Welcome to Nanda Parbat, the hidden city. Squirreled away in the mountains of Tibet, an ancient temple preserving spiritual teachings that would otherwise have been lost centuries ago, takes refuge from the world under a wing of cliff face and blizzard. There are flowers here that grow nowhere else on Earth, flowers that can only grow here. Few know of its existence, fewer still of its location.

Batman could find it for you.

Of course, when your canvas is the sensoriums, the only place that he need look for it is inside his own head. A little paradoxically, the very purpose of Nanda Parbat is to aid those who traverse the depths of the mind. Of the soul, if you're the type who believes in that sort of thing.

One wall of the great stone temple fortress is built into the mountainside itself, and into the wall, passages to the many ice caverns - nature's halls of mirrors - within the rock. One of these caverns harbours a demon, black as the enshrouding darkness of the mountain tunnels, black as pitch. He's not expecting company.

Bruce doesn't remember when he had extinguished the sole candle that lit his passage into the cavern or what how his visage had seemed when refracted through the misty looking glasses of ice that covers the innermost chamber, but neither are important.

Who's curious enough to find out what is?

Batman was restless. Too tired, too bored to sleep. It wasn't as if there was much concept left of day and night on Stacy but if anyone could find it and abuse it, it was the Batman. With a mechanical proclivity that came with repeating the same motions every night of what on this particular night felt like a very, very long life, he donned his uniform. Like always, he paused for a few brief moments, holding the cowl between his fingers and feeling the weight of it before pulling it over his head. Lit by the battery of computer consoles that ran across the deck of the Neuropathy bay, he strode out to the school of cars that could take him up into the lofty ceiling of the enormous chamber and the sprawling spaghetti junction of neural pathways.

The crackle of a power torch. The flare of brilliant, blue incandescence. The same old scene for hours, days, weeks, months. Batman was doing the same thing he did every night, Pinky. Keeping this half-scuttled rat trap from doing something inconvenient, like killing them all. And as if anyone needed informing, he preferred it if he could do so without being disturbed.

Bats in the belfry. So it goes.

Wedge waited quietly at the front of the squadrons ersatz assembly room, watching and waiting as pilots took their seats. An eclectic and strange group, to be sure, but he was determined to mold them into a fighting force to be reckoned with. They had the potential. They just needed a push in the right direction. He took a breath, waited as the last few pilots took their seats, then began.

"Welcome. I'm glad to see that all of you managed to make it through our latest ordeal in good health, and I hope you've all had a chance to rest up and recover from the experience. First of all, I'd like to introduce you to two new members of our squadron." He gestured to the two people standing behind him and off to one side.

"This is Colonel Tycho Celchu and Lieutenant-Colonel Jaina Solo. They're both experienced pilots and they'll be helping with training and getting the squadron into shape. And to that purpose, I'd like all of you to go around the room and introduce yourselves so that they know who they're working with. Your name and a little something about yourself." He nodded at the first person who came to mind and waited for their introduction.

One of the cold facts of life is that it was temporary. Medical science was an amazing thing. Where once the smallest scratch or sprain would fester and become fatally infected, now even failing organs could be replaced. Everything was artificial, fake, and what kept people alive was no longer a flow of goodwill and the trickle-down hand of god, but the flow of money.

Of course, Motoko had known that her entire life, as far as she could remember. It had been explained to her in detail, when she'd been still a child, still learning to walk again in her new body. We've put a great deal of money and time into you, miss. You had better not fall and ruin everyone's hard work. When that had failed under her growing frustration, they had bribed her.

It was easy to contemplate the happy unhappiness of the past when you were reduced to picking the droplets out of your joints by hand.

Motoko was standing, leaning on a fleshy wall because none of the furniture she might have dragged over from engineering would have held her weight. Every seam and panel in her right arm was popped open— the joint had come up warm. It needed lubrication and Stacy's humid interior was playing havoc with her success rate. Back home, she'd have shrugged and paid a small fortune for a replacement, but here she had no such luxury. Her buffer of safety was gone. So, she awkwardly held her own arm to the light, fragmented from wrist to elbow in pieces like the ruffled feathers of a bird and examined the coverage. Good enough.

Stacy's drives made managed to come back online, and they had been on the move again. Though, on their journey to whatever destination they were going to next, the ship came to a halt at what would be a very brief pit stop...

...at the edge of a supermassive black hole.

In Stacy's hangar, Leon was finishing up programming the autopilot of a shuttlecraft to fly dead center into that black hole. No, he wasn't the least bit suicidal, and he wasn't staying for the flight. But the shuttle's cargo, the stone that held the Nightmare King, that was something Leon never wanted to see again.

He wanted to toss the Yeerk on there as well, but he agreed to uphold a jury decision. Thus, that thing still remained in indefinite stasis. (And, yes, he had checked personally to make sure it was still there)

The shuttle was easy to program, as it responded to verbal commands. The whole thing only took a few moments before Leon left the shuttle, and it departed, taking the Nightmare King to a prison that no living thing would ever be able to free it from.

As he watched the shuttle sped into the Event Horizon, Leon started going over his To Do list mentally. He had reports to write, and dozens more to read, he had to find out from Gauron which areas of the city were too damaged for occupancy and needed to blocked off so they could be demolished, arrange for Aang and Haku to be evaluated for release, keep the crew from killing each other, and about a thousand other things.

But as the shuttle got swallowed up by the darkness, he let out a breath and relaxed a bit.

"At least there's one less thing to worry about." Maybe he could finally take a break before tackling the rest of that list. Lord knows he needed one.

People say that war is hell. This looked it.

Buildings and cars and bodies are scattered like broken toys as far as the eye can see, stretching out toward a dirty horizon. Even the clouds seems streaked with mud and blood, and they're taking it out on everyone below with a constant stream of cold, soaking rain.

The sounds of fighting seem to come from all directions, but at this moment, there's no one else in sight.

A breather. The calm before the storm.

[[OOC: This is for everyone who was involved with "The Lurking Fear". Questions go to Milo or Kaylin.]]

Nightmare becomes reality....

_{[roster: Leader - Batman, Brainiac 5, Duncan Idaho, Invisible Kid, Brenda Del Vecchio, Hellion]}

Slowly but surely, the nightmares have been chipping away at the mental defenses of the crew.

Even those who attempt to stay awake to avoid the nightmares find themselves too on-edge to completely concentrate their defenses.

And the Nightmare King has not been idle during all this, no. He has been slowly feeding off the crew, gathering his strength so that he may yet break free from his prison.

And he now uses that new found power, reaching out to affect the minds of the crew even in the waking world. Even those avoiding sleep will find themselves drifting in and out of their nightmares, bringing everyone a taste of despair.

After all, no one can escape the grasp of the King of Nightmares.

No one.

[ooc: OH NOEZ. As you can guess, the Nightmare King is getting stronger. As such, the crew will start experiencing waking dreams. These are much more subtle than the normal nightmares, however, and are more so depressing and surreal than actually brain-breaking. Mostly they would be miserable versions of the character's normal life, or perhaps even their life on the ship.]

The JLA Watchtower. Hall of Justice.

Or it would be, if it hadn't been destroyed along with the rest of their world. No, this is an uncanny facsimile courtesy of the sensoriums. The room itself is little more than an encircling window that looks out into space, Earth looming below, and an Arthurian table with twelve chairs, seven of which bearing the insignia of its reserved champion.

One of them is already here and sits like he owns this place-- well back in his chair, chin out and arms folded high across his chest.

Tu ne cede malis, sed contra audentior ito.

Superman had wanted it engraved on the table, years earlier when they operated out of a cave in Happy Harbor. Batman had scoffed, but then, he generally did anyway. Only now that his old friend isn't here to give him the 'see? I have good ideas too' face does he genuinely consider it. He had been fighting this war like it was Gotham, like it was his turf, and now he sees the error. He's looking for demons in the wrong place.

So here he sits, enjoying a reprieve from glorified tech support work and waits for his pantheon.

[ooc: Meet and greet type deal-- start your own sub-thread and/or comment to others. 'Sup to you.]

The crew dreams.

As they have been for the past while, their dreams are being tampered with, but tonight it's different. Roxie, one of the crew members has done rituals to try to give the crew good dreams. However, the power of the Nightmare King can't easily be overcome, as a result, rather than pleasant or nightmarish, people's dreams are instead taking a turn for the surreal tonight.

Get ready to go down the rabbit hole, Meatship.

The jovial extra terrestrial sporadically giggled at the sight of the imaginary synthetic meat by-product. Exuberance!

Curiouser and curiouser.

The rest of the crew assembled on the Observation Deck to meet the latest editions to their numbers. After the revelation that their worlds are gone, many of them are even more eager to see people they knew from home.

Several people are set up near the doors to provide the new people with omnicoms and comm rings. New crew-mates might see a green-skinned alien and snake girl among their number. There are also several authoritative-looking figures ready to introduce themselves.

There's a lot to tell the new people. It's going to be a lot to take in.

[ooc: Only new characters and Command Staff can start new threads for introductions, to limit the number of threads. Everyone else, just tag in and have your guys greet the newbies.]

Tora had been pining..not for the fjords... well not completely anyway. But she had been pining for the good old days. he days of The Global Guardians and Justice League International. Things seemed so much happier then, so much more vibrant and full of life. Now things just seemed bleak and everyone was sad or tense.

Where were the days where Booster and Beetle used to hide J'onn's cookies? What happened to those times when Guy could be the sweetest man known to anyone, ever? Or even the days where they fought together as a team for what they knew in their hearts to be good and right?

Tora missed those times sorely, too much darkness and death had taken hold over them all, and for once she refused to let it damped her spirits. That was what had lead her here, to the Sensoriums, to this recreation of the League headquarters. It looked exactly as it had so many years before...even the colors had a sort of nostalgic quality to them.

In another moment the place bustled with the comings and goings of holographic versions of the members. Scott Free offered her a wide grin and wave as he wriggled in the latest contraption designed to be inescapable. Kimyo Hoshi was looking sternly at someone asking if she could change a light bulb on the second floor...apparently she did not find that funny at all. And Nathaniel Adam was sitting by himself sipping tea, his metallic skin glinting somewhat in the light of the lamp on the table beside him.

It wasn't really her past, but it made her feel a bit more at ease, especially seeing a certain emerald haired woman striding toward her arms open for a hug. "Bea!" Tora exclaimed and wrapped arms around her friend and nearly sister.

"Tora, you're late. I was going to have to fire up the Jacuzzi all by myself and you know how I hate to have cold champagne and hot bubbling water all to myself." Bea wagged an admonishing finger at her and looped an arm around her shoulder to guide the demigoddess to the hot tub. "Oh! Bea.... "Tora's hand went to cover her mouth in a moment of worry. "I don't have a swimming suit."

"Tora,honey...as if that's going to be a problem?" Fire threw her head back and laughed loudly, yes this place might not be real, but it was still accurate.

The Sensorium had picked up on her indecisiveness.  Instead of just an X-wing, sitting in a hangar and waiting for her, there was a variety of ships.  The complicated B-wing, a sleek Hapan fighter, the safe and powerful Y-wing.  Mara rapped her fingers against her helmet while she looked them all over.  There really weren't very many ships she couldn't handle.  The dreams had her edgy, on guard.  At the oddest times, she would think that she could hear the Emperor laughing. 

Expression firming, she marched across the metal plates to the A-wing tucked off to the side.  She needed to get her mind off of things, and that meant a challenge.  The A-wing interceptor was the fastest thing around at sub-lightspeed, but very touchy.  The slightest mistake and the ship would spin out.  It was said that a pilot had to be extremely brave or insane to fly one, and being both probably helped.  It was perfect for the mood she was in.

Even in an artificial setting, Mara walked around her ship to inspect it before starting the power up sequence.  The rest of the ships sat in a row, waiting.


[ooc:  Anyone in the mood to go flying?]

At last, it seemed the new version of Rogue Squadron was going to be getting off the ground. It had been a good morning run, followed by a bit of calisthenics and some cool down time. Then breakfast and the squadron had been reassembled at the Sensoriums. Wedge looked over the assembled recruits, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"Alright. Today, we'll be starting with the basics. Take off, landing, basic flight maneuvers. Maybe more if we have time. You'll break into your flight wings and take separate sims. I trust all of you to do your best. If there are any problems or questions, you can contact me on the comm rings. Let's get to it."

Anyone passing by the hangar at this particular moment will hear the sound of some serious mechanical maintenance; the crackle of welding gear and the hiss of hydraulics. It's a rare indulgence for the current occupant, as intermingled with the bang and clatter of the work permeates a lilting yet bombastic tune that flares from the radio of the craft that he is currently working on.

It was one of Thomas Wayne's favourites and at this time of year, the time of his death, it was all the harder for that little boy that still hid somewhere in the caverns of Bruce Wayne's mind to ignore. All the same, he takes great pleasure from hearing it, not that an observer would be able to tell from the usual clenched jaw and eyes hidden impassively behind opaque work goggles.

That's right, even the Bat-goggles come in black. As does the craft on which he toils; an angular, wide-winged jet fighter. Or at least, it used to be, before he began cannibalising the harebrained concoction of alien technologies that had in the past been used in the designs for the Justice League Satellite and its squadron of shuttlecraft, in order to make his personal plane spaceworthy.

Anyone who wants to talk may, but they'd do well to address the Batman from a fair distance. A blowtorch and years of self-induced psychological conditioning can be a pretty lethal combination.

Wedge had found himself a rather solid office building and busily converted it into an impromptu headquarters for the erstwhile Rogue Squadron he was building. A few private offices for himself, Luke, Admiral Spaurh and Wyn. A large meeting room for briefings, meetings and other important events, and even what seemed to be a break room where pilots and others could meet and simply relax. He'd have to see if he could get more furniture than the office stuff, considering it wasn't very comfortable. As it was, he'd posted his request and was waiting for his new squadron to arrive. Hopefully this would go smoothly.

But knowing his luck, things never went quite as well as he hoped, so he was planning for the worst. Besides, most of the potential pilots seemed solid. He'd already begun working out a training schedule. Now all he needed was the personnel...

Diana stared at the slop. She'd eaten this since she'd arrived but damn it was unappealing. She frowned, propping her chin on her hand as she leaned against the cafeteria table, alone, staring at the slop. Human food would be good. So would company.

[ uh, new thread is a new encounter? that's how i roll :D ]

Jean-Paul couldn't stand it. He was too restless, too driven at the moment. There was so much he had to do, so much he needed to finish. And everyone here was holding him back. He wanted them to let him do what he wanted, let him finish the fight like the REAL Batman should.

But, someone had other ideas...

||Jean-Paul Valley, you haven't been kind to your fellow crewmates.|| a voice echoed out.

"What in the...?!" Jean-Paul snapped, watching as tentacles extended out and wrapped around him, peeling his equipment off of him. "NO! THE SUIT! GIVE IT BACK!"

||You taunt and attack everyone you see. I'm afraid I have to take away your belongings until you can start befriending people.|| the voice replied.

"STACY! GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!" Jean-Paul said, trying to chase it down, but stopping and dropping to his knees. Without the suit, without the mask, the hold The System had on him was starting to die out.

And, then... it hit him.

"Oh, my lord... what... what have I...?" Jean-Paul muttered. Everything came back to him. All the people he mauled, all of those he left on the brink of death... or actually killed. All while using Batman's name, Batman's visage.

"...I am nothing... I... I was never Batman... never was, never will... I'm nothing..."

With that, he hunched over in sorrow.

Something...odd is happening on the ship. Plant-like protrusions are occasionally sprouting in places throughout the ship.

They look like mistletoe, but this is purely coincidental. It's not like it's the holidays on the ship, right? It might be for some people, back home (if they still had a home), but others were grabbed from different times. No, it's just coincidence that these little devices look vaguely like mistletoe, and coincidence what they're being used for.

For you see, when this "mistletoe" is overhead, a crew member will be trapped in an invisible forcefield, and won't be able to escape until someone has kissed them or otherwise showed them some equivalent of affection. (Cheek kisses and sloppy puppy kisses from the canine crew members count). The "mistletoe" spring itself is shielded itself and can't be destroyed, the only way out is a kiss.

Why is this all happening? GLaDoS is performing whacky behavioral experiments, that's why. Each time, it happens, she intones messages like the following.

"Please express affection for your fellow crewmate to free them."

"This is of the utmost importance, and part of ongoing Crew Coherency and Cooperation Studies."

"Please do not attempt to leave the vicinity until you have participated."

"Participation is required. Why wouldn't you want to participate?"

"The Transmigration9 AI Complex thanks you for your participation in important research. Unless you don't want to participate, but not participating would make me disappointed. I suppose you just want to disappoint me."

And of course, sometimes she even outright lies.

"There will be cake."

Medicine was something that Dr. McNinja had worked hard at in adulthood, but his ninja skills were so deeply ingrained as to be second nature, secured by years of rigorous training. He'd been raised in an environment of constant alertness at home and at school. He could dodge and disarm most boobytraps (save his mother's) in his sleep.

Batman's tripwire and pepper spray rig was no real departure from status quo, but it LOOKED like it was, which was tricky enough to impress him.

He took a silent deep breath before creeping his way across the room, footfalls soundless by default as he made his way up to the little desk where his childhood (lifelong, really) hero was bent over a datapad.

He'd wanted to do something epic to introduce himself. Make a joke, be witty, be MEMORABLE.


Somehow, by the time he was standing close enough, all his intentions degraded down to poking his balaclava-clad head up over the other's man's shoulder and saying, "Whatcha doooin?"