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[center][b][u]11:28 PM, Dr. Quinn Therapy and Counseling, Gotham City[/u][/b][/center]

Well, you could always count on social media to bring attention to local events. Gotham City was a hard kind of place to get eventful news when monsters and demons and aliens invaded the earth every other weekend, but when the problem started to require the help of multiple heroes, that's when things started to get interesting.

It had been a late night for Harley, going over some new dossiers on villains popping out of the woodwork, as well as a handful of new heroes that were starting to make the rounds. There was only so much she could catalog from facebook and twitter about the new masked men and women taking up the streets. She'd have to actually get on the street and meet them, but that would bring up a few risks she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to deal with at the moment. 

Her eyes trailed from the phone in her hands to her old baseball bat that leaned against the door frame to her office. Oh, those were the days. The heroes out there had the monster situation handled, they didn't need an oldie like her mucking up the fuck. But then again, these new kids didn't know how fights used to go down back in the day. They might need a lesson from an old vet on how to properly take care of a monster. 

A smile brought itself to her lips. She knew she was smiling. She knew she probably shouldn't be, but she was. Before she knew it, her clothes were thrown to the wind, and her armor was slipped into without a second thought. just moments later, her twin pistols were locked, loaded, and her mallet was strapped to her back, ready to go. 

Whenever she debated on doing something back in her early years, there was always a simple answer to that ever present "Why?"

Why the fuck not?

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[color=00a651]"Yes. I've made it to earth, I'm staying at the Justice League satallite for the time being. They've been gracious hosts, and I've done whatever I can to help them along."[/color] The voice of Preston rang through the halls of the Watchtower. Quantum entanglement communications were always helpful when speaking across galaxies, and though the Guardians of Oa would never admit it, it was just as functional as communication through GL rings. [color=00a651]"I've... taken to staying in Dad's room. Being the one who wears his ring, it seems only fitting that during my stay here, I fill in for him while assisting the earth."[/color]

[color=8882be]"Do tell the League I send my regards. It's been far too long since I've seen any of them."[/color] Came the voice of Catalea, The Spear. As calm and reserved as ever, with just a touch of the metallic tang that came through with Vespasian Ascension. [color=8882be]"Please visit when you have the opportunity, [i]vayek[/i]. There's still the matter of go-"[/color]

[color=00a651]"I'm investigating Dad's death."[/color] He said rather abruptly, cutting off his mother with a fire in his voice that quickly died off. She didn't respond right away, and he could only imagine what his mother's face looked like at that moment. [color=00a651]"I'm sorry. I just don't to talk about the Rites right now. If the Guardians are going to condemn me to this world until they believe I'm fit to watch over my sector, then I'm going to use that time to find out what they aren't telling us about Dad."[/color]

She waited a complete minute to respond, and spoke back to him on the second. [color=8882be]"Preston, vayek, my son. I don't know what answers you'll find on earth. You know that your father left long ago because he had a responsibility to the rest of this sector, to his family. I'm not surprised the League kept his room intact, they were always the sentiment types. But don't stray from the path, Preston. Please."[/color] Her voice was strained. Even the hero of Vespasi, the woman who ended the planetary civil war, could be vulnerable around those closest to her. Preston had only seen his mother cry once, but he was sure that it would not be the last time.

[color=00a651]"I will remain strong. But there has to be something, anything that could point me in the right direction. Or at the very least give me a clue on where to start. Goodbye, mom. I'll talk to you soon."[/color]

[color=8493ca]"Goodbye."[/color]

With the call ended, Preston let out a long sigh. His body slumped over the dimply lit desk that was in what was once Morgan Westfield's room. "Lantern" was printed on the door in a stylized font to let everyone know who slept there. After a long minute of contemplation and a groan of annoyance, he picked himself back up and thumbed through the journal that Morgan had left behind. 

[color=00a651]"Come on, dad. There has to be..."[/color] 

Something.

Preston's eyes darted around. Even more than two weeks into his stay at the Watchtower, he didn't quite trust his alledged Partner Saraka. A Blue Lantern which the Guardians still refused to talk about. Not even Killowog and Tomar-Re knew about them. But, it looked like he was getting that clue that he had been praying for. His eyes scanned over the journal, desperately looking for more, but this would suffice for now. 

two insignias. The first was the only he recognized. It was the brand of his Uncle Sinestro, a dubious man who trusted the Guardians as far as he could throw them. Though he shared fond memories with Sinestro and was told stories about how he was the mentor to Morgan, he knew that Sinestro was not a man to be trifled with. 

The other was one he didn't recognize at all. It was like the Green Lantern Corps logo but turned on its side, the two parallel lines sprouted outwards like horns. Under the Logo was a single letter, drawn into the paper so hard it almost tore through into the next page. 

B