“Where are we Grandmaster?” Metron asked drolly as he sat in his Mobius Chair tapping his fingers on the arm rest.
“I found a fascinating new universe, Metron.” The Grandmaster smiled pointing at the small Earth below them. “A universe the comprises of elements of mine and elements of yours, smashed together in ingenious harmony.”
Metron rolled his eyes in disgust. “The Amalgam Universe.”
“No…” Grandmaster hissed. “Even better, even worse.”
“Another wager perhaps?” Metron stated as he sat up in his chair. (What are they going on about. Check out for details)
Tracy's Department Store, Gotham City
-My name is Betsy Laurel Braddock-Lance a.k.a Psycanary and today sucks! It started fine. Coffee. Yoga. Gym session. But now, I’m fighting ninjas in the lingerie department-
Betsy ducked under a sword, then dodged a manriki-gusari strike as she slapped a ninja in the eye with her car keys and groin kicked another.
-I recognise these pyjama wearers as minions of Chesire Black; slutty little ninja minx with claws and poison trying to make it up the ladder of organised crim...-
“HEY!” Betsy yelled as a spear narrowly missed her side but stabbed right through her jacket. “This cost me $300! I think I’d prefer if you cut me!”
-Better end this before they ruin my entire outfit. A little focused totality of my sonic abilities should do the trick-
Betsy let loose her ‘canary cry’, a telesonic wail with devastating effects. The localised boom blew the eardrums of the ninja team, taking them down quickly and painfully.
-I’d question them, but it’s pointless for two reasons. One; they’re scared of Chesire Black more than they are of me. Two; no point since I perforated their inner ears.-
Betsy adjusted herself, sighed at the new rip in her sleeve. “I’d make you pay for this but you guys never seem to carry wallets.”
Colonel James Allen stood quietly out the helipad and looked up at the jet whose pilot was punching out. “Fifty bucks says that it’s that Daredevil.”
“Affirmative, Colonel Allen. Jordan has hit the sink, rescue units on route.” Came the reply through his earpiece.
“Are we still a go for…?” Allen asked scratching his skin between the exoskeleton harness that surrounded his body.
“Negative, test on hold until area is clear.”
Allen took off his helmet and began marching towards the sunken doors on the edge of the helipad. “Delay, after delay. Just want to see what this baby can do.”
Ravencroft Asylum, Gotham City
And this is Jokade,” announced Dr Jeremiah Ravencroft to the group of doctors. “No known real name, no fingerprints, and even though you see him in a full body cast, in a secure hermetically sealed infirmary bed, HE IS STILL DANGEROUS! No sharps, no solids, no touching! Always have a guard with you when dealing with him, activate your panic alarms if you feel something is wrong. I’d rather have a false alarm than another dead body.”
Jeremiah tapped the glass with his pen. “He is recuperating from an encounter he had with Gotham’s steely defender. Whilst I don’t encourage vigilantism, and suspect that someone who dresses up like a bat has a few issues, having Jokade like this does make our job a little easier. Moving along, to Diego Octavius or as those in the press have so comically named him, Doctor Octobane!”
The group dutifully followed Dr Ravencroft down the corridor, except one. She lingered at the glass looking at Jokade. Their eyes met, and they stared longingly.
“DOCTOR KARLEEN SOFZELL!” Ravencroft bellowed, his voice bouncing off the old stone walls. “Care to join us?”
“Sorry,” she said, but more to the master criminal than to her employer, as she shuffled up into the group.
“I don’t want too!”
J’amie J’onez looked at himself, standing sullenly and a little defiant. It was bizarre having this conversation with himself, and these were becoming more and more frequent.
“We need to remerge,” J’amie said to himself. “What you learnt this week goes into me and we, I, us, become better.”
“But what happens to me?” He replied. “Where do I go?”
“You’re me, I’m you. We are the same.”
“It feels like you’re killing me,” he replied. “I like the life I made for me.”
“You were apart for a week! You went to Seattle to find that missing girl!” J’aime yelled at himself. “It wasn’t a life, it was a job!”
“IT WAS A LIFE FOR ME!” He yelled back. The pair looked at each other, knowing each other neither would budge.
“You want to remain seperate?” J’aime ribbed his eyes as he contemplated the idea of TWO of him. “What are you going to call yourself?”
“I was thinking of...Toby.”
“Toby?” J’aime replied. “Nice to meet you Toby.”
J’aime stick out his hand and the new him, Toby, instinctively took it, and in that instant knew it was wrong.
“NO!” Toby yelled as he was absorbed into J’amie like water into a sponge. In an instant there was only J’aime who reverted to his normal Martian body; large muscly green body with long thin arms and irregular cranium.
“Seems I picked up some new Spainish words,” J’aime massaged his frontal lobes. “And I like Paseo Caribbean sandwiches, they were pretty tasty. Or should I say eran comida bastante sabrosa.”
His mobile phone buzzed on the desk and he morphed into his human form of Jamie Jones. “Jamie Jones, Manhunter. How can I help?”
Gotham Bugle, 33rd Floor, Gotham
Jonah White stared at skyline of Gotham, watching as the lights in the buildings plinked on while the sun sunk away in the west. It was certainly no Yorktropolis; the shiny spire of glass and steel. For all its faults and flaws; like the inadequate basic plumbing for a city this size, the seemingly endless progression of corrupt officials, crime rate four times the national average in every category, a baseball team that was constantly disappointing, a giant steel vigilante bashing costumed criminals, and smog that on a bad day would envelope the city like a hug from a hobo, Gotham was a great city.
It had Bruce Rasputin; a self indulgent Russian born billionaire artist who invested in the city. It had people like James Summers, the nations first mutant police officer and Dr Jeremiah Ravencroft who was making leaps and bounds in the care and treatment of the mentally ill. And it had him, the best journalist and editor-in-chief in the country as decided by the News Guild of North American Media. Jonah didn’t care what they thought about him but the three awards looked good on top of the television in the guest room.
Jonah turned back to his computer and stared at the headline. “Aliens In The Mojave!” It wasn’t his best work, sounded more like those dime store trash journals, but something had happened out there and the public had a right to know.
“Get me Carol Romanova on the line!” Jonah barked into the intercom. “Betty! Betty?”
He stormed out to see the floor deserted. Jonah checked his watch against the clock on the wall before heading back into his office. “News doesn’t sleep.”
Next issue when more Amalgam World stuff happens! :)