Prometheus110's Random Garbagè

[prometheus110]

Hi, I'm Prometheus110.

Like every writer ever, wannabe and otherwise, I write a lot of absolute dross when the mood takes me and I rarely (I.E never) finish any of it. Unlike other writers, however, I'm able to admit that I really want attention and so I'm willing to publish said trash here.

Okay, maybe I should be serious about this.

Basically: I have a lot of stuff sitting around in my google drive that I reckon I may as well share as a method to get criticism on my writing, a roundabout way of bullying myself into maybe finishing things, and because people might like the ideas and/or get inspired to write more things. Where possible I'll be including background details about what my original intention was for a piece, but largely the sections will exist in their own isolated continuum. As you might expect, absolutely none of them are finished, so I feel pretty comfortable sharing them in their entirety.

In terms of style, genre, etc, these snippets range from third-person to first-person, and SIs to crossovers. Given the purpose of this thread, feel free to provide any feedback or ask any questions you like!

I'll post maybe one or two snippets a day until I'm through, then we'll see what happens.

 

[prometheus110]

Article:

Stargate: Anastasis was, if I remember correctly, my first attempt at writing something on Sufficient Velocity that wasn't a quest. As far as the writing goes, it was a pretty standard third-person setup with the POV switching between multiple different characters as necessary/appropriate. The basic idea of the story was to be a Stagate/EVE Online Crossover focussing on the crew of mercenary clones who find themselves in the Stargate universe circa the year 2000. These mercs were intended to be something of a co-op group with each member being entitled to a vote as to what contract to accept, what they would do next, where they'd go, who lead them, etc, in order to really differentiate them from the sort of groups you see in similar bits of writing. Additionally, the mercs are all outcasts from their various societies who have banned together to form a family of their own and tell the universe to go fuck itself. You have gay Caldari, atheist Amarrians, Matari bearing tattoos such as the Slaver's fang, and Gallante who aren't super on board with their increasing police state, and now they're all immortal, Tier Zero operators.

In time I planned to introduce a capsuleer, the one from whom The Instance was derived, to act as an fucking evil bastard opposed to every character in one way or another. The capsuleer would have been an ex of the mercenary leader, Kossa Harkonnen, and is obsessed with control and the idea of using love as a mechanism of control. Her arrival in the Stargate Universe would have seen things such as the manipulation of Goa'uld genetic memory to create beings willing to die for her, and generally didn't give a shit about anyone.

Chapter One
P3EN-E – Vale of the Silent – 13 August YC120

The Instance didn't have a name, just a serial number assigned to it by the cloning black site its progeniture had contracted months ago. A nice little sixty-four digit alphanumeric string, the serial number contained —among other things— both its decanting date and its clone grade. Grown as a palid, senseless, mindless thing in a nanoalloy tube full of artificial amniotic fluid, the Instance's memories were mere copies of its progeniture's; each one burned into existence via a modified —and highly illegal— version of the same technique that gave capsuleers their immortality.

It didn't bother the Instance that her memories were not her own. That her first flight, her first kiss, her first fuck, had never actually happened to her. She was, after all, not long for New Eden: the sheer illegality of her existence ensuring that she would have to be destroyed soon in an effort to prevent CONCORD from gaining knowledge of her progeniture's activities. The only consolation the Instance felt in the matter was the knowledge that, in normal times, her personality would be reintegrated into that of her creator's before that occurred; her memories and knowledge far too useful to simply discard.

The Instance was thinking of this fate as she watched the flotilla of mercenary dropships approached her facility like a pack of dogs, the nanoalloy windows of her office automatically highlighting the angular transports against the night sky as they dodged and weaved. There were a dozen of the space-to-surface transports, each large enough to carry a full squad of twelve mercenaries and each doing its best to hug the earth as they hurtled towards the facility. Idly, the Instance tapped on the image of the lead dropship and smiled as the nanite-infused window zoomed in on the demure symbol painted on its hull.

The Storm Wind Company, she thought to herself in amusement, of course they'd be the ones hired.

"Oh," said the lead scientist from behind her, the sudden interruption sending a twinge of annoyance through the Instance's mind as she turned away from the window to look upon the arrogant little man standing in the doorway of her office.

A former lecturer at the University of Caille with a fistful of doctorates and an utter inability to secure funding, the irritating man had ended up being a wise investment. One of several dozen quite brilliant people she had tempted into working for her, the man and his team had eventually proven their worth by ushering in a new era of wormhole physics. Indeed, even before they'd begun their celebratory party, the fruits of their intellectual labour were being transmitted to her progeniture; the rapacious capsuleer having paid vast sums of ISK to see their research to completion.

"Who are they?" Slurred the man as he squinted at the floor to ceiling windows behind her, the champagne glass he held loosely in one hand threatening to spill onto the floor.

Gesturing for him to enter, the Instance ordered the nanite-infused windows to sleep with a thought —the transparent nanoalloy slabs turning opaque as both they and the researcher obeyed her commands.

"Mercenaries," she replied curtly as she took up a position behind her monolithic desk, the door sliding shut behind the man and cutting off the thumping music of the party behind him.

"Oh, what do they want?" Asked the researcher blandly as he half-walked, half-swayed over to the polymorphic couch and slouched into its embrace; the ice-white surface of the smart furniture shifting like a liquid to cradle him as the Instance activated her personal computer and tapped away at icon after icon. Glancing up from the holographic screen, she caught sight of pearlescent dust smeared around the man's mouth —the telltale signs of X-Instinct and Crystal Egg— and smiled.

"I imagine they're coming to steal your work," the Instance said coolly.

"Tell them to get fucked," he giggled as he dropped his champagne glass to the floor, the fragile glass exploding like spun sugar and eliciting a fresh set of giggles from the intoxicated man.

"I had another idea," she replied as the first gunshots rang out over the pumping bass of the music.

There was a flare of pain, white-hot and agonising, and a sound like wet cloth tearing. For an instant, the room was filled with a droning buzz as if a vast swarm of insects had flashed into existence before vanishing again an instant later. Blinking back tears, the Instance felt something warm and wet drift gently onto her face; the smell and taste of copper and salt quickly overwhelming her as the researcher's blood settled on her face. Activating yet another implant, the Instance gasped as a flood of non-sensation spread throughout her cloned body and culled the pain at its source.

"Interesting," muttered the Instance as she glanced over the ruined mass that was her left arm, the pale skin split like an overripe fruit to reveal a blood-smeared device the size of her thumb —a short length of monomolecular cable caught partway through the muzzle.

"Crude, but effective," she commented as she caught sight of the ruined carcass of the researcher —his partially liquified remains shifting gruesomely as the polymorphic couch tried to adjust itself. Turning back to the hologram floating above her desk, the Instance ignored the screams of her staff and ordered the wormhole generator at the heart of the base to overload.

It's a shame, she thought as she stared out at the hundred-meter tall tower in the distance, the first sparks of electricity flaring out from its toothlike form. I was looking forward to my next life.

******

Petra Ducuve slotted her helmet into place with a satisfying click as the dropship hit atmo, the bulbous algae-green headpiece plunging the former Federal Marine into darkness as complete as the void of space as it slid over her eyes. For an instant, she could almost pretend that she was alone in the universe so total was the isolation; the only thing intruding on her consciousness the high-pitched whine of the dropship's engines as it hurtled toward its destination. Suddenly, a spit of light appeared in front of her eyes before expanding in all direction to reveal the grated floor of the dropship; the audio feed cutting in moments later.

"-o through, newbie?" Said Kolya Virtanen, his light tone rudely intruding on Petra's consciousness.

"What?" She asked in confusion, twisting as far as the restrictive seat harness would allow.

Wearing a gunmetal grey assault dropsuit loaded down with grenades, spare magazines, and nanohives, the light-hearted Caldari who'd taken her under his wing would have been imposing if not for the fact she could tell he was grinning behind his near-featureless helmet.

"I said, do you want to put kredits on how many clones you'll go through, newbie?" He repeated. "I have a hundred down on you going through eight," he added with a nod, "Yaat reckons you'll learn to duck properly after your fifth."

"Don't let me down," cried Maleatu from the seat opposite his old friend, the Minmatar's heavy armour heaving as he leaned across the narrow aisle; the motion threatening to send the helmet on his lap spilling onto the floor. "I figure there's no way you can be any worse at this than Kolya was when he first joined the Storm Winds!"

A dark-skinned Brutor with short dreadlocks, a neatly trimmed beard, and a tattoo like the fang of a slaver hound running across his face, Maleatu was… not what Petra had been expecting when she had signed up a little over two weeks ago. Warm and gregarious to an almost overwhelming degree, the man was the complete opposite of the taciturn Valklears she had fought alongside during her service in the Federal Marines and seemed to revel in the difference.

"Frak you," Kolya replied as laughter burst out throughout the dropship, the young Caldari shooting an obscene gesture at his friend.

"Listen up!" Cried a hoarse voice, the sudden the interruption killing Maleatu's inevitable response before it had even formed. Rising from his seat near the armoured read hatch of the Panther dropship, the armoured form of Sergeant Amir surveyed his troops with a wary eye. The facemask of his Templar dropsuit retracted to expose a shaved head with sunken eyes, the bronze-skinned Amarrian walked down the narrow aisle of the aircraft's troop hold with a forthright swagger; absently drumming on helmeted heads to wake sleeping mercs and fixing straps as he passed.

"Alright you useless fucks," he growled as he stopped halfway down the dropship's hold, his eyes scanning across the assembled squad and stopping as they landed on Petra.

"For the benefit of the fresh meat," he continued with a smirk, "who are we?"

"Beta squad," rose the desultory answer from the men and women around Petra, a scowl of displeasure flashing across the sergeant's face as the words sunk under the whine of the dropship's engines. Lost and unsure of what to do, Petra could only watch Maleatu as he squeezed his head into the bucketlike helmet of his dropsuit.

"What do we do?" He challenged them.

"We hunt, we kill," replied the squad with a dash more conviction as the first taste of pseudo-adrenaline flooded into their artificial bodies, Maleatu's booming voice rising above the noise of clatter of shifting boots like a lighthouse beam through fog.

"Who are we?" Asked Sergeant Amir harshly.

"Beta squad!" They replied with voices as strong as the sergeant's own, Petra's rising to join them of its own volition as feet began to drum on the dropship's deck.

"What do we do?" He growled as the drumbeat slowly swelled.

"We hunt, we kill!" They growled back.

"Who are we?" He shouted as the mad tattoo continued to grow, a semblance of order slowly emerging from the chaos as the men and women found their beat.

"Beta squad!" They shouted back.

"What do we do?" He roared, his voice almost lost in the noise of their drumming.

"We hunt, we kill!" They roared back.

"On your fucking feet, beta!" he shouted hoarsely, extending a hand to Petra and pulling her up from the crash seat.

"Let's get ready for the fireworks!"

******

"Lent comme douleur de baise dans le cul morceau de merde!" Swore Remontoire 'Rem' Dirak in Galletean as a missile burst violently against the algae-green hull of his Vampire, the rattle of shrapnel filling his ears for an instant before the dropship plowed through the greasy puff of smoke it left behind.

Flying slow and low, the Gallente gunship made a tempting target for the base defences and it was taking all of Dirak's skill to avoid the worst of the fire being spewed in their direction. An ungainly, bulbous craft that Remontoire suspected flew primarily through sheer ugliness, the Vampire gunship was sluggish at the best of times and trusted primarily in its thick armour and heavy-duty repair systems to see it through battles. Designed to be one part transport and one part gunship, the aircraft was theoretically perfect for base assaults, but Rem found himself begging for a few more Newtons of thrust from the crustacean-like dropship's engines as he stared out toward their target.

A hexagon roughly two kilometres across from end to end, the science facility lay at the base of a mountain rendered in various shades of green by the gunship's night vision systems. Framed between a lazily stirring savannah to the north and a graphite-grey sea to the south, the squat prefab structures if the base would have been unremarkable were it not for the hundred meters tall tower they surrounded; long streamers of electricity flaring out from the tip of the tower that seemed to grow with every passing moment.

"Why aren't you shooting back?" He yelled to the gunner sitting beside him as a dozen new spits of flame were fired into the air by the base defences, outrage and confusion seeping into his voice as he wrestled the craft into a lazy roll. Before the woman could respond, a maddening drumbeat suddenly rang out as a cluster of railgun slugs slammed into the Vampire; the ghostly outline of the craft floating in Rem's HUD flashing red as its armour buckled under the barrage. As if answering a challenge, the dropship fired back; a half-dozen missiles howling past Rem's head and spearing toward the distance defences courtesy of his gunner.

This piece of shit can't handle much more, Rem thought to himself as a fresh wave of missiles burst all around him, the shriek of alarms boring into his mind as system after system warned of impending failure. Gritting his teeth, he wrenched the wallowing dropship into a steep dive as a railgun slug ripped past his cockpit; overburdened inertial dampeners whining shrilly as they fought against the g-forces.

"Harkonnen," he hissed as a fresh wave of explosions buffeted the craft, "you either jump now or you pay for a new dropship."

******

Sitting in the cargo hold of the ungainly dropship, Kossa Harkonnen, veteran mercenary and leader of the Storm Wind Company, glanced up as the hissed comment from her pilot intruded on her awareness. Fighting the wild bucking of the craft as it was buffeted by explosions, she rose from her seat and pulled herself toward the armoured rear hatch; the artificial muscles of her dropsuit groaning as they struggled to keep her upright. Hand over hand, she pulled herself toward the door, fighting the wild swaying of the craft with every footstep.

Never trust an egger, she thought to herself grimly as a sudden jerk slammed her heart into her throat.

The contract had seemed simple enough at first: drop into a planetary science facility low-sec and steal anything that wasn't bolted down. The information they'd been given by the client, themselves a rival capsuleer, had checked out so far with the base being where they said it was, being as big as they said it was, and totally lacking in either orbital watchdogs or visible defences. As contracts went, it had Kossa's three favourite things: low-risk, decent pay, and the opportunity to do it all by screwing over a capsuleer.

And then, of course, enough fucking guns to outfit an army appeared the moment they hit the atmosphere.

"Get us as close as you can to the drop zone," she shouted back to the talented if irritating Galletean piloting her gunship as the rest of her squad began to rise from their seats, "as soon as you see the CRU's in the air, we'll jump."

Swearing viciously as a new series of bangs rang out from somewhere outside, the testy pilot acknowledged the command and threw the ship into another roll, the sudden motion sending Kossa's stomach lurching in protest despite the best efforts of the aircraft's inertial dampeners. For an instant, the mercenary tried to battle the sensation before giving in and ordering her body to shut it out, the augmented physiology of her cloned form dismissing the sensation as a distraction moments later.

A clone mercenary for several years, Kossa still found the way her engineered body could simply disregard sensations almost as disquieting as the void of feeling that followed such acts. Shaking her head as if to dislodge a fly, Kossa ordered the door of the dropship to open with a thought and braced herself as a tormented shriek of air suddenly filled the cramped hold of the Vampire.

"Fuck me," one of her squadmates shouted as he stumbled backwards from the sudden blast of air, the trooper behind them cursing as they caught him.

"Lovely day isn't it," Kossa shouted with a laugh before leaning out of the hold and staring up at the star-studded sky above, eyes narrowing as she tried to pick out the glimmering star that was the Hekaton amongst the velvet darkness.

Come on, she thought to herself as a missile detonated in the distance with a dull crump. Where are those CRUs?

Two thousand kilometres above the veteran mercenary, the Algos destroyer known as the Hekaton gazed upon the slowly spinning globe with eyes infinitely more sensitive than anything biology could create. Nearly three hundred meters from stern to stern and half again as wide, the Gallente destroyer floated serenely in the cold white glare of the system's star; the barrels of its railguns casting long shadows across its gleaming green and bronze hull. Though externally identical to any other Algos in New Eden, the Hekaton's hull hid a number of internal changes which transformed the vast spaceship into a mobile base for the Storm Wind Company.

Slowly at first and then with gathering speed, the vast machine began to twist in its orbit; the spacecraft gradually bringing the arm-like projections on each side of its hull to bear on the planet below. As the ship aligned to a vector unknown to all but the quantum computers controlling it, a quartet of objects erupted from within the flight decks buried inside its projecting arms before rocketing away toward the distant planet; engines firing with a blue-white flare as they accelerated the objects ever faster.

On and on they fell, the four building-sized objects gaining speed with every second that passed as they raced toward their destination. In a matter of moments, they entered the atmosphere of the planet; the tenuous gravity-bound layers of gas igniting into flame as they ploughed through it like bullets. To fast and to heavy by far to be affected by such an ephemeral foe, the blocks of metal blazed a fiery path across the night sky; the roar of their passage shaking the trees and driving flocks of birds before them.

Standing fast in the bouncing, rolling hold of a Vampire gunship as it dodged missile and railgun fire by the barest of margins, Kossa Harkonnen smiled to herself as a cluster of shooting stars appeared in the night sky. As she watched them arc overhead on their way to the facility the blazing balls of light began to slow, the golden-orange light that surrounded them fading away in a matter of moments to be replaced by a halo of Cherenkov blue; the tell-tale sign of active inertial dampeners cutting short their fall.

CRUs. Clone Reanimation Units. Building-sized devices containing a squad's worth of clones in medical stasis, each one waiting to be inhabited by the personality of a clone mercenary and outfitted by the onboard armoury. Designed to replace loses in-situ and to enable rapid deployments, CRUs were almost the last word in rapid deployment and Kossa Harkonnen was damn glad to have them.

"That's our queue!" She shouted to her squad as the quartet of blue stars flew past overhead.

"Last one to hit the ground pays the tab!" She roared before leaping into the night.

Ten kilometres away, the freshly completed wormhole generator at the heart of the science facility groaned and shuddered as vast amounts of power flooded into its delicate systems. Glowing like the sun, bolts of lightning flickered out from the petal-shaped crown of the tower; each fantastic blast turning night to day with a thunderous roar as they sought to escape. Slowly, obeying instructions programmed into it by the being with no name, the wormhole generator reached out into the boiling space-time foam of the universe and applied unimaginable forces to the bubbles of unreality it found there. As gradually as the dawn, a blood-red light blossomed above the tower as the faint stream of photons from the night sky above were wrenched from their path and redshifted by roiling storms of gravity.

Without warning, a threshold was reached and the warped space above the tower quaked as systems failed as they were instructed to. Screaming in every wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum, one bubble of might-have-been swelled into pre-eminence amongst its fellows; its explosive growth tearing at reality like a famished beast. With a flash of light that turned night to day, the bubble of unreality imploded; the sudden collapse releasing a shower of hard radiation that sliced through and incinerated those few survivors of the Instance's purge long before the shockwave of the tower's detonation could reach them.

Unintended, the implosion of the bubble continued apace; utterly unaffected by the blast of radiation which incinerated the base and turned it into a glassy crater. On and on it fell into itself, the stress its collapse induced on space-time prising open a gap between worlds as wide as a hydrogen atom. In a matter of moments, the expanding gap grew a billionfold, a meter wide void into which no light escape flashing into existence before shooting into the sky; repulsed by the very storm of energy that birthed it.

For Kossa Harkonnen and the rest of her company, these events played out in the space between instants; a sudden flash of light in the distance the only warning that something was wrong before they were swallowed by the gap. For the Hekaton, sedately orbiting two thousand kilometres over the glowing bubble of fire that used to be the research base, they had far longer to ponder what had occurred before they too were swallowed by the void.

0.013 seconds longer, to be exact.

 

[prometheus110]

Chapter Two
Surface – P3X-514 – 13 August 2000


The mission had started out seeming so well… which is to say that it had started out seeming pretty boring. Stepping through the Stargate chasing after a rumour from the Tok'Ra that the Goa'uld ruler of P3X-514 had abandoned the planet due to the Naquadah mines running dry, SG-1 had begun the essential but boring task of searching the mines for any exploitable amounts of material remaining. Though the Goa'uld may consider mines tapped out when their pickaxe-wielding slaves can no longer produce enough of the valuable metal to justify feeding them, the SGC could easily reach deposits deemed too expensive by the ego-maniacal snakes. Unfortunately, as SG-1 had swiftly found out, rumours of the planet's abandonment had been greatly exaggerated.

Staff blasts ripped through the air above Colonel Jack O'Neill's head like a swarm of angry bees, each globe of golden-orange plasma screaming as it passed by. Pressing himself against the pile of stones Daniel assured him was called a cairn, the colonel brought his P90 to bear on the new force of Jaffa advancing up the gully and opened fire; the roar of his PDW like a buzzsaw.

"Teal'c, who are these guys?" Jack shouted as the three Jaffa fell dead in a tangle of limbs.

Before the stoic warrior could respond, the slain Jaffa were replaced by more of their number; the rain of staff blasts they fired falling amongst the ruined stone huts of the village like rain. Standing flush against the ruins of one such hut, the former First Prime loosed a bolt of plasma from his own staff weapon; the ball of light slamming into one of the chainmail-wearing warriors and hurling him bodily through the air.

"I believe they are warriors of the Goa'uld, Camma," he replied calmly as he shot another Jaffa, his tone as flat and level as if he were merely commenting on the weather.

"Camma, huh," the colonel muttered as he slapped another magazine into place and racked the bolt.

Popping up once more, he sprayed a wild burst of fire at the advancing Jaffa; their devotion to their god proving no match against the roar of the P90 as they scattered wildly for what bits of cover existed in the narrow gulch. Suddenly, a thunderous roar rang out from the woods to O'Neill's left and a basketball sized blob of plasma rocketed out of the treeline. An instant later, the glowing ball of light splashed against a nearby cairn and exploded into a roiling pillar of flame; the explosion blasting the loosely piled stones apart like a gigantic frag grenade and sending shrapnel spinning away in all directions.

"Uhhh, Jack…" came the hesitant voice of Dr Daniel Jackson, SG-1's resident archaeologist, historian, and all-around wunderkind; the bookish man halting his attempts at treating the burns of SG-1's final member to peer over the low stone wall they were using as cover.

"We've got more Jaffa to our left!" He continued before ducking down as Dr. Sam Carter opened fire on the new threat.

"I kinda noticed," drawled Jack as he pivoted to face the flanking Jaffa, P90 already aligning on the Staff Cannon-wielding Jaffa leading them. Squeezing the trigger, Jack's P90 barked once and cut down the lead Jaffa in a hail of bullets; the six devout warriors following him charging forward to take cover behind the trees surrounding the village ruins.

"I believe we may be in some trouble, O'Neill," Teal'c pointed out as he fired another staff blast at the approaching warriors; the glowing ball of light catching one in the stomach and collapsing him like an accordion.

Why do all our missions end this way? Jack thought, exasperated, as he opened fire once more.

"How long until the SGC checks in, Carter?" He shouted to the exceptionally capable captain as she fired a long burst of gunfire at yet another group of Jaffa. While Jack O'Neill preferred to think of being surrounded as simply being able to attack in every direction, he'd been known to appreciate help every now and again. Doubly so if said help came packing big honking space guns, though he'd accept normal ones, too, at a pinch.

"Not anytime soon, sir," the Samantha Carter replied as she lay off the trigger of her P90, the captain letting her weapon cool for a moment as she checked her watch and shook her head grimly.

"We have at least ten minutes until we're supposed to check in"

Sighing, Colonel Jack O'Neill was wondering just how much worse the day could get when there came a sound of thunder.

******​

Ground. Sky. Ground. Sky. Ground. Sky. Ground.

With a sudden start, Kolya woke from his stupor; the mercenary finding himself plummeting toward the ground that lay barely a hundred meters below and spinning uncontrollably. Acting on instinct, Kolya shot out his arms and legs and grunted as he caught the air; his wild tumble stabilizing in a matter of seconds. Still falling at terminal velocity, and with the lightly wooded forest swiftly approaching, Kolya activated him inertial dampeners with a thought; Cherenkov blue fields springing up like sheets of lace as the arcane devices played chicken with the laws of physics.

Thirty meters.

Twenty meters.

Ten meters.

Touchdown.

Like a stone from the heavens, Kolya slammed into the ground, the joints of his armour locking for an instant as it sought to disperse what momentum had bled through the inertial dampeners. Shaking his head to dismiss the last of the torpor that had settled over his mind, the mercenary rose and unlatched the assault rifle from the mag clamps on his back; sweeping the rail rifle across the sunlit woods and-

Woods? He thought as he froze.

There weren't supposed to be any woods anywhere near the target drop zone, he recalled in disbelief. Based on an equatorial island and hiding in the rain shadow of a mountain, the only vegetation near the facility was a savannah-like environment formed by the local flora, and yet...

And yet surrounding him, thrusting into the sky like the spears of an army, a pine tree forest swayed in the breeze; the forest floor thickly carpeted by a soft layer of pine needles. Instantly suspicious, Kolya rushed to take cover behind a nearby tree, cursing quietly and training his rifle on every shifting shadow as a sense of panic began to rise from deep within.

"Shit shit, shit!" Muttered Kolya, his previous good humour evaporating in the face of his predicament.

Did I drop too soon? He wondered as he crouched in the lee of a tree, glancing up at the minimap displayed in his HUD only to see that it was little more than a confusing jumble of shapes and colours.

Cursing again, the Caldari mercenary thought back to dropship, the events prior to the jump running through his mind like a film as he desperately searched for an answer as to where he was. Ominously, he couldn't find one. Only a gap in his memories between when he jumped and now that set his heart racing fast enough to trigger warnings in his HUD.

Without warning, a long burst of gunfire rang out from somewhere to his south, the familiar bark of Maleatu's SMG warping almost unrecognizable as it echoed through the forest. As the mechanical noise was answered with a whining howl, cool intellect replaced panic at the forefront of Kolya's mind as the thought of his comrades being under fire supplanted all else. Gritting his teeth, Kolya peered out from behind the tree and scanned across the woods —pausing as he spotted a flash of silver in the distance. Zooming in, Kolya caught sight of a man wearing little more than silver-coloured chainmail, a strange club gripped in one hand and pointing in the direction of the gunshots.

"Jaffa, kree hol!" Shouted the man as a dozen other grim-faced men emerged from the shadows behind him, similar staffs clutched in their hands and strange symbols on their foreheads.

Amarrians? wondered the mercenary as he looked over their strange garb. Kolya knew that Amarrians could be weird, comrades-in-arms notwithstanding, but he'd been expecting any security force to have guns and armour, not… this.

"Cha'hai, ha'tak!"

Frowning at the man's strange words, Kolya aligned his rail rifle on the man he reasoned was the group's leader and exhaled gently. Time seemed to freeze as Kolya squeezed the trigger, implants and augmented nerves conspiring to stretch out the seconds. For an instant, nothing seemed to happen, and then…

Kolya's rail rifle fired with a deafening shriek, twenty grams of tungsten accelerating to one and a half kilometres per second in the blink of an eye.

The first target didn't even have a warning before he died, the bolt of tungsten hitting him in the dead centre of his armour before punching through to hit the tree behind. The second target heard little more than a roar before he died, the supersonic wake of the railgun slug hitting him a fraction of a second before the second slug did. The third target was facing Kolya when he died, his skull turned to shrapnel by the force of the impact. The fourth target was luckier: he merely lost an arm.

Like synchronized dancers, the eight remaining men lept for cover; their hasty movements almost comically slow compared to the death Kolya sewed around them. Bringing his rifle to bear on one of the airborne men, Kolya triggered his rifle's grenade launcher with a twitch of his finger; the electromagnetic catapult firing with bass *thunk* that rattled up his arms. An instant later, the multispectral grenade slammed into the man's stomach and activated.

In the blink of an eye, a ten-meter wide zone of forest centred on the airborne warrior turned into its own interpretation of hell. First came the thermal pulse, a wall of infrared radiation that set every tree caught in the area —and all three warriors— aflame. Then came the kinetic attack, a wall of force which filled the space with a deadly storm of finger-length splinters that hurtled out in all directions. The third, fourth, and fifth blows were a blinding flash of light, a deafening thunderclap, and an EMP, respectively. The sixth blow was almost perfunctory compared to the others: the grenade simply exploded.

Time sped up once more, the five surviving strangers slamming into cover like characters in a fast-forwarded holomovie while the bodies of the dead fell to the ground. Acting quickly, Kolya dashed toward the reeling foes; ramming a fresh magazine home with barely a conscious thought. Before he had even made it more than a handful of meters the strange men rallied, a storm of plasma bolts catching him mid-stride and slamming him into a tree with a loud crunch.

Grunting as his shields crept ever closer towards failure, Kolya picked himself up and fired a wild bust in the direction of the guards —the river of plasma slackening but not stopping as one toppled to the ground clutching what was left of his leg.

40 percent read the readout in his HUD as the remaining guards redoubled their fire, the sheer volume of plasma forcing Kolya to leap into a nearby ditch.

30 percent.

The fourth guard spun away, trails of blood spraying into the air from the ragged hole in his side as an alarm warbled in Kolya's ear.

20 percent.

"Ha'tak! Ha'tak! Ha'tak!" Screamed one of the guards, his chest bursting apart moments later as a cluster of tungsten spikes slammed into him.

10 percent.

An alarm shrieked in Kolya's ear as he turned his gun on the second last man, the moss-covered tree he was sheltering behind exploding into splinters as a dozen tungsten slugs speared it.

0 percent.

Kolya's rifle ceased firing with a mechanical clunk as it ran dry. Once more, time slowed to a crawl as he reached for another of the boxy magazines, his sole remaining enemy sneering as he brought his staff-weapon to bear.

There was a flash of light…

And the last warrior exploded in a shower of gore as a bolt of lightning struck him full in the chest. Turning, Kolya grinned behind his helmet as he caught sight of a shimmering pillar of air in the distance and raised a fist in greeting.

"I had that covered," he told Petra in mock irritation as her active-camo system disengaged, the greens and greys of her bulbous Gallente scout suit flowing into place like liquids as the millions of embedded pigment crystals recoloured. Behind her, emerging from the depths of the woods, a half-dozen more armour-clad figures strode into view; pale blue diamonds flashing into existence above their heads as Kolya's armour recognized his squadmates.

"Yeah," the Gallente woman responded dryly, "he seemed real scared."

******​

Samantha flinched as something dark and fast soared over her head in the blink of an eye, the roar of its passage making the mechanical bark of her P90 seem almost comical by comparison. Glancing away from the seemingly never-ending horde of Jaffa that charged toward SG-1, she had just enough time to see a grey-green blur passing overhead; the… whatever it was banking hard to the right and bleeding speed with almost unseemly haste.

"Holy..." Gasped Dr Daniel Jackson from beside her as the aircraft slewed to a halt several hundred meters to their west; the archaeologist turned interplanetary explorer shaking his head a moment later and turning his attention back to more pressing matters.

Ignoring her friend's sudden outburst, Captain Carter let rip another burst of fire toward the approaching Jaffa before turning to the colonel taking cover on the other side of the village square.

"Sir!" She shouted to Colonel O'Neill, "we have incoming!"

"I see it, Carter," replied the salt-and-pepper haired man with typical nonchalance as he crouched behind an overturned wall and fired at the nearest Jaffa with his pistol. As the unfortunate warrior fell —his metal chainmail no match for eight grams of lead moving at more than three-hundred meters a second— O'Neill paused to look at the stationary aircraft and frowned.

A little shorter and a fraction wider than a UH-60 Black Hawk, the hovering aircraft resembled nothing more than a wingless dragonfly; a swollen thorax covered in spike-like antenna attached to a long tail made of segmented armour. Here and there across the aircraft's algae green plating, a half-dozen mushroom-cap like pads shifted and stirred as the aircraft swayed in place. Only just visible in amongst the pads and antenna, missile pods and gun barrels lurked; their familiar designs almost comforting if it wasn't for the fact that they didn't belong to Jack O'Neill.

"Teal'c, what is that thing?" Colonel O'Neill asked slowly as the insectile aircraft swung around and began to approach SG-1; the howl of its engines audible above the whining howls of Jaffa staff weapons and the crackle of Human gunfire.

Before the stern warrior could answer, a shout of alarm rose up amongst the attacking Jaffa and the charging warriors wavered in confusion. Without a hint of warning, a thunderous boom suddenly erupted from somewhere to the Jaffas' left and a pillar of smoke burst into the existence in the woods beyond mere moments later. Before the warriors —or the members of SG-1— could react, a deep buzzing sound roared out from the Jaffa's right flank and a veritable river of bullets burst forth from the woods to the north and plunged into them; whole ranks of Goa'uld foot soldiers simply turning to mist under the assault.

Huddled behind a low stone wall alongside Dr Jackson, Carter could only watch as the aircraft crawled ever closer; its bulbous form emerging over the line of trees behind the Jaffa only to be greeted by a barrage of staff fire mere instants later. Slowing to a halt above the silver-clad warriors of Camma, the strange ship seemed contemptuous of the rain of orange bolts that struck it; blue light flashing from the craft with every hit. For a long moment, the aircraft simply hovered above the panicked Jaffa; the keening howl of its engines setting Carter's teeth on edge as it swung its cockpit too and fro like a dog sniffing the air.

Without warning the aircraft opened fire, a bass roar ringing out as lightning bolts spewed forth from its guns and seared purple afterimages into Carter's eyes. Gasping in pain, she ducked behind cover and squeezed her eyes tightly shut as Jaffa died by the score; an action copied by the others as the aircraft fired again and again and again. On and on it went, the bass roar of the aircraft's weapons accompanied by pulses of heat and the comparatively quiet chatter of gunfire from all around SG-1. Huddled with Daniel behind a low stone wall, Carter lost all conception of time as the world dissolved into a primordial soup of light and sound, the beating of her heart the only clear sensation in the confusion melange.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the firing ceased and a peace as fragile as spun sugar settled across the ruined village as the last echoes of gunfire died out. Blinking away the last of the burned-in afterimages, captain Carter slowly raised her head over the broken edge of the wall and froze as she caught sight of dozens of suited figures picking their way through the remains of well over forty Jaffa. Ducking back down, she reached for the radio hanging from her shoulder when a harsh voice rang out from behind her.

"Shoai!" It cried, freezing Carter in her tracks. Beside her, the prone form of Daniel Jackson stirred; the bespectacled doctor squinting at Samantha as he frowned in confusion.

"Sam?" He started in confusion, "What's ha-"

"Nouse ylös!" Growled the voice, "Käänny ympäri. Nopeasti!"

Though the voice was shrouded in electronic distortion and the language unrecognizable, SG-1 had been captured enough times by now that they could all recognize the call for surrender. Raising her hands into the air and letting her P90 hang on its sling, Dr Carter moved to obey the unseen voice; rising to her feet with deliberate slowness and turning to face whoever had them flanked; Daniel Jackson doing the same a moment later.

Standing before the two doctors and covering them with what was obviously a weapon, an intimidating figure of indeterminate gender stood staring. Fully clad in armour the colour of burnished steel such that no hint of skin was exposed, the humanoid figure watched them hawkishly through four glassy lenses; the blood-red glow that spilt from them giving it a demonic cast as it turned its head from one SG-1 member to the other. As the three of them stared at one another, two more figures joined the first.

"Hi," said Colonel O'Neill brightly as he and Teal'c rose to their feet on the other side of the village square, the original figure tracking him as smoothly as an automated weapon system as he raised his hands.

"Look," he continued as he gave it his most innocent grin and stepped towards it, "we may have gotten off on the wrong foot here. My name's Jack, and yours is..."

"Alentaa uoka aseiket," it said, pointing its weapon at the colonel and nodding to the ground.

"Well that's a mouthful," drawled the colonel in response, nonetheless freezing in the face of a gun barrel pointed in his direction.

"Uh, Jack," said Daniel Jackson hesitantly, "I think they just told you to lower your weapons."

"You can understand it?" He asked as he gave the doctor a curious look, his tone heavy with surprise.

"Alentaa. Uoka. Aseiket." It commanded once more, its tone lowering into a growl.

"Jack..." Daniel warned.

"Alright," the colonel answered quickly, "alright."

Taking pains to make every motion clear and nonthreatening to the figure with the gun, the colonel gingerly placed his P90 and pistol on the ground; an action swiftly followed by the rest of SG-1 as the figure turned its attention to them one by one. Finally, as the last weapon touched the ground and the SG team stepped away, the figure seemed to relax fractionally; lowering its own weapon and stepping forward.

"Hei?" Called out Daniel from beside Carter, his sudden outburst stopping the figure in its tracks as it approached them, "Ymmärrätkö minua?"

Tilting its head, the suited figure seemed to regard them for a moment before speaking.

"M- Mitä?" It asked hesitantly, the words seeming clumsy to Carter even through the distortion of its helmet.

"Ymmärrätkö minua?" Daniel repeated, his words gaining an earnestness as a smile slowly spread across his face.

"Hi, muut," replied the figure after a pause.

"Kyllä hieman," it added a moment later.

"Uh, Daniel," said the colonel slowly as he gave the doctor an unimpressed look, "mind telling those of us who don't speak 'alienese' what's going on?"

"I'm not," he replied absently before pausing as he caught sight of the man's expression.

"I'm speaking Finnish," he added hurriedly, "they're speaking a mix of Finnish and, I think, Japanese. I just asked if they could understand me."

"Wonderful," replied Jack O'Neill, "maybe you can, I don't know, ask them to let us go?"

 

[prometheus110]

Article:

Honorverse - Dumb (once again, yes this is the actual title), is something I wrote after being inspired by @General Battuta's excellent rewrite of Mission of Honor which you should all read. I never gave this thing an actual name as I couldn't decide if I was being serious about a revanchist, post-series Solarian League, taking the piss about how badly handled the whole Solarian war was and how stupid the Solarian's are presented as being, or just writing something dumb because it was fun and no one could stop me. As you might expect, this lack of focus resulted in a technically complete short story that mixes all three elements together in a way I'm none too happy about. Annoyingly, my own impatience and poor memory of the few Honorverse books I've read means that I get the ship naming conventions for the Manticorians wrong. Then again, the reason I named the super-duper Manticorian ship Launcelot is to make a (somewhat) hidden joke about Manticorian lances.

SEMI SPOILERS???
As with Stargate: Anastasis, this is a third-person story with the POV switching as needed. I'm not sure I got across that Manticore was preparing to fight the last war and Solaria surprised them by pulling some bullshit out of its hat that they weren't expecting. Then again, I probably didn't do a good job of having the Solarians convincingly reform.

The actual tech-tech used to secure victory is largely irrelevant, but for those of you who must know, it's basically a warp drive from EVE Online. The Solarian fleet basically "heh, nothing personal kid"'s the Manticorians by warping behind them. As the Solarians have more energy weapons than the Manticorians (who largely ditched them during the series proper, IIRC) and were at the rear of a fleet that wasn't expecting to need to raise stern walls, they basically win without firing a shot. I'm not sure I manage to convey everything I was trying to, and I reckon I made the Solarin admiral too mocking, but I hink I did an okay job balancing the character otherwise.

***​

"What the hell is she thinking?" Questioned Admiral George Edmund Leopold Smithe Vancouver around his pipe, his words ringing out across the bridge of the HMS Launcelot as high and clear as a bell.

The target of his dubiety, a twinkling holo of a Solarian fleet, hovered in front of his face like a figurine of spun glass; the soft blue light it cast off giving the cramped confines of the room a chilly feel. Despite all common and uncommon sense, the fleet of Sollie vessels was approaching at what was, for them, flank speed; the antiquated vessels incapable of matching Launcelot's own ferocious acceleration toward them.

One of the latest designs to come out of the Star Empire's spacedocks, the Launcelot-class of superdreadnought represented the very best of Manticorian engineering from its impeller drives to its missile pods. Twenty percent larger than the outdated Medusa-class, the Launcelot carried over a thousand missile pods within its vast bulk, each of which contained up to twelve missiles, as well as several hundred countermissiles. Further increasing its already prodigious lethality, the Launcelot had been built with block 2 Keyhole II systems as standard --the twenty-one thousand-ton platforms multiplying its command and control ability tenfold. Its impellers, designed by the finest minds within the Star Empire, were capable of accelerating the vessel at an eye-watering --not to mention record-breaking-- 605Gs and the less said about its Aegis-like sidewalls the better.

Members of the Launcelot-class, being the largest and most expensive ship operated by Her Majesty's Star Empire, were naturally the keystone around which the modern Manticorian fleets were formed. The unparalleled superdreadnoughts, operating in sextuples, were typically accompanied by squadrons of smaller vessels from battleship-size down --the smaller ships present as much for sensor coverage as protection from missiles. Though most commonly seen patrolling Manticore's many wormholes, tensions with the Solarian League were once again boiling over and the raiding fleets of the Star Empire had been let loose on the ill-prepared nation of unelected bureaucrats.

"She has a spine, I'll give her that," replied Captain Alice Perry, her dark brown eyes glittering like obsidian. "Though it'll take more than that to beat the Mark 30s."

Nodding sagely, Admiral Vancouver removed the unlit --and indeed, unlightable-- pipe from his mouth and used its end to jab at the fleet; the holographic image expanding outward to reveal the rest of the Gwenivar system.

Located within the League's Periphery, Gwenivar was a wealthy system of no small strategic importance --its people seen by the core as more Solarian than neobarb, but only just. Though the system contained only a single inhabited planet, a combination of chance and planning had combined to make it an industrial powerhouse with colossal orbital platforms producing a vast river of resources for the ever-hungry League. With League resources stretched thin by the newly declared war, however, the system was only lightly guarded; a paltry force of fourteen Scientist-class superdreadnoughts accompanied by fifty smaller vessels.

Compared to the might of the Manticorian force Admiral Vancouver led, it was little more than a speedbump.

True the vessels undoubtedly carried a number of the League's latest missiles, but Manticore's sheer wealth and technological aptitude had graced its fleet with missiles beyond anything its competitors could bring to bear. Having bested the vile Mesans years earlier, Manticore was now the sole superpower in all of known space --the League merely a memory that refused to fade.

Though Lady Harrington had done her best to force a new and freer government on the people of the League, sheer inertia had let it survive the drubbing it had been given and Manticore's sudden preoccupation with the Mesans followed by renewed tensions with haven had prevented her from giving it another good whack. The destruction of Old Earth's industrial stations had sparked a firestorm of distrust and accusations within the bureaucracy of the Solarian League; thousands of unelected bureaucrats eager to cover their asses from the fallout of their inevitable defeat. Many had been accused of failing to do their job adequately and were promptly thrown in prison, or, as the rumours went, worse.

"I suppose we should give them a chance to surrender," Admiral Vancouver grumbled, chewing on the end of his pipe as he wondered how many Solarians he would have to kill before his opponent was satisfied she had done her job.

***​

The Solarian Admiral leaned back as far as her chair would allow and shot Vancouver a look of mock surprise.

"Surrender?" She exclaimed. "I had planned to warn you of your violation of League space and give you a chance to turn back, but if you wish to surrender then I'm happy to oblige."

Caught out, Admiral Vancouver could only blink as the words echoed across his bridge. He had known the Sollie was bold from her actions, but now it seemed like dangerous arrogance or pure insanity.

Having grown used to instantaneous communication over the years, the delay light-speed lag once again imposed was excruciating; each message having to be carefully thought up and recorded before being sent off like letters from some by-gone age.

Tapping his pipe thoughtfully, Vancouver paused for a moment to clear his throat with a machinegun rattle before replying.

"I'm afraid you misunderstand. I am requesting your surrender in order to spare any unnecessary bloodshed. The crew of your ships and of the platforms orbiting Prydein will be allowed to return to the planet's surface, however, the ships themselves and the platforms will be destroyed by my forces."

"And why would we do that?" Asked the Solarian after a long and tedious delay, confusion marring her soft features.

How does she not know there's a bloody war on? Vancouver thought to himself. Is the League truly that dysfunctional? Do they really think they can win another war?

Sighing, the stoic figure gazed at the image hovering in front of him with all the force he could muster; his blue-grey eyes glimmering like chips of ice.

"I warn you, madam," he said cooly. "Your men and women are facing off against the most technologically advanced fleet in the Manticorian navy in ships a dozen times older than they themselves are. No Manticorian vessel here is older than ten years, and no technology older than fifty. Our ships outmatch yours ton-for-ton, and, I suspect, have more missile launchers than some of your ships have missiles. More than that, though, our missiles outrange and outthink your own so much so that you may as well be armed with a squirt gun."

"You are outfought and outmatched," he said with solemn dignity, "and I once again request that you surrender your forces and return to the planet with all honour and dignity intact and the lives of your crew intact. Our nations are at war and I intend to do my duty; even if it means killing those who can't fight back."

It was a generous offer, he knew. Perhaps too generous, even. But though he was a loyal officer of the Manticorian Star Empire, Admiral Vancouver was not the kind of brash young man to take the killing of men and women lightly. Too many of those men already stalked the corridors of Manticore's ships or graced their bridges and he would not be another.

For a long moment, he simply stared at the still image of the woman as he waited for her reply to crawl across the void separating them. For all the speed of light, the immensity of space still dwarfed it; the endless void swallowing photons as easily as it swallowed lives. Minutes passed in still silence and then, all at once, the woman's expression dropped like a curtain of rain; mock confusion slipping away to reveal an edge of steel.

"We're well aware of the war, Admiral. Just as we are aware of who started it. Like you, I don't wish to needlessly consign any sailors to their death, and like you, I will do my duty. If you will not surrender, then we have no more words to exchange."

That's it then, the Admiral thought stoically as the screen blinked out. The die is cast.

"I take it back," murmured Captain Perry, "she has a pathology, not a spine."

"Or she knows something we don't," countered Vancouver. "Have our sensors detected anything out of place?"

Nodding, Perry jutted her chin towards Commander Haversham. "Tactical, any news?"

"No ma'am," replied the young woman. "Fleet size is as intelligence suggested and we have nothing to report on sensors. Not even ghosts."

"Could they be stealthed?" Asked Perry, her eyes narrowed in thought.

The tactical officer nodded equanimously "It's possible, but for my money, I think it's unlikely. Platform coverage is 100% and there's been no attempt to intercept them."

"There's no sign of them using keyhole systems, either." She continued, anticipating Captain Perry's next question.

Satisfied, the Captain eyed Vancouver as if to say I-told-you-so-sir.

"Very well," sighed the Admiral. "Begin plan Kilo-One, I want those pods deployed. Maybe a look at what they're facing will change their minds."

***​

By the time the Manticorian vessels had entered into range of the Solarian fleet, they had deployed a total of two thousand pods in a swarm around themselves --enough to ensure that each and every Solarian vessel would be the target of an average of three-hundred and seventy-five missiles. With the enemy SDs the greatest threat on the board --for a given value of threat--, each of the Scientist-class vessels rated six hundred of Manticore's finest missiles, while the smaller vessels rated only three-hundred and twelve. Though many in Manticore's naval academies might think it an over-enthusiastic response, Admiral Vancouver couldn't help but feel a dull sense of unease when he considered his counterpart's refusal to consider surrender; some animal part of his brain spitting and hissing at the thought.

Once more into the breach, he thought as he watched the constellation of symbols representing the missiles hover before him.

"Captain Perry," said Admiral Vancouver phlegmatically. "You may execute when ready"

"Aye, qye, sir," the woman replied before turning to her weapon's officer.

"Haversham, open fire."

***​

Like a murder of crows the missiles around the Manticorian fleet flew, dark and ominous.

Deep within their armoured hulls, computers more powerful than all the ancestors on 21st century Earth put together were hard at work calculating vectors and intercept times; a dizzying wash of numbers pouring through their minds every millisecond as they kept an eager eye on their foes 8 million kilometres away. Suddenly, like a supernova, a flood of instructions burst into their processors; the electronic flood carried by a pulse of hyper-luminal gravity from their parent craft.

Heartlessly, coldly, the missiles turned toward their prows toward their targets; position vectors subtracting from target vectors to produce headings. Headings divided by distances to produce directions. With the kind of sub-second coordination that only computers can manage, the engines of the cruel devices activated as one; the flock turning into a constellation as their impeller drives launched them forwards with an acceleration of 50,000 gravities. Death was coming for the Solarians, and every second brought it closer.

***​

Admiral George Edmund Leopold Smithe Vancouver watched wordlessly as twenty-four thousand verdant green lines raced toward the approaching Solarian fleet.

In the corner of the holo, the mission timer hovered blandly; seconds passing with agonizing slowness as the swarm raced towards its deadly embrace. As the mass of lines crossed the two-million-kilometre mark, the cluster of symbols that represented the Solarian fleet pulsed and a tangle of scarlet lines emerged from within like the claw of some frenzied beat.

Countermissiles, thought the Admiral to his counterpart as the opposing swarms raced towards each other. It won't be enough, I'm afraid. Kilo-One was made to kill a bigger, more capable force than yours.

As if hearing his thoughts, the twin waves met; status updates ringing out across the bridge as missiles were lost by the hundred. Somewhere in the depths of space, in a region no more hospitable to life than the surface of the sun or the depths of a gas giant, missiles were rent asunder by fantastically strong gravitational fields; the flash of their deaths illuminating the void for an instant before being lost forever. For a long moment, the screens were a mess of clashing colours; green and red lines tangling like yarn as missile and countermissile vied for supremacy and then, just as quickly as it appeared, the mess vanished as the superior Manticorian missiles broke through.

"We're in the terminal phase, ma'am," reported Commander Haversham, her voice overly loud in the hushed silence of the Launcelot's bridge. "The Solarian's must have launched everything they had because they're not firing any more countermissiles."

Despite himself, Admiral Vancouver fingered his pipe and murmured aloud. "Therefore by the grace of god g-"

"Contact!" Came a sudden shout from the sensor pit. "Unknown vessels directly to our rear!"

Like a shot, Captain Perry rose from her seat and strode toward the man. "Stow the shouting and report, Sensors," she decreed.

"I have eyes on sixty-four, repeat six-four vessels fifty-thousand klicks to our rear," he replied, his voice falling back to level in fits and start; a flush of white crossing his face as he read the screen before him.

"I… I think it's the Solarians."

***​

"The new drives performed as promised," reported Admiral Zoë Myo of the Solarian League Navy.

"We were able to disengage before their laserheads entered firing range and appeared at the rear of their fleet. We had them under our guns before they knew we were there."

Across from her, the hologram of Prime Minister Ackerman nodded sagely from his office back on Old Earth --the statesman-like figure standing within his arms behind his back as if he was reporting to her and not vice versa. As a mere Admiral, Myo wouldn't normally be talking to the Prime Minister, but as leader of one of the first forces to engage the Manticorians, he had insisted on speaking to her.

"I take it they surrendered, then?" Asked Ackerman.

Myo nodded. "Yes, sir. We captured the entire fleet. Their ships are built around the missile-doctrine that dominated the last war and they sacrificed everything they could to maximise their advantage there. Even our old Scientist-class outguns them in a close-in fight."

But you knew that, she kept to herself.

"I see."

Silently, Myo watched as the man walked to a floor-to-ceiling window looking out over Old Chicago and placed a hand against the glass.

"The Solarian League failed, all those years ago," he said suddenly.

"Sir?"

"We failed our ideals by allowing the Mandarins to accrue so much power. We failed our military by allowing corporations to use them as their own personal hatchetmen. We failed our people by sending so many of their children to their deaths."

"And most importantly," he said with a sigh as he turned to face her, "we failed the Earth by letting an enemy fleet into orbit. Never again, Admiral."

"Never again, sir," she echoed, saluting as the hologram cut out.


Ackerman, and in many ways the office of the Prime Minister, was one of many changes the Solarian League had undergone after the Years of Humiliation.

Gone were the self-titled and self-important Mandarins that used to rule the League like the Kings and queens of Manticore. Gone was the idea of total veto that kept the League locked-up like a dying computer. Gone was the complacent admiralship that had led millions of brave men and women to their deaths.

Gone was the disinterest in the Periphery.

Manticore had started the war all those years ago at Saltash. The League would finish it.

 

[prometheus110]

Article:

So this is one of the first inserts (a person from our universe who isn't me, because lol) I've ever attempted to write, and honestly, I'm quite pleased with the way the introduction flows. I think it's flawed, sure, but you learn that the character has an inner struggle, that they've only arrived a few months ago, how they found themselves in the MCU, etc., etc. Anyone who's paid the remotest bit of attention to modern vampire tropes will pick up on the whole "he's a vampire" pretty quickly so I could have handled that better, but on the whole, I think it's quite an effective introduction.

The intention was to basically have the POV character tie-in with Agents of SHIELD and try to deal with the fact that, when they're hungry, they can't empathise with people. Plus I wanted to sic a vampire on Nazis because fuck 'em.

This idea was basically inspired by the news that there'll be a new Blade movie set in the MCU proper and my very bemused reaction to the idea that all the shit up to Infinity War was pulled off while vampires were controlling everything in the shadows. I mean, like, does HYDRA know about vampires? Do the vampires know about HYDRA? Vampires in Blade control a shit ton of things and have influence everywhere, so does Tony Stark know about Vampires??? Regardless, I reckon it'd be fun to do this as a quest so I'm keeping it in my back pocket for later.

It was midnight in the City of Sin, and the Beast within me squirmed and shuddered against the walls of my mind. The ugly, alien thing was a constant presence in the back of my awareness, its psychic wheedling a siren call to violence and bloodshed that took an effort of will to push away as it rose and fell. I was hungry. Starving, really. The kind of overwhelming hunger that makes eating shoe-leather seem like a good idea; the kind of hunger that threatened to overcome me even as I sought to satiate it the best way I knew how.

This far from Times Square, the empty shells of abandoned buildings were still in evidence despite the best efforts of politicians and moguls alike; dark windows overlooking the rain-slicked streets like a skull's empty eye sockets. There were few people around at this time of night, thankfully. People were afraid and staying indoors; a mercy they didn't know they were receiving.

Throwing up the hood of my jacket, I adjusted the straps of my backpack and made sure the coast was clear before ducking into one of the innumerable dimly lit alleyways that infested this version of New York; the shadows clinging to me like oil as I stepped off the street.

Despite having lived here for over two months now, I still found the differences between my world and Theirs to be unnerving at the best of times. Aliens were real, magic was real, Nazis were still alive and kicking, and New York had alleyways. A lot of them. No doubt many a wannabe superhero would stop their first mugger in one, but for now, they merely provided me with a place to hide from casual sight.

Confident that no one was around to see me, I looked up the side of the Manhattan Blood Center and shook my hands in preparation. Climbing up the side of the building would have been near-impossible only a few months ago; the handful of gutters and pipes that lined the smooth brown stone too widely spaced for a normal human to reach. Even starting the climb would have been difficult before my change, the nearest possible handhold a good three meters off the ground, but I had an advantage few could match and the motivation to use it.

Sighing to myself, I prodded the Beast that lay at the centre of my mind, cajoling it with promises of food and challenge; the cruel and hollow thing twitching like a mangy cat as it stirred. Taking a long, shuddering breath as it truly awoke for the first time tonight, I felt the tension across my body ease as the Beast took the reins. Without a word of warning, I lept towards the wall; the first three meters of the featureless barrier shooting below me with a whoosh of rushing air. An instant later, with a scrabble of fingernails on stone, my fingers found purchase on an outcropping of brickwork and held firm; a soft sigh of effort the only sound I made as I threw myself --quite literally-- up to the next handhold.

Again and again, I repeated the move, achieving what would be an impossible climb in only a matter of moments as I hurled myself up the side of the building. A bare handful of seconds later, I found myself on the gravel-covered roof of the building --a padlocked door blocking my way.

"It's only some light robbery," I joked nervously to myself before approaching the door.

Pausing for a moment, I pressed my ear to the cold metal surface and listened for any sign of witnesses; the beating of a heart, the squeak of rubber on tiles, the idle talk of the terminally bored. Satisfied that no one was present to interfere, I took the padlock between my hands and with a single swift twist, broke it apart.

Standing outside the now open door, I took a deep breath and felt my mouth salivate sickeningly as I scented the warm and coppery smell of blood underlying the clinical stink of cleaning chemicals. All at once, like a dam breaking, the hunger I'd been holding back all night rose to overpower me; the Beast howling in glory as it seized control and sent me leaping down the stairwell beyond.

==========================

I came back to reality sometime later, how long exactly, I'm not sure. I was crouched on the end of a parapet; an empty bag of blood clutched in my hands like it was the holy grail as ruby red drops of blood drip, drip, dripped to the street far below my feet. Growling to myself, I tossed aside the empty bag and stepped away from the precipice.

Must have been hungrier than I realised, I thought dourly as I scanned the unfamiliar skyline of Marvel's New York City for a recognizable landmark.

It wasn't a comforting realization to have, I must admit. I was dangerous for ordinary people to be around when I was hungry, the urge to feed overwhelming at times. Worse still, when I was really starving, I found I just couldn't bring myself to care about them much more than I did for a cow that died to make a burger. Only when I was full and the whining of the Beast had dwindled away to almost nothing did my capacity to empathise with them return.

Driving away those melancholy thoughts as I spotted the Avenger's tower off in the distance, I realised with displeasure where I was. East 31st Street.

I was still a stranger to this place; forced to scurry about at night for fear of both dawn and discovery. Even so, I'd still learned some of Manhattan's geography, the better to avoid people and the temptation to eat them, and East 31st street was right in the heart of Manhattan proper. Navigating the roofs wasn't as easy here as it was elsewhere, and the streets were crowded even this late at night. I couldn't move as fast here as I could normally, and god knows how long I had until the dawn.

Unlike everyone else, finding my way back home was more than a matter of comfort for me. It was literally a matter of life and death to be caught outside in the sunlight. One flash of UV light and poof, I'd be ash.

Growling in irritation, I shouldered the backpack that lay at my feet and tested its weight with a roll of my shoulder. Not full, but not empty either. The Beast within my mind might be a violent predator, but it wasn't entirely stupid.

Breaking into a blood donation centre wasn't exactly high on my priority list when I'd first arrived here, but then again waking up in a morgue changes you.

Doubly so when you realise you've been turned into a god damn vampire.

 

[prometheus110]

Article:

I don't really have a ton to say about this one, to be honest. It's another insert into a fictional universe, only this time it's a non-binary teenager appearing in the universe of Young Justice alongside a ten-thousand-year-old politician (look, I wanted cool powers so I ripped off something cool). I tried my best to handle the whole non-binary side of things well: I reached out to a couple of people I knew, got them to read it and all of that. I'm not entirely sure that I succeeded, but I think I did alright (though if I failed then obviously I could have done a lot better).

In terms of style, it's first-person in the present tense. It's not a particularly comfortable style for me, I greatly prefer past tense, so you won't be seeing it again, and that unfamiliarity and dislike plays a large role in any mistakes.

Regardless, Casuarina Lind is a non-binary teenager who stormed out of their well-meaning but not entirely understanding foster home for a bit of quiet and got dumped into the Young Justice universe just prior to season 1. And by 'dumped into the Young Justice universe' I mean, of course, that they appeared near the moon and would have died but for a mysterious black cube they grabbed in their final moments...

This was a fucking stupid idea. Me alone in the park, the sun sliding down behind the scattered skyscrapers in the distance, the last gasp of heat disappearing as the shadows lengthen. Maybe not my brightest decision.

Shuddering as a fresh blast of icy Melbourne wind pushes around rubbish and leaves, I hunch my shoulders and grimace against the cold —the shapeless grey hoodie I am wearing doing little to blunt the sharp chill of the air. Half-walking, half-jogging through the dimly lit park, I skip over puddles of still water and blink slowly as tears painfully threaten to erupt. Already the anger that kept me warm on my way over here has disappeared, the valley between self-righteous rage and the post-climax crash just big enough to let me think clearly.

Lauren's just a stupid kid; I think as I make sure not to look at the dark reflections in the puddles beside me. The memory of my foster sister's words burrowing through my brain like evil little termites.

Cringing as I catch sight of a reflection of my shoulder-length hair in the corner of my eye, I huff and turn away; hunching until I'm lost in the folds of my hoodie. More and more I hate mirrors. Hate reflections. At first, it was easy to ignore the feelings that would sometimes emerge when I caught sight of myself. I thought I could learn to live with it —like a dull ache that'd fade away— but it's more like wearing the wrong kind of shoe, the sense of wrongness growing until I couldn't look at myself without cringing sometimes.

There's no one thing that I can point to and say, 'that's it, that's the reason why.' It's not that my cheeks are too high, my hips too wide, or my shoulders too narrow. It's something subtler. Something that defies explanation even while it picks away at my psyche when I look in the mirror at the wrong angle or in the wrong lighting.

All at once the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes return with a vengeance, my vision blurring as a burning sensation spreads across my face. Swallowing an icy blast of air with an almost comical hic, I fight the urge to cry in shame and anger and sadness.

Glancing around the park through tear-stained eyes, I smile as I realise the area's deserted; the cold driving off anyone who might remember a sixteen-coming-on-seventeen-year-old girl hanging around and crying. Turning off the asphalt path I was following, I quickly rush over to a nearby bank of stubby grass trees —the mane of leaves surrounding their black-barked bodies gleaming golden-orange in the last rays of sunlight.

"The first break you've gotten, Caz," I mutter to myself as I push my way through the blade-shaped leaves and into the dark hollow beyond, the clumps of spinifex at the base of the grass trees prickling my legs as some of their silicon-tipped needles punch through my jeans.

At only a few meters across, I know that the hollow or glen or whatever it's called isn't that big, but it doesn't matter to me. Breathing out a sigh of relief as the dense ball of stress in my stomach slowly unknots itself, I sit in the damp sand at the centre of the meter-wide space and feel my tears begin to recede. It's my space, safe and self-contained; the roar of nearby cars reduced to a muted growl and the rattle of passing trams cut out entirely. Here amongst the native trees, shielded from the noises and memories of my actual life I can almost imagine being, well, anywhere and anything.

Sighing, I throw my head back and look up at the overcast sky above before taking a shuddering breath; the patchwork clouds above reflecting the yellow light of Melbourne and turning the night sky into a bruise-coloured mess.

I used to do this with my mum, way back when. Just sit out on the balcony, wrapped in blankets, and watch the stars turn overhead as the hours passed. Living a fair way out of the city, there was no light pollution to spoil the view, and it was like a planetarium for just the two of us the air was so clear. Every night we did this, and every night we talked. Mostly about the boring stuff of life: things like who liked who at school, what needed to be done around the house, etc., but every so often, we'd talk about the causes.

Stop me if you've heard this story before, but refugees are getting thrown in cages, government ministers are inviting white supremacists to speak, neo-Nazis are marching in the streets of America, and everyone knows someone who's struggling to get by despite a uni education and constant promises of 'Jobs and Growth'. All this shit and more is happening, and for almost as long as I can remember, my mum and I were fighting against it; organising, protesting, writing letters, whatever. Despite the darkness in the world, despite the judgemental looks my mum received for it being just the two of us, despite her temperamental heart, it was a good life.

And then, one day, it stopped being so good, and I found myself living with three strangers because there was no one else.

Only a few more months until I'm eighteen, I remind myself as calmness washes over me, and I close my eyes. Then, I'll be free.

Sighing once again, I ignore the logical side of my mind and sit, letting the cold of night invade my hands as my irregular breathing settles into a regular pattern. Finally, after an inscrutable length of time, I try to imagine what the night sky would look like without light pollution; memories of the night sky from out bush and star atlases blending in an inseparable union.

The Milky Way would be there, I declare, pushing aside the emotions churning inside me as I imagine a band of white light appearing across a field of black velvet —ribbons of yellow and brown dust giving it texture and colour. The Southern Cross would be there; I add as a quintet of pearlescent lights flickers into view below the plane of fire.

Andromeda, Pegasus, Cancer, Virgo, and more. On and on I add stars and constellations, thousands upon thousands of glimmering lights illuminating the void of my imagination until it seems fit to burst. As the last star flares into place, I feel a wan smile spread across my face and I stare out at my mental creation —the slow thump of my heartbeat the only sense to reach me in the safety of my imagined space.

Exhaling slowly, I open my eyes to see-

*POP*

A canopy of luminous stars studded across a sheet of velvet as dark as the day was long, each one whirling and cavorting wildly before me. Stunned, I freeze and gasp —or try to, anyway— my body dry-heaving as fine white vapour bursts forth from my open mouth before disappearing. Screaming as my skin begins to prickle painfully and the world begins to go dark around the edges of my vision, I turn my head this way and that —arms and legs flailing wildly— as I look for something, anything, familiar.

No, no, no! I shout in blind fear as I stare at the coldly gleaming stars, their brilliant light slowly fading to an insipid grey as I feel my mind growing numb. Suddenly, I see a handful of stars the size of my fist blink off, and my panic-stricken mind lurches to a halt with the grace of a brick; a sudden compulsion to reach out and touch the zone of darkness slamming into me

I don't pause to think as the last vestiges of consciousness drip away. I don't try to reason out what happened. I don't wonder what caused it. Instead, I act on instinct; throwing out one desperate hand toward the suddenly blank space as I feel my mind dissolving and grabbing something cold and hard and sharp.

********​

I wake, then sleep, then wake again. The stars are always there, a million eyes staring down at me with a cold, unwavering light in my brief moments of awareness. Every so often, I see the stars lurch through the sky in spasms of activity; their stop-start motion echoing that of the thoughts in my head as I drift in and out of consciousness. On and on it goes, I sleep, I wake, I sleep again, and then…

I wake to find myself lying on a rocky plain the colour of asphalt, the unblinking light of the stars pouring onto me. Blinking, dim memories of a terrifying dream assault my mind; the phantom sensation of choking on nothing filling my throat and a prickling sensation spreading across my skin before both fade away an instant later. Rising to my feet —thin streamers of grey dust falling from my clothes unnaturally slowly— I spin around and catch sight of-

Hanging just above the horizon, blue and white and infinitely more majestic than any photograph could convey, the Earth gleams surreally in the light of the sun.

"Holy-" I say with a gasp.

Say? I think blandly. Gasp? Fuck! I continue as I start to hyperventilate —itself an impossibility in a place with no air, I'm on the fucking Moon! But how? When?

"It's not a view one forgets, I'll confess," came a kind voice from somewhere behind me.

Turning, I freeze as I spot a figure standing just behind me.

She was a woman, tall and dressed in an electric white garment that covered everything but her face and hands. Her hands emerged from subtle folds in the brilliant cloth: left over right and clasping the wrist as if at parade rest, or whatever it's called when people wanted to show that they were patiently waiting for something. Her skin was dark that stood out sharply against the white of her dress, and the bones of her face were thin and delicate like China. She was beautiful and grave, but there was kindness and wisdom in her face, and her blue eyes shone like sapphires as they stared at me.

"Hello," she said simply. "I wasn't sure you could see or hear me just yet, but I'll take your expression as a yes."

"Yes," I grunt out after a long pause, the impossible word ringing out across the surface of the Moon just as easily as it would back in Melbourne. Despite myself, I can't help but feel giddy, and light headed as the sheer insanity of the scene worms its way inside my mind and makes me giggle.

This is just a dream, I think to myself as my heart pounds in my chest, and the light seems to take on an unreal soap bubble-like quality. I've had weirder ones.

"Am I… Dead?" I ask the strange woman as I gesture around the desolate land- no, moonscape.

"There's no cause for alarm," she replies with empathically. "You are very much alive and should stay that way for some time if I've judged things correctly."

That… isn't that helpful an answer, to be honest.

"Wh-" I begin, "wha-, ho-?"

"Am I correct in assuming you would like an explanation?" Asks the woman kindly, a soft and comforting smile on her lips. Mutely, I snap my mouth shut and nod slowly, my eyes skating off the rock that surrounds us until it reaches the steady glow of the stars above.

"To answer your question, the short form of my name is Chromis Pasqueflower Bowerbird; though you may call me Chromis if you would prefer." Pausing, the woman —Chromis— smiles irreverently.

"The whole thing is a bit of a mouthful. I rarely bother with it."

"I'm Caz," I reply blandly as my mind lurches from thought to thought.

"Uh, Casuarina Lind, err, Anderson, but I just go by Caz."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Caz," replies Chromis gently before her expression turns stony and she gestures at the stars floating above us.

"I'm unsure as to precisely how we arrived in orbit. I was… otherwise engaged when I suddenly found myself —and you— quite a distance above the Moon. It was a lucky thing that you managed to grab me when you did. Given the state I found you in, you would have passed out if you were a moment slower."

I was about to die, wasn't I? I ask myself as my dull memories sharpen and the recollection of my near-death hits me. Like a torrent of ice water, the sensation of choking hits me in an instant, the cold clarity it provides popping the bubble of unreality that permeates my thoughts as quickly as a needle would a soap bubble. Like a light switch being flipped, the giddiness I feel disappears, and my mind goes as cold and clear as a mountain stream for the first time since I woke.

"This is real, isn't it?" I ask in disbelief as I survey the rough grey-black surface of the Moon.

"Well, yes," she replies immediately, a look of confusion and mild concern spreading across her face as she catches sight of my expression.

"I have been trying to tell you that."

"So, I'm really on the Moon?" I ask her, my voice turning shrill as my heart pounds painfully in my chest.

"I nearly died? I'm talking to you?"

"Yes, to all counts," she confirms as she nods gravely.

"How?!" I shout in disbelief as my legs give way and I fall to my knees in a puff of moon dust.

"Well, I don't know how we arrived here," she replies with a troubled expression as she smooths out her robe-like garment and sits on the moonrock before me, "it was as much a shock to me as it was to you, though infinitely less deadly."

"I am, however, responsible for transporting you to the Moon and saving your life. As I said, you were about to pass out when you found me, and more importantly, you were on the verge of death. While I was able to repair the damage you suffered, I couldn't provide you with enough oxygen for consciousness without risking severe dehydration to your body. As such, I took the liberty of bringing you to the Moon and transmuting the necessary materials."

"But I didn't find you," I say slowly as my palm tingles with the memory of something cold and sharp.

"I think I would remember if I had seen a woman like you, even if I was about to pass out."

"Oh, but you did," replies Chromis with a wicked smile, her eyes focussing on a point just to my left. Hesitantly following her steely gaze, I flinch as I catch sight of a fist-sized cube hovering at head height beside me; its surface blacker-than-black and seeming to ooze from one form to another as it rotates in the air.

"That is the real me," says Chromis wryly, heading off my next question before it could even form on my lips. "What you see now, this body, is essentially a controlled hallucination. The cube is what's left of the real me after the transition. It used to be somewhat larger, but we all have to make do sometimes, and I had more than enough left to make you an environmental shell."

Silently, I reach out one hand toward the cube —its slow rotation halting instantly as I near— and gingerly brush its surface with my fingers. I don't know what I was expecting, maybe some grand revelation or epiphany, but the cube was merely cold to the touch, and as hard and unyielding as stone. Narrowing my eyes as a childish thought enters my mind, I shove against the cube and succeed only in pushing myself across the dust-covered surface of the Moon; the fist-sized object fixed in place with the rigidity of iron.

Okay, I think blandly as wrench my attention back to the white-clad woman sitting opposite me, I appeared in the middle of space and an alien saved my life. That doesn't happen every day.

"Th- thank you," I say after a long pause, my voice hesitant despite my best efforts.

"It's the least I could do for a fellow human being," Chromis replies with an understanding tone. Seeing my sudden confusion, Chromis chuckles coolly.

"Oh yes, I quite forgot to mention it, didn't I? I am as human as you are," she says cheerily before pausing and tilting her head toward me.

"Or rather, I was human before my personality was copied into the cube. There's a lot of unimportant details, but suffice to say I couldn't leave another human to die in the vacuum of space and certainly not after the disorientating transition I experienced."

"I understand," I lie as I remember what I was doing before the transition and a sudden fear grips my heart.

"If you could get me to the Moon, do you think you could take me back to Earth?" I ask her hastily, panic once again threatening to override my conscious mind as my mouth begins to move of its own accord. "It's just that I ran away from my foster parents and they'll be worried about me, and I don't-"

"Of course," replies Chromis kindly, cutting my panicked words short as relief floods my body. "Though if you aren't in a rush, we could just wait for the rescue craft to arrive."

Before I could even think to ask her what she meant, a brilliant emerald light suddenly flooded the moonscape as if a spotlight had trained on me. Stunned, I could do nothing but gape as the rock around us transformed into something out of the Wizard of Oz; everything single thing the light touched lit in varying shades of green save for Chromis herself —the woman and her clothes the only other source of colour in sight. Looking up, I freeze as I spot a green star cresting the horizon and crawling across the sky like a slug; a glittering trail of emerald light stretching out behind it as far as I could see.

<"Attention unknown craft,"> rang a baritone voice in my head as I watch the star arc toward me; the voice's accent unmistakably American.

<"this is Lantern Stewart of the Green Lantern Corps. My ring has detected your distress beacon, and I will be arriving shortly. Please don't panic, and remember to leave any non-essential cargo you may be carrying behind.">

"What the fuck?" I ask myself flatly.

"So," says Chromis as she gazes up at the star, "what year did you say it was, again?"

********​

 

[prometheus110]

I'm not really into the big western comic books if I'm honest. Nothing about them stirs my interest, there are way too many reboots, and my knowledge of them is mostly second or even third-hand. Graphic novels? Sure. Webcomics? Fine. But proper tentpole comics? Stories of good old fashion daring-do by an industry that apparently can't manage a piss-up in a brewery? Yeah, nah. Not my thing.

Instead, I'm a fan of the animated series. My memories of the Justice League, Batman Beyond, and several more shows all present and accounted for thanks to my Mum's guilty love for the things. As such, you might be able to imagine my surprise when Chromis and I were scooped off the moon by a giant green dome; swiftly coming face to face with a man dressed in the black and green costume of a Green Lantern.

This is insane, I think to myself as the three of us —John Stewart, Chromis, and I— settle onto the stone surface of the Watchtower's cargo hanger, and the bubble of emerald energy surrounding us withdraws back into the Lantern's ring. Unlike the sleek technological versions I'm most familiar with, this version of the Watchtower seems like it was half-grown, half-carved out of a captured asteroid; the smooth stone and large glass windows dominating the structure tickling memories in the back of my mind but nothing more.

Utterly, utterly insane. I continue.

"You know, this is fascinating," says Chromis as she steps through John Stewart's body and peers at his ring. Despite Chromis' seeming solidity, her passage through the man doesn't even ruffle a hair on his head, a somewhat unnecessary reminder that the woman I'm seeing is little more than a hallucination invisible and inaudible to anyone but me.

"The barrier it generated reminds me of a standard containment field, but I didn't detect anything like the field effects it should require. Just more evidence that we've somehow crossed branes, I suppose."

Yeah, like I needed anything other than the existence of fucking superheroes to know that I'm not in the universe I should be.

Hunching my shoulders, I ignore the woman's commentary and shoot a sidelong glance at the cube hovering beside me. In the cold white light of the Watchtower's hanger, the strange device is somehow even more ominous than it was earlier; the relative normality of the setting proving to be a harsher contrast for its pitch-black surface than the rocks and dust of the Moon.

"The story you told me is… unusual," says Stewart far more evenly than I would if our roles were reversed, "but your clothes have plant matter which confirms you've been on Earth sometime recently."

"Does this mean you believe me?" I ask cautiously. It had been a long journey to the Watchtower from the Moon, and there had been time enough to tell him that I was from another universe. While he didn't seem to buy it at first —and I didn't reveal that he was a fictional character in said universe—, he'd grown more severe after I told him to scan me and I took that as a good sign.

"I wouldn't go that far just yet, miss Anderson. I'll have to call my associates, run some checks, and examine your... cube properly before we even consider it."

"It's not mine," I say hastily, ignoring the man's unfortunate choice in word as quickly as I do Chromis' raised eyebrow.

"I think it's from another universe- a different one from mine, I mean. I just grabbed it and woke it up, I guess. Anyway, it saved me."

Harrumphing, the Green Lantern gestures and I fall into place beside him as he starts moving.

"Be that as it may," he adds, "we still have to examine it for safety reasons. I'd also like one of the medical staff to give you a proper examination, just in case."

As the words leave his mouth, I can't help but shrink back as the thought of someone, anyone, examining my body causes my stomach to plummet like a stone. Seeing this, both Stewart and Chromis pause for an instant —an unreadable expression flashing across his face.

"I have to insist on the examination," he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. "If you want to get off the Watchtower, we need to know if there's anything unusual going on."

"I know," I reply as I try to cast off the crushing wave of discomfort that suddenly draped itself across my shoulders like a cloak of iron, "It's… fine."

It's not okay, not really. But how do I tell him? What if he doesn't understand? What if he does? What would he say? I can't tell him, can I? I have to!

"ItsnotfineIdontfeelcomfortablewithbeingexamined," I bark out all at once.

"Whoa now," he says as he stops and turns toward me, "take a breath. What's the problem?"

Heeding the man's advice, I take a long shuddering breath and count to five as Chromis gives me a sympathetic look.

"I don't," I begin hesitantly before pausing to take another breath.

"I don't feel comfortable letting someone examine me without my-" I glance down at my hoodie and tug on its grey material, "you know?"

All at once, the light of understanding dawns in his eyes and Lantern Stewart nods slowly.

"Okay," he says coolly, "they shouldn't need to do that with our scanners, but I'll let them know that any testing will have to be strictly over the clothes."

"Thanks," I say, glancing away from him as my cheeks warm. Silently, Chromis places a hand on my shoulder and smiles; the comfort the gesture provides real even if the hand wasn't.

********​

True to his word, the examination was quick and painless; the handful of doctors and nurses I saw spending most of their time waving weirdly-shaped wand-sensor-thingies over my clothes, poking at holograms —holograms!—, and speaking in hushed murmurs. After maybe fifteen minutes of standing around and growing increasingly impatient, I was given a clean bill of health and quickly shuffled into a side room to have the same thing happen to the cube. After an even longer wait —and some less-than-hushed murmurs from the engineers and scientists involved to Chromis' ill-disguised amusement— I was taken to yet another room, this time to talk about myself.

"So let me get this straight," Says Lantern Stewart as he leans back in the chair across from me, arms crossed and eyes glowing emerald green. "You come from an alternate future without superheroes, supervillains, aliens, or mad science? Over there we're all, what was it, comic book characters?"

"And tv shows," I add quietly before biting down on a trail bar; the white-clad figure of Chromis slowly orbiting around the cramped meeting room like a shark on the hunt and pausing only to examine blank spots on the wall. Though I'd been open about my universe and how I found myself here, I hadn't yet mentioned the existence of Chromis to the two heroes sitting opposite. To the shock of no one, there isn't an easy way to bring up the subject of seeing ghosts; even in a conversation as odd as this one.

"Sounds like a nice place to relax," says Black Canary with a shrug, "I wouldn't mind a vacation there."

A little older than me, blonde, and projecting more confidence in a single look than exists in my entire body, the fishnet-wearing hero glances at her compatriot and gives him an easy grin. Harrumphing, the Lantern isn't entirely successful at hiding the slight upturn of his lips as he turns his attention back to me.

"Well," he says as his face returns to its usual stoicism, "it's certainly an interesting twist to your story."

"It's true," I counter weakly. "You could get Wonder Woman's lasso if you wanted, I'd let you use it on me. It makes people tell the truth, doesn't it?"

"It does, though Wonder Woman is currently unavailable thanks to a flood in South Rhelasia."

South what-now? I think to myself as I glance between the two heroes.

"What my partner is trying to say," cuts in Black Canary, "is that it's a lot to process. I mean, to learn your life appears in comic books..."

Shaking her head as if to dismiss a fly, an emotion I can't identify flutters across Black Canary's face before she banishes it.

"In any case," she continues a moment later. "There's no need to bring Wonder Woman in, we believe you."

"They've been interrogating your phone with radio waves since you arrived in the room," says Chromis as she notices my surprised expression. "I imagine something on there has convinced them that you're not trying to play a trick on them."

"They've been going through my phone?" I yelp in surprise before freezing as I realise that I've said it aloud.

"Yes," answers a gruff voice from behind me as the two heroes share guilty looks, "we did."

Twisting around, I catch sight of a cloak and cowl wearing figure striding through the room's sole doorway and feel a sudden thrill in the base of my spine. Clad in a mix of black and grey, Batman seems to fill up the room with his sheer presence; what little of his face showing under his mask set in a neutral expression as fixed in place as the cube beside me. Despite myself, I can't help but shrink a little in my seat as he takes up a position behind the two other heroes.

Batman is here! I think to myself as I try to avoid the stare of the blank white eyes set in the man's black cowl. Batman!

"The real question is how did you know that?" he continues gruffly. "We examined you thoroughly. You're a healthy seventeen-year-old human with no notable genetic divergences, no cybernetic implants, and no smart contact lenses or similar device. In fact, the only unusual thing you're doing right now is that you keep looking over there."

As the last word leaves Batman's mouth, he nods toward the corner of the room Chromis is standing in; the tall woman tilting her head to the side and smiling as I give her a guilty look.

"You may as well tell them," She says with a shrug.

"Okay," I mutter as I look down at my hands.

"Okay," I repeat, louder, "I wasn't entirely honest when I got to the part about waking up on the Moon..."

Hesitantly, I begin to describe how, after passing out in the vacuum of space, I woke up on the Moon to find Chromis standing behind me. How she talked about environmental shells, turning moonrocks into oxygen, repairing damage to my body, and more. I speak quickly and quietly, repeating Chromis' own words in places, and carefully watching the expressions of Green Lantern and Black Canary shift from confusion to rapt interest while Batman keeps the same stoic expression throughout.

It's an odd feeling to have formerly fictional people hanging off your every word, stranger still when they're not just your words.

"So, she's from a universe separate to your own," says Batman with an air of finality as I finish my explanation, "though one that also lacks superpowers."

"Great," mutters Lantern Stewart, "as if we didn't have enough trouble already."

Seeing my discomfort, Black Canary shoots the man a warning look before reaching across the table and giving my hand a comforting squeeze.

"You were fortunate that whatever brought you here also brought Chromis," she says as I give her a wan smile.

"Which begs the question," interrupts Batman, "what do we do with you? There are no records for a Casuarina Anderson in the Australian foster care system, and I don't think they're capable of dealing with someone in your situation. The League will investigate ways to get you home, but that may take, and in the meantime, we need to figure out where you can go that'll be safe."

Glancing up at Batman's masked face, I realise that I can't tell if he means 'where I will be safe' or 'where it will be safe to put me'. Though I'm not a big comic book fan, I've seen enough of the animated series thanks to my mum to know that either interpretation could be possible.

"We could keep her here," suggests Lantern Stewart, half-shrugging as Black Canary gives him a questioning look. "It's safe, secure, and has all the equipment we'd need to try and figure out how to get her back home."

"It's also no place to keep a teenager," she counters with a warning tone. "Casuarina still needs to go to school, and I don't think isolating her from people her age for however long it takes for us to get her back would be good. For all we know, it could take years!"

"We can hardly give her free run of the planet," Stewart huffs in response.

"I didn't say we should. I just said that we couldn't keep her locked up here."

"There is a third option," muses Batman solemnly, his sudden words heading off the argument between Green Lantern and Black Canary as effectively as a gunshot.

"You can't seriousl-"/ "But she has no train-" they begin simultaneously before halting as Batman raises a hand.

"I agree with both your arguments," he says gruffly, "but I think that having Casuarina join Robin and the others would be the best way to handle this. She doesn't have to participate on missions, but there she can go to school, interact with people her age, and still be protected from any outside forces that learn what has happened."

"The rest of the League would need to sign off on this, Batman," warns Stewart, his mood somewhat ameliorated by the suggestion of a third option.

"Agreed," he replies. "I intend to raise the matter with the others when I see them next."

"Wait," I interrupt as my brain catches up, my sudden outburst catching the attention of all three heroes and halting their discussion mid-stride. Shrinking somewhat under the weight of their combined gaze, I force myself to ask the question that's been dancing on my mind since Batman mentioned a third option.

"The choice you're offering is to, what, join a team of sidekicks, train with them, and go to school with them?" I ask, receiving only a nod from Batman in return.

"Do I get a say in this?"

"Of course," / "Yes," says Black Canary and Batman simultaneously, the blonde woman gesturing for him to continue as I look between them.

"The League will not force you to pick one option or another," he continues firmly, "if you don't wish to join the team, you can stay on the Watchtower, or we can attempt to work out another solution —though your freedoms would likely be severely restricted in either case. If you do decide to join the team, you won't be expected to participate in their missions or anything else beyond schooling, for that matter. "h

For a long moment, I sit in silence, the gears of my mind whirling as I think over the pros and cons of their suggestion.

"Okay," I say to my own surprise, "I'm in."

********​

 

[prometheus110]

It had taken six tedious days of debriefing my nebulous knowledge of comics before the League agreed to let me join their team on Earth on a provisional basis. Though I wasn't privy to their discussions, it wasn't hard to imagine that many of them felt less-than-comfortable with the idea of letting a mysterious cube have access to the Earth. More importantly, though I had already said I was willing to go during my, ahem, 'interview' with Batman and the others, the nearer I got to the day the more nervous I became. Despite my best efforts, fears of being a distraction to the team were bouncing around my head even as I was beaming to their secret hideout.

"-ognized: Green Lantern, Zero-Six. Caz, Anderson, A-Zero-Two."

Doing my best to ignore the brilliant light of the League's teleporter, I take a few hesitant steps forward into the cavernous annexe of Mount Justice before pausing as I catch sight of two figures standing before us. The shorter one wore a red and black costume that covered everything but the face while the larger wore little more than a sleeveless red shirt and black pants and had solid black tattoos spiralling around his bare brown arms. Despite their differences, however, both figures shared the same intrigued expression, and it was all I could do to avoid blushing under their gaze.

That's Robin! I thought as a thrill of recognition ran up my spine, dim memories of the animated series surfacing in the back of my mind like monsters from the deep. No idea who the other one is, though.

"Morning, Robin. Morning, Aqualad," says Green Lantern, instantly cutting off my train of thought as he lazily waved a hand in the pair's direction.

"What's up, GL?" Asks Robin in a startlingly young voice as he and his partner approach; the cocky grin scrawled across his face a perfect counter to the neutral expression on the other's.

Now that my eyes have adjusted to the relative gloominess of the mountain base, I can see the three thin slits running up either side of his neck, and it takes all my willpower to avoid staring.

Atlanteans are real now; I tell myself as I drag my eyes back to the boy's stoic but friendly face. You have to deal.

"This is Cas- Caz Anderson," replies Stewart, correcting himself as I meekly wave at the costumed heroes.

"She'll be living here for the foreseeable future," he continues, "until we can figure out how to send her home. Now, where is Red Tornado? Isn't he supposed to be watching you?"

"He's in his apartment," says Robin with a shrug. "He said he'd be here soon."

In the corner of my eye, I can see Chromis peering at the tall Atlantean, her lips pursed as she circles around him. After three days onboard a space station full of super-powered humans and aliens you'd think that Chromis would be used to all the different forms of superheroes, but even my vague knowledge of comic books puts me ahead of her in that respect; the dignified woman admitting so when she declared that she'd stick by me.

"Welcome to Mount Justice, Miss Anderson," says Aqualad. "My true name is Kaldur'ahm, but friends may call me Kaldur."

"H- hi, Kaldur," I reply finally, "please, call me Caz."

Before anyone can respond, a sudden gust of wind slams into the four of us and a blur of orange, blue, and white flicks across my vision before dissolving into the shape of yet another teenager; a trail of paper fluttering to the ground behind him like snow.

"Well, helllloo-," starts Kid Flash before halting with a grunt of pain as Robin elbows him in the ribs.

"Dude!" He cries before pausing as Green lantern gives him a warning look. "I mean, hi, I'm Kid Flash. You're Caz, the moon girl, right?"

Moon girl? I think as I narrow my eyes at the red-headed figure. Standing at about the same height as myself, the solidly-built Kid Flash puts on what I think is supposed to be his most charming grin and waves.

"You're going to love it here," he continues quickly, "Miss Martian and Superboy are on their way, but I can give you the tour if you'd like. MJ —thatswhatIcallMountJustice— is wicked cool, we've got everything a team of superheroes could ask for!"

"Now hold on, Caz won't be participating in missions," states Stewart before I can respond to the verbal barrage. "She's here because we're trying to give her a normal life until we can send her back home, not to fight crime."

"So we're the League's babysitters, now?" Growls a voice from the back of the cave. Glancing away from the others, I catch sight of a dark-haired boy a little younger than myself emerging from one of the tunnels leading into the annexe; a green-skinned girl with long copper hair following close behind and smiling so brightly she could outshine the sun.

Superboy and Miss Martian, obviously.

"No," Stewart tells Superboy firmly as the pair joined us in the Mission Room, "you're heroes. We need people we can trust looking out for her until we can get her home, and that means you."

Mollified by the man's words, Superboy's pained expression relaxes slightly and he grunts an acknowledgement at me; Miss Martian giving a more articulate and bubbly greeting before telling me to call her 'M'Gann'.

As the last of the team takes their place in the Mission Room, Lantern Stewart suddenly raises a finger to his ear and pauses; his brows knitting together in concentration. Almost instantly, the five members of the team grow tense, hungry expressions spreading across their faces.

"Sorry to cut this little powwow short," says the Lantern moments later, already heading to toward the bank of Zeta Beam transporters, "but some college kids are trapped in the middle of a forest fire a few hundred miles west of here."

"Anything we can do to help?" Robin asks earnestly, the fourteen-year-old moving to follow the man as he steps into the cylindrical teleporter only to stop as he raises a hand.

"The League has it covered. In the meantime, I expect you to show Caz around the base and give her a feel for the way things work."

As the last words echo around the cavernous chamber, the transporter activates with an electronic whine; the Lantern disappearing in a blinding flash of light. Blinking away the purple-blue afterimages, I turn back to see the five members of the team staring at me with expressions ranging from open interest to icy dismissal, a wave of nervousness rising within me as I scan from one face to the next.

"Sooo," says Kid Flash, dashing to the cube in the blink of an eye and poking one of its impossibly black faces. "What's this? What's it made of? Where does it come from? Who made it? Why does it follow you? Is it yours? Why couldn't the League scan it? Does it use a gravitic engine to float or an electrostatic one?"

Caught off balance, I can only watch as the speedster zips around the cube in a blur of motion; the teen poking and prodding at it with every question he asks. Hovering beside him like an invisible guardian, Chromis watches him with equal interest; eyes flicking from place to place as she tracks him.

"Slow down, Kid Flash," warns Kaldur before turning to me, the chastised young man returning to his place beside the group, "you don't have to answer his questions if you don't wish to. We can understand if it's a matter you'd prefer to keep private."

"No, no, it's fine," I reply quickly. Nervously, I retell the story of how I found myself here and how Chromis rescued me; carefully leaving out the part about them being comic book characters. Thanks to Kid Flash calling me 'moon girl' earlier, I was sure they already knew the broad strokes of the story, but going by the shift in their expressions, they mustn't have known all of it.

"So, yeah," I say awkwardly as I finish my story, "that's how I- uh, we, got here."

"Cool, cool," nods Kid Flash, "and the rest?"

Shooting a glance at Chromis, I fight the urge to sigh as the proud woman just smiles and says, "it's femtotech."

Yeah, right; I think as I turn back to the others. As if that answers things.

"It's, uh, femtotech? Chromis could do a better job explaining it than I ever could."

"Chromis?" Asks M'Gann suddenly as she floats forward in a burst of speed, the welcoming grin plastered across her face rapidly fading into confusion as she closes. "Is that the name of your cube?"

"Does it talk?" Asks Superboy gruffly.

"Yes, she does," answers Chromis pointedly, the words ringing throughout the cavern.

"And I would appreciate it if you didn't poke me again," she continues sharply, a nervous chuckle emerging from Kid Flash's pursed lips.

"Wicked," remarks Robin with a grin, "so what can you do?"

Chromis hesitates before answering. "Many things."

"No shit. Really," I mutter dryly before I can stop myself, a sudden urge to disappear flooding my mind as Miss Martian gives me a scandalised look and Kid Flash snorts with laughter.

"Were I in my home universe, there'd be little I couldn't do. As it is, I'm unsure of both my limits here without further testing."

"What do you mean?" Asks Kaldur evenly.

"Femtotechnology is an exceedingly powerful tool," Chromis replies, "but one that is dependant on certain universal constants. Unfortunately, these constants differ in this universe, and my abilities are hindered as a result."

"Wait, slow down," says Kid Flash, apparently unaware of the irony of his statement. "This is the second time someone's mentioned Femto-whatevers. Is that like, a weird alternate universe name for nanotech? You know, mini robots the size of cells?"

"Hardly," Chromis replies, her tone a tad irritable. "Femtotech is to nanotech as nanotech is to clockwork."

"In any case," she says before she can be interrupted, "as I said, my abilities are somewhat hindered, and even more are unavailable due to damage."

"You're damaged?" I ask in surprise. After three days of having little to do but talk with Chromis, the fact that she was damaged and I didn't know it was an unpleasant one to learn.

"Yes, quite so, in fact," she replies coolly. "Statistically speaking, the difference between losing one-hundred per cent of my mass and the amount I did lose was practically nil."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"You didn't ask," she states primly.


"Um, I have a question," says M'Gann hesitantly as I give the cube an exasperated look. "If you're unsure of your limits and need to test your abilities, why not let us help?"

"That," says Chromis after a long pause as her gaze settles on me and her smile grows wicked, "is an excellent idea."

********​

"This seems like a really, really bad idea, Chromis," I say as I hover a good four meters above the floor of the mission room, the smart-floor of the training area glowing a cool blue-white. Below me, I watch as M'Gann steps forward with a dozen foam balls hovering around her head; the rest of the team watching from the sidelines with interest and/or the occasional whoop of encouragement in the case of Kid Flash.

"Are you ready?" Asks M'Gann brightly.

"No!" / "Yes!" Chromis and I call out together.

Before our words can even finish ringing throughout the complex, M'Gann throws her hand forward in a brutal chop and three of the red foam balls launch themselves at me like heat-seeking missiles. Gasping, I step back on instinct and promptly drop a foot of altitude as the femtotech shell Chromis weaved around me twists me in the air. Moments later, two of the balls soar past my head with a whoosh of displaced air while the third slams into my calf with a solid thwack and goes spinning away into the distance as a stinging pain rises across my left leg.

Covering her mouth in shock, M'Gann gasps. "Ohmygoshareyoualright?"

"Yes," I lie before my brain can do something sensible like saying no, "I'm totally fine! Don't worry!"

"You heard her, do it again!" Encourages Kid Flash helpfully.

Glancing at Kaldur —who merely nods his head fractionally— M'Gann steels herself and once again launches a salvo of dodgeballs at me; four of the bright red balls shooting forward this time. In the blink of an eye, the balls split into two groups of two and sail to my left and right in exaggerated curves. Though blindingly fast by the standard of dodgeballs, I was expecting the attack this time, and so do as I practised earlier.

Picturing the scene in my head, I visualise flying toward the ground before gasping in shock as I drop like a stone; the glowing glass surface of the floor screaming toward me as the four balls sail harmlessly overhead. Fighting back a surge of nausea, I mentally push against the floor and groan as the shell stops me dead in my tracks. An instant later, M'Gann shoots another three balls at me, and I shove myself to the side just in time to dodge them.

Picturing myself back where I used to be, I feel my stomach lurch violently as the femtotech hauls me into place; the acceleration instantaneous and brutal. Turning toward M'Gann, I have just enough time to see her face twist in concentration before all twelve of the dodgeballs rocket toward me, and I shut my eyes.

There's a moment of fear and then...

Nothing.

Opening my eyes, I see all twelve of the balls hovering before me and spinning in place like stopped bullets. For a brief moment, I wonder if The Matrix was made in this universe before they stop and drop to the ground with the dull thwack of foam on glass.

"Well, I'm whelmed," drawls Robin as I swoop over to M'Gann and the others and lower myself toward the floor.

"Uh, flight deactivate?" I say hesitantly before yelping as I drop the last foot to the ground, nodding my thanks to M'Gann as she steadies me with a friendly smile. A moment later, the invisible shell of femtotech surrounding my body changes back to solid black as it peels away and rejoins Chromis' cube.

We'd been carrying out a series of tests for the past few hours now at Chromis' behest, the strange ghost-woman telling us that she learnt more from examining the secondary effects of our actions than from the actions themselves. Though she was a little vague on the hows, Chromis promised us that we were producing invaluable data with every attempt and advancing her knowledge of this universe' laws of physics in leaps and bounds. Frankly, I couldn't see how Robin dropping acid on the cube, Flash racing it around the base, Kaldur trying to cut and electrocute it with his water-knife-things, or M'Gann attempting to move it with telekinesis could have helped, but then again I'm not the lady in a cube. After those tests were completed, we moved then on to ones that all, somehow, ended up involving me in some manner. From standing under the barrage of Kaldur's water-bearers to playing flying bullrush against a psychic, I endured a lot in the process of helping Chromis.

"Cool, so what powers are we looking at?" Asks Kid Flash as we cluster together to talk. Though I'd only been with them for a short while now, I was already feeling more comfortable being myself than I ever did back in Melbourne. Something about their openness and acceptance of the strange was nice. Well, mostly, that is.

"The disk shield," grunts Superboy as he flexes his hand.

Meekly, I turn to look at the glowering teen and feel my heart drop in my chest as he gives the cube a sullen look. He already seemed mad when I met him earlier —almost tangible waves of anger pouring off his skin like heat from a stove— and spraining his hand cracking the shield Chromis generated didn't help at all. It didn't even matter that it took all her femtotech working in concert to stand up to him, either; his anger just deepened.

"Flight too, obviously," says M'Gann, her chipper tone breaking the pall of silence that lay over us at Superboy's comment.

"Your shield's resistance to electricity," adds Kaldur, the Atlantean's comment prompting a phantom tingle of electricity to run up my fingers from where he applied his water-bearers.

"Plus, you can see what the cube sees, and breathe underwater," states Robin as he ticks both items off with his fingers. "All in all, pretty cool."

"Yeah," adds Kid Flash before zooming next to me and leaning on my shoulder. "You'd be great on the team!"

"Flash," warns Kaldur slowly.

"Alright, alright," he replies as he raises his hands in mock surrender. "I was just saying: if Caz wants to join in, she can just ask. "

"But I don't even have any training!" I say in surprise..

"Well," says Robin as an evil grin spreads across his face, "why don't we start?"

"Umm, hello Megan!" Interjects the Martian without warning as she swoops in between the two of us, Robin's smile stopping dead in its tracks as she puts her hands on her hips. "Caz arrived here by accident, she probably doesn't even have any clothes of her own. You can't expect her to start training now!"

"Oh yeah, right," replies the young teen as if seeing me for the first time. Though some of the women Leaguers had been kind enough to let me borrow old clothes from the back of their wardrobes, most of the items hung off my lanky frame like curtains. Frankly, I had maybe two more days worth of clothing, and then I'd be out.

Placing a hand on M'Gann's shoulder, I step forward and give the others a nervous smile. "I was planning to ask if I could go into Happy Harbour to do some shopping," I admit, "I just sort of forgot about it."

"We can go together," cries the Martian as she claps in excitement. "I've always wanted to see what a real Earth town is like!"

Grinning at the girl, Kid Flash shrugs. "I'll be more than happy to show the two of you around, green beans."

"It may be valuable for all of us to go," muses Aqualad. "If we are to be based in Happy Harbour, it makes sense to learn more about the town."

"It's settled," exclaims M'Gann as she literally floats with happiness. "Come on, follow me!"

********​

A short while later the six of us were walking down main street, USA, the boys in their casual clothes and M'Gann —or Megan, as she asked to be called in public— in the shape of a white girl that looked much like her Martian self. Though Chromis wasn't visible to ordinary people, she'd decided to take a leave of absence as soon as our destination became evident, and the onyx cube she resided in had somehow hidden against my skin like a chameleon on steroids. It was nice to be just another person again, and with M'Gann's help, I'd already purchased enough clothes to last me a couple weeks —the girl greatly enjoying having someone to shop for. In fact, not even Superboy managed to avoid her attention; his personal style of 'Superman t-shirt and jeans' not the most exciting thing in the world but very easy to shop for.

"So, pizza or burgers?" Asks Wally as he makes a sweeping gesture across the mall with his free hand. "I can't decide."

Slinging his new jacket over his shoulders —black, of course— Richard simply shakes his head at his friend and sighs. "Dude, it's only been like, half an hour since we had lunch. How can you still be hungry?"

Almost instantly, a look of dismay crosses Wally's face, and he shakes his head at the five of us. "Hey man, I've gotta work hard to keep this body. It's not easy fueling all of this."

"All of what?" Asks Superboy guilelessly, his comment prompting a round of snickering from the rest of us and causing Wally to throw his hands up in exasperation.

"Low blow, man," he responds plaintively, "not all of us can have a body fueled by sunlight."

Sighing crossly, the young Kryptonian merely shakes his head and hunches his shoulders. Fighting the urge to continue ragging on Kid Flash, I start to reach out towards the surely teen when the brilliant noonday sun dims without warning. Surprised, I glance up at the sky and stop dead in my tracks as I see a bank of grey-black clouds marching across the sky like an army on the move.

"Huh, is the weather always this weird here?" I mutter, the others stopping to look at me in confusion before following my gaze and freezing themselves. Glancing down at Robin, the kid spreads his arms in the universal sign for I-don't-know, and I feel a frown tug at the corners of my mouth.

Okay, definitely weird, I think to myself.

Before I can ask the others what they think, Aqualad suddenly stirs in his high-collared jacket and points an arm to the east. "We may have larger concerns," he says flatly, and with a sinking feeling, I follow his gesture.

"Is that a-" I begin slowly as dim memories of too many days spent watching the Discovery channel rear their ugly heads.

"Tornado," finishes Kid Flash. "And I'd just settled on fried chicken, too!"

********​

 

[prometheus110]

Turning back to the others, I start to ask if tornados are typical for New England before realising that they're all busy listening to someone else. Before I can ask what's going on, we're running toward the half-overgrown park where we parked M'Gann's bioship.

"Red Tornado just called," hisses Robin quietly as we arrive at the cloaked ship, a hole in the air blinking into existence as the vessel opens its hatchway to us. Shoes clattering against the weird organic-metal floor of the alien ship and clothes bags dumped unceremoniously in the rear airlock, I rush to take a seat beside Wally as the vessel smoothly rises into the air.

"What'd he say?"

"An alarm was tripped at the power plant."

"Well, there is a tornado going on," I say flatly as the ship accelerates, our destination a nondescript building on the edge of town made notable only by the three smokestacks by its side that pierce the sky. Speaking of, the slate-grey sky was growing darker and rougher by the second; the churning funnel of the tornado slowly winding its way toward the ground like a worm.

"The alarm was tripped before the tornado appeared and there was nothing on the radar five minutes ago," he counters matter-of-factly.

Okay, that's definitely suspicious, I think as I watch Robin and Wally apply a mask and set of goggles to their faces respectively.

Behind them, I see Aqualad shrug off his high-collared coat and backpack before retrieving his water-bearers and clutching them tightly. "Miss Martian," he asks coolly as he turns to our pilot. "How long until we arrive?"

"A few more seconds," she replies, her voice underscored by worry.

Nodding his head, Kaldur glances over the rest of the team before his gaze settles on me. "Caz, you will stay on the ship while the others and I face this threat."

On instinct, I open my mouth to protest the decision only to close it with a click as I realise that he's right. I have no training, no experience, and we literally just tested out the few powers Chromis' cube granted me a couple hours ago. Really, staying on the ship was the smart option.
Nodding in acknowledgement as we swoop over the power plant's car park and slew to halt above the adjacent grassland, I look out the window and frown.

"Uhh, guys," I begin. "Where did the torna-"

Without warning, there's an almighty shudder like someone hit the bio-ship with a cannonball, and the view outside the window begins to spin wildly. Gasping, Miss Martian closes her eyes, and the dizzying spin ceases as the ship lurches up and out of the path of the tornado —the crazed gyre spinning off into the distance before dissipating unnaturally quickly.

"We should definitely not do that again," mutters Wally as he and the others slowly rise to their feet. Nodding in agreement, Miss Martian waves her hand in the air, and a hole opens in the centre of the bio-ship's command deck. As the five members of the team jump down to the surface, I realise with a start that I'm standing up as if to join them and force myself to sit by the window.

"Chromis?" I ask the air hesitantly as I spy Wally dashing toward the entrance to the power plant, the speedster leaving a long trail of dust behind him. An instant after he disappears into the wide open entryway, I see Superboy leap through the air after him. "Chromis, what's going on?"

For a long moment, nothing happens, and I begin to wonder if she can even hear me while she's hidden herself away.

"Nothing good," comes Chromis' voice suddenly. There, wearing the same electric-white gown she always seems to wear, Chromis stands with her hands clasped, and her eyes narrowed on the shoebox-like power plant.

Striding up to her, I sweep my arm across the scene just as a squat tornado spits out of the building's entrance and tears a meter-wide path across the grass before it dissipates twenty meters later. "Can you show me what's happening? Like we practised earlier?"

"Very well."

A heartbeat later, I feel the air move around me as if a flock of things —things that were very big and completely invisible— were rushing past my head before suddenly stilling. Warily, I raise a hand to my eyes and tense as I strike something as cold and unyielding as iron floating just in front my face; my fingers gently tracing over the sharp contours of Chromis' beak-like visor before dropping. Though I don't need the visor to share Chromis' vision —and the visor itself is invisible to me— the mere idea that I see things through a headset somehow keeps me from feeling nauseous through the process.

Maybe if I paid more attention in class, I'd know why. I think as I steel myself for what's about to happen.

"Okay, sho-."

There's a sudden disconnect.

And then I'm standing next to a crouching Robin as he digs through his utility belt in search of something; an overturned crate containing some manner of arcane device shielding the young boy from yet another dust devil. Standing before him, arms outstretched like he's Iron Man about to throw down with Thanos, a three-meter tall armoured figure awaits; its crimson body bedecked with gauntlets, boots, and all manner of tubing.

Who the hell is this clown? I think as I watch the figure's long brown scarf flutter in the wind.

In place of an answer, I instead receive a shock as a black dot rips past my head with the speed of a bullet and charges toward the crimson enemy. Immediately, the armoured figure reacts, a gyre erupting from its gauntlets and slamming into the black bolt before it even makes it halfway to its target. With a surprised grunt, Superboy seems to flicker into existence in front of the suited figure before soaring backwards with equal speed and crashing into a pillar with a sound like a gunshot; a burst of concrete chips spraying into the air as he gouges a soccer-ball sized rent in the support.

Another disconnect.

And I'm standing between the red man and Aqualad, the Atlantean's twin water-bearers glowing with a blue witchlight as water flows out of his backpack and forms two luminous swords. Turning, I spot Miss Martian arriving on the scene and looking uncertainly between Aqualad and the interloper as she skids to a halt on the oil-stained floor. A split second later, Wally flickers into existence beside her and assumes a boxer's stance; the goofy grin typically scrawled across his face replaced with a look of grim determination.

"I was prepared to be challenged by a superhero," drawls the suit of armour as it brings its helmet to bear on the trio, the voice that emerges from under its scarf both lightly synthesised and unmistakably bored. "I was not expecting children."

"We are not children, Twister," answers Kaldur with a growl of challenge before both he and Kid Flash charge simultaneously —the orange-haired boy quickly bypassing his slower comrade only to be tossed back like a throw pillow by a fresh wave of tornados. Ignoring his team member's plight, Aqualad leaps into the air and sails toward the suited man, a sudden squall of wind slamming into him at the apex of his arc and hurling him into a cluster of boxes with a loud rattle.

Another disconnect.

A sudden shriek rings out within the confines of the power plant and a pillar of obscuring steam spears down onto Twister as a pipe as thick as my torso bursts above him. Glancing back toward the entrance, I grin victoriously as I spot Miss Martian standing there with one arm outstretched and eyes glowing a brilliant green. An instant later, M'Gann throws out her other arm and a wooden crate the size of a fridge shoots toward the obscuring steam only to be smashed aside as a gust of wind rips the pillar of boiling water apart from the inside to reveal the villain none the worse for wear.

"Objectively, you are children," Twister says conversationally as he lazily flicks his hand and sends Miss Martian hurtling into a wall. "Have you no adult supervision?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Aqualad leaps out of the pile of boxes he landed in; water-bearers crackling with electricity as he sends a long tentacle of water at the armoured man. With a blinding flash and an electric crackle, the bright line of water makes contact with Twister's gauntleted fist only for the villain to smash it aside like an insect; an answering burst of wind shoving Kaldur backwards.

Not good, not good! I think in a near-panic as I realise that none of the heroes has so much as scratched the man's paint; the constant tornadoes he throws out buffeting aside any attack that gets close.

Growling in frustration, I shake the view of the power plant out of my head and wheel around to face Chromis. "I have to help them!" I cry as a boom rips out from the boxy building in the distance, and a black speck that can only be Superboy goes sailing through the outer wall and lands in a heap in the grass beyond.

"How?" Asks Chromis as Twister emerges after Superboy, the crimson villain sending a fresh blast of wind after him before soaring into the air as the four remaining heroes emerge. "You don't have a plan, and you can't shatter concrete with your fists like your friend over there can. If you go out there, you won't be able to do anything."

"No one else can help the team!" I counter as I start to pace around the bio-ship, my voice crackling with stress. "I don't know how to work the radio on this thing, and even if I did, it'd take the League ages to respond."

"As you said, they are a team; they've trained for this. You told me yourself that heroes handle threats like this all the time."

"You saw what I saw, they need help now."

"You're a child," she replies in exasperation, "I can't let you go out there!"

"Chromis, I can't just sit here!" I plead as I eye the still-open exit to the ground below; the decision to jump without or without Chromis' help tossing and turning in my mind as I see a bolt of lightning spear down from the heavens. For an instant, Chromis' expression is as cold as ice and then, without warning, it wavers.

"I won't refuse a direct command," she says after a pause that feels like years, the admission seeming to melt away her last reserves of iciness and causing me to stop in my tracks.

"I'll do my level best to talk you out of a bad one, but I won't refuse. Certainly not when there are people we can help."

"So you'll do it?" I gasp.

"Yes," she replies firmly, a steely look growing in her eyes as she turns toward the fight. "I'll try to talk you out of it every step of the way, but I'll help."

********​

A handful of seconds later I'm soaring through the air like a missile, the ground rushing past below me in a blur as I race toward the battle and all nervousness forgotten in the face of the fact that people need my help. Narrowing my eyes, I feel my expression harden behind the mask of femototech Chromis cast as I catch sight of the crimson villain launch himself into the air with the aid of a new gyre. Too busy facing off against the other five teens to notice me, the red-armoured man turns this way and that in the air as he sends tornado after tornado spinning toward the others —the sapphire blue pipes running from his shoulders to his gauntlets exposed to me and screaming 'weak spot. Hit here!'.

"It's not too late to come up with a better plan," whispers Chromis in my ear as I scream toward my target, the man's red armour growing larger by the second. Ignoring her comment, I watch with bated breath as Twister ducks and weaves through the sky like a falcon; a denuded tree sailing through the air by his head, and a furious Superboy leaping after it with a roar.

Throwing his hands out before him, Twister casts a bolt of blue-white lightning at the enraged Kryptonian and catches him full in the chest; the brilliant spear of light slapping him back down to earth with a boom. Grimacing, I spot an undeterred Kid Flash race forward in a blur of motion —a rock the size of my fist leaping from his hand and slamming into Twister's helmet while the man was distracted.

"Enough!" Roars the weather manipulator as he slams Wally to the ground with a wave of his hand, the hyperactive kid bouncing across the grass before slewing to a halt and slumping. "I'm done waiting for a real hero. Perhaps if I break their sidekicks, they'll come out of hiding!"

Growling inarticulately as his words reach my ears, I curl my hand into a fist and shove it in front of me. In an instant, a disk as black as night and more than half a meter wide flickers into being above my hand —my target's back dead centre and growing larger by the second.

This is going to hu-, I start to think as my target grows to mountainous proportions before me.

**CLANG**

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?" Roars the crimson-suited villain as I slam into his back at well over thirty kilometres-per-hour —the sheer force of the impact throwing him through the air and driving the air from my lungs. Stunned by the strength of the deceleration, I can only watch as Twister slows his mad spin and brings his eyes to bear on me; the anger behind their cool blue glow almost palpable.

Throwing his hands at me as he did with Superboy, the armoured man pauses and seems to quiver with rage. "They send another child? Fine, I'll break you, too!"

Snapping out of my stupor at the man's hissed words, I have just enough time to frown behind my mask before a bolt of lightning erupts from the slate-grey sky and spears down towards me. Flinching, I raise above my arms above my head and yelp as a deafening boom rings out and the world goes white.

For an instant, there's nothing, and then...

"I'm not dead?" I ask myself in disbelief as I blink away the purple afterimages from my vision.

Glancing up, I grin in relief as I spot the night-black disk hovering above my head like a, well, shield —little flares of electricity spitting off its surface in fits and spurts as it returns to its position just above my wrist. Satisfied that it's all right, I glance down and realise that the five heroes have clustered together in a loose semi-circle below me.

"You're not dead," growls Twister in confirmation, the electronic sound of his voice dragging me back to reality. "Not yet, anyway," he continues before launching himself at me with a sudden gust of wind.

Yelping once again, I throw myself away from the furious man and plunge toward the ground; the man's gauntleted fist swiping through the air my head used to be. Growling incoherently as his hand catches nothing, the man throws out his fist in my direction and a fresh gust of wind slams into me like a wrecking ball. Gasping as the gale shoves me to the right, I raise my shield just in time for Twister to punch it with a clenched fist —a wave of pins and needles running up my arm as he unleashes a burst of electricity. Hissing in pain, I launch myself backwards like a missile and duck as the man sends a wild haymaker at my head.

"I could do with a little help!" I shout to no one in particular as Twister's fist scrapes across the face of my shield and knocks me even further back. As if in response, something both brown and as thick as my arm suddenly flashes across my vision before striking one of the man's cables with a solid thwack of impact. An instant later, there's a crackling sound like firecrackers going off, and the wire explodes in a shower of sparks which glow like evil little stars.

Roaring incoherently, the villain seems to freeze in place, Wylie Coyote style, before suddenly plummeting to earth like a stone —spiralling through the air like a leaf on the wind. With a thunderous boom, Twister slams into the ground in a shower of dirt —the stunned man freezing like a statue at the bottom of the shallow crater his impact dug. Grinning like an idiot as I realise that Superboy must have heard me, I take advantage of the weather manipulator's no-doubt temporary incapacitation and soar toward the others.

"Good hit," grunts Superboy laconically as I drop to the ground beside him moments later, the surprised looks on the faces of the others slowly slipping away as they adjust to the new reality.

"Same," I reply, the equally laconic praise extracting only a shrug from the angsty teen.

Turning to the others, I do my best not to blush at the look Miss Martian gives me an impressed look, and I ask what's been on my mind since this whole thing started. "What's the plan for taking this guy down?"

"Relax, Moon Girl," drawls Wally in an oddly calm tone of voice, "we figured it out. This Mister Twister guy's just Red Tornado in disguise. Miss Martian tried to read his mind and couldn't, and there aren't a ton of tornado-making robots out there."

I blink.

I blink again.

"Really?" I ask as I furrow my brow and think back to the few times he appears in the Justice League cartoons, "I thought his tornadoes were always red?"

For a moment, a smug look spreads across Wally's face as he raises a finger to correct me only for the teen to freeze. "That's... that's a good point, actually." He admits in embarrassment, "I guess he is another tornado-bot."

For a long heartbeat, an awkward silence hangs over the group like the sword of Damocles before a bass rumbling sound suddenly rings out in the distance. Looking away from the group, I catch sight of Mister Twister slowly rising from out of his crater —dirt and rocks streaming off the android's armour as it slowly raises itself to its feet.

Not waiting to see what he'll do, Kaldur suddenly steps forward and turns toward the others. "Miss Martian," he says, "use your telepathic powers and connect our minds."

"But I thought you-"

"I know," he replies as he nods encouragement to the hesitant-looking girl, "but we can't let him hear this."

Connect our minds? I think to myself as the Martian girl nods, her eyes glowing like lumps of smouldering coal. What does that-

<"Mean?">

<"Whoa!"> I continue as I sense Superboy stiffen beside me and let out a growl, <"Why does that sound different now? How can it sound different? I'm not saying anything.">

Without warning, a new voice suddenly intrudes on my mind, the shock of it enough to quell my questions in an instant. <"Enough,"> says Kaldur firmly, <"I asked Miss Martian to connect us telepathically so that we may come up with a plan to defeat this 'Mister Twister' without his knowledge.">

<"Not gonna lie, that's pretty fucking cool,"> I state, impressed, as I spy the robot begin to clamber its way up and out of the crater it dug in the sandy earth. Seeing the look on Kaldur's face, I quickly gesture for him to continue.

<"Attacking Twister individually has achieved nothing. Every time we try, he simply deflects and flies away. If we wish to defeat him, we must work together and attack him from all sides.">

As coolly as if we were discussing soccer scores, Robin shrugs and scratches his head. <"I'm not sure we'll have more luck. He can throw tornadoes out of both hands, and it's not like he can't turn.">

Thinking back to the last moments of my brief fight with Mister Twister, I shake my head slowly. <"Not anymore, he can't. I think Superboy broke one of his gauntlets when he threw the tree at him. The moment the cable broke, he dropped like a rock.">

<"Hell,"> I continue a moment later — casually gesturing at the lumbering form of Mister Twister in the distance as he finally crests the lip of the crater. <"I don't think he can even fly, anymore. If he could, he'd be doing it by now.">

In the corner of my eye, Superboy nods. <"Good,"> he says, a suspicious amount of satisfaction leaking into my mind.

<"You're not gonna-"> begins Robin only to halt as, with a burst of speed and a wordless battle cry, the angsty Kryptonian launches himself toward the grounded android —alien limbs throwing the teen into the air like a mortar shell.

<"Jump,"> finishes the fourteen-year-old a moment later as Mister Twister bats Superboy aside with another tornado. As the Kryptonian plunges to earth a good fifty meters away from his intended target, Kaldur lets out a long-suffering sigh and explains his plan.

********​

 

[prometheus110]

"Hey, Mr T!" I shout as I soar toward the 'bot rampaging ahead of me. "Miss me?" As superhero banter goes, it's not precisely A-grade stuff, but hey, I'm working under pressure here.

Like a dog chasing one squirrel only to run across another, the red-clad robot snaps its head toward me and roars thunderously — the machine sending one last spiteful tornado after a surprised Superboy before bringing its massive body around to face me. Grinning like an idiot as I wrench myself out of the way of a hastily aimed gust, I flash past the enraged robot in an instant before turning back just in time to see him drag his single remaining tornado generator to bear. As I feel a set of invisible crosshairs settle on me, a blur suddenly races across the ground behind Twister, and a crack rings out as a discus-shaped stone slams against the back of his head courtesy of Kid Flash.

Bereft of one tornado generator, incapable of flight, and facing coordinated attacks, the formerly untouchable villain is... not an easy target, but is a target nonetheless. Too canny by half to let us —or more specifically, Superboy— get close enough to hit him, the weather-controlling android can do little to guard his back save creating explosive gusts of wind that knock us away if we get too close.

If we were planning to hit him, that might be a problem. Luckily, we weren't.

"Will you children just stay still!" Shouts Twister as he pivots on the spot and exposes his back to a handful of Robin's flash grenades and a tentacle-like lash from Aqualad's water-bearers. Growling as explosions blossom across his back, the mountainous villain reacts instantly and sends a gale of wind after the two boys which they dodge deftly.

<"Dang, we almost had it!"> Says Robin, the power cable they were targeting emerging from the smoke unscathed. For someone busy dodging a villain's attacks, the kid's mental and physical voices are both disturbingly calm. I guess that's what happens when you fight crime with Batman for so long.

As yet another stone bashes against the machine's back in a flurry of sparks and seizing its attention, Kid Flash chimes in. <"Ugh, tell me about it. I thought it'd be easier now he can't fly.">

Ignoring the blasé mental tones of the two boys, I narrow my eyes and focus on the electric-blue cable running from Twister's shoulder. If we can just break it, I think to myself as I hover in plain view of the villain, we can finally end this fight and maybe get some answers. Sighing, I twist in mid-air —making sure that it's dramatic enough to get Twister's attention— and plunge towards him once more.

Racing toward the weather-manipulator like a bullet, I extend my fist and place the rapidly expanding shield square over his chest. Reacting with the speed of a cheetah, the android throws a flood of tornados at me with a gesture of his hand; the twisting whirlwinds slamming into me with the force of a truck moments later. Yelping as the chaotic storms pull me toward the ground with stomach-churning speed, I bite back the wave of nausea that follows and wrench myself back into the air with a desperate thought.

Buoyed by this success, Mister Twister calls out. "Do you children still not understand? Only the real heroes have a chance of defeating me!"

<"Hey guys,"> I think to the others as I swiftly brake. <"He's getting pretty accurate with those tornados. We need that cable taken out, now.">

<"On it!"> Reply Robin, M'Gann, and Superboy simultaneously, their three distinct mind tones merging briefly and letting slip flashes of a plan.

An instant later, the black dot that is Superboy starts sprinting toward the land-bound villain; each loping step throwing him across meters of earth in a single bound as he rapidly eats up the distance between them. Reacting as he always does, Twister throws a whirling tornado at the boy only to curse as he dodges to the side mere moments before it connects. An instant later, the villain tries again for the same result. Blinking, I wonder why Superboy hasn't just jumped at the android before pausing as I realise that I haven't seen Miss Martian since we restarted the fight.

"Where is she?" I mutter to myself as I hastily glance around the battlefield. "Where? Where? Whe-" with a click, I snap my mouth shut as I spot a heatwave-like shimmer racing toward Mister Twister's back. Before I can even blink, a birdarang suddenly flashes into existence by the power cable and cuts through it in a heartbeat. With an electric crackle and a pulse of blue light, the cable splits in two, and the tornado in Twister's hands dies.

"Oh no," is all the android has time to say before Superboy leaps at him with a triumphant shout.

********​

After Superboy got his hands on Mister Twister, the fight had turned into a slaughter —the weather-controlling android not one for fisticuffs with a pissed-off Kryptonian. Though I hadn't precisely felt isolated from the others before the fight after it, I felt like I was more than just a person with whom they shared a home. Indeed, Superboy seemed more comfortable around me now that I'd helped him punch a robot to death, and the others seemed genuinely happy for the help. All in all, I was riding pretty high after the fight.

Those good feelings had lasted right up until we returned home and found Red Tornado and Batman waiting for us. While the rest of the team went for a mild debriefing with Red Tornado, Batman asked to speak to me privately in a tone of voice that suffered no argument. If I'd been asked to guess what'd happen once we returned to Mount Justice, never in a million years would I have imagined that the answer would be, you know, this. I mean, even in the DC universe, getting lectured by Batman in an empty meeting room is not exactly the done thing.

"Your actions were foolish," States Batman flatly, the cowled hero looming in the corner and staring down at me expressionlessly as I sit on the dust-covered table that lies at the centre of the room. "You could have been injured, or worse.

Chastised, I guiltily glance down at my feet before returning to the stern-faced hero a moment later. Beside him stands Chromis, the usually severe-looking woman presenting a mask of calmness as inscrutable as the cube she resides in. She'd told me before that it was a bad idea to join the fight, but she seems happy to leave the post-fight lecture to Batman.

"I thought they needed help," I say finally, the argument sounding weak even to me.

"Most of them have trained for situations like this," he scolds me instantly. "M'Gann and Superboy haven't, but she's a Martian, and he's a Kryptonian. Robin and the others have trained for years and faced off against villains before."

"I-" I start hotly before Batman cuts my attempted argument short with a slight shake of his head.

Though he's staring down at me, his expression is as unreadable as his tone. The leathery cowl that covers the top half of his face as inflexible as his exposed mouth. "Have you?"

"No," I sigh moments later.

"Are you super strong like Superboy, or capable of surviving under a mile of water like Aqualad?"

I shake my head slowly.

"Can you outrun a Cheeta, or turn invisible?"

I shake my head again, defeated.

"So," he says slowly. "Why did you decide to leave the bio-ship after being given express order to stay inside?"

"I-," I begin after a long pause, the words flowing like treacle as I force down the wave of guilt that rises within me. "Chromis showed me the team fighting Twister. They needed help." I complete with a sigh.

Hrrrming sternly, Batman glances out the porthole-like window that looks into the mission room. Outside, clustering around what was left of Mister Twister, the team are speaking animatedly with Red Tornado —Wally's shadowboxing making it abundantly clear that they're explaining just why there are so few pieces left intact.

"As I said, they're trained for this. If the others ran into a threat they couldn't handle, they'd retreat and call in the League. Your presence wasn't necessary."

"I couldn't just sit back and do nothing," I admit to him finally. "Not when I could help."

For a long moment, Batman says nothing, the only sounds to reach my ears the quiet thumping of my heart in my chest as I watch the hard-edged man stand as still as a statue. Despite myself, I begin to wonder what kind of punishments he'll level on me for risking my life so stupidly. After all, the League sent me down here to keep me safe, and I immediately jumped into a fight with a supervillain.

Christ, that was a stupid idea. I think to myself as I wait for Batman to tell me that I'll be going to some windowless S.T.A.R Labs facility somewhere.

To my surprise, Batman nods instead.

"Your actions were foolish," he reiterates, still looming in the corner of the room. "You could have been injured, or worse, but you weren't."

"Instead," he continues, his stern expression somehow lightening despite his face remaining utterly unchanged. "Instead, you worked together with the others despite a lack of training, and did so with no civilian casualties and limited damage to the Happy Harbour power plant."

Bewildered, I blink slowly as my mind methodically picks its way through his words. Beside him, the white-clad Chromis starts awkwardly at his words before shooting a worried look at him. Whatever she was expecting him to say, I guess wasn't this.

"Wh- what are you saying?" I ask blandly, my thoughts like taffy.

"There's a place for you on the team if you want it."

I don't even have to think about it. After sitting on the sidelines uselessly while the others try to save people, after realising that I could help in ways I never could in my original universe, and after the thrill of victory? Well, it was all a no-brainer.

"I do," I say firmly, glancing out toward the others and smiling for the first time in ages as Chromis throws her hands up in defeat.

Several minutes and a great deal of Batman explaining The Rules later, I was allowed to join the others once again. Having long since delivered the parts to Red Tornado and debriefed, the five mem- the five other members of the team had retreated to the common area —M'Gann baking cookies in the kitchen while Kaldur reads and the other three share the couch and watch TV. Going by the number of fireballs being thrown around on the screen, it was either a fantasy show or a documentary.

Seeing me step through the entrance into the common area, Robin glances away from the screen as it fills with fire and nods toward me. "So, how'd your talk with Batman go?" He asks with a knowing tone as the others greet me —even Superboy tilting his head fractionally.

"You might as well tell the rest of them," Grumbles Chromis from beside me, her cube remaining resolutely silent. "Robin clearly knows already."

Looking askance at the woman, I pause for a moment to collect myself before telling them about Batman's offer and my acceptance. In an instant, M'Gann and Wally seem to teleport in front of me —the flour-covered Martian beaming as brilliantly as the sun while Wally gives me a roguish grin. At least, I think it's supposed to be roguish. It's a little hard to tell thanks to the brilliant crimson and purple welt that's spread across his face care of Mister Twister.

"Dude, your face!" I blurt out in surprise before blushing as I realise what I said.

Nodding in resignation, Wally waves a hand in the air dismissively. "Ehh, don't worry about it," he says. "It'll heal in like, two hours tops. The benefits of being a speedster, babe."

Like his grin, I think that was the intended message. What I heard was more like 'ehh, don worreh abou it. It'll heel in like two hoursh topsh.'

Turns out that getting smashed in the face by a whirlwind makes Wally sound a little like Sean Connery.

Ignoring the boy as he leaves to get an ice pack from the freezer, M'Gann rushes forwards and hugs me tightly. Despite her reedy appearance, the Martian girl is more than strong enough to lift me into the air

"That's excellent news!" She chirps as she squeezes the air from my lungs and forces me to tap her shoulder until she puts me down.

I guess she's just excited to have someone like her on the team; I think wryly as the embarrassed teen lets go.

Rising from his place at the table, Kaldur smiles coolly and nods an acknowledgement toward me. "I believe that M'Gann speaks for all of us. It is good to hear that you will be joining the team."

"Thanks," I reply gratefully before glancing at Wally as he walks past with an ice pack pressed against his face, dim memories of something Chromis said to me days ago tickling the back of my mind like a feather. Suddenly, like a light flicking on, the memories of my first moments with Chromis rush into the forefront of my mind, and I grin as I realise that I have one more card up my sleeve.

"Hey Chromis," I say with a casualness that belies my eagerness, "What do you say we help Wally?"

Caught mid-step, the red-headed speedster freezes like a statue before slowly turning toward me with a confused expression. Likewise, the others give me looks ranges from utter confusion to casual interest.

"I gather you want me to heal the damage to his face," drawls Chromis rhetorically only to receive a nod from myself.

For a moment, Chromis' expression hardens as if she's about to argue the point before she finally sighs and nods.

"I suppose if you're going to be doing this hero business, she says, her words languidly pouring out from her cube like honey, "it would be preferable if you were in the back lines helping others rather than getting into confrontations."

"Aww," says Wally sardonically, finally unfreezing just in time to pat Chromis' cube, "she's worried about you. Don't stress; we'll keep Caz safe."

Rolling her eyes the teen's antics, Chromis adjusts her robes and steps toward the boy. Simultaneously, the onyx-black cube floats up to Wally's eye level and rotates once blank face toward him.

"Uhhhhh," he drawls, glancing to the others for assurance as the cube slowly approaches.

"It'll be fine," I say, deriving more than a little perverse enjoyment from the wanna-be player's discomfort. "She healed me after I arrived. A little bruising's nothing compared to being stuck in the vacuum of space!"

Pausing for a moment as I think back to my arrival, I feel my grin turn sheepish and add. "Just, uh, try not to freak out."

Seeing his hesitancy, Chromis sets her jaw in a steely expression that sends shivers down my spine. "Don't move," she commands, her words causing Wally to snap his mouth shut with a click.

An instant later, the cube seems to lose all form and explodes out toward Wally like a tidal wave of black water —the sudden burst of motion eliciting yelps of surprise from both Wally and M'Gann. For a heartbeat, the midnight-black material of the cube covers the speedster's face before flowing away to reveal a surprised but otherwise unharmed Wally. Like magic, where an ugly crimson and purple bruise once reigned, there's now only pale unblemished skin tinged pink by a slowly fading flush of colour.

There's a pregnant silence as Wally warily touches his face and turns to the others. "Okay, I'm officially turbed they're on the team," he says flatly.

********​