World's Finest Disclaimer: This story features Steel and the Huntress, which are trademarks of DC Comics. This is an unauthorized work and no profit is being made from this work. This story is copyright of me. Download it if you like, but please don't archive without my permission. Don't be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place between DETECTIVE COMICS #730 and BATMAN: LEGENDS OF THE DARK KNIGHT #116, and between SUPERMAN: THE MAN OF TOMORROW #12 and SUPERMAN: THE MAN OF STEEL #88.

"Oracle Telemetry Program: ETA=0:35"

The message flashed into the lower left hand corner of his field of vision as he approached the target. It looked like a war zone--he would know, having plenty of firsthand experience with that--and his mission was to prevent things from getting any worse. He snorted in resignation and reminded himself that irony was sometimes part of the job.

Irony, like the men he was supposed to help shooting at him.

"Status: Nominal," another message informed him as he continued on his trajectory. Anyone else might have found the hail of bullets offensive, but he wrote them off as a mere annoyance, a justifiable one at that. After all, when you wear the raiments of your enemy, what do you expect? He activated an internal loudspeaker and spoke into it.

"This is Steel. Cease fire and stand down on the authority of the Justice League of America!" It was a commanding tone, but it did very little good. The men on the ground began to turn their weapons away from him, convinced that he was on the level.

The men in the sky, however, faced him and stared with eyes of burning orange. They were not impressed. They were not men.

One of them gave him a response. "Steel, this area has been deemed a Priority Alpha Crisis Zone. In representation of the Master, we intend to take control of the situation and restore order. Do not interfere, or you will be pacified. We do not wish to harm anyone."

Steel slowed his flight to a hover and faced the leader some thirty feet away. "Your "master" is violating the sovereignty of the United States," he said calmly, gesturing to the soldiers on the ground, weapons aimed for the next round of combat. "Gotham City is restricted by federal order. I can't allow you to enter."

The leader looked back in disbelief, its metallic gray face expressing what appeared to be confusion. "Steel, my programming informs me that you have great respect for the Master. Surely you would not wish to oppose his efforts here--"

Before it could complete the thought, its face was smashed in by an oncoming sledgehammer. The others stared in shock as Steel commanded the weapon to return to his hand. "Don't any of you monstrosities _dare_ to play headgames with me," he said coldly. "You... things are an affront to everything I ever fought against. Now stand down, or I swear there will be more harm done here than you can possibly imagine."

Another one spoke up for the injured leader, "We cannot do that." Together, including the damaged one, they turned to renew their approach towards the city.

Steel sighed and raised his hammer to their backs. "Pulse, special modifications: JHI-132," he said quietly. With that, the hammer released a wave of energy which enveloped the other floating figures. They jerked back in what appeared to be pain, then fell to the earth. He cut power to his jet boots and descended as well.

"Colonel Abrams," a man called out from the crowd of soldiers. "Some nice work there. What did you do?"

"Electromagnetic Pulse," Steel answered, inspecting his handiwork. "One of the few things we've found that can slow them down. Don't worry about your own equipment, though. It was a limited range pulse, designed to affect only them."

"So... what exactly are these--?" the colonel asked.

"Robots. Built to resemble Superman in both appearance and powers. Tell your men not to hold anything back. They're not alive, and they're extremely difficult to stop. On the plus side, they're programmed to avoid killing humans at any cost. Worse comes to worse, you shouldn't suffer any casualties." As he spoke, he carefully lifted the head of one of the robots and fired a rivet from a wrist mounted launcher on his armor. The rivet smashed the automaton's eye, embedding itself into the socket. A second rivet into the other eye, and Steel moved on the next robot, repeating the procedure.

"Look, I'm sorry about firing on you back there," Abrams said contritely. "It's just that we were starting to get nervous. Our ammo hasn't had much effect so far, and well, you _do_ wear a cape and an "S" on your chest--"

He had expected this from the beginning, but it still didn't take the sting out of the words. Steel had donned his armor in tribute to Superman, his inspiration and role model. It was Superman who saved his life, Superman who invited him into the JLA.

Now it was Superman who had decided to impose martial law over the earth, deploying robotic doppelgangers across the globe to carry out his will. Naturally, everyone had questioned Steel's reaction to Superman's erratic behavior. Even now, everyone still was.

Steel shook his head. "No harm done. But tell your people that I am not one of these robots. What I am is the only chance we have of holding these things off." He pointed to his chest. "This "S" stands for Steel."

"Understood," Abrams said. "What is it you're doing, anyway? You already took these bogies out, didn't you?"

Again, Steel shook his head. "Not permanently. EM pulses have a limited effectiveness against these robots. They'll reboot they're systems and attack again, maybe even signal for reinforcements while they're at it. I'm just trying to make sure I do as much damage as possible while they can't defend themselves. If I'm lucky, I'll have time to cut out their communications. If not, we have to prepare for the worst."

***

It was the evening. Relative amounts of daylight were about as specific as it got in Gotham.

Evening meant that most of the populus would be seeking shelter for the night. Nighttime in Gotham had become too dark and cold for anyone to function effectively. So people tended to finish up whatever they were doing and find someplace warm to sleep until dawn broke.

She didn't buy it either, even as she said this to herself. As long as she had lived here, Gotham had been the stark antithesis of the small town that rolled up its streets at sundown. Three things had changed that.

First, a series of disasters had rocked the city and thinned out its population. There was the outbreak of mutated Ebola. For an interminable three days the sun itself was obscured, deluging Gotham (and the rest of the world) in a crippling snowfall. Then there was the earthquake. Most of whatever was left standing in Gotham was leveled then. But it didn't end there. Another plague--a cybernetic virus from the far future--infected all animal life on earth and humanity fell victim to fits of paranoia and violence. When it was all said and done, Gotham was left a much smaller town than it used to be. A shadow of its former self.

Second, the United States government chose to deny Gotham's desperately needed federal disaster aid. Instead, the city was ordered to be evacuated, and a military blockade was set up around the ruined city. And whoever was left inside was confined to eke out their existence in this No Man's Land.

Third, without electricity, clean water, or even supply lines to the outside world, Gotham had dropped off of the face of civilization altogether. The only way to go out at night was to use a flashlight and a coat--some of the most valuable items in this place--and why risk such things when you could simply go out in the day?

She simply wondered when the frogs would show up.

Normally, the Huntress wouldn't have had such a cavalier attitude about such a dire situation, but she had witnessed firsthand all those other crises that battered the city. She had played an integral part in their resolution as well. Gotham's latest peril was simply another broken lamp to be glued back together again. Granted this challenge would be even greater than all the others, but at least she say she was a practiced hand at it.

And she wasn't alone. Gotham was still populated, in spite of federal orders. The people living there ranged from the infirm (who couldn't leave in time) to the insane (who didn't know any better) to the stubborn (who refused to give up after so many other hardships). It was a volatile combination, but at least there were people who were willing to work at restoring the city to its former state. Their goals and methods conflicted, but the primary aim was the same.
And there was the JLA. The Batman had returned to the public eye in Gotham after a lengthy absence. Oracle was supposed to have put a special priority on the No Man's Land problem. And as for the rest--well, she assumed that they were waiting for Batman's approval to go in. After all, she was their teammate, right? They wouldn't leave her to handle this by herself, right?

That was one of the strange things about this new Gotham she found herself in: the silence. Even the din of people in the neighborhood was nothing compared to the cacophony of sounds that once permeated this city. Time was, she never would have caught herself woolgathering while she was lying in wait. Fortunately, her prey had roused her attention.

"Well, lookee what this kid's gone and done for us."

From her vantage point, she watched as a pair of teenage boys enter the alley menacingly. Their jackets suggested they were either former members of the Demonz gang, or they had been stolen from someone who was. Together, they converged on a smaller boy who was squirming out of a small window at the base of a wrecked building. In his mouth was a sandwich, carefully wrapped in cellophane. A few feet away lay a pile of identical sandwiches he had already retrieved. At the sound of other voices, the boy spit out the sandwich and jerked his head to see the others approaching him.

One of the older boys, wearing a bright green ski mask pulled up to his forehead, grinned at the boy in the window. "Looks like he's found some grub for us. Even went to the trouble of getting it out for us."

The other one produced a backpack and opened it. "Yeah, now all we have to do is take it. Thanks a lot, kid."

The small boy choked back his fear and tried the diplomatic approach. "H-hey, if you guys wanna share, we can do that. I could use some help protecting this stash anyway. And there's plenty for everybody."

Green Head would hear nothing of it. "Nah, I think we'll just be taking the whole thing. Wouldn't want you gettin' too fat to fit down that hole. So you can just keep bringing out the goods, and we'll think about whether we wanna bust your head open. Deal?"

"No." The boy said, mustering up all the conviction and intimidation he could muster into his voice. And before they could laugh him down, she was there.

Since the quake, it had been increasingly difficult for the Huntress (or any other vigilante) to maintain a reputation in Gotham. After facing twenty seconds of the earth shaking beneath them, Gothamites simply had no fear left for mere mortals in garish costumes. Faced with that reality, the Huntress changed tactics. She couldn't be on top of every trouble spot, but she could make it look like she was.

So she set traps. The boy was a plant. She had told him about the food stash (no doubt hoarded by some post-quake looter who abandoned it when Gotham was evacuated). Normally, no one would be foolish enough to leave food out in plain sight, but she had promised to protect him if something like this happened. And so it had.

Backpack never knew what hit him. She backhanded him to the ground as soon as he'd turned around to face her. Whatever weapons he was carrying, he wouldn't have a chance to use them.

"Mother F--!" Green Head exclaimed, cut short by a mini-arrow from Huntress's crossbow. He dropped to his knees whimpering in pain as he looked at his impaled left hand.

The boy finally wriggled out of the window. He stared in awe. "Whoaaaa..."

The Huntress grabbed Green Head by his coat. "I want you to focus past the pain, little man. Because I want you to listen to me very closely. This neighborhood is under my protection. You enter it and threaten my people, and I will put you down--hard. Now take off your coat."

Green Head hesitated for a moment--giving up property was counter-intuitive in this setting--until the Huntress reached for his injured hand. Fearing she would aggravate the injury, he quickly complied.

"Your friend's, too," she ordered. He was already beginning to stand up, but he was in no shape to defend himself. Green Head moved towards him to take the coat, but he prudently opted to surrender it himself.

Huntress snatched both raiments and waved her crossbow towards the entrance to the alleyway. "Now go. Tell your friends, and don't ever let me find you here again."

It didn't take them long to leave. Satisfied they were gone, the Huntress tossed the pair of coats to the boy. "See?" she asked. "I told you I'd make it worth your while."

The kid picked one of the coats up and tried it on. "Not really my size..." he mused.

"You'll grow into it," she said.

"You want some sandwiches?" he asked. "I meant what I said. Plenty to go around."

"No, you keep it," Huntress said. "Or share it with someone who has something in return. I've got a few more things to do before dark." With that, she sprinted down the alley to continue her patrol.

Of course, she didn't need any of his food. As a member of the JLA, she could use the teleportation device on the outskirts of town to leave whenever she wanted. Granted, it was a long walk, and she didn't make the trip unless she absolutely needed to, but at the very least it meant that she could work without being held down by the same rules that applied to the rest of Gotham these days. It also made her more trustworthy in the eyes of the people she protected, since she never asked for much in return. It was a precious advantage in a place where you needed as many as you could get.

The Huntress was already leaping to a higher rooftop (what was left of one, anyway), when she heard it.

Gunfire. From the west.

She smiled wickedly and tossed a climbing rope to the nearest pile of rubble in that direction.

***

"Superman Robot XP-98 requesting corrective maintenance. Repeat, Superman Robo--SQQUUAAKK!"

The android stood motionless on the battleground as the gaping hole in its chest sparked with severed wires and dripped with lubricant. Above it, another three were fighting back with beams of heat from their eyes, striking at the opposition with pinpoint accuracy.

"Making a little progress, Steel!" Colonel Abrams shouted into his radio over the cacophony of weapons. "But they're still slagging too much of our ordinance for us to last much longer! Any chance we can get some more of these--what did you call 'em?"

"Gray-K," Steel answered. "I built it to simulate the effects of Kryptonite in these robots. Since they were patterned after Superman, it stands to reason that they'd be less adaptable against his weaknesses. And no, I only had time to build the four prototypes. Your men will have to...ungh!... make do."

Abrams looked up to see Steel in the air, wrestling one of the robots for possession of the weapon in question. He quickly motioned to the sharpshooter on his right. "Peterson! Get a bead on Steel and fire!"

The soldier complied, and the Gray-K in his hands unleashed a beam of visible light accompanied by an unseen electromagnetic signal, which crippled the robot instantly. Through his binoculars, Abrams watched the robot release its grip on the armored Leaguer, then fall to the ground in a quivering heap. Steel swooped down and pressed the assault, firing a pair of rivets into the automaton's head, pulping it.

"Thanks for the assist," Steel's voice crackled through the radio.

The battle raged on for some thirty minutes, with many soldiers either lying unconscious on the ground or standing inadequately armed thanks to the Superman Robots' heat vision. The invading force of twenty, however, fared far worse, with six robots utterly destroyed, three heavily damaged, and the rest all suffering from the debilitating effects of Gray-K "sickness". The commander gave the order to regroup, and Colonel Abrams breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, that should give us a little breathing room, anyway." He turned to a private nearby. "Bentley, any word on reinforcements?"

"No, sir," Bentley said glumly. "It's like this all over the country. Resources are spread to the limit trying to hold back these robots, and they're doing worse than we are for the most part."

"We probably have you to thank for that, Steel," Abrams said gratefully. "Of course, I don't know what good it will do us to hold them off here if the rest of the States falls.

Steel sipped his coffee and nodded. "Not just America, the world. Needless to say, the JLA is having a hard time containing the situation, Colonel. These robots have adapted to our attacks with shocking efficiency. The only things that seem to consistently hold them back are Green Lantern's power ring, and my ability to create new weapons. The Gray-K is the third thing I've tried since this whole mess got started."

"Works pretty good from the looks of it, I'd say," Abrams said, holding one in his hands. "Why haven't they adapted to it by now?"

"They would if they were better programmed," Steel explained. "It's just a remote signal that initiates a system-wide failure designed to resemble extreme dizziness, weakness and lowered defenses. If they thought like robots, they could overcome it easily. But their first impulse is to think and act like Superman, so they collapse and wait for the effect to wear off. As long as we disable them before that happens, we can hold our own."

"Provided we still have enough ammo left to fight them," Abrams added. "And they were getting a little better a dodging our shots. I don't know how much longer we can hold out."

"I have a favor I need to ask," Steel said. "I may be able to get us some help."

"Name it," Abrams said.

"Let me go into Gotham City," Steel began. "I realize that it's been declared off limits, but I know someone who has a vested interest in helping us and who might be in there."

"Are you kidding?" Abrams asked in disbelief. "We're stationed here to stop people from going in or out, and you want us to just let you waltz by? What do you think we've been fighting those superbots for?"

Steel met his gaze and maintained his composure. "Colonel, I realize that the federal government has to enforce its decision on the Gotham matter, and I respect that even if I don't agree with it. That's why I'm here. But the fact is that those robots may cross the barrier at any time, and the best hope we have of stopping them is to let me do it first. Desperate times, Colonel. It isn't a question of when your perimeter is broken, but who, and for how long."

Abrams clenched his jaw, and stared up at the barbed wire fences separating them from the leveled city.

"You realize that I don't have the authority to allow this," he said.

"If I could do this through official channels, I would," Steel said. "All I'm asking you to do is to call off your helicopters in this sector long enough for me to get in."

"And what if the robots win while you're gone, and they follow you in?" Abrams asked.

"Then I make our last stand in downtown Gotham," Steel replied.

Abrams stared out into the sky, and wondered how long it would be before the next wave, and how many robots would be in it. At last, he muttered his answer. "Go."

***

She looked up at the sky and saw the pinpoints of light scattered across a field of matte black. It had been a mildly upsetting sight, but she had acclimated to it in the last few months. The Gotham of her youth had always slept under a blanket of dim pink from the glare of city lights reflected back down. Of course, the current sky made it much easier to notice the tiny figure soaring overhead. It was shaped like a man, its feet ablaze with burning fuel.

There were helicopters, as usual. Typically they never came this close to the city except to warn off any aircraft that dared to approach the city. This time, however, they made no move to intercept this flying man. The Huntress could only arrive at one conclusion.

The JLA had arrived.

At last.

She had wondered how long it would be before they showed. She had even asked Batman about it once. Typically, he harumphed and said that it was pointless to wait for them when the two of them were already there. Leave it to Batman to convince himself that he could rebuild an entire city by himself. And he'd do it himself, because there was no way he'd let her have anything to do with it. No, Gotham was "his" city, and he'd disapproved of her methods from the start. Well, in this case the feeling was mutual.

Before she could flag down the figure, he was already descending to her position. By now she had already figured out who it was, but finally she could make out his familiar features. Seven feet even of man wrapped in shining gray metal. Steel.

"Evening," he said pleasantly.

"Welcome to Gotham City, Steel," she replied, waving a hand at the ruined metropolis. "We haven't had many tourists lately."

"That may change very soon," he said. "Huntress, I need your help." He handed her what appeared to be some kind of rifle.

She laughed. "You need _my_ help? That's rich. Take a look around, Steel. I've been trying to put this place back together for three months. You just got here. I need _your_ help."

"I realize what you've been doing out here, Huntress, and that's why I'm here. If we fail, things may become only worse."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "How could things possibly get any--? Wait. This has to do with that gunfire, doesn't it?"

Steel nodded. "Right. Gotham is currently under siege. The troops stationed around the city are trying to hold them off as we speak."

Her heart sank. So the JLA wasn't coming to save Gotham City. No, they were only interested in keeping anything else from happening to it, like there was anything left that hadn't, or like there was anything left of the place to defend. She chided herself at that thought. Of course there was something worth defending, she thought. Why else had she stayed behind? "Who's the bogey?" she asked.

"You've probably heard it from Oracle," Steel said, referring to the JLA's resident human information database. "Superman has gone rogue, and he's sent an army of robots to patrol the world. There's a small band of them trying to enter Gotham now and--"

"Superman?!" she asked incredulously. "You mean Superman has sent disaster relief here? What's the problem, then? Unless you need me to coordinate the distribution of supplies..."

"Huntress, we have to stop the robots from entering the city. Superman's not acting like the hero we once knew. He's trying to take over the world."

"Are you insane?" she shouted. "Yes, I've heard about Superman's new attitude. How he's been bucking League protocol. So what? At least he's trying to do some good for this city, instead of leaving it to rot! And you want me to stop him?"

Steel sighed. "That's the general idea. Huntress this isn't just a simple matter of being a good Samaritan. Superman wants to impose some kind of martial law over humanity. We can't--"

"_You_ can't! But I'm through trying to hold things together waiting for a miracle to trickle down through the proper authorities. If Superman wants to help this place, that's fine with me. If he wants to chase out the crooks, that's even better. If you want to stop him, that's not my problem, it's yours!" With that, she backflipped off the ledge and into the black abyss below.

***

"Great. Just great," Steel muttered to himself as he stood alone on the ledge. Under any other circumstances, he would have just let her go, but she had taken his Gray-K with her. The army had three, and there was no sense in letting her have the fourth if she wouldn't use it. Worse, she might have been planning to turn it over to the robots somehow. No, he'd have to follow, and with the robots' next attack surely minutes away, he would have to find her quickly.

Steel activated his flight boots and made a low arc in the direction the Huntress had jumped. Mental prompts to his cybernetic controls initiated an infrared view of the ground which was fed to his eyepieces. A red blob showed up in his sights and that was that. Normally, it wouldn't have been so easy, but she had the distinction of being one of the few people up and around in a city without electricity on a cold night. He descended right in front of her and put out a massive armored hand, knocking her to the ground.

"Give me that gun," he said.

"How did you--?" the Huntress asked, slowly getting up.

Steel tapped part of his faceplate around the eye. "I can see in the dark."

"Not anymore." Without warning, she whipped out a can of spray paint and fired it straight into his face, coating his eyes in purple. Steel swung his arms in a futile effort to stop her, but to no avail. He could already hear her footsteps fade with distance.

"Damn and blast," he said. Steel carefully sat down on the ground and pulled off one of his flight boots. Pointing the heel at his face, he reached inside with his hand and activated the trigger. A stream of flames covered his head and after a few seconds he turned it off and put the boot back on. He blinked a few times and his vision was restored.

This was getting out of hand. Bad enough he had assumed he could reason this out, but he had made the critical mistake of underestimating the Huntress. Somehow, he would have to find a way to resolve this and fast. He took flight once again.

He had to be careful. This was her terrain. She knew Gotham inside and out, quake or no quake. Even with the infrared sensors she would still be difficult to reacquire. She was the Huntress, but she could be just as dangerous as the hunted.

And yet, there she was, standing in a windowsill like a sore thumb. He switched to normal view and sped toward her. "This has gone on far enough," he fumed.

"Then you're welcome to stop here, then," he heard her say as he barreled through the aperture and collide with her. In the visible light spectrum, he couldn't see inside the abandoned building, but he could feel her body go limp in his arms as he righted himself and landed on the floor.

"Huntress?" he asked. His eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he saw the stuffing coming out of the figure he held. Sawdust.

"Over here," her voice called from behind him. Steel turned to see her standing in the corner of the room, holding onto a loose pipe from the ceiling. Before he could react, she stomped on the floor with both feet, and the world came crashing down around him. He went limp--using his flight boots now might start a fire, and it was possible there were people in the building--and scowled in the direction he was fairly certain was up.

***

"What are you people doing down here? Move it!"

The Huntress was already on the ground floor seconds after she had sent Steel crashing down. The whole building was rigged. The idea was that anyone who defied her in this part of Gotham would assume that this was her base of operations (hence the dummy in the window) and try to storm the decayed edifice.

Trouble was, it worked a little too well. Steel fell for it, and it was lucky this place happened to be nearby, but apparently a family of squatters had taken up residence in what was left of the lobby, assuming that she would be there for protection. Nothing could be further from the truth. Not only was the building shattered beyond any standard of living (even No Man's Land standards), but she had just led three hundred pounds of armored human inside to collapse the place entirely. She had maybe thirty seconds to evacuate them before he was on top of them.

"Whas goin' on?" the oldest man in the bunch asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He was answered by the sound of metal smashing through the ceiling and to the floor. The Huntress grabbed his arm.

"Go!" she yelled. She knew Steel was only down here because he didn't want to risk using his boot jets. And she knew that this fall was barely enough to even slow him down. Still, even if it meant leaving herself vulnerable to him, she had to get these people away before the real fireworks began.

Then, as if to punctuate that last thought, she heard the sound of wood snapping.

"Everyone out!" she screamed. "This place is coming apart!" The man nodded hastily, rousing his wife and lifting one of his children in each arm.

"Where's Lindsay?" the wife asked in a panic.

"The bathtub, she's probably sleeping in there again!" the man answered in horror.

"There's no time!" Huntress shouted.

"Yes, there is." The voice was low and angry, coming from an archway in the lobby. "This is a load bearing wall. I can brace it for a few seconds. Find the child, quickly."

She didn't have to be told twice. Luckily for everyone, she had scouted the building out thoroughly before using it. The Huntress made a beeline for the nearest bathroom, scooped up the girl sleeping in the tub, and raced back out again, waving the others ahead of her to leave. Ignoring the cold, they ran. After about fifty feet, she turned back to see the entire structure fall in on itself. Dust billowed in the light of the full moon, and there was no sign of the man who had stayed behind.

She stood there for a minute and stared at the wreckage. Then she looked at the weapon she had holstered on her belt. Was this how it ended? Another rash decision and a friend pays the price? No, she thought. Steel could survive this. These squatters, on the other hand, had no such guarantees.

"Wh-where do we go now?" the man's wife asked, already shivering in he night air.

The Huntress looked back at the wreckage and then to the others around her. "Have you heard of the Ark Project Refugee Center?" she asked. The adults shook their heads. She didn't find that terribly surprising, since they never would have taken a chance on a beyond-condemned place like this if they had been aware of some alternative.

"It's a sort of shelter run by priests. They'll give you a place to sleep, some food. I can take you to it. Come on."

Nervously, they followed. She had seen the look in their eyes before countless times. The look of desperation, of fear. But at the same time, a faint glimmer of hope renewed. It wasn't the first time that people had seen her as a savior--it went with the costume--but there was only so much she could do to help. No, the real savior was just beyond the river, breaking through the military's defenses. Those robots would have to come through, she thought. They were the only hope Gotham had left.

And there was nothing on Earth that she would allow to stand in their way.

***

Sometimes, just to save time, he would shower in the car wash.

It was a silly thing, really. He would walk into the automatic wash, stand in jets of high pressure water, skip the hot wax (bad for the sensors, as he'd learned the hard way), and emerge from the other side, shiny and clean. Oh, there were more subtle, thorough ways to clean the armor, but it got the job done quickly, and he took a measure of pride in his suit looking nice and clean whenever possible.

This time, however, was not one of those occasions where the car wash was an option. Internal diagnostics informed him that roughly seven tons of rubble were on top of him. Now, the armor was capable of lifting such a weight--he had boosted the strength enhancements considerably after joining the JLA--but this was lying on top of him. He had no leverage. No room to move. Freeing himself would take time.

To make matters worse, he was tangled in what seemed like miles of galvanized steel wire. Apparently, the Huntress had done a great deal of home improvement since acquiring this building. As he fell, he surmised that chain link fence had been laid across broken floors to provide added support. Had a ordinary man been snared in this trap, he would have fallen through the first floor, landed on the jury-rigged floor below, and he would have been merely dazed--at the worst, mildly injured.

Steel, on the other hand, had fallen through that floor, and the next, and the next, and the next. To her credit, the Huntress had wired up every other floor so her trap would be versatile enough to work throughout the building. In Steel's case, that just meant he became tangled in every single layer of fence. And finally, when he reached the ground, the entire place began to collapse. It was a sheer miracle that he had landed near the main support and hold it long enough for her to evacuate those people. He was so encoiled, he wasn't sure he could have reached it.

And again, this entanglement would have been little trouble for him normally. His armor was strong enough to pull the wire apart and free himself with little trouble. The trouble was that he was under seven tons of building, and remember, he had no leverage to move.

No matter how much the media liked to presume it, he still wasn't Superman. Superman could simply levitate himself out of the rubble, and that would be that. Steel had the closest technological equivalent: his flight boots. However, he had to be more careful about using them. It would take considerable thrust to extricate himself, but that might also propel his body into some other shelter, and any number of people might be hurt in the process.

That meant he would have to scan the area with his armor and calculate the proper trajectory before he could do anything. Again, Superman would have had no trouble using his X-ray vision to do this. Steel, on the other hand, had to rely on his sensor arrays, which needed time to penetrate the obstructing debris.

In short, the only thing he needed was the one thing he didn't have: time. The Superman robots would smash past the army's defenses before long, and here he was rendered helpless by his own teammate! All he could do was wait. Wait and think.

The JLA didn't know much, but what they did know was that Superman had been having precognitive dreams. Convinced that he could interpret his dreams and prevent disasters before they happened, he began a twenty-four hour a day vigil of the earth. Satellites--clearly of Kryptonian technology--were sent into space presumably to monitor humanity. The JLA intervened, hoping to uncover some evidence of mental tampering to explain Superman's strange behavior, but they found nothing. Finally, Superman became dissatisfied with his new modus operandi, and a swarm of powerful robots, built in his image, swarmed the earth to defend mankind from itself. This time, the JLA sought nothing less than to end Superman's shocking tactics once and for all. Superman retreated to his Antarctic fortress, under fire by every nation on earth capable of making war. Meanwhile, the Justice League was split up to contain the menace of his robot guard.

The Huntress hadn't shown up for any of the briefings on the Superman situation, presumably because of her overwhelming duties in Gotham. Now he was forced to rethink that presumption. Could she have been in support of Superman's totalitarian regime? Had she been in secret collusion with him all along? No, it seemed unlikely. Superman hardly needed her assistance, and the Huntress seemed to have no idea of what was going on in the outside world.

No, she could still be on his side. She was the key, now. Until he could free himself, the Huntress was the only one who had a chance at holding off the robots. As powerful as they were, she had the Gray-K, and the unwavering aim and skills to use it for maximum effectiveness. So all he had to do was to convince her to help.

All he had to do now was figure out how.

***

She watched from the shadows as the family knocked on the doors to the Refugee Center. It was a cathedral and a mosque smashed and leaning against one another, but it was still better sanctuary than they would find anywhere else in No Man's Land. The Huntress decided not to be seen when the residents of the center answered. She still had her concerns about this place, and the religious leaders who operated it had made it clear that they had no intention of letting anyone protect their territory. So they might have been suspicious to find her hanging around.

This train of thought was interrupted by a tiny squawk on the collar of her costume. It was her JLA communicator. She tapped her neck to activate it, even though she already knew who it was.

"What do you want, Steel?" she muttered.

"You win," came the reply. "I can't get free in time to help the soldiers on the outside. And you have the Gray-K... I'm sorry. The weapon I gave you. It's yours."

"Swell," she said grimly. "Look, I'll come back and help you out. Just give me a minute, OK?"

"No. There's something else I need you to do."

She squinted in irritation. "And what's that?"

"I need you to use that rifle... to stop the robots."

She growled quietly.

"It's not difficult to use. Just point and fire at the robots. They'll weaken for a short time, and you should be able to work through their defen--"

She tapped the communicator off and shook her head. Of all the nerve, she thought. "Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?"

"I'm Steel. I built these communicators. I certainly know how to override their controls."

She nearly had a heart attack at that unexpected answer. "Blast it, Steel! I can just throw your precious communicator in the sewer for all I care! Right about now the JLA means that much to me!"

"I know. But you won't. I'm counting on it. You have nothing to lose from talking to me, Huntress. Even if this were a trick of some kind, you've already eluded me twice. I don't doubt you could do it again. And besides, part of you must want to explain your side of the story to me. Well, here I am. And I'm not going anywhere for a while. Let's hear it."

She sighed. "You want to know what I think? Yeah, I've heard about Superman's actions lately. I've contacted Oracle for minutes of the last League meeting, where you all unanimously voted to condemn what he was doing. Well, I wanted to be there. I really did, but I couldn't get away long enough. It was an emergency meeting, after all. I have a rough itinerary these days. But if I could have been there, I would have voted in approval of Superman. Without a second thought."

"Why?"

"You're laying in the reason, Steel! Gotham is a shambles! The government refuses to help--they've even made the situation worse! This is a job for Superman, and he's finally getting around to it. Not just here, but all over the world. So he does it by proxy, it's still the most help Gotham City has seen in a long time."

"This isn't about the robots, or good intentions. This is about freedom. Superman has robbed entire nations of their sovereignty. He's dismantling privacy itself. You can't even break a glass without some machine coming to investigate the disturbance. You tell me that Gotham needs help. Well, the robots I've seen aren't carrying food or medical supplies. They're just hammering away at the military blockade because they're defying Superman's will. And when they get here, things may only get worse."

"'Worse' doesn't have any meaning in Gotham anymore, Steel!" the Huntress answered. "What about the freedom to read a book? To turn a dial and feel warm at night? To be safe from poverty and violence? No, we've already lost all that when the walls went up. The only thing the robots can take away from us now is our squalor."

"Is that so? Well, if everyone in this city shared your opinion, that might be true. But the way I understand it, there are more than a few people who like No Man's Land the way it is. Do you think the gangs and territorial lords will stand for an invasion now? Don't you think they'd resist the robots? They wouldn't last long, certainly. But it wouldn't take them long to figure out that the machines wouldn't hurt humans. Then they'd almost certainly take hostages. Human beings would become shields. And the robots would find a way around that, too. But even they aren't perfect. And somewhere along the line, someone's going to get hurt while they scramble to occupy the city. And you can rest assured that as long as it takes, Gotham won't be rebuilt until they control it."

"You sound awfully sure of that scenario," the Huntress said, tongue in cheek. "What makes you think you know so much about how things run in Gotham that it'll play out?"

"It was the line of reasoning Batman used when he sent me here."

Even in the chill of the night, she felt her face get hot with anger. "Of course. Batman. That figures just fine. I should have guessed this was all his idea to start with!"

"Huntress--"

"This is insane! Here I am trying to hold on to what's left of this city, and he dictates orders on the moon! He's too stubborn to accept my help. He's too pig-headed to admit this is bigger than either of us. No, he can't possibly realize that the only chance we have of saving Gotham is to let Superman fix things. No, he can't do that because he's Batman and he has to do everything his way!" She was nearly screaming now. Not that anyone was around to notice, or care. She had been building up the frustration for months. Batman had disapproved of her actions in "his" city since she first put on the mask. He sponsored her admission into the JLA, and when she finally extracted an explanation as to why, he said he had "enjoyed watching her change". She was sick of it. Nothing was ever good enough for him, because nothing could ever hope to live up to his impossible standards. "I don't know why I even expected any different! This is just like every other confrontation I've had with him. The only difference is that he couldn't be bothered to face me himself--"

"Blast it, Huntress! This isn't about you!" Steel shouted. "Gotham becomes a war zone tonight if you don't take action now. Did it ever occur to you that the reason Batman sent me here, is because I stood the best chance of stopping those monsters? Did it ever occur to you that the reason he told me to recruit your help was because he trusted your abilities and he knew you could make the critical difference here? Well, maybe his faith in both of us was misguided, because all I've managed to do is get buried alive, and all you've done is whine about your own problems! Well, things are bad all over, Huntress and--"

His signal was interrupted. For several seconds she stood breathless, waiting for him to resume transmission. He didn't. "Steel? Steel?!" she called.

There was no answer.

***

"--nobody has time to listen to you whine about how you don't feel respected enough in the JLA! You want to prove how capable you are? Well, now's your chance. What'll it be?"

He frowned in the darkness, waiting for an answer. "Well?"

Nothing. "Huntress?" he asked. A second appellation died on his tongue as he realized what the problem was. "Status of communicator?" he asked his computer systems.

The readout fed into his eyelenses confirmed his worst fears: "System--Nominal. Signal jammed."

His next move was to ask if the armor was prepared to blast out of the rubble. At this point, he would have done it anyway; the danger to Gotham had just escalated beyond anything damage his thrusters could do. Before he could do that, however, he found himself hauled out like a plastic toy from a cereal box.

Visual restored, he found himself dangling in the iron grip of a Superman robot.

"John Irons," it stated, "Your interference with the Master's plans has proven to be a threat to both the Master's well-being and humanity's as well. As the leader of this delegation of Superman robots, I have chosen to separate you from any and all technological devices, until further notice from a higher authority. Please remove your armor, now."

"What?" Steel asked in astonishment. He had assumed it was the robots who jammed his frequency. After all, their creator knew the League inside and out. And given that, it only made sense that they would pinpoint his location from his communicator signals. But this. He'd never even considered this. Superman had inspired him to put on the armor. He had given him his blessing to wear an "S" on his chest. And now his mechanical goons were ordering him to toss it all aside like some petty contraband found in a school locker.

"Your technology has been deemed a danger to us, and by association, humankind," the robot explained. "You cannot be allowed to have access to it."

"You can't be serious!" Steel protested. "Listen to me, this can't be how Superman would want you to do this! Let me talk to him. Give me a chance to reason with him about this."

"We cannot allow you or any other member of the Justice League to have contact with the Master," the robot explained harshly. "You have already attempted to harm him once. You shall not have a second opportunity. Now remove the armor, or I shall remove it by force."

"Blast you! I demand an audience with Superman! He owes me that much at least!" He started shouting now, his voice augmented by the speakers in his armor. "You hear me, Superman? You're so sold on protecting humanity, why don't you come explain this to me face to face?!"

"Please cease your struggling," the robot asked firmly. "I do not wish to injure you."

"Wrong on both counts," Steel scowled.

He wasn't sure what to expect next. The robot had declared that it wanted to remove, and possibly disassemble his armor. And yet, it continued to hesitate, waiting for him to stop resisting so he wouldn't be hurt in the process. He wasn't sure how long the stalemate could last. And suddenly, it ended right there. The robot doubled over and fell to its knees, releasing its grasp.

He looked around for some clue as to what had happened, and he finally saw it emerge from the shadows. She still held the weapon to her eye, then lowered it to a more relaxed position. Before he could speak she nodded to him.

"Now we're even, partner."

***

"What changed your mind?" Steel asked.

The Huntress shrugged. You bailed me out of a jam. It kind of stuck in my craw."

"No, really."

She sighed. "You're right. I feel overwhelmed trying to operate here almost totally alone. I've tried to protect these people, and what happens? That family moved into this building." she kicked a piece of loose masonry to point out what she was talking about. I asked them why, and they told me it was because they had seen me hanging around here. They figured they'd be safe with me around. Some protector I am, I didn't even know they were here."

"That's not your fault," Steel said, already disabling the fallen robot. "You can't hold yourself responsible for their actions. Surely they must have known how shoddy this place was."

"Yeah? Maybe so. But I still feel responsible. I want to save this place and I can't. Maybe no one can. So I find out that there's a miracle on the horizon and I'm willing to do anything to help it come to pass. The Huntress can't save Gotham, but Superman can do it overnight, right?

"Except I find one of these robots threatening to tear your armor into shreds. I heard you screaming at the top of your lungs trying to stop him, asking him how Superman could let such a thing happen. He said he had to take away all your gadgets because you'd be a threat. I don't know you that well, Steel, but I figure that'd be like asking a painter to never pick up a brush again. And that was more than I could stand. These... things might be able to give me back everything I've lost, but they'd have to take your livelihood away in order to do that. And that's just a price I'm not willing to pay."

"I appreciate that," he said. "So does that mean you're speaking for the rest of the city now?"

"I suppose I am. Gotham's had a lot of people deciding its fate for it. This is just a question of who. Me or Superman. Well, at least I live here."

She looked to the west and listened. The gunfire was gone. "So what do we do now? Help the army hold their line?"

"I'm not sure," Steel answered. "Seeing as this one got past them, it's very likely that they've already fallen. If nothing else, Gotham's security has been compromised. I'll go back to check with them. You'll have to stay here and take down any robots you find. They shouldn't be hard to notice. Subterfuge isn't their specialty."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "It may be the only advantage I have."

***

Resistance had lessened now, since he had left the military blockade to enter the city. The soldiers had been rendered unconscious by the robots, but there were also dozens of robot carcasses littered around the battlefield. Steel nodded respectfully as he flew overhead. They had fought to the last man, and at least Superman hadn't violated his code against killing. Assuming this nightmare would end, there would at least be no graves to serve as a reminder.

Now there was the aftermath to deal with. The military presence here was a non-issue now. Perhaps ironically, Superman robots would take over for them, refusing to allow anyone to attempt to enter or leave Gotham due to the dangers of the blown up bridges and mined rivers. And with the heavy losses of the fight, there were far fewer robots to maintain an effective hold on the city. At best, they would only prevent the Gothamites from hurting each other, just as they did for every other human in the world. Steel heaved a sigh of relief. At least no ill-advised robot relief efforts would go underway, and at least the army wouldn't try to drop bombs on Gotham to enforce the blockade. His mission here was a success; the violence had been contained. Gotham would suffer no worse effects from Superman's tyranny than any other occupied city.

He flew down to Colonel Abrams fallen body and picked up the weapon at his side. One of the Gray-K's, but rendered completely inoperable. Abrams had thought ahead, and must have ordered the three rifles destroyed when he realizes that they wouldn't be able to withstand the final assault. It was a week's work down the drain for Steel, but better destroyed than in the hands of the robots, and this saved him the trouble of designing new weapons to equip the Huntress.

***

"Huntress here, go ahead."

"This is Steel. Everything's pretty much how I expected on the outside. How are you holding up?"

"Fine," she whispered. "I've bagged one of these things already. And it's gotten some attention. Another one has come into my neighborhood to investigate."

"Sounds like you're off to a good start. Do you need me to come back in and help?"

She crouched behind a fire escape and cradled the weapon in her hands. "No, you go on. Everything should be under control as long as this gun of yours keeps working."

"It should. The others are ruined, so there's no chance that the robots can adapt to it. Just make sure you don't let them have yours."

She grinned. "Not much chance of that. The first one never saw me coming. The next one won't either."

"Is that a child screaming I hear?" Steel asked.

"Don't worry," she said in a hushed tone. "He's with me."

"Hey, Superman! Help! Your robot's in trouble! Hellllllp!"

She looked down at the street below where the boy was waving his arms and pointing at a humanoid figure dangling from a hangman's noose. The boy noticed her and in a more subdued voice asked, "How much longer do I gotta do this? It's the middle of the freakin' night! You want me to freeze to death?"

She put a finger to her lips. "You've got a coat, don't you?" she said quietly.

"It's too big."

"Well, you'll grow into it. And besides, once we get a few more of these things," she pointed down at the robot hanging from one of the bars of the fire escape, "think how much stuff you can get trading in these capes as blankets."

"I still don't get what your end of this deal is," the boy mused.

"Well, maybe I just want to do a little interior decorating," she answered. "Just think how nice one of these heads will look on my mantle. Well, when the city's rebuilt and I get a mantle, anyway. Everybody's gotta dream."

The kid smiled and went back to screaming for help.

THE END