Bill Hawkins was an ordinary man in Metropolis. On first glance, nothing about him stood out. A grotesque upturned nose, curly red hair, and a denim jacket that hadn't been in style for decades completed his unremarkable appearance. Even his shoes were a mismatch, appearing far too short for his feet.
His jobs were as dull as he looked. Currently, he sold meat at the Giant Supermarket butcher counter, his latest gig after stints as a gas station attendant. He had once dreamed of drumming in a band, only to realize it was safer to drum alone at home. In his own mind, Bill was the most interesting person alive, but to everyone else, he was as tedious as an unfinished building.
That morning, the sun was harsh, and Bill, already tired, decided to smoke a joint. His habit of staying up late watching cartoons or movies and lighting up to stay awake left him more exhausted than before, trapped in a vicious cycle. Could he die? Compared to Death itself, he feared wasting his life more. In his own odd logic, he preferred dying from exhaustion than from nothingness.
Stretching and rubbing his eyes, he was about to call his friends for some routine fun when dizziness struck. A sharp, piercing pain shot through his skull as if a foreign presence had invaded his consciousness. His vision blurred, his mind dissolved, and the space around him twisted and vanished entirely.
When awareness returned, Bill found himself in a strange void. Darkness and chaotic clouds swirled around him, oppressive and alien.
"What… is this place?" he whispered, voice trembling.
He stepped cautiously on the insubstantial ground, heart pounding. This was no longer the real world — it resembled the hallucinations that came after long nights and mind-altering substances.
"Did I… die from staying up and smoking too much?" he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He cursed his lost youth and unfinished personal goals, bitter about the trivial pleasures he would never enjoy.
Minutes of uneasy wandering brought him to a ruined city, grotesque and abandoned, its stones twisted and shifting under strange light. Corrupting miasma tainted the air, sunlight struggling to penetrate it. Unease and fear coiled tighter with every step, yet some unseen force drew him forward.
A stone door appeared. He pushed it open, and thick smoke poured out, carrying movement and sound. From the darkness surged a massive, amorphous creature, a dark-green horror dripping with slime, its form indefinable yet immense. Bill froze, paralyzed by the sheer wrongness of its presence, his mind threatening to collapse under the incomprehensible terror.
In Metropolis, a few had glimpsed similar horrors under Brainwave's control. After his stroke during a failed invasion of Adrian's mind, fragments of those otherworldly visions remained. Now, using a radar diffuser to amplify his powers across six states, Brainwave could manipulate minds on an unprecedented scale — but this also revealed slivers of his own consciousness to those under his control. Countless people caught fleeting glimpses of terrifying, unwatchable entities: dark, cosmic horrors lurking in deep seas and far-off stars. The shock left them questioning reality itself.
Back in Blue Valley, Adrian shrugged as Courtney explained the Injustice Society's plan for a "New World."
"Are you sure they're villains?" Clark asked after a pause, concern furrowing his brow.
"I don't know," Courtney admitted, "but compared to the Injustice Society, our side almost feels like the villains." She paused, recalling Pat's warnings. "Forcibly altering minds can cause permanent damage. If Brainwave pushes people too hard, they could suffer brain death."
Clark's eyes widened in alarm. The stakes were higher than he had realized. Yet relief followed — at least now he knew where the danger came from.
"Another question," Clark said, pointing toward the dazed pedestrians still frozen under Brainwave's influence. "Will they stay like this?"
"Not for long," Courtney said, anxious. "We have to act immediately before more people are affected."
As they spoke, a car pulled slowly into view. The driver, expressionless, stepped out and stared blankly at the sky.
"We should intervene, Adrian," Clark said firmly.
Adrian glanced at the dummy-like figure, unimpressed. "If anyone gets hurt here, don't expect me to play savior."
Clark frowned. Adrian's detached tone only emphasized his indifference, yet he couldn't deny the strategic clarity behind it.
Adrian considered Icicle's plan briefly. Directly changing minds and forming a new nation was audacious, if foolish. The United States government might not take kindly to it, yet Adrian found the spectacle entertaining. Whether lives were at risk seemed irrelevant — those were not his people.
Shrugging, Adrian told Clark: "Stay here. Handle the ones pushing for their 'medical reforms.'"
"You're not coming?" Clark asked, incredulous.
"Not my thing," Adrian said casually, sliding into the driver's seat. "Just be smart. Even if the Injustice Society seems incompetent, mistakes happen."
The car roared off, leaving Midnight Doctor, Wildcat, Hourman, and Mike behind.
Mike's eyes sparkled as he looked at Courtney. "Shouldn't we have let him stay?"
"Stay?" Courtney rubbed her shoulders, eyes serious. "We have bigger priorities. Icicle must be stopped."
"I want to join!" Mike said with excitement.
"You have more important duties," Courtney replied, glancing at their mother. "Take care of Mom."
Mike pouted, but agreed. "Fine. Last time it was Pipi, now it's Mom. But mark my words, one day I'll be a hero everyone looks up to."
Clark's gaze shifted toward Blue Valley, unusually solemn. After seeing Adrian in action, he knew he had to rise to the challenge. This city, these people, and the threat of the Injustice Society would test him — and he would prove he was capable.
"Stop them," Clark murmured to himself, determination hardening in his eyes.
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