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It was early evening and John Constantine had just returned to his dingy apartment after a hard day's work. He made the mistake of switching on the television so he could have some background noise while he was looking for something to eat. As he turned away and began ransacking his cupboards, he heard a stream of panicked babble that needed to be heavily filtered before he could extract any useful information from it. That was something he could do automatically even while he was considering the possible merits of half-rotten apple, pickled onion and ketchup sandwiches – or maybe he should just get a takeaway? – and he grew increasingly alarmed as he realised that one hundred representatives of the world's media were trapped aboard the Justice League's orbital satellite while a supervillain was attempting to kill them all.

'Should I do something about this?' he asked himself, wishing he had a cigarette. Not because he needed to smoke – Lady Tanya had cured him of his nicotine addiction at the same time as she repaired everything else in his mouldering body – but because he wanted something to hold, almost like a comfort blanket – and how pathetic was that?

'Even if I could get up there, by the time I got up there, they'd already have sorted everything out,' he reasoned. In a state of heightened agitation, he paced back and forth around the room, making the carpet even grubbier and more threadbare than it was before. 'They've faced much worse threats than this. Practically every day.' He waved the television remote as if it were a magic wand. 'Surely they don't need me.'

He wondered how many of the Justice League's other allies, friends and affiliates were watching this broadcast and wishing – just like him – that there was something they could do to help. 'Anyway, it's none of my business. Even if I was there, I'd only get in the way.'

There came a knock on the front door. Constantine was glad of the distraction, even if he had no idea who would be visiting him at this time. An old acquaintance, someone in need of help, or had the postman come to the wrong address again? For the past few months, ever since he'd met Lady Tanya, it was as if he'd led a charmed life – and he knew with gloomy certainty that good luck now would lead to hideous bad luck later on, which meant he was anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop – so perhaps he should be worried that he'd been hunted down by one of his enemies who was about to take gruesome revenge on him. Or would that come as a relief?

He muted the television, padded over to the front door and opened it just a fraction. Outside, there was a diminutive woman who'd loomed large in his thoughts of late: Lady Tanya, the Devil Queen, Lucifer's appointed successor. She was wearing human form and a sharp business suit.

"Constantine. Good evening," she said. Then, she must have seen something in his demeanour that made her ask, "Is this a bad time?"

"No, I'm not doing anything right now. You might as well come in," he said, taking a step back and holding the door open for her.

Entering his apartment, Tanya looked around at the grimy kitchen counter with its piles of dirty crockery, the basket full of unwashed laundry, the coating of dust on every shelf, on top of the television and collecting in the corners of the room, and Constantine felt as if he was being judged.

"Yeah, I'm a slob. I like it this way," he said, defensively.

"I didn't say anything. But I'm pleased to hear you admit you have a problem." Tanya sighed. "You need someone to look after you."

Constantine felt a sudden thrill of horror. Hurriedly, he shook himself and said, "You didn't come here to assess my living conditions. At least, I hope you didn't. So why are you here?"

"You're acquainted with the Justice League, correct?"

"Correct," he said, glancing at the television, which still had the words 'Breaking News' running across the screen. "Why?"

"I would like to speak to them. Could you arrange an appointment for me, please?"

"I think it would be better if we spoke to them as soon as possible," he decided, switching off the television. He put down the remote and immediately wished he hadn't. Now, he had no idea what to do with his hands.

"How soon?"

"Immediately," said Constantine. He proceeded to explain the situation as he saw it: a supervillain was attacking the Justice League aboard their orbital satellite while a hundred helpless civilians were trapped up there with them.

"We could go to their rescue," said Tanya. "Good thinking."

"I can't think of a better way to introduce you to them. Just let me do the talking, at least to begin with."

"Fine."

In his mind, Constantine had assembled the bare skeleton of a plan. All he had to do was flesh it out. He took a deep breath. "Here's what we'll do…"

Prometheus was having the time of his life. So far, his plan had been a roaring success. One by one, the Justice League had fallen before him. Only two of them remained: Superman and Wonder Woman, who were standing between him and a crowd of civilians as if they could do anything to protect them. Of course, either of them could have defeated him without much difficulty, but they didn't dare come too close for fear of damaging what was behind him: the shuttles they'd need to escape the destruction of their excessively extravagant headquarters.

"Time's running out, Superman!" he cried, gleefully. "Soon, Steel's hammer will crash through one of these walls. The pressure drop will kill everyone in here except you."

"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Superman demanded to know.

"Nothing you've got. You're hard to kill, so I had to come up with something foolproof and demoralizing; I want all the troops to see it before they die," said Prometheus. "Kill yourself, Superman. Then, I'll allow these people to go home unscathed."

Before anyone else could process his words and do more than gasp in shock or horror, an unfamiliar voice cut through the silence: "That's your plan to kill Superman? Not exactly foolproof, is it?" There came a derisive laugh. A tall, well-built blond man dressed in a shabby trench coat stepped out from the crowd of media representatives. There was a strange light shimmering behind him. "Didn't think to bring any Kryptonite? That stuff seems to be so common that random street thugs can get hold of it. What are you, a cheapskate?"

"Constantine," said Superman, looking perplexed. "This isn't a good time."

"Yes, you're wasting time," said Prometheus, seizing control of the conversation once again. "Soon, all these people will be dead!"

The trenchcoated man had his hands in his pockets, but he shifted his arms and seemed to shrug his shoulders as if discomforted. "Prometheus, is it? You've told us how you meticulously planned out how to defeat every one of the Justice League. But what happens when people don't act like you expect them to? What happens when someone injects a little chaos into your perfectly ordered situation? Have you considered that there might be a reason why I've been playing for time?"

He lifted his head, just slightly. The light behind him became blinding. When it faded, a few seconds later, all of the assembled representatives of the media were gone. Vanished. As if they'd never been.

"And what happens when you've got nothing left to threaten us with?" asked Constantine, in a voice that was so soft it might have been a sigh.

"There's still one thing." Prometheus sneered. He whirled around and aimed his wrist-mounted rocket launcher at the shuttle bay. At least he could make sure the ordinary human members of the Justice League were trapped in an airless coffin, doomed to suffocate or suffer the effects of explosive decompression, several hundred thousand kilometres away from home.

An arrow pierced his gauntlet, knocking his aim awry. A moment later, a thrown hammer smashed his helmet and sent him sprawling to the floor. For good measure, one of Superman's lightning bolts disabled his powered armor completely.

Dazedly, Prometheus lifted his head to see masked figures step out of the shadows. All of them were members of the Justice League he'd defeated but failed to kill outright. At the time, he hadn't thought it would matter: they were all going to die anyway when the oxygen ran out or they were exposed to hard vacuum. But now he was paying the price for his complacency. He only had one chance left to escape.

"Well… guess I'll put this one down to experience. And next time you won't even hear me coming," he mumbled, activating the key that would teleport him back to his hideout in the Ghost Zone.

Out of the corner of his mouth, Constantine asked Tanya, who was invisible and floating in the air behind him: "Could you have stopped him escaping?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted. "I don't know where he's gone or how he got there."

"Could you find out?"

"Potentially. He might have left traces behind."

"Something to think about, maybe," said Constantine.

An angel appeared in exactly the same place that Prometheus had disappeared from, looking somewhat bewildered. He had pure white skin, red eyes and swanlike wings. His golden armor appeared to have been designed for aesthetic purpose rather than practicality. Most angels chose to look like humans with wings – because their true forms were too bizarre and wondrous for ordinary mortals to comprehend, apparently – but this one was more obviously inhuman than any of the others Tanya had ever met. Perhaps he was trying to blend in with his superhero colleagues, whose garish costumes had evidently been designed to make them as noticeable as possible.

Possibly for the same reason, Superman had blue skin and was wearing a skintight bodysuit instead of his usual blue costume, red trunks and red cape. Also, he seemed to be sparking with electricity. He might look superficially human, but to Tanya's otherworldly senses it was as if a raging fire had been brought to life and given the shape of man. He burned with so much energy that it was dazzling to look at him.

Leaning close enough to Constantine to whisper into his ear, which made him shiver, Tanya asked, "Superman doesn't normally look like that, does he?"

"Just for the past month or so."

"Do you know why?"

"Maybe a supervillain hit him with some kind of energy weapon, or he flew through a meteor shower that contained a new type of Kryptonite, or… Well, that's the sort of thing that happens," said Constantine. "He'll probably be back to normal in another month or so."

"I hope so," said Superman, walking over to Constantine and warmly shaking his hand. "It's good to see you, John. Thank you for your assistance."

"No problem," said Constantine, whose hand was now fidgeting like a playful spider. "I'm sure you'd have managed perfectly well without me."

"Wow, John, have you been working out?" asked a woman wearing a domino mask, a purple cape and black body armor, with a white cross stretched across her chest that had no purpose that Tanya could discern, unless it was meant to show her opponents exactly where to shoot. She gave Constantine a playful poke. "I'm sure Zatanna will be delighted when she sees you."

"Yes, you're looking very well," said Batman. "I'm surprised. The last I heard, you were dying of lung cancer."

"Fresh air, clean living, you know how it is," Constantine began and almost immediately stopped. He sighed heavily, shook his head and said, "No, there's no point in lying. I'd have to tell the truth soon enough anyway. Please allow me to introduce my friend." He gestured in Tanya's direction. "I'm sure you'll agree she's a woman of wealth and taste."

Taking that as her cue, Tanya made herself visible and stopped suppressing her presence in the room. Arms folded, she examined the Justice League with a critical eye and an unimpressed expression upon her face.

"You!" cried the angel, gaping at her. "What brings you here?"

Superman looked bemused. "Zauriel, what's–?"

"She's the Devil! Lucifer's chosen successor!" the angel declared.

"Her name's Tanya," said Constantine. "Lady Tanya."

"John… did you make a deal with the Devil?" asked Batman, folding his arms and looking more-than-usually stern.

"Uh, sort of. She made an offer and… later on, when I was being attacked by one of her enemies, I was desperate, so… I set her free. She defeated him and healed me."

"I keep my promises," said Tanya.

"What happened to the media representatives who were here earlier?" asked Superman. "Are they somewhere safe?"

"They are under my protection. I will make sure they come to no harm," Tanya assured him. "I could bring them back here, if you like. Or I could take them back to Earth while you continue your repairs here."

There was a hurried conversation between the various superheroes, which Tanya didn't bother to listen to. Finally, Superman, acting as their spokesman, said, "We'd like you to bring them back here, please."

"It's fine," Tanya replied. "As long as you make sure they'll be safe when they get back here. Didn't Prometheus say this place was running out of oxygen?"

"Actually, we've mostly fixed the damage he caused," said a man clad in a suit of iron-grey powered armor. "We should probably be thankful that he was so overconfident."

"Even so, we'll send them back to Earth on the shuttles as soon as possible," said Superman.

"If you want me to teleport them back here, I will," said Tanya. She reminded them again, just in case they hadn't heard her the first time: "Or I could teleport them back to Earth immediately."

"We don't trust you," said Batman, bluntly. "Give us a reason to trust you. Bring them back here."

Tanya smiled, glad to have met someone who said what he was thinking, which meant that for once there was no need for her to decipher his true meaning. "With pleasure," she replied. "Even if I have to physically separate them, I'll make sure they come back here safely."

Not for the first time, Lois Lane wondered if she should regret the Pulitzer Prize, the fame and all the decisions that kept throwing her into danger. Or did she enjoy the reckless thrill that came from putting her life at risk time after time? First I was trapped aboard a doomed space station and now this…

"Are you getting all this?" an excited newsman was asking a bored camerawoman.

"It's just a shopping mall," she replied, with an exaggerated yawn.

"It's a glimpse of an alien world: a world different and yet weirdly similar to our own!" He grinned. "Don't you think people will be interested in that?"

"I think they might be demons," said someone else, looking anxiously at some of the passersby who so far had given them a wide berth. "See the horns?"

The bored camerawoman said, dismissively, while examining her fingernails, "It's a film set. They're just people in costumes. That's why all the shop names are in English."

"If they're demons, why aren't they attacking us? Shouldn't they be trying to persuade us to sell our souls for–"

"Prime wagyu steak!" With raised eyebrows, a voluminous man, who appeared to be spilling out of his business suit, was examining the menu board outside a restaurant. "And the prices look very reasonable!"

"Are you sure about that?" asked his haggard assistant. "You don't know what the exchange rates are like."

"I wonder if they'll accept American dollars."

Lois Lane did her best to take charge of the situation, speaking with all the aplomb she'd mustered in her years as a journalist, in a loud, clear voice that cut through all the conversations going on around her: "We need to remain calm and stay together. Someone brought us here to save us from dying aboard the Watchtower, so we have to assume they mean us no harm. But don't go wandering off."

Most of the other media people appeared to listen and agree with her, but there were a few who were more interested in the shops, cafés, restaurants and other attractions arranged all around them.

"What on earth is a 'pachinko parlor'?"

"There are dollar signs right there. That must mean they take American dollars, right?"

"Cute waitresses, aren't they?"

"Um, actually… I think that one might be a succubus."

"She can suck my–"

Someone yelled, aghast: "Boris!"

"–anytime she wants."

"That doesn't even make sense!"

"Screw it, I'm hungry. I want a hamburger," said a large, bushy-bearded man, throwing open the restaurant door. Then, a moment later: "Hey, my wallet's missing!" He turned on his heel and stomped back towards his fellows. "Who stole my wallet?"

"It could have been one of the demons. Be very careful," Lois warned him.

"They haven't been near us. It must have been one of you!" cried the bushy-bearded man, pointing an accusatory finger.

Lois tried her best to calm the situation, but her voice was just one of many. Most of the others were frantic, angry or distressed.

"It must have happened while we were on the Watchtower!"

"My necklace is missing too!"

"And my watch!"

"And my wallet!"

The crowd seethed with suspicion and anger. For a moment, no one moved. It seemed as if everyone was holding their breath. At any moment, Lois knew there'd be a sudden eruption of violence. And there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

"Superman!" someone shrieked.

The tension dissipated as quickly as air escaping from a popped balloon. There were shamed faces and anxious grins. Suddenly, they were back on the Watchtower. Superman was there, as were the other members of the Justice League, a tall man wearing a trench coat, and a blonde businesswoman who was floating a few inches above the ground.

"Superman, someone's been stealing from us!" cried one of the newsmen. Lois was reminded of a small child whining to their class teacher.

"Don't worry, we'll find out who," the last son of Krypton assured them. "And if not, we'll make sure you're properly compensated."

Batman turned to look at the blonde businesswoman. "Did you have anything to do with this?"

"Nothing at all. I have no need of earthly trinkets," she replied. "And my employees know they'd be punished for mistreating my guests."

"I'll take your word for it."

Despite Superman's assurances, it quickly became apparent that no one had any idea who the thief was, the Watchtower's security cameras had been damaged during Prometheus's attack, and anyway the Justice League were more concerned with making sure that all of their unfortunate guests got back to Earth safely. Someone suggested that their valuables had been stolen from them earlier, before they'd even come to the Watchtower – or that Prometheus himself had been the one to steal from them – and that was his real reason for attacking the Justice League.

"For all his posturing, all his speeches, he was nothing but a common thief!" proclaimed one middle-aged woman.

Soon, they were all packed onto the shuttles and on their way back to Earth. Lois felt like she could breathe easily at last. It won't be long now. I'm going home. I feel like I could sleep for a week. Even so, she knew that as soon as she woke up, she'd be back out there, chasing the next thrilling scoop. That was her life – and she wouldn't have it any other way.

Sitting at the Justice League's round table, with Constantine next to her, Tanya surveyed the assembled superheroes, whose numbers appeared to have grown since she had arrived at the Watchtower a few hours ago. The two new arrivals were Orion and Big Barda, members of the New Gods, a race of alien beings she vaguely remembered Crowley had suggested that she should talk to. This seemed as good an introduction as any.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long," said Batman.

"No, don't say that," Tanya replied. "I prefer it when you're being honest with me.

"In that case, I'm not at all sorry to have kept you waiting for so long."

"That's better."

"You're not what I expected," said Superman. He gave Zauriel a sidelong glance; the angel was grim, stony-faced and refused to look directly at Tanya.

"And why should I conform to anyone's expectations?" asked Tanya, with a small shrug.

"You're the Devil," said Batman. "Did you send the demons who started the recent gang war in Gotham City?"

"They didn't start it. They merely defended themselves. But yes, I sent them."

"Why?"

Tanya took a moment to consider her answer. "You've been fighting crime for more than a decade, haven't you, Batman?"

"It seems like much longer than that," he replied.

"You've put thousands of criminals behind bars, but have you made any real impact on the crime rate? Is Gotham City any less of a crime-ridden hellhole than it was when you began your crusade?"

"What's your point?" he asked, with mounting hostility in his voice.

"You've beaten up a lot of gangsters and mentally ill people in costumes, but what have you done to rehabilitate them and heal them of whatever causes them to commit crimes?"

Looking around the table, Batman carefully scrutinized every one of his fellow Justice League members. Then, evidently satisfied, he turned back to Tanya and said, "In my civilian persona, I fund numerous charitable organizations that are working to end poverty and inequality, as well as offering opportunities for education, employment and psychiatric treatment. As the Batman, I exist to defend ordinary people from terrible threats to their lives and sanity, threats that must be dealt with immediately and cannot be dealt with any other way."

"A good answer." Tanya nodded. "You understand there are many crimes that are committed because people need money, because they want better lives for themselves and their families, and because they want power and status. In that sense, organized crime is just like any other business. Many of the most profitable crimes only exist because there is demand for certain goods and services that cannot be supplied legally. The fact that they are illegal adds a certain element of risk, but makes them even more lucrative. Consider the illegal drugs trade, for example. In nineteen eighty-six, the South Florida Task Force made over fifteen thousand arrests and seized vast quantities of cannabis and cocaine, but this had a negligible impact on the drugs trade as whole. In fact, it has been estimated that imports of cocaine to the USA actually increased during that period. It is a story that has been repeated again and again, all over the world, wherever drugs have been made illegal."

"So… you think we should legalize drugs," said the one they called 'Green Lantern', who was sweating, slumped back in his chair and had barely seemed to be paying attention to the conversation until this point.

"You're injured," said Tanya, giving him an appraising glance. "Would you like me to heal you?"

"Prometheus shot me," he explained. "But Batman bandaged me up. I'm good."

"Yes, but are you well enough to be taking part in this meeting?" Tanya frowned. "I could restore you to perfect health. It would take barely a moment."

"Worked for me," said Constantine.

"And what would that cost me?"

"Consider it a token of my goodwill," said Tanya.

"No offense, but it's usually considered to be unwise to accept gifts from demons," said Superman. "Thank you anyway."

"Do your healing powers have any side effects?" asked the green-skinned alien they called 'Martian Manhunter'. "Perhaps you intend to sap his will and deny him his superpowers."

"Or twist his mind and turn him into your pawn," said Batman, glaring at Constantine.

"I'm nobody's pawn!" he protested.

"Are you sure?" asked the woman Tanya had noticed before, whose body armor was marked with a large white cross. Her colleagues called her 'Huntress'. There was a playful note in her voice as she continued, "There must have been a good reason why she turned you into such a hunk."

"The lady likes what she likes. There's no shame in that," said the stretchy one whose nom de guerre was 'Plastic Man'.

"If you don't want me to heal you, I won't," said Tanya, with a put-upon sigh.

"Zauriel's an angel, so couldn't he use his heavenly powers to do the same thing?" asked the man in the red suit with earpieces in the shape of yellow wings. It took Tanya a few moments to remember that his codename was 'the Flash'.

The angel's face lost its grimace for the first time since the beginning of the meeting. "I've never been able to heal people," he admitted.

"I just need to rest," said Green Lantern. "When I feel up to it, I'll use my ring to heal myself. No problem."

"In that case, perhaps you should go somewhere you can lie down," said Tanya.

This suggestion was met with just as much suspicion as anything she had said before. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes in exasperation, Tanya made a bold attempt to continue her lecture from where she'd left off. Addressing Zauriel directly, she asked, "Do you know why Lucifer made me his successor?"

"Because you're… powerful," he hazarded.

Tanya waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Everything he does is for his own amusement. There were others he could have chosen, but he chose me because he thinks I'm funny. If he hadn't given up his throne, I suppose he'd want me to be his court jester. Nevertheless…" She put on a vicious grin. "…no matter how much he enjoys poking fun at my plans and ideas, he still clings to hope that I will succeed. He laughed at my plan to send demons to take over Earth's criminal underworld–" That was an exaggeration. Lucifer had been his usual sneering, mocking self, but he hadn't actually laughed. "–but he will be delighted if it comes to fruition."

"But why are you doing it?" asked Batman, in a tone of strained patience.

"For the same reasons as any other crime lord: money, power and influence. And to give my employees something to do," said Tanya. "But more than that, I want to make the world a better place. I want to prove that I could do a better job than Being X ever has."

There was widespread confusion when she mentioned 'Being X', but there was another question that was higher on Superman's list of priorities: "How do you intend to make the world a better place?"

Tanya gave Green Lantern a nod. "Earlier, you seemed to think I was suggesting that all drugs should be legalized. In actual fact, I think the world's governments should reconsider their priorities. The most minor crimes – including those pertaining to drugs such as cannabis, which in many ways are less harmful than alcohol – should be legalized. That would save the police and other law enforcement agencies a huge amount of time, money and manpower, which they could use instead to investigate more major crimes or clamp down on more dangerous drugs. But that doesn't seem likely to happen anytime soon, so I've decided to tackle the problem myself. My employees have formed criminal gangs that have seized territory in every major city. They will devote themselves entirely to making money through relatively minor, harmless crimes, outcompeting the other gangs and denying them easy sources of revenue. If the police and other law enforcement agencies have any sense, they will see my employees as the lesser evil. Therefore, they will focus on tackling the 'more dangerous' gangs that have been committing much worse crimes. My employees will take advantage of this by seizing even more territory, power and influence, as well as eliminating the competition one by one. Before long, the crime rate – more serious crimes, I mean – will have been reduced to practically nil!"

"Is this the first time you've ever visited this plane of existence, Lady Tanya?" asked the Martian Manhunter, in a dubious voice.

"No, I've been here lots of times. I was human once," she told him. "But that was a long time ago."

"Do you consider yourself to be good or evil, Lady Tanya?" asked Orion of the New Gods, who had been listening with rapt attention and an expression of puzzlement on his face.

"Have you heard the parable of the free lunch?" was Tanya's rejoinder.

For a few moments, there was silence while the Justice League tried to work out what she meant by that. Then, Batman sighed exasperatedly and said, "There's no such thing."

"Precisely." Tanya smirked, pleased with the joke she'd made. "In my experience, many of those who considered themselves to be pure and good went on to commit despicable acts, while some of those who were despised as evil monsters proved themselves to be kind and noble. And that's exactly why I've come here to speak to you tonight." She took a deep breath, just for dramatic effect. "I've come to warn you that the Apocalypse is going to happen in three years' time, on the twenty-third of August, just after tea."

"Around six o'clock, I guess," said Constantine.

"Being X – who considers himself to be the one true god, the ultimate force of good in the universe – wants the Apocalypse to happen. He wants to destroy everything he has created and have a final battle between Heaven and Hell. But I don't. I like Earth – and I'm sure there are plenty of other worlds I'd like if I had a chance to visit them – so I don't want everything to be destroyed. I want to prevent the Apocalypse. And I hope that all of you will help me to achieve that goal."

Silence followed her words. The Justice League's faces were frozen in expressions she couldn't decipher.

When she got home that night, Selina Kyle stroked one of her pet cats – and then all of the others when they came by, demanding attention – and then she had to feed them. Finally, when they were curled up, full and contented by the electric fireplace, she settled down to admire her latest selection of ill-gotten gains: wallets, watches, jewellery; and a pair of storm-opals from Rann, filched from the Justice League's trophy room while no one was looking.

She uttered a happy sigh, but her mind flickered back to the moment when everything had very nearly gone wrong: accusatory faces, raised voices, clenched fists. The air around her had seemed thick with anger and spite. A moment later, if they hadn't been rescued in time, there would have been pushing, shoving, jostling, hitting, punching, kicking, stamping, and hair-pulling. Clothes ripped, buttons popped off, heels broken. It would have been ugly.

Perhaps she should have learned a lesson from this, but as she lazed about on the sofa, Selina preferred to think, 'It's true what they say: Hell is other people.'