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    “Greetings, Sleez.”
    A stentorian voice issued from above the disintegrating ceiling. Jimmy tried to make out the source of the voice, but the high-intensity glare was too bright. A sickening sense of deja vu came over him; this was Lightray’s final moments all over again. “No,” Jimmy protested to no one in particular. “Not again ...”
    “No! Please leave me!” Sleez begged, but his frantic plea fell upon deaf ears. A sizzling blast of energy zapped the exiled demon in the chest. He let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony.
    “So begins the end!” the mystery voice proclaimed. The end? Jimmy thought. The end of what?
    Another thunderous boom shook the heavens and the golden glow faded, leaving Jimmy alone in the dingy apartment with Sleez’s charred and smoking corpse. Scorch marks surrounded the remains, while a gaping hole glowed dimly where Sleez’s black heart: had once resided. Just like with Lightray, Jimmy realized, his watery eyes still recovering from the blazing burst of light. He stared aghast at the slain god, feeling trapped inside some cosmic murder mystery beyond mortal comprehension. Sleez’s note had promised Jimmy answers, but his death left yet more questions behind. His heart pounding, Jimmy rested his weight against the nearest wall. His teeth ground in frustration.
    “What the hell is going on here?”
    GOTHAM CITY.
    Madam® Xanadu was right, Mary realized. / shouldn’t 'Have come here.
    Racing footsteps, accompanied by raucous hoots and whistles, pursued her as she ran frantically down a deserted city street. Sleeping office buildings offered the frightened girl no refuge. By day, this vicinity of Gotham was relatively clean and safe, but after dark the entire character of the neighborhood changed. The various businesses closed for the day, the office workers went home, and a more unsavory element took over the streets. Like the urban predators now chasing Mary by the lambent glow of the streetlights.
    “Stop running, little girl!” a harsh voiced shouted at her. Heartless laughter came from the skinhead’s fellow gang members. There were at least three of them, all gaining on Mary as she tried to get away from the tattooed thugs. Her wide blue eyes searched for sanctuary, but all she saw were locked doors and darkened windows. Metal shutters protected the coffee shops, copying centers, and Greek diners that, by day, catered to the professional crowd. Breathing hard, Mary urged her tired legs to keep on running. A painful stitch stabbed her side with every step. If only she still had the speed of Mercury ... !
    This was a mistake, Mary thought. She still wasn’t entirely sure why she had defied Madame Xanadu’s warning and caught a Greyhound bus to Gotham, just like she couldn’t really explain why she had felt compelled to venture down these lonely streets at night. All she knew was that she had to do something to get her powers back, and Gotham City was the only lead she had. What didti’t Madame Xanadu want me to find here? Mary had been willing to face any sort of mystical threat or ordeal to regain her powers, but now it looked like her reckless quest was about to come to a nasty end.
    Her sneakers slapped against the pavement. Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the punks closing in on her. They whooped and hollered like a pack of hungry wolves, eager to get their hands on their defenseless prey. Madame Xanadu had been wrong about one thing at least; there was nothing at all magical about these creeps.
    But that didn’t make them any less dangerous.
    A four-story brownstone midway down the block caught her eye. Mary thought she spied a hint of movement somewhere within the silent edifice. She found herself strangely drawn to the building, much as she had felt driven to explore this neighborhood earlier. Desperate for any sort of shelter from the would-be muggers pursuing her, she sprinted up the front steps of the building. Her fists