The young hero was greeted by a relentless barrage of camera flashes, the paparazzi calling out to him from every direction in hopes of getting the perfect shot. Yet he didn't seem the least bit bothered by the attention. If anything, he carried himself with the ease of someone who had long grown accustomed to living in the spotlight. He paused every so often to strike another pose, flashed an effortless smile for the cameras, and patiently signed a handful of autographs before finally making his way inside the venue.
From where I stood, my attention drifted to the guy walking beside him. Judging by the way they laughed, nudged each other, and joked around without a care in the world, they were obviously close friends. There was an effortless chemistry between them that only came from years of knowing one another.
"So this is what heroes do on their days off," I muttered under my breath as I quietly veered away from their path. The last thing I wanted was Beast Boy wandering anywhere near me. If he got close enough, there was a good chance he'd recognize my scent, and I wasn't exactly eager to explain how someone he'd supposedly never met smelled so familiar.
Once the charity auction concluded, the gallery officially opened to its guests. People gradually dispersed throughout the spacious hall, leisurely wandering from one exhibit to another while admiring the carefully curated collection. Every painting, sculpture, and installation had been deliberately positioned with artistic insight, inviting visitors to stop, observe, and interpret each piece in their own way.
It wasn't difficult to tell that this gathering catered to society's elite. Wealth practically radiated from everyone present, but so did an unmistakable sense of superiority. Many carried themselves with a sense of refined confidence of aristocrats, speaking in slow, carefully measured tones as though every word had to be polished before leaving their mouths. Even their accents felt exaggerated, almost rehearsed, as if sophistication itself had become part of the performance.
Still, something about the atmosphere felt... off. Beneath the elegant smiles and cultured conversations, there was an undercurrent that had little to do with appreciating art. Men exchanged firm handshakes followed by subtle nods, conversations ended with satisfied smiles, and business cards quietly changed hands. This felt less like an art exhibition and more like a discreet marketplace where multimillion-dollar deals were being negotiated beneath the cover of expensive paintings and fine wine.
Keeping both hands tucked inside my pockets, I wandered through the gallery at an unhurried pace, stopping every so often to examine whichever artwork happened to catch my eye. I tried to look at each piece beyond its surface, wondering what thoughts or emotions the artist had poured into it.
"Hey, buddy."
An annoyingly familiar voice drifted into my ears from behind.
"Please don't be who I think it is," I muttered under my breath, silently crossing my fingers as I slowly turned around.
No such luck.
'Damn it... Beast Boy.'
That was the first thought to cross my mind as I found myself staring at his bright green face and the impossibly wide grin plastered across it. Standing beside him was another young man. Unlike Beast Boy, though, he wasn't paying much attention to me. His eyes casually wandered around the gallery instead.
"Hi," I greeted casually, acting as though there wasn't any bad blood between us and this was simply the first time we'd met.
"You seem to be the only person here without a plus one," Beast Boy observed, giving me a curious once-over. "Actually, I don't think I've even seen you talk to anyone since you got here."
"My plus one couldn't make it today," I replied with an easy shrug. "Besides, I find it rather comforting to be alone with my thoughts. It gives me the chance to understand the message the artist is trying to convey through each piece."
My eyes drifted toward the nearest painting before I continued.
"After all, they say art reflects the soul of its creator."
Beast Boy looked genuinely interested in what I had to say, but his companion hardly seemed to be listening. Instead, his gaze slowly swept across the gallery, lingering on certain members of the staff longer than everyone else. He wasn't admiring the artwork. He was observing the people, quietly surveying the room as though he were searching for something—or someone.
"Oh, then you are a loner then."
"A loner, why the fuck would you think that?" I tried defending myself even though I knew he was dead on target with his assumption about my personality.
"I'm a people person, I might be dense and clueless most times but I know my polar opposite when I see one." He said with a smirk on his face, he tried to put pressure on me so I'd admit to being a loner, which would confirm his intuition about me.
"Nah, I'm nothing like that… Maybe just a little."
"I knew it, you better get yourself a friend or you might die lonely."
"No thanks, I'm good."
"That was quick!" Exclaimed Beast Boy who somehow expected that answer from a full time loner.
The idea of getting myself a friend wasn't a bad one, but if I said yes then that kid would want to be my friend.
Friends with that hyperactive kid? No thank you, I'm good. I was never a fan of the bubbly type, not in my previous life, and definitely not in this one. There's something about them that just ticks me the wrong way. They don't know anything about personal space or things like boundaries and privacy.
They intrude whenever they want to, so long as they feel like it, they'll want to drag you into whatever bullshit they have going on at that moment.
"Yeah, I'm not really a people's person." Tom replied as he was just realizing that his introverted nature was that visible to the sight of others. The green kid just met him and had already figured out the kind of person he was, but yet he was still pushing on and intruding on his alone time at the gallery.
"What do you mean you aren't a people's person, I could make you one with time. After all, I'm likable and also sure I could get rid of that gloomy aura you have all around you."
"Gloomy aura?" I asked him as my eyes crooked a little from his statement.
"How do you think I spotted you from the other side of the gallery? It is because of your lonesome aura you have all around you, it's totally different from the rest of the people at this event." He said with a mildly creepy smile on his face while he pointed at me.
"Oh, well if you say so." There was no point arguing with him because he might be right, I don't have friends and I keep to myself a lot without bothering about anything concerning anyone.
At the moment I was trying to take his mind off getting to know me, and hoped he didn't recognize my scent.
"Hey, why is your friend looking around like that, is he a cop or something?" I asked Beast Boy who now noticed how less interested Wally was in our conversation and how much he was looking around the area like an undercover cop waiting for shit to go down or in the middle of an operation.
"Oh that's just him being a little paranoid, but he is a fun and cheerful dude once you get to know him. I've been trying to teach him how to relax every once in a while."
"That's right, guess it's time for introductions." He placed an arm on his chest as he continued. "I'm Gar, and you might know me as the popular hero 'Beast Boy.' Then he tapped Wally and drew his attention over to us." Over here is Wally and he is a really good friend of mine." Gar added.
Funny how introduction came late after we've had a whole conversation, when normally it is the first thing people do.
"I'm Tom, it's nice to meet you in person." I responded appropriately as I noticed how upbeat Beast Boy seemed.
"Hey, how's it going?" Wally stretched out his hand and gestured for a handshake which I responded to, before extending a handshake over to the green kid who still had a wide smile on his face.
I was curious if his face does not get cramped up from smiling too much, his level of friendliness made me wonder if he was the same kid who transformed into a gorilla and was willing to smash my head against the sidewalk some nights ago.
I had a pretty good idea why Wally kept scanning the room instead of admiring the artwork.
This event wasn't just filled with wealthy socialites and art enthusiasts. Hidden among them were mob bosses, drug lords, and polished criminals dressed in expensive suits. Men who had built empires through extortion, human trafficking, drug trafficking, the black-market trade of human organs, and countless rape allegations. Every one of them should have been rotting behind bars, yet here they were, sipping champagne and exchanging pleasantries as though they were respectable members of society.
I recognized more than a few faces from the news. Their trials had made national headlines, complete with witnesses, evidence, and public outrage. Yet every single case had somehow fallen apart before reaching a verdict. Evidence mysteriously disappeared, key witnesses withdrew their statements, and officers assigned to the investigations suddenly "misplaced" crucial files.
By the end of it all, the courts dismissed everything as baseless accusations, and those same men walked out of the courthouse with smug smiles, protected by judges, politicians, and cops whose loyalty had long since been bought.
Watching Wally's eyes drift from one familiar face to another, I could practically hear the thoughts running through his head. It was the same instinct every hero had—the urge to drag each one of them out in handcuffs and finally make them answer for their crimes. The frustrating part was that he couldn't do a damn thing. Not here, not now. All he could do was stand there and watch them laugh, drink, and conduct business as if they owned the city.
Technically... they did.
Power wasn't about who had the law on their side. It was about who had enough influence to rewrite it. The people at the top didn't obey the rules, they bent them until they suited their interests, and everyone beneath them simply had to live with the consequences.
This universe was rotten to its core.
In some ways, it reminded me of my previous world, only everything here had been dialed up to an absurd degree. The corruption wasn't hidden behind closed doors anymore; it existed out in the open, daring anyone to challenge it. I'd only been shocked during my first few months after arriving here. These days, almost nothing surprises me anymore.
If tomorrow's headlines reported that a school bus full of elementary school children had been hijacked by terrorists demanding five hundred million dollars, or they'd execute the kids one by one live on camera, I honestly wasn't sure I'd even react. It sounded horrifying, but at the same time, it also sounded completely believable. That was the kind of world this was.
'God... what has the DC Universe done to my beautiful mind?'
The thought made me let out a silent sigh. Somewhere along the way, I could almost feel pieces of my humanity being chipped away. Not all at once, but gradually. Every headline, every corrupt official, every monster in a tailored suit walking free while innocent people suffered... it all numbed me a little more than the day before.
"Anything bothering you, Tom?"
Gar's voice snapped me out of my thoughts before I could sink any deeper into them.
"Nothing at all," I replied with a small shrug. "Just some random thoughts living rent-free in my head."
Gar looked like he wanted to ask another question, but a quick glance at his wristwatch changed his mind.
"Man, time flies." He nudged Wally with his elbow. "Looks like it's time for us to get going."
Wally finally tore his attention away from the room and looked back at me with a friendly smile.
"It was nice meeting you, Tom. Hopefully we get to hang out sometime."
"Likewise," I replied, watching as the two of them turned and disappeared into the bustling crowd, leaving me alone with my thoughts once again.
- - -
[Wally West's POV]
The event itself was enjoyable enough, though having Gar around made it a little overwhelming at times. As much as Wally appreciated his best friend's boundless enthusiasm, Beast Boy had a habit of becoming the center of attention wherever he went.
Between the constant greetings, interviews, and the never-ending barrage of camera flashes from the paparazzi, Wally eventually slipped away to give both himself and Gar some breathing room. Besides, publicity was simply part of the job. Heroes couldn't always avoid the spotlight, and Gar, of all people, seemed perfectly at home in it.
Even with the impressive artwork and elegant atmosphere surrounding him, Wally couldn't bring himself to truly enjoy the evening. Everywhere he looked, he spotted faces that should have been behind prison bars instead of mingling with Gotham's elite. Mob bosses, traffickers, corporate criminals, and men whose wealth had been built upon the suffering of countless victims all wandered the gallery with their heads held high, laughing over expensive drinks as though they had never committed a single crime. Knowing exactly who many of them were made the sight all the more frustrating. They deserved prison cells, not invitations to exclusive charity events, yet there wasn't a thing he could do about it.
His thoughts eventually drifted toward the quiet young man Gar had somehow befriended within minutes of meeting him.
Tom.
There was something strangely familiar about him.
It wasn't his appearance alone. His presence, the way he carried himself, even the sound of his voice all tugged at the back of Wally's mind as though they belonged to a memory he couldn't quite reach. The harder he thought about it, the more one particular night resurfaced in his mind.
The vigilante.
The similarities were difficult to ignore. The height was about the same. Their builds weren't all that different either, and now that he'd heard Tom speak for longer than a few sentences, even his voice reminded Wally of the mysterious vigilante they'd encountered that night.
Still... he couldn't confidently say they were the same person.
The fight had happened in the middle of the night, visibility had been poor, and he'd taken a nasty hit to the head during the encounter. A mild concussion wasn't exactly the ideal condition for making reliable identifications. His memory could easily be filling in gaps that weren't actually there.
Or maybe he was simply letting his paranoia get the better of him.
Ever since that humiliating defeat, he'd found himself unconsciously comparing strangers to the vigilante, hoping to stumble upon the man who had handed him such a thorough beating. Maybe part of him just wanted a face to associate with the memory so he could finally figure out what to do next.
Wally let out a subtle sigh before shaking his head.
"Gar was right," he muttered to himself with a faint, self-deprecating smile. "I seriously need to relax... maybe even take a day off from the whole superhero thing."