FIC: JLA: "Necessary Force" (Part 7 - 1st Half)
So, here's Part 7 (or at least the first half of Part 7) of my ongoing Fic Epic, "JLA: Necessary Force". (once again, like in Part 2, "Stratagem", this part was too long to successfully fit into one post, and I'm forced to divide it up!)
Title: JLA: Necessary Force - Part 7: "Inferno" (1st Half)
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: JLA/Justice League
Rating: PG-13 (R in parts)
Warnings: Mature Situations, Language, Violence - (oh, and Foreign Language Alert!)
Summary: When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
Summary of This Part: Superman finally begins his infiltration of the Evil Bad Guy's Lair, with a little help (and a little hindrance) from his team.
Hope you enjoy!
- Pax :-)
JLA
“Necessary Force”
By Paxwolf
Note: This fanfiction story originally was begun some years ago, and is therefore set current to the (comic book version!) JLA lineup at the time, specifically during the Grant Morrison and Mark Waid runs on the title, and with certain details from that era still intact. It is therefore an ‘older' story, and has taken several years to see fruition, and therefore be aware that certain discrepancies and dated information - in terms of continuity - may still be contained within.
Disclaimer: Superman, Batman, The Justice League of America and its associated characters are owned and copyrighted by DC Comics and Time Warner. No income is being generated by the Internet publication of this story. Which really is quite a pity as I am dirt poor - and it would be oh so fun to be able to earn a living playing in DC’s grand Playground! (Lucky, lucky pro writers and artists!!) Original characters do also exist in this fic and I suppose that might make them owned by me. ;-)
Warnings: Violence, Some Language, and Mature Themes. Readers’ Discretion is advised. Also, terms and phrases in languages other than English are included.
Thanks To: Kungfunurse, without whose skilled beta-reading and sweet encouragement this epic may never have been posted, and to the kind and helpful (years-long!) feedback supplied by the gracious Gwil and the lovely Janet Coleman Sides, both of whom stepped out of their own fandoms (Stargate:SG-1 and Gatchaman respectively) in order to read about the denizens of the DC Universe. Also thanks to the several wonderful encouragers and readers who haven't given up on me, and my persistent hounders, especially Jen in Japan who won't let me forget that this story needs to be continued and finished, and all of you lovely readers and friends, thanks so much for keeping me going!
Part VII:
"Inferno”
(Part A)
The first of five sub-level basements so far did not look anything like what most people imagined the secret hideout of a would-be super-villain and international terrorist should. Superman wryly reflected on the stereotypes of the business as he stealthily navigated through the winding series of corridors and storerooms. He was careful to keep every one of his senses strained at maximum sensitivity, and took copious pains to not lessen his mental concentration as he moved with caution down through level after level of the massive base.
Every sixty metres or so he had pinpointed - with some surprising effort - one of the power scanners Oracle and Black Canary had warned the League about. These he circumnavigated quite solicitously, but these detours served to slow his progress to an almost painful degree. In several instances only his keen hearing alerted him to the invisible and nearly inaudible presence of hidden detectors obviously wired to trigger at close proximity to a moving heat source. X-ray and microscopic visions were both really getting a workout, having saved his bacon numerous times, and he blessed his unusual gifts once again. Nevertheless, it had taken him over four and half-hours to simply get as far into the base as he had, and frustration and anxiety were beginning to grow unchecked within him. If he hadn’t possessed greater than average stamina - and patience - the weariness and tension of the constant vigilance would have overwhelmed him long ago. As it was, with his strength ebbing dangerously close to its limits, he was forced to muster a large part of his not-inconsiderable will to press on as meticulously as ever.
Better to go painfully and painstakingly slow, and be utterly thorough, than be quick, careless, and dead! he thought with a wry smile.
Too much was riding on this mission - and too many, he reminded himself harshly whenever he entertained the thought of resting - to risk failure now. But his progress was impeded by so many observational and alarm gadgets, including the ever-present scanners, video cameras, and mics, that after another hour of winding through a succession of dark hallways, flitting from hiding spot to hiding spot as armed guards stalked past, Superman began to despair of ever making it to a place where useful information could actually be gathered.
Not to mention the human element clogging the place, both sentries and civilian residents, he sighed after skillfully but narrowly avoiding another troop of mercenaries. They’re really packing them in here.
He checked the time, and worried again about getting enough useful Intel within the prescribed time limit before he was to extricate himself and rendezvous with Batman and Aquaman.
He tried to calculate whether it was safe to attempt another contact with Oracle. He recalled with crystal clarity their most recent exchange, though it oddly felt as if days had passed since instead of mere hours.
He had just dispatched then a set of guards, whisking away their oxygen so that they would think they’d merely fallen asleep on watch, and then ducked a pair of cameras before slipping over a high wall into the base’s bastion proper.
“Oracle,” he'd whispered into his tiny comm. “I’m in.”
He had crouched in the semi-shielded corner of a large, terraced garden landscaped on a lower level rooftop, surreptitiously performing his own scan of this inner sanction.
“That was quick,” came Oracle’s softly voiced reply, attuned especially for extra-normal hearing. “Dare I even say ‘speeding-bullet’ quick?”
Superman grinned tightly.
“Well, I’ve got to maintain the reputation, you know. The media can be merciless.”
“So I understand. And you'd know better than most.”
Superman rose silently from his crouch after a patrol of guards had marched obliviously by, and half-ran, half-crawled to the far wall, where he flattened himself against an ivy-covered lattice just as a high-tech camcorder panned in his direction. Even in his present malodorous outfit, an underground inhabitant of the base would never be found strolling through an apparently exclusive garden intended for the upper echelons of Ayestrom’s command hierarchy. Particularly at three o’clock in the morning. Wiser by far to be invisible than be forced to rely on his disguise, clever as it was.
“Batman and the Manhunter aren’t very happy with you, by the way,” Oracle suddenly said, as if making a casual remark on the weather.
Superman grimaced, feeling the prosthetic scarring stretch across his face, and leaned his head out for the fraction of a second it took to memorize all details of the garden's layout, including the guards’ projected movements.
“Believe me, I noticed. They never do enjoy anyone else going out on a limb for the team, even when it’s an unavoidable business.”
“Particularly you.”
“Me? I highly doubt that,” he scoffed, before darting out in a blur of super-speed through an upper-level window at the precise moment when all scanners, cameras, and guards were fractionally looking elsewhere.
Oracle chuckled. “Perhaps you don’t know them as well as you think, O intrepid hero. At least not where their thoughts concern you.”
“Oh, and you do?” he countered, keeping still as a statue as he took in his new surroundings to the last detail.
“Well, I am a master of information, you might recall,” she said archly, “and this topic could lead to a most enlightening and entertaining debate. In fact, I believe certain reserve League members already engage in said activity. I mean, it’s not like they have anything more important to do than idly gossip about senior members in order to occupy their copious amounts of spare time, or anything.”
Deeming it safe to move, Superman silently slid the window closed behind him and hunkered down below the ledge, carefully scanning the room for signs of security. It appeared to be a music chamber of sorts, and despite the dimness he could see it was lavishly outfitted in a Viennese Baroque décor, even furnished with a free-standing harp and a pair of polished Steinway Grands. And was that an actual antique harpsichord in the corner? Unbelievable.
How very cultured of the madman, Superman thought distractedly. Is he next going to perform a concerto for the hostages?
“Guy Gardner, Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, Green Flame, by any chance?” he asked aloud, directing his nearly soundless voice to the miniscule communicator fastened on the inside of the collar of his ragged, filthy t-shirt. Anyone nearby would never have heard a thing, nor seen the decrepit maintenance worker even move his lips.
The amusement in Oracle's voice was apparent. “How’d you guess?”
He absently noted the sheet music on a stand was opened to Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkryies”, while the intricately complex “Fantasie Impromptu” by Chopin was resting on the gleaming surface of one of the pianos. He had mastered the difficult piece when he was ten. It had been one of his very favourites while studying classical music under Smallville’s notoriously strict but brilliant music instructor Ms. Chan. The Kents had made sure he had hidden his prodigy-like mastery of the instrument, and though he seldom had the opportunity to play any more, he had never forgotten.
“Oh, I just happened once to, uh, overhear the group of them yakking about the former Batgirl’s, ahem, attributes, where they then proceeded to speculate about her, um, ‘relationship’ to a certain nameless detective.” He bit down on his own grin.
“You shamelessly eavesdropped on a private conversation amongst your colleagues? You?” Oracle sounded scandalized. Superman knew better.
“In my defence, at the time I needed to arm myself against a brutal interrogation about Diana and er, myself, and well, since that little group likes to get embroiled in ridiculous wagers about the rest of us, I sort of figured ...”
"Oh, you mean the way you ‘armed yourself’ that time Ted got J’onn so loaded on an Oreo sugar high during Ray and Jean’s anniversary party at Warriors, that he was led to dare you, the unflappable, noble, moral, role-model-for-the-rest-of-us Man of Tomorrow, to stri…”
“How did you find out about that?” Superman demanded, freezing in his tracks, absolutely mortified.
“I have my sources,” came the smug reply. “And I arm myself accordingly too.”
“Yes, but that’s … that’s just …” He struggled uselessly to find the right words.
“Well, you’re the one who took that dare. You live with the consequences.”
Superman winced. “But …”
“Fear not, O Man of brittly-thin, extra-exposed skin,” Oracle proclaimed majestically. “I’d only sell your secrets to the highest of bidders. And no one’s come close to matching my price yet.”
Superman inwardly groaned. Why had he taken that dare? He was positive that J’onn had done some mental tinkering in his brain while under the influence of Oreo ingestion. Because otherwise he never would have allowed himself to be outmaneuvered as he’d been. Not if he had been in his right mind.
I hadn't realized anyone else knew about it - and those present all swore on their mothers that they'd never breathe a word!
He had meant to confront J'onn about it the next day, but never had got around to it. He supposed he really should stop procrastinating about that some day.
He opened his mouth to reply before he abruptly noticed that certain tiles in the polished marble floor were slightly more inset than were others.
Weight sensors.
One miss-step while this room was activated and he'd trip the alarm and the whole security grid would light up like a Christmas tree, and the proverbial cat would be out of the bag before he had time for the flush to fade from his face.
Slightly impressed, he rose an inch into the air and floated silently over the rigged surface to the single interior door. Pausing before it, he could see nothing amiss, but he carefully extended a hand anyway, holding it a few inches from the wood of the door. His extra-sensitive skin felt the minute energy crackling at readiness just below the oaken façade.
“Ever considered doing a spread - I mean, professionally?” Oracle was teasing. “From what I hear, you could make a killing. So to speak." She gave a dramatic sigh. "Damn, I always miss the best parties. I should have been there in person. But I do happen know a good photographer I could set you up with ... I'd be happy to act as your agent. We'd just rake it in."
“Barbara …” Superman said warningly, feeling the blush creep further up his face. He tried to concentrate on the innocent-looking door.
"Think about it. You could always donate your cut of our take to charity. And you know, come to think of it, that whole party incident could be a blessing in disguise. It'll be quite the story to pass down into infamy when they’re all regaling each other with tales of your heroic deeds, and every time the accolades start to go to your head, I could swoop in and save the day with a few choice shots.”
Superman snorted, but continued to scan the door, puzzled by the origins of the energy.
“So, you're clearly not interested." She sighed again. "The loss of ladies everywhere. Ah well. I'll keep the party story in reserve then." She paused. "I do, however, condescend to accept the occasional bribe,” Oracle finally prompted, obviously concerned at his lack of further verbal response. “For the right favour, I might be persuaded to keep certain events and stories … to myself.”
“You’re blackmailing me? How very corrupt of you.” He shook his head sadly. “Batman’s been an excellent teacher.” Superman studied the door as Oracle’s tiny voice snorted with muffled laughter. “And just what could I possible offer you to … maintain continued silence on the subject?”
“Oh, I think I could come up with an idea or two. Hmm. Yes. It is you, after all. It doesn’t exactly require a great deal of imagination.”
Superman raised his eyebrows at that, but decided the better part of chivalry prohibited an appropriate response, instead concentrating on thinking a way around the touch-triggered door.
“Encountering difficulties?” Oracle asked, the amusement fading away.
“Let’s just say Ayestrom, or his chief of security, has to be a severely committable paranoiac. This base is more secure than the Pentagon and Fort Knox combined.”
“Am I to take that insight as personal experience on your part?”
“I’d really rather not incriminate myself by answering that. Particularly now that I’m aware of how you so conscientiously guard others’ secrets.”
Oracle’s soft “Touché” and chuckle was oddly reassuring as he slowly, inch by patient inch, blew a whisper of breath over the entire surface of the door, freezing it in nearly imperceptible degrees, thus nullifying the touch-sensitive alarms. Still hovering a centimeter above the floor, he finally gave the most minute of pushes after a quick glance straight through the solid wood to the empty hallway without. The heavy door softly broke the frozen seal and swung open, the hinges, he noticed, on the opposite side to most doors. Odd.
Seeing an ornate but normally laid floor, Superman touched down lightly and paused to thoroughly peer around said hallway.
It seemed deserted.
Just as he was drawing in a breath and preparing to step slowly into the center of the corridor, his ears detected the faintest of whirring sounds. He instantly zeroed in on the camera hidden behind a two-way mirror a few metres down the hall, panning invisibly towards him. In a flash that Wally would have been proud of, he zipped around the corner at superspeed, calculating his velocity to be just within invisibility range and just below what it would take to engender a sonic boom.
And then had to perform an abrupt mid-air flip to avoid a deadly collision with two patrolling guards.
Thank Rao for hair-trigger reflexes, he thought a little wildly, holding his breath as he flattened himself against the high-arched dark ceiling directly above the two armed sentries. Please don’t let them think to look up!
To Be Continued in the very next Post, which is right Here! :-)
All Previous Parts to the Story can be found HERE.
Title: JLA: Necessary Force - Part 7: "Inferno" (1st Half)
Author: Paxwolf
Fandom: JLA/Justice League
Rating: PG-13 (R in parts)
Warnings: Mature Situations, Language, Violence - (oh, and Foreign Language Alert!)
Summary: When a powerful terrorist threatens the safety of the planet, the League must go to extremes to stop him, and Superman and Batman may have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
Summary of This Part: Superman finally begins his infiltration of the Evil Bad Guy's Lair, with a little help (and a little hindrance) from his team.
Hope you enjoy!
- Pax :-)
JLA
“Necessary Force”
By Paxwolf
Note: This fanfiction story originally was begun some years ago, and is therefore set current to the (comic book version!) JLA lineup at the time, specifically during the Grant Morrison and Mark Waid runs on the title, and with certain details from that era still intact. It is therefore an ‘older' story, and has taken several years to see fruition, and therefore be aware that certain discrepancies and dated information - in terms of continuity - may still be contained within.
Disclaimer: Superman, Batman, The Justice League of America and its associated characters are owned and copyrighted by DC Comics and Time Warner. No income is being generated by the Internet publication of this story. Which really is quite a pity as I am dirt poor - and it would be oh so fun to be able to earn a living playing in DC’s grand Playground! (Lucky, lucky pro writers and artists!!) Original characters do also exist in this fic and I suppose that might make them owned by me. ;-)
Warnings: Violence, Some Language, and Mature Themes. Readers’ Discretion is advised. Also, terms and phrases in languages other than English are included.
Thanks To: Kungfunurse, without whose skilled beta-reading and sweet encouragement this epic may never have been posted, and to the kind and helpful (years-long!) feedback supplied by the gracious Gwil and the lovely Janet Coleman Sides, both of whom stepped out of their own fandoms (Stargate:SG-1 and Gatchaman respectively) in order to read about the denizens of the DC Universe. Also thanks to the several wonderful encouragers and readers who haven't given up on me, and my persistent hounders, especially Jen in Japan who won't let me forget that this story needs to be continued and finished, and all of you lovely readers and friends, thanks so much for keeping me going!
Part VII:
"Inferno”
(Part A)
The first of five sub-level basements so far did not look anything like what most people imagined the secret hideout of a would-be super-villain and international terrorist should. Superman wryly reflected on the stereotypes of the business as he stealthily navigated through the winding series of corridors and storerooms. He was careful to keep every one of his senses strained at maximum sensitivity, and took copious pains to not lessen his mental concentration as he moved with caution down through level after level of the massive base.
Every sixty metres or so he had pinpointed - with some surprising effort - one of the power scanners Oracle and Black Canary had warned the League about. These he circumnavigated quite solicitously, but these detours served to slow his progress to an almost painful degree. In several instances only his keen hearing alerted him to the invisible and nearly inaudible presence of hidden detectors obviously wired to trigger at close proximity to a moving heat source. X-ray and microscopic visions were both really getting a workout, having saved his bacon numerous times, and he blessed his unusual gifts once again. Nevertheless, it had taken him over four and half-hours to simply get as far into the base as he had, and frustration and anxiety were beginning to grow unchecked within him. If he hadn’t possessed greater than average stamina - and patience - the weariness and tension of the constant vigilance would have overwhelmed him long ago. As it was, with his strength ebbing dangerously close to its limits, he was forced to muster a large part of his not-inconsiderable will to press on as meticulously as ever.
Better to go painfully and painstakingly slow, and be utterly thorough, than be quick, careless, and dead! he thought with a wry smile.
Too much was riding on this mission - and too many, he reminded himself harshly whenever he entertained the thought of resting - to risk failure now. But his progress was impeded by so many observational and alarm gadgets, including the ever-present scanners, video cameras, and mics, that after another hour of winding through a succession of dark hallways, flitting from hiding spot to hiding spot as armed guards stalked past, Superman began to despair of ever making it to a place where useful information could actually be gathered.
Not to mention the human element clogging the place, both sentries and civilian residents, he sighed after skillfully but narrowly avoiding another troop of mercenaries. They’re really packing them in here.
He checked the time, and worried again about getting enough useful Intel within the prescribed time limit before he was to extricate himself and rendezvous with Batman and Aquaman.
He tried to calculate whether it was safe to attempt another contact with Oracle. He recalled with crystal clarity their most recent exchange, though it oddly felt as if days had passed since instead of mere hours.
He had just dispatched then a set of guards, whisking away their oxygen so that they would think they’d merely fallen asleep on watch, and then ducked a pair of cameras before slipping over a high wall into the base’s bastion proper.
“Oracle,” he'd whispered into his tiny comm. “I’m in.”
He had crouched in the semi-shielded corner of a large, terraced garden landscaped on a lower level rooftop, surreptitiously performing his own scan of this inner sanction.
“That was quick,” came Oracle’s softly voiced reply, attuned especially for extra-normal hearing. “Dare I even say ‘speeding-bullet’ quick?”
Superman grinned tightly.
“Well, I’ve got to maintain the reputation, you know. The media can be merciless.”
“So I understand. And you'd know better than most.”
Superman rose silently from his crouch after a patrol of guards had marched obliviously by, and half-ran, half-crawled to the far wall, where he flattened himself against an ivy-covered lattice just as a high-tech camcorder panned in his direction. Even in his present malodorous outfit, an underground inhabitant of the base would never be found strolling through an apparently exclusive garden intended for the upper echelons of Ayestrom’s command hierarchy. Particularly at three o’clock in the morning. Wiser by far to be invisible than be forced to rely on his disguise, clever as it was.
“Batman and the Manhunter aren’t very happy with you, by the way,” Oracle suddenly said, as if making a casual remark on the weather.
Superman grimaced, feeling the prosthetic scarring stretch across his face, and leaned his head out for the fraction of a second it took to memorize all details of the garden's layout, including the guards’ projected movements.
“Believe me, I noticed. They never do enjoy anyone else going out on a limb for the team, even when it’s an unavoidable business.”
“Particularly you.”
“Me? I highly doubt that,” he scoffed, before darting out in a blur of super-speed through an upper-level window at the precise moment when all scanners, cameras, and guards were fractionally looking elsewhere.
Oracle chuckled. “Perhaps you don’t know them as well as you think, O intrepid hero. At least not where their thoughts concern you.”
“Oh, and you do?” he countered, keeping still as a statue as he took in his new surroundings to the last detail.
“Well, I am a master of information, you might recall,” she said archly, “and this topic could lead to a most enlightening and entertaining debate. In fact, I believe certain reserve League members already engage in said activity. I mean, it’s not like they have anything more important to do than idly gossip about senior members in order to occupy their copious amounts of spare time, or anything.”
Deeming it safe to move, Superman silently slid the window closed behind him and hunkered down below the ledge, carefully scanning the room for signs of security. It appeared to be a music chamber of sorts, and despite the dimness he could see it was lavishly outfitted in a Viennese Baroque décor, even furnished with a free-standing harp and a pair of polished Steinway Grands. And was that an actual antique harpsichord in the corner? Unbelievable.
How very cultured of the madman, Superman thought distractedly. Is he next going to perform a concerto for the hostages?
“Guy Gardner, Booster Gold, Blue Beetle, Green Flame, by any chance?” he asked aloud, directing his nearly soundless voice to the miniscule communicator fastened on the inside of the collar of his ragged, filthy t-shirt. Anyone nearby would never have heard a thing, nor seen the decrepit maintenance worker even move his lips.
The amusement in Oracle's voice was apparent. “How’d you guess?”
He absently noted the sheet music on a stand was opened to Wagner’s “Ride of the Valkryies”, while the intricately complex “Fantasie Impromptu” by Chopin was resting on the gleaming surface of one of the pianos. He had mastered the difficult piece when he was ten. It had been one of his very favourites while studying classical music under Smallville’s notoriously strict but brilliant music instructor Ms. Chan. The Kents had made sure he had hidden his prodigy-like mastery of the instrument, and though he seldom had the opportunity to play any more, he had never forgotten.
“Oh, I just happened once to, uh, overhear the group of them yakking about the former Batgirl’s, ahem, attributes, where they then proceeded to speculate about her, um, ‘relationship’ to a certain nameless detective.” He bit down on his own grin.
“You shamelessly eavesdropped on a private conversation amongst your colleagues? You?” Oracle sounded scandalized. Superman knew better.
“In my defence, at the time I needed to arm myself against a brutal interrogation about Diana and er, myself, and well, since that little group likes to get embroiled in ridiculous wagers about the rest of us, I sort of figured ...”
"Oh, you mean the way you ‘armed yourself’ that time Ted got J’onn so loaded on an Oreo sugar high during Ray and Jean’s anniversary party at Warriors, that he was led to dare you, the unflappable, noble, moral, role-model-for-the-rest-of-us Man of Tomorrow, to stri…”
“How did you find out about that?” Superman demanded, freezing in his tracks, absolutely mortified.
“I have my sources,” came the smug reply. “And I arm myself accordingly too.”
“Yes, but that’s … that’s just …” He struggled uselessly to find the right words.
“Well, you’re the one who took that dare. You live with the consequences.”
Superman winced. “But …”
“Fear not, O Man of brittly-thin, extra-exposed skin,” Oracle proclaimed majestically. “I’d only sell your secrets to the highest of bidders. And no one’s come close to matching my price yet.”
Superman inwardly groaned. Why had he taken that dare? He was positive that J’onn had done some mental tinkering in his brain while under the influence of Oreo ingestion. Because otherwise he never would have allowed himself to be outmaneuvered as he’d been. Not if he had been in his right mind.
I hadn't realized anyone else knew about it - and those present all swore on their mothers that they'd never breathe a word!
He had meant to confront J'onn about it the next day, but never had got around to it. He supposed he really should stop procrastinating about that some day.
He opened his mouth to reply before he abruptly noticed that certain tiles in the polished marble floor were slightly more inset than were others.
Weight sensors.
One miss-step while this room was activated and he'd trip the alarm and the whole security grid would light up like a Christmas tree, and the proverbial cat would be out of the bag before he had time for the flush to fade from his face.
Slightly impressed, he rose an inch into the air and floated silently over the rigged surface to the single interior door. Pausing before it, he could see nothing amiss, but he carefully extended a hand anyway, holding it a few inches from the wood of the door. His extra-sensitive skin felt the minute energy crackling at readiness just below the oaken façade.
“Ever considered doing a spread - I mean, professionally?” Oracle was teasing. “From what I hear, you could make a killing. So to speak." She gave a dramatic sigh. "Damn, I always miss the best parties. I should have been there in person. But I do happen know a good photographer I could set you up with ... I'd be happy to act as your agent. We'd just rake it in."
“Barbara …” Superman said warningly, feeling the blush creep further up his face. He tried to concentrate on the innocent-looking door.
"Think about it. You could always donate your cut of our take to charity. And you know, come to think of it, that whole party incident could be a blessing in disguise. It'll be quite the story to pass down into infamy when they’re all regaling each other with tales of your heroic deeds, and every time the accolades start to go to your head, I could swoop in and save the day with a few choice shots.”
Superman snorted, but continued to scan the door, puzzled by the origins of the energy.
“So, you're clearly not interested." She sighed again. "The loss of ladies everywhere. Ah well. I'll keep the party story in reserve then." She paused. "I do, however, condescend to accept the occasional bribe,” Oracle finally prompted, obviously concerned at his lack of further verbal response. “For the right favour, I might be persuaded to keep certain events and stories … to myself.”
“You’re blackmailing me? How very corrupt of you.” He shook his head sadly. “Batman’s been an excellent teacher.” Superman studied the door as Oracle’s tiny voice snorted with muffled laughter. “And just what could I possible offer you to … maintain continued silence on the subject?”
“Oh, I think I could come up with an idea or two. Hmm. Yes. It is you, after all. It doesn’t exactly require a great deal of imagination.”
Superman raised his eyebrows at that, but decided the better part of chivalry prohibited an appropriate response, instead concentrating on thinking a way around the touch-triggered door.
“Encountering difficulties?” Oracle asked, the amusement fading away.
“Let’s just say Ayestrom, or his chief of security, has to be a severely committable paranoiac. This base is more secure than the Pentagon and Fort Knox combined.”
“Am I to take that insight as personal experience on your part?”
“I’d really rather not incriminate myself by answering that. Particularly now that I’m aware of how you so conscientiously guard others’ secrets.”
Oracle’s soft “Touché” and chuckle was oddly reassuring as he slowly, inch by patient inch, blew a whisper of breath over the entire surface of the door, freezing it in nearly imperceptible degrees, thus nullifying the touch-sensitive alarms. Still hovering a centimeter above the floor, he finally gave the most minute of pushes after a quick glance straight through the solid wood to the empty hallway without. The heavy door softly broke the frozen seal and swung open, the hinges, he noticed, on the opposite side to most doors. Odd.
Seeing an ornate but normally laid floor, Superman touched down lightly and paused to thoroughly peer around said hallway.
It seemed deserted.
Just as he was drawing in a breath and preparing to step slowly into the center of the corridor, his ears detected the faintest of whirring sounds. He instantly zeroed in on the camera hidden behind a two-way mirror a few metres down the hall, panning invisibly towards him. In a flash that Wally would have been proud of, he zipped around the corner at superspeed, calculating his velocity to be just within invisibility range and just below what it would take to engender a sonic boom.
And then had to perform an abrupt mid-air flip to avoid a deadly collision with two patrolling guards.
Thank Rao for hair-trigger reflexes, he thought a little wildly, holding his breath as he flattened himself against the high-arched dark ceiling directly above the two armed sentries. Please don’t let them think to look up!
To Be Continued in the very next Post, which is right Here! :-)
All Previous Parts to the Story can be found HERE.