Faux DC! - Titles - Minis - Miss America #3

Legendary member of the Justice Society of America, Joan Dale-Trevor fought injustice during World War II. Still youthful thanks to the magic of the mysterious Trevor Island, she still fights for truth, justice, and the American Way as the Marvelous

Issue #3

The American Dream

Part Three

Written By Paul Daimler

A moment can take a lifetime. Especially when dealing with the supernatural or magic. That was something Joan Dale-Trevor had learned during the 1940’s, during her first years as a super-hero alongside Wonder Woman and the JSA, later with Uncle Sam and the Freedom Fighters. Time had changed considerably for her when she and Derek had first moved to Trevor Island.

When Derek’s plane had crash landed on a small island in the Mediterranean Sea, the U.S. Military had labeled him lost. If Hippolyta, Joan, and Fury hadn’t hunted him down, they may have never found him. It was only because of Hippolyta they had found it. The small island had been an enchanted Floating Island, with the ability to appear in different places throughout the Mediterranean and had been guarded by mythological beasts. Their arrival had saved him from a Cyclops that had been intent on devouring him. They had only been on the Floating Island for a few hours, but time for the rest of the world had gone by for nearly a month.

Later, Joan had realized that time and it’s passage was subjective as well. When she had hunted down Armageddon, the moments it had taken for him to die—after she’d transformed his blood to acid had spanned an eternity as she considered the implications of what she was doing. She had known in her heart that she was crossing a dangerous line into dark territory. But, the death of their daughter at the Nazi’s hands had snapped something in her, something that had never recovered—not even to this day. The moment that Angela had died before her eyes in Armageddon’s hands, Joan had known that her entire life was different. There had always been a hope in her heart, even during the darkest days of the war, even when she’d realized that she loved Derek Trevor during the height of her days as an affiliate member of the JSA when he had eyes only for Hippolyta. Joan Dale had always felt like the world could become a better place. But, on that dark day in November 21st, 1963 at nine p.m. that all ended.

It had been years since Joan had publicly revealed her identity, and had never expected that nearly tens years after retiring that the past would come back to haunt her. She had wrongly assumed that Armageddon, like all the other Nazi super-villains, was either dead or imprisoned. But, he hadn’t been. Something she’d found out only much later. He’d been hiding in Qurac under an assumed name, plotting revenge. Since Hippolyta had returned to her own time, and was safely protected on Paradise Island in their time, Armageddon had sought out her allies. Finding Derek Trevor and Joan Dale now married and living in New Athens, Virginia had made his vengeance that much easier.

Joan had just put Angela down to bed and gone down to see Derek who was in the living room falling asleep in front of the nightly news, when the windows had come crashing in. Three Nazi soldiers quickly subdued Derek, knocking him unconscious. Joan had reacted instantly and transformed them into stones. Without even realizing it, she had transmuted her clothing into her Miss America uniform. While kneeling down to check on Derek, she had heard the crashing upstairs.

“Angela!” She had shouted, running upstairs as quickly as her legs would take her. Once up the stairs, she had transmuted the walls between her and Angela’s room into helium. She’d saw Armageddon standing there, holding the three year old tightly in his hands.

In her nightmares Joan still saw Armageddon’s hands crush Angela’s skull just before he twisted her neck. Although it had happened in a matter of seconds it had moved in slow motion, going so slow that every moment was an eternity. With all of her might, Joan had tried to transmute Armageddon into something—anything, but her mind was too panicked and horrified—her grief instant and overwhelming. She’d been unable to concentrate on transmuting anything. She had barely caught her daughter’s lifeless body when Armageddon tossed it at her.

She had cradled her daughter for so long, the body so small and growing cold quickly. She wiped at the blood that leaked from the girl’s nose and ears with her cape, not even touching the tears that leaked from her own eyes.

When Derek came up behind her, Joan hadn’t even noticed. Not until he pulled Angela free of her arms and he began sobbing. Without a word, with only a sudden furious and blind hate, Joan had risen, the smell of her daughter’s blood filling her nostrils and staining her cape and gone out after Armageddon.

She had found him seven hours later in a warehouse on the waterfront of New Athens. He’d been surrounded by guards. She’d transmuted them all with one single motion of her hand into glass and then turned her attention to Armageddon. With fire in her eyes and hate in her heart, he gazed at the Nazi killer—unable to meet his eyes due to the opaque lenses in his mask’s hood.

“You killed my daughter.” Miss America hissed through clenched teeth. “You barbaric butcher.”

“You Americans are big on grandstanding and big words. It was true during the war, and it’s true now that the war has faded from the consciousness of your people as something that only occurred so long ago.” Armageddon replied. “Your Wonder Woman is gone. I’ve searched for her. But, she is no where to be found. So, you are next on my list. And, then when I’m done here with you, I will hunt down Fury. And Silverhawk. You will all pay for the parts you played in the downfall of the Fuhrer.”

“You’ll do no such thing.” Miss America replied. “You’re not walking out of here alive. You killed my daughter. So, I’ll kill you.”

“How unheroic. How un-American.” Armageddon laughed, “You and your people masqueraded as virtuous paragons during the war. Painting me and my people are evil monsters. Yet, our people are no different. We only had vision. We were only less veiled about our racial superiority. We never confined our negroes to ghettos. We did not keep our Jews confined to cities.”

”No. You took anyone and everyone who didn’t look like you or didn’t fit your ideas of racial superiority and killed them. Your doctors experimented on them, tortured them, and made them suffer in ways that made their horrible deaths seem like a relief to them. Your people enslaved your own countrymen, crushing their wills and making them reluctant accomplises to your party’s atrocities.” Miss America hissed. “Perhaps America is less than perfect. Perhaps we have decades before we are free of racism and classism. But, at least we aren’t killing off each other wholesale because we don’t like the color of each other’s skins, or the God the other chooses to worship, or their heritage.”

“I don’t care what you think of me.” Miss America whispered, “You have seconds left.”

“You won’t kill me. It’s a line you won’t cross. Not the high and mighty Miss America, a symbol to her country and people.”

Miss America did not respond, pushing all retorts from her mind and concentrating on what she wanted to happen. How she wanted him to die. She didn’t fully understand the chemical composition of acid, but she’d seen enough of it in movie serials—usually used by some over-the-top villain, to understand how it worked and what it should look like. And, that’s really all it took. She understood that acid should eat flesh, tissue, veins, bones, and anything organic it came in touch with. If someone were to come along later and test it, it might not have the composition that traditional acids had. It might even not make a lot of sense on a chemical level. But, Miss America knew what acid should look like, what it should act like, and how a body would respond if the air in someone’s lungs slowly transformed into it.

“You should feel it starting now.” Miss America said, her voice very calm and cool. In fact it was almost cold. The sparkling effect began to dance around her hands as the transmutation began in earnest. “It’s a slow process. But, painful. Each breath begins to burn. It feels like your chest might explode. Slowly, the air filling your lungs changes. Transforms. Becomes something… different. Acid. Horrible green acid. And there is even more burning and pain as I turn blood into oil. Thick black oil. Crude oil. Slick and shiny pumping through your veins, clogging them as each drop of blood changes.”

“What?!” Armageddon felt like he was burning inside and there was an intense itching sensation as a fire began to eat away at him.

“The acid doesn’t start out strong. But, slowly as the air turns, it moves outward. Going through organs, tissue, chest and rib bones, meeting black tar like oil instead of blood. And as it does, as you find yourself unable to breath, unable to catch your breath, your pain will increase. And, you can’t even scream… because your vocal cords have already melted into nothing.” Miss America said. She felt empty inside, knowing in her heart that even though she would destroy this monster tonight, that part of her would never recover from the loss of Angela… and that just left her feeling hollow.

Miss America had watched him collapse, watched as his flesh and clothing melted away and a noxious green acid-gas floated into the air above him. The giant swastika on his chest was eaten in an instant by the puff of gas. Then there was a sparkling, faint but noticeable—especially to her, as the green fumes disappeared, reverting to the air it had once been. The dark oil that had seeped from the hole that had been eaten through his chest turned bright red.

Silently, she stood there for what felt like a very long time, looking at the dead man laying on the ground. When she left, she realized that tracking him down, killing him, and returning to the home where her husband waited with the police had only taken a few minutes. Miss America had told the police where they could find the killer’s body.

No charges had been filed against her. The New Athens authorities had ruled that Joan Dale-Trevor had acted in self-defense when she’d killed Armageddon. Whether it was on their own, or under pressure from the F.B.I and government, Joan had never determined. But, she knew that many people with tremendous power and pull had been watching to see what might happen and had been ready to intercede on her behalf if needed.

Now, years later, as she stood on dark highway, watching as Mr. Chessire plunged a knife through the air at her, that confrontation with Armageddon flashed through her head rapidly. Moments of time that had drug along so quickly at the time has whirled by so quickly if the adrenaline and fear hadn’t been coursing through her entire being, Miss America would have found the breath knocked out of her.

“You obviously have never heard of what I can do.” Miss America said dryly, after using her transmutation powers to turn Mr. Chessire’s knife into leaves. She wasn’t sure why she’d selected leaves. There was something subconscious operating when she did a transmutation without thinking it through. Her mind would change whatever the object was into something that she hadn’t even realized she was thinking about.

The man’s glittering dark eyes peeked out from beneath the shaggy drape of hair hanging down into his face, his unnaturally long neck craning toward Miss America as a faint wind rustled his dark flowing robes.

“To get in, you have to go thru me.” Mr. Chessire said, his voice slithery. “And, I’m not letting you through.”

Helena layed on the pavement, unconscious. With just a touch Mr. Chessire had transformed her from Tisiphone to Fury then to Helena.

Mr. Chessire lifted his hand and in it another butcher knife materialized from thin air.

She walked over to Helena, stooping down. She still looked all of seventeen. She said the Furies had given her eternal youth after slaying their eternal enemy. Since she would have been well into her forties at the time, Miss America found it interesting that she would select that particular age—an age she had been at the height of World War II, not long after she’d joined the Young All-Stars and become Hippolyta’s protégé. Before her relationship with Iron Munro had soured, long before Hippolyta had left Man’s World and gone back to her own time period, before Helena had met whoever eventually became Fury’s father.

“Helena?” Miss America asked, shaking the woman who looked like a girl awake gently.

“Where am I?” Helena asked, her voice still lightly accented with Greek. As Fury there was no accent, just a flat American sounding voice.

“Passed out on the highway leading into Grover’s Corners, Texas.” Miss America said, glancing toward the boulder that had been Mr. Chessire only a few minutes before. She wondered how long it would last. A human transmutation would last several minutes. But, Mr. Chessire hadn’t appeared to be quite human.

“Why?” Helena asked, her expression confused. “The last thing I remember was you, me, and Hippolyta storming…” She stopped. A weird light crossed through her eyes. A bright flash of light temporarily blinded Miss America. When the light faded, Fury was standing there in her gold armor.

“The Furies gifts to me came with a curse.” She said quietly. “As Helena, my memories stop at seventeen. Only as Fury can I remember anything beyond. As Helena I can age and grow old. As Fury I have eternal youth. So, to remember I have to stay in a form that will never die… unless I’m killed. To age and live a real life, I have to start each day as though I’m still a teenager in the forties.”

“Yes.” Fury nodded. “I would have never been able to be anything other than Fury. And, unfortunately in Fury form am I a target. Lyta would have never been safe.”

“I don’t know that she was much safer with me.” Miss America grumbled, remembering her own children.

“Not that she got one. She gave birth to the lord of dreams and has lived outside of reality for years now.” Miss America said, sounding far more bitter than she meant.

“You and Derek did what you could; and you tried to give her a normal life. Her super-hero career, her marriage, and her going into the Dreaming were all decisions she made.” Fury replied. “You and Derek gave her options. To live a normal life, or to pursue that other life that mere mortals never know. And these are all things we can discuss later. After we’ve saved Lyta from the Prince of Dreams.”

Miss America and Fury walked past the boulder that had only moments before been Mr. Chessire, heading toward Grover’s Corners.

Once they stepped into the town, a chill settled down over Miss America. A coldness made it’s way inside her, going down to the bone.

“Nightmares roam it’s streets.” Fury replied, “The gateway to the Dreamscape where the quite mad Prince of Dreams lives is here. It is wrong.”

“I’m not sure.” Fury said. “It is only anchored to this town. It’s position keeps changing.”

“Easy.” Fury said. “You’re going to transmute the entire town into dust. Then we’ll see the position of the gateway.”

“I don’t know that I can transmute the entire town.” Miss America said, the very idea overwhelming her. “And, even if I could, it wouldn’t last very long.”

“It doesn’t have to be long. Just a few moments will do. The gateway will stand out when there is nothing standing to hide or conceal it.” Fury said.

“I just don’t know…” Miss America had never tried something so ambitious. She’d transmuted an entire building one time. But, an entire town?

“You can do it.” Fury said, “Here in this town, normal physics don’t apply. The Dreamscape has begun to bleed over. You will find that your powers are enhanced and strengthened here, without the same limitations you would experience out there.”

Miss America looked at Fury, studying the woman in her brilliant gold armor. It seemed to glow here in a way it hadn’t glowed outside of Grover’s Corners. A halo of light surrounded her like an aura, and the bold red emblem on her chest—which looked like some sort of bird looked as though it pulsated with blood.

Gritting her teeth, Miss America extended her arms, spreading her finger out and wide. The light sparkled around her hands, brighter and more luminous here. It looked like a small field of stars.

At first there was no difference. No change. Then for once instance the town around them seemed to tremble, before coming back to stop.

Miss America pushed Fury’s demands out of her mind, concentrating strictly on transmuting the entire town. The stars glittering around her hands arced out, creating a dome of sparkling light around her. She closed her eyes, digging her heels in and feeling every part of her body start to lock up as cramps threatened to turn her muscles into screaming writhing pain. She tried to push the pain out of her mind. She could feel the town fighting her, pushing back as she tried to change it. She had never experienced anything like this before.

“CHANGE! DAMN YOU!” Miss America screamed through the pain that was beginning to develop beneath the extreme concentration and pressure. It felt like she was going to give herself a stroke—or like her brain might explode.

Fury watched, mesmerized by the way the town seemed to flex and tense. It shivered as it fought back against Miss America.

With all the buildings gone, the gateway to the Dreamscape stood out like a beacon. A shimmering dancing doorway made of pink and gold light, it waxed and waned in the darkness, hovering several feet above the ground among the street signs and light posts that littered the landscape of what had just a few moments ago been a town.

Knowing that the transformation wouldn’t last long, Fury quickly scooped Miss America up, leaping through the air toward the doorway.

“The town is coming back.” Fury whispered. Looking at the smooth ground beneath her, Fury realized that she was standing in what had once been a house of some sort. If they were here when the town returned into existence, then they could very well end up dead. Fury’s super-human demi-god status might prevent her from suffering any real effects, but Miss America could be several hurt if a house materialized within her.

Quickly, Fury ran, carrying Joan until they reached the scarred crumbling street. Sparse moments after Fury had them on the street, a tall dark house flickered back into being, just as buildings all around them followed suit.

The house before them was tall and dark, imposing in the dark night with crumbling windows and walls.

“Oh… my head hurts.” Miss America said, consciousness returning to her. As her eyes blinked open, she sighed, “I guess all of that for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. You were out a couple of minutes.” Fury replied, “You turned the whole town to dust for a couple minutes. The gateway is in there.”

“Good.” Miss America said, standing slowly. Her legs were wobbly and hurt, and she was a bit unsteady on them. Looking at the house, she muttered, “That is one creepy house.”

“Let’s get in there.” Fury said, “Time grows short. We have a wedding to stop.”

Fury, however, chose to hold her ground, only to have Mr. Chessire touch her forehead. Again with a single touch, he knocked the woman unconscious—sending her back to her Helena form.

“Now.” Mr. Chessire said, looking at Miss America. “You and I have unfinished business.” A long wicked looking butcher knife materialized in his hand. “The Prince of Dreams needs Fury. You, however, are completely expendable.”

“I’ve heard that before.” Miss America commented dryly. “But, you will find that I am quite resilient. And, I keep bouncing back and coming back, stronger than before.”

“We will see.” Mr. Chessire whispered, his voice becoming like leather against steel.

Miss America put her hands out in front of her, trying to transform him again. The sparkling light sputtered out.

“Looks like you are still expended after transmuting the entire town.” Mr. Chessire grinned; the expression was filled with blood and terror.

He stepped from inside of the house, blurring as he moved quickly, coming up in front of Miss America, pressing the blade against her neck.

“I am something much like you. I suspect.” Mr. Chessire said quietly. “Freak of science. Manifestation of a dream. I’m just a dark reflection. A nightmare. Rather than representing the dream and hope of a country, I represent the fear and horror. The darkness the seeps in and corrupts. Where you are a bright glowing beacon of hope, a shining light of what the American Dream can accomplish, I am the twisted horror that the dream has become.”

“And you talk too much.” Miss America said, elbowing Mr. Chessire in the gut, right as she turned the blade to pudding.

She felt the cold smear of chocolate pudding squish across her neck as Mr. Chessire staggered backwards, landing with an groan on the ground.

“You are still human under those robes.” Miss America said, quickly wiping the chocolate pudding from her neck and flicking it on the ground. She didn’t want it to transform back into a blade while still smeared across her neck.

“Let us pass.” Miss America said, her headache was fading. She remembered Fury saying that her powers would work differently here in this town where dreams were taking over and corrupting. That would mean that she should be able to recover quicker and make her transmutations last longer.

“I can let Fury pass.” Mr. Chessire said. “But you are not allowed. Or wanted. The Prince of Dreams gave me strict instructions that you must be killed. You cannot set foot in the Dreamscape.”

“I do not know, nor care.” Mr. Chessire said. “I only know that he gave me a command. And, I intend to fulfill it.”

“I am going to go into the Dreamscape.” Miss America said quietly. “I’m going to save my daughter. I lost my Angela, and Derek Jr. I’m not going to lose Lyta.”

“You have miscounted your losses.” Mr. Chessire whispered. “But, that doesn’t matter. You will die. And, the Prince of Dreams will marry Lyta. And, then the Dreamscape will spill over into this world completely and totally.”

“I think you have miscounted.” The voice came from Mr. Chessire and was something from a nightmare. Tisiphone loomed behind him, her eyes filled with murderous rage—her black skin—with it’s reddish sheen, glistened in the odd moonlight that filled all of Grover’s Corners.

Mr. Chessire swung around, just in time for Tisiphone to swipe at him with a deadly claw. Her razor tipped fingers sheared Mr. Chessire’s head cleanly from his shoulder’s, sending it bouncing into the street and leaving the neck spurting blood on to the weathered wooden porch.

“I would have preferred not to decapitate him.” Fury remarked quietly. “Or kill him for that matter. But, time grows short. And, he had to be stopped.”

“I understand.” Miss America replied. She had always strove to avoid taking life. But, she knew that sometimes you had no choice but to do so. During World War II, there were times that the only way to prevent death and destruction was to kill Nazi soldiers.

Don’t forget Armageddon. A voice in her head whispered. But, of course, Miss America knew in her heart that she had killed Armageddon out of anger and hate, not because she’d had no other choice. Killing him had been revenge pure and simple.

They both turned toward the voice. Standing at the top of the stairway leading up into a dark and unseen second story stood a woman in a slinky red dress and with her dark hair fanning out around her face. Around her neck a necklace of gold hung, holding a medallion made of solid gold and encrusted with a bright glowing green gem. Her skin was a silver gray color and her burning red eyes twinkled malevolently in the dark house.

“Dark Angel.” Miss America said, feeling dread. The last time she’d seen her son Derek Jr., Dark Angel had held him in her arms as she’d disappeared into the night.

“Who else?” Dark Angel giggled wickedly, “Nice to see the Wonder Replacements still together all these years later.”

“Oohh… scary.” Dark Angel chuckled. “But, it’s gonna take a little more than that girls.”

NEXT ISSUE: Things go from bad to worse as Dark Angel attempts to prevent Miss America and Fury from rescuing Lyta from the Prince of Dreams.