## After Class - The Library
The Central City University library was one of those academic spaces that managed to feel both grand and intimate—soaring ceilings with exposed wooden beams, tall windows that let in natural light, and reading nooks tucked between towering stacks of books. It was the kind of place that made you want to whisper even when there was no one around to disturb.
Karan found a table in a quiet corner near the mythology section, spreading out his notes from Dr. Chen's class while he waited for Kendra. The assignment she'd given them was straightforward enough—compare a classical mythological hero with a contemporary figure who displayed similar archetypal patterns. But given his current circumstances, every hero they'd discussed felt uncomfortably personal.
"Sorry I'm late," Kendra said, sliding into the chair across from him with an apologetic smile. "I had to stop by the registrar's office. Bureaucratic nonsense."
She'd changed out of her classroom clothes into jeans and a fitted sweater that somehow made her look even more striking than before. When she leaned forward to examine his notes, Karan caught a hint of something that might have been vanilla perfume, or might just have been the way she smelled naturally.
*Focus, Chauhan,* he told himself. *You're here to work on an assignment, not flirt with potentially winged classmates.*
Though honestly, after nine months in a coma, a little flirting didn't seem entirely unreasonable.
"So," Kendra said, pulling out her tablet and settling in, "what were you thinking for the assignment? I was leaning toward comparing Icarus with some of the modern flying heroes, but that feels a little obvious."
"Icarus isn't really a hero, though," Karan pointed out. "He's more of a cautionary tale about the dangers of ambition and ignoring wise counsel."
"Fair point." Kendra tilted her head, considering. "What about Prometheus? Stole fire from the gods to give to humanity, suffered eternal punishment for his altruism. That's definitely heroic."
"And there are definitely modern parallels. Someone with abilities who risks everything to help people who can't help themselves." Karan was warming to the topic despite himself. "The question is whether modern heroes have to suffer the same eternal punishment part."
"You sound like you've given this some thought."
"Haven't we all? I mean, with everything that's been happening since the explosion..." Karan shrugged, trying to seem casual. "It makes you wonder what you'd do if you suddenly had abilities beyond normal human limitations."
Kendra's stylus paused over her tablet screen. "What do you think you'd do?"
The question felt loaded with subtext, as if she was asking about more than just hypothetical scenarios. Karan found himself studying her face, noting the way she held herself with that subtle confidence he'd noticed earlier, the way her eyes seemed to catalog details about him with unusual intensity.
"I'd want to help people," he said honestly. "But I'd also want to make sure I didn't lose myself in the process. Power without perspective can be dangerous."
"Even power used for good?"
"Especially power used for good. It's easy to justify almost anything when you tell yourself you're protecting people." Karan leaned back in his chair, meeting her gaze directly. "What about you? If you woke up tomorrow with extraordinary abilities, what would you do with them?"
Kendra was quiet for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face as if she was trying to decide how much to reveal. When she spoke, her voice was softer, more vulnerable than it had been in class.
"I think I'd be terrified. Not of the abilities themselves, but of what having them might mean. Like, what if they came with responsibilities I wasn't ready for? What if using them meant giving up the life I'd planned for myself?"
"That sounds like you're speaking from experience."
"Maybe I am." Kendra's smile was rueful. "Maybe we all are, these days. The explosion changed everyone in the city, whether they realize it or not."
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, researching mythological heroes and their modern counterparts. But Karan found himself stealing glances at Kendra, noting the way she moved with that subtle grace, the way she seemed hyperaware of her surroundings without appearing nervous.
When she reached across the table for a book, her sleeve rode up slightly, revealing what looked like an intricate tattoo on her wrist—or maybe a birthmark. The design was too complex to make out clearly, but it seemed to incorporate wing-like patterns that made his suspicions about her identity even stronger.
"Can I ask you something?" Kendra said suddenly, looking up from her tablet.
"Sure."
"In Dr. Chen's class, when she was talking about the hero's burden... you looked like someone who understood exactly what she meant. Not just intellectually, but personally."
Karan felt his pulse quicken. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you had the expression of someone who's actually thought about the price that comes with power. Someone who maybe knows what it feels like to have abilities you didn't ask for." Kendra leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping. "Am I wrong?"
The question hung between them, loaded with implications and possibilities. This was the moment where he could deflect, change the subject, maintain the careful distance he'd been keeping from everyone except Barry and the S.T.A.R. Labs team.
Or he could take a chance on someone who seemed to understand what he was going through.
"You're not wrong," he said quietly. "But I get the feeling I'm not the only one who knows what that feels like."
Kendra's breath caught slightly, and for a moment her careful composure slipped entirely. "What makes you say that?"
"The way you move. Like you're always ready to react to something, always aware of your surroundings. The way you asked about side effects from the explosion like you were fishing for specific information. The way you're looking at me right now, like you're trying to decide whether I'm someone you can trust with a secret."
"And am I?"
Karan considered the question seriously, thinking about everything he'd observed about her over the past few hours. The confidence that ran deeper than mere self-assurance. The way she'd reacted to mentions of the explosion and enhanced abilities. The careful way she'd phrased her questions, as if she was trying to gauge his own experiences without revealing too much about herself.
"I think," he said finally, "that whatever you're dealing with, you don't have to deal with it alone. And I think maybe we have more in common than just an interest in comparative mythology."
Kendra stared at him for a long moment, then laughed—a sound that was equal parts relief and nervous energy. "God, you're either very perceptive or very lucky with your guesses."
"Maybe both?"
"Maybe both," she agreed. Then, more quietly: "It's wings."
"Wings?"
"My... side effect from the explosion. I can manifest wings. Flight, enhanced strength, some kind of connection to ancient memories that I don't really understand yet." Kendra's voice was barely above a whisper, but there was something almost relieved about finally saying it out loud. "I've been trying to figure out what it means, how to control it, whether I'm losing my mind or gaining some kind of purpose I never asked for."
Karan felt a surge of something that was part vindication at being right about her identity and part genuine sympathy for what she was going through. "That sounds incredibly overwhelming."
"It is. Especially when you're trying to maintain a normal college life while occasionally sprouting medieval weapons and flying around Central City at night."
"Medieval weapons?"
Kendra's cheeks flushed slightly. "Mace and knife, apparently. They just... appear when I need them. Along with knowledge about how to use them that definitely didn't come from any class I've ever taken."
*Hawkgirl,* Karan confirmed to himself. *Definitely Hawkgirl. With past-life memories and mystical weapons and all the complications that come with reincarnated Thanagarian warriors.*
But what he said was, "That actually sounds kind of amazing. Terrifying, but amazing."
"You don't think I'm crazy?"
"Kendra, I spent nine months in a coma after being caught in an explosion that was supposed to be scientifically impossible, then woke up with abilities I can't fully explain and memories that feel like they belong to someone else. Crazy is relative at this point."
She laughed again, and this time it was purely relief. "So what's your secret? Enhanced healing and faster reflexes doesn't explain the way you were talking about power and responsibility."
Karan glanced around the library, making sure no one was close enough to overhear them, then held up his hand. Golden light began to dance around his fingers—subtle enough not to draw attention, but unmistakably supernatural.
"Divine armor," he said quietly, letting the light coalesce into a small, intricate pattern above his palm. "Mythological protection that apparently decided I was worthy of carrying it. Along with enhanced physical abilities, the ability to create constructs made of light, and a growing suspicion that I'm supposed to use these gifts to protect people."
Kendra stared at the light pattern with undisguised fascination. "That's incredible. It's like something out of ancient mythology."
"It is something out of ancient mythology. The armor of Karna, from the Mahabharata. Which makes your wings and weapons look perfectly reasonable by comparison."
"So we're both..." She paused, seeming to test out the words. "We're both superheroes now?"
"I think we're both people with abilities who are trying to figure out how to be heroes," Karan corrected gently. "There's a difference."
"What kind of difference?"
"Superheroes are what other people call us. Heroes are what we become when we decide to put other people's safety ahead of our own comfort."
Kendra was quiet for a moment, considering this. Then she smiled—the first completely unguarded expression he'd seen from her all day.
"You know what? I think I like you, Karan Matthews."
"I like you too, Kendra Saunders." And he meant it, more than he'd expected. There was something about her that was both refreshing and intriguing—someone who understood the burden of unwanted power but hadn't let it crush her spirit.
Plus, he was only human. Enhanced human, but still human. And Kendra was beautiful, intelligent, and apparently capable of flight. After nine months of nothing but medical procedures and superhero training, a little mutual attraction felt wonderfully normal.
"So," she said, leaning forward with a playful smile, "want to get some coffee and figure out how to compare our mythological situations to classical heroes without accidentally writing our autobiographies?"
"I'd like that. Though we should probably avoid Jitters—I know people there, and I'm not ready to explain why I'm suddenly social again."
"There's a place called CC Roasters about three blocks from here. Good coffee, terrible music, and enough ambient noise that we can talk without worrying about being overheard."
"Sounds perfect."
As they packed up their materials and prepared to leave the library, Karan found himself thinking about how much his life had changed in just one day. This morning, he'd been nervous about returning to college, uncertain about how to balance his new abilities with some semblance of normal life.
Now he'd found someone who understood exactly what he was going through, someone who could become either a valuable ally or... something more personal than that.
Either way, he was looking forward to finding out.
"One more question," Kendra said as they headed toward the library exit. "The light constructs—can you make them invisible? For stealth applications?"
"I haven't tried, but probably. Why?"
Her smile turned mischievous. "Because I have a feeling we're going to need all the tactical advantages we can get if we decide to do this hero thing properly."
Karan grinned back, that crooked smile that had gotten him into trouble in two different lives now. "Kendra Saunders, are you suggesting we form some kind of partnership?"
"I'm suggesting that if we're both going to be flying around Central City trying to help people, we might as well coordinate our efforts. Make sure we're not accidentally working against each other."
"Flying around Central City?"
"You didn't think you were going to keep those abilities locked up in laboratory testing forever, did you?" Kendra pushed open the library door, stepping out into the late afternoon sunlight. "People with power like ours... we're not built to sit on the sidelines."
As they walked across campus toward CC Roasters, Karan couldn't help but think that she was absolutely right. Whatever else happened, his days of being a passive test subject were numbered.
The only question was whether he was ready for what came next.
But with Kendra Saunders as a potential partner—someone who understood both the burden and the necessity of extraordinary abilities—he was starting to think he might be.
*This,* he thought, watching her navigate the campus crowd with that subtle confidence, *is going to be very interesting indeed.*
---
## Later That Evening - S.T.A.R. Labs
Karan returned to S.T.A.R. Labs feeling energized in a way he hadn't experienced since waking up from his coma. His afternoon with Kendra had been exactly what he'd needed—a reminder that there were other people dealing with the same impossible adjustments he was facing, and that maybe he didn't have to navigate this new life entirely within the controlled environment Wells had created for him.
He found Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin in the main lab, gathered around Cisco's workstation with the kind of intense focus that suggested they'd stumbled onto something significant.
"Hey," Karan called, dropping his backpack near the door. "What's the emergency? You guys look like you've discovered either the cure for cancer or evidence of alien life."
"Actually," Cisco said without looking up from his screen, "we've discovered evidence of you."
Karan felt his stomach drop. "What do you mean?"
Barry turned around, holding up his phone to display the same grainy video that Dr. Chen had shown them in class. "Karan, we need to talk. About your definition of 'being careful' when you use your abilities in public."
"Where did you get that?"
"It's everywhere," Caitlin said, looking up from her tablet with concern. "Social media, local news websites, half a dozen conspiracy theory forums. Someone posted the original security footage yesterday, and it's been spreading like wildfire."
Cisco spun his chair around to face Karan fully. "Dude, you stopped a convenience store robbery three days ago and forgot to mention that someone caught the whole thing on camera?"
"I thought I was being careful," Karan said weakly, moving closer to see the footage on Cisco's larger monitor. "It was late, there weren't many people around, and I made sure to disable the interior cameras before I went in."
"You disabled the interior cameras," Barry said with the patience of someone explaining a basic concept to a particularly slow student. "What about the exterior cameras? The traffic cameras? The dashcam footage from passing cars? The cell phone videos from people who heard the commotion and came to investigate?"
Karan slumped into an empty chair, suddenly feeling very stupid. "I didn't think about any of those."
"Clearly," Caitlin said, though her tone was more concerned than accusatory. "Karan, do you realize what this means? If people start analyzing this footage seriously, if they enhance the image quality or cross-reference it with other appearances..."
"They'll figure out who I am," Karan finished miserably.
"Actually," Cisco said, pulling up an enhanced version of the video, "that's the weird part. Look at this."
He played the footage in slow motion, focusing on the golden figure moving through the convenience store. Even with computer enhancement, the image remained frustratingly unclear—not because of poor camera quality, but because the figure itself seemed to be distorted by the light surrounding it.
"The radiance from your armor isn't just bright," Cisco explained. "It's actively interfering with the recording equipment. Look—" He pointed to specific frames where Karan's face should have been visible. "Your features are completely obscured, not by shadows or movement blur, but by some kind of optical distortion effect."
Karan leaned forward, studying the enhanced images. Cisco was right—where his face should have been, there was just a smooth, indistinct oval of light, as if the armor was somehow preventing clear visual identification.
"That's... actually kind of convenient," he said.
"More than convenient," Caitlin added. "It suggests that your armor has built-in protective mechanisms we hadn't discovered yet. Some kind of passive identity protection system."
"But here's the real question," Barry said, crossing his arms and giving Karan a look that was part concerned friend and part exasperated teacher. "How did you not get recognized in person? I mean, the light show is impressive, but you can't tell me the robbery victims didn't get a good look at you."
"Actually," Karan said, an idea beginning to form, "I think I can show you something about that."
He stood up, moving to the center of the lab where he'd have some space. "Cisco, dim the lights about halfway. Not completely dark, just... atmospheric."
Cisco hit the controls, and the lab settled into a softer illumination that was still bright enough to see clearly but not harsh enough to interfere with what Karan was planning.
"Okay," Karan said, focusing on the warm presence in his chest. "Watch carefully."
Instead of manifesting the full armor, he drew on just a fraction of its power, letting golden light begin to emanate from his skin. But rather than the brilliant radiance they'd seen during his testing sessions, this was subtler—a soft, warm glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Now look at my face," he instructed.
Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin all leaned forward, trying to focus on his features. Almost immediately, Karan saw them squint and blink, their eyes having trouble adjusting to the specific wavelength of light he was producing.
But it was more than just brightness. As he increased the intensity slightly, the light began to create a kind of optical illusion around his face—not enough to hide it completely, but enough to make it difficult to focus on specific features. His jawline seemed to shift slightly, his cheekbones appeared more or less pronounced depending on the angle, and his overall appearance became strangely indistinct.
"Whoa," Cisco breathed, rubbing his eyes. "It's like trying to look at someone through water. I can see that you're there, I can tell you're speaking, but I can't quite bring your face into focus."
"The light isn't just glowing," Caitlin realized. "It's refracting in specific ways that interfere with visual processing. Like a natural camouflage system."
Karan let the light fade, and immediately all three of them were able to focus on him clearly again.
"So when you were stopping the robbery," Barry said slowly, "even though you were right there in front of people, they couldn't actually see your face clearly enough to identify you later."
"Apparently not. Though I didn't know I was doing it at the time." Karan settled back into his chair, feeling a mixture of relief and amazement at yet another unexpected capability of his armor. "It seems like the armor has built-in stealth features that activate automatically when I'm using it in public."
"That's incredible," Cisco said, immediately pulling up new screens on his computer. "We need to run tests on this. Figure out the exact wavelengths you're producing, map the optical distortion patterns, see if we can replicate the effect artificially..."
"Cisco," Caitlin interrupted gently. "Maybe we should focus on the more immediate issue. Like the fact that Karan has been operating as an unlicensed vigilante in Central City without telling us."
Barry nodded, his expression growing more serious. "She's right. Karan, I get the impulse to help people—trust me, I really do. But you can't just run around the city stopping crimes without backup, without communication, without anyone knowing where you are."
"I was being careful—"
"You thought you were being careful," Barry corrected. "But what if something had gone wrong? What if there had been more criminals than you expected, or if someone had been seriously injured, or if the police had shown up and decided you were the threat?"
Karan felt a familiar stab of guilt. Barry was right, of course. He'd been acting on impulse, responding to immediate situations without thinking about the larger implications. It was the same pattern that had gotten him killed in his first life, just on a superhero scale.
"You're right," he admitted. "I should have told you. Should have coordinated with the team. I just... when I see someone in trouble, it's hard to walk away."
"We know," Caitlin said gently. "And we're not saying you should walk away. We're saying you should let us help."
Cisco nodded enthusiastically. "Dude, you think we're going to let you have all the fun of being Central City's mysterious golden protector? Barry's been dying to get out there and help people too. Haven't you, Barry?"
Barry's expression grew complicated. "I've been thinking about it. But there's a difference between thinking about it and actually doing it. Karan, when you were out there stopping that robbery... what was it like?"
"Terrifying and exhilarating and right, all at the same time," Karan said honestly. "Like everything I'd been training for was finally being put to proper use. Like I was finally doing what I was supposed to be doing."
"And you want to do it again."
"Every day. Every time I see a news report about someone getting hurt or a crime that could have been prevented..." Karan met Barry's eyes directly. "Don't you feel it too? The need to do something with these abilities besides test them in a laboratory?"
Barry was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with the same impulses Karan was describing. "Yeah. I do. But I also know that good intentions aren't enough. We need a plan, support systems, ways to coordinate with legitimate law enforcement..."
"We need Dr. Wells," Caitlin said quietly.
The lab fell silent. It was the suggestion none of them had wanted to make, but all of them had been thinking. Whatever they decided to do about their abilities, whatever role they wanted to play in protecting Central City, they were going to need resources, guidance, and official sanction.
And Harrison Wells was the only person in their lives who had access to all three.
"He's going to want to know everything," Karan said finally. "About the robbery, about my decision to act independently, about any future plans we might have."
"He already knows about the robbery," Cisco pointed out. "The video's gone viral. He's probably been analyzing the footage since yesterday."
"Plus," Barry added, "if we're serious about this—about actually becoming heroes—we're going to need his help whether we want it or not. The technology, the medical support, the legal framework... we can't do this alone."
Karan thought about his afternoon with Kendra, about her suggestion that they coordinate their efforts, about the growing certainty that he wasn't built to sit on the sidelines while other people dealt with dangers he could help address.
"Okay," he said finally. "Let's talk to Dr. Wells. Let's figure out how to do this properly."
"All of us?" Caitlin asked. "Are you ready for that, Barry? For officially becoming Central City's super-powered protector?"
Barry looked at the enhanced security footage on Cisco's screen, then at his friends, then down at his hands as if he could see the Speed Force energy waiting to be unleashed.
"I've been ready," he said quietly. "I just didn't want to admit it."
As they began making plans to approach Wells about their superhero aspirations, none of them noticed the small camera hidden in the lab's ventilation system, or the way its lens tracked their conversation with mechanical precision.
In his hidden chamber beneath S.T.A.R. Labs, Eobard Thawne leaned back in his wheelchair and smiled.
His young protégés were finally ready to embrace their destinies as heroes.
Which meant it was time to begin the next phase of his plan.
Everything was proceeding exactly as he had foreseen.
Though he had to admit, the addition of divine armor to Barry Allen's support network was an interesting development that would require some... adjustments to his timeline.
But then again, Eobard had always enjoyed a challenge.
And turning one mythological hero against another? Well, that was the kind of challenge that made centuries of planning worthwhile.
Let the games begin.
—
## Meanwhile, in Metropolis
The Holt Industries building pierced the Metropolis skyline like a gleaming spear of glass and steel, its facade reflecting the afternoon sun in patterns that seemed to shift and dance with mathematical precision. Forty-three floors up, in what most employees assumed was just another executive conference room, Michael Holt stood before a wall of monitors that would have made NASA's mission control look quaint by comparison.
His T-Spheres floated around him in lazy orbits, their smooth surfaces occasionally pulsing with data streams as they interfaced with various satellite feeds, social media algorithms, and law enforcement databases. Michael himself looked exactly like what he was—a man who had earned multiple PhDs before most people finished their bachelor's degrees, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that somehow managed to suggest both corporate authority and barely contained kinetic energy.
"You're late," he said without turning around as the conference room's security door hissed open.
"Sorry," came the familiar voice of Clark Kent—though up here, forty-three floors above the bustling streets of Metropolis, he was simply Superman. The blue and red suit looked slightly wrinkled, suggesting he'd flown here directly from whatever crisis had required his attention. "There was a situation with a collapsing overpass in Centennial Park."
"Anyone hurt?"
"Three people with minor injuries. Could have been much worse." Clark moved to stand beside Michael, taking in the array of displays with the easy familiarity of someone who'd been here many times before. "What's the emergency that couldn't wait?"
"We're waiting for one more," Michael replied, one of his T-Spheres chiming softly as it received an incoming communication. "Though based on the GPS tracking from her phone, she's currently about six blocks away and moving at roughly fifteen miles per hour through downtown traffic."
Clark frowned. "She's driving? Since when does Kara drive anywhere?"
"Since she decided that flying while intoxicated was 'probably a bad look for the family brand.'" Michael's voice carried the dry precision of someone who had dealt with this particular problem before. "Her words, not mine."
"She's drinking again?"
"She's been drinking consistently for the past three weeks, according to the biometric data I've been tracking through her apartment's security system. Nothing dangerous by Kryptonian standards, but enough to impair her judgment and reflexes."
Clark's expression darkened with the particular kind of frustration that came from caring deeply about someone who seemed determined to self-destruct. "I thought she was doing better after the therapy sessions with Dr. Hamilton."
"Therapy only works if the patient actually attends the sessions. She's missed the last four appointments."
Before Clark could respond, the conference room door opened again, revealing a young woman who looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine advertisement for "rebellious heiress chic." Her face was partially hidden behind oversized sunglasses, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail that somehow managed to look both effortless and expensive. She wore ripped jeans, combat boots, and a leather jacket that probably cost more than most people's cars.
"Gentlemen," Kara Zor-El announced, dropping into one of the conference chairs with theatrical exhaustion, "I am here as requested, though I maintain that whatever crisis you're about to brief me on could probably wait until after my hangover finishes killing me."
"It's three in the afternoon," Clark pointed out.
"Your point?" Kara pushed her sunglasses up onto her head, revealing eyes that were bloodshot but defiant. "Time is a social construct, cousin dear. Just because you've embraced the human concept of productive daylight hours doesn't mean the rest of us have to."
Michael turned away from his monitors, studying Kara with the analytical intensity of someone accustomed to solving complex problems. "When was the last time you ate something that wasn't liquid?"
"I had a very nutritious breakfast martini around eleven. Olive tapenade counts as vegetables."
"Kara," Clark started, his voice taking on the patient tone of someone who'd had this conversation multiple times, "you can't keep doing this to yourself. The drinking, the missed appointments, avoiding your responsibilities—"
"What responsibilities?" Kara's voice rose slightly, though whether from anger or genuine confusion was unclear. "You handle the big threats, the world-saving, the inspirational speeches to grateful civilians. I'm just the backup plan with anger management issues and a tendency to punch first and ask questions later."
"That's not true and you know it."
"Is it not?" Kara gestured broadly at the high-tech conference room around them. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you and Boy Genius here have everything well in hand. The world has Superman and Mister Terrific—why does it need a drunk teenager with daddy issues and a planet-destroying temper?"
Michael cleared his throat, his T-Spheres arranging themselves in a more formal pattern around him. "Actually, that's exactly why I called this meeting. There's been a development that requires both of your attention."
He gestured to the wall of monitors, and they immediately shifted to display enhanced security footage from Central City. The image quality was grainy, typical of convenience store cameras, but the figure moving through the frame was unmistakable—golden armor that seemed to emit its own light, moving with precise, controlled movements.
"This footage surfaced on social media platforms eighteen hours ago," Michael explained, his T-Spheres projecting additional data overlays onto the video. "Initial analysis suggested it was either elaborate special effects or a very sophisticated hoax."
"But you don't think it's fake," Clark observed, studying the footage with the intensity of someone who'd learned to spot genuine threats among the countless fabrications that crossed his desk daily.
"I know it's not fake. Watch this." Michael enhanced the video, slowing it down to show the golden figure deflecting what appeared to be gunfire with casual ease. "The ballistic trajectories are mathematically accurate. The light reflection patterns are consistent with genuine energy emission, not CGI. And most tellingly—"
He paused the video at a moment when the armored figure turned slightly toward the camera.
"—the optical distortion around the face isn't digital artifacting. It's an actual phenomenon occurring in real-time, suggesting some kind of advanced camouflage or stealth technology."
Kara leaned forward, her hangover momentarily forgotten as she studied the frozen image. "So we've got a new player in Central City. Someone with actual abilities, not just a costume and good intentions."
"The armor appears to be made of some form of crystallized energy," Michael continued, calling up additional analysis data. "Preliminary spectral analysis suggests it's not technological in nature—the energy signatures don't match any known materials or power sources."
"Magical?" Clark asked.
"Possibly. Or extraterrestrial. Or something else entirely that we haven't encountered before." Michael's expression grew more serious. "But here's the concerning part—this isn't an isolated incident."
The monitors shifted to show a compilation of footage from various sources—traffic cameras, social media posts, news reports. All showing brief glimpses of the same golden figure, operating across Central City over the past several weeks.
"Whoever this is, they've been active for at least a month. Stopping robberies, preventing assaults, intervening in domestic violence situations. All with the same careful avoidance of clear identification and minimal collateral damage."
Kara was studying the compilation with growing interest, her earlier listlessness replaced by something that looked almost like professional curiosity. "Successful interventions?"
"One hundred percent success rate, zero civilian casualties, zero property damage beyond what was already occurring when they arrived." Michael's tone carried grudging respect. "From a tactical standpoint, this individual is remarkably competent."
"So what's the problem?" Kara asked. "Sounds like Central City finally has its own guardian. Good for them."
Clark was still staring at the footage, his expression troubled. "The problem is that we don't know who they are, what they want, or whether they'll stay committed to protecting people. Power without accountability has a tendency to corrupt, even when it starts with good intentions."
"Plus," Michael added, "there are indications that this individual isn't operating alone."
New footage appeared on the screens—even grainier than the previous videos, showing what looked like a red blur moving through the streets at impossible speeds.
"This was captured by a traffic camera two days ago, approximately six blocks from where our armored friend stopped a mugging. The speed is consistent with estimates of roughly seven hundred miles per hour."
Kara whistled low. "That's speedster territory."
"It's beyond speedster territory," Clark corrected grimly. "That's approaching Jay Garrick-level velocity."
"Which brings us to the question," Michael said, his T-Spheres arranging themselves in a more defensive formation, "of whether Central City is developing its own superhero community, or whether we're looking at the beginning of something much more complicated."
The room fell silent as all three of them contemplated the implications. A new hero operating independently was one thing—admirable, even, if they maintained their moral compass. But two individuals with extraordinary abilities operating in the same city, with similar tactical approaches and timing...
"You think they're connected," Clark said finally.
"I think they're coordinating their efforts, yes. Which suggests either a formal partnership or oversight from someone with significant resources and organizational capability."
Kara stood up, moving closer to the monitors to study the footage more carefully. "Someone like Harrison Wells?"
Both Michael and Clark turned to look at her with surprise.
"What?" she said defensively. "Just because I've been drinking doesn't mean I've stopped reading intelligence reports. S.T.A.R. Labs has been suspiciously quiet since their particle accelerator explosion, but they've also been treating an unusual number of patients with 'enhanced recovery' from the incident. Add that to the timing of these appearances..."
"She's right," Michael admitted, his T-Spheres immediately beginning to pull up files on S.T.A.R. Labs and its director. "Dr. Wells would have the resources, the medical expertise, and the motivation to identify and train individuals affected by the dark matter explosion."
"The question is whether his intentions align with ours," Clark said quietly. "Harrison Wells lost his reputation, his funding, and his life's work in that explosion. That kind of loss can drive people to make questionable decisions about how they rebuild."
Michael nodded grimly. "Which means we need to know more about these new players before they become a problem we can't solve diplomatically."
Kara was still studying the golden armored figure, something almost wistful in her expression. "You know what I think?"
"What?"
"I think whoever this is, they're trying to do the right thing. Look at the pattern of interventions—all small-scale, all focused on protecting people who can't protect themselves. No showboating, no grandstanding, no attempts to take credit or build a public profile."
She turned away from the monitors to face her cousin and Michael directly.
"This person reminds me of what you used to tell me about being a hero, Kal. 'It's not about the power, it's about the choice to help.' Whoever's wearing that armor is making that choice, every day, without asking for recognition or reward."
Clark studied his cousin's face, noting the way her expression had cleared, how her voice had steadied as she talked about heroic ideals rather than personal grievances.
"So what are you suggesting?"
"I'm suggesting that instead of treating them as a potential threat, we treat them as potential allies." Kara's smile was the first genuinely hopeful expression she'd worn in weeks. "And I'm suggesting that maybe Central City's new heroes could use some guidance from people who understand what it's like to carry that kind of responsibility."
Michael and Clark exchanged a long look, both of them recognizing the shift in Kara's demeanor, the way focusing on someone else's heroic journey had pulled her out of her own destructive spiral.
"You want to go to Central City," Michael said. It wasn't a question.
"I want to meet them. See what they're about. And if they're as committed to helping people as their track record suggests..." Kara shrugged. "Maybe I could learn something about how to be useful again."
Clark felt a surge of hope that was almost painful in its intensity. "Kara, are you sure? It's been months since you've taken on any kind of active mission."
"Which is exactly why this is perfect. Low stakes, investigative work, a chance to remember what it feels like to think about someone other than myself." Kara's grin was pure mischief now, the old spark returning to her eyes. "Besides, when was the last time you got to play mentor to a fellow hero?"
Michael's T-Spheres were already pulling up travel arrangements and tactical assessments. "I can have you in Central City within two hours. Full reconnaissance package, encrypted communication systems, backup protocols in case things go sideways."
"Do it," Clark said without hesitation. "And Kara?"
"Yeah?"
"Try not to scare them. New heroes tend to be nervous around established ones, especially ones with your particular... reputation for directness."
Kara laughed—the first genuine laugh any of them had heard from her in months.
"Cousin dear, when have I ever been anything but diplomatic?"
The look Michael and Clark shared suggested they could think of several examples, but neither of them was willing to risk dampening Kara's renewed enthusiasm.
After all, Central City's mysterious new heroes were about to meet Supergirl.
Whether they were ready for it or not.
---
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