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GCPD: The Death of JC007
December 12th, 1999
At night, deep inside the brightly lit headquarters of a shadowy
organization somewhere in Britain, Agent SH101 timidly enters the
office of Director AA001.
AA001: Any news on JC007?
SH101: Yes, sir.
AA001: Finally! What does he have to say for himself this time?
SH101: It's not him we've heard from, sir. A message arrived today
over our private line. We tried to trace it, but we
lost the
trail.
SH101 hands a piece of paper to the Director. It doesn't take him
long to read it. "Regret to inform you - your operative JC007 is dead.
Building collapsed. Body buried. Do not have the resources to recover."
Underneath the message is one word - "Oracle".
AA001: Oracle, eh? Well, if the JLA can trust her, then so can we.
Find out if JC007 had any family and send them some
flowers.
If I cancel my game of golf, I could fit in his
funeral next Friday,
but as there's no body, I suppose we needn't bother
do we, SH101?
SH101: No, sir, I don't suppose we do. I'll go and delete his records
now, sir. If I get a move on, I can get them erased
before the
paycheques go out.
AA001: I like the way you think *R*H101.
RH101 blushes red and scampers from the office, desperate to record
his promotion as quickly as possible.
***
Halfway across the world, it's mid-afternoon at GCPD headquarters,
where Loren and JC hover over a computer in the precinct's data library,
without any other prying eyes about.
JC: Thanks, Babs. I owe you big time.
The connection to the Clocktower is severed, and the two men look away
from the monitor.
Loren: Look, I'm not dumb - I don't completely trust you. But I
*do* trust Babs, and if she says you're free of that
agency
crap, then that's good enough for me. If you're
pullin' my
leg here...
JC: Relax; I know better than that. I've had a change of heart.
Despite what you might think, I really do have a conscience, and I
couldn't...well, I just couldn't do what they were asking me to do.
Loren: Whatever... I'll talk to Gordon tomorrow. With the history
Babs came up with for you, JC, I'm sure he'll welcome
you into
the force without any problems.
JC: Thanks, Loren. And it's not JC anymore. Call me Owen.
Owen holds out his hand. Somewhat reluctantly, Loren shakes it and
then allows the former agent to leave.
Loren: Okay...what else do I hafta do before the fundraiser...?
Outside, Owen takes an identity card out of his pocket, looks at it
for a moment, and then tears it in half, throwing the remnants in a
nearby trash can.
Owen: Free. Free at last...
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