The meeting, if it could still be called that, had drifted into the realm of white noise.
Arias's voice carried the rhythm of someone delivering information without truly expecting absorption.
He moved smoothly from one subject to another—advancements in deep-tissue regenerative protocols, new prototypes for quantum memory archives, real-time forensic mapping using trace heat displacement. Things even Dr. October had to occasionally pause to fully digest.
The rest of the room? Less engaged.
Slade had all but melted into his chair, one hand lazily supporting his head. His eye remained open, barely, more out of defiance than attention.
Across from him, Rose nursed a tall can of something fluorescent, sipping like her life depended on it. She hadn't blinked in over a minute.
Tala sat upright, though more from pride than interest. Terra mimicked attention, her fingers drumming lightly on the armrest whenever the topic lingered too long.
Poison Ivy wore a strained expression—part endurance, part environmentalist dread. Dr. June and Raven said nothing, both watching Arias with the kind of stillness reserved for people afraid of missing something important.
Diana's posture was perfect as always, but the occasional furrow in her brow showed she didn't understand much of what was being said.
Cheshire, of course, looked like she was enjoying a private joke. Her gaze ping-ponged between the others, noting reactions, filing them away.
Mercy hadn't moved in twenty minutes. Her scowl had settled into something close to a default expression. Not rage. Just fatigue-fueled contempt.
Behind Arias's chair, Nearithea stood with her arms loosely folded behind her back, gaze straight ahead.
The smirk on her lips hadn't budged once. She wasn't absorbing the conversation—she was absorbing the stares.
Pride wasn't the right word. She simply looked satisfied.
Arias's voice continued, not faltering, not rising. Just… there. He wasn't actually trying to inform. He was waiting.
He could sense it now.
Approaching.
He glanced briefly at the corner of the room—barely perceptible, but there was a flicker. Like static on a perfectly still screen. Time dilated slightly. Enough to confirm the presence. He waited three more seconds.
Then, just as he began to speak on a topic about using AI to profile criminals through micro-muscle twitches in surveillance footage, he stopped mid-sentence.
Everyone noticed.
Slade blinked. Rose lowered her can.
Mercy's brow twitched.
Arias turned his head—not sharply, not urgently—toward the tall windowed wall that looked over the morning-stained skyline of Gotham.
The others followed.
Outside, through the tinted glass, the unmistakable silhouette hovered.
Superman.
He didn't descend like a symbol. He approached like a force of nature trying to contain itself. His eyes were fixed—burning with an expression few had seen on him and lived to talk about. Anger. Restrained, but real.
His cape flared behind him, caught in winds that didn't exist at ground level. The morning sun cast sharp outlines across his frame, painting him in the golden hues of someone who still believed in "right" and "wrong," despite mounting evidence to the contrary.
Then he stopped.
Mid-air.
His eyes shifted—subtle at first—narrowing as he locked onto something. Not Arias. Not the table.
Nearithea.
The resemblance was obvious. Too obvious.
And that was when the window cracked.
KZZT! A narrow beam of red seared through the tempered glass. A perfect line carved itself into the surface before the heat reached its threshold and—
SHHHK!
—a circular portion of the window exploded inward, vapor around the edges.
Wind rushed into the room, sudden and sharp. Papers rustled. Rose's hair whipped across her face. Dr. October blinked against the breeze. Nearithea's hair didn't move. She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
Superman floated forward through the newly made entrance, slow and careful. His boots hovered inches above the polished floor as his cape billowed in the wind still pouring in behind him.
The entire room shifted.
Postures straightened. Eyes locked.
Diana looked toward Arias immediately. So did Slade, though his reaction was punctuated with a raised brow.
"I'll give it to him," Slade muttered under his breath. "Definitely has balls of steel."
Superman's eyes remained fixed on Nearithea, asking, "who is that?"
She still hadn't looked at him.
Her gaze, like everyone else's, remained on Arias.
Arias, seated, exhaled softly. No irritation. No fear. Just… exhaled.
He stood.
Not rushed. Not lazy. Just fluid, like the gravity in the room obeyed him before anyone else.
He adjusted the front of his jacket, eyes never leaving Superman. Then, with a faint sigh, he said—
"You're asking the wrong questions."
Superman didn't move.
Arias tilted his head slightly, his tone dropping into something that resembled mild disappointment more than anything else.
"What you should be asking," he continued, "is why you thought it was a good idea to trespass on sovereign land."
The silence that followed wasn't heavy.
It was surgical.
And Superman… for the first time in a long time… looked like he wasn't sure if he had an answer.
The sound of Superman's boots against the floor had barely faded when Nearithea stepped forward.
Not aggressively. Not urgently. Just one step. Her hands remained clasped behind her back, but her golden eyes had narrowed slightly, like a child spotting something suspicious at the edge of the playground.
"Is he bad people, daddy?" she asked.
Her voice carried a sweet rhythm, that unnatural blend of adolescent curiosity wrapped around weapon-grade intent. It wasn't sarcasm. It wasn't theater. She meant it.
And she meant every word.
It should've sounded ridiculous. But it didn't. Something about the way she said "daddy" — soft, possessive, certain — made even the skeptics shift in their seats.
Mercy frowned and looked away, jaw tight.
Tala's fingers tapped gently against her thigh, her expression unreadable.
Ivy didn't bother hiding her disapproval. Her brow creased, and she folded her arms tighter.
But Nearithea didn't care. She hadn't taken her eyes off Superman.
Superman, still tense, still trying to process the absurdity of her presence, watched her like someone staring at a mirror with too many unfamiliar details. Then his gaze finally broke from her and shifted back to Arias.
"She's a clone," he said, like he'd solved something.
Arias didn't blink. "Well, that much is obvious."
He walked around the side of his chair, brushing his fingers across the edge as if dusting it off. "Though I wouldn't take all the credit. She was already quite grown when we… liberated her from Cadmus."
Nearithea gave a tiny nod, proud and unbothered.
"And from what I know," Arias added, "she wasn't the only Kryptonian specimen. But I digress."
He looked back at Superman, smile evaporating. "Your presence here isn't welcome. So unless there's a good reason—"
Superman's restraint cracked.
"Just what is your end goal?" he snapped. "How many lives had to be lost for you to sit on your little throne and play savior? What gave you the right… all of you?"
He swept his arm toward the table, toward the seated rogues and outcasts.
Slade just chuckled, low and lazy. "He says that like we needed permission."
Rose smirked behind her energy drink. Cheshire outright grinned, resting her chin in her palm, looking thoroughly entertained.
Mercy's frown deepened. Ivy rolled her eyes. Tala watched Superman with a kind of tired contempt. Harley leaned back in her chair and yawned, one eye still slightly closed from her interrupted nap.
Raven said nothing. Neither did Terra. Dr. June looked to Arias, trying to gauge whether this was about to end in incineration or negotiation. Diana's jaw tightened, but she remained still.
And then Arias spoke.
"Spare me your theatrics, Superman."
His tone was cold. Not angry. Just final.
"You can pretend as much as you want that you care about humanity. But you don't. You care about the image it brings you."
He stepped forward, slow.
"For years, governments have killed by the millions—silently, efficiently. Some still do. And where were you? Smiling for cameras. Taking press calls. Flying in to stop bank robbers while genocides unfolded behind embargoed headlines."
Superman's fists clenched. His breath caught, just slightly.
"How many years would it have taken your justice-clouded mind to see the truth? To see what they fed you? Hm?"
Arias stopped a few paces away from him.
"You're quick to blame others. But you won't acknowledge your own failure. Not here. Not in this city."
Superman's posture shifted—still proud, but shaken.
Arias didn't let up.
"Global change doesn't come with applause. It comes with blood. History teaches that. Always has."
He turned away, pace calm, unaffected.
"So before you barge into my building again, you may want to check your own shortcomings."
He passed Nearithea without looking at her.
"Be a dear," he said casually, "and get him out of my city."
That smile came back to her face instantly. The soft kind. Like a child being asked to set the table. Her feet left the floor without a sound, hovering just slightly.
To those attuned enough, the air shifted.
A ripple. Barely there.
But Superman felt it. He stepped back, preparing to brace—
Too late.
**BOOM**
The sound barrier shattered.
The windows cracked across the entire wall, spiderweb lines screaming through reinforced glass.
Nearithea was a blur of black and green and gold, and then she wasn't.
She was just… there. In front of him.
Her fist connected with his chest in a single, clean movement.
**THOOM**
The impact sent Superman rocketing backwards through the same hole he'd created. His body vanished in a streak of red and blue and force, swallowed by the morning sky.
The wind howled through the ruined window.