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Ch-16 In the Shadow of Justice
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 11:25:59 +0000 UTCRaj didn't scream.
The Bleed didn't allow for it.
No air. No breath.
Just motion, like being flung sideways through a half-finished painting.
Colors dripped off the frame. Light bled into sound.
Direction collapsed into meaning.
And through it all, something called out.
"Outsider..."
Not his name. Not Raj.
It was older, deeper—a recognition of what he was: a traveler between worlds.
"Outsider."
He tried to answer, but his voice was stripped away.
Converted into trails of radiant color spilling from his limbs.
His body stretched across the multiversal tides.
Woven with refracted hues—sapphire thought, crimson will, violet resistance, gold clarity.
It had started as a twinge—a gravitational pull not on his body, but his fate.
Raj had felt it the night before: the Geas. The second one.
A whisper in the Bleed, dragging him toward a collapsing reality.
He tried resisting at first, anchoring himself to Earth-16... but it wasn't a request.
It was a cosmic summons.
A crisis had bloomed across the multiverse.
Earth-3—already unstable, already teetering—had reached its tipping point.
The Syndicate was growing too powerful. Something worse was coming.
The kind of event only someone like Raj could bend back into shape.
Within his mind, the library buckled.
The sealed vaults shuddered as forbidden knowledge—fragments of the Source Wall's truth—began to seep through their bindings.
Not to harm. To guide.
Stars realigned themselves. Equations rearranged.
The great door of sealed insight pulsed with warning light—not cracking open, but leaking meaning.
Wisps of unshaped power bled into his Eidolon system, reshaping the constellation of his inner self.
The Bleed was changing him.
Teaching him things no mortal was meant to understand.
Each moment between universes felt like years of study compressed into seconds.
Knowledge flowed into him—about Earth-3, about the Crime Syndicate, about the nature of reality itself.
His mind expanded to accommodate it all, yet the information remained hazy.
Like a dream half-remembered upon waking.
Raj felt himself becoming something more than he was, yet still fundamentally human.
The library in his mind—his way of visualizing his power system—was being renovated by forces beyond comprehension.
And then, he fell.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 8:15 PM - EARTH-3: HAPPY HARBOR OUTSKIRTS
The Bleed tore open like a wound in reality, forcibly ejecting its passenger.
Raj tumbled through the membrane separating worlds and crashed against hard concrete.
"That... was unpleasant," Raj groaned, pushing himself to his knees.
"Worse than the time Granny(Nani) made me ride that ancient Ferris wheel at Purani Delhi."
The memory of Delhi's crowded streets flashed through his mind.
The bustling Chandni Chowk markets where his father took him for jalebi on Sundays.
The quiet corners of Lodhi Gardens where his mother taught him to meditate.
All of it so different from the alien shore before him now.
He missed home, not just his Earth where he'd grown up, but Earth-16 where he'd left his team behind.
Roy and Match would be worried by now.
Unlike most heroes, Raj wasn't limited to fixed abilities.
His power was choice itself—access to an arsenal of powers with ten active slots he could fill at will.
And for the first time since arriving in the DC multiverse, Raj felt a subtle absence.
The omnipresent pull of the Bleed was gone.
He didn't need to allocate half his Eidolon just to stay anchored anymore.
Earth-3, grim and twisted as it was, didn't reject his existence. It accepted it. Maybe even welcomed it.
He smiled slightly. "Guess that means I get to actually use all ten slots."
Four stars descended from the vaulted sky of his mind's library, each drawn by instinct rather than thought.
One shimmered like refracted light—Phase Cloak, blending intangibility and stealth.
The second pulsed gently—Atmospheric Sync, aligning his biology with the alien air.
The third, cool and crystalline—Cognitive Anchor, grounding his thoughts with clarity and resilience.
And the last hummed with high-frequency noise—Micro-Clairvoyance, expanding his sensory reach to near-precognition.
Each clicked softly into place on the pedestal—his Eidolon constellation reshaping for Earth-3.
His adaptive suit rippled in response, darkening to midnight blue for better stealth.
Six slots remained open—ready for whatever this world might throw at him.
"Still have room for some chakra masking if needed," he mumbled, an old joke from his childhood obsession with anime.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 8:30 PM - EARTH-3: HAPPY HARBOR CITY LIMITS
Raj stood, taking in his surroundings.
The stars were... wrong. The moon hung bloated and tinged with red, casting an eerie glow over what should have been Happy Harbor.
But this wasn't the Happy Harbor he knew.
The familiar coastline remained, but every structure had been transformed into something darker, more imposing.
Where Mount Justice should stand, an obsidian tower rose instead, crowned with satellite arrays that looked like teeth.
"Earth-3," Raj whispered. "The mirror universe."
He recalled the knowledge from source.
Every parallel Earth had its differences, but Earth-3 was infamous—a twisted reflection where heroes were villains.
Here, the Justice League existed as the Crime Syndicate, a group of metahuman tyrants who ruled through fear.
A patrol of armored vehicles rumbled down what had once been the town's main street, now renamed "Ultraman Avenue."
Their spotlights cut through the gathering dusk, illuminating propaganda banners that hung from every lamppost.
Each one featured the Ultraman's distorted insignia—a "U" shield.
"Keep moving! Curfew in thirty minutes!" a mechanized voice boomed.
"Anyone found outside will serve in tomorrow's execution games!"
Raj's stomach twisted. Execution games.
Just three hours in this universe, and already the horror stories were proving true.
This would be his reality until there's a permanent change.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 9:05 PM - EARTH-3: DOWNTOWN HAPPY HARBOR
A bulletin board caught his attention, plastered with propaganda posters.
Each featured the Crime Syndicate members in heroic poses, but their eyes held cruelty rather than compassion.
One poster showed Ultraman hovering above a kneeling crowd: "Tribute Day Tomorrow: Serve Your Light-Bringer."
Another announced: "Superwoman's Justice Circle: Witness Truth Through Pain."
A third poster featured Johnny Quick surrounded by lightning: "Weather Management Service: Courtesy of Johnny Quick."
The fine print explained that cities meeting their "tribute quotas" would be spared from "natural disasters" for the month.
"They don't even pretend to be heroes," Raj muttered, studying the dates and locations.
According to the schedules posted, the Crime Syndicate had a full calendar of "civic activities" planned.
From now through December—right up until his extraction date in January.
He memorized what he could. This was what he came for—intelligence gathering.
Every scrap of information would help when the Justice League eventually moved against these tyrants.
A commotion from around the corner drew his attention.
In a small courtyard, three figures in black uniforms had cornered an elderly man.
The insignia on their shoulders marked them as Ultraman's collection squad.
"Please," the old man begged, his voice trembling as his bony hands clutched a small cloth bag.
"I've already given my monthly tribute. If I give any more, my family will starve! My grandchildren are already so thin..."
"New quotas have been issued," the lead enforcer said coldly, snatching the bag from the man's grip.
"The Light-Bringer's demands have increased since the rebellion in Coast City."
"You'll provide double this month or your neighborhood block will be selected for tomorrow's learning exercise."
The old man was already showing signs of malnourishment—his frame gaunt, his eyes sunken.
His clothes hung from his body, several sizes too large, suggesting he'd been slowly wasting away under the Syndicate's rule.
Raj wasn't here to be a hero. Direct intervention would expose him before he'd even begun.
Yet as the old man struggled weakly against his captors, Raj made a deliberate choice.
He closed his eyes briefly, recalling the Eidolon pedestal.
A silent mental command caused a golden-orange orb descended—more whimsical than deadly.
"Time for some karmic balance," he whispered, concentrating on his sixth power slot:
Supernatural Mustache Generator: Creation and manipulation of facial hair with enhanced properties to make others believe in your authority.
A luxurious, cartoonishly large mustache materialized on his face.
It was reminiscent of his grandfather's elaborate mustache from old family photos in Delhi, but with metaphysical properties no ordinary facial hair possessed.
When situations got tense, he had developed a coping mechanism—activating one of his more ridiculous powers.
Raj's suit changed too, shifting patterns to resemble their uniforms.
With a deep breath, he stepped into the open, adopting a swagger.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 9:15 PM - EARTH-3: DOWNTOWN COURTYARD
"What's going on here?" he demanded, making his voice gruff.
"This area is scheduled for special collection tomorrow. Who authorized this early harvest?"
The enforcers turned, startled by his sudden appearance.
Their eyes widened at his impressive mustache and the confident way he carried himself—as if he belonged in their ranks.
"Who are you? I don't recognize—"
"Of course you don't," Raj interrupted, his mustache twitching impressively as he spoke.
"I'm with the Inner Circle's efficiency division. We've had reports of unauthorized collections compromising tomorrow's yield."
He tapped at a nonexistent device on his wrist, projecting absolute authority.
"Subject appears already overtaxed. Physical degradation evident. This one wouldn't survive tomorrow's main collection anyway."
The enforcers exchanged nervous glances.
Raj noticed their body language—they feared their superiors more than they questioned strangers.
A useful insight to remember during his four-month mission.
"We have quotas," the leader said uncertainly, clutching his collection bag tighter.
"Ultraman's demands have increased since the rebellion in Coast City. Our sectors are expected to provide twelve percent more this month."
"And who will answer when half your assigned district drops dead before the monthly census?"
Raj countered, his mustache bristling dramatically as he stepped closer.
"The efficiency reports clearly stated—" he lowered his voice conspiratorially, "—sustainability protocols must be maintained."
"Especially after what happened to the Metropolis division last month."
That was a shot in the dark, but it landed perfectly. All three enforcers paled.
"They were just following orders," one whispered, his hand unconsciously touching his neck as if checking it was still there.
"So was I," said the leader, quickly releasing the old man, who slumped to the ground.
"We'll move to the next sector instead. Plenty of fat ones in the harbor district still."
"Wise choice," Raj nodded, his mustache giving a satisfied twitch.
"I won't include this in my report... this time. Our Light-Bringer appreciates proper resource management."
The enforcers hurried away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders.
Once they were gone, Raj knelt beside the old man, who looked up with fearful eyes.
"Are you going to finish it?" the man asked weakly. "Just make it quick."
"No," Raj said gently, helping him to sit up.
"I'm not one of them. Is there somewhere safe you can go? Family nearby?"
Confusion crossed the man's face, then suspicion.
"Is this a test? To see if I'll reveal the underground?"
Raj hesitated. An underground resistance? That wasn't in any of the intelligence briefings.
Another useful piece of information for his four-month mission.
"No test," he assured the man. "But you shouldn't trust strangers in this world. Can you make it home safely?"
The man nodded slowly, still confused by this unexpected kindness.
"Two blocks east. My daughter watches from the window. She has a signal—three flashes of light means the path is clear."
"Go. And if anyone asks, tell them the collection team moved on because you were already processed."
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 10:30 PM - EARTH-3: ABANDONED BUILDING
From his perch in an abandoned building, Raj witnessed nightmarish scenes playing out across the city.
His enhanced vision powers allowed him to catalog the horrors that would be his reality for the next four months.
In one plaza, Superwoman—Earth-3's twisted Wonder Woman—presided over what appeared to be public interrogations.
Her Lasso of Submission glowed with malevolent energy as she wrapped it around a terrified woman.
The victim immediately began confessing to crimes that seemed entirely fabricated.
The crowd watched in forced silence, eyes downcast, as the victim was dragged away by guards with grimacing face masks.
Elsewhere, Johnny Quick—the reverse Flash—created miniature tornadoes through residential areas that had failed to meet their "civic contributions."
The speedster's laughter echoed between buildings as he raced through the destruction.
Occasionally pausing to watch families flee their collapsing homes.
Most disturbing was the central tower, pulsing with a sickly green light.
From a distance, Raj watched pale, hollow-eyed zealots carry lead-lined cases inside—offerings not of worship, but of Kryptonite.
Ultraman didn't fear it—he needed it.
The signs were obvious: erratic behavior, manic strength followed by isolation.
The tower was lined with radiation shielding—except at the summit, where the exposure was raw and constant.
Kryptonite wasn't his weakness anymore. It was his addiction.
A poisoned god propped up by devotion and decay.
Raj narrowed his eyes.
"Good to know."
"This place feels like someone wished for justice and misspelled it," Raj whispered, his mustache drooping with the observation.
"Like those monkey's paw stories nani(granny) used to tell to scare me at bedtime when we visited her in Old Delhi."
He pulled from his pocket a small metal object—a repurposed arrowhead that Roy had given him before the mission.
"For luck," the archer had said gruffly.
Match had simply clasped his arm, those clone-blue eyes intense. "Come back," he'd said.
Patrol vehicles with mounted weapons roamed.
Occasionally stopping to arrest—or simply shoot—anyone still outside.
The city didn't sleep so much as it cowered.
Lights extinguished out of fear rather than restfulness.
SEPTEMBER 5, 2010, 11:45 PM - EARTH-3: ABANDONED BUILDING
As midnight approached, Raj observed a different kind of movement in the city's shadows.
Furtive figures moved beneath the patrol routes, using blind spots in the surveillance network.
They communicated with quick hand signals and moved with practiced coordination.
Not random citizens breaking curfew, but organized resistance fighters.
He focused his enhanced senses, trying to track their movements without being detected himself.
These people knew the city's secret pathways.
They carried small packages—supplies, perhaps, or information.
One figure paused beneath a street lamp to adjust something on their wrist.
A device that looked like it might jam Owlman's surveillance signals.
One thing was clear—Earth-3 wasn't completely subdued.
Where there was oppression, there was resistance.
Where there was fear, courage found root in the darkest places.
These people could be valuable allies during his four-month mission... if he could earn their trust.
Feeling isolated, Raj activated another seemingly useless power:
Comfort Food Generation: Creation of edible substances that provide emotional comfort and minor healing
A small, steaming cup of chai materialized in his hands.
The familiar aroma instantly transporting him to his mother's kitchen back in Delhi.
The taste of home—cardamom, ginger, cloves with just a hint of black pepper—centered him.
His father always joked that his mother's chai could bring people back from the dead, it was so reviving.
While Raj's power couldn't quite accomplish that feat, the warm liquid did provide a boost to both spirit and body.
"One day at a time," he whispered to himself, watching the resistance figures disappear into the night.
As he sipped the chai, he considered which practical powers might be needed for tomorrow.
With four slots remaining, he had room to adapt.
Perhaps Density Control would help him move through Owlman's security systems undetected.
Or maybe Quantum Perception to better understand the technology of this world.
SEPTEMBER 6, 2010, 12:30 AM - EARTH-3: ABANDONED BUILDING
Raj settled in for the night, his adaptive suit providing warmth against the chill.
He had found a secure corner on the abandoned building's top floor.
A space that appeared to have once been someone's apartment before the Crime Syndicate's rule had turned it into another hollow shell.
A broken picture frame still hung on one wall, its photo long gone.
A silent testament to whoever had once called this place home.
He would need rest before beginning the next phase of his mission.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges.
Four months suddenly seemed both too long and too short for what he needed to accomplish.
The chai cup dissolved into sparkles of energy as he finished the last sip.
His mustache dissolved similarly back into his power matrix.
They were perhaps the strangest abilities in his arsenal, but they served their purpose.
Keeping him human in a world determined to crush humanity.
On Earth-3, where everything was backward, sometimes the absurd was the most practical tool available.
As he made final preparations for sleep, Raj recalled an old saying his father liked to quote:
"Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise."
But on Earth-3, even that simple truth seemed uncertain.
The red moon cast bloody shadows across the floor, and Raj wondered what kind of sun would rise over this broken world.
Earth-3 was worse than the comics had suggested.
The Crime Syndicate didn't just rule—they consumed.
This wasn't just a world with reversed morality; it was a world being actively drained of hope.
And somewhere in the darkness of this mirror universe, Owlman was watching, analyzing, calculating.
The technological mastermind behind the Syndicate's surveillance state was perhaps the most dangerous member of all.
But that was tomorrow's problem.
He needed to rest.
The multiversal jump had taken more out of him than he'd expected.
The constant vigilance and tension of this new reality drained him more quickly than he'd anticipated.
His first day on Earth-3, and already the weight of this mirror universe pressed down on him like physical gravity.
For now, hidden from the red moonlight and the searching eyes of tyrants.
Raj surrendered to exhaustion, his dreams filled with twisted stars and a sky that refused to speak.
