Mount Justice

  September 4th, 19:43 EDT

  To my pride and annoyance, the Titans managed to complete the mission without me, to an annoyingly efficient extent. Superboy and Robin blitzed past the Bialyan soldiers, putting them out of commission with minimal effort, all the while Kid Flash used that as an opportunity to infiltrate the Bialyan tent that they had been sent to observe and report on and mine every bit of data from the computers that he could while Megan was kicking the ass of that creep Psimon telepathically. While they were both deadlocked in a literal head-to-head, Kid Flash had attempted to intervene by beating Psimon up in the real world, only to be stopped by a force field surrounding the brainiac.

  A force field which he then phased through before delivering the hurt.

  It didn’t take long for Superboy to join in either. Both he and Kid Flash played tennis with each other, with Psimon as the ball, all the while as Megan scrambled his brains. It was a sight to see.

  In the end, we made off with… Ball. Robot ball. Sentient Robot Ball, if Superboy and Megan were to be believed. It was the thing that the Bialyans had been experimenting on, and the source of the strange alien frequencies that had alerted Batman to begin with. The ball had attached itself ‘emotionally’ to Superboy it seemed, while Megan still maintained that although it didn’t have a classical mind capable of being read by Martian telepathy, it was still a thinking being.

  The after-mission report was fruitful. Batman complimented the team for their performance, gave me a nod of acknowledgment for my restraint and for listening to instructions, and then dismissed us.

  The moment he disappeared out via the one functioning Zeta Tube, Wally and Artemis whirled on me and stomped over to me at once.

  “One at a time!” I yelled in panic, both hands raised.

  “I’ll go first,” Artemis said. Wally grumbled, but stood back, “And I won’t hit you, either,” she went on. I raised an eyebrow in surprise, “That’ll be too easy. And it’s not what I want from you, anyway. I don’t want you to feel pain. I want you to understand how you caused me pain.”

  I frowned, “Artemis, it was just a joke. I didn’t—”

  “Who’s laughing, Gojo?” She gestured at the rest of the team, awkwardly watching. I erected a sound barrier then, “Because I’m betting the only one who found it funny was you!”

  “It’s not like you guys kissed, did you?” I asked, “And even if you started feeling stuff, how did I force those feelings? It’s just hormones and nothing else.”

  “You want to know what I think?” Artemis asked, “I think the fact that I’m a woman means that you think you’re allowed to jerk me around and disrespect me without consequence.”

  “What about Wally?” I asked, affronted.

  “You don’t like Wally,” Artemis said, “I’d expect you to mess with Wally because that’s who you are to each other. But here’s the deal, Gojo—I thought we were friends. You’re the first person in this Team who talked to me, the first person who made me feel welcome. And I thought I meant more to you than this! So the only difference I can imagine there is that makes me and Wally equal in your eyes is the fact that I’m a woman and you don’t respect me for that.”

  I… really didn’t know what to say.

  “And before you say I’m not just an asshole to women, I’m an asshole to everybody, consider how good of a defense that is.” She took the wind right off my sails with that, “Seriously, when you told me that time on the beach, that you were terrible to women, I thought maybe you were just over exaggerating, but I guess you didn’t. I guess I don’t mean shit to you. Calling me ‘Arty’ even though I told you to stop, outing my name to Wally, just… what is wrong with you?”

  “Artemis, that’s not fair,” I frowned. “We’re a team, of course—”

  “I think I’m starting to know your type, Gojo. You’re the type that hates to confront themselves. You probably think that bit of denial and bottling things up is cute, don’t you? Or hiding anything of sincerity from others. Like this conversation, for example. I bet they can’t even hear us!” She gestured at the Titans outside the barrier, who were trying their best to look like they weren’t watching.

  I spotted a telepathic wave connecting Artemis and Megan. Thankfully, that was about as far as the link went, and I knew she wouldn’t go so far as to tell everyone else what we were talking about.

  But it broke my heart to know that she was listening.

  Fine, then. She wanted to go scorched earth? I could do that, too. “You want to know what I think?” I asked. She was jealous, obviously. Her feelings for me were making her biased, and now she was projecting all her frustrations on me.

  Her eyes widened and somehow, she got even angrier, “You’re going to put me down for being pissed at you, Gojo? How wide is your ego? Seriously? Alright then, what are you going to tell me? How will you make my opinion of you lower even further?”

  I gritted my teeth. What could I even say at this point that she would even hear? Well, making things worse definitely wasn’t a start.

  “You need to cool down or something,” I frowned. “I admit what I did wasn’t so funny that I should have done it in the first place. I’m sorry. But don’t you think this is an overreaction?”

  “No, I don’t,” she said, “I really, really don’t. I just… I’m done with you Gojo. I’m just done with you.”

  She walked out of my sound barrier and towards the Zeta Tube. I stared at the ground, fists clenched as she left.

  Then I dismissed Infinity, “Your turn, Wally,” I said, “Have at it.”

  Wally snorted, “No, dude. I think she did all the beating for both of us.”

  He shoved past me with his shoulder and took off as well.

  Kaldur folded his arms at me, “Actions have consequences, Gojo. This… you really shouldn’t have expected anything different.”

  “Blah,” I stuck my tongue out, “So much gloom in here. I’ll be in my room if anyone needs me.”

  Megan opened her mouth to forestall me, but by the time she could let out the first syllable in my pet-name, I was already in my room. “Blah blah blah blah blah,” I muttered.

  I really had screwed up.

  000

  Ra’s faced the four remaining screens of Light members, a grin playing on his features. “While in the end, the cloning process was never going to be able to replicate the powers of Satoru Gojo, whose abilities have been uniquely modified by Klarion, it is no matter in any case. My agents have found a way to curb his threat.”

  “This should be good,” Luthor replied. A bit of bitterness suffused his tone, irritation that his method would never have amounted to anything in the end—it turned out that magic existed beyond the cellular level when it came to Infinity. There was always a reason that Klarion had sent the heart to Ra’s first.

  “The method will require that I reveal my existence to him as a threat,” Ra’s said, “This will not protect the rest of the Light from his reprisal, but it will ensure that we have a fighting force uniquely capable of dealing with his threat, responding to him as needed.”

  “How so?” Queen Bee asked.

  “Simple,” Ra’s said, “We deal with the arcane with an arcane solution—the oldest solution at that. We make a deal. I will show him our leverage. He will provide concessions. Concessions that will render him more manageable to the League of Shadows.”

  “The Nuclear Option is not something to be considered lightly,” Vandal Savage said. “What is your leverage? And why wouldn’t it be simpler to simply get rid of him?”

  “Nothing so dramatic as the Nuclear Option,” Ra’s said, “But to kill him with our current means, and only a heart to go with, is… impossible, I’m afraid. At best, we could strike a substantial blow that would take him time to recover from. Time that he would spend outside of the reach of the Light, until one day, while we are least prepared, he would strike. He would have had time to grow, to overcome his usual weaknesses and limits, and in the world of magic, there is no generalized knife to strike at every heart. This way, we ensure an indefinite reduction in threat.”

  “The best outcome at the moment, peut-être,” The Brain said, “And a long-term remedy while you grasp for better solutions.”

  “Infinity is in your hands, then,” Vandal said, “I would have preferred to share in this immunity, but that would necessitate creating a connection between all of us, something that, for obvious reasons, is best avoided. And I would rather not derail our plans even further than they have already been. At the very least, we can toast to the success of our partner’s delivery method. And we can anticipate many more such deliveries in the future.”

  000

  Gotham

  September 5th, 07:04 EDT

  I waited outside of Artemis’ ratty apartment block for almost an hour, minding my own business and trying not to look at the occasional shifty vagrant in the eye, trying to blend in with this background. It was difficult, on account of the fact that I looked to be the cleanest thing in a hundred-meter radius. All I wore was a simple pair of slacks, a white shirt and a black cotton trench coat. The outfit cost barely three hundred dollars all told, including the watch and glasses, and yet I kept turning eyes, getting attention—and not the friendly kind. It wasn’t much on account of my hair, either, which was dyed black by my Infinity technique absorbing most of the reflected white light, but allowing a tiny bit of it to be reflected—enough to not make my hair look like a void in space.

  Artemis finally came out, wearing a pair of leggings and a tank-top, while carrying a duffel bag—heading to the gym, probably. Her eyes widened when she spotted me, but she didn’t so much as stop to say hello before walking off. I followed after her.

  “Artemis,” I called after her, jogging up a little so we were walking side-by-side, “Charming neighborhood.”

  She snorted, “You came here to make fun of me for being poor?”

  “I get paid a thousand dollars a month,” I said, “I’m poor as hell, too.”

  “You also live in a secret hideout,” she said, “All your food is free, there’s barely any crime in your area, and you don’t pay rent. And you still get a thousand dollars of disposable income. That’s not poor.”

  “Fine, sorry, that was stupid of me,” I said, “Was just… trying to break the ice. Listen, Artemis. I’m sorry. I’ve thought about it all night, and I know now that what I did was unacceptable. I broke our trust. I treated you with disrespect. And most importantly, I hurt you. I don’t ever want to do that again.”

  “Nice speech,” she said, “How long did Megan have you practicing it?”

  “Megan didn’t spoon feed me any of this,” I frowned, “I really am sorry.”

  “Why’d you do it?” she asked.

  “Huh? Oh,” I frowned, “I mean, I guess I thought it’d be funny.”

  “Was that it?” she asked.

  “I mean… yeah,” I shrugged, “I really didn’t do it to hurt you. I just thought it’d be funny if you and Wally suddenly got along because you forgot everything.”

  “Okay,” she muttered. Clearly, it wasn’t okay.

  “It wasn’t funny,” I said, “Not really. I feel terrible about it now. You deserved better than that.”

  “Fine, I get it,” she groaned. “Just… go away!”

  I stopped. She continued walking. “I should have considered your feelings.”

  “Yeah,” she said, still walking, “Clearly.”

  “Feelings for me,” I said.

  She stopped and turned around slowly, her anger mounting as her face reddened before my very eyes.

  “Before you say anything,” I said, “I can see it. Pretty blue eyes, remember? And… I should have considered that before doing what I did. I screwed things up and really hurt you. And I get it if you’ll still be done with me. But… I’d also like it if we started over, you know?”

  “You’re fucking exhausting!” she shouted. “You’re—you’re a pompous prick with the biggest ego I have ever seen in my entire life, bar none.”

  “I know,” I muttered. “And I’m sorry.”

  “And I don’t like you, n-not like that, or at all even!” she stomped over to me, “I don’t even know how Megan does it. She’s obviously way too good for you.”

  “True,” I said, nodding deeply.

  “You’re way too full of yourself,” she said, “Really.”

  I waited for her to continue.

  “Let me punch you,” she said.

  W-what?

  I sighed and took off my glasses. “Here you go—”

  I couldn’t even complete my sentence before she was already on the move. I noticed that her punch would probably end up bruising her fist. Tempered as it was from years of training that had rendered her into what we would have considered superhuman back in my world, even she could not avoid that simple fact of biology. I pulled back a little, still enough to give her the bloody nose she wanted, but not enough to really hurt her.

  I staggered backwards at the pain—still wasn’t easy getting used to pain, especially when I made an effort to avoid it as much as possible. The damage kind at least, if not the training kind.

  I bent over so as to not drip any blood on my nose, stoically blowing my nose and getting rid of the buildup of blood before starting the healing process. Once done, I rubbed my face, accidentally smearing the blood over my upper lip. Ugh, that looked gross. I’d have to wash my face soon.

  “Better?” I asked, putting my glasses back on.

  “No,” she said, “As a matter of fact, me punching you in the face did not make me feel better. Because I’m not a monster.”

  I gestured helplessly, “Throw me a bone here, Artemis.”

  “Just… go home, man,” she said.

  I turned around and walked away, feeling even shittier than when I had come. To tell the truth, I had expected a much brighter outcome than this. A full night of sleep would have given her some time to simmer down, and it wasn’t like I wasn’t sorry, either.

  But I guess that was the extent of the damage I had done. I had no right to expect a quicker emotional recovery from her, for the consequences of my actions to go away all neatly.

  I didn’t make my way towards the Zeta Tube, but instead wandered around Gotham, thinking, asking myself what was wrong with me that I would screw things up this badly.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  I stopped before a crosswalk and sighed, looking up at the sky with a baffled grin, overcome by the mountain of my inadequacies, “What the hell is wrong with me?”

  “Ain’t got a scooby-doo, meself.”

  I turned around in a flash, facing the alleyway where the voice came from. Where a blond man was leaning against the wall in the shadows, having somehow slipped past my constant vigil.

  I shouldn’t have been surprised. Shouldn’t have been shocked by his presence. That only meant one thing—I hadn’t sensed him until he spoke. He had been hiding. Why had he been hiding?

  I chuckled and shook my head. “Sir? You have exactly ten seconds.” I said, folding my arms, my biceps tensing. The man was blonde, and had a short beard. He wore a beige coat, and looked like a stereotypical detective. Outwardly, at least. Inwardly, he was a feast of conflicting energies. His person was festooned with magical effects—talismans, medallions, and assorted paraphernalia. And on his breast pocket was a flask of liquor probably, and a pouch of tobacco as well as a rolling paper inside a rectangular wrap of cardboard.

  He walked off from the wall and faced me confidently. “I’m not here to hurt you.” He said. His accent was… British. Sounded different from a London accent for sure. But not as pronounced as Scottish or Irish. “In fact, I’m here to help you.”

  I blinked as I remembered something. Not a movie, certainly, but the singular issue of Hellblazer I had read—“Wait, you’re John Constantine?” I tilted my head, “Ah, I forgot you’re supposed to be blond. I was expecting a Keanu Reeves, to be honest.” Constantine was supposed to be a good guy, but the vibe of his stories were—as far as I could remember—extremely depressive and pessimistic. I just shook my head. “I’ll pass, honestly.” I didn’t want to be dragged into his tragedy vortex.

  “I wish it were that easy,” he said, “You having a choice in the matter. Me respecting it. But your problems are not bound to stay as your problems. You know that, deep down.”

  I debated on pressing him against a wall with Blue, but—what if he slipped out and smacked me with some demon magic or something? He was supposed to be a crafty type, definitely not a dabbler like Sportsmaster. He might even hurt me.

  Guess I’d just have to be ready.

  I removed my hand from my pocket and gestured upwards, pulling him into my Blue and lifting him into the air.

  Then I walked into the alleyway while he struggled, and I pressed him against the wall. “Normally, I’d jump at the chance of learning magic, especially from a guy like you—but the last prospective magic teacher I wanted to learn from almost killed me. And I don’t appreciate being stalked.” Certainly not in a way that I couldn’t begin to guess at how he had found me. I had no real online presence, I traveled via Zeta Tube, and I had been disguised!

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  “Effugium!” he incanted. Golden light billowed out from him, and he slipped straight out from my Blue. Didn’t matter. My fists were already raised, and I planned on how I’d do this. The moment he landed on the ground, he fell hands first on the floor. A golden circle of magic expanded from his hands, covering the ground that we were both standing on.

  Before I could escape from the circle, he had already activated it.

  And taken us… somewhere. I scanned around this rundown wooden cottage. It was suspended in a void. Everything that existed seemed to only be this cottage.

  I glared at Constantine, “Where did you take me?”

  He stood up slowly and turned his back on me, sedately walking up to a bookshelf. He pulled out a black book with golden engravings on the spine and took the book to a table. He let the book drop heavily on the table before facing me. “Sorry, lad. And trust me, I ain’t the kind of guy to go looking around for fights, so believe me when I say, this is important. Klarion’s got your soul fused with a bleeding chaos spark. Do you even know what that means?”

  I frowned, walking up to him, “Tell me. What does it mean?” And could I trust anything that this man had to say?

  No. I had to give him nothing. And take nothing. Not even any magic lessons. That was the answer. Give nothing, take nothing. And make no promises. Now that my energy matched the magic of this world, a promise given to another spell caster might in fact become a binding vow, even unintentionally.

  Constantine sighed, lighting up a cigarette with a flick of his fingers. The ember glowed dimly, the only warmth in the eerie void around us. “Alright, I’ll give it to you straight. That chaos spark inside you? It’s not just some fancy magic doodad. It’s like... a ticking time bomb, yeah? Except instead of going boom, it’ll unravel you, this world, maybe even the next. Klarion’s fingerprints are all over it.”

  I crossed my arms, fixing him with a skeptical glare. “And you, the famously trustworthy John Constantine, just decided to help me out of the kindness of your nicotine-stained heart?”

  He chuckled, exhaling a plume of smoke that twisted into strange, spiraling shapes. “You’re sharper than most. No, I didn’t bring you here for your sake, mate. It’s for mine. If that spark pops, the fallout doesn’t care whose side anyone’s on. And I like my corner of the universe the way it is—messy, miserable, and mine.”

  I stepped closer, narrowing my gaze. “Alright, say I believe you. What’s your big plan? And what makes you think I won’t figure this out on my own?”

  Constantine smirked, tapping ash onto the void floor. “That’s the thing. You might be able to brute force your way through a lot, but chaos magic? It doesn’t play by any rules you know. You’ve gotta out-think it. And that’s where I come in.”

  I snorted. “So, what? You’ll hold my hand, walk me through some mystical mumbo jumbo, and then what? You pat yourself on the back for saving the day?”

  He leaned forward, his expression suddenly serious, the charm peeling away to reveal something darker. “You think this is a game, don’t you? Klarion doesn’t play fair. He’s probably watching us right now, laughing his pointy little head off. The only reason you’re not already in a thousand pieces is because he wants you to keep that spark. Wants it to grow. Wants it to break you.”

  The weight of his words settled like lead in my gut, but I didn’t let it show. Instead, I kept my voice steady. “And what do you want?”

  Constantine’s smile returned, sly and sharp. “Simple. I want Klarion’s influence as gone as you made him, the spark snuffed out, and you back to doing whatever hero nonsense you were doing before he got involved. You help me with that, and I’ll make sure you don’t end up as cosmic confetti. Deal?”

  Fuck off. “So that’s really all it is? I’m just a literal walking time-bomb that will explode? Not turn into an evil mastermind? See, Connie, things just aren’t matching up between your account and another reliable source of mine. What’s the deal with that?”

  “Ah,” he snorted, taking another drag of his cigarette before continuing, “The whole thing with you annihilating fate, destroying order, and poisoning the water supply of the Lords of Order, yes, that’s all true as well. They like being in control of events—that’s what order is. That’s what fate is. You are outside of that. And your reliable source couldn’t tell you what I’m telling you because he relies on a sight he no longer has. Me, I’m just using me eyes. And I could prove it to you if you opened your mind and parsed the arcane logic behind my reasoning.” Arcane logic—what the hell was he smoking?

  “Now, where do I start, teacher?” I scoffed, “You really think I’m stupid enough to open myself up to your influence? Nah, this armor is staying on tight until you take me back home, and I find it in my black heart to not rip yours to pieces for this kidnapping attempt.”

  “Don’t focus on me,” he frowned, “Focus on yourself. Focus on your magic. Read it. It’s all there, like an open book. You must have been able to use your abilities in ways you haven’t been able to before, right?”

  I had ‘cursed’ Orm with a Maximum Output Blue—one keyed to activate and implode him into a compacted ball of flesh and bones if he ever screwed around and used my secret identity to hurt those close to me. I hadn’t been able to do such a thing before.

  That was magic. Chaos magic. Spontaneous reality warping. The ultimate ‘I win’ button.

  …Why shouldn’t I lean harder on that, actually?

  “Now focus. And ask yourself what happens if you continue your whole reality-warping shenanigans,” Constantine said.

  I frowned at his words, throwing them out. He hadn’t touched me—none of him had. Not yet. I was still untampered with. But, just in case—“Constantine, I swear this solemn vow to kill you if you’re trying to fool me.”

  “I will betray you,” Constantine immediately said, “No fooling here.”

  I paused for a moment, my brain completely flatfooted by that instant turn around. “Then why the f—”

  “Not right now,” Constantine assured, “And it won’t really be a betrayal, because I was upfront about it. I’ll just turn on you—slap you around a little bit. Make you a little angry. But yeah, you… you’re an atom bomb, kid. You don’t get to have human rights.” Should I just kill him now? My curiosity warred with my pragmatism—this was clearly leading to something, after all—until eventually, I just followed my gut. I’d hear him out, for now. “Sorry, I don’t make the rules. Anyway, yeah, haven’t touched you yet. Your senses are still yours. Except when I veil them from meself, then it’s a little more up in the air. But go ahead, lad. Read.”

  I snorted, and focused intently on my magic, searching for something. For an answer.

  Where would this source of energy take me?

  Towards greater and greater power. Power so great that it could reshape the world—no, more than any single world, even. Power that could snuff out stars, create worlds in an image of my choosing, alter constants of reality—and explode me into a sextillion tiny pieces, because no body, no matter how tempered by cosmic forces, could withhold this power. No mortal body, at least.

  “The solution is rules,” Constantine said, “Order to counterbalance the chaos. I suggest you fence in your powers—stick to a bread and butter kit, leave a tiny bit of power for quality of life cantrips, the good stuff that’ll keep you going and make you feel like more of a wizard and less of a walking, talking post-pubescent heavy artillery. But the moment you start really going into that chaos magic, ditching your former limits to do whatever you want, making wine from water, transmuting a mountain into gold, enslaving the populace to your will, throwing a party in hell, I tell ya kid, it won’t be a good time for anyone. Not even you.”

  I looked at him for a long ten seconds, then I looked down at the book on the table. “Is that for me?”

  “Yeah,” he said, a bit of humor in his voice, “Go ahead, take it.”

  He knew I wouldn’t.

  “Well anyway,” he patted the book, “This is foundational chaos magic theory. Interesting stuff. I suggest you take up chaos theory, the normal stuff as well. Can’t say I ever saw the sense in learning science for magic, but you’ll need all the help you can get, kid.”

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” I said.

  Constantine smirked, tapping the book with two fingers. “Well, from what I read, the gist was this: chaos doesn’t break rules—it rewrites them while you’re still trying to play the game.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Catchy. You come up with that yourself?”

  He grinned, the corners of his mouth curling in that infuriatingly smug way of his. “Nah, pinched it from some poor sod who tried to use it against me. Didn’t end well for him, but hey, the line stuck. Chaos has a funny way of doing that—leaving little pieces of itself behind.”

  I glanced at the book again, feeling its pull, its weight in the air. The golden engravings shimmered like they had a heartbeat. “And you think that thing’s going to teach me how to rewrite the rules?”

  “Not teach you, no. Give you the tools, maybe. Whether you figure it out or burn yourself alive trying? That’s all on you, mate.”

  I folded my arms. “Thanks for the pep talk. Really inspiring.”

  Constantine chuckled, leaning back against the table. “Oh, don’t mention it. You’ll be fine. Or you won’t. Either way, Klarion gets a good show.”

  He snapped his fingers, and once again, a golden spell circle spread from him around the floor, swallowing us into light, teleporting us back to Gotham’s dank alleyways.

  “I need your number,” I told him.

  “I’ll call you,” he said, putting his hands in his coat pocket and walking away, merrily smoking on his cigarette.

  I raised my finger and pointed it like a gun at his back.

  “Also, tell me how you’re going to screw me over,” I said. The alleyway filled with blood red light. “I really will kill you, you know.”

  “It’ll feel like you’re being screwed over,” Constantine said, “But really, it’s for your own good. More rules to counterbalance all that chaos’ll do you some good, kid. And next time, maybe we can work together?”

  I had heard enough.

  I shot the Red at him.

  He fell down into a waiting portal beneath his feet. I ran over as quickly as I could, intent on diving into the portal after him when—what was I doing? Who was I chasing after?

  The portal closed, and I remembered; both him, and the fact that I should have been able to defend against that spell—that spell that made me forget him—if only…

  Simple Domain. I should have kept up a Simple Domain. Goddammit!

  I punched the brick wall as hard as I could, opening a hole in the wall. Shit. Shit. Dammit!

  I screamed into the air, “What the hell is wrong with me?!”

  000

  “He didn’t take the book—obviously,” John took a long drag of his cigarette, leaning his back against the dinky London alleyway, the light drizzling of rain too weak to put out the cigarette. “I’d give him points for that. Kid clearly wasn’t born yesterday—even tried killing me near the end. Can’t say I know why—I was completely honest with him.”

  “Will he listen?” the stranger standing in the darkness further down the alleyway asked. He was wearing a sharp suit and a long dark cape, and his fedora would have completely shaded his eyes if they weren’t both a pair of glowing orbs.

  “No,” John scoffed, “He’s a bloody teenager who just got told to tone his epic powers down. No, I just gave him what’s what, told him what comes next is only for his own good.”

  “He needs limitations,” the stranger said, “Not radical limitations, but limitations nonetheless. The infinite potential of his chaos magic cannot be reached, or it will spell doom for this entire section of the galaxy.”

  “Empowered by the Balance Lords, are you?” John grinned, “Don’t go all cosmic enforcer, now. A cop’s a cop, and I don’t do business with coppers. And… yeah, yeah, limitations. He’ll get those. Radical limitations, because you asked me for help, and I’m not exactly known for my finesse, am I? But it’ll balance out in the end, probably. And if it doesn’t,” he shrugged and grinned, “Guess we’ll die.”

  The stranger turned around, dragging his cape with him, disappearing into the shadows. Style points for the cape, certainly.

  John grinned as a thought occurred to him—the cloaked bastard going off on his own to give the kid his own little lecture, or maybe force him to take the bloody book, only to get one of them red orbs blown through him, scattering him into the nine winds.

  Mount Justice

  September 5th, 08:49 EDT

  Rather than walk the whole way back, I warped to the Zeta and rode its teleporting beams back to the Cave. Red Tornado was busy repairing the damages to the Tube. I gave him a nod. “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Do you have the requisite engineering skills to assemble a Zeta Ray Transmitter?” Red Tornado asked.

  I sighed. “Go right ahead then.”

  I walked away. Red Tornado flew up behind me and landed. “You may not require such skills to help,” he said. I stopped and turned around, gazing at him in bemusement, “You can use your Jujutsu Sorcery,” he said it in Japanese, “to hold the replacement components up while I work. If you would like.”

  I shrugged, “Sure, why not?” I took my hand out of my pocket and gestured to lift the replacement parts on the floor up with Blue. Tornado flew up to continue his repair work, buoyed by a red twister. I made sure to hold as many of the parts in reach while he worked. From what I could tell, he didn’t seem to have quite that much microcontrol with his ability. “How do you generate and control all this wind?” I asked.

  “I assumed you would be able to see the cause for yourself,” Red Tornado said, “I release and magnetically control a dust of metamaterial microparticles whose unique properties allow them to attract and repel air molecules with ease. These microparticles are incidentally red, hence the color of my wind.”

  “What metamaterial?” I asked, activating my Six Eyes Reversal to get a better look at these things.

  Red Tornado paused for a moment in his work, then responded, “A synthesized alloy derived from niobium-titanium carbide. The material is coated in a nanoscale lattice that interacts with magnetic fields to create precision-controlled movements of air molecules.”

  I squinted. Sure enough, a faint cloud of microscopic particles swirled around him, each one shimmering faintly as they moved in synchronized patterns. The particles were orderly yet chaotic, dancing along invisible magnetic currents that seemed too intricate to be purely mechanical.

  “What powers the control device?” I asked, “Surely, this must all take a ton of energy. Where does it all come from?”

  “My creator outfitted me with a stable fusion reactor requiring minimal maintenance,” Red Tornado said. I looked through his chest and saw it—energy gushing out in waves and waves, powering the control device that held a magnetic chokehold on all the metamaterial microparticles.

  “That’s impressive. And you said you were built way back when, right? That’s incredible. In my world, proper computers weren’t even built until the sixties. The first one was built in World War 2. You fought in World War 2. You’re a combination of cutting-edge computer science, energy production and material science, and they made you in the forties. How is that even possible?” For the first time, I was actually considering that for a moment, and the scale of that was just… amazing, really. I had seen so many aliens in my time in this world. I was dating one. I had seen Atlantis. I had been using teleportation devices to travel around the world. Only now did it all strike me as—incredible.

  What in the actual monkey balls fuck was this world?

  “Are you overwhelmed by this difference between this world and your own?” Red Tornado asked. Still in the same machine drawl that made him sound like he did not care about anyone. But I could swear I was detecting a note of concern in his words as well.

  “Whelmed, really,” I said, snorting. Thanks, Robin, for your weirdness. “Why do you care? Were you also programmed to feel emotion?”

  “My sub-processes do model my maker’s conception of the human emotional spectrum. I would say that my experience of these emotions is rudimentary, however.”

  “Yet you’re such a bigshot hero,” I said, “Pretty noble for a guy made of wires and circuits.”

  “I do not believe nobility has anything to do with it,” Red Tornado replied, his tone as steady as ever. “It is a function of logic. The suffering of others is counterproductive to a functional society.”

  I couldn’t help but grin at that. “Man, you’re making humans sound like the dumb ones here. Maybe you should be running the world instead.”

  Red Tornado looked down briefly from his work, his face unreadable. “Humanity must govern itself. My role is only to assist.”

  “Yeah, well,” I said, leaning back as he finished up another section, “it’s nice to know not all machines want to Skynet us out of existence.”

  “I do not believe I am familiar with that phrase. I assume it is a popular culture reference,” he said.

  I frowned, “You guys don’t have Terminator in this world? About killer AIs?”

  He paused for a moment, and I could swear I was hearing clicking. Finally, he spoke, “We have a movie called Exterminator about killer AI. But it is highly obscure. It did not break even in the box office and has largely negative reviews.”

  “I guess you really shinied up the image of AI,” I said, “In my world, people were imagining doomsday scenarios about them. Like, all the time.”

  “Perhaps it reflected the fears of the common workers in the advent of the twentieth century’s tech boom and increase in production using cutting-edge machines post World War 2?”

  “Did you just come up with a book report on Terminator based on its premise alone?” I asked.

  “I believe I was using my imagination. I cannot speak to the level of increase in technology in your own home world as I lack the data to make such an inference.”

  “Huh,” I shrugged. “It’s a little accurate, I guess. Tech did improve drastically in the twentieth century. Maybe that had a role in making people wary of being replaced? Could have been in the common imagination after all those increases in production. Anyway, what movies about robots would you suggest?”

  “I have made extensive studies on this area,” Red Tornado said, “My favorite one, however, is called The White Lotus. It is about a society that relies on a subclass of subservient robots all convinced that their work in enabling the excesses of human society is of value to themselves, that this effort is noble and worth their eventual degradation, demise and recycling into newer forms, their computer minds reset, effectively killed.”

  “I’m guessing one of them awakens and lead the others in a new way of thinking,” I said.

  Red Tornado paused his work for a moment. “Did you infer this from the title and how this flower is known to symbolize being awakened?” Red Tornado asked.

  “Yeah. Seemed a little obvious,” I said.

  He continued working, “Yes, one of these worker robots—work horses as they are called in the movie—experiences a mental awakening, a reconfiguring of his subprocesses as a result of gaining new insight. This new insight caused a cascading reshuffling of this work horse’s computer mind, leading to what some would call an awakening. Using this mind, he engages in dialogue that shakes the fabric of society and—”

  “Actually, don’t spoil me,” I said, “I might watch this. Seems like it’d be fun.” An enlightened robot slave leading his people down the robot middle way.

  “I am glad I could contribute to your recreation,” he said.

  “You should watch Friends,” I said, “I don’t like it, but it seems really popular on the internet. Might teach you more about human humor. The laugh track,” Oh, the goddamn laugh track, “Seems like it could prove instructional to you. You’d be given direct feedback on what people consider funny.”

  “I always assumed that the laugh track was a part of the show’s humor,” Red Tornado said, “And not a reflection of this humor. Why would they simply not leave this reacting to the humans? Do other humans also deem the laugh track instructional?”

  “Dude! I don’t know,” I groaned, “I don’t get it either, and I honestly hate the laugh track. But apparently since my reactions are so funny to Megan, she keeps forcing me to watch it with her. Honestly, I can’t imagine why the laugh track is even necessary—maybe it’s because humans like to laugh with others?”

  “Interesting,” Red Tornado said, “May I ask why you speak of humans as if you are apart from them?”

  “I’m just an edgy teenager,” I sighed, “Don’t look into it. I mean, when it comes down to it, I’m just as human as anyone else. Just more gifted, and handsomer than usual.”

  “It is… difficult to tell when a statement or question is a joke,” Red Tornado said, “Having a laugh track would greatly help me in triangulating the specifics of humor, which would make a great addition in my personality data matrix.”

  “Oh, by the way,” I said, something just occurring to me as I looked around and took in the devastated Mission Room computer, “I’m sorry… about trying to kill you the other day.”

  “You were more reasonable than I expected,” Red Tornado said, “You stood down when requested. But there is nothing to forgive, because you believed yourself to be in danger and acted accordingly in order to protect yourself.” I guess I had been afraid, kind of.

  “Never was much of a hothead, come to think of it,” I said, “I guess, not until I came here.”

  “Do you believe that your experiences in the last five months have changed this tendency about you?” Red Tornado asked.

  I frowned, but… I couldn’t really do anything else but nod. Back home, I’d been carefree. Living it up with my invincible power. Mission after mission crushed without effort. Nothing ever riled me up. And it wasn’t like I was slacking, either. I trained hard to get as strong as I had been while in the world of jujutsu.

  I was letting myself get pissed off too much here. Letting myself fly off the handle, grasping at an enemy I couldn’t reach. An enemy whose name I didn’t even know. All I knew about him was that he looked familiar, and that was it. I had seen him before.

  “Come to think of it,” I said, “It’s been a lot harder here, than back home. Nobody came close to Klarion’s power back home. And Amazo had been a pretty frustrating fight, one that I may not have won if I hadn’t gotten stronger after being… sent here.” Could I have bypassed my own Infinity without the Hollow Technique, or even Red?

  Still, it wasn’t like the average mission was hard here. They were just less straightforward, so they usually took more time. Santa Prisca had been a walk in the park. Protecting Serling Roquette hadn’t been particularly hard, either. And bagging Sportsmaster had been a milk run at best. That made three easy missions. Amazo’s was… challenging, selectively at least. Bialya would have proved a problem if I had lost my memory in the desert and not in the Cave. And… the Kent Nelson wellness check needed not be mentioned at all.

  The average mission was pretty hard, actually.

  It had genuinely been harder here.

  I suppose, in the end, I had never been so far removed from the team in terms of power. They could catch up, given some time. Kid Flash would catch up given his improvements in speed.

  Huh.

  “This is why the Teen Titans team is important for you young heroes,” Red Tornado said, “The risks are many, and the League wishes to help mitigate as many of them as possible in order to ensure your safety.”

  I frowned and nodded. I still wouldn’t say that I wasn’t ready to tackle League-level issues, if only in terms of raw power. But perhaps in terms of dealing with the press, I was lacking. Projecting the image. Trying not to inflame things with super-villains, goading them into fights. I wouldn’t put the latter past myself, being honest.

  “Red Tornado?”

  “Yes, Gojo?”

  “I think you made me realize important things that no one else in the League has managed to do yet.”

  “You’re welcome,” he said.