Cadmus Ruins – Temporary Justice League Encampment – Sunset
Status: Post-Mission Debrief. Tension: Sizzling. Teen Guilt: Selective.
The sky above the ruins of Cadmus looked like bruised gold, fading to purple where smoke still coiled from the shattered biotech facility. Burnt steel twisted like skeletal fingers. The air smelled of ozone, scorched circuitry, and trouble.
A shimmering field of arcane and Kryptonian tech cast a subtle shimmer around the site—part containment, part forcefield, part very unsubtle "Do Not Even Think About Escaping" sign. It hummed with power. Like judgment. Like parental wrath.
The Justice League hovered in the air, silhouettes cut from myth. And below them: a row of teenagers who had very much done something incredibly heroic and marginally illegal.
Superman stood tall at the center, cape unfurling with the kind of intimidating stillness only Henry Cavill could embody. His jaw was set. His arms were crossed. His expression could have cracked stone.
Beside him stood Scarlett—hair braided back in a no-nonsense coil, gold-red armor still faintly aglow from battle energy. She was silent. Staring. Unmoved. Her expression was not furious. Not quite. It was worse: the slow crystallization of unspoken judgment into something sharp and flawless.
In front of them stood Solaris, Sentinel, Supergirl, and Solistice—looking like four siblings who had stolen a car, set it on fire, crashed it into a government black site, and then live-streamed the aftermath.
There was a long, painful silence.
Solaris broke it first. Of course he did.
He tried for a grin—tilting his chin just enough for his windswept brown hair to catch the fading sunlight, emerald green eyes twinkling with the reckless optimism of a boy who still believed in miracles. "Okay," he said, pointing casually toward the flaming wreckage, "I know this looks bad—"
"It is bad," Superman cut in, voice like steel under velvet. "You disobeyed League protocol. You entered a restricted black-site without clearance. You engaged enemy combatants. You endangered civilians. You—"
"—Saved a life," Solaris said quickly, like a reflex. He stepped forward, hands raised in a peace gesture. "Let's not forget that part. One life. One scared kid who was about ten minutes from being turned into a human Petri dish."
Scarlett turned her head toward him slowly. "You also caused three international intelligence agencies to go into lockdown," she said. "And made me teleport in heels."
Solaris's mouth opened. "Okay. Valid. Totally valid. But, like, also… you looked amazing doing it?"
Sentinel groaned under his breath and elbowed him hard in the ribs.
"Ow," Solaris hissed. "Assault. Witnessed. I'm calling Diana."
"You deserve worse," Sentinel muttered, standing a solid head taller, his black hair damp with sweat, pale green eyes glaring straight ahead. His whole vibe radiated I told you this would happen.
Supergirl folded her arms. Her uniform was scuffed, her cheek bore a shallow cut, but her glare could've ignited steel. "He's not wrong, though," she said. "We saved that kid. Nobody else was going to. And if we waited for permission, it'd be his funeral."
"You did the right thing," Superman said, voice level. "The wrong way."
"I'd rather do the right thing the wrong way," Kara snapped, "than sit on my hands and do nothing."
Solistice finally spoke, her voice quieter but firm, her strawberry-blonde hair frizzing slightly from the leftover energy in the air. She was the youngest, and smallest, but her words hit like thunder. "He was thirteen," she said. "They were testing neural inhibitors on him. That's not science. That's torture."
Scarlett's expression flickered, just for a moment.
"You're all reckless," she said tightly. "Brilliant. Brave. But reckless."
"Okay, but let's focus on brilliant for a sec," Solaris offered, raising a hand like he was asking to be called on in class. "Because the infiltration plan? That was, like, 80% me."
"You hotwired a security gate using a vending machine," Sentinel growled.
"Which worked," Solaris pointed out.
"You also set off a pressure mine," Solistice added helpfully.
Solaris winced. "Small details."
"You threw fire at a tank!" Sentinel barked.
"I was the fire," Solaris said, dramatically clutching his chest. "I became the moment."
"I hate you," Sentinel muttered.
"I love you too, big guy."
Superboy, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up from behind Superman. "They saved that kid," he said simply, arms folded. His voice was low, calm. "And they took down a Level Four containment site without backup."
Scarlett gave him a long look. "Don't encourage them."
He shrugged. "I'm not. Just stating facts."
There was another long, heavy pause.
Superman looked like he'd just aged ten years.
"You're grounded from all off-world ops," he said finally. "Effective immediately."
"No team missions without senior League clearance," Scarlett added, cold and clear.
"No solo patrols," Superman finished.
"And," Scarlett added, her eyes locking directly onto Solaris, "for the love of Rao—no more breaking into secret government labs."
Solaris threw up his hands. "It was one time!"
"Today," she shot back.
Solaris hesitated. Then pointed limply at the smoldering ruins. "That's... technically fair."
Sentinel muttered something that sounded like "moron."
Supergirl didn't back down. She lifted her chin, eyes flashing with Kryptonian pride. "You can ground us. But you know we're right."
"Being right doesn't make you responsible," Superman said.
Solistice glanced up, her voice softer again. "Are you saying we should've done nothing?"
"No," Superman said, and his expression finally cracked—something heavy, almost regretful behind the steel. "I'm saying... you should've trusted us to act."
There was a silence none of them quite knew how to respond to.
Scarlett took a slow breath and turned. "Debrief in one hour. Dismissed."
The teens didn't wait to be told twice.
They turned to leave—quiet, for once.
Solaris was the last to go. He paused, then leaned toward Supergirl and whispered, "So... we're still technically undefeated, right?"
She didn't answer. Just smirked.
Sentinel groaned. "He's gonna get us all killed."
Solistice smiled faintly as she walked beside them. "Yeah. But at least we'll save people doing it."
And in the background, the League watched them go—half in judgment, half in something dangerously close to pride.
—
A little ways off, Batman loomed like a shadow made flesh—an unblinking, immovable judge. His cape barely stirred in the stale Cadmus air, his eyes sharp as a blade forged in Gotham's darkest nights. He watched Robin with that cold, exacting stare that could freeze lava.
Robin stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, every inch the soldier trying to hold it together. But it wasn't enough. Not for Batman.
"Tactical error one," Batman said, voice low and gravelly, each word deliberate like a sentence being passed down. "Assumed Cadmus wouldn't have failsafes."
Robin swallowed, nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Yes, sir."
"Tactical error two." Batman stepped closer, the weight of his presence almost physical. "Followed Solaris blindly."
There was a pause. Robin's throat bobbed. "...Yes, sir."
Batman's eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. "Tactical error three. No exit plan."
Robin's mouth opened, then closed. Finally, he breathed out, "Fair."
The silence stretched thin, stretched tight.
Then Batman leaned in slightly, voice dropping to a razor edge. "You got lucky. But next time you gamble with lives, make sure you win on purpose."
Robin's gaze snapped upward, eyes meeting the intensity behind the mask. He swallowed again, steadied himself. "Understood."
Batman straightened with a slow, deliberate motion. "Next mission—you lead. I want to see if you've learned anything beyond mistakes."
Robin blinked, heart hammering like a war drum. Then, slow but steady, he nodded. "Yes, sir."
The words were small, but they carried the weight of a promise—and a challenge.
—
In another corner of the ruined Cadmus compound, the sun cast long shadows that turned the debris-strewn ground to gold. Wonder Woman and Troia stood in silence, their silhouettes drawn in sharp relief against the dying light—twin outlines of strength, one forged, one still being tempered.
Diana's arms were crossed lightly, her lasso coiled at her hip, her armor gleaming even in soot. Her presence radiated calm, but it wasn't soft. It was the calm of oceans before storms. Of queens before judgment.
Troia stood a few paces away, chin high despite the dirt on her cheek, the tear in her sleeve, and the sting behind her eyes. She didn't look away—but she didn't quite meet her mentor's gaze either.
"You disobeyed direct League orders," Diana said. Her voice wasn't angry. It was quiet. Steady. Like truth spoken aloud.
Troia bristled. "We saved someone."
"You endangered all of you."
Troia turned to her fully now, dark eyes flashing with defiance. "So what were we supposed to do, Diana? Just stand there? Let Cadmus weaponize a clone? A child?"
"No," Diana replied evenly. "You should have waited."
"Waited?" Troia echoed, incredulous. "Waited while they ran tests on him? Waited while he screamed in his sleep? You saw the footage. You know what they were doing."
Diana's brow furrowed slightly, the only crack in her otherwise unshaken calm. "Yes. I know."
"Then why—why are we the ones getting lectured for doing what you taught us?" Troia's voice trembled—not from fear, but from fury. "You said to stand up for the helpless. To be brave."
"I also said to be wise."
Troia looked away then, jaw tight, her fists clenched at her sides. "It didn't feel wise to let him suffer. It felt cowardly."
Diana took a step forward, placing a hand gently—but firmly—on her shoulder. "Sometimes," she said, "doing the right thing and doing it wisely are two different battles. And learning to fight both is the hardest lesson of all."
Troia looked down, blinking hard. "It doesn't feel like we won."
Diana's voice was soft now. Not weak. Never weak. "Because you didn't. Not yet."
Troia glanced up, the fire still there, but banked now. "Then what was the point?"
"To save him," Diana said. "And to survive long enough to save more."
Troia didn't answer. But after a long pause, she nodded—slow and reluctant. The war inside her hadn't ended. But at least, for now, it had a name.
—
A little ways off from the main camp, where the ruins of Cadmus still crackled with fading sparks and League tension, Giovanni Zatara stood beneath the skeletal remains of a half-collapsed awning, framed by smoke and setting sun. His signature long coat fluttered gently in the breeze, top hat casting a long shadow across the cracked concrete.
His arms were folded, his stance as still and composed as a stage magician before the final act. Only his eyes moved—tracking the girl in front of him like she might vanish mid-sentence. Or explode. Again.
Enchantress—Zatanna to those who knew her outside the mask—stood a few feet away, arms wrapped tightly around herself, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Her combat skirt was scorched, her braid half undone, and her eyeliner had melted halfway down her face in a dramatic, very-on-brand streak. She looked like a magical disaster in recovery. Which, to be fair, she was.
Giovanni raised a single brow. "Did you have to levitate everyone like parade floats?"
Zatanna winced. "They were panicking."
"They were upside-down."
"They were fine! One of them even said it was 'kinda fun' before throwing up."
His expression didn't change. "And the magical detonation rune? In the ventilation system?"
Zatanna scratched the back of her neck, glancing sideways. "Mostly... accidental?"
"Mostly?"
"I was trying to disable the anti-magic wards, but then there was this glyph matrix, and the backlash fed into the exhaust system, and the whole thing went boom before I could say 'sihT tonnac eb doog'—which, ironically, would've helped!"
Giovanni sighed through his nose, slow and tired. "Zatanna... Power," he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice, "is not just what you can do. It's knowing when you shouldn't."
Zatanna stared at the ground. The tips of her boots were still glowing faintly from residual magic. "I know," she said softly. "But if I hadn't done something, they would've gotten to Superboy. He was trapped. They were planning on hurting him. I couldn't—" Her voice broke slightly, and she bit her lip. "I couldn't wait."
For a long moment, Giovanni didn't speak.
Then he reached out and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. She tensed at first—then let herself breathe.
"You did well," he said. His voice was gentler now. The sharp edge gone, replaced by something quieter. Paternal. "You followed your heart. You fought for your friend. No one is blaming you for that."
Zatanna looked up at him, lip still trembling. "But...?"
He gave her the faintest smile. "But there's a difference between a rescue and a spell-slinging meltdown."
"I thought I had it under control," she muttered. "The rune was just... a little more explosive than anticipated."
"Magic always is," he said. "Especially when your emotions are casting half the spell."
Zatanna looked away again, blinking hard. "It just... It all happened so fast. I didn't want to be the one standing still."
"You weren't," he said softly. "But next time, I want you to ask yourself: Am I helping? Or just making sure no one forgets I'm here?"
She didn't answer. But after a moment, she gave a tiny nod.
He squeezed her shoulder once, firm and grounding.
Then he smiled and added with a touch of dry warmth, "Also, next time, please levitate people right-side up. I nearly hexed a League medic trying to clean his shoes."
Zatanna laughed—half a giggle, half a sigh. "I'll add it to the spell notes."
"You'd better," he said. "Your next lesson? Precision enchantments. No explosions. Just elegance."
"I make no promises," she said, already walking beside him as they headed back toward the others.
"Zatanna—"
"Okay, okay," she sighed. "Less drama. More... finesse."
He nodded, proud even as he hid it behind a practiced poker face.
She still had a long way to go—but for today, she had fought like a true magician.
And maybe—just maybe—not everything needed a detonation rune.
—
Near the edge of the shattered Cadmus facility, the noise of crackling debris and murmured reprimands faded into the sound of gently lapping water.
A pool had been conjured from seawater and magic—a calm, glowing circle in the chaos. Waist-deep in the middle of it stood Aquaman, arms folded across his bare, inked chest, his trident resting against one shoulder. His long hair was damp and tousled, water glinting off the gold scales of his armor. His eyes, cool and unreadable as the Mariana Trench, were fixed on the young man standing opposite him.
Aqualad met his gaze steadily. He didn't fidget, didn't look away. He held himself upright—back straight, hands behind his back, like a soldier awaiting judgment. The water rippled softly around him, but he didn't move. He was calm. Even now.
That was the point.
Aquaman broke the silence first.
"Your judgment," he said slowly, his voice like a distant wave, rough and low, "is still developing."
Aqualad's jaw tightened just slightly. "But my instincts were sound."
A pause.
Then Aquaman nodded once. "They were."
Aqualad blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—what?"
"You heard me," Aquaman said, almost smiling, but not quite. "You trusted your team. You analyzed the threat. You acted when it mattered. Your calm under pressure?" He nodded again. "Commendable."
Kaldur breathed out. Not relief, exactly—just... release. The tension behind his shoulders dropped an inch. "Then why do I still feel like I'm about to be reassigned to the kelp mines?"
Aquaman raised an eyebrow. "Because you are."
Kaldur straightened again. "Seriously?"
"You're still on perimeter duty," Aquaman said, stepping forward. "One month. No debate."
"That's harsh."
"It's not punishment. It's reinforcement." He jabbed a finger into the water between them. "Instinct is powerful. But judgment? Judgment's the thing that keeps you alive. That keeps your team alive."
Kaldur looked away, the muscles in his jaw flexing. "I wasn't reckless."
"No," Aquaman agreed. "But the ones who followed you were."
That stung. But he took it.
"I didn't ask them to."
"You didn't stop them, either."
Kaldur flinched—barely—but it was there. "I didn't have time."
"You will next time. Or you'll make time. That's what leaders do."
Kaldur nodded slowly. "Understood."
Aquaman finally grinned. "Good."
A beat.
"I still think perimeter duty is excessive," Kaldur muttered.
Aquaman shrugged. "Tell it to the jellyfish. They're surprisingly chatty."
Kaldur rolled his eyes. "You always say that."
"They always are," Aquaman said, already turning to wade toward shore. "Get moving, little fish. We've got a debrief in ten. And next time, try not to flood the security grid before we've neutralized the tech."
Kaldur followed, water dripping off his armor. "That was Solaris."
"That always is Solaris."
"I was trying to keep him away from the command room."
"Well, you failed."
"Yeah," Kaldur muttered. "I noticed."
Aquaman clapped him on the shoulder as they stepped out of the pool. "Good. Means you're paying attention."
The prince of Atlantis gave a small smile then, just to himself.
He may have screwed up. But he was learning.
And in Aquaman's eyes, that was what mattered most.
—
Off to the side of the main site—where the sun hung low and the air still smelled like burnt concrete and superhero regret—The Flash paced restlessly. Not in circles, exactly, just... everywhere.
Beside him, Kid Flash stood with his arms crossed and a not-so-subtle scowl etched across his freckled face. His yellow-and-red suit was scorched at the knee, his hair a windswept disaster, and his goggles perched crooked on his forehead.
"Okay," Flash said suddenly, stopping mid-pace. "Let's talk."
"Great," Wally muttered. "Let me guess: 'What were you thinking, Wally?' 'Why didn't you wait, Wally?' 'You're benched forever, Wally.'"
Barry blinked. "Wow. You do great impressions of me. Should I be offended or impressed?"
Kid Flash rolled his eyes and kicked a piece of debris. "You tell me."
"Alright, fine." Flash exhaled and pointed a finger at him. "Let's start with the good. You were fast. You saw a gap in the defense grid, took out the turret system, and rerouted power to the extraction corridor."
Wally blinked. "...Wait, seriously?"
"Dead serious," Barry said with a small grin. "That was some world-class maneuvering."
Kid Flash straightened a little, just a little. "So I'm not benched forever?"
"You're still on probation."
Wally groaned. "Ugh. I knew there was a catch."
"You also," Barry added, smile fading slightly, "ignored your check-in. Left your team without backup. And nearly phased into a wall because you didn't calibrate for structural variance."
"It wasn't nearly," Wally muttered. "More like... vaguely."
Barry raised an eyebrow. "Vaguely?"
"Okay, fine, the wall and I had a moment. But I bounced back."
"You bounced through. There's a difference."
Wally kicked the debris again, this time harder. "I just—everyone else was already doing something big. Kara was punching through steel. Solistice was floating. Solaris was on fire. And I just... I wanted to matter."
Flash was quiet for a moment.
"Wally," he said finally, voice softer now, "you do matter. You always matter. But you don't prove that by racing ahead. You prove it by knowing when to slow down."
"I can't slow down," Wally said, frustration bursting at the edges. "That's kind of the whole point, isn't it? I'm fast. That's what I bring to the table."
"No," Barry said gently. "You bring heart. The speed is just extra."
That shut Wally up.
"I get it," Barry continued. "I used to think the same thing—that if I wasn't moving, I wasn't helping. That I had to be faster to be better. But leadership? Teamwork? It's not just about being fast. It's about knowing where your team is. How they're doing. What they need. And sometimes, that means standing still."
Wally looked away, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I'm not great at the standing still part."
Barry smiled. "I know."
They stood there for a while, just the two of them, the sun slipping low over the fractured skyline. Wind tugged at their suits, carried the distant sound of League debriefs and tired voices.
"So," Wally said after a long pause, "am I grounded forever?"
"Not forever," Barry said. "But for the next three weeks? Yeah. No field ops without backup. And mandatory tactical simulations every morning."
"Ugh," Wally groaned. "Why do you hate me?"
"I love you," Barry said, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's why I'm torturing you."
Wally sighed. "Cool. Cool cool cool. Abuse by affection. Got it."
Flash turned, already accelerating into a blur. "You can complain about it after the cooldown run. One lap around the crater—clocked, not cracked!"
"Wait—now?!" Wally shouted after him.
A gust of wind hit him in the face.
"Dude! My leg's still sore!"
"Then run funny!" Barry called back from somewhere over the hill.
Wally groaned again, tightened his goggles, and muttered, "Stupid heroic life. Stupid crater. Stupid super-uncles."
But then?
He grinned. And ran.
—
As the last League transport shimmered to life in the distance, preparing for the trip back to the Watchtower, the ruins of Cadmus fell into a hush broken only by the soft hum of containment fields and the tired shifting of boots against scorched earth.
Superman stood a few feet from the wreckage, cape trailing behind him like a banner caught in a quiet breeze. Beside him stood Superboy, arms crossed, jaw clenched, staring at the fractured ground like it owed him an answer. The flickering light of twilight made the shadows long, but the silence between them was longer still.
"I know what happened," Superman said at last, voice low but warm. "The League was briefed. We saw the files."
Superboy didn't move. Didn't speak. His fists remained clenched, nails digging into his palms.
"They told me everything," Superman continued gently. "About the labs. The genetic conditioning. The control mechanisms. The pain."
Still, Superboy said nothing.
"You're not my enemy," Superman added. "And you're not just a clone."
That did it.
Superboy looked up, eyes stormy and uncertain. "Then what am I?"
Superman met his gaze, calm and unwavering. "You're a choice. One that someone else tried to make for you. But that doesn't have to be your story."
Superboy shook his head slightly, half-laughing, half-choking on it. "You talk like I have a say. Like I'm more than a blueprint with fists."
"You are," Superman said. Then, softer: "You're family. If you want."
Superboy froze.
"I have a home," Superman went on. "A real one. It's quiet. There's space. Not just on the farm, but in my life. You can come with me. No strings. No mission. No programming. Just... choice."
Superboy blinked. His voice, when it came, was barely there. "You'd take me in? Just like that?"
"Not just like that," Superman said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But yes. I'd like to try. If you'd like to try."
Across the clearing, Solaris leaned casually against a shattered pillar, arms folded, emerald eyes narrowed as he watched the exchange. He gave Superboy a two-fingered salute when their eyes met and mouthed, 'Bout time.
Sentinel, standing beside him, rolled his eyes. "You owe me twenty bucks," he muttered under his breath.
Solaris whispered back, "You bet he'd punch Dad. He didn't punch Dad."
"Yet."
"Details."
A few feet beyond them, Solistice nudged Supergirl with her elbow, grinning. "Told you he wasn't just going to fly off. Emotional breakthrough by golden hour? Called it."
Supergirl crossed her arms but couldn't hide the smirk. "Yeah, yeah. You win."
Solistice beamed. "You owe me churros."
Superboy glanced between them—the team, the chaos, the teasing, the grins they didn't even realize they'd earned. Solaris caught his gaze again and gave a simple nod.
This?
This felt like belonging.
Superboy turned back to Superman. "I don't know how to be normal," he admitted. "Or... whatever version of normal this is."
"That's fine," Clark said. "I don't either. But we'll figure it out. Together."
Superboy's throat worked. He blinked hard.
"Okay," he whispered. "Yeah. I'd like that."
Superman stepped forward and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. Superboy didn't flinch.
Across the field, Scarlett watched with arms folded, a subtle smile playing on her lips. It didn't reach her eyes—but it was real.
The world was still broken.
But tonight, a part of it had started to heal.
And that was enough to start again.
—
Watchtower – Conference Chamber
Orbiting Earth, 08:31 GMT
The Watchtower's central command chamber was vast, sleek, and humming with quiet power—a cathedral of steel and starlight. Earth spun beneath the glass floor, and above it sat the most powerful beings on the planet, their silhouettes carved into shadows by the blue glow of tactical displays and classified reports.
Superman stood at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back, his cape still and regal in the artificial gravity. His face was carved from restraint, but his voice carried the weight of fury leashed by discipline.
"Cadmus wasn't cloning," he said. "They were designing soldiers. Hybrid constructs. Splicing metahuman DNA with alien, magical, and even mythological strands. Superboy was only the prototype. There are more."
"And if the kids hadn't gone rogue," Scarlett said from her seat to his left, one red brow arched, armor gleaming beneath her open blazer, "we'd still be chasing shadows. So yes, they detonated a biotech death lab... but at least they detonated the right one."
"They also violated half a dozen League protocols," Batman added flatly. He was already half in shadow, cowl drawn low, hands steepled under his chin. "And nearly started an international incident with the United Nations Security Meta Division."
Aquaman leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his armored chest. "But they saved Superboy."
Wonder Woman nodded beside him. "And that was no small thing. He was raised in isolation, programmed to serve a faceless authority. And still he chose to protect."
"He also punched a missile out of the air with no idea if it would explode in his face," Scarlett muttered.
"Kryptonian puberty," Superman said with a dry look. "Trust me, it's loud."
"No kidding," Flash piped up from the far end, vibrating faintly in his seat. "Kid had 'existential meltdown with a side of laser vision' written all over him. I was five seconds away from breaking out the hugs."
Hal Jordan let out a low chuckle. "He didn't need a hug, Barry. He needed a nap and about six years of therapy."
"He'll get both," Superman said. "With time. And care."
"He'll get worse if we leave him floating in limbo with no direction," Batman cut in. "Same with the others. Solaris is a walking PR disaster. Sentinel's one bad day from turning into me. Kara's head is a battleground of survivor's guilt and hero worship. And Wally thinks this is a game."
"So we guide them," Diana said. "We teach them."
"We train them," Scarlett added. "And for the record, Solaris is not a PR disaster. He's a nightmare. But he's also effective."
"They need structure," J'onn said finally, his deep voice calm and echoing through the chamber like a conscience made flesh. "But they also need each other. Shared pain is still a foundation."
Superman exchanged a glance with Scarlett. Then Batman. Then Diana.
"We form a team," he said.
A pause.
Flash blinked. "Wait, you mean them? Like... our new junior bomb squad?"
"After one month of disciplinary action," Scarlett said firmly. "Mandatory. No missions. No exceptions. They'll train, they'll sweat, and they'll learn what the chain of command actually means."
"And then they'll serve," Diana added. "Under supervision."
"Red Tornado has agreed to oversee field strategy," Clark said. "Black Canary will lead combat training. Scarlett and I will rotate oversight."
"Green Arrow tried to get Speedy on board," Batman said, his tone unreadable. "Didn't go well. Roy called the League hypocrites, stormed out of the Hall, and hasn't answered a call since."
"Ouch," Hal muttered. "Classic Roy. That kid's emotional baggage has its own zip code."
"He's not wrong," Scarlett said quietly.
"But he's not right either," Clark added. "This isn't about replacing the League. It's about giving the next generation a space to grow. Safely."
J'onn spoke again, thoughtful. "I propose we include Miss Martian. Her empathy, even now, outpaces her telepathy. And she seeks connection."
"I've trained with her," Diana said. "She has honor."
"And Jessica Cruz," Hal said. "New Lantern. Fifteen. Panic attacks. Still learning to fly. But the ring chose her. And she's already seen what the universe can do to the unprepared."
"She'll fit," J'onn said. "Eventually."
"Then it's settled," Superman said. "One month probation. Then we officially activate the team. Solaris. Sentinel. Supergirl. Superboy. Solistice. Robin. Aqualad. Kid Flash. Enchantress. Troia. Miss Martian. Jessica Cruz."
Flash whistled. "You're gonna need a name for this chaos engine."
Scarlett didn't even glance up. "Don't call them a circus."
Barry grinned. "Fine. Then how about... Young Justice?"
Batman's eyes narrowed. He said nothing. But he didn't disagree.
Superman allowed himself the smallest of smiles.
"It has a ring to it."
Outside, Earth turned.
And above it, twelve young heroes waited. Bruised, reckless, unfinished.
But ready.
Almost.
---
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