A flash of bluish white lit up the darkness of an abandoned S.T.A.R. Labs basement. The light flashed insistently, impatiently waiting a response. A red light blinked on in the familiar darkness, and searched the room: essential components for tomorrow’s breakthroughs sat waiting for construction, revolutionary technologies neared completion, the designs of a genius waited to prevent another disaster.

“Lights,” a husky voice commanded, and was obeyed.

A brown eye blinked to life in the new light and searched the room: boxes of parts spilled their contents haphazardly onto a cluttered floor, half finished inventions competed with each other for room, the obsessions of a man reliving his past.

Both brown and red found the instigator together. It was a screen from an old system, flashing a message. Brainiac had taken over most of the Justice League. Most of what was left. New heroes were needed.

Cyborg looked at his reflection in the screen. One red eye, mechanical. One brown eye, biological. Both were from his father. Wrinkles crisscrossed his worn human face, while his cybernetic face was covered in grime and dust. [i]I’m not one of the new heroes. This isn’t for me. I’m half frail and half hollow.[/i]

His cold metal hand ran through his long, unkempt hair. His brown eye blinked several more times, trying to get accustomed to the bright lights it had not seen in so long. Once adjusted, it surveyed the room once more. [i]How did it come to this? How long has it been?[/i] Cyborg’s gaze came to rest on the figure standing guard in the corner. His new body. Cyborg sighed. [i]It really isn’t a choice. I couldn’t save them last time, but I can save them this time.[/i] 

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As he entered the new base, Cyborg once again questioned himself. He had cut his hair, washed his skin (both metal and flesh), and installed his new body, but he still felt old and hollow. The heroes already there didn’t make him feel any better. [i]God, their young. Or I’m just old. I’m could be their father. New Flash, new Green Arrow, new Firestorm. Old Cyborg.[/i] He stooped his towering form to greet the three of them in turn. Cyborg's voice was raspy from disuse; he wasn’t sure the last time someone had heard it.