Watchtower Medical Bay.
The room feels colder than it should.
The cryo-pod dominates the center of the bay — a sleek sarcophagus of alien metal, lined with frost, humming with quiet menace. Its glass canopy glows faintly blue as technicians calibrate the internal systems, their movements precise, clinical. Every hiss of coolant sounds like a countdown.
Phantom sits on a narrow medical bench, dressed in plain gray fatigues that hang loosely on his frame. His mask is gone, and without it, the boy beneath the myth is painfully visible — a face too young for the weight it carries, bruised and scarred, eyes sunken from sleepless nights. Magnetic cuffs keep his hands bound loosely in front of him, not out of malice but necessity.
He stares at the pod like it's a coffin.
Batman stands behind him, arms crossed, an immovable pillar of shadow. J'onn lingers at his side, posture calm, his presence a quiet tether keeping the boy from unraveling.
Batman: "Once you're under, you'll stay in stasis until we can remove the triggers. Or until you decide otherwise."
Phantom doesn't turn. Doesn't even blink. His voice is flat, but beneath it — exhaustion.
Phantom: "No deciding. Not until you fix me."
J'onn's head tilts, his voice as steady as still water:
J'onn: "This is not surrender. It is survival."
Phantom huffs out a humorless smirk, though it dies almost as soon as it appears.
Phantom: "Feels the same."
Batman steps closer, his cape shifting with the movement.
Batman: "It isn't. This isn't giving up. It's buying time — for you. For us. And when you wake up…"
He pauses, voice low but certain.
Batman: "…you'll still have a place here. If you choose to take it."
Phantom's gaze flickers toward him for just a moment. It's brief — but in that glance, Batman sees it: a boy clinging to the idea that maybe he's not disposable.
Then Phantom looks away, swallowing hard. His voice drops, quieter than before:
Phantom: "And if I don't wake up here? What if someone else gets to me first? What if I wake up and I'm… theirs again?"
The last word feels like venom in his mouth.
J'onn leans forward slightly, telepathic empathy softening his tone:
J'onn: "Then we make sure that never happens. Two League members will guard you at all times. You will not be taken. You have my word."
Phantom exhales, shaky, the tension in his shoulders barely easing. He turns back to the pod, staring at it like he's memorizing the last thing he'll see before he chooses nothingness.
Watchtower. Conference Room.
The circular conference table glows faintly as the Justice League gathers — Superman, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Flash, Black Canary, Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Martian Manhunter, Zatara, Hawkman, Green Arrow — their faces reflecting the holographic data scrolling between them.
At the head of the table, Batman stands with his arms crossed. J'onn sits quietly beside him, hands folded, his calm presence in stark contrast to the tension filling the room.
Batman: "Phantom has requested cryo-stasis until his programming can be unraveled. J'onn and I agree. It's the safest option — for him, and the Team."
The words land heavily.
Wonder Woman leans forward, palms braced against the table. Her voice is sharp but not unkind:
Wonder Woman: "He's a child, Bruce. Are we agreeing to bury him alive? That is what this is — entombing him."
Black Canary nods, voice tight with concern:
Black Canary: "I've been working with that Team since they formed. You know what this will do to them? They'll see it as losing him. And he's only just started to be part of something good."
Aquaman folds his arms, expression grave:
Aquaman: "And yet he nearly killed them all in Bialya. I've read the report. What happens next time if Psimon — or anyone — triggers him again?"
Hal Jordan leans back in his chair, shaking his head:
Hal: "What happens if Cadmus sends a recovery team while he's under? Or worse — Queen Bee? We'd be gift-wrapping them a living weapon."
John Stewart adds, voice firm:
John: "Security needs to be absolute. Two League members are guarding him at all times. No exceptions. And he doesn't leave the Watchtower. Ever."
Flash drums his fingers nervously on the table:
Flash: "And how long are we talking here? A week? A month? A year? You're asking us to sign off on putting a kid — a kid — in ice with no end date."
Batman's gaze sweeps the table, unflinching:
Batman: "This isn't indefinite. It's not until J'onn and I are certain the programming is gone. Or until he's no longer a danger to himself and others. He understands what that means. He chose this."
Superman has been silent until now. He speaks finally, voice clipped but steady:
Superman: "Then we protect him. No transfers. No black sites. He stays on the Watchtower, under League jurisdiction. I want a rotation — two members present at all times. If anyone tries to take him, they'll have to go through us."
Hawkman grunts, wings shifting uneasily:
Hawkman: "You're putting a lot of faith in a weapon Cadmus built. One that's already proven how dangerous he is."
Zatara interjects, tone softer:
Zatara: "He asked for this. That matters. It means he's more than what they made him."
Green Arrow adds from his seat:
Green Arrow: "And maybe it means he trusts us more than anyone else ever has. That counts for something."
There's a murmur of agreement, though the unease lingers.
Wonder Woman exhales through her nose, her voice quieter but no less pointed:
Wonder Woman: "I do not like it. But if this is his choice, and it spares him from becoming their weapon again… then I will stand behind it."
One by one, the League members nod.
Batman: "Then it's settled."
Superman: "Constant guard. On the Watchtower. No exceptions."
John Stewart: "I'll make the arrangements for security rotation."
No one smiles. No one feels good about it.
But the decision is made.
Watchtower. Conference Room. After the vote.
Chairs scrape as the League begins to disperse, their murmurs trailing into the corridors. The weight of the decision lingers like smoke.
J'onn remains seated, his hands still folded. His voice is calm but resolute:
J'onn: "I will personally oversee his therapy. Even in stasis, the mind can be reached. Slowly, carefully — we can begin to untangle the programming while his body rests."
Wonder Woman glances back at him, her brow furrowed.
Wonder Woman: "You believe you can do this?"
J'onn inclines his head.
J'onn: "I believe we must. He is still a boy beneath the conditioning. And boys deserve more than the ghosts their captors made them."
There's no rebuttal to that. Even Hawkman stays silent.
As the others leave, Superman lingers by the door, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the dark figure still at the table.
Superman: "You see yourself in him."
Batman doesn't answer.
Superman: "Don't bother denying it. I've known you too long."
Bruce's jaw tightens beneath the cowl. He says nothing.
Clark watches him for a long moment, then shakes his head with a sigh.
Superman: "Then let's hope you're right about him, Bruce. For all our sakes."
Batman doesn't respond.
But he doesn't need to.
---
Mount Justice. Common Room.
The Cave feels colder than usual.
The Team gathers in the common room, but no one sits. Robin, Wally, Artemis, Aqualad, M'gann, Connor — standing in tense anticipation.
Across from them, Batman and J'onn. Batman looms like a shadow, arms folded, silent. J'onn's calm presence softens the edges of the news about to break.
Batman: "Phantom has chosen to enter cryo-stasis."
The words cut through the air like a blade.
Wally explodes:
Wally: "He chose that? After what happened, you just—what, let him freeze himself?!"
His hands slice the air, raw panic in his voice. "That's insane. We can fix this. We can talk to him, get him help—"
Robin: "Wally."
Robin's voice is quiet but sharp, cutting through Wally's outburst like a scalpel.
Wally rounds on him.
Wally: "You're okay with this?!"
Robin doesn't flinch.
Robin: "No. But I understand it."
That shuts Wally up.
The silence stretches until Aqualad steps forward, his tone measured but heavy:
Aqualad: "What did he say?"
J'onn raises a hand.
J'onn: "It is better if I show you. But his face — his identity-is — is not mine to reveal."
A faint hum fills the room as J'onn opens the telepathic link.
They feel it before they see it — Phantom's voice, weary and unguarded, filling their minds.
His face is blurred in their vision, features obscured by J'onn's projection. But the boy's words come through clear:
"The past few months… they've been better than I ever thought I'd get. Better than I deserve. And you don't even know how much."
Images flash: a boy sitting on a bench, maskless, staring at the floor.
"I've never had a team before. It's always just been me. My shadows and. So I don't even know what this feeling is. But I know what I did to you out there… wasn't right."
His voice trembles.
"I thought I'd broken away from it. That if I kept playing hero, it'd stick. But it's still there. All of it. One word and I'm gone. And I don't want to hurt you. Any of you."
There's a pause — heavy, gutting.
"When I come out… if I come out… I want to ask you for forgiveness. All of you. For what I did."
Then his voice lowers, quiet, resolved:
"So put me on ice. Until you can fix me. Or until I can't hurt anyone else."
The projection ends.
The link severs, leaving an aching silence in its wake.
No one speaks at first.
M'gann's voice breaks the stillness, soft and almost a whisper:
M'gann: "He thinks… we made him better."
Her hands twist together, white-knuckled.
Connor finally speaks, voice low but certain:
Connor: "He's right."
Artemis looks away, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Wally swallows, voice hollow:
Wally: "So that's it? He just… gives up?"
Batman steps forward, his voice deep, resolute:
Batman: "No. He's not giving up. He's buying time. For himself. For all of you."
The words hang there like stone.
No one responds.
Because for the first time, the Team truly understands:
Phantom didn't just leave.
He entombed himself — to protect them.
---
Mount Justice. Later that night.
The Cave feels wrong.
It's too quiet — no distant hum of Phantom's shadowy drills in the training room, no sarcastic quips at Wally's expense, no quiet, unsettling presence in the corner. Just an emptiness that settles over them like a fog.
The Team has scattered through the common room, each of them processing the news in their fractured way.
Robin stands by the mission board, staring at Phantom's name — the holographic letters dim, suspended in a list of operatives. His gloved fingers hover just shy of touching it, as though erasing it would make this real.
Artemis sits slouched on the couch, her bow discarded at her feet, head buried in her hands. She hasn't moved in nearly an hour.
Connor stands by the window, fists clenched at his sides, staring out at the ocean like he could find answers in the waves.
Wally paces the room in a tight, angry loop, muttering under his breath:
Wally: "Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Should've kept my mouth shut. Should've just… shut up."
His voice breaks. He spins toward the others, frustration boiling over:
Wally: "This is my fault. I called him Cadmus's pet. I— I pushed him. And now he's—"
His words die in his throat.
Artemis lifts her head just enough to glare at him, eyes red-rimmed but sharp:
Artemis: "Don't do that. Don't put this all on you."
Wally: "But it is on me! You didn't see his face when I said it. He—"
Robin: "Enough."
The word is sharp, slicing through Wally's spiral.
They all look at him.
Robin doesn't turn from the mission board. His voice is quiet, but it cuts deeper than shouting:
Robin: "This isn't on you, Wally. This isn't on any of us. It's on Cadmus. On the people who built him this way. Don't you dare give them the satisfaction of making you carry that weight."
Silence.
Wally presses his palms into his eyes, as if he could block out the memory of his words.
Across the room, M'gann steps toward Connor, her voice soft, tentative:
M'gann: "You feel like you should've stopped him."
Connor doesn't look at her, doesn't move from the window.
Connor: "I know why he did it. I just… hate that it had to be him."
M'gann's expression softens. She gently places a hand on his arm. He doesn't pull away.
M'gann: "He trusted you. All of us. That means something."
Connor: "Not enough to keep him here."
The words land heavily, the weight of them sinking into everyone in the room.
No one responds.
The Cave stays silent.
Because they all know the truth:
Phantom's absence isn't just a loss.
It's a reminder of how fragile the ground beneath them is.
---
Watchtower. Cryo-Chamber.
The cryo-chamber hums with quiet menace, its pale lights casting long shadows across the floor. The pod waits in the center of the room — a sleek coffin of alien metal and glass, frost already crawling up its edges as the temperature drops.
Technicians file out one by one, leaving only Batman, J'onn, and Superman with the boy.
Phantom stands before the pod, dressed in plain fatigues. His wrists are free now. There's no point in restraints. He isn't fighting this.
Batman steps forward, holding something under his arm — Phantom's gear. The black-and-gray suit, his belt, his mask.
Without a word, Batman kneels and sets it down beside the pod. The armor looks small, fragile even, folded carefully on the metal stand.
Batman: "When you wake up… if you're ready… this will be here. If you choose to put it on again, do it because you want to do good with it. Not because Cadmus made you."
Phantom's eyes flicker to the suit. There's no reply, but his jaw tightens, his chest rising and falling with a shallow, deliberate breath.
Superman has been silent until now, leaning against the far wall. His arms are crossed, his face unreadable — until he takes a step forward.
Superman: "I didn't get it before. Why would you fight so hard for him?"
Batman glances at him but doesn't respond.
Clark's voice softens, the edge giving way to something that sounds almost like understanding.
Superman: "But now I do. He's just a kid. A kid trying to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders."
Batman doesn't confirm it. He doesn't have to.
Phantom steps toward the pod.
Batman: "Once you go under, it'll feel instant when you wake. Are you sure?"
Phantom nods once.
Phantom: "Yeah. This way… I can't hurt anyone."
J'onn places a hand on his shoulder, voice low, soft — almost fatherly:
J'onn: "Rest, little ghost. We will guard your dreams."
Phantom exhales and climbs inside.
The pod seals with a hiss, glass sliding shut as the system locks into place. Frost creeps across the surface, swallowing the view of his scarred, exhausted face.
Batman steps closer, staring through the glass at the boy within — sixteen years old, bruised, broken, choosing nothingness over becoming the thing Cadmus made him to be.
Batman (quietly): "We'll bring you back."
The pod hums, low and final.
The frost overtakes the glass.
Phantom disappears into the cold.
Superman stands behind Batman, his voice low but certain:
Superman: "And when he wakes… he won't be carrying it alone."
Batman says nothing.
But for the first time in a long while, he lets himself believe it.
Watchtower. Cryo-Chamber. Later.
The room is empty now.
Superman and J'onn have gone, their footsteps long since faded into silence. The steady hum of the pod fills the chamber — a low, constant reminder that life is still inside it, held in suspension.
Batman hasn't moved.
He stands before the frosted glass, staring at the faint outline of the boy within. Phantom's face is blurred by the frost, but Bruce doesn't need to see it. He remembers it. Scarred. Bruised. Too young to be that tired.
His reflection stares back at him in the glass — and for a moment, he doesn't see Batman.
He sees the boy he used to be.
Alone. Weaponized by pain. Carrying a mission bigger than any one person should.
He swallows hard, but his voice stays steady when he finally speaks — not the growl of the Bat, but Bruce Wayne's voice. Quiet. Human.
Batman: "I see you. I know what it's like to be nothing but what they made you. To be a weapon when all you want is… something else. Someone else."
He places a gloved hand against the frost-covered glass.
Batman: "But you're not me. You can be more than I ever was."
The hum of the pod doesn't answer, but the words hang heavy in the room — an oath.
Bruce leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper only the unconscious boy could ever hear:
Batman: "Sleep for now. When you wake… you'll be better than I could ever be."
For a long moment, he stays there — the Dark Knight and the Ghost, separated by glass and frost.
Then he turns, cape sweeping behind him, and walks out without another word.
The door hisses shut.
And Phantom sleeps on, cocooned in the cold, with Batman's promise lingering like a vow.