JustIIce League: Calamitous World

5 - Youth

You wanted this, didn't you?

I looked into the reflection of my blood shot eyes using the bathroom mirror. My pupils were dilated which made everything about me seem crazed. They were filled with veiny red lines that where starting to turn maroon. 

There's a monster in the mirror, and it's almost unrecognizable. Its hair's a mess and its bulging muscles glisten with sweat. Its finger nails are long and dirty and its yellowish teeth form a  snarl. 

The creature hadn't slept it days. The darkness in its head was keeping it awake. 

You want to lose control and feel the way you used to feel. You want your youth back.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the bathroom counter. The voice in my head won't relent. 

 You want to see blood. You want to see the fire and watch everyone burn. You even want to kill your precious League.

I squeeze the counter harder and close my eyes. I just have to block it out. I don't want to see fire. I don't want to see red. I just-

You what? Want your League back. Well news flash Bruce, you blow up that building, you blow up your League. You blow your little soldiers, who were never really yours by the way, sky high. 

You want blood. You must see blood. You need to kill-

I slam my hand down on the counter, making the small space echo. "No! I won't do it! I'll only kill Vestra!"

Will you though?

I look again into the mirror. The face I see is that of a stranger. 

I lick my dry lips. "I'm in control."

But you won't be.

I yell and punch the mirror. Delicate cracks and lines spread across it like spiderwebs. My face is split between the shards. 

I'm no longer a man.  

******

Alfred was in the Bat Cave searching for the antidote for Bruce's madness. 

Every night since Alfred changed Bruce normal, he heard yells and thumping come from his room. He sighed. Why did he even let Bruce convince him this was a good idea? Alfred knew this would happen and let it happen anyway. 

Alfred walked over to an array of shelves. He knew there was a hidden compartment somewhere. 

He reached his hand behind a box, hoping to find something that would open the secret chamber in the wall, but found nothing. 

Alfred let out a sad sound. He needed to keep Bruce from doing anything stupid. He glanced at the case that held Tempest in her sleep. 

Flashes of anger and guilt and fear and hate filled him all at once. 

The Complex was evil. Tempest was evil. The leader was a religious nut, but he was smart. Combined, those things created the end of life as Alfred knew it. 

When the Complex fell and Vestra took over. He never felt safe. The soldiers that Vestra created roamed the streets daily. They were supposed to keep order, but they really only kept people in line because everyone was afraid that they would start shooting if one person looked at them the wrong way. 

After the battle, Alfred went to see the aftermath. It was a terrible image that he would never forget. Bodies of people he knew were strewn everywhere like trash and the chaos of the whole scene left nothing to the imagination as to what the League faced. 

They had friends die next to them. They died exactly like the villain's they were trying to stop. It's like nobody cared what happened to them. It was like valor and honor and pride and heroism died that day with everyone. 

Alfred crossed his arms and sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the shelving behind him. 

He took another look at Tempest. Did she know? Did she know what she had to do? Did she really know? Or was her innocence taken away from her when she was young? Did she have a choice?

But Alfred stalled his thinking. Of course she had a choice, she chose to kill. Even if she knew it was a capital crime, it was still her own choice to commit mass murder. 

Alfred stared at a tile on the floor. It was polished and neat, but under he knew that there was blood from the early days of Batman. When Bruce would get hurt, he would come here and fix himself. There was darkness underneath that tile, but it was put there by another person. 

Alfred couldn't help looking back over at the case with the youthful girl inside. Was her darkness put there by another person? 365 days of darkness had passed over Gotham and had created more of it. Alfred wondered what 17 years of darkness would do to a child.