With Justice For All - part 7: Jailhouse Rock
by Viking

When Last We Left Our Heroes...

Behind the Judge, eleven Jurymen walked in perfect synchronization. The original hurried up beside the Judge. "So, Judge, we're gonna stop Clubber Johnson's execution, now?"

"No," came the Judge's simple reply.

Twelve Jurymen came to an abrupt halt. "No?" they chorused.

The Judge marched on, unperturbed. The Jurymen looked at each other in confusion, shrugged, and hastened to catch up.

Meanwhile, deep within the prison, a pair of guards nervously strapped their charge into a chair. The condemned, Clubber Johnson, was sitting listlessly in the chair, a glazed expression on his face.

"Louie," whispered one of the guards to the other, "you didn't slip this guy a sedative, did you?"

"No, Frank," muttered the other. "He's just been like this all day."

Frank let out a nervous breath. "I don't know what's creepier - when he talks or when he stays quiet."

Louie shuddered by way of agreement. Clubber Johnson may have been convicted on a triple homicide, but his speech patterns since arriving in prison suggested that he had committed, or at least contemplated, many others besides. Normally, if anyone was within earshot, they could hear Clubber Johnson reciting a litany of deaths in vivid, grisly detail. Not all of them involved the act of murder, though most of them did. Johnson was simply a walking encyclopedia of ways to die. In the time that he had been incarcerated, not a guard or inmate could recall an instance in which Clubber Johnson had ever repeated himself.

What was most chilling about Johnson's narrations, however, was their utter lack of emotion. There was no trace of the deliberate about what he said, no calculated menace or desire to provoke a reaction. Those that walked away from one of Clubber Johnson's monologues would be certain that he was continuing even if no one was around to hear.

Frank gave a forced chuckle. "Think he's finally run out of dead people to talk about?"

Clubber Johnson's eyes suddenly refocused into a sharp clarity as he regarded Frank. "I don't like to talk about myself," he said in an almost conversational tone, then returned to his comatose state.

Frank and Louie froze. Each of them looked at the other for a few moments, and then completed their task of checking Johnson's restraints without another word.

"So just what's the story on this guy?" queried the lead member of the Jury.

"‘Clubber' Johnson, originally Cassius Johnson, lost both of his parents in a car wreck at the age of ten," explained the Judge coolly. "Young Johnson only barely escaped death himself, and suffered a severe set of injuries to the head. The combined physical and mental trauma of the accident left him with deep psychological scars from which he never recovered. From all investigations, it would seem that the accident slowly caused him to see visions of death on an increasing basis. His only release from that torment was to either narrate the events that he was witnessing or, for a more lengthy respite, re-enact them. It is a wonder that he lasted as long as he did."

Twelve members of the Jury shivered slightly at the tale. "The guy sounds like a real nutcase... Hey!" exclaimed the original. "If he was that crazy, why'd he end up here instead of gettin' off on the insanity plea?"

"Very astute of you to notice that," remarked the Judge. "And it was the very tactic I attempted to use in his defense. However, in this state, the ‘legal' definition of insanity is whether the defendant can no longer tell right from wrong. Clubber Johnson knew what he was doing was breaking the law, and there was no chance that the citizens of Patriot City were going to allow him even the most remote opportunity to walk the streets again."

The foreman of the Jury paused in thought before asking his next question. "So... if we're not going to spring him from the gas chamber, what exactly are we doing?"

"Granting him release from his inner demons," said the Judge.

The Judge and Jury came to a halt before a heavy door that led to the execution chambers. The lead member of the Jury lifted a pair of energy weapons that he had liberated from Delta Labs and, with a nod from the Judge, blew the door off of its hinges.

Quickly charging through the opening, the Jurymen leveled their high-tech weaponry at the assorted observers to the execution. "All rise, ladies and gentlemen! The Judge has come to witness this execution!" shouted their foreman.

Caught by surprise, the guards were quickly subdued either by a blast from a Juryman or a mental command from the Judge. The mayor of Patriot City, present among the observers, rose in indignation. "I don't know who you think you are," he cried, "but you'll never get away with this!" He was about to continue his tirade, but froze abruptly as he looked into the black void of the Judge's covered face.

"Whether you be mayor, governor, president, or king, all must be silent in respect to the Judge," stated the Judge in a stern voice. Reaching into his robes, he pulled out the canister of Energy X taken from Delta Labs, and tossed it to the lead Juryman. "Attach this to the mixing chamber so that it may be released on my signal," he commanded.

Comprehension of the Judge's plans dawned on the Juryman, and he set to work. "Yeah, ok... no sweat. I should be able to ‘jury-rig' something..."

From inside the hermetically sealed execution chamber, Clubber Johnson stirred once more. "Can we get this show on the road?" he asked, his voice dimly audible through the observational window. "I'm getting a little antsy here."

The Judge approached the window and gazed somberly inside. "Patience, Johnson," he murmured. "Your respite will come soon enough."

Meanwhile, outside the prison, the available members of Freedom Force were converging. Minute Man, Mentor, Liberty Lad and Order were exiting the Freedom Flyer to meet the Bullet.

"I got here just a few seconds ago," Bullet said to the rest of the squad. "Things seem awfully quiet here. What's the plan?"

"We go in as a group, with Order and myself on point," explained Minute Man. "Don't go charging ahead in case they've already arrived and set up a trap for us. We don't know what could be waiting in there."

Mentor also reminded the team of the new threat that they faced. "And while we have determined the extent of the weaponry that was stolen from Delta Labs, the Praetor's battle staff is perhaps the most unpredictable and terrifying of them all. In the hands of one affected by Energy X, it can serve as a focus for his powers and subconscious thoughts. Hopefully, the Judge and Jury have not yet fathomed the extent of its power!"

Having decided upon their tactics, the team cautiously made its way to the entrance of the prison, keeping alert for an ambush from any direction. The dread silence that pervaded the place only heightened their sense of anticipation. Before long, they had reached a lone guard, staring into space.

Order nudged the guard gently. "Hey, pal - you ok?" he queried.

The guard suddenly snapped out of his reverie. "Yeah, I had just let these guys called the Judge and Jury through here and... Holy smokes! What the heck was I thinking!" Still affected by the Judge's hypnotic command, the guard slammed his hand down on an alarm button that sent klaxons ringing off throughout the compound. To the assembled members of Freedom Force, however, his actions seemed no more suspicious than a belated attempt to warn his fellow guards.

"You'd best stay here," noted Minute Man. "Could you tell us where the execution is supposed to take place?"

"Yeah, no problem. It's down in South Block. You can't miss it." The guard shook his head as if to clear it, unaware that he had answered this very question earlier.

Back in the execution chamber, the foreman of the Jury had finished his modifications just as the alarms had begun to sound. "Punctual, as ever," remarked the Judge. "Let the execution proceed!"

The guard manning the machinery shot a helpless look to the high-ranking observers, who could offer nothing in the way of advice. With a prod from a Juryman, the guard pulled the first of a series of levers. A valve opened, releasing hydrochloric acid into the pan feeding into the execution chamber's ventilation system. Following procedure, the guard pulled a second lever, dropping potassium cyanide crystals into the acid and creating a noxious gas that began to flow into the chamber.

From his restrained position in the chair, Clubber Johnson smiled wearily. He really had been looking forward to this. He wasn't really a suicidal man, as the thought had never occurred to him before. Indeed, his head was normally too full of thoughts of other people's deaths for him to have ever contemplated his own. However, once faced with the reality of his execution, the only visions that were playing through his head were those of his own death in the gas chamber. It had a surrealistic quality, and was oddly soothing. Barely noticing the burning sensation from the gas, he began to inhale deeply, and drifted into unconsciousness.

The foreman of the Jury looked to the Judge, who nodded. Taking a remote detonator from his pocket, he depressed the button, causing the Energy-X canister affixed to the machinery to release its powerful radiation into the gas. The glow within the execution chamber became too intense to watch, and even the Judge was forced to shield his eyes from the glare.

Meanwhile, within the chamber, Clubber Johnson's mind bolted back into consciousness. The visions of death had suddenly returned, with greater intensity and speed. He closed his eyes, to no avail. Scenes of death assaulted his mind, overlapping with one another. Johnson desperately began inhaling with reckless abandon, hoping in vain that it would end the turmoil. Caught up in his hallucinations, Johnson wasn't even remotely aware that his already muscular physique was increasing in size, snapping away the chair's restraints. His visions raced to the point of incomprehensibility, and he blacked out once more.

Freedom Force made its way cautiously through the first few corridors of the prison. The cells that they passed were occupied by unconscious guards now in prison issues. As they appeared to be little more than unconscious prisoners, they drew little more than a puzzled glance from the defenders of Patriot City as they made their way to the southern end of the prison. Minute Man was the first to notice a conscious figure ahead.

"Looks like we've finally found another one of the guards!" he exclaimed. "Maybe he can tell us something useful!"

As they began to approach the guard, Mentor's brow furrowed in concern. "Something is not right," he murmured. "I sense the minds of opposition!"

Order took a more careful look at the guard. "Wait a minute," he said. "That guy's not carrying a standard-issue sidearm!"

The convict, sensing that the ruse had been discovered, quickly aimed his energy pistol and fired. A beam of radioactive energy slammed into Minute Man, bowling him over. Bullet immediately charged the bogus guard and rammed him, sending him flying backwards against a grate of bars behind him.

Liberty Lad felt the tell-tale tingle of an impending ambush, and instinctively dove to the side, catching Mentor in a tackle. They both rolled into a crouching position as another beam of energy sizzled narrowly over their heads. Looking to their rear, they saw another group of convicts rounding a corner and advancing on their position. Reinforcements were also arriving to take up tactical positions on the upper level of the prison and fire on the members of Freedom Force below.

Minute Man gritted his teeth and returned to his feet. "Bullet!" he cried. "This attack is no doubt a diversion to keep us from the Judge! Get to the execution chamber while we deal with these prisoners!"

Bullet nodded and tore off down the corridors. Passing by another phony guard who was preparing to take a shot at his fellows, Bullet briefly swerved from his path to cut loose with a barrage of blows that left the would-be assailant sprawled on the floor. "One for the road," Bullet thought before resuming his course.

Back in the observational room, the Judge nodded as the glow faded in the execution chamber, and made his way to the door that led within. One of the guards called out, "You can't go in there yet - the fumes haven't been pumped out yet!" Ignoring the guard's warning, the Judge unbolted the door and flung it open. Not a trace of poisonous gas met him, as every Energy-X infused particle had been absorbed by the unconscious Clubber Johnson.

A nervous foreman of the Jury hesitantly crept up behind the Judge to look at his newest recruit. Clubber Johnson had grown to a full seven feet tall, and the chair beneath him groaned under his weight. His prison issues had darkened to a midnight black, and were ripped in the places where they had been unable to contain his physique. The Jury addressed the Judge. "So... uh... do you think this guy's just going to up and join us?"

"He will soon enough," replied the Judge. "Johnson's mind was already under tremendous strain before the execution, and his recent ordeal pushed him past his breaking point." The Judge spoke with an instinctive understanding of what had transpired in Johnson's head - a side effect, he mused, of his own developing powers. "And when the mind faces a strain too great for it to bear, it quite often leaves the memory of the event buried deep in its subconscious. Buried... but not forgotten. And leaving me with a blank slate to write upon..."

The Judge fell silent as mentally willed his own consciousness to touch Johnson's and gently... carefully... rouse it from slumber.

Up to this point, Johnson's mind had fallen dormant, as if hibernating in a black void. Then, almost imperceptibly, some unseen hand began tugging at it, pulling it into the light once more. Clubber Johnson's vision slowly swam into focus. His surroundings were unfamiliar to him, as was everyone else in sight. Johnson turned his attention uncertainly to the somber figure standing in front of him.

"WHO... ARE YOU?" he asked. Though not particularly loud, Johnson's now-hollow voice still carried like a death knell. He paused, unfamiliar with the sound of his voice, and realized with growing puzzlement that an even greater question loomed. "WHO... AM I?"

The Judge somberly addressed his charge. "I am the Judge, the one who has ended the sentence of torment under which you labored. Your crime was that of spreading death without purpose, heedless of the effect." With a few psychic nudges from the Judge, Clubber Johnson could sense whispery traces of the murders that he had committed, seemingly without rhyme or reason, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

"Now that you have served your sentence, you are ready to begin your new life," continued the Judge. "You shall achieve the purpose that you were born to. For while death passes through your hands as easily as breath passes through another man's lips, the randomness to your actions is over. You are the hand of judgment that brings certainty to its terrible, swift sword of justice."

The Jury turned away from the scene with a shiver. He knew that the words the Judge was speaking wouldn't make sense to anyone with a trace of reason, and yet they still sounded compelling. To someone like Johnson, who had little if any rational thought left in his head, they would sound like gospel.

Clubber Johnson closed his eyes in thought, trying to contemplate the Judge's words. But he had nothing to compare them to, and found that he could only accept them as truth. He opened his eyes, and gazed somberly at the Judge. "I... UNDERSTAND," he rasped in his echoing voice.

Wordlessly, the Judge handed Johnson a black hood, which he instinctively placed over his head. "Then you are ready to assume your office," intoned the Judge. "Arise... my Executioner."

At that moment, the Bullet zipped into the observation room. Quickly taking in the scene, he promptly became a silvery blur and pummeled three Jurymen into unconsciousness before the rest were even aware of his presence. The prison guards, whose weapons had been taken earlier by the Jurymen, suddenly found their sidearms returned to them. "You'd better get these folks out of here!" Bullet called to the guards. "Things are about to get mighty loud and busy in here!"

Falling back on a purpose they knew they could perform, half of the guards began ushering out the observers while the other half provided cover fire against the remaining members of the Jury. Bullet sped into action once more, and the Jurymen were momentarily disoriented as they tried to train their weapons on a man that provided nothing more than a blur to shoot at. As their numbers steadily dwindled, one of them in frustration turned his weapon on the decidedly easier target of one of the prison guards. The Bullet caught a glimpse of the energy beam and its target a split second after the Juryman had pulled the trigger, and quickly changed course to protect the guard. He was able to guide the guard out of the beam's radioactive path, but took the brunt of the damage himself. Bullet was momentarily stunned by the pain, which was considerably greater than that of the bullets that the Jurymen normally fired.

The Judge guided the Executioner into the observational room and pointed at the Bullet. "Do you see that man?" he asked. "He, and other like him, seek to thwart the judgments that we hand down."

"THEN HE WILL BE STOPPED," responded the Executioner, who advanced on the Bullet. The Judge motioned for the Jurymen to fall back, so that he could witness how the Executioner's power had manifested.

Bullet snapped out of his stupor, to find himself eye-to-chest with the Executioner. Guessing that a powerhouse blow was headed his way, he sprinted out of harm's way, and began running circles around his towering foe. He would weave just close enough to land a punch, and then weave back out of range before the Executioner could respond.

Within the Executioner's mind, however, a memory flickered. Unsurprisingly, it was the last memory that he had before he had blacked out - that of the stinging, burning vapors that he had been breathing. Barely noticing the blows that Bullet was raining down upon him, the Executioner simply took a massive breath beneath his hood, and exhaled.

From his mouth came a growing cloud of the noxious, acidic vapors that he had so desperately gulped down before. The cloud spread to encompass both himself and the Bullet, who began to gag and choke. The same accelerated metabolism that allowed the Bullet to heal so rapidly was accelerating the course of the deadly fumes through his body, and it was all he could do to stay consciousness. Secure in the knowledge that at least the civilians had made their escape, Bullet made his own hasty retreat from the room, wisps of acrid smoke trailing behind him.

As the poisonous cloud dissipated, the Executioner stood motionless, pondering the memory that had risen unbidden, and faded away just as quickly. Sensing the Executioner's confusion, the Judge approached. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

"I... DO NOT KNOW," came the Executioner's response. "I COULD... REMEMBER THE FUMES, AND COULD... REMEMBER THAT THEY ONCE GAVE ME PAIN... WHY DO I NOT FEEL IT NOW?"

"Now that your sentence has ended, that which was your torment has become your tool," answered the Judge smoothly. "You have mastered your pain, and become all the stronger for it. In fact, you have shown yourself ready to wield the weapon of your office..." The Judge reached within his robes, and pulled out a thick, compact metal cylinder. Pressing a button on it, the cylinder telescoped outwards to become the alien battle staff that the Judge had taken from Delta Labs. He passed it to the Executioner, who accepted it without resistance.

Another image flashed briefly from Johnson's repressed visions. The image of an axe, such as a headsman would use in ancient days. Johnson accepted the vision, as it fit the nature of his office, did it not? As he mused over this revelation, the battle staff quivered, and liquid metal flowed from the tip and molded itself into the very shape of the axe blade that he had envisioned. Johnson felt as if he had been touched by a divine epiphany, and strode towards the door.

"Hey! Uh... Executioner! Where are you going?" called out the Jury.

"THE JUDGE SAID THAT THERE ARE OTHERS THAT SEEK TO STOP US. THIS MUST NOT HAPPEN. A JUDGE'S SENTENCES MUST BE CARRIED OUT."

"Spoken like a professional," remarked the Judge, and followed the Executioner out into the prison halls. The Jury slowly shook his head, let out a low whistle of disbelief, and scurried to catch up.

Back in the prison halls, the other members of Freedom Force were finishing off the last of the convicted killers. They had suffered their fair share of injuries in the battle, but their experience in fighting as a team inevitably allowed them to rout the disorganized inmates. Minute Man had no sooner knocked out the last hold-out than he saw an approaching blur that could only be the Bullet. The rest of the team noticed him as well, but their spirits quickly fell as they realized that he was running slowly enough to be visible, and that he was stumbling.

Bullet collapsed in the middle of the hallway, his momentum causing him to skid another fifteen feet before coming to a halt. His companions quickly gathered around him, with Order instinctively transforming into Law to heal his wounds. Bullet, barely conscious, feebly waved her off.

"Y'all better... save your strength... Judge n' Jury have got a... new bruiser... with a heck of a case of bad breath..." With those words, Bullet gave out and sank into unconsciousness.

"Golly!" exclaimed Liberty Lad. "What do you think could have done this to Bullet?"

"It would seem that the Judge and Jury have recruited another member into their fold by exposing him to the power of Energy X," surmised the Mentor. "And given Bullet's ability to dodge nearly any blow, it would seem that our newest foe is able to generate some form of caustic attack over a great area!"

"Ok, team, we'd better adjust our tactics!" commanded Minute Man. "Spread out and stay sharp!"

As Minute Man, Liberty Lad, and Mentor adopted a staggered formation in which to await the advance of their foes, Law remained crouched by the Bullet. "We're still going to heal him, aren't we, Sarah?" questioned Order, already knowing the answer.

"Of course, Don," answered Law. "It's like you said before - we're better as a team than we are individually. But since Bullet heals quickly on his own, all we need to do is jump-start the process a little..."

Willing a small portion of her life force into the Bullet's prone form, Law awaited for Bullet to show signs of movement. When he began to stir, she whispered to him, "Stay down until you've recuperated. If our enemies think you're down and out, they won't expect your next attack." Bullet gave a small nod and forced himself to stay still as Law took a position to complement her fellows, who were already adopting battle-ready positions as they saw the approach of the Judge, Jury, and Executioner.

The Executioner was the first to address Freedom Force. "YIELD, OR FACE THE BLADE OF THE EXECUTIONER."

Recognizing the transformed battle staff in the Executioner's hands, Mentor telepathically alerted his teammates. "Beware of the weapon that he carries! Already he shows the signs of becoming attuned to its use!"

Minute Man took a defiant pose. "We shall never submit to your twisted perversion of justice! Come on, team, it's time to defeat these courtroom caricatures... FOR FREEDOM!"

Liberty Lad followed up Minute Man's rallying cry with a stun grenade aimed at the center of the villainous group. Most of the Jurymen were dizzied by the blast, but the Executioner was unfazed and began advancing on Freedom Force with grim resolution. Liberty Lad was about to hurl an explosive grenade at the dread figure, but found himself frozen in place by a telepathic command from the Judge.

Minute Man quickly moved to intercept the Executioner before he could reach Liberty Lad. Shrugging off his weariness from the earlier battle against the death row inmates, Patriot City's Sixty Second Sentinel concentrated his strength into a mighty blow against the towering form of the Executioner.

The former death row inmate rocked slightly from the blow, but raised his axe without interruption. "YOU MAY HAVE STRUCK THE FIRST BLOW, BUT THE EXECUTIONER ALWAYS STRIKES THE LAST ONE," he rasped before bringing his blade down with terrible certainty.

As the battle staff-turned-axe descended, another vision flickered across the Executioner's consciousness - that of his foe being crippled by a blast of withering radiation. He was only dimly aware that his axe was now glowing an angry orange-red as it connected with the Minute Man.

While prepared for a powerhouse strike, Minute Man was not expecting the blow to be backed by the debilitating radioactive energy. Freedom Force's Founding Father barely had time enough to feel his strength ebb before the physical strength of the blow sent him hurtling backwards into one of the cell doors, which ripped free from the impact. Minute Man felt his consciousness flicker, and knew that he could never withstand a second blow like that. Temporarily out of the fight, he slumped against the wall.

Law had been concentrating on providing cover to the Mentor, deflecting the Jury's energy rays with her sword. Seeing the danger that Liberty Lad now faced without Minute Man to shield him, she immediately transformed back into Order to slow the Executioner's advance. Order slammed his mighty hammer into the ground, knocking the Jurymen from their feet and causing the Executioner to take a few steps backwards. The Judge simply floated into the air, unaffected by the shockwave.

Mentor turned his attention to Liberty Lad. Knowing that the Judge's paralysis was based on a telepathic mind-block, he knew it would be a simple matter to undo. Just as Liberty Lad began to snap out of his entrapment, the Judge landed next to Mentor, who turned to face him.

"Compared to mine, your mental abilities are those of a child!" the alien mentalist exclaimed in disbelief. "You cannot possibly expect to prevail!"

"Not in the fashion you would expect me to try," the Judge remarked as he swung his gavel at Mentor. The force of the blow caught Mentor off-guard, and he went sailing backwards. As he arced through the air, Mentor realized that the Judge must have developed his telekinetic powers to augment the strength of his attacks.

"Mock me at your peril!" gloated the Judge. "For while I can appreciate a verbal jab as much as the next man, there are times when a physical one will work just as well!"

"Couldn't... agree with you... more..." muttered the Bullet from his prone position. Tensing himself up to act, he forced himself to his feet and into a sprint with the Judge as his target. Caught unawares, the Judge was knocked backwards on a path that mirrored the Mentor's. Not giving the Judge a chance to react, the silver speedster spun quickly enough to create a miniature tornado which tore down the hallway. Picking up the incarnation of injustice, the whirlwind slammed him into the ceiling before letting him plummet back to earth.

"And stay down!" called out the Bullet. He zipped back to help Mentor to his feet, looking worriedly at the battle that still raged in the prison corridors.

Liberty Lad was fighting an evenly-matched battle against the Jury. He was spending most of his time drawing the Jurymen's fire, while keeping them from replenishing their numbers. Facing the Jury's new armaments and in the midst of his teammates, Liberty Lad didn't want to risk throwing one of his taunts. The haphazard shootout that would inevitably follow such a move could very well have taken out one of his wounded fellows. Worse yet, it could have distracted Order from his own battle.

In the center of the corridor, Order and the Executioner had locked grips on the destructive weapon of the Domain. Order had realized that he'd fare little better than Minute Man if he resorted to trading blows, and had forced the Executioner into an apparent stalemate. The appearance was illusory, however, as Order could feel his own strength slowly eroding from the radiation being emitted from the axe's glowing blade.

"I... don't think I can keep this up, Sarah!" thought Order frantically.

Law could feel his desperation, along with his unwillingness to fall back on his tactic of last resort. "Don, we both know what you have to do... Have faith in your friends, Don - they'll bring you back."

Order dreaded the thought of going berserk again, especially in such a pitched battle. He'd been carefully keeping his emotions in check throughout the battle. But it was costing him, and the Executioner showed no signs of slowing down.

Letting his internal restraints go, Order felt reason pushed aside by rage. Roaring defiance at his opponent, he savagely twisted the weapon out of the Executioner's grasp. The radiation stopped beaming forth from the blade immediately, which in turn retracted back into the battle staff and remolded into a massive hammer that resembled his own weapon of choice. Not even aware of the fact that the Executioner was preparing to unleash another cloud of toxic vapor, Order slammed the weapon into his foe's chest in a raw expression of fury.

Another shockwave erupted, making Order's earlier one look feeble by comparison. Liberty Lad and the Jurymen were scattered like rag dolls from the explosive force, and even the other members of Freedom Force felt the foundations of the building shake. When the tremors settled, Order was standing in the middle of a shallow crater, the motionless form of the Executioner lying at his feet.

True to Law's prediction, Mentor wasted no time in attempting to restore Order's mind. The sheer force of the fury rebuffed him at first, and almost sent him into shock. Focusing his will, he was slowly able to contain Order's rage and let reason return.

Order blinked as he felt in control of himself once more. Looking around, he began to feel a horrible queasiness as he saw Liberty Lad knocked flat with the rest of the Jurymen. Despair turned to relief, however, as he saw Liberty Lad groggily rise and flash him a thumbs-up. On the outskirts of where the battle had been fought, Order caught a glimpse of a lone Juryman picking himself up, and deciding that a hasty retreat was called for. Order prepared to call out a warning, but it was unnecessary. Minute Man had been keeping a watchful eye on the combatants as well. Hefting the steel door that had been knocked free earlier, Minute Man hurled it at the retreating Juryman. A clang and a thump provided an audible confirmation that the last of the courtroom cadre had fallen.

Grateful that the battle was over, Order looked down at his vanquished foe, and then to the alien staff in his hands. It had reverted to its neutral state, though Order could still feel the stirrings of the fury that had been focused through it.

"Live by the sword, die by the sword," echoed the inner voice of Law.

"Yeah, something like that," mumbled Order. He was still troubled by the destructive device that he held in his hands. Not only could he feel the traces of its power, but he could also detect a faint, lingering desire to use it again - to feel the savage thrill of releasing its unfettered power. Order shuddered at the thought.

"And this was being researched in some lab?" he thought to his counterpart.

"Yes, Don," came the response. "What's worse, it's just going to go right back to them for more research..."

Horrified, Order looked down at the battle staff, only just realizing that it had been stamped with a bright green hollow triangle, the logo of Delta Labs. Memories of the battle with Pinstripe's goons, and the more recent jailhouse battle, weighed heavily upon him. He frowned, and then brought the staff down over his knee with all of his might. After a moment of resistance, the alien weapon cracked and then broke apart. Order felt a vicious jolt of electricity, matched only by the inner shock that he felt from Law.

"Don, what have you done?"

Similar exclamations came from the other members of Freedom Force. Order raised a hand, wearily. "Sorry, guys - guess I still didn't have a really good handle on my temper. I don't know if that thing is more dangerous to the person who goes up against it, or the person who uses it!"

Mentor nodded, sagely. "It is true that this weapon of the Domain has held an addictive sway over those who have wielded it. I have never known a Praetor to use it who did not turn into a petty tyrant, surpassed only by Lord Dominion in his vindictive evil."

Minute Man sighed, then clapped his friend on the back. "Well, Dr. Drake may raise a fuss over this, but I'm just as glad that he won't be reproducing it any time soon. There are simply some powers that are too dangerous for man to tinker with."

Murmurs of assent came from all corners. Even Law, deep within Order's consciousness, grudgingly agreed.

Meanwhile, in a secluded laboratory at Delta Labs, computers churned as they processed incoming information. A handful of scientists frantically made notes on the data and its implications. Behind them all, Dr. Leo Drake drew his lips into a thin line and shook his head as he received confirmation that the alien battle staff wielded by the Executioner had been destroyed.

"Such a waste. Of course, given that self-styled patriot's aversion to our research, his team's actions were all too predictable." He regarded one of the researchers with an icy calm. "Are the final results coming in?" he asked.

The subject of his gaze carefully adjusted his glasses and reviewed his notes before responding. "Yes, sir. It should be organized and ready for analysis within the hour."

Dr. Drake nodded. "Very good. I'll be expecting a report summarizing the results of today's field test first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, I shall be putting in an appearance at the Patriot City Opera House tonight. Showing the commitment of Delta Labs to patronizing the arts, and all that."

Exiting the lab, Dr. Drake pondered the day's events. The alien battle staff had been destroyed, and there was absolutely no chance that Delta Labs would pursue a legal action against Freedom Force because of it - a public relations nightmare would ensue. Still, they had learned more in a day than most researchers could hope to discover in a lifetime. Sacrifices were inevitable, in the struggle to serve humanity.

Dr. Leo Drake removed his lab coat and hung it neatly in his office. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out the ticket and reviewed the title of the evening's performance.

"Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. A good piece of work, that... if they've got the talent for it." He sighed and shook his head in memory of the last ballet performed at the Patriot City Opera House. Patriot City's funding for the arts had fallen by the wayside in recent years, he noted. Hopefully the quality had picked up this year.

The austere scientist sighed again. Yes, sacrifices were definitely inevitable.

The End