|Badhnisia, South America
|December 20, 2007, 2:30 PM PET
|Secret facilities of the "Posthuman Project"
Aerie's crying had calmed, replaced by ragged sighs as she clutched at Gregor's robes. Strange held him for a moment longer, his gaze scanning the room, where the scientists and guards still lay unconscious from their memory-erasure spell. The boy's release was only the first step. The Posthuman Project would not go unpunished.
"Now, young Aerie," Gregorio said, his voice soft but with an edge of steel. "You will rest here for a moment. There is work to be done. Justice to be delivered." With a slight gesture, a soft golden light enveloped the boy, lulling him into a safe, restful sleep. He gently placed him onto one of the few clean surfaces, a lab gurney that would now serve as a bed.
Gregorio straightened, his golden eyes glowing with determination. First, he addressed the cages adjacent to the testing room. There were more. Other prisoners, budding metahumans or already transformed, subjected to the horrors of the "Posthuman Project." With fluid, complex gestures, the energy gates and metal bars dissolved into wisps of golden smoke.
"You're free," Gregor announced, his voice echoing in the cells, awakening the prisoners. "The nightmare is over. You will be taken to your homes."
One by one, frightened and malnourished figures emerged. Some had visible mutations: scaly skin, glowing eyes, unusual appendages. Others appeared normal, but the anguish in their eyes was palpable. With a wave of his hands, Gregory conjured magical disguises for each one, a kind of illusory veil that concealed their new natures, or simply made them appear healthy and normally dressed.
"You must not expose what has been done to you," Gregorio warned. "The truth will be revealed in due time. For now, return to your lives. I will make you believe you were freed by a miracle, or that you escaped in the chaos. But those who did this... will pay."
He then opened portals of golden energy, one by one, personalized for each prisoner, leading them back to their homes, safe from prying eyes and any reprisals.
As he freed them, Gregorio moved methodically through the facility. His hands moved in complex patterns, extracting information from every computer, every physical file, every lab test. The data flowed directly into his mind, archiving itself into his vast library of mystical knowledge. He wanted proof not just of the experiments, but also of who was responsible. Names, dates, financial transactions. The web of corruption.
He walked through the offices, the laboratories, the torture and experimentation chambers. The horror of what had happened there filled him with cold anger. This wasn't just a matter of local justice; it was an affront to life itself and to the laws of nature.
Once he had gathered all the information, Gregorio addressed the guards, scientists, and staff at the facility. He woke them with another of his spells, their eyes now filled with confusion and growing panic at the sight of the Sorcerer Supreme standing before them.
"You," Gregor's voice was like ice. "You have committed crimes against humanity. You have trafficked lives, experimented on innocent people, abused your power. And all for greed and politics."
A scientist, his face pale, tried to mumble an excuse. "You have no jurisdiction here! This is Badhnisia! We're protected!"
"Jurisdiction?" Gregorio smiled, a cold, humorless smile. "I am Gregorio de la Vega. My jurisdiction is the balance of reality, the veil between worlds, the protection of innocence. And I assure you, your 'jurisdiction' ended the moment you laid a hand on a human being in the name of inhumanity."
Another, more arrogant guard tried to threaten him. "My boss is a minister! I have connections! He doesn't know who he's messing with!"
"Oh, yes, I know," Gregory replied, his golden eyes flashing with a dangerous light. "And not just me. The whole world will know what you've done."
With an imperious gesture, Gregor summoned chains of mystical energy, identical to the ones he had used to immobilize Sebastian, but this time they were permanent. One by one, each guard, each worker, each scientist was seized, their bodies suspended in the air. Some struggled, others screamed, but none could free themselves.
Gregorio gave them no opportunity for further threats. With a wave of his hands, he transported them, along with the vast amount of incriminating information, to one location. Not a local prison, not a League headquarters. He would take them directly into the public eye.
In a matter of seconds, portals appeared in the world's major capitals—Washington, DC, London, Paris, Tokyo, Brussels, New York, Moscow. From these portals, one by one, the prisoners of the Posthuman Project fell, still chained by Gregor's magic, their identities exposed. Along with them, millions of documents, digital files, and recordings materialized on the desks of major media outlets, in government offices, and in the headquarters of international organizations.
The information was undeniable. Names, photos, evidence of torture, failed experiments, and high-level government corruption in Badhnisia. The complicity of high-ranking officials, diplomats, and businessmen. The "Posthuman Project" was exposed before the eyes of the world.
The news exploded. Front-page headlines, breaking news broadcasts, emergency press conferences. The scandal shook the foundations of international politics. The Badhnisia government fell into disgrace, its leaders under scrutiny and arrest. Countries that had tried to negotiate oil deals in exchange for ignoring these crimes also found themselves caught up in the maelstrom of public shame.
Gregorio de la Vega watched the reactions from a distance, from the safety of The Sacrarium. Justice sometimes required a direct approach, a straightforward exposition. The "Posthuman Project" was a cancer that had been removed, and now, the light of the world would ensure that its remnants could not grow back. And Aerie, the young man who had been the catalyst for all of this, would sleep peacefully that night, one step closer to his true freedom.
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|Lima, Peru
|December 28, 2009, 1:00 PM PET
|The Sacrarium, Living Room and Kitchen
Afternoon sunlight filtered through the tall windows into the living room of The Sacrarium, creating long shadows on the antique tapestries and soft cushions. The morning's training was over, and a well-earned rest had fallen upon the young residents. The air, once vibrant with magical energy and the bustle of combat, was now filled with a welcoming calm.
Sebastian, wearing a comfortable cotton robe, reclined on a large sofa, an old leather-bound book resting on his chest. Though his eyes were fixed on the pages, they were often distracted by others. The Chaos Magic within him felt calmer, less erratic, thanks to Strange's early lessons.
In a single chair, Wonder Boy, his hair still damp from the shower, flipped through a magazine with a childlike fascination, his blue eyes scanning the pictures and words with an avidity he hadn't had at Cadmus.
Warhawk, with his usual stoicism, had sat on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. His wings, hidden beneath a minor illusory effect by Strange for comfort, still felt like an extension of his body. He watched the television, which was broadcasting a wildlife documentary, with an expression of silent curiosity.
Cherub, her long black hair towel-dried, was curled up on another couch, watching the same documentary as Warhawk, completely absorbed. Her mind, previously focused solely on speed, was now beginning to process a wider range of stimuli and emotions.
Aerie, Strange's apprentice, sat in a chair by a side table, drawing intricate patterns in a notebook. His elegantly folded wings seemed almost part of his chair. Suri, Strange and Hugh's daughter, had curled up beside him, watching with fascination the movement of his pencil.
"Do you think you'll be able to fly like them someday, Aerie?" Suri asked, curiosity shining in her small eyes.
Aerie smiled softly. "Perhaps. My wings are different. But the freedom of the sky is for everyone, Suri. You just need to practice."
Meanwhile, in the kitchen, Hugh Dawkins was finishing the lunch dishes, his strong arms still covered in foam. Gregorio de la Vega, known as Strange, was sitting on a high stool, sipping herbal tea, his expression thoughtful.
"They're making progress, aren't they, Gregorio?" Hugh said, wiping a plate with a cloth. "Wonder Boy is starting to understand how to channel his strength, not just his raw power. And Warhawk… his aggression needs work, but his tactical intuition is natural."
Gregorio nodded, taking a sip of tea. "Yes. Their progress is remarkable, considering their unusual upbringing. Wonder Boy has the indomitable spirit of his 'donor,' and Warhawk demonstrates surprising discipline and adaptability. But they're still young. And the League must have noticed by now that Cadmus isn't operating normally. We don't have the luxury of time."
Hugh nodded seriously. "I understand. We can't hide them forever. But they must be ready for the world ahead. They're not chess pieces. They're people. And that's what Cadmus never understood." He put down the cloth and walked over to a side table, where a tablet sat. "Speaking of preparation… Aerie's reports on Cherub's speed are impressive. I have them here."
Hugh passed the tablet to Gregor. The sorcerer took a moment to review the data and graphs of Cherub's speed. His brow furrowed slightly, not out of concern, but out of astonishment.
"Her abilities are extraordinary," Gregorio murmured. "Her sheer speed is an intriguing phenomenon. Aerie has done an excellent job recording and analyzing her readings. The runner could barely contain her at full power." Gregorio began to feel a growing curiosity about the origin of the speedsters' powers, something that transcended the magical or scientific explanations he knew. It was an anomaly that intrigued him deeply.
Hugh nodded, his voice filled with fatherly pride. "The little one is a lightning bolt. She runs instinctively. What she needs now is control, spatial awareness at that speed. Not just to run, but to maneuver, to react to her surroundings. And, let's be honest, to avoid accidentally running someone over."
Gregorio nodded, placing the tablet back on the table. "Exactly. And Sebastian… his control of Chaos Magic is the greatest challenge. It's like trying to contain a storm in a bottle. But his willpower is unmatched. And his determination to learn and master it is what sets him apart. It's a magic few have dared to understand, and he wields it with astonishing purity."
"Aerie has also told me about his progress," Hugh added. "She says Sebastian has a natural affinity for mystical principles, despite the chaotic nature of his power. He's quickly learning the gestures, though channeling is a bit difficult for him."
"It's a miracle, in a way," Gregorio said, looking toward the room where the young people were relaxing. "Seeing them here, so normal. After everything they've been through. They're adjusting. They're building bonds. And that's the most important thing, Hugh. The family they're finding here, the trust they're developing with each other. That's what will make them true heroes, not just weapons."
Hugh approached Gregor and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And you, my dear, are the catalyst for all this. His savior. His teacher. His home."
Gregorio smiled, a rare but genuine expression of affection. "I'm just doing what must be done. The world is a dangerous place, Hugh. And these young people… they hold promise. A promise of a better future, if given the chance."
Silence fell over the kitchen, broken only by the soft whir of the appliances and Cherub and Suri's distantly joyful giggles in the living room. The Sacrarium, a fortress of magic, had become something more: a crucible where tomorrow's heroes were being forged, not just with power, but with purpose and the warmth of a home.
|December 28, 2009, 1:00 PM EST
|In the Atlantic, aboard a Merchant Freighter
Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, the idea of a better future seems like a distant concept to the four young heroes continuing their journey on the freighter. The constant rocking of the ship and the monotony of the open ocean did nothing to calm their nerves.
Roy Harper was sitting on the ground, leaning against a dumpster, with a look of boredom and frustration on his face. "This is ridiculous. How much more of this? My butt is starting to hurt from the steel."
Kaldur'ahm, ever stoic, stood by the railing, looking out at the horizon. "Patience is a virtue, Roy. The mission requires it."
Robin, sunglasses on even in the relative darkness of the deck, juggled three small stones, tossing and catching them with mesmerizing precision. "We could be training. Or looking for clues. Or... I don't know, doing something other than this."
"I'm starving!" Wally West's exclamation echoed across the deck. He'd emptied his backpack of all the snacks he'd brought, and was now compulsively checking his pockets. "I finished my last granola bar twenty minutes ago! My metabolism is crazy! I need fuel! Does anyone have anything? A crouton? A crumb? For the love of anything holy, a crumb!"
Roy raised an eyebrow. "Wally, you just ate three ham and cheese sandwiches, two apples, and a whole bag of chips. How come you're always hungry?"
"It's my speed, Roy! My body burns calories faster than a power plant! I need fuel! I feel like my stomach is forming a black hole." Wally punched his stomach theatrically. "This is torture. There isn't even a vending machine on this ship."
Robin laughed, his voice muffled by his glasses. "If we don't see you hyperactive, we'll know you're running out of energy, Wally. It's your indicator. Don't worry, when we get to land, I promise I'll take you to the biggest pizza place you can find."
"That's not helping me right now," Wally complained, his voice sounding tired. "I feel weak. I'm losing my spark."
Kaldur turned, a small smile playing on his lips. "We can share the emergency rations. They're not abundant, but they'll keep you going."
"Emergency rations?" Wally frowned, horrified. "That's for when we're in a desert or trapped in a bunker! Not for a boat trip! This is a starvation emergency."
Roy lay back again, closing his eyes. "Just shut up and suffer, Wally. The sooner we stop complaining, the sooner we'll get there and we can finish this mission. And maybe, just maybe, there's some pizza waiting for you in Lima."
Wally sighed, and the sound of his empty stomach echoed across the deck of the freighter. The road to his destination, and to any revelation about Cadmus, would be long, and for the speedster, inevitably a torment of hunger.
At that moment, a clear, resonant voice interrupted Wally's complaint. "Maybe this will help you, Kid."
The four young men turned abruptly. There, standing on the deck, as if he'd appeared out of nowhere, was the Flash, his iconic red and yellow suit gleaming in the sun. And he wasn't alone. From the shadows of a large container, the imposing figure of Batman emerged, followed by the agile Green Arrow.
A powerful jet of water erupted from the depths of the ocean, lifting Aquaman up, who landed gracefully on the deck of the ship, followed by the majestic Queen Mera, who used her hydrokinesis to propel herself up alongside him.
A silence filled with surprise and a hint of unspoken rebuke settled in. The young men looked at each other, watching their plans for a secret mission crumble before their eyes.
Batman, with his deep, authoritative voice, he broke the silence. "We're leaving now."
TO BE CONTINUED