1986.

Sunday nights, the sign above the Golden Sphinx stayed dark, as did the strands of lights winding up the potted palm trees out front. The desperate and lonely men of Titan City would have to look elsewhere for titillation.

But between the iron bars covering its windows, light shone through the red lace curtains. Inside, past the burbling foyer fountain, past chairs set upside-down on unoccupied tables, past the silent DJ booth and empty stage with its brass poles, from which no dancer dangled or spun, a door led to the dressing room. 

From that door came screams and the sound of fists on flesh. Then a woman’s voice, dripping with venom. 

“I just don’t understand it, Tamara. I really don’t. It is incomprehensible to me. Do you know what that word means, Tamara? Beyond understanding. Your behavior, Tamara, is beyond understanding.” 

She paced back and forth in a backless silk gown that clung to her shape. The gold-tipped braids of her hair brushed her shoulders, and the band across her head bore a cobra crest. 

“Didn’t I take good care of you?” she continued. “Didn’t I give you everything you need?”

“Please. I’m sorry, Miss Cleopatra,” gasped the girl held to a tabletop by four burly henchmen in matching suits of shimmering gold.

“Queen!” A sudden slash of nails across the girl’s cheek drew blood. “I wear the same crown as my mother before me! I rule the same kingdom! And you will address me as is fitting!” Then, as if only just noticing the wound she’d inflicted, Queen Cleopatra pouted, “Now, look what you made me do — ruin the merchandise. No way you’re going to make enough to pay back what you owe me now .”

“I will!” Tamara cried. “I’ll do anything! I promise! Anything you say!”

But Queen Cleopatra had turned her back on her captive and focused instead on a large basket of woven seagrass. She opened its lid and reached inside with a long, hooked instrument. 

“I’m afraid it isn’t up to me any more, Tamara. We must submit our wills to the gods of the Nile.” 

From the basket she drew the sinuous shape of a cobra, its body draping from the end of the hook. 

“And the gods,” said Queen Cleopatra, “have a way of showing us their will.” 

The cobra arched its head upward and fanned its crown as Tamara thrashed desperately in the henchmen’s grip.

“Easy now,” Queen Cleopatra cooed as she brought the cobra closer. “You don’t want to upset my pet, do you? He might render his judgment too quickly. Just keep quiet and stay still so he can think about whether or not you deserve to keep breathing…”

Suddenly, darkness swallowed them all. Her henchmen muttered in confusion, and Queen Cleopatra shouted, “Someone go see what happened!” 

The emergency lights flickered on, and where no one had stood before, loomed a man in a red hooded sweatshirt. A black ski mask covered his face, and on it, a hand-painted skull in white.

One of the henchmen gasped, “The Crimson Wraith!”

“Boo,” he said.

He swung at the nearest henchman, brass knuckles over his fingerless gloves, and sent his target spinning into a make-up mirror, shattering it.

The other three released Tamara to reach for the guns hidden in their jackets. She tumbled off the table, scrambling away from Queen Cleopatra and her cobra — nearly colliding with the Wily Wisp, who struck a heroic pose in her purple domino mask, golden wig, and sequined crop-top with matching hot pants and thigh-high boots. 

“Sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” said the Wily Wisp. “You run on home now, honey. And thanks for the tip.” 

Tamara needed no further encouragement.

The Wily Wisp whistled a warning to the Crimson Wraith and hurled a flash bomb from her purse at the feet of the henchmen. It exploded on the ground with a blinding blast, forcing one to drop his pistol right away.

“My eyes!” Queen Cleopatra shrieked, almost losing control of the hook that held the cobra.

The Wily Wisp gave generous room to the writhing serpent. “A snake? For real? Bitch, this is not Wild Kingdom!” Grabbing the woven basket and lid, she captured the animal, who was much happier back in his home.

But Queen Cleopatra kept hold of the metal hook and lashed at the Wily Wisp, who danced backward to avoid a flurry of wild swings.

The Crimson Wraith seized the wrists of the two still-armed henchmen and yanked downward. As their pistols clattered to the floor, he slammed their heads together. They crumbled in front of him.

The last henchman dove in, hammering punches into the Crimson Wraith’s side. With a backhand blow, the Crimson Wraith sent him staggering toward the table where Tamara had been held. Then, catching the off-balanced attacker by the back of his head, he slammed him face-first down and through the table, into unconsciousness.

Queen Cleopatra kept slashing with her snake hook, but the Wily Wisp grabbed one of the dancer’s feather boas and entangled the improvised weapon, ripping it out of her hands before wrapping the boa around the villainess herself.

“Release me this instant!” she screamed.

“No,” said the Crimson Wraith. He pinned her arms securely to her sides. “Cuffs,” he said to the Wily Wisp.

“Man wants cuffs, he gets cuffs,” said the Wily Wisp. She pulled a set of hand-cuffs from her purse and bound Queen Cleopatra’s wrists behind her back. Then she did the same to the henchmen.

“You’ll pay for this,” Queen Cleopatra spat. “Only a fool crosses a queen!”

“We’ll have the cops here for you soon,” the Crimson Wraith said. “Animal protection too.”

“You’re done, girl,” said the Wily Wisp, latching the last of the handcuffs. “No more Queendom for Cleopatra.”

A cold chuckle came from the back of Queen Cleopatra’s throat. “Such arrogance from two peasants. Just who do you think you are?”

“Actually,” said a man’s voice, “I was wondering that too.”

The Crimson Wraith, Wily Wisp, and Queen Cleopatra all turned to look at the stranger who had joined them. 

He stood with relaxed confidence, his black jumpsuit hugging a body built for rooftop chases. A shaggy mullet framed his domino mask, and the letter “Z” gleamed on his chest.

“Did I miss the party?” he asked.

The Wily Wisp reached for another flash bomb from her handbag, but the Crimson Wraith raised his hand. “If he wanted to fight, he would have.”

“Well, I kinda was hoping for a fight, but not with you, with her.” He pointed to Queen Cleopatra. “Seems you two beat me to the punch, several punches in fact.”

“Who are you?” said the Crimson Wraith.

Queen Cleopatra scoffed. “You’re all in the same superhero game and don’t know each other? He’s the Zephyr.”

“That I am,” the man with the Z on his chest said with a bow. “And of course everyone knows the Crimson Wraith and Wily Wisp. I’d been hoping to get to meet ever since I heard you were back in action. Thanks for bringing us together, Queenie.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’d rather clutch the viper to my breast than to hear you prattling on.”

“We could arrange that,” said the Wily Wisp. “Just say the word, and I’ll open the basket.”

“No,” said the Crimson Wraith. “We don’t kill.”

“Well, shit. She doesn’t have to know that.”

“She does,” said the Crimson Wraith. “She did wrong. She has to learn what’s right.”

The Zephyr said, “She has to live if she’s going to see justice, huh?”

The Crimson Wraith nodded.

“I respect that,” said the Zephyr. “Besides, Queenie, you’ve been too bad a girl to have it all end so quickly. A long trail of money laundering, drug trafficking, and extortion led me here. That’s a whole lot of evidence to keep you behind bars for a long time.”

“We got her on all that too,” said the Wily Wisp, “plus her doing some real bad things to girls who never deserved it — some who ain’t walking no more, some who ain’t breathing.”

The Zephyr said, “Then it’s time Queen Cleopatra got what she deserved.”

They left Queen Cleopatra and her henchmen bound to the pole on the stage of the Golden Sphinx. From a nearby rooftop, they watched the arrival of the TCPD, including Captain Harlan Goodman himself. 

Immediately upon exiting his vehicle, Goodman looked up to scan the surrounding buildings. When he saw the Crimson Wraith’s painted skull, he nodded, then led his officers inside.

“You have Goodman’s respect,” said the Zephyr. “And he’s been a friend of the Crimson Wraith a long time.”

“I never met him,” said the Crimson Wraith.

“But I have.” The Zephyr removed his mask. “My name is Michael Conroy. Before I was the Zephyr, I fought alongside the Crimson Wraith as the Wily Wisp.”

Jasmine removed her mask, “Get outta town. The original Wily Wisp?”

“Not the original. Just the latest.”

“I’m Jasmine,” she extended her hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Impressive moves down there.”

“Honey, I always give a hell of a show.”

The Zephyr turned to the Crimson Wraith. “And you? What made you put on the mask?”

Hank slipped it off. “I met the Crimson Wraith once. He was good to me. When I heard he was gone, I thought somebody needs to do this.”

Michael nodded. “He was good to me too. And, it looks like you carry his legacy well. I think the rest of the family would love to meet you.”