"Hey guys, guess who's back?" I called out as I stepped through the zeta tube. "Who's the blonde?"
"Oh God!" Wally groaned dramatically. "Just when we thought you were gone for good!"
"I can't leave the Justice League's stupid oversight committee," I said flatly. "And until you stop fucking everything up with your poor impulse control and putting the Team in jeopardy, Wallace, I'm sticking around."
The Flash-kid spluttered. "I—hey! I haven't screwed up that bad in—"
The sound of the zeta-tube activating again interrupted the exchange.
Artemis of Bana-Mighdal stepped out behind me, her boots clicking against the cave floor.
I didn't slow down as I walked past him, heading straight for Batman. Beside him stood his bow-wielding friend—Emerald Arrow? Verde Arrow? Whatever. Batman Lite in a Robin Hood hat.
"You must be the murderhobo I've heard so many horror stories about," the blonde girl remarked with a confident smirk. She was athletic and pretty, with vaguely Vietnamese features and well-tanned skin. Tall too, with full lips and brown eyes. Her clearly dyed blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail tied with a green band. She wore a short brown jacket over a practical v-neck shirt that rode up just enough to reveal a strip of skin above her well-fitted jeans.
Oh, shit. Sportsmaster's daughter. Artemis Crock. Judging from her reaction, she doesn't know I tortured her father. Good. I kept that thought to myself.
"Nah, I'm not homeless," I replied cheerfully. "I live here in the Cave. I was never charged with anything, and all of my hypothetical misdeeds were committed against criminals on foreign soil. That makes me a patriot."
"Mission accomplice, Batman," I added, nodding toward the Dark Knight.
Wally blinked. "Wait—mission?"
"Did Batman give you a mission personally?" he pressed, already looking like he regretted asking.
"Yeah," I replied, turning just enough to shoot him a sideways grin. "I neutralized four targets without killing them, and did a better job than you'll ever manage. Took me all in two days."
The grin lingered as Wally flushed in irritation. The kid hated being reminded that being fast didn't make him the best.
Artemis crock raised a brow. "Four targets in two days and nobody died? That's not what I was expecting from a so-called 'murder-hobo.'"
"Disappointing, isn't it?" I quipped. "But I follow orders… when the orders are worth following."
The blonde archer tilted her head, studying me with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
I clapped my hands once, grinning. "Anyway, I'm back. You can all relax… or panic. Dealer's choice."
My eyes slid back to the blonde. "Now, introduction time. You, Blondie?"
"Artemis," she said finally, her voice steady.
I frowned and jabbed a thumb over my shoulder at the silent warrior from Bana-Mighdal who was still observing everything with a cool expression. "Well, you're gonna have to change your name. That one's already taken."
I looked her up and down, theatrically thoughtful.
"I can't call you both 'Artemis'—gets confusing. So… how about…
Green Goblin. With a bow."
Her smirk evaporated. "I hope you die," she shot back with a snarl.
"Sorry, Greeny," I replied cheerfully. "I already did."
A muffled snort came from Robin, who was trying and failing to hide a grin. Wally just crossed his arms and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "we don't need another archer."
Before the tension could escalate further, the zeta-tube announced another arrival.
[RECOGNIZED: SPEEDY A-06]
The atmosphere in the Cave instantly plummeted into an ice bath.
Speedy—Roy Harper—strode out of the transport bay, his bow slung across his back and his glare instantly settling on the assembly. His eyes swept past Batman and Green Arrow, past the Team, and landed directly on me.
Roy stopped dead in his tracks, his entire body tensing with revulsion. He recognized me.
"What in the living hell is he doing here?" Roy demanded, his voice ringing with pure, unadulterated contempt. He didn't ask Batman; he leveled the accusation at the entire room.
Green Arrow sighed, rubbing his temples, clearly dreading this confrontation.
Roy didn't wait for an answer. He took two aggressive steps forward, pointing a shaking finger directly at my chest. "You," he spat, his face contorted with anger. "You bring the League's butcher into a room full of kids? What, is he the new morality lesson? The cautionary tale of what happens when you decide killing is easier than saving?"
My cheerful demeanor vanished. The mask I wore—the one of the witty, insouciant sociopath—cracked just enough to let a sliver of genuine malice show through.
"Watch your tone, kid," I warned, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl.
"Tone? What tone?" Roy sneered, stepping closer. "You're a disgrace. They threw you out of the shadows, cleaned you up, and you're still nothing but filth! You're the kind of monster that heroes fight! You are the scum they should be locking away, not using as an attack dog! Tell me, what kind of hero accepts a murderer who wears his past like a cheap badge of honor?"
Roy's voice rose to a yell, his frustration with the League's hypocrisy boiling over. "You're a pathetic, twisted failure of a human being! You're a black stain on everything the League stands for! You're nothing but a—"
I let him finish the insult, then slowly, deliberately, I raised my right hand, palm facing him, and extended my middle finger—a universal symbol of disrespect.
My eyes met his, cold and dead. I didn't raise my voice. I didn't need to. I spoke only for the benefit of the heroes clustered around us, letting the truly vile nature of my old self surface for a single, terrifying instant.
"Tell your mother that the black void of a septic tank she calls a uterus will forever be defined by the agonizing, burning sensation of the three-day, untreated venereal disease that was your conception, you inbred, narcissistic, yellow-bellied, motherless piece of sewer slurry,!"
I didn't stop there. The venom flowed, surgical and relentless.
"You are a failure, Roy. A cheap, knock-off copy of a better man, born of a mistake and marinated in self-pity. Your heart is a leaking sieve of resentment, and your ego is so bloated it could choke on a dust mote. You're the kind of mistake you flush twice and pray doesn't crawl back out."
I leaned in, ensuring the full psychological weight landed. "You want to talk about filth? You're so devoid of actual purpose that the only thing keeping you relevant is the fear that your own body will collapse from the sheer pressure of your monumental inadequacy. You are a curse, a hitch in the grand design, and your only true purpose is to serve as a cautionary tale to children about the importance of using protection."
I leveled one final, chilling statement. "In a rigorous double-blind study, your genetic contribution would be classified as a negative evolutionary pressure. A statistical error that actively lowers the average species intelligence. You are a chromosomal misfire wrapped in synthetic spandex. Go back to your dumpster and bleed."
The hangar went dead silent.
The curse was a venomous stream of pure, unadulterated hatred, combining biological disgust, primal rage, and a calculated, surgical attack on his familial core. It was the language of the forgotten corners of the criminal world, weaponized.
Robin's smile was gone, replaced by a deep frown of disapproval. Aqualad and Kid Flash recoiled slightly, their expressions a mix of shock and utter dismay. Even Artemis Crock's anger seemed to freeze, momentarily overshadowed by the sheer malice of the verbal assault.
I dropped my hand, my expression immediately returning to the detached, bored neutrality I usually maintained.
"I do not take kindly to unwarranted character assessments, Speedy," I finished, my voice flat.
The silence was crushing. It was the kind of silence that happens when a lightning strike hits the living room. Roy Harper was left trembling, not just with rage, but with the shock of having his core humanity targeted with such calculated, raw venom. His face was scarlet, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly, unable to find a single word vile enough to match mine.
Wally West (Kid Flash) had taken two involuntary steps back, his hands halfway up in a gesture of nervous de-escalation that never completed. He stared at me, the quick, witty annoyance he usually held replaced by wide-eyed, genuine fear. He'd heard heroes curse, but this was different—it was a deep-cut, surgical assassination of character.
Robin stared at the floor, his face unreadable beneath his mask, but the way he gripped his hands into fists suggested a deep, internal conflict between revulsion and the cold, analytical interest Batman had trained into him. He didn't look at me, or Roy, but at the concrete.
Aqualad—Kaldur'ahm—was the only one who maintained his composure, though his lips were pressed into a thin, disappointed line. He looked first at me, then at the stunned Roy, and finally, directly at Batman, seeking intervention.
Artemis Crock—Green Goblin—was entirely frozen. Her initial sneer of confident superiority had vanished, leaving behind an expression of pure, instinctive dread. She didn't just hear a bad word; she heard the language of the worst kind of predator, the kind she knew intimately from her family life. The joking nickname I had given her was forgotten; the threat was real.
Green Arrow finally moved, stepping quickly between Roy and me, placing a calming hand on Roy's shoulder. "That is enough! Both of you!"
Roy slapped his mentor's hand away. "No! It is not enough! , tell me you aren't letting this… this sociopath stay here! He's a threat to every single thing we are trying to build!"
Batman, who had watched the entire exchange with the impassive gaze of a stone gargoyle, finally spoke. His voice was low, gravelly, and cut through the tension with blunt authority. "Attano is under League supervision. He is here on a temporary assignment to ensure mission effectiveness and security protocol adherence for the duration of a specific, classified investigation. His methods are effective, and non-lethal. Your opinions are noted, Roy. Stand down."
Roy stared at him, incredulous. "You can't be serious—non-lethal? This guy—"
"You challenged me," I cut him off. "I responded proportionally to the perceived threat level of your immediate and vocal insolence. Lesson learned: do not provoke the quiet man."
Artemis of Bana-Mighdal finally shifted, her boot tap-tap-tapping twice on the floor, drawing attention away from the conflict. It was her diplomatic signal.
I finally turned to face the room, fixing Roy with a cold, challenging look. "Now are you here to assess me and curse me and get destroyed both mentally and psychologically—or do you have something important to do?"
A/N:If you enjoyed the chapter, please consider leaving a [Power Stone] and a review. My head is killing me right now for writing this, so your support would mean a lot! <3