JLA #1
Know Fear - Part One
Minor Paranoia
By
"Today, I come to you from Gotham's newly reopened International Airport. On a day when Gotham's citizens should be celebrating their passport to the world beyond their city, the citizens of this once ravaged city have met with a new threat. Not a threat of superhuman design, nor one of twisted mind. No, today's menace was one of its own disheartened." The woman says, framed through the lens of a video camera. Keeping the microphone close to her mouth, she continues to speak toward the cameraman. "Here to explain the situation is Katherine Whaler, mother of one."
The camera shifts views, to show an older woman, her hair frazzled and out of place. In her arms, she holds a young boy close to her chest, holding him such that she can protect him from all harm. Eyes beaded with tears, she looks into the camera and begins speaking, "I don't know where to start. This is my son, Robert. He likes watching the planes as they take-off and land. So, when I saw the airport was reopening, I thought it would be a good treat to bring him down to watch all the new planes coming in."
Her attentions drift from one side of the room to the other, then land upon her son, stroking the soft strands of blond hair back from his eyes and kissing him upon the forehead. Turning back toward the camera, she continues, "Anyway, we were walking up the 'B' concourse, and he was tugging on my hand. He was so anxious to get up there. I remember him pointing wildly toward the windows, and that's when I heard the shots. I didn't know what it was at first. I guess all those years in Gotham kinda wore down my sensitivity to gunfire. When I looked up, there was a man waving his gun through the air, telling security guards to stay back or he'd start firing. That's when I grabbed Robert. I was so scared that he would get shot. I didn't see what happened next, but I know this: if I had lost my son..."
As the camera pans back toward the reporter, there is a slight glimpse of the woman's tears falling down her face and into her son's golden hair. Then the frame centers on the reporter, and she begins her telecast anew. "It is rumored that the timely arrival of the Batman prevented many of Gotham's finest from getting hurt, by disarming the assailant with what appeared to be a boomerang in the shape of a bat. No one knows what became of the Batman, nor his weaponry. When police arrived on the scene, the assailant was tied-up and ready to be taken into custody."
".you're just joining us, this is Meredith Carpenter with the Gotham News Bureau bringing you a live report from Gotham International Airport, where tonight, an angry citizen opened fire..."
In the WatchTower's Nerve Center, he watches the viewing monitors, allowing his attentions to drift from one instance to the next, never lingering for longer than it would take to ascertain the situation. But then again, Wally West has always been a quick learner, most likely a product of being the fastest man alive, and the man known as The Flash.
He hates monitor duty, despite how well his speediness attributes himself to the task. Perhaps it is the lack of motor activity, the necessity to sit in any one given place for an interminable amount of time. Calling out to the voice relays, he says, "JLA Crisis Archive. Index Flash-117. Cross-reference Gotham. Brief hostage situation at Gotham International Airport. Situation resolved by Batman. Suspect remanded to police custody. No prior arrest record. Subject claims that the airplane was rigged to blow. His use of weapon was to deter passengers from boarding the plane. No casualties. Minor injuries to one security officer and assailant. End File Flash-117."
"What do you think of that, Wallace?" A voice asks from behind him, and Wally turns to greet the Martian Manhunter, as the alien shifts out of his intangible state. The Martian floats there for a few seconds, peering over Wally's shoulder as he inquires for Wally's opinion.
"I don't know, J'onn. Seems like something up Batman's alley." Wally replies, smiling slightly beneath his crimson cowl. "Ya think about it, the fact that some kook opened fire in a very public place in Gotham doesn't seem that far-fetched. Not really something that the Justice League needs to concern itself with, and heck, Batman would tell us just the same. I'd think that this one can be closed, personally."
"Examine your circumstances," J'onn replies, alighting on the platform beside Wally and pointing toward a freeze-frame of the suspect's face. "The propensity for Gotham's citizens to entertain impulses of an insane nature may seem high, but this is a citizen who has no prior exposure to criminal impulse. His public record is astounding, and in fact, he is not an original citizen of Gotham. He's come to Gotham, as many have, to seek opportunity in a newly re-opened market."
"I've done my fair share of studies in my time, but I think I'm missing the point, J'onn. Care to explain?"
"The moral is simple, Wallace. When criminality becomes the acceptable outlet for madness, it is still, under most circumstances, caused by outside influences. Even the most imbalanced mind must experience some sort of stimuli which propagates his unacceptable behavior patterns. There is no such thing as coincidence."
"So, what you're saying is that I shouldn't file this one under Case Closed, just yet."
"Precisely."
Two days later.
Pacing nervously at the front of the classroom, Nora Beckwith looks over her students, hoping that they are listening to her history lessons and taking something with them. "And in closing, just like we do every Friday afternoon, I'd like to hit upon a current event that affects each and every one of us. Today, we're going to discuss the abuse of guns and their usage in the schoolyard. Would anyone like to start?"
"My dad says guns are okay as long as you're responsible and know what the right and wrong time is to use them." A student replies, raising his hand from the back of the room as he talks. "I mean, my dad keeps all sorts of guns locked away in a cabinet in the den. And he knows I'm curious about them, but we have a deal that I won't use one until I'm old enough to respect how they're used."
"Well, that's a good opinion, for most N.R.A. card-carriers, but do you know how many people are killed by guns each year?" Another student, this one female, spouts from across the room.
"Settle down, folks. This is a debate, not a verbal war." Ms. Beckwith says, trying to regain control of the situation before it gets out of hand. "Guns are dangerous, and Kate has a point about the number of firearm fatalities each year. In schools alone, this number has climbed to an alarming figure."
Her words are cut-off by the ringing of the afternoon bell, signaling the end of the class and the end of the school day. The students shuffle through their books and papers, hurrying to stuff them into their bookbags and get to their after-school lives. And that's when she snaps, yelling over the noise, "I did not dismiss you from this classroom!"
From the far left side of the room, Kate looks up from her desk and her eyes shoot wide with fear. She cannot believe what she's seeing as she stares at the gun folded across Ms. Beckwith's lap. "Ms. Beckwith, it's time to go home." She says, meagerly, unsure of what's going on.
"No one is leaving this room until I am certain that you will not be killed in the hallway." She replies, staring back at her students and walking over to the lone classroom exit. Locking the door, she turns back to the her students and says, "Don't worry, I'll keep you safe."
"What's the situation, officer," The Flash says as he skids to a halt in behind a police car, the streak of red blur coming together into the form of his costume. Milliseconds pass, and he finds himself growing impatient for an answer. "What's going on inside?"
The police officer clears his throat, and he's obviously still not comfortable with superhuman assistance in police matters, but since the Flash has long been the guardian of Keystone City, he supposes there is no reason to complain. "Nora Beckwith, history teacher, has taken her last period hostage. Anytime someone tries to talk to her, she keeps yelling how it's unsafe for her students to leave. Too much violence in the school system or some nelly stuff like that. Old bat must have a screw loose."
"Thanks, that's all I neededtoknow." Wally says, his words blending together as he races off between the police cars and gathered officers, nimbly dodging as he streaks up the front walk of the school yard in less time than it takes to blink. His feet barely touch the linoleum as he races down the hall and skids to a halt next to the classroom door, surprising a couple officers.
He knows that he can't just vibrate through it. That would cause the molecules of the door to explode outward, their kinetic energy excited beyond their ability to contain that energy. And with students and a teacher waiting on the other side of that door, he doesn't want to take the risk of hurting any innocents in the backlash.
And then it comes to him, a solution that should provide a suitable deterrence for the situation. His feet carry him down the hall once more, where the fire safety control panels are stored, and immediately, the fire sprinklers erupt in a cascade of cold water. That's his distraction.
In the next second, he is streaking back down the hallway, where his hands latch onto the doorknob hinges of the door, vibrating them to a speed of differing harmonics that separate them from the door's structure itself.
As the door falls forward into the room, the first shot is fired, but Wally is already a blur of blistering movement, and the bullet falls harmlessly to the floor, as he steals its speed just seconds from hitting a student. Then the gun disappears from Ms. Beckwith's hand, and Wally smiles from his seat upon the teacher's desk. "It's okay, kids. Class will be dismissed as soon as the officers take Ms. Beckwith to the principal's office."
For a moment, as the police handcuff the elderly teacher and take her away, Wally feels a twinge of something at the bottom of his gut, something that makes him ask, 'What if my plan hadn't worked? What if I wasn't the Flash?' And then it's gone, as quickly as it came, and he shakes his head, and decides to head home to Linda.
The Next Day
"I'm sorry to have dragged you from your personal lives, but we felt it was prudent that the Justice League discuss this situation before it got out of hand," he says, his voice echoing with the experience and heroism that the world attributes to the man known as Superman. His chest barreled-out and highlighted by the "S" insignia, he stands above the table of the JLA meeting room, addressing his teammates and peers.
"As the Flash and I noted previously, with the situation that occurred within the Batman's jurisdiction," J'onn begins, taking his chance to step in and lend his tactical expertise to the conversation.
He is the interrupted by Batman, whose dark and somber tone calls immediate attention to his presence, "A situation that was totally under my control, and completed by me, none-the-less without the Justice League's influence. I'd like to keep Gotham that way."
"Which would have been acceptable, if the situation had remained within Gotham. None of us have ever assumed that you needed our help, but this has moved to other cities. Yesterday, Flash calmed a teacher who was holding her students hostage in the name of keeping them safe from violence in the schools." Superman butts in, then continues, "which is a noble cause, but that school had no previous record of violent incidents."
"Kids are going off like dynamite, Superman. It's happening every day, and usually in those quiet, quaint neighborhoods." A youthful voice calls from the back, signaling that Green Lantern has actually been listening to the conversation. By and large the least experienced of the group, he has none-the-less proved his place in their number. "Big bully isn't always the bad guy anymore."
"And while that may be true, Kyle, we have to keep in mind that there was also an incident in Metropolis just this afternoon."
"Why didn't we hear about it?" Green Lantern asks, knowing that it had been his turn at the helm of the Nerve Center, that afternoon.
"It will appear in the morning newspapers first, then the news stations will pick up on it. Basically, one of the Daily Planet employees began assaulting his co-workers with a fire extinguisher. I subdued him with a blast of cold air, but what puzzles me is his claim that the building was on fire. I did a sweep of the building with my X-ray vision, but could find nothing to validate his claim."
Wonder Woman sits forward, resting her elbows against the round table. In her time in Man's World, she has seen many things, atrocities beyond imagination and crimes that no person should ever commit. But it is always the smallest things that seem so harsh, the ones that twist normally happy people into criminals. "There must be truth somewhere. There must be something that is forcing these innocents into deviant behavior."
"I agree with you, Wonder Woman," J'onn says, returning to the conversation. "I'd like to suggest something simple. As a unit, the Justice League will continue to combat the individual instances as they arise, hoping to learn something from them. I will begin my own investigation into the past instances, utilizing my telepathic abilities to screen the memories of the perpetrators for clues."
From the opposite side of the table, the red form shifts and twists, and suddenly, Plastic Man has taken on the form of a mouseketeer. "Geez Louise, Mr. Jonzz, I didn't realize everything was that bad. Maybe we should sing a song to make everything all better."
"And Plastic Man will remain here on monitor duty."
"Awwh, man.zonked again." Plastic Man says in response to his assignment, changing form into the Beaver, freckles and all.
"Then if everyone is agreement," Superman says, interrupting, "We'll begin immediately, keeping an eye on our respective locales until a situation arises. Looks like we're going to be reactive for the time being, until we learn something. J'onn will, as usual, keep a telepathic web between us all. At the first sign of trouble, check in with the team. I don't want anything going from bad to worse before we get it under control."
Mere hours later.
The wee hours are wearing thin on his awareness, making him consider an early trip to bed and a retirement from the drawing board, for the night, at least. He sets the pencil down into the cradle, stretching his arms back behind his head and yawning loudly. Talking to himself, he says, "Man, I really need to hire a ghost penciler or something."
Aiming his left hand toward the television, he envisions a toy bow-and-arrow set, complete with suction cup arrowhead. Green light reflects off the walls and ceiling, as his vision takes form and then fires at the power button of the television, bringing the screen to life. "Aaaaah, abuse of power," He says, settling back into the sofa and propping his feet up.
But then his humorous attitude is washed away as his eyes lock on the scene on the television, a scene filled with chaos and discord. His ring fires to life once more, whisking his costume from the atomic structure of his street clothes. Flying out the window, he shouts out across the telepathic connection, "Lantern to League. We got some rocky spots in my neighborhood. I'm heading in, but requesting back-up as per Superman. See you folks on the flip side."
And as he streams out over the New York skyline, his thoughts keep drifting back to the image frozen on his television screen, and he wonders, why would his friend and landlord, Radu be threatening Times Square with a bomb?
Next Issue: The Justice League rushes to avert a disaster in Times Square, a situation that has personal ties to Green Lantern. But even if they're successful, will the madness stop there? Also, J'onn begins his investigation in Gotham, trying to ascertain the cause for the insanity, but will his actions lead him into a trap? Find out in JLA #2.
Author's Notes
Here you have it, the first issue of JLA. Now, looking ahead at the Justice League and their exploits, a normal person would probably run with grief on how to keep the premiere superhero team of comics busy with ever-coming world threats. I know I would.
That is exactly the reason why we have taken a different approach with the JLA. We will be bringing JLA to you from a rotating team of creators, each one ushering in a new storyline, starting with myself. Know Fear will be a four part story, and hopefully, when all is said and done, I'll have laid some groundwork for the other writers to follow from.
So, stick around. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride and see what our writers have in store for the Justice League of America.
Thanks,
Michael Franzoni