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Chapter 44 - Purple, Red, and Apokolips
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 17:32:04 +0000 UTCMetropolis
“We need to stop taking on any more new projects for now, unless we expand our operations. With the Thanagarians, the work on Gotham, cleaning the pollution, the weather control device, and Victor’s research, we are taxed to the brim.” Mary requested her boss to stop after careful consideration.
Expanding the scope of their business was certainly possible, but it would take time, and she could not be in two places at once.
“I’ll leave that to your judgment. If you believe expanding is good now, do it; if not, I’ll stop bringing new projects.”
“Thank you.”
—
“Sir, we are circulating Roland Dagget’s fortune through the financial system now. It should be at your service in a week, though, in smaller amounts first.” Not as rich as Batman, but definitely richer than Black Mask, Roland’s wealth was quickly whisked away.
“Well done, Saul. Have the money wired to the account I am sending you.” It was the account EnviroCorps used to fund the rebuilding efforts in Crime Alley.
“Poetic justice at its finest. We take Roland’s wealth and use it to repair the damage he did to Gotham.”
“All the while Roland himself has no idea how his empire came crashing down.” Miles smiled. Roland had claimed he did not remember anything after the attack except the face of a monster.
The judge had not found it funny.
—
“Take a seat.”
“Thank you.”
“Caesar Polansky, 28, a metahuman whose power is magnetism, kind of?” James, the head of HR in the EnviroCorps, read the CV in his hands. The man before him did not seem entirely sure of his powers, which did not look good for his prospects.
His suit was shabby, which meant Caesar Polansky was in a financially difficult period in his life.
“Can you demonstrate it for us, please?” Mary, who had decided to partake in today's interviews, requested, taking out several metal balls from the display cabinet behind her.
“Of course.” Caesar easily lifted the metal balls, twirling them around the room.
“Can you differentiate the metals?” Because half of the balls were non-magnetic, and as the expert in metahuman powers, Paul did come across several cases where the metahuman did not know the full extent of their powers.
Caesar pointed to James. “Yes, I can even tell that he has metal in his hip, but I’m not sure what it is, though; definitely not iron or gold.”
“Gold is not magnetic, and neither is the platinum in my hip replacement. I think this is what you meant by kind of.” So not only magnetism, but also control over non-magnetic metals as well.
“I never could use my powers because of fear and didn’t really know what to call it.”
“Well, how about we start you in recycling first while testing the extent of your powers? If you can detect rare metals like gold, platinum, and more, then we can move you to a higher-paying position. For now, your salary will be two thousand dollars a month, plus a bonus equal to five percent of the valuable metals you recycle. Upon promotion, your salary will be renegotiated.” Depending on the tests, if Caesar Polansky’s detection range over the metals was large enough, he could potentially detect metal deposits without the usual expensive tests.
Caesar would have to go through a probation period and fill up a certain quota if he was accepted, but for now, the job was his.
—
“Caitlyn Vinstor, metahuman power is color control.” Not the most impressive power they had seen today, but not the plainest one either.
“I can change the color of almost anything and make solid objects invisible.”
“Invisible?”
“Like this.” To demonstrate, Caitlyn took the pen on the desk, and it shimmered in her hands before disappearing. Taking the now invisible pen by feeling it, Mary began to think of the possibilities.
“Have you considered the fashion industry?” Their new employees could not be entrusted with much more secretive and lucrative projects before proving they were loyal, but if Caitlyn’s powers could be replicated, it could open the way for a new kind of stealth.
“I did, but people are terrified of my abilities, so here I am.” Her case wasn’t the only one, which went to prove that hiring metahumans was a brilliant idea.
“I think we can start you in the fashion industry, and perhaps in more technological areas later on.”
“At this point, I’ll sign up to entertain children.” Caitlyn said, and they began to discuss salary.
—
“Steven Kenberg, metahuman power: Acid Generation.”
“Michelle Deborah, metahuman power: Accelerated Healing.”
“Robert Manel, metahuman power: Earth Manipulation.”
“Sarah Deshawn, metahuman power: Dream Projection.”
“Thomas Strong, metahuman power: Super Strength.”
“Manchester Black, metahuman power: telekinesis. He has a previous criminal record.”
—
“Miles, I believe it is for the best that you handle this yourself.” Mary-Anne handed him one of the dossiers. Something about it had bothered her, and she thought it best if someone more capable handled it.
Taking the file, the first thing that caught his eye was the purple hair.
“I wonder what he is doing here?”
—
“Manchester Black, color me surprised that you of all people would apply for an office job.” Manchester Black, a potent telepath and telekinetic, is a traumatized, cynical powerhouse hellbent on enforcing his vision of justice.
Though, this one looked really young, so perhaps he hadn’t decided to become a big-time vigilante.
With a trench coat, a shirt with the British flag on it, and the signature purple hair, this man was a rather dangerous metahuman.
“I need money, mate, and it doesn’t grow on trees. Though, how the bloody hell do you know me?” His stance became more aggressive, and Claire lowered her hands to her sides.
Miles had informed her that this British guy was a pretty strong telepath and to not hold back if he turned antagonistic.
“I know a variety of people worth keeping an eye on.” Manchester gazed at Miles really intensely, and he felt a tingle on his forehead.
“Don’t bother; you can’t read my mind.” Madame Xanadu’s charm was heating up beneath his shirt, doing its job to protect him and Claire from telepathy.
Manchester leaned back on his chair, raising his guard. This had just become more than a simple job interview. “Bollocks.”
“I’ll admit, I actually was considering finding a telepath, and I believe you might just be the man for the job.” Torturing people for information was inefficient in a world of metahumans who could read minds.
“What kind of a job?” Manchester knew something shady was going on, but he couldn’t read the guy's mind, and other high-ranking workers stayed out of his way.
“A job where you help me put villains behind bars.”
“Wonderful. Another superhero in tights.” Manchester crossed his arms, cursing his luck.
“Now, now, tights aren’t my style. But I wager I can pay you enough for you to put your hatred aside.” Manchester was here for money, and money Miles could give.
A lot of it, in fact.
“I am listening.”
“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars a year, with another two hundred and fifty thousand right now as a signing bonus. I need someone that can extract information from the criminals, not madmen like Joker, but actual criminals who do not flaunt their deeds in open daylight.” With his abusive parents and cynical look at justice, merely helping the law enforcement imprison criminals was not something that would have interested Manchester.
The quarter of a million dollars, on the other hand, did.
“However, no going around enforcing your brand of justice; I can’t have you thrown in jail by the Justice League. Work with me, and you’ll get to make all the difference you want, without being branded as a villain.” Perhaps Manchester could be converted to his side, perhaps not, but if his need for cash was urgent enough, he would apply to EnviroCorps, and then he could be bought.
“Alright, mate, I’ll take it, but I need help with something.” Manchester looked anxious now, a man capable of uncovering the deepest, darkest secrets of a person, yet he was incapable of hiding his feelings.
Manchester did not have many people or matters to care for, so this must be about one of the few things he did. “If it’s within my power.”
“My sister, she was in an accident. She needs urgent care.” Ah, Vera Black, perhaps the only person Manchester cared for.
How that happened, Miles was curious.
“Not an issue. May I ask how it happened?”
“No.” The telepath closed up, and Miles did not press further.
He would learn it through other means.
“Welcome aboard, Manchester.” Miles held out his hand to seal the deal, and Manchester took it but didn’t let go before warning him.
“Right then, but I am watching you, mate.”
—
“Ma’am, is it just me, or is the management offering salaries that are way outside the norms?” These new employees would definitely be earning more than James, not that he was complaining.
“That’s because we are buying loyalty, and if this works according to the projections? The returns could be exponential.”
What was spending a couple million dollars a year when it could earn them billions?
—
The first responses to the hiring mania of EnviroCorps were not positive. It looked too good to be true, as if it were a jar of honey laced with poison, but metahumans desperate for a job applied without a second thought.
News spread, and suddenly, applications came pouring in, requiring multiple teams to interview the potential employees after their background was checked.
—
Manchester had been stealing money left and right to fund his sister’s hospital expenses, but the United States health system was taking what he managed to find like a black hole tearing a planet apart.
He bought a private hospital, because you can never go wrong with having one, and had Vera Black moved there, ensuring that the doctors gave her round-the-clock care.
“Here, an apartment just across from the hospital, and your papers. As I said before, keep your head down, and don’t use your powers unless it’s a matter of life or death.”
“Bloody hell, I get it.”
—
“I tracked that girl's trail, and it turns out Ronald Daggett’s convoy injured her while running from you. Her hospital expenses are pretty high.”
“Thank you, Zalika.”
“So it’s your fault in a way.” Claire grinned at Miles.
It was for the best if Manchester did not learn this.
“Merely an unseen bump on the road.”
—
Baraka was in the hospital.
Why?
He had seen several shady individuals trying to convince an acquaintance to use something and intervened.
Turns out, they were selling drugs and had beaten up Baraka for showing his nose where it didn’t belong.
Their words, not his.
A bleeding nose, several bruises, and a small fracture in his arm from protecting his ribs had landed Baraka in the hospital, with Zalika fussing over him like a mother hen.
Having moved him to the private hospital he had just bought, Miles had just found those gentlemen who attacked his charge for a small chat.
“Please, stop, no more.” One of the goons begged as the mercenary dressed in black from head to toe continued to beat him with a baseball bat.
The other three were already unconscious, tied to the beams at the ceiling by their hands.
“That’s enough.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Selling drugs? Don’t you know it’s illegal?” Miles asked, and the man whimpered, blood dripping to the ground under him.
“Who are you selling it for?” He might as well deal with this matter entirely.
The dealer spat out the blood in his mouth before speaking. “For ourselves.”
“My scientists tell me it’s synthetic and nothing like anything else on the market. You don’t strike me as scientifically gifted enough to make it.”
He had seen their stash and found the drugs' vibrant red color interesting enough to order a test.
This might just be getting into deeper waters.
“Ah well, time for my new employee to start his shift.”
—
“Why the bloody hell did I have to wear this?” Manchester, who had been brought in to extract whatever the dealers knew, was forced to dress in a helmet and armor to hide his identity.
“You are a young British man with purple hair and rather distinctive features. Do you want criminals to know who you are and investigate you?” Had he been alone, Miles would not have seen these precautions as necessary.
The boxes in the depot started floating and were crushed by an invisible force. “Let them try.”
Holding his hand out for the men to stand down, Miles put his hand around Manchester’s neck, bringing him closer.
“And you, sister? Do you want to put her at risk?”
“Git.” The telepath scoffed, and Miles let go.
He understood the point now.
“They are selling the drugs for a guy, Cedric Anler, down in the docks. Blonde, blue eyes, looks like your classic goody little two shoes.”
The name wasn’t familiar to Miles, which meant either he was someone too bland to be included in the grand fight against evil or he just worked for an individual who was.
—
Amusingly enough, Cedric was the counselor for a small Alcoholics Anonymous group.
A simple message from the dealers, saying that their stash was sold and the money was ready, had Cedric meet them in a predetermined location.
Rather than a small fortune, he had found several guns aimed at his head.
“Cedric Anler. I have to say, the hypocrisy of your act is impressive. Tell me, do you convince the alcoholics to stop drinking by having them start on drugs?” Miles asked, and Cedric just seemed angry at being caught.
“Fuck off, you don’t know who you are messing with.” Either he was posturing, or he actually had proper backing to threaten him.
Miles opened his arms to the side, as if inviting Cedric to speak. “Here is your sole chance to enlighten me voluntarily.”
When no words came from him, Miles snapped his fingers. “No? Very well.”
The last thing Cedric saw was the stock of an assault rifle.
—
“Who the hell is Morgan Edge?” Claire asked after Manchester relayed to them everything inside Cedric’s head.
He was taking the drug from a friend of his, who was working directly for one Morgan Edge, to sell and bring back the profit, taking a small cut along the way.
“The CEO of Galaxy Communications and the leader of Intergang.” Even the British present knew the Intergang and cursed.
“Those guys with alien tech?”
“Yes, this just became a problem.” The Intergang did partake in selling drugs, and if the tendril of this filth reached Vincent, then it was a legitimate threat.
Claire raised her hands, ready to burn down the stash of drugs, totaling at least a couple of million dollars. “Let’s go and do what you do best: bring bastards like him down.”
“And preferably take a good chunk of the Intergang out.” He had not planned to cross paths with them this early, but it was best to strangle them at birth.
