Location: Briefing Room
Interactions: The Team

---

Vincent sat in the briefing room, a visible look of disdain on his face as he listened to Batman and Black Canary. Seriously? Another mission where we’ve gotta sneak around? Hopefully I get a chance to let loose, again. he thought as he slumped back in his seat. However, when he heard that he’d be masquerading as a bodyguard, he perked up a bit. He would definitely make a better bodyguard than rich kid. Sure, he had no acting experience whatsoever, but he was confident he’d be able to at least pull off an intimidating bodyguard better than a spoiled brat. “At least as a bodyguard, I’ll have a chance to knock some heads together if it comes to it,” he spoke up. He leaned back in his seat and added, “But, I wanna make one thing clear: I’m not bottom-rung anything.”

After that, he let the others speak up, chuckling at Pei’s antics. The others were definitely posing good questions, ones that he never would have thought of in a million years. When Will asked about who was guarding who, Vincent’s mind immediately went back to the last mission and his failure. He let Daphne get captured. Sure, it was to save Cora, but it was still his fault, at least in his mind, that Daphne ended up as Deathstroke’s hostage. How he was able to get his hands on KJ. Before he realized it, he raised his hand and said, “Unless you guys are gonna pair us up, I wanna be the one to watch Daphne’s back. I wanna make up for what happened last time.”

He glanced over at Viktor and Daphne as he spoke. Given what had happened on the last mission and the fact that the two of them are together, he would understand if either one had an issue and if it looked like they did, he would retract his offer. Still, he felt like he wouldn’t be able to move past his failure if he didn’t at least try.

M O U N T J U S T I C E

---

“Good question, Kassandra.” Despite the other questions and comments made previously, he addressed hers first. It was a subtle way to highlight the request for that piece of information and the person making it. “Besides her cyber infiltration capabilities, Origami is a metahuman with papyrokinesis— the ability to shape and manipulate paper. As far as physical performance, our analysis places her as an individual with peak-human levels of fitness with an affinity for acrobatics.” Batman’s face minimized, while displaying a rotating t-posed 3D model of a silhouetted woman’s body with some of the details mentioned, displayed in bullet point format beside it. “Combat is rarely, if not ever, her first course of action; in fact, it is one of the reasons why she remains elusive to many organizations, including our own. As far as personality… this is my assessment.” There was no documented personality data due to the limited contact with the young information broker, but that didn’t limit the world’s greatest detective. “The four major cornerstones of Origami’s psyche include discipline, pride, knowledge, and caution. The first two build the foundation of who she is—in other words, her work ethic and professional reputation guide the nature of her actions, making her highly performance-driven. In simpler words, she’s a perfectionist. If Origami is making mistakes, you should view them as achievements toward another goal against your own.” His head had turned to a few members of the team as he presented certain pieces of this information. “The latter two cornerstones tie together cyclically, toxically feeding into each other. As an information broker, knowledge is currency, but Origami views every unknown with the same high level of caution, taking Sun Tzu’s ‘know your enemy’ to the extreme. The more information, the more caution adopted. The more caution needed, the more information required. So, it’s fair to say she lives in a state of fluctuating anxiety, believing ‘the unknown could be a threat, and therefore it is.’ Your combat weaknesses and your preferred vehicle color have the same value in her eyes, even if they objectively don’t carry the same level of sensitivity, so Cora, the best thing the Team can do is practice information security. From our correspondence, Origami was only given information about the Team’s size, combined experience level, aliases, cover, and mission objective. I don’t doubt she will attempt to collect more information on the team through electronic means or advanced elicitation techniques, but that is the risk we’re assuming to obtain data from Kobra at the gala. ” He admitted this plainly, quite comfortable with relaying further information.

“That being said, the probability of her betrayal is low. There are several factors, but to sum it up, we are the only group that won’t selfishly turn on her. For a person acting alone, she knows burning this bridge leaves her cooperating with others who’d just as easily see her dead. Put simply, it’s not worth it. However, if something of the sort were to happen or if the Team is completely compromised during this mission, the League will act. We’ll have eyes on you, but won’t interfere in your operational conduct. That includes how you plan on executing your roles, Will and Vincent.”

“And what are the factors that would completely compromise the team?” Viktor asked for his personal clarification, though he was sure others might wonder.

“The Team’s identification, blowing your cover.”

Location: Briefing room
Interactions: Talos

---

Daphne sat in one of the seats opposite from Black Canary and Batman who had joined the briefing through the monitor. She listened closely, taking in the information they were given, always with the worry of her Team´s safety in the back of her mind. What stood out most to her so far was the agent Origami. Batman did not have a lot of good to say about her, only that they were forced to work together. It didn´t sit right with her. Daphne didn´t fully trust the League to keep them safe at all times, she used to.

Honestly her acting props were not all that great. Hopefully she would be able to blend in. It was definitely easier for some of them than others. The short but reassuring eye contact with Viktor momentarily dispelled her worries. Cora voiced some of the same concerns she had. Kassy inquired more deeply about Origami and her powers.

Papyrokinesis
This was the first time hearing of someone with his exact power. She wondered how it could be used. Paper seems harmless but it´s sharp. Vincent mentioned his willingness to work with her as a pair on this mission. Daphne didn´t blame him at all for what happened last mission. If anything she should have known her limits. The physical exhaustion of overusing her powers. It she had tested them out more, trained in different ways. There was a lot on her mind since recovering from her coma and it dulled her motivation to push herself. There was the strained relationship with her dad, if you could even still call it a relationship. Daphne held a lot of quiet anger towards him. Then there was the budding relationship with Viktor. A completely new and unfamiliar teritory, seemingly for both of them.

Daphne half raised her hand.
¨Vincent and me can pair up for this mission.¨ She glanced at Vincent with a small smile.

M O U N T J U S T I C E

---

After a few beats of silence and no further questions from the group, Batman considered the pre-mission briefing concluded.

“Team, take further instructions and guidance from Black Canary. She’ll be handling your acting skills and provisions to make your covers more authentic.” He gave a subtle nod before the screen went out.

The time between the conclusion of the brief and the mission was more interesting than usual, to say the least. While half of the team practiced being wealthy and entitled, the other half practiced a security posture and being mildly unpleasant. Unsettling or not, several members fit into character quite naturally, even taking into account their already established affinities toward their chosen roles. The team was granted some liberty in choosing the type of attire they would wear, but some of the team ran into complications…

For Daphne, every style of gown or dress she recommended was rejected due to its plainness, so one was picked for her.

Viktor ran into a similar issue as Daphne with countless rejections, except he would continuously choose aesthetics that looked nearly identical to his hero personas. One time it was just a color change…

Cora needed help selling the “badass aesthetic,” as she put it, and Viktor was able to choose something that worked, saying it was “the most optimal choice.”

Will, seeing how Daphne and Viktor failed, simply decided to have his outfit chosen for him, to save himself an unneeded headache.

And lastly, Kassy picked something out that was accepted, but it didn’t take long for her to lose confidence in her decision. Fortunately- no. Conveniently, another outfit was chosen for her and very strongly suggested by none other than Vixen.

---

On the 24h of October, the Team traveled by Zeta Tube in the vicinity of the beautiful Tauranga Port, New Zealand. The group of teens appeared in an open aircraft hangar, just catching the start of the warm sun making its way down toward the horizon in the southern hemisphere. Within the hangar was a chrome-plated hybrid-winged aircraft capable of transporting a dozen passengers. It was from this hangar that the team would fly out to their mission, but that was not the only objective of gathering here. The other was to meet the young woman waiting for them, to meet the one and only, Origami.

Seconds after they arrived, the steady click of a woman’s shoes approached, the sound filling the formerly quiet hangar. A young woman approached, walking with confidence and grace despite wearing crimson platforms that added three inches to her already impressive height. Her coal pantsuit was shot through with red pinstriping, obviously tailored to her figure. Around that, she wore a crimson cape. Not Superman style, no. More of an antiquated showpiece, made of soft velvety material that almost swept the hangar floor as she approached. This was topped with a red hat with a feathery quill, tilted at a jaunty angle. Her hair was dark, swept back in an elegant bun. A scepter with a glittering red gem completed the look.

Yet, despite the ostentatious flair of her costume, her gaze was sharp and focused. The more experienced members would probably catch it first. Her eyes, gold as a metal bar and equally as warm. Origami was picking up details – from the way they moved, to the way they held themselves. Who met her eyes, who looked away. Who leaned closer to whom in the face of a potential enemy, who hesitated. All of it was absorbed and added to a steadily growing list of data.

Her wine-red smile held no friendliness, just the effortless fiction of a performer.

“So. This is what the League is sending me to work with?”

With help from a teammate who knew more about being a tough mercenary with a haunting reputation, Cora put together an aesthetic that would easily deter any suspicions that she was actually a superhero. Using the tools in the lab, she was able to quickly construct a new set of armor. Black fabric with gold highlights, covered by angular plates of aircraft-grade titanium, which she electroplated with graphene. Her blue and white helmet was replaced with a much denser one in her new color scheme, and sported a visor that looked to be a lot more sophisticated than it actually was.

Over her shoulders was a cloak, hanging halfway off her body. And in her arms was a rifle. But not just any rifle, a very high-tech one that she built herself along with Viktor. She didn’t get a lot of use out of it, since it was far too loud, but the point was to look like a menace. Because Stormcaller didn’t use futuristic firearms. But Fulgora, the mercenary bodyguard assigned to work security for the Gala, had no trouble blasting people. Was it necessary to ham it up that much? Probably not, but that wasn’t stopping her. She even stuck a cheap radio speaker in her helmet to make her voice sound more intimidating.

When they all got to the hangar, Cora immediately understood why Batman wanted them to be cautious about this Origami girl. A background like hers, with a smile like that? It had to be an act, and if they didn’t prep for this, Cora definitely would have been more friendly right now.

”You’re Origami?” The radio in her helmet crackled faintly. ”Thought you’d be taller.” Being friendly with her would only be a risk right now. Not until the League was absolutely certain she was actually going through with this change of heart.

Location: Tauranga Port
Interactions: Origami, The Team
Mentions:Daphne, Zach, Pei

---

For Viktor, it felt like an entire journey from the moment the pre-mission brief ended to appearing in the unfamiliar hangar. Having more time to prepare for this mission, told him that there was little room for error and just how invested the Justice League was concerning Gala Nemesis. The outfits alone, and the speed at which they were designed and delivered, were breakneck, even with his handful of errors when it came to design choice. Though his privilege to choose was removed from him, Black Canary leaned into his preference while adding a few pinches of flavor that would help discern him from his Rain persona.

“This is somewhat acceptable, but what’s with this visor? And the shoulderpads? It seems excessive.”

“Flair, Viktor, flair. Wear it and… at least change the accent.”

“I don’t have an accent.”

“Add one then. I’m sure you used to talk like all the other Gotham at one point. Just channel that.”

Viktor and Zach had been paired together, and though he might have preferred Daphne for his own selfish reasons, he believed himself and Zach were one of the best pairs on the team. It was also a good opportunity for the two to work together after their reconciliation. However, with all the positives aside, the idea of this mission left a small pit in his stomach. He never thought it would bother him to transform himself into someone close to who he had been before. It’s not a relapse. I’m just playing a role. Acting… Like when Pei and I went to Coast City.

With a few steps forward, wearing his new persona, Viktor placed himself between the others and Origami, sizing her up beneath his mask, which displayed a red digital impression similar to [¬_¬] of being unimpressed before lowering himself into a slav squat.

“So dis is folded paper girl we need for mission.” His accent came out thick, and his voice carried through the hangar as if he had spoken this way his entire life. His head tilted up at her, while his visor maintained the same stoic emotional display. “She is tall… but looks easy to break. Good thing we have bodyguards, yes? [¬‿¬]” A hard-to-hear guttural laugh escaped him. Despite the show he was putting on, Origami wasn’t the only one making an analysis.

Viktor was no longer Viktor, Rain, Rainman, or Perun Ironclad. He was a sadistic Slavic mercenary for hire who rarely took clean jobs. This job was an outlier, but it paid well enough that he could keep his arsenal holstered until the opportunity arose. Today he was…

When the team separated to prepare for the upcoming undercover mission, Black Canary called out to Quiver. He held back while the others dispersed, curious as to what it was he was about to be scolded for. Or perhaps he'd be getting additional instructions related to helping "coach" the others in being a different person. He meant what he had said, he didn't have much in terms of alternate gear to be this assassin villain version of himself. He had given up that life a long while ago - or rather, he was rescued by that lifestyle from the Bat-Family. Primarily Nightwing and Robin. Dick and Tim had been temporary big brothers to Quiver. He hadn't had much of a chance to spend time with them lately, though he still exchanged the occasional phone call or text with Tim, curious over what kind of trouble he was getting into while working Star City.

He was surprised that what Black Canary wanted was to pass along a gift from Nightwing. Apparently it was already waiting for him back in his quarters. What he saw when he arrived was a Haliburton style silver and black case. Not too dissimilar from a Haliburton. Curious, Quiver clicked the dual-release buttons to open it. The first thing he saw was an envelope.

"WILL"

It said in Dick Grayson's shite handwriting.

He opened it and skimmed it's contents.

"RT and BC let me know you guys were heading undercover for this next one. I hope you don't mind I thought I'd send this over your way. Consider it a gift. We've all had to go undercover once or twice, and Batman taught me it was always good to have an alter-ego you can rely on to live a dual life in the underworld. This one was mine, but I think it should fit you nicely, should you need it."

Quiver saw beneath the envelope was a full on suit...



---



Quiver, decked out head to toe in Nightwing's "gift" of the Red X identity, stood just outside the periphery of Bulwark and Fulgora. He could hear that Rain was already deep inside the headspace of his persona, utilizing an (admittedly) convincing accent. It was good that he was opting to be the loud brash one. Quiver knew that always with these groups of mercenary types, there was always the over-confident bruiser. Rain was playing his role well. In his Red X gear, Quiver didn't have to worry about his voice or accent. The mask had a built in voice modulator, giving the wearer a sort of scrambled distorted version of the sound of their own voice.

For Quiver, he would be clinical. Cold. Focused solely on getting "the bag." Or the Target. Whatever the case may be. Still, he approached cautiously and carefully, intensely aware of the nigh-considerable danger she posed not just to the mission proper, but potentially to each of their own identities, as well as the League. She already held quite the hand in this card game of fate.

Quiv-I mean "Red X" took a moment to take in the visage of this tentative and dangerous ally. He was surprised by what he saw, but did his best to seem non-plussed by her appearance. She was undoubtedly used to having eyes pointed at her. Her outfit was flashy, standout, and practical, demanding a sort of dangerous attention. Red X knew she would fit in perfectly among the villainous people they were to spend the regal evening with. Red X took in the sight of her - the feathered hat, the blood red cloak. He couldn't help but think she would just fit into one of Dumas' novels. Like a violent and femme fatale version of D'artagnan. Beautiful and deadly.



"Easy Bulwark. Watch this one. Our interests are only currently aligned. Origami was connected enough to get an invite on her own terms. But us? Plus one scum."

Location: Tauranga Port
Interactions: The Team

---

Vincent lacked nothing in confidence. Anyone who knew him for a minimum of five seconds might even call him cocky, but as far as he was concerned, the things he was good at, he was good at and he felt that there wasn’t any point in pretending to be humble about it. That said, he was self-aware enough to understand he had weaknesses and he even had a good idea of what they were.

Acting was one of them. Back when he still went to school, any time he had to take part in a play put on by his class, he would try to read his lines, but the words would come out stilted, halting, or he would straight up forget them halfway through speaking them. However, thanks to some guidance from Black Canary, he had managed to find a way to work around this weakness.

“The greatest actors use their past experiences to shape their roles,” Black Canary had said. “Think back on your life, before you joined the team. The kind of person you used to be and might’ve become if things had gone differently. Try using that to shape who you’ll be for this mission.”

And so, he did.

---

Dressed in a crimson dress shirt, black slacks with matching dress shoes, and a black coat over his shoulders to complete the outfit, Vincent might have looked out of place amongst the other “bodyguards,” but that was on purpose. While the others looked dressed and equipped for war, his outfit’s intent was to send two messages: that he was just as dangerous without all those fancy gadgets and those who underestimated him did so at their own risk.

He ran his hand through his dirty blonde wig hair before fixing his hazel eyes (courtesy of colored contacts) on Origami. He regarded her for a few moments, then clicked his tongue contemptuously before walking away from the group. He leaned against a nearby wall and crossed his arms. His sleeves were pushed halfway up his forearms, displaying some of his battle scars on his left arm. His right looked to be a metal prosthetic, though that was only how it appeared. In addition to hiding his tattoos, which might aid in identifying him, it also let him bring in a supply of steel, should he need it. “Let’s get this over with, already. Sooner we’re done with this shit, the better,” he growled.

He had taken Black Canary’s words to heart. He thought about the kind of person he might have become if it weren’t for the Old Man and everyone else who had helped him through the hardest parts of his life. “Damocles” was his answer: the version of him that lived to fight, the version that gave into his anger when no one was around to help him overcome it.

Zach’s room looked like a hurricane had swept through it. Jackets tossed over chairs, sparkly pants draped over lampshades, shirts with too many buttons flung across the bed. He held up a satin blazer trimmed in silver thread and frowned. “Too stage magician.” He tossed it aside and turned back to the mirror, towel slung on his hips, hair damp from the shower.

“Okay, think: spoiled, rich, completely detached from reality but still hot. What would an unhinged trust baby wear to a villain gala?”

And then, like divine inspiration, or maybe just a memory of something he wore once to annoy Constantine…Zach pulled out a black, tailored coatdress with black fur around the neckline and a long, ruffled train. The fabric shimmered faintly under the light. It was dramatic. It was couture. It said I have a black card, unresolved childhood trauma, and an ego the size of a small country…”

He paired it with a purple cravat, with a violet gemstone brooch at the collar, black dress pants, and black heeled boots polished to a mirror shine, and eyeliner applied with precision. He looked at himself in the mirror, and flipped his hair. “Perfect.”

—-



The Zeta Tube transport was a blur. He was too busy imagining what shenanigans he’d be getting up to at the gala to register most of it.

He heard what Origami had to say, and raised an eyebrow. “Well, darling, they ran out of boy scouts and wet blankets,” he said breezily. “So now you’ve got me. I’m fabulous. I shine under pressure.” He paused, He gave her a once-over and flashed a sweet, borderline-mocking smile. “And you must be Origami. Love the look, by the way. It’s giving… Where In The World is Carmen Sandiego.” He tilted his head slightly. “I do hope you bring more to the table than party favors and paper cuts.”

Pei was dressed up, and, instead of blue, she was beige! And her suit instead of athletic, was sleek. An all red pantsuit. Simple yet stylish. Black shoes and black gloves. Her hair, too, instead of its many myriad colors, was a natural shade of black. Given that her skin color had been altered, it only made sense to go back to the original hair color. At least, to Pei it did.

Pei was excited. She was going to be playing a completely different type of villain to the one she had at the Live Action Roleplay. Cold. Sophisticated. Utterly introverted.

And, it had been agreed, the RICHEST rich brat of them all. Tee-hee-hee! How delightful! This was going to be so much fun!

Pei was wearing this big, stupid grin on her face as she appeared out of the Zeta Tube and into the hangar where they were going to meet Origami. Perhaps she had been too lost in her inner world and imagination, because between the time they teleported from YJ HQ and to this hidden Zeta Tube, the personalities of her friends had completely changed. Everyone had already gotten into character! Pei was surrounded by strangers!

She skipped a step, walking over to give Origami an Iceburn greeting. Pei’s big grin turned a shade confused, given that they were still an airplane flight away from the destination. But she realized she would be totally harshing everyone’s vibes if she didn’t get into character right this second!

Not Pei. Not Pei Not Pei Not Pei.

Meilin Li. I am Meilin Li.

Pei put on a serious face.

Ah, shit. That was still Pei. Man, she wasn’t ready for this at all! Luckily, she has the plane ride over to really get into character.

Pei cleared her throat, and tried to get all the Pei out of her system. She did her classic trick, sliding her gloved hand in front of her face, and became totally serious. Meilin Li. What was the most Meilin Li thing she could do right this very second? Nothing, of course. Not even a snide comment. Let alone a hello. See, saying something, even something smart or sassy or deliberate, was beneath Meilin Li.

“...”

But, okay, seriously, Origami did probably deserve to at least get a GLIMPSE of the ‘real’ Young Justice. Standing at the back, after Origami asked her question, Pei broke character and nodded, giving Origami a thumbs up and then an ‘okay’ sign, mouthing the words ‘yep yep’! And winked. All of those put together should get the secret message through.

Okay now she was Meilin Li. For real this time.

Location: Tauranga Port
Interactions: -
Mentions: Origami, Bulwark

---

Daphne was observing quietly. Most of them had developed some sort of alter ego. An act complemented by convincing disguises. Black Canary shot down most of her dress choices, and in hindsight Daphne completely understood what her gripe was. Especially looking at everyone else's getups.

I know you skipped your high school prom, Daphne, but this isn't the time nor the place.

She wore a sweeping black dress, with floral details wrapping themselves around the top part and trailing down halfway. There was a high slit coming up just above her knee. Daphne tried to close the slit with a few easy-to-remove stitches, but it made the fabric bunch up in a way that you could clearly see it was altered. So instead she wore black lace tights.

This is the kind of dress you need to wear with attitude; you can't be.... how do I put this? Your usual self is what I'd say. The veil is actually not a bad idea, people can't tell for sure if you're watching them. It conceals your identity and makes you less approachable, which is good. Femme fatale is a bit out of your reach, but you can pull off quiet and mysterious, right?

I think I can. I mean, it's better if I don't talk too much.

Daphne didn't know why she was feeling more insecure than usual these past few days. Not that her confidence was that high to begin with. What definitely didn't help was the towering red beauty standing in the center of the hangar.

"I should have worn higher heels." She murmured to herself mostly.

Daphne watched Viktor step up to Origami. The Bulwark voice was doing.....something to her. She wasn't sure what, maybe it was the accent. She adjusted the veil so she could see them better. While she watched them interact she unfolded the fan, which was tied to her left wrist. Daphne softly fanned her face, the veil rustling lightly in the manual breeze.

---

The day at the beach was, for once, a positive memory that came from his transition from what was now this third persona. What was once a wrathful beast, now a person, given a name; Ro. It was as though, through that experience, he felt something of a stronger bond to his teammates. Yet, in contrast, it made him reflect on how his situation had been handled up until this point.

The level of reverence that a part of him had for their superiors dwindled to his becoming jaded with them. A lot of cloak and dagger, of which, even his own mother was guilty. It felt like he couldn’t trust the lot of the Justice League, at least no more than Red Tornado and Black Canary. That wasn’t to say that his allegiances were changing, but a wound of his had been reopened. He recognized in himself that he couldn’t just return to form as if nothing had happened. It was why he put in the extra effort to connect with the others when given the opportunity. Especially for what was coming next.

They were still gathered for a professional purpose. When assigned this new mission, Kila took it with exception. While only one of the last several missions could be considered a direct failure, he did not misunderstand his situation. To them, and to himself, he represented not only himself, but Ja and Ro as well. By intention or not, he was the direct cause of the disruptions; Why BSF wasted the League’s time and energy. His leash was tighter, and the pressure was on to do well on this next mission. So when he was given the order to join his teammates in the briefing, he humbly but readily took his place.

A high table gathering of unsavory and villainous characters that they had to blend into. A place surely fraught with danger, but not something that Kila found unfamiliar. In fact, it was one he was a little too familiar with. Thus, with these factors in mind, he would take this new….or rather his old persona, very seriously. So much so that he, for the most part, gave himself back to the role.That’s why, since leaving the briefing, they hadn’t seen their teammate, perhaps only glimpses.

When teleported through the zeta, who appeared was a young man dressed in a navy shirt and suit jacket that faded into an intricate gold and silver ankara leaf pattern toward the bottom. Beneath were largely aqua colored pants with the same ankara pattern at the waist, inner knees, and shins. It was accented by his high-top aqua and gold colored sneakers.

Other accessories included gold rimmed pince-nez shades, rings intermittently placed through his curled mane, slightly parted to the left. The young warrior still wore Iwisa’s golden gauntlets at his wrists beneath the jacket sleeves. Finally a gold tinted single-shoulder cape that came down just below his waist, was clipped to the suit by a silver maned lion lapel pin.

The hero Metamorph had been left at home. Promenading across the hangar now was
Of whom, had shown no interest in stopping to talk to Origami, passing her by to further approach the aircraft. Red X, his designated guard and guide, would collect whatever necessary information she claimed to have. The only thing that he was willing to wait for, was his heart’s guardian and daughter of the depths. In which case, Kila slowed down after noticing her lag in following and turned to extend his arm for her.

There was always a split second in the Zeta tube where Kassandra didn’t know which way she was going. Her stomach split with her sense of water; her eyes and ears argued with her body about where the surface was. Of course she had seen Black Canary dial in the coordinates to New Zealand. Her mind knew the destination. But her body was determined to argue. She heard the others before she dared open her eyes to see them. Solid ground rested under her toes, and the first thing she saw when she stabilized was -

Her Kila, the core of her compass, patiently waiting to be at her side.

He was fathoms beyond her reach tonight. The clothing made him beautiful, but his bearing made him royal. Thanks to Vixen and a last minute costume change, she could at least match his elegance. She’d never worn anything so fine before.

Gold silk wreathed her curves as she stepped out into the hangar. Her gown bore the same ankara leaf pattern, trailing down on the sheer sleeves that trailed her like the fronds of a poisonous jellyfish. A crown of white cowrie rounded her bountiful billow of black curls. Finally, at the base of her throat, against her heartbeat, lay a choker of matching silk with a silver lion’s head. The exact match to Kila’s, impossible to miss when she proudly raised her head.

It said everything without a word.

The girl in gold belonged to the prince of lions.

All who witnessed her glory should bow their heads and praise Lady Yemoja.

She took Kila’s hand, and eyed the waiting luxury jet like it was a personal insult to have to take her feet from the ground.

-

Origami watched as her temporary allies assembled. The expressions on her face were minute and difficult to parse. A furrow in her brow. Distaste? Curiosity? A quirk of her lips. Amusement? Or mockery? The only clear signs of something other than concentration were a startled fluttering of the eyelashes when Meilin Li arrived. And then a faint huff as Buredunia’s heir apparent strolled by her like she didn’t exist. It almost seemed like she was irritated – but when Lady Yemoja appeared seconds behind him, her face smoothed into something like understanding.

“This is all of you, then? At least you’re on time.”

The boy in the black gown was her first victim. She stalked to Zach, 6 foot more of muscled grace, and looked down at him.

A sneer lifted her lips as she mocked the cadence of his voice. “It’s giving… stolen Black culture and Lifetime TV budget. Save the bathrobe for your sloppy seconds next time.” Her tone reeked of dismissal before she pivoted to eye the pair of bodyguards.

Copying Bulwark’s slav squat in one motion, she raised her eyebrows at him. “Dúfam, že máš wifi.” Slovak slipped just as easily from her as English had. Her nails tapped out two eyes, then smeared the curve of an emoji smile across the mouth of his mask before she rose.

That motion brought her just over the head of Red X, who she studied sharply. There was a quiet moment, as if she was trying to look through his disguise with sheer focus. She stared, unblinking. But whatever she was looking for, she didn’t find it. All that she said was, “They said you were dead, X. Welcome back.”

A snap of her cape marked a comment thrown over her shoulder at Damocles and Fulgore. The bearing that had shown begrudging respect for Red X had been replaced by barely disguised derision. “The grunts can wait while the important people are speaking. Hold your tongue or lose your paycheck.” Neither of them seemed to warrant eye contact.

Instead, Origami began to circle Meilin Li. “You look... familiar.” Again, another member of the team would endure that uncanny yellow stare. “Aha! I remember. J. Mueser’s fall line, last year. Bespoke, of course.” Apparently it was the fashion, not the face, that stood out in Origami’s mind. She nodded, a seemingly genuine look of appreciation on her face. “I didn’t even know he fit women. Jealous!” Apparently Li had passed some kind of test.

Finally, she came to the veiled black Dahlia. One step, then another, and a third, until she was positively looming over the other girl. “Tch! This will never work.” She scoffed, putting a hand on her shoulder without a hint of fear. “If you’re going to play the mysterious beauty, you’re going to have to get your posture proper.” Her hands moved, adjusting Dahlia’s body as if she were a trainee, or a doll. “Chin up. Stop slumping. Eyes to the back of house. Walk into the room like god sent you as a punishment.” Her touch slid away as she pivoted, and stalked toward the jet.

“Alright people, knees to chest. There’s not ten minutes difference between fashionably late, and can’t read a clock, and we’re pushing it.” Already, the team had seen several different postures and moods from Origami, one after the next like an actor switching roles. Were any of them real? Or were they all as flimsy and flexible as paper?

M O U N T J U S T I C E

---

As zany and uncanny some of the introductions were within the hangar, introductions were made and baselines were established amongst the Team and their plus one. Tensions were high, yet contained as the group entered the aircraft.

A spherical structure with a raised tower in the center appeared below the jet. It was painted gold and white. Ocean’s timepiece, nestled in unknown waters. It was the kind of architecture that existed solely to remind people that money could become religion if enough people worshiped it.

Music drifted faintly from inside the structure, strings layered over low electronic ambience, polished enough to disappear beneath conversation. Valets in pressed black uniforms moved like clockwork between arriving vehicles, welcoming guests who stepped out in satin, velvet, silk, and tailored suits worth more than most people earned in a year. They were led across the bridge to the main entrance.

Masks hid faces, not identities. Security was subtle. No visible guards patrolling the entrance. No metal detectors. No obvious screening process, but cameras tracked every angle.Facial recognition hidden inside decorative fixtures. Thermal sensors embedded in polished marble pillars.The kind of security that didn’t need to announce itself because it had already catalogued everyone entering.

The invitation list tonight was impossible. That alone was enough to make the entire event feel wrong. Multiple organizations and rival factions. Groups that rarely shared territory, let alone attended the same event. No open gang warfare, no visible hostility. Just expensive smiles and carefully measured distance. The ballroom itself opened beneath a ceiling of suspended crystal lights, cascading downward in soft golden reflections. Massive chandeliers glimmered overhead. Strings performed from a raised balcony overlooking the crowd while servers navigated through the room carrying silver trays of champagne and untouched luxury.

Clusters of guests gathered in quiet circles. Deals happened in fragments. Threats disguised as humor. Beneath the polished atmosphere sat something harder to define. Expectation. As though everyone present knew tonight mattered. As though something had not happened yet. The room itself naturally divided. Certain guests occupied the center. Others preferred shadows and watched.

Near the grand staircase stood Mercy Graves
Perfect posture. Immaculate black dress beneath a fitted coat that looked elegant enough to pass unnoticed while somehow still resembling armor. She never lingered in conversation for long. Guests approached her. Rarely the opposite.
Every few minutes she checked a discreet earpiece hidden beneath dark hair, her expression never shifting beyond polite neutrality. She wasn’t here to socialize, she was here to monitor. And despite the room full of dangerous people, there was a subtle distance around her, the kind born from reputation rather than authority.People gave Mercy space. Even villains respected consequences.

A figure leaned alone near the balcony rail overlooking the lower floor.
Cheshire
Relaxed. Almost bored. One gloved hand wrapped around a glass she barely drank from. She watched the crowd the way predators watched open fields.Not hunting, but waiting.
Her mask sat partially angled, enough to obscure identity without hiding expression.
Unlike most guests, she appeared completely unaffected by the grandeur around her. No effort to mingle. No attempt to impress. Just observation. And occasionally, her gaze settled on specific people long enough to suggest recognition, or calculation.

The bar area held a louder energy than the rest of the ballroom.
Near the far side stood Mammoth, impossible to miss despite the formal setting.
A tailored suit strained visibly against his frame, collar slightly loosened, posture lacking the refinement surrounding him. Beside him, Shimmer looked far more composed, elegant but restless, scanning the room with sharp attention.
They didn’t blend into the gala and didn’t appear interested in trying either. Mammoth laughed too loudly. Shimmer corrected him under her breath.Their conversation occasionally drifted louder than intended, fragments carrying through nearby guests. Names. References to transport schedules.Mention of someone arriving late. The sort of information careless people revealed when they assumed nobody nearby mattered.

At the edge of one of the quieter lounges sat an older man surrounded by people who orbited around him, but never too close.
Alton Carver
Gray-haired. Perfectly at ease in stillness.He looked less like an assassin and more like a retired aristocrat attending an opera. Yet guests approached him with visible respect. Conversations remained short, polite and controlled. No one interrupted him or lingered too long.The people leaving his table always looked thoughtful afterward. A silver cane rested near his chair, unused, possibly for decoration.

Closer to the dance floor stood the easiest smiles in the room.
Golden Glider floated between conversations effortlessly, champagne in hand, moving through social circles with practiced familiarity. Dressed in gold from head to toe, just to be loud and obvious. Beside her, Abra Kadabra looked perfectly at home among the excess. Flashy and confident. Much like Zatara's older and evil counterpart. The pair gathered attention naturally. Laughter followed them and rumors followed them more. If anyone in the room knew secrets simply from listening, it was likely them. They moved between groups too easily not to hear everything.

Elsewhere there were absences. Figures not yet visible. Doors that remained closed. Security personnel stationed too carefully near certain hallways. A private upper balcony remained inaccessible. Something about tonight felt staged. People were here for a reason. The gala was only the surface. The real event had not started yet.

---

In keeping with her gruff, security specialist persona, “Fulgora” simply kept her mouth shut while Origami started analyzing everyone. Stormcaller would have said something, but she wasn’t dressed as Stormcaller. She rested her rifle in one arm against her shoulder, very professional-looking, and boarded with everyone. Behind her graphene-black helmet, she kept an eye on Origami as much as possible, careful not to let her do anything unsupervised. She knew, of course, that the girl had waved the white flag and gone to the League for this. But Batman had outlined the risks between that point and now. She was habitual about being nosy, prone to analyzing every possibly detail she could. So Fulgora watched her and paid mind to her own demeanor. Nothing spoken that wasn’t necessary, because her job was security and being a bodyguard for Meilin Li.

The location was unbelievable. Just looking at it from the sky impressed her. The things a person could do with the amount of money that was spent in places like this within an hour… Yeah, they were in a viper pit, now. The League wasn’t likely to bail them out here, and escape would be a struggle. Fulgora had enough struggles already. They needed to be critically subtle here.

She crossed the bridge, keeping close to Meilin, and standing ramrod straight. One arm was folded behind her back, the other cradling her high-tech weapon with the barrel pointed skyward. Fulgora looked the part of someone not to be crossed, someone professional and not here for games.

She had a job to do, in more than one sense of the term. Security for the venue would likely expect her any minute, and she needed to be in a position where she could guard Meilin and be able to subtly disrupt things. A flickering screen here, some diverted attention there.

”Lead the way.”

“Of course,” Pei said in her ‘Li’ voice. Lower, smoother, flattening out the Rhelasian accent and some of her own scratch. “If anything, you and I are behind the times. Today, I’m playing catch up.” She said. Pei decided Li was the type to respond to authenticity with authenticity of her own. At least, it seemed like Origami was genuine in that moment. Now would be a bad time to lie, and she hadn’t held her punches on some of the others.

When the interaction ended, and Pei realized she had ‘done well’ in Origami’s eyes, she let out a pleased, girlish giggle.

”Teehee~!”

By the time anyone looked back at her, she was completely stone faced once more, glaring in return.

“...”

After the recovery, Pei offered a pleased raise of her eyebrows towards the enigmatic Red X. His character seemed to have the most lore, which was awesome. Hopefully not dangerous.

On the aircraft ride over, Pei googled what ‘Fulgora’ meant. Ah, okay, that makes sense.

”Your real alias kinda sounds more evil than Fulgora, now that I’ve seen what Fulgora means. I guess ‘Fulgora’ has ‘gore’ in it though, which is pretty ominous.” Pei said. Pei remembered the first time she met Cora- on the jet ride over to the island. She offered Cora an encouraging nudge of the elbow. ”Hey. See you on the other side, huh? Thanks for watchin’ out for me.” Pei said with a smile. Then she looked over at the newest member of the team, (Pei had already started thinking about Origami in such a way) and shared the smile with her without much thought. For some reason, perhaps the unusual circumstances, this act made Pei shy. She looked away and cleared her throat to start putting on her new Meilin Li character.

---

By the time the aircraft landed, she was as in character as she was going to get. On the inside, she was nervous, but she was going to make sure her mask didn’t sleep. It wasn’t hard to play pretend. Especially when it came to something as important as this mission.

Once there, Meilin looked around. She recognized everyone from the dossier, but some of these villains needed no introduction. Meilin gave Fulgore a glance. “Don’t try to enjoy yourself too much, party animal.” She replied sarcastically.

Grabbing a drink of ice cold water, Meilin took a sip and surveyed the field. She needed an ‘in’. Something light and casual. As a fraud, she had nothing real to offer these people. Shimmer, Mammoth, and that group were already spilling secrets all on their own. Meilin thought about leaving that to an eavesdropper. But she thought she had an ‘in.’ A chance to make a good first impression, perhaps. The other alternative was the mysterious Cheshire. When she considered who else might approach Cheshire, Meilin thought she herself would be one of the better options.

It was right around then when Meilin Li and Cheshire’s eyes met, only for a moment. Meilin raised an eyebrow. Cheshire was like a perched cat overlooking everything. The choice was made for her, then. Meilin let the ghost of a smirk dance not across her lips, but her eyes, and turned away. Her eyes flitted about, and she found the stairs. Someone like her, all by her lonesome, not even trying to talk to someone. Could she be the buyer? Or here on the buyer’s behalf? Or maybe she was just bored. Meilin thought she could relate.

As Meilin walked over, she turned her head halfway towards Fulgora. With a dismissive wave of her hand, she told her bodyguard to keep her distance. “I’ll not be shackled to you.” She said. “Don’t eavesdrop.”
Finding the stairs to the upper floor, Meilin Li weaved slowly, casually, through the disparate crowds, not trying to hide her approach from Cheshire. Indeed, she was being wry about it.

“You seem keen.” She said, as she approached. “Or bored.” She leaned against the balcony, back first with the back of her elbows against the railing. Pei supposed someone could easily push her over. Whether Meilin was ignorant of this fact, or self-assured that no one would dare touch her, Pei would let Cheshire decide.

“May I ask which? Or are you the only one allowed to size people up?” Meilin Li asked. As she did, she looked back down at her drink and took a sip. Ice cold.

---

The place was quite high table, in a way that Kila had to admit felt somewhat foreign to him. Despite being the bastard Heir of Buredunia, his father didn’t often bring him to events like this unless it was to teach him something. Most of his training, and local press about him apparently, was centralized around KJ’s not being spoiled by living lavishly in the President’s Palace. Instead of a political puppet, he would be a hardened soldier and leader that could protect their land from the frontlines as well as in the office. This would be considered his first test. Therefore, he would not fail by showing this inexperience. His Father and Buredunia’s representation was of utmost importance.

As they had been split from the group of other young Gala guests, the hunter stopped to study the prey. He noticed the groups that had formed, and who went where. Meilin had taken the huntress in the room, watching from a distance. There were other notable faces that he’d read of in the past someplace, but those voices were louder; less threatening in a larger scale.

So, naturally that would draw the young lion’s attention to the other who did not speak as much. An older man, whose interactions were in more hushed tones. While the others that shared his objectives meandered, Kila set his mark on Alton Carver, albeit not directly. The Prince started to walk with his arms behind him though with one looped with Lady Yemoja. Knowing his guide was nearby, he delayed his route momentarily to address Red X.

”I wish to check that the middle-aged gentleman is of interest to Buredunia. Being a well-known nuisance yourself, humor me; What do your eyes make of him?” In a place like this, Kila was quite careful with his wording. Someone was always listening.