Chapter 89: Fooled
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Martian Manhunter Ron—just that name alone might be hard for some people to reconcile with the quiet presence he carries. Yet, beneath the surface of that unassuming identity lies one of the most powerful beings to have ever walked Earth. In fact, Ron was actually one of the earliest founders of the Justice League. But for reasons of his own, he eventually withdrew from the team and disappeared from the public eye.
Now, among Amanda Waller's hastily assembled Justice League of America—composed of either controversial heroes with checkered pasts or rookies fresh out of the gate—there's only one individual who truly warrants Dean's full attention. That person is none other than Martian Manhunter Ron.
The true danger of Martian Manhunter doesn't lie in his strength alone, although it rivals even Superman's(weak Superman). His most frightening weapon is his mind—his telepathy. In Dean's eyes, Martian Manhunter has always been a sort of "telepathic Superman," albeit with a much looser grip on moral boundaries.
As Martian Manhunter unleashed the full might of his mental powers, his psychic presence crashed against Dean's mind like a tidal wave. For a moment, Dean's consciousness almost collapsed under the pressure. But the unstoppable force of Martian telepathy ran into something unexpected—a solid, impenetrable wall of static. What he saw in Dean's mind wasn't thoughts, plans, or emotions… but a boundless mosaic, like a corrupted file with all the sensitive content blurred out.
Dean, now in his Armoured Stinkfly form, pressed one clawed hand to his temple, grimacing from the sudden migraine, and chuckled dryly. "Is this how you greet your colleagues? Peeking into their minds the second you show up? I didn't take you for a mind-reader who skips small talk."
Martian Manhunter, of course, had another side to him. With the ability to morph his appearance freely, he often moved among humans under the name John Jones, working as a criminal investigator. In that sense, he and Dean weren't so different—both living between worlds, wearing masks, blurring the lines between hero and something more complicated.
Ron's brow furrowed, his voice laced with genuine confusion. "I can't see anything. What did you do to your brain?"
Dean's smirk deepened. "I knew you'd show up eventually. You think I'd leave my mind open for you to poke around in?"
Expecting Ron's interference, Dean had previously asked Raven to cast a magical seal on his consciousness—a kind of mental encryption spell to lock away his thoughts. After all, he wasn't just hiding strategies—he was hiding memories from timelines that hadn't happened yet.
The burden of a time traveler's mind wasn't something you let just anyone dive into, especially not someone as psychically sensitive as Ron. Dean wasn't just worried about losing an edge; he was worried that Martian Manhunter would go insane trying to process it.
"I know your weakness," Dean said calmly. "Martian Manhunter is afraid of fire. And unless you want to confront that trauma again, I suggest you hand over the box."
With that, Dean switched forms once more, morphing into the Heatblast. Twin jets of flame roared from his palms, keeping him afloat midair. The heat shimmered across the space between them, distorting the air and casting a flickering orange hue over the street.
But Martian Manhunter stood firm. His posture didn't shift; his face didn't even flinch. "I've conquered my fear," he said. "Just as Superman is no longer crippled by kryptonite, I've overcome the fire."
That didn't seem to bother Dean. In fact, he looked almost amused.
The Heatblast may have been ineffective now—but Dean had one last trick. One last transformation. One last flame. He switched into his Dimensional Demon form, and his body ignited again—but this time, it wasn't ordinary fire. Green hellfire erupted from his form, dancing like living shadows across his body.
At first, Martian Manhunter showed no reaction. But the second that unnatural, soul-bound flame made contact, his eyes widened in agony. A guttural scream tore out of him, shaking the air.
Martians, after all, weren't just physical beings. They were psychic creatures by nature—telepathy wasn't just a power, it was their language, their culture, their identity. The fire of emotion, not heat, was their true vulnerability. And Dean knew that.
The psychic torment proved too much. The magic box slipped from Martian Manhunter's hands as he staggered, and in that single moment, Dean dove downward in his Dimensional Demon form. He caught the box midair and crashed into the pavement with the force of a meteor, sending concrete flying and carving out a crater.
Rising slowly from the broken earth, Dean glanced around. The battlefield was in disarray. Amanda's team was frantically trying to recover Hawkman and Martian Manhunter. No one else seemed focused on him.
"It looks like no one's going to bother me anymore," Dean muttered to himself.
He dusted himself off and began walking, but just as he took a step forward, a crimson blur zipped in front of him and blocked his path.
"I think you forgot something," said The Flash—cheerful as always, though there was a firmness behind his voice.
He raised his hand and counted on his fingers. "Let's see… Nightwing, Element Woman, Firestorm, Black Canary. That's four. You still owe us four people."
Dean's gaze drifted past Barry, scanning the area behind him. But no other Alliance members had arrived.
"Where are the others?" he asked, eyes narrowing.
Barry grinned. "Ha! They can't keep up with me. Maybe Green Lantern thinks he can, but let's be honest—last time, I let him win. Barely. Just enough for his ego."
Flash was talking to Dean like old times, like they were still comrades instead of standing on opposite sides of an invisible line. That easygoing tone, like nothing had changed.
Dean didn't argue. He kept his word.
He teleported back to the secret realm of the forest, retrieved the final four captive heroes, and returned. Without any flair or hesitation, he handed them over to Barry.
"There," Dean said. "Now we're square."
He turned, about to leave for good—but then Barry reached out, stopping him.
"No," Barry said, eyes narrowing just slightly. "You still owe me a promise. Remember?"
Dean paused, his back turned to the speedster, the box still in hand. He didn't glance back, didn't shift his posture.
"Of course I remember," he said coolly. "I will arrest you, Flash."
Barry chuckled softly at that—an honest, almost nostalgic laugh. A laugh that said he understood Dean better than Dean wanted him to.
By the time Dean vanished into the shadows of Gotham's dawn, Green Lantern—Hal Jordan—finally arrived, hovering in on a trail of emerald light.
"Flash," Hal called out, scanning the empty space around Barry. "Where's Dean?"
Barry didn't answer right away. He simply rested his hands on his hips and gazed at the slowly brightening skyline of Gotham, the orange hue of morning starting to creep past the jagged silhouettes of rooftops and gargoyles.
"He probably just did what he thought was right," Barry murmured.
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After finally shaking off every last pursuer, Dean slipped quietly down a narrow alleyway, boots crunching over glass and old rainwater. He knew this place well—it was more than a location to him. This wasn't just an alley. It was Crime Alley.
During his first patrols through Gotham—only a couple of nights after arriving—he had stumbled into this infamous corner of the city. A place soaked in tragedy. And perhaps fatefully, it was here he returned now.
"You picked the perfect place, Dean," came a calm voice from behind him. Smooth, familiar, with the faintest trace of old-world elegance. "A truly poetic choice."
Dean didn't turn around. His shoulders tensed slightly as the man behind him stepped forward, dressed in a sharp suit and a tall black top hat. The shadows wrapped around him like silk.
Dean's voice was wary. "Who are you? And how did you find me? I made sure—absolutely sure—there was no tracker on me."
The man tilted his head down, letting the brim of his hat cast his face into deeper shadow. A sly grin formed at the corners of his lips.
"Relax, compatriot," the Outsider said. "Your mother and I come from the same place. The same universe. One that mirrors this one… but reversed in every way."
Dean's expression cracked with sudden shock. "You… know my mother?"
His voice caught, tightening with emotion. "Is she… is she okay? Tell me. Please."
The Outsider's smile deepened with satisfaction. That was the reaction he had waited for. Carefully, almost dramatically, he began pacing in front of Dean, each step echoing slightly off the crumbling brick walls.
"It all began five years ago," he began, voice thick with memory, "when the world-conqueror Darkseid launched his invasion. To stand against him, the Justice League was born. Heroes united. Hope surged…"
He paused, turning slightly, his eyes glinting under the rim of his hat.
"But in that moment of cosmic upheaval, the barriers between universes weakened. That was when I crossed over—under the command of my master. I came here, fleeing a world locked in endless war, searching for an escape route. A backup plan."
As the Justice League fought in the light, the Outsider had moved through the shadows. Hiding, observing, manipulating.
"The first year was the hardest," he continued. "Everything in this universe is… reversed. Culture, laws, expectations. Even manners. It was laughable. Alfred—I—had to learn everything again just to blend in. But I did."
He laughed lightly to himself, as if remembering an old, private joke.
"It wasn't until I stumbled upon records of Pandora's Box that things changed. I knew that artifact. Knew it intimately. I understood its power, its true nature. So, I formed a secret society to assist me. Planted a spy inside the Justice League."
His gaze landed squarely on Dean now.
"And that's when I found you."
The Outsider stepped closer, voice lowering.
"Dean, you're like us. I saw it immediately. That same fire in your blood. The same shadow in your heart. Evil runs through your veins—just like it does in ours."
As they walked deeper into Crime Alley, the Outsider's eyes flashed with a haunted memory—one of gunshots, shattered pearls, and lifeless eyes. He could still smell the acrid smoke. Still hear the echo.
"My master has already been reborn—in another version of this world. And you, Dean… you will be reborn too."
His voice rose, full of purpose now.
"This world—this twisted, sanctimonious, hypocritical world—doesn't deserve you. Why live shackled by its morality? Why suppress your nature?" His expression unreadable, his pale skin almost ghostlike in the dim alley light.
That unnatural pallor was a souvenir from another tragedy—from chasing a Joker variant between worlds, only to be caught in an explosion of chemicals and madness. His skin had never recovered, giving him a clown's complexion. But it also meant that no one in this world would ever recognize the Outsider as who he really was—Alfred Pennyworth, but from Earth-3.
Dean's voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp.
"You may be from my universe, but you clearly don't understand my family. My mother is a hero. I won't be part of whatever it is you're planning."
The Outsider didn't flinch. Instead, he lowered the brim of his hat once again, smiling with eerie calm.
"Oh, but I think I do understand. You've brainwashed criminals, haven't you? Used your mind to bend them to your will. That's what my master did to Gotham. That's how he ruled it. And that's exactly what you did, Dean."
He stepped forward again, more urgent now.
"You can make Gotham what you want it to be. You've already started. The others won't accept you anymore—not after this. They'll hunt you, exile you. But we… we will welcome you."
Dean said nothing, his grip tightening on the box.
The Outsider extended a gloved hand toward him.
"Just give me the box. Let me guide you. Let me help you open the door to who you truly are."
Dean's eyes flicked to the hand, then back to the Outsider.
"That's a very moving speech," he said dryly. "But why should I trust you? Why should I give you the box? I didn't risk everything just to hand it off like a gift basket."
A flicker of irritation passed over the Outsider's smile, but he quickly replaced it with an air of calm confidence.
"You're not giving it away," he said. "You're fulfilling your purpose."
He leaned in slightly, his voice low and deliberate.
"If you try to open it yourself, you'll die—Speedmaster will crush you like pulp the second the box activates. It's not a toy. Only someone from our universe can unlock it safely."
He paused. "And you, Dean… you are one of us. That box will respond to you."
The Outsider, with his impeccable demeanor, did not abandon the elegance of the British gentleman. He carefully removed his hat, tilting it slightly in a show of respect, before bowing with a flourish to Dean. The gesture, though steeped in old-world formality, seemed to carry a weight of significance beyond mere courtesy.
"Give it to me, and I will explain your experience to the owner. The world will then know of your actions, and in doing so, you will earn your rightful place in it," he said, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of authority.
Dean, however, shook his head with stubborn resolve. His eyes, though filled with determination, carried the quiet pain of a man driven by a singular purpose. "I just want to find my mother. She is called Reverse Lightning in your world," he replied, his words firm but edged with an undeniable longing.
The Outsider nodded, his expression shifting slightly, as though recognizing the depth of Dean's desire. "I know," he said, his voice tinged with understanding. "I know her, Reverse Flash… 'Libby,' as she is known. But there may be a slight difference in how you perceive her. Libby is not a hero."
Dean's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his mother's name. The Outsider's words were veiled in mystery. He paused, letting the silence linger before continuing.
The Outsider began to recount the tale of Dean's mother, the story unfolding like an intricate puzzle with pieces slowly falling into place. "Libby is a thief," he began, "a highly skilled female snitch. She snuck into Johnny Quick's house while he was off indulging in his pleasures. There, she stole his most prized treasures."
As Dean listened, the truth hit him like a ton of bricks, his pulse quickening in disbelief. The pieces of the puzzle were starting to come together in ways he hadn't anticipated. The treasure his mother had stolen—the object that had sparked her transformation into Reverse Lightning—was no ordinary item.
It had to be the Rabbit Charm, the artifact that had given her the speed to rival Johnny Quick. It was a powerful relic, one that could have easily changed the course of her life forever.
The Outsider continued, his words cold and unfeeling. "With the power granted by the treasure, Libby gained speed that could match Johnny Quick. But as she grew stronger, she grew bolder, dissatisfied with the act of theft itself. She began openly challenging Johnny Quick's authority, which, of course, led to her being hunted down. She fled, escaping to this world, where she hoped to start anew."
Dean's mind raced as the story unfolded before him. He now understood why he had been unable to find the remaining talismans—those ancient relics were not lost, but rather hidden, and all of them were likely on Earth Three.
"After hearing all of this," the Outsider pressed, "it proves that I am trustworthy. Now, give me the box."
Reluctantly, Dean reached into his system warehouse and retrieved the golden box. He didn't want to hand it over, not truly, but the Outsider's presence was growing more menacing, and if he refused, suspicion would certainly follow. So, with a heavy heart, he placed it in the Outsider's hands.
The Outsider's lips curled into a sly smile as he took the box, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. "As far as this world is concerned, I am an Outsider. I owe my loyalty to my master. The butler simply completes the tasks his master orders. Is that not my purpose?" His voice was smooth, almost rehearsed, as if he had said these words many times before.
The Outsider, eager to claim his prize, attempted to open the box. His fingers, slender yet surprisingly strong, fumbled with the lid. But the box remained stubbornly shut, refusing to yield even to his persistent efforts. He tried again, with greater force this time, but still, it did not open.
Could the box have deteriorated over time? Was it broken, perhaps stuck after years of neglect? The Outsider's mind raced, his fingers digging into the skull's mouth as he tried to force it open, but the box remained unyielding.
Dean watching the scene unfold, smirk.
He could not help but smile at the Outsider's frustration. It was almost like watching a cat chase a mouse, futile and yet oddly entertaining.
"Don't bother," Dean called out, his voice light and mocking. "This is an imitation, created by Firestorm. The skull is a single, whole piece. It cannot be broken apart."
The Outsider, Alfred from Earth 3, froze at Dean's words. A chill seemed to spread across his pale face as the realization began to dawn on him. "Are you… are you mocking me?" he asked, his voice trembling with disbelief.
Dean's gaze shifted towards the rising sun, the early light casting long shadows across the ground. "Alfred, you are not a true Outsider. You have been nothing but a pawn from the very beginning. Your so-called master… is not who you think."
Silence filled the air as the truth began to settle over them. The person Dean truly sought was not Alfred at all—it was Shendu. The Outsider had served his purpose, but he was not the one pulling the strings.
Only Outsider could deal with other Outsider, and Dean had already taken measures to ensure that Batman and Superman remained out of sight. Batman understood Dean's intentions and stayed in the shadows, waiting for the right moment.
"Let's hope the other hook catches tonight," Dean muttered under his breath, his words carrying a weight of finality.
This was the endgame. The final piece of the puzzle had fallen into place. And in the end, it was not Alfred who would be caught, but the one pulling the strings from behind the curtain.
What Dean had used to ensnare Alfred was this magical box. And what will he used to trap Shendu
It was the clown.
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Dean: Ha! I outsmarted your outsmarting! *pulls out Reverse Uno Card*
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