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DCU: Blacklist

Chapter 61 - Down with the Dictator
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Gotham

"Alright, you made your point. Now, what's this about a dictator?" Plastic Man asked. He had gone through the construction sites in the Crime Alley and saw that Miles was actually doing good work.

"Mustapha Maksai staged a coup and executed his half-brother, Richard Jiwe, the elected president. We are going to arrest him, neutralize his forces, and leave him to justice. Zambesia will be freed, the first step in stabilizing Africa."

O'Brian whistled. "That sounds big. Really big."

"It is. Scared?" he asked. Plastic Man may not take a lot of things seriously, but toppling a dictatorial regime was one.

"Me?" O'Brian's head grew to ridiculous proportions. "Absolutely not. I just don't think Batman will be happy if I suddenly start helping take down foreign governments."

Batman kept an eye on Plastic Man, both because he felt responsible and because of how dangerous he was.

"If all you need is his permission, I can call him," he said, pulling out his phone to call Batman.

"As if. We just have to be quiet, that's all."

Miles put the phone back in his pocket. People rarely took pleasure in requiring another individual's permission.

"Zimbase is poor thanks to Maksai. There will be no digital records of you. We also give you a bit of a makeover, and you are just another person that has elasticity as a superpower," he said. Claire handed over a black-colored suit to O'Brian.

Plausible deniability was a wonderful notion.




New York City

"You have teleportation?! Man, that's awesome," O'Brian said. The hero did not need much in the way of preparation. Officially, he needed some alone time. With the wonders of teleportation, he would be back in Gotham in no time.

"Can I rely on your discretion on this matter?" he asked.

"Don't worry," O'Brian said, turning his lips to a zipper and pulling it shut.

He turned to the shadows. "Now, we have one more companion to take with us."

He didn't have the sharp senses necessary to detect an individual like Vixen. But his new gear bypassed that necessity.

Mari stepped out of the shadows, tilting her head at the new, and rather vibrant, addition. "Who is this?"

The figure was somewhat familiar. Perhaps she had seen him on TV but couldn't remember more.

"Plastic Man, he is a local hero from Gotham and an acquaintance of Batman."

"Your infiltration expert?"

Plastic Man smirked. His body contorted, settling into the shape of a handbag, a chair, and a door, and finally, merged with the floor itself.

"Alright. I can see how that becomes handy," she said. No one would suspect a common household object to be an infiltrator in disguise.

"Is it just the five of us?" Taking Maksai down wouldn't magically free Zambesia after all.

"We will deal with Maksai and his inner circle. I made arrangements to take down the armed forces."

A small force of androids was already on site, waiting. Zambesia's armed forces were akin to thugs with machine guns.




Zambesia

D'Mulla


"You can teleport?" she asked. It took her a couple of seconds to get her bearings once the location had changed so abruptly.

"Yes. Welcome back to Zambesia," he said, holding out a hand towards the downtrodden city.

Vixen hung her head. "It looks worse than I remember." Her memories of Zambesia were brighter. Now, everything looked gray and depressing.

"I doubt Maksai ever cared to improve anything except his own comfort."

The mention of her uncle broke Vixen out of her musings. "Where is he now?"

His head tilted at the tallest building in sight. "Hotel Continental. It used to serve high-value investors in the past. While Maksai is mobile most of the time, he enjoys the amenities enough to make regular returns."

Locating Maksai proved to be easier than initially assumed. The hotel was one of the few places in the capital with proper utilities and was heavily defended. A creature of comfort like Mustapha Maksai was bound to be there.

Satellite imagery had confirmed as much.

"My time to shine," Plastic Man said, stretching his arms and legs before twisting his torso.

"He is on the top floor now."

O'Brian flashed a giant thumbs up and left to carry out his mission.

"Can we really trust that guy? He doesn't seem to take anything seriously," Claire asked after the man was out of earshot.

"It's a mask. Just enjoy the show."

There was a reason Batman saw Plastic Man as one of the more dangerous heroes should he go full villain.




He slipped through the gaps in the barbed wire surrounding the hotel. In the dark of the night, his new, deep black-colored costume made him appear like a shadow. The soldiers guarding the perimeter did not seem interested in their jobs. He could have just strolled to the hotel, but this was actually serious.

Squeezing inside the drainpipe, he wiggled upwards to the roof. He came out with the other hand and stretched his torso down to the window. Maksai was inside, sprawled on a queen-sized bed.

Eel forced his fingers beneath the window and pushed it up. Slithering up to the bed, he flicked Maksai on the nose. The dictator twitched but did not wake up.

"Wakey, wakey," a voice sang.

"Huh, what?" Maksai muttered, waking up. He went back into the la-la-la land with a punch.

He stretched his body, wrapping around the man like a cocoon. Climbing out the way he came, Eel reached the roof again.

Extending his arms on each corner of the roof, he walked to the other hand. He slingshotted himself to where his friends were waiting.

The guards were unaware of anything.




"Make way for delivery," O'Brian's voice came from the night sky. He had stretched into a parachute, gently floating down with Maksai.

Claire raised her hands with open palms. She didn't doubt Miles, but it was hard to take this guy seriously. Until now, at least.

Vixen was bristling. The bastard that had killed her father lay defenseless in front of her. For all the hot, blinding fury coursing in her veins, she didn't know what to do.

"Ta da, one dictator delivered as promised. Sign here, please," O'Brian said, holding out his fist.

Miles was all too happy to oblige.

"What do we do with this guy?" Baraka asked. Africa was filled with dictators like him. He would love nothing more than to make Maksai live a sliver of the hell he had brought down on Zambesia.

"His generals are dispersed over the city. We make Maksai gather them in one place. The rest will fall in place," he said. If they didn't, the androids would ensure compliance.

The plans on handling dictators were getting a bit repetitive, but as long as they worked, there was no reason to change anything.

He glanced at Vixen. "Care to handle it? I wager he'd fear you more than any of us."

Vixen closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She did not want to do anything rash. Opening her eyes, she nodded.

Baraka dumped a bucket of cold water on Mustapha. The unconscious man was jolted awake, searching for a pistol on his belt.

His purple silk robe did not afford any.

"You," Maksai said, his voice trembling, just like his body.

He had hunted her and the Tantu Totem for years. He had killed her father. And now, he was at her mercy.

"Yes, me," Vixen growled deeply. She looked like a tiger ready to pounce and tear her prey to ribbons.

"You are going to summon all your generals and other high-ranking staff members."

"Why would I do that?"

Vixen touched her talisman. She must have chosen a rather large animal, because when she stomped the ground next to Maksai's feet, the ground caved.

Mustapha pulled his leg away, eyes wide open.

"Otherwise I will do that to you," she warned.

Miles threw a walkie-talkie to Mustapha. The general took it with shaking hands.

"One wrong word, uncle, and you will beg for mercy." Her threat seems to have done the job.

"This is General Mustapha. Summon all my staff for an emergency meeting right now," he ordered.

The response was quick. "As you command, general."

Vixen took another deep breath. Miles knew she would have killed him if the confrontation had been violent.

"You are a despicable waste of a human. My father was a good man; he only wanted the best for Zambesia. But you were a jealous piece of crap, and look where it led you," she said, letting out the hatred in her heart. Killing him was not worth betraying who she was.

Not that he had a problem with Mari killing Maksai.

"Will you kill me?" the cowardly man asked. Miles half expected him to beg.

"No. We are going to let the people of Zambesia decide your fate. You will be lucky if they stick you in a four-by-four hole for the rest of your life."

With those words, Vixen reverse kicked Mustafa back into unconsciousness.

"Hey, are you alright?" Plastic Man asked. His jubilant tone had given way to a somber one.

"I will be, as soon as we free Zambesia."




Hotel Continental

Next Morning


"Where is the general?"

"He is late. We will have to wait."

The chatter among the staff was interrupted when the door flew off its hinges. It slammed into a colonel, rendering him unconscious.

A woman dressed in an orange suit stepped inside, cracking her knuckles. "Don't worry, guys, we'll keep you company."

Bringing weapons to a meeting with General Mustapha was forbidden. They were unarmed, but so was this attacker. A colonel raised his chair, ready to throw it. Something reached down from the ceiling and caught it.

It swung the chair back into the colonel's face.

"Geez, didn't you guys learn any table manners?" A voice mocked them from above. The ceiling melted to the ground like wax, taking the shape of a man.

Two more people entered the room, covered in armor from head to toe. The female set her hands on fire, and the male glowed like a Christmas tree.

"I remember you. You are Richard's daughter, aren't you? Back for revenge?" One of the prisoners, a general with one too many medals pinned to his chest, spoke.

"I am back to free this country from you bastards."

"We can give you a couple of minutes with them if you want," Claire offered. In her position, she definitely would have.

"No. They aren't worth it."

Miles walked in, pushing Maksai forward. "Take a seat, general."

"The armed forces are down," he said. The androids had made quick work of the grunts. Now, there was only one objective left. "I am sure the people will appreciate it if one of their own announces Maksai's fall."

Mari took the phone.



The androids had placed holoprojectors across the city. The people, going on with their lives, stopped when the image of a woman appeared over the buildings.

"People of Zambesia, I am Mari Jiwe, daughter of the late President Richard Jiwe."

"A decade ago, my half-uncle, Mustapha Maksai, staged a coup and executed my father."

There were murmurs. Had Richard's daughter returned to free them?

"Today, his tyranny ends," she said. Her image was gone, replaced with a room where Maksai and his lapdogs were tied up.

"Maksai and his generals are arrested. I call on the people of D'Mulla to rise and take the presidential palace. To take our freedom back."




Mari's speech had the people marching on the palace, as well as administrative and military locations. Strangely, all military personnel in the bases were found tied up. Maksai's cronies in the ministries had to run. Those that did not met the fury of the people breaking the shackles.

This event would come to be known as the One Day Revolution.

"What do we do now? " Baraka asked. He might not be from Zambesia, but damn if it didn't feel personal to him.

"I have already prepared an aid and an investment package. A former minister in exile, Adam Kambale, is already returning to swear in as the interim president," he said, bringing out the man's picture.

He was one of the first ones to receive an anonymous message revealing the downfall of Maksai. Zambesia didn't have many connections to the rest of the world, so it would take a while for word to travel.

He would be long gone by then.

"My father always spoke highly of him," Mari said. Her father did not even have a proper burial. She would first search his remains and dig a grave for him. That is, if there was anything to find.

"Do you want to return with us or would you like to stay for a while?" he asked. She was bound to have some personal issues to handle here.

"I think I'll stay, just to be sure everything works out well."

Miles pointed at an android, then at Vixen. "I'll leave an android with you. When you want to leave, give me a call," he said, handing out a brand new phone to her.

"Thanks for everything," she said, taking the phone.

"Don't mention it."



Gotham

"Can't believe we freed a country in less than a day," O'Brian said. He had teleported the group to an alley with no cameras.

He smiled. "How does it feel? To save an entire nation from tyranny?"

"Good, real good," he replied, looking at the setting sun.

"Here. I know you are capable, but in case you ever need help, give me a call," he said, handing another phone out. His connection with local heroes would help in the future when the League expanded its roster.

"Thanks. And again, I won't tell Batman about this little adventure."

"I don't think he will ever ask," Miles said. Bruce was already swamped with work. He wouldn't have many reasons to investigate the events in Zambesia.




Metropolis

Once he was back home, Miles took everyone out for dinner. The sun was slowly setting down, and they deserved a treat after Zambesia.

It was going great. The place was fancy, the food was delicious, and the waiter was unnaturally beautiful. In itself, he would only question why she was working here rather than try her hand at modeling. If he was in a particularly relaxed mood, that is.

What set her apart was her similarity to an individual he knew.

Blonde hair, blue eyes, taller than him, she had the eyes of every male in the room, including him. Though, it was for a different reason.

His watch scanned her discreetly, and his suspicion was confirmed. She wasn't a human.

Taking out a piece of paper, he wrote down his number along with a question for her. If she didn't read it, he would contact her in a different manner.

He had an inkling of her identity, but for now, waiting was the preferable choice.

This was bound to be interesting.






In the next chapter:


"Oh, my head," Audrey groaned as she entered her room.

A glass of cold water was held out to her. "Here, the water will clear your head up a bit."

Watching the young man who held out the water, she then turned to the one in the fedora hat, sitting on her chair. "Thank you."

She took the glass, drinking it slowly. She sat down as the headache subsided slightly.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

The man, the leader, took his hat off. "You are awfully calm for someone who found three intruders in her room."

Audrey raised her shoulders and dropped them. "You are not Northerners, and this isn't the first time someone wanted to speak in private." Though it was the first time they did it in her room.




Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.
 
Chapter 62 - Royal Affairs
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Metropolis

Miles had given the Kryptonian female an out-of-the-way location. Should it come to blows, which was unlikely to happen, but you never knew with the Kryptonians. The park was on the outskirts of the city and small. Any confrontation would not lead to casualties before the cavalry came in.

"Mr. Fedora," she said, sitting on the other end of the bench. The white blouse did little to hide her tensed muscular frame.

He pulled his hat down slightly. "Ms. Kryptonian."

"How did you even know I am a Kryptonian?" she asked. She had kept her powers secret. No flight, no super strength, no heat ray, nothing.

He flashed her a grin. "Did anyone ever say your appearance reminded them of Supergirl, only more mature? Like an older sister."

Put the two side by side, and anyone would assume they were family.

"Maybe," she crossed her arms. "No one ever assumed I was a Kryptonian because of it."

Miles waved his watch. "A simple DNA scan was all it took."

"What now?" She was ready to snap him like a twig if he attempted to blackmail her.

"What is an unknown Kryptonian doing on Earth, working as a waitress?" His question was perfectly normal, which only set her off.

"If you think I am a problem, it would be the Justice League's, not yours."

"I am a part of the Justice League, behind the scenes, of course."

"Bullshit," she scoffed. She knew everyone in the League, at least the one on her Earth. So far, everything in this dimension had gone exactly as she knew. The man next to her wasn't a part of it.

He pulled out his phone. "Would you like me to call Superman?"

"No, forget it." She shook her head. "You want to know why I am here? It was because my dimension was destroyed, and I had nowhere else to go. I came to this Earth by accident. Metropolis was the only place I knew, so here I am, trying to make a living."

Her explanation was the same as the background of Power Girl.

"My condolences." He removed the hat. "May I ask how it happened?"

"An antimatter wave," she said.

"Was it the Anti-Monitor?" That entity was the only one to release antimatter in an attempt to destroy the multiverse.

"You know that thing?" she asked, turning to face him.

He tilted his head down. "Krona, a rogue guardian, was responsible for the creation of the multiverse." The knowledge behind the creation of the multiverse was only known to few. Now, it includes Power Girl as well.

She cursed under her breath.

"What is your relationship with Supergirl?" he asked.

"I am Kara Zor-L; the Superman on my Earth was my cousin. I am her counterpart."

"Blood related?" He truly did not know whether she was or not.

"Yes?" she asked, her tone rising in pitch towards the end.

"Supergirl isn't blood related to Superman. She is adopted as the last survivor of Argon."

"Huh," she leaned back on the bench, "differences like that were bound to exist."

"Miles Beckett," he introduced, holding his hand out.

She took it, gentle to not crush his hand like a pulp. "Kara, or Karen, whatever you prefer."

"You haven't done anything except work during the time you were here, and I am inclined to agree that you are not up to anything. Should you want to meet Superman, give me a call. I know he'd appreciate having more family," he said.

She had kept a low profile. As an individual that had just lost her second home, her reluctance to interact with counterparts of the family and friends she knew was completely understandable.

"Thanks."

When she did not get up to leave, he put his hat back on. "If you have questions, feel free to ask."

"Who are you, exactly?" She crossed her arms. "There was no Miles Beckett in my dimension who was working with the Justice League."

"I am the spy," he said for the flair. "I keep an eye on dangerous individuals and groups. When it is necessary, I share what I know with the League, and they intervene. The operation against the Intergang was a part of my efforts."

Power Girl could be trusted as a future member of the Justice League.

"What are you working on right now, Mr. Spy? If I can ask, of course," she said, adding the last part after a second.

"We recently overthrew Zambesia's dictator."

She narrowed her eyes. "The League doesn't do that." As an organization solely focused on saving civilians from villain attacks, accidents, and disasters, the Justice League was nonpolitical. They abided by the UN charter on the League, which did include a prohibition on intervening in wars between or in nations as long as metahumans or otherwise enhanced individuals weren't a part of it.

His smirk was infuriating. "They don't."

"Whatever," she gave him a blank look. "I got the day off, so I am just going to sleep in."

"One last question. When was your universe destroyed?" he asked just as she rose from the bench.

She looked back, clenching her fists. "Around a month after the Justice League here was founded."

"Thank you."

That was unexpected.




The ride home was silent as he contemplated the bombshell Karen had just dropped on his lap. He did not believe it was a coincidence even for a second.

An antimatter wave had destroyed her universe, most likely along with many more, just a month after the Justice League had come together on this Earth. The earliest trace on Powergirl dated just three days after his arrival.

Considering it was an application for a job, she had to have spent time creating an identity.

Had the antimatter wave destroyed his universe as well, somehow deposing him in this reality? Or was it a mere side effect?

Entities that could give him an answer were not worth the trouble it would cause.

"You alright, Miles?" Claire asked. It was rare for him to be so contemplative.

"Yes, just considering her situation," he said with a light tone.

Rubbing his forehead, he made a call. "Zalika, find me the phone number of the warden of Stryker's Island Penitentiary."

"I put it on your phone. Do you want me to mask the call?" she asked. He checked the phone, seeing a new name, Draper, appear on his contact list.

"Yes, thank you," he said, ending the call to make a new one.

"Hello?" the voice on the other side asked.

"Mr. Draper, there is going to be a breakout in your prison." He was not in the mood to drag this out.

There was a pause. "Who is this?"

"My name isn't important. Containing the breakout is," he said.

"I don't know who you are, but there will be no breakouts on my watch."

Of course a man like Carl Draper would have to be so prideful.

"Let me make myself clear, you two-bit Saturday cartoon comedic relief character," he said, tone devoid of any inflections. "If you don't increase security, there are going to be inquiries into you allowing experiments on the inmates. Is that understood?"

Draper was silent again. "Yes," he answered, and he could hear the man's teeth grinding together.

"Good. If I hear any unfortunate news, you will be trading rooms on that island." He finally ended the call, rubbing his head again.

Claire chuckled. "I might be the pyrokinetic, but that was a nice burn."

"I aim to please," he said with a wry smile.

Deciding caution was the prudent choice, he called the Watchtower with his League communicator.

"Manhunter, I hope you are having a good day."

"I do. What can I help you with, Miles?" J'onn asked, getting straight to the point. Miles rarely called for pleasure after all.

"I received word of a breakout in Stryker's Penitentiary. I warned Warden Draper, but I wouldn't trust him to take care of a plastic plant."

"I see. I will watch the island and alert the members should it be necessary. Thank you once again."

"You are welcome." With that call, the situation should be contained before John Dee transforms into Doctor Destiny. If not, at least the League would have a much easier time managing the breakout.

"What are we doing now?" Bringing Maksai down was a quick affair. Since her boss left the matter of the breakout to the League, he must have a different idea.

Unless they were going on another break.

He made another call. "Zalika, what do we have regarding Kaznia? Specifically, King Gustav and his daughter, Audrey."

Following the breakout in Stryker's Penitentiary, Vandal Savage's attempt to take over Kaznia was the next chapter. He could get ahead of Savage by acting first. Gustav was old and would die soon even without his intervention.

Audrey could be an ally inside the European Union.

"King Gustav is making great contributions to the new international space station," she reported over the phone. "News says it increases Kaznia's standing on the international stage, but the citizens are suffering for it. As for Audrey, her father seems to be setting up a marriage for her. It's… oh boy."

Her hesitation at the end made it certain.

"Who is it?" he asked, waiting for the name drop.

"Vandal Savage."

Miles smirked, looking out the window of the car. "Seems a trip to Kaznia is in order."




Kaznia

The following day, he left for Kaznia along with Claire and Baraka.

It was a Balkan country ruled by a monarchy. The culture was similar to its neighbors, the language diverse, but unlike the rest of the Balkans, it was rife with political and military disasters.

The Northern Kaznians, the tribes that had never fit in with the rest of the nation, and the Southern Kaznians, the widely recognized legitimate government, were at war. It wasn't all-out battles but guerrilla movements by the Northerners and organized military actions by the Southerners.

Princess Audrey was a party girl. To find her, one had to find the party. In such an unstable country, acquiring an invitation to a party was done at the behest of Benjamin Franklin's likeness.

The most attended, expensive, and loudest party was held at the capital. The elite of Kaznia were present, along with individuals who bought their way in for one reason or another.

The world-class party girl was the center of attention. However, she would eventually be tired. He just had to wait for the opportunity.

In the meantime, he enjoyed the party with his companions.




"Oh, my head," Audrey groaned as she entered her room.

A glass of cold water was held out to her. "Here, the water will clear your head up a bit."

Watching the young man who held out the water, she then turned to the one in the fedora hat, sitting on her chair. "Thank you."

She took the glass, drinking it slowly. She sat down as the headache subsided slightly.

"How can I help you?" she asked.

The man, the leader, took his hat off. "You are awfully calm for someone who found three intruders in her room."

Audrey raised her shoulders and dropped them. "You are not Northerners, and this isn't the first time someone wanted to speak in private." Though it was the first time they did it in her room.

Offering her drugged water would be pointless when she was about to fall into a drunken sleep. Neither their accents nor looks painted them as Northerners or assassins.

"So, what is it? Some business idea you want to bring to my father?" she said, looking for a painkiller in her bedstand.

"What do you know about your future husband, Vandal Savage?" the man asked, and Audrey stopped.

She wasn't expecting that.

"I can assure you, my father doesn't care whether I know my potential husband or not. But he is older than me, terrifyingly intelligent as well as charismatic," she said.

Vandal had won the court and her father over in a short amount of time. It sent chills down her spine to see how easily the man made her father eat from the palm of his hand.

"He is fifty thousand years old. It does give one more than ample time for self-improvement," Miles said, waiting for Audrey to process it in her drunk state.

She sat down again, taking the pill without any water. "Am I too drunk, or did you just say fifty thousand years?"

"Ever wondered why he looked so primitive in a sense?" he asked. One look at Vandal Savage was enough to deduce that the man was different, and not in a known sense.

"Yes?"

"Savage is a caveman who had been mutated by a meteor and acquired immortality. Pity, you would think he'd share that with his future wife," he smirked.

Audrey's eyes widened before shutting as another wave of throbbing assaulted her skull.

"Okay, that's… I'll need proof," she said, massaging her scalp.

"His history does not matter as much as his latest actions do."

He didn't have a way to prove Vandal's presence and multitude of personas throughout history.

Which is why he displayed relevant documents and recordings of Vandal's scheme for time traveling to Nazi Germany for world domination. Everything seemed like a conspiracy to Audrey until she witnessed the time machine fail and Vandal's orders to abandon the project.

"I have no words. Though, it doesn't prove he is fifty thousand years old," she pointed out.

"Does it matter at this point? You are intelligent enough to see why he wants your hand in marriage. Once your father suffers a natural-looking death, you will follow the lead. By then, Vandal would be too beloved for the citizens to care. After all, Gustav's backbreaking taxes do not endear your family to the public," he said.

Even if Vandal wasn't in the equation, the people would only stand so long against Gustav's publicity display to cozy up with the international community.

"I know," Audrey groaned. "What do you want from me? I doubt my father would believe you or even care."

Vandal had too much clout over him for that.

"Let's be honest, princess. Your father doesn't have much time left. Even if Vandal Savage doesn't kill him, he is old enough for stress to be a dangerous factor. But you are young and full of vitality and the sole heir to the throne of Kaznia. You assist me in neutralizing Vandal, and I give you all the backing you need as the queen," he said. Audrey had actually turned out to be a much more benevolent ruler than her father. She would even manage to bring Kaznia into the European Union.

Gustav, on the other hand, was on a time limit.

She let out a wry chuckle. "Being the queen never seemed so great to me."

"Positions of power rarely come with more privileges than burdens. Though, if you want, I can arrange for you to enjoy parties for the rest of your life," he offered.

"And Kaznia?" She touched her country's location on the globe. "Am I supposed to just abandon everything?"

"Viva la Democracia."

"I think I'll stick around. What did you say your name was?" she asked. If she were partnering with an individual, she at least would know his name.

"Miles Beckett," he took his hat off, "a pleasure, Your Highness."





In the next chapter:

"Quite," she chuckled. "I actually wished to meet you for this." She opened the velvet box on the table, presenting the contents to him.

"A watch?" he asked. He knew Audrey's shopping habits. She had rarely bothered to buy a gift. Not even for her father. It appeared to be an attempt to get to know her future husband.

"Yes, a gift for our approaching nuptials."

"How kind of you, princess."

"Since I am calling you Vandal, I insist you call me Audrey."

"Audrey, I am grateful, but I have nothing to give in kind." It was the perfect time to play the benevolent fiancee.

"This was a surprise after all. Won't you put it on?"





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Chapter 63 - Sunlight
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Kaznia

This time, he did not merely intend to let Vandal Savage walk away. They were not in the United States, and the League's reach did not extend to Kaznia.

The plan was simple. Princess Audrey wanted to meet her future husband-to-be. She wanted to know who she would be marrying. A very reasonable request on her part.

Vandal would be unlikely to refuse. The meeting would be a chance to win her over, as he had her father.

What he needed was a reliable way to terminate him, permanently.

Burning him to charcoal was an option, but he wanted something more certain. Such as releasing him to the heat and gravity of the sun.

No kill like overkill.

And he had the perfect delivery method in mind.




"Mr. Savage." Audrey greeted the man her father had chosen for her, closing the door behind her after checking for any prying eyes. Future husband or not, it would look terrible to invite him to her room.

He held his hand out. Once she placed hers with a smile, he landed a light kiss on her knuckles. "Please, princess, call me Vandal."

"Quite an interesting last name," she commented, gesturing for him to take a seat across from her.

"A certain ancestor with a sense of humor is responsible for it. We kept it out of tradition." He explained while moving to take the offered seat.

"Quite," she chuckled. "I actually wished to meet you for this." She opened the velvet box on the table, presenting the contents to him.

"A watch?" he asked. He knew Audrey's shopping habits. She had rarely bothered to buy a gift. Not even for her father. It appeared to be an attempt to get to know her future husband.

"Yes, a gift for our approaching nuptials."

"How kind of you, princess."

"Since I am calling you Vandal, I insist you call me Audrey."

"Audrey, I am grateful, but I have nothing to give in kind." It was the perfect time to play the benevolent fiancee.

"This was a surprise after all. Won't you put it on?"

"Very well."

Vandal wrapped the watch around his wrist. It was ostentatious for his tastes, but appearances had to be kept.

He turned his arm, examining the silver-colored gift in imitation of gratitude. When a silver wave surged from the watch, he did not have the time to react. The metal flowed across his body like a liquid, covering him up to his neck in armor.

"What is the meaning of this?" he roared, trying to move to take the watch off.

Audrey rolled her shoulders, turning her attention to the doorway. "Ask him, not me. This was his plan all along."

Vandal couldn't even twitch a finger. Whoever the figures behind him were, he had just been caught defenseless.

A man, dressed in a suit with a coat and a fedora hat, entered the edge of his vision, followed by a ginger woman and a young African man.

"It appears even the wise Vandal Savage lets his guard down in front of such an innocent face."

"Or would you prefer Vandar Adg?" Miles said, testing the last name on his tongue. "How do you pronounce it anyway? Doesn't roll off the tongue so easily. Adg." He repeated the word a couple more times with different pronunciations.

"Who are you?" he asked. The armor would not give no matter what he did. He could not activate the neuroshock to shortcircuit it.

"The man who just trapped you like a rat." The man said with an infuriating smirk.

Vandal was simmering; he could see it.

"What do you want?" A thousand scenarios run through his mind. Most concerned a possible relationship between this man and the princess.

He had never seen the young man before him, ever. If there was a grievance, it was one he did not know of.

"I want to be back home, enjoying a cold glass of iced tea with bruschetta." Vandal stopped struggling, looking at his captor with a blank face.

"Then why aren't you?"

The man clapped, sitting next to Audrey, right across from him. "Because this world has megalomaniacs such as yourself. Someone has to curb you before you become a greater problem."

"I mean, time traveling to Nazi Germany for world domination? What is the point?"

Vandal's eye widened ever so slightly. Either there was a traitor among his ranks, or his base had been infiltrated. Each option was undesirable.

"Humanity…" He started, only for the man to chuckle.

"Will we be better off under your rule? Because you are so old, wise, and experienced? Because you are the natural leader of humanity?"

"Fifty thousand years," he shook his head, "and you never grasped the nature of what you seek to rule."

"Humanity is unruly. We cannot be controlled, not for long. Every empire, every nation, every belief, and every idea must die and leave its place for the new ones. A concept that an immortal like you cannot grasp."

The word "immortal" finally broke Vandal's calm visage. His eyebrows rose, wrinkling his forehead. The number of people who knew he was an immortal was low, and this young man should not be among that number.

"Tribal chiefs left their place to lords and kings. They left it to elected rulers. But you have been the same for fifty thousand years. Sure, you learned and improved yourself, but never changed for the better."

Vandal had fifty thousand years to understand the nature of humanity. That he had not was either a falling on his part or on the part of the writers who had created him.

"That is why you never succeeded in bringing humanity under your rule, ever."

"A well-prepared speech. Did you practice it before a mirror?"

"No, you are not worth the effort." Miles got up from his seat. He flicked a finger up, and so did Vandal. The shell that was encapsulating him forced the ancient caveman to walk.

"Perhaps we can come to an agreement. You appear to be a wise and well-prepared young man." The young man's words—he should really learn his name—did make him question several decisions. He had never shied from an alliance, and there could be an opportunity here.

"Perhaps if you understood how pointless your ideas of conquest are." He didn't have thirty thousand years to spare. Nor would mere words suffice to bring the enlightenment he had achieved after the death of humanity.

Vandal Savage from the future, who had assisted Superman, would make a fantastic ally. There simply was no way for him to exist that included the safety of the human race.

"What now?" he asked.

"Now, you are going to die, for the final time." Savage's brand of immortality meant he would always be resurrected. No matter the method of his execution.

Miles smiled. There were worse fates than death.

"I am an immortal; nothing has been able to kill me for fifty thousand years. What makes you think you will succeed?"

In his long, long life, he had tasted every kind of death. He had always returned.

The armor forced him to the balcony. The sun was at the top, heating the marble floor. He tilted his head back, raising a hand to block the sunlight.

"Believe me, being immortal at where you are about to go is the last thing you want."

"No, no!" Vandal screamed, having realized what the man had in mind. His screams were cut when the armor covered his head as well, silencing him.

The armor took off. The surface rippled, turning reflective. Invisible to sight and scans, its target was the sun.

Miles would be watching the entire journey. Vandal was too dangerous to be allowed to live. The League might thwart him at every turn, but it did not negate the damage he would cause.

He also had the chance to rant.

Fifty thousand years, and Vandal had accomplished nothing more than being several important historical figures.

He watched every second of the journey. The armor glowed red with friction as it left the Earth's atmosphere. Vandal's attempts to break free only slowed down due to the lack of oxygen. By the time the armor entered FTL speeds to reach the sun, Vandal was dead.

His immortality kicked in, resurrecting him, only for the man to die again. The cycle continued until the armor stopped right before the sun's gravity would be too much to handle.

It got worse, even if only for a short while.

He entered the release command on the control panel of his watch. The front of the armor retracted, no longer holding Vandal in place. The gravity pulled him forward, though he was already a roughly human-shaped charcoal within seconds.

The deeper layers of the sun were millions of degrees hot. Vandal's immortality would not be able to restructure anything before it was annihilated. He would be stuck in a limbo of unawareness without a neurological system.

It was as close to death as he would get. Only he, Claire, and Baraka knew where he had been sent to.

Unless someone like the Spectre or the Presence would interfere for some reason, nothing short of a time traveler would be able to save Vandal.

"You sure there was no other method? This seems a bit extreme." Then again, her royal duties did not include ways of killing, especially an immortal human.

"He is fifty thousand years old. Unless you want to pray for a miracle, then it wasn't," Claire said.

She rolled her shoulders. "So what now?"

"Simple. You and I just reached an agreement on an investment of," his eyes glanced upwards, "how much did you say you wanted?"

"Ten billion… for everything?"

He nodded. "Ten billion dollars. I am sure your father will be even more delighted with you than he was with Vandal."

He wasn't investing that amount for charity or because he could. Kaznia would be a part of the EU soon. Having a friend inside was a necessary component of his plans.

Not to mention the economic benefits from investing in a country that would join the eurozone as well.

"The investment resolves the immediate and long-term economic issues, while the contribution to the space station increases Kaznia's standing in the international community. And you are the one who made it happen," he shook her hand.

As he preferred his anonymity, Mary would have to reach out on behalf of EnviroCorps for the investment. His current funds, the company's profit margin, and the gold he had in stock were more than enough.

Ten billion dollars could not be invested in a day. It would take years for the total amount, and he would not have to spare time to smuggle gold out of the USA.



"Ten billion dollars? From that new American company? How?"

"He was at the party. I took the opportunity to show him that Kaznia was worth investing in."

Audrey was startled by her father's bellow and the ensuing bear hug. "That's my girl." She stood still, arms slowly reaching to hug back.

She looked up, trying to remember the last time her father had shown such affection. He had given her expensive gifts, allowed her to throw parties, and go on shopping sprees, yet something as simple as a hug was not in his repertoire.

"This deserves a celebration."




Her father's celebration included everything available. Expensive catering, live music, and stunt performers, just so he could announce the success of his daughter.

It was all prepared in a day.

Audrey had taken the chance to unwind from the events of the previous day. This party proved to be the greatest one she had ever attended.

Gustav had lost himself to the party, more than his daughter, for the first and last time ever. As he stood on the podium, ready with his grand speech, he faltered.

What came out of his lips wasn't words, but a hacking. He put a hand over his heart, squeezing the flesh as if it would alleviate the pain.

The crowd was drunk, both on alcohol and merriment. It took them longer than normal to realize Gustav was having a heart attack.

The adrenaline sobered her up quickly. She rushed to her father first, screaming for a doctor. The crowd panicked. Some called for an ambulance, but by the time one arrived an hour later, it was too late.

When Audrey, the new queen of Kaznia, announced the death of her father days later, the civilians rejoiced.

The architect of the heavy taxes was dead. It had drawn the people to the streets to celebrate while the international community mourned the death of a ruler who had made great contributions to science.

Audrey, as the new ruler, had a difficult challenge before her. She started by reducing the taxes and Kaznia's contribution to the space station. The ten billion dollar investment by the EnviroCorps was announced.

She pledged that it would be used to repair the crumbling infrastructure.

Behind the scenes, a quiet purge took place. She had received a list of Vandal's operatives in Kaznia. Several important figures were on it, including the former chamberlain of her father.

As proof of her respect for rule of law, the traitors would be judged by the courts.

Queen Audrey did not stop there. She initiated negotiations with the Northern tribes. Their grievances, which stemmed from cultural, economic, and religious oppression, would be addressed without delay.

Creation of a constitution to guarantee the rights of all who called Kaznia home took place. People from all parts of the country, including the Northern tribe members, were invited to take part.

The European Union had released statements on the subject.

They were pleased with the reforms taking place in Kaznia. An economic relief package was prepared. Observers were sent to the negotiations, and legal help was rendered for the constitution.




Metropolis

Miles nodded in approval to himself. Audrey had just signed a treaty with the Northern tribes. Kaznia would be united, which meant she would follow by applying to join the EU.

She had accomplished it all in two months.

He turned the TV off. He had to be up early tomorrow for work.

Laying on his bed, he felt unsettled. His operations were going excellently, the situation in Kaznia was resolved better than before, and Vandal Savage was dead.

Yet an instinctual feeling would not let him sleep.

He turned over, flipped his pillow, and even went to drink a glass of hot milk. Finally feeling weary enough, he managed to sleep way past the hour he intended to.

But the sleep was not pleasant.

Dreams of memories he would prefer to forget resurfaced. They played one after another, displaying the lows of his life. It all ended with words that resonated in his soul.

"YOU HAVE MEDDLED TOO MUCH."

When he lurched from the bed, drenched in sweat, heaving for breath, it was noon.






In the next chapter:


Baraka opened the door for him and Claire. He quickly took the driver's seat, ready to drive.

"Wait, Miles?!" a very familiar, tired voice called to him. He turned back, hand on the door handle, gazing across the street. He froze for a second, turning his head away to hide his widening eyes.

"Do you know her?" Claire asked, eyes locked on her boss.

"Not at all," he said, opening the door.




Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.
 
Chapter 64 - Divine Punishment New
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Metropolis

Beckett Residence


The words kept repeating in his mind.

He doubted it was his subconscious acting up over the concerns regarding the changes to the future. So far, it has been to his advantage, except for the mess with Aresia. There were countless entities that could look to punish him for the changes done to the timeline.

Which one exactly, he couldn't begin to guess.

"Miles, the car is ready."

"Then let's not make Thomas wait anymore," he said. The teleporter was available, but he wanted to clear his head during the ride. He put on his hat and activated the regulator belt Victor had invented.

It was a lifesaver in summer.

Baraka opened the door for him and Claire. He quickly took the driver's seat, ready to drive.

"Wait, Miles?!" a very familiar, tired voice called to him. He turned back, hand on the door handle, gazing across the street. He froze for a second, turning his head away to hide his widening eyes.

"Do you know her?" Claire asked, eyes locked on her boss.

"Not at all," he said, opening the door.

"Miles, wait. Miles!" The woman shouted, running for the car.

"She seems to know you."

"Baraka, drive," he ordered.

He nodded without turning around, pulling the car out of the driveway. The woman did not let up, banging on the window, but he continued to ignore her.

"Your eyes looked very similar too."

"As I said, I have no idea who either of them are." Even his smile couldn't mask the stern tone.

"Alright." If he did not want to talk about it, she knew better than to push it.

He watched the woman run after the car from the reflection and made a call. "Captain, I want you to post guards around my house. Allow no one to approach the property without my permission."

"Yes sir, immediately."




EnviroCorps Robotics Research Center

He shook the android's hand. "Thomas, I trust you have good news for me?"

The synthetic eyes brightened, pulling him along. "I have finished the design for your mobile base. With the different technological bases you have provided me, it actually came out far better than I anticipated."

Thomas brought the holographic design. The design was angular and long. Six engines were at the back, giving it a thicker appearance compared to the deck.

"Rather than rotors, I used the anti-gravity engines. It is more like a spaceship than a helicarrier, though I wouldn't take it out for a space tour."

"Excellent work, Thomas." The Thanagarian scientists were proving their worth every single day. And all it took was a little game of deception to sic Larfleeze on the Gordanians.

All in a day's work.

"A legion of ACEs will be stationed aboard. Reflective panels for stealth, both visual and radar. The loadout can be changed in hours based on what you need, whether it's rescue and aid or assault."

The images of the Adaptive Combat Exoskeletons appeared first as Thomas demonstrated the capabilities of the base. The reflective panels turned transparent next. The interior changed, adding medical supplies, a triage center, and a cargo hold to carry passengers.

Or more ACEs.

"With Ivo's tech and the new brand of construction bots, I can get it done in six months. Do you have anything in mind for the crew? Otherwise, more ACEs."

"I believe that is for the best," he said. Creating a support base for a human crew would be nigh impossible without compromising the security.

"Getting your own flying fortress, Miles?" Claire asked, walking around the hologram, examining the ship.

"Should I make you the captain?" he offered, eyes crinkling.

"If I get a hat to go with the position, sure."



They had stopped for lunch at a cafe, enjoying chicken wraps and frozen Turkish yogurt with fruits. He took out his ringing phone, jaw stopping mid-motion as he saw the name of the caller. Regardless, he answered, wondering what she could have wanted.

"Fedora guy, how is it going?"

"Karen? To what do I owe this surprise?" Her voice was light, so it was unlikely to be an emergency.

"I just saved a woman from getting mugged. She kept muttering about Miles and how he ignored her. When I questioned her on a hunch, she gave your exact name, Miles Beckett."

He swallowed the morsel in his mouth, taking a sip from the soda to help it down. "Ah yes, her. To be frank, I have no idea who she is or how she knows me."

Whatever entity had brought his mother to this dimension would better hope there wasn't a way to kill.

"She claims to be your mother." Claire and Baraka were already watching him when he said Karen's name. Now, they pulled the chairs forward, almost getting into his personal space.

"Considering my mother did not have auburn hair, and she has not dyed hers, then she is not my mother." The woman was her mother, exactly as he remembered her. Yet, he would never admit it or talk to her.

Ever.

"She seems very convinced you are her son."

"Perhaps in another dimension? Whatever is happening across the multiverse, there seems to be too many transdimensional travelers these days." Lies blended with the truth were the most difficult ones to see through.

"That could be. Differences in appearances certainly exist. Though, how did she recognize you so quickly?"

"My sense of fashion is rather sophisticated."

There was silence on the other end for a second.

She sighed. "Listen, if she is your mother, go talk to her. She does not seem in good condition."

He wouldn't believe any of this either, yet there was no way for her to prove otherwise.

"I have nothing to say to her or her lover," he said. His words knocked the breath out of Claire, who sucked in a piece of the food to her trachea. Her coughs broke Baraka out of stillness. He gently hit her on the back, and she managed to cough the chicken out onto a napkin.

"Her lover?" Karen exhaled sharply. "You mean that young man next to her? Oh boy."

"Yes. I would recognize that gold digger everywhere," he said. Had it been a less conspicuous setting than the broad daylight in an elite neighborhood, there might have been exchanges.

Whether of words or bullets, he could not say.

"That's tough," she replied, pausing mid-sentence.

"Since you helped them, are you looking to return to the field?" he asked, changing the subject. Even the mere mention of that woman set his chest ablaze.

"With my job as a waitress?"

"You are from a technologically superior planet. I am sure you can put that to use." He did remember bits regarding Karen owning a company. She obviously had not gone down that path yet, but there was no reason she could not.

"Maybe."




"So," Claire began, dragging the word out, "she is your mother."

"She is not my anything. I do not care what happens to her or the boytoy," he said, words final and flat.

She raised her hands to the sides. "Whatever you say. I just did not think I would see you in the same boat as me, that's all."

"Where to now?" Baraka asked.

"Just drive until I figure it out."

He leaned back on his seat, looking out of the window. Options to discover the entity responsible for this mess were wide and far. Each offered more risks than the other.

The safest option was Constantine. He had dealings with higher cosmic entities, and the risk of drawing in further divine punishment was negligible. Unless they made a mess of things.

He found Madame Xanadu's contact on his phone and pressed the button.

"Mr. Beckett, how may I be of service?"

"I need Constantine's latest number if you have it. Your assistance will be appreciated."

"No doubt. I will message you now."

"Thank you."

He ended the call, waiting for the message. Constantine constantly changed numbers to avoid being traced. Tracking burner phones would be an exercise in futility.

The cheery ringtone snapped him out of his thoughts. He quickly called the number, waiting once more.

"If this is about a curse, I'm busy. If it is about anything else, I'm very busy," Constantine's gruff voice answered.

"Not the time for games, Constantine. This is urgent."

A tongue clicked. "Then speak urgently."

"A higher entity has laid a punishment on me. I need to learn which one." Though, whether he could reverse this punishment or not was another matter.

Constantine hacked, and he had to wait for it to subside. "Bloody hell, you don't do small, do you?"

"Come find me in London. I trust a well-informed bloke like you can find the location."

"Just stay where you are for a moment," he said. Baraka took the clue, quickly finding a parking spot.




London

"Constantine," he greeted the sorcerer, who was leaning on a streetlight.

"That was fast."

"No time for chatter, I'm afraid." Constantine's curiosity would have to go unanswered in this instance.

Constantine nodded, waving them inside the safehouse. Once out of the bustling street, he closed the door after checking the area.

"What exactly is the nature of this punishment, and what makes you think it was the upstairs screwing you over?"

He explained, from hearing an infernal voice in his dream to seeing his mother, who should have been dead.

"Give me a second," John said. He held his hand out, summoning a circle that washed over Miles.

He stood still, the circle still glowing. He snapped out of it, waving his hand as if burned. "Bollocks. It is divine interference. No idea who you pissed off?"

"Potentially more than one." The Spectre, the Endless, or any other entity that might take an issue with the changes to the timeline could be coming after him.

"If I try to find the one responsible, I guarantee it will only make things worse. But," he added before Miles could speak, "I can summon the person who could give you the answer."

"Who?"

"The Phantom Stranger."

"Judas Iscariot," he said after a beat, remembering the true identity of the Eternal Wanderer.

"The very same."

"How do we do this?"

John grinned. "How is your history with church service?"




"Is he really going to summon one of the apostles that betrayed Jesus?" Claire asked, having looked up the name on the way to the church.

The sun had already set, and Constantine knew an abandoned church, the perfect place to summon the Phantom Stranger, according to him.

"Yes." Constantin said. His reasoning made sense to Miles. The Phantom Stranger was a servant of God. They could not find him, much less make enough noise in the correct direction for him to appear.

Calling him directly inside a church was one way to go at it.

"Hey Phantom, the bloke here got screwed over by the higher-ups. Think you can lend a hand?" he called out, laying a hand on the cross depicting Jesus.

Baraka's mouth opened, then closed. "Really? You just call him like that? No magic show?"

"It is unnecessary."

All four shivered collectively. The owner of the voice walked out of the shadows, appearing without any sound. He looked relatively ordinary in his suit over a white turtleneck sweater and fedora, much like the one Miles wore. Only the oversized medallion and the cape were out of place.

And the white, pupilless eyes.

"You have spoken, John Constantine, and I have heard." Each word from the Phantom Stranger sent more shivers down their spines. Miles could not mask what he felt at the moment, and even a long-term occultist like Constantine was affected.

"I'm not the issue this time, mate. It's him."

"I can see that." Judas merely turned his head to Miles, yet he felt as if the weight of it would spin the room.

Claire and Baraka were alerted, taking a more rigid stance.

"Who decided that I have meddled too much?" he asked.

"Judgment has seen your actions and acted."

Miles bit his tongue. The most likely entity who judged and punished was…

"The…"

"Do not utter the name." Judas' voice shook the room, silencing him, "lest you draw more attention."

He took a long, slow breath to still his heart. "What I did should not constitute anything to be punished by him." He was not a wicked individual, unless throwing Vandal Savage to the sun counted as wicked.

"Not him directly. The fate you consigned the immortal to have changed too many events in the future. You have presumed to override fate. This was a mere warning for your hubris," the Phantom Stranger warned.

Miles wanted to swear, to let his frustration out. He never considered that killing Vandal Savage would lead to divine punishment. He was an immortal and a being who had many appearances in the future. Imposing so many changes to the timeline might be the reason behind the Spectre's action.

"Do I get a list of what I am not permitted to do?" he asked, his tone cold at the memories of his mother.

The Phantom Stranger blinked at him but did not answer.

"I guess not," he thought.

"How do I free myself from this punishment?" The issue of his mother mattered more now.

"Either return what you have cast into the sun back or suffer the consequences." With those words, he disappeared.

The only sound inside the church was the steady breathing.

"Mate," Constantine laid a hand on his shoulder, breaking the silence. "I don't know what that was about with the immortal, and I don't want to. If you think what happened to you is bad, you won't like what happens when they actually decide to punish you."

"Thank you, John. I will send the money to your account."

"Much appreciated. It's always nice to have a well-paying customer like you."




Metropolis

He would rather suffer the existence of his mother in this reality than allow Savage to interfere in Earth any longer. As far as punishments went, this was manageable. Worst comes to worst, he would simply pay her off to leave to the other side of the world.

Or something more permanent.

The return home was silent. Claire and Baraka saw the conflicted state Miles was in and gave him time to think.

When he left the car, the men waiting inside the vehicle parked outside the porch tipped their caps. He returned the gesture, checking the area for any sight of his mother.

She was nowhere to be seen.

Raven and Zalika were watching TV inside. Even though the sun had yet to set in Metropolis, he felt tired.

"Hey, welcome back."

"Zalika, Raven. Did anyone come by today?"

Raven glanced at him with half-lidded eyes. "If you mean a woman who claimed to be your mother, yes. The guards outside sent her away, though.

"Good."

He took a quick shower and left to sleep. Tomorrow, he would explain everything to them.






In the next chapter:

"I thought your mother was dead," Claire stated. Her inquisitive gaze was only tempered by her respect for privacy.

"This one is from an alternate reality. Her looks don't exactly match my mother's, but the little rat by her side does," he said. It was a poor excuse, and he had to work overtime to modify all the images he had put into circulation.

"I don't know about you two," Raven said, turning to the siblings, "but the rest of us do have family issues. I can't bring myself to meddle."





Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.
 
Last edited:
Chapter 65 - Blood of the Covenant New
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Metropolis

Beckett Residence


"I thought your mother was dead," Claire stated. Her inquisitive gaze was only tempered by her respect for privacy.

"This one is from an alternate reality. Her looks don't exactly match my mother's, but the little rat by her side does," he said. It was a poor excuse, and he had to work overtime to modify all the images he had put into circulation.

"I don't know about you two," Raven said, turning to the siblings, "but the rest of us do have family issues. I can't bring myself to meddle."

"Thank you."

"But," Claire jumped in, dragging the vowel out, "We definitely would like to hear more if you want to speak."

"There really isn't much to say. My father and mother were high school sweethearts. At least on my mother's part. My father always cared more about his success and career. She was blind to it, assuming he was just aloof and shy."

Baraka's face soured. He turned to the window where the woman had kept tapping on the glass. "I guess you got your brains from your father."

"Their marriage was cold. My father worked long hours and didn't have much time for us, while my mother tried to drown her depression in alcohol."

"When I was sixteen, he died in a car accident. A truck with busted brakes crushed him to a paste," he explained. His voice was even, unaffected by the tragedy.

The offers of "sorrys" and "my condolences" died on their lips.

"Two weeks after the funeral, my mother disappeared. She barely left me enough money to finish high school. It didn't take long for me to figure out it was with a young lover. He saw a depressed, drunken older woman loaded with more money than she could spend on drinks. She saw a man who paid her attention."

He did not see the need to mention the two were already lovers before his father's demise, a fact he had come to learn after her disappearance.

"They fell afoul of organized crime in the Caribbean. The rest is history."

"And how exactly is she back?" Zalika asked. She had seen mind-blowing acts and events while working for Miles, but the dead returning to life was not one.

"Because of Vandal Savage. He influenced human history for thousands of years. I have no doubt he would do so for thousands more," he explained for Raven's sake. Of all, she was the least in the know.

"Not for the better, though."

"As mundane methods could not kill him, I decided to throw him to the sun."

"That's… smart," Raven said. If only the same could be done to her father too.

"Yes. Unfortunately, some, shall we say, higher beings, are disgruntled with my decision."

Baraka whistled. "They sent her as punishment?"

How cool was it that his boss screwed over higher beings enough to warrant a punishment?

"It could have been worse. I at least respected my father to a degree."

"What are you going to do now?" Claire asked. Miles wasn't above killing, but this was family, even if horrible ones.

"I suppose a confrontation is inevitable."




He truly enjoyed the privileges provided by the capitalist system, even if it had to go eventually. A warehouse in the docks, owned by his company, discrete, out of the way, the prime choice to decide what to do with his mother and her boy toy.

His men had already brought them in.

"Wait here," he said, handing his hat to Claire while Baraka took the jacket off.

He had so many sensitive questions to ask. Questions that could not be asked in front of witnesses.

"Miles," his mother tried to get up. The man behind pushed her down.

"At ease, gentlemen; you may step out."

"Yes sir."

He took the seat in front of the two, waiting for the door to close. "The last few days have been quite interesting. I never thought I'd see you again."

She crossed her arms. "So you finally decided to stop ignoring me."

"Should I have been delighted?" He opened his arms to the side. "Hugged you like a good, dutiful son? Shed tears that you had returned?"

Her silence was all the answer he needed.

"I did not think so. Tell me, how exactly did you come by my house?"

"I don't know," she said, raising and dropping her left shoulder. "We were in Hong Kong, watching the news of Superman fighting someone. I blinked for a second, and we were all the way back in Metropolis."

"Who was he fighting?" he asked. That tidbit of information was exactly what he wanted to know.

"A monster, tall, dark, dangerous. Fired lasers out of his eyes."

Miles almost smiled. The Spectre had the guts to bring his mother to this dimension but not enough to let her keep her original memories. That is, provided she wasn't actually from a dimension where the Justice League existed.

Anything was possible at this stage.

"You two are dead here." He pushed an expertly crafted newspaper clipping towards her. "Gangsters liked how you flaunted father's wealth around. A gunman shot you both and took all your valuables."

Her lips parted and she snatched the old paper. A face similar yet different to hers, along with her husband's, was at the edge of the clipping. It was not about her death, but how she had abandoned her son and his subsequent refusal to pick up the body.

She wavered on her chair, eyes glassy.

"That explains why the credit cards weren't working," she muttered, pushing the clipping away.

He pocketed it. "Now, I have an acquaintance who knows you are my mother, or at least a version of her. With how sensitive my work is, I am going to ask you two to pretend you don't know me."

Her throat bobbed. "Fine. But there is a problem. We spent the cash on hand. We need money."

"I worked in a couple of odd jobs while going through high school. It was tiring, but I learned much about human interactions. Perhaps the most important one was when I worked in a small bakery."

"One of my coworkers, an eighteen-year-old recent graduate, Peter, had a fight with the boss over how he cut corners. You wouldn't believe half of the ingredients used in the US food industry," he said, shaking his head.

"The insults and profanities ended with Peter screaming out a last fuck you before stomping off."

"Seconds later, a gunman entered inside, demanding the cash in the register. Our aging cashier, Miss Wilkoff, was terrified. She did as instructed with the rest of the staff."

"Peter returned moments later. He apparently forgot his phone. He hovered outside the door, waiting. He could have intervened and saved the hard-earned profit of the bakery. Instead, he simply walked away. Can you guess what he said when overeager reporters asked why he did nothing?"

"Touching story. Get to the point," Lenny snapped at him.

Miles raised his index finger. "This is between us. Don't interrupt again." His voice was even, and the hollow smile on the young man's face disturbed him.

"What did he say?" she asked, waiting.

His smile reached his eyes now. "What I am about to say to you: it is not my problem."

"Okay. Can we go now?" She took her husband's hand, pushing the chair back.

The doors opened, and his guest of honor entered.

The purple-haired man glanced at the couple. "He is planning to sell what he knows about you if someone actually pays for it."

He laid his hands on their shoulders. "What do you want me to do with them?"

"Simple, erase every memory they have about me."

"Wait, he can do that?" His mother's boytoy tried to leap out of his chair. He fell back down, grasping his head.

His mother's eyes widened, but she too felt the effects of the mental intrusion.

"Mate, you have no idea what I can do."




Manchester's work took an hour. Leonard did not know much about him, but his mother had sixteen years worth of memories that had to be modified.

She believed herself to be a childless widow who was blowing all her late husband's money with her new lover.

Zalika handled the digital trail. A new identity was created for her, one that did not include any mention of the Beckett name. He had given up a couple of millions to complete the illusion.

A small price to pay.

They were abandoned in an alleyway. He had left subdermal trackers should it be necessary to find them once more.

Not that he wanted to see either for any reason.

He had a new life here. One he refused to let his mother be a part of. He had made his peace with her actions long ago. She did not concern him, and he had no desire to open any emotional wounds. The money he spent was a pittance, going against his previous words, something she would never remember.

All that he wished to say was said.

What happened to her now, he did not care about in the slightest.




He had wasted two days due to the Spectre's little interference. He had considered a small payback, but with the problem of his sole living family member solved, further tangling with the physical embodiment of God's vengeance would only draw attention.

There were more important matters to take care of.

Such as the crystal of the Ophidians.

He preferred the sun the way it was, yellow, shiny, and bringing life to the planet. His work was not easy this time. Not only was the location of the crystal not mentioned in the show, all he had to go off was a name.

Hassan.

A criminal with no details, no origin, and no information on what illicit business he dealt in. Which is where Uncle Sam came into play. The Global Criminal Justice Rewards program has not yet been created, but the Rewards for Justice Program existed.

Among the countless fugitives, criminals, dictators, and villains on the list, two Hassans existed.

One in the Middle East, one in Africa.

Another clue was "cave"; beware in Latin. Unfortunately, both locations of the two Hassans were within the borders of the lands conquered by Rome.

Hassan al-Fayrouz operated as an arms smuggler in Egypt, believed to be hiding somewhere outside Siwa Oasis, and known to be responsible for smuggling weapons to the Taliban. His exact location had never been pinned down by the Egyptian authorities, leaving the US to place a three million dollar reward on him.

Hassan Rashidi was the head of a network selling drugs to every organization interested in the business across the Middle East. Tens of millions of dollars worth of drugs were in circulation because of him. Information assisting his capture or death had a ceiling of six million dollars. His suspected location was the Sinjar Mountains in Iraq.

The rewards were not what he was after, but the location of the cave containing the crystal was. If Hassan in the show had run to such a remote location, he either had a backup plan or was desperate.

Desperate men did not escape for that long.

With the lack of digitalization in either region and plenty of insurgent groups in Iraq after the end of the major combat operations, he had his work cut out for him.

Both Hassans had pros and cons to being the target. US forces wouldn't conduct a unilateral raid on Egyptian soil, a US ally. Though, seeing how illogical some of the acts conducted by the armed forces were, it wasn't out of the boundaries of probability.

Unlike in Sinjar, Roman control over the Siwa Oasis was more prevalent, reaching over four centuries.

Serpentine imagery existed in both regions. Reaching a decision was rendered difficult.

As such, he chose the safer option. If Fayrouz were the target, he would not need to put himself in danger. Otherwise, he would have to go into an active combat zone.

More muscle would not hurt.

"Karen, how are you?" He could hear the clinking of the plates in the background. Calling her in rush hours would have been in bad taste had he not made arrangements.

"Good. Busy with work. How did it go?"

"As good as one can expect. I was about to visit Egypt for business. The help of a Kryptonian would be much appreciated."

"Unless you can get my boss to give me paid leave, I'll pass."

Miles chuckled.

"Wait a second," she said, muting the phone. He waited while reading the profit charts of his new restaurant.

"Huh," her voice returned, dry as the deserts of Egypt. "How interesting. He just gave me two weeks of paid leave because the new owner was grateful for how I saved his mother. Do you happen to know anything about this?"

He chuckled again.

"We are after a fugitive, possibly two. If you agree to help, the reward will be split three ways."

She hummed. "How much do I get?"

"Guaranteed one million dollars. Three if we have to chase the remaining target." He had no need of the reward. It would be left to Claire, Baraka, and, if she agreed to join, Karen.

"That's…"

"More than enough for you to go big," he finished her sentence.

"Heck, why not? Are we taking a plane?"

"I'll send you the location tomorrow. Pack light."




"Why are we bringing her with us?" Baraka asked, packing his bag.

"Connections, Baraka. It always helps to have friends like her."

"Isn't she already a friend?"

"More like an acquaintance that you come across every now and then," Claire said.

"In addition, she is from a technologically superior planet. What she knows can help Earth."

Starrware Industries in the comics shared the vision of EnviroCorps, creating innovative solutions to the planet's growing ecological and environmental issues. Cooperation would only further their goals.

"Are we taking Neumann and his men?" she asked, zipping her duffel bag.

"No. We are going to keep this small." Chasing two criminals gunblazing across Egypt and Iraq would draw too much attention. Three of them, with their adaptive nanotech armors, and a Kryptonian in the mix would be more than enough to hunt either of the criminals.

A chase should reveal possible hideouts. All he had to do was to discover the general location of the mountainous area. The cave holding the crystal would be far simpler after that.

He estimated that the entire operation would take less than a week. He had made arrangements for it. Men would be stationed around the house should there be more surprises of the family kind.




He left the house the following day. He would meet Karen in the same warehouse he had talked to his mother, his current base.

"You know dates are supposed to be between two people, right?" Karen asked as the men escorted her inside. She was wearing blue jeans, a white t-shirt, boots, a sunhat, and boots. With her backpack, she looked like a tourist.

His retort was instant. "Let's take it slow, my dear; this is just the second time we are meeting face-to-face."

"If you two are going to keep flirting, we can step out," Claire said, grinning from ear to ear. Baraka was trying to hide his smile to no effect.

"No need."

"Since we are not taking a plane, how are we going to Egypt?" she asked, scanning the mostly empty warehouse.

"Teleportation."

He snapped his fingers, and with a flash of light, they were gone.





In the next chapter:


Tourists drew attention.

Wealthy ones, even more so.

All the vendors wanted to sell something. Herbs, trinkets, souvenirs, and food were thrust in their faces. He purchased a little bit of everything, waiting. The chief of police would no doubt be interested in rubbing elbows with such generous guests.




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Pilot Chapters on Questionable Questing New
I shared 4 pilot chapters for my stories in this link in Questionable Questing. They include : Mortal Considerations - Hela X Original Male Character, Percy Jackson and the Powers of the Unholy Triangle - Percy Jackson with Bill Cipher's powers, End of Days - Doomsday in Invincible Universe, which I already posted under its own thread, and the Many Heroes : MHA x League of Legends. You can check them to see what we have going for the future.
 
Chapter 66 - Desert Adventure New
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Egypt

Siwa Oasis


"How do we do this, boss?" Baraka asked, walking with him on the busy streets of Siwa Oasis.

"Simple. Follow the trail of the money," he replied.

As the one common language humanity spoke, the doors it could not open were very limited.

Karen turned to him. "If it was that simple, why haven't the local forces found him yet?"

"There are two options; who can guess them?" The reward on Fayrouz's head would make any legal contact sell him out, and he could not have survived this long without having friends in good places.

"He is paying them off most likely," Claire said, snapping her fingers.

"But the reward on Hassan's head is great too. More than he would be willing to pay," Baraka said, echoing what Miles was thinking.

"Then he is threatening them," Karen added.

Miles was silent, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

"Both," the three of them replied at the same time. They stopped, gazing at each other before Karen continued. "He is threatening them to stay quiet and is paying them off so the cops would be content."

"Correct. Now, you are a fugitive being sought by the law enforcement. You either have dirt on them, or you threaten their lives and families. Who would you target?"

"The local head of law enforcement, or one of his lieutenants," Claire finished.

"Excellent reasoning. Let's see if we can arrange a meeting."




Tourists drew attention.

Wealthy ones, even more so.

All the vendors wanted to sell something. Herbs, trinkets, souvenirs, and food were thrust in their faces. He purchased a little bit of everything, waiting. The chief of police would no doubt be interested in rubbing elbows with such generous guests.

The actions of an individual were simple to predict once you understood their nature. The vendors they had met so far did not speak highly of the man; in fact, they were not willing to talk about him at all. The darting eyes and hushed words were an obvious sign as to why.

Karim was not well received by the honest people of the town.

It took a couple of hours for someone to send word to him.

He marched into the market, hands behind his back, sunglasses complementing his khaki drill cotton. The hustle and bustle began to die with each step he took.

Miles saw the man coming but continued to observe his latest purchase with Karen, a glass pyramid. Claire had leaned on a wall on his right, waiting. Baraka stood right behind him, moving aside as their query approached.

"My American friends, welcome. I hope you have been enjoying our humble town," Karim said, the officers he had brought dispersing to keep the curious gazes away.

"Thank you, officer. It has been great so far."

"I am Captain Karim. If you are ever in a pinch, I can be of help."

"Actually, there is something. I am looking for an old friend of mine. Hassan al-Fayrouz. I am certain a man of your stature can assist me."

"Fayrouz?" Karim took a step back, his jovial smile gone.

"Yes. You see, he owes me a sizable sum. I would be quite willing to part with a portion of it if you can find him for me."

"I don't know any Fayrouz, but I will be on the lookout."

"Ah, no matter," he said, patting the man on the shoulder. "Thank you regardless."

Done with his shopping, he took his friends to lunch.




"Do you think he'll really contact Fayrouz?" Baraka asked after ordering his food. Calling this place a restaurant would be akin to calling a burger franchise joint a three-Michelin-star dining experience, but at least the food was good.

"What would you say the captain felt when I mentioned the name of our query?" he asked in return, continuing the lesson.

"He was afraid."

"Yes. We can be reasonably sure it would be in Karim's best interests to see Hassan caught."

"But he is not helping us. He is afraid that Hassan would retaliate, regardless if he was involved or not," Karen supplied.

"What are the chances he informs Hassan for the sake of his own life?" he asked. As if to answer his question, the application on his phone sent a notification.

He opened it, putting the phone in the middle of the table, the translation program already running.

"Where are you?" The good captain asked, voice curt.

"What is it, Karim? I am busy."

"There is a young man out there who claims you owe him three million dollars. Asked about you. Has three people with him, an African boy and two females, one blond and one ginger."

"What did you say?"

"That I did not know you. What else could I say?"

"Good. I don't know who this boy is; I don't owe anyone a single piastre. Where is he?"

"You know Mahmoud's restaurant? He is there, having lunch right now."

"You did well, Karim; leave the rest to me, and speak to no one about this."

"Of course I won't."

The call ended, leaving the table in smiles.

"Not bad, fedora, not bad at all."

He winked at the Kryptonian. "My pleasure."




Done with lunch, Miles walked out of the door, tipping the establishment generously.

Fayrouz had acted fast. Two vehicles were already waiting for them outside. Upon seeing four people who matched the descriptions, the men surrounded them. Each one looked rough, hired guns that had seen action in the field. Scars, calluses, practical clothing—they meant business.

"Get in. Hassan wants to see you, blondie."

Miles smiled.

"Took him long enough. Is the invitation just for me?"

"No, all of you."

He glanced at the ginger-haired female next to him, taking a step towards the car. She followed without a complaint.

The rest took the remaining truck, following along.




"What is your name, blondie?" The goon with an x-shaped scar on his right cheek asked. The rest of the men deferred to him, making him most likely Fayrouz's right hand.

"Raymond," he said.

Once surrendered to the US forces, Hassan would be questioned on who his mysterious captors were. The more wrong information he had, the better.

"And your ginger friend?"

"Kara," she replied, voice colder than outer vacuum.

The men shuddered at her tone. They were seasoned enough to understand on an instinctual level that she was dangerous.

Whether they would heed it was another matter.

"You are very brave to come here. What do you actually want with the boss?"

"That is between us."

He glanced at the watch on his wrist. The armor was already active, disguising him to avoid recognition once Hassan was handed over to the USA authorities.

Two females, one ginger, the other blonde; a young man in a suit; and a Black boy.




The journey was long enough that he took a nap. Hassan lived outside the oasis, near a system of caves. An excellent place for a rat to hide.

The view did not match what he had seen in the show. Still, of the myriad of changes he had seen, one concerning a landscape would not be out of place.

The trucks came to a stop.

Hassan's men opened the doors, pushing them out at gun point. He was scanning the area, same as his companions. Nothing extraordinary appeared yet, but there was still a chance.

"Inside," the head honcho with the scar on his cheek ordered, pushing him towards the largest cave entrance.

There weren't that many men inside the cave. With the eight that had brought them here, it came to twenty in total. Not that the numbers would matter against them.

"Boss, we brought them."

"Who are you, boy?" Hassan asked, sitting on a stool, shaving himself with a knife. Whether it was because he couldn't find a razor or wanted to look edgy, he could not say.

His photo in the system was outdated. Hassan's face looked far more sunken, and his hair had grey tints, though his eyes were still sharp.

"Forget who I am; I just want to ask a question. Have you ever come across a cave that has the word "cave" carved outside on stone?

"You came all this way, claiming I owed you money, just to ask me if I knew a specific cave?" he huffed, turning to Karen. "Tell me, girl, is he mad or something?"

"Seeing as this played out exactly as he predicted, no."

He clapped his hands. "If we could get to the matter of the cave."

Hassan shot up from his stool, the shining survival knife glinting in the dim light of the cave. He struck at the liver, but his knife did not go through the clothes. He swung, going for the neck this time. The sharp edge grating on the nanotech armor produced an ear-scratching sound.

Miles' hand lashed out, wrapping around Hassan's throat.

Karen took the initiative. Her fists struck backwards, knocking two men out. Gunfire lit up in the cave, harmlessly pinging off her armor, just as it would her skin. She slapped one of the gunmen to the ground. She tore the rifle off the last man's hands, ripping it apart to pieces, a Spartan kick sealing the goon's fate.

All in the blink of an eye.

She did not stop there, moving outside to neutralize the rest.

He threw Hassan to the side, following Karen to give Hassan the chance to escape. The smuggler was still conscious but had chosen to lie in wait, playing the possum.

Outside, it had already come to an end. Two metahumans and a Kryptonian in advanced nanotech armor vs. gunmen armed with AK-47s was easier than taking candy from a child not even born.

"What now? Do we call the feds?"

"No. Let's give Hassan a chance to run. I believe they pay extra for valuable information. He can lead us to weapon depots and hideouts," he said. He could interrogate the man, but Karen was still a hero. She would not appreciate his methods.

"By the way, what was that about the cave?" Karen asked.

He had not explained the true reason behind this hunt to her yet, busy as they were.

"There is a cave with a crystal that contains the evil spirits of a serpentine race. I want to find and throw it into the sun."

She placed her fingers on her forehead, eyes closed tightly. "I think I heard something about it back in my dimension."

"Any details you can share?" he asked. He had not considered that she might know something, an oversight on his part.

"Not really. It was just something Flash told me."

"No matter. Either this Hassan or the one in Iraq is familiar with the location of the cave."

"Why hunt it though? Is someone else looking for it?"

"I could afford to spare some time to destroy it just in case, while bringing two criminals to justice."

"Hey, he is running," Claire said, pointing at the car. Hassan had already started the truck and was backing away.

"Let him go. I have a tracker on him."




To fly was to be free from the shackles of gravity.

The four of them, invisible among the warm orange colors of the setting sun, followed the car after tying the goons back at the caves. Hassan was driving in the opposite direction of the Siwa Oasis, leaving a chance that he might take them to where the crystal lay.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

The new cave system did not match the valley in his memories. Once again, there was no sign of the crystal and Mophir. Hassan was the only human in the area.

The weapons cache was a rather nice touch, though.




Hassan abandoned the car, making a break for the cave. Once inside, he would be armed and safe.

He looked back, searching for any sign of those damned freaks. His escape was too easy. They had not even given chase.

He turned ahead. A brown blur was all he saw before something impacted his face, sending him to the ground. He groaned, feeling his nose burn, blood flowing freely.

He looked up, seeing the blond man checking an AK-47, one that had a fresh smear of blood on the stock. "My, Hassan, wherever did you get all these? I get the AKs, but the mortars, the Stingers, the plastic explosives, and the rest? I can see why the US government wants you alive."

Hassan closed his eyes, groaning.




The handover was simple. The US Special Forces, in conjunction with the Egyptian military, would arrive to take custody of Hassan. The payment, with the location of Hassan's weapons depot, initial hideout, and his men, had doubled to six million dollars.

Which required identification and cooperation with the authorities.

They were not going to hand six million dollars in a suitcase to anyone.

The disguises weren't random. Zalika had created a background for them as part of a now-defunct PMC. The four of them were tracking a smuggling line that had led them to Hassan Fayrouz. As they were in Siwa Oasis, and there was a reward attached, they had gone after Fayrouz to assess the risk of capturing him.

Which had proven to be easy.

Since the capture had happened unarmed, the legal trouble was on the nonexistent side. The four of them fully cooperated, and the reward would flow into their accounts soon.

If not, he would just steal from the government.

The temporary handler was curious as to where they would go next. Coincidentally, another lead had pointed them to Iraq, to the Sinjar Mountains, and another Hassan.

Rashidi's bounty was even higher than Fayrouz's, and the handler was very interested in any intel they could share. Except for the fact that the Rashidis' little drug empire created the money that eventually led to the Taliban buying weapons from Fayrouz, they knew nothing else.

Though, he would be kept in the know if the four of them discovered more. If nothing else, the promise of further intel would be an incentive for them to not drag the process out.

Traveling to Iraq by plane would take time. Time they would use to return home and prepare.




Metropolis

"Have to admit, this was actually fun," Karen admitted. Bringing that weapon smuggler down felt really great, and all in twenty-four hours too, mostly spent on waiting for the US forces.

"Keep hanging out with us; you'll get all the action you want," he said, handing her a bottle of soda.

"Maybe."

"What happened to your mother from another dimension?"

He rolled the bottle, watching the liquid inside. "I had her memories of me erased, gave her an ID, and a couple million dollars. The rest is her business, not mine, and I would truly appreciate it if you kept silent on the matter."

"My lips are sealed."

"How is my cousin?"

"Clark is doing good, as is your counterpart." They had actually started to patrol together, the beginning of a new era in Metropolis' history, as Mr. Kent had reported.

He didn't realize how fast the time had passed while sitting on the porch, just having a simple, honest conversation.






In the next chapter:


"What about his nose?" Claire asked. They had the man change his clothes to not look like a mess for the meeting, but his nose looked like a giant, angry,

"He hit his face on the door, nothing else. Isn't that right?" Miles said, while Baraka glared at their prisoner. He seemed to be especially furious at the dealer, most likely from seeing the state that young man has been reduced to.

Marouf nodded slightly, shying away from Baraka. "If Rashidi comes, it will be with a lot of men."




Curious about the next chapter? Please consider supporting me on Patreon.
 
Chapter 67 - Drug Bust New
Hello there,

If you enjoy my stories, you can read up to 15 chapters in advance per story on my
Patreon page / patreon.com/Samael61.

To the attention of the readers who enjoy reading an intelligent main character like Miles will definitely like my original story, Arrival : Ruptures. Comments, likes and reviews are appreciated. Here are the links for :
AO3, Spacebattles, Royal Road and Webnovel.





Iraq

Sinjar


One thing this location shared on both Earths was the presence of terrorists. Of the hundreds that hid in the mountains like rats, finding a specific one would no doubt prove to be difficult.

Which is why he was not going to the mountains first.

The town offered ample opportunities to track his target. Dressed as locals with their universal translator ready, all he had to do was to follow the chain of drugs.

Finding a consumer was easy.

"Brother," the device translated. "What happened to you?" he asked, concerned for the young man.

The young man gave a goofy grin, waving like a tree facing violent winds. "Can't you see, brother? I am flying." He opened his arms, making plane noises.

"What makes you fly?"

He was taken back, face scrunching and relaxing in a cycle. "I am not supposed to say."

"Come now, maybe I wish to fly as well. Help a brother out?" he asked, bending down to look up at the man.

"Find Jamal near the square. Tell him you want to visit the mountain," he explained. That apparently was the last shred of consciousness he had left, because he crumpled down, shaking.

"Thank you, brother."




"That was easy," Karen commented, depressed at the state that person has been reduced to.

Miles saw her slumped shoulders, knowing what must be going on in her head. "He is so high off his head, I could convince him that I was sent by God to set him straight."

"I'd pay to see that."

"No need. I would be all too delighted to give you a free show."

"Oh my god," Claire said, rubbing her temples. "You two, get a room."

"Later," they replied at the same time, chuckling afterwards.




Jamal was the only person in the square with guards keeping an eye on him. They were not near him but were close enough to act should something go wrong.

Miles approached alone, armor on. "I want to visit the mountain."

"How much is your luggage?"

"Fifty kilos."

"We don't do that."

"Then tell me who does," he said, handing over a hundred-dollar bill. With how high the inflation was following the end of the major operations by the USA, it was far more worth it to have dollars than Iraqi dinar.

Jamal reached for the bill, but he pulled it back.

"I can arrange a meeting, but I'll need more."

Miles pulled out a thousand dollars in total. "Arrange the meeting, and this is yours as a start. I am looking for a long-term business. You will get your cut too."

"Wait here," the man said. He left for a quick call, coming with two burly men at his sides.

"They'll take you to the big man, Marouf."

He handed over the money and pulled the keffiyeh higher. He turned to follow the guards, while his companions trailed them, invisible.

The scans suggested Jamal was being honest. He did not detect any sign of duplicity either. Having a promised cut was what sold the deal to him most likely.

The men sent for him were carrying concealed pistols, covered from head to toe with only the eyes visible. Karen, Claire, and Baraka were in the air a couple of feet back, ready to act.

They walked through the twisting streets for a good while, circling around several buildings. No doubt they were checking to see if anyone was following. A prudent security measure, but useless against the tech he had brought into the field, though.

Electricity outages were the norm in this little town. The building they were heading for, as old as the rest, did not seem to suffer the lack of such crucial utility. The reason was the generator beneath the house. A makeshift system carried the CO₂ to the chimney through large pipes, covering it as the stove.

Inside, however, the lights were bright.

He was forced to a chair before a balding man with a goatee and a few extra pounds. Not Hassan Rashidi, but his contact in the town, the middleman.

"Fifty kilos of goods, American? You know what that sounds like?" Marouf asked, chuckling at him.

"A trap." Only a fool or one blinded by greed would believe otherwise.

Marouf chambered a round into the gun on the table and placed the barrel right on Miles' head. "It does. So why shouldn't I just shoot you here?"

"I am looking for Hassan Rashidi."

"Rashidi?" the man guffawed, lowering his gun. "Half the American army is looking for him. You look just like another one. What are you, special forces?"

"We checked him for trackers, and no one followed us." One of the men, the one who patted him down, said.

He had no intention of spending time convincing Marouf to speak. "You don't know where Rashidi is. Can't believe I wasted time by coming to the wrong man. Figures someone as paranoid as him wouldn't trust you to keep his location secret."

Miles pushed the chair back, ready to leave, but the men inside turned their guns on him.

"I know where Rashidi is, but since you are going to die, it won't matter to you. You were a fool to come here alone."

He sat back down, putting his feet on the table. "I did not."

Karen kicked the door off its hinges, sending it crashing to two of the gunmen. The guards near the entrance were too stunned to reach when Claire and Baraka barged in, each taking one. Karen slid on the ground, dodging the weapon fire from the last desperate goon to keep the full extent of her powers secret.

She gently launched herself up and landed a punch on the man's liver, slow enough to only knock him out.

Baraka's enthusiasm got the better of him. He caught the bald man's wrist, squeezing it, forcing him to drop the pistol. He held the man by the back of his head and smashed it to the table.

"Now, now. If you crack his head open like this, he won't be of any use to us," he said to Baraka. They were all smiling as the man groaned on the floor.

"Sorry," Baraka muttered. He pulled the man up by the shoulder, forcing him to sit down, while Karen and Claire tied the rest up.

He put his feet down, leaning forward. "It is fascinating how the tables could turn so quickly, isn't it?"

Marouf was moaning in pain, still trying to stem the flow of blood.

"Where is Rashidi?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"You just said you did. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" Baraka held Marouf by the back of his head again.

"I meet his men once a month to hand over the profits and take new shipments."

"When was the last time you met this man?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Then call him. Say there is a trustworthy trader looking to buy all the goods Rashidi has."

He reached across, holding the phone before Marouf could press the call button. "And no funny business."



"What about his nose?" Claire asked. They had the man change his clothes to not look like a mess for the meeting, but his nose looked like a giant, angry,

"He hit his face on the door, nothing else. Isn't that right?" Miles said, while Baraka glared at their prisoner. He seemed to be especially furious at the dealer, most likely from seeing the state that young man has been reduced to.

Marouf nodded slightly, shying away from Baraka. "If Rashidi comes, it will be with a lot of men."

"No. He will send a right-hand man to determine if we are actually here to do business. Once we pass his little test, he will take us to Rashidi."

"How do you know?" Karenn asked. Not that she disagreed with his reasoning; she just wanted to know his thought process.

"That's what I would do if the US government put a reward on my head. Rashidi hasn't been caught yet; it is safe to say he is not a fool. Even for such a potentially valuable deal, he won't come in person."




They took one of Marouf's pickup trucks. Baraka was on the wheel, driving as directed.

Marouf kept glancing at his captors, dressed as his men, unaware that they had shapeshifted to look the part.

"Stop. This is the place," Marouf said, pointing at a wooden post that showed directions.

"They are between the trees, watching us."

"Remember, Marouf, no funny business, or that nose will be the last of your problems."

They left the car to stand next to the sign, waiting.

Five men moved out of the trees, weapons pointed at the group, except for the tall, well-built one with a long black beard.

"Marouf, what happened to your nose?" The

"It's nothing, Zaeed. A small accident."

The now-named Zaeed approached Miles, circling him like a vulture. "This is the buyer then.

"He wants fifty kilos and is paying in dollars."

"Fifty kilos, you say? Is he clear?"

"He is."

"Did you come here alone?" he asked Miles and barked orders to two of his men to scout the area.

"My guards are in the town. I didn't want to give anyone a reason to shoot."

"Why come to Iraq? There are plenty of drug makers in America already."

"It's closer to Europe."

Zaeed huffed. "Do you have the payment on you?"

He opened the briefcase, displaying the bills bound together in thick stacks. Zaeed nodded appreciatively, waving at his men. They lowered the weapons and their guards.

"You can leave. We'll take the American to Hassan."

He patted Miles on the shoulder, pushing him forward. "Hope you've got a strong pair of legs, American. You are going to have to walk a long way."




Once more, he was alone with the enemy, though this time, he was just walking. Zaeed and his men had mules to transport them, but he was content with following on foot. The armor kept him going through the mountain path.

He checked his watch, realizing two hours had passed as they approached a cave entrance.

The landscape fit what he had seen in the show. Which meant they could skip the pleasantries. He gave the signal, and three of the men around him fell as his team literally landed on them.

Karen was quick to strike the last guard in the forehead. He was out before hitting the ground.

Claire tore Zaeed's weapon out of his hand, slamming a palm on his throat. Zaeed gagged, hands instinctively covering his throat. She brought the pistol down on his head.

Miles did not even stop, walking over the unconscious man, the visor scanning the cave to detect Hassan.

He found more than he bargained for.

The cave entrance led to an entire complex. Living quarters, a mess hall, and of course, an entire section solely for the production of narcotics.

No wonder the US forces couldn't catch Rashidi. He had no reason to leave the cave, and they could not afford to search every inch of the mountains for him.

"You guys clear the inside. I'll contact our handler and have him send forces to take custody of this place."

"Got it."

He called the number given to him during their last meeting, and they were quick to answer. "Agent Carter, I hope I am not disturbing you."

"Mr. Reddington, of course not. To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"I found Rashidi. He was hiding in an underground complex. A part of it includes a drug production center. Sixty-two prisoners in total," he said as the scanners counted everyone. "I'll need you to take them off my hands along with Rashidi."

"That is…great. You work really fast," Carter said, his hesitation not lost on Miles.

"Thank you."

"Send me your coordinates. I will contact my superiors and have the nearest base send troops immediately."




Sixty people lived in the cave complex, and not all by choice. Six females were given by various terrorist groups to Rashidi as payment for the narcotics. Three were from Eastern Turkey, having joined the PKK, while the rest were from various places in Iraq.

The USAID was their best chance now.

Once he was sure the prisoners could not escape, he left to search for the crystal.




With distances he could only cover through flight, he searched for a lone human lifesign. Away from Rashidi's location by at least three days on foot, he found an exact match of what he had seen in the show.

He landed, still invisible, and searched for the warning engraved on stone.

Cave.

His steps were loud on purpose to draw Mophir out. The tribal warrior would no doubt greet him soon.

He stopped, eyes on the crystal in all its dangerous glory. The armor's systems could not make sense of the scans, but he didn't need it to.

The proximity sensors warned him about the approaching individual, flagged with a high probability of being hostile. He ignored it, letting Mophir's flying kick connect with his head.

It did nothing.

Undeterred, the tribal warrior struck with his sword in a flurry of attacks, slashing for vital parts.

"When you are finished, let us speak in peace."

Mophir leaped back, brows furrowed. "What are you saying? I don't understand."

Miles blinked inside the armor. Of course Mophir wouldn't know how to speak English for the sake of plot, unlike in the show. Good thing his armor could translate.

The universal translator activated again. "I wish to speak in peace."

"Speak in peace, metal man?" he said, voice light and, more importantly, not hostile.

"If you swear not to attack, I will remove my armor," he offered. It was best to speak face to face with Mophir.

He frowned but agreed. "I swear."

The armor broke down into nanobots, flowing back into the watch. He was left in the cave in his suit, raising his arms. The apparent sorcery made Mophir wary.

"Not a metal man," he said, giving the tribal warrior a once over. Old and weathered, dressed in his tribal armor that reminded him of the ancient Roman lorica hamata in shape, though not in the material composition.

"You should leave this place. It is dangerous," Mophir warned, standing between the crystal and Miles.

"I assume you are the protector of the Heart of Darkness?" At the nod, he continued, "I came here to destroy it."

"If it could have been destroyed, I wouldn't be here."

"I have a way. Throw it to the sun."

Mophir looked at him for a second, eyes blank, and burst into laughter. "Throw it to the sun?!"

His voice echoed in the cave, but he eventually began to calm down once his belly ached too much.

Miles stood there cleaning his fingernail, waiting.

"You are serious." Mophir realized, all mirth gone from his body.

"I am." He pressed the watch, materializing armor outside his body.

"This armor can fly and throw the crystal to the sun," he began, explaining how the armor worked as best as he could.






In the next chapter:


Convincing Mophir was an exercise in futility. Instead of wasting any more breath, he decided on a different approach.

"Why don't you go with the armor? If you think it is a trap, it will be best for you to follow," he offered with a strained smile. There was no other way he would agree to this proposal.

The guardian of the Heart of Darkness began to pace around the cave, mumbling in low tones.




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