The car wasn't running when Zane found it. Headlights dark, engine dead, and rust eating thin steel. But the lock was busted, the battery still had juice, and the interior smelled of stale cigarettes. Exactly what he needed.
He rapped his knuckles on the trunk a few times, tested for a weak point, then flipped it open, slipping in his duffel: stolen gear from KGBeast—Tactical Knife, Flash bang pellets, grenade pellets?, even his entire arm.
There were other gadgets as well, but he doesn't really know what they do, he'll figure it out when he has the time.
He had stripped NGBeast of everthing, even his clothes, he was wearing them right now.
The raccoons clambered in seconds later, jostling for space. One jumped in the passenger seat and began inspecting the dashboard. Another popped up behind the driver's headrest and pawed at wires. The third snagged a chip bag from the back and started munching.
Zane dropped into the driver's seat, adjusted the rearview mirror, and clicked his tongue. "Alright, chaos crew, where to?"
He spent a good 10 minutes trying to hotwire the car. Again, he has to thank the internet for this skill.
Once he got the car started, he rolled onto the mains street, car making all sorts of noises, clearly on deaths door
' Now, where to?'
He drove. The road blurred. At one point, the raccoon pressed the radio buttons with surprising dexterity, nearly blasting static before Zane yanked the knob away.
His mind wandered.
Cadmus had chased him this far, and more was coming. The fights in Blüdhaven—they could only delay so much.
He needed someone who knew tech. Someone he can trust to examine his body without doing something to it.
He needed someone outside their reach.
He thought of Gotham first---how could he not. That was Batmans territory, he highly doubts that Cadmus would send someone after him...at least they wouldn't dare be high profile like they were in Blüdhaven.
However, he really can't trust Batman, that's the same man that installed a virus on Cyborg the day they met. He has plans to take out all justice leaugue members just in case.
Who know what he'll do the Zanes body.
'Speaking of, I could just go to the Justice leaugue and ask for help, I don't have to go to batman specifically.' That was a thought he's been having for a while now.
But the Justice League has a problem, they play by the book.
If he marchs in there, maybe they will help him...or maybe they will be forced by 'law' to hand him over to Cadmus.
Maybe that's a bit far fetched, maybe they won't hand him over. But Zane remembers that they were pressured by Cadmus and the government in Young Justice, when Cadmus claimed Connor kent belonged to them.
Clearly showing that they are heavily bound by the law.
The Justice League is temporarily not a option....
Then a name surfaced.
Serling Roquette.
Serling Roquette, neuro‑interface genius, nano‑bot scientist, based in Star City. She'd invented the Fog, been abducted by the League and emerged bitterly intelligent.
If anyone could locate a Cadmus‑grade implant, it would be her.
Zane smirked. "Star City it is."
---
He slipped onto the freeway heading west. Speed wasn't the issue as much as discretion. He stayed below the radar--not that it mattered.
He reached into the glove compartment—took out a granola bar he packed. The raccoons sniffed. Pap Roach climbed onto his shoulder, sniffing his ear.
"We're going to the big city boys, no fighting, no dying. A real upgrade huh?" Scratching the raccoon under his chin, Zane said.
"You'll have some high quality trash bags to rummage through, not the cheap stuff here in Blüdhaven. "
General Crunch responded with a low, approving grunt, already half-buried in a tactical vest Zane had tossed into the backseat—his unofficial throne. Papa Roach curled his tail around Zane's neck like a scarf.
Zane smirked beneath the mask. "Try not to start any turf wars with the possums, alright?"
---
Star City
Star City looked different. Cleaner in daylight, real livley. He parked two avenues from Royal University and slipped out.
The raccoons followed—center raccoon hopping over trash cans like he owned them.
The building was nondescript: old brick lecture hall fronting a newer research wing. A sign read Royal University – Cognitive Nanotech Research. The windows were protected; flashing security lights dotted the entrance. Perfect.
Zane circled, slid his binoculars through the scope hole in the duffel, observed guard rotations. Two guards at the door chatting. A single camera pointed at the main entrance.
Then he saw it—second floor, east stairwell exit door cracked. No camera. No guard.
---
He picked the door lock in six seconds. Raccoons whispered behind him. They filed in—silent scouts in fur.
Inside, the corridor smelled like bleach and ozone. Doors to labs were locked. He followed footsteps etched in dust—glowing footprints leading to a wing marked Neural Interface Division.
He paused at one door forgotten ajar. Light leaked. Footsteps ahead stopped.
He pushed in.
---
Serling's Lab
A rusted door creaked open.
Serling didn't look up from her console. "I thought I said I didn't want to be disturbed."
Zane raised both hands, stepping slowly under the flickering overhead light. "Hello doctor, I could use some help."
Hearing the unfamiliar voice, she quickly turned to look at Zane.
Standing at the door was a young man seemingly in his early 20s. Black hair, blue eyes. Standing at 6 foot 5, slightly muscular, wearing a trench coat over what seemed to be combat gear.
Her fingers positioned over a button under the table.
Zane kept his tone calm. "Name's Zane. I need help. Would appreciate it if we don't make this complicated."
She still didn't move.
She gave him a flat look. "You're either brave, stupid, or dying."
"Little of all three," he muttered. "There's something inside me. Implanted. I think it's Cadmus tech."
Her posture changed slightly. Not relaxed—more alert.
"Cadmus?" she repeated. "And you thought the best place to go was me?"
"You're one of the best there is." Zane said. "Word on the street said you were… precise."
By street he means his foreknowledge.
Serling stood slowly, deciding to him a chance."Flattery will get you nowhere."
He gave a half-smile. "Gotta pull out all the stops. I'm a little desperate here."
She exhaled sharply through her nose.
Behind him, Papa Roach and General Crunch poked their heads out from a duffel bag on the floor.
Serling blinked. "Are those… raccoons?"
"Support crew," Zane said quickly. "Quiet, mostly. Unless you've got open snacks."
One of the raccoons started pawing at an old med tray.
Serling pointed. "Out. Lock them in the stairwell."
"They hate closed spaces."
"I hate rabies. Your move."
Zane gave them a look, and they sulked off with a chitter. He shut the door gently behind them.
When he turned back, Serling had a scanner wand in one hand.
"Sit," she said, gesturing to a recliner ringed with monitors. "Start from the top."
Zane sat. The chair creaked under him.
"I don't know what it is. Could be a tracker. Could be something worse. I'm actually not even 100 percent sure its there, just a guess."
Serling's eyes flicked up. "Hope you guessed wrong. So what exactly is you connection with them anyways?"
"Woke up in one of their cells a few weeks back. No memory how I got there."
She made a noncommittal sound. "Cells? Guess Cadmus is darker than it pretends to be."
Zane gave a bitter nod. "You don't wanna know."
Sterling lowered the scanner near his neck, sweeping slowly. "If it's embedded deep, there might not be visible scar tissue. You're lucky if it's a simple tag."
"And if it's not?"
She paused. "Then we've got a problem."
The machine whirred quietly. Layers of his nervous system bloomed onto her holographic display—she zoomed in, frowning.
Zane tried to read her face. "You see something?"
Her lips thinned. "There's interference in your lower neural region. Not definitive, but it's something near the brainstem."
Zane sat up straighter. "Wait. In my brain?"
Sterling rolled her eyes. "Where do you think Cadmus hides the good stuff? Your foot?"
He winced. "Can you get it out?"
She gave him a hard look. "I can try. But if it's wired into something vital—motor functionsfor example —you might walk out drooling. Or not at all."
Zane nodded, jaw tight. "If that happens, just kill me."
She took it as a bad joke, but he was obviously serious. If he ended up paralyzed, he wouldn't be able to kill himself to reset.
Luckily, he came prepared. KGBeast, as a professional assasin, naturally had sucide methods just incase he ever got captured.
She turned back to her console, muttering. "You better not puke on my floor."