“We’ll Huff...”

By Steve Seinberg

Tap was finding that the emotional baggage of the fighters was oddly stacked in one direction. It wasn’t the disparity itself that surprised him, however, but rather the direction in which it was weighted.

He’d assumed that the villain in the equation would need little to no coaxing, but that the hero would require quite a good bit of prodding. What he was finding in this case, though, was that it was actually the reverse: Mr. Terrible seemed to be surprisingly even-tempered as his general make-up – very little predisposition toward anger or hate – while Michael Holt had unguessed-at deep wells of rage within himself. All Tap had to do with Mr. Terrific was remove some inhibitions, then “point and shoot.” Had Holt been asked, he could have explained that the fury he carried around inside himself, and bent toward admirable goals, was all centered around the premature loss of his wife, who had been killed in an auto accident. He had never really recovered from it, had remained single ever since, and had used the tragedy as fuel in a sense, entering the super-hero world after her passing with the help provided by a former Justice Society member called the Spectre, a mystical being who had evolved over the years, becoming less of a standard crime-fighter and more of a supernatural Spirit of Vengeance. It was very little work for Tap to stoke the fires of Terrific’s rage.

Mr. Terrible, on the other hand, seemed to approach life in a fashion that was strangely apathetic. Even when pulling jobs and fighting his foes, he generally remained unexcited and very matter of fact about everything. He was practical about it more than anything else: it was a career path he’d chosen, and there were certain necessary kinds of actions that would have to follow, that was all. The fighting and the violence were just unavoidable components of a life of crime. Tap found himself struggling a bit with Mr. Terrible. Not that he wasn’t succeeding – he was, and he finally got a good head of steam worked up in the man’s rage and hate centers – but it was taking a lot more of his concerted effort than he’d ever anticipated.

The fight started a bit slowly because of this. While Michael Holt was ready to get right down to it, Mr. Terrible was not, and he danced and shimmied and feinted around the arena, hesitant to bring on direct conflict. Tap was a bit shocked to understand that Terrible not only didn’t despise the man whose overall identity he’d chosen to mock by presenting himself as his own twisted version of it, but that he actually rather admired Mr. Terrific. Forcing him into open hostilities against the man required no small amount of exertion...although after applying himself a bit, it was like getting a heavy rock in motion: it went very slowly at first, but then picked up some momentum, and finally began accelerating all on its own.

The crowd was definitely displeased with Terrible’s cautious tactics at first, booing and hissing, not liking the way he simply sidled along the arena wall and dodged the swooping T-spheres. The turning point came when Tap finally got him incensed enough to draw one of his blades and throw it. It didn’t work out the way Tap had figured it would, but it did work out: Terrible had intended to throw that first knife past Mr. Terrific and across the “ring” so as to sink it into the far wall – he didn’t know that the transparent material that composed the barrier hemming them in was actually a metal that was harder than the one his knives were made of, and thought it might just be some kind of glass. He figured that it was probably reinforced, of course, but he might as well see if he could crack it open, and if it didn’t work, he could always try to work his way around the combat area to retrieve that particular blade later. Unfortunately, he was Mr. Terrible, he had his motto about his efforts always turning out disastrous, and there was a reason for that.

This time, when he cocked back his arm and sent his weapon sailing – and Terrible actually had a real cannon for an arm, too – he did so at a moment when Mr. Terrific was coincidentally bringing his T-spheres into a new formation for attack, and instead of the knife sailing past and testing the far walls of their pen, one of the spheres flew directly into the knife’s flight path, and was skewered like an olive immediately prior to martini-drop. The impact resulted in a small electrical storm playing out over the surface of the T-sphere and the blade impaling it, and after a few moments of much crackling and flashing, the silver metal orb and the weighted blade that had done it in both dropped to the floor of the chamber with a crash.

The crowd erupted in favor of Terrible, not understanding in the slightest what he had really been attempting, and assuming instead that he was revealing himself as a rather deadly marksman. Terrible wavered, uncertainty playing through his mind, slight despair at his effort going awry warring with a strange flush of unexpected pleasure at momentarily winning over the crowd. This was all that Tap needed, and he mentally grabbed the dials of Terrible’s negative emotions – the disappointment, the need for approval, the pride at stake and the fear of a horrible humiliation waiting just over the horizon should Michael Holt subject him to another in a long line of embarrassments and defeats – and he turned those dials up to 11.

Feeling new loathing in his heart, new rage and new lust for mayhem, Mr. Terrible drew forth another blade. “Three little T-spheres,” he taunted, although the crowd couldn’t hear him over its own roars to “put one in his eye!” – not even Mr. Terrific could hear him, and he could barely hear himself, but he kept on – “...and then there were two. Come on, Holt. Got two more for your little friends, and then five left all for you. Make nice sharp fashion accessories for you, Mr. GQ. Come on...”

Mr. Terrible advanced on his opposite number. The crowd raged, and somewhere the Key was eavesdropping in and laughing himself silly...

Approximately twenty-two hours earlier...

“Everybody goes.”

“Carter...”

“I said everybody goes. Look – I know that we just restructured the roster into the two teams, and then the sub-squads, and I’m not especially keen on deviating from that...but these are extraordinary circumstances. That place will be crammed to the rafters with super-human criminals, and we know from experience, from the last time we took down the House, that yes, most of them will be focused on simply getting themselves out of there to loot and pillage another day...but if you think there won’t be dozens of them also fighting back, whether out of malice or just simple survival impulses, you’re deluding yourself.”

The Black Canary winced, and then nodded. “Alright. You were there at the last big House party, and I wasn’t. We’ll do it your way. I’m just not crazy about leaving the Brownstone unattended. I feel...I don’t know, kind of superstitious about it.”

“Dinah, we used to do it all the time.” Sandy Hawkins was, like Hawkman, in favor of bringing the whole crew. He, too, had been at the last big throw-down at the House, and had a decent idea what the festivities might entail. “And,” he added, “that was before Michael came in and shored up all the defenses. The Brownstone will be fine on autopilot, and the Justice League have all the entry codes if anything happens to us. They’ll take care of things if it comes to that, it’s not like the place will fall into the wrong hands or anything.”

“I agree with Sand and Carter.” Dr. Mid-Nite looked uncomfortable about speaking up, but sounded quite sure that Hawkman’s decision was right. “Not only will there be scores of super-criminals running around in a panic once we invade, but Roulette also has this Hybrid group all mind-controlled, and at her beck and call. I’ve looked over the notes that Nightwing compiled on them after the Titans had their run-in with the Hybrid early last year, and they sound like an exceptionally formidable group. Excellent report by Nightwing, by the way. But the point is, we’ll need all hands on deck for this outing...and even then, I’d recommend we have the Justice League on stand-by.”

“Here’s what I recommend...” Mr. Terrific wasn’t one of the co-chairs, but when someone with that caliber of intellect and tactical skills spoke up, they all listened. “I won’t be with you when you first get in, but I’ve had some nasty programming cooked up for Roulette ever since the last time she hosted us at her facility – I propose that we hit her with a diversion at one end of her complex, and then quietly slip in and inject my viral greeting card at the other.”

“Are you sure she won’t have upgraded beyond what your efforts are geared toward, Michael? By your own admission, you formulated everything based on what you found in the previous incarnation of the House.” Hawkman looked like he was eager to be carving something.

“Roulette has some brilliance in her tech department, no question,” Michael Holt allowed, “but she’s more a scavenger and a reactionary. There was almost nothing purely innovative in what she’d constructed. Most of the tech was stolen from work done by me, by the JLA...some was lifted somehow from Batman himself – I’d love to know how she accomplished that – and some seemed like she must have pilfered it from people on her side of the fence, like Luthor and Sivana...but almost nothing was original. Unless she’s done anything truly radical all of a sudden, which I highly doubt, my counter-measures will work.”

“Alright, then. So you’re suggesting...?”

“I’m suggesting two teams: one that’s all sound and fury to draw attention, and one that’s pure silent infiltration. First, the noise: Roulette has again located herself a few hundred meters below a desert...and we have with us one of the strongest geomorphs ever known to man.” He clapped Sandy Hawkins on the shoulder. “Sand here can take a handful of our powerhouses with him right down through the earth itself without any detectable machinery necessary. I can’t imagine Roulette’s gear could spot such a thing unless her people had been specifically tipped off not only that we were coming, but exactly where and how.”

“You know,” the Black Canary offered, “we can’t be sure that the Key hasn’t set this all up as some kind of elaborate trap. It could be that Roulette does know we’re coming.”

The others considered, but seemed skeptical.

The Canary went on. “Hey, I’m just saying – some of you might know Roulette from first-hand experience, but most of you have never dealt with the Key. I have. Carter and I are the only ones here who have also served with the JLA, and let me tell you, the guy is no picnic. He’s deceptive: he looks like a joke, and he’s clearly demented – now more than ever after his coma – but he’s also brilliant. And as treacherous as the day is long.”

“All true, Dinah,” Mr. Terrific allowed, “but I believe him when he says he wants to recoup his investment, and this is the only way. And I’m also going to recommend that before we fully commit ourselves, we have Hector look in on the location to verify that there are indeed Fight Club-type activities being conducted, and no special buzz about the JSA – Roulette might have some techno-wizardry at her disposal, but aside from possibly that one odd little goblin character she has on the payroll, she seems to be woefully lacking in the area of mystical capabilities...and Dr. Fate is about as mystically capable as it gets.”

“I agree with Michael.” Hawkman was still glowering, hungry for war. “So assuming everything checks out...back to your recommendations, Michael?”

“Right. Well, I’m saying that we have Sand take the thunder and lightning squad right down through the ground with him, and they effect forcible entry. That will definitely sound the alarms, and split Roulette’s attention – she’ll have to keep focus on her gladiator games and the big crowds watching them still, and try to keep our invasion quiet from them for as long as she can to hold off a mass panic attack, and she’ll also have to send troops against us. I think Canary should lead that group, and I recommend we send all of our big wrecking machines with her and Sandy: Captain Marvel, Power Girl, Hippolyta, and Liberty Belle. Sand takes them down through the earth, one of them tears an entryway right through the outer wall of the House – no need to be delicate about it – and then the group just proceeds to smash anything and everything in its path as it fights toward the center arena, where I’m sure they’ll find me. I’d recommend copious property damage, and Dinah, I’d say liberal use of your sonic scream would be in order.”

“And the stealth squad?”

“Right. Hector will meanwhile teleport in himself, Dr. Mid-Nite, Hourman, the Phantom Lady, Nemesis, and the Crimson Avenger. Pieter will be in charge of the group overall, but I’d advise splitting into pairs and fanning out – each member of the infiltration squad will get some of my custom-made virus, and if anyone sees anything that looks even remotely like it’s part of the House computer system, the virus goes into it. We only need one successful transfer, and the virus will replicate, and spread, and fry every system she has except the life support...starting with her teleporters, so that the place will be effectively sealed – no one gets out except us when we’re ready.”

“Except for any of the guests who are teleporters or earth-movers on-hand for the games.” The Canary had no intention of missing a single detail.

Mr. Terrific shrugged. “There’ll be scores of felons on-site, and no, we won’t get every single one of them. But virtually all of them will have been ferried in by House teleport, and I think the overwhelming majority will be stuck inside once we cancel their scheduled ride home.”

“Your plan leaves a few of us unassigned, Michael.”

Michael Holt frowned. “You won’t like this, Carter...but I haven’t forgotten about the rest of you. Someone has to watch the surface for the kinds of escapees Dinah was just anticipating...and all things considered, I think it makes the most sense for you and the Condor and the Ray to circle up above. Men with wings aren’t ideally suited for missions underground, and I’d lump in a flyer like the Ray there, too – even if he doesn’t have wings, he’s basically a creature of the air, and he’ll be a lot more effective in the open than he would be if we had him in a subterranean environment. And if no one really seems to be emerging above-ground, and the fighting is getting heavy down below, you can always contact Hector, and he can zap you all in as cavalry.”

“You’re right: I don’t like it. I’d prefer to be cracking skulls with my mace. People like Roulette make me sick, and I have plenty of ill-will built up over years now that’s aimed at a lot of her patrons. But what you’re saying makes sense. Just understand that my idea of when a cavalry charge is necessary might come around a lot sooner than yours would.”

The T-mask was opaque, but they could all still tell when Mr. Terrific cracked a smile. “I kind of already figured on that.”

“Alright, then,” Hawkman clapped one hand down on the table. “Any objections or reservations regarding Michael’s plan?”

There were none.

“Good. Let’s call in the troops. We’ll give them an overall briefing, and then Dinah and Sand, you can drill your muscle squad separately, and Pieter, you and Michael can talk to the stealth group. Let’s get to it, people, because if the Key can be trusted on at least this intelligence, then Roulette’s people will be coming for Michael soon.”

The Justice Society mobilized for action...

Michael Holt had at first found it difficult to fight the tidal waves of negative emotion crashing through his psyche at Tap’s instigation...and then had suddenly decided he didn’t want to.

It was the destruction of one of his treasured T-spheres that had initially triggered the change for him, just as it had across the arena for Mr. Terrible. At first it was just resentment at seeing his work brought to ruin that, magnified a thousand-fold by Tap, pushed him over the edge into embracing his dawning fury. He wanted to lash out against the figure opposite him who had broken his technological wonder like a stupid schoolyard bully breaking another child’s toy out of simple spite, just so no one could play with it. And then, as faces outside the transparent walls of the arena flashed past, many of them female faces...as they always did, his thoughts turned to Paula...his beloved wife, now gone...

He really hadn’t had all that much time with her, when he examined it in the context of his whole life. Just a very small percentage, a handful of months out of the decades of his existence. He had found his one true love, and she had loved him back, soul-mates of exactly the kind the great romance novels joyfully celebrated...and then she’d been snatched away by cruel, uncaring fate. Killed in an auto accident, gone just like that. And here he was, left to serve out the remainder of his time on Earth like a jail sentence, lost and desolate without her. And how was that fair?

Fair...he spared a glance at the slogans running up both of his jacket sleeves, the short catch-phrase he’d adopted from Terry Sloane when he’d taken on the man’s heroic identity, proudly emblazoned there: “Fair Play.” And yet...what was really fair? Certainly nothing for Michael Holt. He had his gifts, to be sure, his boundless intelligence, and his phenomenal athleticism...but without the love of his life to share it with him, without even the possibility now of any future love, since he would be faithful to Paula forever, what could possibly be fair? And why should he bother fighting for the possibility that others might at least enjoy some sense of fair play in their lives? What was the point? None, he decided – there was no point. It was a sucker’s play, and he’d been acting like a chump for several years now, dedicating himself to a life of struggle and danger and toil so he could preserve freedoms for morons who had no idea what to even do with them, let alone show gratitude for having been given them. His anger continued to build.

He looked at the grotesque thing across from him. Did this creature think he could steal Michael’s persona so easily? He watched this so-called “Mr. Terrible,” this graceless, inelegant fool, twitching and lurching about, and daring to challenge him. It was like someone had pulled Michael’s twisted reflection from some dark fun-house mirror and given it flesh of its own – like he was facing his own bad karma made real, his own fears and doubts and failings. “Foul Play,” said the arms of its jacket, which suddenly seemed like wisdom to Michael: if the universe would imprison him inside his own forever-after loveless despair, why not share such wealth? Why not Foul Play for all? Mr. Terrible could be him for all he cared, for there was clearly no percentage in it – he, in turn, would become Mr. Terrible. He would take away the gibbering lunatic’s knives, strip him of his falsely claimed persona, take the Foul Play jacket for himself, and then with the villain’s own weapons, cut the capital letter “T” from the man’s face. The crowd wanted mayhem? He would give them all that they wanted and more. Waves of blood-thirst like he’d never known washed over him, and he welcomed them. He just hoped that the Justice Society, whose plan he dimly remembered, didn’t arrive in time to stop him.

Grinning a most terrifying grin indeed, Michael Holt stepped forward...and when he thought he felt a distant ripple of shockwave through the facility floor, and thought he sensed some slight pull of the crowd’s attentions in another direction, he knew his time was running out, and he decided to step up the pace. T-spheres leading his charge, Mr. Terrific went on the offensive...

Things started off well for the brute strength half of the JSA’s invasion force.

The Sandman lived up to his name, creating a slab of solid ground for the heroes in his faction to stand on, and had then opened up a tunnel beneath them, allowing the slab to descend, while telekinetically keeping a clear sort of chamber around them, and letting the tunnel close up behind them as they went. For the others in his group, it was almost as comfortable as riding down a building in a conventional elevator, but for the pitch-blackness. Sand made as much haste as the task would permit, as breathable air within their confined space was a concern.

It didn’t take them long to traverse the distance between the surface and the metal hull of Roulette’s underground installation, and once there, the Black Canary had simply invited one of them to do the honors, as stealth and subterfuge were hardly on the program. This kind of forcible entry was especially up the alley of the at times brash Power Girl, and the blonde warrior told the others “I got this” in a tone that was clearly not ready to entertain any arguments. She felt for the metal wall there in the enclosed darkness of the artificial “room” Sand had created, and upon finding it, punched her way through in short, loud order.

The heroes found themselves in a sort of lounge, somewhat reminiscent of a hipster bar, although it was mostly empty at the moment. There was indeed a long hardwood counter that housed rows of bottles of high-end liquor against the opposite wall, and several view-screens showing images of their teammate, Mr. Terrific, doing battle with a man who looked like a dark and cartoonish spoof of him – the man who called himself Mr. Terrible, clearly, just as the Key had foretold.

The lounge also held two occupants, who had obviously not been expecting company, and certainly none coming straight through the outer wall at them. These were two villains – like Mr. Terrible, they were relative newcomers to the world of super-criminal antics, and both were inheritors of mantles previously held by others. The male was a man named Jack Chifford who had adopted the identity of a now-deceased villain called the Hellhound, and the female he was groping and being groped by in turn was decked out in the slightly bedazzling outfit of a villain called Crazy Quilt, although it had to be said that the overly colorful and form-fitting skinsuit looked a lot more flattering on her than it had on the former Crazy Quilt, a middle-aged male with an unhealthy fixation on Batman’s young partner Robin. The two villains looked more stunned and annoyed by the heroic intrusion than anything else, and made no real moves to attack, or even to disengage from each other, but the JSA members knew that their forced intrusion would already have been noticed by Roulette’s people, and they imagined red alarm lights flashing all over the facility. They didn’t have much time to act, and they needed to draw as much attention to themselves as possible, and that meant advancing into the facility unhindered.

“Liberty Belle!” The Canary barked out, and Jesse Chambers, leapt into action. A year before, she had been a super-speedster with a velocity level on a par with the various Flashes, the yardsticks by which all speedsters were measured. She had inherited her own speed from her father, a World War II-era hero known as Johnny Quick, and in his honor, she had taken the heroic name of Jesse Quick. Something had happened to render her temporarily powerless, though, and only recently had she managed to access not only super-strength powers drawn from the other side of the family – her mother had been the heroine known as Liberty Belle, a super-human powerhouse back in her day – but had also reconnected somewhat with her super-speed as well, although she was no longer quite as light-speed fast as she’d once been, and could no longer fly through the air. She had switched her code-name to reflect her evolution, adopting her mother’s former handle, and was still getting used to the loss of her flight ability and much of her speed, as well as the ins and outs of suddenly being super-strong. She still retained a great deal of speed, however, and while she was no longer within shouting distance of the Flashes, she was still a barely discernible blur to those with normal speed when she wanted to be, and she had catapulted herself across the room at the amorous villains and delivered knockout punches to the chins of each before they’d even really had a chance to see her coming.

They were still in the middle of collapsing, when a sudden gust of wind announced new arrivals: another super-fast young woman materialized with a skidding halt before them even as a winged blue creature that seemed as much reptilian as humanoid came screaming in on her heels. These two, unlike the pair that had been making out on the plush couches, looked ready for trouble, and from the descriptions of the Hybrid provided by Nightwing, were part of Roulette’s security force. Before anyone could react, they were followed by two more arrivals, a muscular-looking metal man and a woman wrapped up in rags who floated on invisible winds.

“Jesse,” said the Black Canary, “you keep the speedster tied up, and don’t let her maintain contact with you. Marvel, you make for the arena and spring Michael. Everyone else, dog-pile and property damage!”

The two sides met with a resounding crash. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, launched herself at the winged blue monstrosity. The mother of Wonder Woman, who was widely recognized as the greatest and mightiest of all female warriors on the planet, the ageless Hippolyta had actually used that same codename back during World War II when she was a member of the early Justice Society, and she was always ready to prove that she was her daughter’s mother, and that the awe-inspiring apple didn’t fall far at all from the regal and magnificent tree. The Hybrid member before her might indeed have been infused with lavish helpings of promethium, and might also have had a lifetime of military experience amassed beneath his belt, but the dark-haired beauty waded in with such super-human gusto that she knocked him entirely through the inner wall of the lounge, carrying them into another set of viewing rooms, and demolishing another luxurious bar in the process. She continued to flail away at him while the combat went on behind them.

Captain Marvel made use of the new hole they’d created in the wall to rocket through and past them, and continue on in a direct line toward the main arena – they’d all been drilled in the layout of the previous incarnation of the House, and knew that Roulette liked to keep her main combat areas as central as possible...and even if she’d juggled that, the JSA leaders had decided that it still wouldn’t hurt things to send someone crashing through walls and raising alarms all over the place, possibly panicking the visiting crowds as well. Marvel was of course not billed as the World’s Mightiest Mortal for nothing, and was widely considered to be about on a par with Superman in terms of sheer strength, speed, and invulnerability. Needless to say, his demolition derby through the walls of the facility would not go long unnoticed.

Meanwhile, as Power Girl grappled with the metal-skinned Prometheus...as Liberty Belle danced at super-speed with Touch ‘N’ Go...as Scirocco, controller of wind and sand, mentally attacked the Sandman’s silicon body, and the Black Canary began to all but liquefy the walls and ceiling all around them with her sonic scream...unseen by all, another villain stumbled out of one of the nearby restrooms to happen upon the scene.

“Man,” said a drunken Derrick Coe, the rifleman known as the Black Spider, “can’t a guy take a...oh, holy hell.” At the sight of the terrifying display of heroic might arrayed before him, Coe thanked the powers that be that he’d just emptied his bladder, and went tearing away back down the corridors that led to the arenas, screaming to anyone who would listen that “It’s a raid! We’re being raided! JSA in the House!”

Word – and panic – began to spread like wildfire...

Meanwhile, on the other side of the facility, a barely perceptible twinkle of lights heralded the arrival of the stealth party, courtesy of Dr. Fate.

A half-dozen heroes materialized with nary a whisper, took quick stock to see that they hadn’t yet been noticed, and then Dr. Mid-Nite broke them into pairs, and sent everyone off in different directions. The immediate goal was simple: find some handy computer equipment, and then get Michael’s Holt’s custom-made viral gift poured into it A.S.A.F.P. Hourman escorted the Phantom Lady down the first off-shooting corridor, and the remaining foursome went another twenty meters or so before splitting the group in half at a T-intersection, Mid-Nite taking Nemesis along with him, leaving Dr. Fate and the Crimson Avenger to do what they could in the other direction.

Hourman and his lovely paramour found what turned out to be living quarters for the Hybrid. The doors were of the variety that expected a special computerized key-card, but the Phantom Lady produced something Mr. Terrific had gimmicked up for each duo before they’d left that had the door popped before Dee Tyler could even get the techno-lockpick back in her pocket. The room was fairly barren of both furniture and belongings, but it did open up on a larger suite, where they did find at least a desk, a backless chair, and the prize they were looking for: a desktop computer linked in to the House network. Both JSA operatives feared there would be firewalls keeping most of the place’s crucial systems blocked off from what the staff could get at outside of certain main control room areas, but Terrific had assured them they needn’t worry on that score, and that the programming he’d concocted was so virulent as to be on the level of Ebola for computers. Dee Tyler was as quick with the little USB-compatible device he’d given them as she’d been with the lock-busting gadget, and while Hourman watched the door, Terrific’s digital House-warming potion seeped into Roulette’s systems.

Meanwhile, Mid-Nite and Nemesis had equal success jacking open a door into a large storage area, a space just a bit too small to be called a warehouse, and while they found mostly things like foodstuffs and bedding and such, basic living supplies, they did spot a table toward the rear of the place that had a glowing monitor snoring happily away in sleep-mode. Mid-Nite was as dextrous as the Phantom Lady, and had Terrific’s virus downloading in seconds, while Nemesis drew her sword, and silently begged any of the House’s denizens to come and find them.

Dr. Fate and the Crimson Avenger didn’t bother with the lock-picker cards – they were both teleporters, and just “blinked” themselves from one room to another to another until they found a receptacle for Terrific’s nasty little care package in a casual dining area, where several terminals had clearly been set up for staff members to use while eating meals or stopping for coffee breaks.

Once the disabling code-work had been dispatched, each of the teams retraced their steps until they met at the mouth of that same T-intersection. Red lights had begun to flash all over the place, and Rick Tyler quietly informed the others that an audible intruder alert had also been issued in the living quarters they’d infiltrated, meaning the House had twigged to either the sound and fury squad’s arrival, or their own trespasses had been noticed. Either way, it hardly mattered, as they’d all accomplished their primary objective without incident – it had been almost anti-climactic in its simplicity, in fact – and now they were free to work their way toward the center of the place, and try to hook up with Canary’s squad, provided they could take care of the House’s security force and the seven or eight dozen super-criminals who would be caught between them.

Dr. Mid-Nite told the Crimson Avenger to zap herself across the facility to link up with the heavy hitters, and gave Dr. Fate the order to ‘port on up ahead to free Mr. Terrific from the main combat area and then hunker down with him until the rest of the group could fight their way to them. Without a word, the teleporters went. The remaining four heroes broke into a trot, hoping they’d see signs that either Terrific’s counter-programming or Canary’s invasion force – or hopefully both – would soon be yielding visible results. Three rounded corners later, and a wave of panicky, sprinting super-villains coming their way told them that at least one of the gambits had indeed begun to make itself felt…

Next Issue: When the JSA crash a party, they knock hard, and villains and Hybrid alike are feeling the impact...