Apokalips. A lone red planet, spinning silently in it's own corner of cold space, it was once the home of one of the most powerful tyrannies in known creation. A cesspool of the worst aspects of the universe, Apokalips served as home and hub to the poor, the ignorant, and the deranged. Its ruler was Darkseid, an unfeeling god who ruled with a sick genius and an iron fist. Many throughout the cosmos feared him. However, a small minority, with both a certain wisdom and an absolute silence, paid a gratitude to him in some ways. Because Darkseid used that iron fist to control and suppress his people. In the wider scope of the universe, Apokalips was a plague. It's inhabitants wild and unruly, and completely dependent on their harsh master for survival. Some wondered if the terrible Darkseid's passing could be a negative thing, for they feared the release and spread of his subjects to the safer and more fortunate worlds. But they dismissed the though, because it was believed that Darkseid could never be brought down and his planet would always be the home of chaos.

But they were wrong.

Where once a world akin to Hell was the scourge of the universe under an unbending dictator, now the New Gods of New Genesis had descended upon their sister planet. Slowly the grit and grim was chipped away and a whole was poked in the permeating darkness to let in the faintest glimmer of light. Darkseid was gone and hope was now possible on Apokalips.

That was why Hope Citadel had been built. It stood tall in the exact geometric center of one of Apokalips' large, metropolitan ghettoes, the city Coveris. In Coveris a huge population was forced into a small are almost to the point of social suffocation. It's buildings were low, ground level complexes built of a native metal that was black like old charcoal. The streets were filthy, cracks running from one end of a patch of road to the next, making automotive transportation nearly impossible. Weeds crept up from the cracks and crawled their way along streets and buildings, wrapping the pieces of crude architecture in a vice-grip. But in the middle of it all, members of the New Genesis Army had erected a tall, golden spire. Long and thin, it stuck up out of the black center like a great sword pointing to the sky. It's grand, quirky New Genesis design was a stark contrast to the dismal buildings at it's feet.

Many of the larger cities had such command centers. They were set into place almost instantly upon New Genesis' takeover of it's opposite in the great tapestry, Apokalips. They were to be symbols of change to the denizens of that city. A way to believe the reformation was real and tangible. Workers for the New Genesis Army made these centers their base of operations and the source of all change for the surrounding areas.

That was why on a chilly Apokalips night one of the New Gods greatest warriors and chief agents in the reformation, found himself in Hope Citadel.

Scott Free, or Mr. Miracle, as he was more commonly known was a hero of both New Genesis and the planet Earth. The son of the New God's original leader, Highfather, he was to be traded to Apokalips in a peace treaty that was to prevent war from the two opposing worlds. However, by the invisible mandate of fate, the infant child somehow made his way to Earth, where he was raised as a human. Scott Free lived as an earthman until adulthood, when he realized the bizarre origins of his birth and returned to New Genesis, where he resolved to use his abilities as the universe's most incredible escape artist as Mr. Miracle.

That night he stood in the middle of a large chamber, it's lone occupant. A mix of ancient design and futuristic technology, the room was New Genesis from ceiling to floor. The ground was a glimmering gold marble, but the walls were pure golden alloy, dotted with rows and rows of complicated computers and machinery, each it's own shade of gold, shined to perfection.

Scott Free set his cup down on a floating council before him as he wiped his hands through his shaggy black hair. Bags were under his eyes, and the worn expression on his face clashed with the sheer garishness of his colorful outfit. Bright yellow, red, and green, he fit in perfectly with his surroundings. His long green cape hung heavily over his shoulders, extending to just below his feet, and his mask lay behind his head, unfilled.

"Sorry, J'onn," he mumbled, not even looking directly to the large viewscreen before his face. "I had to get a cup of coffee. Not that the lousy junk I got these drones to replicate here could be anything close to a real cup of Earth coffee. It's vile, but hey, at least it stains my teeth and keeps me up all night."

A large, well-muscled green countenance looked back at him calmly from the other side of the screen, which was presently connected to the Justice League Watchtower on Earth's moon. J'onn Jon'zz, the Martian Manhunter, smiled at his compatriot.

"How interesting. It seems Apokalips has done wonders for your sense of humor, Scott."

"Yeah, who would have guessed?," Scott allowed himself a smile as he sipped his coffee. That tall man grimaced as the hot, unflavored liquid made it's way past his lips. "So how are things on Earth. It's been a long time since I've had a chance to talk with anyone."

"Busy. Always busy. But such is the life and I have adapted to it. We've lessened our numbers slightly since I last spoke with you, incorporating more experienced members primarily, but I am glad that we are still training more unproven talent. Firebird has made an exceptional addition to the group, despite being a bit reserved, as is common. I see much potential there."

Scott waited for a moment. It seemed that the Martian Manhunter was

pondering something. Finally he finished.

"Plastic Man has left as well."

Scott's smile grew. "Gives you kind of a warm, fuzzy feeling, doesn't it?"

"Never," the Martian returned with a confidential grin.

"What about the rest of my old teammates?"

"Guy is still entertaining at Warrior's. I admit I haven't been down that way in a while. The bar scene, even one so devoted to our "superhero subculture" isn't really for me. As for just about everyone else, Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, Fire, and G'nort are all serving together as part of Extreme Justice at the moment, and they've set up operations on Earth."

Scott let out a low whistle. "You let Beetle and Booster run their own team? I mean, last time they had you to lend a more experience perspective..."

"Elongated-Man's with them. Besides, they've been at it for a while and Detroit's still intact. I have confidence."

Scott chuckled and pulled up a chrome chair from under a computer console. He sighed and massaged his aching bones as he eased into the chair, propping his feet up on the desk. He sipped at the coffee as his eyes wandered, just slightly to the window across the room. The dark night and the even darker streets greeted his vision. He sighed.

"Actually, J'onn, I really just appreciate you taking a minute to talk with me. I've been so busy lately that I haven't had a moment to take for myself, much less connect with any of my friends. I've gotten to know some of the newer people I work with as we restore Apokalips' infrastructure, but I get shuffled from city to city so much to oversee different projects... not to mention the fact that I just miss Earth culture sometimes. The New Gods are great and all, but I'm never going to stop getting yearning for baseball, or comedy clubs.... or Earth coffee."

"It's my pleasure. I'm quite the opposite, actually. Recently I've been alternating most of my time between maintaining my League responsibilities and my civilian identities. I welcome the opportunity to learn what's going on beyond Earth. How goes the work on Apokalips?"

"Some days it feels almost impossible. We pour more troops onto the surface each day, but we're scraping the bottom of the barrel to find competent leadership. And since we're lacking there, those of us at the top (like yours truly) have to take up the slack. The thing is, J'onn, I never once was naive enough to think that everything would be easier after we managed to topple Darkseid... but I had no idea of just what kind of scenario we were looking at. The level of work involved is insane and that's without even considering the resistance from the locals..."

"The citizens of Apokalips aren't receptive to their newfound freedom?," J'onn pressed.

"Some, yes. Others, no. It's hard. A lot of the upper class characters were all to ready to turn on their master, when given the slightest opportunity. But now we can't trust the slimy worms enough to turn our backs on them, because now all the diplomats are pushing for a larger piece for themselves. As for the poor... they're fearful, hateful, and uneducated, which means they don't really know how to live without a dictator controlling their lives. The worst of the rioting has stopped, but now we have to police a whole planet worth of people who can't tell the difference between us and their former ruler. Darkseid's work runs deep into the culture and psychology of people. Many don't believe he's dead. He birthed and raised them in an environment of fear and it's all they know.

A sad look passed over the J'onn's face, but it was pushed away instantly. Scott searched his old friend for any hint of emotion, but it was not to be found again. Scott had always thought that a peculiarity of the Martian Manhunter. He could read the minds of anyone, but no one could read him.

"It's true," J'onn said. "But despite how it may seem, the hardest battle has been won. You've liberated them. Their free now. The first step is always the most difficult. Now you must help them conquer their fear. I suppose that's part of the rationale behind this Halloween..."

Scott cocked his eyebrow, confused. "What was that J'onn?"

"Oh, sorry. Most of the League is gone at the moment because it's Halloween back on Earth. An interesting little celebration, though I admit I never really understood it. Although I do like the chocolate..."

Scott looked away for a minute, only to stifle a smile. "It's okay. I never really did either. But what did you say it had to do with fear?"

"Just a thought... that humans, by having one day a year to express and emulate their fears, find it's power over them that much lessened for doing so."

Outside the window looking into the communications chamber the stars twinkled against a pitch black night. Their glittering light reflected off of Scott Free's eyes as he stared absentmindedly out beyond his room. "Maybe...," he muttered halfheartedly, not really listening to J'onn anymore. "Look J'onn, thanks, it's been great having someone to talk to. I have to go out on patrol though... I'm supposed the check out one of the pens Darkseid's scientists were using to hold people while they were being experimented on. I have to make sure we don't find any nasty surprises when we either tear it down or renovate it. But yeah... I should probably get going."

"Of course. Thank you. I had need of some conversation."

"Yeah. You should come out this way sometime, you know? We could braid each other's hair, talk about boys..."

Light-years away, on the surface of the moon, the Martian Manhunter reached forward to press a button on the JLA Watchtower's viewscreen.

"Good-bye, Scott."

With that, the screen slowly faded to black with a smiling green Martian on the other side. Scott Free instantly slipped on his mask, hopped on his glider and was out into the night.

"Later, J'onn..."

Progress Center #34.

The monstrous, black complex loomed above the rest of it's surrounding buildings. As wide as it was tall, it stuck up in the corner of a densely packed quarter of the industrial industry and drew all attention to it's ugly face. Only a few windows spotted the walls, and there were far fewer of them that there were long pipes running from a random section of the building to another. They stuck out obscenely, and were noticeable, much like the rest of the complex, for their morose, alien architecture. They had no readily apparent use of function. From behind three fat smokestacks towered over the rest of the facilities, their activity long ceased.

Lofty fences circled the perimeter and they were tied together with thick, nasty looking chains. But the metal barely rattled as Mr. Miracle, sailing upon the two golden discs on his feet, floated silently down to the front yard. His padded feet made a soft "thup" as he hopped from the discs to the ground. A chill ran up his feet.

His dark green cape ruffled behind him as he walked, the sound of it's scraping the ground following him. His face was set like stone beneath the bright crimson and gold of his mask. Shadow tugged at him as he neared the entrance, but he ignored the absence of light, simply waiting as caution dictated. When no sound came forth, he moved for the door. Delicate fingers, covered in bright red fabric flicked on a small but powerful flashlight. With it in place, he searched along the length of his belt, where the universe's greatest escape artist kept all of his lock picking tools, and retrieved a tiny, golden file.

After a second's work, the rusty door pushed inward.

The hero of New Genesis worked quickly. Though the twisting and turning corridors that made up the Progress Center were black like a bath of ink, the tiny dot of light from Miracle's flashlight highlighted everything he needed. The little beam jetted up and down, and side to side frantically as he scanned the halls for any sign of remaining power, and inspected the various rooms for a clue to their history or use. The first rooms turned up nothing. Some looked as though they had been trashed, but in a systematic method. All computers were shattered. Some rooms even looked as though they had been burnt.

Looks like someone had to get out of here in a hurry, Mr. Miracle mused while rubbing his chin. He ran his fingers over another locked door, analyzing the secret to it's defeat. I've seen this too many times. Peons involved in little projects for the government trying to destroy evidence once the New Genesis invasion became public knowledge. But they were scared, stupid, and sloppy about it. Just like all the others. Now I juuuuuust have to figure out where they made their mistake.

For half an hour he scoured the expansive premises and the building's purpose became more, to completely obvious. The probe of light passed from room to room and each contained some combination of lab tables with straps on them, broken beakers, half-burnt clipboards and charts, and the like. The effect did not truly begin to hit him however, until he started to see the blood. Originally there would just be one or two dots scattered over a random table. Dark reddish or brown. Barely noticeable except to the trained eyes. But some tables and instruments were covered in it. Whole rooms splattered with coats of old blood. The stench alone became almost unbearable.

Mr. Miracle clenched his nostrils shut and pressed onwards.

Medical experimentation! They imprisoned people here to be lab-rats! But why? Medical purposes, perhaps? Military?...

Questions racked his brain until finally, like a light in the dark, two words appeared on a door:

Administrative Offices.

He finessed the door open and took a step inside. Though it was nearly impossilbe to gauge distance and direction from within the maze of a building, the sight of a large window overtaking the far wall confirmed that Scott had traveled completely to the other side of the complex. Looking around, he saw that this room was thrashed far more thoroughly than the others. Shards of metal and glass were littered on the floor, lying in heaps with bits of chopped up desk, machinery, and paper. Half the room was cold ash, probably the result of a small fire that had burnt out. He kicked over a fallen file cabinet, searching for clues. Glass and paper crinkled under his feet as he walked.

The monitor on a large wall computer was fractured beyond repair, wires hanging out in disarray, however when looking at the body of the machine, he smiled.

Cosmetic damage.

He bent over and pushed the computer away from the wall.

Bingo, he thought as he assembled a small device from a pouch at his waist. Clipping a few installments together, it resembled a slightly more bulky palm pilot. He ran a wire from his contraption down to a few plugs and switches on the back of the computer system.

I don't know why it was so hard for us to take this group down if they were always this stupid. This is pitiful. I could've cracked this thing with Earth technology.

Within moments, the screen before his eyes lit up with a dull blue glow and words started scrolling down. The contents of the entire hard-drive, everything that the computer system ever new became like an open book to him at that instant. His fingers punched at keys furiously and his intense eyes darted from figure to figure, digesting it all like a pro. The monitor hummed as he scrolled down lists of information, searching for any indication as to the building's history or present state.

His mind processed the data at an uncanny rate.

My God... it's military experimentation. They're keeping people here, captured vagrants or criminals, and testing performance enhancers or gene therapy experiments on them... Over 1,000 test subjects...

His fingers clicked away on the keyboard shifting to the layouts and schematics of the complex. In an instant small white lines floated onto the screen, constructing a complete breakdown of the building all for Mr. Miracle.

This could be way for than we bargained for... there's thirteen more floors beneath this one, and I've got a breakdown of what's on each one. And it's not pretty. I'm guessing they used some of the less valuable test-subjects as a security. But if I'm going to inspect all thirteen floors, then I need to get some back-up. But, wait a second...

He paused once more to review the information presented to him as his eyes grew wide. Energy is still being diverted down there. Oh Lord, this place is still online. There could still be prisoners down there. And who knows how long they've gone without food or medical attention. They probably have no idea what happened to their captors.

It was then that Mr. Miracle looked up to crack his neck when he saw the curious grey wall on the opposite side of the room. It was a silvery metal and reminded him of a pull-down garage door. He held his device with him as he slowly walked towards it.

Hmm... I don't see this door on the schematics. Which doesn't make sense. They're recent and this door can't be too new. I wonder what's behind it..., he pondered. Remnants of the destroyed room crunched under his feet as he slowly crept towards the door. He looked thoughtfully at the slab of metal as he ran his gloved hand over it. He stepped closer, and only then, too late, did he notice a little flash of red by his ankle. Like a beam being crossed. He had just enough time to try and reset his feet for movement when a large hatch fell away from the ground beneath his feet. Trash fell down the hole with a crash and his body went with it. The floor cracked against his head as he disappeared beneath it and everything faded to black...

The first thing he noticed when he awoke was the mask. It was hot and sticky and clung to his face like a thick layer of sweat. He lie in a heap on the ground, his cape wrapped around his head. Pain blared in his skull as he pulled his weary body into a sitting position, fighting to free himself from his cowl's entrapment. He blinked his eyes to adjust to the dark, but his annoyance returned to the mask, as he realized it sat off-center on his face. He reached up and struggled with the fabric to get it righted.

Stupid... worthless... piece of... blast it..., he cursed mentally. Never did like the thing. I don't know why I put up with the full-face deal, anyway. It's just a nuisance. A complete nuisance.

He felt his way along the ground and slowly hoisted himself up into a semi-standing position, fighting back the scream from within his aching head. I should go with one of those "diamond-mask" get-ups. Like Robin... but then how the heck does he get it to stick to his face like that? What if it just... fell off? Why do I need a mask anyway? I'm not on Earth. Nobody cares who Scott Free is. I've been struggling with a useless costume accessory for years.

Man, falling down a booby trap in an abandoned science lab every once in a while really puts things into perspective.

The room, like the rest of the building was simply a mass of impossible shadow. Mr. Miracle searched along the walls for some sign of exit. He found a door, locked, as expected. Kneeling down, his nimble figures probed and explored it, and within thirtiy seconds and despite the complete darkness, the lock was picked.

The light from outside the door, though relatively dim was a barrage upon his weakened eyes. The length of his unconsciousness nagged at him, but he pushed the thoughts away, preferring to answer other questions. Looking around, Fl. 13 appeared on a marquee next to the door. He was on the thirteenth floor of the building. The bottom of the complex.

Fluorescent lights clung to the ceiling and extended forth in straight line down the impossibly long corridor. Their buzzing and flickering traveled all the way down as far as the eye could see. Miracle followed them as long as he could, but they disappeared into a vanishing point of shadow. The incalculable magnitude of the hallways before him oppressed him, pushing against his chest like a vice. The buzz of the lights highlighted his dragging footsteps like a kind of sick music as he made his way down the dirty hallway.

Time passed endlessly around him. The long hallway branched off into others, each with their own set of doors and rooms. He inspected each room but they were bare. No evidence left of intention or purpose.

He had almost stopped checking when he heard the first murmurs behind a door. His eyes snapped to attention and he turned to face the large metal door before him. There was no window and thus, no view as to what lay on the other side. Quickly he pulled a small sphere from his belt, activated a button on it, and let it hang in the air, the button flashing a small green blinker. He had done this every so often, marking the direction he'd come so as not to get lost. He raised a red fist and banged on the door. Immediately the clang of his fist on the metal produced an almost chaotic effect on the murmurs within. They rose in pitch and volume, and Miracle racked his brain to place how many voices he could pick out.

Finally the loudest one managed a hoarse call. "Please! Help us! We have had no food or drink for days! Please! The young ones grow sick! I-"

"Shut up!," another voice, sharper and female, cut him off. "It's one of the guards! They'll punish all of us for your whining!"

The voices all rose in unison again, clamoring against each other and Mr. Miracle could no longer follow the conversation. "Stop! Stop! Everyone listen - I'm not a guard. I'm a general from New Genesis! The reason you haven't been fed is because this lab has been evacuated. They all have. Darkseid's been overthrown!"

He barely had time to finish before his voice was swallowed up by the muffled cacophony from the other side of the door. His voice fought the sensory onslaught while his fists banged the metal barrier but it was long before that could quell the excitement and confusion.

"Quiet! Quiet, everyone!!," he bellowed, silencing them.

"There. Now, this door has no lock, so I'm going to have to blow the hinges of off it. It will be a small explosion, but still... Do you have enough

space to stand away from the door?"

"Ye-," one voice started.

"Don't listen to him!," the sharp voice cut in. "It's the beast! He can imitate voices! If we let him in here, we're all doomed! Stay by the door!"

The excitement threatened to grow again.

"Stop! I don't know what you're talking about! What beast? I'm telling you, you're safe. Just let me get you out of-"

"Don't listen! It lies! It tricks us! This is a test to crush our spirits! To demoralize! The beast wants our false hope!"

"Please believe me! There is no beast," Mr. Miracle tried, exasperated. "Look, if there is some danger then we're wasting time. I need to get you people out of here so I can look for others who are still trapped. This door's coming off no matter what, so if someone wants to try to survive any longer in this hellhole with the added difficulty of having shrapnel lodged in them, I can live with that!"

There was silence. The sound of a scuffle, followed by muffled shouts and shrieks of protest. Finally an old male voice sifted out from the crack underneath the door. "She is restrained, stranger. If you can move this door, then by all means..."

Hastily the crime fighter went to business. Retrieving three small capsules from inside his boot, he placed each one on top of a different hinge in the door, squarely in thecenter of each. Tiny magnets held them in place, allowing him to take a few steps back. After sixty seconds the capsules, and the surfaces they rested on, exploded in balls of blue gas and sparks. A massive "oh" of surprise rippled through the crowd, followed by an even larger one as Miracle pried the door from it's frame with a strained grunt. A few young men from within the cell emerged to help push and some of the children had the courage to cheer before they were quietly shushed by their parents.

The contrast presented by Mr. Miracle's entrance into the room was striking. The bright gold, crimson, and green of his ensemble were a garish parallel to the crowd that surrounded him. Over twenty people were crammed together into a tiny, cold, steel room. The look upon them was piteous. They were pushed up against each other, some laying on top of the person beneath him, for there was no room on the floor. Their clothes were torn and filthy to the point of being disheveled. The thin garments clung to their bony bodies only through sheer force of will and they did little to cover or provide warmth. The people themselves were pale and sickly. Their eyes were bleary from lack of light. Their stomachs were small from lack of food and their muscles loose and stringy from the absence of exercise. Thin hair stuck to their head from the overbearing presence of sweat in the room. Indeed, the sweltering heat of bodies rushed upon Mr. Miracle when he entered, threatening to drive him back.

Their wide eyes followed his every movement with fear and confusion.

"Who...," an old man rasped from the corner. "Who are you, stranger?"

Scott tried valiantly to hide the look of horror and pity in his eyes as he scanned the throng. He forced practiced strength and authority into his voice. "They call me Mr. Miracle. As I said, I'm from New Genesis. I'm here to lead you to safety."

The younger generation looked around at the elders with searching eyes. The older people looked back with cynicism. A woman's voice, no more than an icy hiss, the one he remembered from before, surfaced from behind a group of people. "You lie."

Mr. Miracle glanced her way. The group parted to reveal a tall but thin, wiry woman with long, stringy red hair and fiery eyes. Her fingernails were long and yellow as were her teeth. A younger girl held her wrist in mild control.

"Release me," the bitter woman spat at the girl, standing up. The girl hesitated for a moment, then let her go. "What you do here is sick, guardsman. This is not the first time one of your foul lot has descended to our depths, filled the hearts of the young with dreams of escape, only to lead us around the halls and then back to our cells to laugh in our faces. Or worse yet, to lead us down one of the dark corridors where the beast resides and let him pick of whichever sister or brother he fancies. I am unlike the cattle around you because I refuse to relinquish my dignity. Take your lies somewhere else and if this impotence displeases you, please feel free to shatter my old bones where they stand. Death could not be any more trying than the prison you have made my life."

"That's... that's terrible," Mr. Miracle spoke, unsure. "But I'm telling you, you don't have to worry about that anymore. Darkseid's reign is over and all the labs and facilities got shut down. That means I'm an agent here to free you. You can all go home."

"What's home?," a small child piped up.

"Shhh, baby," a mother's voice cooed to him.

"What about the beast?," a young man, looking to be in his late teens asked timidly. Others nodded their approval of his question.

"What is the beast?," Miracle asked.

The old man from the corner answered again. "The beast is one of the oldest known experiments from this lab and definitely the oldest living. I'm the only one who knows the history because I was part of the work crew that built this Progress Center only to be sent here for punishment afterwards. This center is in a low-interest, low-value area for the government and is thusly not heavily funded. Few guards were placed here at the building's inceptions so the original scientists experimented on one of the vagrants from the ghettos to create a monster. After months of torture and research they fried his mind, mutated his body into a super-strong, hulking deformity, and instilled in him the taste for flesh. He is our only security force down here on the 13th floor. We are free to wander, but if we do, no one ever knows when the Beast is roaming, so most of us stay in our cells. The only others we see are the guards who feed us and take us away for experimentation or punishment."

"Wait, you're free to wander around? Why did I have to blast open the door?"

"The doors were locked the last time we saw our captors. We don't know why," the old man explained.

"Still...," Mr. Miracle pondered. "You can leave you cell whenever? And there's no security force here save one monster? Has anyone or group ever mounted a defense?"

"No, interloper," the old woman with the red hair shot. "No one fights the beast because there are more beasts we do not even know. Did you not see the numbers on the wall? This is the thirteenth sub-basement. Sometimes stragglers from the other floors find their way down here. For whatever reason they are thrown down to us, and they tell us of what lies just over our heads. We are miles beneath the ground, "hero," and any ascent means braving twelve more floors, each more terrible than the next, with torture chambers, booby-traps, and monsters more depraved and terrible than the one we live with could ever hope to be. This is our world, and there is no escaping. Those who learn that quickly survive longer."

Mr. Miracle palmed his chin mentally absorbing the stories and viewpoints. He tried his best to calculate how long he'd been in this sub-basement. "Fine. I understand that, but I'm here now. If you people want any chance at freedom, you need to come with me now! The scientists have left the complex. I can lead you up the other floors and then you'll be free! You can leave and never have to come back to this nightmare again!"

The eyes of the men and women around him shifted nervously in the dark.

"Isn't that worth it?," he pressed.

No one said anything.

Miracle waited, then he glowered and turned for the door, his long cape whipping in the air around him. He moved outside the doorway and turned back to his audience. "I'm leaving. I'm going to find a way out of this disgusting pile of filth and I'm going to risk all I have, my life, to do it. If anyone here thinks you have anything sitting in that cramped little cell that makes your life more valuable than it would be on the outside you can stay and die in there. Anyone else can come with me."

The small crowd murmured and fidgeted until the mass of people parted to let the old man from the corner, held by the young girl who had restrained the redhead, move through the doorway. A mother and her two children, both clinging to her tattered dress, followed. People moved out slowly in groups of two or three until finally all that was left was the thin, angry woman from before. She glared furiously at her prison mates then paused. Slowly she climbed to her feet and joined the others outside the door.

"You're going to kill us," she spat.

Mr. Miracle ignored her. He pulled out two of his aerodiscs from the satchel behind his back. "Follow me, everyone," he said.

The aerodiscs barely made a hum as they carried him through the stagnant air. His cape billowed out behind him giving his entourage' something to watch as they followed him. They trudged on drearily through the endless tunnels they knew so well.

Scott Free had almost lost himself completely in the marching. The steady beat of feet behind him lulled him so that only keeping a constant vigil for danger with his eyes and a constant mental processing for escape kept him alert. He barely even heard the voice of the woman behind him as she called to him.

"Mr. Miracle?"

He snapped out of his reverie. Instructing the pack onwards, he floated over to the middle of the march. A short woman with long black hair, looking to be about in her forties looked up at him curiously.

"Yes, ma'am?," he nodded chivalrously.

"Sorry, it's just... I have to know... Is it true? Has Darkseid fallen? None of the others believe it. Many even don't know that much about him. They're only familiar with the name. Most of the children were born in here and don't know him from their fathers. But I remember life on the outside. I remember a bit... Is he gone?"

"Yes, completely and totally, with no chance of return. And believe me, I sympathize. New Genesis and Apokalips have been at each other's throats for so long, it seemed like there would never be an end. But all wars end... uh... Sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Klamara," she offered, shaking his hand.

"Nice to meet you, K-,"

They all heard it at once. Every head turned in unison. A slow, steady, and loud thump emanated from the darkness behind them. Mr. Miracle flew above their heads and shushed them. He floated over so as to be behind the rest of the group, separating them from the sound.

"No one. Make. A sound," he whispered, holding up his fingers and listening.

Silence.

And more silence.

And then... THUMP-AH. THUMP-AH. THUMP-AH.

"The beast...," a man in front whimpered, his throat gripped by a complete, cold terror. A child leaned into her mother's leg and began to cry.

"Shut up!," Mr. Miracle hissed furiously, then turned back to the darkness. The sound came again. It rang dully off of the long metal corridor, reaching out and caressing the heart of each fearful prisoner who had ever lost a loved one to it's claws. The people began to back up.

"Don't move!," their leader commanded again, his voice barely audible. Still he listened.

The sound came again. This time it increased in tempo. The thumps came closer togethor.

It came again. Louder now. More incessant.

Still Miracle waited, his heart beating furiously against his chest...

...Again the sound came... mildly at first. Then the steps were closer togethor. And louder. And faster. And still louder. And closer.

The beast was running.

Miracle whipped around like a green flash of lightning and pointed dead ahead. "Run!," he barked.

The crowd surged forth, shrieking and fighting for a spot in front. Their sweat-drenched bodies pushed against one another as they trampled their comrades in a complete frenzy. The beating of their hearts was matched only by the beating of the beasts steps as he bore down on them from the unseen depths behind.

Miracle swooped and dived on his aerodiscs, vainly attempting to lead the prisoners. He encouraged them onward, always checking behind to gauge the distance between them and their hunter. He flew low to the ground every so often to pick up an older person or a child who had fallen and was left behind, righting them and pushing them onwards.

Until they came to the divide. Two hallways split off in two directions, both seemingly the same. Both leading into a nowhere of blackness.

He soared above their heads at blinding speed and fought with all his might for their attention. "Go straight!," he yelled, cupping his hand to his mouth. "Keep going straight!"

"NO!," a shriek came from the collection of people. The same red haired dissenter from before challenged him. Her eyes were mad with fear as she gestured to her fellow prisoners. "No! Don't listen to him! He leads us nowhere! It's obvious now! The dog will reward our faith in him by throwing one or two of us too the beast then leaving the rest to rot. Don't let him! If we run now, we have a chance!"

"We don't have time for this!," he pleaded. "We have to stay togethor. If we split up, I can't protect both groups. You'll die! Please!"

The old woman almost protested again but the approaching steps drowned her out. Everyone took off running and it's likely that, truly, no one actually knew which way they wanted to go. But in an instant of terror, both groups separated and horrified people found themselves members of one party or the other.

"No!," Mr. Miracle protesting, still hanging suspended in the midpoint between the divergence. He watched one group fade off one way and the other fade of another. He glanced frantically from one hallway to the other before deciding on a course of action.

Slowly, with years of practiced grace and confidence he turned away from both and stared directly down the corridor the beast was coming from. He hung in the air, allowing the frantic beat of footsteps sound in his head like a bass line.

Well, he resolved, only one way to make sure both sides get a fair shot at survival. Besides force-feeding him the skinny lady, that is.

And with that he tilted his body forward and rocketed down the shadowy expanse, heading directly for the beast.

... It wasn't a long trip.

Judging by the volume of the footsteps the unseen creature produced it could be deduced that it was quite large. And with that in mind, logically, it would be almost impossible for a monstrosity of that size to sneak up on anyone. However, Mr. Miracle was caught barreling straight down the hallway, head first, when a huge grey fist swung from out of nowhere to collide with his body.

His entire form cracked and the combined momentum of his flight and his collision with the fist sent him streaking into the nearby wall. Red stars blazed before his eyes as he sank to the floor but he rose painfully to his knees. "Oh, no you don't," he muttered. "You do not get to knock me out twice in the same day."

When the stars cleared he turned his head and only the focus and resolve of an experienced hero kept his legs from shaking. Standing against the opposite wall, highlighted by shadow, was the beast. His image flickered on and off with the lights but the basic shape and grotesqueries were evident. A stout, fat midsection sat on top of two thick powerful legs, built just like an average human's save for the birdlike direction of the knees. Faced completely backwards. Powerful shoulders held arms equally as long and taut as the legs. One was slightly larger than the other though, widening at the forearm, before the skin seemed to be pulled away, cauterized and stitched with crude pieces of machinery, leaving only a hand of thick, solid bone. It's face was small and ugly. Beady black eyes under one black eyebrow and an immense lower jaw jutting forth from it's face, with long yellow canine tusks extending out past the eyes . A long stream of spittle hung from it's fat lower lip as it glared at Mr. Miracle hungrily.

Scott Free tensed every muscle in his body, waiting...

The beast roared and thrust it's body forward, swinging one massive arm towards Mr. Miracle. The champion of New Genesis shot up into the air on his aerodiscs, nearly missing the thick appendage. The animal swung again with it's bony hand but he swerved and rolled under it. The hairy mutant's fist crashed noisily against the metal walls as Miracle flew and dodged, each time a hair's width closer to danger. He dropped the ground and ran a few steps, executing a perfect jumping barrel roll over the huge legs that swung out in front of him. He continued running as it crashed against the wall. He turned to inspect his opponent from a safe distance. It was then he realized, as the beast withdrew it's leg from a new hole in the metal wall, that the it was barely susceptible to pain. His tactic of letting the best hurt itself would not be enough.

The monster reared up on it's legs and roared again, spittle flying from it's mouth, then charged down upon Mr. Miracle. He pulled back on his aerodiscs once again to defend, bouncing masterfully from wall to wall to avoid being hit. His assailant's arms flew madly, a blur of frenzied action, but Miracle refused to let himself get disoriented. His eyes followed the creatures arms and body until just the right time...

He swung low to the ground then flew up through the monster's arms, forcing a full-body uppercut with his aerodiscs and the beast's chin. It howled in rage as it's head snapped back. Miracle executed one more sin kick as he hung in the air, before pushing off, careful not to try his luck.

But the damage was already done. The furious creature grimaced fiercely with it's huge teeth and jowl. It reached out a monstrous hand and caught the fleeing Mr. Miracle by his cape. It yanked him back, choking him with his own cowl. It dragged the small, struggling man painfully along the ground before hoisting him into the air. An observer might say the beast even smiled as it mercilessly swung the limp body into one wall, then another, then the ceiling, each thud louder than the one before it. Mr. Miracle struggled to maintain consciousness. His body convulsed as it slammed against the floor. His body was numb from the bruises he was sure he had. He hit the wall again. Then, again. The a third. It was only by some miracle was he thrown into the ceiling again, shattered the plastic around the lights, as intuition sparked.

He grabbed a finger hold in the lights then reached up behind the glass to grab the two long thick wires which extended throughout the basement, feeding electricity to Progress Center #34. He grunted as he ripped them from their place, electric sparks cascading out of the torn wires. The fabric of his gloves protected him from the worst of the burn, but were less effective against the shock feeling. Mr. Miracle reached behind himself blindly as he was whipped about to stick the open ends of the wires against the palms of his adversary.

The beast howled in pain as yellow shocks on energy writhed and danced on it's body. The beat continued to cry out, twitching in a standing position as the smell of smoke and burnt flesh started to fill space. Mr. Miracle threw his cape around him, and knocked the electric wires from the beasts hands.

The animal grunted and snorted as the shocks subsided.

"Sit tight, Elmo," he jested as he soared off once again. Inwardly, though, his mind was dulled with pain. His thoughts screamed as he flew - Please, beast. Don't. Move. Yet!

He shot through the air like a rocket, barreling forward despite the darkness of the way before him. When the rift that had divided the two groups before became apparent, he jerked his body to a stop. Already he could hear the disoriented freak behind him rumbling. He dropped to the ground and proceeded with his plan...

The beast ranted and gasped as it propelled it's heavy body down the dismal passage. Sweat and grime coated it's body, and a bruise shown brightly on it's prominent chin. All thought or comprehension was lost to it's eyes. Only one glimmering of a though occupied it's mind. Finding the man of red and green was it's only objective.

It's dull eyes fluttered in it's head, searching through the haze for any sign of it's prey. Then the hallways split in two and it registered a flash of green. The beast grunted, increasing it's pace to follow that indication of color.

It raced down the hallway, it's chest heaving with every rasping breath. The man was far ahead of it, but the creature could make out the ends of his cape flying on a head. Trying to outrun him. The beast raced and raced, but was never able to catch up to it's enemy. The challenge infuriated it's primitive brain and it pushed forth all of it's might into chasing down it's quarry. The thought of tasty flesh was in it's tongue, and beast licked it's huge, wet lips with lust.

Just in time to see the figure it chased get swallowed up by a group of people. They stank of death, and decay, and their eyes were frightened as they ran. He howled with primal delight as he leapt upon them, grabbing one man out of the assemblage of prisoners. The beast hoisted the screaming man up into the air, preparing to drop him into it's own waiting mouth, when it saw the flash of green again. It's eyes snapped to the side to follow it as he discarded the man on the ground. Again obsessed with a target, the creature knocked the other people aside, sending them flying to the walls nearby.

Finally it saw the green cape cloaked in the shadows. With a mighty leap, the monstrosity's heavy form flew through the air, aimed dead at the fleeing opponent... until one more swift, blinding turn threw the figure into an open cell.

The beast screamed with fury as it forced it's large body through the small metal frame. It smiled a long, animalistic smile as it bore down on it's foe in the tight constraints of the room, ignoring the click of the door behind it. But when the clammy gray hands of the monster tore away the green cape only to find... a set of golden, metal aerodiscs, the painful, human concept of deception became apparent even to the beast's warped simple mind.

From outside the door, a cape-less Mr. Miracle sighed in relief as his bruised body sank to the floor. He had a smile on his face, and a remote control in his hand.

Batman, if I ever see you again, I will kiss you, he swore to himself as he looked at the cheering, joyous crowd around him.

"Alright, folks," he called over the insane beating of the beast in it's cage. "Let's round up the other half of our party."

Mr. Miracle stood in at the center of a crowd of the twenty-some reclaimed prisoners. They stood around him, some with their eyes transfixed on him, some with their eyes searching for the opinions of others. Before them was a sleek metal door covering a long staircase. Behind them was the maze they had crawled through for the last hour and the hell they had existed in for most of their lives. Their eyes looked at the door with fear.

"You've already accomplished the hardest part. You've seen one monster defeated. They can't control you with fear anymore. Do we go up the stairs?"

The gazes of the people around him shifted to the floor.

"I promise. There are twelve floors up above us, but whatever they have up there, I can protect you."

"We are ready, outsider," the woman from before spoke, answering for the group. "Lead the way."

They proceeded, the entire group of them, up the long stretch of black, stone stairs. They stayed together, no one making a sound, each afraid of what lay ahead. But a tiny green light caught the eye of Mr. Miracle he left them all and raced off in a mad dash up the flight of stairs. They looked at him in confusion, wondering what sparked the reaction, and followed hastily.

When they reached the top of the flight of stairs, he ignored them completely. He stood in the middle of a dark, unlit room, one of the experimentation labs holding a small golden ball with a flashing green light in his hand. His eyes were transfixed on it.

"There were only two floors," he whispered.

"What's going on?," a little girl asked.

"I'm sorry," he said, unable to look at them. "You've all been duped. There are no more floors. No more traps and monsters... I don't know what you heard... Maybe the prisoners sent down from "above" were spies... I've already seen how much they've used psychology to demoralize you. But there was nothing else. Just one floor for you, one floor for experiments, and a whole lot of plans and blue prints made to back up the lie, in case anyone ever made it up this far. They probably never even had guards. Just you and the monster."

"No...," the old woman spoke. Around her, her former cellmates looked at each other with varying degrees of shock. Some were silent. Some cried.

"No," Mr. Miracle told them, turning and walking out the door into the hallway. "That's good news. It means you're free. Now. No huge complex of monsters too fight our way through."

He smiled. "Come on. Let's introduce you to the new world."

He followed the trail of bread-crumbs that were his flashing markers down the hallway to the door. The entire time he regaled them with stories of New Genesis' victory in the war against Apokalips and the progress they were making. He looked out through the glass of the door when they came to it. It was a blue night out, but dawn was starting to peek at the corners of the horizon. He opened the doors and led the people out. They winced and blinked at the first open sky they had seen in years.

Mr. Miracle just watched and smiled, quietly taking it all it.

Happy Halloween, J'onn.