EARTH-3: WEEK ONE - RECONNAISSANCE
Raj had spent seven days observing Earth-3 from the shadows, confirming what his research had warned—this world was everything he'd studied about, and worse.
The Crime Syndicate weren't just evil mirrors of the Justice League; they were tyrants who had broken the world's spirit.
Where his Earth had Batman, here ruled Owlman—Thomas Wayne Jr., who watched his brother Bruce die and decided control was the only salvation.
Where Superman inspired hope, Ultraman—Kal-Il of Krypton—inspired terror, a sadistic alien who gained power from Kryptonite rather than sunlight.
Where Wonder Woman championed truth, Superwoman—Lois Lane with Amazon powers—wielded a Lasso of Submission that forced painful confessions.
After a week of observation, Raj had established three certainties:
First, direct confrontation would fail. The Syndicate existed because Earth-3 itself seemed built on inverted morality.
Second, beneath the terror, resistance endured. Fragmented, desperate, but alive.
Third, this world needed help to heal itself, not another savior swooping in.
EARTH-3: HAPPY HARBOR MARKET DISTRICT
Nexus moved through the morning market in his Construct Shell disguise, just another face in a crowd trained to avoid eye contact. Survival on Earth-3 meant perfecting invisibility among the visible.
The market itself told the story of life under the Syndicate. Guards in Ultraman's insignia oversaw the "tribute collection"—taking a third of every vendor's goods. No one protested. Those who had disappeared.
A mother pulled her child closer as a patrol passed, whispering instructions that Nexus could barely hear: "Eyes down. Don't smile. Remember what happened to the Wilson boy."
At a vegetable stall, an old man carefully arranged his meager produce, positioning the bruised items to hide a few perfect specimens beneath—saving the best for customers who couldn't afford the Syndicate's protection prices.
The true currency here wasn't money but fear, carefully measured and spent in the everyday transactions of survival.
"Three carrots, please," Nexus said, approaching the stall.
The vendor assessed him with a caution born of necessity. "New here?"
"Just passing through."
"Nobody just passes through anymore," the vendor replied, handing over bruised vegetables. "Not since the Syndicate closed the borders."
As their hands touched in the exchange, Nexus noticed the vendor's fingers—three missing at the knuckles. The punishment for hoarding food during Ultraman's first year.
This was what Earth-3 had become: a place where even the smallest kindness required calculated risk, where humanity persisted in whispers and secret gestures despite everything designed to crush it.
This was what he had come to save.
"Interdimensional heroics 101," Raj muttered while returning to his hideout that evening. "Don't become the thing you're fighting against. Also, remember to pack snacks—saving parallel worlds works up an appetite."
EARTH-3: WEEK TWO - FOUNDATION
With the horror of Crime Alley still fresh in his mind—where he'd witnessed a public execution for the crime of providing unauthorized medical care—Raj activated the third star on his Pedestal. It was time to build something this world desperately needed: hope.
Nexus knelt within a massive natural cavern, three miles beneath Earth-3's surface.
Around him, three perfect duplicates worked in synchronized harmony, each handling a different aspect of construction.
Inside his mind, the Pedestal of Ten glowed with his current power selections. Each star pulsed with unique energy, channeling different abilities through his body.
"Let's see if this works," he murmured, extending his hands toward the cavern wall. "Rock renovation, extreme edition."
From the seventh slot on his Pedestal, Singularity Shaping activated. Unlike crude telekinesis, this power manipulated matter at its fundamental level.
The rock before him didn't break or move—it flowed, particles realigning into doorways, rooms, and corridors.
Where once stood solid stone, now emerged living quarters, medical bays, storage facilities.
"I'm creating a Hollow," he explained to himself, tapping his knuckles against a freshly formed wall. "Not a base. Not a headquarters. A Hollow. Because 'Secret Underground Rebellion Clubhouse' was too wordy for the neon sign I'm definitely not installing."
EARTH-3: THE HOLLOW - MEDITATION CHAMBER
With his underground sanctuary established, Nexus meditated in its center.
The mental library stretched endlessly around him—billions of stars representing potential powers, with only ten slots available on the Pedestal.
For the preparation phase, he had chosen carefully:
Quantum Intuition glowed blue-violet—an intelligence enhancement specifically for understanding complex systems. On Earth-3, where Owlman's surveillance state relied on hyper-advanced tech, this power was invaluable.
Phase Cloak pulsed with emerald energy—not mere intangibility, but a state of quantum superposition.
Mirror Split burned ruby red—the ability to create duplicate bodies that functioned independently yet remained connected to his consciousness.
Construct Shell shimmered with chameleon-like colors—the power to generate comprehensive disguises down to DNA traces.
Ghost Echo Interface crackled with electric blue—allowing him to commune with machines on their own terms.
Singularity Shaping radiated earthen brown—matter manipulation refined to an art form.
Null Presence didn't glow at all—the ability to erase all traces of his existence from detection.
Stellar Architect pulsed with cosmic light—the power to create pocket dimensions and safe zones.
Splitmind flickered with prismatic colors—enhancing his duplicates' autonomy while maintaining a telepathic link.
Eternal Trace gleamed with subtle gold—the capacity to leave messages only specified individuals could perceive.
Each power had been chosen not to fight the Syndicate, but to build something that could outlast them.
EARTH-3: HALL OF INJUSTICE
The atmosphere in the Syndicate's council chamber crackled with barely contained animosity. Seven figures arranged around a black marble table, united only by their mutual distrust.
"Another resistance cell eliminated in Gotham," Owlman reported, his voice a study in emotionless precision. "That makes seven this month."
Ultraman sneered, crushing a chunk of kryptonite in his fist, absorbing its radiation. "You count squashed insects now, Thomas? Perhaps if your surveillance was as perfect as you claim, we wouldn't need to hunt them at all."
"Perhaps if your enforcement wasn't so brutally obvious," Owlman countered without looking up from his data pad, "they wouldn't be inspired to form new cells every time you level a city block."
Superwoman's lasso hummed at her side, responding to the tension. "Boys, boys," she purred, her fingers tracing patterns on the table's surface. "Save the hostility for our enemies."
Johnny Quick vibrated with impatience, already bored. "Speaking of enemies, can we speed this up? I've got a public execution scheduled in Central City in twenty minutes."
Power Ring remained silent, the cursed ring on his finger whispering audibly to him alone.
Sea King slammed his trident against the floor, water droplets spraying across the table. "While you squabble over land rats, my domain suffers from rebel submarines. Perhaps I should extend my kingdom further inland if the surface cannot manage its vermin."
Atomica, perched on Johnny Quick's shoulder at miniature size, yawned dramatically. "Johnny's right. These meetings are a waste of time. Let me shrink down and slip into their little hideouts. I'll rupture their internal organs from the inside out, one by one."
Seven rulers of a broken world, bound by power but divided by everything else. A perfect inversion of the Justice League's unity and trust—exactly as Earth-3 demanded.
EARTH-3: OUTSKIRTS OF CENTRAL CITY
Central City on Earth-3 bore little resemblance to its counterparts on other Earths.
Where other versions were bright and forward-looking, this Central City was a monument to Johnny Quick's ego.
Everything moved on his schedule. Power outages were deliberately timed to remind citizens of their dependence.
Nexus, cloaked and intangible, observed an execution convoy from atop a crumbling overpass.
Twenty civilians loaded into transport vehicles—scheduled sacrifices for Johnny Quick's "community safety demonstration" the following day.
"This isn't saving the world," he told himself as he activated Phase Cloak to its maximum. "It's just... preventing some of the cruelty."
His grandfather's words echoed in his mind: "True heroism often lies in small acts of mercy when grand gestures would only bring more suffering." The sandalwood bracelet on his wrist seemed to warm at the memory.
He dropped from the overpass, passing through the armored transport's roof like a ghost.
Inside, huddled together in the darkness, five terrified civilians looked up in shock as he materialized.
"Don't scream," Nexus whispered, his form solidifying. "I'm going to get you out. Think of me as your interdimensional Uber, but with better reviews."
A middle-aged woman with medical insignia on her torn uniform stared at him with resigned eyes. "Why bother? They'll just find more victims."
"Because you deserve to live, even if it's this corrupted Earth-3," Nexus answered firmly, extending his hand. "And because maybe you can help others live too."
The woman hesitated, then nodded. Beside her, a man in engineering coveralls, a teenage girl clutching a modified tablet, and a young mother cradling an infant all looked to him with the first flicker of something they'd forgotten—hope.
In the opposite corner, partially hidden by shadows, the final passenger observed him with keen interest rather than fear.
As light briefly illuminated her face, Nexus recognized her—Harleen Quinzel, former Syndicate PR specialist who had fallen from Owlman's favor.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him. "You're not from around here, are you?" she asked, voice low enough that only he could hear.
"What gave it away?" he replied with a subtle smile. "My optimism in this dystopian nightmare or my ability to walk through walls like I'm in some video game with glitchy collision detection?"
EARTH-3: THE HOLLOW - THREE DAYS LATER
The rescued civilians adapted quickly to the underground sanctuary—people accustomed to surviving under oppression knew how to make the best of new circumstances.
Dr. Ellen Chambers organized the medical supplies, Marcus Rivera improved the power systems, and Zoe Chen established a primitive but effective way to monitor Syndicate communications.
Alisha Williams cared for her infant son, the first child to know safety in the Hollow.
And then there was Harleen.
"I know who you are," she said, cornering Nexus in the command center late that night. She twirled a stolen laser scalpel between her fingers with practiced precision. "You're not a Syndicate science project. You're something else entirely."
Nexus maintained a neutral expression, but internally, he reconfigured his Pedestal, ready to activate defenses if needed.
"Relax, strategist," she said with clinical precision, examining the scalpel before setting it aside. "Assassination isn't efficient when potential allies are scarce. Besides," she added with a cold smile that never reached her eyes, "poison is too merciful for what the Syndicate deserves."
She straightened her posture, the practiced poise of someone who once managed public perception at the highest levels. "Eight years crafting Owlman's image taught me when a new player changes the equation. You're not just another variable—you're an entirely new formula."
"Why should I trust you?" Nexus asked. "You helped build the Syndicate's empire."
"And I've spent the last year trying to tear it down," she countered, her voice lacking the manic quality he'd expected. Instead, she spoke with the calculated precision of an analyst. "Why do you think I was on that convoy? Owlman doesn't forgive betrayal. Especially when you reprogram his personal shower to only play propaganda speeches backward."
She leaned closer. "I can get you connected to people who've been fighting longer than you've been here. People with resources."
"The resistance is real?"
"What's left of it. Lex Luthor leads them now. On this world, he's the closest thing to a hero we've got."
Earth-3 Luthor—the heroic mirror of other worlds' villain. Nexus had studied about him during his preparation.
"And you can reach him?"
"I can try. But he'll need proof you're worth the risk." Her eyes gleamed with analytical precision. "Something only someone from... elsewhere... could provide."
EARTH-3: THE HOLLOW - LATER THAT NIGHT
The underground sanctuary had grown quiet. Most of the refugees had retired to their quarters.
Nexus sat in the command center, his focus split between monitoring surface activity and calibrating defense systems. The mental Pedestal shifted slightly as he adjusted his active powers for surveillance tasks.
Sleep eluded him, thoughts of Luthor's resistance weighing on his mind. If they truly existed in organized form, his mission parameters could shift dramatically.
A soft noise behind him made him turn. Harleen stood in the doorway, her posture deliberately casual yet somehow calculated. She had changed into a simple black tank top and fitted pants.
"Burning the midnight oil?" she asked, her voice carrying a different quality than before—lower, smoother.
Nexus nodded, turning back to the monitors. "Someone has to keep watch."
She moved closer, her steps deliberate. "Always so serious," she observed, leaning against the console beside him. "You remind me of Owlman sometimes—the focus, the planning. Difference is, I think there's actually a heart beating under all that power."
"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, aware of her proximity but maintaining his attention on his work. "Though comparing me to Owlman isn't what I'd call a winning pickup line."
"Oh, I can do much better than pickup lines," Harleen said, moving behind his chair. Her fingers traced lightly across his shoulders. "Back when I was with the Syndicate, information was currency. The more you knew, the longer you lived."
Nexus felt her hands on his shoulders; a calculated touch designed to disarm. "And what information are you looking for now, Harleen?"
"Just trying to figure you out," she whispered, her lips close to his ear. "Where you're really from. What your endgame is. Whether you're someone I can truly count on when everything falls apart."
She moved around to face him, gracefully sliding herself onto the edge of the console, displacing some of his equipment with a mischievous grin. Her eyes met his with practiced intensity. "We could help each other, you know. Share our... secrets."
There was an artistry to her approach—a carefully choreographed dance of seduction and manipulation she'd likely perfected during her time with the Syndicate.
The crimson sigil of his Geass—invisible to her—pulsed quietly in his consciousness. The mark of his covenant.
He gently caught her wrist before her fingers reached his cheek. "I appreciate the offer, Harleen, but I think we should keep our relationship professional."
Surprise flickered across her face, quickly masked by amusement. "Well, that's a first. Usually, that move works on everyone from security guards to Syndicate officials." She studied him with newfound respect rather than disappointment. "You're different. Not just your powers—something else entirely."
"I'm not everyone," Nexus stated simply, releasing her wrist.
Harleen studied him with newfound curiosity, sliding off the console to stand. "No, you're definitely not," she agreed, her tactical mind already adjusting. "So, if not that kind of persuasion, what works on you, Mr. Nexus-with-no-last-name?"
"Honesty," he answered. "Direct questions tend to get direct answers."
She tilted her head, considering this approach. "Alright then. Direct question: what planet or dimension are you from? Because you're definitely not from around here."
"What makes you so certain?"
"Several things," Harleen said, switching seamlessly from seductress to analyst. "Your tech doesn't match anything I've seen. Your powers contradict our physics. You have knowledge of our world but act surprised by details any native would know."
She began pacing, her movements precise and economical—the body language of someone trained to control rooms full of Syndicate enforcers. "Then there's your speech patterns—occasionally using phrases that don't exist here. The way certain words come out with an accent that sounds almost Sanskrit-derived."
Nexus raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.
"Plus," she continued, "you called it 'Earth-3' when you were rescuing us. Not 'Earth' or 'the world'—specifically 'Earth-3.' That implies a numbering system, which implies multiple Earths."
"You're very observant," Nexus acknowledged.
"I was Owlman's PR specialist," she reminded him, her gesture sharp and precise. "My job was reading people and controlling narratives. So, am I right? Are you some interdimensional traveler here to save our miserable world from the Syndicate?"
Nexus considered his response. "Let's just say I'm someone who's seen what happens when people like the Syndicate win," he finally answered. "And I'm here to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Fair enough," Harleen nodded, accepting the partial confirmation. "Your secrets are your own. But remember, whatever world you're from, this is our reality. We live with the consequences of failure."
"I'm well aware," Nexus said solemnly. "Which is why we need to focus on the mission rather than... personal distractions."
Harleen's lips curved in a genuine smile—not the calculated one she'd used earlier. "Message received. Though I have to admit, I'm intrigued by whatever makes you immune to my charms. Not many men—or women—can say that."
"Let's just say I have certain... commitments," Nexus replied enigmatically, the Geass mark pulsing once more in his mind.
By dawn, they had formed the beginnings of a plan to contact Luthor's resistance. As the first refugees began stirring in other parts of the Hollow, Nexus felt the weight of responsibility settling more firmly on his shoulders. These weren't just victims he was rescuing—they were becoming something more: allies.
EARTH-3: THE HOLLOW - PLANNING CHAMBER
The next day, Nexus spent hours planning his infiltration of the Panopticon—Owlman's central hub of surveillance and control.
According to Harleen, the tower contained technology not native to Earth-3, salvaged from a "cosmic incursion" eighteen months earlier.
"Owlman calls it the Mobius fragments," she explained, balancing a knife on her fingertip with precise control. "Nobody's allowed near them except him. Whatever they are, they've made his prediction algorithms almost perfect."
She frowned, a professional assessment rather than personal frustration. "They've enhanced Grid—his AI system—beyond what should be technically possible on our Earth."
Nexus's eyes widened slightly. Metatron's Mobius Chair technology, here on Earth-3. Of course, Owlman would weaponize it for surveillance rather than destruction.
"Time to make the Syndicate blink," he whispered, opening his eyes to the physical world once more. "Even gods must occasionally clear the dust from their vision."
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON COMMAND CENTER
Owlman didn't sleep.
Not in the conventional sense.
There was too much to monitor. Too many variables to process.
The Panopticon hummed around him—its million eyes never closing.
Each screen flickered with feeds from across the globe, bathing his obsidian command center in a cold, digital glow.
"Grid," he spoke to the empty room. "Status report on Sector Eight surveillance integration."
"INTEGRATION AT NINETY-SEVEN PERCENT COMPLETION," the AI responded. "ESTIMATED FULL COVERAGE IN TWENTY-THREE MINUTES."
Beneath his mask, Owlman's lips curved into the approximation of a smile.
Soon, another quadrant of what was once called "free territory" would disappear into the Syndicate's all-seeing network.
His chair—elevated above the command deck like a throne—contained fragments of technology not of this Earth.
The Mobius fragments didn't grant him the full capabilities of their original form, but they provided enough:
Glimpses of probability chains. Echoes of potential futures.
The door slid open as Power Ring entered, his emerald light casting sickly shadows across the monitors. The cursed ring whispered constantly, even when he wasn't using it.
"The Atlantean rebels have been crushed," Power Ring reported, his voice strained as he fought the ring's influence. "Sea King's forces have secured the underwater regions. Deathstorm has eliminated the remaining metahuman resistance in what was once Dakota."
Owlman didn't look up from his screens. "And the Quorum situation?"
"Atomica infiltrated their command structure," Power Ring continued. "She... was creative in her approach. There won't be further interference from them."
"Good." Owlman finally turned. "And what of the anomalies in Happy Harbor?"
Power Ring shifted uncomfortably. "Nothing concrete. Just... disappearances. Different than our usual operations."
Outside, Happy Harbor slept the uneasy sleep of the oppressed.
Inside, Owlman watched the world through a million electronic eyes.
Unaware that he himself was being observed.
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON OUTER PERIMETER
Nexus pressed his body against the curved metallic surface of the tower's blind spot—the single seven-meter stretch where overlapping surveillance fields created a microscopic null zone.
Phase Cloak and Null Presence worked in tandem, making him a ghost among ghosts—untouchable, unseeable, undetectable.
His mind, enhanced by Quantum Intuition, processed the tower's complex security systems with instinctive understanding.
Mobius energy radiated from the upper levels—confirmation of what he suspected.
The mission wasn't just about gathering intelligence anymore—it was about understanding how this world's fundamental nature had been corrupted. Was the Syndicate a symptom of Earth-3's inherent darkness, or something more?
The sandalwood bracelet on his wrist briefly caught the moonlight as he phased through the outer wall, his grandfather's words echoing in his mind: "Sometimes to heal a wound, you must first understand how deep it goes."
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON LOWER LEVELS
Inside, the tower was a masterpiece of hyper-advanced technology.
Quantum processors lined every wall. Semi-organic circuitry pulsed with artificial life.
Nexus moved like liquid shadow, phasing through security checkpoints, his body intangible yet present enough to gather data.
Every movement was calculated. Every step planned with the precision of a grandmaster seeing twelve moves ahead.
"Owlman believes control comes from seeing everything," Nexus thought as he passed through yet another wall. "But true power comes from seeing clearly."
His infiltration had a dual purpose: to gather intelligence and to plant false information.
Not to defeat the Syndicate directly—not yet—but to make them defeat themselves.
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON CENTRAL DATA HUB
Nexus activated Mirror Split, creating three perfect duplicates of himself.
Each clone possessed its own consciousness through Splitmind, yet remained connected to him and each other in perfect mental synchronization.
"You know the plan," Nexus said unnecessarily—they were him, after all.
His clones nodded and phased through different walls, heading toward predetermined objectives.
While they worked, Nexus accessed the central data hub—a towering monolith of crystalline processors that stretched from floor to ceiling.
His fingers, ghostlike and intangible, extended into the hardware itself.
Through Ghost Echo Interface, he communicated directly with the machine on its most fundamental level.
Not hacking—something far more intimate. Like playing a musical instrument or speaking a forgotten language.
"Let's give Grid something to chew on," he whispered, embedding false sightings of an unidentified meta-human across three continents simultaneously.
Indonesia. Metropolis. Central City.
One figure, exhibiting the same power signature, appearing in three places at once.
A logical impossibility that would force Grid to question its own infallibility.
EARTH-3: GRID MAINFRAME
"ANOMALY DETECTED," Grid's synthetic voice echoed through the chamber. "PROCESSING INCONSISTENT DATA STREAMS."
As Grid struggled to reconcile the contradictory information, Nexus implemented the second phase of his plan.
Through Data Thorn, he embedded a recursive subroutine deep within Grid's quantum core.
Not a virus or malware as conventionally understood, but a philosophical paradox translated into code.
A simple question planted at the AI's foundation:
"Am I compromised?"
Once asked, the question would replicate, creating a cascade of self-doubt in Grid's decision-making algorithms.
Not enough to disable the system, but sufficient to introduce an element of uncertainty in Owlman's perfect machine.
"Sometimes the best way to defeat a surveillance system," Nexus thought, "is to make it paranoid about itself."
As he withdrew from Grid's systems, he felt a momentary pang of concern. Would this be enough? Or was he merely playing into whatever game the Crime Syndicate was already engaged in?
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON COMMAND CENTER
Owlman's eyes narrowed behind his mask, the clinical precision of his mind detecting the dissonance before the alerts even registered.
Something wasn't right.
The Mobius fragments in his chair pulsed with contradictory futures—possibilities branching in ways that didn't align with Grid's projections.
"Grid," he spoke, his voice a controlled instrument that betrayed nothing. "Run a level-five integrity scan on all systems."
"SCANNING," Grid responded. "INITIAL RESULTS INDICATE NO ANOMALIES."
But Owlman wasn't convinced. He never was. Trust was for the weak. Verification was for survivors.
His gloved fingers tapped a deliberate rhythm on the armrest of his chair, each tap perfectly timed to match his heartbeat.
The Mobius energy wouldn't lie—which meant Grid was compromised.
Or worse, one of his fellow Syndicate members was working against him.
"Initiate Protocol Obsidian," he commanded after a moment's consideration. "Full surveillance on Ultraman, Superwoman, and Johnny Quick. Priority status."
"PROTOCOL INITIATED," Grid confirmed. "REDIRECTING RESOURCES."
The door slid open as Deathstorm entered, the fire-wreathed form of the physicist once known as Martin Stein now corrupted by the power of the Black Lantern. Behind him, Atomica perched on his shoulder at miniature size.
"The underwater rebellions have been crushed," Deathstorm reported, his voice a dual-toned rumble of flame and death. "Sea King sends his... regards."
"And I left little radioactive surprises in their drinking water," Atomica added with a childlike giggle. "Won't that be fun to watch?"
Owlman glanced at them briefly before returning to his screens. "Good. But there's something more pressing. Grid has detected anomalies in our surveillance network."
"You think someone's messing with your toys?" Atomica asked, shrinking even smaller to examine one of the screens, her voice dripping with mock concern.
"I think," Owlman replied coldly, "that complacency is the first step toward failure. Tell the others to increase security on all priority assets."
Deathstorm and Atomica exchanged glances before departing. Once alone again, Owlman leaned back, his mind already calculating the probabilities.
Trust had never been the Syndicate's foundation—power was.
And in the game of power, paranoia was just good sense.
EARTH-3: COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY
While Owlman focused his attention inward, Nexus's third clone reached the communications array.
The array itself was a masterpiece of Earth-3 technology—designed not for connection but for surveillance.
True to this world's inverted nature, the Alexander Luthor of Earth-3 had been a technological prodigy before turning to resistance leadership. According to Harleen, he had designed jamming technology that operated on principles the Syndicate couldn't detect.
Nexus placed his hands directly against the quantum resonator—the heart of the system.
Through Ghost Echo Interface, he didn't just hack the machine; he communicated with it. His consciousness brushing against the artificial intelligence that monitored communications.
The power felt like becoming music to speak to instruments, or water to speak to the ocean.
"Would you deliver something for me?" he whispered to the machine in its own language of quantum pulses and algorithmic patterns.
Using Data Thorn, he crafted a message unlike any the system had ever transmitted—not through traditional channels but embedded within the space between signals.
Like hiding a note in the momentary silence between heartbeats.
The message was a digital ghost, existing in the quantum fluctuations between conventional data:
"In shadowed halls where mirrors lie, A ghost moves swift beneath the sky. Where tyrants see but do not know, A spark ignites in undertow. To the lion who guards with broken crown, A path awaits beneath the town. Seek the place where time once stalled— Warehouse Twelve, where echoes called. Come alone, when clocks strike two, The Nexus waits to speak with you."
Embedded within those binary pulses was a star-symbol—a microscopic constellation arranged in the exact pattern of a Justice League emblem, but only visible when processed through Luthor's specialized decoder.
A calling card from a parallel Earth that would be unmistakable to a man fighting for justice on a world where heroism was rebellion.
"Find him," Nexus whispered as he withdrew his hands from the console. "Find Alexander Luthor."
EARTH-3: PANOPTICON OUTER WALL
Nexus and his duplicates reconverged at the extraction point, merging back into a single entity.
Their combined experiences flowed into him—a rush of data and memory that momentarily overwhelmed his senses.
Everything had gone according to plan. Better than expected, even.
The seeds were planted.
Grid questioning its own reliability. Owlman questioning his Syndicate partners. A lifeline extended to the resistance.
All without a single act of direct violence.
"Killing tyrants is easy," Nexus thought as he phased through the outer wall and back into the night air. "Making tyranny feel unnecessary—that's the hard part."
The night wind carried the distant sounds of a Syndicate patrol, reminding him of what was at stake. His grandfather's voice seemed to whisper from the sandalwood bracelet: Power without wisdom creates only new tyrants.
Still, he allowed himself a small smile. "Though punching Ultraman just once would be satisfying."
He dropped to the ground beyond the tower's security perimeter, his boots making no sound as they touched the pavement.
Above, a streak of lightning announced Johnny Quick's patrol, the speedster circling the tower perimeter at intervals, completely unaware of the intruder who had just departed. Behind him, the dark silhouette of Sea King could be seen moving toward the harbor, his trident gleaming in the moonlight.
The Panopticon continued its eternal vigil, its million eyes scanning for threats.
But for the first time since its creation, those eyes weren't quite sure what they were seeing.
EARTH-3: THE HOLLOW
The hidden entrance sealed behind Nexus with a soft rumble, the stone flowing like clay to disguise any sign of passage.
Inside, the Hollow had transformed from raw space into something approaching home.
These weren't soldiers or heroes by traditional definition. They were ordinary people finding extraordinary courage in the darkest of circumstances.
Harleen Quinzel sat cross-legged on a makeshift chair in what had become their strategy room, tinkering with what appeared to be a modified communication device. Unlike the Harleen of other Earths, she worked with methodical precision, her movements economical and calculated.
She looked up as he entered, her expression shifting from concentration to curiosity. Without her Syndicate uniform and formal makeup, she looked younger, the hardness in her eyes softened slightly by purpose.
"Well?" she asked, setting aside her work. "Did our message get through? Or do I need to create another diversion in Owlman's network?"
Nexus nodded, his face showing the fatigue of the night's work despite his enhanced physiology. Even with ten active powers, multitasking through three separate bodies while maintaining stealth taxed his limits.
"It's done," he confirmed, sinking into a chair opposite her. "Now we wait."
He dismissed his current power configuration with a thought, feeling the ten active abilities recede into dormancy. Not gone, just resting—like muscles after exertion.
"Waiting isn't my specialty," Harleen replied with cool precision, "but I've learned that timing is crucial when undermining the Syndicate. We'll need to be ready when Luthor responds."
"Speaking of powers," Harleen continued, gesturing toward him. "That whole energy configuration you use... what exactly is your limitation? I've seen metas before, but you're different."
Nexus considered how much to reveal. His power—the Eidolon—wasn't something easily explained to someone from this world.
"I adapt," he said decisively. "Different challenges require different approaches."
"That's deliberately vague," Harleen observed with a smirk.
"Trade secret," Nexus replied with a slight smile, absentmindedly touching the sandalwood bracelet on his wrist. "Where I come from, we understand that sometimes the best hero isn't the one who punches hardest, but the one who knows when to rewrite the script."
"Your accent slips sometimes, you know," Harleen noted casually. "Especially when you're tired. There's something almost musical in how you roll your r's. Reminds me of those old Sanskrit recordings I studied in college before the world went to hell."
Nexus's eyebrow raised slightly. "My family would be pleased someone noticed. My grandmother insisted I learn the proper pronunciations even though I grew up speaking English most of the time."
"So not just from another Earth, but with roots somewhere in South Asia there?"
"Something like that," he replied with a small, nostalgic smile. "Though where I'm from, the geopolitical map looks a bit different than you'd expect."
Harleen continued, "You're not what I expected. Most people with powers like yours would've gone straight for Ultraman's throat. I know I would have!" She mimed a stabbing motion enthusiastically.
"And become exactly what I'm fighting against?" Nexus asked sharply. "Earth-3 doesn't need another all-powerful figure dictating terms. It needs its people to find their own strength."
"Noble sentiment," Harleen said, her voice lacking its usual sarcasm. "But sentiment don't stop Syndicate enforcers from executing people in the streets."
"No," Nexus agreed. "But turning the Syndicate against itself might."
He stood, moving toward the sanctuary's main tactical display—a composite map showing the status of various Syndicate facilities across the former United States.
Already, small anomalies were appearing in their operational patterns.
Minor deviations from established routines.
The first ripples of uncertainty spreading through a system built on absolute control.
"The Syndicate doesn't blink," Harleen said, repeating the propaganda slogan that had been drummed into Earth-3's population. She flipped her knife in the air and caught it with practiced ease.
Nexus allowed himself a bold smile.
"They will." His eyes gleamed with steely certainty. "And when they do, we'll be there to make sure they never see clearly again."
[A/N: due to the current conditions in India , i don't know if i can upload chapters regularly. So, take this long chapter as a compromise, btw double the length of normal length.]
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[A/N : WORD COUNT- 5600]
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