The old sedan coughed and rattled like it had swallowed a hoard of rats. Its red paint, once a bright beacon, was now a fading memory under layers of dust and chipped rust. The driver's side door protested every time Zane slammed it shut — a loud creak and a low thud — like it was trying to tell him, Hey, I'm barely holding on here.
Inside, Zane grinned as he gripped the cracked steering wheel, tapping his fingers to a scratchy pop song blasting from the ancient radio, which sputtered and popped with every bump. Beside him, Artemis leaned back against the passenger seat, arms crossed, giving the whole vehicle a look that said How are you still alive?
"Well, this is charming," Artemis said, voice sharp enough to cut through the car's cacophony. "How exactly do you expect to make it all the way to Washington in this—" she gestured to the car's battered interior, "—death trap?"
Zane laughed, "This isn't a death trap. This, my dear Artemis, is Ol' Reliable." He patted the dashboard, which rattled like a box of marbles. "She's got personality. And character."
The sedan lurched over a pothole, the steering wheel shaking in Zane's hands as the left rear wheel emitted a tired whine.
"Personality, huh? Like the personality of a sick dog?" Artemis quipped, ducking as the car veered slightly.
"More like a mutt with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Plus, she's been with me through thick and thin. Mostly thin."
Behind the front seats, a commotion broke out. Two raccoons, General Crunch and Papa Roach, were engaged in a slow-motion wrestling match over a crumpled bag of chips. General Crunch, the hyperactive one, darted around with manic energy, eyes wide as saucers. Papa Roach, true to his name, was sprawled on his back, limbs splayed like a ragdoll, clearly too lazy to care but happy enough to let Crunch do the running.
"Will those two ever behave?" Artemis asked, raising an eyebrow.
Zane shrugged, shooting a glance at his furry passengers. "They're… family, family fight."
Crunch squeaked in protest as Roach lazily swatted him away, then promptly fell asleep mid-battle, a chip stuck comically to his whiskers.
---
They'd left Star City hours ago, the city's skyline swallowed by rolling fields and endless highways. The journey was straightforward — drive to Washington, find Serling, get her out of trouble. Simple.
Hopefully its that simple.
"Hey," Artemis said, breaking the car's rumbling silence, "I've been meaning to ask… who exactly is this friend you're rescuing?"
Zane glanced sideways, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Friend's friend. Someone with tech skills and a knack for getting into trouble. That's all you need to know."
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Yeah? Didn't think you had any friends."
Zane chuckled, steering carefully around a cracked stretch of road. "Fair point. Than I guess she's my doctor, helped with a surgery."
---
The road stretched ahead, endless and open, but the sedan was hardly a smooth ride. Every bump was a reminder of the car's age — the seatbelt clicked and unclicked on its own, the passenger door had a habit of refusing to open unless Zane kicked it just right, and the air conditioning was a concept as foreign as flying cars.
Crunch leapt onto Zane's lap, chittering loudly. Zane laughed and ruffled his fur. "Easy there, General. We're not out of the woods yet."
Artemis sighed and pulled her jacket tighter. "You sure this is the best way? Maybe we should have flown or… you know… used something less likely to break down every five miles."
Zane shook his head. "Flying draws attention. We don't need people asking questions, not when Cadmus and are involved. Besides, Ol' Reliable here is perfect for laying low."
The raccoons resumed their scuffle, knocking a loose coin off the dashboard.
Around midday, Zane pulled off at a grimy gas station. He told Artemis he was grabbing snacks but had another plan in mind.
Inside the store, he picked up a prepaid burner phone from a dusty shelf behind the counter. The clerk eyed him warily but said nothing.
Back outside, the midday sun hammered the cracked pavement like it was trying to melt the city into tar. Zane squinted, ducking into the cool embrace of a shadowed alley. The faint smell of stale beer and hot garbage clung to the air, but it was private enough.
He pulled the battered flip phone from his pocket and flipped it open with a satisfying snap. His thumb hovered over the keypad for a moment before punching in a number everyone on this Earth should know—at least if they liked the idea of waking up tomorrow.
He put the phone to his ear and pitched his voice low, gravelly, like some B-list mobster in an old detective flick.
"Justice League tip line?" he whispered, dragging the words out. "Yeah, I've got a hot one for you. Star City. Name's Mark Desmond. He's been cooking up some… let's say very unethical experiments."
A beat of silence. He leaned against the wall, letting the tension hang before adding, "Might be worth sending a cape or two to check it out. Preferably not the guy with the red underwear on the outside."
Static crackled on the line, then a flat, professional voice replied, "Message received. We'll investigate."
"Good," Zane murmured, lips curling into a satisfied smirk. He snapped the phone shut and, without ceremony, tossed it into a nearby dumpster. The loud clang echoed down the alley like punctuation on his little performance.
Stepping back into the sunlight, he strolled casually toward the waiting car, Artemis was leaned against the hood, bag of chips in hand, eyeing him like she'd been watching from the second he disappeared.
"Who were you calling?" she asked between crunches.
Zane slid into the driver's seat with a straight face. "Pizza delivery."
Her brow furrowed. "…Pizza delivery?"
"Yeah," he said, starting the engine. "They ran out of pineapple. Whole tragedy, really. I had to let them down easy."
She shook her head, muttering something about "weirdest partner ever," but the corner of her mouth betrayed the hint of a smile as they pulled away.
---
Back in the car, Artemis rolled her eyes but didn't press further. The road ahead was long and quiet for a while, save for the hum of the engine and the muffled grumbles of Papa Roach napping on the floor.
Zane let his gaze drift forward, but his mind was elsewhere — turning over thoughts about the Echo Form.
That transformation had been… terrifying. His body felt like it was moving with an intelligence and strength that wasn't entirely his own. It was as if millions of years of evolution, adaptation, and survival instinct had been distilled into a single moment, coursing through his veins at impossible speed.
He had died many times. And each death seemed to leave a mark on him, a residue the Chronos Seed inside him used to evolve his powers. The Echo Form wasn't random. It was a hyper-accelerated adaptation to how he had died—each one pushing his body to survive new extremes.
Could he control it? Could he force an evolution by dying in specific ways?
He pictured jumping into a volcano, rising from the lava as a molten-armored beast. Or plunging into the Arctic, emerging coated in frost and ice that could shatter bullets.
But there was a catch. The Seed only responded to meaningful deaths—those fought with desperation, fear, and genuine will to survive. Self-inflicted or lazy deaths didn't count. They were like bad homework, ignored.
Zane didn't fully understand how he knew this, but the instinct was undeniable. Hes already killed himself pletty of times and yet he didn't get any forms from those.
For now, he accepted the rule. Meaning mattered.
---
Artemis stirred, yawning softly. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Zane said, smiling gently. "Just thinking about what comes next."
Her eyes scanned the horizon. "We'll find her, Zane. Serling. Whoever she is, she's lucky to have you."
He chuckled. "Yeah, well… anyones lucky to have me. I'm a great guy!"
---
The sun dipped lower as they crossed into the outskirts of Washington. Traffic slowed to a crawl. The sedan groaned but kept moving, inching toward the city.
On a gas station TV flickering with static, Zane caught a news brief about a Justice League raid on a Cadmus facility. He felt a quiet satisfaction — his little tip had worked.
Artemis noticed his smile but didn't ask. She still didn't know what he was capable of. No one did.
They pulled into a rundown motel parking lot bathed in the orange glow of dusk. The sign buzzed erratically: Vacancy.
Zane killed the engine. The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the weight of what lay ahead.
He looked out at the city lights in the distance and whispered, "One problem down. Now for the next."
The raccoons, finally settled for the night, snuggled together on the passenger seat. General Crunch buzzed quietly, already dreaming of the next adventure. Papa Roach just grunted, content to nap through whatever chaos came next.
Zane exhaled, bracing himself. The road to Washington had only just begun.