Chapter 42:My wallet
The med-bay was still. Still enough to hear resolve.
Wildcard stood at the center of the room, surrounded by weapons too damaged to wield—bodies lying dormant in beds like unsprung traps.
They weren't allies.
They were loaded variables. Breakers of silence.
Sage's voice crackled softly in his ear, like an old lecture spoken through glass.
"Sir. Psychological states still degraded across all six mental fields. You'll need to make a decision—soon. Who are we waking first?"
Wildcard didn't answer right away. He folded his arms behind his back and scanned across the cots one by one, eyes scanning biometric overlays and subconscious activity patterns in augmented view.
"Robin: elevated neuro-agitation. Tension spike every 22 seconds. Potential for blade-level aggression."
Wildcard nodded silently.
"Cyborg: viral signal feedback from corrupted HUD. Persuasion unlikely. He'll fight shadows."
Wildcard narrowed his eyes.
"A recalibrating weapon with a conscience stuck in a feedback loop. No."
"Beast Boy: recursive trauma patterns. Mild shapeshift spasms. Brainstem instability. Low control. High surface volatility."
"Unpredictable. Fragile in the worst way. No."
"Starfire: emotional surge suppression active. Aura's too calm... which is often how implosions begin."
"She breathes like a bomb on hold," Wildcard muttered. "Another no."
"Raven—"
"Don't even finish that scan," Wildcard cut him off.
"Very well. Retaining red category lock. Mental aggression probability: 74.3%. Fatality projection: yes."
"She wakes up screaming, I rebuild this bunker atom by atom. Strategically inadvisable."
Wildcard's gaze shifted to Miss Martian.
Her form lay quiet, but her neural grid told a different story—subtle pushback against the dream-layer. Not rebellion. Not panic. Just… awareness. Like she knew the lie, but couldn't reach the truth.
"Miss Martian: psychic resistance detected. Awareness level: 42%. Passive pushback within subconscious construct. Thread stability: moderate. Threat potential: minimal."
Wildcard tilted his head.
"She's lucid enough to know she's dreaming."
"Correct. Suggestion: If containment is a priority and dialogue is valued—the Martian is the only tenable choice."
"She's calm," Wildcard confirmed aloud. "Tactical mind. Experienced restraint. Enough power to matter.
And most importantly, she doesn't mistake my face for a demon's."
"A refreshing change."
Wildcard moved toward her and lowered the stasis field. The dome flickered, then dissolved into darkness.
Her skin twitched. Her temple glistened with cold sweat.
He placed a hand on her forehead — Sharingan glowing, chakra tuned to surgical precision. He could feel the false dream pressing down on her: tight, looping, echoing with something darker than deception.
She wasn't calm in there.
She was cornered.
"Alright, M'gann," he muttered. "Let's see how deep the dream goes."
Wildcard's voice dropped into a whisper.
"Genjutsu… Kai."
The chakra surge sliced through the illusion anchoring her. A psychic rupture detonated through the fog of her binding.
And Miss Martian screamed.
A sudden, raw, strangled gasp tore through her lungs. Her back arched. Her hands flew up defensively as if swatting away invisible phantoms. Her lips trembled, breath choked—not just confusion, but fear.
"Stop—get out—get out of my mind!" she gasped, vision swimming with residual ghosts. Her fist glowed faintly with psionic spillover.
Wildcard stepped back exactly two feet. Hands relaxed. Stance centered.
Sage immediately spoke again.
"Vital signs stabilizing. Psychic veil retracting. You have her."
Her breath steadied. Eyes opened—slightly glazed, then sharpening with focus.
She blinked at Wildcard—confused, but not combative.
Wildcard's arms lowered back into formal rest. Measured. Neutral.
"You're awake. You're safe. For now."
"Beautiful delivery," Sage whispered. "Soft. Professional. Honestly touching."
Miss Martian screamed.
Her back arched, and her entire body flared with instinctual energy.
Before her rational mind caught up, her subconscious lashed out.
A concussive psychic wave exploded outward from her forehead—raw Martian mental power surged across the room like a vibrating sphere of thought and survival, a mental scream so sharp it could melt a weak mind in seconds.
Wildcard didn't flinch.
The wave hit him in full.
Nothing faltered.
His eyes—Sharingan still aglow—remained locked.
Emotionless. Precise.
No drift in posture. No reaction beyond a soft narrowing of his gaze. Sage's interface momentarily scrambled, but the shielding held.
"Mental blast absorbed. No psi damage detected," Sage reported coolly. "Attempted neural rewrite failed. She really tried, though."
Wildcard lifted one hand.
A sphere of crimson-orange fire shimmered into existence in his palm, casting a soft, flickering glow that lit the burnished surgical steel around him.
Miss Martian's breath hitched.
Her eyes widened.
All at once, the superstructure of her Martian DNA lit up with coded fear—instinctual, buried deep below her training. The flame was small. Controlled.
But in this fragile state, it wasn't a tool.
It was a nightmare.
She cowered back slightly. Reflexively. Eyes stinging with old panic.
Wildcard didn't raise the flame higher. He didn't threaten.
He let it burn steadily in his hand like a lighthouse flare—calm, unwavering, and unmistakable.
Then, his voice.
Measured.
Unimpressed.
"I'm Wildcard," he said, flat but commanding. "The person who just pulled you and your overpowered friends from a demon's mind trap not 2 hours ago."
He took one step closer.
"I'd appreciate a little gratitude, or at the very least, an absence of further psychic headbutts."
M'gann lowered her arms slightly, blinking away the adrenaline from her eyes.
He gestured toward her with his free hand—still calm fire in the other.
"I understand it's a lot. You're waking up somewhere unfamiliar, with someone you don't know, and all your mental anchors shredded."
He pointed across the room, to the row of medical beds lit under sterile, humming lights.
The Titans.
Robin slumped sideways, silent.
Beast Boy shifted involuntarily.
Starfire's breathing was shallow.
Cyborg's mechanical core clicked once in sleep.
Raven. Still too still.
"And your entire team is unconscious. Some of them broken. All of them compromised. So if you're going to panic, I highly recommend you do it after we figure out how to un-nightmare five walking apocalypse potentials."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"I need clarity. Not a counterattack."
He raised one eyebrow just slightly and tilted his head toward her.
"So do me one favor."
He lowered the fireball. It vanished without ceremony.
And he extended a hand.
"Just nod if you understand."
Miss Martian looked from his face to the medical beds… then back again.
Hesitantly, she nodded. Once.
Wildcard's shoulders eased—barely.
"Beautiful delivery," Sage quipped in Wildcard's ear. "Soft. Professional. Honestly touching. Should I queue up applause?"
Wildcard didn't acknowledge her.
But the faintest pull of amusement lingered behind his otherwise unreadable face.
Miss Martian rubbed her own temples, now sitting up under her own power.
Wildcard flicked his wrist, summoning up a new stream of HUD visuals across the console.
He ran a blink-scan of her vitals and residual psychic traces—not because she needed healing, but to time her cognitive readiness down to the second.
She was synchronized again. Eyes focused. Stable.
So he started talking.
Not like a friend. Not like a leader.
Like someone who knew she'd have to hear something outrageous—and believe it anyway.
"Remember the museum," he said flatly, without ceremony. "You and your squad rolled in hot. Fought a cult. Thought you found Slade on site."
He shot her a sidelong look.
"Nice teamwork, by the way. I counted five near-death experiences in twelve minutes."
M'gann blinked slowly, remembering fragments now surfacing like gut punches.
Wildcard continued.
"To keep it simple: you got your asses handed to you and someone walked out with a magical relic."
He paused for a half-second.
"Guess who."
"You really should've opened with 'I'm your lord and savior,'" Sage whispered dryly in his ear. "It builds trust."
"In fairness," Wildcard went on, "you didn't lose the fight to just anyone."
His voice dropped.
"The Slade you fought? That was a corpse. Puppet-wired. Infused with puppeteer-grade necromancy. Not even Slade anymore."
Wildcard turned completely toward her.
"But here's the real twist."
His tone didn't rise. It got... quieter.
More precise.
"It wasn't Slade. It was Asmodeus."
He watched her face as that name landed.
"One of the Seven Princes of Hell. And the one with a particular... affection for lust, obsession, and cracking open the human mind like a ripe fig."
M'gann sat frozen, hands clenched on her knees.
Wildcard kept going, matter-of-fact.
"Asmodeus used the Crimson Heart to reanimate Slade's body. Not resurrection. Rewriting. Like sticking a demon inside a mannequin sewn with the sins of a thousand souls."
He waved a hand behind him toward the unconscious Titans.
"Then he pulled all of you into the Crimson Dreamspace—fed on your guilt, your fears, your cravings. Deep stuff. Stuff stylists can't fix."
He turned back to face her, gaze unreadable.
"And then I—Wildcard. Local menace. Global solution. Yoinked a piece of the Heart, collapsed the dream lattice, and brought you here."
He permitted himself a relaxed exhale.
"You're patched. You're awake. Congratulations.
Any questions?"
M'gann looked from his hand to the beds… then nodded. Once.
Wildcard's posture eased—slightly.
"Beautiful delivery," Sage whispered. "Again. Someone give this man a medal. Or a hug."
There was a brief pause.
Wildcard didn't reply.
Then…
"…You're the guy who stole my wallet last time in the park."
Wildcard froze.
Every overlay in his HUD paused.
Even Sage, for once, said nothing.
For a moment, all retinal overlays and command protocols paused like a train skipping track. His mouth parted just slightly.
"…What?"
M'gann folded her arms. "You don't recognize me? Starfire, Raven, and I were walking through Jump Park, mid-afternoon. Great weather. Peaceful. Until some smooth-talking guy in a crimson coat managed to lift Starfire's communicator, Raven's grimoire, and—"
She gestured. "My wallet."
all while charming us with small talk."
Wildcard's eyes narrowed just enough to suggest internal override.
He thought—fast.
He was immune to telepathy. Psychic manipulation rolled off him like oil on glass.
But then he turned.
His gaze shifted—measured—to Jinx's cot.
Still out cold.
Still gripping the Bardock mask loosely with one hand.
Wildcard's jaw tightened ever so slightly.
Of course.
Just because he was immune…
didn't mean the people he worked with were quiet dreamers.
He muttered under his breath, "That mask doubles as a feedback receiver. If she dreamed it... she repeated it. Great."
Sage's voice chimed in, ever helpful.
"Confirmed. Audio loop caught six phrases during sleep-talk. Including: 'He charmed them, gold eyes, I love it when he doesn't even try.' Also: 'Haha! Raven noticed too late.' No mention of your name but… contextual accuracy is 96.7%."
Wildcard sighed through his teeth. "I didn't steal it. I... relocated forgotten inventory."
Sage immediately followed up.
"Alone, I might add. And elegantly. You were very proud that week."
"Stop helping."
M'gann's lips twitched—somewhere between smirking and judging.
M'gann raised an eyebrow lips twitched—somewhere between smirking and judging.
"Unspent psychic currency? That supposed to be a fancy way of saying 'I'm a thief with flair'?"
Wildcard folded his arms.
"In my defense—"
"There is no defense," she said flatly. "You robbed three metahumans in broad daylight while we were talking about smoothies."
Wildcard lifted a single finger.
"Correction: I liberated unused resources from temporarily inattentive parties. That's not theft. That's field reallocation."
"Of course," M'gann said dryly,
M'gann crossed her arms, trying not to grin.
"You hacked our personal effects. You stole Raven's book—do you have any idea how cursed that could've been?"
Wildcard shrugged.
"Do you have any idea how interesting it turned out to be?"
That did it. M'gann blinked, lips parting slightly in disbelief.
"You read it?!"
"I skimmed. For defensive purposes only."
"You tried to use it as a coaster," Sage muttered quietly.
Wildcard sighed again, sharper this time.
He leveled a finger at M'gann.
"Look. Demon cults were involved. Resources were required. And if I remember correctly, the book led me to a location where—surprise—we stumbled into Asmodeus's charming little welcome party."
M'gann rolled her eyes. "You're impossible."
"I prefer inevitable."
"He's right about that one," Sage added. "You'll get used to him. Or arrested trying."
Wildcard waved them both off and turned back toward the console interface.
Light from a new biometric scan lit his face in digitized reds and greens.
"Now," he said without turning back, "if we're done airing my community service hours… we have a green shapeshifter sweating through half a Werewolf transformation and a goth girl with a demon eye in her soul. Choose wisely."
M'gann exhaled slowly…and nodded.
The air shifted.
Playtime was over.
But she smiled anyway—just a little—as she followed him to the next bed.
"Still a thief," she muttered.
Wildcard didn't respond.
But behind his mask, his smirk returned.
Just briefly.
"Aww," Sage cooed through the comms, "you two have such chaotic chemistry. It's like a buddy cop romance where one of you commits light felonies and the other files the paperwork angry—but intrigued."
Wildcard blinked.
Then flatly: "Sage, I will reprogram you into a toaster."
"Worth it."
Wildcard raised one eyebrow.
"Delete that thought."
"Too late. I've already shipped it."
M'gann blinked once, deadpan. "Did your AI just call us a ship?"
She looked at Wildcard with something between bafflement and mild horror. "Tell me it didn't just say that."
Wildcard coughed—
—then actually laughed.
Low. Short. Real.
Like a tightly kept secret slipping through a crack in his armor.
It passed nearly as fast as it came, but he looked… almost lighter afterward.
"…Don't take it personally," he said, brushing the moment away. "Sage gets ideas. Dangerous ones."
"Admit it," Sage purred. "I'm the best thing that ever happened to your love life."