Chapter 42

An hour later, the anticipation in the common room was palpable. Everyone was gathered in a loose circle, pretending to do their own thing while clearly sneaking glances at the door every five seconds. Connor—still nervous despite my reassurances—was seated between Tia and me, both of us trying to keep him grounded. Kara, Kori, and Deedee were perched nearby, ready to jump in as moral support if things got overwhelming.

Deedee, of course, had decided to make the wait more entertaining. She leaned back in her chair, smirking. "So, Connor," she began, her voice dripping with mischief, "when Superman walks in, are you going to call him 'Dad'? Or do you go straight for 'Pops'?"

Connor shot her a glare. "I was thinking more along the lines of 'Hello, Mr. Superman,' but thanks for the suggestion."

Deedee pouted theatrically. "Boring. You've got to make an impression. Maybe throw in something like, 'Hey, big guy, thanks for the genes.' That'll really break the ice."

"Dee," I interjected, trying—and failing—not to laugh. "Maybe let him survive the first meeting without giving Superman an existential crisis."

She shrugged, clearly unbothered. "I'm just saying, humor works. Look at us—we love you because you're funny." She paused. "Well, also because you're hot, but the humor helps."

Connor groaned, burying his face in his hands. "This is a nightmare."

Tia placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice calm and soothing in contrast to Deedee's teasing. "Relax, Connor. Superman and Lois are just people. They'll want to get to know you, not judge you."

The words had barely left her mouth when the door whooshed open, and the man himself walked in, followed closely by Lois Lane. Superman, in his classic red-and-blue suit, radiated calm authority, while Lois—dressed in a sharp blazer and jeans—had that unmistakable air of a woman who could charm or terrify anyone depending on her mood.

"Shadowflame," Superman greeted, giving me a nod. His gaze swept the room before landing on Connor. His expression softened immediately, the stern superhero exterior melting into something far more human. "And you must be Connor."

Connor stood, his movements a little stiff. "Yeah. That's me." He extended a hand, and Superman took it without hesitation, the faintest hint of a smile on his face.

"It's good to finally meet you," Superman said, his voice warm. "I've heard a lot about you."

"All good things, I hope," Connor replied, managing a small smile of his own.

Lois stepped forward then, her sharp eyes taking in Connor with a mixture of curiosity and something almost maternal. "He's got your jawline," she commented, glancing at Superman before turning back to Connor. "I'm Lois, by the way. It's great to meet you."

Connor nodded. "Nice to meet you too, Ms. Lane."

"Lois," she corrected, her tone kind but firm. "No need for formalities."

Deedee, who had been uncharacteristically quiet up until now, leaned over to whisper loudly, "See? No need to call him 'Pops' after all."

Lois raised an eyebrow, her gaze shifting to Deedee. "Can you not?"

"Come on!" she said with a grin, unbothered by the scrutiny. "I'm the resident troublemaker and occasional voice of reason."

Kara cleared her throat, clearly trying to redirect the conversation before Deedee could derail it further. "Superman, Lois, this is Galatea—Tia for short," she said, gesturing toward Tia. "She's been helping Connor adjust."

Tia gave a polite nod. "It's a pleasure to meet you both."

Superman's gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. "Thank you for looking out for him."

Lois, however, was less reserved. She tilted her head, studying Tia with open curiosity. "You're a clone too, right? Like Connor?"

Tia stiffened slightly but nodded. "Yes. But I'm more than that," she said, her voice steady. "Just like Connor is."

Lois smiled, clearly approving of the response. "Good answer."

The conversation began to flow more naturally after that, with Superman and Lois asking Connor about his experiences so far, his training, and hisueuea relationship with the team. Connor answered honestly, his initial nervousness giving way to a quiet confidence. Tia chimed in occasionally, her calm demeanor balancing out Connor's still-developing social skills.

Deedee, of course, couldn't resist adding her own commentary every now and then, much to Lois's amusement and Superman's bemused patience. Kara and Kori remained supportive in the background, offering the occasional encouraging word or subtle nudge when Connor seemed unsure of himself.

Eventually, the conversation shifted to lighter topics, and even Connor began to relax. By the time Superman and Lois said their goodbyes, it was clear that the meeting had gone as well as anyone could have hoped.

As the door closed behind them, Deedee turned to Connor with a smirk. "See? Told you humor works. You didn't even need to call him 'Pops.'"

Connor rolled his eyes but smiled. "Thanks, Dee. Your advice was... helpful."

"Anytime," she said, grinning. "That's what I'm here for."

—

At the sleek, modern conference room atop Peverell Industries' headquarters in New York, Talia al Ghul—publicly known as Talia Tate, CEO extraordinaire—stood at the head of the polished obsidian table. The room offered a panoramic view of the bustling city below, but none of the three occupants were paying attention to the scenery.

Sirius Black, dressed sharply in a tailored charcoal suit, lounged casually in his chair, his signature smirk betraying his eagerness for what was about to come. Across from him, Remus Lupin, ever the calm and collected strategist, adjusted his glasses and leaned forward, scanning the dossier spread out in front of him.

"So," Sirius began, breaking the silence, "we're finally going to make our move on the League. About bloody time, if you ask me."

Talia arched an elegant brow, her posture impeccable. "Patience, Sirius. Ra's may be contained, but the League is far from leaderless. Nyssa and Deathstroke have both been making moves, and we can't afford to underestimate either of them."

Remus nodded. "Nyssa is charismatic and has a loyal following within the League. Deathstroke, on the other hand, is an opportunist—a dangerous one at that. He'll use this chaos to consolidate power unless we act decisively."

Talia's emerald eyes darkened. "Which is why we cannot delay any longer. The League of Assassins must be brought under our control before it fractures further or falls into hands far less... principled than ours."

Sirius chuckled. "Principled. That's one way to put it. Though I doubt 'principles' are what will keep Deathstroke or Nyssa from gutting us if they get the chance."

Talia's lips twitched in a faint smile. "Which is why we'll have a decisive advantage—they won't get the chance." She turned to Remus. "You've been liaising with Harry and his team. Are they ready to provide the support we need?"

Remus leaned back, his fingers steepled. "Harry—sorry, Shadowflame—and his team are more than ready. Between Kara, Kori, Deedee, and the rest, they're a formidable force. With their abilities and resources combined with ours, we can strike quickly and efficiently. Harry has also been strategizing ways to divide Nyssa's followers from her, exploiting her more... idealistic tendencies."

Talia nodded, pleased. "Good. Nyssa's loyalty to the League's original ideals will make her predictable. She can be reasoned with—or neutralized if necessary. Deathstroke, however…"

"...is another story," Sirius finished. "The man's a bloody wild card. And an arrogant one at that. He won't go down without a fight."

Talia's expression hardened. "Which is why we'll ensure he doesn't have the opportunity to fight. Harry's team will handle the initial assault on Deathstroke's strongholds. Once he's weakened, we'll finish the job ourselves."

"Sounds like a plan," Sirius said, stretching lazily. "But let's not forget, Ra's isn't going to stay in that black site forever. If he gets wind of what we're doing—"

"He won't," Talia interrupted, her tone icy. "The Justice League is thorough. And I made certain they had everything they needed to keep him locked away. My father will not be a factor in this."

Remus glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. "And what happens when we succeed? The League isn't just an organization—it's a belief system, a legacy. Taking control is one thing; maintaining it is another."

Talia's gaze softened, if only slightly. "The League will become something greater under our leadership. Its resources will be used to correct the injustices my father perpetuated—not to perpetuate them further. And with Harry's influence, the League will have a moral compass it has sorely lacked."

Sirius smirked. "A moral compass with a penchant for blowing things up, no less. Sounds like the perfect balance."

Talia allowed herself a faint smile. "Indeed. Now, let's finalize the details. We move on Nyssa's faction first. Harry and his team will disrupt Deathstroke's operations simultaneously, keeping him off balance. Once we've dealt with Nyssa, we'll turn our full attention to Deathstroke."

Remus nodded, his sharp mind already analyzing the logistics. "I'll coordinate with Harry and ensure our timelines align. Sirius, you'll handle the intelligence gathering—make sure we're not walking into any traps."

"Consider it done," Sirius said, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

Talia stood, her presence commanding. "Then it's settled. By the time my father learns of our actions, it will already be too late. The League of Assassins will be ours."

Sirius grinned, rising to his feet. "Let's hope Harry and his merry band are ready for a little chaos."

"They always are," Remus replied with a hint of a smile. "They're Harry's team, after all."

And with that, the three of them set to work, the gears of their plan clicking into place as the storm brewed on the horizon.

—

In the shadowy depths of a fortified compound hidden deep within the Siberian wilderness, Deathstroke—the infamous Slade Wilson—sat at the head of a massive stone table. His iconic mask, split black and orange, lay on the table before him, revealing his calculating eye and the faint smirk of a man who always seemed one step ahead of everyone else. Beside him stood Rose Wilson, his equally deadly daughter, clad in sleek combat gear, her white hair pulled back into a tight ponytail.

The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from a flickering set of monitors displaying various surveillance feeds and dossiers on Talia al Ghul, Shadowflame, and their allies. Around the table, an assortment of the world's most dangerous mercenaries and villains awaited his command.

"This is a delicate situation," Slade began, his voice cold and measured. "Ra's is out of the picture, locked away in a Justice League black site, thanks to his daughter. Talia sees this as her golden opportunity to claim the League of Assassins for herself, but she's not the only one with ambition."

Rose leaned forward, her arms crossed, her eyes scanning the faces of those assembled. "And let's not forget who Talia's new bestie is," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Shadowflame. Or should I say Charis Peverell? You know, billionaire playboy by day, Superhero by night. The guy's practically a walking cliché."

A low chuckle rippled through the room, though Slade's expression remained stoic.

"He's more than a cliché," Slade corrected, his tone icy. "He's a threat. Talia might be the brains of this operation, but Shadowflame and his team are the muscle. Supergirl, Starfire, and the rest—each one of them is a powerhouse in their own right. Facing them head-on would be suicide. Which is why we won't. Not yet."

He gestured to the dossiers on the table, each one detailing a potential recruit for his counter-offensive.

"We need a team. Not just any team—a group of individuals who can handle the likes of Talia and Shadowflame. People who think outside the box, who thrive in chaos. People like us."

The first to speak was a hulking figure with gray, stone-like skin. Brick, a notorious enforcer and crime boss from Star City, leaned forward, his deep voice resonating in the room. "You need heavy hitters? You've got one right here. I don't care how strong Shadowflame's team is—I'll take them all on."

"Confidence is good," Slade said with a smirk, "but overconfidence gets you killed. You're in, but you'll follow my orders. No heroics."

Next to speak was a wiry man in a suit with glowing goggles and mechanical gauntlets—Ragdoll, the contortionist criminal. "I assume there's more to this plan than just brute force? Perhaps a little finesse? After all, not everything can be solved with a punch."

Slade nodded. "That's why you're here. You'll handle infiltration and sabotage. Talia has surrounded herself with loyalists, but even the most loyal follower has a breaking point. Find it. Exploit it."

Ragdoll's grin widened as he stretched his arms unnaturally. "Consider it done."

Others nodded their assent—Deadshot, the world's most accurate marksman; Copperhead, a serpentine assassin; and Black Spider, a shadowy vigilante-turned-criminal.

Rose leaned against the wall, watching the gathering with a mix of amusement and disdain. "Looks like you're putting together your own little Suicide Squad, Dad. What's the plan?"

Slade stood, his imposing presence commanding the room.

"The plan," he said, "is to strike first. While Talia is busy trying to solidify her control over the League, we'll undermine her from within. I've already planted operatives in key positions to sow distrust among her supporters. At the same time, we'll keep Shadowflame and his team occupied with a series of distractions—hit-and-run attacks, false leads, anything to keep them off balance."

He turned to the monitors, which now displayed images of Gotham, Metropolis, and Jump City.

"The key is to divide and conquer. Shadowflame's team thrives on unity—break that, and they'll fall apart. And once they're out of the picture, the League of Assassins will be ours."

The room buzzed with quiet murmurs of approval as Slade donned his mask, the orange side gleaming in the dim light.

Rose smirked, unsheathing her sword. "Sounds fun. Let's see if Shadowflame and his friends can handle a real fight."

Deathstroke's voice was cold and decisive. "This isn't just a fight, Rose. This is war."

—

In a secluded manor nestled within the craggy peaks of the Caucasus Mountains, Nyssa al Ghul paced the length of an ancient stone hall. The room was spartan yet elegant, reflecting both her ascetic discipline and the regal bloodline she carried. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe braid, and her piercing eyes seemed to glow with determination.

Sitting at a modest wooden table nearby was Yusuf, her trusted lieutenant and confidant. Yusuf, a tall man with hawk-like features and an aura of quiet competence, watched Nyssa with unwavering focus. His sharp, dark eyes followed her every movement, waiting for her to speak.

"They think they can divide the spoils of my father's empire as though it's a banquet table," Nyssa said, her voice low and venomous. "Talia's betrayal doesn't surprise me. She's always been his favorite, always desperate to prove herself the heir he wanted."

Yusuf inclined his head slightly. "And Deathstroke?"

Nyssa's lips curled into a disdainful smirk. "Slade Wilson is a mercenary, nothing more. He sees an opportunity to carve out his own power base by exploiting the League's current instability. But unlike Talia, he doesn't understand what it means to lead the League of Assassins. To him, it's just another contract, another asset to wield."

Yusuf leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Then we must act before either of them can consolidate their forces. What is your plan, Mistress?"

Nyssa paused, standing before a large map pinned to the wall. The map was dotted with markers representing League strongholds, hidden resources, and key players still loyal to her father.

"We strike at their weaknesses," she said, her finger tracing lines across the map. "Talia relies on the support of Peverell Industries and her pet hero, Shadowflame. But even she cannot maintain complete control over their shared allies. I already plan on planting agents within their ranks, sowing seeds of doubt about Talia's loyalty to them and their League."

Yusuf raised an eyebrow. "And Deathstroke?"

Nyssa's expression darkened. "Slade is arrogant. He thinks he can manipulate the League like one of his contracts. I've sent emissaries to some of the mercenaries he's courting. With the right incentives, many of them will turn against him when the moment is right."

Yusuf smiled faintly. "Divide and conquer. A classic strategy, Mistress."

"It's more than that," Nyssa said, her voice sharpening. "This isn't just about defeating Talia or Slade. It's about reclaiming the League for what it was meant to be—a force of balance and discipline, not the fractured shadow my father allowed it to become."

She turned back to Yusuf, her eyes burning with conviction. "We'll bide our time, for now. Let Talia and Slade weaken each other. When the time is right, we'll sweep in and take what's ours. But I won't rely on subterfuge alone."

Yusuf's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?"

Nyssa gestured to a side door, and Yusuf rose to open it. Beyond was a small chamber, where a dozen of her most loyal followers stood in silent formation. They were clad in dark armor, their faces obscured by masks bearing the sigil of the League.

"These are the Scions," Nyssa said. "The best of what the League has to offer. They've sworn loyalty to me alone. When the time comes, they'll ensure my victory."

Yusuf's smile widened as he surveyed the elite warriors. "Impressive, Mistress. But what of the Justice League? If Shadowflame is involved, it's only a matter of time before they intervene."

Nyssa nodded, acknowledging the challenge. "Shadowflame is clever, but he's also stretched thin. His alliances are too numerous, his commitments too scattered. I've already identified weak points in his network. If the Justice League intervenes, we'll ensure they're too preoccupied with other threats to focus on us."

Yusuf chuckled darkly. "It seems you've thought of everything."

Nyssa's expression softened slightly, a rare moment of vulnerability flickering across her face. "I've had to. This is my legacy, Yusuf. My father's empire, for all its flaws, is my birthright. I won't let Talia, Slade, or anyone else take it from me."

Yusuf bowed his head. "Then we will be ready, Mistress. For whatever comes."

Nyssa turned back to the map, her fingers lingering over a marker representing one of the League's hidden fortresses.

"Let them play their games," she murmured. "When the dust settles, it is I who will stand victorious."

—

Alright, let me paint the scene for you: It's dusk. No, scratch that—it's the perfect time for a patrol. The city below looks like a glittering puzzle, its pieces stretching out beneath the deep purple sky. And here I am, in my Black, Crimson, and Gold Armor with a fire-powered wingspan that could melt the eyebrows off a villain before they even knew what hit them. I've got the crimson gem on my chest glowing like an emergency beacon, and my cape—well, my cape is doing that dramatic thing capes do, billowing out like I'm auditioning for a superhero movie.

This is my thing. You know, flying. It's not just a superpower; it's a lifestyle. The wind, the height, the occasional accidental burn marks from the fire wings… it's all part of the gig.

And I'm not alone. Not tonight. No, tonight I'm flying with a rookie crew, and when I say rookie, I mean "they've got the power, but are still figuring out how to use it without breaking everything in sight." Superboy and Galatea—or Tia, because apparently her name was "too much of a hassle for Harry to say during sex." Thanks, Deedee, for that totally necessary bit of information, by the way.

Tia's zipping past me like she's on a mission to break the sound barrier, her silver hair trailing behind her like a comet. "Catch me if you can, Shadowflame!" she calls out.

Oh, I'll catch her, alright. But right now, I'm letting her have her fun. Besides, she looks like she's having a blast, and who am I to ruin someone's fun? It's her first patrol. I'm not going to be that guy, the one who's all "oh, let me show you how it's done."

Instead, I dive down, letting my wings create a fiery trail in the sky as I descend to the streets below. My wings flare out in all their blazing glory, and I can practically hear the villains down below whispering, "Oh crap, it's him," before they even see me. Fear is such a beautiful thing, especially when it's not aimed at me.

And then there's Connor—Superboy. He's trying his best, and honestly, I'm kind of impressed. The kid's leaping from rooftop to rooftop, making it look easy, but I can tell he's still getting the hang of it. Like, picture a puppy trying to catch a frisbee three times its size. Except this puppy can bench-press a car. So, yeah, it's a little less cute, but still kinda impressive.

Meanwhile, Firebolt—aka Ginny—is soaring above, doing some kind of aerial ballet on her broomstick, zapping thugs with blasts of energy. She's really taking this whole "hero" thing in stride. If there was a superhero Olympics, she'd have taken gold, silver, and maybe the entire podium at this point.

"Come on, Superboy, don't let me show you up," she teases, buzzing around him like a particularly sarcastic bee.

"I've got this," Connor mutters into the comms, his voice full of concentration. I think he's trying to sound cool, but I can tell he's getting the hang of it. As long as he doesn't end up in a dumpster or, worse, face-first in a puddle, I'm happy.

Deedee—our "Man in the Chair," AKA the genius behind our operations—chimes in through the comms. If you ever need someone who can multitask while throwing shade at you, Deedee's your girl. "Alright, team, you're looking good. But I'm tracking a few thugs assembling down on West 7th. Don't get cocky, okay? I know some of you are really good at this, but let's not get too carried away. You've still got your 'rookie' badges on."

I roll my eyes, but there's a grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. "Thanks, Deedee. For the support. As always."

"Anytime, Shadowflame," she shoots back with a wink I can feel through the comms. I know, I know—it's a weird feeling, but that's Deedee for you.

Anyway, back to the action. I land, flames igniting beneath me like some kind of fiery phoenix rising from the ashes. The thugs—who, by the way, have the worst luck in the world—are just standing there, gaping at me. It's almost too easy. You'd think by now, villains would learn to scatter the moment they see someone with wings made of literal fire.

"Hey, fellas," I call out, cracking my neck. "Looks like you're late to the party."

Tia's already in motion beside me, her energy crackling as she takes out the first guy with a swift jab to the chest. Bam. Done. And just when I think we're getting a good rhythm going, I hear the unmistakable sound of more bad guys rounding the corner.

Deedee's voice crackles in. "Yeah, they're totally not backing down. You've got about ten more incoming from the west side. Hope you've got more tricks up your sleeve, Shadowflame."

I roll my eyes at the sky. "Deedee, stop trying to jinx us." But I know she's right. Just as the words leave my mouth, another wave of thugs appears. Seriously? Couldn't they ever give me a break?

Superboy jumps in, doing his best "Superboy" thing by leaping into the fray. He's making it look like he's been doing this for years, when in reality, it's probably his second or third time out on patrol. He crashes into the nearest guy like he's trying to turn him into paste. (Spoiler alert: it works.)

Firebolt's zipping around, her broomstick swooping down low as she delivers the knockout punch—literally. I've gotta hand it to her; the girl has style.

Tia's already gone through three more guys with ease, flipping, dodging, and striking like she's auditioning for a superhero movie. Honestly, I'm kind of jealous.

"Your turn, Shadowflame," she teases, grinning over her shoulder at me.

I shake my head. "Don't get cocky, kid." But then, I dive in, swinging my flaming fists and knocking a few more guys to the ground. It's like I'm fighting the worst batch of Saturday morning cartoon villains, but I'm not complaining.

"Good work, everyone," I say, wiping my hands off as the last of the criminals are rounded up. "Deedee, how did we do?"

She grins through the comms. "Not bad. You've got one more team headed your way—don't get too comfortable."

I give a mock salute. "Great. Nothing like a fresh batch of bad guys to keep things interesting."

And just like that, we're back up in the air, ready for whatever Jump City throws at us next. Because, let's be honest—no matter how good we get, it'll always be a little bit chaotic.

—

Artemis was exhausted, and not just in the physical way. Sure, her muscles ached from hours of running and fighting through the streets of Gotham, but it was the weight of her thoughts that had her dragging her feet as she walked home. The city still smelled like grime and gasoline, but to her, it was starting to feel like the only thing that was real.

Another night of vigilante justice, another night trying to fill shoes that were too big for her. The shadow of her father, the infamous sportsman turned criminal, and her sister, the deadly and enigmatic Cheshire, loomed over her every move. She didn't want to be them. She didn't want their legacy. She wanted to forge her own path. Be a hero.

But that was easier said than done.

She rounded the corner near her apartment, the alleyway dim and empty, but something was off. The air felt heavier. Something about it made her skin prickle, like a storm was coming. And then, she saw it. Or, rather, him.

Batman.

Of course.

She stopped dead in her tracks, heart hammering. For a moment, she thought about running—turning on her heel and vanishing into the shadows like she had so many times before. But something told her it wouldn't do any good. He always found her.

It wasn't like she didn't know who Batman was, or what he could do. He'd found her long before tonight—her actions, her motivations, her connections, all of it.

Batman wasn't the kind of person who let things slip through his fingers. And she was very much a slip-up in his world.

"Not tonight, Artemis," Batman's gravelly voice rumbled from the shadows.

She stiffened. The way he said her name—like he knew everything. Like he knew who she was and what she had become, even though she'd tried so hard to keep the line between who she was and who she was supposed to be clean.

"You've been busy, haven't you?" Batman continued, his eyes locked onto hers from behind the mask. "But I guess that's to be expected when you're trying to live up to a legacy you don't want."

Her jaw clenched. She didn't like hearing it put so bluntly, but it was true. Artemis was trying to live up to a legacy she hated. It had been her father's, her sister's, and now—by default—hers. The constant weight of it pushed her down, made her question every choice she made in the dark hours.

"You know who I am," she spat, her voice sharp. "You've been watching me. What is it you want from me, Batman?"

He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped out from the shadows, revealing his imposing figure, the familiar bat silhouette cutting through the dim light. His posture was perfect, not a hint of hesitation in his movements. He was used to being in control, no matter the situation.

"I want you to stop running from who you are, Artemis," Batman said, his voice steady and measured. "I know the path you're on, but you don't have to keep walking it alone."

She narrowed her eyes. "What, you're going to throw me in prison like you did with my father? Or lock me up with Cheshire?"

Batman's gaze softened, just slightly, but it was enough to make Artemis wonder if she had misjudged him, if only for a second.

"No," he said, his tone more sincere than she expected. "I'm not here to make you a prisoner, Artemis. I'm here to offer you something. Something better."

Her heart skipped a beat, though she kept her expression neutral. "Better? What are you offering me, then? A seat at the Bat-Table?"

"No," Batman said, shaking his head slightly, like the very thought of such an offer was absurd. "I'm offering you a chance to join a team. A team of younger heroes, like you, who are starting out but don't have to make the same mistakes that others have made. A team that can offer you guidance, support, and—most importantly—a way to make your own mark. Not as a villain's daughter or a hero's shadow. But as Artemis. As someone who chooses to stand on her own."

Artemis blinked, not sure if she'd heard him correctly. "You want me to join a team?"

Batman didn't offer the faintest hint of a smile, but his tone was clear: "Yes. A team the Justice League is forming. They're looking for people like you—heroes who can think on their feet, who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty, but who also know where the line is. You've been testing your limits on the streets of Gotham. Now, you could do that as part of something bigger."

She was silent for a moment, her mind running through every possible scenario, every path she could take. The idea of joining a team, of not doing everything on her own, was... terrifying. But also? It was tempting. She had no idea what that might mean, but it sounded a lot better than going on another lonely patrol, feeling like she was failing her family's legacy—and herself—each time she pulled on the hood.

"You want me to stop playing the lone wolf?" Artemis asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

Batman didn't flinch. "I want you to stop being afraid of the future, Artemis. It's your choice. But I'm offering you a place on a team where you can make a difference."

She bit her lip, her mind racing. A team. The Justice League. For the first time in a long while, she felt like there was a way out of the mess she'd been tangled in.

"So, what, I just say yes and I'm in?"

Batman's posture relaxed slightly, though the aura of mystery still hung around him. "Yes. But think carefully. This isn't just about fighting bad guys. It's about being part of something larger. It's about choosing your own destiny."

She looked at him for a long time. A choice. A team. A chance to finally make her own decisions, separate from the dark legacies of her family.

"Alright, Batman," she said finally, her voice quieter but resolute. "I'll join the team."

The faintest glint of approval crossed Batman's face, but he didn't say anything more. Instead, he stepped back into the shadows, already fading away as if he'd never been there at all.

"Welcome to the team, Artemis," he called back, his voice echoing in the night.

As the sounds of Gotham enveloped her again, Artemis took a deep breath. For the first time, she didn't feel like she was walking in anyone's shadow. She was making her own path.

---

Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!

I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!

If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!

Click the link below to join the conversation:

https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd

Can't wait to see you there!

If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:

https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007

Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:

https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s

Thank you for your support!