The low rumble of the elevator carving through bedrock was the only sound in the heavy silence. The air in the cabin carried ozone from Kara and the faint, persistent scent of wild orchids from Pamela—a strange cocktail evoking the just-survived apocalypse and her untamed nature. The dim light of the elevator lamps caught their faces: Pamela, pale, her eyes blazing with cold emerald fury; Kara, focused, scanning even this confined space; Alex, his sharp, all-seeing gaze gliding over welded wall seams, control panel buttons, and the folds of his companions' clothes, piecing together an invisible mosaic of details. His fingers fidgeted with his jacket's hem—a tic when his unique mind, adept at finding patterns in chaos, worked at full throttle.
The elevator halted with a soft hydraulic hiss. Massive armored doors bearing the Floravita Industries logo—a stylized vine crushing a steel gear—slid open. Before them lay the main Root Base. Not a refuge for stragglers but a stark, underground command center carved deep beneath Gotham's abandoned docks. The air thrummed with readiness: unadorned steel walls, the hum of powerful generators, rows of glowing server racks, and blinking control panel indicators. The air was cool, sterile, smelling of metal, oil, and… paper. Everywhere—on tables, pinned to walls, spread across a massive central table—lay detailed paper maps of Gotham, utility schematics, district blueprints, scrawled with notes and arrows. No holograms. Alex trusted an old truth: in a digital world, secrets leaked like water. Even thoughts could be plucked by the right telepath. But paper… paper was reliable. If trust was to be given, it went to paper—and his ability to burn it.
"Wow," PowerGirl whistled, surveying the vast, austere space. Her white suit stood out starkly against the gray metal. "Didn't expect a full-on war bunker. And enemies to match. That show today was something else. Serious players."
Pamela stepped forward, her heels echoing on the metal floor. She tossed her slightly singed cloak onto a nearby chair.
"Serious?" Her lips curled into a cold smirk. "More like brazen technocrats with an arsenal. Some high-up freak with military toys thought they could dictate terms in my city." The word my rang like a challenge.
Alex was already at the central table, piled with papers. His eyes flicked over familiar maps, but he didn't dig in. Instead, he turned to Kara, his gray gaze piercing.
"Kara," his voice was even, edged with steel demand. "Details. Everything you saw. I was watching, but your speed… it gives a different angle. Talk."
PowerGirl hopped onto the edge of the massive table, ignoring the scattered papers.
"Alright. First—three shots. Perfect sync. From different rooftops, but they hit like one big boom. Bullets—heavy, nasty, pure armor-piercers. Target: Pamela. Distance…" She squinted. "At least five kilometers. I caught them easy. Then…" She described the crimson beam plunging from impossible heights, the clash of energies, the roar and heat. "…and I broke it. Like a twig. The shooter was up there," she jabbed a finger at the ceiling, "where even birds don't fly. On something invisible. And the weapon… not a gun. Something narrow, focused, tech way above what I usually see from Earth's armies."
Alex listened, unblinking. His fingers tapped the table's edge when she mentioned sync and distance. When she finished, he ran a hand over a map of central Gotham, not touching it.
"Five kilometers. Three shots. Perfect sync…" He spoke softly, almost to himself, assembling unseen puzzles. "Not just a diversion. A guarantee that even if a protector counters one shot, the other two hit. Only absolute speed… or precognition could've saved her. And the height…" He glanced at the ceiling, as if seeing through kilometers of stone to that invisible craft. "Seven kilometers… stealth… a laser that powerful… No, darling." He turned to Pamela, his gaze unwavering, devoid of doubt. "Not a 'freak.' Of all the mercenaries, killers I know… I'd bet my last dime it was Deadshot, working for someone with very long arms and very short patience."
He stepped toward Pamela, his expression hardening, businesslike.
"I expected a move—public setting, perfect for a hit. But the scale…" Alex shook his head, a glint of cold respect for the enemy's audacity in his eyes. "Bigger than I calculated. More serious than I planned. Means you're scaring them bad. Means we're on the right track." A familiar cocky smirk tugged his lips, blending exhaustion and unshakable confidence. "But you know what I've learned from all the fights with clever plans?" He swept his gaze over their trio: the fierce Mistress of Flora, the mighty daughter of stars, and himself—a man whose mind cut sharper than any steel. "The fanciest schemes, the slickest traps… they shatter under a good, strong club. Reliable. And preferably way stronger."
PowerGirl snorted, her eyes flashing with excitement. She flexed her arm, biceps bulging under her white suit, the powerful definition striking. The gesture naturally highlighted her impressive chest, but Alex didn't flinch or blush. His red eyes, cold and assessing, slid over her tensed muscle, then met her face with professional, slightly mocking appraisal.
"Club?" She raised a brow, glancing at her fist. "You said stronger? This 'club' work for you?"
Alex's smirk widened, his gaze direct, bold, without a hint of flirtation—just stating fact.
"More than works," he shot back lightly. "Prime tool for smashing plans. But…" He spun to the table, fingers pinpointing a schematic—Knightsbridge's reconstruction plan, hit hardest by the mob war. "Time to stop reacting and start building. They showed teeth. We'll show streets, parks, new homes. Gotham's rebuild starts today. Not just restoration—rebirth. So the next 'Deadshot' has nowhere to hide." His voice rang like a hammer on an anvil. His eyes, fixed on paper plans of gardens rising from ruins, burned with a strategist's cold fire, seeing twenty moves ahead. The shadow of the assassination attempt dissolved into the shadow of a grand undertaking. And in that new shadow, promises and threats of coming battles stirred.
The screen in Root Base's darkened room glowed cold blue. Alex clicked a bookmark: Parahumans. Blue background, pixelated fonts, a flashing "Welcome to Gotham's Shadows" banner. He jumped to the thread: [Gotham] FAILED ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT AT TODAY'S CEREMONY?! [URGENT, DISCUSS]. View count: 11,309 and climbing fast.
SlaveGreen: OH GOD I WAS THERE!!!!! ONE LOUD BANG!!! THEN THE SKY RIPPED APART!!!! RED HELL-LIGHT FALLING ON PAMELA!!! I THOUGHT IT WAS OVER!!!! BUT THEN POWERGIRL CAME!!!!! SHE SAVED EVERYONE WITH HER… EYES?! SHE'S DIVINE!!!!
Adekvat228: Just another Monday.
SlaveGreen: Adekvat228, it's Tuesday? Oh, you're saving Tuesday for aliens 🤯
Adekvat228: Seriously, though… I don't get the logic. When Poison Ivy was wrecking chemical plants, poisoning corporate scum, and scaring the mob with killer gardens—nobody gave a shit. Powers? Eh, it's Gotham. But the second she starts DOING GOOD?! Building shelters, healing parks, giving free clean water and food, getting that damn key… suddenly some bastard with an orbital cannon shows up?! What the fuck is wrong with this world? Legit question.
MysterWho: I'm 84.7% sure (margin of error ±0.3%) this is government or government-level (A.R.G.U.S.? D.E.O.?). Question: did they REALLY want to give her the key? Or was the ceremony a BAIT TRAP? I lean toward trap. That beam… not just tech. Black-budget, military, top-secret shit. High-altitude or near-orbit platform + high-power directed energy. Someone really wanted her gone.
SlaveGreen: @MysterWho WHO DARED RAISE A HAND AGAINST OUR SWEET SAVIOR?! UNFORGIVABLE! LET HER VINES TORMENT THEM FOREVER!
HeritageofHumanity ✅: Whoever shot is a loser. 💪😎
SlaveGreen: OHHHH MY GOD!!! POWERGIRL ✅ REPLIED!!! WILL YOU GO ON A DATE WITH ME?! 😍😍😍
HeritageofHumanity ✅: No.
SlaveGreen: 💀
Konspirolog: WAKE UP, SHEEPLE!!! SHE STAGED THE ATTEMPT ON HERSELF!! FOR POWER AND THE "SAVIOR" IMAGE!! SHE'LL FEED YOU "FREE" FOOD, THEN TURN YOU INTO HER ZOMBIE MINIONS!! YOU'LL LIVE ONLY FOR HER!!
Moderator ✅: @Konspirolog: Rule Violations (1 - Baseless conspiracy theories, 4 - Capslock, 6 - Offensive generalizations). 6-hour ban. 🚫
SlaveGreen: @Konspirolog I WOULDN'T MIND BEING HER ZOMBIE MINION! READY TO BE A CHAIR, A FOOTSTOOL, ANYTHING! 😍
SexyGirl: @NoMisses YOU BALD BASTARD, HOW DARE YOU SHOOT AT OUR ROSE?!?!
NoMisses: @SexyGirl Shut up, idiot. I do what I want.
SexyGirl: @NoMisses I'LL FUCK YOUR MOM, YOUR DAD, YOUR WHOLE FAMILY WITH A STRAP-ON!!!
Moderator ✅: @SexyGirl: Rule Violations (1 - Threats, 2 - Extreme offensive language, 4 - Flame). 24-hour ban. 🚫
HeritageofHumanity ✅: @NoMisses There's the loser. 💅