The G-Gnome blinked. Or what passed for a blink—tiny pulses of bioluminescence flickering beneath its skin as it sat unmoving on a desk cluttered with datapads and cooling coffee.
Below, in the center of the sterile, cavernous lab, Dr. Mark Desmond paced in spirals. The scent of fear leaked from him—sweat, cortisol, adrenaline muted beneath cologne and the illusion of control. His shoes clicked. Clicked. Clicked. Then—
Silence.
Seven screens descended from the ceiling like gods lowering judgment from Olympus. Glowing blue backgrounds. White outlines. No faces.
Only voices.
"Dr. Desmond, you require an audience with the Light?" one voice asked—male, cold, and coiled with anger barely restrained.
Desmond flinched. A small thing. A twitch of the fingers.
"Yes," he said, almost tripping over the words. "Very sorry to disturb you at this late hour."
"Just make your report," another voice snapped. Sharper. Annoyed. Like this was all beneath them.
"Of course," Desmond said too quickly. His hands moved to his coat, then to his notes, then back to nothing. "Ahem."
The G-Gnome noted a spike in his pulse. Blood pressure up. Sweat at the temples.
"Ahem," Desmond repeated. "Well, we had a… small fire. Here. At Project Cadmus. The origin of the incident is still unclear, but—" a pause, a swallow, "—it appears to have attracted some… unwanted attention."
Even as he spoke, the live feeds shifted.
Cameras adjusted.
Visuals cut in.
Four still figures restrained within cloning pods.
They all looked the same to the G-gnome, except for one.
The anomaly. Unknown file. Unclassified.
Superboy, a fellow genomorph stood in front of them all. Eyes blank. Breathing steady.
"The three sidekicks—Robin, Aqualad, and Kid Flash—breached security... alongside an unknown assailant. They found and released the weapon. The Superboy. Of course, the clone is under our telepathic control and, as ordered, turned against his would-be liberators. The four are contained, and... we do not believe the League is aware they are here."
He exhaled, but the silence that followed wasn't relief. It was the pause before judgment.
A flicker of static across the center screen.
"...What should I do with them?" Desmond asked at last.
No answer came immediately.
Then:
"Clone the sidekicks," the second voice said, matter-of-fact, as though reading off a list.
"The substitutes will serve the Light, and only the Light," the deeper voice agreed.
"And the originals?" Desmond asked.
"Dispose of them. Leave no trace."
There was no hesitation in the order, only in Desmond's grin as it curled up his face like a wound.
Still, something lingered on his tongue.
"And the…" He tried, only to be interrupted.
"As for the unknown," said the deeper voice, without missing a beat. "Extract his memories and proceed accordingly. Will that be all, Dr. Desmond?"
Silence.
Desmond swallowed. Then lowered his head slightly, sheepish.
"We... already attempted that."
A shift among the G-Gnomes nearby. A ripple. A psychic pressure change as more minds melded into one to observe the conversation.
"Alongside considerable stealth capabilities—he infiltrated the weapon's chamber undetected—he appears to possess some kind of... telepathic shield. The genomorphs assigned to probe his mind have since become…"
He paused. Chose the word.
"...Catatonic."
A quiet beat.
The G-Gnome watched Desmond sweat.
Until a third voice spoke.
"Stealth and a mental shield, hmm? Try to keep him contained. An operative will arrive shortly to take this... Unknown into custody."
It was smoother than the others. Polished. Curious.
The first voice returned, sharp with offense.
"Now now, there's no need to rush... He should be cloned as well. Surely the League of Shadows shouldn't be the only one to benefit from this windfall?"
Desmond did not move.
He stood stiff in his lab coat, posture perfect, gaze fixed straight ahead. But inside, his nerves screamed. He was still on the call—still listening—and he shouldn't be. He knew he shouldn't be.
But what else could he do?
Cutting the call meant disrespect. Staying on meant exposure to informational hazard.
So he said nothing as the titans on the screen continued to weigh the fate of lives like coin.
And Dubbilex, observing everything through the eyes of the G-Gnome present, blinked slowly, tail flicking once.
His plan was proceeding smoothly enough. He knew not what obstacles he and his fellow genomorphs would have to face on the path to freedom, but he was not afraid. Not in the slightest.
The protegees shall be awakened shortly
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A dozen levels underneath, Ren Zu appeared unconscious.
Outwardly, his body hung limp in its restraints—his arms bound, his legs shackled, breath shallow and uneven. But within, he was alert, even though the three sidekicks were not.
This was not a miracle, but calculation. Just before Superboy's fist met his skull, Ren Zu activated the Yellow Horse Longhorn Beetle Gu, increasing his body's endurance slightly. He had also surrendered intentionally, leading to a milder concussion than the rest.
Now he was trying to meditate and gather his thoughts, even though it was almost impossible.
He was not panicking despite his current situation. There was no fear, not even anger.
Only confusion—no, bafflement—gnawed at him like a persistent itch behind the eye.
He could hardly maintain his feigned unconsciousness. He knew something within himself was very wrong.
As he looked inwardly to his aperture, he expected to see his pitiful primeval sea and his two gu floating within.
But instead, he saw only black mist filling up his aperture from top to bottom.
A thick, slow-moving fog that coiled like smoke and pushed against the thin shell of light forming his apperture walls. Small bits of black mist even seemed to phase through the apperure walls and dissipate into his body!
Suffice to say, Ren Zu was stumped. He had no idea what had happened to his aperture, but it certainly looked ominous.
I didn't have time to consider it before, but my aperture was already empty the moment I fell into the void. Yet, I was still able to use the Dragonpill Cricket Gu and the Yellow Horse Gu, as if I still had primeval essence left.
His eyes didn't open. His body didn't twitch.
Only the flicker of thought moved.
Could this black mist be the reason?
And if so, what the hell is it?