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GreenGrenade
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Interested and h y p e d
LANTERN FALL
C H A P T E R O N E / / H A L J O R D A N
Rani Spaceport was a small space station carved into an asteroid in the Atria System, orbiting its red sun on the very edge of Sector 2814. Constructed some hundred years ago by a ragtag group of pirates, it was a popular hotspot for criminals and lowlifes, the tunnels that made it up filled with cheap bars, expensive brothels, underground casinos and black markets. Floating in neutral space, it was within the Green Lantern Corps’ jurisdiction, and as far as most places in the Sector went, it provided plenty of opportunity for arrests.
And plenty of information.
Hal Jordan walked through the dense crowds of the Hospitality District, noting, not for the first time, the irony in its name. People knocked into him without so much as a glance in his direction. One of them, a Karnan, let out a throaty growl as they bumped shoulders, his feline features twisting into a snarl. All around, people eyed each other with open suspicion, weary glances moving from one person to the next. In a bar to Hal’s left an argument was brewing, about a dozen men rising to the barkeep’s side as a Krolotean yelled and made obscene gestures. An Insectivorid gestured to passers-by, persuading them to buy from a suspicious batch of what looked like Belamort-infused cakes.
Belamort was a psychotropic drug that enhanced its user’s senses. The natural herb, grown primarily by Kahloans, was okay in small doses. The synthetic version, however, messed with your synapses, and often led to brain damage; eighty-five percent of its addicts wound up dead, the remaining fifteen spending the rest of their lives as vegetables. It was also significantly cheaper. The chances that it was in those cakes was much higher than that of it being the “safer” variant.
Hal almost laughed. “Hospitality District.” Sure, the name might have referred to the food, drink and accommodation provided to the patrons here, but no one could really lie to themselves – there was nothing hospitable about it. Just a bunch of crooks, thugs and deadbeats trying to get one last drink in before they got stabbed in the back. Hal had half a mind to bring them all in, if only his ring had the capacity to do so.
According to his ring, there were about one and a half million people in this rock, which meant about one and a half million people who would either walk faster, run away, or start shooting at the sight of a Green Lantern. To avoid any trouble, he didn’t wear his uniform, only keeping his ring on for the life support, his hand tucked into his jacket pocket. As unlikely as it was, if the station got depressurised, he didn’t want the change in atmosphere to affect him. Experience taught him that, and it taught him well.
The cantina was wedged between two hotels, a squat metallic building of outdated Dhorian design, sharp edges and alloyed spurs giving it a less than welcoming appearance. A holographic sign above its entrance gave the cantina’s name in an alien script, a nondescript humanoid raising a glass in an animated loop. Hal entered, the artificial light of the tunnel outside dimming into near-darkness, pierced only by the weak glow of the orange bars that sat across the ceiling. Looking around the booths, Hal searched for his man; blonde hair, blue eyes, probably wearing a red jacket –
Got him.
He sat in the far corner of the room, a tall glass in his hand. They made eye contact. Hal nodded. Peter Quill waved back.
“Hal-friggin’-Jordan,” Quill said, grinning, as Hal sat down opposite him. A thick blue liquid sloshed around inside his glass, the pungent smell of alcohol burning Hal’s nostrils. “How’re you doing, man?”
“Peter-friggin’-Quill,” said Hal. “Not too bad. I was hoping you could help me out.”
Quill took a swig of his drink, his smile never leaving his face. “What else is new? Shoot.”
“A Solon freighter was boarded by pirates two cycles ago, just outside the Acrux system. They took anything of value they could find, then escaped into transluminal space. Left six crew members dead. A survivor caught a glimpse of their ship, says he saw the Crimson Star Mob’s insignia on it. As far as I can tell, the entire organisation’s gone underground. Knowing your experience with them, I’m wondering if you can help point me in the right direction.”
Hal found the freighter floating through the vacuum of space, its hull breached with what looked like high-payload explosives. The crew had managed to improvise an airlock to prevent depressurization, but the ring told Hal that they were losing air, and fast – the air recycler had been damaged in the blast. He’d needed to call in John and Guy to get the crew out safely, and for the next forty-eight hours he tried to chase down every lead he had on the Crimson Star Mob, to no avail. The gang was up in the wind.
So here he was, hoping that Peter Quill, the self-proclaimed “Star-Lord”, could help him cover some new ground. He and his crew had had numerous run-ins with the Crimson Stars, enough to make Hal hope for some sort of tangible info.
“Jeez,” said Quill, his smile fading. “I’m sorry, man. Can’t say that I know anything.”
Bummer. No cigar.
“I know a dude, though,” he continued, reclining backwards with his hands behind his head, “Does gun runs for them. I can see what he knows.”
“Mind giving me this gun runner’s name?”
Quill’s grin widened. “No can do. Sorry. Outlaw’s honour.”
Hal raised his eyebrows, a smile working its way onto his lips despite himself. “And what exactly are you up to these days? Guarding or ravaging?”
“A little bit of both. Trying to keep things interesting, y’know? Keeping Rocket from boredom’s like trying to download songs on a Walkman.”
Hal chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Thanks, Pete. If you could follow up on that gun runner, I’d appreciate it.”
“You got it, dude.”
He stood, using the table to push himself up. “I’ll see you around, Star-Lord.”
“Catch you later, GL,” said Quill, giving him a thumbs up.
As if on cue, his ring came to life inside his jacket pocket, a bright green glow illuminating his arm.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
Hal sighed. That couldn’t be good. Taking his hand out of his pocket, Hal’s uniform engulfed his body, green burning bright around a black that chilled, a cacophony of hot and cold that still made his nerves dance after even ten years with the Corps. The cantina’s patrons seemed to collectively recoil as his emerald light filled the room, slack-jawed and angry-eyed, unable to believe that a Green Lantern was able to sneak into their fold.
“Don’t hold your breath. I’m not here for you,” he said to them, before flying out of the tunnels and away from Rani Spaceport. He willed his ring to trigger transluminal travel, and his vision began to blueshift as the stars stretched out behind him.
And plenty of information.
Hal Jordan walked through the dense crowds of the Hospitality District, noting, not for the first time, the irony in its name. People knocked into him without so much as a glance in his direction. One of them, a Karnan, let out a throaty growl as they bumped shoulders, his feline features twisting into a snarl. All around, people eyed each other with open suspicion, weary glances moving from one person to the next. In a bar to Hal’s left an argument was brewing, about a dozen men rising to the barkeep’s side as a Krolotean yelled and made obscene gestures. An Insectivorid gestured to passers-by, persuading them to buy from a suspicious batch of what looked like Belamort-infused cakes.
Belamort was a psychotropic drug that enhanced its user’s senses. The natural herb, grown primarily by Kahloans, was okay in small doses. The synthetic version, however, messed with your synapses, and often led to brain damage; eighty-five percent of its addicts wound up dead, the remaining fifteen spending the rest of their lives as vegetables. It was also significantly cheaper. The chances that it was in those cakes was much higher than that of it being the “safer” variant.
Hal almost laughed. “Hospitality District.” Sure, the name might have referred to the food, drink and accommodation provided to the patrons here, but no one could really lie to themselves – there was nothing hospitable about it. Just a bunch of crooks, thugs and deadbeats trying to get one last drink in before they got stabbed in the back. Hal had half a mind to bring them all in, if only his ring had the capacity to do so.
According to his ring, there were about one and a half million people in this rock, which meant about one and a half million people who would either walk faster, run away, or start shooting at the sight of a Green Lantern. To avoid any trouble, he didn’t wear his uniform, only keeping his ring on for the life support, his hand tucked into his jacket pocket. As unlikely as it was, if the station got depressurised, he didn’t want the change in atmosphere to affect him. Experience taught him that, and it taught him well.
The cantina was wedged between two hotels, a squat metallic building of outdated Dhorian design, sharp edges and alloyed spurs giving it a less than welcoming appearance. A holographic sign above its entrance gave the cantina’s name in an alien script, a nondescript humanoid raising a glass in an animated loop. Hal entered, the artificial light of the tunnel outside dimming into near-darkness, pierced only by the weak glow of the orange bars that sat across the ceiling. Looking around the booths, Hal searched for his man; blonde hair, blue eyes, probably wearing a red jacket –
Got him.
He sat in the far corner of the room, a tall glass in his hand. They made eye contact. Hal nodded. Peter Quill waved back.
“Hal-friggin’-Jordan,” Quill said, grinning, as Hal sat down opposite him. A thick blue liquid sloshed around inside his glass, the pungent smell of alcohol burning Hal’s nostrils. “How’re you doing, man?”
“Peter-friggin’-Quill,” said Hal. “Not too bad. I was hoping you could help me out.”
Quill took a swig of his drink, his smile never leaving his face. “What else is new? Shoot.”
“A Solon freighter was boarded by pirates two cycles ago, just outside the Acrux system. They took anything of value they could find, then escaped into transluminal space. Left six crew members dead. A survivor caught a glimpse of their ship, says he saw the Crimson Star Mob’s insignia on it. As far as I can tell, the entire organisation’s gone underground. Knowing your experience with them, I’m wondering if you can help point me in the right direction.”
Hal found the freighter floating through the vacuum of space, its hull breached with what looked like high-payload explosives. The crew had managed to improvise an airlock to prevent depressurization, but the ring told Hal that they were losing air, and fast – the air recycler had been damaged in the blast. He’d needed to call in John and Guy to get the crew out safely, and for the next forty-eight hours he tried to chase down every lead he had on the Crimson Star Mob, to no avail. The gang was up in the wind.
So here he was, hoping that Peter Quill, the self-proclaimed “Star-Lord”, could help him cover some new ground. He and his crew had had numerous run-ins with the Crimson Stars, enough to make Hal hope for some sort of tangible info.
“Jeez,” said Quill, his smile fading. “I’m sorry, man. Can’t say that I know anything.”
Bummer. No cigar.
“I know a dude, though,” he continued, reclining backwards with his hands behind his head, “Does gun runs for them. I can see what he knows.”
“Mind giving me this gun runner’s name?”
Quill’s grin widened. “No can do. Sorry. Outlaw’s honour.”
Hal raised his eyebrows, a smile working its way onto his lips despite himself. “And what exactly are you up to these days? Guarding or ravaging?”
“A little bit of both. Trying to keep things interesting, y’know? Keeping Rocket from boredom’s like trying to download songs on a Walkman.”
Hal chuckled, shaking his head. “Right. Thanks, Pete. If you could follow up on that gun runner, I’d appreciate it.”
“You got it, dude.”
He stood, using the table to push himself up. “I’ll see you around, Star-Lord.”
“Catch you later, GL,” said Quill, giving him a thumbs up.
As if on cue, his ring came to life inside his jacket pocket, a bright green glow illuminating his arm.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
ALERT: LANTERN 2814-1, REPORT TO OA IMMEDIATELY.
Hal sighed. That couldn’t be good. Taking his hand out of his pocket, Hal’s uniform engulfed his body, green burning bright around a black that chilled, a cacophony of hot and cold that still made his nerves dance after even ten years with the Corps. The cantina’s patrons seemed to collectively recoil as his emerald light filled the room, slack-jawed and angry-eyed, unable to believe that a Green Lantern was able to sneak into their fold.
“Don’t hold your breath. I’m not here for you,” he said to them, before flying out of the tunnels and away from Rani Spaceport. He willed his ring to trigger transluminal travel, and his vision began to blueshift as the stars stretched out behind him.
SPITFIRE
P A R T O N E / / V I S I T O R
Bart Allen gave Wally a sheepish grin. He knew he was in trouble. He lay in Ship’s medical bay, the only occupant of a bed in a whole sea of them, his costume swapped out for a disposable paper gown. His right leg was in a cast, cheeks bruised and left eye swelling up – smiling probably hurt, and if it wasn’t for his accelerated healing factor, there’d be a lot more purple and blue on his body. The kid had done what he was known best for: saying “Screw it,” and going with the first feeling his gut gave him. He might’ve ditched “Impulse” in favour of the Kid Flash threads, but to say he’d outgrown his old codename would’ve been like saying that Batman didn’t brood, or that Barry hated karaoke. Downright untrue, and kind of insulting.
“We really need to stop having these talks, Bart,” said Wally. He still hadn’t changed out of his suit, the red form-fitting armour reflecting the dim lights of the med bay.
“No, I totally agree,” Bart said, “So… let’s not have this one, okay?”
Wally sighed. Whether Bart knew it or not, the last thing he wanted was to have a conversation that even slightly resembled this one. But gravity still pushed things down, Earth still orbited the sun, and instinct was still something that Bart relied on too much.
“You’re not Impulse anymore. You’ve got to start acting like it.”
Bart’s grin shrank, his eyes carrying a hint of annoyance. Frustration. “I know, Wally. You keep saying that– ”
“Because you keep making me have to say it,” Wally said with an exasperated laugh. “Kori told you to wait for her signal, just like the rest of Gamma Team. But you went ahead and took on Shimmer and Girder by yourself – who broke your leg, by the way – and you want me to stop lecturing you about thinking before you act? C’mon, Bart.”
“Okay, so I was a little stupid, sure. But I still took them down.”
“What?”
“Girder and Shimmer.” Bart’s grin was back. “I still beat them. I’m pretty fast.”
Despite himself, Wally felt the hint of a smile working its way onto his lips. “Fast enough to wear them down, maybe. Lorena and David were the ones that took them out.”
“Lorena and David helped.”
“If that’s how you want to put it, sure,” Wally said, resting a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Look, just… try not to be as much of an idiot next time, okay?”
“‘Try’ being the operative word,” agreed Bart. “Don’t worry, fearless leader. I’ll do my best.”
“I’ve seen your best,” said Wally, turning to walk out of the med bay, “It’s gonna have to try harder.”
“We really need to stop having these talks, Bart,” said Wally. He still hadn’t changed out of his suit, the red form-fitting armour reflecting the dim lights of the med bay.
“No, I totally agree,” Bart said, “So… let’s not have this one, okay?”
Wally sighed. Whether Bart knew it or not, the last thing he wanted was to have a conversation that even slightly resembled this one. But gravity still pushed things down, Earth still orbited the sun, and instinct was still something that Bart relied on too much.
“You’re not Impulse anymore. You’ve got to start acting like it.”
Bart’s grin shrank, his eyes carrying a hint of annoyance. Frustration. “I know, Wally. You keep saying that– ”
“Because you keep making me have to say it,” Wally said with an exasperated laugh. “Kori told you to wait for her signal, just like the rest of Gamma Team. But you went ahead and took on Shimmer and Girder by yourself – who broke your leg, by the way – and you want me to stop lecturing you about thinking before you act? C’mon, Bart.”
“Okay, so I was a little stupid, sure. But I still took them down.”
“What?”
“Girder and Shimmer.” Bart’s grin was back. “I still beat them. I’m pretty fast.”
Despite himself, Wally felt the hint of a smile working its way onto his lips. “Fast enough to wear them down, maybe. Lorena and David were the ones that took them out.”
“Lorena and David helped.”
“If that’s how you want to put it, sure,” Wally said, resting a hand on Bart’s shoulder. “Look, just… try not to be as much of an idiot next time, okay?”
“‘Try’ being the operative word,” agreed Bart. “Don’t worry, fearless leader. I’ll do my best.”
“I’ve seen your best,” said Wally, turning to walk out of the med bay, “It’s gonna have to try harder.”
* * *
With the accelerated healing factor that the Speed Force was kind enough to give them, Wally gave it about three days before he’d see Bart in the infirmary again. Maybe a few more hours until his leg healed, a half hour until his bruises faded, and then two or so days spent sidelined for ignoring Kori’s orders. On the third day he’d be sent out on a mission, and find another way to be heroically stupid. Rinse and repeat, replaying the same scenario over and over like in a video game – probably that old game with the blue hedgehog, Bart’s favourite, or the newer one where the alien hero goes bad and you have to overthrow his new world order. Bart would play those to death if he could. It was up to Wally to make sure he didn’t.
“How’d it go?” asked Roy Harper, standing in front of a holographic screen in Ship’s briefing room. A map of the West Coast glowed up at him in blue-tinged colour, accompanied by lines of text and data; he was reviewing the Titans’ info on the MGH operation that Bart had broken his leg disrupting. Kori and Vic stood on either side of him, turning to face Wally as he walked into the room.
“He’s gonna try to stop being an idiot,” Wally said, “‘Try’ being the operative word.”
Roy raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face. Before he could say anything, Wally continued. “You making any progress?”
“No. There’s nothing new to go on,” said Vic. His organic eye met Wally’s. “It looks like the operation’s starting to go underground after today, with their heavy hitters out of the picture. We sent Tyrone and Tandy out on recon to see what they can find, but we’ll just have to wait for the dealers to resurface to get somethin’ concrete.”
“Wait. Shimmer was one of their heavy hitters?”
“It’s not a very well-organised operation,” smiled Roy.
“Excuse me,” said Ship, the alien A.I.’s voice filling the briefing room, “But it appears we have a visitor. The Titans database tells me that it is a former member of the team. Should I let her in?”
The four senior Titans shared a look.
“Which former Titan, Ship?” asked Kori.
“Artemis Crock.”
As his friends’ eyes all came to rest on him, Wally felt his heart speed up. Given the nature of the Speed Force, it’s needless to say –
– it was going fast.
“How’d it go?” asked Roy Harper, standing in front of a holographic screen in Ship’s briefing room. A map of the West Coast glowed up at him in blue-tinged colour, accompanied by lines of text and data; he was reviewing the Titans’ info on the MGH operation that Bart had broken his leg disrupting. Kori and Vic stood on either side of him, turning to face Wally as he walked into the room.
“He’s gonna try to stop being an idiot,” Wally said, “‘Try’ being the operative word.”
Roy raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face. Before he could say anything, Wally continued. “You making any progress?”
“No. There’s nothing new to go on,” said Vic. His organic eye met Wally’s. “It looks like the operation’s starting to go underground after today, with their heavy hitters out of the picture. We sent Tyrone and Tandy out on recon to see what they can find, but we’ll just have to wait for the dealers to resurface to get somethin’ concrete.”
“Wait. Shimmer was one of their heavy hitters?”
“It’s not a very well-organised operation,” smiled Roy.
“Excuse me,” said Ship, the alien A.I.’s voice filling the briefing room, “But it appears we have a visitor. The Titans database tells me that it is a former member of the team. Should I let her in?”
The four senior Titans shared a look.
“Which former Titan, Ship?” asked Kori.
“Artemis Crock.”
As his friends’ eyes all came to rest on him, Wally felt his heart speed up. Given the nature of the Speed Force, it’s needless to say –
– it was going fast.
H E L L F I R E
T H E S A N C T U A R Y
July 3rd, 2020 | Mount Justice, Rhode Island
“I – wait, what?” was all Andy had to say, rubbing the spot where Steph had elbowed him in the ribs as mild bewilderment crossed his face. She was telling him that his dad, Samuel Hughes – silent, pacifistic Sam, who would sooner be caught asleep at his work desk than doing any form of exercise; Sam, who had no knowledge of the Brown family whatsoever, not even Andy’s connection to Stephanie – not only ran to the rescue of an old lady’s purse, but also took her to the E.R., where Steph’s mum was conveniently working? And she found him cute?
Hope and confusion and annoyance all mixed into a strange cocktail as he tried to process this, stumped that someone would find his wiry, bookish dad attractive, and both happy and infuriated at the thought that Sam might find some romance, too. He couldn’t even consider the chance that his mum might one day run back into his dad’s arms – the thought made him want to take the place of the bacon that was slowly cooking inside the oven, despite the fact that nothing would actually happen to him there – but at the same time, he felt strangely repulsed by the idea of his dad ever replacing her. Which was stupid, really. That woman should be replaced, and his dad deserved a second chance with someone who’d actually treat him right. But Andy was getting ahead of himself. Sam and Steph’s mum had only had a chance encounter at the hospital. Who was to say that anything would come of it?
Steph had turned her attention elsewhere by the time he snapped out of his thoughts, leaving his question hanging in the air. She might have been joking when she asked him to toast the marshmallows, but having already retrieved the sugar and pepper, he turned his attention to that task instead, mentally reminding himself with some extra urgency to call his dad in the morning.
The neat part of having a somewhat outdated gas stove was that Andy could toast away without using his powers – something that would likely end in catastrophe, probably to do with his clothes burning off and everyone in the room taking cover from the unbearable heat. With a bag of gelatinous blobs lying open in front of him, he pushed a few onto a skewer he’d taken out of a drawer, turning on the stove with a series of clicks. Whistling, he held the skewer above the small flame, pushing the thought that he looked ridiculous to the back of his mind. His specialty was chicken parma, not marshmallows.
“You! Who has the best costume and why?” exclaimed Steph, startling poor Rannik as he walked in.
Andy had decided early on that the red shapeshifter was cool, and he was yet to be mistaken. He had a calmness to him that Andy often tried to picture Magnus with, to no avail; a chillness that just made the Korugaran seem completely, utterly cool.
“Well,” explained Rannik, “On Korugar, this is the norm. The more color, the better. When people notice you, it means you stand out, it means you are special. So, really, our "costumes" all look quite similar to me.” He slapped Andy on the shoulder. “Except you. You are exceptionally boring. Like the Batman.”
And just like that, Rannik’s coolness was gone.
“Words hurt, Nick,” Andy joked, grinning. “Next thing you’ll say is that Mags’ costume is interesting.”
Hope and confusion and annoyance all mixed into a strange cocktail as he tried to process this, stumped that someone would find his wiry, bookish dad attractive, and both happy and infuriated at the thought that Sam might find some romance, too. He couldn’t even consider the chance that his mum might one day run back into his dad’s arms – the thought made him want to take the place of the bacon that was slowly cooking inside the oven, despite the fact that nothing would actually happen to him there – but at the same time, he felt strangely repulsed by the idea of his dad ever replacing her. Which was stupid, really. That woman should be replaced, and his dad deserved a second chance with someone who’d actually treat him right. But Andy was getting ahead of himself. Sam and Steph’s mum had only had a chance encounter at the hospital. Who was to say that anything would come of it?
Steph had turned her attention elsewhere by the time he snapped out of his thoughts, leaving his question hanging in the air. She might have been joking when she asked him to toast the marshmallows, but having already retrieved the sugar and pepper, he turned his attention to that task instead, mentally reminding himself with some extra urgency to call his dad in the morning.
The neat part of having a somewhat outdated gas stove was that Andy could toast away without using his powers – something that would likely end in catastrophe, probably to do with his clothes burning off and everyone in the room taking cover from the unbearable heat. With a bag of gelatinous blobs lying open in front of him, he pushed a few onto a skewer he’d taken out of a drawer, turning on the stove with a series of clicks. Whistling, he held the skewer above the small flame, pushing the thought that he looked ridiculous to the back of his mind. His specialty was chicken parma, not marshmallows.
“You! Who has the best costume and why?” exclaimed Steph, startling poor Rannik as he walked in.
Andy had decided early on that the red shapeshifter was cool, and he was yet to be mistaken. He had a calmness to him that Andy often tried to picture Magnus with, to no avail; a chillness that just made the Korugaran seem completely, utterly cool.
“Well,” explained Rannik, “On Korugar, this is the norm. The more color, the better. When people notice you, it means you stand out, it means you are special. So, really, our "costumes" all look quite similar to me.” He slapped Andy on the shoulder. “Except you. You are exceptionally boring. Like the Batman.”
And just like that, Rannik’s coolness was gone.
“Words hurt, Nick,” Andy joked, grinning. “Next thing you’ll say is that Mags’ costume is interesting.”
H E L L F I R E
T H E S A N C T U A R Y
July 3rd, 2020 | Mount Justice, Rhode Island
Watching the scene unfold in front of him, Andy couldn’t help but be reminded of his mother. Not because she was a chiselled demigod with a connection to the Greek Speed Force, or because she was a wolfman that could tear you limb from limb if she wanted to – no, she was none of those things, and would probably react to them with a level of disdain that could only belong to a disillusioned (ex-)cop. No, the reason why Magnus and Tachyus’ little pissing contest reminded him of her was in the way they both carried themselves. The defiant swell of their chests, the anger etched on their faces; they oozed a confrontational demeanour that Andy had seen many times in his mother during her one-sided arguments with his dad. It was bully-ish and aggressive, and Carlissa Hughes had carried it with her constantly, every minute of every day until her driving had killed her infant son. The sight of it in his teammates triggered a pang in his gut that he couldn’t quite determine. Annoyance, sadness, anger… hate. Not for Tachyus and Magnus, he liked them well enough, but for the memories they’d brought out into Andy’s mind – ones he’d tried to bury somewhere deep and dark, along with any notion of the woman he’d come to despise.
He’d been about to step between the two, Juno’s attempts at mediation ignored, when Steph walked through the gym’s doors, beating him to it. Her approach was decidedly different to what he had mind, and he had to admit… he liked her style. Steph’s genial manner was endearing, almost infectious, and to say that she was Andy’s favourite member of the Bat Bunch wouldn’t be too far from the truth. He didn’t understand Bruce’s reluctance when it came to her – the reservations he seemed to hold – when to him, the fact that the original Batgirl gave Steph her blessing was more than enough to give some merit to her ability. That she didn’t seem to like him all that much was a bit of a bummer, sure, but it was no biggie. He could live with that, as long as they got past it one day. But man, the way she handled the situation.
With bacon.
Andy didn’t know what was more surprising – that she’d actually suggested pork as a solution, or the fact that it worked. When Magnus said, “Fine. Let us have bacon,” his mouth hung slightly open in awe, slowly turning into an impressed smile as Steph jubilantly led the way to the kitchen.
Andy glanced at Juno, giving her an apologetic shrug, before shifting his eyes to Tachyus. A friendly smile on his face, he patted the demi-god lightly on the shoulder before making to follow Steph. As he passed Kassy, he couldn’t help the quizzical look that crossed his features, meeting her eyes for a brief second as he exited the gymnasium. Out of everyone present, she’d surprised him the most. The way she’d taken Magnus’ side was interesting, if not disheartening – he felt a fraction of his respect for her fall away at the notion that she might have done so to make herself appear stronger than she felt.
Stepping back out into the dining area, Andy made a beeline towards the fridge, feeling its cold chill wash over him as he opened it. Finding two vacuum-sealed packs of rashers of bacon, he allowed himself a fist pump in silent celebration, laying them down on the bench behind him. That a crisis had been averted through the promise of food was miracle in itself, and the way he saw it, there was no harm in rushing to make good on it – not if it meant keeping the floor clear of any wolfman and demi-god blood.
He looked at Steph, still smiling that smile of his, any dark thoughts of his mother dispelled for the time being. “Anything I can do to help?”
He’d been about to step between the two, Juno’s attempts at mediation ignored, when Steph walked through the gym’s doors, beating him to it. Her approach was decidedly different to what he had mind, and he had to admit… he liked her style. Steph’s genial manner was endearing, almost infectious, and to say that she was Andy’s favourite member of the Bat Bunch wouldn’t be too far from the truth. He didn’t understand Bruce’s reluctance when it came to her – the reservations he seemed to hold – when to him, the fact that the original Batgirl gave Steph her blessing was more than enough to give some merit to her ability. That she didn’t seem to like him all that much was a bit of a bummer, sure, but it was no biggie. He could live with that, as long as they got past it one day. But man, the way she handled the situation.
With bacon.
Andy didn’t know what was more surprising – that she’d actually suggested pork as a solution, or the fact that it worked. When Magnus said, “Fine. Let us have bacon,” his mouth hung slightly open in awe, slowly turning into an impressed smile as Steph jubilantly led the way to the kitchen.
Andy glanced at Juno, giving her an apologetic shrug, before shifting his eyes to Tachyus. A friendly smile on his face, he patted the demi-god lightly on the shoulder before making to follow Steph. As he passed Kassy, he couldn’t help the quizzical look that crossed his features, meeting her eyes for a brief second as he exited the gymnasium. Out of everyone present, she’d surprised him the most. The way she’d taken Magnus’ side was interesting, if not disheartening – he felt a fraction of his respect for her fall away at the notion that she might have done so to make herself appear stronger than she felt.
Stepping back out into the dining area, Andy made a beeline towards the fridge, feeling its cold chill wash over him as he opened it. Finding two vacuum-sealed packs of rashers of bacon, he allowed himself a fist pump in silent celebration, laying them down on the bench behind him. That a crisis had been averted through the promise of food was miracle in itself, and the way he saw it, there was no harm in rushing to make good on it – not if it meant keeping the floor clear of any wolfman and demi-god blood.
He looked at Steph, still smiling that smile of his, any dark thoughts of his mother dispelled for the time being. “Anything I can do to help?”
S U P E R B O Y
T H E S A N C T U A R Y
July 3rd, 2020 | Mount Justice, Rhode Island
“Conner.”
He stared at the meeting chamber wall, his eyes glazed over as he stared at some unseen corner of his mind. The Team had left a while ago, Andy saying something about “the best chicken parma in the world”, nudging Steph as he mentioned that he’ll need an assistant. His demeanour was as upbeat and personable as it had been before the mission; the others seemed to express a dejectedness that Conner knew well, something he’d experienced many times with Teen Titans. The failures he’d gone through back then were often worse than this one, but he still understood why the Team felt as they did – although they were still a rookie team by all accounts, they believed that they should have done better. He could see it especially in Tachyus, rushing out ahead of everyone else, his ego visibly bruised despite his efforts to hide it. He didn’t blame him. It was a special kind of bruise, to be one of a group’s most powerful members, yet being the only one to get knocked down – and yet, it wasn’t really Tachyus’ fault. No, the true blame lay on Conner. His amateur leadership failed to prepare them for a bunch of wannabe clowns, to the point that they were the ones at a disadvantage. The team with a demi-god, Dr. Light’s daughter, a human sun and an Avatar of all animal life, drew the short straw against a gang of rabid circus performers. It was inexcusable.
“Conner,” repeated Dinah Lance-Queen, and this time he snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze flicking back to her.
“Sorry,” he said. “I… zoned out for a bit there.”
“I noticed,” said Dinah, the sternness in her eyes failing to mask her concern. “I said that your training – the Team’s training – should focus on building trust with one another. Working together as a single unit, not as individuals. There were moments today when you did that, but they were outnumbered by the times you each went off to do your own thing. That can’t happen again.”
Conner met her gaze, his eyes hard. “I know.”
“I know you do,” she said. “Look, I’m not trying to knock you or the Team down a few pegs. That won’t help, and it’s not what I’m here for. But I saw your suit-cam footage; you all trust yourselves more than you trust each other, and that’s what’s stopping you from being great. You need to come together, and team building exercises will help you get there.”
Conner stayed silent, letting her words sink in. You all trust yourselves more than you trust each other. That may be true for the others, but no – not for him.
“Why am I here?” he asked. The hardness had left his eyes. They pleaded now.
“In this room?” said Canary.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Why am I here? Leading the Team? Why not Tim, or Cassie, or – or Bart? I’m completely out of my element, Dinah. Why was I picked to lead?”
She looked at him, her sympathy more visible now that her sternness gave way. “That’s a question for Bruce and Clark,” she said softly, “But I can give you my opinion.”
Conner’s silence was his consent.
“You were chosen because people look up to you. The Team happens to fall under that demographic.”
He scoffed. “People look up to me? In Metropolis, maybe. Fenrir hates me.”
“Fenrir’s lived a life of isolation and has more skeletons in his closet than I can count. He “hates” you because he perceives everyone as a threat until he’s satisfied that they’re not.”
Conner raised his brow. “And you got that after two weeks?”
She gave him a small smile. “No. Shayera gave me the basic rundown.”
“Right.”
“My point is, people look up to you. It may not have started out that way, but they do. You’ve been with the Titans since you were born, and you’ve been partnered with Superman for about that long. The experience shows, but only if you let it. And you haven’t been. You’re worried about being a leader the Team can trust?”
Silence.
“Trust has to start from somewhere. Be their friend first. Leading them will come naturally after.”
“Batman’d say differently,” Conner said.
“But I’m not Batman,” said Dinah, “And neither are you. You’re Superboy. Try to remember what that first part means.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dinah.”
“This is my job,” she smiled, “You don’t have to thank me. Take the night off, if you want. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Conner managed a small smile, nodding. He walked out of the briefing room, walking down the hall towards the elevator. Pressing ‘0’ for the dormitory level, the lift began descending. The Team were probably finishing dinner up by now, getting ready for whatever they had planned next. Somehow, Conner doubted that it was sleep. He’d noticed their restlessness earlier, exuding out of them along with their dejection. How they’d deal with it, he didn’t know, but as thoughts of checking on them started to take shape, he realised just how exhausted he was. The day had drained him. As a ding resounded overhead, the elevator doors opened, and Conner began walking to his room. Food could wait until the morning.
He wasn’t hungry.
He stared at the meeting chamber wall, his eyes glazed over as he stared at some unseen corner of his mind. The Team had left a while ago, Andy saying something about “the best chicken parma in the world”, nudging Steph as he mentioned that he’ll need an assistant. His demeanour was as upbeat and personable as it had been before the mission; the others seemed to express a dejectedness that Conner knew well, something he’d experienced many times with Teen Titans. The failures he’d gone through back then were often worse than this one, but he still understood why the Team felt as they did – although they were still a rookie team by all accounts, they believed that they should have done better. He could see it especially in Tachyus, rushing out ahead of everyone else, his ego visibly bruised despite his efforts to hide it. He didn’t blame him. It was a special kind of bruise, to be one of a group’s most powerful members, yet being the only one to get knocked down – and yet, it wasn’t really Tachyus’ fault. No, the true blame lay on Conner. His amateur leadership failed to prepare them for a bunch of wannabe clowns, to the point that they were the ones at a disadvantage. The team with a demi-god, Dr. Light’s daughter, a human sun and an Avatar of all animal life, drew the short straw against a gang of rabid circus performers. It was inexcusable.
“Conner,” repeated Dinah Lance-Queen, and this time he snapped out of his thoughts, his gaze flicking back to her.
“Sorry,” he said. “I… zoned out for a bit there.”
“I noticed,” said Dinah, the sternness in her eyes failing to mask her concern. “I said that your training – the Team’s training – should focus on building trust with one another. Working together as a single unit, not as individuals. There were moments today when you did that, but they were outnumbered by the times you each went off to do your own thing. That can’t happen again.”
Conner met her gaze, his eyes hard. “I know.”
“I know you do,” she said. “Look, I’m not trying to knock you or the Team down a few pegs. That won’t help, and it’s not what I’m here for. But I saw your suit-cam footage; you all trust yourselves more than you trust each other, and that’s what’s stopping you from being great. You need to come together, and team building exercises will help you get there.”
Conner stayed silent, letting her words sink in. You all trust yourselves more than you trust each other. That may be true for the others, but no – not for him.
“Why am I here?” he asked. The hardness had left his eyes. They pleaded now.
“In this room?” said Canary.
“You know what I mean,” he said. “Why am I here? Leading the Team? Why not Tim, or Cassie, or – or Bart? I’m completely out of my element, Dinah. Why was I picked to lead?”
She looked at him, her sympathy more visible now that her sternness gave way. “That’s a question for Bruce and Clark,” she said softly, “But I can give you my opinion.”
Conner’s silence was his consent.
“You were chosen because people look up to you. The Team happens to fall under that demographic.”
He scoffed. “People look up to me? In Metropolis, maybe. Fenrir hates me.”
“Fenrir’s lived a life of isolation and has more skeletons in his closet than I can count. He “hates” you because he perceives everyone as a threat until he’s satisfied that they’re not.”
Conner raised his brow. “And you got that after two weeks?”
She gave him a small smile. “No. Shayera gave me the basic rundown.”
“Right.”
“My point is, people look up to you. It may not have started out that way, but they do. You’ve been with the Titans since you were born, and you’ve been partnered with Superman for about that long. The experience shows, but only if you let it. And you haven’t been. You’re worried about being a leader the Team can trust?”
Silence.
“Trust has to start from somewhere. Be their friend first. Leading them will come naturally after.”
“Batman’d say differently,” Conner said.
“But I’m not Batman,” said Dinah, “And neither are you. You’re Superboy. Try to remember what that first part means.”
He sighed. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Dinah.”
“This is my job,” she smiled, “You don’t have to thank me. Take the night off, if you want. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Conner managed a small smile, nodding. He walked out of the briefing room, walking down the hall towards the elevator. Pressing ‘0’ for the dormitory level, the lift began descending. The Team were probably finishing dinner up by now, getting ready for whatever they had planned next. Somehow, Conner doubted that it was sleep. He’d noticed their restlessness earlier, exuding out of them along with their dejection. How they’d deal with it, he didn’t know, but as thoughts of checking on them started to take shape, he realised just how exhausted he was. The day had drained him. As a ding resounded overhead, the elevator doors opened, and Conner began walking to his room. Food could wait until the morning.
He wasn’t hungry.
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@Lord Wraith Edited the GL sheet in Spidey's place so the character tab isn't cluttered with my sheets, lol.
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