The Ultimate Weapon

[johnreiter902]

    Martin Trager was in the prison hospital again.

    The Doctor chuckled a little about it when he saw him. “So, Martin,” he said with undue positivity, “You shot your mouth off again didn’t you? You should relax, man. WE all know you’re a supervillain. After all, you wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

    Here, in this case, was the metahuman security wing of the New York State Penitentiary. Martin Trager had been imprisoned here for fourteen years for multiple counts of robbery and blackmail. He was captured by Superman after the Man of Steel and his pal Jimmy Olsen had tricked Trager into revealing where he had hidden his loot. *

*(Editor’s Note, see Superman’s Pal, Jimmy Olsen #23)

    Back then, Martin had called himself the Mind-Robber. He was one of the first of the modern generation of supervillains, though the name was just being coined then. He though he was pretty hot stuff in those days. When he was a kid he discovered he could read people’s mind’s and hear what they were thinking. As he got older, he learned how to dig around in people’s heads and find out anything they knew.

    Being a true mind-reader meant he could do things no crook had ever done before. He could learn security precautions, and codes right from the minds of the owners and managers of banks or jewelry stores. Before long, he had his own gang, and was living high on the hog.

    It wasn’t until he’d been in the jug for a few years that the Mind-Robber’s view of himself began to shift severely. At first, when he had bragged of his triumphs and showed off his powers the ordinary inmates were impressed and cowed. But over time, the population of supercriminals had grown, and people stopped taking him seriously. He had never worn a costume; he had only fought Superman once. Even his power wasn’t very impressive. Sure he could read mind, but so could a dozen other villains. And most of them – big names like Grodd, Despero, and Hector Hammond – could also control minds and even move objects with their thoughts.

    At first, the new supervillains in the cell block laughed at him. Then, over time, when they got bored, they started to put him in the hospital.

    Frustrated, Martin reached out with his mind toward the retreating doctor. It was mostly reflex. Once, he had punished disrespect in his gang by probing the offender’s mind for dirty secrets and threatening to reveal them. His attempt this time was blocked, however, as it had been for years. All the staff in the prison wore Dayton Mental Shields these days, to minimize escape attempts by telepaths.

    Groaning, he sunk back into his bed. He had two cracked ribs, and he wasn’t leaving this bed for a while. Maybe he could use the peace and quite, but at the moment what he wanted was something to distract himself.

    Desperately, he reached out with his mind again, questing among the minds of the other hospital inmates. Most of the thoughts were old hat, the usual ranting of prison business, nearly all of them were minds he had probed before.

    Then, suddenly, he encountered a new mind, one that was thinking very interesting thoughts.

    It’s all Batman’s fault I’m here. Oh, how I wish I could kill him. These idiots! I hate when they talk over me. Don’t they know I’m Eddie Repp, the man who almost killed Batman?

    Hey buddy, Trager sent, what’s up?

    W-What, W-Who said that, O God O God it’s finally happening, I’m losing my mind!

    Relax man, relax, you’re not losing it. Quickly, Martin explained about his powers and said who he was.

    The Mind-Robber, eh? Never heard of you.

    Martin bristled. Well, I’ve never heard of any guy named Eddie Repp almost killing Batman before. What kind of supervillain are you?

    I’m the best! There was a sense of aggravation and frustration in his mental voice which struck a sympathetic cord in the Treger. In 1977 I made a machine that could create electronic “ghost.” I could make them look like anybody. They could fly, turn invisible, move at the speed of light, even teleport. And best of all, I could make them intangible, solid, or any combination, so they make their hands old enough to hit people, and grab loot, and still be untouchable. Plus, their strength was powered by electricity, so they could hit like jackhammers.

    Wow. That actually sounded impressive. You said you almost killed Batman. How’d you do that? He asked with real curiosity.

    It was incredible! Eddie was clearly anxious to brag. First I tested the device by creating electric ghosts in the shape of Batman and Robin. I used them to clean up all the other gangs in Gotham. I didn’t want any competition, you see? After a while, the real Batman and Robin stopped appearing at all. I guess they thought some new heroes had made them obsolete. Then I created a new set of ghosts, in the form of standard thug-types. I called them my Ghost Gang, and I started stripping Gotham clean. When Batman tried to stop me, I had my ghosts beat him to the brink of death. I only let him live to show him how little he mattered to me.

    Impressive, Martin sent. Privately, he thought. How can a guy so smart be so dumb? He had apparently designed a perfect weapon, and he used it to steal money. Worse, he left Batman alive when he could have finished him.

    So, where around here are you Eddie?

    Third bed from the end I think. I can’t turn my head, but I remember seeing where it was when they brought me in.

    The Mind-Robber turned his head and looked to the man in question. He was overweight, with thinning dark hair and atrophied limbs, dressed in some kind of hospital gown.

    Wow, what happened to you man? He asked. How’d you end up like this?

    It’s all Batman’s fault! Eddie said, breaking into another rant. That was how he caught me. He covered the loot my Ghost Gang stole in some kind of radioactive poison. Just when I was about to order them to kill him, I suddenly couldn’t move! He paralyzed me. He ruined my life because it was the only way he could beat me!* He snarled internally. But he didn't get my machine, the radiation fried it completely. I'm the only one who knows the secret of it.

* (Editor’s note. A somewhat biased recollection of the events of Batman #175)

    So you’ve been stuck like this ever since 1977? No wonder he sounded more than a little stir crazy.

    Yes. It’s been like a nightmare. The Wayne Medical Institute has been trying to cure me for years, but they finally gave up and said there was nothing more they could do for me. So they transferred me to the state penitentiary to serve out the rest of my sentence, and after that, I heard them say, I’ll probably live the rest of my life in a nursing home.

    That’s too bad man. Really too bad. Trager’s mind was racing with possibilities.

    For the next couple of hours he ‘conversed’ with Repp telepathically. The man craved conversation like a starving man craved food. All the while, Martin kept bringing the conversation back around to the Electric Ghost Machine, its capabilities and how to operate it.

    But, despite his emotional state, Eddie remained guarded about the details. No dice man. I like you, but I’m not telling anybody how my machine works, no matter what. Tell you what, though, both our sentences are going to run out in a couple of months, if I’m right. Why don’t we go into business together? I’ll need somebody to talk through and a pair of hands to rebuild the device.

    The Mind-Robber chuckled softly. Repp, I like you. Honestly, you’re a lot like me. . .

    Thanks.

    . . . but this could be my big break, the biggest break ever to fall in my lap in my whole career. And I don’t intend to share it with anyone.

    He rolled over and looked Eddie Repp right in the eyes. Did I forget to mention why I’m called the Mind-Robber?

    Ruthlessly, he plunged into Eddie’s mind, raiding his most tightly secured thoughts. Ahh, there we are. He sifted out the memories of Repp building his device, the details of its construction and the principles behind it. He mentally “picked up” each memory, and carefully impressed it into his own permanent memory. In a few seconds, he had achieved the results of a day’s worth of memorization.

    Repp had been screaming in incoherent rage all this time, later devolving into whimpers of pain as his mind was violated. Hmm, there’s a lot more here than I expected, the Mind-Robber admitted. And I’m not the technical wizard you are Eddie, I think we’ll have to repeat this a few more times before I leave, just to be sure I don’t forget anything.

    With that, he tuned out the frantic thoughts of the other man and settled down to a, very contended, nap.

[johnreiter902]

This is the prologue to a story I've been fiddling with. I haven't worked out many details beyond the prologue, but I though I would post it anyway, and get around to finishing it in time.

[DocQuantum]

I love it! You’re good at taking an obscure couple of characters and making a new story with them. I’ll have to reread their original appearances soon.

[lawrenceliberty]

I agree. Great use of two forgotten villains. I like it when writers give such compelling personalities to obscure characters.

[johnreiter902]

Three Months Later
Clark Kent allowed his hands to flop bonelessly on either side of the typewriter on the small writing table in the bedroom he shared with his wife Kristin
It was the same typewriter he had used for years to pound out red hit scoops for the Daily Planet. Now, while it still served this purpose on occasion, Kent worked only part time from the Planet. Most days like today, the typewriter was employed at another purpose, to crank out page after page of the new book he was working on.
Sighing, Clark stretched his neck, and then leaned back in his swivel chair. He had been working on this non-stop since breakfast, and was feeling stiff and tired all over.
Of course, it was largely psychosomatic, he knew. He could tow a planet through space without breaking a sweat, and the condition of his muscles didn’t really change as long as he remained near a yellow sun, but his brain still responded to boredom like any mortal’s.
Finally finished, he thought. And it only took me six straight hours of work. Idly, he stretched his supersensitive hearing a bit and let his brain sort through the sounds of Metropolis.
He wasn’t expecting to hear much. Supervillain attacks were not nearly as common nowadays as the general public would imagine, and ordinary crime was all but unknown in Metropolis. Suddenly, however, he picked up on the key word “attacking” and listened more closely.
“. . . repeat we have what appears to be Superman and he is attacking the Daily Planet building. I want men to start evacuating the building a clearing the area. . .”
Clark didn’t need to listen for more, he was already on his way out, changing into Superman as he went.
I wonder who it is this time? He thought, grinding his steel-hard teeth in vexation. It was far from the first occasion he had been impersonated, not even the fifteenth time for that matter. It always galled him when criminals used his image as a cover for their crimes.
Bizarro was dead. Amazo was still inactive last he checked, and either the sensors in his Fortress or in the JLA Satellite should have warned him of an interplanetary visitor, from Rokryn or elsewhere. I guess I’ll find out soon enough.
He was on the scene in a matter of seconds, and could confirm the police dispatcher’s report. What he saw was – apparently – himself, punching large blocks of masonry out of the side of the Daily Planet building.
First things first. Clark put on an extra kick of superspeed and interposed his body between his double and the building, taking the next punch to his chest. I’ve got to make sure the building is safe.
He felt the punch, but not nearly as much as he would if this was another kryptonian. Still, he has surperstrength and flight. Then again, that was one of the most common powersets in the books.
“OK “’friend,”’ that more than enough damage to one landmark for the day. How about you surrender now and explain yourself before I have to get rough.”
The double’s face remained blank of any expression. He said nothing, simply swung again, this time for the chin. Clark caught the fist this time just short of his face. “If that’s as hard as you can hit, the only one getting hurt here is going to be you.”
Suddenly, his fist closed on empty air. The double’s hand became unsolid, and he began to fly away.
Martian! Superman thought as he set out in pursuit. It hadn’t been that long ago that he had tussled with a Martian imposter during the Red Brotherhood’s infiltration.
The double wasn’t flying fast. Clark overtook him easily. He was acting very strange, not looking left or right.
Trying to quickly confirm his Martian theory, Clark blow a cloud of rubbish into the path of the other Superman and ignited them with his heat vision. The double didn’t slow down at all, just kept plowing straight ahead. Superman flowed, only pausing long enough to douse the flames with another puff of Super-Breath.
“Alright,” he said to himself. “So if your not a Martian, what are you?” He focused his x-ray vision on the duplicate, and got quite a surprise.
He saw. . . nothing. Where the double should be his x-ray sight showed empty air.
Hmm, he murmured. Normally, he looked through solid objects by focusing his sight on the high-radiation end of the spectrum, where x-rays and cosmic rays were. On a hunch, he turned his attention to the low-rad spectrum, beyond red, and sure enough he saw the Superman look-alike as a dense could of radio-transmissions.
“Well, that’s a mystery solved.” He said to himself, pouring on more speed as the faux-Superman sped out over the harbor. This was a hologram of some kind, but made of radio-wave energy. I wonder if Blackrock could be behind this?
Suddenly, his chain of thought was broken when, without the slightest warning, the Superman-illusion accelerated to nearly the speed of light and vanished over the horizon.
“Holy smoke!” Clark couldn’t match that speed within the Earth’s atmosphere, not without causing untold environmental chaos. “I wonder where. . . Umph!”
Out of nowhere a massive force collided with him from behind. The double must have circled the world and impacted him at nearly the speed on light. And, for a hologram, it was solid. VERY solid. Superman spun through the sky for a minute as if he had been hit by a superfast cannonball, and his side actually stung.
From the corner of his eye, he saw the double had not escaped unscathed. It no longer looked like him. It’s body had been flattened into a shapeless mass, with little red and blue fragments floating around like sparking shards of glass. Any thought of triumph he might have had vanished, however, when the hologram reformed itself in the blink of an eye and attacked again. This could be a rougher fight than I expected.
In a blur, the hologram began pummeling the man of steel. It wasn’t as strong as him, but it could move much faster than him without causing chaos. And, as he quickly discovered, it was only solid in the parts that were hitting him.
Contrary to popular belief, however, Superman had other ways to fight than his fists. Deciding to try and disrupt the double, he hit it with a broad sweep of heat vision. Aside from a little static, however, no significant damage was done.
Time to start using my brain. “Alright buddy, follow the leader!” Diving at a steep angle, Clark headed straight into the waters of Metropolis harbor, and down into the Atlantic Ocean. All along the way the double harrowed him, unaffected with the water, continuing the barrage of blows.

However, as they went deeper and deeper, the double began to fade. It grew fainter and fainter, until there was nothing left at all. Superman waited for a few minutes on the sea floor to make sure his plan had worked. It was the same trick he had used against Blackrock. Radio signals didn’t penetrate deep underground.

Clark waited for an hour or so before surfacing again. A quick check with his telescopic vision confirmed no trace of the Radio Superman.

Blackrock he thought. Why is he back in town?

[johnreiter902]

“You fool!”
The yelling figure pounded his hand on the table. “What were you thinking, picking a fight with Superman?”
The second figure winced, but stood firm, looking his partner in the eyes. “The buyers demanded a field test. So I arranged one.”
“But with Superman!? We already agreed that he was out of the Telewarriors’ league.”
For now. The second man though grumpily. "I still think that name is stupid." He muttered.
“Now," The other man coninued, taking no notice, "because of your stupid revenge obsession, not only do we have to arrange a second, better demonstration, but Superman is on to us.”
“He knows nothing”
“For now,” the senior partner opinioned

A quick call to the JLA satellite confirmed Superman’s fears.
“You could be right Superman.” Batman confirmed from the JLA monitor room. “Peter Silverstone has been at large since 1985. He was one of many supervillains who used the chaos after the crisis to disappear.”
“I was afraid of it,” said the man of steel. “That electric ghost, or whatever it was, was made of some kind of radio transmission. It reminded me instantly of Blackrock’s technique.” He paused to reflect. “Although, truth be told, it’s a lot more sophisticated than anything he made before, more stable, and a lot more powerful. I wonder if he’s been experimenting over the last few years?”
“It’s a shame he couldn’t find a more honest way to use his talents.” Bruce said sadly. “When a criminal, keeps his nose clean for so long, I can’t help holding out the hope that he’s decided to clean up his act and go straight.” It put him in mind of his old nemesis, the Signalman, who was now retired and happily married, running a motel in North Carolina.
“Agreed, especially when it’s a man as talented as Peter Silverstone.” That the man who had pioneered the invention of the television should turn to a life of crime, when he could have made a fortune legitimately always baffled Superman. He had always felt that if Silverstone could get over his obsession with Superman, he would be able to make a great career for himself, as well as be a great boon to humanity.
Then again, all that and more could be said about Lex Luthor, and Clark was still waiting to see some sign that that man would ever reform.
“Do you have any leads Bruce?” His friend was well-named, the World’s Greatest Detective, and Clark knew he wouldn’t waste a second.
“Maybe. I’m tracking large purchases of exotic electrical equipment, excluding licensed research laboratories and government facilities. Assuming Blackrock is still obsessed with you, I decided he wouldn’t want to move too far away from Metropolis, at least not permanently, so I used that to narrow the search.”
“What did you find?”
“”There’s a house in the suburbs which is buying enough equipment to put a RadioShack out of business. It’s listed as belonging to a Mr. Paul Goldencloud.”
“Paul Goldencloud?” The ironic reflection of Peter Silverstone’s name was too obvious to miss.”
“Exactly. Plus, his background check, while good enough to pass muster, fell aparte when I looked more closely into it.”
“Thanks Bruce.” Clark said grimly. “I’ll let you go for now. It looks like I’m going to have to pay a call on an old enemy.”

[DocQuantum]

Very well written. Feels like a classic Pre-Crisis Superman story. When does this take place?

About Blackrock, I'm not sure if you remember, but I've used Blackrock in the Underworld Unleashed story, and though I haven't revealed his identity yet, I intended him to be Blackrock IV, with Peter Silverstone (Blackrock III) and the earlier Blackrocks out of the picture. If this story takes place after Underworld Unleashed, then they'd likely be aware of the new Blackrock. Of course, the story isn't over yet, so the outcome isn't yet known.

[johnreiter902]

Aug 23, 2021 3:41:41 GMT DocQuantum said:

Very well written. Feels like a classic Pre-Crisis Superman story. When does this take place?

About Blackrock, I'm not sure if you remember, but I've used Blackrock in the Underworld Unleashed story, and though I haven't revealed his identity yet, I intended him to be Blackrock IV, with Peter Silverstone (Blackrock III) and the earlier Blackrocks out of the picture. If this story takes place after Underworld Unleashed, then they'd likely be aware of the new Blackrock. Of course, the story isn't over yet, so the outcome isn't yet known.

Not to give away any spoilers, but it will work out great for your story if this takes place shortly before Underworld Unleashed. Don't worry. Peter Silverstone will be out of the picture after this.

[johnreiter902]

The address Batman had found for “Paul Goldencloud” was a tiny affaire, with few rooms as far as Clark could tell from the outside as he landed.
He walked up to the door and prepared to knock. After all, they didn’t know for sure that Mr. Goldencloud was Blackrock. Flying in the window or peeking in with his x-ray vision would have been an invasion of privacy..
On the other hand. . . Clark decided to make a compromise to caution, and examined the door itself with his super-senses.
His caution was rewarded with the sight of an ominous-looking clack box fixed to the door. It had a pressure-sensor, and a lead-lined interior. Five will get you ten it’s filled with kryptonite. He sighed. For a while, Kryptonite had been rare again. But in recent years, between meteorites and off-world trading, too much had entered the black market.
Considering that that was more than suspicious enough, Superman quickly located his old foe in the living room, and avoided the door by simply flying through the wall. “I’m disappointed in you Blackrock,” he said with feeling. “I hoped you were going to stay out of the business for good.”
Blackrock didn’t even bother trying a denial. With a frenzied look, he whipped his rock-shaped weapon from the drawer of a nearby desk and brandished it in front on him. “Stay back Superman! I won’t go down easily. I’m not going back to prison!”
Superman shook his head ruefully. “Peter, if your new souped-up radio images couldn’t hurt me, you know that old Powerstone won’t do you any good either.”
Silverstone was sweating now, his eyes darting frantically around. “He said I’d done this,” he mumbled. “brought it on myself. . . nobody to blame. . . No! I am Pater Silverstone! I’m the greatest television expert in the world!” He snarled at the man of steel.
“I tried, don’t you see? I tried to go straight for years. YEARS of working odd jobs in electronics stores and radio shops. Do you know how hard it is to get a job when your background is fake? Can you imagine,” he started to weep “how stultifying it is to patch up old radios when you have a degree like I have?”
Superman didn’t move. Silverstone was clearly hysterical, and might do more harm to himself than he could ever do to his enemy. “Peter, listen to me. All I want is to help you. I’ll do everything in my power to help you start a new life. If you surrender peacefully. . .”
It was so small he nearly missed it. A tiny, nearly in audible click. One eighteenth of a second to locate the source, inside the Powerstone, another fraction of a second to look with his x-ray vision and see that it was NOT Blackrock’s signature weapon at all, but a camouflaged bomb.
And that it was already exploding.
Superman moved across the room so fast that, if anyone but his friend the Flash was watching, he would have been nothing more than a purple haze as the colors of his costume blurred together. He yanked the bomb from Blackrock’s hand (blessing the fact that Silverstone hadn’t had a chance yet to done his glove with straps) and hurled what was no little more that a blazing mass across the room even while the explosives reacted together.
The bomb detonated before it reached the far wall, but Clark had already placed his body between Blackrock and the main explosion. The blast obliterated the room, and sent both of them flying in a cloud of blazing debris.
From the ruins of the home, Superman picked himself up. Blackrock lay on the ground beneath him, bleeding badly, and barely breathing.
Even after this startling turn of events, Superman remained a hero with years of experiences in crisis. Pausing just long enough to use his super-ventriloquism to summon help, he started giving his old enemy emergency medical care. “Peter, if you can hear me, listen. You need to hang on. Listen to me voice and hang on. I’m going to help you.”
“I’m going to find out who did this to you, and bring them to justice.”

[johnreiter902]

As I promised, out of the picture. He can either die, or be permanently hospitalized, whatever works best.

[DocQuantum]

Very interesting! By the way, one of the reasons I decided on a new Blackrock was that I had a problem with the people who had used the Blackrock name before. They were all extremely successful in their field, and Blackrock was just a one-time (or a few-time) thing for them. What if Blackrock was a guy who believed he was a comedic genius, but could never catch a break? Sort of like Robert DeNiro's character in KING OF COMEDY or Joaquin Phoenix's JOKER. Someone whose zany inner character could only let loose while wearing a mask, like Jim Carrey in THE MASK.