PREVIOUSLY: When Antibody and Star Brand brought Mark Hazzard back from the past, the Merc went on a rampage, only to be calmed down by Travis Juarez. Now, he has a mission to capture Derek Shiningstar. But before that happens, there is more trouble afoot…

Judge Justice locked himself within his rather quaint office, perusing the file he had compiled on Mark Hazzard. The merc was definitely a loose cannon, probably what got him killed in the first place. He would have to keep a close eye on Mark in the future, in case he turned traitor.

Justice closed his eyes, dozing off. His daydreams were plagued with nightmares of his past life before he joined the NSC. He was a police officer for the Justice Department, hence his name. He was plain old John Tensen, cop.

Suddenly, his reverie was cut short by an attack by the villain Darquill, who had his partner Becky Chambers by the throat. She had died in real life and in real time but in this dream, she was alive, her life hanging by a thread. She choked hoarsely, her gun still dangling in her holster.

Justice was also armed with a pistol but more importantly with his shields and sword. He carried these two latter weapons within his hands, the power flowing through him. He used his extrasensory perception to perceive that Darquill was indeed a paranormal and using his power incorrectly. This meant kill. Or be killed.

With his one free hand, Darquill punched Justice clear across the large expanse of the room. Tensen felt the blow.

While he recovered from it, Justice saw his daughter Angela, gesturing wildly, animating the dead bodies from the nearby cemetery. Zombies, for that was the close approximation thereof, launched into an attack. They swiped at his skin, tore at his jacket and costume.

Kleenex sneezed. “Yep, there are definitely paranormals here. I smell you, Justice.”

“Victor, please,” Angela chided him. “Stay back. I can handle daddy-dearest.”

Victor Pasko nodded. “Sure thing, baby. You’re the bread winner in the family.”

As he gathered some tissues for his paranormal allergies, Angela inched closer to her father. There was a front line of zombies and corpses, separating father and daughter.

From behind Justice came the dead form of Emmett Proudhawk. “Guess what, guys, I’m back!”

Justice screamed and woke up.

His eyes glowed crimson.

The Justice Warrior was back.

The former Judge Justice, now the Justice Warrior, exited his office and saw that the hallway was deserted. In the back of his mind, he was reliving the rampage of Merc the night before. He used his sword arm and paranormal powers to blast the infrared cameras so that no one would be alerted of his own, private, hellish rampage.

But someone—or more accurately, a group of someones—was alerted to his whereabouts. That group of people were none other than the collected ranks of DP7. Dave Landers threw a hairy fist in the air at Justice, not bothering to ask questions first. Justice had erected his shields so that the fist hit pure air.

“I don’t know what gives with people we thought were friends going on rampages but it stops here and now,’ Dave commanded, as he approached Justice.
Stephanie Harrington was right behind him, her body positively aglow with glittery energy. She kicked Justice in the mouth drawing blood. This time Justice didn’t erect a shield because he didn’t expect to be hit by a woman. His mistake.

In Justice’s tortured and tormented mind, Dave Landers was Darquill and Stephanie Harrington was Mistress Midnight, the dream weaver that encounter Keith ‘Nightmask’ Remsen in the past when she had been in the employ of the Gnome.

“You must die, Darquill!” Justice shouted, using his paranormal extrasensory perception to see if these paranormals were using their powers correctly. This must be a mistake; they were using their powers correctly. It showed self-defense, nonetheless.

Justice realized that he couldn’t trust his senses. He used his shields to knock Stephie or Mistress Midnight against the wall. She hit it firmly and fall asleep at Dave or Darquill’s side.

“Stephie, no!”

Right person, wrong name. There must be a mistake. He must be hearing things. Oh, well. He could check his hearing and senses later.

Justice’s sword arm singed Dave’s long hair and beard. It burned and smoke exuded from the bristles. He then used his shields to shut Dave’s eyes. He was virtually blind.

With his two enemies incapacitated, the Justice Warrior moved on to a much better and brighter kill.

Travis Juarez flew over the skyscrapers of Manhattan. With his arms outstretched, he looked down at the city below him. In the middle of the day, with the sun shining blistering on his back, Manhattan looked very pretty. What made the fact that he had paranormal powers of flight and possession of the electromagnetic spectrum useful was that he could give himself a guided tour of New York City that no other citizen or tourist of New York could. Flying was one of the few joys that he had in life and this time was no exception.

Travis watched crimes being committed, as a silent observer.

The boys playing horse play in the subway terminal ignore the man in the long trench coat and the New York Yankees baseball cap. The man stood to the side, awaiting his subway car to arrive. He watched the boys, fooling around, slapping each other in the face, in the mouth, and pushing them around. The young punks mean trouble to this strange man.

When he entered the bar, the first thing that he noticed that a fight was about to ensue. The bar was crowded, so it was virtually impossible for him to select a seat. But he noticed that a large group of people had crowded around one area in the back of the bar, leaning over one specific table. Curses were thrown haphazardly and punches were about to be thrown. He was too far away to know what was the cause of the fight but he knew that he was going to see the fight of his life. At a bar such as this, a time like this, when the wrong insult was thrown, any fight could begin. And these bruisers who frequented bars such as this could handle themselves in any fight that was thrown in their direction.

Another crime being committed. He watched them all.

The bounty hunter watched the killer enter the bar. From his wallet, he pulled a 8 X 12 glossy of the killer and saw that the photo and the real thing matched perfectly. Time to introduce myself, the bounty hunter thought, as he brought his 9mm gun to the bottom of the bar table. He predicted that this killer wouldn't want to go quietly and efficiently, so necessary force would have to be used. He replaced the photo back into the safe confines of his wallet and pocketed his wallet. The bounty hunter smiled, a dark, evil thing, as he saw a crowd approach the killer, failing at remaining inconspicious, and he knew that a fight would soon ensue.

He had chased the killer through four states and over five years. Now, seeing the killer face-to-face, he was going to bring him in to the proper authorities and salvage what remained of his bail bond reward money. Luckily, the notice in the post office clearly read 'Dead Or Alive' and if this motherfucker caused the slightest bit of trouble, he would shoot him dead. In cold blood. He was a professional at that, too. And if he played his cards right, no one in this bar would be the wiser.

He crawled out of his booth, hiding the gun behind his back with one hand, and sauntered over to the table that the killer had selected. Time to do business. But first, he was going to listen to what these drunkards had to say about the killer.

"I know you, you killed my wife," a drunk punk said to the killer.

The killer smiled. He was mildly amused by the boy's comment, no matter how true it had been. The killer remembered tasting the young girl's cunt, licking it up, the sweet nectar of success. And then, shooting at her head. How her head exploded in blood and the brain meshes gushing out in complete disarray.

The memory pleased him, for it had been one of his better kills. He loved that woman.

The bounty hunter did not like how this conversation was going. It would end in a fight, he predicted. And he feared that he would be the one to end this fight. The sad thing was that he only had a bounty on one of these men.

"Yes, I did," the killer responded, with glee. "She was one of my better kills."

"You bastard, I ought to kill you right here and now," the punk said, spilling the drinks on the table on the floor. The bounty hunter could see that this boy was mad and if he fashioned a weapon.

Travis continued on his journey.

When Travis Juarez returned to headquarters after his little sojourn, he saw Keith ‘Nightmask’ Remsen entering the dream-world of an apparent rampaging Judge Justice. Merc had explained to him that Tensen was reading over his file in his office when he started having weird dreams of his past live.

After the cure had been made, Keith turned to the rest of the assemblage. “Michael Proudhawk is at the root of this. He has used his psychic ‘push’ powers to brainwash Justice and Hazzard to go on rampages to utterly defeat us. I think it would be prudent if we move both him and his partner Dreamscape to a federal prison where they won’t be able to affect us. We should put them on trial, where they could await their punishment.”

Merc cocked his rifle. “A bullet to the brain. That would be quick and painless.”

“Quick, yes. Painless, no. No, Mark, we are not killers. We are so much closer to getting Derek Shiningstar. Perhaps this so called trial could bring him out into the open.”

‘Sorry, I’m late, guys. Did some patrolling. Found some interesting things to report,” Travis said, his body covered in red prism power.
Dr. Jack Jordan and his brother Hector joined him.

“Is Justice going to be all right?’ Travis asked.

Nightmask frowned, as he released his fingers from his leader’s temples. “I had put ‘the Justice Warrior’ persona in remission. When he wakes up, he will think all this was just a bad dream. That is my specialty. Yes, he will be all right. Soon, he will be up to his old tricks, leading us and all.”

“What do we do now?’ Travis asked, impatiently.

“Now, we wait,” Keith said. “Wait for the inevitable.”