The GCPD courtyard was basically a live-action episode of Cops: Gotham Edition. Floodlights blazed like a rock concert, illuminating the kind of chaos that would make even the Joker proud. Mercenaries were being stuffed into armored vans like they were sardines in tactical gear. Cops barked orders, cuffed goons, and cataloged weapons like it was Black Friday at Arkham's armory.
And in the middle of it all? Deathstroke. Slade Freaking Wilson. He was being hauled away, unconscious and drooling, courtesy of Sirius's expertly placed hex. If anyone asked, he went down like a true warrior. But in reality? He face-planted like someone who slipped on a banana peel in a cartoon. Nearby, Ravager glared at everyone like she had a PhD in murder, while Deadshot had somehow managed to smuggle a cigarette past his restraints. Honestly, I kind of admired his commitment to the bad-boy aesthetic.
I leaned against the precinct steps, arms crossed, trying my best to look intimidating. Robin—yeah, the Robin, as in Dick Grayson, peak acrobat and sarcasm enthusiast—was standing a few feet away. He had his cape draped just so and a smirk that practically screamed, "I'm cooler than you, and I know it." He looked like he'd stepped off the cover of Teen Vigilante Monthly.
"So, tell Batman," I started, raising my voice to be heard over the chaos, "that Deathstroke wasn't freelancing. He's got a backer this time. Some guy named Damien Darhk."
Robin tilted his head, and I swear you could almost see the gears turning behind his mask. "Damien Darhk?" he repeated, like he was savoring the name. "Former League of Assassins. Big on theatrics. Probably owns a villain lair with a retractable roof and mood lighting. Yeah, I know him."
"Congratulations," I said, throwing up my hands. "You're officially smarter than me. Until about an hour ago, I thought 'Darhk' was just a goth kid spelling."
Robin snorted, and for a second, I thought he might actually laugh. "Yeah, he's real. And if he's bankrolling Deathstroke? That's... not great."
"That's the understatement of the year," I muttered. "Let me guess—your boss already knows, doesn't he? Probably perched up there in the shadows, doing the whole 'brooding gargoyle' thing?"
Robin's smirk widened. "You're catching on fast. Batman's thorough. If Darhk's in the mix, he's already working on it. But I'll make sure he knows. He likes confirmation."
"Good," I said, nodding. "Tell him not to get too comfortable, though. Darhk's got a thing for chaos, and I'm not interested in being a pawn in his chess game."
Before Robin could answer, Sirius made his entrance like a one-man action movie. His long coat billowed dramatically behind him as he strode over, grinning like he owned the place. "Did I just hear my godson talking about Batman?" he asked, voice low and gravelly, like he gargled whiskey and gravel for fun. "What's the matter, Harry? Feeling left out because you don't have your own billionaire mentor?"
I rolled my eyes. "Sirius, not the time."
"Come on, kid." He clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder, grinning like a wolf. "You and Bats? Match made in heaven. He's got the gadgets; you've got the flair. Give it a few months, and you'll be trading cape tips."
Robin chuckled, clearly enjoying the show. "You know, he's got a point, Harry. The cape does suit you."
"Don't encourage him," I snapped, pointing at Robin like he'd just committed a mortal sin. "You're supposed to be on my side."
Sirius shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "Just saying, kid. If the Bat invites you into his creepy justice cave, you'd better say yes. I want to see how long it takes you to replace the Batmobile with a flying broomstick."
Before I could argue, Hermione—sorry, Arcana—appeared out of nowhere, looking like she'd already had enough of all of us. Her arms were crossed, and her patented I'm surrounded by idiots expression was locked and loaded. "Can we please stay focused?" she snapped. "We're handing over dangerous criminals, not auditioning for a stand-up special."
"Dangerous?" Fred strolled over, George right behind him, both of them looking entirely too smug. "Ragdoll's busy wrestling his own shadow in Miss Martian's mindscape, and Copperhead couldn't even slither away properly."
"Honestly," George added, smirking, "we're doing Gotham a favor. Brightening up the place, really."
"By stealing gadgets from Deathstroke's lair?" Hermione shot back, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. "You're going to get us all in trouble."
"Trouble's our middle name," Fred said, flashing her his most innocent grin.
"It's actually Fabian and Gideon," George corrected, earning himself a shove from his twin.
Artemis rolled her eyes, joining the group with Superboy and Ginny—Firebolt—close behind. "You guys are impossible. Do you ever take anything seriously?"
"Depends," Fred said, pretending to think. "Is sarcasm a serious subject?"
Ginny groaned, turning to me like I was supposed to have the answers. "Harry, can you please do something about them?"
"Not a chance," I said, shaking my head. "I learned a long time ago not to get between Fred, George, and their sense of humor."
Robin was openly laughing now, his shoulders shaking. "You've got an interesting team, Shadowflame."
"That's one way to put it," I muttered.
As the last of the vans pulled away, I turned back to Robin. "Seriously, though. Make sure Batman gets the message. Darhk's not playing around, and I have a feeling this is just the beginning."
Robin's smirk faded into something more serious. "I'll tell him. And Shadowflame? Stay sharp. Darhk doesn't just play for keeps. He rewrites the rules."
I nodded, watching as Robin and Batgirl melted into the crowd of cops. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a shadow shifting on a nearby rooftop. My gut told me it wasn't just the wind. Batman was up there, listening, watching, doing his whole mysterious thing.
"Hope you're paying attention, Bats," I muttered under my breath. "Because Darhk's making his move, and I'm not letting him take the board without a fight."
—
The rooftop above the GCPD courtyard was a symphony of Gotham's finest elements: slick with rain, cloaked in fog, and riddled with just enough shadow to make even the sharpest eyes miss the man standing there. Batman stood like a ghost, his black cape swaying in the wind, a silent sentinel in the night. His jaw tightened beneath the cowl as he focused on the voices coming through his comms, filtered from Robin's live feed below.
"Damien Darhk," he muttered, activating his comms. The growl of his voice was as much a statement as it was a warning. "This isn't a coincidence."
Robin's voice came through immediately, full of his trademark mix of confidence and sharp humor. "Yeah, no kidding. Deathstroke doesn't play ball unless there's a fat paycheck or his ego's on the line. Darhk's got both. Plus, let's face it—guy's got a grudge list as long as your rulebook."
"Which makes him dangerous," Batman replied, his tone clipped and deliberate. "Even more dangerous if he's making a play for the League of Assassins. The League isn't just a tool; it's a weapon. One he'll use against anyone who stands in his way."
"Darhk and Deathstroke? That's a match made in villain hell," Batgirl chimed in from her position near the armored vans below. Her voice carried that mix of intelligence and determination that was uniquely hers. "But why now? What's the play here?"
Before Batman could respond, Alfred's calm, precise voice cut in from the Batcave. "If I may, Master Wayne, the timing could be tied to the League's... current instability. Ra's al Ghul's imprisonment has been the subject of some rather intriguing whispers. A power vacuum would undoubtedly attract someone like Darhk, who thrives in chaos."
"Or," Batman interjected, his voice dropping a note, "he's not interested in ruling the League. Darhk doesn't lead armies. He manipulates them. He's setting the League up as a disposable asset—something he can burn to achieve whatever he's planning next."
Robin's tone shifted, dropping to that sharp, tactical edge he used when he was piecing things together. "You're saying he's not after control? He just wants to use them as... what? A battering ram?"
"Not just the League," Batman said, his voice cold and precise. "If Darhk and Deathstroke are working together, it's more than that. They're escalating. And they're not just after the League—they're after anyone in their way. That includes Shadowflame and his team."
For the first time, there was a pause. Even Robin, quick with a quip, stayed silent. Finally, Batgirl broke it, her voice tinged with worry. "Shadowflame's team is good, but Darhk and Deathstroke? That's... it's a whole other level."
"They're better than you think," Batman said, his tone softening—just slightly. "Shadowflame's unpredictable. His team is loyal, and that makes them strong. But they're also young. They need to understand who they're up against. Darhk doesn't fight with guns or swords. He fights with psychology. He exploits fear, anger, doubt."
Robin's voice came back, this time laced with a grin Batman could practically hear. "Wow. Compliments. You do like him. Didn't think I'd live to see the day."
Batman was silent for a long beat. When he spoke, his tone was deliberate, almost thoughtful. "He has potential. He's unorthodox, but effective. He just needs to learn how to think past the immediate threat. Long-term strategy is the difference between victory and survival."
Robin snorted. "So... you like him."
"Focus," Batman snapped, though his tone held a faint edge of amusement. "Alfred, start pulling everything we have on Darhk. I want financials, known associates, movements—everything."
"Already on it, sir," Alfred replied, his tone as steady as ever. "Although, might I suggest that you remember to breathe in the midst of your meticulous planning? I'd hate to remind you of your unfortunate habit of... overworking yourself."
"Noted," Batman said dryly. "Batgirl, I want you tracking Deathstroke's logistics. Weapons, personnel, tech—anything that moved in or out of Gotham in the last month. If it has a trail, I want it followed."
"On it," Batgirl replied. "I'll start with the shipment logs from the port. If Deathstroke's moving gear, he's not subtle about it."
"And me?" Robin asked, though his tone made it clear he already had an idea.
"You stick with Shadowflame's team," Batman said. "They need backup. If Darhk's targeting them, they'll need someone who knows how to deal with him."
There was a pause, and when Robin replied, his tone was serious. "Got it."
Alfred's voice returned, this time with a hint of humor. "And shall I ready the Batwing for your inevitable dramatic entrance, sir? Or will you remain lurking in the shadows, as per usual?"
"I'll decide once we see how Shadowflame handles this," Batman said, his tone brooking no argument. "If they need me, I'll be there. If not, I'll stay out of sight."
"Classic," Robin muttered under his breath, though he didn't bother lowering his voice enough to avoid being overheard.
"You'll thank me later," Batman said, the faintest trace of a smirk tugging at his voice before it turned cold again. "We don't have time to waste. Darhk doesn't leave loose ends, and I'm not losing anyone to him."
With that, he cut the comm and stepped further into the shadows, his mind already working through the permutations of Darhk's plan. The pieces on the board were moving, but Batman had no intention of letting Darhk dictate the game. Not in his city. Not on his watch.
—
As the last of the GCPD vans rumbled away, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. My team was a wreck—chaotic, unpredictable, and half the time more interested in cracking jokes than catching bad guys—but somehow, it worked. Or at least, it usually worked. We were heading back to the Bioship now, and I couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to go full-on disaster mode.
Miss Martian was at the helm, like always. She was all green and glowing under the soft lights of the ship, her focus locked on the controls. She gave me a quick nod as I stepped aboard, and I swear, she could've been an alien in a room full of humans and still make it look effortless. The team had already settled into their usual spots, except for one empty seat. A seat that, considering the way things were going, wasn't going to stay empty for long.
"Everything alright?" Miss Martian's voice floated back to me, calm as ever, but I could tell she was waiting for me to spill something. She knew I wasn't as "fine" as I was pretending to be.
"I'm fine," I said, crossing my arms and leaning against the wall, trying my best to look like I was totally in control of this whole mess. My brain, however, was already doing a lap of the night's events. Deathstroke, Darhk, Batman, the League of Assassins—it was like Gotham had turned into one big headache I wasn't equipped to deal with. And now, I had a bad feeling it was only going to get worse.
"Doesn't sound fine," Artemis chimed in from her corner, her voice dripping with that same skepticism she always had when I pulled the "I'm fine" routine. "You really need to work on your poker face."
I shot her a grin, but it was more for show. "I'm not trying to impress you, Artemis. Gotham's just... weirder than usual. And now we've got a whole new player in town."
"Damien Darhk, huh?" Superboy spoke up, stretching his arms like we were on a weekend jog instead of a high-stakes mission. "Are you sure Batman's never mentioned him? Not that I'm surprised. He keeps everything close to the vest."
I nodded slowly, my brain starting to gear up for a full-on info dump. "Yeah, well, he's not just another run-of-the-mill bad guy. He's League of Assassins, and he's all about chaos and control. That's a dangerous combo. It's like mixing C4 with a match—could go off at any second."
Firebolt, aka Ginny, who was still fiddling with her wand (because, apparently, doing anything without a wand in hand was impossible for her), piped up. "You said Batman's got eyes on this guy? Is that why Robin's tagging along with us?"
I didn't even have time to respond before the hatch opened, and there he was. Robin. Dick Grayson. And, as usual, he made it look effortless—like he didn't even have to try to be the most graceful person in the room. Even though I'm sure he was totally trying to do just that.
"Hey, Shadowflame," Robin greeted me, the casual tone masking the fact that his eyes were scanning everything, everything. He was the kind of guy who noticed the tiniest things. "Mind if I crash your little party?"
I raised an eyebrow at him, matching his smug grin. "You can crash all you want, Grayson, but I'm still in charge here."
"Are you?" He raised one eyebrow, that signature cocky grin spreading across his face. "I thought you just liked to pretend you were."
I rolled my eyes, because really, I wasn't in the mood for this right now. "Take a seat, Grayson. We've got a lot to talk about."
As Robin slipped into the seat, the rest of the team gave him varying looks. Some were intrigued, others cautious. Fred and George, however, looked like they were watching a live comedy show. Seriously, sometimes I wonder if they think we're all in some kind of sitcom.
"Look who it is," Fred said, throwing his hands up in dramatic fashion. "The Boy Wonder has blessed us with his presence."
"And here I thought you were a solo act," George added, with that mischievous grin of his that only ever spelled trouble.
"Yeah, well, I'm not here to babysit," Robin quipped back, his tone teasing but not mean. I think he was low-key enjoying the banter.
"Alright, alright, focus, people," I said, trying (and failing) to keep my voice from sounding like I was in charge. "We're heading back to Mount Justice. Robin's here because Batman thinks we need backup. So, no more distractions. We've got a mess to clean up, and if Darhk's involved, we're all in trouble."
Robin, now standing a little straighter, looked at me with that serious expression I was getting used to seeing. "I'll be keeping my eye on you, Shadowflame. Batman wants confirmation on everything, including how you... do things."
I smirked. "Good. You're about to get a front-row seat. And just so you know, this team might be a little unconventional, but we get the job done."
Miss Martian, who had been quietly piloting the ship, gave a subtle nod toward the controls. "Entering atmosphere," she said, her voice still as calm as ever. "Hang on."
The rest of the trip back was quieter than usual, which was saying something considering our usual levels of chaos. Even Fred and George had decided to keep the jokes to a minimum. Something about Darhk's involvement just seemed to make everyone a little less... themselves.
As the ship touched down in Mount Justice, I stood up, my legs feeling like they'd been through a blender. Robin fell into step beside me as we exited the ship, his presence still a little weird, like Batman was somehow watching us even though he wasn't here.
"Alright," I said, turning to face the team. "We're not done yet. I don't know what Darhk's planning, but I know it's not going to be pretty. We're all in this together. Got it?"
Robin stepped forward, his grin returning, though this time it was tinged with something a little more serious. "Just don't expect me to stay out of the way. Batman doesn't do the whole 'team player' thing. But me? I've always got your back."
I nodded, looking him dead in the eyes. "I'll hold you to that. And you'd better keep up."
As we made our way out of the ship, I couldn't shake the thought of Batman. Was he watching from somewhere? Waiting for his moment to swoop in like he always did? Or was he letting us handle this one ourselves? Either way, one thing was for sure: this was just the beginning. And if Darhk thought he could play this game without us flipping the board, he had another thing coming.
—
The Bioship hummed beneath us, like a cat purring in a sunbeam—smooth, content, and probably plotting to steal your sandwich when you weren't looking. Miss Martian was at the helm, her fingers dancing over the holographic controls with the ease of someone who'd been born with this kind of thing. It was honestly impressive. Like, I was half expecting her to start pulling off some intergalactic wizardry and turn the ship into a giant pizza oven. But, spoiler alert: that didn't happen. Instead, she just flew the thing like she was born to do it. And me? I was more concerned with whether I had enough snacks for the upcoming mess we were about to dive into. Priorities, right?
"Check this out!" Kid Flash practically exploded out of nowhere, a blur of yellow and red. He was holding something that looked suspiciously like it came from a yard sale hosted by supervillains. "Got something straight from the Deathstroke Collection!"
Robin didn't even look up from his screen. "Is it a cursed artifact? A grenade launcher? A coupon for villain snacks?"
Kid Flash's grin could've lit up the entire ship. "Better!" he said, like he was revealing the world's greatest treasure. With a dramatic flourish that could've made a Broadway actor jealous, he pulled out a sword. And no, it wasn't some ancient weapon of power—it looked like it'd been through the wringer. Chipped blade, duct-taped hilt, and a faint glow that might've been magical or radioactive (I honestly couldn't tell). "Behold! The Sword of Mystical Awesomeness!"
Robin blinked twice. He didn't even flinch. "Right. So, it's a rusty sword from the bottom of a bargain bin? Let me guess, it's 'mystical' because it glows?"
Fred, lounging in the back with his usual air of indifference, snickered. "You guys don't get it, do you? This thing's indestructible. We tried everything to break it. Swords, hammers, bad puns—it didn't even make a dent."
"Well, that's because it's probably cursed," George added, popping up like he was part of some secret surprise party no one was invited to. "Or maybe it's just the worst craftsmanship ever. Either way, it's definitely magical. I mean, it could be an anti-gravity sword or... you know, just really, really bad construction."
Robin poked at it like it was an angry porcupine. "Cursed? Perfect. What's next? A cursed pencil sharpener?"
"And if the sword's not your thing," George continued, like he hadn't heard a word Robin just said, "we also grabbed this little beauty." He held up a shiny red helmet with a mirrored visor. "Deathstroke's helmet! It's like an heirloom. We even disinfected it. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Robin deadpanned. "You've got to be kidding me. How many times have I told you not to bring dangerous artifacts on board?"
"Hey, treasure hunting's messy business," Fred said, all mock seriousness. "You can't expect it to be clean. Besides, you never know when a helmet like this will come in handy. Imagine the intimidation factor. You could totally rock the Deathstroke look—get all brooding and menacing, like 'Hey, I'm Robin, here to save the day. But first, let me adjust my helmet.'"
Robin rolled his eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. But the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. "I swear to—"
"Come on, try it on," Fred urged, practically shoving the helmet at him. "Think of the street cred. You'd be like the 'cool, mysterious hero' everyone wants to be—minus the villain backstory. But hey, nobody's perfect."
Artemis, who had been silently observing this whole circus from the sidelines, sighed so dramatically it was like she was auditioning for a role in a soap opera. "You guys are idiots. Seriously. If you keep this up, we're going to have to listen to Robin lecture us about discipline." She shot him a look, daring him to do exactly that.
"Do I look like I want to lecture anyone?" Robin said, voice dripping with mock offense. "I'm just trying to survive the circus that is this team."
"I'm only here for the popcorn," Artemis muttered under her breath, clearly done with the antics.
I took a deep breath, because clearly, no one else was going to do it. "Alright, team," I said, standing up and adjusting my leather jacket like it was a suit of armor (because, in my mind, it totally was). "Let's table the 'Deathstroke Souvenir Show-and-Tell.' We've got bigger problems, and Robin's not here to model villain chic. We've got a mess to clean up, and it's not going to fix itself with swords and helmets."
Kid Flash looked disappointed but shrugged like he was auditioning for a reality TV show. "Fair enough. But you've got to admit, the sword's got potential." He gazed at the glowing blade like it was the next big thing. "And the helmet—imagine the pranks."
"I'm sure," Robin muttered. "Let's focus on the mission first, yeah? We'll save the 'Deathstroke Garage Sale' for another time."
Fred and George exchanged a look that screamed trouble. "You're no fun," George said, but still, he tucked the helmet into his bag like a disappointed toddler.
The ship grew quiet, and I couldn't help but think it was the calm before the storm. Because, you know, with this team? There was always a storm coming.
Miss Martian broke the silence like she was some kind of superheroic oracle. "We've arrived. Everyone, check your gear. It's time."
The Bioship gently touched down, making its usual soft landing, and the doors slid open with a satisfying whoosh. Mount Justice loomed ahead like an old friend who knew all your secrets—and probably wouldn't judge you for eating an entire pizza by yourself.
We walked out into the familiar chaos of the base, all of us silent, each of us thinking the same thing: Darhk. Deathstroke. Gotham's wreckage. The weight of it all hung in the air like a bad smell that you couldn't escape.
"We've got this," I muttered, more to myself than anyone else. But hey, if I didn't believe that, what was the point?
"Let's hope we do," Robin said, voice sharp like a blade. "Because if we don't, things are about to get real ugly."
We moved toward the command center, each of us stepping in sync like a well-oiled machine. The tension was thick, but I didn't let it get to me. After all, we'd survived worse, right?
Well... at least that's what I kept telling myself.
—
The door to the command center slid open with a hiss, and I stepped in like I owned the place, though, let's be honest, I mostly came here for the coffee. Inside, the usual chaos was unfolding—screens flashing, people typing faster than their fingers could handle, and the faint whir of some techy gizmo I couldn't even begin to understand.
And there was Remus Lupin, hunched over a control panel like he was trying to hack into the Matrix with one hand while holding a cup of coffee with the other. You could practically feel the exhaustion rolling off him like smoke. This guy had been awake for so long I'm pretty sure he was just running on caffeine and sheer willpower at this point.
"Hey, Shadowflame," Remus grunted, sounding like he had just swallowed a bucket of gravel. "Everything go alright out there?"
I stretched, making sure to add a few extra dramatic flourishes, because why not? "You know, just another day in the life. Chaos, destruction, a couple of near-death experiences. You know, the usual Tuesday stuff." I smirked and leaned against the chair, acting like I was some kind of noir detective. "So, what's the sitrep?"
Remus rubbed his temples. "Same as before. Some parties are still out there causing trouble, but it's manageable. The real headache is the tech breach. It's... more than we usually deal with."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, fantastic. A rogue hacker. Just what we needed. So, the usual 'bad day' routine?"
Remus didn't answer immediately. He just stared at his screen like it was personally offending him. I watched him tap away at his keyboard, doing something with all those weird techie programs that made me feel like I should be reading a book titled How to Pretend You Understand This Stuff.
Deedee was perched on the desk, looking way too comfortable for someone who didn't technically have a desk job. She gave me one of those grins—the kind that made me wonder if I should be worried—and flicked her jet-black nails like she was ready to summon a demon at any moment. She wore a hoodie that said "NOT DEAD YET," which, let's face it, was a mood. I couldn't decide if she was cute or terrifying, but it was probably a little of both.
"Hey, Harry," she said, her voice sweet but with enough edge to make you question whether she'd steal your soul for fun. "Did you almost die again, or was it just another standard high-risk, low-reward adventure?"
I chuckled, tapping my fingers on the chair like I was some kind of snarky protagonist in a bad teen drama. "A couple of close calls, but nothing worth writing home about. You know me, Dee—just collecting scars like they're vintage Pokémon cards."
Deedee snorted. "You're a true connoisseur of danger. Anyway, where's Lee? You know, the caffeine-fueled tornado who thinks his hyperactive state is a superpower?"
Right on cue, the door flew open with all the subtlety of a freight train, and in skidded Lee Jordan, his caffeine high practically visible in the air like a smoke cloud. He had a mug the size of a small dog in his hands, and if I didn't know any better, I'd say he was vibrating at a frequency that could break glass.
"YES! YES! YES!" Lee screamed, practically bouncing off the walls. "You guys won't believe it! There's a glitch in the system! We're talking Matrix stuff, man!" His hands were shaking from the pure, unfiltered caffeine rush, and he was grinning like a kid who'd just seen Santa Claus throw a fireball at a dragon. "Reality's bending! We're dealing with virtual reality on steroids, people! You gotta see this—"
I rubbed my temples like I was some long-suffering parent dealing with a sugar-crazed child. "Lee, if you say 'virtual reality' one more time, I'm revoking your coffee privileges for the next month."
Lee, of course, ignored me. "NO, NO! You don't get it! This isn't just some little glitch! This is big. We're talking someone with the ability to rewrite the system—full-on security breach. It's like we're dealing with a hacker who's plugged into the Matrix itself!"
Remus finally pulled his eyes away from the screen, a grim look crossing his face. "Are you sure, Lee? Could it just be another prank site? You know how those—"
"No!" Lee practically howled. "This is real! And it's bad. Like, we're toast bad if we don't stop it!"
Deedee raised an eyebrow, her arms crossed in that way that screamed 'I'm tired of all this nonsense.' "Oh, great. A hacker who's basically a god of the Internet. That's exactly what we needed."
Lee shot her a grin that could only be described as 'not entirely sane.' "Oh, I've got this. I'm gonna crack the code wide open! It's like opening a portal to pure chaos!"
I let out a deep sigh, leaning back in my chair. "Is this where you start talking about the next tech revolution that ends with us being chased by an army of evil robots?"
Lee looked at me like I was the one who didn't get it. "I'm telling you, this is next level stuff, Shadowflame. We're talking dark web, interdimensional-level stuff here!"
I threw my hands up. "Perfect. First we have Darhk causing destruction, now we've got some tech wizard trying to take over the world, and next thing you know, we'll be dodging missiles from a mutant invasion."
Lee's eyes went wide. "Wait—mutants? Are we talking X-Men? Because, dude, I'd be so down for that. Mutants with laser beams! Yes, please!"
Deedee, clearly at the end of her patience, shot Lee a warning glare. "Can we not weaponize that coffee, Lee? Please? I'm already wondering if I can take a nap in the nearest coffin."
Lee ignored her completely, still bouncing off the walls. "Seriously! This breach? It's massive. We've gotta stop it before we're all toast. Seriously."
I turned to Remus. "Can you track this hacker, Remus? Pinpoint where they're coming from?"
Remus's face darkened. "Whoever it is, they're good. I can't even get a read on them. It's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands."
Deedee smiled like she was having way too much fun. "Sounds like fun. Hope this hacker has a good sense of humor. Because if they don't, well, it's game over."
I leaned back in my chair, feeling the tension rise in the room like it was an impending storm. "This just keeps getting better and better. What's next? A supervillain theme park?"
Lee's grin only widened. "Dude, if that happens, I'm all in. I've been waiting for the laser theme park since I was twelve."
I narrowed my eyes. "Alright, team. Lee, you stay on the hacker trail. Remus, keep an eye on Darhk and the other threats. And Deedee... keep us from dying. I'm not sure I want to explain to the afterlife that it can't take me coz I am Death's betrothed."
Deedee shot me a wink. "Will do. But try not to get yourself killed before I get more fun out of this, okay?"
I gave her a grin that said, I've got this. "Don't worry. I'm too good at staying alive to make it easy on anyone."
And with that, the game was on. And let me tell you—this was definitely going to be one heck of a ride.
---
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