"A Settling of Dust..."

By Steve Seinberg

Three weeks later...

It had been one bountiful harvest of super-villains – that was just undeniable, objective fact. All in all, once the dust had settled, and the metaphorical paddy wagons had rolled in – which actually mostly consisted of Dr. Fate rolling out, and bringing a few score villains along with him on multiple trips to a whole laundry list of prisons designed for holding metahuman inmates, such as Iron Heights Penitentiary, Alcatraz Island, the Slab, Blackgate Prison – the JSA were astonished and gratified to learn that they’d captured over three dozen super-criminals in conjunction with their raid on the House.

Tap had indeed been treated to a fatal lowering of temperature and application of a form-fitting and air-proof cocoon by Killer Frost, and the heroes also discovered that he’d been joined in his journey to some afterlife by his boss, Roulette, who had been savagely crushed and left in a broken jumble just outside her little escape unit – so close to freedom, and yet so forever far. Liberty Belle and Touch ‘N’ Go had found her demolished remains during the homestretch of the operation, and while it was obvious that either Olympian or Angelika Bal had committed the grotesquely savage attack, each one had claimed responsibility, and sworn that the other was innocent. The Justice Society leaders had assured the two that given all of the attendant circumstances – the mind-control, the danger Roulette would have posed to anyone while still in her own lair, the mayhem going on all around the place at the time – it was highly unlikely any charges would be pressed...but the two still maintained their stances. The majority opinion, and especially that of Dr. Mid-Nite, was that Olympian was the more likely candidate, but the evidence left behind was almost impossible to work with (the gruesome remains amounted to little more than a shapeless blob leaking out of a red evening gown).

The victims of Roulette’s mind-control ministrations were recovering, but it would be a long road, and most likely in direct proportion to the length of time spent in Roulette’s care. Michael Holt already seemed to be past it, for instance, and fully functional, but Olympian, who had been forced to kill a friend and teammate, still spent much of his time in a rage, and the Hybrid also seemed remarkably resilient, but definitely had their intervals of fury and then despondency. The young man known as Claw had slipped away in the chaos of the battles raging all through the House, as had numerous wanted super-felons – including Michael Holt’s opposite number, the mysterious Mr. Terrible – but Olympian and the Hybrid had been treated as honored guests at the JSA Brownstone in New York.

They had all been grateful for the hospitality, but after spending the better part of a month there, they were all growing restless. They appreciated the offer by the Justice Society’s “joint leadership committee” – Hawkman, the Black Canary, and Mr. Terrific – of staying on for further recovery and possibly eventual indoctrination into the ranks of the JSA, but it didn’t seem right to any of them to be kidding themselves that it would be appropriate after all that they had done since gaining their astonishing abilities, to try to stand alongside such shining paragons of virtue as the members of the great Justice Society. They themselves had no heroic war-time legacies to touch on, and all had proven embarrassingly susceptible to mind-control: even before Roulette had gotten them in her clutches, the Hybrid had been used like marionettes by Steve Dayton while in his “mad Mento” phase, and Olympian had been similarly puppet-mastered by the Queen Bee, former leader of the highly questionable nation of Bialya. They all felt a need to drop off the map for a while, to recover mentally and emotionally, and then to see what they could make of themselves on their own.

It was Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, who supplied the answer. She had overheard a conversation between Angelika Bal and Olympian, transpiring in low tones in Greek one day, a language she knew fluently, her people having long had ties to the lands of the Greeks, and she quickly put a few disparate ideas together to come up with a solution.

“I do not mean to intrude,” she told them, interrupting as gently as she was capable of, “but a thought occurs to me. Angelika, you have mentioned a need for healing, and I know that when the Hybrid found Olympian, he was living for a time on Evia...why do you all not take some time to replenish your spirits at Edipsos? The baths are known for their healing powers, and Angelika, you have told me that you have always wanted to experience them for yourself – perhaps all of the Hybrid should go along, and Olympian, you might show them around, and spend some time there again yourself.”

The two soul-battered super-humans did look tempted at the thought, but like many people who feel that they don’t deserve happiness, immediately began pushing the idea away.

“And what would we tell the Justice Society,” asked Olympian, “who have been so kind to us? How would we explain such an abrupt cutting of ties?”

“You need not cut your ties completely. In fact, the JSA is experiencing a small exodus of its own, and I just had a thought on how to make that work...” She spoke into her communicator, a small Michael Holt invention mounted beneath one of her golden bracelets, and surprisingly did so in Greek, summoning one of her teammates. Within minutes, the tall warrior known as Nemesis appeared.

“Soseh,” Hippolyta stated, “you have made it clear that you wish to leave the Justice Society’s ranks, at least for a time, as you are unhappy with some of the command decisions. No, there is no need to go into it now, you have made your views plain, and I, for one, do understand them to some extent. But you have also told me in private conversations that you have no clear direction in mind as you look forward. Olympian and the Hybrid likewise need some time and space away from here to restore their hearts and minds, and yet they do not wish to turn their backs completely on the JSA. My idea is that you all join forces. You are all Greek, the three of you – go to Greece. Soseh, you can characterize your departure as a leave of absence rather than a complete resignation – I am sure the leaders would be happy with that notion – and your presence would of necessity then guarantee a connection with our group. And while they are not Greek themselves, I am sure some time at Edipsos would benefit the other Hybrid members as well...and you all might ease back into the world of extra-human heroics should there be any crisis in Greece, or in the surrounding European nations should you all begin to feel restless with unfocused energies.”

Olympian looked like he wanted to frown, but couldn’t quite achieve it. “You are suggesting we become something almost like a Greek Justice League, or a Greek branch of the Justice Society.”

“Well...slowly, perhaps. First and foremost, I am suggesting you all take time and space to heal. But yes, there are also currently no groups guarding those lands, so it might be viewed as a viable niche for you. America has the JSA, the Titans, the Outsiders...China has the Great Ten...and the world as a whole has the Justice League, watching from the moon. But the Global Guardians have disbanded, and there is no longer any Justice League presence specifically aimed at safeguarding the nations of Europe as there once was, so there might be some truly valuable work you could all do there...assuming you wanted to, and were ready for it.”

The three Greek metahumans all exchanged glances, all clearly intrigued, and showing a new hope to which their features were unaccustomed, but which looked surprisingly good on them.

Olympian made outsized facial expressions and squirmed his massively muscled upper body around a bit, which seemed to serve him as a sort of visual clearing of the throat. “I must say, I...do not hate this idea.” He looked almost shyly at the women gathered around him.

“Nor do I,” said Soseh Mykros, looking in unabashed admiration at Hippolyta. “Perhaps you might even consider joining us, your majesty – it would bring you much closer to your own homeland.”

Hippolyta’s dark eyes twinkled. “Carter and I need to resolve the mystery of what happened to our comrades from the days of the Great War: Ted, Alan, Jay, and even the recently-returned Rex Tyler have all vanished, and we have not the slightest clue as to how or why...or why we ourselves were not taken as well. That is my priority at the moment, as those men are my dear friends. But perhaps I might do a bit of shuttling back and forth, as a sort of liaison...because now that I think of it, it has been many years since I myself enjoyed the gifts of the healing waters of Edipsos.”

“I will speak with the Hybrid,” Angelika Bal offered. “Captain Harel is Israeli, and might indeed appreciate being closer to his own homeland, although the others are all American. Still, as you say, they might appreciate the chance to rest and recuperate in peace in some other locale. But for myself...I like the idea.”

“Excellent. And Angelika...might I have one more moment with you in private?”

“Of course.”

Olympian and Nemesis withdrew, offering overlapping statements about how they should discuss this notion of a Greek venture more thoroughly.

“I hope,” Angelika said, “that we are not depriving our kind hosts of the services of an exceptional warrior here.” She nodded toward the departing Soseh Mykros.

“No. Soseh was set to depart anyway. She disagrees with some of the ways in which our leaders wish to fill our ranks. She has little patience for the untested.”

“Yes. The boy called the Ray. It is clear she thinks little of his use in battle.”

“He is rash and impulsive, without much regard for consequence. Soseh believes he will not or cannot change, while Hawkman and the Black Canary disagree. Only time will tell, of course, but I think Soseh discounts the boy too quickly and too completely. But I also believe that some of that is but a smokescreen – an excuse for her to leave, as she is not completely happy with her life here.”

“You are a kind person, Queen Hippolyta. You are trying to help Nemesis as much as Olympian and the Hybrid.”

Hippolyta smiled, a dazzling phenomenon to behold. “I would help everyone if I could, Angelika Bal. I wish I could do more for our other departing teammates.”

Angelika raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Soseh is not the only JSA member taking a leave of absence. Dr. Mid-Nite must wander away from us for a time, and so, apparently, must young Liberty Belle.”

“Unrequited love.”

It was Hippolyta’s turn to show some surprise. “You know this?”

Angelika nodded. “Yes, it is rather obvious to us all. The doctor clearly shared something with your Black Canary, and we all know that she is now with a famed member of the Justice League, who was thought deceased, but then somehow returned. And your golden speedster is helplessly smitten with the young warrior who wears the hourglass. It is written across her very being. And yet his heart as well belongs to another... And I understand, and sympathize with them. It is no easy thing to love someone who cannot be there for you in return.”

“Yes, I am so sorry about your husband.” Hippolyta shifted her feet. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why...I have observed...how do I say this? Why do you never, ever look at your own reflection, Angelika? I have noticed during your time with us that unlike most women in the modern world, and even unlike most men, you never look at yourself. I do not wish to pry or intrude where I am not welcome, but something about it all suggests to me that you find it unpleasant to view your own appearance...and yet you are an extraordinarily beautiful woman. Perhaps you are not aware of this, but most of my male teammates become rather coordination-impaired whenever you enter a room, and they suddenly begin to bump into walls, and to miss their chairs so that they end up seated on the floor, with dazed expressions and bitten tongues. And these are all generally rather graceful men! Even some of the women seem to find it difficult to concentrate when you are near...and yet you yourself cannot seem to accept your own beauty.”

Angelika Bal sighed heavily. “This is difficult to explain, and believe me, more difficult still to bear...but ever since my ‘accident’ in the Temple of Medusa, and my evolution under the care of Steve Dayton into this being that I am now...well, I know that your kind words have some truth, and that others do find me attractive to behold. But to myself...I am a horror. My eyes can observe the features that others seem to so appreciate, and yet when assembling the individual facets into a whole, my mind insists on translating the overall sight of me as something truly akin to a horrible harpy or a gorgon out of myth. When the empathic girl from the Titans, Raven, helped to cleanse the Hybrid of Mento’s twisted control, and eased my own mental and physical pain, she did much to cure this effect in me...but while I have not wanted to confess this to my friends, I still have my periods of both physical and emotional anguish. I still sometimes see myself as a loathsome creature that should not see the light of day. It does not happen every time, but I generally just steer clear of all reflective surfaces as the safest course of action. I do not know if I can get across the feelings of revulsion and fear that my own appearance can bring about in me, especially not to one as lovely as you...but it is no easy thing to bear. And that is why I shrink from my own reflection. You are perceptive to have noticed, and generous to care.”

Hippolyta took her hand. “All the more reason, then, for this healing excursion. The time away in Edipsos will do wonders for you. Please believe me that you are a creature of great beauty, both inside and out, and try to allow yourself to accept this over time. I think this is a good decision for you and for our friends, and I believe that all will be well.”

“Perhaps you are correct. And I do believe the Hybrid will go along with the idea, by the way...at least for a time. They may not be Greek, but I could see them embracing my homeland. Olympian even suggested to Curt that he relinquish the name Prometheus, as there is the well-known criminal who uses it, and that he adopt instead the name Talos.”

“Ah, the metal man who guarded the island of Crete! I had never made the connection, but it makes a tremendous amount of sense!”

“Yes. Amelinda was concerned that Talos was an evil figure – this due to whatever she managed to glean from a sensationalized television miniseries about the Argonauts that she once saw – and Olympian pointed out that Talos would only have seemed evil to anyone attempting to make landfall on Crete with hostile intent. And then there is even a lesser known myth about Talos in which he once leapt upon a great fire to render himself white-hot before entering battle, which is congruent with Curt’s ability to raise the surface temperature of his own metal skin. He actually seems to be all but convinced to adopt the name.”

“Another sign, perhaps, that this is the right path for the Hybrid. And for their leader.” Hippolyta smiled again, and squeezed Angelika’s hand in comfort.

“Maybe so.” Angelika Bal gave an answering squeeze with her hand, careful to mind the deadly talons that were a part of her for now and for always, and tried on a smile of her own...

And while it wasn’t quite the magnificent, unfettered sunrise that Queen Hippolyta’s smile was...it was a start...

Three weeks, and Mr. Terrible was still waiting for the other shoe to drop...

After taking their leave of the Key, the Fadeaway Man had dropped him off in a space that would have seemed warehouse-like, but for the total lack of windows. This latter detail lent the place a subterranean feel, which, after the tender mercies of the House, wasn’t really all that welcome. It beat staring down the business end of the Key’s blaster, of course, but otherwise...not so great.

“So, uh, not to be ungrateful, but...where exactly are we?”

The Fadeaway Man grinned. Like Chronos, he seemed to get a kick out of Terrible for some reason. “Don’t worry – all will be made clear soon enough. And it’s not a bad thing, either. I think you’ll actually come to appreciate your new circumstances.”

“Which are...?”

“Again – you’ll see. Just hang tight here for a few minutes, and someone Chronos and I have both worked with will be arriving...and he has an offer of employment for you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. After that colossal mega-mess I made out of that Ghost Zone key job?”

“Sometimes it’s not always the results so much as how you represent yourself.”

“Well, hell, I...ain’t gonna argue with you. ‘Specially since my fee for that gig just went down the toilet. So...I really don’t know what to tip a guy who teleports you out of terminal trouble with a magic cape...and plus, I don’t got so much as a subway token on me. But I do feel like I wanna thank you, you know?”

“I understand. Some other time. And just so you know – I’m of the same mind as Chronos with respect to our mutual acquaintance, Prometheus: I was not at all displeased to see his ego take a beating. His body taking a beating also appeals. And I was no fan of Roulette’s, either.”

“So, what? We’re square?”

“Ha. I wouldn’t go that far. But I can wait until you’re back on your feet. We’ll talk down the line...and in the meantime, good luck to you. And enjoy.”

“Well...thanks. Thanks a lot, man, I mean it. Take it easy.”

The Fadeaway Man tipped a salute, and with another snap of his cape, he was gone.

Terrible had about three minutes in which to pace a bit, and examine the high walls of the place he was in, when he heard a faint tap-tap-tap noise that then began to increase in volume, resolving itself unmistakably into the sound of someone approaching with the aid of a walking stick.

Someone approaching pretty damn slowly, he thought a few minutes later, when the person in question still hadn’t hobbled his ass into view. Terrible debated pulling one of his blades and getting into defensive mode before the other party finally got into sight, but then decided that if Chronos or the Fadeaway Man really bore him any ill will, they’d have just let him eat the Key’s blaster, and he’d already be part of a landfill somewhere. He resolved to just wait it out.

And wait it out he did, the suspense mounting like crazy. Finally, when he thought he could no longer refrain from screaming, the very long shadow of a limping figure presented itself from around a far corner, and then crystallized into a very short and stunted human male, a really, really old one, bald, and peering out at the world through a pair of glasses whose lenses looked thicker than most bank vault doors. Mr. Terrible stifled the many wisecracks that floated up through his head, and was glad he had a few moments later when he finally realized who this was.

Dr. Thaddeus Sivana.

The wizened little senior citizen laboriously drawing near might not have looked like much to the unversed eye, but he represented one of the three or four most brilliant minds on the planet, and had managed to achieve status as the arch-nemesis of Captain Marvel, the World’s Mightiest Mortal, and also claimed the dubious distinction of being considered one of the most dangerous criminals on the watch lists of both the Justice Society and the Justice League, not to mention such organizations as the FBI, the CIA, the U.S. Secret Service, and analogous groups across the globe. Gnarled and arthritic as he might have been, Dr. Sivana was no joke.

“Mr. Terrible,” he said by way of greeting once he’d finally managed to drag his doddering carcass up to where Terrible stood nervously waiting. “I’ve heard much about you, and have been monitoring your activities.”

“Um, it’s an honor. Sir. I’ve heard about you, too, it’s a privilege to meet you.”

“Indeed. And did either Chronos or the Fadeaway Man convey my interest in having you work with me?”

“Well, the Fadeaway Man said something along those lines before he...you know. Faded away. Man.”

“Heh. Very good. And did you wonder why a man of my criminal stature would seek to employ someone with your own limited and highly questionable track record?”

“Yeah, I did kinda wonder about that.”

“Well, I have come to believe that there is far more to you than meets the eye. More than you yourself probably suspect. Does that surprise you?”

“Yeah. I’ve had myself a lifetime to see what else there is to me, and so far, I’ve pretty much come up empty.”

“Well, perhaps it just requires a different perspective – perhaps you’re too close to the truth.”

“The truth being...?”

“Well, I have heard tell that you yourself freely volunteer the notion that everything you do ends disastrously, yes?”

“Yeah.” Simple truth.

“And since becoming more aware of you, I’ve had opportunity to more closely examine some of your exploits.”

“You talked to Psycho.”

“I did. On the one hand, I enjoy Dr. Psycho, because he makes me look tall by comparison...on the other hand, I pretty much dislike everything else about him. He is a blustering, shortsighted fool. There were truths about you in evidence to me, and I didn’t even have the benefit –as he did – of seeing them first-hand. Psycho believed that you had bested that Prometheus fellow in fair combat because he never thought to question your account – further evidence, as if any was needed, that the man should really be fitted for a permanent dunce-cap. But it wasn’t fair combat, was it, Mr. Terrible?”

“I’m tempted to ask you what’s really fair combat, but...no. It wasn’t.”

“No, it wasn’t. You were standing on a catwalk which chose that particular moment in time to collapse onto a very dangerous potential foe.”

“I guess you could describe it that way.”

“I would. I do. And look at everything since: that job led to your hiring by the Key, and examine the consequences of that. Against mighty odds, your presence arguably led to the fall of the House through a chain of tremendous coincidence. Just the right cast of characters parading through at just the right time. A Terrible misunderstanding revolving around two gentlemen both named Prometheus. And at the end, you yourself walked out of the rubble unscathed.”

“Well, if by unscathed, you mean still panhandler-poor, yeah.”

“Perhaps, but don’t you find it remarkable that you were able to come out the other side of so much peril, and to do it so completely intact and unharmed?”

“I guess I didn’t think about it.”

“You ought not take such good fortune for granted, Mr. Terrible. Nor should you overlook the incredible unlikelihood of all this.”

“No disrespect intended, but...can I ask what you’re getting at here?”

“Yes. To put it in rather oversimplified but still fairly accurate fashion for you...I believe that you possess far more metahuman characteristics than anyone – yourself included – has ever given you credit for.”

“You think I’m a super-guy? Uh...I’m trying to maintain that ‘no disrespect’ thing here, but...I really don’t know what else to say that won’t get me into trouble with you.”

“Mr. Terrible, it is my considered opinion that you are surrounded, day and night, by a sort of probability-altering field that, to date, you have yet to properly harness.”

“You mean...you think that I’m, like, subconsciously changing how likely it is that certain things will happen around me?”

“Exactly. Have you never realized just how far-fetched some of the events of your life have been? How outlandishly improbable?”

“Yeah, but I thought it was all just my own world-class bad luck.”

“In a way it has been...you are imposing your own self-fulfilling prophecy on the events that surround you. Or at least...that is my hypothesis. You believe bad things will happen to you, and so they do...and in the most unlikely ways imaginable. It is my intent to test this theory, and to see if we can’t cultivate this ability of yours. Put it to work for our mutual benefit. Would that be of interest to you?”

“Well...you know I don’t got any better offers at the moment. I could use the work, whatever it is.”

“But you’re hesitant.”

“Well. It’s just...as you apparently know, I have a tendency to screw things up. And I get the impression that unlike the Key or Dr. Psycho or a lot of other criminal so-called geniuses out there, you won’t let that kind of thing slide for even a second. I get the feeling that unlike those dorks, you won’t waste any time talking about all the horrible things you’ll do to guys who let you down – you’ll just do ‘em. And that’ll be that.”

“You fear that I will enlist your services because of this probability-altering ability I suspect, but will then kill you the first time it produces the slightest undesirable result...yes?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Ah, my Terrible new friend...that would be the kind of short-sighted approach attributable to those lesser lights you name: the Dr. Psychos and the Keys of the world. Stay loyal to me, and work within the confines of the plans I devise, and you will have nothing to fear except eventual success. I know you are not yet accustomed to results of that variety, but you may surprise yourself with how well you take to them once you begin to experience them.”

“Yeah, I did once hear somebody put across pretty much that kind of idea in a movie once.”

“Really. And what was the name of this picture? Perhaps I’ve seen it. Or should.”

Mr. Terrible swallowed with some effort. “Well...it was a flick called...uh... ‘Better Off Dead.’ So maybe that’s not the best piece to be referencing right about now.”

Dr. Sivana laughed, a surprisingly hearty sound, given his frail appearance. “I understand your glum outlook, young man, and your fears, but I believe we can overcome them. I foresee surprisingly great things ahead of us. Probability-defyingly great things. I ask you one final time: will you accept the offer to work for me?”

Mr. Terrible cracked a crooked smile. “Okay, Doc. Things have always ended disastrously for me, just like you said...but until I run out of chances, I gotta do something with my time, and I gotta eat, right? So okay...I’m in.”

“Then I am pleased to present you with your first task.”

“Which is...?” Terrible was afraid it would involve carrying the old guy out of the place, or helping him with his bathroom functions or something. But that wasn’t it.

“State your mantra for me.”

“My...? Excuse me?”

“Your mantra. Your motto. Your slogan. You know what I mean. Say it.”

“I’m...” He looked questioningly at Sivana, who nodded encouragement.

“Go on.”

“I’m Mr. Terrible...”

“Yes...?”

“And everything I do turns out disastrous.”

Sivana applauded him quietly. “Precisely. And now for your next assignment: I want you to never say that again. No more self-fulfilling prophecy. I am generally not one for the hackneyed ‘power of positive thinking’ school of thought...but in your case, I believe it is exactly what is required. Do we understand one another?”

“Yeah. We do.”

“Excellent. Most excellent indeed. Now let us away. Tell me – are you a fan of breakfast?” He turned, and began to tap his way back in the direction from which he’d first appeared, and Terrible followed.

“Yeah, I’m a fiend for breakfast, Doc. Big fan of eggs in the morning, and I gotta say, after a full night of duking it out with JSA guys, crazy super-villains, and drooling lion-men, I could eat a couple of plates-full. You know a good place nearby?”

“I am one of the most brilliant men in the world, my friend, and I am only a year or two shy of being literally as old as the hills – at this point, I know all the good places.”

“Well, then, I’ll let you lead the way.”

“Outstanding.”

And with that, the notorious Dr. Sivana did lead the way – albeit at a brutally slow pace – and it did turn out to be one of the very finest breakfasts Mr. Terrible had ever enjoyed.

And he tried so very, very hard throughout – and for weeks and weeks afterward – to silence that unending voice in his head, to fight against its oh-so-persuasive claims, and to finally prove it wrong...

I’m Mr. Terrible, it said, again and again and again...and everything I do turns out disastrous...

THE END ... FOR NOW!!!