Post by Waylon Jones on Jun 5, 2021 17:38:21 GMT -5
Clock King
Beast Boy
Kadaver
Giganta
Cheetah
Toyman
Captain Cold
DUELA DENT:
How long had it been? A few days? Months? Years? It was hard to tell. It didn't matter what facility she was in. The decor was always the same. The rooms formatted accordingly. The schedule routine. The clacking of shoes and the creaking of carts being a constant reminder that she wasn't alone. She didn't mind the staff. Most of them were quite friendly in fact. Except Bob. He was the worst. What did he do to deserve such a label?.....Dunno! Duela herself couldn't even remember. She couldn't even tell which "her" she was at times.
One moment she remembered, was running circles around Central city, a yellow whirlwind crackling with red sparks. Another she was chanting cultish incantations on behest of a four eyed demon. Yet another she stood in a freshly tailored suit and tie....and most horrifically, she was BALD! The utter nightmare!
Ever since her mind bending trip through the multiverse, Duela Dent was only ever a title. The real her just a card shuffling in an endless deck of alternate timelines, and futures that would never come to pass. Anyone and everyone that had ever been Duela Dent across the endless expanses of reality all contained within a single entity. They were free to live their own lives in their own little worlds, but this Duela, was living them all at once.
Sitting atop her cot, the troubled titan curled her arms around her legs, staring blankly at the nearest wall. She was Duela Dent. She was the Jokester's daughter. She was an orphan. She was alone. Her grip tightening harder against her thighs, pale white and glistening in breaking dawn. She couldn't remember how or when her skin had changed. Maybe some ill fated accident at a familiar chemical plant. Maybe a side effect of her most recent multiverse spanning trip. She couldn't remember. She was Duela Dent. She was a hero. She was a Titan. A gentle knock at the door snapped the young woman out of her trance.
"Come in." She stated flatly, quickly sitting back upright as an attendant walked in with a friendly smile.
"Ready to start your day Duela?" Came a rosey, caring voice that seemed to calm her nerves, Duela doing an impressive flip onto her feet, landing with a twirl.
"Course I am Mira! Have to say, I'll miss ya when I leave!" Duela snapped in a chipper tune, beaming a grin at the orderly.
"Oh? Are you ending your stay with us Duela dear?"
"Oh not yet, but the Titans are sure to come a'knockin sooner or later! I am Doomsday's daughter afterall!" Sang Duela, flexing her muscles with her best attempt at a brutish expression.
A small giggle was stifled as Mira smiled, patting her on the head. "Of course you are dearie. Now let's hurry along, or we'll miss breakfast."
"Rodger Dodger!" replied duela, hoping this mental institute had better food than the last one.
FIREFLY:
The ash dispersed like dust under Lynn's boot, scattered remnants that faded away, dragging whatever they used to be away into oblivion. His footsteps echoed through the scorched stairways at a lumbering pace, the dancing glow of flame glistening in his eyes. Reaching out, he cradled a handful of scorching fire as it lapped against the walls before him.
So close. And yet so far.
Lynns thought to himself, basking in the warm glow as nothing but a thin layer of fireproof fabric stood between him and true beauty. Oh how he longed to feel her scathing embrace once more, to lose himself in the blissful agony of her kindling kindness. But alas, he had already overindulged. Her rough, coarse calling card etched and scarred over his body like a second layer of skin, one numb to the world around it, dead on the inside. He knew that the next time he welcomed her embrace, he would never return from her angelic arson, fuel to her flame. Not now. He had a job to do first. The world was ignorant to her beauty, being wary of it, cautious, even disgusted. The feeling was mutual, as Lynns reviled anyone who would turn their noses at his goddess, disregarding or containing her appeal within jars and handles. It was then that a voice snapped him back to reality.
"Oh god, oh god please! Y-you in the fancy getup, your a hero right?! You gotta get me out of here!" Came the shrill tone of a nearby socialite, grabbing onto his arm in desperation. She had been his date to the club that night. She was everything. Gorgeous. Funny. Kind.
His finger tightened against the trigger
He wondered how much more beautiful she'd be bathed in flame.
BIZARRO:
It was finally time! It had taken a few days since Bizarro's escape from Lexcorp to find his way back to Metropolis, mostly because he flew in the wrong direction for half the time. Still, Bizarro had finally arrived in Metropolis!....He thought. To be sure, he flew his way around the city in a warped and wobbled mockery of what a circle should be, before he spotted what looked like a mini planet floating above a building. With a curious expression, Bizarro gave the strange planet a couple pokes. "Goodbye? Nobody there?" Asked Bizarro, patiently awaiting a reply from the statue before noticing he was gathering a crowd of onlookers below, it was time to introduce himself! "Goodbye citizens of Metropolis! Me am Bizarro! Worstest villain in the entire world, here to destroy people and wreck the day! Uh how does he not say it....Oh! Lies! Injustice! The American't way!" He said proudly, taking on a heroic pose as his cape billowed in the air, only to hear screams of panic as the crowd beneath him fled for their lives....
"Oh! Are citizens in safety? Bizarro here to make things worse!" He declared, floating back down onto the ground, accidentally dislodging a nearby street lamp from the force as he looked around in search of the danger. Scratching his head in confusion he turned towards a nearby civilian who was petrified with fear "Uh, me see something?" He said, accidentally taking a menacing and hulking posture over the man who proceeded to get dragged away by another person. "Hello!" Said Bizarro, waving his hand goodbye as they fled. "Me must find good guys to crush!" Bizarro once again exclaimed, taking back to the skies as he lazily floated along the city streets, paying no mind to any cars that rammed into his sides from sudden turns or the small chunks of rubble dislodged when he brushed up against a building. "Do not worry Metropolis, Bizarro here to hurt you!"
ZOOM:
"Hercules. Odysseus. Theseus. What do all of these have in common Wally? Tragedy. A great hero cannot grasp the true weight of their deeds, or the sacrifices they must make without it. Consider me your tutor, and this your first lesson...." A cold, morose expression kept itself glued to the speedster's face as he paced around the fallen hero, bloodied and bruised, legs broken at the kneecaps. Arms crossed behind his back, Zoloman continued his lecture.
"Why do you think so many greek myths are taught in schools? Have endured after all this time? Would a fairy tale be recounted tirelessly had the hero not given up something along the way? Aren't many of your collogues in the league born from misfortune, and the drive to prevent such a feeling? Even Superman, the poster boy of heroics and saving the day, hasn't saved everyone. Death. Loss. Pain. These are the unfortunate constant of life that everyone must go through. What shapes us into what we are. This brings me no joy Wally. I'm not some sadistic narcissist like Thawne, nor some petty crook like Snart. I think you'll be a great hero someday. Truly, I do. I want to see you shine, to rise above and stand even higher than Barry's lasting legacy. But your not ready. Not yet. You still see the world in streaks of optimism and the delusion that everything works out in the end. You need a lesson in tragedy, and I reluctantly uphold the burden of teacher..."
"Speaking of which, it's just about time your legs healed haven't they?"
SNAP!
SCARECROW:
the cold clacking of the doctor's shoes sent cold chills down the backs of those in care as he stalked the hallways. His soulless gaze invoking flinches and fearful cowardice from those it fell upon. Dr Johnathan Crane had returned from a recent business trip, a serpent's smile forming upon his face at the recoil his patients exhibited at his mere presence. He may be lacking his costume, his true self, but the emotionless pits of his eyes held the same power whether beneath tattered burlap, or a pair of innocent spectacles.
His gaze shifted and fixed upon the newest acquisition to his institution. Dissociative Identity Disorder. Schizophrenia. Suicidal Tendencies. Such a combination was peculiar, a cesspool of paranoia and anguish, the demented doctor wished to know more.
Glancing over the shoulder of Marc's orderly, Crane made sure to inspect the contents of the bottle. a faint nod of approval towards his pupil for making the correct choice. Not the medication in particular however, but the fact that it was from the batch Johnathon had not laced with fear toxin prior. A recipient of which would break out in an anguished scream on the other side of the room, limbs flailing wildly as a pair of orderlies strapped him down into the bed, proceeding to wheel him out of room.
"My apologies for that, Mr Morwell suffers from a condition that warrants random panic attacks, he'll be just fine after some privacy." spoke Crane's silver tongue, giving a small gesture for the orderly to move on to another patient. "I've heard about your condition on your way here Mr Spector. My name is Doctor Crane, I am the head doctor of this establishment. Your case is rather unique, and thus only the best of care is to be expected." His smile shrouded his intentions once again, a calm hand extended in friendly gesture to see if his patient was at ease enough to reciprocate. Regardless, the patient had merely traded the relative chaos of his life before, for an extended stint of fear and misery under the clinical care of doctor Jonathan Crane....A mistake he likely wouldn't live to repeat.
THE CLOCK KING:
BEAST BOY:
KADAVER:
GIGANTA:
LIVEWIRE:
Winning the public back wasn't going to be easy. Brain scramble or not, the people of Metropolis weren't as easily swayed as she once assumed. Even with the big blue boy-scout backing her up, many of them had been injured, inconvenienced, or even killed by her energized hands. Grudges were easy to create, but nearly impossible to disband. She couldn't blame them either. Even if she hadn't been in a crystal clear state of mind, it was still some part of her driving those actions. There was blood on her hands, and the way she saw it, she could either sit in a jail cell feeling pity for herself, or take to the streets and work to make up for it.
Dissipating throughout the various cords and cables littering the infrastructure of the city, Leslie's eyes were everywhere, scanning the city as if it were a digitized ant farm. cameras, televisions, phones, her consciousness spread so thin she wondered if she were even a singular Leslie, or if her mind scattered with every particle crackling across their streams. Guess that's what you think about on a dull day's patrol. If things didn't pick up soon she may have to resort to cracking open the nearest browser history and giving it a read. Bland or traumatizing, it'd at least be SOMETHING to do.
Just as she was about to give into the urge to take a peek into Olsen's undoubtedly shameful internet secrets, an alarm began to blare out at a nearby S.T.A.R Labs facility.
"Looks like it's showtime!" the electrifying diva declared as she manifested herself into a bolt of lightning, crashing down in front of the recently caved in entrance to the establishment.
"What's the sitch doc? Robbery? Monster attack? Someone whack the alarm while whacking it at their desk again?" Livewire asked, casually leaning against a nearby post with a smirk.
Taking a moment to regain their composure, the doctor cleared their throat. "Er uh, robot attack. You see we accepted a grant from Lexcorp-"
"Jeez Loise, how many times does that bald bastard have to bring this city to the brink before you stop trusting his ass?!" Begroaned the former Shock Jock, pinching the bridge of her nose before floating inside the facility.
Let's see.....Robots...Robots...Robots....So many options to pick. Light up the place? No that would damage everything else in the crossfire....Fry the circuits? No they probably used too much valuable junk on these tin cans. That left only one real option....
Slamming her hands onto the control console around her, sparks crackled out as Leslie Willis vanished from view, cascading down the circuit boards. A sickeningly green energy infected the system, guiding the rampaging robots as they ripped and tore the research facility apart! Isolating the signal, Leslie reversed the transmission, blaring out a screeching melody that sounded halfway between a rock tune and a record scratch as the bots halted in place, powering down. Reappearing beside the scientist once more, Livewire flicked a small computer chip onto their forehead, making sure it clung from the static.
Knowing these fools? Same thing'd happen next week.
THE CHEETAH:
TOYMAN:
CAPTAIN COLD:
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