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You just saw a glowing man walk through the wall of a steel box –

Real magic.

It might not really be magic. It doesn’t need to be. It could be some Wellesian horror with the ability to pass through conventional matter, disguised in human form for it’s own purposes. Perhaps it’s an inventor, or even a person who developed some kind of mental powers; it’s hard to know where the lines of science lie, when Superman is loose in the world. The thing could be something competely unexpected; maybe it’s an imp from the fifth dimension or something. It barely matters

It doesn’t need to be magic. It just needs to be real, really happening there in front of you. That’s all you need.

What feels like a million half-formed ideas flit through your brain as you stare at it.

But all that forms into words is: real magic …

– walk through the wall and solidify, floating in an eminently ghostly fashion, robe twisting around him in an invisible wind lit with St Elmo’s Fire.

You can see at least three people standing nearby. As everyone pauses, momentarily frozen, a fourth hurries up and stops.

They’re probably here for this very reason. You came because this shipment was obviously crooked, and the ghost was targeting smugglers. It stands to reason that the mob would make the same connection. But you doubt anyone here expected to be, well – right.

Not this right, anyway.

Someone makes a fumbling movement. A gun? The ghost flies forward in one jerky mortion, raising it’s hand, and a murky greenish light shines on the fellow.

<<n͟eu͜tr͠a͡l͡i̛z̶ing̶>>, says a voice like –

– it’s like –

– well, it’s a very strange voice.

It s͠o͢u̡nd̢s like a crackling radio broadcast, only crackling at just the right times to obscure the voice. It sounds like someone painstakingly assembled a group of people who didn’t speak English, each with various snatched syllables written on paper, and had them read out sentences while the others frantically tried to find their place before they needed to contribute to the next word. It sounds like rustling grass had learned to talk from hearing out-of-context conversations muttered by passersby, and was making its first stumbling attempt at communication.

The thought, tinged with an edge of crazed paranoia, runs through your head: it doesn’t sound like a human’s voice.

And while you’ve been distracted by the voice, the light in the ghost’s hand blinked out. Like a flashlight, in fact, with stained glass over the bulb.

The man it shone on – rough-looking chap, big overcoat – crumples. The light had caught him full in the face, staring dumbly.

And then several things happen at once.

Two other men fumble for their guns. One of them gives a shout of what seems to be surprise.

One man turns and silently runs.

The ghost turns on a dime in midair. You notice what looks like a green ring glinting on it’s finger. The flashlight device?

You start moving instinctively towards one of the men. He’s armed. The specter is … not an ally, perhaps, but a potential one. You really want to be on his side.

The ghost-voice speaks again: <<y̢ơu hav̛e ͟vio͏la̷ted t͡he law͜-́>>

You slam into the second man as the ghost’s hand flashed it’s beam at the third. He freezes, stumbling, and collapses as the beam winks out. The whole thing couldn’t have taken more than half a second.

<<- neu͠tral͞i̸z͟i̸n̛g – t̴he͞ l͝a̴ws͠ ͟of̧ th͞is ͘w̛o̵rl̛d͞.- ̨Cease̛ no̡ẃ.͠>>

The ghost rounds on you, jerking as if to dodge an attack from your direction, then slows as it sees your choke-hold taking effect. You see the lower half of his face moving in a very human expression of surprise as he sees you.

You act on impulse.

“Bruce Wayne.” You stick out a hand, and the “ghost” jerks his arm forward slightly in response. He doesn’t take your hand, though. “Glad to see someone trying to clear up the streets.”

… vigilantism isn’t ideal, but they were mob guns. “How would you like some funding for this sort of thing? Expand your operations with whatever that-” gesture in a vague but confident way toward what could maybe be interpreted as his left hand “is?”

The green man hesitates. Then he raises his hood in one sweeping motion, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Alan Scott. Pleased to meet you, Mr Wayne.”

what do you want to do?