The Hall of Justice was rarely this full.
Normally, it was a museum piece, a symbol to inspire the public and the younger generation, while the true headquarters of the Justice League remained orbiting high above in the Watchtower. The Hall was the staging ground for the protégés, the meeting point for the next generation — Young Justice. Rarely did the adult heroes linger here.
But tonight was different.
The sterile white lights of the Hall's medical facility cast their glow over a figure lying on the examination bed. Jacob Lawrence — twenty years old in body, yet gaunt and hollow in ways that couldn't be measured. His features were strikingly clean, almost pristine. There was no makeup, no artificiality. No scars on the surface — yet beneath, the scans told another story.
Tony Stark was the first to break the silence.
"Alright, someone tell me we didn't just pull Prince Charming out of a cave. Because no one looks that damn clean without work done."
Cyborg turned his cybernetic eye toward Tony, projecting a 3D hologram above Jacob's body. "Actually… he's not wrong to look suspicious. But it's not vanity." His tone was steady, clinical. "My scans show his dermal and sub-dermal layers are… ninety-three point four percent regenerated."
Tony frowned. "Regenerated?"
Bruce Banner adjusted his glasses, leaning closer to the holographic readout. "You mean to tell me…"
Cyborg nodded. "Exactly. Nearly his entire body has been broken down, repaired to peak condition, siphoned, and repeated — over and over again." His human eye darkened with anger. "That means his tissue has been harvested to near-total collapse, only to regenerate, and then harvested again. For years at least."
Silence fell across the room.
Batman's jaw was tight beneath the cowl. He didn't speak. He didn't need to — the grim weight of the information spoke for itself.
Superman stood by the foot of the bed, arms folded, his gaze lingering on the boy's still form. His mind replayed what he had witnessed in the forest: a man — no, a Titan — tearing a tree from the earth, calling lightning from the skies, and hurling it into the stars like a spear. He'd felt the god's presence, the calm that came with it. Not the oppressive aura of Zeus, not the divine fire of Thor. Something different. Something more dangerous in its serenity.
And then… the collapse. The boy had crumpled into himself, body reverting, soul bare. When Clark found him in that cave, Jacob's eyes had flickered open for only a second. And in that fleeting moment, Superman saw something he recognized.
Not power.
Not potential.
But emptiness.
The look of a broken soul. The same look he'd seen in countless jumpers on the ledge, people convinced the world had nothing left for them.
Clark's voice was low, steady. "Bruce… find anything?"
Batman tapped a console. Files appeared on the nearby screens, encrypted data pried from the ruins of the facility Superman had destroyed. He had already ensured the information was scrubbed from government servers. He knew what would happen if the wrong hands saw this — exploitation, weaponization, erasure.
"This," Batman said flatly, "was a LexCorp-affiliated project. Off the books. No official record." He pulled up Jacob's file. The images were disturbing: a child in a glass chamber, hooked to machines, his body growing frail, then regenerating, then frail again. "He was taken at age five. Subject name: Jacob Lawrence. Designation: Universal Donor."
The silence grew heavier.
Batman's fingers flicked across the console, bringing up a second file. "There's more. His DNA… it wasn't just unique. It was perfect. Adaptable. Repairing. It bonded seamlessly with nearly any genetic sequence. Do you understand what that means?"
Banner did. His face paled. "It means his DNA could be used as a universal patch. To heal. To graft. To… create."
Tony's eyes narrowed. "Hold up. You're saying—"
Batman cut him off. "Superboy."
A quiet gasp came from outside the doors.
The Young Justice team was gathered in the hall, just beyond the reinforced glass. They had been waiting since Superman brought the boy in, and though they tried to respect the privacy of the League, curiosity gnawed at them. Robin leaned against the wall, brow furrowed beneath his mask. Wonder Girl crossed her arms, visibly uneasy. Miss Martian floated just above the ground, trying to shield her thoughts but failing to mask her tension.
Raven said nothing, her amethyst eyes flickering briefly toward the boy through the wall. Spiderman — young, energetic, restless — shifted on his feet. Aqualad stood silent and firm. Beast Boy cracked jokes earlier, but now he was quiet.
The only sound was Superboy's sharp intake of breath.
He looked at Batman through the glass, eyes wide, but the cowl gave nothing back. He turned his gaze to Jacob instead, lying unconscious on the bed. His fists clenched at his sides. Because deep down, he understood.
Without Jacob, he wouldn't exist, or at least not as he was now.
The others felt the weight of it too, though they stayed silent out of respect. Beast Boy finally glanced at Superboy, then quickly looked away.
Back inside, Tony let out a long, sharp whistle. "So you're telling me this kid — Sleeping Beauty here — is the genetic golden goose LexCorp's been milking for fifteen years? His DNA's so perfect it just… adapts? Integrates? Heals faster than anything else on Earth?" He shook his head. "No wonder they kept him in a tube. That kind of resource, you don't let walk away."
He added, half under his breath, "Explains why one of my suits got dented to hell last week by some LexCorp goon. Guess they were juiced on this kid's blood."
"Not the time, Stark," Cyborg muttered, though his mechanical eye stayed fixed on the monitors, analyzing Jacob's vitals.
Banner sighed, rubbing his temple. "The scans show his body's in a regenerative cycle right now. But it's… unstable. Like it's waiting for a trigger. Whatever power he used before — it's dormant. But it's there."
Superman finally spoke again. His voice was heavy with conviction. "When I found him… he wasn't just strong. He wasn't just powerful. He felt like… a god. But not like any god I've ever known. His presence was calm. Calmer than me. Calmer than Diana. It wasn't oppressive. It was…" He searched for the word. "I don't know. But I do know this: when he collapsed, all I saw was a boy who's lost everything."
Batman's voice cut through. "He had no childhood. Twenty years in that facility. The only normalcy he might have known is gone." He looked at Jacob's still form, his expression unreadable, but his silence spoke of pity.
The room seemed to hold its breath.
Then Jacob stirred.
It was subtle at first — a twitch of fingers, a flicker of eyelids. The heart monitor beeped faster. His chest rose with a ragged inhale. His eyes, those dark brown eyes that carried decades of suffering, fluttered open.
The League members leaned forward. The Young Justice pressed against the glass.
Jacob blinked, staring at the ceiling, then at the faces around him. He felt their pity, their curiosity, their concern. It pressed on him like a weight, like he was an animal on display again. His lips cracked open, voice raw, strained.
"Stop."
The word hung in the air. All the pitying stares froze.
Jacob swallowed, his throat dry, then forced the words out again, hoarse but steady.
"Stop… I just want to eat… something."
The silence lasted only a second longer before Tony Stark's brain tripped over itself. The first thought that shot into his head was Shawarma. But for reasons he couldn't explain, he bit his tongue.
Jacob's stomach growled loud enough for the monitors to pick it up.
And just like that, the weight in the room shifted.