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Jason stood beneath the glare of noon and let the city's monument soak into him. The statue loomed over New Metropolis's central square—immense, polished, the face of a man carved into eternal command. Brass reflected the sun like an accusation.
Shame, Jason thought, quiet enough only he could hear.
"When a man has to erect his own statue to prove authority," he murmured, "it's the moment he realizes he has none."
He turned away, boots ringing on the plaza's stone, and cut through the crowd. Soldiers of the Regime—black armor rimed in red, the S blazoned on every shoulder—moved like a second skin over the city. They were everywhere: checkpoints, towers, armored jeeps. The peace here had been bought with fear.
A commotion pulled him to a crumbling alleyway. A teenager pressed to a wall, four guards with bats. The kid's graffiti—angry, bleeding letters—still read on the plaster:
FUCK YOUR REGIMEFUCK SUPERMANFUCK YOUR JUSTICE
The boy's back rose and fell under another swing. Blood darkened his shirt.
Jason slowed and watched. One guard—the loud one, the type that believed slogans made him righteous—turned and barked. "Hey you! Get the fuck out of here! NOW!"
Jason's gaze tracked the man's jaw, the useless pride in his chest. He stepped forward as if to read the vandalism up close and spoke like a man asking a simple question. "If the people are so against this system… why are you supporting it? Aren't you part of the people too?"
The man spat. "What are you talking about? You want a piece of this too?" He raised his bat like he owned the afternoon.
"Superman's Regime is the correct path," the soldier sneered, sweat and soapbox righteousness seeping together. "Look around—no criminals. They fear him. They fear death. It's a utopia."
"You mean you kill everyone," Jason said softly. "Even thieves?"
The man laughed like it was a sermon. "They start as thieves—small-time. Then they take a life. We get rid of them before they become worse. Natural-born trash."
Jason watched the kid twist, trying to shield his head. "Doesn't that make you the same? You're breaking the law right now. I can't imagine even Superman would sanction four men beating a teenager for vandalism."
The loud man's face went hard. "Enough of you. Get out before I smash your face in!"
For a moment it looked like he might have an answer. Then he didn't. Pride and training froze him where he stood, and the others tensed to strike Jason down for insolence.
They moved at once—one swing, four bats arcing toward him.
The next heartbeat was clean and brutal. Hands lost purchase. Bone and leather parted. Blood erupted like paint across the cobbles. Three men fell, screaming and collapsing into themselves, their stumps ragged with ruin. The fourth—the one who'd argued—hit the ground on his ass, staring at the plaza as if he'd been shown a lie he could not swallow.
Jason stood over them, breathing even. He didn't look triumphant; he looked bored, tired of explaining the obvious.
"You… quit this work and stay home," he said to the wounded man who still stared at him. His voice held no triumph—only a cold promise. "Not long… but I will end this regime soon."
He turned away from the broken men and the bleeding kid. The statue watched, bronze and smug
....
"Someone's back from his personal picnic! You like what you saw?" Harley Quinn tumbled in a chair, spinning herself into a dizzy grin. This Harley—wilder, more unhinged than the one Jason remembered—flipped a knife in her hand and laughed like it was Saturday.
Jason ignored the show. He let his eyes roam the war room table: Batgirl, Black Lightning, Catwoman, Plastic Man, and Black Canary—her face a permanent shadow now, a widow in a world that had already taken too much.
"You genuinely thought I'd let my world reach this level of shithole?" Jason said, dropping into a chair and dragging a weathered map toward him. "Nah. I'm special. Honored, even. I breathe perfection in my world…" He let the words hang and watched the faces. "This Superman—weak. Mentally a child." He tapped the map with a finger. "But with the power of a god."
"Are you going to keep speaking poetically forever, or are you going to show us what you can do?" Black Lightning snapped. Impatience crackled in his tone.
Jason ignored the jibe and turned to the man who had been his reluctant host—the Batman of this broken Earth. "The man who can teleport me back to my world—you said he's stuck here?"
Batman's answer was precise and cold. "Yes. The Regime's Supermax. We call it the Trench. It sits in the deepest part of the Mariana Trench, watched twenty-four seven by Cyborg. No metahuman or magical being escapes it—thanks to both Cyborg's tech and Raven's magic. Even Fate was imprisoned there. The helmet he wears… they can't remove it."
Jason's eyebrow rose. "And this… Mr. Terrefic is in it?"
"Yes," Batman replied. "His suit's special. Cyborg couldn't unseal it. They placed a collar on him that forces a constant EMP effect—keeps his body and suit nullified. You must remove that collar, and then he'll help you teleport out."
"Interesting," Jason mused. He rubbed his chin. "What kind of crime gets a man thrown in that hole?"
The room straightened; even Harley's grin dimmed. Batman's voice went flat. "Enough to threaten the Regime. Enough to make their example indispensable. Why? What do you want to do?"
Black Lightning cut in, blunt. "I think we All know What he wants to do ...And it's suicide. In there, magic and tech are nullified. It's a tomb."
Catwoman's eyes narrowed. "I like him—wild, uncompromising—but reckless."
Plastic Man waved a rubbery hand and then brightened like he'd found the missing piece to a jigsaw. "We don't need to go in from the outside. I can shrink—sneak inside Jason's ear, a hair, between clothes—tunnel through fabric or glands, whatever. I'll slip in, free him from the inside, expand, and boom—job done."
They all stared at Plastic as if he'd just spoken genius for the first time in his life. The brief hope fizzled as Jason shut it down with a look.
"None of you will be involved," he said, voice final. "You wait here. I'll save Mr. Terrefic, destroy that facility, and come back. I shouldn't be long."
"Are you insane?" Black Lightning barked.
"How confident are you?" Batman asked.
Jason shrugged like the weight of the world was a shrug. "One hundred percent. It's not much work for me to destroy it now—but the pressure would kill your men and other prisoners."
Batman considered the cold honesty. "Then we go with your plan. Don't fail us. Our world relies on you."
Jason smiled a flash of something like a promise. "No problem. So—what crime should I commit?"
The room broke into conspiratorial grins.
...
Hours later, under a gray dawn and a camera-studded skyline, Jason stood with hands bound, cuffed by the Regime's soldiers. The charge read clear on the holos that circled him as he was escorted through the city
His Crime? Destruction of the Superman statue.
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If you Like this story! Check out my other story's ! Shadow Monarch in DC! and Dragon Slayer in Marvel!
AND
If you wish to read more or simply support me just because ? than check out my patreon at
"https://www.patreon.com/Riadooo"
You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want !