ULTIMATES!

With a jolt, Riley Armitage awoke with a start. "Ugh what now?"

He flipped over in his bed and waved his arm, knocking over his alarm clock, then his phone, but no luck. A loud buzz filled the room and Riley finally jumped out of bed, activating his motion sensitive lighting. It was dark outside, very dark. Turning to his clock, he found that the time was 2 a.m. and finally he found the source of the noise: his Watchtower Alert Communicator.

Spoiler:

With a grunt of pain, he hit the device and a hologram of Aeon hummed to life. "Calling all Justice League members, this is a code black. Jemmy is back to her antics at the United Nations Headquarters and full League attention is requested." she paused for a moment and turned, directly looking towards Riley, himself. "This includes you too, Scope." she said, looking to Riley with an eye brow raised.

"How many times do I have to tell you that I'm the Black Bullet now, Aeon?" the hero said, now standing and making his way to his shower. His communicator then began to levitate, Aeon following him all the way.

"You know you'll always be Scope to the rest of the Titans." she continued. "Anyway, that's not the point. We need you now. Jemmy's tough when she wants to be and you know that better than most."

Riley sighed as he turned the hot water on high. He had only gotten about three hours of sleep but...it seems there had to be a price if he wanted to live in Paris. He smiled as he entered bathroom, engulfed in steam. Aeon continued, speaking much louder now. "You haven't responded to any of our calls in quite a while..." she paused for a response although none came. "You know you really were good when actually came around..." still no answer. "The other Titans really would like to see you."

The water stopped hard. Riley broke through the fog with a towel and a sad look in his eyes. Although he seemed to be about to say something else, a police siren echoed through the lower downtown streets. "Look Aeon. I've got a city to look after myself." he began, running down a long hall towards his suit, the communicator gliding behind him smoothly.

To doors slid open slowly and revealed a silver and black uniform that Riley had grown accustomed to. He stepped in and the armored uniform formed seemlessly onto his body. He turned to Aeon with a smug smile. "Tell ya what. If the others still haven't taken care of it by the time I get back, I'll think about helping out." He kicked his heels together as two rockets opened on his boots. "Besides...it is only Jemmy."

He bolted straight up in a plume of smoke and fire and left Aeon, as she sighed quietly before tuning off.

Spoiler:

***

As Jemmy was enjoying herself and wreaking havoc, as usual, there was another there so that a greater goal could be achieved. Many precautions were already taken and he was confident that he hadn't missed anything. Isaac O'Ghadra never missed anything...

As various government officials scattered in terror, down by their feet, a black cat calmly weaved around their legs and towards a safe viewing spot. As Jemmy ate a man whole, the black cat found a comfortable spot in the corner of the room and began licking his own lips. Of course, he wasn't in the mood to eat any men any time soon, but, he was in the mood for a good fight. Although he had come into contact with the Justice League on occasion, he was confident that his own anonymity was unscathed amongst the heroes that were sure to arrive.

Isaac had many new tricks up his sleeve to combat the Leaguers and he thought that, perhaps, they wouldn't be as outnumbered as they seemed. Isaac wasn't here to simply cause chaos, although that might be Jemmy's goal. He was here to finally destroy those infernal nuisances so that the Hand would have no competition at all. Sure, many believed that the Hand was long disbanded...but not as long as Isaac lived, and if you knew anything about Isaac, you'd know he'd be around for a long, long time...

"Ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Eheh, ehheee, ehha, eho, ehooooooo, ehoo hoo hoo hoo hooh hoo hoo! Muahahahaha, AHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA, HAHAHAHAHAHA, eheh... ehee. ehoo... oh, god, I need to get a life. Wait--that's right! I have one! Oooooh, I think it's even a cool one! Wait... wasn't that that one hallucination thing that I had at that one time at that one place with.... um, wait. No. I do have a life! And it's the greatest one ever! In fact... ehee, hee, heeeee... the curtain folds... their reign will end! Ehehehehehhhhh... ehoo... eheeeee... well. I'm bored."

'Speaking thus...'

Twenty years... twenty whole years since the masked shapeshifter had finally decided upon one face to wear, one mask: his own flesh, though burned, charred, and rugged as it was. The once feeble young man was now strong, tall, and handsome if you were judging looks from the neck on down. Some people had pestered him to get plastic surgery, others suggested that he wear a mask that's obviously a mask, but Honest knew that those two options were impossible. He couldn't be taken seriously with his pretty face if he still had it, or at least... one of the faces. Liev had left behind all the lies and whimsical flights of fancies, all the rhyming insults and cryptic taunts.

No, he was as honest as any man could ever be while still claiming to be a man. That's what allowed him to open his mind, open his areas of prowess, open up to the world as the ugly, terrorised, murder-plagued bastard that he was. Now, Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichmann put his brother, the murderous psychopath called "Fake" that not only had hired some petty thief to kill off Liev's wife and child, but he had rammed a chainsaw through his very own one, true, love, then topped it off with a bloody reign of murders in the name of the L.A.W. However, Kaiser Adal Ehrlichmann had become and example to Liev... an example of how a little bit of mind tricks and a wee bit of force could force the world to drown in its own blood. An example of prime crime, raw evil, true malice, and utter insanity.

An example, in fact, that had Honest built his own reign of terror upon. Revenge, at first, satiated him well enough to not do many other crazy things, but after Katarzyna Dolinksi--aka "Backlash," aka his best friend's killer--had been strangled to death in her own electric whips, had her signature blinding white ponytail cut from her head as well as her head from her neck, then defaced, shoved onto a stake, and sent it to the Polish government that had been funding her own heinous escapades, he wanted more. Fake was already dead, so Liev moved on to the next best thing: his father. His father who had hated him, who had kicked him out of the house for wanting to be an actor rather than a politician and conform to the expectations of stereotypical manhood, who had shamed him as much as Liev had supposedly shamed his family. After day after a certain golden-eyed, pale-faced meta-human had been sighted near his hometown of Munich, Germany, the desecrated corpse that was hideously absent of the skin, eyes, mouth, and nose of the face of the great and famed head of the Ehrilchmann family, Adal Ehrlichmann himself, was sighted as well.

...and yet, he was still hungry for more. And as that bloodlust became his drive to stay alive which included taking the lives of Deputy Inspector Hugo Gonzalez, one guy that was allegedly the famous shrink that had allegedly forced Honest to admit himself into the nut house named Doctor Sidoh, and the very General of the United States Military that had enlisted Honest's expertise to take down the head of a terrorist organisation called Red Dagger--Honest thinks the dude called himself General Whitberg, but that was probably a cover--and countless others. The thing that separated Honest and Fake, however, was that most everyone that died by Fake's hand were random and kinda sporadic--like a dingy motel's inhabitants and habits--and were simply killed... because Kaiser could do it, really. Those who died by Honest's hand had been specifically selected, carefully calculated, determined as destined to die, thoroughly thought about, and had honestly harassed the honestly heinous, horrible, holy-war-whore named Honest to the point of downright ridiculousness. They were just asking to get murdered one day, and Honest was honoured to help, and they got a free facial removal from it, too...

...just like the people he was going to "help" today. A common enemy between two... maybe Three... uncommon commoners in crime brought these crazy characters together to create chaos, cause catastrophe, and serve as a twisted mock-up of "we three kings of stories of old."

"Well... I'm actually not sure if that one small thingie that likes to eat people is a dude. Come to think of it, I'm not even sure if those 'three kings' were even 'kings' instead of 'queens!' I do believe that, if I had written the story of Mary and Jesus, I would have made them queens because no one wants to accept presents from dirty old guys that had traveled forever and smell like camel poo! Poo, boo hoo! Boo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, hoo, oh yes they do! 'Ew you smell like poo and camel goo and you, I'll rue!' Ha. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Eheh, ehheee, ehha, eho, ehooooooo, ehoo hoo hoo hoo hooh hoo hoo! Muahahahaha, AHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAHA, HAHAHAHAHAHA, eheh... ehee. ehoo... oh, right. I'm supposed to be serious, now. I'm on the job, AND WHEN DUTY CALLS, YOU'RE DARN ROOTIN' TOOTIN' THAT... ahahahahahahahahaha! 'Doody, tootin, rootin, COME ON BOYS, LET'S GO BOOTIN' THAT SUPER-ZERO ROOTIN' TOOTIN, hahahahaha."

...well, scratch the part about Liev not rhyming anymore. Old habits die hard, you know? Right?

• • • • • • •

NEW YORK CITY. UNITED NATIONS HEADQUARTERS.

"Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy, I was going to dress up as that guy today! I hadn't been someone from Luxembourg never-ever in my life, so I was gunna make a mask out of that guy's face an' become him an' be a Luxembourgian, all official an' prissy an' pricey an' stuff, I am I was I am! I'm very down-right-to-me-stars-and-garters-luck to 'ave gone with the Irish chap, yeh? I guess it's..." there goes that incessant giggling again. "I guess it's the luck o' the Irish, right lit'le lassie, yah? Get it? 'cause I'm Irish, yah? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

A short, stocky man in his late fifties emerged from behind and overturned table that had served as his shield from the streaking debris caused from Shivering Jemmy’s pummeling of the brick wall. He had messy sprouts of graying hair coming from the crown of his head and the bottom of his chin. His “walk” was more like a waddle, but nonetheless, his beady dark eyes that could make any high-class criminal uncomfortable duly made up for his otherwise comical appearance. This was the representative from Ireland, Mr. Connerly O’Conners Cumbercubesheno’la-dee-dah. AKA, the name that Honest––the world-class criminal, con-artist, weaver of trickery and deceit, master of disguises, the actor and ex-Teen Titan, ex-hero turned supervillain from an absolutely abhorrent childhood––had decided was much more entertaining than “Gerard O’Connors,” the representative’s real name... as well as the man whose literal face Liev was wearing; a ritual recently practised after Honest had also decided that mask-making was too tiresome and not as villainous as it potentially could have come to fruition. In a way, Liev Aleksandr Ehrlichmann was the modern-day Leatherface, minus the chainsaw and Texas domain, of course. Wearing the faces of his victims, Honest felt a sense of empowerment and true devilish shapeshifting.

With an exaggerated show of ridiculous theatrics, Honest pulled from his own charred, blistered, and boiled face Gerard O’Connors’ face. Immediately, the squat little man had grown into the tall, well-built, and muscular German that he had become over the years. By his proud stature and clearly un-aged physique, it was hard to believe that Liev was now forty-one years old, not to mention his childish giggling and immature lingo. This once respected hero was now certifiably insane, fully round-the-bend, crazy as a barrel of monkeys, bonkers, batty, deranged, frenzied, mental, psychotic, unhinged, senseless, preposterous, paranoid, maniacal, loony, moonstruck, off one’s rocker, nutty, screwy, delirious.

In other words, the perfectly irrational villain to deal with. Hell, his “condition” was often considered to be the same of “The Joker on his own Joker Juice.” If only the Batman was still in commission... if only, if only.

Now, how this prime nutcase had met Jemmy was a loooooooong story. How Jemmy hadn't killed the annoying bastard was a loooooooooooooonger story, and how the two ended up not trying to kill each other was an even longer story, but it all came down to one article and two proper nouns: The Justice League. Under Jemmy’s “counseling,” Honest was right-and-ready to kill his own teammates and friends, the very people who had fought alongside him to defeat their enemies. His only friends... the people who gave him a home, a family, and a purpose. All unimportant now. Nothing could have saved Honest from driving himself crazy with the help of the death of his best friend, Evan Hauge, and his wife and child, Kady Isaacs and five-year-old Calvin. There was no other explanation. No real reason to right these wrongs.

“Erm, never mind, my dearest Jemmy,” Honest coughed an apology as he approached the bizzarity of nature, “my apologies. And, might I say, what a fine breach! Certainly less tedious as mine... ah, well. Mustn’t live in the past, am I right. ‘Live in the past and you’ll find life won’t last.’”

With an exaggerated but sincere bow, Honest then stood tall, adjusted his smooth black bowtie, and proceeded to pull a compact mirror from his suit pocket. “Oh, my, my, my, my, my!” he sighed, “I do believe I look rather... healthful today. The skin right beneath by eye is trying to heal! How troublesome, how bothersome, this won’t do...”

Next, honest pulled out a rusty old pocketknife, switched the small, serrated blade out, and careful drove it into that healing flesh and made a little “screeeeeeeeech” sound effect as blood began pouring from the hideous gash.

“Right then,” Honest continued as he slipped the pocketknife and compact mirror back into his suit, “I’m ready. Say... wasn’t that superstitious fellow supposed to be accompanying us? I do want to meet him, I do hope to ask him how he got through those dark, dark witch trial ages while still having three lives left to this day... or was it three-hundred? Hmmmm... can’t rememberrrrrrrrr...”

His thoughts seemed to cloud the man’s mind from everything around him, and it was not until Honest tasted his bitter, salty, crimson blood as it dripped down, down, down his atrocious face and reached the corners of his twisted smirk.

“How long do you give them, dearest Jemmy? Five minutes? Ten? Maybe they’ll make it in time for the second course. We don’t want to spoil your appetite in the meantime...