By Mikel Midnight

The stagehand shakes his head, witnessing the event. "How do you do that?"

The man grins, "Magic, of course. Please take my friends to the auxiliary dressing room, and make sure they're fed and watered. Could you kindly cover their cages after they've had a chance to eat?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Zatara," says the stagehand as he wheels the cart, on which the cage rests, to one of the theatre's back rooms.

Giovanni Zatara winds his way through the hallways to his own dressing room, pausing to exchange brief pleasantries with the other stagehands and theatre performers he passes en route. He sighs as he finally arrives at his secluded room, locking the door behind him and removing his top hat and cloak, hanging them both on the coat rack by the entrance door.

As he turns around, he notices the additions to the room for the first time: a trio of cardboard egg cartons, each holding a dozen, grossly oversized, mottled green eggs. "An odd closing day gift," he mutters to himself as he walks over to the closest carton, picking up one of the eggs gingerly and holding it up to the light. "You'd make a heck of an omelet."

At his words, the egg starts to crack. With a shudder, Zatara sets it down back into the carton, and watches in horrified fascination as a number of rats pour out of it, leaping towards him and running across the ground onto his pants leg. "Star emoceb seilfrettub," he chants, and watches as they harmlessly flutter away.

"A fascinating trick," says a Chinese-accented voice from behind the gilt screen which Zatara had set up in his room. As the figure rises, Zatara sees a grotesque, bald, vaguely Asiatic-looking giant who nevertheless looks very calm and Oriental. He is dressed in long green silken robes and has a long, thin mustache. However, the giant's oddest feature is that he has only one eye, in the center of his brow. "But you can't make an omelette without breaking eggs, as you say."

Zatara eyes the giant warily, "These are 'gifts' of yours, Mister ... "

"I am called the Gorrah," says the giant. "I call these my demon eggs, though of course they are the products of science, not magic. Incidentally, fascinating library you have here. I was looking through your books as I awaited your arrival. I am quite fascinated by libraries."

"Those books are private," says Zatara through clenched teeth, "I would advise you to leave them be, to take your 'gifts' and depart from here."

The Gorrah shakes his head almost sadly, "Ah, but having brought gifts, I would feel unsettled were I to leave empty-handed." As he speaks, the other eggs crack, and soon the room is filled with swarming rats.

Zatara recoils as he finds himself being overrun by the small, grotesque animals. "Star emoceb ... " he begins, and then clutches his throat as he feels it constrict, silencing him.

"My little friends' bites do have that effect," says the Gorrah almost sadly as the magician falls stiffly at his feet. "Don't worry, the full-body paralysis is only temporary."

Hours later, a man in a long trench coat and hat enters the now-vacated dressing room. Walking quietly through the room, he comes across an oddity: a small green egg shard resting in the corner on the floor. He picks it up, turning the object to and fro carefully before his analytical eyes, before crushing it into dust.

The red convertible, with its signature 'bat' hood ornament, thunders into the dark, gloomy cavern with its engine roaring. Shortly after coming to a stop, the engine cackles and finally dies down, the lone passenger quickly disembarking. The Bat-man, although tired, snaps into a defensive stance on hearing the noise of shuffling papers. Two figures stand in the shadows, ransacking through the filing cabinets. Boxes of equipment are by them .... the place is in disarray. Not wanting to lose the advantage of surprise but knowing that the strangers obviously heard the car arrive, he takes several fog pellets from his belt and leaps back into the shadows, awaiting some clue as to what these intruders seek.

At the first sign of a noise, the figures turn to see the Bat-man. The first is a gaunt finger clad in a red robe and full hood with a yellow skull and crossbones emblazoned on his forehead. The second is an elegant woman of indeterminate age. She is beautiful and raven-haired with angular features, high cheekbones, and full, bowed lips. Her eyes are heavily shadowed with kohl. She is wearing a long gold silk dress, and an open-faced hood.

The man says, "So, if it isn't an old friend." His form starts to shift ... he and the woman change shape; the Bat-man is confronted with a pair of snarling wolves. He shakes his head, stunned slightly. Deciding that the smoke pellets would do no good against two who were able to locate him in the cave's shadows, the Bat-man desperately grabs at a bola from his belt and flings it forward, attempting to grapple the beasts.

The bola wraps itself around the legs of the larger wolf, which trips, but the smaller one continues its run and lands, snarling, its teeth inches from his throat. The Bat-man's eyes widen as the beast has him pinned against the ground. Realizing the beast seems to be lunging for his neck, the caped crusader attempts to reach up and grab the wolf in a chokehold.

The golden wolf struggles against the grip ... as the larger red one finally snaps the cord of the bola. The Bat-man fumbles desperately for the smoke pellets and attempts to toss one into the open mouth of the golden wolf.

The golden wolf coughs, shaking her head ... she jumps off the Bat-man in order to escape the gas. The larger one hits him from the side, one large paw landing on his head. The Bat-man winces in pain. He pulls his batarang out from his belt and pushes it forcefully at the red wolf's chest, attempting to push the beast back by any means possible.

The large beast swipes his paw again at the Bat-man's head, slamming it backwards into the stone floor of the Batcave. He feels his consciousness waning, and he moans softly as his body lie nearly limp against the batcave's cold stone floor. He raises his head with one last glare of defiance as the world begins to spin around him. At last, he succumbs and his head falls backwards, hitting the floor forcefully. The world fades to black. He thinks . o O (Perhaps ... perhaps for the last time. Mother... Father... forgive me...) As his inaudible thoughts cease, the black void of unconsciousness consumes the detective.

The gold wolf pads up. "kill him I want to kill him."

The larger one shakes its head. "No ... you remember what we planned. We have to keep him and the rest of the mystery men alive for now. Don't worry my dear Dala, you'll get your chance."

This is a small room with just enough space for a desk, chair, and a small counter in the corner. Stairs lead up to a small door above, and another small door can be seen to the left. Hanging along one wall is an assortment on gas-masks. Along the opposite wall, on shelves are canisters of gas and a spare gasgun. Upon the desk are vials of greenish liquid, various bits of electronic equipment, a small ham-radio, and a small notebook.

The Sandman hears sounds from deep inside his secret lab, and notices the door is ajar. He descends the staircase and enters the lab. "Dian?" He says "Humphries, are you down here?"

The Sandman moves down the stairs slowly. He can hardly see two figures in the flickering red light against the darkness. "Who's there?"

Another light flares up, and he sees a familiar skull-like facemask. Before him is a figure cloaked in red, clutching a torch in his withered left hand. Its light casts a ghoulish glare on the chalky plate of a face wrapped in the cowl of the dark figures darker cloak.

The Sandman hears a Texan slur, "Well if it ain't the doll baby." He says "I know that voice." A whip lashes out from the darkness, curling around his arm. He sees a tall, muscular man who walks with an arrogant swagger. His identity is concealed behind a black scarf with holes cut out for his eyes, but he doesn't bother to disguise his Texas accent when he speaks. He is clad in a trench coat, and is wearing striped chaps and brown leather boots and gloves. Around his neck is a bolo tie, the buckle of which is molded into the sign of the scorpion.

The Sandman says "Scarlet Ghost..." he backs away, "...and the Scorpion. What are you doing here"

The lights switch on to reveal his two foes, and the Sandman notices that his lab is in disarray. The Scarlet Ghost rasps, "We couldn't resisssst the appeal of sssuch a wonderful ssstash."

The Sandman thinks . o O (If they know this is my lab...then they might know my secret identity...) He reaches in his jacket for his gas gun, "I will show you what nightmares may come to those unable to resist temptation!"

The Scorpion's whip flashes forward again, wrapping around his wrist. The Scarlet Ghost comes up to him as he reacts, laughing hysterically. "You sssstopped me last time from pursssuing the caussse of justiccce .... now we will have our revenge!"

The Sandman shoots greenish gas from his gasgun at the room. "Justice!? You make a mockery of justice, and twist it to your own evil!" The two opponents cough. The Scorpion says, "That crap o' yours put me in the hospital last time ... I ain't puttin' up with it again!" The Sandman notices his new mask is full-face, shielding him slightly from the mists, and he plows forward, knocking him down and kicking the gasgun from his hands. He tumbles down into the overturned workbench on the floor, but recovers quickly and takes out his wirepoon. "The sleep gas is not my only weapon"

Scarlet Ghost approaches him, brandishing two torches, weilding them expertly, setting Sandman aflame before he can direct the wirepoon. "I am the reckoning man. I am the blood of sacrifice." The Sandman rips off his trench coat and throws the burning clothing onto the Scorpion, then steps back to get a clear shot at Scarlet Ghost. "Try that on for size!"

The Scorpion aarghs as he is covered with burning cloth. The Sandman launches a tether from the wirepoon, attempting to wrap it around Scarlet Ghost. The wirepoon seems to go right through the Scarlet Ghost, lost in his robes.

The spectral figure advances on the Sandman unabated. The Sandman says "Huh!?" and throws a left hook at the Scarlet Ghost. The left hook hits a hard jaw, and the Scarlet Ghost goes down ... a whip lashes out from the darkness, curling around the Sandman's throat. He feels the leather of the whip wrap around his throat, "Ack!" he cries as it tightens, choking him as he claws at the whip trying to release himself.

The Scarlet Ghost grabs the ends of the whip, tightening it, cutting off Sandman's air supply. The Sandman starts to gasp for air...air that does not come...the darkness encloses him...its finger reaching from the corner of his sight.

As he floats near unconsciousness, he hears a strong voice in the darkness. "Not yet ... there'll be time for thet later." The Sandman collapses to his knees...now he feels his consciousness drain away...replaced by blackness... A raspy voice penetrates the Sandman's dreamlike state. "Yessss ... him and the resst of the maskss will fall ... and we were promisssed much in return."

Superman walks silently into the dock along a darkened path. He looks furtively back and forth, trying to find the object of this late night jaunt.

The Bat-man appears from the shadows. "Superman," he says.

Superman spins and wonders how the man can be so silent. "Bat-man. You left a note where I could find it, so what's on your mind?"

"Something that may be of concern to you ... I don't know how vulnerable you are to ordinary sorts of attacks. I was recently ambushed by two old foes of mine who had found their way into my ... sanctum," the Bat-man says. "They mentioned that they were not working alone, and that they were working as part of a conspiracy against ... mystery men."

"Hrm... thanks for the warning, but I'm fairly tough of skin. I think I can weather an attack of that sort... mystery men? You mean this isn't just limited to you and I, don't you," Superman says. "I've heard rumors... things making the news across the country."

The Bat-man says, "I don't know. You're probably the most high-profile of the current spate of costumed crimefighters, and the only one I've had any sort of contact with yet. But yes ... Crimson Avenger, Sandman ... a few others ... may be relevant."

"I will keep an eye out," Superman says. "I believe that the Sandman strikes in New York. I've heard the name once. Are you going to take a trip to the Big Apple next, Bat-man?"

The Bat-man says, "Unfortunately, there's more to it than that ... if it were that simple, I would let the masks fend for themselves ... but when I started to investigate the attack ... I traced them to an old castle on the edge of Gotham but they were gone; I did however find some disturbing plans."

Superman says, "What sorts of plans?"

The Bat-man says, "Plans to kill the President."

Superman is incredibly disturbed, visibly. "We have to do something about that! But wait, we're wanted men, as wanted by the police as the people we catch. How can we approach the president?"

The Bat-man shakes his head. "I wouldn't advise it ... but we also don't know how many allies these people have. I have the time and the place ... it's outside the World's Fair, where at some point he plans to be apparently on a diplomatic tour."

Superman hrms... "How long do you think it'd take you to nose out who is behind this? Do we have time to wait?"

"I don't know," the Bat-man says. "We have three days. I'm trying to track down the details, but we might just have to show up and hope for the best. I don't even know how to contact the other masked adventurers who may be extant."

"You worry about the particulars," Superman says, "I can be in New York by tomorrow morning. Maybe I can track them down."

The Bat-man nods. "Good luck. I will be there as well ... I have confidence there isn't much the two of us won't be able to handle."

Superman says, "No, I don't think there is."

The Bat-man fades into the shadows. "Until then."

Superman nods and bounds away through the night, headed toward New York.

The man in the trench coat walks carefully through the Daniel Tandy's New York townhouse. He knows he has to work quickly, because the police will doubtless have been notified and will be at the premises soon. When he arrives at the living room, he blanches at the gruesome sight of the headless body laying in the pool of blood, the word 'HONOR' scrawled in blood on the wall. Sucking air in through his teeth, he approaches the mantelpiece to examine the souvenir left behind: a round object wrapped in an American flag. He opens it up to see, as expected, the decapitated head. "You sure made some enemies in your time," the man says to himself, and then freezes in place when he hears the familiar sound of a pair of guns being cocked behind him.

"He made some friends too ... put that back and turn around, your hands in the air." He returns the head to its resting place with exaggerated care, and turns around slowly to see a man wearing a simple outfit, which consists only of a blue old-fashioned hat, black mask, and big crimson cape over a usual dark-blue suit. The man in the trench coat smiles in spite of the twin Colt .44 automatics aimed straight at his heart. "The Crimson Avenger," he says.

The Crimson snarls, "The very same. Now tell me why I shouldn't gun you down right now for killing this man."

The man shakes his head, "Because I didn't kill him. We're in the same line of work, whether you care to believe it. Call me ... the Man of the Hour. I have placed an advertisement in local papers, making myself available for anyone who needs help. Daniel Tandy contacted me ... but he was too late, unfortunately."

The Crimson whirls his pistol around and shoots the Man of the Hour in the shoulder. "Ow!" he says as the bullet ricochets off his flesh, and he bolts forward with incredible speed, grabbing the Crimson by the wrist. "I have tried to speak to you in a civilized manner, but ... "

" ... but I needed to confirm your identity," the other continued. "I've heard tales of you on the streets. I was incredulous, but I'm inclined to believe them now. So, do you have any better ideas, or haven't you thought beyond ... ugh ... breaking my wrist?"

The Man of the Hour grunts and releases him. "You said you knew Tandy. Did he have any enemies who would be capable of this?" He refrains from expressing wonder that someone like the Crimson has friends.

"None that I'd known of. I received a note from him saying that he needed my advice on a business matter, but when I arrived something about the setup of the apartment made me suspicious ... and you know the rest." The Crimson kneels down to examine the body. "This is interesting ... there's a Purple Heart medal pinned to his chest. It's clean; the rest of his body is soaked in blood. It was placed there after he was killed."

The Man of the Hour furrows his brow. "Was Tandy a vet? Or is this just some serial killer affectation?"

The Crimson nods, "Yeah, he fought in Europe during the Great War. Although I don't recall him ever mentioning being wounded. Daniel was always a closed-mouth sort, however."

"Nice way of putting it," the Man of the Hour says with a dour expression, given Tandy's current state.

Suddenly, a muffled car horn can be heard from outside the house. The Crimson tilts his head, "My assistant," he says, "doubtless the police are on their way. Unless you want to be dragged downtown as a suspect, I think you'd better come with us."

"Say no more," says the Man of the Hour as the pair descend into the darkness, and into the modified Rolls-Royce waiting there. He nods at the black-clad Chinese man at the helm, as the vehicle speeds off into the night. The Crimson gives the man, whom he introduces as 'Wing,' a summary of their findings in the interior of the house.

"Monitoring the police radio," says Wing in clipped tones, "New York suburbs, residence of one Matthew Gilcrest: an explosion, defaced American flag found at scene, nowhere near the blast, but sliced to ribbons; eyewitnesses say perpetrator fled in long coat, gas mask, and had a belt full of weapons."

The Man of the Hour narrows his eyes, "That sounds like the Sandman ... but that's impossible. I know him, he wouldn't ... "

The Crimson Avenger interrupts, "You're a friend of the Sandman's? Why didn't you say so. We could have spared each other a lot of grief. He and I are old friends."

"Oh. Sorry about your wrist, I guess." The Man of the Hour sighs, "So we're heading to Gilcrest's place?"

"No," says the Crimson, "the police and fire department will already be out in force, and they're not my greatest fans. We're heading towards a ... news archive which I have access to ... in order to see if there are ties between Tandy and Gilcrest, and anyone else who might be a suspect. If that pans out, we'll have to go back to the murder sites and see whether we can find anything there."

As the automobile courses silently through the New York streets, it approaches the building which functions as the offices and archive for the prominent newspaper, the Globe Leader. Wing presses a button on the dashboard and a concealed passageway in the loading dock opens up. "A mechanical garage door opener? Impressive," says the Man of the Hour. The Rolls-Royce coasts to a stop, and the Crimson Avenger & Wing beckon their visitor to follow them. "I hope you like research," says the Crimson, "we have a lot of digging to do."

"The man behind these dark glasses has a PhD in biochemistry," the Man of the Hour chuckles, "I'm used to it."

"Good," Wing says, "I would rather be out knocking heads together, myself."

The three work into the night, interweaving references and cross-references, stitching together a history of the two men. "Torrence Daniels," announces the Crimson. "As bloodthirsty a killer as any I've ever seen, from the look of these records."

He places the annotated chart he'd drawn before the Man of the Hour, who works on interpreting his notes, "Constant psychological problems, left for dead by his squadron, denied a Bronze Star."

"And," continues Wing, "the only man in his original squadron still alive."

The Man of the Hour curls his lip, "Looks like he's been more interested in vengeance than covering his tracks ... though most of his old 'friends' have scattered throughout the country, nobody to connect their deaths ... then he saved the two New Yorkers for last, having completed his circle of the country."

"And then he ran into us," says Wing, cracking his knuckles.

The Crimson says, "Enough exposition. Back to the Rolls. We have justice to pursue."

Later, the trio arrive at the dilapidated residence of 50 Bailey Boulevard. "Appears nobody's home," notes the Man of the Hour. The Crimson Avenger's eyes scan the house carefully. "You haven't been in this business for very long, have you?"

Wing adjusts his driving gloves and draws a pair of miniature flashlights from the glove compartment, handing the other to the Crimson, and the other men silently stalk the perimeter of the house while the chauffer quickly picks the front lock and investigates the interior.

The Man of the Hour circles around the east side of the house, and smiles to himself as he sees a sliver of light through the wooden hatchway to what appears to be a basement or wine cellar. He slips his dark glasses off and peeks through the crack in the wood, an odd drama presenting itself to him. He sees a man dressed like a WW1 soldier, down to the metal hat and gas mask. In his right hand he has a strange, tubular-shaped gun. Aside him is a pimply punk in a black leather jacket; his face makes you want to hit him. He is holding a shiv in his right hand. Strapped to a chair in the center of the room is a soft-looking man with a bruised face. "Beginner's luck, I guess," the Man of the Hour chuckles to himself silently. He ponders whether he ought to summon his teammates, and instead reaches into his jacket pocket for a small glass vial containing a Miraclo pill. Feeling the adrenaline course through his body in response, he leaps up and through the hatchway, crashing through and landing on the basement floor in a shower of splinters. "Matthew Gilcrest, I presume?" he says to the bound man.

The bound man strains at his bonds. "For god's sake, help me! They're insane! They want to ... "

"There is no help for you, Gilcrest!" The gasmasked man draws a Colt .45 from his jacket and fires it, shooting the bound man in the back.

"Damnit!" The Man of the Hour lunges towards the gasmasked man, but from the tubular-shaped gun emits an orange-colored smoke which causes him to become drowsy and lose his balance. As he falls to his knees and fights to stay conscious, he thinks . o O (This sensation is too familiar ...).

The Crimson Avenger & Wing crash through the interior door to the basement. "Amateur," the Crimson scowls at the Man of the Hour as he sees him struggling and sees the state of the bound man. "Your dreams of vengeance are over," he says to the masked man as he brandishes his own pistols, "we're taking you in."

"The Dream King and Dune ... " says the gasmasked man, indicating the boy who brandishes his shiv menacingly, " ... don't dream, but I bet you do. Dream that an innocent will fall because of you. One more step and I'll kill him." He points his automatic at the Man of the Hour.

The Crimson laughs derisively as he unleashes a barrage of bullets directed at the Dream King, but the man had already gone, disappeared behind a concealing mist of orange smoke. "You're assuming I'll just lie down and die! I didn't do it in the big one, and I won't be doing it now!" As he passes by the Man of the Hour, the latter strikes out with a powerful hand, knocking his opponent against a wall. The Crimson nods sourly at his ally and he and Wing advance on the pair.

Dune strikes out from the mist, steel glinting menacingly as it slashes through Wing's leather jacket, abrading the skin beneath. Wing grunts in surprise, and strikes at the punk with the side of his hand. His opponent recoils with a shout of pain, but starts to toss the blade between his hands in a menacing manner. "My father's gonna get what's due him," he says, "and then we all will. We been through too much to have you clowns get in our way now."

The Crimson Avenger and the Dream King engage in a flurry of shots as they advance on each other warily, circling like two great predators. "Enlisting your child to do your battles, Torrence Daniels? It looks like you truly are as cowardly as they said." The Dream King replies, "He's the only one of you who understands the first thing about justice. Time the rest of you learned the hard way." With a furious growl he tackles the Crimson, but the latter's strength proves easily superior to the villain's and he tosses him across the room.

The Dream King takes a moment to recover, and from a satchel he pulls a Mills bomb which he lobs in the others' direction. "Don't ... " the Man of the Hour barely has time to move in front of the Crimson when the fragmentation grenade explodes before him. The stricken hero falls again to his knees. "Amateur," the Crimson says, with more regard in his tone as he thinks . o O (looks like I owe you one). The villain readies another grenade, when from from the window above strikes the grapplehook of a wirepoon, knocking the weapon from his hand as another mysterious figure descends, grappling down from the tether. He is dressed in a startlingly garish color combination. His lean frame is clad in an olive green double-breasted suit with black buttons over a white dress shirt. Draped over his shoulders is a Victorian style purple opera cloak so dark as to appear black. On his hands are kid gloves of an orangey-tan, which match the black-banded fedora atop his head. His face is obscured by a surreal gas mask that covers his entire head. The mask is a brilliant blue, set with a yellow face panel. The round lenses and snubbed ribbed nose give him a strange appearance. The whole color scheme is distracting and difficult to look at ... dreamlike, really ... appropriate for the Sandman.

Dune averts his attention from Wing, and spins to lash out at the Sandman, shiv slicing through his opera cloak. The Sandman whirls around, hands reaching inside his jacket which conceals dual pistols holstered under each arm. He draws his weapon and a violet mist spreads out into the room, lulling the boy to sleep and he hits the ground, hard. "Sleep, child," says the mysteryman, "and dream of a childhood untainted by the evil which raised you."

The Dream King growls, "You son of a bitch! If you've hurt him ... " but any further words of his are silenced by a blow from the Man of the Hour. He turns to the Sandman, standing over his fallen foe. "It looks like it's a class reunion," he says with a smirk.

"Indeed. Hello old friend. Thanks for the assist ... not that we needed it." The Crimson Avenger holsters his own weapon. "So what brings you to this part of town?"

The Sandman looks from one to another. "A serious matter ... one which will require all of us to stand together. I had a visit today from none other than Superman."

The Man of the Hour grins. . o O (Superman?)

Darrell Dane paces through the New York streets, finally arriving at 1939 Lectron Lane. He glances down at the note in his hand, before crumpling it up and returning it to the pocket of his lab coat. Almost peripherally, he senses someone walking behind him. He whirls around, only to note that the street appears to be empty. Still hearing footfalls, he shrinks to a height of six inches.

"That was unexpected," says a disembodied voice. "Doll Man, I presume?"

Doll Man says, "Very clever ... you have microphones, and cameras set up along the street to track my movements? What did you mean by that note you sent to Darrell Dane?"

There is a flickering before his eyes, and when he blinks a mysterious figure stands before him. He sees a tall man dressed in a loose brown shirt and tights, and brown leather boots and belt. His features are concealed by a brown full-face mask and a hood which puts his entire face in shadow, and a matching cloak conceals his movements. "I didn't send you or anyone else a note, but I'm the recipient of something similar. I go by the name Invisible Justice ... I think we're in the same line of work, though you've been at it several months longer than I."

Doll Man grows to his full height of 5'10", his costume expanding with him. "Well met," he says, extending a hand. "I suppose it's a good thing I decided to scout the situation out in civilian disguise ... neither of us are the most easily detectable in a crowd."

The Invisible Justice chuckles, "Quite. And since it looks like I've inadvertently discovered your real name, I'll share mine as a gesture of trust. Feel free to look me up in the phone directory under the name Kent Thurston, when this is all over."

"I just might at that," grins Doll Man. "On to the matter at hand. You received a note instructing you to come here, addressed to your civilian identity?"

The Invisible Justice reaches into a hidden pocket of his cloak. "A plot to kill the President. With no indication of whom it was from or how they might have known about my connection to Thurston, only the time and location of a meeting. Certainly no mention of you, or any other mysteryman."

Doll Man nods, "The very same, obviously. I can't imagine who ... " his words are cut off by a sound from a nearby alleyway, an animal sound from something not native to the streets of an urban city. They turn to see a man wearing a white laboratory coat and a green lizard mask over his face. Before him on a retractable leash is a giant crocodile.

The Invisible Justice wraps his cloak about himself and hisses, "The Green Lizard."

The man speaks as if his throat was not shaped for human speech. "The very same. You stopped me once before through sheer trickery, you won't do it again." The Green Lizard unclips the leash, and the crocodile sniffs the air before him as he lumbers quickly towards the two mysterymen. They glance at each other, and their opponent sees them conceal themselves ... the Invisible Justice fading to complete transparency, Doll Man returning to six inches tall.

As the great beast trundles towards them, it suddenly changes direction and with surprising speed turns to the left, lunging directly into the space into which the Invisible Justice had moved. The mysteryman grunts in surprise as he ducks aside. Doll Man runs to assist the other before he is knocked away by the crocodile's powerful tail. The Green Lizard laughs from behind his mask, "I have a new ally who helped me to augment my pets' other senses ... useful, don't you think?"

"Hasn't helped its ... breath any ... " the Invisible Justice grunts as the crocodile lands on him, and he flickers in and out of visibility as he wrestles the creature, struggling to keep its maw from his head. Doll Man seizes a rusty nail from a nearby construction site, and bounds atop the creature, plunging the nail into its eye. With a massive roar it attempts to shake Doll Man loose again, but the Invisible Justice manages to work himself free. Returning to full transparency, he lunges at the Green Lizard.

His fingers near to his opponent's throat, the Invisible Justice is felled again by the angry beast. The Green Lizard steps back in surprise as he witnesses his flickering opponent. Doll Man clambers up the fallen hero and leaps directly into the crocodile's maw, increasing his size more than tenfold and shattering the creature's skull. The pair confront the Green Lizard angrily. "That's the best you have to offer?" snarls Doll Man.

The Green Lizard gives an eerie, keening wail. "Not hardly," he says as the pair turn around to see a dozen more of the beasts approaching them from the alleyway. The two mysterymen look at each other. "Ready to go down fighting?" says the Invisible Justice. "I've got your back," replies Doll Man.

"And I have his," says an unfamiliar voice. The pair glance back at the Green Lizard and see a man in a long trench coat and hat, one powerful arm wrapped around the Green Lizard's throat. In his hand is a small sphere, marked with alternating black & white sections radiating outwards from the center. "Salaga doola, menchika boola, by the sign of the Seven, I bid you to the depths of the city and to remain forever ignorant of man!" The advancing creatures halt in their tracks, and without a further sound, slither down a nearby manhole and into the city's sewers. With that done, the man strikes the Green Lizard at the base of his skull, causing him to collapse.

The Invisible Justice approaches the stranger. "That was some trick, not that we don't appreciate the help. And you are ... ?"

"Some have called me Doctor Mystic," says the man, "though I have used many names. We are the dawn of a new Age of Heroes, and my goal is to ensure that it takes place. The others have gathered, it is time for us to join them."

Outside the grounds of the New York World's Fair under cover of night, an odd assemblage gathers: two men in brightly colored blue and red, looking rather like circus acrobats; another man in grey and black, looking like some predator of the night; a man clad in drab brown tights and concealing hood; a young Asian man in a black leather variant of a chauffer's outfit; and four men in long jackets, their garments ranging in shades and colors, all but one using various devices to conceal their identities.

After a quick round of introductions, Superman looks at the others gathered with a vague sense of paternal pride. "I see the Sandman has been able to contact the rest of you. Good, Bat-Man and I felt this was a vital matter of interest to all of us, if our community is under threat ... and if the President is under threat."

The Crimson Avenger eyes Superman warily. . o O (He looks just the way he had appeared to me in my dream; dare I tell him I have seen his death?) He shakes off the morbid imagery. "I usually work both sides of the law, but of course I stand with you all."

Dr. Mystic says, "I arranged for all of you to meet here, but there is one more person yet to arrive ... someone who can answer all of your questions." He draws from his pocket a small sphere, shining brilliant light against a stone pillar, turning it strangely translucent. Behind the wall, they mysterymen see a plain, pale man of medium height and weight ... his nose a little bit too long, his mouth a little bit too tight, his ears a little bit too big. He is quietly groomed and simply clad in pale trousers, a black shirt, and a black jacket. On his lapel is a small badge with an illustration of a penny-farthing bicycle, and the numeral '6'. Superman moves faster than a speeding bullet, grabbing the man by the collar of his jacket and hauling him before the others. "Trying to spy on us, eh?" he says with a smirk as he releases the fellow to the ground.

The man scowls as he struggles to find his way to a more dignified stance, and straightens his clothing. "That is my job," he says in an annoyed tone with German-accented English. "Call me, ah, Agent Six. I run the American branch of the intelligence service for the German government."

The Crimson Avenger draws his pistols from their holsters, pointing them straight at Agent Six's eyes. "Explain to me why we shouldn't judge the death penalty for you now?"

Agent Six looks unruffled. "Who do you think arranged for all of you to come here? Because if you kill me then you will never know what menace you face."

Superman places a hand on the Crimson's hands, forcing him to lower them to the ground as the Crimson glares at the man of steel with an angry expression. Superman turns to Agent Six, "You have a temporary reprieve. Say what you have to say, and I'll do my best to keep the others under wraps."

"This is the ploy you Americans call 'good cop, bad cop', eh?" Agent 6 says, "You mystery men had become too dangerous, repeatedly foiling our information-gathering activities. And when Superman dragged arms dealer Emil Norvell to San Monte, interfering in their domestic affairs by attempting to end their civil war, we realised that you people could not be depended on to respect national boundaries. We sought to make connections with some of the criminals you had encountered in the past, offering them amnesty in exchange for information about your whereabouts and weaknesses."

The Bat-Man glances at Superman with raised eyebrows, and then returns his attention to Agent Six. "I've seen the effects of your 'information exchange' personally. I can't say I'm impressed. What could you possibly offer us now?"

Agent 6 says, "One of our allies, the Ultra-Humanite, frustrated in his plans by Superman, came up with the idea for what you Americans call a 'double whammy': to kill your President and Hitler, too."

Superman hisses through clenched teeth, "The Ultra-Humanite?"

Agent 6 says, "He figured to fill the vacuum left by Roosevelt and Hitler so he could unite the U.S.A. and Germany against England."

Doll Man blinks, "America unite with Germany? That would never happen."

The Crimson Avenger shakes his head, "You haven't traveled the country the way I have. There's a lot of sympathy for the Germans out there, and with the right leader ... I wouldn't rule it out entirely."

"It falls into place," the Sandman says, "the criminals who attacked me could have killed me easily, but said 'not yet.' You intercepted the Ultra-Humanite's communications, didn't you? Sent his gang to alert us of their existence, So that we could help save your precious 'fuhrer.'"

"And your own," Agents Six says agreeably. "The two leaders had planned a secret meeting at the Fairgrounds tonight, and this was when the assassination was scheduled to happen."

Dr. Mystic says, "It became clear to me as well that there was to be an organised strike against all of you, to clear the way for notions of Nazi superiority in the oncoming years as they begin their own Projekt Ubermensch. Agent Six had not been able to interrupt all of the Ultra-Humanite's radiograms, but I was able to lend assistance where necessary."

Superman chuckles, "Ubermensch? That sounds like something I should take personally. Be on your way, little fellow." He pats Agent Six dismissively on the back, "and we'll take it from here. But we will be watching you."

Agent Six shrugs, "And vice versa, of course." He loops his thumb and forefinger into the 'ok' sign, giving the mysterymen an enigmatic salute. "Be seeing you," he says with a smirk as he strolls out into the night.

As the mysterymen enter the fairgrounds their attention is divided between the large central fountain and the four giant statues looking down into it. The fountain is the Lagoon of Nations and the statues represent the Four Freedoms. The fair causes them to remember everyone's hopes for peace from when it opened in the beginning of the year ... hopes which may soon be dashed. As Superman scans the surrounding area with his sensitive eyes, from the top of the Perisphere a figure emerges: a large, powerful man, clad in a bodysuit of black leather, with leather gloves. A black leather full-face hood conceals his features, and long red cape punctuates his every movement with a theatrical flair. "Sirs, this is indeed an unparalleled delight! I had rather hoped that you would come. And now my wish comes true -- you have truly made my night!"

Wing's eyes widen, "The Phantom of the Fair," he whispers, "the Crimson told me about his existence, but I never dreamed ... "

His mentor silences him with a light touch, as the assembled mysterymen hear the peculiar sound of metal on metal moving towards them. They turn see a bald man who exudes an aura of brilliance and arrogance. He is wearing a lab coat and confined to a wheelchair, and carrying with him some sort of electronic control device. Aside him are a trio of robots, seven feet of grey metal. "The Ultra-Humanite and friends," says Superman, "I didn't do enough damage to your equipment last time, you needed to put together more toys for me to break?"

The Ultra-Humanite blinks like a lazy reptile and his head barely shifts from side to side in a silent signal as the Gorrah, the Scarlet Ghost, the Scorpion, the Monk & Dala wind their way from the ill-lit shadows of the Fair to stand among his robots. "We have you out-numbered and out-gunned," he says, "I will give you this once chance to surrender, not that I believe you to be intelligent enough to take it."

"You don't really expect us to just go along with that?" As the man of steel speaks, behind him he senses the Bat-Man, the Sandman, and the Crimson Avenger drawing forth their weapons. Doll Man and the Invisible Justice disappear from easy view and the Man of the Hour reaches into his coat, drawing forth and swallowing a Miraclo tablet.

Phantom of the Fair says, "So, it is to be war between us! If these demands are not met, a disaster beyond your imagination will occur!"

Dr. Mystic brandishes the sign of the Seven and rises into the air to face the Phantom. "A disaster beyond our imagination is what we're here to prevent," he says. "Spare your demands to surrender, as that will never happen."

The Ultra-Humanite claps his hands, and the robots begin to lumber forwards. The Monk morphs into a mountain wolf, accompanied by Dala, and the pair run ahead of the pack to leap at the Bat-Man. As they are en route however the Crimson Avenger slips off his cape, wrapping it around the mountain wolf with a tackle and knocking it to the ground. Wing takes advantage of the smaller golden wolf's confusion to leap forward and attempt a martial arts attack against her.

The Bat-Man scowls, "I can fight my own battles," he mumbles, then jumps back with a start as the frightening apparition of the Scarlet Ghost leaps before him, setting his cloak aflame with his torch. "What kind of monster are you," the Bat-Man says in disgust as he tears off his flaming cloak, throwing it to the ground. The villain's skeletal grin flickers in the torchlight, "The worst kind! Nyeeee -- ha ha ha ha!"

Superman just shakes his head, but leaves his allies to their own battles. "I'll take care of your toys first," he says to the Ultra-Humanite, "and then I'm going to treat your bald head like an eggshell." He leaps at one of the robots, only to find himself knocked backwards by it. The Man of the Hour raises an eyebrow . o O (Not so tough after all, I guess) he thinks as he joins the man of steel in battle, wrestling with the remaining two robots himself.

Doll Man bounds up, ricocheting off the wall of the Perisphere. "The bigger they are, the harder they fall," he says as he lands on the Gorrah's chin with a double-fisted uppercut. The cyclopean giant falls to the ground ignominiously, and with an angry scowl draws another egg out from beneath his robes. "Perhaps you will find my pets closer to your own size," he says as the egg cracks, and the world's mightiest mite backs away quickly from the hoard of rats headed in his direction.

The Scorpion curls up his bullwhip, "Hey again doll baby," he says to the Sandman, "ready for another round?" The Sandman reaches in his jacket for his gas gun, only to have the bullwhip crack into his wrist, forcing him to drop it. "Ya never learn," his opponent sneers.

Phantom of the Fair says, "Bravo, monsieur! Such spirited words!" He dives off the edge of the Perisphere and catches himself with a whipcord, arcing up and swinging into Dr. Mystic with a superhuman blow. The occultist is caught off-guard and tumbles to the ground, his fall halted at the last minute by the Invisible Justice.

The Monk is held by the Crimson's strength, but by a tremendous concentration of will, forces his power through space at his opponent. "Soon you will be as we are -- werewolves to ravish on all living men!" The Crimson Avenger staggers back, fighting the feral impulses which wrack through his body even as Wing engages in a frantic duel of fists and feet against claws and teeth.

The Scarlet Ghost begins a fiery dance of death, whirling the torches in circles as he advances on the Bat-Man. The dark knight's purple-gloved hand reaches out to catch one of the flaming poles, but his opponent's maniacal speed creates a shield of flame, preventing him from blocking the ghoulish figure from creating his own personal hell.

The Man of the Hour wrestles with the robots, his miraculous strength holding its own against them, though when the third joins in the melee he finds himself plowed down under the weight of their numbers. Superman leaps into the air, crashing down on two of the robots and knocking them to the ground. He picks them up easily, and tosses them into each other with a crash, letting them fall to the earth. He wipes his hands clean when a blow from the third robot takes him by surprise and its mechanical strength pounds him down to the ground.

Doll Man narrows his eyes as he assesses the oncoming rats. He thinks . o O (Probably rabid, and I'm not taking any chances). From his hip he draws the long needle he carries with him as a sword, and blinds the first rat in the hoard, bounding backwards from the onrush as some of them are distracted by the blood of their fallen comrade.

As the Scorpion's bullwhip strikes out again at the Sandman, wrapping around his forearm and drawing him into a hand-to-hand fight, his opponent uses some of his martial arts skills to use the Scorpion's attack against him and flip him up and over onto the hard pavement behind him, after which he lunges for the abandoned gasgun.

Dr. Mystic nods a silent appreciation to the figure whose aura is plainly visible to him despite his concealed state, and rather than rising up into the air again to confront his opponent, the occultist seems to alter his size, growing into an immense giant whose size equals the Perisphere. The combatants below cannot help but pause as they witness the spectacle, but the leather-clad figure appears unfazed. Phantom of the Fair says, "Let's see, monsieur, how far you dare go!" He reaches into a pouch inside his cloak and whips out a nitro glycerin ball, which he explodes in Dr. Mystic's face. The explosion ripples through the ectoplasmic form the occultist had created, causing it to dissipate and leaving the human-sized form in its center.

The Crimson Avenger feels his body shaking with the power of the wolf rampaging inside him, trying to get out. He can almost visualise the feral form of the beast superimposed over his own. The weight on his skull is like a smothering mask, and the outside world appears nothing but a blur. But he knows he has one task left to do before he gives in to the beast. Fighting to keep control, he lunges for the Monk, his powerful hands wrapping around his opponent's throat. Elsewhere, Wing and the golden wolf circle around each other in a cautious dance, cursing and growling, leaping in and trying to damage their opponent while staying out of the other's range.

The Bat-Man looks to either side, seeking an exit from the cage of flame the Scarlet Ghost had constructed around him. Quickly he rolls off to one side, scooping up the remains of his cloak. He thinks . o O (I had better reinforce my next version, maybe make the lines more streamlined, with heavier fabric). He moves towards his opponent like a bullfighter, and at the last minute throws himself in charge at the whirling torches, using the cloth to protect himself as best he can while he plows into the other.

The Ultra-Humanite watches curiously as Superman and the Man of the Hour exchange opponents; the former easily disposing of the two robots which had nearly defeated the latter before, while the latter wrestles with the robot which had so bedeviled the man of steel. He narrows his eyes, what about that robot is different from the other two? He nods to himself as he calculates his arch-enemy's vulnerability, scowling as he sees the man place his hand on his ally's shoulder, drawing him back. "Leave off," he says. The Man of the Hour turns to Superman, "What's the matter, want to finish this one on your own?" Superman shakes his head, "These aren't robots at all. I should have noticed it earlier ... they have heartbeats. They're men."

Doll Man leaps from place to place, skewering the rats as they approach, his body soon covered with gore. As they start to overwhelm, suddenly a mysterious force begins to scatter them away ... as if an invisible foot were kicking them to the side. Doll Man grins, "Thanks, friend," he says as he returns his attention to the Gorrah, plunging his needle into the giant's ankle with the force of a full-grown man.

The Scorpion grunts as he rolls onto the concrete, jumping back to his feet and facing the Sandman again. From his trench coat he pulls out a long branding iron with a scorpion logo at the end, and by pressing a button at its handle he causes the tip to glow red-hot. "A toy o' my own, from my crippled friend over there," he says with a grin as he lunges forward like a fencer, burning a neat hole through his opponent's cloak and jacket.

Dr. Mystic watches unsteadily as his opponent rappels down to ground level, his powerful muscles rippling. Phantom of the Fair says, "I'm here, I'm here, monsieur; the angel of death! Come on, come on, monsieur, don't stop, don't stop!" As the mysterious figure beckons contemptuously, the occultist suddenly shakes his head with a soft smile, and curls his hand, palm up, near his mouth. He blows a gust of air towards his opponent, and the Phantom of the Fair blinks. When he re-opens his eyes, in the occultist's place is an ebon-haired woman clad in red. Her eyes widen hypnotically, and she whispers to the man as she sways towards him, finally placing her fingertips on his temples: "Down once more to the dungeon of your black despair! Down we plunge to the prison of your mind! Down that path into darkness deep as hell!" Rose Psychic smiles again, her smile the same as the one Dr. Mystic had so uncharacteristically donned a moment earlier, as her opponent collapses at her feet.

The Monk shifts form to werewolf and back, and the Crimson struggles to hold his grip physically even as he struggles to maintain his mental coherence. Wing catches the golden wolf in a flying kick which catches her ribs. She howls in pain, but not before one long claw reaches out and slices into the flesh of his calf before he is able to back away.

The Bat-man's greater strength eventually tells against his foe, and the old man in the skeletal mask finds himself forced to the ground. The caped crusader wraps the torches in the remains of his cloak, tossing them into the Lagoon of Nations where they extinguish with a fizzle. Looking around, he draws his revolver again, firing two silver bullets into the Monk and Dala. The vampires fall back, clutching at their wounds, enough for the Crimson Avenger & Wing to finish them off by hand. The Crimson glances over at the Bat-man. "Thanks for the assist," he says, "I could have handled him on my own, of course." "Of course," assents the Bat-man. "I don't know how long I could have held out over the Monk's mental domination personally ... but I did come prepared with silver bullets."

Superman's sensitive eyes scan the surroundings, and he leaps to the top of the Perisphere in a single bound, pulling loose three inch-thick rebars and then leaping down to the ground. "Give us a hand then," he says to the Man of the Hour, and with his ally working in tandem, the pair manage to bind the robots securely. Rose Psychic joins them and says with the same soft smile, "I am a friend of Dr. Mystic's, please allow me." She places her fingertips on the head units of each of the robots, "Sleep now."

The Gorrah shouts out in pain, hopping on his other foot. "You disgusting wa," he says, leaning down and snatching Doll Man with one massive hand, "I will crush you like the bug you are."

The Sandman grunts in pain, moving back quickly enough that the brand catches only cloth. "You ... left me with scars last time we met," he says as he grabs hold of the brand with one hand, his other hand reaching out to tear aside the cloth of the Scorpion's mask, "no more." As the pair struggle, he brandishes his gasgun, firing it into his opponent's face at close quarters. As he collapses, the Sandman carefully detaches the brand from his suit and tosses it aside.

Superman wipes the dust from his hands, and looks around for the Ultra-Humanite. Spying the Gorrah still standing, he leaps his enough to grab the back of the giant's silken robe, pulling him down to the ground with a crash. As Doll Man leaps free, he points upwards, "He's getting away!"

From afar, the Ultra-Humanite's wheelchair, propeller extended from the top, sails into the stratosphere. Superman says, "Not if I can help it," and leaps upwards in his direction, barely falling short as the Ultra-Humanite maneuvers carefully out of reach. The mystery men watch in frustration as he sails off towards the ocean, only to see the odd vehicle slowly tilt to the side and the flight path become erratic. Flickering into visibility, the Invisible Justice rides shotgun along the odd vehicle, wielding the Scorpion's brand as he thrusts the hot metal repeatedly into its engine. The pair wrestle in the sky before the mystery man leaps away, falling to the earth as the vehicle explodes.

Dr. Mystic reasserts his presence, and the Invisible Justice vanishes from his mid-air tumble, reappearing only a foot above the concrete surface. He hits the ground with a grunt. "What ... what happened ... I was just trying to stop him ... "

Superman says, "His flying chair exploded. I wouldn't worry too much about it."

The other mystery man shakes his head in disgust. "I took the name Invisible Justice to fight for justice, not vengeance. I meant to, to bring him to a trial of his peers." Kent Thurston slips his hood off, and stares at it in disgust. "I'm not worthy of the name. Maybe I can still fight the good fight but ... maybe as the Invisible Hood. I'm not worthy of the other name."

The Man of the Hour approaches the robots, and using the last of his Miraclo-induced strength, unswivels the head units to reveal the human faces underneath. "Anyone know these mooks?"

Dr. Mystic approaches the trio, kneeling down. "Their names are Giovanni Zatara, Hop Harrigan, and Tex Thomson. I had hoped to contact all of them before the Ultra-Humanite's forces struck, but I had not been alerted in time." He gestures magically, and the unconscious men vanish, leaving the metal suits to collapse. "I will teleport them to safety, and restore them to their lives."

Superman narrows his eyes. "A series of cars are approaching, I believe it's the President and the ... visiting dignitary. Those of us still wanted by the police, time to make ourselves scarce."

Sandman nods, smiling beneath his mask. "I think that's a good idea for us all. We should do this again sometime."

THE END