MISSION ROOM, MOUNT JUSTICE.
The zeta-tube hum has barely faded from Red Arrow's exit. The room feels larger without him — emptier, heavier.
Aqualad lingers at the console, hands moving with deliberate precision, keying in an override few on the Team even know exists.
The screen blinks. Static. Then a single name burns across the hologram:
PROJECT NOCTURNE.
His gills flare.
Most of it is blacked out — a graveyard of redacted paragraphs. But fragments bleed through the censorship like warnings:
Status: Weapon.
Emotional Conditioning: Unstable.
Containment Protocol: Priority Alpha.
Aqualad's jaw tightens.
This is not a file for a teammate. This is a file for a weapon.
Footsteps.
Robin and Wally enter mid-argument, voices bouncing until they catch sight of the screen.
Wally: "Uh… please tell me that's not a new mission."
Robin steps forward, the glow of the hologram casting harsh shadows across his face. He reads it aloud, voice low:
Robin: "'Priority Alpha.'" (beat) "That's League-speak for 'if it gets loose, shut it down by any means necessary.'"
The words hang in the air like smoke.
Aqualad: "This is what the League keeps unredacted." (quiet, heavy) "I dread what is hidden."
Wally tries to smother the tension with a crooked grin that doesn't reach his eyes.
Wally: "So… what is he? A Cadmus drone with good hair? Batman's secret boogeyman?"
Aqualad doesn't look at him.
Aqualad: "Perhaps not even a boy." (softer now, like the words taste bitter) "Perhaps only the shadow Cadmus built."
Silence.
No one wants to be the first to say what they're all thinking.
Then Robin's fingers blur across the console — bypassing firewalls Batman never meant them to crack.
Robin: "Let's see what else Bats decided we didn't need to know."
Warnings flash. The screen hesitates. Then the classified page opens.
Kill Count: 112 Confirmed.
Robin freezes.
Robin: "…This… this isn't right."
Wally: "Wait. What?" (leans in, squinting) "One hundred and twelve? That's… that can't be— Batman told us—"
Robin: "Thirty." (his voice is low, shaking now) "He told us thirty."
The number blazes in the glow of the hologram. One hundred and twelve.
Wally: "That's… that's a war crime number. That's—"
Aqualad: "That is a kill list. And Batman lied."
The words drop like stones.
No one speaks.
They just stare at the number, the silence louder than shouting.
Finally, Wally mutters, almost to himself:
Wally: "We've been living next to a weapon of mass destruction."
Robin doesn't respond. He doesn't look away from the screen.
One hundred and twelve.
It doesn't even look like a number anymore. It looks like a warning.
---
COMPUTER LAB — NIGHT.
The only sound is the clatter of keys. Lines of code pour across the screen as Dr. Roquette leans forward, typing like her life depends on it. Because it does.
She mutters under her breath:
Roquette: "Teenage computers… antique processors… might as well code on a typewriter…"
She doesn't notice Phantom enter.
He's just there — in the doorway, silent, still.
No footsteps. No breath. Just watching.
She feels it before she sees him. Her hands were still on the keys. Slowly, her eyes lift to the monitor's reflection.
A hood. A mask. Him.
Her whole body goes rigid.
Roquette: "…You."
The chair scrapes back as she shoves herself away from the desk.
Roquette: "No… no, no, no. I know you."
Her voice trembles, words tumbling out fast, like she can't stop them.
Roquette: "They whispered about you. In Cadmus. In the Shadows. The one they sent when fear wasn't enough. When they didn't need a squad — just you."
Phantom doesn't move.
Roquette: "They said you… You didn't fail. That you were the only one who ever walked out alive."
Her breath hitches.
Roquette: "You're not here to protect me. You're here to finish it."
Phantom: "No." (flat. cold. devoid of anything human.)
That single syllable lands harder than a scream.
Around them, the Team is scattered: Artemis near the door, Wally leaning against the wall, Aqualad by the entrance. They'd been keeping watch, silent — but now all eyes are on Phantom.
Wally tries to laugh, but it comes out thin.
Wally: "Whoa, that's… colorful storytelling, Doc. He's creepy, sure, but—"
Roquette: (snapping at him) "You think I don't know a weapon when I see one?"
She points at Phantom like he's an exposed nerve.
Roquette: "I saw the files. Project Nocturne. The contingency they keep in the dark. Cadmus didn't make a soldier. They made an executioner."
Silence.
Phantom doesn't deny it. Doesn't move.
Even Artemis shifts uncomfortably, her hand twitching near her bow.
Finally, Phantom steps forward, slow and deliberate, like he's aware of every set of eyes tracking him.
Phantom: "Keep coding."
Roquette doesn't move.
Phantom: "If they find you before that virus is done, this was for nothing."
His tone isn't protective. It isn't reassuring. It's matter-of-fact, like he's discussing mission logistics.
Roquette turns back to the monitor, shoulders tense, fingers trembling as she resumes typing.
Even surrounded by heroes, she doesn't feel safe. She feels caged with a monster.
The others don't say a word.
But in the dead air between them, the whispers of Project Nocturne suddenly feel real.
---
Roquette's back at the keys, fingers hammering code like she can outrun what's in the room.
Phantom hasn't moved from his spot by the door. Watching. Silent.
The others exchange looks — and then:
M'gann's voice in their heads.
M'gann: {Okay… someone tell me I wasn't the only one who heard that.}
Wally: {Oh, you mean the "executioner" bit? Yeah, missed that.}
Artemis: {This isn't funny, Wally.}
Wally: {You think I'm joking? I'm terrified.}
Robin: {She called him Project Nocturne. That's Cadmus classification.}
Artemis: {Wait. So she wasn't just— exaggerating?}
Robin: {No. Those are real files. League-level black. I've seen tags like that before. Not on people. On weapons.}
Wally: {Okay, cool. So… are we gonna talk about how we've been sleeping under the same roof as… this?}
M'gann: {Wally—}
Wally: {No, seriously! One hundred twelve confirmed kills—}
Artemis: {What?!}
Robin: {Later.}
Artemis: {No, not later. That changes— everything.}
Aqualad: {Focus. This is not the time. Dr. Roquette must complete the virus. Phantom's presence is… necessary.}
Artemis: {Necessary? He's standing there like he's deciding who to kill first.}
They all glance — Phantom still hasn't moved.
His hood tilts slightly, like he knows they're talking about him.
Wally: {Please tell me he can't hear this.}
M'gann: {No. I'm not linked with him.}
Wally: {Great. So the super-assassin doesn't know we're gossiping. Perfect plan.}
Artemis: {She said Cadmus only needed him. One person. No team. Just him.}
Her voice is quieter now. Almost shaken.
Artemis: {What kind of person do you have to be for that to be true?}
Silence.
None of them wants to answer.
----
The lights flicker.
Then alarms.
Roquette's hands freeze over the keys. Her face drains.
Roquette: "They're here."
Aqualad: "Everyone — positions!"
The Team scrambles — Artemis at the window, Wally by the door, M'gann forming a shield around Roquette.
Phantom doesn't move.
He just stands there. Head tilted. Listening.
The sound comes first: the hiss of The Fog slithering through vents. Then the crash — windows shattering as League of Shadows assassins pour in.
Artemis: "We've got company!"
Kid Flash: "More like a ninja convention!"
M'gann: "Stay close to me, Doctor—!"
But Phantom is already gone.
One blink and he's in the center of the room, shadows erupting from his form. He doesn't fight. He hunts.
Teleport — slash.
A Shadow drops before his feet can hit the ground.
Teleport — impale.
Another assassin is yanked into the ceiling, silenced by writhing tendrils.
Teleport — drag.
The third is pulled screaming into the darkness, sound cutting off like a switch.
The Team can barely track his movements.
Wally: "He— is he— are we just letting him—?!"
Artemis: "Do you want to stop him?!"
It's over in seconds. Bodies sprawled. Blood pooling.
Only one assassin remains. A veteran. Mask cracked.
He spots Phantom in the shadows — sees him.
He freezes.
Shadow Assassin: "…Project Nocturne."
He drops his blade. Turns. Runs.
No hesitation.
Even the League of Shadows doesn't fight Project Nocturne.
The air splits with the sound of shattering glass.
CHESHIRE drops in, crouched like a predator, her mask glinting, claws already drawn. Four more Shadows follow, fanning out in perfect formation.
Cheshire: "Well… this is a party."
She steps forward, eyes landing on Phantom — and her grin widens.
Cheshire: "You fight like one of ours. That makes this personal."
Phantom doesn't speak.
Doesn't posture.
He just moves.
THE CLASH
They collide in the center of the lab — fast, brutal, a blur of motion.
Cheshire's grace is like liquid. Her claws slash in elegant arcs, precise, meant to disarm, disable, humiliate.
Phantom's efficiency is not.
He doesn't feint. Doesn't dance. Every movement is a kill attempt. Elbows are meant to break bones. Knees meant to rupture organs. Shadows snapping out to intercept her mid-strike like they can think for themselves.
Claw meets tendril. Sparks fly.
She spins — high kick, reversed slash — and Phantom catches her leg mid-air, slamming her into the floor hard enough to crack tile.
She rolls away, agile, regains footing — but three of her men are already dead.
THE SLAUGHTER
While Cheshire fights for her life, Phantom's shadows hunt the others.
One assassin is skewered through the chest before he can blink.
Another is dragged into the corner, a muffled scream cut off in an instant.
A third tries to run — but Phantom's tendril whips across the room, snapping his neck mid-stride.
Artemis sees it. Freezes. She's seen killers before — but never this.
Kid Flash: "He's— is anyone else— are we seriously okay with this?!"
No one answers.
BACK TO THE FIGHT
Cheshire's breathing sharpens. Her movements are faster now — not playful. Desperate.
She feints high, goes low — but Phantom's shadow catches her wrist mid-slash, holding her still.
In one motion, he's behind her. Blade of darkness pressed against her throat.
She finally sees him. His face under the hood.
Recognition hits like a blow.
The confidence dies in her voice.
Cheshire: "…You."
A pause.
Her tone flattens. Fear replaces the playfulness.
Cheshire: "Nope. Not today."
RETREAT
She throws a smoke bomb, the room swallowed in black and gray — but when it clears, she's gone.
No banter. No threat. Just retreat.
REACTION
Artemis stares, stunned.
Artemis: "…Cheshire doesn't run from anyone."
Kid Flash: "Yeah? Guess we just met the exception."
Phantom doesn't react. Doesn't chase.
He just turns his head slightly toward Artemis — and for a moment, it feels like the room gets colder.
--
The Team has split — Robin and Superboy racing to stop The Fog at Wayne Tech. Inside Mount Justice, Roquette is still coding like her fingers are the only thing standing between life and catastrophe.
Roquette: "Almost… there… Done!"
She hits ENTER.
On the screens, cascading lines of code burst outward.
COMPUTER VOICE: "Virus uploaded. Fog neutralized."
Across the city, the black nanite swarm shudders mid-consumption, then collapses to the ground like dead ash.
Robin's voice crackles over comms: "Fog's down. Wayne Tech is secure."
BACK TO THE COMPUTER LAB.
Roquette slumps in her chair, exhaling like she hasn't in hours.
Roquette: "It's over."
No one answers.
Because no one is looking at her.
They're all staring at Phantom.
He hasn't moved since the fight. Still hooded, still silent, his gloves streaked in drying blood.
Kid Flash: "…So… are we just gonna pretend none of that happened? Or…?"
Artemis: (quietly, almost to herself) "Cheshire ran. She never runs."
Aqualad cuts in, voice steady but tight.
Aqualad: "It does not matter. The mission is complete. That is what matters."
No one challenges him.
The room hums with low light and machinery. Outside the window, Earth turns silently beneath them.
Robin stands by the console, still in his gear, mask off, fists clenched. Batman looms near the holographic display — frozen on Phantom's League file.
Robin: "You said thirty."
Batman doesn't turn.
Robin: "The file says a hundred and twelve."
Silence.
Robin: "You lied. To me. To the Team."
Batman: "You weren't ready for the truth."
Robin: "The truth? That you brought a mass killer into Mount Justice? That you made us live and work with him like he's one of us?"
Batman turns now. His face is stone.
Batman: "No. The truth is worse."
Robin swallows hard but doesn't back down.
Robin: "Then tell me. What is he? Is he even a boy? Or just… the shadow Cadmus built?"
Batman's gaze drops briefly to the hologram — redacted lines, black bars, warnings stamped in League codes.
Batman: "Cadmus built him to be a weapon. Nothing more. They erased who he was. Replaced it with programming. Pain. Obedience. Death on command."
Robin: "Then why is he here? Why put us at risk?"
Batman: "Because if I leave him out there, Cadmus gets him back. Or worse — the Shadows. And then we won't be dealing with a boy in our house." (beat) "We'll be dealing with a ghost on the battlefield. One we can't stop."
Robin looks away, jaw tight.
Batman: "He's not here because I trust him. He's here because I don't."
Robin blinks at that.
Robin: "So what? He's a contingency? A weapon you think you can control?"
Batman doesn't answer immediately.
Batman: "If I can redirect him… maybe. If I can't…" (his voice lowers) "…then at least I'll know exactly where he is."
The words hit like a hammer.
Robin stares at his mentor — trying to find the man beneath the mask — and realizes he can't.
Robin: "…And if you're wrong?"
Batman turns back to the hologram, his silhouette framed by the cold glow of the file.
Batman: "Then God help us all."