LiBaG: Emergence 2.19

(Forgot to post this one)

Troia staggered, her knees shaking but locked, blood running in thin, dark streaks down the polished silver bits of her suit. She kept one hand clamped over the wound, but it wasn’t doing much—red still spread, soaking through the fabric beneath, spilling like ink in water. Her breathing came in short, shaky pulls, but her spine was still straight, her expression sharp, eyes flickering with something Zeke couldn’t quite name.

Defiance? No, too simple.

Something sharper.

Something like glee.

His stomach twisted. “Troia?”

“Ngggh. I am fine,” she growled, voice rough like gravel grinding under a boot. She shoved her shoulders back, flicked her bracers into a ready stance. “We fight.”

Zeke stared at her. Oh, come on. His eyes flicked from the blood pooling into the grooves of her armor to the incoming wave of Bialyan soldiers, their trucks kicking up thick clouds of dust in the twilight. He looked back at her.

“…Yeah, doubt that,” he muttered. But screw it. No time. His hands lit up, blue energy flickering between his fingers. “But whatever. Young Justice, give ‘em hell!”

The first gunshots cracked through the air before he even finished talking.

The whizzing snap of bullets burned past his ears, fast and sharp and immediate, instinct yelling at him to move. He threw up his shield, the energy barrier flaring bright, rounds ricocheting off the surface.

Miss Martian shot into the air to his left, telekinetic energy shimmering in soft waves around her as she lifted pieces of debris into the air, then sent them hurtling down toward the trucks. The shadows twisted beneath her, stretching long and jagged under the flickering light.

Kid Flash zipped into place beside Zeke, skidding to a stop just behind the shield, kicking up a spray of sand. His face flickered between irritation and confusion. Some things never changed.

“Who made you leader?” Wally quipped, brushing dust off his gloves.

Zeke rolled his eyes. Because obviously now was the perfect time for this conversation.

“Not the time, Wally.”

Kid Flash blinked and froze mid-step. “You know my name?”

Zeke groaned. Right. Memory loss.

Before he could figure out a way to say are you serious right now without actually saying it, Robin was already moving.

“KF, fight now. Ask later.” No hesitation.

A birdarang flew from his hand, spinning fast, slamming into the front of the nearest truck. The explosion ripped through the air, sending a shockwave rolling across the battlefield. Soldiers scrambled, some diving for cover, others pushing forward like it didn’t even phase them.

Zeke swore under his breath. This wasn’t gonna be clean.

The trucks kept moving. Fast. And they weren’t slowing down.

His gaze snapped back to Troia. The young Amazon, well, she was still holding steady, but her balance was off. Tiny. Barely noticeable. But there still. A fraction of a second delay when she reset her stance. That wound was bad, no matter how much Amazon stubbornness and demigod tenacity she tried to front with.

The ground rumbled beneath his feet.

Another wave of soldiers. More trucks plowing forward, more gunfire screaming through the air.

Zeke clenched his fists, blue light crackling up his arms. “This is it!” he shouted. “Spread out and hit ‘em hard!”

The battlefield split open like a fault line, chaos spilling in every direction.

Artemis perched high on a rocky outcrop, her silhouette barely visible against the deepening twilight. Her bowstring twanged, an arrow cutting through the air, striking dead center into the nearest truck’s front axle.

The explosion rocked through the sand.

Fire ripped across the metal, tires bursting as the whole vehicle lurched sideways, soldiers bailing out, coughing through the smoke. Artemis was already moving, drawing another arrow, her gaze cutting through the haze, calculating her next shot.

Below, Superboy ripped open the doors of another truck like they were made of tin foil, the metal shrieked, twisted, crumpled under his grip. His movements were raw, unrefined—primal but effective. Even with Miss Martian’s telepathic tether keeping him on their side, there was no control. Just brute force, just pure instinct.

A soldier rushed him, gun leveled, firing point-blank into the back of his head.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Superboy didn’t react.

Then, slowly, he twisted his head to look over his shoulder.

The soldier barely had time to realize his mistake before Superboy swung, one arm backhanding the guy across the chest. The impact hit like a freight train, launching him off his feet, sending him skipping across the sand like a rock on water.

Zeke winced. Yeah. That guy’s definitely not going home.

Troia was barely standing, but you wouldn’t know it by the way she fought.

Every strike was a shockwave, bones snapping like dry twigs under her fists, the air itself splitting around her movements. Blood still leaked down her side, dark against the red of her jumpsuit, but she didn’t slow, didn’t falter. Every blocked bullet sent a tremor through her bracers, the recoil rattling up her arms. Zeke knew she felt it. She had to. But she still moved like the concept of pain was beneath her.

Robin flickered between enemies like a ghost in the smoke. A pellet detonated at his feet, swallowing him in a dense cloud and when he reemerged in a crowd of confused gunmen, his fist cracked against the back of a soldier’s skull, sending them sprawling. Two more turned, rifles already raised—

They never got the chance.

Robin was airborne before they could fire, flipping over them in a clean arc, birdarangs slicing through the air, finding their marks like heat-seeking missiles. Sparks burst from rifle barrels, blades knocked from hands, confusion splitting through enemy ranks before they even realized what hit them.

Kid Flash blurred past, a streak of orange and red weaving through the battlefield like a living storm. Weapons vanished from soldiers’ hands before they even realized they were empty, their owners too disoriented to react before a fist drove into their gut.

“Can’t shoot what you can’t see!” Wally’s voice rang out, sharp and cocky even through the madness.

Zeke held center ground, constantly shifting, his shield flaring bright against incoming fire. Every impact sent a sharp vibration rattling up his arm, every round redirected in a different direction. His fingers burned, energy pulsing hot in his palms, his blasts hitting like artillery fire, sending clusters of soldiers scattering, ripping through vehicles.

Recoil shot up his arm, a sharp, biting pain. Right. They shot me before. Awesome. Just what he needed.

The ground rumbled beneath him. Another tank rolled into position, turret already rotating.

Zeke gritted his teeth. This wasn’t just a battle.

This was a war. What the hell happened to covert?

The battlefield pulsed with noise—gunfire, explosions, the distant wail of retreating engines. Then, like a needle skipping across a record, something in the air shifted.

His instincts lit up.

A crawling, oily pressure wrapped around his skull, something cold and slimy dragging fingers down his brainstem.

A new presence.

Miss Martian stopped mid-motion, her breath catching as Zeke followed her gaze.

A lone hooded figure stepped out from behind the burning wreckage of a truck. Something about the way he moved was wrong. Too smooth and controlled. Like he was barely touching the ground. Firelight flickered across his face as he pulled the hood back, revealing pale, almost translucent skin.

And that brain—

Exposed, pulsing, encased in a glass-like dome, the shifting folds of gray matter glowing with an unnatural, eerie light.

Zeke’s stomach did a full somersault as someone he recognized off the pages of a comic book stood in front of him. God, that brain thing looks even uglier in real life. Or maybe it was just this guy that was ugly, he wondered. Or both. Either way… “Oh, hell no.”

The figure smiled, teeth like polished stone.

“Ah,” he murmured, voice smooth, almost amused. Eyes glinting, head tilting. “I see at least one of you remembers me.”

Zeke’s lip curled. “Psimon.”

Psimon’s smirk widened. “Oh, you’ve heard of me.”

Zeke clenched his fists. “Yeah. You’re a psycho.”

“Ah.” Psimon exhaled, tilting his head. “I know you know.” His gaze shifted to Miss Martian with a lazy smirk crossing his pale face.

“And you—Little Miss Green,” Psimon purred, his voice curling around each syllable. “You felt it, didn’t you? The gap in your mind. The missing time.”

Miss Martian’s fists clenched, and at the same time, Psimon’s smirk deepened. “Delicious, isn’t it?”

Psimon’s eyes glowed. “You two did something before. A little trick. A little interference.” His head tilted. “Shame it didn’t quite work.” His voice dropped into a intimate murmur, the sound almost knowing. “Let’s try again.”

The glow in his eyes intensified, and Zeke felt it instantly; that pressure, like invisible hands pushing at the doors of his mind. Psimon’s voice sank into his skull, curling around the words like a whisper pressed directly against his brain.

“Psimon says… forget.”

[Gamer’s Mind Active]

Zeke blinked.

Waited.

Tilted his head.

“…Was that supposed to do something?”

Psimon’s expression flickered as his glow dimmed, just a fraction. “…Well,” he muttered. “That’s odd.”

Zeke grinned. “Yeah, you’re gonna wanna try another trick.”

“Miss Martian says suffer!” M’Gann moved first, her eyes flaring light green, telekinetic energy whipping around her like a pressure wave before a storm. The air itself seemed to bend, sand lifting off the ground as she hurled a blast of raw force toward Psimon.

At the same time, Zeke threw his hands up. His palms lit up, blue energy surging to his fingertips, a Mana Bolt forming in his palm, condensed, and focused. He thrust forward, sending it rocketing forward.

The twin attacks collided with Psimon’s chest.

The psychic’s body snapped backward, airborne before he even realized what hit him. The impact sent him twisting midair like a ragdoll, slamming him into the sand so hard the ground shook beneath him.

Zeke exhaled, rolling out his shoulders, flexing his fingers as the last crackles of energy faded from his skin. “Yeah,” he muttered, shaking the sting from his knuckles. “Not so fun when you’re the one getting your brain scrambled, huh?”

Even through the haze of smoke and dust, Zeke could see them. The Bialyans were already booking it, trucks rocking over the dunes, wheels kicking up plumes of sand as they retreated.

Figures scrambled into the backs of vehicles, and in the mess, Psimon’s limp body was unceremoniously hauled up and tossed into one, his ridiculous glowing braincase catching the last sliver of dying sunlight before disappearing into the distance.

Cowards.

Zeke let out a breath, fingers curling, then uncurling. His mana reserves were running on fumes, his body ached like hell, and his head still throbbed from whatever Psimon had just tried to pull. But none of that mattered.

Because something still felt wrong.

Not a big, obvious wrong. Not something he could point to.

Just… off.

Like a puzzle with a missing piece.

Beside him, Miss Martian’s chest rose and fell in deep, shaky pulls, faint green light still flickering around her skin. One of her hands pressed to her temple, her expression caught in something between exhaustion and…

Something else.

Then she looked up, and in an instant, her green eyes went wide.

“I… I remember,” she whispered.

The weight in her voice hit like a shockwave.

Zeke’s stomach twisted.

The pieces were coming back to her now; the mission, the memory wipe, all of it.

And if that was true, then—

“Everyone, come here,” Miss Martian said, straightening.

Her voice was steadier now. Certain.

The team hesitated, but stepped in. Even Superboy, still looking half-feral, took a slow, uncertain step forward. His chest was still rising and falling too fast, his movements tense, twitchy—like an animal still waiting for the next fight.

Miss Martian lifted her hands.

“If we link together,” she said, voice softer now, but still sure, “I can restore what’s been taken.”

Zeke inhaled through his nose, then nodded. “Do it.”

They moved in sync, instinct more than thought, hands grasping hands, the circle forming without hesitation. Even Superboy.

Miss Martian’s fingers were warm where they pressed against his. Her presence in his mind wasn’t forceful, wasn’t invasive, just anchoring.

A soft, steady knock on the locked doors of his thoughts.

Zeke let her in.

And then—

The warmth wasn’t just felt.

It was lived.

A wave crashed over them, unraveling the fog in one sharp, overwhelming rush. Their thoughts interlocked, memories knitting back together.

The past six months snapped into place like a film reel spinning backwards, the gaps between them closing, the missing moments stitching together like they’d never been gone.

Training sessions.

Inside jokes.

The quiet moments between missions.

Each other.

Zeke’s breath caught.

Even though he already remembered everything, the weight of it hit anyway.

Like breaking the surface after being underwater too long.

Across from him, Kid Flash let out a breathless laugh.

“Whoa.” He blinked, shaking his head like clearing cobwebs. “It’s all back.”

Robin exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah.” His voice was quiet, even still, head turning in Zeke’s direction and then away.

Even Troia, despite the streak of blood running down her side, smirked faintly. “I thank you, Sister Megan.”

Zeke took a step back as relief settled into his bones, only for it to quickly be wrenched away.

His pulse spiked. Wait. His mouth went dry.

“Wait!” The word echoed his thoughts as he spat it out.

All eyes turned to him.

Zeke’s fists clenched at his sides, his chest tightening as certainty coiled in his gut like a vice.

Because the pieces were all back.

But even still…

One was missing.

“Where’s Kaldur?”