Project Cadmus — Upper Levels.
The elevator hums, a low, metallic drone that fills the silence. Conner leans against the wall, arms folded tight across his chest, every muscle locked like a coiled spring.
He's not watching the numbers tick down. He's replaying Lex's words.
"You have more in common with me than Superman."
Each syllable digs in like a splinter.
"What has he given you? Nothing. Not even affection."
He squeezes his fists.
"You're more like me than you care to admit."
By the time the doors slide open, his jaw aches from grinding his teeth.
Cadmus greets him like it always does — too clean. Too bright. Too empty. Every step feels like walking back into the wound he crawled out of.
Guardian stands by the security desk, arms folded. He forces a casual tone that doesn't reach his eyes.
Guardian: "Superboy. Back so soon?"
Conner: (brisk) "Not here for pleasantries."
Guardian steps forward.
Guardian: "Conner—"
But Conner doesn't slow down.
Conner: "Save it."
His boots echo against the tiled floor as he moves deeper into the labyrinth of white walls and fluorescent light. He doesn't need directions. This place is burned into his memory.
He's not heading for the new labs. He's not here for polite tours of "improved Cadmus."
Something in his gut pulls him downward — toward the old sublevels. The places they'd rather forget.
He reaches the elevator to the restricted wings. The console blinks red when he enters his usual clearance.
System Voice: "Access denied."
Conner growls.
Conner: "Override. Luthor clearance."
The console hesitates — scanning his DNA, his voice, his identity. Then it blinks green.
System Voice: "Access granted."
The doors groan open, like they don't want to.
Conner steps inside without hesitation, the air growing colder as the doors seal him in.
Conner (to himself): "Let's see what you were hiding, Lex."
The elevator begins its descent — deep into the bones of Cadmus.
The elevator doors haven't fully closed when Guardian steps in, blocking them with his arm.
Guardian: "Conner. Don't."
Conner doesn't look at him.
Conner: "Move."
Guardian: "You don't want to go down there. Those wings aren't active for a reason."
Conner's eyes narrow.
Conner: "You mean they're buried for a reason."
Guardian exhales sharply, stepping fully inside the elevator, forcing Conner to meet his gaze.
Guardian: "I've been here long enough to know — digging into Cadmus' past only gets you hurt. You won't like what you find."
Conner laughs, low and bitter.
Conner: "I don't like what I already know."
Guardian puts a hand on his shoulder.
Guardian: "This isn't about you. It's about… ghosts. And sometimes ghosts are better left alone."
Conner shakes his hand off.
Conner: "You don't get it. I am one of the ghosts."
Guardian doesn't move, still blocking the panel.
Conner: "So either you get out of the way, or you ride down with me. But I'm going."
Guardian studies him — the stubborn, raw fury in Conner's face. Then he steps back.
Guardian: "Fine. But when you find what you're looking for… don't say I didn't warn you."
Conner doesn't reply.
The doors slide shut, sealing him inside.
The hum of the elevator fills the silence.
Conner leans against the wall, staring at the floor, Lex's words looping like poison in his head:
"You have more in common with me than Superman."
"Face it, son. You're mine."
Conner's fists clench.
Conner (quietly, to himself): "We'll see."
The elevator descends — deep into the dark bones of Cadmus.
Cadmus Sublevel 13.
The elevator door creaks open into darkness.
The air hits him first — wrong. Not just stale. Not just old. It's metallic, tinged with rust and blood that's been scrubbed but never gone.
Conner steps out slowly. The fluorescent lights above flicker like dying fireflies, leaving the corridor in a stuttering half-light.
Every sound feels amplified: his boots scraping tile, the hum of the elevator behind him, the faint rattle of vents.
This place wasn't meant to be revisited. It feels like walking through a grave.
Training chambers line the hall.
One has walls shredded with deep, violent claw marks — the kind that come from someone who didn't know when to stop.
Another is scorched, floor tiles warped and blackened like someone tried to burn this whole place out of existence.
Dried blood streaks one corridor wall, the trail disappearing into a long-darkened room.
Every door he passes makes his stomach heavier.
He turns a corner and sees an observation room.
The one-way mirror is shattered inward, jagged glass teeth clinging to the frame. A faint, dried spray of blood fans across the shards.
Conner's throat tightens.
"This wasn't just a lab. This was a battlefield."
And then — he sees it.
Painted crudely across a wall, black letters jagged and uneven:
SUBJECT PHANTOM — PROJECT OBSIDIAN.
He stops dead.
Conner: "…Phantom."
The word leaves his mouth like it's pulling something out of his chest.
Images of Phantom flicker in his mind: the way he moved in training, the cold distance in his eyes, the smirk that never reached his face.
"He lived here. Trained here. Died here, in pieces, over and over."
This isn't just about Lex. This is about him. The other clone who walks in his shadow.
"They didn't just break him. They made him this way."
Footsteps echo behind him.
Conner spins, ready to fight — but it's Guardian. Dubbilex follows silently, his black eyes unreadable.
Guardian: "You weren't supposed to see this."
Conner glares.
Conner: "Why? Because you didn't want me to know what you turned him into?"
Guardian flinches but doesn't answer.
Conner steps closer.
Conner: "This wasn't training. This was torture. These walls — they scream what you did to him."
Dubbilex's voice enters Conner's mind.
Dubbilex (telepathically): "Not us. Them. Before Guardian. Before this, Cadmus."
Conner: "You think that makes it better?"
Guardian: "No. But it's the truth."
Conner looks past them, back to the stenciled words on the wall. His fists tremble.
"Phantom… how much of you is left in there?"
---
Cadmus Sublevel 13 — Old Terminal.
The terminal hums faintly in the corner, ancient but alive on backup power.
Conner brushes away a thick layer of dust, his fingers leaving streaks across the metal as he boots it up. The screen flickers, glitching between login prompts before defaulting to emergency archive mode.
Cadmus' ghosts start talking.
FILE 1: "Subject 47: Codename Phantom. Shadow-Meld Prototypes."
FILE 2: "Erasure Therapy: Total Personality Rewrite."
"Test subject displays recurring resistance to erasure commands. Solution: escalate chemical suppression. Dose increased by 30%. Subject's responses weakening."
FILE 3: "Programming Notes — Dr. Desmond."
"Subject was once identified as 'Kade.'The previous personality is fully incompatible with mission parameters. Protocol enacted: removal of personal history, elimination of self-concept, destruction of emotional associations. Progress: acceptable. Subject 47 now responds only to codename 'Phantom.' Further reinforcement required."
Conner's stomach turns. Kade. Phantom had a name once.
FILE 4: "Behavioral Conditioning Report."
"Sessions include extended sensory deprivation, pain-response modification, and lethal obedience trials. Notable psychological breakdown after Session 12. Subject was restrained for 72 hours before stabilization via Erasure Therapy."
Conner scrolls further. His hand shakes, but he can't stop.
VIDEO LOG:
The feed pops into static, then stabilizes.
A boy younger than Conner remembers Phantom being. Barefoot. Thin. Dark circles under his eyes. No mask. No name. Just a hollow stare.
Other children are thrown into the chamber. They're terrified. Crying.
A voice over an intercom: "Proceed, Subject 47."
The boy hesitates for half a heartbeat.
Then shadows rise like serpents.
The children scream.
It isn't sparring. It's slaughter.
The boy's face doesn't change. No emotion. No hesitation after the first strike.
The feed cuts abruptly.
Conner's fists clench until his knuckles pop.
Conner: "…This wasn't training. This was butchery."
The only sound is the faint hum of the monitor.
He turns his head.
Guardian stands in the doorway, jaw tight. Dubbilex's black eyes glimmer faintly in the flicker of the screen.
They've been here long enough to know what he's seen.
But neither says a word.
Not yet.
---
Cadmus Sublevel 13 — Personal Quarters.
The hallway feels like a throat — narrow, suffocating, leading to a room at the very end. The air grows colder the deeper he walks, the hum of the terminal fading behind him.
He steps inside.
It isn't a room. It isn't a home.
It's a cell trying to masquerade as one.
A thin cot bolted to the floor. No blanket. No pillow. No comfort. Just bare concrete and stale air that reeks faintly of bleach.
On the wall, scratched deep into the surface, almost desperate:
NO NAME. NO PAST. NO SELF.
Conner stops.
The words stare back at him like a mirror.
Conner (quietly): "They didn't just make him a weapon. They made him… nothing."
His throat closes. He can't move. Can't breathe.
This wasn't some abstract monster Cadmus built. This was Phantom — Kade — a boy who sat on the couch at Mount Justice, who stood in the sparring ring with them, who carved TEAM? FRIENDS?? Into his wall because he didn't know how to belong.
And they broke him so thoroughly that he had to scratch away his existence.
"I thought I had it bad," Conner thinks, pressing his palm against the etching, tracing the grooves. "But this… this is worse than I could have imagined."
His hands tremble.
Dubbilex's voice enters his head, quiet, mournful:
Dubbilex (telepathically): "Project Obsidian was one of the most inhumane initiatives the old Cadmus ever conceived. They built shadows out of children. Only one survived long enough to reach the final phase — the one you know as Phantom. The one once called Kade."
Conner blinks hard, trying to force back the sting in his eyes.
Conner: "One? There were others?"
Dubbilex: "Dozens. He was the only one left standing."
A weight crushes Conner's chest.
Guardian's voice cuts in from the doorway, low and grim:
Guardian: "And what you saw in those logs? That was just what survived the purge. There were whole segments scrubbed from the database — wiped so thoroughly we'll never know exactly what they did to him."
Conner turns, his voice cracking with barely contained anger.
Conner: "Worse than this?The "
Guardian doesn't answer immediately. His silence is the answer.
Conner shoves past him, pacing the room, trying to breathe.
Conner: "He sat with us. He trained with us. And we treated him like… like he was dangerous. Like he wasn't—"
He stops himself. His voice drops to a whisper.
Conner: "Like he wasn't one of us."
Dubbilex steps closer, his voice steady but soft in Conner's mind.
Dubbilex: "He wanted to be. More than anything."
Conner feels his knees weaken. He drops onto the cot, head in his hands.
"You deserved better, Kade."
The room is silent except for Conner's uneven breaths, the hum of the failing lights, and the ghosts of a boy who once lived here.
The silence presses in, heavier than the concrete walls.
Conner stands again, staring at the words carved into the wall:
NO NAME. NO PAST. NO SELF.
His hands curl into fists.
Conner (quietly): "That's not who you are anymore."
His voice hardens, growing louder.
Conner: "You're not a weapon. You're not some project. You're Kade."
He rips the cot off the floor, slamming it against the far wall. The metal screeches, echoing through the corridor. The thin façade of "living space" crumples under his hands.
Guardian steps forward cautiously.
Guardian: "Conner—"
Conner: "No. He lived in this hell, and we just let it stay here. Like a tomb. Like it still owns him."
He punches the wall, splintering the concrete around the carved words.
Conner: "He's more than this."
The words come out through clenched teeth, but they're not just rage. They're a promise.
He steps back, breathing hard, dust drifting in the stale air around him.
Conner (quietly now): "I'm gonna do better. I don't care what it takes… I'll do better. You're not alone anymore, Kade. You hear me? You've got a friend now."
Dubbilex watches silently, his gaze heavy with understanding.
Dubbilex (telepathically): "He will hear you. In time."
Conner exhales, his hands still trembling, but for the first time since stepping on this floor, he feels steady.
Mount Justice — Conner's Room. Late Night.
The walls feel closer than usual. Conner sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. His hands are still dust-streaked from Cadmus, dried concrete in the grooves of his knuckles.
The door creaks open.
M'gann's voice is soft:M'gann: "Conner?"
He doesn't look up.
Conner: "Not tonight, M'gann."
M'gann: "I… couldn't sleep. I felt you. On the psychic plane. You were…"
She trails off.
M'gann: "You're hurting. Badly."
Silence.
She takes a step closer, then another, until she's standing in front of him.
M'gann: "Please. Let me in."
Conner exhales through his nose, long and shaky. His jaw flexes, fighting words that don't want to come.
Finally, he meets her eyes.
Conner: "They broke him, M'gann."
Her brow furrows.
M'gann: "Phantom?"
Conner nods.
Conner: "His name was Kade. Before… before they took everything. Before Cadmus turned him into that… weapon."
M'gann lowers herself to the floor in front of him, sitting cross-legged like she's afraid to break him by getting too close too fast.
M'gann: "What did you see?"
Conner hesitates. Then he stands, crosses to his dresser, and pulls out a small object: a chipped fragment of concrete. The words are still visible on it, jagged and raw:
NO SELF.
M'gann takes it in her hands, tracing the letters like they might cut her.
Conner: "That was his wall. His room. His life. They erased everything he was. Made him fight, bleed, kill… until there was nothing left but the mission."
His voice drops.
Conner: "He carved that into his wall, M'gann. Because that's what they made him believe."
M'gann's hands shake around the fragment. Her lips tremble.
M'gann: "He's been with us this whole time. And we… we didn't know."
Conner sits back down, burying his face in his palms.
Conner: "We treated him like he was dangerous. Like he was… less than us. But he was just trying to be part of the Team. Trying to be…"
His voice cracks.
Conner: "…our friend."
Tears streak down M'gann's cheeks. She sets the fragment aside and throws her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce, desperate hug.
M'gann: "Then we'll do better. When he wakes up… we'll show him he has a family. No more ghosts. No more chains."
Conner doesn't hug back immediately. But slowly, his hands rise and grip her shoulders, like he's holding onto a lifeline.
--
Watchtower — League Chambers.
The League sits in their high-backed chairs, arranged in a circle. Holo-screens glow above the table, displaying new member candidates — until J'onn waves his hand.
The images vanish, replaced with Phantom in his cryo-pod, suspended in frost.
J'onn: "There is another subject we have avoided long enough."
The air in the chamber changes. An unspoken tension rises.
J'onn: "Project Obsidian. Subject Phantom. The boy remains in stasis. And we have yet to decide his fate."
Wonder Woman: "Do we truly need another living weapon on this Team?"
J'onn: "He is more than that. But every day he spends frozen, he edges closer to becoming exactly what Cadmus made him."
Superman: "If Cadmus made him a weapon, what happens when we wake him? How much of that conditioning is still there?"
J'onn: "Some. But I have been working within his mind. He is healing. Slowly. He clings to the fragments they could not erase."
Hawkgirl: "That's comforting until he snaps. Are we willing to bet the Watchtower on your optimism?"
J'onn: "I am willing to bet on a child's ability to be more than his chains."
Flash leans back, arms crossed.
Flash: "We're not talking about a kid with attitude problems. He's trained to kill. You all saw Qurac. He doesn't hold back."
Green Arrow: "He also saved lives in Qurac. You can't erase that."
Flash: "He ended lives, too."
Green Lantern (John): "And how many of us here can claim clean hands? He's done what we trained him to do — survive."
Wonder Woman: "He is not old enough. Not stable enough. Children are not weapons to be sheathed and unsheathed as needed."
A quiet voice cuts through. Billy Batson — Captain Marvel — speaks, almost hesitantly:
Shazam: "He's like me."
All eyes turn to him.
Shazam: "A kid thrown into a world too big for him. I had people… I had guidance. A family here. He didn't. And now he's frozen like… like that's all he is. We can't pretend that locking him away makes him safe. It just makes him alone."
Wonder Woman: "Wise words, Billy."
Hawkgirl: "Wisdom doesn't fix Cadmus programming."
Green Arrow: "No, but maybe a real family could."
Batman finally speaks, voice flat as steel:
Batman: "He's not ready."
J'onn turns toward him.
J'onn: "Or perhaps you're not ready to let him be more than your contingency plan."
The words hit like a thrown blade.
Aquaman: "A contingency?"
Hawkgirl: "I wondered how long we'd dance around that."
Wonder Woman (to Batman): "Is that true?"
Batman's gaze doesn't shift from the holo-image of Phantom.
Batman: "If the League is compromised — controlled, corrupted, worse — he was built to stop us. Someone needed to be able to."
Superman bristles.
Superman: "You made a child into your doomsday failsafe?"
Batman: "I didn't make him. Cadmus did. I'm ensuring he doesn't become worse than what they intended."
"And maybe," Batman thinks, not saying it aloud, "giving him a chance to be more than I ever was allowed to be."
Wonder Woman: "By keeping him frozen? That isn't living, Bruce."
Batman: "It's surviving. For now."
J'onn: "Alive is not the same as living."
Green Arrow: "So how long does 'for now' last? Until you need him to kill for us? Or do we give him the chance to be a boy again?"
The chamber fractures — pragmatism versus morality, safety versus compassion.
J'onn: "We cannot keep pretending this is neutral ground. Every day in that pod, his humanity dies a little more. He deserves the same chance we gave the others."
Batman doesn't respond. His eyes stay locked on the frozen image of Phantom, his contingency and his failure, his weapon and his ward.
The debate stretches, but no resolution comes.
The holo-image lingers between them — not a weapon, not yet a boy — suspended in frost.
The chamber falls into an uneasy silence after J'onn's challenge. The holo-image of Phantom still hangs between them — a boy suspended between life and utility.
Batman speaks at last, his voice low but deliberate:
Batman: "J'onn's right about one thing. He has changed. Your work with him… It's helped. He's building something in there. I've seen the progress reports. He's not just Cadmus' ghost anymore."
There's a flicker of surprise across J'onn's face — an admission he hadn't expected from Bruce.
But Batman's tone hardens.
Batman: "And that's exactly why he stays frozen."
Wonder Woman: "Bruce—"
Batman: "You want to wake him before the programming is gone? Before the triggers are broken? We're not just risking the boy. We're risking everyone in this room."
He leans forward slightly, his gaze moving from face to face.
Batman: "He was trained to kill us. All of us. You think Cadmus didn't account for this exact scenario? Until that conditioning is gone, he is as much a danger to himself as he is to the League."
J'onn: "You would leave him in stasis indefinitely? Punish him for what Cadmus made him?"
Batman: "No. I'm protecting him. And us. Until I know waking him won't destroy what little humanity you've managed to pull back."
Superman's voice cuts in, calm but firm:
Superman: "He's right."
The room turns to him.
Superman: "I've seen what happens when someone with our power is controlled. Manipulated. If he wakes up before he's ready… we won't be arguing about whether he belongs on the Team. We'll be asking how to stop him."
Batman: "Exactly. So he stays frozen. Until the programming is gone. That's final."
J'onn exhales slowly, shoulders tight, but he doesn't press further.
J'onn: "Then let us hope that day comes soon."
The room falls silent again.
The holo-image of Phantom lingers, frost still framing his face.
Suspended. Waiting.
: Watchtower — League Chambers. After the debate.
The others file out, their voices low, still carrying pieces of the argument with them.
Batman stays seated. The holo-image of Phantom lingers in the air, his still form caught in endless sleep.
For a long moment, Bruce just stares. The room is silent.
Batman (internal): "You didn't ask for this. Any of it. Cadmus took a boy named Kade and buried him under scars and programming until all that was left was a weapon."
He exhales slowly, his jaw tightening.
"And I told myself keeping you frozen was a strategy. A failsafe. A contingency. But maybe… maybe it's just because I don't know how to save you."
His hand hovers over the console, like he might shut the image off — but he doesn't.
Batman (internal): "You're more than they made you. I know that. J'onn knows that. But until we break the last of their chains… I can't wake you. Not yet. Not like this."
He leans back in his chair, eyes still fixed on the pod.
"I promised I'd do better by you, kid. I just have to figure out how."
The holo-image hums softly. Phantom doesn't move.
Silent. Waiting.