Portsmouth City...

[midnite-md.livejournal.com]

And the Midnight Doctor is back home.

Seems like he's barely spent any time here since joining the Justice Society. Nite Lite and Ice Sickle always remind him of it vocally whenever he's back. Camilla usually doesn't. She understands... and she's become invaluable in keeping things organized while he's tending to the more immediate and widespread threats.

He acts globally, but he still thinks locally.

The word is that the random street crime had picked up in town. Civil unrest, planned distraction from greater crime... or just restless youth acting out? That's what Dr. Mid-Nite plans to find out.

His perch on one of the taller buildings in the city allows him to loom in the dark, granting him sight of the bigger picture. But he must be able to rule out the BIGGEST picture, first.

"Dr. Mid-Nite to Oracle. Come in."

Prepping for the Gulf Tour

[tempest-swims.livejournal.com]

Crown Regent Garth paced around the council table. He looked over his notes and lists of things he was to accomplish one more time, although he had already committed them to memory. He would soon be leaving on a tour of several countries in order to establish stronger ties or engender goodwill.

Cuba was first on the list. Castro had been requesting a meeting for several months but Garth had wanted his government to stabilize further before dealing the the Communist leader. Castro respected strength and he did not want to approach him from any other position.

Mexico was the next stop on the itinerary. A trade agreement was in the works between the two countries. Atlantis had a growing market for several Mexican products not the least of which was salsa, which they seemed to consume by the bucketful of late.

The final stop on the tour was a secret to all but the ruling council. Not even Dolphin knew yet. It was important that the United States not discover the visit to Sub Diego until it was over lest President Luthor attempt to block them. He would have a hard time stopping Garth's teleportation magic, but he wasn't one to underestimate the American President. He had much to discuss with the city council. Garth's spies in the city had told him of growing unrest over the political situation. He also learned that the aid shipment he had sent had been stolen and then distributed to the people. It was probably Black Manta, who's hate filled internet diatribes were becoming a source of daily discussion at the Atlantis Ruling Council meetings.

"Martol!" Garth called to his pretty young assistant. "Put in a call to Kostan of Triton. I request his presence at his earliest convenience to discuss the diplomatic trip. Discretion regarding the meeting is required. When you are done, please contact Titan Tower and let them know I will be arriving for a short visit the day before we leave for Cuba." He was going to need some time to clear his head.

Martol made a note and left the room without a word. Sometimes it was better to let the Regent be.

A nice, damp night in Sub Diego.

[jla-villains.livejournal.com]

Nice ta get outta Gotham once in a while.

Also nice ta stretch the legs on a different kinda job. Gettin' my own little group o' guys to boss around, even. Runnin' interference, runnin' scout while I get the job done.

Might not even have ta throw down with anybody. Not that I'd mind, but it's good ta be versatile, the brains keep sayin'. Might score a black ops gig or somethin' - move up from hired goon to full-on merc. Get some RESPECT.

Pretty damn dark, but I can still see. Radio silence - just workin' with sign language 'n' crap now. S'all just like the movies. Feels like I'm Lee Marvin or somethin'. Big Lee Marvin fan.

Gettin' close to the target now, a big warehouse, supposedly full of supplies, but they think it's a secret, so they're trying not to draw attention to the place with guards.

Shouldn't be too hard to plant a bomb, huh?

In the deserts of Nevada

[zinda-blackhawk.livejournal.com]

Hidden to those who don't know better, the landing strip Zinda touches down upon is more usually privy to illegal drug or arms trafficking. In its heyday it was used by the fledgling Air Force during the 50's. There are no lights, no painted markings to guide the way here, but it's just another day at the office as far as Zinda Blake is concerned. No air traffic control, no restrictions, no limits. This is how she likes it, and it's exhilarating. It's a feeling she hasn't had in a long time.

Under cover of darkness, the two women commandeer an Escalade parked in a small disused hangar; one of a number of pricey stolen cars no doubt about to be shipped out of the country.

Zinda's more than comfortable with the SUV's impressive array of gadgetry - in particular the GPS system, which seals her determination to drive.

She drives like she flies: fast, direct, and no-nonsense - but she's grinning like the cat who got the cream the whole way.

She cuts the lights as soon as they get in range of the facility, then pulls to a stop about quarter of a mile from the chainlink fence with its barbed wire accents.