DCU: Blacklist

[FTR2017]

I'm sorry, what? I don't remember that.

Click to shrink...

This didn't happen in this Miles' canon life ... but it could've happened in a divergent version of him.

That's what I'm alluding to.

Multiversal Headaches: Now get some aspirin!

 

[LuckyRobert]

He took a long, slow breath to still his heart. "What I did should not constitute anything to be punished by him." He was not a wicked individual, unless throwing Vandal Savage to the sun counted as wicked.

"Not him directly. The fate you consigned the immortal to have changed too many events in the future. You have presumed to override fate. This was a mere warning for your hubris," the Phantom Stranger warned.

Click to shrink...

Fuck free will, am I right? I never understood how fate and destiny could have a role in DC when the biblical God is around with their whole "free will" thing. I mean I guess I can see how it would work out as a "you have free will, but your actions have consequences" kind of thing, but it feels like a cheap way for the writers to maintain the status quo. I get that the big G isn't against this kind of thing and only his minions are throwing a hissy fit, but it still rubs me wrong.

 

[Shinja]

Fuck free will, am I right? I never understood how fate and destiny could have a role in DC when the biblical God is around with their whole "free will" thing. I mean I guess I can see how it would work out as a "you have free will, but your actions have consequences" kind of thing, but it feels like a cheap way for the writers to maintain the status quo. I get that the big G isn't against this kind of thing and only his minions are throwing a hissy fit, but it still rubs me wrong.

Click to shrink...

Because comic writers are hacks that try to do something 'creative' at the cost of basically blue-balling themselves in the future, or screwing with stuff already in place since 40 years ago, which is why DC and Marvel have had so many 'restarts'.

 

[G1 Convoy]

TFTC.

The safest option was Constantine. He had dealings with higher cosmic entities, and the risk of drawing in further divine punishment was negligible. Unless they made a mess of things.

Click to shrink...

I was going to make a joke about how down bad you are, if John Constantine is your safest bet, but since he was using Phantom Stranger as an intermediary, I guess there's less of a chance for him to piss off someone.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Metropolis

Beckett Residence

"I thought your mother was dead," Claire stated. Her inquisitive gaze was only tempered by her respect for privacy.

"This one is from an alternate reality. Her looks don't exactly match my mother's, but the little rat by her side does," he said. It was a poor excuse, and he had to work overtime to modify all the images he had put into circulation.

"I don't know about you two," Raven said, turning to the siblings, "but the rest of us do have family issues. I can't bring myself to meddle."

"Thank you."

"But," Claire jumped in, dragging the vowel out, "We definitely would like to hear more if you want to speak."

"There really isn't much to say. My father and mother were high school sweethearts. At least on my mother's part. My father always cared more about his success and career. She was blind to it, assuming he was just aloof and shy."

Baraka's face soured. He turned to the window where the woman had kept tapping on the glass. "I guess you got your brains from your father."

"Their marriage was cold. My father worked long hours and didn't have much time for us, while my mother tried to drown her depression in alcohol."

"When I was sixteen, he died in a car accident. A truck with busted brakes crushed him to a paste," he explained. His voice was even, unaffected by the tragedy.

The offers of "sorrys" and "my condolences" died on their lips.

"Two weeks after the funeral, my mother disappeared. She barely left me enough money to finish high school. It didn't take long for me to figure out it was with a young lover. He saw a depressed, drunken older woman loaded with more money than she could spend on drinks. She saw a man who paid her attention."

He did not see the need to mention the two were already lovers before his father's demise, a fact he had come to learn after her disappearance.

"They fell afoul of organized crime in the Caribbean. The rest is history."

"And how exactly is she back?" Zalika asked. She had seen mind-blowing acts and events while working for Miles, but the dead returning to life was not one.

"Because of Vandal Savage. He influenced human history for thousands of years. I have no doubt he would do so for thousands more," he explained for Raven's sake. Of all, she was the least in the know.

"Not for the better, though."

"As mundane methods could not kill him, I decided to throw him to the sun."

"That's… smart," Raven said. If only the same could be done to her father too.

"Yes. Unfortunately, some, shall we say, higher beings, are disgruntled with my decision."

Baraka whistled. "They sent her as punishment?"

How cool was it that his boss screwed over higher beings enough to warrant a punishment?

"It could have been worse. I at least respected my father to a degree."

"What are you going to do now?" Claire asked. Miles wasn't above killing, but this was family, even if horrible ones.

"I suppose a confrontation is inevitable."

—
​

He truly enjoyed the privileges provided by the capitalist system, even if it had to go eventually. A warehouse in the docks, owned by his company, discrete, out of the way, the prime choice to decide what to do with his mother and her boy toy.

His men had already brought them in.

"Wait here," he said, handing his hat to Claire while Baraka took the jacket off.

He had so many sensitive questions to ask. Questions that could not be asked in front of witnesses.

"Miles," his mother tried to get up. The man behind pushed her down.

"At ease, gentlemen; you may step out."

"Yes sir."

He took the seat in front of the two, waiting for the door to close. "The last few days have been quite interesting. I never thought I'd see you again."

She crossed her arms. "So you finally decided to stop ignoring me."

"Should I have been delighted?" He opened his arms to the side. "Hugged you like a good, dutiful son? Shed tears that you had returned?"

Her silence was all the answer he needed.

"I did not think so. Tell me, how exactly did you come by my house?"

"I don't know," she said, raising and dropping her left shoulder. "We were in Hong Kong, watching the news of Superman fighting someone. I blinked for a second, and we were all the way back in Metropolis."

"Who was he fighting?" he asked. That tidbit of information was exactly what he wanted to know.

"A monster, tall, dark, dangerous. Fired lasers out of his eyes."

Miles almost smiled. The Spectre had the guts to bring his mother to this dimension but not enough to let her keep her original memories. That is, provided she wasn't actually from a dimension where the Justice League existed.

Anything was possible at this stage.

"You two are dead here." He pushed an expertly crafted newspaper clipping towards her. "Gangsters liked how you flaunted father's wealth around. A gunman shot you both and took all your valuables."

Her lips parted and she snatched the old paper. A face similar yet different to hers, along with her husband's, was at the edge of the clipping. It was not about her death, but how she had abandoned her son and his subsequent refusal to pick up the body.

She wavered on her chair, eyes glassy.

"That explains why the credit cards weren't working," she muttered, pushing the clipping away.

He pocketed it. "Now, I have an acquaintance who knows you are my mother, or at least a version of her. With how sensitive my work is, I am going to ask you two to pretend you don't know me."

Her throat bobbed. "Fine. But there is a problem. We spent the cash on hand. We need money."

"I worked in a couple of odd jobs while going through high school. It was tiring, but I learned much about human interactions. Perhaps the most important one was when I worked in a small bakery."

"One of my coworkers, an eighteen-year-old recent graduate, Peter, had a fight with the boss over how he cut corners. You wouldn't believe half of the ingredients used in the US food industry," he said, shaking his head.

"The insults and profanities ended with Peter screaming out a last fuck you before stomping off."

"Seconds later, a gunman entered inside, demanding the cash in the register. Our aging cashier, Miss Wilkoff, was terrified. She did as instructed with the rest of the staff."

"Peter returned moments later. He apparently forgot his phone. He hovered outside the door, waiting. He could have intervened and saved the hard-earned profit of the bakery. Instead, he simply walked away. Can you guess what he said when overeager reporters asked why he did nothing?"

"Touching story. Get to the point," Lenny snapped at him.

Miles raised his index finger. "This is between us. Don't interrupt again." His voice was even, and the hollow smile on the young man's face disturbed him.

"What did he say?" she asked, waiting.

His smile reached his eyes now. "What I am about to say to you: it is not my problem."

"Okay. Can we go now?" She took her husband's hand, pushing the chair back.

The doors opened, and his guest of honor entered.

The purple-haired man glanced at the couple. "He is planning to sell what he knows about you if someone actually pays for it."

He laid his hands on their shoulders. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Simple, erase every memory they have about me."

"Wait, he can do that?" His mother's boytoy tried to leap out of his chair. He fell back down, grasping his head.

His mother's eyes widened, but she too felt the effects of the mental intrusion.

"Mate, you have no idea what I can do."

—
​

Manchester's work took an hour. Leonard did not know much about him, but his mother had sixteen years worth of memories that had to be modified.

She believed herself to be a childless widow who was blowing all her late husband's money with her new lover.

Zalika handled the digital trail. A new identity was created for her, one that did not include any mention of the Beckett name. He had given up a couple of millions to complete the illusion.

A small price to pay.

They were abandoned in an alleyway. He had left subdermal trackers should it be necessary to find them once more.

Not that he wanted to see either for any reason.

He had a new life here. One he refused to let his mother be a part of. He had made his peace with her actions long ago. She did not concern him, and he had no desire to open any emotional wounds. The money he spent was a pittance, going against his previous words, something she would never remember.

All that he wished to say was said.

What happened to her now, he did not care about in the slightest.

—
​

He had wasted two days due to the Spectre's little interference. He had considered a small payback, but with the problem of his sole living family member solved, further tangling with the physical embodiment of God's vengeance would only draw attention.

There were more important matters to take care of.

Such as the crystal of the Ophidians.

He preferred the sun the way it was, yellow, shiny, and bringing life to the planet. His work was not easy this time. Not only was the location of the crystal not mentioned in the show, all he had to go off was a name.

Hassan.

A criminal with no details, no origin, and no information on what illicit business he dealt in. Which is where Uncle Sam came into play. The Global Criminal Justice Rewards program has not yet been created, but the Rewards for Justice Program existed.

Among the countless fugitives, criminals, dictators, and villains on the list, two Hassans existed.

One in the Middle East, one in Africa.

Another clue was "cave"; beware in Latin. Unfortunately, both locations of the two Hassans were within the borders of the lands conquered by Rome.

Hassan al-Fayrouz operated as an arms smuggler in Egypt, believed to be hiding somewhere outside Siwa Oasis, and known to be responsible for smuggling weapons to the Taliban. His exact location had never been pinned down by the Egyptian authorities, leaving the US to place a three million dollar reward on him.

Hassan Rashidi was the head of a network selling drugs to every organization interested in the business across the Middle East. Tens of millions of dollars worth of drugs were in circulation because of him. Information assisting his capture or death had a ceiling of six million dollars. His suspected location was the Sinjar Mountains in Iraq.

The rewards were not what he was after, but the location of the cave containing the crystal was. If Hassan in the show had run to such a remote location, he either had a backup plan or was desperate.

Desperate men did not escape for that long.

With the lack of digitalization in either region and plenty of insurgent groups in Iraq after the end of the major combat operations, he had his work cut out for him.

Both Hassans had pros and cons to being the target. US forces wouldn't conduct a unilateral raid on Egyptian soil, a US ally. Though, seeing how illogical some of the acts conducted by the armed forces were, it wasn't out of the boundaries of probability.

Unlike in Sinjar, Roman control over the Siwa Oasis was more prevalent, reaching over four centuries.

Serpentine imagery existed in both regions. Reaching a decision was rendered difficult.

As such, he chose the safer option. If Fayrouz were the target, he would not need to put himself in danger. Otherwise, he would have to go into an active combat zone.

More muscle would not hurt.

"Karen, how are you?" He could hear the clinking of the plates in the background. Calling her in rush hours would have been in bad taste had he not made arrangements.

"Good. Busy with work. How did it go?"

"As good as one can expect. I was about to visit Egypt for business. The help of a Kryptonian would be much appreciated."

"Unless you can get my boss to give me paid leave, I'll pass."

Miles chuckled.

"Wait a second," she said, muting the phone. He waited while reading the profit charts of his new restaurant.

"Huh," her voice returned, dry as the deserts of Egypt. "How interesting. He just gave me two weeks of paid leave because the new owner was grateful for how I saved his mother. Do you happen to know anything about this?"

He chuckled again.

"We are after a fugitive, possibly two. If you agree to help, the reward will be split three ways."

She hummed. "How much do I get?"

"Guaranteed one million dollars. Three if we have to chase the remaining target." He had no need of the reward. It would be left to Claire, Baraka, and, if she agreed to join, Karen.

"That's…"

"More than enough for you to go big," he finished her sentence.

"Heck, why not? Are we taking a plane?"

"I'll send you the location tomorrow. Pack light."

—
​

"Why are we bringing her with us?" Baraka asked, packing his bag.

"Connections, Baraka. It always helps to have friends like her."

"Isn't she already a friend?"

"More like an acquaintance that you come across every now and then," Claire said.

"In addition, she is from a technologically superior planet. What she knows can help Earth."

Starrware Industries in the comics shared the vision of EnviroCorps, creating innovative solutions to the planet's growing ecological and environmental issues. Cooperation would only further their goals.

"Are we taking Neumann and his men?" she asked, zipping her duffel bag.

"No. We are going to keep this small." Chasing two criminals gunblazing across Egypt and Iraq would draw too much attention. Three of them, with their adaptive nanotech armors, and a Kryptonian in the mix would be more than enough to hunt either of the criminals.

A chase should reveal possible hideouts. All he had to do was to discover the general location of the mountainous area. The cave holding the crystal would be far simpler after that.

He estimated that the entire operation would take less than a week. He had made arrangements for it. Men would be stationed around the house should there be more surprises of the family kind.

—
​

He left the house the following day. He would meet Karen in the same warehouse he had talked to his mother, his current base.

"You know dates are supposed to be between two people, right?" Karen asked as the men escorted her inside. She was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, boots, a sunhat, and boots. With her backpack, she looked like a tourist.

His retort was instant. "Let's take it slow, my dear; this is just the second time we are meeting face-to-face."

"If you two are going to keep flirting, we can step out," Claire said, grinning from ear to ear. Baraka was trying to hide his smile to no effect.

"No need."

"Since we are not taking a plane, how are we going to Egypt?" she asked, scanning the mostly empty warehouse.

"Teleportation."

He snapped his fingers, and with a flash of light, they were gone.

—
​

In the next chapter:


Tourists drew attention.

Wealthy ones, even more so.

All the vendors wanted to sell something. Herbs, trinkets, souvenirs, and food were thrust in their faces. He purchased a little bit of everything, waiting. The chief of police would no doubt be interested in rubbing elbows with such generous guests.



Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.

 

[vader634]

TFTC

 

[FTR2017]

Well, that's one way to deal with unwanted familial relations. I approve!

Now, on to the next quest to irritate said higher powers!

 

[Harbinger98]

Somehow, I doubt the next divine punishment, if any, will be as easy to deal with. I also find it funny that the divine beings aren't willing to bring Savage back, as they likely don't want to be responsible for his continued existence, but they are willing to punish the guy who permanently took care of him so he either doesn't commit anymore drastic changes or undoes what he originally did. Definitely something higher powers would do for roundabout results.

 

[MasterDarkElf]

Huh, that was more anticlimactic than I thought. I mean, I didn't expect this big thing to happen, but figured there might be a little more questioning and such. Oh well. And nice to see Karen getting closer to the gang, and especially Miles, haha. Looking forward to more.

 

[Lillie Jones]

thanks for the chapter

 

[Samael61]

I shared 4 pilot chapters for my stories in this link in Questionable Questing. They include : Mortal Considerations - Hela X Original Male Character, Percy Jackson and the Powers of the Unholy Triangle - Percy Jackson with Bill Cipher's powers, End of Days - Doomsday in Invincible Universe, which I already posted under its own thread, and the Many Heroes : MHA x League of Legends. You can check them to see what we have going for the future.

 

[Samael61]

Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for : AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.

—
​

Egypt

Siwa Oasis

"How do we do this, boss?" Baraka asked, walking with him on the busy streets of Siwa Oasis.

"Simple. Follow the trail of the money," he replied.

As the one common language humanity spoke, the doors it could not open were very limited.

Karen turned to him. "If it was that simple, why haven't the local forces found him yet?"

"There are two options; who can guess them?" The reward on Fayrouz's head would make any legal contact sell him out, and he could not have survived this long without having friends in good places.

"He is paying them off most likely," Claire said, snapping her fingers.

"But the reward on Hassan's head is great too. More than he would be willing to pay," Baraka said, echoing what Miles was thinking.

"Then he is threatening them," Karen added.

Miles was silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Both," the three of them replied at the same time. They stopped, gazing at each other before Karen continued. "He is threatening them to stay quiet and is paying them off so the cops would be content."

"Correct. Now, you are a fugitive being sought by the law enforcement. You either have dirt on them, or you threaten their lives and families. Who would you target?"

"The local head of law enforcement, or one of his lieutenants," Claire finished.

"Excellent reasoning. Let's see if we can arrange a meeting."

—
​

Tourists drew attention.

Wealthy ones, even more so.

All the vendors wanted to sell something. Herbs, trinkets, souvenirs, and food were thrust in their faces. He purchased a little bit of everything, waiting. The chief of police would no doubt be interested in rubbing elbows with such generous guests.

The actions of an individual were simple to predict once you understood their nature. The vendors they had met so far did not speak highly of the man; in fact, they were not willing to talk about him at all. The darting eyes and hushed words were an obvious sign as to why.

Karim was not well received by the honest people of the town.

It took a couple of hours for someone to send word to him.

He marched into the market, hands behind his back, sunglasses complementing his khaki drill cotton. The hustle and bustle began to die with each step he took.

Miles saw the man coming but continued to observe his latest purchase with Karen, a glass pyramid. Claire had leaned on a wall on his right, waiting. Baraka stood right behind him, moving aside as their query approached.

"My American friends, welcome. I hope you have been enjoying our humble town," Karim said, the officers he had brought dispersing to keep the curious gazes away.

"Thank you, officer. It has been great so far."

"I am Captain Karim. If you are ever in a pinch, I can be of help."

"Actually, there is something. I am looking for an old friend of mine. Hassan al-Fayrouz. I am certain a man of your stature can assist me."

"Fayrouz?" Karim took a step back, his jovial smile gone.

"Yes. You see, he owes me a sizable sum. I would be quite willing to part with a portion of it if you can find him for me."

"I don't know any Fayrouz, but I will be on the lookout."

"Ah, no matter," he said, patting the man on the shoulder. "Thank you regardless."

Done with his shopping, he took his friends to lunch.

—
​

"Do you think he'll really contact Fayrouz?" Baraka asked after ordering his food. Calling this place a restaurant would be akin to calling a burger franchise joint a three-Michelin-star dining experience, but at least the food was good.

"What would you say the captain felt when I mentioned the name of our query?" he asked in return, continuing the lesson.

"He was afraid."

"Yes. We can be reasonably sure it would be in Karim's best interests to see Hassan caught."

"But he is not helping us. He is afraid that Hassan would retaliate, regardless if he was involved or not," Karen supplied.

"What are the chances he informs Hassan for the sake of his own life?" he asked. As if to answer his question, the application on his phone sent a notification.

He opened it, putting the phone in the middle of the table, the translation program already running.

"Where are you?" The good captain asked, voice curt.

"What is it, Karim? I am busy."

"There is a young man out there who claims you owe him three million dollars. Asked about you. Has three people with him, an African boy and two females, one blond and one ginger."

"What did you say?"

"That I did not know you. What else could I say?"

"Good. I don't know who this boy is; I don't owe anyone a single piastre. Where is he?"

"You know Mahmoud's restaurant? He is there, having lunch right now."

"You did well, Karim; leave the rest to me, and speak to no one about this."

"Of course I won't."

The call ended, leaving the table in smiles.

"Not bad, fedora, not bad at all."

He winked at the Kryptonian. "My pleasure."

—
​

Done with lunch, Miles walked out of the door, tipping the establishment generously.

Fayrouz had acted fast. Two vehicles were already waiting for them outside. Upon seeing four people who matched the descriptions, the men surrounded them. Each one looked rough, hired guns that had seen action in the field. Scars, calluses, practical clothing—they meant business.

"Get in. Hassan wants to see you, blondie."

Miles smiled.

"Took him long enough. Is the invitation just for me?"

"No, all of you."

He glanced at the ginger-haired female next to him, taking a step towards the car. She followed without a complaint.

The rest took the remaining truck, following along.

—
​

"What is your name, blondie?" The goon with an x-shaped scar on his right cheek asked. The rest of the men deferred to him, making him most likely Fayrouz's right hand.

"Raymond," he said.

Once surrendered to the US forces, Hassan would be questioned on who his mysterious captors were. The more wrong information he had, the better.

"And your ginger friend?"

"Kara," she replied, voice colder than outer vacuum.

The men shuddered at her tone. They were seasoned enough to understand on an instinctual level that she was dangerous.

Whether they would heed it was another matter.

"You are very brave to come here. What do you actually want with the boss?"

"That is between us."

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. The armor was already active, disguising him to avoid recognition once Hassan was handed over to the USA authorities.

Two females, one ginger, the other blonde; a young man in a suit; and a Black boy.

—
​

The journey was long enough that he took a nap. Hassan lived outside the oasis, near a system of caves. An excellent place for a rat to hide.

The view did not match what he had seen in the show. Still, of the myriad of changes he had seen, one concerning a landscape would not be out of place.

The trucks came to a stop.

Hassan's men opened the doors, pushing them out at gun point. He was scanning the area, same as his companions. Nothing extraordinary appeared yet, but there was still a chance.

"Inside," the head honcho with the scar on his cheek ordered, pushing him towards the largest cave entrance.

There weren't that many men inside the cave. With the eight that had brought them here, it came to twenty in total. Not that the numbers would matter against them.

"Boss, we brought them."

"Who are you, boy?" Hassan asked, sitting on a stool, shaving himself with a knife. Whether it was because he couldn't find a razor or wanted to look edgy, he could not say.

His photo in the system was outdated. Hassan's face looked far more sunken, and his hair had grey tints, though his eyes were still sharp.

"Forget who I am; I just want to ask a question. Have you ever come across a cave that has the word "cave" carved outside on stone?

"You came all this way, claiming I owed you money, just to ask me if I knew a specific cave?" he huffed, turning to Karen. "Tell me, girl, is he mad or something?"

"Seeing as this played out exactly as he predicted, no."

He clapped his hands. "If we could get to the matter of the cave."

Hassan shot up from his stool, the shining survival knife glinting in the dim light of the cave. He struck at the liver, but his knife did not go through the clothes. He swung, going for the neck this time. The sharp edge grating on the nanotech armor produced an ear-scratching sound.

Miles' hand lashed out, wrapping around Hassan's throat.

Karen took the initiative. Her fists struck backwards, knocking two men out. Gunfire lit up in the cave, harmlessly pinging off her armor, just as it would her skin. She slapped one of the gunmen to the ground. She tore the rifle off the last man's hands, ripping it apart to pieces, a Spartan kick sealing the goon's fate.

All in the blink of an eye.

She did not stop there, moving outside to neutralize the rest.

He threw Hassan to the side, following Karen to give Hassan the chance to escape. The smuggler was still conscious but had chosen to lie in wait, playing the possum.

Outside, it had already come to an end. Two metahumans and a Kryptonian in advanced nanotech armor vs. gunmen armed with AK-47s was easier than taking candy from a child not even born.

"What now? Do we call the feds?"

"No. Let's give Hassan a chance to run. I believe they pay extra for valuable information. He can lead us to weapon depots and hideouts," he said. He could interrogate the man, but Karen was still a hero. She would not appreciate his methods.

"By the way, what was that about the cave?" Karen asked.

He had not explained the true reason behind this hunt to her yet, busy as they were.

"There is a cave with a crystal that contains the evil spirits of a serpentine race. I want to find and throw it into the sun."

She placed her fingers on her forehead, eyes closed tightly. "I think I heard something about it back in my dimension."

"Any details you can share?" he asked. He had not considered that she might know something, an oversight on his part.

"Not really. It was just something Flash told me."

"No matter. Either this Hassan or the one in Iraq is familiar with the location of the cave."

"Why hunt it though? Is someone else looking for it?"

"I could afford to spare some time to destroy it just in case, while bringing two criminals to justice."

"Hey, he is running," Claire said, pointing at the car. Hassan had already started the truck and was backing away.

"Let him go. I have a tracker on him."

—
​

To fly was to be free from the shackles of gravity.

The four of them, invisible among the warm orange colors of the setting sun, followed the car after tying the goons back at the caves. Hassan was driving in the opposite direction of the Siwa Oasis, leaving a chance that he might take them to where the crystal lay.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

The new cave system did not match the valley in his memories. Once again, there was no sign of the crystal and Mophir. Hassan was the only human in the area.

The weapons cache was a rather nice touch, though.

—
​

Hassan abandoned the car, making a break for the cave. Once inside, he would be armed and safe.

He looked back, searching for any sign of those damned freaks. His escape was too easy. They had not even given chase.

He turned ahead. A brown blur was all he saw before something impacted his face, sending him to the ground. He groaned, feeling his nose burn, blood flowing freely.

He looked up, seeing the blond man checking an AK-47, one that had a fresh smear of blood on the stock. "My, Hassan, wherever did you get all these? I get the AKs, but the mortars, the Stingers, the plastic explosives, and the rest? I can see why the US government wants you alive."

Hassan closed his eyes, groaning.

—
​

The handover was simple. The US Special Forces, in conjunction with the Egyptian military, would arrive to take custody of Hassan. The payment, with the location of Hassan's weapons depot, initial hideout, and his men, had doubled to six million dollars.

Which required identification and cooperation with the authorities.

They were not going to hand six million dollars in a suitcase to anyone.

The disguises weren't random. Zalika had created a background for them as part of a now-defunct PMC. The four of them were tracking a smuggling line that had led them to Hassan Fayrouz. As they were in Siwa Oasis, and there was a reward attached, they had gone after Fayrouz to assess the risk of capturing him.

Which had proven to be easy.

Since the capture had happened unarmed, the legal trouble was on the nonexistent side. The four of them fully cooperated, and the reward would flow into their accounts soon.

If not, he would just steal from the government.

The temporary handler was curious as to where they would go next. Coincidentally, another lead had pointed them to Iraq, to the Sinjar Mountains, and another Hassan.

Rashidi's bounty was even higher than Fayrouz's, and the handler was very interested in any intel they could share. Except for the fact that the Rashidis' little drug empire created the money that eventually led to the Taliban buying weapons from Fayrouz, they knew nothing else.

Though, he would be kept in the know if the four of them discovered more. If nothing else, the promise of further intel would be an incentive for them to not drag the process out.

Traveling to Iraq by plane would take time. Time they would use to return home and prepare.

—
​

Metropolis

"Have to admit, this was actually fun," Karen admitted. Bringing that weapon smuggler down felt really great, and all in twenty-four hours too, mostly spent on waiting for the US forces.

"Keep hanging out with us; you'll get all the action you want," he said, handing her a bottle of soda.

"Maybe."

"What happened to your mother from another dimension?"

He rolled the bottle, watching the liquid inside. "I had her memories of me erased, gave her an ID, and a couple million dollars. The rest is her business, not mine, and I would truly appreciate it if you kept silent on the matter."

"My lips are sealed."

"How is my cousin?"

"Clark is doing good, as is your counterpart." They had actually started to patrol together, the beginning of a new era in Metropolis' history, as Mr. Kent had reported.

He didn't realize how fast the time had passed while sitting on the porch, just having a simple, honest conversation.

—
​

In the next chapter:


"What about his nose?" Claire asked. They had the man change his clothes to not look like a mess for the meeting, but his nose looked like a giant, angry,

"He hit his face on the door, nothing else. Isn't that right?" Miles said, while Baraka glared at their prisoner. He seemed to be especially furious at the dealer, most likely from seeing the state that young man has been reduced to.

Marouf nodded slightly, shying away from Baraka. "If Rashidi comes, it will be with a lot of men."



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[Lillie Jones]

thanks for the chapter