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Chapter 271: A Fair, Just, and Open Election
The moonlight was dim, the stars sparse. Orin Vale arrived punctually with several other "Blood Cultists" at the location designated by the Commander: an abandoned swimming pool.
A storm was approaching in silence. The dilapidated gate groaned, seeming to recount its story with every gust of wind. Weeds spread all around like spectral hands, trying to pull the once-bustling place back into nature's embrace.
The cultists, all clad in identical black robes, gathered at the entrance, waiting patiently.
But no one could have guessed that hidden among these seemingly furtive cultists were two Kryptonians, one Martian, DC's favorite son, the strongest Green Lantern in history, the creator of the Speed Force, and a warrior of the Light.
If this lineup were revealed, it was no exaggeration to say that even a god would have to turn tail and run.
"You know? I've fantasized about a scene like this more than once," Barry said, a little excited.
Hal looked at him. "What? Fantasized about being a madman who captures people for sacrifice?"
"Of course not." Barry jabbed him in the kidneys with his elbow, annoyed. "I mean, being on the strongest team like this, going out on missions together, carrying out all sorts of tasks. Infiltration and espionage are part of that. What? You've never thought about it?"
Hal shook his head. "Disguise and infiltration aren't my style. I generally prefer to just beat people into submission."
Barry chuckled. "I thought so. That's why Batman said he wanted to turn off your ring."
Hal puffed out his chest. "Hah. Let him try."
"..."
"...Kara, what are you doing?"
Nearby, Superman gave his cousin a strange look. At this moment, his cousin, who was acting like a high school girl, was swaying from the left side of the group to the right, then from the right to the left, constantly striking various poses.
"Oh, I'm taking a selfie," Kara said excitedly. "This is the Justice League's first official, planned operation. I'm taking a picture to remember it... Come on, smile."
Upon hearing this, Superman quickly squeezed out a sunny smile. Only after the picture was taken did he drop the smile and say seriously, "We're not playing around, Kara. This is an important mission. We need to focus."
"We're just waiting around anyway. Last one, just one more."
Kara bounced over to Batman's side. "Want to take a picture?"
Batman remained expressionless, casting a disapproving gaze at her.
Kara shrank back and muttered, "Fine, don't take one, then..."
"Someone's coming."
Orin Vale spoke up, interrupting his teammates' pre-battle pastime.
His super-senses covered the surrounding area, allowing him to perceive anyone who approached. He was sure that Superman and Martian Manhunter were doing the same.
Another black-robed person arrived, dressed identically. He didn't say a word as he approached them, only nodding his head before leaning against the wall to wait.
After a short while, two or three more people arrived one after another.
They were all dressed in the same black robes, all members of the Blood Cult. Orin Vale discreetly used his Ultra Vision to scan them, confirming that—unlike his previous run-in with Batman—these new arrivals were bona fide Blood Cultists, not more undercover agents.
It seemed these were the teammates assigned to them for this operation.
Then, the Commander arrived.
His gaze swept over the group, and he nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good, everyone is here. As I said before, this is a joint operation organized by The Archbishop, and it is extremely important. In principle, all cultists are assigned to squads according to their original units to carry out missions. However, the situations of all of you here are special. You are all survivors from missions where your original units were sacrificed. Therefore, you have been formed into a special team."
Everyone understood.
To put it simply, everyone present was an orphan within the Organization, stragglers who had been separated from their original units.
"You don't need to know too many details about this mission. Other branches will be responsible for other parts of the task. We only need to concern ourselves with the part we're responsible for."
He held up a photograph.
It was a woman.
She had sharp, statuesque features, long, curved eyebrows, and a dark complexion. In the photo, her expression was resolute, and she possessed the eyes of a warrior.
"This woman, named Adrianna, is an archaeologist. She has something very important in her possession, and our mission is to seize it.
"She will have a convoy from A.R.G.U.S. escorting her, so it might be a little troublesome. But other teams will handle that part. Our main duty is to serve as an insurance policy. If the forward teams fail and the target escapes with the cargo, we are to intercept them. Understood?"
"Understood."
To put it bluntly, they were the backup. If the plan went smoothly, they might not even participate in the operation at all.
Of course, then again, since they'd been brought in as the safety net, the plan was unlikely to go smoothly...
"Very good. However, I will have other tasks to attend to at that time and won't be able to command your operation personally. Therefore, you need a field commander."
The Commander clasped his hands behind his back and said with an air of authority.
"This means you must elect a field commander. The person chosen will be given priority for promotion into the higher echelons of the Organization."
Everyone looked at each other.
Good heavens, there's even an election?
The eyes of the genuine cultists immediately blazed with fervor. They rubbed their hands together, filled with anticipation for this chance at promotion.
Of course, they didn't know that sometimes, what seems like a fair election is actually decided long before the voting even begins.
Over the next half hour, the cultists outdid one another, each delivering a passionate and rousing speech, praising their great lord and tirelessly expressing their determination to sacrifice for the Organization. They stopped just short of pulling out knives and carving out their own hearts to prove their loyalty.
However, after an absolutely fair, just, and open election, Orin Vale still won command of the operation with an overwhelming majority.
He even made a show of refusing, stating that he was unworthy of such a great responsibility and feared he would fail the Organization's expectations. But the calls of support were too loud; the others wouldn't hear of him stepping aside. Helplessly, he reluctantly accepted the leadership position.
The Commander watched, secretly surprised. He hadn't expected this young man to possess such prestige and concluded he must be a person of devout faith and outstanding ability. At this thought, he couldn't help but nod slightly, feeling he had discovered a promising talent. He decided that if the opportunity arose, he must help him advance so that he could better serve the Lord.
If he could achieve great things in the future, he himself would share in the credit.
As for the genuine cultists who lost the election, they lowered their heads in self-reflection. Were their speeches not inspiring enough, or was their faith lacking? Why couldn't they compare to him...
(end of chapter)
The moonlight was dim, the stars sparse. Orin Vale arrived punctually with several other "Blood Cultists" at the location designated by the Commander: an abandoned swimming pool.
A storm was approaching in silence. The dilapidated gate groaned, seeming to recount its story with every gust of wind. Weeds spread all around like spectral hands, trying to pull the once-bustling place back into nature's embrace.
The cultists, all clad in identical black robes, gathered at the entrance, waiting patiently.
But no one could have guessed that hidden among these seemingly furtive cultists were two Kryptonians, one Martian, DC's favorite son, the strongest Green Lantern in history, the creator of the Speed Force, and a warrior of the Light.
If this lineup were revealed, it was no exaggeration to say that even a god would have to turn tail and run.
"You know? I've fantasized about a scene like this more than once," Barry said, a little excited.
Hal looked at him. "What? Fantasized about being a madman who captures people for sacrifice?"
"Of course not." Barry jabbed him in the kidneys with his elbow, annoyed. "I mean, being on the strongest team like this, going out on missions together, carrying out all sorts of tasks. Infiltration and espionage are part of that. What? You've never thought about it?"
Hal shook his head. "Disguise and infiltration aren't my style. I generally prefer to just beat people into submission."
Barry chuckled. "I thought so. That's why Batman said he wanted to turn off your ring."
Hal puffed out his chest. "Hah. Let him try."
"..."
"...Kara, what are you doing?"
Nearby, Superman gave his cousin a strange look. At this moment, his cousin, who was acting like a high school girl, was swaying from the left side of the group to the right, then from the right to the left, constantly striking various poses.
"Oh, I'm taking a selfie," Kara said excitedly. "This is the Justice League's first official, planned operation. I'm taking a picture to remember it... Come on, smile."
Upon hearing this, Superman quickly squeezed out a sunny smile. Only after the picture was taken did he drop the smile and say seriously, "We're not playing around, Kara. This is an important mission. We need to focus."
"We're just waiting around anyway. Last one, just one more."
Kara bounced over to Batman's side. "Want to take a picture?"
Batman remained expressionless, casting a disapproving gaze at her.
Kara shrank back and muttered, "Fine, don't take one, then..."
"Someone's coming."
Orin Vale spoke up, interrupting his teammates' pre-battle pastime.
His super-senses covered the surrounding area, allowing him to perceive anyone who approached. He was sure that Superman and Martian Manhunter were doing the same.
Another black-robed person arrived, dressed identically. He didn't say a word as he approached them, only nodding his head before leaning against the wall to wait.
After a short while, two or three more people arrived one after another.
They were all dressed in the same black robes, all members of the Blood Cult. Orin Vale discreetly used his Ultra Vision to scan them, confirming that—unlike his previous run-in with Batman—these new arrivals were bona fide Blood Cultists, not more undercover agents.
It seemed these were the teammates assigned to them for this operation.
Then, the Commander arrived.
His gaze swept over the group, and he nodded in satisfaction.
"Very good, everyone is here. As I said before, this is a joint operation organized by The Archbishop, and it is extremely important. In principle, all cultists are assigned to squads according to their original units to carry out missions. However, the situations of all of you here are special. You are all survivors from missions where your original units were sacrificed. Therefore, you have been formed into a special team."
Everyone understood.
To put it simply, everyone present was an orphan within the Organization, stragglers who had been separated from their original units.
"You don't need to know too many details about this mission. Other branches will be responsible for other parts of the task. We only need to concern ourselves with the part we're responsible for."
He held up a photograph.
It was a woman.
She had sharp, statuesque features, long, curved eyebrows, and a dark complexion. In the photo, her expression was resolute, and she possessed the eyes of a warrior.
"This woman, named Adrianna, is an archaeologist. She has something very important in her possession, and our mission is to seize it.
"She will have a convoy from A.R.G.U.S. escorting her, so it might be a little troublesome. But other teams will handle that part. Our main duty is to serve as an insurance policy. If the forward teams fail and the target escapes with the cargo, we are to intercept them. Understood?"
"Understood."
To put it bluntly, they were the backup. If the plan went smoothly, they might not even participate in the operation at all.
Of course, then again, since they'd been brought in as the safety net, the plan was unlikely to go smoothly...
"Very good. However, I will have other tasks to attend to at that time and won't be able to command your operation personally. Therefore, you need a field commander."
The Commander clasped his hands behind his back and said with an air of authority.
"This means you must elect a field commander. The person chosen will be given priority for promotion into the higher echelons of the Organization."
Everyone looked at each other.
Good heavens, there's even an election?
The eyes of the genuine cultists immediately blazed with fervor. They rubbed their hands together, filled with anticipation for this chance at promotion.
Of course, they didn't know that sometimes, what seems like a fair election is actually decided long before the voting even begins.
Over the next half hour, the cultists outdid one another, each delivering a passionate and rousing speech, praising their great lord and tirelessly expressing their determination to sacrifice for the Organization. They stopped just short of pulling out knives and carving out their own hearts to prove their loyalty.
However, after an absolutely fair, just, and open election, Orin Vale still won command of the operation with an overwhelming majority.
He even made a show of refusing, stating that he was unworthy of such a great responsibility and feared he would fail the Organization's expectations. But the calls of support were too loud; the others wouldn't hear of him stepping aside. Helplessly, he reluctantly accepted the leadership position.
The Commander watched, secretly surprised. He hadn't expected this young man to possess such prestige and concluded he must be a person of devout faith and outstanding ability. At this thought, he couldn't help but nod slightly, feeling he had discovered a promising talent. He decided that if the opportunity arose, he must help him advance so that he could better serve the Lord.
If he could achieve great things in the future, he himself would share in the credit.
As for the genuine cultists who lost the election, they lowered their heads in self-reflection. Were their speeches not inspiring enough, or was their faith lacking? Why couldn't they compare to him...
(end of chapter)
