Shatter'd And Sunder'd

by Melvin Bankhead III

This is a tale of the end of our world.

It came upon us slowly, a disaster of such epic proportion that no one saw coming. And by the time we did, it was far, far too late.

This is the tale of the end of our world.

And not even Earth's mightiest and best heroes could stop it.

Day 1:
Carrington Residence
Greenville, North Carolina, United States
 

Matthew Carrington shot another of the soldiers.

He had been shooting steadily for about four minutes, and the soldiers, who had been standing watch at the top of the huge wall, hadn't yet returned fire. One by one, he'd quickly winnowed down their number until only five remained.

The soldier wavered after the projectile struck, then plunged over the precipice at his back, falling the long distance until his fall ended by smashing into the boulders below. He didn't cry out or make a sound….not when he was hit, and not when his fall ended with a limb-jerking crash.

Matthew smiled, and lined up another soldier in his sights.

His pulse quickened as he identified his target. General Clayton M. Abernathy. The Hawk.

Kill the general, Matthew thought, and the soldiers are finished.

Matthew steadied his hands, held his breath, and carefully lined up the shot.

"Matthew!"

The sudden yell from below startled him, and spoiled the shot. What should have been a headshot struck Abernathy's shoulder, staggering the general while knocking him back, just far enough…

…so that he, too, like the others under his command, also plunged off the wall to his fate.

"Matthew! Come down here!"

"Aw, Mooooooooom," groaned the sniper, putting down the rest of the ammunition. The remaining soldiers --- Scarlett, Snake-Eyes, Roadblock and Gung-Ho – stood still like good toy soldiers, waiting their turn to get shot down by the seven-year-old assassin.

He peeked between the posts in the banister railing. His mother stood below, dead soldiers at her feet, staring up at the other G.I. Joe figures lined up on the banister railing at the top. "Matthew, somehow I don't think your father would appreciate your shooting his figures."

The boy sheepishly peeked down the stairs at his mother. "But he never plays with ‘em. He just lines ‘em up on his bookshelf. And I share MY toys with HIM." His tone made it quite clear he felt there was a certain injustice in the arrangement.

His mother smiled. "Tell you what," she said, looking right and left as if checking for eavesdroppers. She repressed a laugh at her son's sudden interest. "If you'll put back the figures, AND help me with cleaning the living room" --- she looked over her shoulder, then lowered her voice – "I'll show you where he hides the comic books."

Matthew's eyes went wide. What a deal! His dad NEVER let him read the comics he bought, saying they were bad for him. Which, to Matthew, wasn't fair at all. "Okay!" He jumped to his feet, snatching the soldiers – saved from a marble-shooting sniper but now doomed to a dusty fate lining a bookshelf – off the railing. His mother gave that knowing smile that only mothers truly know how to do, and headed back toward the living room.

Matthew galloped down the stairs, searching out the soldiers that had fallen to his marbles. He sounded a roll call as he gathered them up. "Okay troops, roll call! Lifeline! Here, sir! Alpine! Present, sir! Leatherneck! Right here, sir! Spirit! I am here, General Carrington. Duke! Here, sir! Hawk!"

At this, Matthew stopped, staring at the floor before him. He dumped all the soldiers on the floor and started again, moving each figure carefully to his left as he said the figure's name aloud. "Alpine. Snake-Eyes. Scarlett. Lifeline. Roadblock. Leatherneck. Duke. Gung-Ho…" Again, two figures were missing.

"Uh-oh…" Matthew stood up, surveying the entire area. He bent down, picking up the throw pillows that had served as boulders, grinning as Tripwire came into sight under one of them.

Relieved, he picked up the other pillows, expecting to find Hawk lying wedged under one of them. His smile slowly faded as he realized that his father's prized figure was nowhere to be found.

He stared up at the staircase banister, then back at the floor. There was nowhere else the figure could be, but on the floor in front of him. And he had seen the figure fall, so he knew it had to be here.

But, it wasn't. And his mother wouldn't have picked it up.

He had somehow lost Hawk, and he had no idea how.

"I am sooooo dead." Matthew moaned. Suddenly, looking at dad's comics didn't seem like it was going to be fun.

ELSEWHERE…

Day 1:
Carrington Residence
Greenville, North Carolina, United States

Kill the general, Matthew Carrington thought, and the soldiers are finished.

Matthew steadied his hands, held his breath, and carefully lined up the shot.

"Matthew!"

The sudden yell from below startled him, and spoiled the shot. What should have been a headshot struck Abernathy's shoulder, staggering the general while knocking him back, just far enough…

…so that he, too, like the others under his command, also plunged off the wall to his fate.

"Matthew! Come down here!"

"Aw, Daaaaaaaaad," groaned the sniper, putting down the rest of the ammunition. The remaining soldiers --- Scarlett, Snake-Eyes, Roadblock and Gung-Ho – stood still like good toy soldiers, waiting their turn to get shot down by the seven-year-old assassin.

He peeked between the posts in the banister railing. His father stood below, dead soldiers at his feet, staring down at the G.I. Joe figures that had been lining the bookshelf in his office. "Matthew, what have I told you about shooting people in the house?" His dad had an angry look on his face, but the effect was spoiled as his mouth kept trying to quirk into a smile.

The boy sheepishly peeked down the stairs at his dad. "Well, they were askin' for it! They invaded my room!" His tone made it quite clear he felt there was a certain justice in his shooting all intruders.

His dad smiled. "Tell you what," he said, looking right and left as if checking for eavesdroppers. He repressed a laugh at his son's sudden interest. "If you'll put back the figures, AND help me with dinner before your mom gets home" --- he looked over his shoulder, then lowered his voice – "I'll show you where she hid your birthday presents."

Matthew's eyes went wide. "Okay!" He jumped to his feet, snatching the soldiers – saved from a marble-shooting sniper but now doomed to a dusty fate lining a bookshelf – off the railing. His dad smiled, and started to head back toward the living room, then stopped, staring at the floor.

Matthew galloped down the stairs, searching out the soldiers that had fallen to his marbles. He sounded a roll call as he gathered them up. "Okay troops, roll call! Lifeline! Here, sir! Alpine! Present, sir! Leatherneck! Right here, sir! Spirit! I am here, General Carrington. Duke! Here, sir! Hawk…umph!"

At this, Matthew stopped, having slammed into his father, who was standing, staring at his cupped hands. Matthew looked quizzically at his dad's face, then at his hands, but he couldn't see what his dad held.

"Matthew…where did you get these figures?" his father asked quietly.

"Off your bookshelf. I hadda move a chair to do it, though," the boy replied, suddenly trying to remember if he'd put the chair back by the desk in his dad's office.

His father held out his hands toward Matthew. In his left hand was the Hawk figure the boy had been looking for. Matthew grinned and started to reach for the figure…

When he saw the identical Hawk figure in his dad's right hand.

Matthew frowned, staring. "I thought you only had one."

His dad frowned. "I do."

They both stared at the anomalous figure.

The Carrington families on both Earths never knew that they were witness to a historic event----the beginning of the end of their worlds. That was the first act in what would become a tragedy of terror, a crisis of unparalleled proportions.

This…is the second.

Day 5:
Above Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, United States

The Peregrine falcon soared high, dancing on the breeze that lent power to its flight. It dipped a wing, smoothly banking as it spotted another bird flying far below.

Prey.

It circled once more, the sunlight playing on the rich blue feathers of its back, wings and tail, eyeing the bird below.

Unaware. Prey.

Dive.

The falcon checked its position, stilled its wings. Tucked them tightly against its sides.

Gravity touched the bird of prey, drawing it down in a silent dive that would end in a death.

The falcon dropped into a vertical dive, rapidly closing the distance between it and its unsuspecting meal.

The bluebird flew gracefully, unmindful of the deadly threat scant heartbeats away.

A sudden motion caught its eye, and it dipped a wing, easing into a slight turn.

Unseen, high above but closing rapidly, the falcon flicked its wings and tail slightly, adjusting its course.

The bluebird stared at the odd thing before it. Its brain described it as a cloud, except it was oddly flat looking. It didn't seem like a threat, even though it was moving slowly toward it from below.

Threat? No-threat?

The bluebird decided not to take any chances. As the flat-cloud-thing wafted toward it, the bird sharply dipped a wing and slipped sideways on the breeze, startled a second later as a deep blue-feathered blur ripped past it with an enraged shriek….

…and vanished into the flat-cloud-thing.

The bluebird knew a moment of fear, then reached out with its wings and pounded the air for all it was worth, getting away from the thing. It soon disappeared into the distance.

The flat-cloud-thing continued to waft upward, not reacting to any winds but still moving steadily. For about two minutes, it was the only thing in that area of sky.

Three minutes.

Four.

Then, the falcon ripped from the bottom of the thing, still locked in its dive, its feathers oddly reflecting the sun's rays.

The bird made no attempt to brake its fall, and didn't react to the sudden stink of car exhaust as it neared the city below. Its eyes unblinking, the bird plummeted for the earth, stopping only when it smashed through the rear window of a car. The driver instantly panicked, slamming on the brakes so quickly that the vehicle behind him rear-ended him.

In the next few minutes, there was milling confusion as vehicles slowed down and stopped, or tried to slip by. Finally, a police car pulled up, disgorging two officers. The male immediately began to direct traffic around the accident, while the female interviewed the drivers. One of the drivers, extremely agitated, kept pointing to the shattered back window of his car. Finally, the officer went and took a look.

She bent over the car's trunk, peering past the remains of the window.

Inside were the remains of a bird, chunks of which were steaming in the car's interior. The officer stared, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

She opened the rear door on the driver's side, and pulled a pen from her breast pocket. Reaching in, she tapped part of the remains.

Tink. Tink.

She stepped back, now extremely confused.

The bird…what was left of it…had been frozen solid.

The report of the frozen bird made the evening news, and inspired jokes for about a week later. But soon, the shortness of the human attention span brought about the story's demise. The ill-fated driver's insurance company thought it was an odd case, but paid for repairs, as there was no evidence of fraud. But the incident was logged into the company's computer files. No one thought anything further of the incident. It was only later that any connection would be made.

Day 26:

Near Kulusuk, Greenland

"Thank you for coming, sir."

Jay Garrick shook the young man's hand. "Not a problem, Mister….?"

The young man smiled. "David Freeman, sir. U.S. Office of the Chief of Protocol."

"Well, Mr. Freeman, if you could tell me why I was called here to Greenland?"

The young man, dressed warmly in his overcoat, stared oddly at his visitor, who was wearing the deep blue pants, red shirt with the golden thunderbolt, and circular metal hat that had made him famous (although his powers of superspeed may have also had something to do with it) as the World War II mystery-man called the Flash. "You…didn't get my follow-up fax?"

Garrick smiled gently. "Son, I was told I was needed here immediately, so I got here as fast as my feet could take me."

Freeman looked down for a moment. "Sir…."

"‘Jay' is fine, or ‘Mr. Garrick' if you have to be formal."

Freeman smiled faintly. "Mr. Garrick, some divers off the coast found the remains of a body about a week ago. Frozen solid, looked like it had been that way for decades. The local coroner performed an autopsy on the remains…turns out he died in some kind of explosion. They managed to date what was left of his clothing…which seemed to be a superhero costume of some sort. The clothes tested out as being from around World War II."

Jay Garrick, the first Flash of the planet Earth, appeared stunned. "And I was called here to identify the body?"

The young man rubbed his neck in frustration. "To be honest, Mr. Garrick, the coroner didn't know what to make of it. He sent a request up through the chains, and it eventually made it to the Foreign Ministry, who decided if it's the remains of a World War II mystery-man, then maybe having someone who was there might help to identify him. So, they contacted Washington, and they sent me, and I called for a member of the Justice Society…."

"I'll do what I can, of course," Garrick said quickly.

A few minutes later, Jay Garrick stood over a morgue table, looking stone-faced at the remains before him.

"Like I said," Freeman said apologetically, "he was killed by an explosion, but immersed in the Arctic moments later, judging by the tissue damage. Still, the ice preserved the remains pretty well…"

Garrick shook his head. "I don't know him, son. He's too young to have been a member of the JSA, but then, a few of us – like the Sandman and the Crimson Avenger – had sidekicks. But, looking at him…I've never seen him before."

The two men stared at the remains. Garrick let his eyes wander over the body, memorizing details even through he had already requested photos. The body was that of a young man, between 17 and 21. Brown hair. The remaining eye had decayed, but he had been told that the boy's eyes had been brown. He was wearing the tattered remains of what, to Garrick, did look like a uniform of some kind. A blue tunic with matching boots, while the red tights matched the gloves and collar. The remains of a domino mask were still fixed to the face.

"I've no idea who he is," Garrick said.

The body of the young man, whom the media quickly dubbed "The Unknown Hero," was buried in Valhalla, a cemetery designed to honor fallen superheroes. Even though it was never truly known whether the young man had been a hero, a villain, or a young man carrying out some kind of fantasy, his funeral procession was impressive. He was carried to Valhalla by those members of the Justice Society of America who had served during World War II: Sentinel (Alan Scott, the first Green Lantern of Earth), the Flash I (Jay Garrick), Wildcat I (Ted Grant), Hawkman (Carter Hall), Sand ("Sandy" Hawkins), and the Thunderbolt (Johnny Thunder).

Although Jay Garrick contacted all the other active supergroups – The Justice League of America, the Titans, the Power Company, and others – and tried as many information channels as he could, the boy's identity was never discovered.

For James Buchanan Barnes, the World War II teen warrior known as Bucky, had been born, had fought and had died…on another Earth. That the ice bearing his remains had drifted from the seas near England, across the waters to near Greenland, and had decades later slipped through a breach in the dimensional barrier…no one knew. And, again, it was a fact that no one would realize was part of one vast threat until much later…

When it was too late.

Day 41:

Biloxi High School

Biloxi, Mississippi

Rembrandt Jackson – "Remy," to his friends – strode into his office. He always loved the first class of the day, as it was often the most challenging. The students were usually cranky or attentive, but at least they were typically awake.

He quickly checked his appearance in the mirror…blond hair carefully combed back, glasses clean and perched on his nose, mustache perfectly trimmed, clothing immaculate. He took a deep breath, picked up the copies of the previous day's tests, and headed out into his classroom.

He stopped dead at the door, staring in horror into his beloved classroom.

The children were there, as they should have been, already seated and waiting. As usual, some were talking, while others were reading or frantically trying to complete the previous night's homework. A few were listening to music with headsets, which they knew would have to come off the second Jackson walked into the classroom.

A few of them noticed Jackson frozen in the doorway, and quickly motioned to their classmates. The room quieted down quickly, the students staring at Jackson as he stared back, a moment frozen in time.

The moment broke as Jackson walked quickly to a group of students. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to leave."

One of the students, a black young man wearing his hair in tight braids, looked startled. "Huh?"

"You and your friends." Jackson gestured to the four other black students grouped around him. "You know the rules. You can't be here." He looked nervously at the door to the hallway, and then back to the students. "You're supposed to be at the other school."

"WHAT other school?" Another of the students asked. Most of the kids in the room were now openly confused.

"The school for the colored children," Jackson snapped. "We don't need any trouble here, now." He remembered reading in the paper the previous week about a race riot in Topeka, Kansas, which had begun at a school. Eighteen teachers had been killed. He did not want that here.

One of the black students stared at his teacher, and then began to laugh. "Good one, Mr. J."

Jackson's head swiveled until his eyes locked with those of the student. "Excuse me?"

"This is about Brown vs. Board of Ed, right? You said we'd study the civil rights era soon, but I thought it'd be further off."

Jackson's brow furrowed. "The WHAT era?" He shook his head. "Look, I don't want any trouble here. But you kids –" he gestured to the black students – "can't be here. This is a whites-only school…has been for years."

Things only went downhill from there. Eventually, Rembrandt Jackson reluctantly called the police to have the black students removed, telling the police dispatcher that he had "some colored kids that refused to leave his class." The dispatcher called the school's principal, asking if it was some kind of joke, and the principal investigated. When she walked into Jackson's classroom, he was shocked to see her, wondering where "Mr. Eliason, the real principal," was. Eventually the police were summoned again, to remove one Rembrandt Jackson, who clearly had suffered some kind of mental breakdown.

Rembrandt Jackson was diagnosed as having suffered a psychotic break with reality, as he apparently believed that racially segregated schools were the norm in the public education system. Further, he was later shocked to discover that women had the legal right to vote. For Rembrandt Jackson— the one who was arrested that day— had grown up in a world where the landmark civil rights case Brown vs. the Topeka Board of Education had been lost by the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People. Further, years earlier, the proposed 19^th Amendment to the Constitution had been defeated, ending the chance of women having the right to vote.

These events took place on the world of a Rembrandt Jackson who, due to the bright morning sunshine dazzling his eyes through his car's windshield, never saw the dimensional rift he had driven through on his way to school.

Elsewhere, another Rembrandt Jackson also showed up for work that morning, and walked into his classroom as usual. He was shocked to discover that many of his star students were missing, and was horrified to find out that, somehow, he had woken up on the wrong world. Faced with a world where blacks and women had no more rights than pets, he became an activist in the cause of civil rights.

He was killed two days later while "resisting arrest" in Atlanta, Georgia.

Day 52

Gotham City, Ohio

I'm Tim Drake. You might know me better as Robin, the Teen Wonder.

Of course, I wasn't the first Robin. That honor went to Dick Grayson, who now calls himself Nightwing and is based out of Bludhaven.

I'm not even the second Robin. That was Jason Todd, who ended up, from what I've been told, being a little psycho. He ended up in the grave, a victim of the Joker.

I'm the third Robin. I got the job…well, it's a long story. But it began with my uncovering the secret identities of Batman and Robin (Dick) a long time ago, and that led to my eventually becoming Robin after Jason was killed.

I lead a team called Young Justice. Think of us as…well, kind of the heirs apparent to the Titans, who are sort of the heirs apparent to the Justice League. Anyway, my team has hung together through some tough situations, including being stranded on Apokolips, a real-life War of the Worlds, Lobo and, God help us, Old Justice.

Anyway, Batman had been intending to take out a Kobra terrorist cell that had set up shop in Gotham. But, Gotham being Gotham, all kinds of things – a jewelry heist, an attempted rape, a gang shootout, and Killer Croc – had gotten in the way. So I volunteered to take care of it, and took Young Justice along for the ride.

A terrorist cell numbering about 50 people versus me, Superboy, Wonder Girl, Impulse, the Secret and Empress? The Kobra cultists were going to need more men if they wanted even odds.

We all figured it would be a cakewalk, but I still planned the operation carefully. A wrong step, as Bruce often told me, could lead to disaster. Or, as Dick would say, "being careful rules out becoming casualties."

I checked my watch, which was synchronized to everyone else's. Nearly a minute to show time.

I nodded to Wonder Girl, who was crouched beside me on the rooftop. I'd deployed the team around the warehouse below.

I tapped my collar, activating my YJ communicator. "R. One minute warning. Sitch?"

As I listened for their responses, after which we'd plan to take down Kobra, the whole plan went to hell.

A loud rumble sounded, and I could feel a slight vibration through the rooftop. Then, a loud roar echoed through the city, the kind of sound you get when a building collapses.

I checked over my shoulder, activating the telescopic lenses in my mask. Sure enough, a building about fourteen blocks south of us was missing, replaced by a cloud of rising smoke and dust.

I tapped the commline again. "Everyone hold position. Impulse: fast recon, building collapse about fourteen blocks south. Superboy: back him up. Everyone else, stay cool."

"We'realloveritbossman!" I heard Impulse say, probably kicking into superspeed as he said it. Superboy wasn't as fast as Impulse, but, then, for such a short distance, he didn't really have to be. "I'mherealreadyandthere'sacloudylightaboutyayhigh…." The signal died.

"Impulse, repeat that last," I said. I'd caught something through the radio about "a cloudy light," and that was it. "Superboy, I've lost…"

"BART!" Superboy's scream exploded through my earpiece, and I nearly ripped it out. He sounded terrified, which meant something very bad had happened.

"Kon-El? What's…"

"Robbie…oh, man…Bart…Bart's dead," came the reply.

Wonder Girl turned to me with a look of utter horror. I felt as though I'd been kicked in the gut by Killer Croc. "Say again?" I said weakly.

"There's a line, looks like a weird kinda cloud, but it's kind of glowing, moving up the street about maybe four, five feet off the ground." I saw another building fall, and cranked the earpiece volume up, even as Superboy raised his voice to be heard. "Bart ran right into it, and it…killed him. It…it took his head off, man…"

"My God," I said. I fought for control, finally deciding to fake it. Think like Batman, I thought. "Okay. We'll deal with it. Assist any survivors you see. We're on our way."

I took a deep breath, held it. "Everyone, form up on Superboy's position. Be careful. Everyone helps with survivors from the collapses." I killed the open circuit, looked over to Wonder Girl. "Cassie, I need you to keep an eye on this thing. Just watch it, that's all, and let us know if it's going to hit anything or anyone. Got it?"

"But………Bart?" She was still pale, and her eyes were misty.

"Now!" It was my best Batman impersonation, and it was so realistic that it sent shivers down my spine. She leaped into the air, and was gone.

I grabbed my jumpline launcher, and fired at a neighboring building. Giving the line a quick tug to make sure it was secure, I launched myself off the roof, angling down and past the side of the building, aiming for the flagpole I knew would be there. I released the line as I approached the pole, using it as a springboard to continue past the face of the building, spreading my cape to slow my descent. Another jumpline got me past a few more buildings, and then a few more, and so on, until I was using a doorway canopy as a trampoline, bouncing off and to the sidewalk, knees bent to absorb the impact.

I was running before the ache of the landing shock had left my knees.

I flew around the corner and froze.

Gotham First National Bank was gone. All that was left was a pile of rubble reaching up two, maybe three stories. Dust still hovered in the air, making my nose itch and my eyes water.

Nothing moved, except for sections of debris that were settling.

But there, lying in front of the building's ruins, lay the white-and-red-clad body of Bart Allen, the time-displaced grandson to Barry Allen, the second Flash, who had himself been killed years ago.

"Oh, God, please…" I started running, praying that Kon-El had been mistaken. I was within ten feet of Impulse when I saw the growing pool of blood where his head used to be…………...

Wonder Girl landed beside me. "That…thing…whatever it was, disappeared. What should…" Her eyes went wide with horror when she looked past me and saw Bart.

"R…Robin?"

"I'm…okay," I muttered, walking over to Bart's body.

Lying through my teeth.

Bart was dead.

And it was my fault.

Dead.

Eventually, the rest of the team showed up. I barely noticed them, except to fight them off whenever they tried to move me or Bart. Finally, they left me the hell alone.

I don't know how long I stood there—days, hours, it doesn't matter – but eventually there was a red blur that zoomed into the site, whipping up a wind that yanked hard at my cape. It stopped, revealing itself as the Flash. There are two Flashes right now, actually. Jay Garrick, the first one, is still active in the Justice Society of America. The second one died, and his nephew, Wally West, took over the title and costume. Now he's a member of both the Titans and the Justice League.

"Robin, I heard…" He stopped, staring at my feet. "Oh, God…" he whispered. "Bart." He knelt, carefully cradling the body, and I saw the tears start to flow.

A hand fell gently on my shoulder. I didn't move, even as the hand's owner walked slowly around me, blocking my view of the Flash and Bart with a virtual wall of grey and black.

His voice was gentler than I'd ever heard it—soft, and pitched for my ears only.

"Tim, are you all right?" he asked. I just shook my head.

"What happened?"

I looked up at him — Bruce Wayne, Batman, the Dark Knight of Gotham, the World's Greatest Detective, resplendent in the dark mantle of the Bat — and said the two words I never thought I would say to him:

"I failed."

Day 52

Elsewhere in Gotham City, Ohio

"Damn it!"

I'd found another one. This time, it was a case in Mississippi. I read the newspaper article quickly, and then hacked into the central network database for the Biloxi Regional Medical Center, pulling up the psyche profile done on one Rembrandt Jackson. I compared that to his employment record through the Biloxi Public Schools.

As I suspected, the psyche profile seemed to be that of a different man, as opposed to that of a closet racist.

A low beeping warned me of an incoming call. I checked the frequency tag…It was an audio/visual signal originating in Bludhaven, which meant it was Dick…Nightwing.

Something was bugging me, like someone scraping nails on a chalkboard, a wrong feeling that wiggled up my spine and into my brain. No sixth sense, though. Granted, in the cyberworld I inhabit as Oracle, you have to have senses seven through ten just to survive the competition. So, maybe I was paranoid, but like the man said, "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you."

Blockbuster's attempt at taking me out had taught me that.

I didn't want to be interrupted right now, but, then, I DID need a break.

I accepted the transmission, activating a monitor to take the secure call.

"Oracle, here. What's up, hunk wonder?"

I watched as Dick's face grew slightly red under his mask. I love to make him blush. Since his mask only covers his eyes and nose, his blush grows right out of the collar of that wonderfully skin-tight blue-black uniform, crawls up his neck and over his cheeks, and vanishes into his hairline. I've been teasing him since he was Robin and I was Batgirl, but it's only been the last few years that we've really thought of ourselves as anything but friends. Not that we're TOGETHER together, but still…the possibilities are yummy.

"What's cookin', Babs?"

"Your dime, cowboy. Can't sleep?"

"Business as usual." He grinned evilly. "I needed a good workout, so I'm looking for bad guys who'll oblige me." He stared at me for a moment. "Babs? You okay?"

I sighed. I hadn't really slept in a couple of days, and I knew I looked it. "Yeah…just a little wiped out. There've been some reports coming in for the last few weeks that I've been tracking. Missing people, places and things. I've been trying to get a handle on it."

"What do you mean?"

"Well…" I tapped a few commands into a keyboard, calling up a summation of the data I'd gathered so far. "Okay. My equipment is programmed to pick up on odd news stories, looking for any common element. And, over the past few weeks, I've been getting more and more hits on those criteria."

"Okay, still with you."

"All right then…Case number…fifty-two. Chicago. James Dawson, 43, drove home from work three nights ago. His key didn't work in the front door for some reason, so he rang the doorbell. His wife answers the door, but says she has no idea who he is. Worse, Dawson's college roommate, who he hasn't seen since college, is living there, claiming to have been married to the wife for twelve years…two years less than Dawson's marriage of record."

"Sounds bizarre."

I snorted. "You can say that again, cowboy. Records in the house back up the wife and college buddy's version of events. But the marriage records in City Hall back up Dawson. So do the local school records, which show Dawson's son and daughter…who have apparently vanished. And whom the wife and mystery hubby say they've never heard of."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah." I took off my glasses for a moment, rubbing my aching eyes. "There've been cases like this popping up all over. A guy in Denver who's been listed as dead for fourteen years who just strolled into the office of his former supervisor like he owned the place…except he claims that he does. A woman in Ontario who had killed her husband in self-defense four years ago was killed two days ago…and the description of the perp given by witnesses fits the husband! Not to mention a teacher in Mississippi who now seems to believe that blacks and whites are still legally segregated in schools, despite having taught in an multiracial school for seven years…"

Dick whistled the theme to "The Twilight Zone."

I actually laughed. "No kidding. And, to top it all off, I've been getting reports of ‘weird ghostly images' in Uruguay near the Montevideo site. Almost like fuzzy images of the way the city looked before Vandal Savage nuked it."

Dick didn't have anything to say to that.

"Exactly," I said. "I have some suspicions, and I've got a separate search protocol trying to verify it, but I'm really hoping I'm wrong."

"So what's your theory?"

As I chewed on one of the earpieces to my glasses, thinking how to present it to him, I noticed something odd: the cup on the console to my left, full of coffee long gone cold, seemed to vibrating. I put my glasses back on, staring at the cup. The cup, naturally, just sat there, unmoving, mocking me.

"Babs?"

"Sorry. Got distracted. How far over your head is quantum mechanics? Specifically, hyper dimensional theory."

"Um…"

"I'll break it down."

"Yes, please do."

"There are billions of billions of alternate dimensions out there…we call the whole multiversal concept Hypertime."

"With you so far, Babs."

"Okay, normally, the various dimensions of Hypertime don't really interact. We're usually trapped within the confines of our own reality. But sometimes, things happen where the…barriers, walls, whatever you want to call them, are breached. And then, maybe something…or someone, from one reality can cross over into another, either deliberately or accidentally."

Dick frowned. "You mean, like that whole mess when Parallax and Extant were messing with time, and that other Batgirl showed up?"

I hated that example, but it was a good one. "Exactly. That Batgirl was from a reality where I…where SHE, didn't get shot by the Joker, so that Barbara Gordon didn't give up being Batgirl."

I broke off as a shrill beeping sounded. "Hold on, Dick." I muted his channel and shot a look at the shrieking panel— the seismic monitor I'd installed after the Quake. A minor fluctuation, consistent with a building collapse. I couldn't recall any planned demolitions today, but…

The alarm stopped. I ran a quick systems check. Last thing I needed was for my gear to start flaking out on me…

Green lights, across the board. Huh.

I unmuted the channel to Dick. "Still there, cowboy?"

"Waiting with bated breath."

I grinned. "So, anyway, maybe that other Batgirl was a younger version of me, from before the encounter with the Joker. Or maybe it just never happened on her Earth. The point is, she crossed over."

Dick mulled that over for a few moments. "Okay, go on."

"Well, I think…and I'm praying I'm wrong…that these cases I've been tracking has something to do with multiple dimensional breaks. And, if I'm right… "

I broke off as the seismic monitor went off again. I glared at it this time as I tried to figure out where the alarms were being triggered.

"Babs?"

"Looks like we've got two---no, three—buildings down here."

"Another quake?"

"I hope not." I put my hands against the console, and I could feel a slight vibration. And that damn coffee cup was doing its waltz again.

"Dick, I'm going to have to…" A beeping told me I had another call coming in. The freq tag said it was Robin. "Hold on, Dick. I've got Robin calling in." I muted Dick's channel again and opened the incoming. "Oracle. What's up, teen wonder?"

"Hello?"

A girl. Voice strained, taut with fear…and definitely not Robin.

"This is Oracle. Whom am I speaking to, please?"

"This is Wonder Girl…I…I need to get in touch with the F-Flash…and Batman."

I called up my file on Wonder Girl even as I double-checked the frequency tag. It was definitely Robin's frequency. But even though Wonder Girl is Tim's teammate in Young Justice, she should not have a direct link to me. And the most likely way she could have gotten it was through him.

"Wonder Girl, this is a secure line. Is there a problem?"

"I…Robin's…" A quiet sob.

My hands went ice cold, and I remembered the funeral of Jason Todd, Tim's predecessor.

"Is Robin all right?"

"He's…not himself. Something's happened, and…"

Another pause, far too long. I called up the commlines to Bruce at the Cave and the Batmobile, and to the Justice League Watchtower, but didn't transmit yet.

On the voice link, I could now hear Wonder Girl openly crying. "Bart…Impulse…he's dead."

"Oh my God," I whispered. I shook my head fiercely, kick-starting my brain back into operation. "Wonder Girl, are you alone?"

"…Yes…the others are with Robin. He won't leave Bart, and he won't talk to us, and his eyes look so empty and we're all scared that he's…"

"Where are you, honey?"

"…In front of…wait, there's a sign. The corner of Sixth Street and Belmont."

"Okay. I need you to tell me everything that happened. One second while I set up a recorder, okay honey?"

I was lying: my equipment automatically recorded any incoming transmission. I never knew when I might need to analyze them. But I had seen a flashing light that indicated one of my search engines had finished its task, and it was the one I'd set up to worm its way through the Department of Defense, LexCorp, and STAR Labs looking for proof of my dimensional breach theory.

I put Wonder Girl on hold while I unmuted the line to Dick. "Dick, I've got to go. Something bad just went down here."

"JLA business, or something I can help with?"

I thought about it for a moment. Despite their age difference, Tim and Dick were tight, almost like brothers.

"The problem's with Young Justice, Dick. Apparently, Impulse has been killed."

"No…oh, no…"

I saw the look on his face, and wondered, for a moment, if this is what he looked like when he and the Titans returned from a mission in space a few years back, only to discover that Jason – his successor as Robin -- had been killed by the Joker.

The small of my back itched, where the Joker had put a bullet through my spine a few years before that.

"Dick, I've got to go. I've got to contact Bruce. Can you reach Flash through the Titans?"

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. No problem." He cleared his throat, suddenly sounding gruff. "Hang tough, Babs. And tell Bruce to call me after he sees Tim."

"Will do, cowboy. Later."

I closed down his line, swiveled to face the audio transmitter, and reopened the line to Wonder Girl, even as I sent an urgent email to the Cave and the Batmobile: "YJ, 1 down in Gotham. R taking it hard. 6^th and Belmont. Check up? O."

"Wonder Girl, I'm ready. Now, tell me everything that happened."

A tear-soaked half-hour later, I'd finished debriefing her, and Batman and Flash were at the scene. I uploaded my conversation with Wonder Girl to the JLA and the Cave, and then checked the results of my search engine.

After I'd read all the data my search had compiled, I shut down that computer and just sat there, in my wheelchair, staring into space.

With all the time-travel and chronal messes in the past few years, it was found to be possible to track breaches in the space-time continuum. And both STAR Labs and LexCorp has been reading multiple breaches in the dimensional barriers, just kind of appearing and then vanishing, or…sometimes, just drifting from place to place.

LexCorp's earliest reading was 25 months ago. One of STAR Labs' latest readings pegged a time nearly consistent with Impulse's death.

And, in virtually all of the cases I'd been tracking, a dimensional breach had been noted as being in that area at the time of the occurrence.

The first breach detected by LexCorp had been followed by two breaches. Which were followed by four, and then eight, and so on, apparently doubling roughly every 72 hours.

I ran a quick math program, based on the information accumulated so far, and felt a chill run down my spine.

There were now about 65,536 dimensional breaches on the planet. And the breaches would double roughly every three days.

The Earth would eventually be ripped apart by these breaches. And I had no idea what anyone could do about it.

Day 60:

Monitor Womb, Justice League Watchtower

Earth's Moon

"Oh, hell!"

John Henry Irons looked over at his companion, who had just slammed a fist into his computer console. "Ray?"

Ray Palmer, the size-shifting hero known as the Atom, swore again. "You'll never believe this one! Reports from Canada and the U.S.: The Niagara River is flowing backwards! The water at Niagara Falls is flowing up the falls!"

Irons sighed. "Proves our theory that the laws of physics are breaking down as these breaches grow."

"Yeah," Palmer growled. "But it would be nice if we could figure out what the hell is causing these breaches! We haven't made any progress on discerning a cause since Oracle clued us in last week, and things are getting progressively worse. We're looking at...what, over 500,000 breaches right now, and we can't find most of them!"

"Maybe that's a blessing," Irons said quietly, uploading a status report from one of the superhero teams down on the Earth. "Consider all the events we have seen in the last week. The JSA satellite. Plastic Man being killed during teleportation transit, which warned us that the fabric of space-time is no longer predictable. The return of the WorldTrade Center in New York, at the same time as the Statue of Liberty and United Nations building were replaced by ruins. Jerusalem destroyed by an earthquake. Japan disappearing and being replaced with a Japan still fighting World War II…"

"Not to mention the ‘holes' in our sensor coverage thanks to these rifts…I know what you're saying. I just hate being stuck here, unable to help out Earthside."

Irons gave Palmer a strained smile, and then spotted a new indicator on his console. His hands flew over the console, accepting the priority signal even as he identified the source as Oracle.

"Watchtower. Go ahead, Oracle."

"Status report on events in Smallville, Kansas." At the first two words, Palmer and Irons shared a grim look. Oracle usually used an electronic synthesizer to keep her identity secret. But it was apparent she wasn't using it now. Even so, they barely recognized her voice. Gone were the warm, honey-toned professionalism, replaced by hoarseness and tension. The two League members could hear also hear something in the voice they'd never heard from the JLA's "Data Central" before.   Fear.

"The disturbance in Smallville, Kansas, was a metahuman calling himself Superboy. Witnesses reported him to be confused, even crazed, when he appeared. One survivor claimed he seemed to have been ‘driven mad with grief' when he started tearing the town apart. Batman arrived on site with Hawkgirl and summoned Superman, Power Girl, and Wonder Woman, hoping for containment. Superman never arrived, and the others were forced to engage the boy, whom Batman has confirmed as a Kryptonian, possibly a temporally displaced younger version of Superman. Encounter ended with capture of subject at 1752 hours, local time. I regret to report that Hawkgirl and Power Girl were killed during the encounter. Please inform the Justice Society."

Irons took a deep breath. "We're no longer in contact with the JSA."

"Excuse me?"

"Their satellite was destroyed three hours ago in a collision with an unknown object. Unknown composition. We can't get a clear scan of it, only intermittent blips, blinking in and out of reality. Whatever it is, it's huge…50 miles long, 35 miles high…"

"…………"

"The satellite's destruction somehow scrambled the JSA's communications channels. We're trying to reconnect, but it's slow going. It's just the Atom and I up here right now…Green Lantern took Green Arrow, Firestorm, and Faith down a few hours ago to help out."

"What else has happened in the last few hours? I've got holes in my coverage the size of the Rockies…"

"Yeah, us too…hold on…the Atom'll update you."

Palmer activated the communications function of his own board, linking it into Oracle's signal. "Atom here, Oracle. The last few hours have been busy. The Martian Manhunter detected mental signatures in the dimensional breaches…far too many to probe, but what felt like were multiple variations of between 9 and 15 patterns. He was able to trace them enough to gain some names the signatures might belong to…ummmmm…" He fumbled through a few screens until he found the information. "I'll give it to you like he reported it, the names, along with the emotional resonance J'onn reported. Ororo Munroe, accompanied by overlapping feelings of horror, love, and peace. Scott Summers, with stoicism and horror. Nate, no last name discernible, with horror, fear, loss and guilt. J'onn also said there was a sense of growing mental pressure, building exponentially until insanity sets in. Our computers drew a blank for Ororo Munroe, and there are about 1,500 Scott Summers kicking around on Earth, so…"

"I'll try running the names through my systems here. What else?"

"Just hitting the big stuff, there was the JSA satellite. There's some kind of disturbance in Egypt that Doctor Fate was checking out before we lost the JSA links. Maxima reported in from Europe: Germany, France, and part of Russia are gone, replaced by something called the United Aryan Nations. The Flash — the second one, Barry Allen — is alive again, and volunteered to help out in Metropolis. There are four members of that 30^th century team, the Legion of Superheroes, who ended up here, and they're helping out. But, we've…"

"Can you give me names on our future friends?"

"Ummmmm, yeah. Wildfire, Dawnstar, Mon-El and, believe it or not, the Karate Kid."

"Hmph…Maybe they don't have movies in the 30^th century."

When Palmer didn't respond to that, Oracle's voice, strained as it was, took on an air of concern. "What's the bad news?"

"We've…had more casualties today."

"Oh, Christ…who?"

Palmer took a deep breath, blew it out explosively. "As of an hour ago? For the JLA, Blue Beetle, Fire, Dr. Light II, the Elongated Man, Animal Man, Captain Atom, and the Ray. We've lost contact with Superman, as well, but have no information on his status."   He paused, seeing Irons freeze momentarily while staring at his monitor. "The new Outsiders lost Geo-Force, and the Titans lost Argent, Arsenal, Damage and Flamebird. Young Justice lost Arrowette, and L'il Lobo. That dimensionally displaced team, the Justice Battalion, lost Bulletman, the Shining Knight, and their Doctor Fate. And, as of our last communication with the JSA, they'd lost Sand and …"

"Oracle…Atom…" Irons' voice was strained, and there were tears in his eyes. "I…just got word…"

Palmer hopped out of the program he'd been running, and accessed the real-time sensors. When he saw what the current dataflow said, he went pale, and his hands began to shake.

"The West Coast…" Irons voice was a mere whisper. "It's gone………" He looked up at Palmer, even as they heard a low sob from Oracle's communications channel. "Washington…Oregon…California…and part of Nevada…gone. America ends at Idaho, Utah, and Arizona…"

Palmer, looking back at his own board, realized the rest of it. "Oracle…we have two JLA teams there…and Titans West just got reestablished…"

Irons looked shell-shocked, and Oracle was silent. "We're losing, guys…we don't even know what's causing it…how can we stop it?"

Neither Irons nor Oracle had an answer for him.

Day 64:

The BatCave (Beneath Wayne Manor)

Gotham City, Ohio

"The End Time fast approaches."

The Batman glared at the speaker, a man cloaked in the mystical garments of the sorcerer Doctor Fate.

"You're not helping matters, Fate!"

Doctor Fate didn't move, but continued to face away from Gotham's sworn protector, speaking in a voice as hollow and cold as the grave. "You assume, incorrectly, that I speak from pessimism. I speak merely the truth. One can not fight what one does not understand."

Batman spun around, moving away from the computer where he had been working. The fact that Fate could vaporize him with a single mystical word didn't sway him as he grabbed a fistful of Fate's cape and yanked him closer until Fate's helmet was but an inch from Batman's cowl. "Listen to me, Fate, and listen well: I am trying to organize what's left of the world's hero population. The only way we might survive this is to remain coordinated. With the destruction of the Watchtower on the moon, and the loss of every satellite in orbit, we've lost communication with half the world. Without communication…"

Fate interrupted with four damning words. "It will not matter."

With a low hiss of rage, the Batman stalked back to his computer, linking it to another.

"Oracle: status report?"

"You want the good news or the bad?"

Batman merely stared into the screen. Correctly reading his mood, Barbara Gordon decided to skip the pleasantries. "Fine. I'm still coordinating what I can. As far as I can tell, I've managed to make a list of the only heroes left. I'll give you codenames and real names…trust me, it'll make this easier."

"Go ahead. And be advised that Doctor Fate is here with me."

"Okay. Now, aside from you, me and Fate, the following heroes are the ones we're familiar with: Firestorm, Black Lightning, Sentinel, Dr. Mid-Nite, Black Adam, Mister Terrific, J.J. Thunder, Jade, Troia, Mirage, Supergirl, Robin, Wonder Girl, and Red Star. Also, John Stewart has taken over as Green Lantern.

"Next up are those alternate dimensional counterparts that have replaced the heroes we know. Superboy is actually a Kryptonian. Wonder Woman is Hippolyta, but one who remained with the JSA after World War II on her Earth. Dawnstar and Mon-El are still here from the 30^th century. And Superman has been replaced by an older alternate, who apparently served in the JSA. He calls himself Kal'L—no ‘E' in that spelling.

"The Titans are meeting with Young Justice on Titans Island…apparently, Young Justice's headquarters was taken over by villains calling themselves the Legion of Doom. I'm here, too…most of my gear died a few days ago…and…I wanted to be closer to Dick………"

For a moment, the ice in Batman's voice was gone, as he glanced toward an oil portrait that had once hung in the mansion above the Cave. Now, it was sitting next to him.

"I understand," said Bruce Wayne, as he gazed on the image of his parents.

"What's left of the JSA-- Sentinel, Dr. Mid-Nite, Black Adam, and Mister Terrific, along with the ‘new' Wonder Woman and Superman—is regrouping in Central City. The JLA has been trying to reach you: They're attempting to regroup as well, and want to use the Cave…"

Batman thought for a mere second, then nodded. "Who should I expect?"

"Firestorm, Black Lightning, John Stewart, Dawnstar, Mon-El and Red Star. They'll be there in about ten minutes, give or take another disaster…"

  "Batman, I must speak with you. It is most urgent."

Batman gritted his teeth, He knew that the man under the helmet of Doctor Fate was not Kent Nelson, who had aided both the Justice Society and the Justice League. Nor was it Hector Hall, who had served as Fate's recent host. This was a civilian, an Egyptologist that Fate's mystical helmet had sought out and possessed in order to continue to serve the world. And while it wasn't the host's fault, Batman was finding that the helmet's dominant personality was an unsettling presence, to say the least.

"What is it, Fate? I'm a bit busy…."

"I merely wanted to…wish you luck. And to express my sorrow at this world's ending."

Batman turned. "Fate, I've already told you…."

But he was alone in the Cave. And the display case Fate has been standing next to, moments before — the display case that had held the costume of Jason Todd, killed by the Joker while serving as the second Robin – was gone, replaced by a costume that he knew hadn't been worn in years.

Bruce Wayne, still wearing the mask that had struck fear into Gotham's underworld for over a decade, repressed a shiver as he slowly looked around the Cave. Nothing.

"Batman?"

"…………….."

"BATMAN? Bruce, answer me!"

"…Yes, Barbara…I'm here…"

"What happened?"

Batman's tone was empty as he walked to the display case, staring at the costume the woman he was speaking with had once worn. He looked at the plaque at its base.

DEDICATED TO BARBARA GORDON: A GOOD SOLDIER

His jaw set, he stalked back to the computer console. "Dr. Fate is gone."

"Damn it…not another one…are you all right? You sound…spooked."

Batman stared at the display case.   "I'm fine."

Time: Indeterminate

Day: Indeterminate

Place: Indeterminate

My name is Barbara Gordon.

At one time, I was a partner of the Batman, Gotham's defender. I called myself Batgirl.

At a later time, after I was crippled by the Joker, I called myself Oracle. I may have been crippled in body, but not in my mind. As Oracle, I was the person to go to for information. Batman, Nightwing…even the Justice League of America came to me for info. I was their "Data Central."

Now, it's over. And I'm just Barbara Gordon again.

I think I'm the last one left.

Seventy-eight days. That's all it took for the world to be destroyed.

I'm making this recording in the hopes that someone will find it. Maybe it will be of help to someone…I pray it will. Because all I have to offer is this log, which I've stored on CD-ROM discs and copied to cassette tapes. It's in print form, too. I've stored it all in a shielded box…hopefully, that will protect the data. There was a lot of weird electromagnetic activity at times…

I miss Dick.

Dick Grayson was the first Robin, the Batman's first partner. He grew up and struck out on his own, becoming Nightwing. Now, the boy I fought alongside with in Gotham, who grew up into the man I love…is just a memory.

Dick is gone. Bruce is gone. So are Tim, Dinah and Cassandra. 

It's weird.

I'm sitting here because I've nothing else to really do. Most of my computer equipment died on the 63^rd day. The equipment in Titans Tower vanished on the 75^th day. That was…maybe, a week ago. With no sun, and no moon…not to mention the changes in time depending on where you are…time is a bit...subjective.

There's a poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson I read when I was in college. "Charge of the Light Brigade." There's a part of it I remember…

Shatter'd and sunder'd.
Then they rode back, but not,
Not the six hundred.

We didn't come back from this. This…this Crisis that shattered and sundered our world beat the best Earth had to offer. In the end, even the villains were trying to help. But nothing mattered.

I'll never forget the look on Bruce's face as he vanished.

In the last days, I'd moved to Titans Tower in New York. Bruce had contacted me for an update. He was annoyed because Doctor Fate was there. But Fate vanished. And Bruce was scared. I could actually hear it in his voice, and that simple fact scared the hell out of me.

We managed to cobble together a visual link after a few hours, and we continued to talk. I saw the fracture open and start heading toward him. Even as I screamed a warning, he turned and saw it coming. It was too close, and he had no time to get away.

God as my witness, he actually smiled. And there were tears in his eyes. He picked up what looked like a framed portrait and hugged it to his chest…I couldn't see what it was.

I yelled, "Bruce! RUN!"

He said — and I had to play it back later to be sure— "Mom, Dad…here I come…"

Then he was gone, vanished in the blink of an eye even as I screamed his name again. It was Troia that snatched me away from the monitor as it exploded. Some kind of feedback.

Dick was heartbroken, as was Tim.

Dick vanished two days later.

Tim disappeared the next day, along with nearly all of what was left of Young Justice. But he was replaced by Jason Todd, the second Robin, who had been killed a few years back by the Joker and was suddenly alive again.

Jason died — again — a few hours later.

But they're all gone now…

And I'm alone………

Oh, God, Dick…why did you leave me so alone?

E….Enough.

If you find this information, take it. Use it. If there's anyone else left, anywhere, anywhen, may you do better against…whatever this is that has killed us…than we did.

Whatever you do…please…don't let us have died in vain.

Don't let us die forgotten.

This is Barbara Gordon. Daughter of Gotham City Commissioner Jim Gordon. Partner of the Batman. Lover of Dick Grayson. The cybersavant Oracle.

Signing off………..

Time: Indeterminate

Day: Indeterminate

Place: Indeterminate

I am the Uatu, the Watcher:

It is with sorrow that I observed the last moments of the planet Earth in yet another reality. My brethren — those that remain — tell me that similar phenomena are occurring throughout the multiverse.

  Our duty is to observe, but not interfere. Our horizons have been opened since the splintering of space-time. Whole strata of reality previous unavailable are now open to us. So it was that I observed the Carrier, a transdimensional craft from yet another universe, crash into the planet Earth in one reality, but destroy whole millions of universes in the process.

The craft struck the Yucatan region of Mexico, causing a crater over 100 miles in diameter, and ultimately, resulted in the extinction of most life on the planet.

I should, perhaps, say "planets."

As a Watcher, I have not only observed what transpires before me, but I have also looked into the realities of what could have been, in hopes of gaining more insight into the human condition. Because of my constant observation of the multiverse, I have long known what few humans grasp. That, despite popular belief, "time travel" is not possible. The very concept of traveling through time is illogical, since "time" does not flow. The fact that humans believe time "passes" is an accident of their primitive nervous systems, of the way they perceive events. 

In reality, untold numbers of universes exist, side by side, separated by a thin dimensional membrane some call "The Bleed." Time is not a constant between universes. Thus, step from one universe to another, and it might seem that, in that step, one has traveled second, minutes, or perhaps millennia.

As a result, so-called "time-travelers" — human and otherwise — merely traveled from dimension to dimension and back, journeying through the dimensional barrier.

The crash of the Carrier — 35 miles high and 50 miles long — was what the humans called an extinction-level event. The physical impact alone destroyed the carrier, raising a dust cloud on the planet Earth that killed nearly every living thing on that planet. Because of the millions of dimensional fractures afflicting the planet, the crash resulted in the death of Earth's dinosaurs in 148,002,321 universes.

However, the crash also damaged the containment field around the Carrier's power source, a caged baby universe. Unleashed, it erupted, "rewriting" space and time and slipping through the millions of dimensional fractures afflicting the planet, causing what humans call "the Big Bang" in 987,528,349 universes, and the "End-Time" in 527,488,211 other universes. The psychic death screams of all sentient life in those universes resonated through the fractures, killing all telepathic and empathic life forms in another 148,768 universes.

My race is an ancient one, far older than the human race, which I have been long charged with observing. I have watched with fascination as mankind went from a simple hunter-gatherer culture to becoming the catalyst for the next evolution in life.

My race has sworn not to interfere with the affairs of other races, and all of my brethren have taken this vow seriously, as have I. And yet…a few moments ago, I observed the final moments of Barbara Gordon, a human on a distant, once undiscovered Earth whose love of knowledge perhaps matched my own.

I could do nothing to save her. My oath of non-interference is still binding to me, and remains unbroken.

Any yet, after she was gone, swallowed by a dimensional rift that, mercifully, killed her while she slept, I managed to retrieve the information she had so painstakingly gathered.

Perhaps, one day, I will honor her final wish, and find a way to provide her data to someone who will use it to heal the damage done to the multiversal continuum.

Time: Indeterminate

Day: Indeterminate

Place: Indeterminate

  "Thought I'd find you here…"

Franklin Richards looked up from the piano as Nathan, Domino and the Ace of Hearts walked into the bar, lugging a huge metal box. "What is that?"

"It attacked him," Domino snickered, "so he brought it back as a trophy."

Remy LeBeau smirked. "The box, it lookin' harmless now, non?"

"Yeah, because the oaf here beat it into submission!" Domino laughed.

Franklin carefully maintained a deadpan _expression as he saw the baleful stare Nathan gave Le Beau and Domino. Le Beau merely smiled his best "I'm just an innocent li'l thief look."

Domino just smiled wickedly.

"So, what happened?" Franklin asked.

"We'd found what looked like Avengers Mansion. The Cajun managed to get us inside, and we started looking around." Nathan rubbed his eyes tiredly. "The current resident, Ultron, didn't take to kindly to that."

Franklin looked on with interest as the Ace of Hearts started examining the box. "Ultron, huh?"

"Oui. We're lookin' aroun', and de robot jumps out at us. ‘Magine ‘is surprise when ol' Nate here slams ‘im back with ‘is teke." Le Beau smirked as he defeated one of the box's seals. "D'en, la belle blanche here, she drop a grenade down ‘is throat while Nate holds ‘im in place."

Franklin blinked, turning to Domino. "You put a grenade down his throat?"

Domino shrugged. "Seemed the thing to do at the time."

Nathan snorted. "Yeah, for all the good it did. Flonqing robot was made of adamantium…grenade didn't make a scratch. I collapsed a wall on him…"

"It be more like the entire east wing," Gambit said helpfully.

"…and decided to call it a day while he was digging himself out. We were almost out of the building…."

"When the box came out of nowhere and jumped Nate," Domino put in.

Such was Nathan's "why me?" _expression that Franklin struggled to keep a straight face. Gambit and Domino were in rare form.

"The flonqing box hadn't been there a minute before! I had a brief telepathic ‘glimpse' of another mind there…an old one, and…vast...but then it was gone."

"Oui," Gambit said as he defeated another seal. "An' then you tripped over the box, leavin' you lyin' dere, sprawled flat on your…."

Nathan's bionic eye flashed as he took a deliberate, menacing step toward the Cajun thief. The Ace of Hearts kept smiling, but the glowing playing cards that hadn't been in his hand a second earlier belied his easy grin.

"Behave, you two," Franklin said. "Don't make me send you to your rooms."

Gambit laughed at the absurdity of anyone trying to lock him in anywhere. Nathan just glowered.

Franklin shook his head. "Oh, never mind. Nathan, come here."

Nathan's _expression suddenly grew wary, and he began to take a step back as Franklin approached him, hand outstretched. Domino, standing behind Nate, just gave him a quick shove toward Franklin. As the huge man floundered for a second, getting his balance, Franklin touched Nathan quickly on the forehead, shunting away the excess chrono-variant energy that had built up in him while he and his companions had been out in the shifts.

Nathan barely resisted to urge to jump back, and so silently cursed the feeling of coldness that shook through him at Franklin's touch. "There," Franklin said. "All done."

"I didn't need that," Nathan growled.

Franklin just gave him his best "Let's humor the old guy" look.

"You going to open it, Cajun?" Nathan said, somewhat sourly.

"Yah, if I c'n jes'…ah, dere we go!" With a moment's more concentration, the nimble-finger got the box open.

"Humph. CD-ROMs," Nathan grumbled as he peeked into the box. "Yeah, with no computers, those'll be real useful," Nathan growled. Shaking his head, he left the bar. Domino lingered a second, then followed Nathan out the door

Franklin didn't notice their departure. Rooting through the box, he found a cassette player. After a few minutes of digging in the box, he uncovered a wealth of Ni-Cad batteries, four of which he inserted in the player. Finally, he pulled out a simple black cassette. It was marked simply "PLAY ME FIRST."

He put the cassette into the machine, and punched the play button.

Silence for a few seconds, during which Franklin realized that Le Beau and everyone else in the bar had gathered around the table. Not a one of them was making a sound.  

Then:

"This is a tale of the end of our world.

"It came upon us slowly, a disaster of such epic proportion that no one saw coming. And by the time we did, it was far, far too late.

"This is the tale of the end of our world.

"And not even Earth's mightiest and best heroes could stop it.

"At a later time, after I was crippled by the Joker, I called myself Oracle……….."

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