Watchtower — Cryo-Chamber.
The doors hiss open with a sound that echoes too loudly in the cold, empty chamber.
Batman steps in alone.
No cape-dramatics. No audience. Just him and the hum of the cryo-systems keeping Phantom suspended in a long, unbroken sleep.
The room smells faintly of ozone and antiseptic — the kind of sterile cold that always feels like death pretending to be life.
Bruce kneels by the pod, setting down a black case. The metal clicks sharply when he unlatches it, revealing its contents:
Modified gear: collapsible gauntlets, encrypted comms, shadow tech Bruce personally designed.
A small drive: red-dotted with the Bat symbol, its casing scorched from years of reprogramming — a contingency file.
He stares at the pod for a long moment.
Batman (internal):"You were supposed to be my failsafe. My hammer for when the League shatters. Cadmus made a weapon, and I thought I could turn that into a solution. Just another piece on the board."
His hand drifts to the frost-lined glass, fingers hovering just above Phantom's face.
"But you're more than that. I know that now. J'onn sees it. I've seen it. You deserve to wake up as more than a weapon."
The words stay in his head — unspoken truths that will never leave his mouth.
He takes out a small recorder from his utility belt, clicks it on.
Batman: "Phantom. If you're hearing this, then I've been compromised. The League too. This isn't protocol. This isn't a drill. It means the Watchtower has fallen, and the world needs you awake."
His tone doesn't waver, but there's a weight behind every syllable — the kind Bruce only uses when he's speaking to someone he's preparing for war.
Batman: "Inside this case, you'll find what you need — your gear, upgraded. Communications encrypted at the highest level. Intel on the League, including contingencies if they are compromised. Do not hesitate. Do not give them a chance to talk you down. You know what they can do if they aren't themselves."
He stops the recording. Pauses. Then restarts it, softer:
Batman: "…And Kade — if you're still in there — know this: You are not just a weapon. You are not just a failsafe. You are my contingency because I trust you to do what I can't. Be more than what they made you. Be better than me."
He ends the recording and slots the drive into the gear.
For a moment, he doesn't move. Just sits there, a shadow in the freezing light, staring at the boy through the glass.
"Please," he thinks, "be ready when I can't be."
Phantom's Mind Palace.
The "room" is no longer bare.
What was once a simple, sterile cell has grown — walls painted in faint shades of color, a rug softening the cold floor, shelves lined with little objects: clumsy sketches of the Team, a TV looping snippets of memory, and doors with glowing "DO NOT ENTER" warnings still locked at the far end.
Phantom sits on the bed, cross-legged, listening to the static hiss of the TV. He's been piecing himself together here for months.
Suddenly — a voice.
Muffled at first, but distinct.
Batman's voice.
"…If you're hearing this, then I've been compromised…"
Phantom's head snaps toward the far corner, where shadows stretch unnaturally long.
From them, a figure emerges — tall, cloaked, cowl-eyed.
Batman.
But Phantom knows this isn't really him. It's the echo of his voice, the shadow-image his subconscious conjures.
Still — it feels real.
Phantom: "…Why are you here?"
The shadow-Batman doesn't answer directly. Just steps forward and places something on the floor between them:
A batarang. Old. Worn. Handmade. Its edges are imperfect — not factory steel, but hand-forged in another lifetime, by a much younger Bruce.
Batman's voice echoes through the room:"…Be more than what they made you. Be better than me."
Phantom picks up the batarang. The weight is strange, heavy but familiar.
For a moment, he doesn't feel like Subject 47.
He feels like someone Bruce trusts.
The shadow-Batman fades back into the darkness, leaving only the object in Phantom's hands.
Phantom (quietly): "You trust me…"
The TV behind him flickers, briefly showing the Team's faces smiling at him.
For the first time in what feels like forever, he allows himself to believe he belongs.
--
The pod hums softly, frost gathering along its seams. Batman pulls up the auxiliary panel, entering a string of codes no one else on Earth knows. The interface blinks red, then green — command protocols unlocked.
A new screen appears:
"Failsafe Protocol — PHANTOM. Authorization Required."
Bruce's fingers hover for a moment over the input.
Batman (internal):"J'onn told me he wasn't my doomsday. Told me he wasn't just another weapon to store until the day I needed to burn the world down with him."
His jaw tightens.
"But I'm Batman. And Batman has a backup for everything. Even the people he trusts."
He begins typing. Seventy-two hours.
Not a ticking clock. Not yet.
"RELEASE: Manual Activation. 12-hour operational window. Remote trigger only. Security Clearance: Batman-Prime."
The system confirms the configuration.
If the worst happens — if Bruce himself is compromised — Phantom will awaken with orders, gear, and a mission only he can carry out.
He sends out a secure alert to Robin and the bioship:
"Protocol Phantom: Standby. This channel will open if and when activation occurs."
Encrypted, routed through three dead relays. Robin will recognize the signature if it hits. So will Conner.
Bruce stares at the pod for a long moment.
The boy inside doesn't look like a contingency plan. He doesn't look like Cadmus' ghost. He looks… human. Small. Breakable.
"I told them you weren't ready," he thinks. "But the truth is… neither am I."
His hand brushes the glass.
"When you wake up, Kade… God help us all. Because the world won't know what it just unleashed."
He turns away sharply, cape snapping behind him, but his reflection lingers on the frost-covered pod — as if some part of him can't quite leave.
Batman turns from the pod, footsteps deliberate, echoing across the cold metal floor.
The doors hiss open — freedom from the weight of this room just a few steps away.
But he stops.
Doesn't look back. Doesn't need to.
His voice is low — so quiet it's almost swallowed by the hum of the pod's systems.
Batman: "Don't fail me."
A beat.
Then, softer — more like a confession than an order:
Batman: "And I won't fail you."
He walks out, the doors sliding shut behind him with a heavy finality.
The chamber is silent again — just the boy in the pod, frozen between who he was and who Bruce needs him to be.
---
Watchtower — Main Hall.
The chamber hums with life. Press drones hover in a wide orbit, their lenses capturing every angle of history being made.
Superman stands at the podium, his voice resonant, noble:
Superman: "The Justice League was formed for two reasons. First, as an acknowledgment that no single individual—no matter how powerful—can solve all the world's problems alone. And second, to uphold the values of truth, liberty, and justice. That last one… is even in the name."
The room chuckles. Cameras flash.
On a raised dais, the new members stand in full view: Doctor Fate. The Atom. Plastic Man. Icon. Rocket.
Applause swells as each is introduced.
Cut to: Batman, standing in the back row of the League, silent, arms folded.
To anyone watching, he's a statue — a silent sentinel in black.
But inside—
Batman (internal): "Seventy-two hours. That's all the time I've bought us."
Cut to:
The Cryo-Chamber.
Phantom's pod sits in the cold, unseen and uncelebrated. Its interface now glows with new code.
"Failsafe Protocol: Standby. Remote Trigger Ready."
A faint, almost imperceptible countdown pulses on the pod's edge, not automatic — but waiting for a command only Bruce can give.
Cut back to:
The stage. Superman hands Icon his League badge.
Superman: "These five heroes have sworn to uphold those values. The League is stronger with them."
Flash grins, leaning toward Green Lantern.
Flash: "Hey, I wanted Plastic Man in before you did."
Green Lantern (deadpan): "You're welcome to keep him."
Laughter. The room feels light.
Cut to:
Batman, still stone-faced.
But his gaze isn't on the new recruits.
It's on the door that leads to the cryo-chamber.
"J'onn told me he wasn't my doomsday," Bruce thinks. "But that's what he was made for. That's why I keep him in the shadows. That's why I gave him my first batarang. Trust and contingency, all in one boy."
"If this goes wrong… he'll be the last thing the League ever sees."
Superman's voice continues:
Superman: "To our new members — welcome to the Justice League."
Thunderous applause fills the hall.
Cut to:
The Cryo-Chamber again.
The camera lingers on Phantom's frozen face, a faint reflection of Bruce's silhouette still on the glass from when he touched it.
The pod hums. Waiting.
--
Watchtower — Corridors / Cryo-Chamber / Bioship (Intercut).
The applause of the induction still hums faintly in the Watchtower's walls.
Batman moves through the corridors alone, cape trailing like a shadow. He's on edge — scanning system readings on his gauntlet.
"Everything reads clean," he thinks. "So why does it feel wrong?"
Then the lights flicker.
Once. Twice.
The Watchtower hum deepens — a low, resonant vibration in the metal bones of the station.
Warning text flashes across his gauntlet HUD:
"UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS: SECTOR 4. BIO-TECH ANOMALY DETECTED."
Bruce's jaw tightens.
"No one gets this deep without me knowing."
A voice cuts the silence.
Savage: "You do clean work, Detective."
Batman spins, dropping into a defensive stance.
Savage steps out of the shadowed junction ahead, calm, deliberate — like a man who owns the room.
Savage: "But even the sharpest blade dulls eventually."
Batman: "You won't leave here."
Savage: "On the contrary. I intend to stay."
Then it hits.
A wave of alien intrusion, a mental vice clamping down on Bruce's mind. Starro-tech.
His knees buckle. Every muscle screams to resist.
"Not now. Not like this."
Intercut:
Wonder Woman in the main hall, bracing against the wall, her eyes going unfocused.
Superman staggering mid-conversation before his fists clench, eyes glowing blank red.
Canary gasping, dropping to one knee as her commlink fizzles.
Icon. Fate. Plastic Man. Each snared in an instant, the League falling like dominoes.
The Watchtower is silent but for the low, thrumming hum of the Starro-tech taking root.
Bruce slams against the wall console, overriding failsafes with trembling hands.
"J'onn told me he wasn't my doomsday," he thinks through the haze. "But I am Batman. I have a contingency for everything — even this."
He forces his fingers through the sequence, opening a remote channel to the pod.
"PROTOCOL PHANTOM: ACTIVATED. REMOTE TRIGGER ENGAGED. 12-HOUR OPERATIONAL WINDOW."
Cut to:
The Cryo-Chamber.
Phantom's pod blinks red, then green.
"FAILSAFE PROTOCOL: ACTIVE. STANDBY FOR RELEASE."
Cut to:
The Bioship.
Robin's holo-screen pings with a Bat-coded alert.
Robin freezes. The signature is unmistakable.
Robin: "…No. He actually triggered it."
The Bioship's AI chimes in, voice cool and sterile:
"ALERT: PROTOCOL PHANTOM. AUTHORIZATION: BATMAN-PRIME. 12-HOUR RELEASE COUNTDOWN."
Robin's heart pounds.
Robin (to himself): "If he sent this… it means the League's compromised."
Cut back to:
Bruce's vision is blurring. Savage's voice threads into his head like venom.
Savage: "Even you, Detective, are only human. You'll serve us well."
Batman's final clear thought before darkness swallows him:
"Kade… it's on you now."