What happened

She wasn't the only one in business attire buying groceries. There were harried mothers in pants suits trailed by small children in soccer uniforms or dressed up in pink leotards trying to sneak fruit or cookies into baskets. Lana watched them, talking away on small communicators, the ones the television called cellular phones. They seemed to juggle so much. And no one thought twice about it.

There was even a woman well into her forties with a young child carried in some sort of sling on her chest. Another woman was following her, dutifully collecting baby products. Lana had never seen a woman in her forties with a child that was her own. At first she'd assumed grandmother, grandchild and daughter. But the younger woman was too subservient. And then a discreet listen revealed she was a nanny.

One hand dropped to her waist and Lana looked away. There was so much that was new in this place. The people, the manners. She hid herself away in her office, reading papers and trying to catch up on paperwork her new secretary said she was behind on. Playing politics at a University was distasteful, but it was something she knew how to do.

Living in this new world ? It was something else entirely.

She slipped her cigarette case out of her purse, needing a smoke to sooth her nerves. She couldn't look this off put in public. She'd learned the hard way about Luthors and public appearances. But the woman with the baby turned and glared at her as she flicked on her lighter. And the younger woman dutifully disappeared around the curve of the end of the aisle.

Lana inhaled and was exhaling slowly, feeling everything tension slipping away, when a young bright eyed young man in a bright red apron came trotting after her.
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Ted had gotten a note on where the mansion was, he wasn’t sure which one of the ‘family’ had sent it, despite getting an email about the JLA. Or rather a sentence. This didn’t please Ted too much, but he reminded himself that just because more folks from the JLA showed up, did not mean they were the ‘same’ men and women he had known. Different view points, different opinions, people who never have heard of him. People who he couldn’t hold accountable for what had happened. Still, he needed to talk about it with someone about this formation of the JLA, and Bruce seemed to be the best bet.

Ted knocked on the door of the manor, he hadn’t planned on visiting this place, Bab’s email bothered him that much. Before the email he was adjusting pretty well at his new apartment, finally getting close to enough money to pay for it on his own. He was establishing nice working relationships, he wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure that a cute single mom had been eying him. Maybe, it had been a while since dealing with anyone normal on an equal level. And there laid the problem, he could only show part of himself to his co-workers.

He was greeted by Alfred, somewhat of an awkward on Ted’s side, led to a sitting room. And then Ted waited, fretting just a little bit.

Old habits were hard to kill.
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Takes place after this.

Beetle watched the familiar yet an alien figure slink back into the night. So this was how the Batman was like about... maybe a decade ago? Ted could barely remember being that young. Okay, he did remember being that young, and having a metabolism that worked wonderfully until just a few years ago. The heart seemed to be ticking fine, usually there would be something wrong right now; normally a rapid increase of his heart beat.

He patted his chest once, shaking is head and spoke hesitantly into the communicator. “So am I talking to a good witch or a bad witch?” The brunet hoped it was the Barbara he was familiar with, or one with enough shared history not to feel so alone. He’d have to ask if Barbara had any idea how they got there. Ted’s hope for getting out of this city was becoming increasingly low, if Barbara and Batman were planting roots.

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The gun war began at rush hour. Or rather, at what should have been rush hour. People should have been driving home from work in the evening, getting ready to settle into their house shoes to eat dinner, or just getting back with little Jimmy, from soccer practice. Getting back with Candace, from ballet.

Throughout the City, no one could have not heard it. The first shot was more like a car backfiring than anything else. A sharp, rough sound at City Centre. And then there was a second, and a third. A downpour of these hard, piercing bursts of noise came.

No one wanted to step outside, to brave the criss-crossing of bullets.

The City was shifting, through all of this, scattering the firefight to every end and every beginning of its streets. Citizens kept their eyes down, and hoped from inside their safe, warm homes or their drab office buildings. The City didn't have a masked protector. Not that had shown his face yet.

Not really.


(( Bombs away, kiddies. All you do-gooders, go out and do good. All you baddies, soak in the chaos and join in the fun!))

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An author said, all those who wander are not always lost.

For Ted, however, this was not true. Rather, he was lost and uncertain. He had always thought fantasy fiction in general was less than appealing to him. As a requisite of his youth, he attempted to read Lord of the Rings at the tender age of 12 and dropped it in favor of a science magazine he found while waiting for the doctor. And that brought a new world of possibilities.

He wasn't finding much, to use with those possibilities with. The section of the city he was in did house random items, some of which did pique his interest, but not enough to be useful. He'd have to find lighter fuel, among other things, to make something serviceable. He also found that traveling in a blue costume was not ideal for him, as earlier stated by the 'gentleman' he had words with. "Point of view Ted, point of view..." Blue Beetle grumbled to himself, long since pulling the goggles and cowl over is head.

He was avoiding logics on his existence, why he was still breathing, why he was still walking. And trying to find some means to get shelter or a clean set of clothing provided suitable distraction.

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He felt sick, staring into a face that he couldn’t say he had once trusted, but one he felt familiar and relatively comfortable with. Just another “thing” to go wrong.

It figured, in the completely illogical scheme of things with his life, that he was staring down at Max. The Max he had known was the scuzzy bussiness man with some humanity. Not this stranger with ideals of lunacy.

Maybe that was why Beetle didn’t feel fear when he saw the arm moving in slow motion, mimicking death scenes in movies. It just figured.

Go to Hell Max. Cliché, and not the most suiting for last words, really. He couldn’t help but feel anger, not just of betrayal. And it wasn’t just directed at Lord. He had to face this alone, defending those who didn’t even listen to him.

Native nobility. His whole life. Wasn’t that what they called Woodrow Wilson? Or was it Roosevelt? Couldn’t remember. Why did it matter? The gun was raised at eye level.

White. Pain.

It figured. The one time Booster became worried, the one time Michael showed fear.…

When the white faded into grayness, to blank and unfamiliar streets and the pain dulled into a mild headache, Ted had a delayed reaction. His hand swung up, reaching for where he was sure he had been shot, excepting gore, ooze, anything. He drew away his hand from his face and found that his glove clean, the costume spotless. He frowned and looked around again, the climate not pleasant, but not what he expected from Hell. Not like that short visit. One of the few reasons why he was able to drop fast foot craving for good. It was a city, like Chicago, the Hub, Gotham, Metropolis, expect nothing distinct caught his attention. It wasn’t Hell.

Pat Robinson, Ted thought with a slight frown as he absently rubbed the back of his head, growing faintly alarmed there was no damage of a bullet through the head under his finger, is going to be one pissed off camper.

Ted pulled off his goggles and cowl, as if he hoped that they were somehow blocking the obvious and found that to be of no help. “If this is Heaven, someone better have a really good explanation.”

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