Jason slumped against the crumbling brick wall outside his apartment building, the night air heavy with the faint smell of exhaust, wet asphalt, and the distant buzz of sirens echoing through Star City's restless streets. The stolen cash — neatly bundled in thick stacks, roughly fifteen grand — pressed deep in his backpack. It should have been a relief, a ticket to breathing room. Instead, it sat like a weight, dragging down not just his shoulders but his thoughts.
His apartment wasn't much — a tiny, rundown unit nestled in a grimy block that looked like it had been forgotten by time. The kind of place where the paint peeled in long strips, and the thin walls carried every muffled argument and late-night scream from next door. The pipes groaned like old ghosts, and the window frames rattled with every gust of wind. It wasn't fancy, but it cost about three hundred dollars a week, a bargain by city standards but still a strain on his barely-there finances.
He pulled the rent notice from his pocket again, the paper dog-eared and taped crookedly to the chipped door of his apartment. The due date wasn't immediate, but close enough to keep his stomach knotted. Fifteen grand should cover a few months, maybe even let him breathe for a little while. But that money wasn't a fix. Food, gear, electricity, phone—little things that piled up. And the longer he stayed in this city, the more they added up.
Jason glanced over the crumpled grocery receipt from days ago, the last evidence of a meal half forgotten. He hadn't eaten well since waking in this strange, unforgiving place, and hunger was a constant itch beneath his ribs.
His thoughts drifted back to the warehouse — the fight, the adrenaline, the sharp eyes of Green Arrow and Speedy watching him. Legends of the city, warriors who moved with precision and purpose. Their distrust was clear, but there was something else there too — a flicker of something like respect, or maybe wariness.
He replayed Oliver's calm, low voice telling Roy to hold his fire next time. But it was the moment after, when the shadows swallowed the two heroes, that stuck with him.
"Roy, enough," Oliver muttered sharply, frustration threading his words. "No shooting without orders."
Speedy grumbled, but his silence was an answer.
Oliver's mind worked hard as they retreated through the dark alleys, thinking about Jason — wild, unpredictable, powerful beyond what they fully understood. Not a kid to be ignored, but not someone they could trust yet.
The Justice League meeting was just two weeks away. Plenty of time to watch, to assess, to decide.
Oliver's fingers tightened on his bowstring for a moment. Protocol demanded Jason be reported, but Oliver wasn't sure whether the kid was a future ally or threat. Only time would tell.
For Jason, the window of opportunity was brief but vital. He needed to train harder, push his Limitless barrier to its limits, refine his control over Blue, and build the strength to survive this city.
The night around him hummed—neon signs flickered over wet streets, footsteps echoed faintly, and somewhere far off, a siren wailed its lonely song.
Jason zipped up his backpack, shoulders squared, and took a steadying breath.
He had cash to coast on, but he had no illusions. Star City didn't hand out breaks. It demanded everything.
Tomorrow, the training started again.
Because survival wasn't just about money—it was about strength, control, and how far he was willing to push himself