# Mount Justice - Three Weeks Later
**0830 HOURS - TRAINING FACILITY**
Connor stood in the center of Mount Justice's primary training room, his consciousness split across seven simultaneous sparring matches while his quantum-level interface managed facility systems and his tactical analysis ran probability assessments on each opponent's next three moves.
The improvement since their first mission had been exponential.
M'gann circled him in hawk form, her shapeshifting allowing rapid aerial repositioning while her telepathic abilities probed for openings in his mental defenses. Wally vibrated at frequencies designed to make him difficult to track visually. Kara approached with measured Kryptonian strength, testing his combat reflexes. Roy maintained distance, his arrows programmed with different challenge parameters—some he needed to catch, others to dodge, still others to deflect with precision.
And through it all, Connor maintained perfect awareness of each opponent while his parallel processing prevented any single threat from overwhelming his attention.
*[COMBAT PERFORMANCE: Operating at 73% maximum capacity]*
*[PARALLEL PROCESSING: Seven simultaneous tactical assessments maintained]*
*[XP GAIN RATE: Diminishing returns - Standard training no longer provides significant advancement]*
The system notification triggered something Connor had been noticing for the past week: he was plateauing. Standard training scenarios, coordination exercises, even complex mission simulations were no longer pushing his capabilities in ways that generated meaningful growth.
He needed something more challenging.
Connor caught Roy's arrow mid-flight, deflected Wally's speed-enhanced strike with precise timing, phased through one of M'gann's telepathic disruptions, and matched Kara's strength with his own Kryptonian capabilities—all while his consciousness maintained perfect awareness of the broader tactical situation.
"Hold," Kaldur's voice called out from the observation area, and all four opponents immediately disengaged.
Connor's parallel processing collapsed back to unified consciousness, and he felt the now-familiar sensation of reintegration. It was becoming smoother with practice, but still required a moment of adjustment.
"Connor," Kaldur said, descending from the observation platform with Dick beside him, "your performance continues to improve, but I'm detecting something concerning. You're holding back."
The observation was perceptive. Connor had been consciously limiting his engagement level during standard training, partly to avoid revealing the full scope of his system-enhanced capabilities, but also because pushing to maximum capacity against teammates felt unnecessarily risky.
"I don't want to accidentally hurt anyone," Connor said honestly. "These training sessions are valuable, but there's always the risk that quantum-level processing combined with Kryptonian strength could cause unintended damage."
Dick nodded with understanding. "Which is exactly why we need to talk about your next phase of development. Connor, you've advanced past what standard team training can provide. You need challenges that push your actual limits rather than just maintaining current capabilities."
M'gann shifted back to her human form, her emotional signature showing concern mixed with understanding. "Connor, we've all noticed that you've been... coasting, I guess? Not in a bad way, but like you're operating at half power during exercises."
"More like sixty percent," Wally corrected with his characteristic inability to let technical inaccuracies stand. "I've been tracking his reaction times, and he's consistently showing response capabilities about forty percent beyond what he demonstrates during training."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing detecting genuine concern from his teammates rather than criticism. They weren't accusing him of laziness—they were recognizing that he'd outgrown their current training framework.
"What are you suggesting?" Connor asked, directing the question to Dick and Kaldur.
"Advanced training with League members who can actually challenge your capabilities," Dick replied. "Wonder Woman for combat technique, Martian Manhunter for mental discipline, Flash for speed-based temporal coordination, and most importantly—" Dick's expression became more serious, "—Superman for Kryptonian ability development."
Connor felt something tighten in his chest. Training with Superman meant exposing himself to someone whose experience with Kryptonian capabilities would make it much harder to conceal his system's true nature.
"When?" Connor asked, keeping his voice neutral.
"This afternoon," Kaldur said. "Wonder Woman has agreed to begin combat training with you. She believes you have potential to develop beyond simple Kryptonian strength application toward genuine martial sophistication."
*[SYSTEM ALERT: Wonder Woman training opportunity detected]*
*[STRATEGIC SIGNIFICANCE: Direct access to combat mastery source for Level 10 absorption]*
*[CURRENT STATUS: Level 8 (2,847/10,000 XP toward Level 9)]*
*[ABSORPTION PREPARATION: Extended contact with Wonder Woman will facilitate smooth integration at Level 10]*
Connor felt his system's tactical assessment aligning with his own developmental needs. Training with Wonder Woman would provide both legitimate skill advancement and preparation for eventually absorbing her combat mastery abilities.
"I'd be honored," Connor said sincerely. "When you say 'combat training,' what specifically does that involve?"
Dick's expression showed something between sympathy and amusement. "Diana's training methods are... intense. She comes from a culture where combat is considered both art and sacred practice. Expect to be challenged in ways that make our team exercises look gentle."
Kara, who had been listening quietly, spoke up with obvious interest. "Will the training be only for Connor, or can others participate? On Krypton, combat training was considered essential for everyone regardless of their primary role."
"Diana mentioned she's interested in working with both of you," Kaldur confirmed. "Kara, your Kryptonian strength combined with Connor's technological capabilities presents unique training opportunities. She wants to explore how different power sets can be integrated into cohesive combat systems."
Roy looked genuinely intrigued by the prospect. "Any chance the rest of us could observe? I've always wondered how someone like Wonder Woman approaches training—her combat style is completely different from anything I've studied."
"Observation is permitted," Dick said, "though Diana will likely focus her direct instruction on Connor and Kara initially. The rest of you will continue standard team coordination exercises with Black Canary."
Wally groaned with theatrical disappointment. "So Connor and Kara get to train with an Amazon warrior princess while we're stuck doing team building exercises? That hardly seems fair."
"Life rarely is," Kaldur said with patient authority. "However, Connor and Kara's advancement in combat capabilities benefits the entire team. When they return from training with enhanced skills, we all become more effective."
M'gann's emotional signature showed complex feelings—pride in Connor's advancement mixed with something that might have been concern about him spending extended time with Wonder Woman. Connor's enhanced empathy detected the subtle jealousy beneath her supportive exterior, though he knew she'd never voice it directly.
"M'gann," Connor said gently, "this doesn't change our training partnership. You and I will still work on telepathic coordination and stealth operations. This is just adding another development track."
Her emotional signature showed gratitude for his recognition of her unspoken concern. "I know. And Connor, you should definitely take this opportunity. Wonder Woman is incredible, and learning from her will make you even more effective as our coordinator."
"Settled then," Dick announced with obvious satisfaction. "Connor, Kara, meet at the Watchtower's advanced combat facility at 1300 hours. Wear something you don't mind destroying—Diana's training methods are hard on equipment."
As the team dispersed toward their various preparation activities, Connor found himself approached by Roy, who moved with the careful attention of someone wanting private conversation.
"Connor, can I ask you something?" Roy said quietly once they were relatively isolated.
"Of course."
Roy was silent for a moment, clearly organizing his thoughts. "You're holding back during training, but it's not just about avoiding injuries, is it? You're keeping capabilities hidden even from the team."
The direct observation caught Connor off-guard. His enhanced social awareness had apparently underestimated Roy's observational skills.
"What makes you think that?" Connor asked carefully.
"Because I do the same thing," Roy replied with unexpected honesty. "I've got capabilities I don't advertise because tactical surprise is valuable. But Connor, I'm not calling you out or accusing you of anything. I'm just wondering if you've thought about the long-term implications of maintaining secrets from people who trust you."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing working through the implications of Roy's observation. This wasn't hostile confrontation—it was genuine concern from someone who understood the complications of hidden capabilities.
"You're right," Connor admitted after considering his response. "I have abilities I haven't fully disclosed. Not because I don't trust the team, but because explaining them would raise questions I'm not ready to answer."
"Fair enough," Roy said with surprising acceptance. "Connor, I'm not asking you to reveal everything. I'm just suggesting you think about what happens if those hidden capabilities become necessary during a crisis and the team isn't prepared for them."
The tactical wisdom in Roy's observation was undeniable. If Connor needed to deploy his full system capabilities during an emergency, the team's surprise could compromise coordination as much as any enemy action.
"Thank you for the perspective," Connor said genuinely. "Roy, can I ask you something in return?"
"Sure."
"Why are you telling me this rather than reporting concerns to Dick or Batman?"
Roy's expression showed appreciation for the direct question. "Because I recognize someone trying to navigate complicated circumstances while maintaining their integrity. Connor, whatever secrets you're keeping, I don't think they're malicious. I think you're trying to balance multiple priorities while figuring out who you want to be. That's something I understand completely."
Connor felt something warm settle in his chest—acceptance without judgment, trust without complete disclosure, the kind of mature friendship that recognized people were complex and allowed them space to navigate their own development.
"Roy, thank you. Seriously. And I promise I'm thinking about the disclosure question. It's just... complicated."
"Everything worth doing usually is," Roy replied with a slight smile. "Good luck with Wonder Woman's training. Something tells me it's going to be exactly the kind of challenge you need."
---
**1255 HOURS - WATCHTOWER ADVANCED COMBAT FACILITY**
Connor and Kara stood at the entrance to what appeared to be a massive underground arena that had been carved directly into the Watchtower's asteroid foundation. The space was enormous—easily the size of a football stadium—with variable terrain, environmental controls, and enough structural reinforcement to contain planetary-level combat.
Wonder Woman waited at the arena's center, wearing her training armor rather than her ceremonial costume. The difference was subtle but significant—less polished metal, more practical leather and reinforced fabric designed for sustained combat rather than diplomatic appearances.
"Connor, Kara," Diana said as they approached, her voice carrying warmth despite the martial setting. "Welcome. I'm pleased you've agreed to this training. Both of you possess remarkable physical capabilities, but raw power without technique is like owning a masterpiece without understanding art."
Connor felt his enhanced analytical abilities immediately recognizing Diana's teaching approach—she was framing this not as simple physical training but as education in combat philosophy.
"We're honored to learn from you," Kara said with genuine respect. "On Krypton, our combat training emphasized strategic planning and technological advantage. Physical combat was considered somewhat... primitive."
Diana's expression showed understanding rather than offense. "Many technologically advanced cultures view physical combat as obsolete. But Kara, there will always be situations where technology fails, where strategy becomes impossible, where all you have is your body and your will. In those moments, technique makes the difference between survival and defeat."
Connor nodded, his tactical analysis appreciating the wisdom in Diana's perspective. "How should we begin?"
Instead of answering verbally, Diana moved.
One moment she was standing ten feet away in casual conversation. The next, she was inside Connor's guard with a strike that would have disabled anyone without Kryptonian reflexes.
Connor's enhanced reaction time allowed him to avoid the blow—barely—but Diana's follow-up came so fast that his parallel processing abilities barely had time to register the attack pattern before he was defending against three simultaneous strikes.
*[COMBAT ANALYSIS: Threat level extreme - Wonder Woman operating at approximately 40% capacity]*
*[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT: Speed and precision exceed standard Kryptonian capabilities]*
*[SKILL DIFFERENTIAL: Massive - Three thousand years combat experience vs. three weeks]*
Connor blocked one strike, avoided another, but the third connected with his ribs—not enough to injure given his Kryptonian durability, but enough to demonstrate that Diana could touch him whenever she chose.
"Your reflexes are excellent," Diana said, having returned to her starting position so quickly Connor hadn't seen the movement. "Your defensive instincts are sound. But Connor, you're fighting like someone who relies on superhuman capabilities to compensate for lack of technique."
Kara had been watching the exchange with wide-eyed attention. "That was... I couldn't track all of your movements. How is that possible?"
"Three thousand years of practice," Diana replied simply. "But more importantly, understanding that combat isn't about speed or strength—it's about economy of motion, optimal positioning, and reading your opponent's intentions before they manifest as action."
Connor felt his tactical analysis working overtime to process what he'd just witnessed. Diana hadn't used her full strength or speed—she'd demonstrated that pure technique could overcome significant power differentials when applied with sufficient mastery.
"Again?" Connor asked, settling into a ready stance.
Diana smiled with obvious approval. "Again. But this time, don't try to match my speed or power. Instead, focus on understanding the geometry of combat. Every attack creates openings. Every defense establishes patterns. Your enhanced processing abilities should allow you to see these things if you look for them."
The next exchange was equally brief but more educational. Connor consciously engaged his parallel processing not to increase his reaction speed, but to analyze Diana's movement patterns, body mechanics, and tactical choices.
What he discovered was humbling.
Diana didn't just fight—she conducted warfare as symphony. Every movement served multiple purposes, every strike created opportunities for follow-ups, every defense positioned her optimally for counter-attacks. She operated with efficiency that made Connor realize how much energy he wasted through imprecise technique.
*[COMBAT ANALYSIS: Updated assessment - Wonder Woman's technique multiplies effective capabilities by factor of approximately 8-10]*
*[SKILL INTEGRATION: Combat mastery transforms basic capabilities into exponentially more effective applications]*
*[ABSORPTION ANTICIPATION: Level 10 integration will provide access to three thousand years of refined technique]*
"Better," Diana said after their third exchange. "Connor, you're starting to think rather than just react. That's the foundation of genuine combat mastery."
She turned to Kara, who had been watching with fascinated attention. "Your turn. Show me what Kryptonian military training taught you."
Kara approached with visible caution, clearly having learned from watching Connor's experiences. Her opening stance was more measured, her movements more calculated.
Diana engaged her with the same devastating precision, but Connor noticed she was adjusting her approach to Kara's different style. Where Connor relied on technological analysis and parallel processing, Kara used strategic thinking and pattern recognition developed through military training.
The exchange was equally brief and equally educational for Kara.
"Your military training is evident," Diana said approvingly. "You think strategically, you position defensively, you wait for optimal engagement opportunities. Those are excellent foundations. But Kara, military combat and heroic combat serve different purposes. You need to develop aggressive capability alongside your defensive excellence."
For the next three hours, Diana conducted what could only be described as a masterclass in applied combat philosophy. She wasn't just teaching techniques—she was restructuring how Connor and Kara conceptualized physical confrontation.
Connor learned that his Kryptonian strength was most effective when applied with surgical precision rather than overwhelming force. That his enhanced reflexes became exponentially more valuable when guided by pattern recognition rather than pure reaction time. That his parallel processing abilities could analyze opponent weaknesses that technique alone might miss.
*[SKILL DEVELOPMENT: Combat Technique - Novice → Competent]*
*[TACTICAL UNDERSTANDING: Significant advancement in efficiency and precision]*
*[XP GAINED: 385 - Exceptional training with master combatant]*
Kara discovered that her strategic military training could be integrated with more fluid, adaptive combat styles that suited heroic operations better than rigid tactical frameworks. That her Kryptonian capabilities allowed for combat creativity that military protocols had discouraged.
"You're both learning quickly," Diana said during a brief rest period, her own breathing barely elevated despite three hours of sustained combat instruction. "Connor, your analytical abilities combined with Kryptonian physiology create opportunities for combat innovation that most fighters can't access. Kara, your strategic discipline provides excellent foundations for developing more sophisticated technique."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing detecting genuine satisfaction in Diana's assessment. This wasn't empty praise—it was recognition from someone whose opinion on combat carried enormous weight.
"Diana," Connor said carefully, "can I ask you something about technique versus power?"
"Of course."
"You could defeat most opponents through pure strength and speed alone. Your divine capabilities exceed even Kryptonian baselines. But you've spent three thousand years developing technique that makes those raw capabilities more effective. Why invest that time when you're already among the most powerful beings on Earth?"
Diana's expression showed she'd anticipated the question. "Connor, imagine you have a masterpiece painting. You could hang it on any wall and it would be beautiful. But if you study composition, color theory, artistic technique, you begin to see layers of meaning and sophistication you couldn't perceive before. The painting doesn't change—your appreciation of it does."
"Combat is the same. Raw power is like owning a masterpiece without understanding art. Technique is learning to see the deeper patterns, the subtle choices, the artistic sophistication that separates crude force from genuine mastery."
Kara nodded with obvious understanding. "On Krypton, we had philosophers who argued that technology made physical refinement obsolete. But I'm beginning to understand they were wrong. Technology extends capabilities, but technique multiplies effectiveness."
"Precisely," Diana confirmed. "And for both of you, understanding this distinction is crucial. You have power that could level cities. But will you be warriors who destroy with crude force, or artists who protect with refined precision?"
Connor felt the question resonate at multiple levels. His system provided power acquisition mechanics, but Diana was offering something more fundamental—a philosophy of how to use power responsibly and effectively.
"I want to be the latter," Connor said with certainty. "Someone who uses capabilities precisely rather than just overwhelming problems with force."
"Then you're ready for the next phase," Diana said with obvious satisfaction. "Tomorrow, we begin weapons training. Your technological interface suggests you could manipulate almost any tool or weapon with superhuman precision. Let's discover what that looks like when combined with three thousand years of weapons mastery."
As the training session concluded and Connor and Kara prepared to return to Mount Justice, Connor felt his system provide updated assessments:
*[CURRENT STATUS: Level 8 (3,232/10,000 XP toward Level 9)]*
*[COMBAT CAPABILITIES: Significantly enhanced through technique integration]*
*[RELATIONSHIP: Wonder Woman (Mentor/Teacher) - Established positive training dynamic]*
*[STRATEGIC DEVELOPMENT: Combat mastery preparation proceeding optimally for Level 10 absorption]*
Connor looked at Diana, who was reviewing holographic recordings of their training session with the analytical attention of someone committed to continuous refinement of her teaching methods, and felt something profound settle into understanding.
Power without wisdom created weapons. Wisdom without power created philosophers. But power combined with wisdom, technique refined through three millennia of practice—that created heroes worthy of the title.
And Connor was determined to become exactly that kind of hero.
The path toward Level 10 continued, but more importantly, he was becoming someone worthy of the capabilities he was developing.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new training, new opportunities for growth.
And Connor couldn't wait to discover what came next.
—
# Mount Justice - Civilian Life Complications
**1430 HOURS - THREE DAYS POST-WONDER WOMAN TRAINING**
Connor sat in Mount Justice's informal common area—a space the team had gradually transformed from sterile Justice League efficiency into something that actually felt lived-in. Someone (probably M'gann) had added comfortable furniture, Kara had contributed Kryptonian artifacts that served as both decoration and conversation pieces, and Wally had installed what he claimed was "the world's most advanced gaming system" though Connor suspected it was just three consoles duct-taped together.
Black Canary entered carrying a tablet and wearing an expression Connor had learned to associate with conversations that would be simultaneously important and uncomfortable. She settled into one of the chairs across from where Connor, M'gann, and Kara had been reviewing training footage.
"Connor, M'gann, Kara," Dinah said with the gentle directness Connor appreciated about her approach, "we need to talk about something that might seem mundane compared to fighting HIVE operatives, but is actually crucial for your long-term wellbeing."
Connor felt his enhanced intuition immediately flag where this conversation was heading. "Civilian identities?"
"Civilian identities," Dinah confirmed. "M'gann, you've been living at Mount Justice since arriving on Earth, using your Martian identity exclusively. Kara, you've been staying with the Kents in Smallville but haven't established any formal documentation. And Connor—" she looked at him directly, "—you've chosen the name Connor Kent, but you have absolutely no paperwork proving you exist."
M'gann's emotional signature showed confusion about why this mattered. "Is that a problem? We're heroes. Do we need civilian documentation?"
"Yes," Dinah said firmly. "For multiple reasons, some practical and some psychological. Let me walk you through this."
She activated her tablet, displaying what appeared to be forms, identification documents, and legal paperwork. "First, the practical reality: you need legal identities to function in modern society. Bank accounts, housing, medical care, education—all of these require documentation proving you exist as recognized individuals."
Connor had been aware of this issue but hadn't fully processed its implications. His existence began in a Cadmus laboratory less than two months ago. There were no birth certificates, no school records, no medical history, no social security numbers. Legally, Connor Kent didn't exist.
"How do other heroes handle this?" Kara asked with obvious interest. "Kal-El—Superman—he has a civilian identity as Clark Kent. How was that established?"
"The Kents registered Clark as their adopted son shortly after he arrived," Dinah explained. "They had documentation, went through proper legal channels, established his identity through legitimate means. It helped that he arrived as an infant—explaining a baby's sudden appearance is easier than explaining a teenager who materializes fully formed."
Connor felt his tactical analysis working through the complications. "So we need to create fictional histories that can withstand legal scrutiny while explaining why we suddenly exist as functioning teenagers without any prior records."
"Exactly," Dinah confirmed. "Which is why the Justice League has relationships with certain government agencies that can help with... let's call it 'documentation adjustment' for extraordinary circumstances."
M'gann looked troubled. "That sounds like we'd be living a lie."
"You're already living lies," Dinah said gently but honestly. "M'gann, every time you use your human form in public, you're presenting an identity that isn't your natural appearance. Connor, when you interact with anyone outside the hero community, you're concealing abilities that fundamentally change how you experience reality. Kara, you're pretending to be a normal teenager when you're actually the last survivor of an advanced alien civilization."
Connor appreciated Dinah's directness—she wasn't sugarcoating the ethical complications, but she was providing context for why they existed.
"The question isn't whether to have secret identities," Dinah continued. "The question is whether to formalize those identities through legal documentation that allows you to participate in normal society."
"What does 'normal society' look like for people like us?" Connor asked, genuinely curious about Dinah's perspective. "We spend our time preventing international incidents and fighting enhanced criminals. How does going to high school or having a driver's license factor into that?"
Dinah's expression showed she'd anticipated this question. "Connor, let me ask you something. Three months from now, when the current crisis has passed and there's a brief period of relative calm—what do you imagine yourself doing?"
Connor considered the question while his enhanced consciousness processed the implications. "Training. Developing capabilities. Preparing for the next crisis."
"And that's all?" Dinah pressed. "No downtime, no personal relationships outside the team, no activities that have nothing to do with being a hero?"
Connor realized he'd been approaching his existence as purely functional—power acquisition, mission completion, capability development. He hadn't really thought about what life looked like beyond heroic operations.
"I don't know," Connor admitted honestly. "I've been conscious for less than two months. Figuring out how to be a hero has taken all my attention. I haven't thought much about what being a person looks like."
M'gann's emotional signature showed she understood his confusion completely. "On Mars, everyone has clearly defined roles and purposes. The concept of choosing what to do with time not spent on assigned duties is... foreign to Martian culture."
Kara nodded with similar understanding. "Kryptonian society was highly structured. Recreation and personal development were scheduled activities designed to optimize civic contribution. The Earth concept of 'free time' is still confusing to me."
Dinah smiled with obvious sympathy. "Which is exactly why we're having this conversation. All three of you come from backgrounds where identity was defined by function. But Earth culture—particularly American culture—operates differently. Identity here is something you construct through choices, relationships, experiences that have nothing to do with your abilities or your designated role."
Connor felt his enhanced analytical abilities working through what Dinah was describing. She wasn't just talking about paperwork—she was describing an entirely different way of conceptualizing existence.
"Give me an example," Connor said. "What does a civilian identity actually look like in practice?"
"Take Clark Kent," Dinah suggested. "Yes, he's Superman—probably the most powerful being on Earth. But he's also a journalist who genuinely cares about telling important stories. He has friends at the Daily Planet who know him as a colleague, not as an alien with godlike abilities. He goes to movies, eats at restaurants, dates, argues about sports, gets frustrated with his editor—he has a life that exists independently of being Superman."
"But isn't that just elaborate cover?" Kara asked. "A disguise he maintains for security purposes?"
"Initially, maybe," Dinah acknowledged. "But over time, Clark Kent became as real as Superman. The journalist identity isn't just a disguise—it's a genuine aspect of who he is. It grounds him, keeps him connected to humanity, gives him perspective beyond just responding to crises."
Connor felt something resonate with what Dinah was describing. His experiences with the Kent family, the dinner in Smallville, Martha's insistence that he was more than just his abilities—those had felt important in ways his tactical analysis couldn't fully explain.
"So civilian identity is about... being more than just a hero?" Connor asked, trying to articulate his developing understanding.
"It's about being a complete person," Dinah clarified. "Heroes who only exist as heroes tend to burn out or become detached from the people they're trying to protect. You need connections, experiences, relationships that have nothing to do with saving the world. You need to be someone, not just do something."
M'gann's emotional signature showed something like revelation. "That's why you keep encouraging us to spend time on non-mission activities. Why you suggested I take that pottery class in Happy Harbor. Why you're always asking Connor about his interests beyond training."
"Exactly," Dinah confirmed with satisfaction. "I'm not trying to distract you from heroic work. I'm trying to help you develop into complete individuals who happen to have extraordinary abilities, rather than just abilities that happen to be housed in bodies."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing working through the implications of Dinah's perspective. He'd been so focused on power acquisition and mission effectiveness that he'd treated his own existence as purely instrumental—a vehicle for heroic capabilities rather than something with intrinsic value.
"How do we even begin establishing civilian identities?" Kara asked practically. "I understand the philosophy, but what are the actual steps?"
Dinah pulled up documentation on her tablet. "First, the legal framework. The Justice League has relationships with government agencies that can create legitimate documentation for extraordinary circumstances. Birth certificates, school records, medical histories—all backdated and integrated into official systems."
"That sounds incredibly complicated," Connor observed.
"It is," Dinah agreed. "But it's also necessary. The alternative is living completely outside normal society, which creates both practical problems and psychological isolation."
She turned to Connor directly. "Connor, you've already chosen a name—Connor Kent. That's your first step toward civilian identity. Now we need to build the supporting structure. Where were you supposedly born? Who are your legal guardians? What's your educational background?"
Connor hadn't considered these questions in detail. "I assumed I'd just... exist as Connor Kent without needing elaborate backstory."
"That works until you need a driver's license, or want to open a bank account, or someone runs a background check," Dinah explained. "Modern society requires documentation at multiple levels. Without it, you're essentially invisible to legal and administrative systems."
M'gann looked troubled by the complexity. "This seems like a lot of deception. Isn't that problematic for people who are supposed to represent honesty and integrity?"
"It's a complicated ethical situation," Dinah acknowledged. "You're creating fictional histories to protect both yourselves and the people around you. But M'gann, consider the alternative—revealing that you're a Martian shapeshifter, Connor is a genetically engineered Kryptonian clone, and Kara is the last survivor of a destroyed planet. How does society handle that information?"
"With fear, curiosity, exploitation attempts, or demands for control," Kara said quietly, clearly having thought about this before. "On Krypton, we studied Earth's history. Your species has a documented pattern of responding to difference with hostility or objectification."
"Which is gradually improving," Dinah added, "but yes, revealing your true natures would create complications that would interfere with your ability to help people. Secret identities aren't about deception for deception's sake—they're about creating space where you can be normal when you need to be."
Connor felt his tactical analysis processing the strategic reasoning while his developing ethical framework worked through the moral implications. "So we're trading complete honesty for practical functionality and psychological wellbeing?"
"You're recognizing that absolute transparency isn't always the most ethical choice," Dinah clarified. "Sometimes protecting yourself and others requires selective disclosure. The question isn't whether to have secrets, but which secrets serve legitimate purposes versus which ones cause unnecessary harm."
"What would our civilian identities actually involve?" Connor asked, moving toward practical implementation. "Beyond just documentation?"
Dinah smiled, clearly pleased he was engaging seriously with the concept. "That depends on what you want your lives to look like. Connor, do you want to attend high school? Pursue education? Develop skills or interests unrelated to heroism?"
Connor considered the question while his enhanced consciousness imagined different possibilities. "I don't know. I've been so focused on capability development that I haven't thought about what I might want to do with time that isn't dedicated to heroic operations."
"Which is exactly why we're having this conversation now," Dinah said. "You're at a developmental stage where establishing patterns matters. The choices you make now about how to structure your civilian life will influence your long-term wellbeing."
M'gann's emotional signature showed growing interest. "What about me? I've been living at Mount Justice since arriving on Earth. Should I be doing something different?"
"That's up to you," Dinah replied. "But M'gann, consider this—you're spending all your time in a facility dedicated to heroic operations, surrounded by people who only know you as Miss Martian. You're not developing relationships or experiences outside that context. Is that how you want to spend your entire time on Earth?"
M'gann was quiet, clearly processing the implications. "On Mars, I was isolated because of my White Martian heritage. Coming to Earth was supposed to be a chance to experience acceptance and belonging. But if I only exist as Miss Martian, am I really experiencing Earth life, or just a different kind of isolation?"
"That's excellent self-awareness," Dinah said with obvious approval. "M'gann, you have an opportunity here to build a life that includes heroism but isn't defined exclusively by it. You could attend school, make friends who know you as a person rather than as a hero, develop interests beyond mission operations."
Kara looked between Connor and M'gann with obvious understanding. "On Krypton, I was Kara Zor-El, daughter of the House of El, assigned to protect my infant cousin during his journey to Earth. That was my entire identity—my purpose, my function, my meaning. When I arrived on Earth decades too late, that identity became irrelevant. I've been trying to reconstruct meaning through heroism, but maybe that's not enough?"
"It's not that heroism isn't enough," Dinah clarified gently. "It's that building identity solely around a single function—even a noble function—creates vulnerability. What happens when you're injured and can't be a hero temporarily? What happens during periods of relative calm when there aren't immediate crises? What happens when you're fifty years old and your body can't handle the physical demands anymore?"
Connor felt the weight of Dinah's questions. His system provided power acquisition mechanics and mission completion rewards, but it offered nothing for the existential questions about meaning and purpose beyond capability development.
"You're saying we need identities that can sustain us regardless of whether we're actively being heroes," Connor said, articulating his understanding. "Lives that have value independent of our abilities."
"Exactly," Dinah confirmed. "And Connor, that's not just philosophical—it's practical. Heroes who only exist as heroes tend to make poor decisions under pressure because they've tied their entire self-worth to successful mission completion. If failure means you lose your only source of meaning, you're more likely to take reckless chances or compromise ethics to avoid failing."
M'gann's emotional signature showed she was taking this very seriously. "So civilian identity isn't just about documentation and daily activities. It's about psychological resilience and ethical grounding?"
"Among other things," Dinah agreed. "But also about joy, connection, growth, experiencing what makes life worth living beyond just accomplishing objectives."
Connor found himself thinking about his dinner with the Kent family—the warmth, the acceptance, the simple pleasure of sharing a meal with people who cared about each other. That experience had been valuable in ways that had nothing to do with mission effectiveness or capability development.
"What would establishing a civilian identity actually look like for me?" Connor asked. "Specifically, with actual details?"
Dinah pulled up what appeared to be a draft identity framework. "Here's what I'm proposing for you: Connor Kent, age seventeen, ward of Clark and Martha Kent. Legal residence in Smallville, Kansas, with option to attend Smallville High School or continue education remotely while based at Mount Justice. Documentation shows you as a distant relative who came to live with the Kents after family complications—vague enough to discourage questions while providing legitimate legal standing."
Connor studied the framework, his enhanced analytical abilities immediately recognizing how thoroughly Dinah had thought through the implementation. "This would give me legal identity while maintaining connection to Clark's family?"
"Exactly. Martha and Clark have both agreed to serve as your legal guardians, which provides you with family connection while explaining why a teenager suddenly appeared with no prior history. The 'distant relative' story is deliberately vague—people in small towns understand that families are complicated and generally don't push for details."
"What about school?" Connor asked. "I've got downloaded knowledge that covers standard curriculum, but I've never actually attended classes or interacted with students my apparent age."
"Which is why I'm recommending you consider it," Dinah said directly. "Connor, you've spent your entire conscious existence around adults or other enhanced individuals. You haven't experienced normal teenage social dynamics, haven't learned how to navigate relationships with peers who don't have superpowers, haven't dealt with the mundane frustrations that help people develop emotional resilience."
Connor felt his tactical analysis immediately flagging potential complications. "I'd have to constantly monitor my strength, avoid revealing abilities, maintain lies about my origins—wouldn't that be more stressful than valuable?"
"Initially, yes," Dinah acknowledged. "But Connor, learning to function in normal society despite having extraordinary capabilities is a crucial life skill. You can't spend your entire existence only interacting with people who know you're a Kryptonian clone with quantum-level technological abilities."
M'gann's emotional signature showed she was having similar thoughts. "I've been thinking about attending school in Happy Harbor. The community college there has programs I'm interested in. But I'm nervous about maintaining my human appearance and not accidentally revealing my telepathic abilities."
"That nervousness is appropriate," Dinah said supportively. "M'gann, maintaining your civilian identity will require constant vigilance initially. But over time, it becomes second nature. You learn to monitor your abilities unconsciously, develop habits that maintain your cover, and eventually find that you can relax and be relatively normal despite your extraordinary nature."
Kara looked between them with obvious uncertainty. "I'm already attending Smallville High School, but I've been treating it as an obligation rather than an opportunity. The other students seem to find value in activities and relationships that feel trivial compared to heroic operations. I don't understand how to connect with people whose biggest concerns are test grades and social dynamics."
"That's because you're approaching it wrong," Dinah said gently but firmly. "Kara, those students' concerns aren't trivial—they're appropriate for their developmental stage and life circumstances. You can't expect seventeen-year-olds who've never faced life-threatening danger to care about the same things you care about."
"Then how do I relate to them?" Kara asked with genuine confusion.
"By recognizing that their experiences are valid even if they're different from yours," Dinah explained. "You find common ground in shared humanity rather than shared circumstances. You learn to appreciate that someone stressing about a chemistry test is experiencing genuine anxiety that matters to them, even if you could ace the test through superior Kryptonian memory."
Connor felt something click into understanding. "You're saying we need to develop empathy for people whose lives are fundamentally different from ours. Not because their concerns are as objectively important as preventing disasters, but because dismissing their experiences as trivial makes us disconnected from the humanity we're trying to protect."
"Perfectly stated," Dinah confirmed with obvious satisfaction. "Connor, if you can't relate to people whose biggest problem is asking someone to prom, how can you effectively protect them? How can you make ethical decisions about their wellbeing if you don't understand what actually makes their lives meaningful?"
M'gann's emotional signature showed revelation. "That's why Kal-El works as a journalist. Not just as cover, but because it keeps him connected to human concerns at ground level. He interviews people, hears their stories, understands what matters to them beyond just physical safety."
"Exactly," Dinah agreed. "Clark Kent is as important to Superman's effectiveness as Kryptonian abilities. Maybe more important, because powers without perspective creates problems rather than solving them."
Connor found himself genuinely intrigued by the prospect of civilian identity development. "What would attending Smallville High School actually involve? Specific daily activities, I mean."
Dinah smiled, clearly pleased he was engaging seriously. "You'd wake up at a reasonable hour—not 0600 for training—and spend time on normal morning activities. Breakfast, getting dressed in civilian clothes, maybe watching news that isn't focused on global crises. Then you'd attend classes, interact with students and teachers who know you as Connor Kent rather than Superboy, deal with homework and tests and social dynamics."
"That sounds mundane," Connor observed.
"It is mundane," Dinah confirmed. "That's the point. You need exposure to mundane, Connor. Your entire existence has been extraordinary circumstances and high-stakes operations. You haven't experienced normal, boring, everyday life that most humans live. How can you protect something you've never experienced?"
The question resonated more deeply than Connor had expected. His tactical analysis had always focused on threat assessment and mission effectiveness, but Dinah was highlighting a gap in his understanding—he didn't actually know what normal human life felt like.
"Would I be able to balance school with hero operations?" Connor asked practically. "If there's an emergency, I can't exactly ask for a hall pass to save the world."
"That's why remote learning is an option," Dinah said. "But Connor, we have multiple heroes available for emergency response. You don't need to be available for every crisis. Learning to let others handle situations while you focus on personal development is actually important for long-term sustainability."
"That feels wrong," Connor admitted. "Like I'm shirking responsibility by prioritizing civilian activities over heroic availability."
"That feeling is exactly why we're having this conversation," Dinah said firmly. "Connor, you're seventeen years old—chronologically much younger—and you've been treating yourself as a full-time crisis responder since gaining consciousness. That's not sustainable, healthy, or even optimal for mission effectiveness. Burnout is real, and it affects even people with Kryptonian physiology."
M'gann nodded with understanding. "Uncle J'onn has talked to me about this. He said that Martian telepaths who spend all their time connected to others' minds eventually lose sense of their own identity. They need time disconnected, experiencing individual consciousness, or they become just conduits for others' thoughts rather than independent beings."
"Same principle," Dinah confirmed. "You need time and experiences that are about your own development, not about serving others. That's not selfish—it's necessary maintenance for your ability to continue serving effectively."
Kara looked thoughtful. "On Krypton, there were mandatory rest cycles and recreational activities built into everyone's schedule. We understood that optimal performance required recovery time. But I've been treating Earth heroism as different—like there's always another crisis that matters more than my own wellbeing."
"There will always be another crisis," Dinah said gently but honestly. "Always. If you wait for a perfect time when all problems are solved and you can relax without guilt, you'll never relax. You have to choose to prioritize your own wellbeing despite ongoing challenges."
Connor felt the wisdom in Dinah's words, but also the difficulty of implementing them. His system incentivized constant advancement, regular XP acquisition, strategic capability development. Taking time for "normal life" felt like falling behind on progression goals.
But maybe that was exactly the problem. Maybe viewing his existence purely through progression mechanics was creating the disconnection Dinah was warning about.
"Okay," Connor said, making a decision that felt both significant and frightening. "I'll do it. Establish formal civilian identity, consider attending Smallville High School, try to experience normal life alongside heroic operations. But Dinah, I'm going to need help. I don't actually know how to be a normal teenager."
Dinah's smile was radiant with genuine pleasure. "Connor, none of us know how to be normal teenagers. We're all figuring it out as we go. The difference is you'll be doing it with support, guidance, and people who understand your unique challenges."
M'gann's emotional signature showed determination. "I'll do it too. Attend community college in Happy Harbor, develop civilian identity, try to connect with humans beyond just heroic operations. Though I'm terrified of accidentally revealing my true nature."
"That fear is appropriate and will help keep you careful," Dinah assured her. "M'gann, you've already demonstrated excellent control of your abilities. Trust yourself to maintain your cover while still allowing yourself to relax and be relatively normal."
Kara nodded slowly. "I'll try to approach Smallville High School differently. Not as an obligation or cover story, but as an opportunity to understand human development and connect with people whose experiences are different from mine."
"Perfect," Dinah said with satisfaction. "All three of you are making choices that will benefit your long-term wellbeing enormously. This isn't weakness or distraction—it's essential maintenance for sustainable heroism."
She pulled up additional documentation on her tablet. "Now, let's discuss specifics. Connor, we'll work with Martha to establish your legal guardianship paperwork and enrollment at Smallville High School. M'gann, I'll help you apply to Happy Harbor Community College and find housing that gives you some independence while keeping you connected to the team. Kara, let's develop strategies for engaging more genuinely with your existing school situation."
"When would this start?" Connor asked.
"Immediately," Dinah replied. "We'll begin paperwork processing this week, with target implementation in approximately two weeks. That gives you time to prepare psychologically while ensuring documentation is properly established."
Connor felt his enhanced emotional processing working through complex feelings—anxiety about exposing himself to normal teenage social dynamics, excitement about experiencing something beyond heroic operations, uncertainty about how to balance civilian and hero identities.
"Dinah," Connor said carefully, "what happens if I'm terrible at being a normal teenager? What if I can't relate to people, can't maintain my cover, can't find value in activities that don't involve saving lives?"
"Then you'll have learned something important about yourself," Dinah replied without judgment. "Connor, this isn't a test you can fail. It's an opportunity to explore different aspects of identity and experience. If civilian life doesn't work for you, that's valuable information. But you need to try it before deciding it's not worthwhile."
M'gann's emotional signature showed she had similar concerns. "What if people don't like me? What if I'm too different, too strange, too obviously not human despite my shapeshifting?"
"Then you'll find the people who appreciate you anyway," Dinah said with gentle certainty. "M'gann, not everyone will like you, and that's true for everyone regardless of species. The goal isn't universal acceptance—it's finding genuine connections with people who appreciate you for who you are."
Kara looked between them with obvious sympathy. "I've been struggling with this at Smallville High School. Most students are friendly but keep distance because I seem 'different' in ways they can't quite identify. It's lonely, honestly."
"That loneliness is real and valid," Dinah acknowledged. "Kara, being different while trying to appear normal is genuinely difficult. But isolation isn't the answer—connection is. You keep trying, keep putting yourself in situations where genuine relationships might develop, and eventually you find your people."
"How do you know?" Kara asked with vulnerability that Connor hadn't seen from her before. "How do you know we'll find people who accept us?"
"Because I did," Dinah said simply. "I'm a metahuman with sonic abilities, which makes me fundamentally different from baseline humans. I spent years feeling isolated, different, like I could never fully be myself around anyone. But I found Oliver, I found the Justice League, I found people who appreciated both my abilities and my humanity. You will too."
Connor felt something warm settle in his chest—hope, maybe, or just recognition that Dinah genuinely understood their challenges from personal experience rather than abstract theory.
"Thank you," Connor said quietly. "For understanding this is difficult, and for helping us navigate it anyway."
"That's what I'm here for," Dinah replied with obvious warmth. "Connor, M'gann, Kara—you're all extraordinary individuals with remarkable capabilities. But you're also just young people trying to figure out who you are and how to live meaningful lives. That's universal, regardless of whether you can fly or read minds or manipulate technology at quantum level."
As the conversation concluded and they prepared to begin the civilian identity establishment process, Connor felt his system provide unexpected feedback:
*[PERSONAL DEVELOPMENT MILESTONE ACHIEVED]*
*[IDENTITY EXPANSION: Recognition that heroic capabilities don't define complete personhood]*
*[RELATIONSHIP ADVANCEMENT: Dinah Lance (Mentor/Guide) - Trusted advisor for non-tactical development]*
*[XP GAINED: 0 - Personal growth isn't quantified through advancement mechanics]*
The final line made Connor pause. His system was explicitly stating that this kind of development didn't generate XP, wasn't measured through progression metrics, existed outside the advancement framework.
Which maybe was exactly the point Dinah had been making. Not everything valuable could be quantified, optimized, or turned into strategic advantage.
Some things—like becoming a complete person rather than just a collection of capabilities—were their own reward.
Connor looked at M'gann and Kara, both of whom were processing similar revelations about identity and development, and felt like they were about to embark on an adventure that might be more challenging than any mission they'd faced.
They were going to try being normal.
And somehow, that felt more terrifying and exciting than fighting enhanced criminals or preventing international incidents.
The path toward Level 10 continued, but more importantly, Connor was becoming someone worthy of the life he was building.
Tomorrow would bring paperwork, enrollment processes, and the beginning of his civilian identity.
And Connor couldn't wait to discover what it meant to be Connor Kent, not just Superboy.
---
**CURRENT STATUS:**
- **Level:** 8 (3,617/10,000 XP toward Level 9)
- **Progress toward Level 10:** 72.3% complete
- **Civilian Identity:** Establishment in progress
- **Personal Development:** Significant advancement in understanding complete personhood
The adventure continued, but now it included homework, social dynamics, and the challenge of being extraordinary while appearing normal.
Connor was ready for all of it.
---
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