Koriand’r took to the skies, her long, fiery red hair billowing behind her like clouds pushed by the wind. The cowl had kept most of her hair contained, though she would release it the first chance she had. Right now, Koriand’r wanted peace, darkness, food. She flew to escape the noise and the flashing lights and the fires. She soared to the night embrace, welcoming the sight, letting it fill her eyes.
But she had no idea where to find food, and her stomach growled like a gor’entak from the jungles of Tamaran.
Tamaran, Tamaran.
The world, her family, her home. It would be one thing if Tamaran were but one thing, but it was not. And thus, her lament was only too heavy, despite her strength and her power. Her stomach growled again, and this caused her to descend. She was free of her bonds and would find something to sate her appetite. So, the joyful memories she feels fizzle away, and she slowly descends to the ground.
She landed at the end of a street. Or perhaps it was the beginning of one. Koriand'r did not really know what place was best for food. Despite her acquiring the language through a kiss, reading the languages the cute one knew would take time. Koriand’r briefly thought of the boy, the one who freed her. She would eat first, then think of him. Then, perhaps think of Tamaran, if it did not hurt.
Koriand’r lifts a finger, bouncing it around between one building and the next, landing on the one with letters curving in a frown, brightly colored and glaring. Koriand’r shrugs, not terribly picky about what this place is, as long as she can eat something. She couldn’t have known this yet, but the building letters read ARCADE in those neon letters. What she also couldn’t have known, or perhaps not cared at the time, was that she was not alone.
She enters the building, quickly blasting a hole through the door. Koriand’r thinks back to how easy she’s had it and how quickly everything turned so horrid. The room is dark; colorful, though, Koriand’r suspects that it would be vibrant if she saw this room with lights. But it is darkly lit, all the same, just as the Q’st’r had been. She remembered one of her escape attempts, navigating through those Gordannian chambers.
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“Out of my way, slaver!” Princess Koriand’r exclaimed, blasting away enemies with her hands.
“I will not have interference now–” She soared through the chambers, “Not when I am so close to escaping!”
The Princess had blasted away any Gordannian who crossed her path. One had yelled out her name in shock, fumbling with his weapon. The Princess blasted the slaver, the green blasts making a loud, high-pitched skreek sound.
“Princess Koriand’r!” She corrects, “Or have you forgotten? It was the warlords of Okaara who trained me?!”
Her hair continued sweeping behind her like a red cloud. She reached the hangar bay, dark or course with their grimy-colored ships. The bay was oddly absent of guard drones. Koriand’r imagined that Trogaar must be slipping in his old age, which was only slightly a shame. She had hoped to use her starbolts against the arrogant lord and more slavers under him but decided that she didn’t have time for it anyhow.
Koriand’r, golden-skinned and lithe despite her attire, fits easily enough into the star-slider, her slim hands darting across the console like second nature. At first, Koriand’r’s heart sinks when there’s no response. Then, the lower pod doors open, the ship shudders, quivering as though in anticipation, and then it descends and lurches forward!
Koriand’r breathes in relief as stars, suns, and moons make up her field of vision. Then, the console sounds an alarm, indicating that the Gordannian slavers have locked onto her coordinates. But Koriand’r steels herself, closes her eyes for a second, and nods. Now, only X’hal’s best wishes and the most luck she could ever hope for would put this madness behind her.
She attacks the controls, screaming in emphasis, as her preceptor’s training takes hold of her. Each instance to capture her is met with a vacant place where her ship had been exploding in reds and blues. Trogaar’s sharpshooters can only balk as this one girl manages to evade and insult the skills of those who have destroyed many Thanagarian ships.
The console’s radar indicates the ships behind her closing in rapidly. Koriand’r, however, maintains hope that a star-slider can out-maneuver any Gordannian warship. Ahead of her, she saw what she recognized in her studies, long since past, as Hynnx’s moon. Koriand’r jolts her ship, the star-slider living up to its name as it slides around the moon’s belt, and she slips behind it. The girl begins to smile, imagining that she will be long gone by the time they can even begin to alter their course.
That smile died, however, when her star-slider experienced turbulence, and an over-powering, blinding light encompassed her for a few seconds. She blocks her eyes and then scans the radar. The image that represents the moon breaks apart, with a vast avalanche devolving into tiny flecks flying or drifting towards the blip that is her star-slider. At once, meteors surround her ship, and Koriand’r uses all her skills to dodge the remains of the moon.
Now, as Koriand’r steers and violently veers from the sudden asteroid shower, can she see nothing but red. Now, Koriand’r sees how desperate Trogaar truly is and who and what he will destroy to get her back. Trogaar would rather destroy an entire moon to get to her than detour around it. He would instead order his slavers to burst through the remains of the moon to capture his prize!
“You,” Koriand’r growled, “will regret this, Trogaar.”
----------------------------------------
Koriand’r wanted to crush something when the memory, fresh in her mind, offered her no comfort. Here is Koriand’r: she is angry and homesick and starving, but happy memories only make her homesick stronger. She wishes to be rid of this crown the Gordanians forced on her, but her hunger overpowers her need for self-preservation.
A crackle.
Koriand’r snaps her head at the sound. She prepares herself. Her arms rear back, her feet are squared, and Koriand’r bears her teeth in a snarl like second nature. Her starbolts flare, and she’s heading toward the source of unbroken silence. Typically, this is an unwise move, given her weariness and worse-for-wear fighting prowess, but her mind instructs her to defeat any threats before they can touch her.
She heads towards a new room. It is spacious, and there is a counter at the end. A light shines above for Koriand’r to see what’s on top. It’s an assortment of items in a variety of colors and textures and smells. Some are brown, some are bright red; there’s something pink and fluffy but also a pile of lumpy, golden pieces lying next to it. The smells are inviting Koriand’r, and she knows that she has finally found food.
She licks her lips.
Koriand’r turns off her starbolts and marches toward these items. She takes one of the brown bars and crunches down on it, letting its thick texture but sweet taste hit her tastebuds. She tosses it aside, eager for more. Some are salty, sweet, crunchy, soft, and gooey, and the pink fluff dissolves in her mouth instantaneously. Koriand’r continues to scarf down all of these morsels, cautiously letting her spirits rise with every taste she hastens to enjoy when she realizes something.
The one who put this food here…was probably right behind her.
She takes an arm to wipe off her mouth. Then, instead of dropping it, she spins around, pointing a glowing starbolt behind her. The boy was there, startled and obscured by shadows, but Koriand’r was right.
“Woah,” He says, holding his hands up, “it’s alright! I’m a friend!”
“A friend…?” She repeats, stepping forward threateningly, “Why? Why did you free me?”
The boy steps backward, smiling warily, “Well, why is kind of a loaded question, considering you–” his face reddened slightly, then shook it off, “I did it to be nice.”
“...Nice,” Koriand’r says, her face unchanging.
“Yeah,” says the boy quickly, “like how I opened the chocolates from their wrappers before you could eat them. I mean, no offense, but I just didn’t want you to–”
“We do not have this word ‘nice’ on my planet.” She tells him, “The closest is rutha! Weak!”
“Yeah, well,” a new voice announces. The boy has found the cybernetic teen standing behind him. Koriand’r prepares both starbolts now, but the taller teen holds his arms up, mirroring his companion but with a stolid look.
“Around here, ‘nice’ means nice.” He continues, “And all my friend did was give you food! So, th’ least you could do is thank him.”
The standoff had become even more tense. Koriand’r took a small step forward, but the taller teen did not attempt to back down. Koriand’r inched a foot forward to test him. He inched his back. The boy was making whispering sounds, trying to get the taller teen’s attention. Nothing broke his gaze. Koriand’r’s starbolts continued to glow green. The taller teen’s red eye would glow, and the boy’s jittery whispers finally rose to a shout.
With her eyes on him, he said, “We’re not here to fight.”
She studied him a moment longer. She stood straight and turned off her starbolts.
“Then you must leave me. Now.”
Koriand’r turns quickly, trying to put distance between them and herself, and realizes she might have to blow a hole in the wall to leave.
The boy follows tentatively, “Why? We’re just trying to help! Like I did with your cuffs.”
“I did not need your help. I could have freed myself.” She responds, ready to bash the wall in the darkness.
“Oh, yeah,” the taller teen calls out, “and smashed up the whole neighborhood to do that. How do you think all those people are doing right now?”
Now, she stops, “I…” And Koriand’r realizes that, yes, she was not surrounded by enemies or monsters at her arrival. Yes, she did hear screams all around her. And yes, the attacks on her were only a response to her rampage. There were…likely little girls nearby–in fact, she did see one being picked up by her mother when she tried to destroy her binds. Koriand’r had…once been a little girl. Once.
Koriand’r drops her arms and hangs her head. She’s almost ashamed to go back, but she turns around, walks toward them, her eyes on her feet, and her hands clasped as though she were bound again. She struggles to find the right words, but perhaps there are none. Still, the boy was before her; he had helped her, and now she had to say something. So, she said:
“I did not mean to hurt them.”
The boys traded a look. The shorter teen shrugged and nodded. The taller, cybernetic one did the same and pulled something out from behind. Koriand’r perks up, her instincts almost failing to react, but then she calms down when it’s revealed to be a liquid in a glass bottle. The red label stands out from the black liquid.
“What is that?” Koriand’r asks. The cap pops off, hisses, and the taller teen hands it to her.
“Only the best damn soda you’re gonna taste around here.” He offers it to her, and she accepts it. Koriand’r takes a sip, but then it quickly becomes chugging. The boy snickers for a moment while the taller one nods appreciatively. She finishes the drink, wiping her mouth with a satisfied sigh before belching loudly. She covers her mouth and blushes, the boy covering his snickers while his friend chuckles.
“Pepsi’s better,” said the shorter boy.
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“No,” replies the other.
Koriand’r didn’t understand what they meant, but with hostilities dropped, an air of relieved relaxation took hold, and Koriand’r was graciously led to an area with tables. The boy holds a chair for her so they can sit opposite each other. It was pretty pleasant, considering they were enemies, perhaps five or ten minutes ago. But then, were they really enemies? Koriand’r was confused, which morphed into abrasiveness.
“You don’t really seem like a bad person,” the red boy remarks.
“...What would make me bad?” Koriand’r asks.
The boy thinks, “I guess if you said you enjoyed all that destruction.”
“And…you know bad people…” Koriand’r’s face drops, trying to blot the Gordanians from her mind, even though…
“I fight to stop bad people from hurting others.” The boy says proudly, “It’s what makes me a hero. I’m Robin. The guy behind me is Vi– um,”
The taller teen, leaning on the round table behind them with his arms crossed, saw his hesitation. His eyes closed, then he opened them, the glowing red one and the organic one.
“Cyborg.” He stated.
Koriand’r and the ‘Robin’ mirrored confusion. ‘Cyborg’ shook his head.
“You heard me, now take a good look at me:” He spoke in a soft, straightforward monotone that somehow resonated throughout the arcade, “Three-quarters of my flesh is gone, patched up with a few pieces of aluminum. My bones ain’t calcium anymore; now they’re an unshatterable steel comparable to molybdenum.” He hit his metallic chest for emphasis, “So we might as well call me for what I am: a Cyborg.”
This statement, however, clearly upset Robin.
“C’mon, man, that’s–”
“Anyways,” Cyborg’s monotone softened, “Why do you want us to leave you alone?”
Koriand’r’s breathed slowly and softly, her energy seemingly sapping, “Because,” She said almost raspily, “danger follows me.”
Robin turned his head to share a look with Cyborg. The cybernetic’s face was nigh unreadable, but the ghost of deep concern engraved itself into his face's organic and metallic side. Before they could say or ask anything else, however, a new voice asked a question.
“What kind of danger?”
Koriand’r jumped in place, whirling around to see a dark shadow looming behind her. Koriand’r’s starbolts glowed, but Robin stepped out of his chair, flipping over her to land between her and the man in black. He held his gloved hands before her, but by then, her fear and rage hadn’t possessed her as before, allowing her to remember seeing this man work with Robin.
“It’s okay, he’s my mentor. This is Batman; Batman, this is–” Robin paused, suddenly blushing and massaging his neck, “Oh, I guess we never asked you for your name…”
Koriand’r analyses these people. They are strange, but they all show her kindness. How long has it been since anyone has given her kindness? Koriand’r had lied previously about the word ‘rutha.’ It did mean weak, but she knew the connotations would have them think twice about engaging her in her moment of weakness. Their word for nice in her tongue was rupcha, which sounded similar enough that it could be written as nice or weak. Perhaps, she thought, I could be nice…until I can call my strength.
“My name is Koriand’r, but in your language, it would be…Sta–”
Koriand’r’s words get drowned out by the portals opening around her. Batman, Robin, Cyborg, and Koriand’r all prepare themselves, for the Gordanians have found her.
----------------------------------------
Superman never gets tired of flying; he soars through the sky while the White Rabbit holds onto the man’s hand from below, swinging like the doors from Monsters Inc. The boy enjoys the light breeze flowing around his neck and body, swinging his legs back and forth high in the sky. Superman didn't mind this arrangement; at first, Jagger proposed that Superman hold onto his black rags and that they should pretend he was dead. Superman promptly said, “Stop,” and grasped the kid’s arm.
“Men of steel, these men of power, I'm losing control by the hour,” Jagger murmured.
Superman smiled at the songs on Jagger’s mind, his mind flashing back to his days in Kansas, how he received his first Genesis record along with Metallica’s “...And Justice for All.” It feels nice to hear the different music Jagger has been exposed to. But then, every song could be just as much a surprise as the next.
“Oooh, tenkū no rabbit,” He would sing for a few seconds, then for the next, “Fly with me, Come fly with me,” and inter-spliced between the rest was, “Wi-ise and na-ked in secret Ok-to-o-be-er…” Superman has never been much of a TV guy, so a living radio suited him well.
“Question,” Jagger stops singing, “did you time travel again?”
Superman blinks, “Now, what prompted this?”
“Well,” Jagger says, “how the hell did Phil get your name?”
“Actually, Jagger, Mike wrote the lyrics; Phil just sang them.”
Jagger shrugs, “Everyone only remembers Phil. Who cares about the others?”
“Okay, that hurts.” Superman winces, “And to my knowledge, no, there hasn’t been any time travel lately.”
“Oh, good! Can’t deal with that sh–stuff.”
Superman raises a brow with a wry grin.
“Yeah, yeah,” Jagger says, “I met someone who got me to cut down. Hope you’re happy…”
“Why would I be happy?”
But Superman’s question doesn’t sound like a question, and so he rolls his eyes for it. After years of issues, Superman felt no wariness when holding the kid’s hand in the air. In his eyes, Marlo has finally worked past any discontent or compulsions that have plagued him. At first, he was skeptical of this loose-form reform Batman had proposed, but it seemed to be paying off. Of course, the White Rabbit can feel this illusion might be shattered if the man finds out how he spent his birthday, so he keeps singing. Then, he asks:
“Aren’t you worried?”
Superman glances down, “About Batman and Robin? Maybe a little, but I can hear them talking to her. They’re calming her down.”
“What’s her name?”
“She hasn’t said it yet.”
“What’s her sign?”
Superman sighs, “Marlo, you know the chances of her stating her sign are slim.”
“You weren’t there, man. I’m pretty sure she sucked the English outta Robin.”
“I’ll…grant you that there are stranger things that have happened, but–”
“Besides, I’m sure she and Robin will be good. I need to know if they’re compatible.”
“Marlo, I wouldn’t take those things seriously.”
The White Rabbit laughs, “Spoken like a dumb Sagittarius!”
Superman’s brow twitches, “And what are you again?”
“I’m Scorpio!” The White Rabbit clicks his free hand like a scorpion claw. “But anyway, is she eating Robin? She’s an alien, after all. Tricky things.”
Superman stops flying. The White Rabbit looks around confusedly, then looks up. Superman stares down at him with a deadpan expression.
“...Sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Superman resumes his flight. After a moment, he asks, “You’re worried about Robin, aren’t you?”
“Nah, I just owe him one.”
“Uh-huh.”
The White Rabbit smacks his lips, “I mean, Scorpios and Pisces are tight. We work well off each other. It’s the moon compelling me to help him.”
Superman hums, “Last I checked, scorpions can’t swim. That’s what Pisces are, right?”
“Don’t be so dang literal!”
Superman chuckles, thinking, Oh, yeah, he’s getting better.
The thought does give him hope. Before the White Rabbit continues his karaoke session, the Man of Steel hears an explosion. Then, they see the green lasers and the warrior’s screams. Since puberty is hitting Robin and Batman is a baritone, they immediately deduce it's the girl.
“Hang on,” Superman commands, and the White Rabbit grips the man’s hand as he nearly jolts from the sudden motion. The wind hits the White Rabbit’s mask, and the air feels chilly, and the night sky seems darker than ever, with every burst of green piercing the sky. Superman flies straight ahead like a torpedo, careful not to fly too fast for the White Rabbit. Despite the boy’s tenacity, he feels that he should at least be treated like the kid he’s supposed to be, seeing as Marlo has made good strides in becoming a better person. Superman, however, does not yet realize what Marlo had done mere hours before these extraterrestrial events occurred.
They were fighting outside the arcade: the girl flew across the street against five winged aliens, alternating between flying, punching, and firing her green lasers. Victor Stone punched a stocky, green, lizard-like alien in the face, quickly grappling a lamppost and whacking his enemy and two approaching aliens away. Batman threw items that exploded into a brown, taffy substance that clung to the aliens' faces and caused them to fall unconscious. Robin had a collapsible staff, slamming the weapon into their faces, knees, two-toed feet, and wings, each falling in subsequent fashion. One nearly snuck up on Robin before Batman threw an electric wire at the enemy. The alien grunted loudly but pushed through and raised his electro-staff.
That’s when Superman fired his heat vision. The scaly alien’s back exploded, and his body was flung away from the Dynamic Duo. They looked up, Robin’s smiling face and Batman’s impenetrable veneer, seeing the White Rabbit hanging straight as a board from Superman’s hand. The White Rabbit waves at everyone; Victor, the girl, and the other aliens all direct their eyes to these new interlopers.
“That’s right, everybody!” The White Rabbit roars, “I’m the wrong number that wakes you at 3 a.m. !”
The White Rabbit is released, allowing Superman to land upright and blast more aliens. The White Rabbit lands behind him, unzips his satchel, flips out his fans, and spins his arms like a lasso. His ashes follow his movements, the aliens rushing them. The White Rabbit drops his arms and throws himself, sliding on the ground; his ashes fall before him like a waterfall. Suddenly, every alien is halted, their two-toed feet submerged in ashes like quicksand. The aliens try flying out with their bat-like wings, but Superman blasts all three aliens the White Rabbit caught in flurries.
“Yeah!” the White Rabbit croons, flipping back to his feet, “Rabbits can catch things too!”
Superman drifts toward Batman and Robin.
“Hey, Superman!” says Robin brightly.
“Hi, Robin!” Superman replies just as brightly.
“I don’t remember asking for any help,” Batman said.
Superman chuckled, “Well, since I’m here anyway.”
Two alien rushes Superman. He blasts it with two red beams of heat from his eyes. Batman responds to the other by throwing another coil of wires at another, Robin tossing his own, and they wrap around and overwhelm the alien with electricity. The aliens fell unconscious.
The White Rabbit observes the orange-skinned girl: she tosses an alien to the ground, creating a small crater in the road. Her attention is drawn away as she watches another flail in the air, hitting a building; the newcomer defeats their enemies, seeing them nearly bring him to his knees with a lucky shot, staggers a few times, and the aliens try to dogpile him. Still, he immediately bursts through the mound of steroid-lizard-things and repays them in kind.
The White rabbit sees she is distracted by the strength of this stranger and not the cheap-shooting alien ready to bash her head in. The White Rabbit rushes to her and leaps toward them. She sees him pass over her, and the White Rabbit’s pouch blows into the alien’s face. The alien’s face writhes and twists before softening and falling like a leave. The White Rabbit lands before he does and holds out his arms to catch the alien. A step back. His hands were behind him. Then, a new crater plasters the road.
The White Rabbit chuckles, “Ain’t I a sti–”
He hears a commotion behind him, turns to see Robin blinding an alien on his shoulder, and then a brightness with a whine rings out. Robin flips away, and the alien falls with a green flame following him. The girl lands beside him, smiling hesitantly. Robin joins them, nodding.
"Hi!” Jagger removes his mask, "My mistake! I thought you were going to eat him.”
"Marlo, don't be rude.” Robin deadpanned, “Cyborg, you alright?”
Victor joins them, “I’m a little scratched, but not too bad.”
“Cyborg?” Jagger asks, “Why not Tin Woodsman? It’s public domain.”
Cyborg arches his brow, “Don’t give me trouble.” An uncomfortable pause almost settles before he says, “Thanks for not calling me Arnold, I guess. For what it’s worth. But don’t give me naming suggestions, Bunny Boy.”
Jagger jabs a finger, “Hey! That’s Mr. Bunny Boy to you!”
Cyborg goes hmph, his lips quirking upward. Robin eases into a smile. So does the girl.
“I am,” she begins, “grateful. To all of you.”
Superman and Batman look over the unconscious extraterrestrial forms. They advance slowly toward the group of teens.
“Bruce,” Superman says quietly.
“Clark,” Batman says.
“Nice night.”
Superman takes slower steps with Batman to speak.
“What are we dealing with?” he asks the Batman.
“I was hoping you knew more,” Batman admitted, “but she’s a runaway; that much is obvious.”
Superman nods, “We better hear her story. If she’s comfortable.”
“This group,” Batman indicated to the beaten aliens, “was a scouting party. And they appeared exactly within our proximity. They must be tracking her somehow.” His head dipped microscopically, “We need answers before anything else happens.”
“Let’s not antagonize her, though. The last thing I need is a repeat of Kara." Superman says pointedly, “We should give her a shot.”
“Let's make that our second shot," Batman replies cooly, “Unlike Kara, this girl was restrained. For good reason, perhaps…she nearly leveled the block."
Superman knows his friend has a right to be cautious, but he still shakes his head and says:
“Ever the optimist."
When the two joined the teens, Jagger was leaning on Cyborg’s shoulder. The taller teen immediately shoved him off. Robin immediately stepped away from the girl, smiling brightly with a light blush. Her orange face mirrored his.
“I’m glad I got here when I did,” Superman says, looking them over, then to the girl, “I’m Superman, Kal El of Krypton. Do you have a name?”
Krypton?” She parrots with recognition, then she says, “I am Koriand’r of Tamaran. But,” she glances at Robin, “in your language, I am…Starfire.”
Perhaps only Robin felt a rightness when she said that. Something that felt like it should have been enjoyed, appreciated like the scent of a marigold on a cool and dark night. Like it could warm him up despite everything. But then, it could also be that he and she have stared at each other for a few more seconds longer than they should have, and he clears his throat.
“Starfire,” he says, “well, now we know who you are, and you know who we are.”
Jagger mutters something about Romeo, but he ignores it.
“Okay,” Cyborg says, “so we don’t have comfy chairs anymore, so this ain’t exactly ideal, but things have been real confusing tonight.”
Batman nods, “Victor, I need you to scan for anything that exceeds a signal strength of 100 megahertz moving at a rate of at least 30,000 seconds.”
“Funny you should say that,” Cyborg says, holding up the scanner that is his wrist, and he removes the hard cowl from her head. Beneath it is a silver tiara wrapped around her head with a green circle glowing in the middle. Starfire looks at the cowl as Cyborg crushes it, and he tells her, “That’s how they were tracking you.” But then he wobbles, suddenly groaning.
Robin supports him, “You okay?”
“Yeah,” he said, holding his head, “just felt dizzy. That never happens.”
Batman noted this and stored this action for further investigation. “Why were you imprisoned?” his deep baritone kept perfectly neutral, “What did you do that made them imprison you?”
Starfire looks startled, then withers, almost resigned. Throughout the interactions, Batman has studied her body language and measures her character through the inflections her voice takes. Though English is a new language, he makes careful word choices in his questions. Throughout the years, he’s seen innocent people accused of wrongdoing. Batman knows evil can take many forms, and she may be one of those forms, but if she isn’t…
“...Not a prisoner…” She says, sounding exhausted and melancholy, “...A prize…”
She doesn’t pause for them to digest the word.
“The Gordanians deliver me to the Citadel where I must live out my days as their servant.” She looks at Cyborg, “Around here, you said you were ‘nice.’ But the Citadel is…not. Nice.”
Superman crosses his arms, “You don’t say?”
Batman hears the tone in his friend’s voice and doesn’t need to face him to know what expression he’s taken. He knows that Superman has the face of a man who will keep someone safe and won’t stop moving mountains until everyone is safe. The tone in his voice told him he was barely keeping his emotions in check, silently praising him for his self-control.
Di–Wonder Woman would be up in arms after hearing her story, though, Batman thought. And he understands all too well.
“You’re not going to the Citadel,” Robin says, “Not if we have anything to say about it.”
“Should we call in the League?” Superman asked.
Batman considered this, “If we’re looking at an invasion, then we’ll need Lantern down here. Unless he’s already dealing with–”
“–Green Lantern to Justice League!” A voice blared on their comm, “We’ve got a problem!”