Chapter Text
The truth is, hardly anyone had ever heard of Amity Park until it was far too late.
It was a speck of a town– so small it could realistically fit in as a distant suburb of Chicago rather than its own independent entity.
People would talk later, of course. About how strange and otherworldly it felt to be there– how a cold and unsettling pall had draped itself over the town several years ago, like a funeral veil, and sunk deep into its skeleton. Fused with the DNA of the steel and brickwork, a genius loci spun from shifting graveyard soil and the spaces between worlds. A glowing green like bright, unnatural things.
Amity Park– the most haunted town in all America.
Or a nice place to live, depending on who you spoke to.
Afterwards, everyone would have a story to tell. Small anecdotes about a time they’d visited the town. Just snatches of half-formed memories supplemented by embellishment or exaggeration or even bald-faced lies, a thin wire mesh of desiccated recollections passed furtively between coworkers in the breakroom, spread far and wide by a national populace desperate for some kind of context. Rumors, spiraling.
Have you heard? Have you heard?
Did you know?
Amity Park is gone.
Looking back, there’s something darkly humorous about it– (in a way that can only just cover up the stifled grief, all those questions unanswered– why? ). Because it wasn’t even the first time something like this had happened.
It was simply the first time anyone outside had noticed.
The facts of the case are this:
On the evening of October 14th, in the last golden hour of the day, Illinois emergency dispatchers received a phone call from a Cook county public safety answering point. The operator who had taken the initial distress call was frazzled and shaken, informing dispatchers that emergency services had been requested for the town of Amity Park– a town that, by all accounts, should have had their own services to deploy. The operator had already lost contact with the caller, but the recording of the exchange he passed along to dispatch was, apparently, concerning enough to warrant a response.
Seven and a half minutes later, emergency services from the broader Cook, DuPage, and Lake counties breached the outskirts of the town– an ingress from every direction, followed by local news station NCTV.
What they found was only the aftermath.
The ruins of the town rose up from the ground like shattered teeth, jagged and splintered, biting into the sky with a stark, alien viciousness. A graveyard disturbed, mired fields of churned up earth and chunks of stony rubble. Craters blasted into the pavement, splinters of broken glass glinting between piles of debris like tiny bastard stars– No stone uncracked, no building untouched.
Smokey remnants drifted long between the dimming clouds, thick ribbons of lethargic, billowing ash all black and gunmetal gray, exhaling from toppled buildings like a quiet sigh. Or final breath. It settled over the town’s carcass like a shroud. Like the fog that lingers over the road in the early morning. And everywhere, everywhere , fires simmered dim and glistening– beacons in the night, like clumps of hot coals in a bonfire. Banked, it seemed, from several days of burning, their rage already depleted.
Whatever had happened that night, Amity Park had not gone quietly.
Her people had fought– with a vengeance and desperation that had cracked the earth beneath their feet. Leaving behind only rubble, and the ghost of their convictions.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened.
On a different day, in a different way– Amity had disappeared before.
But the specter left behind this time was much more literal. An echo of sudden and abrupt violence. A broken, rotting metropolitan corpse.
And the evidence of a horrific struggle was overflowing from every angle, in the gutted remains of homes and office buildings, in humble highrises that teetered and wobbled on broken legs, the skin of each structure punctured through with jagged holes and scorch marks. There were mountains of shattered rock and crooked rebar– steel i-beams, bent and blackened, pushing out of the earth like gravestones. Collapsed telephone lines and thick cables, spraying sparks across the rubble, snaking like serpents along the ground, or tangled like spiderwebs.
Thin, lingering smoke and dimmed fires. The wind whistling through quiet ruins. A battle had certainly happened there– but the damage was visually days old. And yet somehow, that very night, there'd been a call for help.
Unfortunately, despite the hard work of the outright platoon of first responders that had answered the call, aside from Amity’s own splintered skeleton, there was nothing to find.
There were no weapons, improvised or otherwise, littering the ground among the crumbling cement and cratered asphalt. No personal items, such as wallets, cellphones, or tablets. No indication of what could have caused such catastrophic damage to the larger buildings, or how it might have reached the town. And worst of all– no people. Six hundred and twenty-eight individuals, vanishing without a trace.
In the days that followed, amid the storm of media frenzy that descended upon the remains like vultures, the rotating presence of every colorful cape and crusader across the world, no human remains were found amid the rubble– whole or partial.
There was simply nothing there.
There were no bodies. No limbs buried haphazardly between the rocks, or entombed beneath a building. Not even the smallest drop of blood.
Neither were there any survivors ever located.
When emergency services arrived at Amity Park, there was only an empty town, and nothing more.
They have no choice, then– to call in the Justice League.
Not that it would do them any good.
October 15, 2015
5:00 PM EST
The Watchtower
When he first heard the recording, something about the voice on the other end made his teeth ache.
It was a troublingly familiar feeling. A slow creeping chill up his spine, lingering on the back of his neck like a damp towel, clammy and stifling. It was a sound beneath a sound, a frequency that sank through his armor and scraped against his bones, like nails on a chalkboard.
He was reminded, for a moment, of a dog whistle.
But if anyone else could hear it, they didn’t say anything.
Superman was frowning, the skin about his brow tight with concern. Beside him, stonily silent, Wonder Woman listened with a growing urgency in her eyes.
At the head of the table, splayed across the largest monitor in the Watchtower’s “war room,” was a still image of Amity Park, Illinois.
What was left of it, at least.
“911, what is your emergency?”
What played over the room’s sound system was an audio recording of an emergency call from within Amity Park, placed at exactly 6:42 PM the previous evening. In the twenty-four hours since boots on the ground, it was the only concrete piece of evidence authorities had managed to gather.
The operator was answered by a painful rush of static, fizzling bright and loud, popping and sparking like severed wires. Beneath it, someone shouted into the phone, desperate to be heard. An older woman– identity unknown. The audio was scattered with digital artifacts, hiccups and stutters in the crinkling snowstorm of static, but all too clearly, Bruce could still make out the distant screams in the background of the call, a mighty crash like a roll of thunder.
The emergency responder– Johnathen Melgrin, twenty-six, volunteer EMT, no criminal record– patiently prompted the caller to try again please, he didn't quite catch that. His voice was low and soothing, experienced with his task.
Again, the woman tried to say something– only to have her words hopelessly lost in a crackling, spitting haze, until–
“–H̸e̷l̸l̷o̷?̶ Are you there? P̸l̵e̴a̴s̷e̸–̵ ̸c̴-̸c̸a̴n̶ ̷y̴o̷u̴ hear me?”
A breakthrough. Like a stage curtain, the static parted long enough to understand her, though it lingered in the backdrop. A looming threat.
“Yes ma'am– I can hear you now. What is the nature of your emer–”
“We need emergency services i̸n̷ ̶A̴m̶i̸t̴y̷ ̵P̷a̵r̸k̵– a-ambulances, f̶i̷r̸e̵m̵e̸n̵,̴ ̷p̵o̶l̴i̸c̴e̸– damn it , just send the whole f̸u̶c̶k̴i̷n̵g̶ ̵ a̵r̴m̷y̴!̴”̷
With every word uttered, her voice rose louder and higher, bubbling up with hysteria. She started to hyperventilate, breathing in thin, wheezing gasps of panic that rattled unpleasantly against the speakers. The earlier static threatened to overwhelm her again, and in the background– muffled cries. Weeping.
“ Ma'am, I need you to–”
The speakers crackled with another piercing sound, the slam of a metal door as it was kicked in with incredible force, punctuated by the echoing screams of children– dozens of children– an uproar of terror.
Above the sudden cacophony, the woman shouts desperately.
“Turn it off!” Her voice grows distant. She's pulled away from the phone– speaking to someone else. “Turn it–”
There's a sound. Another slam. Then–
“Ma'am… are you still there?”
A beat of silence, tense and uncertain.
“...Ma'am?”
The recording ends.
Across the table, disquiet settles on the shoulders of his present company.
At the front of the war room, nervously palming the remote to the large main monitor, was Zatanna. Captain Marvel wasn't far from her, settled unhappily in his own chair, and in the corner of his vision Bruce knew John Constantine was lurking somewhere in the room.
JL Dark had made the initial call– all hands on deck.
By then, Bruce had already been broadly aware of the situation developing– had known about it as Bruce before Batman had even put on his cowl for the evening.
It had been a quiet afternoon, where the early-darkening sky was slowly painted with blushing pinks and oranges.The onset of autumn had brought with it a kind of cold and dreary that only a true Gothamite could learn to love. The worst of his rogues were freshly tucked away in Arkham– for now– and the biting chill, the distant sight of sallow, heavy clouds on the horizon, was enough to discourage the more casual ne’er-do-wells from venturing out into the elements. Shadows stretching long between the setting sun and the jagged silhouette of Gotham beckoned forth his strange little flock for their nightly flight.
It was a stroke of luck, then– that he’d even caught the broadcast at all, absorbed as he was with thoughts of his upcoming patrol. An idle glance, a double take, and he was left staring. Thrown for a loop.
At first, what had originally struck him was how obscure the news station was– how small and local it must have been, and how unusual it was that the more well-known national news networks had started to piggy-back off their live broadcast. And then, he’d caught a glimpse of the scene just behind the reporter.
Looking back, Bruce realized, he’d known right then and there that the situation would call for the League’s assistance.
Even so, he still hadn’t quite expected this.
October 23, 2015
8:31 PM
Location Undisclosed
Maddie Fenton was not the monster here.
She could see how one might make that mistake, however– given the circumstances. And in any case, she’d spent her entire career weathering insults far more inventive than that, you would have to do better.
Maddie Fenton was many things.
A mother. A scientist. Wife, protector, pioneer. She wasn’t a monster, she was a trailblazer, pursuing heights unseen and unknown by the rest of mankind– for the rest of mankind. Because she knew what was at stake. She was the only one who knew what was at stake– not just for her town, but the whole world!
Or at least, she had been.
Now, it seemed, there was Amanda Waller.
She had appeared before the Fentons like a shadow, slipping through the cracks in the dead of night, into the very heart of their home, a devil in her own right. She’d pulled up a chair, perched confidently in the middle of their basement lab, and had been sitting there waiting for them when both husband and wife had at last returned from their latest failed hunt. It was the moment Maddie had been waiting her entire career for– had staked her life on since those fuzzy, distant years at university, when it was just her and Jack and Vlad. And for all that she adored the man she married, his loyalty and commitment and enthusiasm for their self-assigned crusade, she had always known that there was a guilelessness to Jack Fenton that, if it ever came down to it, meant she would have to make the hard decisions for the both of them.
That was fine with her. Maddie could happily shoulder that burden– the weight certainly wasn’t a bother.
But in Amanda Waller, she knew there was a sort of kindred spirit; she had the same knife-sharp edge of cold and focused ruthlessness lurking below fragile, mortal skin, like a shark in the depths. A silent apex predator, jaws open and waiting to snap. And while motherhood had tempered some of the steel from Maddie’s spine, it had strengthened it in other ways, and like would always call out to like. It was time, it seemed, to make the hard decisions.
Out in the wilds, natural laws dictated that a meeting between two top predators would have ended with far more bloodshed, flesh rending between needlepoint claws, blood beading from dreadful wounds.
For Maddie, however, the encounter only portended the scent of thick, fresh ink– steadily drying upon a crisply printed contract, and the dotted line below.
After that… after that…
Well.
The cannibalized heart monitor right next to her ear gave an irritable screech , loud and plaintive across the relative peace that had finally settled over her makeshift OR. She flinched, brow dipping low in annoyance as the whistling alarm left her with ringing ears, and a sharp pain behind her left eye.
The OR she had commandeered when they arrived was a much smaller set-up than she was used to. It had taken some adjusting in those first few days, ferrying supplies from Amity Park to the temporary command center. But it was well-stocked, and secure, and Waller had been very accommodating.
It wasn’t a true operating theater by a mile– nor did it have the same trappings as the Fenton lab back home. It was simply a repurposed classroom, at the end of the science wing of a school that had shut its doors many years ago. The building was serving an even greater purpose now– it would just take time and polish to get it there.
Though the room had been scrubbed top to bottom when they’d claimed it, the scent of heavy dust and mildew lingered still, and the vinyl flooring was stained a permanent off-white. The walls were painted cinderblock, a desaturated sky blue– chipped and flaking in several places.The science classrooms came pre-equipped with a countertop and sturdy wooden cabinets caulked to the back wall. They’d needed a bit of love and care, but they had been simple enough to see to– and Waller’s people had taken the liberty of extending them, installing an additional row of hanging cabinets above them, shelves along the side walls, and a large corkboard.
At the center of the room they’d bolted to the floor a single table, cold and metal and utilitarian. Not an operating table meant to save human lives, but… more like a steel cutting board Maddie was using to take apart a ghost. And rather than adjustable LEDs hanging from the ceiling, the Fenton’s temporary OR was lit with an array of souped-up ring lights on thick metal stands, arranged around her workspace like a choir.
Perhaps best of all though, she and Jack had also been given new hazmat suits after signing on with Waller, far sleeker and more high-tech than the one they’d been wearing for years. A tacit demonstration on her new Director’s part, she assumed, of just what this organization could offer the Fentons. It was a seamless charcoal black, and fit more like body armor than a heavy, chemical-resistant suit, light and flexible and battle ready. The Division’s emblem was stamped over her collarbone– a deep gray octagon matrix, with the star outlined in white at its center.
Wearing it made Maddie feel like a hunter.
Earlier, she had pulled the instrument table right next to her when she’d begun the day’s session, each tool gleaming shiny and silver and new. They didn’t look like that now, of course– but that was ultimately a good thing. They were serving their greater purpose, the majority of them liberally coated crimson and bright, malevolent green. You could tell which tools she’d been using the longest that day based on wear and tear– tiny divots beginning to form down the bases, and pitting along the edges of feather-thin blades where the ectoplasm had corroded into them. Maddie had to change gloves frequently.
She was flying solo tonight. Jack was still… struggling.
Not that Maddie could ever resent him for it. She had been nearly catatonic herself, the day that… well, That Day.
These days, her work was all that kept her sane. She’d thrown herself into it wholeheartedly, trying to forget, trying to move forward, trying to do better . And it had gotten to the point where there were moments in time– brief instances, at night while she tried to sleep, in the Fenton quarters while she prepared a meal, a moment of brief downtime in the lounge– where Maddie’s skin would begin to itch and crawl with a mild desperation, like a thousand tiny bugs were climbing up her arms. A compulsion that urged her to get up, to get back to the OR– back to her work.
There was so much more to be done.
But while she had feverishly, almost frantically buried herself in their work to escape the pain of… That Day, Jack was having a distinctly harder time of it. Most of the time, he could work pretty lucidly– but others… Some days, Maddie or one of their assistants would have to escort him from the OR weeping. Some days, he wouldn’t come to the OR at all. Wouldn’t even get out of bed. There was a dimness to his eyes that had never been there before.
Maddie was… trying not to worry.
He’d find his anger soon enough– she knew .
Then, he would come back to her. Then, they would be unstoppable.
At the very least, their latest subject had stopped its struggles long ago. Whether because it had finally realized she wasn’t going to fall for its manipulations, or because her avid study had robbed it of its baseline functions, Maddie neither knew nor cared
In the beginning, she’d needed Jack’s brawn to help keep it still. To keep it steady enough for her while she saw to the more… delicate work. Still, small and temporary as it was, Waller had spared no expense for this lab, and the table’s restraints– combined with all of Jack’s muscle bearing down on it– had ensured the creature hadn’t had an inch of room to work with.
In past sessions, it usually became quite chatty whenever Jack had to leave the room. Oh, it had tried to come at her from every angle it could, from cool even-tones doggedly challenging her logic and thought processes, to tearful, trembling appeals to her sense of mercy.
And at one point–
“The children…” exposed lungs heaving, the red-eyed creature wearing Vlad Masters’ face had choked its words out, gargling around a mouthful of coppery-tinged ectoplasm, “Maddie– don’t do this, not to them!”
The false urgency plastered onto its stolen features as it had pleaded with her, as it had wheedled and whined piteously– “Where did they take the children? Maddie, you can’t let them–”
She’d lost herself for a moment, had reached up into its throat from the incision splaying open the chest cavity; she’d squeezed–
Maddie bit her lip behind the medical mask secured to the lower half of her face, rankled that it had gotten the better of her so easily.
At least that had shut it up– for good.
Something inside her, some innate primitive instinct, knew that the creature on her table wouldn’t last much longer. It was lethargic and unresponsive, even fading at the edges, like dissolving mist. The organs it had regenerated after her last harvest were less pristine than her previous samples. Less functional. She would happily take those too, of course, for comparison– but she had an inkling it wouldn’t be providing her much more than that.
It was fascinating , truly– the depth and complexity of the mimicry at work within these things. Maddie was as awed as she was revolted.
Still, in her heart she truly believed that– had any part of him been here to witness it– the true Vlad Masters would be delighted to know that the wriggling thing that had stolen his corpse was contributing excellent data.
The other subjects, however…
Waller had insisted– the others were needed in pristine condition.
Neither of the Fentons were allowed to meddle much with them– yet. Not that they needed to.
Maddie’d had her hands full since their… abrupt transition, methodically taking apart the ghost wearing Vlad’s face. Waller seemed happy enough to supply both scientists with whatever it was they needed anyway– so long as they produced results.
It was a most harmonious relationship, despite the heartache that lingered still.
Maddie quietly pulled free the newly regrown liver– it was definitely paler than the last one, sallow and gray in a way that suggested it might actually have already been rotting, even inside the creature. The doctor eagerly stowed it in a specialized jar of ectoplasm, making a mental note to compare its cellular structure with the rest of what she’d gathered later on.
The doctor reached back into the ghost, idly wishing Jack had come with her today– if only so she could get him to work the rib spreader for her– before the resounding, familiar click of heeled shoes echoed down the outside corridor. She kept her focus on the kidney, just slightly out of reach.
It wasn't unusual for Waller to come checking in anyway. This was the Division’s new priority project, after all.
And Maddie had something important to discuss with her.
The door behind her opened just as she finally pulled her quarry free, a throat clearing softly as she stowed it away alongside the liver– she’d have to mark this jar specifically, find some way to indicate that they were already decomposing.
“Dr. Fenton.” Waller greeted her calmly, barely sparing a glance for the ghost pinned open like a butterfly on her table.
“Evening, Director.” Maddie replied, trashing the latest pair of disposable gloves and pulling the medical mask down to her chin. She turned to face the other woman head-on.
If she was being honest, Maddie hated being in the same room as Amanda Waller– especially alone. She was a beast unlike any the scientist had ever worked with before, and every encounter felt like two starving animals circling a kill.
Waiting. Thinking. Measuring the cost of the fight.
It was exhausting.
But Maddie Fenton would put up with anything– anything– if it meant reaching her goals. If it meant saving the world.
She’d come too far, and lost too much already to back down now.
Maddie knew what the other woman was likely here for already. But still, she waited patiently for the Director to ask. It was likely she’d come with updates of her own to inform the scientist of. The world outside the walls of this temporary base had become… a much more interesting place than it had been before she and her husband had arrived here– or so Maddie had been told.
Sure enough, after a cursory glance at the state of Maddie's tools, Waller met her eyes head on. Steady. Focused. In control.
“Congress issued the official inquiry last night.” She calmly informed the scientist. “They're hauling the Ward's Chief Commissioner to the stand.”
When Maddie made no move to respond, she continued, “We knew this would happen, but it's likely that your name will come up during the trial. Your husband’s, too.”
“Will that… cause any issues?” Maddie prompted cautiously.
“I took the liberty of having someone scrub your more… sensitive papers from the internet– as well as any patents or blueprints published by FentonWorks.” Waller replied. “Your tracks are covered well enough, but I want you and your husband settled in a permanent facility as soon as possible.”
The Director nodded her head, indicating to the catatonic ghost strapped to the operating table.
“How close are you to getting everything you need from… that?”
Maddie couldn’t help but smile, a slight quirk of her lips that betrayed her honest enthusiasm– her excitement. She turned, half beckoning to Waller with her hand, half reaching for the box of disposable gloves still sitting on her instrument table. She pulled on a fresh set and, as a pair of heels clacked against hard vinyl, blindly passed the box behind her.
If she couldn’t say any other thing about the Director, at least she wasn’t afraid to get hands on with her projects.
Waller circled the table as she secured her own gloves, seemingly unperturbed to be standing so close to an ecto-being without anything stronger than a bit of latex to protect her. The cold calculation never left her eyes. By the time Maddie had taken her place back at the table, the Director was already searching the creature’s innards with a critical stare– looking for signs of what Maddie was so eager to show her.
“This one specimen alone has put our research miles ahead of what it was even a month ago.” Maddie began, nodding to the green-filled jars lining the shelves. “More than enough to confirm the hypothesis I explained to you last week.”
Scalpel in hand, Maddie delicately indicated back to the ghost’s near-empty chest cavity. Most of the internals had already been removed– and though the regeneration process was already underway, it was sluggish and reluctant. She had plenty of room to work with.
“It took us a few days to notice,” she continued, pointing at the creature’s heart with the flat of the blade. “But look there– watch closely.”
Waller’s eyes snapped to the frantically pulsing organ. It too was graying, showing signs of decomposition, a slow descent into the true lifelessness Vlad’s body should have had from the very beginning. But that was not what had caught Maddie’s interest last Monday. The heart thudded away in the ghost’s chest, shuddering with practiced, simulated fear, but–
“It’s not actually beating.” Waller noted, after a moment of quiet. “Something’s simulating the heartbeat from inside.”
Maddie grinned , all bared teeth and savage glee. With a practiced hand, she took the scalpel and carved a deep incision into the right ventricle, unbothered by the subsequent trickle of watery ectoplasm and imitation blood that immediately coated her fingers. One hand parted the wound while the other widened the incision, slowly but surely revealing the pearlescent, crystalline orb buried in the flesh of the organ.
Right now, it was about the size of a ping pong ball– but it had been bigger when she and Jack had first discovered it. It had slowly gotten smaller, they’d noted, with every piece they had ripped out and watched regrow.
“This,” Maddie breathed, eyes glinting manically beneath the ring lights, “This is a ghost’s true heart– their ghost core.”
Even as the scientist held the imitation heart open, it continued to pulse in her hands, pumping red and green over her gloves; they’d theorized the only way to stop it was to remove the core entirely. They’d only refrained from doing so based on the assumption that it would destroy the ghost as well… and they weren’t quite done with it yet.
That hadn’t stopped them from chipping away at it, however. Little fragments here and there– everything they had needed to prove their hypothesis to Waller.
“So it’s a kind of fusion.” The Director concluded, eyes never leaving the little orb, “Between human and ghost.”
“Yes,” Maddie affirmed excitedly, “Far more complex than we first assumed– it’s not possessing the corpse, it’s become a part of it. Like… like a parasite.”
Waller leaned away from the table, returning her attention fully to the scientist. There was a hunger in her gaze that Maddie was familiar with– could respect deeply. A thirst for knowledge. For understanding. For leverage.
“Explain.”
And Maddie quickly fell into lecture mode, approaching the corkboard they’d had installed at the front of the room. Every inch of it was plastered with pictures and notes, color-coded strings laced between pins and points of interest, neatly tying together all the evidence the Fenton’s had gathered.
“In short, Director, or hypothesis was correct.” she announced, barely succeeding in toning down the sheer enthusiasm in her voice. “Whatever parasitic bond the ghost formed with Vlad’s body, it wouldn’t have been able to succeed at integrating into his biology if it wasn’t already significantly contaminated by ectoplasm.”
Maddie gestured to a set of glossy images pinned to the board, pictures of samples they’d taken from Vlad’s body scrutinized under a microscope.
“We theorize that this particular ghost came in contact with Vlad around the same time as our prototype portal accident– possibly even directly because of it.” She said. “It possessed him. But instead of taking control, it went dormant inside his body, and began a slow process of integration. It’s likely this took several years.”
“Vlad would have been alive while this was happening.” She added grimly. “But he wouldn’t have felt any of it– maybe an odd pain here or there, but nothing significant enough to set off any alarms.” She then pointed to a small cluster of pictures displaying various insects– each one covered in clusters of odd, spindly growths.
“Think of it like parasitic fungus.” She said, “Growing inside the host until it’s strong enough to take over completely– until it can take the body for its own. We believe… we believe this is what all ghosts wish to achieve eventually. A return to mortal form.”
Maddie breathed out a shaky sigh.
“The level of integration we’ve found within the body is astonishingly complex.” the scientist continued. “It’s still difficult at times to tell which parts are naturally, biologically human, and which parts are ghost mimicry, because the parts of it that are imitations are mimicking at a cellular level, even to the point of mitosis. And then it starts building into tissues, and then organs, and then whole bodily systems , until most of it is indistinguishable from a live human before you get it under a microscope.”
Taking a calming breath, she continued, “From what we can guess, it always keeps at least a few of the human cells alive where it can– because it needs a template. But even then–” she gestured pointedly to a comparison shot of two tissue samples, “Those natural cells that are left are still only kept alive by the presence of ambient ectoplasm.”
“Have you figured out why?” Waller asked, eyes lazily scanning the array of pictures.
“Because the ghost wouldn’t be able to survive the integration process if there wasn’t enough ectoplasm already present in the host to sustain it.” Maddie said, pointing grimly back to the body on the table. “Whatever else we do or do not know about ghosts, they need ectoplasm to survive. If they lose too much, or don’t get enough of it, they destabilize. And once a ghost starts to embed itself in a host, it can’t leave. Their core is the first thing to fuse; if they tried to exit the body, they would just destroy themselves.”
“So Mr. Masters was heavily contaminated already when this ghost decided to use him as a… host?” Waller concluded.
“Y… Yes.” Maddie confirmed as the wind fled from her sails, ruthlessly squashing down the pinpricks of guilt and sadness as she stared over at the body. “I know you’re aware that my husband and I worked very closely with Vlad while we were still at university…” She said slowly. “We weren’t… as careful then, as we are now. I’m certain the accident with our prototype portal is what caused the most damage, although we’re still not sure… when the ghost began the integration process.”
“Almost exactly like how Phantom got to be in that state.” The Director remarked, eyes honing into the scientist like laser-guided missiles, paralyzing her in place.
Maddie flinched.
“Yes.” She replied, much quieter this time. “It seems contact with an opening portal had an integral effect on the process– either it infused them with massive amounts of ecto-contamination, making them more… attractive targets, or those portal accidents are what brought them in contact with their parasites to begin with. Either way, it’s a common factor we shouldn’t ignore.”
It was silent in the OR, for a few long, painful moments. For just a second, Maddie allowed herself to feel an iota of the terrible grief gnawing at her bones.
Across the room, Waller watched her unblinkingly.
“Are you prepared to test that?”
November 30, 2015
3:58 PM EST
Washington D.C.
“Dr. Holzer, we are entering our third hour here today alone, and you have yet to provide a single concrete answer to any of the questions posed by this committee.” Minority Leader Susan Powell, an Illinois native in her own right, glowered across the chambers from her seat within the congressional gallery, face creased with stress and age. “You have yet to provide a single useful piece of information about your institution, nor what purpose it served within Amity Park.”
From the testimonial seat, Dr. Hans Holzer, Chief Commissioner of the Ghost Investigation Ward, glowered up at the woman with equal vitriol.
But deep shadows beneath his eyes betrayed his exhaustion.
“Are you honestly–” Powell continued scathingly, “going to sit there and act like you don’t know what happened? ” Her hand clenched unconsciously around the flexible stem of the microphone, trembling with indignation. “You have been the head of this organization for twelve years , Commissioner. And you– you personally– bankrolled the entire building fund for your operations in Amity Park.”
The congressional scribe was typing furiously in the far corner, sweat beading along the creases of his brow– and at the back of the room, the public gallery shifted with unease and suspicion.
“Over six hundred people have just gone missing in the dead of night, Commissioner– none of whom are your operatives.” she growled. “–and if you continue to refuse to explain yourself, you will be answering for every single one of them.”
In the beat of tense quiet that followed, Dr. Holzer took a steadying breath. In his heart, he knew this whole trial was a farce.
None of this mattered. The outcome was already decided– for him at least.
Slowly, he leaned into his own microphone.
“Congresswoman…” he began. “I won’t ask you to understand the sheer amount of hysteria and accusation I’ve endured over the past month and a half. As you so… generously pointed out just now, I’ve had a long career of much the same. This is no different.”
Lips twitching in the beginnings of a snarl, Holzer swept his eyes over the panel of elected officials– aptly dubbed the Amity Committee.
“But I will state this as plainly as I can, once more.” He growled. “At no point in time did the GIW play any part in the destruction of Amity Park, nor are we responsible for the disappearance of its citizens.”
“I still believe, ” Holzer continued, choking with righteousness. His words weren’t solely for the committee anymore, “that one day the work of this organization will be assigned its rightful place in the annals of history. But you, congresswoman… you and the rest of this blind, ignorant society… will go down in the annals of nothing.”
The public gallery erupted behind them, a banked thunderstorm of bewildered muttering and whispering.
The Committee Head immediately brought his gavel down on the sound block, calling for a return to order. His eyes reflected the disquiet of the room, “Commissioner, what do you mean ‘still believe’?”
Dr. Holzer leaned back in his chair.
“My client is abstaining from any further testimony.”
December 19, 2015
2:16 AM
The Watchtower
“What even is a GIW?”
Barry Allen, AKA the Flash, was currently sprawled out on his back in the middle of the war room.
The place was a wreck.
In the past few months it had become the beating heart of the League’s Amity investigation. When they’d first begun, they’d used separate monitors across the room to display different pieces of evidence and information. One was dedicated to the ongoing timeline they were building. Another held a bullet list of information they’d gathered on the eponymous GIW. A third held a separate list for persons of interest– and so on, and so forth.
Eventually, when they’d run out of monitors, they’d rolled in several whiteboards– all of which were now covered in masses of nearly unintelligible scrawl (and in a wide variety of colors, to Bruce’s chagrin). The central table itself was blanketed by a layer of papers and packets of varying thicknesses, from suspect profiles to congressional court transcripts.
There was another small table in the back of the room as well, currently holding what remained of the takeout Barry had gotten for them– six hours ago.
“A joke.” Constantine rumbled, snorting out a derisive chuckle. He barely opened his eyes from where he dozed against the wall. “Fancied themselves professional ghost hunters.”
“Ghost hunters?” Barry was incredulous. “Didn’t they work for the government?”
“As private contractors.” John replied, gesturing broadly towards one of the monitors. “But the way they used to talk, you’d think they were part of the bloody CIA or some other nonsense.” He scrubbed a hand over his tired face, settling more comfortably against the wall. “The United States terminated their contract when they heard the organization was even mentioned in close context with Amity.”
“They filed for bankruptcy last month.” Zatanna added, hunched over some kind of laptop and typing away. A brief flicker of amusement lifted the corners of her mouth. “None of their… “operatives” had anything useful to tell us, anyway. They just kept insisting it was all because of ghosts.”
“... You’d know if it was ghosts though, right?” Barry asked, craning his neck to glance over at her.
Zatanna snorted.
“Yes, Barry.” She replied dryly. “We would know if it was ghosts.”
January 14, 2016
9:26 AM
Avernus; Primary Facility
“Subject 12b showed some promising ecto-activity after brain death.” Maddie noted lightly. “Only an echo– ambient emotion, or something similar. But it means we're getting closer to our ideal baseline.”
From her spot at the control panel, she cast a furtive glance back at her husband– just in time to see him nod sedately from his own chair. He then went back to studying his clipboard, deep in thought, the pen in his hand tracing nonsense patterns over the log sheet secured to its surface. It wasn’t even touching the paper.
They were holed up in the observation room, a tiny cement box on the other side of a large pane of one-way glass stretching from floor to ceiling. The walls of the room were at least a foot thick, solid concrete surrounding thick steel barriers, and the window peering into the next chamber came equipped with its own security measures– another layer of steel that would snap shut in front of the glass, just in case one of their subjects became… a little too unruly.
Beyond the glass sat a large, solid white chamber, walls and floors made out of the exact same smooth, porous stone. Like the observation room, its walls were sturdy and thick– able to withstand nothing less than tank-fired artillery, or even guided missiles. The chamber was hermetically sealed, with a single door that locked tighter than a bank vault, and an array of sensors and security camera lining the ceiling.
Their latest prototype sat at the center of the chamber. So far, it had proven extremely effective. Five minutes ago, it had been used on Subject 12b.
Director Waller was standing at the other end of the room, in front of the one-way glass, peering into the newly emptied chamber ahead of them, arms folded neatly at her back.
“What was that one’s baseline?” She prompted.
“It was… twenty-five percent, Director.” Maddie replied, after a quick glance down at her own clipboard. “One quarter ecto-contaminated– that’s why this one was notable. So far, all the data we’ve collected has been progressing linearly. The more contaminated they are, the more of a response we see. It’s another point in favor of our hypothesis, at least.”
“What about Subject 6?”
Maddie grimaced, tucking her pen behind one ear as she leafed through the documents on her clipboard.
“So far, that subject has proven to be an outlier.” She explained. “We haven't had any repeat scenarios since, but… well, we keep a thermos on hand now. And we're still collecting samples to see if we can figure out what triggered it.”
Maddie let her voice fade, staring down at the control panel with glazed eyes.
Jack still hadn't said a word.
“At this point, we’re still not sure what forms a ghost. There could be any number of factors we’re missing– Six appears to have just been a fluke.”
“And it’s still currently in containment?” Waller clarified.
“Yes– we’ve kept it in a thermos for the time being.”
The Director nodded slowly, apparently satisfied. She was watching as the Fentons' appointed team of assistants streamed into the chamber, carefully resetting the prototype replicate– priming it for tomorrow's session. Subject 12b had been taken to the OR already, and would be there waiting for the Fntons once Waller had deemed their progress report sufficient.
“I want to move up our timetable, then.” Waller declared.
Maddie barely restrained herself from balking outright, carefully avoiding the Director’s gaze as she returned to notating the experiment log.
“We'd be taking a lot more risks that way…” she replied slowly, clipboard resting over her lap. “I was under the impression you wanted this project to be… more airtight. Thorough.”
There was more holding Maddie back, of course. Nothing she could ever voice to Waller , but there all the same– lurking damningly in the back of her mind.
But the Director was already plowing ahead.
“March.” Waller decided firmly. “By the end of March, I want us to be moving into the next phase.”
Slowly, inaudibly, Maddie exhaled a stressed breath. The hook digging into her heart tugged unpleasantly.
That put her from one session a day to about three.
It would be… a lot. But she could handle it. She was more than capable– and she would have Jack with her.
“Of course, Director.”
Jack Fenton said nothing at all.
February 15, 2016
10:21 AM EDT
Google Search: “amity park”
Top Results:
“BREAKING: G.I.W. Chief Commissioner Hans Holzer Found Dead at 62!”
Ron Troupe - The Daily Planet
Investigations into the recent Amity Park Disaster received yet another crushing blow this morning, when authorities were called to the home of Dr. Hans Holzer– the former Chief Commissioner of the now-defunct G.I.W, once based in Amity. Investigators say that Holzer was found dead in his living room earlier this morning, having apparently passed away from self-inflicted injuries sometime in the night. This comes just two months after Holzer was summoned to testify before Congress last November, for his role in–… Read more
“Amity Clean-up Efforts Halted; Authorities Warn of Further Disaster”
Margaret Hayes - The New York Times
For the past four months, clean-up crews and volunteers from around the country have been hard at work, struggling to clear the waste and debris left behind by the recent disaster in Amity Park. However, authorities are now stating that recent conversations with expert land surveyors have revealed conditions in Amity have taken another turn for the worse. Now, Amity’s clean-up crews are being asked to leave the area as quickly as possible, citing the latest concerns over massive sinkholes and–... Read more
“Op-ed: What Amity Park Revealed About the Justice League”
Bradley Parker - The Washington Post
As we near the five month mark since the tragic disaster in Amity Park, I’m not the only one who has recently found themselves wondering: How could the Justice League have not known what was happening? These are some of the brightest, most talented minds in the world, with some of the most cutting edge technology– alien technology!– to back them up. They’ve got an orbital space station watching over the whole planet! But an entire town was leveled, and every single one of its citizens has vanished into thin air, and you’re telling me that no one knew about it until days later? Even worse, five months later and we still don’t–… Read more
“Amity Park Investigation in Jeopardy?”
Bethany Gables - USA Today
A spokesman for the FBI's Office of Public Affairs has confirmed this evening that the Bureau is once again asking for public assistance in the Amity Park case, stating again that anyone with relevant information on the incident should report immediately to their local office, or call the information hotline provided. This comes just one week after Amity Committee leader Stewart Howard admitted that Congress's investigation was “going nowhere fast”. Concerns are steadily rising over investigators’ ability to solve the case, as recent polls indicate that most Americans believe that not enough is being done. White House Press Secretary Don Tyler stated in a recent press release–... Read more
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March 03, 2016
6:00 AM
Avernus; Primary Facility
“How long has she been in there?”
The sun hadn't even risen yet.
Senior Facilities Officer Markus Dennings had come to relieve the night guard for the first day shift.
It was impossible not to notice the bright white light streaming out into the corridor from the other end of the wing– from the row of labs and offices that had been reserved specifically for the Fentons.
“Since about 0100, sir.” replied the night guard, a fresh-faced young man named Thomas. He'd only just arrived that week, right out of basic training.
“She, um… sure is dedicated, sir.” The kid remarked, and though it was phrased as a compliment, his tone was more uncomfortable than anything else. Markus almost scoffed out loud.
Obsessed was more like it.
Maddie Fenton was a near permanent fixture in the Avernus testing wing, scurrying at all hours between the main chamber, her equipment lab, the OR, and the office. She had an air of somebody who was constantly running out of time, always muttering and mumbling under her breath, face glued to her ever-present clipboard rather than the ground in front of her. The circles under her eyes were deep and dark enough to look like fresh bruises.
Markus tried to cut her some slack most of the time. She was doing the work of two people all by herself.
It was something of an open secret, in the Avernus facility at least. Everybody there knew that Jack Fenton wasn’t all present in the head anymore. Everybody knew why , too. Markus couldn’t help but feel sorry for him.
He had some good days, sure. But they were getting fewer and farther between. It was patently obvious to everyone in the facility that Jack Fenton was getting worse, not better. Everyone but Maddie, although Markus suspected that deep down she knew something was wrong. It’s why she’d buried herself so desperately in her work.
Grief did terrible things to people. So did denial.
But Thomas was new to the facility; it was why they’d placed him on night shift. He hadn’t really learned the Fentons’ more… colorful background as of yet– or what it was exactly they were doing down in that lab. And if Markus had it his way, the kid would never find out. As far as he was concerned, there was no reason to put that kind of burden on someone that young.
Markus already had enough trouble sleeping as it was.
“Yeah, you know those science types,” he replied, forcing out a shallow chuckle from behind the aborted grimace, and pasting a wry smile on his face instead. “Married to their work. You go ahead and run on out of here, it’s about time I took over anyway. Go get some rest, kid.”
Thomas shot him a grateful look, casting a final glance down into the wing, at the ghostly white light pouring into the corridor, before scurrying off with a quick salute and a quiet “Thank you, sir.”
Markus settled back against the wall with a weary sigh as he watched Thomas round the bend into the lobby, and vanish from view.
Kid really was lucky, getting saddled with the night shift. Fenton never ran tests in the main chamber without her full suite of assistants there– and they were all off getting their proper rest when night shift was present, like sensible people. Even with Maddie up burning the midnight oil, nights were blessedly quiet.
The same could not be said, unfortunately, for the day shift.
But Markus was a hardened old hand. He’d worked with Director Waller and Task Force X since he was Thomas’s age– it was why he’d been put in charge of the Avernus security detail.
So, after he’d officially clocked in for the day, he returned to his post, and settled into a familiar parade rest, locking his eyes on the far back wall. He didn’t move an inch when Dr. Fenton's assistants finally arrived for the day. He didn't bat an eye when he heard the heavy, hydraulic hissing of the doors to the main chamber opening. And when the first round of screaming began, Markus kept still and steady, staring resolutely at that wall.
Business as usual.
March 31, 2016
12:36 PM
Avernus; Primary Facility
“And you’re certain… that you want to start with her?”
Maddie’s voice was almost whisper soft as she stared down at the file on her clipboard. Familiar eyes stared back up at her from the photo stamped innocuously on the page, right next to the specimen’s basic profile.
“If it doesn’t work, we’ll lose one of our primary candidates.” she tacked on. “It could set us back years.”
“Number Five is the least contaminated out of the three of them.” Waller replied calmly. She was lounging back in her chair, looking utterly unworried. “If we lose her, it won’t be as hard to replace her as it would Three or Four. But considering she’s still ten times more contaminated than the trial subjects you’ve been working with, if your hypothesis is correct– and it has been so far– you should have nothing to worry about.”
Maddie stayed quiet. For a moment, the only sound in the office was the faint ticking of the analog clock on the wall.
“Whatever happens, I have faith,” Waller continued at last, “that you’ll find a way to make it work.”
She didn’t even need to voice the implicit “or else”.
Maddie Fenton glanced back down at the picture on her clipboard. There was an odd sort of numbness creeping up her body– one she’d been feeling more and more frequently lately. A shocking, icy coldness sinking deep into her chest, as if she’d somehow swallowed a block of ice.
She’d stopped feeling squeamish about all this months ago. It had been hard, in the beginning. Coping with everything she’d lost since… That Day. Finding the strength to do what needed doing– the prototype, the experiments, taking apart the body of a once cherished friend over and over –...
She’d grown desensitized to it before long. But even now, there was the smallest flicker of discomfort and revulsion deep in her gut as her fingers traced the outline of the photo.
She’d known this girl for years– had watched her grow up from the corner of her eye.
It was… sad. Maddie was sad that it had all turned out like this.
But Maddie also knew what was at stake. She was one of the only ones who knew. And the other one was sitting right there in the room with her.
And yet still… Was it worth the life of a child?
Above them, the clock ticked on.
Slowly, she picked up the folder.
Maddie Fenton had been doing this for practically her whole life. Every choice she’d ever made was an exercise in cost-benefit analysis. After she'd married Jack, she never resented the burden; she could carry it just fine. This would be no different.
She knew what had to happen– what it would take to keep the world safe.
Someone would have to make the hard decisions.
“I’ll have security go and fetch her from the cellblock, then.” She said, taking a steadying breath. “And we’ll prepare the chamber.”
By the end of the day, they will have made history.
April 20, 2016
9:41 PM
The Watchtower
“This is really how we’re gonna end it?” Barry’s voice was incredulous. Almost angry. “Just like that?”
Most people in the room elected not to meet his gaze, staring down at the large spread of documents blanketing the central table, at the monitor slowly scrolling through people of interest, or even at the far wall– anywhere but directly at the agitated speedster.
“Realistically, I'm not seein’ anything else we can do.” muttered Constantine. He looked haggard, slumped against the table, slowly trying to massage away a growing migraine. “Unless you've suddenly got a lead we haven't run into the ground yet.”
“Didn't you just make a trip up there a few days ago? What about those readings you mentioned?” Barry pressed. “The lane lines?”
“Ley lines.” Constantine corrected tiredly, straightening up to glare blearily over at the Flash. “And yes, I read them; no, they didn’t tell me anything I couldn’t bloody well guess for myself. We have nothing. ”
“Amity's readings were consistent with what we've gathered from previous disaster zones.” Zatanna added. “Some… very extreme negative emotions that will likely linger there for… a long time. But we didn't pick up on anything that might tell us what happened.”
“Well we can’t just abandon these people!”
“We are not abandoning them.” Clark stepped in, as close to a growl as the Man of Steel ever got, “We’re just going to have to step back and wait for more information. The FBI will still be running an active investigation.”
“It’s been half a year,” Oliver Queen pointed out from across the room, grim-faced beneath the edges of his mask, “What are the odds that these people are even still alive at this point?”
Activity in the room surged abruptly as several more at the table immediately tried to refute him, shattering the tense, unhappy silence that had fallen over the war room.
Bruce had tuned out of the conversation an hour ago.
They weren’t discussing anything he wasn’t all too aware of already.
The case for Amity Park had at last reached its final dead end, following months of slow, painful decline. A quiet death, after so many people had put their trust in the League to find the answers. No evidence to examine, no witnesses to question, no leads of any kind to follow, and no answers to be found. Six hundred and twenty-eight people– gone, just like that.
There was something at work here, Bruce knew. Something enormous– the sheer scope of the incident made it impossible to think otherwise. Something significant had happened in Amity Park that night– and the only people that could tell the story had vanished without a trace. Leaving the Justice League scrambling to stitch it all together, to make sense of the situation.
Unfortunately, they just didn't have the right pieces to put the whole puzzle together.
Hell, they barely had any pieces at all. Whoever was responsible for this had left nothing behind. Nothing at all. And it wasn’t helping that their usual suspects had eagerly pounced on the opportunity to make their own moves while the League had their hands full.
Arkham had suffered another mass break-out a few weeks ago– and last he'd heard, Luthor was stirring up his own brand of trouble back in Metropolis. Petty crime wasn't giving them any leeway either, and while Bruce trusted the rest of his family to have Gotham well in hand, the whole Justice League couldn't stay stuck on this forever. They had other responsibilities that were steadily slipping through the cracks in the wake of the Amity Park incident. As much as it galled. As much as it burned to admit it. As much as it had the detective within him gritting his teeth and clenching his fists.
Though it was a bitter pill to swallow, they needed to step back.
Turning his attention back to the table, Bruce watched stoically as the room began to empty, one colleague after another making their separate escapes from the Watchtower– off to nurse the wounds of dissatisfaction and guilt. The past few months hadn’t been easy on any of them. Their quiet failure here would be a sting they’d feel for a while to come.
But the Dark Knight himself made no move to leave just yet– nor did Clark or Diana.
“There’s something here that we’re all missing.” Clark said, after several long, quiet minutes, staring down at the files still spread across the table. Bruce offered a soft sound of agreement.
“And yet we are no closer to finding the truth than we were six months ago.” Diana replied, her expression creased with fierce disappointment.
The three of them lapsed into brooding silence, before–
“It was planned.” Bruce said at last, voicing what had been on his mind for some time now.
The two of them turned their attention to him, expectant.
“Whatever happened that night, it was part of a plan.” Bruce repeated slowly. “It was following a design. And whoever is responsible clearly took the time… to sort out every detail.”
“We were never going to find anything in that town.” Clark concluded grimly. Bruce nodded.
“So we are dealing with a mastermind?” Diana asked, leaning back in her chair and scrutinizing him closely. “Someone who plans for every scenario. Every eventuality.”
Much like you, she very carefully did not say. Bruce almost snorted wryly.
“And someone with the manpower to back them up.” Clark added.
“Most likely.” said Bruce, “Either way, we’re not going to get anything more from Amity Park. All we can do now is wait for the culprit to make their next move.”
“Are you so sure there will even be another move?”
Bruce rose from his seat, long stride carrying him inexorably towards the central monitor. Plastered across its surface was the very same image that had loomed over them all since October– a horizon on fire, and the silhouette of a shattered town.
This sort of thing– this level of destruction… it was never a one and done deal, not in his experience.
Amity was the opening statement– the beginning of something new.
“They’ll be back.” he assured them, eyes locked on what little remained of Amity Park. “And we’ll be waiting.”
April 21, 2016
8:00 AM
Google Search: “justice league”
Top Result:
“The Amity Investigation; FBI, Justice League et al. Quietly Declare Cold Case!”
Anthony Gatling - USA Today
After six long months, the Justice League , in joint cooperation with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, has been forced to admit defeat in the ongoing Amity Park case. Citing a dire lack of evidence, a spokesman for the joint investigation sat down for an interview with Today’s own Sarah Mueller to discuss the League ’s decision to step away from the case. After the Amity Committee’s failure to come to a conclusion in last year’s congressional inquiry, many League members felt that the best course of action–... Read more