Think of Batman. How far ahead of Earth was Lex Luthor's tech? Could anyone even quantify it? Brainiac classified Lex as Tier-9 intelligence.
To make sure Superman grew up healthy and had a strong support system, his birth father Jor-El had built him the Fortress of Solitude. Even by Kryptonian standards, that was black-tech—and Old Jor was a master of Kryptonian black-tech!
Old Jor wasn't even really dead. In the future, he'd have the brilliant feat of using technology to capture Mister Mxyzptlk on his record. How insane was that? Could Brainiac even calculate his intelligence tier? Old Brainiac probably wasn't his match.
By Thea's estimate, the Fortress he'd left for his son contained tech at Tier-10—possibly Tier-11—civilization level.
Earth-3's version might be a step weaker, but it would still curb-stomp Earth tech without breaking a sweat. This thing absolutely could not be seen by humans, whose hidden talent was self-destruction.
Two of the Justice League's most influential founding members were objecting, and objecting hard. Democracy was democracy, and Batman didn't push back.
He hauled Ultraman away. Superman flew under the Fortress, endured the kryptonite radiation, and shoved the entire trove of black-tech straight into the sun.
Ultraman ran on kryptonite as fuel. He snacked on it casually and stockpiled the rest in the Fortress. Watching the veins bulge on Superman's forehead, watching him grit through the convulsing of his hands and feet to push the structure into the sun—anyone could tell there'd been a lot of kryptonite inside.
Batman mourned the destroyed kryptonite. Then again, he knew the limits. A few hidden pieces, fine. But trying to stockpile dozens or hundreds of pounds? Even Superman would lose patience with that.
The fight up there ended quickly. The Lanterns dispersed across the planet to clear the way for the ground forces deploying after them. Batman moved into Owlman's Watchtower and started downloading every scrap of data he could find.
Meanwhile, on the ground, the superheroes were splitting up.
Self-organized teams. Free improvisation. The League didn't interfere.
The Flash and his friendly neighborhood Rogues went to handle Johnny Quick.
"Rogues don't kill unless absolutely necessary. We don't hurt women or children." Captain Cold, holding his Cold Gun, repeated the rule one more time before they shipped out.
His three teammates—Heat Wave, Mirror Master, Weather Wizard—each confirmed they accepted it.
"You'd better remember that promise," The Flash said gravely.
Captain Cold was relaxed. "Don't sweat it. The lady from your League is paying us. We're not going to torch our own reputation. Come on, let's move. Take down one speedster and we're set for a long, comfortable retirement."
The rest of the Rogues hooted with excitement. Cash on the table, they got to beat up a speedster, and the moral hall pass was already stamped. It was almost too good to be real.
The Flash watched them practically bounce with enthusiasm and could only sigh. He had no good way to comment on Thea hiring the Rogues. But the thought that he'd one day be fighting shoulder-to-shoulder with this crew gave him a strange dissonant feeling.
"Our target's brutal. He kills for fun. He's not me—you should be careful." Watching the Rogues treat Johnny Quick like a casual job, he offered the warning out of goodwill.
"We're bad guys too. Watch your own back." Captain Cold gave The Flash a complicated look.
They got Batman's update soon after. The space strike had succeeded. The Watchtower and the Fortress of Solitude were neutralized. All they had to do was clean up the ground threats, and Operation Justice Eternal would be a complete success.
The Flash sprinted off to Central City. The Rogues used Mirror Master's teleportation to head over directly.
Faster to run there or faster to teleport? The verdict was in: teleportation, every time.
The four Rogues stepped out through a shard of broken glass in a corner and surveyed the version of Central City that looked familiar but felt wrong.
Their distinctive looks must have stood out. A gang of street thugs zeroed in and circled them fast.
A pack of nobodies was no challenge for the Rogues' brand of camaraderie. Without bothering to pull weapons or use powers, they laid out the entire mob.
"Cash!" Heat Wave, the arsonist of the group, was delighted. He'd dug a thick wad of bills out of what looked like the gang leader's wallet and was settling in to count it.
Captain Cold picked up one of the bills, looked at both sides, and slapped Heat Wave on the forehead. "We can't use this money."
"Why not? Wait... who the hell is this?" Heat Wave protested loudly—then froze when he saw the picture on the bill. The mysteriously smiling Benjamin Franklin on a regular hundred-dollar bill had been replaced by a shifty-eyed weasel of a man. Independence Hall was gone from the back, replaced by what looked like a horse-racing arena.
He flipped through smaller denominations. No Washington. No Lincoln. Thea and her crew might recognize Benedict Arnold from this bill—they were educated. The Rogues didn't have Pied Piper with them right now, and Captain Cold's high school diploma was the highest credential in the group. They had no idea who Benedict Arnold was, no clue who any of the Revolutionary War generals were.
Not that ignorance made them stupid. This stuff would be useless paper the moment they got back to Earth-1—nobody but a blind man would take this currency. The mood deflated a bit.
Time to focus on the job. Thea's payment was neither cheap nor lavish: two million each, eight million total for the four of them. If they were the ones to bring in Johnny Quick, the team would get a two-million-dollar bonus on top.
Broke as they were, this was a financial miracle. They'd jumped at the chance and come straight to Earth-3.
Speedster, speedster! That was all that filled their heads. Find the bastard, beat him down, collect the check, clock out!
With Mirror Master's help, they began sweeping the city.
On the other side, The Flash had also entered the city. The two parties searched separately for any sign of the enemy.
"Heh. Looks like they're hunting me?" The enemy didn't hide. He chose to attack first. This was a speedster with a deeply aggressive streak.
Johnny Quick's real name was Jonathan Allen—a name not even his Crime Syndicate associates knew. His girlfriend was Atomica, who'd been planted on Earth-1 as a deep-cover spy. The moment he got Owlman's alert, he spotted both groups in Central City instantly.
As a fellow speedster, he badly wanted to test himself against the alternate-Earth Flash. But he was a vicious one by nature, and with his girlfriend's situation looking grim, he decided to crush the weaker target first. He picked the Rogues as his opening move.
He blurred through the familiar streets, and when he saw the Rogues' faces, he couldn't help laughing out loud. He recognized all four—or rather, he recognized their Earth-3 counterparts. Four duty-bound cops, hailed as the conscience of Central City. He'd murdered them in cold blood years ago.
He'd held some skepticism about Owlman's so-called dimensional invaders. Now he could confirm it. These bastards really were from another dimension.