Booster Gold #9 - Heroic Aspirations (★Society, Part VI)

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Author: ScarecrowSid

Book: Booster Gold

Arc: ★Society

Set: 9

Suggested Reading: Blue Beetle #2

★ Now

    The Man in Black admired the scene unfolding overhead, there was nothing quite like a plane crash to spice up an otherwise dreary day. Booster Gold had arrived right on schedule and, if nothing else, served as a confirmation of everything proceeding as planned.

    “You were right, my friend,” said a man to his left. His approach to middle age was marked by pale, wrinkled features that were made all the more apparent by the dark red mane atop his head. His face was the odd sort of wide that suggested heartiness where none existed. “The Americans thought to use the storm for cover.”

    “I’m always right, Degaton,” replied the Man in Black. “I would hope you know that by now.”

    “No need to be irritable,” Degaton said. “Everything is moving forward according to our timetable. In another year, we will be ready for the--”

    “You wouldn’t have that year if I didn’t show up,” the Man in Black said. “Where is the the good Doctor?”

    “Nishtikeit and his work will be in the Fatherland by the end of the week,” Degaton said.

    “Good,” the Man in Black replied. He watched with disinterest as a series of flunkies approached Degaton with varying requests and reports from the German commanders spread across the Winter Line. “And our deal?”

    “Proceeding per your specifications,” said Degaton. “The device will be ready in a year, we guarantee it.”

    “Good,” the Man in Black repeated. He studied the aircraft and smiled as a sheer green shell enveloped the innards. A single figure dove from the structure and flew alongside it, he knew very well what it was. “I understand you lost a man in the Sahara.”

    “Reichsmark,” Degaton said. “He was a good man. I retrieved his body myself, those damn Americans decapitated him.”

    “Hm,” the Man in Black said, stifling a chuckle. It seemed that Kord was doing his job well, and that was a welcome bit of news. “What a shame.”

    “We’ll need you to bring another man across,” Degaton said. “To replace the one we lost.”

    “I’m sorry, Degaton, but that wasn’t part of our arrangement,” said the Man in Black. “I ferried five of you, as per the terms of our arrangement. Any more will require a new a deal.”

    “This is important,” Degaton said. “Blitzkrieg and the Shadow can only do so much on a battlefield. I’ve heard that Scott and Garrick found their way to this world, they are a danger to my designs. For the good of the Reich, I need more soldiers.”

    “Fuck the Reich,” the Man in Black said. “Our agreement was for five. If you want to bring more of your kind across, do it yourself.”

    “Fuck the Reich?” Degaton parroted. “I enjoy your company, but if you--”

    “Let me be clear,” the Man in Black said, cutting in. “We are not in a mutually dependent situation, you need me more than I need you. And if you forget that again, I will send you and all of your little monsters back to the rotting world you came from.” Degaton stared at him but said nothing. “So let me say this once, and say it as clearly as I can: Fuck your Reich.”

    “You wound us,” Degaton sighed. “But we will honor our arrangement. Do I have your word that we can pursue other means of migrating our soldiers without your interference?”

    “A Nazi talking about honor, now there’s a joke,” the Man in Black actually laughed, unable to contain himself any further. “You have my word, Degaton. I won’t interfere, not until circumstances force my hand.”

    “We won’t do anything of the sort,” Degaton said.

    “Enjoy your war,” replied the Man in Black. “I have business with that aircraft.”

    “Be mindful, friend,” Degaton said. “I have agents in the field.”

    “Who?” The Man in Black asked, more coldly than he had before.

    “Blitzkrieg was tasked with intercepting the English’s armored, and the American’s,” Degaton said. “The Fuhrer saw fit to dispatch a man of his own.”

    “Which one?”

    “The one from Thule,” Degaton said, smirking. “Nacht.”

    “And if he gets in my way?” the Man in Black asked. He hoped that answer to that particular question would lean in his favor, lest his plans require amendment.

    “I have no love for the charlatan,” Degaton said. He offered an absentminded shrug as a reply. “They say he’s immortal, but if you think you can kill him...be my guest.”

    “I don’t have to kill him,” the Man in Black said. “I just have to move him.” He stepped away from Degaton and parted barrier between time and space with a casual wave of his hand, then whispered, “Maybe I’ll drop him in the sun.”

★★ Now

    Between bitter winds and bracing showers, Booster Gold held up the gutted, falling carcass of the aircraft that had ferried him into the Italian Campaign. He would, of course, have preferred to fly off ahead and deal with the enemies firing on them.

    “Sir,” Skeets said. The bot hovered behind him, conveniently shielding itself from any further rounds of artillery. “I think it would be best to abandon the frame of the plane and fall to a less enticing angle.”

    “Enticing angle?” Booster asked.

    “Yes,” Skeets replied. “At our current trajectory, we’ll be descending along their axis of fire.”

    “Ha, axis,” Booster said. “I see what you did there, buddy.”

    “Sir,” Skeets said firmly. “This is serious.”

    “Well, let’s tell Alan,” Booster said. “Get back in the plane and patch me in.”

    Booster smirked to himself as new rounds of artillery whizzed past him with alarming accuracy, the last missed his face by mere feet. He was unusually lucky today and could, perhaps, find a way out of this situation given enough time. Their aim, however, was still a source of worry. If Skeets was right, and he often was, this situation would grow exponentially more dangerous as they approached the firing line.

    “Michael?” the Lantern’s voice crackled through Booster’s earpiece. “What’s going on out there?”

    “Uhm, we’re being shot at,” Booster replied. “But I have a plan.”

    “Do tell,” the Lantern said.

    “Well,” Booster began. “I’m going to let go of the plane and let it sail down on its own. The rest of us need to free-fall and hope nobody sees us.”

    “That’s your goddamn plan?” Cyrus shouted. “You want to us jump out of this plane without parachutes? Are you drunk?”

    “No,” Booster said, doing his best to sound wounded. “It’s actually a pretty good plan, especially if you consider how stupid our situation is.”

    “Jumping out of a plane is not a plan,” Cyrus insisted.

    “Neither was flying a plane into a war zone,” Booster retorted. “Can we just try it my way, please?”

    “We could use Scott’s barrier,” Cyrus said.

    “Sure,” Booster replied. “Nothing like a big, green, glowing structure to help conceal you from unwanted attention.”

    “Don’t mock me,” said Cyrus.

    “Why not?” asked Booster. “It’s so easy.” He released the plane from his feeble attempts to hold it upright and drifted up toward the fuselage of their ailing plane. His attention, however, was drawn away as a voice called to him from overhead.     “Booster Gold, Booster Gold. Why can’t you save the day?” Booster soared up to their one remaining wing and frowned at the man seated atop it. He wore a long black cape over a metallic mesh of black armor plate, and his face was concealed behind a black, metallic mask that opened around his mouth. The Man in Black grinned at Booster before continuing, “Man you suck, you’re really fu---”

    “Why the hell do you keep following me!?” Booster shouted. The Man in Black didn’t flinch. In fact, Booster was certain the Man’s smile grew wider as Booster raised an arm and aimed at him with a gauntlet.

    “I told you,” the Man in Black shouted. The gunfire around them drowned out most conversation, especially any that occurred at a low register. Cyrus called out, but Booster couldn’t hear it. “I have a vested interest in your future.”

    “Stop stalking me!” Booster shouted. “It’s too soon for me to have a nemesis, especially one without a freaking backstory.” Booster looked back at the fuselage, the Lantern’s barrier was beginning to wane. They were preparing to jump, clearly, his persuasive efforts had been fruitful.

    “Look,” Booster said. “Come back in our second season, maybe the third, and we’ll have enough time in the story for a mysterious stalker villain. I can’t have you popping up right now, it’s very distracting.”

    “Ah, yes, the meta-commentary,” the Man in Black said. “I remember that routine, it’s very endearing.”

    “You’re supposed to ignore the gimmick, asshole,” Booster spat back. “Otherwise it loses its charm.”

    The Man in Black made the motions associated with sighing and stood up upon the wing with surprising steadiness. “Michael,” his voice was firm. “You’re not going to find the Sphere here.”

    “How did you-- are you with them?” Booster asked. “So that’s what you are, some kind of world hopping, evil, nazi guy...thing.” He rubbed his forehead with the tip of his right thumb and held out his left hand with the forefinger extended. “Hang on, I can phrase that better.”

    “I wouldn’t bother,” the Man in Black said. “Skeets isn’t here to record our interaction.”

    “An excellent point, stranger,” Booster said. “Skeets! Get out here, I’m being amazing.”

    “Not possible, sir,” Skeets said. “We’re ready to jump!”

    “Oh, right,” Booster said. “I forgot that was happening. Okay, you guys go ahead and jump--”

    A thundering crack rang out, piercing the storm veil with wide winged shadows. Booster turned and followed a mass, only slightly larger than their aircraft as it roared into view. There was a second crack, this one more like a screech that filled the air quieted storm winds. A thousand teeth set in a long, narrow snout spewed flecks of bile-like that hissed as they the metal shell of the plane. Leather wings clapped against the dark skies and the torrents they produced nearly flung Booster his foothold, he was steadied only by the timely intervention of the Man in Black.

    “There’s no way…” Booster gaped, more astonished than afraid. “Is that what I think it is?”

    The Man in Black burst out laughing beside him and managed a few winded words, “That is a dragon...clever Thule bastard.”

    “Dragons are real?” Booster blurted out. The creature drew in a deep breath and its jowls burned with translucent skin stretched atop a small sun forming in its mouth. Booster looked up at it, then frowned, “How the hell am I supposed to fight that?”

★★★ Then - May 12th, 2462

    “Sir!” exclaimed Skeets. “Booster! Can you hear me?”

    Michael pushed himself up, trying to ignore the pulsing lump forming at the base of his skull. The plan was ruined, that much was obvious. Ernie was dead, the man lay in a puddle of his own making. A stench filled the room, likely caused by the unfortunate old man sprawled near the entrance. Michael had hated him, or at least come close to it, but seeing the man like this was difficult. This was his fault.

    “Yes,” Michael said. “I can hear you.”

    “Thank goodness,” Skeets said. “We need to defend the museum, Booster. We’ve been infiltrated!”

    “We’re not equipped to deal with intruders,” Michel replied. How had the plan gone so awry? Where was the Batman?

    “It’s our job,” Skeets insisted. “I’ve alerted the authorities, but in the meantime, we can find weapons.”

    “Uhm,” Michael said. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

    “There is a veritable arsenal in the Hall of Heroes, we could arm ourselves there,” said Skeets.

    “Ourselves? Last time I checked you don’t have arms,” Michael said.

    “Booster, you need to arm yourself,” Skeets said. “It’s the best chance you have for survival.”

    “What the hell am I going to do with a weapon?” Michael asked. “I’m not a fighter, Skeets.”

    “A real hero is always a hero by mistake,” Skeets said.

    “Did you just paraphrase Umberto Eco?” Michael asked. It seemed that a lesson or two from his college years had managed to make in impression.

    “Yes,” Skeets cheerily replied. “It seemed appropriate.”

    “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

    “Nope,” Skeet said.

    “Fine.” Michael sighed and gestured in the direction of the Hall. “Lead the way.”

★★★★ Then - May 12th, 2462

    Booster hugged the blanched walls of the atrium, keeping as near the shadows as possible while he approached the Hall of Heroes. The Royal Flush were scattered around the museum, looting whatever treasures lay within the more guarded displays. The Hall, thankfully, was seen as more of a curiosity in this day and age. Nobody knew for certain whether or not the objects on display on any given day were reproductions. Skeets, it seemed, knew.

    “Skeets, do you see anything?” Michael asked, trying his best to whisper. His nerves made it more of a challenge than expected, they tried to pull every syllable closer to a hiss. These serpentine expressions would have been more amusing in another situation, here they only furthered his anxieties. Would they hear him?

    “No,” Skeets said. “The intruders have disabled our surveillance somehow, but the terminals are disguised. How could they know?”

    “Uhm, I don’t know,” Michael said. He knew, of course. The Batman’s instructions had been clear on this point: Provide the Flush with any information they require and keep your actions a secret. His training had included a survey of every junction within the building and, fortunately for him, he had a mind for spacial awareness. The map his father was supplied may have been hand crafted, but it was entirely accurate.

    They snuck along the path for some time, until the last few turns before the Hall lay before them. A distinct rumble from around the next corner stalled Michael, he inched his way to the edge and listened in to a conversation between to clear, loud voices. One was high-pitched, nasal in the way of a man trying too hard to emulate a 1960s gangster. He knew the owner well, a short fellow with a crop of seaweed colored hair the others referred to as ‘Bugsy.’ The owner of the second voice was more of a mystery. A great many of the Flush had graveled voices, this, however, was not a novelty among the lowest echelons of the slum. Most were currently addicted to, or recovering from, a fixation on ‘Scald.’ To say it was a savaged drug would be an understatement, every indulgence was a chance to overdose.

    “...I could’ve been a Bat,” Bugsy said. His voice carried in a way that echoed through the sparsely decorated hall, it sounded hollow. “You see, my dear mother instilled in me the essential qualities required.”

    “Do tell,” said the unknown man. His voice would have been mistaken as a hoarse whisper anywhere else in the world, but in the Slum, everyone knew what he was.

    “Well, you see,” Bugsy continued. “She taught me that moral character is the most important characteristic of any young man as he makes his way through the world.”

    “How proud she would be,” said the second man, “to find you’ve become a thief of the highest integrity.”

    “Oh, certainly,” replied Bugsy. Michael couldn’t see them, but, from his tone, it was obvious the man was smirking. “I have a decency associated with all of my criminal endeavors.”

    “A decency?” asked the second man.

    “Yes,” Bugsy said. “You see, everyone I rob has no need for the things I take. That’s the beauty of stealing from dead people.”

    Michael chanced a glimpse around the corner and saw the shorter man holding up something small and gold. Bugsy set it atop his head and grinned up at the second man, who Michael now identified as one of the goons who formed the core of his father’s retinue. He’d never quite learned their names, only their designations, and this one had a red number ten printed across his throat.

    “Looked better on the Amazon,” said Ten.

    “I’ve seen the pictures,” replied Bugsy. “But I’m certain it looks better on me than it would on her corpse.”

    “It is rather fetching,” said Ten with a slight inflection that suggested sarcasm. “I wasn’t aware the Queen was dead.”

    “Princess,” Bugsy replied, correcting the larger man. “She was never crowned and, yes, she is dead. No one has seen her in centuries.”

    “Well,” said Ten. “All the better for you, that tiara complements your delicate features.”

    “Oh, f*ck off.”

    The censor’s chirp tore through the veneer of the otherwise silent hall, and both men froze in place. Their faces turned, searching for what felt like an eternity but couldn’t have been more than several seconds. Michael spun on his heel and faced the security drone with renewed horror.

    “What hell?” he hissed. “Why did you do that!”

    “No profanity on duty,” Skeets answered. The drone, apparently unaware of the blunder, drifted ahead of Michael and rounded the corner. Skeets turned his face toward Michael, lights blinking to signal alarm. “They’ve found us, Booster!”

    “No shit,” Michael hissed, utterly bewildered. “They heard your damn censor!”

    “Oh,” Skeets said, his tone was too innocent. “I believe the appropriate response would be: ‘Oops, my bad.’”     Michael pinched his brow with the first three fingers of his left hand and chanced another glance around the corner. Ten and Bugsy were approaching at a comical pace, far too cautious for the scene unfolding down the hall. Whether this had anything to do with the perceived threat of a security drone, Michael could only guess at.

    “What’s that then?” Bugsy asked.

    “Some kind of security robot,” Ten remarked. “Leave it Mikey to f*ck up disabling the security system.”

    “What’s it doing there?” Bugsy asked.

    “Why don’t you go up and ask it?” Ten questioned in reply.

    Michael grit his teeth and watched as Skeets hovered in full view of the approaching henchmen. With every footfall, he motioned for his partner to hover out of view so they could flee. Skeets, it seemed, had plans of his own. The drone hovered away from Michael and toward an adjacent hallway.

    “I’ll lead them away,” Skeets said, his voice so devoid of decibels that Michael scarcely heard it. Michael hugged the shadows, watching as the two thugs turned and followed Skeets down the adjacent hallway. Within a moment, Skeets had turned away and was lost from view. Michael stood there, silently willing himself forward. His partner, no, his friend was in danger. He needed to move.

★★★★★ Now

    A man hopping through time does so with certain expectations. He expects to find situations that are beyond his norms, but wholly acceptable in one time period or another. He expects to encounter varying degrees of technology and accepts that he will need to try and fit in. He even expects to find the unexpected, the unexpected, of course, being something out of place. A Viking in the Old West? Perfectly acceptable. An alien in a dive bar? Why not. A city under the sea? Odd, but sure.

    And then there are monsters. Not the sort that hides under beds or command empires, these are sorts that wander myth. In retrospect, Booster Gold should have expected to see a dragon at some point, but it was so far beyond the realm expectation that, in this moment, all he could do was gape.

    “How,” he repeated, “in the hell am I supposed to fight that?”

    The Man in Black was doubled over, laughing carelessly as the first volley of dragon’s breath burned overhead. Leather wings produced gales to rival any storm as the beast leveled itself for the next torrent. It had a curious black hide that made it look more like a stealth bomber than the creature of legend, but the basic form was there. A long tail and wide wings conjoined with its forelimbs met a body as wide as two sedans stacked one atop another. A thousand teeth, curved like daggers, roared out as a red swell rose from an opalescent stone buried in its chest.

    “I’m pretty sure we should aim for the big glowing thing in its chest,” Booster said. “That’s what they do in sim-games.”

    “In all my years, I never thought I would see something like this,” the Man in Black said, arms outstretched as he motioned toward the scaled fiend. “You are a beauty.”

    “Crazy man, pay attention,” Booster said, scowling.

    The dragon hurled another spray of orange gold flame, it engulfed the wing and burned through the ironwork like butter. The Man in Black leaped back just before and dragged Booster along by the scruff of his armor, the two hung in the air and watched as the sole remaining wing melt from the body. The slag was swept away by another gale born of the beast’s wings, spinning as it plummeted to the Earth.

    “Alan! Jump!” Booster shouted, hoping that Skeets would transmit his message. Seconds later, he considered his cries a success as the aircraft’s ramp was shoved open by an oversized pair of hands. The remaining members of Cyrus’ squad leaped from the wreckage in disciplined formation. Jordan, the pilot, followed a moment later.

    “I said jump!” Booster shouted.

    “We are, asshole!” Cyrus shouted back, Booster winced as the voice carried to his earpiece. Cyrus and the Lantern were the last to escape the freefalling skeleton of their once rickety aircraft, they fell one after another with a series of profanities that Skeets chose to relay only a single, sustained beep.

★★★★★★ Now

    Their plan was rendered moot by the arrival of the dragon, as most plans often are. The need to avoid the artillery was entirely pointless when their descent was coupled with the winged monstrosity nipping at their heels. Evidently, the Lantern was aware of this, as a series of vine-like arms erupted from his ring and caught each of the falling men.

    “Going back to my earlier question, how the f*ck do we fight that thing?” Booster asked. He couldn’t help but grin at the censor’s chirp as Skeets hovered into view beside them. “Good to see you, buddy.”

    “Reporting for duty, sir,” Skeets said.

    “Great,” Booster replied. “What can you tell me about dragons?”

    “They’re mythological,” Skeets quickly answered.

    “That’s strike one,” Booster said.

    “As charming as this is, let’s focus on the fire breathing monster in front of us,” the Man in Black cut in. “I don’t think it’s going to wait for you finish your little routine.”

    “That was uncalled for,” Booster replied, left brow rising. His further admonishments were interrupted by the sudden gusts accompanying the dragon’s dive toward his comrades. They were very near the ground and the Lantern was lowering his passengers into a clearing.

    The Man in Black erupted from Booster’s side, seeking the dragon with missile-like precision. He drew near it in a blur, as if the seconds somehow compressed, and he was in front of the beast in nary a heartbeat. Booster dove, desiring more to help his comrades than to face the winged terror once more.

    It caught whiff of him, that was the only reasoning Booster could come up with as the creature’s head turned and a fresh flow of flame draped itself over the Man in Black. The newly burning mass that constituted whatever remained of the Man twisted upon itself and crashed to the Earth with the quiet thunder of a quake.

    “Shit,” Booster said to himself. He felt the Legion Ring upon his finger warm as he willed himself to faster flight. The dragon slowed just above the world, hovering over the clearing. Its treading sent ripples through the surrounding forest, the trees swayed and creaked against the gale.

    A targeting array appeared on his goggle lenses and three reticles lay upon one another as they narrowed upon a spot contralateral to the beast’s jeweled heart. Its attention was directed downward, past the smoldering crater born of the Man in Black. The Lantern stood before the dragon, his ring burning an emerald blaze that pierced the otherwise storm-addled haze of the day.

    “Skeets, full power to the gauntlets,” Booster said.

    “Sir,” Skeets began. “We lack the sufficient power to pierce that hide.”

    “You can’t know that!”

    “I can guess,” Skeets said, his tone was curious. “Imagine a bird hitting a window.”

    “A bird can break a window,” Booster replied.

    “It can, sir,” Skeets mused. “But it never survives the attempt.”

    “Well...someone might want to tell Alan.”

    The Lantern had drawn his eldritch light into the form of a large bow and arrow, it spanned something akin to a hundred yards in either direction. A massive, barbed arrow was nocked and drawn back by phantom hands. Then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the arrow flew free of the bow. It soared toward the dragon with deft ease, but the beast was more clever than it let on.

    There was new gust as it jolted left in the air, but the Lantern’s arrow still found flesh. It tore through the beast’s left wing and left a hole ten feet wide, and the howl that followed would have stripped courage from the mightiest of men. The Lantern, to his credit, did not waver.

    The dragon fell to the Earth and the world thundered once more, this time louder. If its next cry were any indication, the fight was from over. A second, spine-tingling roar served as precursor to waves of fresh fire that burned through the greenery. The fight was far from over.

★★★★★★★ Now

    The Man in Black lay in his makeshift grave, watching a flurry of orange and green lights fill the air around him. The Lantern was fighting the beast, but it was difficult to tell if he was enjoying any success in his endeavor. Despite the blistering heat of the fire still burning in the crater formed of his impact, the Man in Black was relatively unscathed. It seemed that the only major casualty of his fall was a smoldering cape that was beyond saving.

    “I would prefer not to kill you, gorgeous,” the Man in Black sighed as he found his feet. He shrugged the cape from his shoulders and let it fall before making the uneasy climb up the side of his crater. “But you’re complicating matters. I can’t have that.”

    An emerald dome of translucent hard light encompassed the Lantern and several of his fellows as the dragon swatted at them. The structure absorbed the few blows it could, and any cracks were bound together by new threads drifting from the ring and stitching themselves in place.

    The Man in Black could see Booster Gold amongst the crowd, wagging his finger at a dark haired man wearing a scowl.

★★★★★★★★ Now

    “This is a good plan,” Booster Gold insisted. He spared a glance at the deep gash across his upper arm and frowned, somehow the dragon’s talons had worked their way through the armored weave. “Give me some grenades and I’ll throw them in that bastard’s mouth.”

    “That’s a terrible plan,” Cyrus said, his scowl deepening. “There’s no guarantee your haphazard run will accomplish anything other than depleting our ammunition.”

    “Dammit, Max, will you shut and listen to me?” Booster asked.

    “Max? Who the hell is Max?”

    “Sorry, you reminded me of someone for a moment,” Booster answered. “Look, I’m the only one who can get near enough to that thing to feed it explosives. The outside is armored, but the inside isn’t.” He tapped his temple with his right forefinger and grinned. “I’ve thought this out.”

    Booster took hold of a belt weighed down with grenades and slung it over his shoulder as he stepped to the edge of the emerald shroud. He flashed a grin at Skeets, then shot out of the dome and soared to its left. The dragon caught sight of him swung out with its free claws. They came deathly close to shredding the would-be hero, but Booster’s instinctual agility won out.

    He took this opportunity to dash for the dragon’s maw and, for a brief, golden moment, he thought himself successful. The belt of grenades sailed from his hand and coiled upon itself as it flew toward the beast’s open mouth. It arced in a perfect path, it would surely strike home. With any luck, it would die. This hope was quickly quashed when Booster saw the next stream of fire welled from the beast’s opal heart.

    “Shit,” Booster muttered. He was too close to run, and the concussive impact of the grenades meeting dragon’s breath was so sudden that Booster had no time to raise his force field. He was, in essence, trapped.

    The expectation of burning alive was stymied somewhat by the rapid succession of explosions that had no apparent effect on Booster Gold. He was swallowed by the flame, but couldn’t feel it. It flowed over him like water, but failed to make contact. Booster held up his hand and stared, dumbstruck, at his fading digits. He was numb and vanishing, save for one point. He stared at his left hand and wondered at the cold bite sinking into his left ring finger. As the last bits of himself faded from view, Booster Gold recalled the token he wore upon it: the Stranger’s ring.

★★★★★★★★★ Now

    An hour after Booster’s blunderous kamikaze assault, the Man in Black stood beside the mangled carcass of the dragon and sifted through the ash garnished dirt with his foot. The opal heart lay behind him, rapidly filling with an ink black ooze as it rotted. It was only through the combined efforts of the Lantern and the Man in Black that the beast was struck down.

    “You’re late,” the Lantern growled as he approached. “You were supposed to meet us at the White House.”

    The Man in Black felt something solid beneath his feet and crouched down above it. “Is that what I promised?” he absently asked as his fingers sifted through the ash and dirt. “I was delayed, Alan.”

    “We’re outnumbered.”

    “Hardly a new state for you,” the Man in Black said. His efforts unearthed a matte gold shell, the sight of which spurred him to drag away the soil with both hands. “Ah-ha! There you are.”

    He held Skeets up and gave the drone a quick shake. “Can you hear me?” the Man in Black asked. He rapped his knuckles across the drone’s black face. “Wake up.”

    A single red light blinked onto the face, Skeets’ eye wandered as the drone reoriented itself in space. It floated from the Man in Black’s hand and hovered between himself and the Lantern.

    “A job well done, Skeets,” the Man in Black said. “Thank you for bringing Michael here.”

    “Bringing Michael here?” the Lantern asked. “Our mission is far from done, we need to find Booster Gold’s Time Machine.”

    “Oh, it was never here,” the Man in Black smirked. “It was bait, I sent the signal.”

    “You?” the Lantern asked. “Are you mad? Your ruse killed Booster Gold.”

    The Man in Black chuckled. “No. No, he’s not dead,” he said. “But this mythical bastard forced me to send him back earlier than I intended. Leave it to sorcerers to f*ck up my plans.”

    “Sorcerers?” the Lantern asked. “What the hell are you on about, man?”

    The Man in Black approached the Lantern and clapped him on the shoulder before brushing past and waving at the huddle of soldiers examining the dragon’s corpse. Skeets hovered beside the Man of Black as he put some distance between himself and the Lantern. He opened a rift in time with a wave of his hand and readied to leave. At the last moment, the Man in Black spun on his heel and called out to the Lantern.

    “Alan,” he said. The Lantern turned with a furrowed brow. “You’ll want to run now, the Reich is coming.”

    “I’ll deal with them,” the Lantern said.

    “Are you sure?” the Man in Black asked, a wide grin settling on his face. He raised a closed fist in the direction of the Lantern, turned it over and opened it. Nestled within the flat of his palm was a green ring. “Can you do that without this?”

    The Lantern blanched. His whisper was carried by a note a dread, “Give that back.”

    “Oh, I intend to,” the Man in Black said. “But not until I’m done with it.”

    The Lantern advanced, hand reaching for the ring. The Man in Black felt it rattle upon his palm, prompting him to close his fist. “Give that back,” the Lantern repeated.

    “Run along, Alan,” the Man in Black said as he and Skeets stepped through the rift. “The wolves are coming.”

★★★★★★★★★★ Now

    Booster Gold had no sense of himself, only a sinking feeling as he heard the high, sinister cackle of a man musing.

    “Perfect…”

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