Captain Atom's smile faltered. This was not how he'd expected the conversation to go.
"You know I argued pretty hard for you," he said. "Can I at least hear why you won't join?"
"I only ever wanted to join to take down the people responsible for my mom's death," Joseph replied. "Now that I have, I don't see the point. Joining would just bring unnecessary publicity and more responsibilities when I already have enough on my plate. I don't mind keeping things as they are, though—helping you out when needed."
What Joseph didn't say was that he didn't want to be bound by the League's unspoken rules—or risk his actions, however unlikely to be exposed, altering public perception of them. The world needed the Justice League. Undermining trust in it because of him wasn't an option.
And he had his own plans as well.
"Starfire might join," Captain Atom said carefully.
Joseph rolled his eyes. "Batman already pulled that to get me onto the Team. It doesn't work anymore—she's already my girlfriend. Starfire's powerful and competent. She'll be fine whether she stays with the Team or joins the League."
"I see," Captain Atom said, the disappointment clear in his voice.
"You mentioned you had to argue my case," Joseph said. "Let me guess—Batman?"
"Yes," Captain Atom admitted. "He's got it out for you. What did you do to make him that paranoid?"
Joseph shrugged. "I have a tacit understanding with certain criminal organizations. As long as they keep their activities contained and leave innocents out of it, I don't interfere. Batman found out and didn't take it well."
There was no harm in saying it aloud. Most of the League would overlook something like that as many had similar situations with their own villains, like Flash and his Rogue Gallery. Batman couldn't afford the same luxury—no one would excuse his breaches of trust.
"I can see why that would set off alarms," Captain Atom said, clear disapproval in his tone. Nathaniel Adams was, at his core, a career military man—former USAF captain, intelligence background, Vietnam. To him, criminal organizations were enemy combatants. Non-aggression pacts were like negotiations with terrorists.
"Come on, Captain," Joseph said. "It works. Chicago's crime rate is way down—even after the Hour. I barely have to patrol anymore. I'm not cooperating with them, just looking the other way. And the moment they hurt innocents, I'll know—and I'll end them."
"Hm. It's… pragmatic," Captain Atom said after a pause. "Just don't make a habit of compromising your morals by brushing up against evil, Nova."
"I understand," Joseph said, nodding.
Below them, people had begun to notice the two figures hovering in the sky. Cameras were already coming out.
"Say," Captain Atom said, changing the subject. "It's been a while since we sparred. How about it?"
"You didn't get enough action a week ago?" Joseph asked.
"Actually, no. I was deployed in Central Asia—disaster relief. So is that a yes or a no?"
Joseph had stepped out to clear his head anyway. This could be fun. "I can spare five minutes to put belt to ass."
"You're getting cocky, Mr. World Savior," Captain Atom said with a grin. "I wasn't going all out last time."
"I'm sure we can test that," Joseph replied, smirking as he opened a Boom Tube. "Let's change the scenery."
**
| Mount Justice - October 23
"I can only imagine how devastating it was," Black Canary said softly. "Losing your friends, your innocence, and your family in a psychic simulation—believing the entire time that it was real—only to lose Superman barely an hour later."
Though the Hour of Chaos had demanded the League's full attention, they hadn't forgotten what the Team had endured beforehand: a catastrophic psychic training exercise. As one of the few Leaguers formally trained in psychology, Dinah had taken on the role of counselor and therapist.
The Team was still reeling. The simulation—designed by Martian Manhunter to be unwinnable—had been entered with full awareness of its artificial nature. That awareness hadn't lasted. When Miss Martian had unconsciously usurped Manhunter's control, the Team forgot it was a simulation entirely. One by one, they had watched everyone they knew die—friends, mentors, even each other—fully believing it was reality.
Then the Hour of Chaos struck midway through, severing the psychic link between the adults and the children just as Manhunter attempted to regain control. If not for Nova's intervention, the Team might still be comatose… or worse.
Now, Black Canary sat in a private room across from Superboy, providing one-on-one counseling.
"I know it must have been horrible for you," she said gently.
Superboy sat with his head down, shoulders tense.
Not long ago, he would have refused to talk—brushed off what he'd witnessed, denied his grief over Superman, and stormed out. But things had changed.
Before his death, Superman had uncovered Lex's plan to turn Conner against the League. Realizing how close he'd come to failing the boy, Clark had opened up to him—introducing him to his family, welcoming him into his life, treating him not as a weapon, but as a younger brother.
It had changed everything.
Conner no longer saw himself as a failed replacement, a tool engineered to fill Superman's shadow. He saw himself as family.
"In the simulation," Conner finally said, his voice low, "watching the League—and Clark—die… I felt this strange sense of purpose. Like I was finally doing what I was made for. Replacing Superman."
He swallowed.
"But after seeing the Team die one by one… and then watching Superman actually die, I understood what wearing that symbol really means. And I don't measure up. I'm not like my brothers. I'm not strong enough. I'll never be him."
Dinah listened without interrupting.
"He showed me the Fortress," Conner continued. "Gave me a Kryptonian name just days before he died—Kon-El. And now I'm scared I can't live up to it. Can't live up to his memory."
"The only thing Clark ever expected from you," Dinah said softly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder, "was for you to be his brother. You don't have to live up to his legend. You just have to live up to the man who was proud to give you that name. And you don't have to do it alone—you have family. You have friends."
Conner's composure finally broke. He bowed his head as quiet sobs shook his frame.
Dinah stayed with him, her hand firm and reassuring on his shoulder, sharing the weight of his grief.
And he wasn't the only one.
Match would need careful, specialized counseling—a young clone with limited intelligence and no clear framework for processing loss. Raven was mourning Kent Nelson. M'gann was wracked with guilt for unconsciously seizing control of the simulation and endangering the Team.
Dinah exhaled slowly.
She had her work cut out for her.
**
| Saturn - October 23
Amid a drifting field of asteroids, bursts of light and thunderous explosions flared as silver chased gold—mentor and mentee locked in battle.
Joseph twisted through space, narrowly avoiding Captain Atom's energy blasts, each one powerful enough to melt Nth metal. He answered in kind, hurling Nova bolts back while ripping small asteroids from their paths with his anti-gravity field and flinging them forward like artillery.
Captain Atom evaded the attacks with practiced ease, then reshaped matter itself—using molecular reconstruction to carve a tunnel through a thrown asteroid as their high-speed game of cat and mouse continued.
A purely physical fight would be dull for both of them. With access to the Strength Force and the Speed Force, Joseph could have blitzed his mentor in an instant. Also, Captain Atom was essentially living quantum energy held together by a containment suit, and Joseph had no desire to hit hard enough to rupture it.
So he chose an energy duel instead.
Normally, that would've been a terrible idea. Like Joseph, Captain Atom could absorb energy.
But this time was different.
Joseph's Nova Force had evolved. Traces of magic now coursed through it thanks to the sealed Klarion and the runes etched into his Nth-metal bands. Captain Atom wasn't immune to magic.
That magical component granted Joseph far greater control.
Where once his energy could only be released in straight, linear beams, now—
Joseph snapped his head toward Captain Atom and fired twin Nova beams from his eyes.
Captain Atom dodged effortlessly.
Then the beams bent—curving sharply at a ninety-degree angle.
They slammed into Captain Atom's side, hurling him into a large asteroid with bone-rattling force.
Joseph had done it.
He'd successfully replicated Grail's Omega beams.