A Better World

     "What kind of name is Raysh Al Ghul?"
     "A very old name. Arabic, if you must know."
     As Bruce and Ra's walked through the camp, the men in black stopped in place to bow towards Ra's. Although they were all fully masked, Bruce had the biting feeling that they were all staring daggers at him.
     "Who are these people?" Bruce asked.
     "They are my devoted servants. Their lives are pledged to me."
     As Ra's walked among his servants, Bruce noticed his stance became more proud. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd have thought Ra's was royalty. Even Ra's' speech patterns and accent were different. More European. Mostly British, mixed with Romanian.
     "Why did they pledge their lives to you, exactly?" Bruce asked.
     Ra's grinned. "I do not exaggerate when I say that I am a man of great influence. Many simply find it in their nature to follow me wherever I command. Are you so different from me?"
     "I don't keep servants."
     "No? Your wealth, combined with your parents' reputation, makes you a very powerful young man indeed, mister Wayne."
     Bruce stopped in his place.
     Ra's turned and gave Bruce a patronizing look. "Young boy, among the elite of society, your fame is far-reaching. For someone as obviously well-connected as I, how could I not recognize the prince of Gotham City?"
     Bruce uneasily continued walking. He already didn't trust Ra's, but now he was beginning to feel threatened.

     Bruce and Ra's entered one of the makeshift buildings. The interior looked like the inside of a mansion. Wood paneling and floors, fine carpet, antique furniture, and not a hint of the weather outside.
     A large bald man in a white robe bowed to Ra's. "Master, I have a bath and a change of clothes ready for you."
     "Thank you, Ubu," said Ra's. "Please, extend the same courtesy to our guest." He gestured to Bruce, then pulled Ubu close and whispered in his ear. Ubu bowed both to Ra's and Bruce, then walked down the hallway, gesturing for Bruce to follow.
     "This is your room," Ubu said as they approached a door.
     Bruce nodded politely and reached for the handle. Ubu suddenly clamped his hand on Bruce's wrist and glared into his eyes.
     "If you dare... try anything," Ubu said with a whisper, "anything... threatening... to my master, I will kill you."
     Bruce glared back into Ubu's eyes. He had always been able to make people back off or in some cases recoil in fear if he stared hard enough in just the right way. He didn't know why, but he suspected that most people simply hadn't seen that level of anger and pain before. But here... Ubu didn't flinch. Apparently, Ubu's dedication to Ra's ran more deeply than anything Bruce had seen before.

     After Ubu left, Bruce dropped his things in his room and left to explore the base. He mapped it in his mind as he went, taking note of every detail. There were five separate small buildings in the base. Two were dedicated to housing the omnipresent black-clad troopers that watched Bruce wherever he went. Two others were sheds for sheltering the snowmobiles and other vehicles the troops used to traverse the snowy landscape. The building in the center was five times the size of all the others, and due to its layout Bruce suspected that it was built to recreate a large home elsewhere, similar to how Wayne Tower in Metropolis echoed Wayne Manor in Gotham.
     Bruce found many locked doors in the central building, but he did find one thing that piqued his curiosity: a library. Why would Ra's Al Ghul need a library? Surely he wasn't reliant upon physical media; he clearly had all manner of technology at his disposal. As far as Bruce could tell, despite its ornate nature, no other room in the building was superfluous. Every single room had a purpose. But this one?
     "You seem troubled."
     A dark-haired young woman stared at Bruce from the doorway. Another enigma, apparently. Her voice was... vaguely European. A tinge Romanian. As she walked in the door, her every step fell with perfect poised precision, and her mysterious eyes never wavered from Bruce's.
     "I was wondering why Ra's needs a library out here in the Himalayas," Bruce said.
     "My father likes to think in here," the young woman said.
     "Your father?"
     "Yes," said Ra's, stepping in the room behind the girl. "Talia is indeed my daughter. And she is most correct about this room. I find it difficult to focus elsewhere."
     "Just what is it you need to focus on?"
     Ra's quietly sat in a large chair in the center of the room.
     "What is the real question you're asking?"
    "...Who are you?"
     "You seem to be somewhat of a boy detective. Guess. Guess what I am doing here."
     Bruce narrowed his eyes. He didn't enjoy being tested.
     "You're a treasure hunter. That or a cult leader. Or both."
     Ra's grinned, then burst out laughing. Even Talia smirked a little.
     "I suppose that would be a logical assumption on your part," Ra's admitted. "But no, I am neither of those things."
     "Then what are you?"
     "I am simply a man in search of knowledge. The temple in the mountains contains the most well-hidden knowledge in all the earth. For the sake of humanity, I must obtain it."
     "For humanity?"
     Ra's stood up and walked to one side of the room, where a large framed antique map hung on the wall.
     "Have you seen the world, Bruce? Outside the comforts of your wealth and the safety of your country?"
     "A bit."
     "I have seen all of it. And I see chaos. Everywhere, mankind claws at its own throat. Free peoples, who have no reason to quarrel with one another, find such reason. Murder, war, famine, and destruction rage across the earth. And yet, for every ten civilizations in dire peril, one stands up as a shining example of glorious enlightenment. The advancement of civilization is what will save humanity from itself, Bruce, and I intend to guide it."
     "Guide it how?"
     Ra's paused and turned.
     "I'm sure by now you've noticed. I am a man of rather large influence."
     "Then why haven't I heard of you before?"
     "I care not for the socialite systems of so-called high society. I have long directed my organization in secret, and I intend to remain doing so."
     "What... is your organization, exactly? What do you do?"
     "My organization is called the League of Shadows, so named because I prefer to do good works from the shadows rather than parade my deeds before the masses. Through various methods, I influence the direction of governments and their peoples."
     "Toward 'advancement.'"
     "Precisely."
     "What 'methods' do you use?"
     "A monetary donation here, a whisper in the ear of a young politician there."
     "And you have a small military force... just because?"
     "It becomes necessary at times to use force. There are few who know of me, but some who do consider me an enemy. My men are completely loyal to me and will defend my daughter and myself to their deaths."
     "Why would they do that, exactly?"
     "Because they believe in my cause, Bruce."
     Bruce raised an eyebrow.
     "If you could truly see my father's vision," Talia said, "you would feel the same way."
     "Is that so?"
     "Bruce," Ra's said grimly. "I know what happened to your parents. That might never have happened had Gotham been safer. My vision for the world means that no young child will ever have to see his parents murdered."
     Bruce felt anger boiling in his chest.
     "Really? You think you can stop people from murdering one another?"
     "Man turns to murder out of greed, fear, or desperation, Bruce. In a better world, those cancers will not exist."
     Bruce stood up.
     "If you're so enlightened, go back and stop my parents from being killed. Until you can do that, I don't give a damn about your 'dream.' Don't you dare speak their names to try and provoke me again."

     Bruce heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see Talia.
     "What are you doing here?" he asked.
     "I... wanted to talk."
     Bruce searched her eyes. She seemed to be telling the truth. He let her inside and went back to folding his clothes.
     Talia sat down on Bruce's bed. "I want you to know... I know how you feel."
     "Do you?"
     "Yes. My mother was killed when I was five."
     Bruce paused for half a second. "How?"
     "She was killed by nomadic tribesmen in the Sahara. They raided our camp one night in an attempt to kill my father."
     Bruce stopped what he was doing and sat down.
     "So that's why your father has this entire scheme planned out. He wants to create a world where his wife never would have died."
     "He had his dream before that. The tribesmen were bribed by one of my father's enemies. But my mother's death bolstered his resolve, yes."
     "...Can I ask you something?" said Bruce.
     Talia smirked. "I think you just did."
     "Do you believe in what your father's doing?"
     "I..." Talia found it hard to finish her sentence. "I think my father is somewhat overzealous at times. I worry about him."
     Bruce recognized that sentiment all too well.
     "I know the feeling. My father, Thomas Wayne... he wanted to help people who desperately needed it. He used my family's company to improve life for the citizens of Gotham City."
     Talia smiled. "Our fathers are not so different, I think."
     Bruce sighed. "I hope you're right." But somehow I doubt it, he thought.

Balance

     Bruce stood silently on a wide wooden plank suspended over a deep ravine. His eyes closed, he listened to the wisps of wind as it gently flowed between the snow-covered mountain walls.
     "You listen well," the master said behind him. "But you are not here to listen to the mountains. You are here to listen to yourself."
     Bruce frowned.
     "I saw that," the master said, still behind him. Bruce looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The master gestured for Bruce to return to what he was doing. Bruce turned around and went back to his silent meditating.
     "You focus too much on the world outside, young one," the master said. "You must realize that the real conflict is within you."
     "I'm not at conflict with myself," Bruce said indignantly.
     "Why are you here?" the master asked.
     "To gain the skill to avenge my parents' deaths."
     "To what end?"
     Bruce felt slightly furious at the mere question. To what end?! What kind of question was that?
     "Is vengeance not a goal in itself?"
     "What do you seek to gain by enacting vengeance upon another? Contentment? Happiness?"
     "Justice."
     "Justice is an admirable goal, but you speak of vengeance."
     "The two aren't mutually exclusive."
     "Justice brings balance; vengeance further deepens every wound."
     The wind increased slightly, making it a bit more difficult for Bruce to hear the master speak. As he strained his ears, Bruce heard a sharp whistling.
     Bruce's eyes shot open and he ducked low. An arrow sailed directly through where Bruce's face had been, its razor-sharp tip embedding itself in a rock near the master's feet. Bruce lost his balance; the plank below his feet was now a simple rope. Bruce toppled and fell, catching the rope with both hands.
     The master lightly smiled. Bruce eventually realized this was the master's equivalent of chuckling.
     "It seems you lack balance in more than one way, young one," said the master. "When your mind was at ease, the rope seemed as wide and firm as a bridge. When you allowed yourself to become unfocused, you fell."
     "I had an arrow shot at my head!" Bruce shot back exasperatedly.
     "Did you?"
     Bruce looked toward where the arrow had landed; it was missing. Even the hole it should have made in the rock face was gone.
     Bruce worked his way back to the ravine edge. Five weeks here and things were just as confusing as when he arrived.

     Bruce walked quickly but silently down the red carpet towards the altar in the temple. Ambrose was already kneeling there.
     As Bruce knelt, Ambrose turned and smiled. "The master summoned you, too?"
     "Yeah."
     "How is your training coming?"
     Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes.
     Ambrose smirked. "I know the feeling."
     The master suddenly stepped before them. Bruce quickly straightened up; Ambrose did so a bit more slowly.
     "You have attempted to steal from this sacred place," the master said grimly.
     Bruce and Ambrose looked at each other quizzically.
     Bruce began to speak. "Master, I—"
     "ENOUGH!" the master interrupted. "You are hereby both banished from Nanda Parbat. Leave now!"
     Bruce looked at Ambrose in shock. He turned back to the master. "No! I didn't try to steal anyth—"
     "The master has banished you," a monk at Bruce's side said gently. "Please, this humble one does not wish to harm you. Leave now."
     Ambrose stood. "Come, Bruce. Apparently our invitation has been revoked."

     Bruce and Ambrose stood in the snow outside the gate to Nanda Parbat.
     "...Why would they do that?" Bruce asked.
     Ambrose sighed. "I can truly say I do not know. Come with me; I have a camp nearby."
     Bruce followed, but didn't quite understand. A camp? In the snow- and wind-swept mountains? It didn't seem likely that any camp Ambrose set up five weeks ago would still be left standing.
     Twenty minutes of walking later, Bruce saw Ambrose's camp. "Camp" was probably an incorrect term. What Bruce was looking at was more of a makeshift military base. Huge tents and modular buildings were surrounded by a dozen treaded vehicles ranging from snowmobiles to large trucks. Around a hundred men dressed in black walked around the camp, tending to power generators and other equipment.
     Bruce quickly ran through every possibility. This wasn't a scientific expedition, at least not by the look of things. It wasn't military, either, at least not from any country Bruce was aware of.
     Bruce grabbed Ambrose by the arm with a steel grip.
     "Who are you?"
     Ambrose grinned. "I am a man simply trying to gain further knowledge. I am not, however, Damian Ambrose. My real name is Ra's Al Ghul."

Hidden Temple

     So cold. The air is frozen.

     Can't stop.

     The snow is so thick.

     Can't stop.

     It's up to my knees.

     Can't stop.

     Can't feel myself breathing.

     Can't stop.

     Deep in the Himalayas, on the side of a mountain, a man stood before a large round wooden door. Seven feet tall, dressed in thick furs and built like an ox, the man watched over the gateway with the eyes of a hawk, somehow able to see through the blinding snowfall.

     The man saw someone, a boy, trudging through the snow. The boy reached the large man's feet and fell to his knees with exhaustion.

     "What is your name?" the man said.

     "Bruce Wayne," the boy answered weakly.

     "Why have you come?"

     "I seek Nanda Parbat."

     The man lifted Bruce's head with his hand and stared into his eyes.

     "...You traveled the frozen valley and climbed the mountain alone. You have earned the right. Enter."

     The man grabbed hold of the giant circular door by its large handle and pulled it open. Bruce struggled to his feet and walked inside.

     On the other side of the door, a tunnel carved in rock led to a clearing. As Bruce exited the tunnel, his mind fought what he was seeing. Somehow, an entire small city was here inside the mountains, hidden from the outside world. Although the sky was open, the snowy winds did not touch the grounds. Somehow, this entire area felt... warm. Even though there was snow on the ground nearby, Bruce couldn't feel any cold in the air. It was simply peaceful, nothing more and nothing less.

     Bruce had seen the satellite images of this entire area before coming; this city wasn't on any map. Bruce wasn't even sure where he was, truthfully. He'd followed Boston Brand's directions precisely, making every turn along every path through the mountains, but a few of those turns contradicted actual maps of the area; Bruce had traveled along paths that apparently didn't exist as far as science was concerned.

     As Bruce moved closer to the tiny city, he found that it was a monastery. He recognized its architecture: descended from ancient Chinese, similar to classical Kung Fu monasteries. There was one huge rectangular building in the center, with smaller ones arranged symmetrically around it. Fountains, streams, and carefully-trimmed plants were spread across the entire area. Bruce walked along a single stone path leading to the center building.

     Without warning, a man dropped from the sky and silently landed in front of Bruce. Bruce jumped back, instinctively dropping into an Amazonian fighting stance. The man simply smiled gently, completely unfazed. He was bald, slim, Asian, and dressed in a bright orange monk's robe.

     "This humble one apologizes," the monk said, "but you are a stranger to Nanda Parbat. Why have you come?"

     Bruce relaxed. "I was told... that I could learn here."

     The monk nodded. "Yes, that is true. What have you come to learn?"

     "I seek the power to defeat my enemies."

     The monk regarded this for a moment. "Those who seek power will inevitably fail. Those who seek to lessen themselves will find enlightenment."

     Bruce wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Did that mean the monks were refusing to teach him?

     "Follow me, please," the monk said, bowing before turning and walking toward the large building.

     Bruce followed the monk into  the building. It was a temple. Monks sat in rows along the walls, meditating in perfect silence. On the far wall stood a gigantic gold statue of Rama Kushna, the goddess of karma. A long red carpet led from the front door to the altar at the statue's feet. As Bruce walked toward the end of the room, he saw two men near the altar. One was clearly the master of the monks, with his long beard, ornate staff, and golden robe. Another man sat kneeling at the altar near the master's feet.

     "Come," the master said, beckoning to Bruce. Bruce reached the altar and politely bowed to the master.

     "Why have you come?" the master asked.

     Bruce was tired of being asked that question three times in a row.

     "I seek the power to avenge my parents' deaths."

     "Vengeance will not balance the scales, young one," the master replied.

     "It's not only vengeance; it's justice."

     "Ah. Justice. Man's noble attempt to bring balance. But how can any man truly know whether he serves justice or vengeance?"

     Bruce thought for a moment.

     "I... I suppose that's what I need to learn."

     The master smiled. "A wise answer. Sit, here." The master gestured towards the carpet next to the sitting man. "Meditate. Rest. Clear your mind. My monks will bring you to your room later."

     Bruce sat on the carpet and did his best to act like he was relaxing. The master left.

     Bruce turned and looked at the other man sitting next to him. He was vaguely caucasian, with a hint of middle-eastern features. His temples were graying, and his beard was very finely trimmed. As Bruce stared, the man's eyes snapped open and he turned to Bruce. Bruce nearly recoiled; the man's yes burned with a cold fire that was beyond unsettling.

     "My name is Damian Ambrose," the man said, his voice elegant and his every word perfectly enunciated. "And you are?"

     "Bruce."

     "Just 'Bruce'?"

     "My last name isn't important right now."

     "I see."

     Ambrose eyed Bruce. "I am curious... How exactly did you find this monastery?"

     "How did you find it?"

     Ambrose grinned. "A lifetime of searching, my boy. A long lifetime."

     Ambrose looked to Bruce to return the explanation, but Bruce remained silent.

     "Let me guess," Ambrose began. "You're American. Seventeen? Eighteen? By your speech and your clothing, I'd guess East coast, upper-class. I'd guess that you've met one of those people, and offered him a large sum of money in exchange for information on where to find this place. Am I close?"

     Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Not entirely."

     Ambrose smiled. "Ah. Well. I've been here for two weeks as of today; my deduction skills may be a bit rusty."

     "You've been here two weeks?"

     "Yes. Thus far, the monks haven't taught me much besides how to breathe correctly."

     "Great."

     "In any case, it's nice to have another... 'stranger' here. What do you say the two of us stick together? Us strangers?"

     "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd prefer to do things on my own."

     "Oh, I'm sure you would, but trust me. I'm a valuable ally to have, especially in our current situation."

     Bruce turned to Ambrose. "Are you expecting a fight here?"

     Ambrose merely grinned and turned back to his meditation.

The Wolf

     The Life Equation
     by Gerald Frank

     Introduction

     It has been supposed for years that the sciences and humanities are largely separate entities. That cold hard mathematical facts are incompatible with pure speculation, philosophy, and religion. This is quite simply wrong.
     The study of quantum mechanics has scientifically proven that human observation directly affects matter on a microscopic level. Because of this, we can infer that our previously-thought-undefined concepts of the mind may in fact more directly link with science than we ever thought. Quite literally, the power of human consciousness affects reality.
     Much as simple mathematical equations define our reality (Einstein's E=mc², Pythagoras' theorem, etc.), so too must they define the nature of humanity. Concepts universally known to every human culture—right; wrong; good; evil; life; death—must have some common principle; some overarching mathematical truth. This unknown truth—this very core of humanity—is a secret that I believe can and will soon be unraveled.

     Gerald Frank frequently stayed in his classroom at Metropolis High for hours after his students had left. For some reason, ever since he was a boy, he'd always felt at home in a quiet classroom in front of a chalkboard.
     Scattered across the chalkboard were dozens of separate mathematical algorithms and equations. To the casual observer it would seem chaotic, but to Frank it was perfectly sensible. He was looking for correlations between entirely different aspects of nature; searching for the links between everything.
     Frank sat back on his desk and sighed. He knew the answers were there, he just didn't have the information necessary. He needed the equivalent of thirty years' more research into sociological statistics and brain function. By that point, he'd be in his seventies, if he even lived that long. Heart disease was rampant in his family; there was a good chance he'd be dead before he could finish his work. How ironic it was that death would take him before he found the answers to life.

     "How frustrating it must be for you," a voice said from the doorway. A dark-haired man with a sharply trimmed goatee stood in the door, neatly dressed, with an unsettlingly devious grin.
     "Um... who are you?" Frank asked, eyeing the man uneasily.
     "My name is Steppenwolf."
     "Steppenwolf? Like the band?"
     Steppenwolf sneered. "Don't mock me, human. The master I serve is more powerful than any god you have ever known."
     Frank began to slowly step backwards, but Steppenwolf was faster. He reached behind his back, pulled out a bluntly spiked mace, and struck Frank alongside the head.
     "You should be proud, human," Steppenwolf said to Frank's unconscious body. "You will be the key to my lord's grand conquest. This world will burn, as it and all worlds deserve. Glory be to Darkseid."

Battle in the Skies

     Hal was glad to finally be able to go back to Earth, but the nauseating sensation of hyperlight travel nearly made him want to turn around. Tomar had assured him that he'd simply get used to it, but Hal somehow doubted it.
     A tiny blue orb suddenly became huge, and Hal realized he was staring at the Earth. The ring automatically brought Hal out of hyperlight and dropped him straight into the sky above Coast City. Convenient, Hal thought.

     After quietly changing back into his civilian clothes, Hal cautiously stepped onto Ferris Air Base. He wasn't even sure if he was allowed on the base at this point, but the officer at the gate didn't seem to object.
     Hal walked into the cadets' lounge. Across the room, slouched in a chair, sat Cowgirl, her deep blue yes peering out from under her hat. "Wonder'd when you'd be back," she said.
     "Jillian," Hal said. "I—"
     "I told you before to call me Cowgirl," Jillian interrupted, walking over to Hal and playfully poking him in the chest.
     Hal nervously stepped back. He should have been nervous because Cowgirl was a fellow pilot, and relationships between pilots was against regulations. But what he was really nervous about was Carol walking in and seeing the two of them in a flirtatious position. He wasn't sure why; he hadn't had feelings for Carol since they were kids.
     Cowgirl caught him glancing down the hallway and cracked a smile. "No one's gonna come find us in here; they've all run off for the day."
     Somehow, that didn't help. For some reason, Hal felt like backing away even more. He mentally slapped himself in the face. Why was he acting like this?! Jillian, one of the hottest girls Hal had ever seen—with an adorable-yet-hot country accent and eyes that almost literally dared Hal to try something—was standing in front of him, clearly making her move, and yet all Hal could do was feel that he should step back.
     Cowgirl gave him a puzzled look. "What, you get a girlfriend in the week you've been gone?"
     "A week?"
     "...Yeah, Highball, you've been gone a week."
     Hal must have lost track of time while he'd been on Oa.
     "Huh. Anything important happen while I was gone?"
     "Well, Hammond got kicked outta here. They finally traced the technowhatchamacallit back to him. Oh, and Carol's been missin' since yesterday. Some of us figured she and you musta run off together."
     "No, I didn't... no, I didn't even know she'd gone."
     Cowgirl's eyes and lips narrowed mischievously. "Can't say ah'm disappointed."
     "Wait, you said Carol's been gone since yesterday?"
     "Yeah."
     "When did Hector get fired?"
     "Day before yesterday."
     The sound of a blast shook the whole building. Hal and Jillian ran to the hangar, where two unmanned aerial drones were taking off, their jets activated before they'd even cleared the doors. Hal glanced up at the sky outside; two other drones had already taken off. Suddenly, the drones' jets engaged their afterburners, flooding half the hangar with flames. As the wall of fire nearly overtook Hal and Jillian, Hal raised his arm and projected a shield of energy, sending the flames rolling away like water on a rock.
     The drones took off towards the sky, leaving Hal and Jillian alone in the seared hangar.
     "Uh... Hal?" Jillian asked. "What was that... that you just did?"
     "Long story. Why would those drones be taking off?"
     "They shouldn't be. Their weapons test isn't til' tomorrow morning."
     "...Tell me they're not armed."
     "Of course they're armed! It takes the grease monkeys a whole day just to get the cluster missiles attached right so they fit under the stealth plating."
     Hal turned to the sky, focused on his ring, and let it sheath him in his Lantern uniform. Without another word, he lifted off.

     Just as Hal caught sight of one of the drones, it turned and fired off a cluster missile. As the large missile separated into twelve separate smaller missiles, Hal instinctively blocked them with a shield. He felt seven hits vibrate through the air as the missiles collided with his construct... but five others flew straight past. Hal mentally cursed his own stupidity. The missiles weren't even aimed at him. They were aimed at Ferris Air.

     Carl Ferris ran outside and instantly flew forward through the air as the building behind him exploded. He tumbled across the ground, landed on his back, and opened his eyes to see a swarm of missiles headed straight downward. Before they hit, however, a dazzling green light flew into their path, obliterating them in mid-air. Carl strained his eyes, but he couldn't see what the green object was, exactly. It looked like a man, but it was so bright that it was impossible to make out any details. A thunderous whine made Carl cover his ears as he turned to see what was happening. An F-35 was taking off, apparently heading up to join the drones.


     The drones were now targeting Hal. He dodged and wove through the air, trying to avoid the missiles and he couldn't block. He lashed out at one drone, firing a blast straight through its center. Hal was able to smirk at its explosion for a half-second before immediately turning to face the other three. Unexpectedly, however, the drones stopped firing missiles. Hal looked closer, and realized the drones were switching to their onboard gatling cannons.
     A hailstorm of 20-millimeter bullets hit Hal from three sides. He wrapped himself in a hard-light bubble, but it began to crack under the pressure. After a mere few seconds, it shattered. The aura covering Hal's body gave him a certain level of protection, but it could only do so much. Every bullet that hit him felt like a punch from a heavyweight boxer leaning out the window of a car traveling at 80 miles per hour. Hal felt the breath shoved out of his lungs as he was battered from every angle—and then it stopped.
     One of the drones exploded as a stream of gatling fire tore it in half. An F-35 flew through the drone's fireball, angling to take down the other two. Hal took a brief second to catch his breath again, then turned to the drones and focused. He forged the ring's energy into a replica of the drones' gatling cannons and fired a round of energy bullets that ripped the remaining drones to scrap.
     Hal mentally switched his ring to match the radio frequency used by Ferris Air. "Cowgirl, that you?"
     "You know it, super-hero."
     Jillian tipped her F-35's wing at Hal, almost as if to wink at him.
     "How could those things have been activated?" Hal asked.
     "Musta been by remote signal. They weren't hardwired into the base."
     "Can we trace the signal source?"
     "Nuh-uh. They've got a new kinda transmission system that's made to be untraceable. It's impossible."
     "Not for me. Ring: scan for radio signals matching the drones' operating frequency."
     A beam of light shone from the ring down to the ground below where a drone's wreckage had crashed. A moment later, a voice echoed from the ring. "SCANNING... SIGNAL SOURCE FOUND. 5.56 KILOMETERS WEST."
     Hal grinned. "Gotcha."

     Hal crashed through the 32nd-story living room window of Hector Hammond. Hector let out a sudden shriek and fell backwards in surprise.
     "Who are you?!" Hector asked.
     Hal almost seemed surprised. He suddenly realized he was wearing a mask over his face; the ring must have created it when it sensed his identity needed to be protected. Not every Green Lantern made his identity public; many chose to be anonymous, mostly to preserve the privacy and safety of their loved ones.
     Hal realized that if he talked to Hector out loud for too long, Hector might recognize his voice. Hal needed to make whatever he was about to say quick.
     "Shut up!" Hal whacked Hector on the head with a green mallet construct, knocking him out.
     A pile of computers with a half-dozen monitors and a large antenna were stacked in a corner of the room. Hal realized that this was how Hector was controlling the drones. He punched a large hole in the pile of electronics, sending sparks flying everywhere.
     Hal heard knocking coming from a closet. He floated over, opened the door, and saw Carol inside, tied up with duct tape. He waved the ring towards Carol and the duct tape immediately glowed green and disintegrated.
     Carol looked up at Hal, her expression somewhere between being intimidated and confused.
     "Who are you?" she asked, squinting her eyes against the bright green light.
     "...The Green Lantern of Sector 2814," Hal replied.

     Hal and Carol sat together atop their old favorite hill.
     "Hector was pissed beyond all belief when we fired him. Said we didn't have any right to fire him because he was the only one who actually knew what needed to be done. He was convinced that the UAVs, with his programming, were the future of air combat, and he said he only framed you because you got in the way of what needed to be done."
     Hal grinned. "I was too good, basically."
     Carol almost chuckled. "Don't get too cocky, Highball. From what I hear, Cowgirl's the one who's the real hero today. She and that Green Lantern."
     Hal frowned. "So, Carol, why were you at Hector's apartment?"
     "After Hector stormed off, I realized that he'd stolen some equipment from the base. I went to go get it back. When I found out he was putting together a remote command center, he tied me up and threw me in the closet."
     "...That's it? He just duct taped you up and left you in a closet?"
     "Yeah... funny as it is, I think he actually has feelings for me. I don't think he wanted me hurt, he just wanted me out of the way until he got his revenge."
     "So... after tying you up for a day and trying to kill your dad, he thought, what, you'd end up falling in love with him?"
     "Yeah. Not a real great plan."

     "So... Hal," Carol said. "I'm sorry about what happened last week at the restaurant."
     "It's okay. I—"
     "No, it's not okay. You were just looking out for me, and I slapped you in the face because I thought you were jealous. I'm sorry."
     Hal affectionately nudged Carol in the arm. "Let's just forget about it."
     Carol slightly smiled. "Let's."