Images of the memories that Savage had collected over the centuries danced in Connor's mind. They threatened to overwhelm those that made Connor who he was. He steeled himself as the power continued to flow into him. He would accept the power that Savage relinquish, but he would not relinquish himself to Savage. He was the victor, Savage would not triumph over him in death.

The energy discharge struck against the control room apparatus repeatedly. Screen shattered, dials exploded, switches short-circuited. Soon, the electronics were melted into worthless slag.

As some of the controls went haywire, a secret panel slid back and revealed the prisoners within. The Immortals looked with astonishment through the fury of the Quickening to see their loved ones inside. Mary Pratt, Molly Maynne, Hector Hall, Lyta Trevor, and Joan Garrick were all inside and they were all unharmed.

Not that the Immortals could rush to the side of their loved ones. The Quickening still raged and the room was in chaos. However, it was beginning to die down. The flux of energy from Savage was diminishing. Connor had been battered by the experience but he was not broken. He struggled to stand despite the overwhelming sensations that coursed through his body. Finally, it was over, and he bowed his head.

Hawkman, Hawkgirl, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Flash, Quicksilver, Johnny Quick, and the Atom rushed towards the released prisoners while Robin, Duncan, Uncle Sam went to Connor. Manhunter and Guardian remained where they were and watched.

"Connor," Duncan asked with concern. "Are ye all right?"

"Give me a bloody minute and I'll tell ye," Connor gasped. His voice was raspy and his lungs grasped for air.

The reunions were interrupted by rumblings from beneath. Soon the entire room began to shake. The shaking became a rumble of earthquake intensity.

Robin looked over to the control board. He could see a pattern of red lights flashing. He quickly deduced what was going on. "The Quickening must have triggered a self-destruct sequence."

"Let's get out of here!" Hawkman barked. "GL! Give us some protection here, and hopefully we can make it back to the surface in time."

"Hold on a second," Robin countered. "Savage must have known this might happen. He must have a planned a way out." He quickly scanned the room until his eyes came upon another fake panel. The tremors had shaken it loose and Robin could see the seems. "There!" he pointed.

Green Lantern formed a battering ram with his power ring that smashed through the panel. There was a pneumatic tube on the other side.

"Good thinking, Robin!" Hawkman shouted over the din. "Everybody inside before the place caves in."

The Immortals and mortals rushed across the room and into the tube. Once everyone was inside, Robin activated the transport and it shot to the surface. They could hear small explosions beneath them as they rose. The tunnel was caving in below them.

"It must have been Vandal Savage's escape plan," Manhunter noted. "The Quickening would set off the self-destruct. Once he beat one of us, he'd escape with the tube, and leave us to be buried."

"Now he's dead and buried," Connor murmured. "Kastagir, my friend, you are avenged."

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MILLER HOTEL - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 8, 1985

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The next morning, Connor MacLeod rose from his bed feeling very strange. It had been a hard-fought battle, a battle of epic proportions, and he certainly felt it. Not only physically, but the mental and emotional strain of the Quickening had taken its toll on him. He looked at the window and noticed a red hue behind the curtains.

"Must be near sunrise," he thought, "or perhaps sundown." He really had no idea how long he had been sleeping. He slowly moved towards the window to get a look at what promised to be a spectacular sight, whether it be sunrise or sunset. As he opened the curtains, he noticed that it was neither. The entire sky was red and filled with bolts of lightning. It was frightening and at the same time strangely beautiful. The feeling that had gnawed at him since he awoke grew stronger with every passing moment. Suddenly, a thought and an urge coalesced in his mind.

He did not know what the urge meant at first. Slowly, he realized what it meant. It was the event for which he and all of the other Immortals had lived and fought. The Gathering had begun!

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ROBINSON AIRPORT - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 8, 1985

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It was a busy business day at Gotham's largest airport and the gates were filled with a multitude of impatient travelers. There were long lines waiting to board aircraft and constant streams of passengers emerging from the jetways.

At the gate for one particular commuter flight, a number of the passengers were perturbed by more than just the delays that had marked their flight. Once the plane had landed, one of their fellow passengers had pushed his way down the aisle from the back of the plane in order to be one of the first off of the plane. No one, not the passengers nor the flight crew, had sought to get in his way. He was a massive physical specimen, standing well over six feet in height and carrying two hundred plus pounds of weight, most of it muscle.

The passenger shoved to the side those who had not moved out of his way quickly enough. He barked at them with a gravel-like voice as he made his way to the doorway. He carried only one bag with him, a large leather case. He threatened to strike a few heads with it before he exited the plane.

Once inside of the airport, the Immortal known as the Kurgan looked out of the large glass windows to skyline of Gotham City. "So this is where the Gathering is. I would have preferred New York."

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JSA HEADQUARTERS - GOTHAM CITY

JUNE 8, 1985

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The large round table in the main meeting room was only partially filled with JSAers this morning. There had been no summons over the JSA communicators, but those who had come here knew that their presence was necessary. They sat at the table and waited for the JSA's chair to begin this ad hoc meeting. There was no written agenda, but all knew what the topic of the impromptu conclave would be.

Hawkman rose to his feet and looked over the heroes that were seated around the table. Green Lantern, Atom, Wonder Woman, Robin, and Flash all had their eyes upon Hawkman.

Placing the gavel softly down on the table, Hawkman begin. "We all know why we're here. It's the Gathering." He frowned and continued. "It's been a privilege fighting at your sides for the last forty years, but I think we all realize that the time for superheroics is over, at least for us."

Nobody voiced any objection.

"With the Gathering," Hawkman said with a slow tone, "we can't be effective members of the Justice Society any more. Perhaps we can still fight against mortal evil on our own, but all Immortals will be converging on Gotham soon. We have to watch out for them, we have to watch out for our heads. It's not a matter of being selfish, it's a matter of being in the Game."

Hawkman paused and then continued. "It would be unfair to the others for us to continue as members. Accordingly, I propose that we each submit our resignations from the Justice Society of America."

"So moved," Green Lantern sighed.

"Seconded," Flash added.

"Discussion?" Hawkman looked around the table, but everyone nodded their heads. There was no need for any other words.

Tearing off a piece of JSA stationery, Hawkman beginning writing. Once he was done, he passed the page to Wonder Woman. Each of the Immortals inscribed their name and continued the page around the table. When it returned to Hawkman, he added his own name to the page.

Hawkman sighed and looked as he thought out his words. He looked up again. "It's done." He pushed the page towards the center of the table. "That's it. I wish everyone the best of luck. I just pray that I won't have to face any of you." He turned and left the room.

The others quietly rose and left the room as well. No words marked their exit, as comrades who had fought side-by-side for decades now looked uneasily at the possibility of fighting against each other to the death.

When Wildcat arrived for monitor duty later that afternoon, he found the page sitting on the table. He was shocked to read the words written upon it.

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SALEM, MASSACHUSETTS

JUNE 8, 1985

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Deep in the heart of the forest just outside of Salem stood a tower with no doors. Inside, Dr. Fate tried to interpret the images that appeared in his crystal orb. Something ominous was on the horizon, but he could not ascertain its exact nature. The image of Connor MacLeod formed with the crystal.

"I know him," Dr. Fate said emotionlessly. "Kent Nelson met him, back in the Highlands of Scotland, fifty years ago."

He tried to probe further but the images only became more jumbled. One thing was clear - a crisis on unimaginable proportions was building, a crisis that might not only threaten the world but the entire universe, perhaps even the infinite universes that comprised the multiverse. This troubled even a being as powerful as Dr. Fate. His course of action was clear. He turned form the orb and made sure that the spells that protected the tower and Inza were intact. Having convinced himself of this, he floated off of the ground and flew at one of the walls.

Inza Nelson, formerly Inza Cramer, knew what it was. Her husband had kept many things hidden from her over the years. Inza had a secret of her own. It was after one of Dr. Fate’s battles with a Lord of Chaos that she had become Immortal. Kent had though that Fate’s magic had restored her to life, but Inza knew better. She also knew better than either Fate or Kent what the mystical signs meant. "In the end, there can be only one," she whispered to herself. "The Gathering is here."

Dr. Fate effortlessly passed through the stone walls of the tower and sped off to Gotham to rally the forces of good. He did not see the image that appeared inside of the crystal orb - an image of multiple Earths coalescing into one.