His mask was gone. His suit taken. His cain broken. He wore only a plain white shirt and black plants. His hands bound in front of him.

    He stood before them, waiting. They all watched him. Their faces by turns angry, smug, satisfied, determined, relieved.

    They were his only patchwork now.

    The Amazing Ghost Fighter looked up again apprehensively at the sky. "I thought Lantern would be here by now."

    Venom caught the look, still working the controls on the Taskforce's device. "Don't worry. He isn't going anywhere."

    "Actually, I'm apparently going to the other side of the galaxy," Gabriel Warner said, the first words he has spoken since he had been defeated.

    "Shut the hell up," Venom snarled and webbed Warner's mouth shut.

    Gabriel Warner gagged and fought for breath. Once he caught it, he chuckled softly to himself and then was quiet.

    Inside his second skin, Eddie exhaled deeply. A small victory, but he would take what he could get.

    Mentalon has said hours earlier that he could hold Warner in place until the Green Lantern Prime arrived, but few wanted to leave until they saw with their own eyes that he was gone, taken deep into the stars, far from them, far from their loved ones, far from any hope he might have of hurting anyone ever again. The vigil continued. The Joker and Harley had left, only to return with party hats and milkshakes. It was a celebration, they said, and took great joy in strapping a party hat on Warner's head.

    He didn't resist. Still gagged with webbing, he simply glared at them with baleful eyes.

    Time passed. The webbing dissolved, but Warner didn't speak again.

    At 10 a.m., an emerald star dawned in the east. Green light rained down on the assembled members of the JLA. The Joker clapped wildly. Harley blew an air horn and cheered.

    Alan Scott, the Green Lantern Prime, hovered over Gabriel Warner's head.

    "I almost didn't dare believe it was true when Phoenix told me," Scott said. "I've been waiting for this day for a long time." He looked over at the Justice League. "I can't even contemplate what all must have gone through to do this."

    "Piece o' cake," the Joker said.

    Green Lantern Prime smiled and Gabriel Warner lifted into the air, encased in a green sphere of energy.

    "Watch it," Ghost Fighter cautioned ."Can he teleport out?"

    "No. My ring has scanned the jamming field you've been generating and can now duplicate it. He's no danger." Green Lantern Prime looked back the JLA. "But when Phoenix found me, I was in this area of space investigating a massive psychic event that was detected as far away as Oa. Do you have any clue what it might have been?"

    The JLA's smiles faded.

    "What you felt..." Mentalon said, "that was Miss Annette, I mean Phoenix. But she's better now."

    "You hope," Gabriel Warner said sprightly.

    Green Lantern's expression became more concerned. "I assume he had something to do with this?" he asked Mentalon.

    Mentalon nodded.

    Green Lantern stroked his chin pensively. "I see. I'm going to look into this. But you," he said looking into Warner's eyes, "you're done ruining people's lives."

    Warner was about to say something when a green clamp appeared and locked his mouth shut.

    Green Lantern Prime looked back at the JLA. "You'll never have to worry about him again. You have my word." He turned and smiled at the Joker and Harley Quinn.  "Joker, Harley, it's been too long. Congratulations. I will try and stop by when the blessed event happens, but if I can't get away, know my thoughts are with you."

    "Surely, Green Jeans," Joker said. "And whatever those thoughts are, we know that they will be green."

    "If you see Beetle give him my best. Good-bye, everyone."

    Green Lantern Prime and Gabriel Warner shot into the sky. The Joker and Harley threw confetti and streamers as they departed.

    "Bonne voyage-ey!" Harley yelled.

    "Don't forget not to write, Gabe!" The Joker called.

    The JLA watched as the green speck faded and were still looking up for a while long after there was nothing left to see.

    The Amazing Ghost Fighter broke the silence. Sounding slightly relieved, slightly surprised, he finally said, "It's over."

    The Joker, cackling lightly to himself, sauntered into the main room of the Funhouse, carrying a tray full of popcorn, cotton candy, caramel apples, corn dogs and sodas in polka-dotted paper cups with striped paper straws. Placing the tray of goodies onto the table by his thronelike easy chair, he picked up his homemade television remote control and flopped into the chair, hitting the TV 'on' button as he did so.

    "Hurry up Harl! You don't want to miss the start of the Crash Corrigan Three Mequiteers triple feature!"

    Harley bounced into the room with a small bowl of hot mustard. She flopped gently into Mister J's lap.

    "Righcha are, Puddin! I just love Alibi and Elmer."

    "Yeah. Ahhh...Harley...this is the way to cap a job well done! Here...have a caramel apple; remember you're eating for three."

    She giggled. "Yeah...twins...whoda figured?"

    Harley dipped her caramel apple in the hot mustard.

    "How's your head?" the Joker asked.

    "It'll be okay, but I wouldn't say the same for that Fury putz if I ever get my mitts on him. I dunno who that redheaded floozy was, but he's gotta have no nads at all hidin behind her skirts!"

    "Harl, he's a decorated WWII vet."

    "So he took care of some army dogs, who cares!?  If he's hidin behind some floozy's skirt and havin' cronies belt pregnant women on the noggin, he's gotta have lost a lot more than an eye!"

    There was a long silence as the opening credits for the first movie rolled.

    "Puddin...?  What about Dex...?" Harley asked searchingly.

    The Joker sighed.

    "Dex, my dear, failed to learn the most important lesson the Cheshire Cat in Carroll's novel imparted to little Alice."

    "What's that, Puddin?"

    "'We're all mad here,'" the Joker quoted, "'I'm mad, you're mad...'"

    "Ah," Harley replied, pondering the philosophy, "he took it all too seriously."

    "Especially his own role in it," the Joker responded. "When someone decides to speak for the entire world, the rest of us have no voice. Life is mad enough without trying to bend the madness to one's will. We are all bizarre children, Harley, finding our way around indecision. We are ever helpless, living our lives from a whisper to a scream."

    "I don't quite understand, Mister J."

    "Neither do I!" the Joker announced with a joyful cackle. "Pass me a corn dog!"

    On the dark side of the moon, Captain Buck Rogers led a missing man formation. The five sleek interceptors soared over the main observation dome. Near the dome an airlock opened and a small urn drifted into space. It opened and the ashes within spread and caught the starlight, a twinkling cloud drifting into infinity.

    Inside there was silence. The honored dead had only just joined the corps. Few knew him well. The base's chaplain stood and led the base in a short prayer. When he was finished, Zero Man rose and spoke before the assembled officers and pilots.

    "Many of Earth's enemies come from within its own ranks," he said, scanning the nervous faces before him. "Such was the attack on myself, which resulted in the unfortunate death of Ensign Edward Beaumont.  For that, I deeply apologize.  For even though I was under the influence of a powerful drug, I am still responsible for my actions.  The effects were only temporary, but this should illustrate how vulnerable we all are, human and alien, to threats from within and without.  We must maintain greater vigilance in the present, and in the future.

    "In honor of Ensign Beaumont, this lunar station will be now called Lunar Station Beaumont, for his brave service to the Corps."

    The applause started in the back of the dome and circled around it politely. When it faded, Zero Man spoke again.

    "Effectively immediately, all incoming packages are to be placed in a secure chamber and thoroughly inspected for poisons and other possible dangers to this station before disbursement.

    "That is all.  You are dismissed."

       Although none of the humans present realized it, what they had just witnessed was quite remarkable. Zero Man, by naming a major military installation after him, had bequeathed upon Edward Beaumont the highest and most touching honor possible from a commanding officer in the Cholonu grieving tradition.

    Late at night in a simple apartment near the campus of Empire State, he sat on his bed  with the lights out. The room was as dark as the oily shadow that covered his body, but not even remotely as black as the one that smothered his heart. As he sat, head in hands, he dimly heard  the sounds of the city outside. Once they seemed to call to him, speaking of adventure; a music of swashbuckling and excitement, of heroes and villains. Of light and dark as clean and simple as the white spider on the chest of his black costume.

    Now he heard only the din. From both within and without.

    "This is all our fault," he whispered. "We should have known better.  We should have been more careful."

    We're sorry, Eddie, he heard the voice in his head say.  We love her too.

    The sorrow and grief the symbiot felt pervaded its words and mingled with his own.

    We should have known!

    The Patchwork Man!  His body clenched with anger at just the thought of the name.

    When we knew what he had to do with us, we should have known.  It wasn't safe.  We were endangering her life. But we wanted to pretend we were some kind of hero.  We were searching for our birthright.  HE was our birthright!

    Because of us, he was able to build that abomination.Because of us, he went after her.  We weren't watching her.  We were too busy playing our little game.  A real hero would not have let this happen.  Would Ghost Fighter have been so foolish?  No!  He did everything to keep his sister safe.  Hell, even a 12 YEAR OLD KID has managed to be a hero without endangering the lives of those he loves!!!

    He suddenly slammed his fist against the desk near him, destroying it with ease.  He picked up the chair and threw it across the rooms, splintering it against the wall.  The suit receded from his hands as he began punching the walls; harder and harder, until the walls become red with his own blood.  Looking down, he saw the communicator on his arm.  He grabbed it, ripped it off, and threw it against the wall; shattering the display.  A pinch of smoke rose from the device.

    There's only one answer.  There's only one way to stop this.  We must focus on what's important.  No more childish games.  No more stupid chances.

    "We are Venom no more."

    And seeming as if in agreement, the symbiot transformed.  No longer was it  the familiar black and white, but rather a plain set of clothes and a white lab coat.

    We must go.  We have lots of work to do.

    And outside, unseen, across the street on a rooftop, sat a figure motionless in the moonlight. He watched Eddie Brock through the his window and nodded to himself.

    The one once known as Daredevil, but still a man without fear, began to speak quietly to himself.

    "Excellent.  Excellent.  I think it is time to approach him.  Maybe tomorrow..."

    Mary Jane Watson continued to sweep the sad remains of her aunt's Hummel collection into the dustpan. She emptied the ceramic powder into the trash can she had brought into the living room and looked out the front window. It had been shattered and an early autumn chill now blew through the room. She leaned on her broom and looked at the Manhattan skyline miles away and the sun setting behind it.

    Mary Jane found herself shivering, but not from the cold.

    "Sweetie, do you need a sweater?" Mary Jane's Aunt Anna called from the hallway to the kitchen, where she was picking up bits of the broken banister.

    "No, no, I'm fine," Mary Jane replied and shot her aunt a bright smile she didn't feel, a skill she had grown quite adept at. "Happy little elf."

    It was what her aunt used to call her as a little girl. Whenever Mary Jane came over to visit, she used to love to help Aunt Anna with her household chores; she loved to pitch in, to feel useful, to take part in something orderly and constructive--something in stark contrast to the chaos at home with her mother and father.

    Now an even worse chaos had invaded that one island of sweet stability that had made her childhood bearable, and Mary Jane had been the one who had brought it. Again.

    She looked over at her aunt as Anna dropped large chunks of plaster into a green plastic garbage can. Anna's face was still a little swollen and gauze bandages covered much of the left side of her face. As deep as they were, the doctor's said the cuts would heal. Still, every time Mary Jane looked at her aunt she wanted to cry. Mare Jane made herself look back at the floor and resumed sweeping with quick, precise motions.

    "I can't believe J. Jonah Jameson was right all along about that awful Spider-Man," Anna murmured as she continued dropping bits of wreckage into the garbage bag.

    "It wasn't Spider-Man that did this," Mary Jane said softly.

    "It looked like Spider-Man," Anna replied.

    "Only slightly," Mary Jane said. "It wasn't Spider-Man," she repeated.

    Aunt Anna made a noncommittal noise and walked back into the kitchen to check on the coffee. Mary Jane continued to sweep until her broom hit something hard in a large pile of debris. She picked an old photo album out of the dust and shook it off. She opened it and saw a six-year-old version of herself smiling up at her with a lopsided grin and two dirty ponytails. The picture was taken right in this room and she tried to remember when she last felt that happy, that carefree.

    "Mary Jane, honey," Aunt Anna said as she walked into the living room holding a sealed envelope. "I just found this in under the mail slot. It's addressed to you. I could have sworn it wasn't there when I picked up the mail earlier." She handed the letter to Mary Jane. "Coffee will be ready in a couple minutes." She returned to the kitchen.

    Mary Jane examined the letter and recognized Harry's handwriting. She took a deep breath, opened the envelop, removed the letter and began to read.

    Do you know what the best thing is about being able to fly? It's having time to think. And having a voice-recorder in my armor means it gives
me a lot of time to collect my thoughts and put them in a letter to you.

    There's so much to explain, and no good place to start. The logical answer is "The beginning." But where is that?

    Well, I guess the first place to start is with Peter, because this is really his story. Peter was bitten by an irradiated spider, and became Spider-Man. Surprise. I'm not the first super-hero you've been romantically involved with. As Spider-Man, Peter got the attention of my father, which led to my father becoming the Green Goblin. Eventually, Peter had to stop being Spider-Man, and my father was put away in an asylum for, what we hoped, the remainder of his life.

    After all of that happened, I came across my father's notes and equipment for the first time. That was when I first realized the truth about my father, and what he had done. It took me some time, but eventually I decided that I had to redeem the stain my father had put on our family. And that's when I really stepped up as CEO of Oscorp, and when I became the Green Goblin for the first time.

    Then there was that horrible night when my father escaped, and you were kidnapped by him and Spider-Man. I was so afraid that something terrible could have happened to you. And so I didn't tell you, the truth. Because if anything happened to you, I don't know what I would have done.

    My father has driven my best friend insane, and turned him from being a hero into a madman who wants to kill me. He's threatened you more than once. Last night, another one of the Green Goblin's enemies tried to use you as a weapon to hurt me, and my father is still loose, and you are still at risk, even if I were never to see you again.

    Tonight, I helped the Justice League save the world. But in the midst of all that, when I had the choice between helping that effort, or saving you, I realized what is really important in my life.

    Tomorrow morning, I need to try to put my company back together again. I need to repair the Goblin Armor, to make it better able to do what I need it to do. I need to help Peter Parker find his way back again. And none of that matters if I can't be with you.

    MJ, I promise I'll never lie to you about anything ever again. I want to be honest with you, and spend the rest of my life with you. There will always be responsibilities I have as the head of Oscorp, and the Green Goblin. And sometimes, people's lives will be forever changed if I don't choose those responsibilities over my happiness with you. But nothing will ever be more important to me than you.

    Love,
    Harry

    "Coffee klatch time!" Aunt Anna called as she walked into the living room with a coffee pot and two porcelain cups on a metal tray, along with a sugar bowl and carton of milk. She stopped suddenly as she looked at her niece. She put down the tray and rushed over to her. "Honey? What's the matter? You're crying. Is there something wrong? How do you feel?"

    "How do I feel?" Mary Jane said softly. "I feel happy." A gentle smile now came though the tears. "God forgive me, I feel happy."

    Mary MacAllister sat in the uncomfortable beige plastic chair at the foot of her brother's hospital bed and continued reading aloud. Her own hospital gown and robe were stiff and scratchy and bunched up around her neck as she sat. Every few minutes she pulled absently at the crinkly white cotton gown as it irritated the skin on the front of her throat. She was tired, but she kept reading.

    "You should be in bed," a voice said from the window.

    Mary didn't even look over as her brother entered the room. Her face only became mildly petulant at his interruption. "I spend all of my day in bed. Here at least I can do some good for him."

    The Amazing Ghost Fighter knew she probably didn't believe it anymore than he did, but let it pass. He entered the room and stood next to her at the foot of the bed. He removed his hood and mask. "What are you reading?" he asked.

    "It's called 'Topper.' The Joker recommended it. It's a comedy about ghosts. You'd like it."

    AGF very much doubted it, but he nodded anyway. "The Joker and Harley send their best."

    "Tell them I got their card and thought it was sweet. Very peculiar, but sweet. It meant a lot. How is Harley doing?"

    "She's fine." The Amazing Ghost Fighter stared at their brother for a long moment. "Harley owes you her life."

    "And I'm sure a lot of people owe their lives to her," Mary responded.

    Ghost Fighter crossed his arms and was again quiet for several long moments. Mary knew what was coming.

    "Why didn't you tell me The Taskforce approached you?" he finally asked.

    And there it was.

    "Because all that would have happened is that you would have started yelling at me about what you were going to *let* me do, and I would have still done it anyway. And everything still would have happened the way it did, but we would have made each other miserable first." Mary looked at Ghost Fighter. He didn't met her gaze.

    "Still stubborn," he muttered.

    "I learned from the best. I guess it runs in the family." Mary opened her book again. "This way was better."

    "You almost died," Ghost Fighter said sharply.

    "But I didn't. How many times have you almost died over the years, I wonder. After everything that's happened to me, to us... After all these.... monsters have played their games with our family, I had to make a stand. You, of all people, should be able to understand that. I just had to do this one thing. I mean, it's not like I'm in the market for some dippy code name or goofy costume like you guys, but...."

    "Yes," Ghost Fighter interrupted dryly, "you certainly don't know anything about secret identities and disguises."

    Mary smiled and ran her hand through her auburn hair, which she was starting to grow out for the first time in years. "I guess that runs in the family, too."

    "Excuse me," a melodious voice said from the hospital room's doorway. Mary and AGF turned to look and saw a dignified, dapper gentleman with a neatly trimmed mustache, wearing a tuxedo and top hat standing silhouetted in the light of the hallway outside  "I'm sorry if I am interrupting, but I needed to speak with you."

    "I know you," Ghost Fighter said.

    "Of course you do, dummy!" Mary said excitedly. "This is Zatara The Magician! He's a legend!" She turned to Zatara and started talking quickly. "I saw you perform at my club in New Orleans! You were amazing! I don't know how you did half of the stuff I saw that night!"

    "Thank you, my dear," Zatara said, performing a courtly bow and removing his hat with a snap of his white gloved hand.

    "No," AGF said."We met at The Village."

    "The Village?" Mary said and then her eyes became wide as she regarded Zatara. "You? You were apart of it, too?"

    "I'm sorry, madam, but I must speak to the Amazing Ghost Fighter about a matter of some import."

    "I have no secret from my sister, Zatara. What's on your mind?"

    Zatara nodded. He fixed his piercing black eyes on Ghost Fighter. "I have heard you donned the Red Knight armor during the final struggle with our enemy. Is this true?"

    "Yes."

    Zatara's eyes flicked away briefly and then returned. "The armor has a long and proud mystical history. It has long been a powerful force for good, and is very selective of whom it will allow to wield it, but there is a price. Throughout its history, everyone who has ever donned the armor eventually gives their life while wearing it."

    "What?" Mary asked.

    "You wore it only briefly and have not taken up the mantle that usually goes with it. Perhaps this destiny will not apply to you. Nevertheless, I though you should know."

    "I understand," Ghost Fighter said evenly.

    "Understand? Understand!" Mary yelled. Her face turned red and angry tears ran down her face. She stood up and walked up to face Zatara. "You son of a bitch! You knew! Why the hell didn't you tell my brother before he put the damn thing on?"

    "Madame," Zatara said softly, "in the circles I travel in, matters are often very complex. I offer this not as an excuse, but merely as a fact."

    "Bastard," Mary spat and turned away.

    "You have my apologies, Ghost Fighter," Zatara said. "All I can offer by way of recompense is this: The unspeakably precious thing that you seek, and the enemy that guards it, are in Washington state near the Canadian border. Farewell, Ghost Fighter, and good luck.  Emoh tropelet."

    Zatara vanished.

    She tried to hold them back, but tears still dripped down Mary's face. She looked at her brother. "You're taking this well."

    "I've spent a lot of time with The Joker and his wife."

    Mary folded her arms and sniffed. She looked back down at her other brother, laying motionless in the bed. "You're leaving now, aren't you?"

    "As soon as I can."

    AGF stepped next to Mary and put his arm around his sister. She leaned her head against his shoulder and they stood that way, quietly, for some time.

    Despite a number of fractures that would have killed anyone else, Captain America was up and around in two weeks. In three, he had became so ornery a patient that the doctors grudgingly allowed him to return to light duty, mostly pulling long shifts as monitor at the Hall of Justice.

    It was quiet for the most part. Things were settling down following the war and it gave Cap time to assemble all the information they had on it so he could compose a definitive report on it for the JLA archives. One night when he began the actual writing of it, he heard the sound of cymbals clashing behind him and turned in his wheelchair to find Fugue standing before him holding a thin file.

    "No need, Captain," she said. "I took the liberating of preparing the file on the battle with The Patchwork Man, myself."

    "May I?"

    "Of course."

    He took the file and began reading. It didn't take long. His eyes narrowed and he regarded Fugue wearily. "Any reason this is incomprehensibly vague?"

    "Yes," she answered.

    "And you're not going to tell me what that reason is, are you?"

    "No."

    "So, are you going to go to the mat on this?"

    "I already have. This is actually the edited versions of the report you are going to write. You took a lot of time to write it originally. I thought giving you the final product now would be less rude and save you some work."

    "Thanks a heap." He continued reading. "Some of this is flatly wrong, you know. In fact, the only places it isn't vague are the places it's simply incorrect. To the best of my knowledge Patchwork Man never even attacked some of the places listed here."

    "To the best of your current knowledge, yes, that is true."

    Captain America closed the file and sat back in the wheelchair. He stared at Fugue silently for several moments. "It's important, we log it like this, isn't it?" he finally said.

    "Vital. The war that just ended might go.... differently, otherwise."

    "The second Red Knight."

    Fugue nodded once slowly.

    "I will have Betty file it when she starts here tomorrow."

    "Thank you, Captain."

    There was the sound of cymbals crashing and Cap was alone. He looked over the assembled news clippings and intelligence reports that was now going to have to burn and wondered if he would ever live long enough to understand what was going on.

    The war was over and Dr. Forrest was deeply glad.

    No longer working at the Winchester Estate, Dr. Foster Forrest was happily checking the results at his own lab when he heard the distinctive crack that signaled the arrival of a teleporter. Internally, he cringed.

    Not again. I gave at the office, he thought and turned around. He saw Mentalon and relaxed.

    Mentalon took stock of the room and changed to Warden Braffert.

    "Dr. Forrest, I need to talk about this whole hero thing, sir."

    "Sure, son. My door's always open to someone who can teleport past it. Have a seat."

    Warden obliged. "We done some pretty good things in the last few days, but I can't help worryin'. I did some stuff that ain't settin' right, and some of the stuff I don't know how to do don't make me happy, neither.

     "Mr. Brock wants me to help him with his lady friend, and I want to help her, but I don't know how. Then there's Spider-Man, who's in the JLA brig. He ain't just got some stuff in his head ripped up. I could fix that. He's more tangled than a plate of spagetti. If I tried to straighten it all out, I wouldn't know which parts to keep and which parts to throw out to get the old Spider-Man back.

    "And, there's all the others Patchwork Man messed up. Some of 'em, like Mr. Hawkin, are beyond anything but my prayers, but some are still alive, and I think I need to try and help anything livin'.

    "But it's not just Patchwork Man, or even just the bad guys. When everyday folks run into folks like us, it usually ain't too good for 'em."

    "I understand how you are feeling Warden and it's quite natural," Dr. Forrest began. "People who've obtained superhuman powers, especially those who gain them unexpectedly or unwillingly, often face these conflicts.  In the eyes of many people our powers seem unlimited.  They think our powers can fix any problem, they think that with our seemingly unlimited power comes unlimited knowledge.

    "Warden, we are not superhumans.  Superhumans are beings better than other humans, godlike in their knowledge and abilities. Superhumans may exist, but I've never met one.  We are humans with superpowers.  We are humans with all the limitations, all the needs, all the confusion and fears that every other human has.  If we deny our human side, if we try to ignore those needs and fears, if we try to be the godlike superhumans that so many people want us to be, the beings we
all to often think we should be, we set ourselves up for guilt and failure. Trying to live up to those expectations leads us to attempt things we know we are incapable of, because we believe we should be able to do them.  Then when we hit our limits, when we can't achieve our goals, we believe we have failed because we are not good enough as people.  We falsely believe that we have failed as human beings when all too often we've simply gone beyond what our powers are capable of.

    "Mentalon is one of the most powerful beings to emerge on Earth. Yet you've recognized already that despite that power there are limitations.  What you haven't done yet is accept those limitations and realize that they do not diminish you as a human being.  Mentalon was able to heal the president and vice president, help defeat the Patchwork Man and save the planet from a terrible war.  Yet you are unable to appreciate success because you have been faced with Mentalon's limits
and the expectations of those whom you care about.  The doubts that come from this are what have lead to your fears about what happens when humans without powers interact with those who do have powers.  Does that make sense to you?"

    Mentalon shock his head. "Doctor, I don't think you quite got it, yet. I know these are things I can't do. It ain't easy to lie about what you can do when you are used to seein' even the things people hide from themselves. Miss Annette tells me that the thing a Psi like me needs to do is know the inside of his own head, so I practice that alot. I look at this stuff that happens to other folks, and I see I can't fix it, but someone knows enough, so why shouldn't I learn?

    "I know that I ain't got much to start from, but if I work hard enough at it, I can do it. I just need to learn all the stuff that the people who make big messes in your head know. I don't know how long that'll take, but I got ta' do it.

    "Ya' see, Doctor, when I was tryin' ta' stop Mr Hawkin, I did somethin' that I don't feel right about. He had the collective unconscious open right there and I used it as a contact point. I bet you felt it, when everyone got calm, and decided that it was goin' ta' be all right? I did that, to the whole world. And worse, it wasn't hard. It weren't like I had ta' strain to touch the whole world. It was less than movin' my little pinky. That's why I told Miss Annette that I could reach the Guardians, if
I just knew where ta' look for 'em. I could. I jus' know it.

    "But, makin' the world feel somethin' jus' 'cause I think they should ain't right. It's what Mr. Hawkin wanted to do. It's what Mr. Warner wants me to do, too. I believe in God, Doctor, but that ain't me. I want to make sure I never lose sight of that.

    "So, it ain't that I want that power to make everything better. What I want is to know enough to fix the messes we make. Not for everyone at once. Jus' one person at a time is enough for me. But it ain't the powers that can do that, at least not alone. I need learnin'.

    "I done some good things, for some people, an' I'll try hard to do more, but not everything is savin' the world. I do the stuff I do because I think about it an' it comes out. But, if it needs learnin' to find what to do, I need somebody else ta' tell me. An' the strength o' Samson without the wisdom o' Solomon can only lead where the Bible story goes.

    "So, Dr. Forrest, can ya' be one who helps teach me?"

    "I see," Dr. Forrest said. "Warden, you have far more wisdom than anyone realizes and you're adapting to life with powers better than I had expected.  Yes, I think I can help you.  I may not be as skilled in mental powers as Ms. Rosenberg but I have experience teaching people how to control and use their special powers.  I believe I have a lot to learn from you too."

    "Docotr, no offense intended, but my powers ain't the point. You know lots of stuff about science and pro'ly lots of other things, too. Those are what I need to learn to help fix these people. I know I have plenty to learn about my powers, and I ain't sayin' I won't listen if you have lessons for me about 'em, but you know so much science, and so many other things, and I want to learn that, too.

    "No, not just 'too', I want to learn that even more.

    "If you think that's OK, do you have any hints for how to ask the others? Between JLA, Taskforce, and our friends, I don't think there's much of anything I can't learn."

    Later, after returning to the Winchester Estate, Warden contacted the Manager for the Winchester Trust.

    "Mr Scritchfield? It's Warden Braffert, sir. Miss Annette told me to contact you, if I needed anything while she was away.

    "Sir. I need you to find me a school, sir.

    "No sir, not private tutors.

    "No. Not some 'very special' school, neither. I need a school with real boys and girls. Good teachers and classes, but normal everyday kids. The kind of kids who are gonna grow up to be just regular workin' folks, someday.

    "No, I'm not lookin' for someplace for the trust to make a 'sizable donation.' I'm lookin' for a place to go to school."

    The void. The only void. It was. Is. All he would ever have. A green void all to himself.

    He had long since lost track of time, if there even was such a thing here. The void was all there was now. All that they had left him.

    And then another void forming. Nearby. He could feel it.

    "Can you hear me?"  He hoped for a response. He hoped more than he wanted to, more than he thought was seemly, but he couldn't help it.

    Then a voice. Another voice. A voice that wasn't just his own. It said: "Yes."

    Relief. And pride. "I have not heard another for a long time."

    "I doubt you are supposed to be hearing me, either."

    "I learned much from my jailers while I worked in their pitiful little corps. Things they do not know I know."

    'Interesting."

    "You are... what? I sense something familiar... Like the Prime. You are a human, aren't you?'

    "From a certain perspective, I suppose."

    "Why are you here?"

    "I miscalculated. But every experiment cannot be a success. And a wise man learns as much from his failures as his successes."

    A pause. The twin green voids continued to tumble slowly around each other.

    "Who are you?"

    "I am an artist. Truth is my stock and trade. Now, why don't you tell me a little about yourself...."