Monaco.

The man known as General Immortus had lived over a dozen lifetimes. He had ridden to war with the Pharaohs and Alexander the Great. He had counseled Napoleon, and shared tea with Mussolini.

And now, after an eternity, he was dying.

He was a wizened creature, a scarecrow thin buzzard of a man with burning eyes and a slash of a mouth that was nearly lost among his wrinkles. He lay in bed, watching the sunlight creep across the floor from the open doors of the balcony, and seethed. Outside, the city was vibrant with life.

If a man could subsist on hate alone, Immortus would have had no need of the object of his current desire. But regrettably, such was not the case. He was dying, at last, after untold centuries, and there was nothing that could be done that hadn’t already been done.

He closed his eyes, thinking. What if it didn’t work? What if the fabled science-magic of the Amazons failed to repair time’s ravages?

Then he would die. The greatest soldier in existence would die-not on the battlefield, but in a bed stained with his own excrescences. A thin fist pounded ineffectually at the rumpled sheets.

He would not die. He could not die! Not now! No when the world treaded ever closer to a war without end, the perfect war, the last war, the war wherein he could finally prove his superiority.

He had to live long enough to start that war. He had to.

“Sir?”

Immortus’ eyes swiveled. He twitched a finger. His aide, a veteran of the French Foreign Legion and before that the Wermacht, leaned close, his silver hair catching the light. “Our eyes in the city have seen them. They are here.”

“Excellent, Ernst. Have them brought to me.”

“That should not be a problem, sir. In fact, they are already en route.” Ernst hesitated. Immortus’ eyes narrowed.

“What is it?”

“They are-ah-”

“What?”

“We believe that they are coming here to kill you, Herr General!”

Issue # 19

'BACKSTABBING FOR FUN AND PROFIT' (Young As You Feel, Pt. 3)

Monaco. One hour earlier.

Captain Cold stepped out of the mirror over the bathroom sink, his face set in a grim expression. He hopped down and slammed the door aside, exiting, followed by the other Rogues.

“It was a set-up,” Weather Wizard said. “They were waiting on us!”

“No, they weren’t,” Cold snapped. “But they were where they shouldn’t have been all the same.” He turned. “Where is it?”

“Where’s what?” the Trickster said. Cold twitched and his pistol spat a stream of ice around the boy’s legs. The Trickster squawked and toppled. He moaned and clutched at the makeshift bandage wrapped around his arm.

“Augh-augh-w-what did I do?” he whimpered. Cold squatted near him.

“I’m not in the mood. Where is it?” he said. The Trickster flapped his cape and the container fell out. Purple light crept between the seals. Cold stood. “Who knows what is?”

“Purple ray,” Mirror Master said. “Some kind of healing thingie?”

“Wrong.” Cold grabbed the straps connected to the container and hefted it. “It’s what our client wants.”

“So we’re going to give it to him?” Captain Boomerang said. “Sounds bloody stupid, considering.” Balancing one of his ‘rangs on the end of a finger, he looked at Cold. “’S pretty bleedin’ obvious that he set us up!”

“Is it?” Heatwave said. “Somebody set us up. Wasn’t necessarily him. He’s dying. Needs this.” He gestured to the container. “My money is on the kid.”

“What? N-no! I didn’t-” the Trickster said, trying to crawl away. Cold’s boot thudded down on the boy’s frozen legs, holding him in place.

“No. You didn’t. Did he, McCulloch?” Cold said, aiming his weapon at the Mirror Master. Mirror Master stepped back, hands raised.

“What? Len, I-”

“How’s the drug habit going?” Cold said. McCulloch paled, instinctively wiping his nose. Cold looked at the others. Trust didn’t come easy to a man like Leonard Snart. And, it could be said that he did not trust his friends so much as he trusted their flaws. Mirror Master had a nose for cocaine. Captain Boomerang was a loud-mouth. Weather Wizard was sociopathic. Heatwave was-well-Heatwave. And Cold was cold. His soul was like an arctic wind, clean and sharp and straight.

He did not trust easily. Neither was he a fool. He looked down at the container he held. On the surface, it was a simple job. Motive and opportunity equals crime. And there was any number of reasons why someone would want something like this-H.I.V.E, the Network, solo operators like the Scavenger. But why that group? Why so motley a unit? Luck of the draw? Or something- Cold’s eyes widened behind his visor. His gun swung up. The other Rogues ducked out of the way as Cold iced the bathroom mirror. “Heatwave,” he said. Heatwave grunted and hefted his weapon. He stepped away from the bathroom and flash fried every mirror in the hotel room.

“What the hell? We might need those!” Mirror Master said. Cold looked at him.

“Why didn’t Amazo kill you?”

“What?”

“Amazo. Why didn’t he-it-kill you? That thing doesn’t have a conscience. Not unless it copied Superman’s.” Cold looked at the others. “That wasn’t a smash and grab we interrupted. That was staged. The question is, was it for our benefit?” He turned and tossed the container at Weather Wizard. “Hold this.”

“So, what are we going to do?” Heatwave said, carefully melting the ice on the Trickster’s legs. “Saigon bug-out?”

“No. We play this through.” Cold holstered his pistol. “I wanna know what’s going on. If it was Immortus playing some kind of game…” He punched a fist into his palm. “We need to show what happens to people who play games with the Rogues.”

Somewhere else.

Glittering shards of light punctured the blackness at a million points. Amazo swam through the mirror-universe as if he had been born to it. Attached by a harness, the others were pulled in his wake.

“Wh-where are w-we going?” Shakedown stuttered. Deadshot didn’t look at him.

“Where ever our pals went,” he said. “We got a message to deliver, but Immortus has more men than God’s holy army. The Rogues will soften them up for us.”

“Smart. Like we did to the Brain’s pals,” New Wave said. “Your boss is a smart cookie, Lawton.”

“So I’m told,” Deadshot said. “Me, I don’t think about it.”

“Maybe you should…man that smart knows a lot of ways to get you killed,” the Duke of Oil grumbled. The android flexed his steel-coil limbs. “Get us killed.”

“I don’t get it. What the hell is so special about Immortus?” Heatstroke said.

“Immortus is an military intelligence second to none. He has participated-either tactically, or strategically-in most of the major military engagements of western civilization. He has experience, wealth, and no aversion to working with others,” Amazo said. “The perfect soldier.”

“Provided he doesn’t wither up and blow away,” New Wave said, with a chuckle. Deadshot looked at her.

“Which is exactly why we make sure that he gets his hands on that purple toy the Rogues snatched. He’s no good to my employer dead.” Deadshot shifted his grip on the harness and looked at Amazo. “How close are we?”

“We are here,” Amazo said. He stopped, and the others floated behind him. Before them, the back of a bathroom mirror floated, its surface dim and opaque.

“Well?” Deadshot said.

“The egress point is blocked,” Amazo said. “They must have discovered our ruse.”

“No. Cold’s just that paranoid,” Deadshot said. He looked at the others. “Crap.”

“What? We stuck here, Lawton? That what you saying?” the Duke barked. “You sonnuva-”

“I have the capabilities of a number of phase-specialists in my metagene ability bank,” Amazo rumbled. Red eyes blazing, he looked at the group. “The Martian Manhunter.”

“Ha!” Deadshot grinned beneath his mask. “Think you can get us all in?”

“I also possess the abilities of Plastic Man and Elastic Man in my databank.” Amazo turned, his form spreading like melting wax. “Please hold still.”

Seconds later, the bathroom mirror exploded outward as a dark blob squeezed through, depositing five nonplussed super-villains on the floor. Amazo reformed, his blank gaze sweeping the hotel room. “They are not here. They-”

The room exploded. Amazo was sent flying backwards, through the wall and into the hallway beyond. Deadshot was on his feet first, firing blind, his wrist magnums chewing up the sitting room.

The Duke tackled him as the room exploded again and again. Glass shattered and the furnishings were on fire. Alarms blared and voices were raised in fear. Amazo staggered back into the room.

“Explosive devices hidden in the polished surfaces,” the robot said. Deadshot scrambled up.

“You damaged?”

“Functioning at-”

“Could have just said no.” Deadshot turned towards the blasted open balcony wall. Beyond, Monaco spread down towards the blue waters of the sea. He could hear sirens, though whether they were responding to the explosions or something else-

“What the hell was that?” New Wave said.

“I was wrong,” Deadshot said. “Cold figured it out. At least that part. Now, as to whether he figures out everything else-”

“What else?” Heatstroke snapped, flames curling around her hands. “What is else?”

“Hell, doll, that’s the best part.” Deadshot raised his hands. “But I don’t want to spoil nothing. Lets go.”

Captain Cold jumped up onto the hood of the car and fired his pistol, freezing the gates to Immortus’ palatial estate solid. Frowning, he jumped off of the car and strode forward. Then, lifting his foot, he shattered the gates with one kick.

As ice rained down, guards charged forward, taking up firing positions. Bullets chewed at the earth. Weather Wizard, hovering twenty feet overhead, gestured and lightning sparked out, striking multiple targets. Heatwave joined Cold, his gun spitting fiery death. Boomerang hurled explosive ‘rangs, taking out gun emplacements and running guards.

Cold spun on his heel, freezing a guard where he stood, and took off for the main building at a trot. It was going well so far.

“Cold! Cops!” Weather Wizard barked. Cold didn’t look up.

“Handle it. All of you. I’ll deal with Immortus.”

“Yeah,” Heatwave grunted. He turned and headed back out the gate, pulling attachments out of his combat rig and attaching them to his pistol. The heat pistol became a rifle with a thick barrel and a larger fuel canister. He smiled. “Beautiful.”

“Creepin’ me out, ‘Wave me old pal,” Boomerang said. Heatwave ignored him. Weather Wizard swooped over them.

“Eyes on the prize, Digger. These ain’t Keystone PD. They don’t know the game and they might get fancy,” he called. Boomerang looked up and smirked.

“Ah, ain’t no big thing, mite. Monaco ain’t even got no metas-”

“You ever get tired of being wrong, Harkness?”

Boomerang went pale as the amplified voice reached him. The police cars heading their way were suddenly slapped aside by an immense wave. The ground shook beneath their feet. As the smoke and debris faded, Deadshot stalked forward with lazy intent.

“Seriously Harkness. You’re an idiot.”

“L-Lawton, mate, what are you doing here-” Boomerang hesitated. Deadshot raised his hands.

“You know me, Boomer. Just looking for a fight.” Deadshot flicked his wrists, his weapons whirring to life. Boomerang scrambled backwards even as Heatwave pulled his own trigger. A dragon’s tongue of flame licked out, melting stone and metal and wiping Deadshot’s bullets from existence. Lawton stumbled back.

Heatstroke blazed forward, charring the air with her passage. Heatwave looked up, his goggles filling with her reflection. “So…beautiful,” he said.

“Damn it!” Weather Wizard snapped and gestured with his wand, sending a lightning bolt crashing down on the woman. The edge of it caught her, sending her rolling through the air, trailing smoke. Weather Wizard looked down. “Snap the hell out of it!”

Heatwave shook his head, and brought his weapon up just in time to fend off an attack from the Duke of Oil. The cyborg reeled, batting at the flames that clawed at the remains of his suit. “Sonnuva-”

“Hmp. Metal. Wires burn better,” Heatwave said, trotting forward, cranking up the power. Boomerang hurled a trio of sonic ‘rangs, their high-pitched shriek slamming into New Wave and causing her liquid mass to separate and slough away. Shakedown’s vibrations knocked the wiry Australian off of his feet a few seconds later.

Deadshot stepped over the unconscious form of Heatstroke and walked through the broken gate. The others would keep the Rogues busy while he finished the job.

One way or another.

Captain Cold walked up the stairs, pistol hanging down by his side. Frozen guards littered the area, caught unprepared by a man used to fighting enemies who moved at the speed of light.

At the top of the stairs, Immortus waited for him, leaning shakily on a cane. Eyes narrowed to slits, the ancient man stared down at him. Beside him, his aide aimed a Mauser down at Cold.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t let Ernst shoot you,” Immortus wheezed. Cold stopped.

“He’ll only get one shot.”

“Why?” Immortus said. “Why all this?”

“Someone was waiting on us. Tried to kill us. Figured you might know something about it. And if you didn’t, well…” Cold shrugged. Immortus clutched his chest and coughed. Ernst’s attention wavered. Cold smiled. “Now.”

Mirror Master and the Trickster leapt out of the big ocean-view windows behind Immortus. The former fired his weapon and Ernst shattered like a dropped shard of glass even as he spun. Immortus fell against the banister, eyes wide. The Trickster giggled and set down the container.

“GotchaGOTchagotCHA!” he said, leaning forward.

“Is that-” Immortus gasped.

“Yep. And I’ll let you have it, too. But I want double what we agreed on,” Cold said, coming up the staircase. “For the inconvenience.”

Immortus hissed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll find out soon enough who it was.” Cold leaned over, looking down at Immortus. “Besides. You might be lying.”

Immortus laughed. Cold stepped back, nonplussed. Immortus wheezed and giggled as he levered himself up. He took a tighter grip on his cane and twisted the handle. The blade slid free with nary a sound and a second later it was sinking into Mirror Master’s belly. The Rogue gave a surprised grunt and crumpled.

Immortus looked at Cold over his shoulder. “I wasn’t lying. I had no intention of killing you before you got me my prize. Afterward, however…”

“Axel! Kill him!” Cold said, raising his pistol. The Trickster laughed and gestured. An arc of energy snapped out and caught Cold in the chest, sending him flying down the stairs.

“You didn’t specify, so I chose for you,” the Trickster said. He floated down the stairs, lightning curling around his forearms. Cold groggily looked up at him, his mouth trying to form words. “Tricks and treats, Len old buddy. Tricks and treats.”

“Who-” Cold said.

“An old friend. An old friend who’s hurt that you never call. Never write.”

“Finish him,” Immortus hissed, rising. “Finish him, then help me!”

“You can’t rush the act, old man. You have to let it play out,” the Trickster said as his form wavered and blurred, and then vanished altogether, revealing a thin man dressed as a stage magician.

“K-Kadabra,” Cold said.

“None other, my friend,” Abra Kadabra said, chuckling. He looked down at Cold and raised his hands. “When Immortus asked for my help in acquiring that odd little bit of science-magic, I of course thought of you. He specified disposal troops, y’see. Ones he could dispense with, afterwards. All I asked was that I be allowed to participate in said disposal…” Energy crackled between Kadabra’s fingertips. “Leonard, Leonard, Leonard. I have so been looking forward to this…” The energy snapped out.

Then, Cold began to scream.

TO BE CONTINUED

Next issue: It’s the Rogues and the Six versus Kadabra and Immortus! Or is it? Be here in thirty for ‘COLD SERVICE’!