| Gotham - September 9
Joseph returned to his apartment at 6:07 PM.
He detached the bonded Nth metal, turning it into a 3-cubic-foot block, and for the first time in weeks took a proper shower. Bathing in the cold rivers of Thanagar had been fine—refreshing, even—but nothing compared to the therapeutic rhythm of hot water pounding against his skin. Showers gave space for reflection.
Flying over Chicago, seeing the crowd's reaction, and returning to patrol had left him contemplative. He started questioning his future actions—how he should deal with criminals.
Ever since Nova gained psionic capabilities, Joseph had installed rules. Boundaries. The AI was forbidden from permanently altering his brain. Temporarily suppressing fear for thirty minutes in the Dream State was one thing—removing sadness or anxiety entirely was something else.
Nova could act as a therapist, but Joseph understood something fundamental: pain shapes growth. Experience builds identity. Erasing that meant erasing a piece of who he was.
That was why the idea of rewriting criminals gave him pause. Gordanians were different. Empathy was alien to them. They were parasites—no remorse, no inner conflict, only conquest and cruelty. Eliminating them never felt wrong.
But other sentient species? They were different. Capable of change. Capable of redemption.
Py'tar's teachings had clarified something vital: psychic energy was distinct from the soul.
Souls were spiritual essences—what lingered after death. Psychic energy, by contrast, was the mind's echo, the medium through which powers like telepathy, telekinesis, and mind control flowed. When he absorbed psychic energy, he wasn't taking someone's soul.
That fact brought him some relief.
Still, altering someone's mind—rewriting memories, erasing guilt, or implanting loyalty—felt like playing God. It crossed a line Joseph wasn't ready to step over. Not yet. Not unless absolutely necessary.
And what about prison?
That worked for most criminals, sure—but the more prominent villains were a different story. Some were shielded by wealth, connections, or public goodwill. Others could plead insanity and get transferred to psychiatric hospitals like Arkham Asylum—where "treatment" often replaced accountability. They'd manipulate or fake their way through evaluations. And if that didn't work? They'd break out. Security at those facilities was notoriously weak.
That wasn't even accounting for the periodic prison breakouts—where someone tore the doors off and freed everyone.
Which left one final option: execution.
Joseph hadn't committed a homicide yet—unless Gordanians counted. Every other death had happened in battle, in war, or in self-defense.
But he wasn't innocent.
He'd let Dizzy, Carla Viti, and Two-Face loose on the underworld. They acted as enforcers, killing those who broke his rules or were too far gone. That was a death sentence by proxy. And if he'd already allowed that, why not do it himself?
He hated the trope—heroes mowing down dozens of henchmen, only to spare the big bad "because otherwise I'd be just like them." Hypocritical nonsense.
Ultimately, he was under the Justice League for now. That meant following their rules. But for the truly twisted? He wouldn't hesitate to end them if given a chance. Permanently.
He stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. Something caught his attention in the mirror—his reflection.
He paused, briefly admiring how much he'd changed. He had always been fit, but now? His body looked sculpted by gods—broad shoulders tapering to a tight waist, chiseled abs, long legs, and a supernatural balance of power, speed, and size.
His face was strikingly handsome—high cheekbones, a defined jawline, and an angular chin. Thick, curly brown hair framed his medium-brown complexion, giving him a look both sharp and magnetic.
Powerful. Young. Rich. Handsome.
"Maybe I am blessed," he muttered. "Or maybe just narcissistic."
He pulled on a black shirt and grey sweatpants, then moved through the apartment, tidying the thin layer of dust that had settled in the two weeks he'd been away. The fridge contents went straight to the trash. He tied the bag, tossed it aside, and headed out.
There was a Team meeting tonight.
**
| Happy Harbor - September 9
Kori had suggested the Team meet up to welcome their new member—Rachel, who was going by Raven—and to celebrate Joseph's return.
Robin had offered to pay. Apparently, the kid was loaded. Convenient superpower.
Joseph made his way into the restaurant in Happy Harbor. The Team was already seated, dressed in casual wear.
On one side sat Superboy, M'gann, Artemis, and Wally.
On the other: Kaldur, Robin, Raven, and Kori—who motioned him over to the empty seat beside her.
"Sup, guys," Joseph said, sliding into the seat as Kori gave him a peck on the cheek.
"Joseph! Glad to have you back, man. We thought you were a goner," Wally said—until a swift kick under the table made him yelp.
"The rest of us knew you'd be fine," Artemis added dryly.
"It's good to see that you're alright. Welcome back, Joseph," Kaldur said with his usual calm.
"Thanks, guys. I appreciate it," Joseph replied, smiling.
"Oh yeah—meet our new team member. Raven," Robin said.
"We've already met," Joseph said, nodding toward Rachel.
Just then, the waiter arrived to take their orders.
As expected, his girlfriend ordered the most. He was only surprised Wally didn't do the same—he remembered the speedster having a ridiculous metabolism. Maybe solving the Speed Force equation had stabilized it.
They chatted while they waited for their food.
"Heard you guys already started school," Joseph said, turning toward M'gann and Superboy. "Did you come up with civilian names?"
"Oooh!" M'gann said, excited. "I go by Megan Morse. It sounds like my Martian name! And Superboy goes by—"
"Conner Kent," said the boy himself. "M'gann came up with it. I like it." He gave a small smile that made her blush.
Was that love in the air?
Joseph had seen enough of the Gordanian's data to know what Martians really looked like—far from pretty by Earth standards. He just wondered if Conner knew too.
Well, none of his business. Good luck to them.