LOUNGE
The bioship has been silent the whole way back. That silence carries into the lounge. It's suffocating.
The Team is scattered across the room like debris after an explosion. Robin sits on the couch, hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it has answers. Kid Flash paces near the wall, jittering with leftover adrenaline. M'gann stands by the window, hugging herself, staring at her reflection in the rain-streaked glass. Superboy leans against a pillar, arms folded, jaw tight. Aqualad remains standing, posture rigid — commander, mediator, barely holding it together.
Phantom is nowhere to be seen. His absence feels heavier than his presence ever did.
Robin breaks the silence first, voice sharp, too loud in the quiet:
Robin: "We brought a psycho onto the Team. Batman's psycho."
The words hang there like a thrown knife.
Kid Flash stops pacing, spins toward him.
Kid Flash: "Wow. Subtle. Maybe tell us how you feel, Rob."
Robin snaps his head up, eyes flashing.
Robin: "You saw what he did, Wally. What do you want me to call him?!"
M'gann turns from the window, her voice soft, trembling.
M'gann: "I… I couldn't feel anything from him. It's like he's… hollow. Like a person-sized black hole. He scares me."
Her words land heavier than Robin's, making even Kid Flash pause.
Superboy finally speaks, voice low, edged with something uncomfortably like admiration.
Superboy: "He got the job done. None of you can say you could've done it cleaner."
Robin shoots him a glare.
Robin: "Cleaner? You call that clean? That was a massacre, Conner."
Superboy: "And if he hadn't done it? The hostages would be dead. You want a body count? Start there."
Kid Flash throws up his hands.
Kid Flash: "Clean? I'm pretty sure I still smell him. You know what copper and death smell like? Because I do now. Thanks to him."
Aqualad slams his palms onto the table. The sound silences everyone.
Aqualad: "Enough."
He looks at each of them, his voice calm but carrying a tremor of anger beneath it.
Aqualad: "This Team will fracture if we do not confront this."
He doesn't have to say what "this" is. They all know.
Robin (internal): "Batman made this call. So why do I feel like I'm the one who brought him here? Like I'm responsible for whatever he is."
M'gann (internal): "He's not empty because he wants to be. He's empty because someone made him that way. But knowing that doesn't make me any less afraid of him."
Superboy (internal): "He fights like I want to. No holding back. No rules. So why does it make me sick watching him do it?"
They fall silent again. The questions Phantom left in his wake are bigger than any of them.
Close-up: Robin's fists clenched white. Close-up: M'gann's reflection in the rain-streaked glass. Close-up: Superboy grinding his teeth.
Phantom's not in the room. But he's everywhere.
---
SECURE BRIEFING ROOM Dark. Quiet. The kind of quiet that presses on your chest.
Batman stands before a holographic display, the footage looping in grim silence: Phantom in the Blüdhaven corridors. Shadow-spikes through bodies. Blood pooling under boots. Hostages crying in the corner. Every frame is a case study in controlled brutality.
Batman doesn't blink. Doesn't flinch. But his jaw is set tight enough to hurt.
Cadmus made him for this. They made him do what we don't. What we won't. And he's very, very good at it.
Footsteps.
Wonder Woman enters, the door hissing shut behind her. She stops beside him, eyes flicking to the footage.
Wonder Woman: "I heard what happened."
Batman says nothing.
Wonder Woman: "You put him with children. After this." (gesturing at the slaughter on the display) "Why?"
Batman exhales — slow, measured.
Batman: "Because he's too dangerous for prison. Too conditioned to be reformed. You don't cage someone like that. You watch them. You try to… redirect them."
Wonder Woman: "Redirect? Bruce butchered them. That wasn't a fight. That was execution."
Batman finally turns to face her, his expression unreadable.
Batman: "And the hostages are alive."
Her jaw tightens.
Wonder Woman: "At what cost? He doesn't follow our code. He doesn't want to. You think you can make him a hero?"
Hero? No. That isn't what this is. He's not a Robin. He's not one of mine. He's something Cadmus pulled from the dark and sharpened into a blade. And blades don't become heroes. They become tools… or threats.
Batman's silence stretches for a beat before he answers, low and steady:
Batman: "No. I think I can stop him from becoming something worse."
Wonder Woman studies him — searching for the man under the cowl.
Wonder Woman: "And if you fail?"
Batman turns back to the footage. Phantom walks through bodies like they're obstacles, not people.
Batman: "…Then at least I'll know exactly where he is."
For a long moment, they just stand there, watching the loop. Watching the boy who shouldn't be alive but somehow is, forged into something neither hero nor villain — something else entirely.
If I can redirect that rage… if I can aim it… he could be more than a liability. He could be a deterrent. For them. For the League. For anyone who thinks they can touch what we protect.
Wonder Woman: "You're gambling with the Team. With those children."
Batman: "I'm gambling on him. And I don't gamble unless I see a chance."
Close-up: The hologram freezes on Phantom — hood down, face blood-streaked, eyes cold and hollow.
The League has its ideals. I have my contingencies. Maybe… he can be both.
Batman (internal): If I can't bring him back from what Cadmus made him… then at least I'll know when the weapon they built turns on us. And I'll be ready.
---
DARKENED TRAINING It's late. The kind of late where even the Watchtower feels empty.
Lights dimmed to a low hum; the bay looks cavernous, hollow. Phantom sits cross-legged in the center, silent and still. His hood's off, sweat clinging to his hairline, like he's been at this for hours — or maybe just… sitting there.
He's not training. He's waiting. But for what?
A faint rustle.
M'gann steps in, barefoot, deliberate, as if even sound might break this moment. Her hands are clasped nervously in front of her.
She stops just a few feet away. Watches him for a moment.
M'gann: "You don't sleep much, do you?"
Phantom doesn't answer. Doesn't move.
M'gann: "Neither do I. Not when my head's loud."
That gets him — a tiny twitch of his fingers.
She takes that as permission and kneels across from him, careful to keep her distance.
M'gann: "You know… you don't have to carry this alone." (her voice is soft, careful) "I can help you. I can… see what you've been through. Help you sort it."
Phantom finally looks at her. His eyes are tired, guarded, but not hostile.
Phantom: "You want to go poking around in my head?"
M'gann: "Not… poking. Just… listening. If you let me. You don't even have to say anything."
Silence stretches.
Cadmus stripped me down to nothing. Left me hollow. What does she think she'll find?
Phantom tilts his head, just slightly — like weighing a weapon.
Phantom: "Why?"
M'gann: "Because I've been there. Not Cadmus… but lost. Hurt. Alone. You don't have to stay that way."
Another long beat.
This is either a trap. Or a lifeline. And I don't know which one's worse.
Phantom exhales slowly
Phantom: "Fine."
It's almost a whisper. But it's permission.
M'gann's eyes soften with relief. She inches a bit closer and closes her own.
M'gann: "Okay. Just… breathe. Let me in."
Phantom doesn't breathe. But he doesn't stop her either.
Her fingers barely graze his temple — a touch so light it could be imagined — and then her mind brushes against his.
FLASH —
Cold. Metal restraints biting into wrists. Blinding lights overhead. Screams — his, and others. Slade's voice, low and unyielding: "Again. Do it again. You're nothing if you don't obey."
FLASH —
Blood. Too much of it. Shadow-tendrils stabbing through bodies. No faces. Just shapes. Ghosts.
Darkness.
Then — a crack of light. Blinding.
A hallway stretches out forever — Cadmus white, walls too clean to be real, the air reeking of bleach and copper.
Footsteps. His footsteps. Bare. Small. Echoing.
FLASH —
A door slams. Screaming. Not words — just pain, muffled by thick glass. Shapes move behind the walls — human, but wrong. Bent. Broken.
FLASH —
Cold metal biting wrists. He's strapped down. Can't move. Can't breathe.
A face leans over him — Mei. Her voice is soft, shaking:Mei: "I'm sorry, Kade…"A touch on his temple. A hiss.
FLASH —
Everything burns. His name unravels. His face. His life. Gone.
FLASH —
Slade's voice. Low. Everywhere.Slade: "You are no one. You are the mission."A hand — gloved, heavy, forcing his head up.
FLASH —
Blood.On his hands.On the floor.On the boy.
A boy his age. Tied to a chair. Eyes wide, pleading. His mouth is moving, but there's no sound. Just the endless hum of Cadmus machines.
Phantom's own hands tremble, a knife hovering.
Don't make me do this. Please. Don't make me—
FLASH —
The knife drives forward. Red. So much red.Silence.
FLASH —
Drills. Screams. Shadows ripping free from his body, impaling moving targets. "Again." Slade's voice. Always Slade's voice.
FLASH —
A mirror. He's staring at himself — but it isn't him. Hooded. Hollow-eyed. Phantom.
The mirror shatters.
Darkness.
Then light — sterile white, stabbing the eyes.
A voice — distant, clinical. Mei: "Subject Kade-07. Begin cognitive erasure sequence."
Metal restraints bite. Something cold snakes into his veins. The lights hum louder.
FLASH —
Rows of test subjects in glass chambers. Their faces blurred, their mouths open in soundless screams. One clawing at the glass until nails snap and tear away.
FLASH —
Mei's face, close now. Whispering.Mei: "I'm sorry, Kade… This isn't your fault."Her hand trembles over the console. A button clicks.
His memories burn away.
FLASH —
A child's drawing — a house, a sister — burns in a metal tray. Gone.
FLASH —
Slade. Standing over him like a shadow that's learned to speak.Slade: "Stand."Phantom — younger, smaller — collapses.Slade: "Stand."A kick to the ribs. Hard enough to bruise.Slade: "Again."
The boy rises.
FLASH —
Combat drills. Endless. Bleeding knuckles. Broken ribs. Children sparring until one doesn't get up. Slade clapped once . Slade: "Acceptable."
FLASH —
Strapped to a chair. Electrodes biting his skull.Cadmus Scientist: "Fear response dampened. Aggression response elevated. Mark it."
FLASH —
A cell. Phantom curled in a corner. His shadows pin him down like shackles.
FLASH —
The first kill.
The boy was tied to the chair. Same age. Crying.Slade: "Do it."Phantom hesitates. Slade: "Do it, or you take his place."
The knife sinks i. The boy's eyes go empty.
FLASH —
Assassinations. One after another. Faces blur. Blood splatters.A woman in a red dress at a gala. A guard in a stairwell. A man is sleeping in his bed. All end the same way: in silence.
FLASH —
Mei again. Hands raised, pleading.Mei: "You're more than this. Kade, please—"
Shadows erupt. Her body hits the wall.
His hands are shaking. But the spike through her chest doesn't waver.
Her last words: "I'm so sorry."
FLASH —
Slade's voice — louder now, everywhere, wrapping around him like chains.Slade: "You are no one. You are the mission."
FLASH —
A mirror.
Phantom stares. Blood-soaked. Hood up. Eyes black as voids.
The mirror cracks. Splinters.
There's no Kade. Only Phantom.
The connection snaps like a live wire.
M'gann is thrown back into herself, gasping, hands clutching at the floor like she's searching for an anchor. Her heart's racing. Her skin feels wrong. Cadmus is still on her.
Phantom is standing now.
Shaking. Fists clenched so tight his knuckles are pale. His shadows writhe faintly around him, like they're alive — like they're angry.
He doesn't look at her.
Phantom (low, dangerous): "Stay out of my head."
It's almost a growl. But under it — buried deep — there's something else. A tremor. A plea.
M'gann swallows hard, tears stinging. Her voice is barely a whisper.
M'gann: "You're… you're not supposed to survive that."
That makes him pause. Just for a second. His shoulders tense — like the words scraped against some part of him he doesn't want touched.
But he doesn't turn. Doesn't answer.
He just walks away.
Slow. Controlled. Leaving is the only thing keeping him from breaking.
M'gann stays there, trembling on the floor, Cadmus still burning behind her eyes.
The bay feels colder now. Empty.
And for the first time since joining the Team, she realizes — Phantom isn't just dangerous. He's unnatural. A boy who should have died a hundred times over but didn't. A boy who doesn't know how to be alive.
---
WATCHTOWER — SECURE ARCHIVE ROOM
Dim. Still. The hum of servers is the only sound.
Batman stands before a glowing console, Phantom's profile filling the screen. Cadmus stamps. Redacted paragraphs. A face that doesn't belong to a boy — just an asset.
He scrolls through the file: PROJECT NOCTURNE — WEAPONIZATION INITIATIVE SUBJECT 07: DESIGNATION 'PHANTOM'
Conditioning protocols. Psychological suppression. Kill quotas.
His jaw tightens.
They didn't just make a weapon. They made a contingency. And now he's mine to control — or fail to.
His hand lingers over the console, knuckles white against the edge. He exhales through his nose — slow, measured, like he's swallowing the weight of what he's taken on.
Batman (internal):If this doesn't work… God help us all.
MOUNT JUSTICE — TRAINING BAY
Phantom sits alone in the dark.
The bay lights are off, but the faint glow of the emergency strips cuts across him in jagged lines, making him look less like a boy and more like the thing Cadmus built.
He's crouched over a bucket, scrubbing his gloves. Red streaks in the water. His movements are frantic but mechanical, over and over like a ritual.
Phantom (muttering, low): "It won't come off. It won't come off. It won't—"
He stops. Stares at his hands. They're clean now — but not to him.
A shadow twitches across the floor — his own — like it's alive.
He doesn't look up.
Batman alone with his screens. Phantom alone with his ghosts.
Two men playing with fire. One thinks he can control it. The other knows he can't.
Batman (internal):If this doesn't work…
Phantom (whispering): "…It won't come off."
BATMAN (internal):God help us all.