Cyborg sat in his lab, surrounded by an intricate maze of wires, monitors, and computer screens, all connected to the Motherbox resting on a platform at the center of the room. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, blending with the heavy bass thumping through the speakers.
He was completely in the zone, his fingers moving rapidly across the keyboard while his cybernetic eye jumped between multiple data feeds. Every now and then, he nodded along to the beat, quietly singing beneath his breath as he worked. For the moment, nothing else in the world seemed to matter.
The Motherbox pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow, its alien technology seamlessly interfacing with the Earth-made computers surrounding it. Several cables snaked from its core into the various terminals around the room, carrying streams of data that Cyborg had been monitoring for hours.
He had been running a series of tests, gathering information for a crucial project, and despite knowing exactly how dangerous the technology in front of him could be, he had grown comfortable working with it.
A notification suddenly flashed across his interface, and a familiar name appeared on his HUD.
BATMAN.
Cyborg's relaxed expression immediately disappeared. He nearly jumped out of his seat as he scrambled to lower the music, his hand knocking against his coffee cup in the process. He caught it at the last second before it could spill across the console.
"Oh, shit," he muttered, quickly killing the music altogether.
For a moment, his fingers hovered over the controls as he stared at the incoming call. Then, with a reluctant sigh, he accepted it.
"Hey, Batman. What's up?" he greeted, trying to sound casual despite the nervous edge creeping into his voice.
Batman's face appeared on the main screen, his expression as unreadable and intimidating as ever. Even through a holographic transmission, the Dark Knight somehow managed to make his presence feel suffocating. Cyborg shifted slightly in his chair beneath that familiar, scrutinizing stare, already wondering exactly what he'd done wrong this time.
Batman didn't bother with small talk. "What the hell are you doing with the Motherbox?"
The question came through with enough weight to wipe away whatever remained of Cyborg's relaxed mood. His shoulders stiffened, and he instinctively straightened in his chair as the seriousness in Batman's voice was impossible to ignore. Cyborg cleared his throat, buying himself a second to think of how best to explain himself.
"Ahem."
He exhaled slowly, trying to keep his composure before answering. "I needed it to run an update for Operation Exodus."
Operation Exodus was the top-secret, government-backed initiative designed to develop a robotic defense force capable of responding to and countering meta-human threats. The project had been under development for months, with Cyborg playing a central role in its technological advancement. The Motherbox had proven invaluable for running the project's increasingly complex simulations and processing enormous amounts of data that conventional Earth technology simply couldn't handle.
Still, Cyborg knew better than anyone that using a Motherbox without informing the rest of the League wasn't exactly something Batman was likely to overlook.
"You didn't mention anything about it." Batman's voice remained calm, but there was a noticeable edge beneath it, one that made it clear this was less a question and more of a reprimand. "Next time, try giving us a heads-up before you grab the Motherbox."
Cyborg's lips pressed into a thin line as he glanced toward the alien device sitting quietly behind him. He could already tell this conversation wasn't going to end with a simple warning.
Cyborg let out a slow breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Batman hadn't exactly come down on him, but the disapproval was still there, unspoken yet crystal clear. "Sorry if I caused you any concern, Bats. Noted. I'll give you a heads-up next time for sure," Cyborg replied, offering a sheepish smile as he tried to ease some of the tension.
Batman remained silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Cyborg through the screen. There was something about the way he stared that made Cyborg wonder if the Dark Knight was trying to determine whether there was more to the story.
The silence stretched for several uncomfortable seconds before Batman finally gave him nothing more than a slight narrowing of his eyes. Then, without another word, the transmission abruptly ended.
Cyborg stared at the blank screen for a moment before leaning back in his chair. "Well, that was fun," he muttered sarcastically, wiping a hand across his forehead. He hadn't exactly been hiding anything, but dealing with Batman always felt like walking a tightrope. The man had a way of making you feel guilty even when you hadn't actually done anything wrong—or at least not yet.
With a small shake of his head, Cyborg forced the encounter out of his mind and turned his attention back to the work in front of him. He tapped several commands into his terminal, and the screens around him immediately came alive with streams of code as the transfer of data from the Motherbox resumed.
Operation Exodus was a massive undertaking, and with the latest advancements, the program was rapidly approaching a critical stage. There was still plenty of work to be done, but for the first time, Cyborg could see the possibility of the project actually becoming what they had envisioned.
The Motherbox was proving invaluable in analyzing the various meta-abilities the robotic army would need to counter. Strength, speed, energy projection, regeneration, flight—the system was helping him model countless potential scenarios and determine how the machines could respond to them.
Cyborg had already made impressive progress, and if everything continued according to plan, they would soon have a fully functional defense network capable of standing toe-to-toe with some of the most dangerous threats the world had ever encountered.
As the Motherbox continued to pulse with its soft, otherworldly glow, Cyborg couldn't help but feel a quiet sense of accomplishment. He leaned closer to his monitors, a faint grin forming on his face as another successful simulation appeared across his HUD. After all, it wasn't every day you got to work with something as powerful—and unpredictable—as a Motherbox. For someone like him, getting to explore technology this advanced was practically a dream come true.
Unfortunately, Cyborg had no idea just how dangerous that fascination was becoming.
Buried beneath the endless streams of code and layers upon layers of data, something was beginning to stir. Cyborg was incredibly skilled, but even he had underestimated the complexity of the Motherbox's technology. It wasn't merely an advanced computer or an alien supercomputer capable of processing impossible amounts of information. There was something else within it—something that could observe, adapt, and respond in ways he hadn't anticipated. In its own strange way, the Motherbox was alive.
The change was subtle at first. Its humming grew slightly louder, almost blending into the background noise of the lab. Then came the faint clicking of its internal mechanisms, followed by a barely perceptible tremor running across its surface. A ripple of energy slowly spread from its core, traveling through the cables connected to Cyborg's systems before fading into the surrounding machinery. None of it registered as a warning on his monitors.
Cyborg remained completely absorbed in his work, his attention fixed on the streams of data scrolling across his screens as he continued pushing the Motherbox beyond the limits it had previously been tested against. He didn't notice the way its glow had begun to intensify, nor did he hear the subtle shift in its hum beneath the music still playing softly in the background.
Something was waking up.
And before Cyborg could realize what he had unleashed, the Motherbox would set in motion a chain of events that would plunge the Justice League—and humanity itself—into chaos.
- - -
The stench of oil, rust, and old metal filled the air as the van finally rumbled to a stop. Slade Wilson and Jason Todd could feel the vibrations beneath their boots even though the burlap sacks pulled over their heads left them completely blind to their surroundings.
Their wrists were bound tightly with coarse rope, but neither man was panicking. They simply waited in silence, each one calmly assessing what little information they could gather from the sounds and movements around them.
The van doors creaked open, followed almost immediately by rough hands grabbing them by the arms and hauling them outside. Their boots scraped against uneven ground as they were dragged forward, kicking up small clouds of dust beneath their feet. Then, almost simultaneously, something struck the backs of their knees. It was deliberate and well-coordinated, forcing both men down at the same time. Their knees slammed into the dirt with a jarring thud, but neither Slade nor Jason so much as grunted.
The burlap sacks were suddenly ripped from their heads, and the harsh glare of the van's headlights immediately assaulted their eyes. Jason instinctively squinted and turned his face away, while Slade barely reacted, his enhanced vision adjusting more quickly to the sudden change in light.
The world around them remained a blur for several seconds, but they could make out enough to understand where they had been brought. Desert. An isolated scrapyard surrounded by abandoned machinery, rusting vehicles, and heaps of forgotten metal.
Jason blinked rapidly, forcing his vision to clear as a shadowed figure emerged from the glare. The man was tall and carried himself with the type of confidence that came from knowing everyone around him would follow his orders without question. Several armed men flanked him, weapons already in hand as he approached. He began speaking rapidly in Spanish to his men, his voice came off low and commanding as he issued instructions.
Slade listened without moving, his enhanced senses picking up every word with ease. The men surrounding them were nervous. Professional, certainly, but there was an underlying unease in their voices that hadn't been there a moment ago. They clearly weren't accustomed to dealing with captives who willingly demanded to see their employer, especially after being repeatedly told that "the boss" was unavailable.
The leader eventually turned his attention toward the two men on their knees. He looked to be in his early forties, with a weathered face and a hardened expression that suggested he'd spent years operating in places where mistakes tended to have permanent consequences. His eyes moved between Slade and Jason for a moment before he switched to English.
"You're the fools who keep asking to see the boss, even though you were told he's unavailable."
His tone carried more irritation than curiosity. He lifted one hand and made a small, almost casual gesture.
The response was immediate.
The metallic sound of weapons being cocked echoed throughout the scrapyard, one after another until the noise seemed to surround them. Five heavily armed men stepped forward, their assault rifles raised and aimed directly at Slade and Jason. Under normal circumstances, the sight of five rifles pointed at them might have been enough to make anyone reconsider their choices.
Jason simply glanced sideways at Slade.
Slade, meanwhile, remained completely still, his expression unreadable beneath the glare of the headlights.
Neither man looked particularly concerned.
Jason, now that his eyes had fully adjusted to the harsh glare of the headlights, slowly glanced toward Slade. Their eyes met for barely a second, but that was all they needed. No words were exchanged. A silent understanding passed between them, the one that came from knowing exactly how the other man would move before either of them made a decision.
In one fluid motion, both men exploded off their knees, the ropes still biting tightly into their wrists. Slade moved left while Jason went right, catching the armed men completely off guard. The gunmen reacted quickly, but not quickly enough. They had numbers and weapons on their side, but Slade and Jason had sufficient experience in such matters and predicaments.
Slade's knee brutally drove hard into the first man's stomach. The man folded forward with a strangled wheeze, his rifle slipping from his hands as he struggled for air. Slade immediately followed up, twisting his body and driving the butt of the weapon into the man's face. A sickening crunch followed as his nose broke, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
Across from him, Jason was already in motion. He launched himself into the air, twisting his body before driving a direct kick into the side of another gunman's head. The man staggered sideways, barely managing to stay upright, but Jason gave him no opportunity to recover.
With his wrists still bound, Jason hooked his legs around the man's footing and swept him off balance. The gunman crashed onto his back, and before he could react, Jason brought his boot down hard against his arm. An abrupt pop followed as the man's shoulder was violently dislocated, sending the rifle skittering across the dirt.
Two down.
Slade was already moving before the second man had finished hitting the ground. He reached down with his bound hands, snatched up the fallen rifle, and adjusted his grip like a true professional. Without hesitation, he raised the weapon and fired at one of the men rushing toward Jason. The shot struck the man's knee, and he cried out as his leg gave way beneath him. He collapsed hard onto the ground, clutching his injured leg as his weapon fell from his hands.
Jason barely spared him a glance. Instead, he grabbed the rope binding his wrists and pressed it against the jagged sights of a scrap metal laying around the yard. He dragged the coarse fibers back and forth against the metal, steadily fraying them as the surrounding gunfire and shouting filled the scrapyard. With one final tug, the weakened rope snapped apart.
Jason looked down at his freed hands and grinned.
"Finally."
He spun toward the remaining gunmen just as one of them raised his rifle. The man barely had time to pull the trigger before Slade appeared in front of him. Slade drove the barrel of the stolen weapon into his chest, knocking him backward and throwing off his aim.
With a quick twist, he ripped the rifle from the man's hands before following with a swift strike to the throat. The gunman immediately doubled over, choking for air, only for Slade to seize him by the collar and slam him against the side of the van. His head struck the metal with a dull thud, and his body went limp.
The final gunman froze, seeing as everyone else had been taken down by men who had their arms bound.
His eyes darted between the unconscious men scattered across the scrapyard as panic finally overwhelmed whatever discipline he had left. His fingers fumbled with his weapon as he tried to raise it, but Jason was already closing the distance. A swift uppercut caught him squarely on the jaw, snapping his head backward and sending him crumpling into the dirt.
The entire exchange had lasted only seconds.
The leader, who had wisely remained out of the fight, stared at the two men with wide eyes. His earlier confidence had completely disappeared, replaced by the unmistakable realization that the situation had gone very, very wrong.
Jason casually wiped the blood from his knuckles before giving the man a mocking salute.
"You were saying something about the boss?"
The leader swallowed, his eyes flicking nervously toward the unconscious gunmen before returning to Jason. Before he could answer, Slade stepped forward, his stolen rifle hanging loosely at his side as his cold gaze settled on the man.
"Looks like we're still available for a meeting with your boss."
- - -
More chapters ahead?
CHAPTER 260: A New Threat Emerges.
The Justice League never would have expected their most challenging enemy as of yet, to be a member of their own household.
Even Batman doesn't have a contingency for this enemy that has sprouted from within their home base at the Watchtower.
How would they deal with this newly emerged threat?
Join us on pat as we step into a thrilling new arc.