| Zamba - October 28
Once a peaceful and thriving world, Zamba had achieved harmony between nature and technology—until everything changed in the blink of an eye.
Like a plague of unequaled potency, a dark force descended upon Unopa. It swept across the planet, conquering it in a matter of days.
Fifty Gordanites.
Just fifty were enough to bring Zamba to its knees.
They possessed flight, immense strength, and near-unbreakable durability. Not a single Zambaii weapon was capable of killing even one of them.
So Zamba surrendered.
The planet submitted to the Citadel and accepted the Czar as its new liege.
But surrender was not the same as obedience.
In secret, the Zambaii developed new weapons—arms they believed powerful enough to turn the tide. When tested, they barely managed to wound a handful of Gordanites.
It only enraged them.
With retaliation inevitable, the survivors of Zamba fled before the planet's final destruction.
As Ferrin Colos gazed back at his pink world and its violet moon from the viewport of his escape pod, he swore a silent oath.
The Citadel would pay.
**
| Netherworld - October 28
Joseph Luthor, dressed in a white shirt and black dress pants, sat in the Slaughterhouse—a converted meatpacking facility turned local club that had long served as neutral ground among the Netherworlders, before Nova arrived and declared a new ruler of the Netherworld.
No one left was dumb enough to challenge him.
Seated beside him on the barstool was Knowbuddy, the newly appointed leader of the Netherworld. Behind Joseph stood Killer Croc as his bodyguard, and farther back were the gathered Netherworlders—everyone except Mustang Suzy, whose lower body was a motorcycle.
Rumors of Killer Croc had reached even this place. People whispered that he would eat them alive if they so much as looked at him wrong.
"You want to… hire us and invest in the Netherworld?" Knowbuddy asked in disbelief.
"Yes," Joseph replied calmly. "I want the Netherworld to become a safe haven for all metas, and I want more metas using their abilities in service to humanity. Null's gravity manipulation is useful for construction, and Mustang Suzy could be an exotic driver, for example. The new mayor of Chicago is already in my pocket, and no one will oppose this."
It sounded generous. Too generous.
A hero had put Knowbuddy in contact with a billionaire teenager who had personally come to offer them a better life. He'd even done his research—he knew their names. This—
"It's too good to be true," an arrogant voice cut in from the back. "There has to be a catch. Caring about a bunch of freaks like us? I don't buy it."
"Mongrel!" FerAlyce snapped. The furred feline woman had returned to their side thanks to Nova.
"What?" Joshua Xan Bailey shot back. "I'm just saying what we're all thinking."
At seventeen, Josh's mixed Black, white, and Vietnamese heritage had made him a frequent target for bigots like his uncle, leaving deep mental scars. When his powers awakened, the negativity he'd bottled up for years manifested as a unique form of energy he called darkforce—raw, volatile power he could project with shattering force. Unfortunately, it also amplified his arrogance and confrontational nature.
"My DEI-hire bodyguard wasn't enough to convince you I don't see you as freaks?" Joseph asked dryly.
"You're hurting my feelings here, boss," Croc rumbled.
"That doesn't prove anything," Josh pressed on. "Your pops used a freak to kill Superman, didn't he? It probably runs in the family. Maybe you're just trying to use us too, for some twisted purpose."
The room went silent.
News of Lex Luthor creating Doomsday had gone public. Everything tied to Lex was under scrutiny, with the public crucifying him online—and in some cases calling for his death outright. Joseph Luthor, who had inherited LexCorp—now LuthorCorp—through nepotism, hadn't been spared.
Croc growled and stepped forward, looming over Mongrel. Josh slowly backed away, realizing he'd crossed a line, darkforce flaring around his fists in preparation. The other Netherworlders hesitated, unsure whether to intervene.
Billionaires could ruin lives. And Joseph seemed close to Nova. Who knew if the hero would abandon the city over an insult to his friend—the one who'd brought them peace at last?
They didn't want to lose that.
"Mr. Luthor, I can explain—" Knowbuddy started, trying to speak for his underling.
"Stay put, Croc," Joseph said evenly. "He's right. I am Lex's son. No need to lay hands on him."
"Hmph. You're lucky," Croc grunted, backing off.
"You're also right that I'll be using you," Joseph said, turning his attention fully to Josh. "The Hour of Chaos and Superman's death proved that even the strongest can die. The world can't depend on only a handful of beings."
He continued, voice steady. "I plan to build a school here—for metas to learn control over their abilities, and, if they choose, become paid public heroes."
Joseph shrugged. "I won't force any of you. Truthfully, I'm so rich I don't even need your permission to do this. I could do it in any city. But I chose a slum. A ghetto of 'freaks,' as you call yourselves, to show the world that even the worst of us can become the best of us."
Joseph rose from his seat and walked toward Josh. He showed no fear of the darkforce, moving not like prey—but like a predator.
"But one thing you're wrong about," Joseph said quietly, "is comparing me to my father. I'm not as pathetic as that man."
At six-foot-four, Joseph dwarfed the teenager, his shadow stretching across the entire room. A heavy pressure settled over the air as he brushed past Josh.
He paused at the door, Croc at his side, and added, "Come to LuthorCorp once you've decided."
Then he was gone—likely heading for his limo—and the suffocating tension vanished with him.
Knowbuddy stared at his reflection in a nearby bottle of alcohol.
His face looked decades older. His hair had turned white.
The entire room turned toward Mongrel.
"Wait," Josh said, backing into the wall. "Guys, I can explain—"
"Explanations are futile," Null said coldly, raising a hand and curling his pinky and index finger downward. Gravity surged, increasing Josh's weight until he was pinned in place, unable to escape.
Then the whole room descended on him.
**
| Gotham - October 29
In a dark, abandoned warehouse, a meeting was underway.
At the central table sat Roman Sionis—Black Mask—flanked by two members of his False Face Society, with Victor Zsasz standing nearby, restless and smiling to himself.
Across from them was Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, accompanied by Magpie and the Kabuki Twins, their bladed fingers hidden but ready.
Completing the triangle was Warren White, the Great White Shark, attended by the second Tally Man and Jane Doe, who stared at Magpie with unnerving interest.
"This can't continue," Black Mask growled. "Harvey Dent has us cornered. He's taken over multiple small- and mid-sized gangs and is pushing into our territory. At this rate, we're next."
"We?" Penguin scoffed. "Since when are we allies? What do I gain from working with you lot? Why shouldn't I just partner with Two-Face? We've done business before."
The temperature in the room dropped.
Guns were drawn. Zsasz's fingers twitched eagerly. Jane Doe's smile widened, as if she were already imagining Magpie's face stitched onto her own. The Kabuki Twins said nothing, but the steel razors extending from their fingertips spoke clearly enough.
"Hmph," Great White said calmly, unfazed by the tension. "Don't posture when all our necks are on the line. Dent has changed. His operation has changed."
He leaned forward slightly. "No hard drugs. No smuggling through his territories. Trade routes disrupted. You wouldn't be here if you didn't feel it too. Face it—Dent is bad for business."
Black Mask slammed a fist on the table. "Worse, his people are loyal. Something about 'honor among mobsters.' He enforces a no–civilian-casualty rule, and his men will die for him. I've tried buying them off. It doesn't work."
Penguin frowned, tapping his umbrella against the floor. "You make compelling points," he admitted, already recalculating. "Truth is, business has been slow. After the Hour of Chaos, this city should've been swimming in profit from drugs. Instead, nothing flows."
He smiled greedily. "So, birds of a feather. We kill Two-Face and divide what's left."
"That settles it," Great White said. "Our temporary union will be known as the Black and Whites. Objective: eliminate Harvey Dent."
"Who put you in charge?" Black Mask snapped.
"Someone has to lead," Great White replied with a smirk.
Before either man could argue, all three of their phones rang at once.
They froze.
Slowly, they looked at one another. This wasn't coincidence.
They stood immediately. If someone had their numbers, their location was likely compromised—but they had muscle, perimeter security, and no alarms had gone off.
Penguin answered his phone.
"Black and Whites, huh?" came the unmistakable voice of Harvey Dent. "Why wasn't I invited?"
Panic exploded through the room.
Black Mask bolted for the exit. Guns clattered as grunts fled in every direction. The Kabuki Twins hoisted Penguin and ran, carrying his portly frame with surprising speed.
"You know the drill," Dent continued calmly over the phone. "I flip the coin. Heads, you live. Tails, you die."
A sharp slap echoed through the line.
"Tails," Dent said. "Unfortunate."
The warehouse vanished in a roaring inferno.