Black Swan Sequel

Star City October 17, 2016 01556

Robin ducked his head to avoid a blow from Poison Ivy. The rest of his team was fighting the other members of the Injustice League. Robin chucked a few offensives moves of his own, but Poison Ivy turned out to be a malevolent opponent. As far as he was concerned, the Young Justice team was just winning this fight. But only just. Robin grabbed Poison Ivy's wrist and was about to deliver the final attack when she retreated to the center of the warehouse. All of the Injustice League members were either regrouping or retreating or even planning an escape. Robin felt puzzled. What was the Injustice League doing? Robin looked to his teammates. Their faces showed that they were just as confused as he was. Then out of literally nowhere a woman with shiny black hair and green eyes appeared. She was wearing a skin-tight white leather jumpsuit. A white colored mini-whip clicked onto her utility belt. The mysterious woman announced,

"Young Justice, you all have fought just as expected of you. But none of you is a match for the Injustice League's ultimate weapon."

Smoke clashed into the warehouse. A figure came through the smoky haze. A young woman in her late teens walked through. Robin couldn't believe his eyes. Standing next to the woman in white was Black Swan. Emily-Grace Hendrix was alive. Alive.

Three years ago . . . July 1, 2013 2256

Black Swan opened her eyes. For a second she thought she was blind. But then bright white lights flickered on. Black Swan attempted to move, but her head felt like it got crashed by a moving truck. So for what seemed like a long time she laid there. Laid there? Where was she? And how did she get here? Black Swan tried to remember what happened, but all of her thoughts were scrambled. The last thing she remembered was Robin yelling her name. Black Swan heard a door slam. It took all of her will power not to jump or scream in surprise. She couldn't see who it was. Her first instinct said was to close her eyes.

"I thought you said she had woken up," snapped an elderly sounding man's voice.

The other man (who sounded much younger than the first man) stuttered, "But – but I just saw-"

"Newbie. Don't you know anything? That sedative was designed especially to her body chemistry. She probably won't wake up for a few weeks."

"Sorry boss."

The elder man grumbled at the younger man. After a few seconds pause, Black Swan heard a door slam again.

What was going on?

As time went on, Black Swan's head began to clear. She could even lift her head without the pain of a hangover (not that she would know). Instinct told her to get up. Instinct told her she had to get out of there. Instinct would save her. The lights had turned off again when the two men walked out. Black Swan rolled her body off of the gurney. When she stood up, her legs were wobbly. She almost fell over onto the gurney again.

"Work," Black Swan commanded her legs.

She began to feel her way through the room. It took her awhile to find the door in the dark. She yanked opened the door. Almost immediately alarms went off. Loudly. Very loudly.

"ALERT, PRISONER IS ESCAPING! ALERT, PRISONER IS ESCAPING!" rang the alarms. Red flashes of light illuminated the hallways. Black Swan took off sprinting as fast as she could. But because of the "sedative" or whatever that drug was, she was moving much slower than her capacity allowed. All around her she could hear heavy, stomping footsteps.

"FREEZE!" bellowed a great number of men's voices.

Black Swan stepped backwards in surprise. Men were surrounding her, pistols in their hands. The armored men cornered Black Swan into a corner. For the first time in her life, she was afraid. She was afraid of the pistols. She was afraid of the men holding the pistols. But most of all, she was afraid that she wasn't going to make it. Black Swan curled herself into a ball. She closed her eyes waiting for the end to come. But then all the lights turned on, the alarms turned off, and in the distance Black Swan heard a man commanding the men with pistols to "stand down".

Black Swan opened her eyes. A man who looked to be in his late fithties, early sixties wearing a white lab coat pushed his way through the crowd. Behind him followed a woman in her late thirties. She was wearing a white-leathered jumpsuit. She had shiny black hair and deep, clear green eyes. The woman in white looked at Black Swan in a way that made her feel like she was being studied. Black Swan looked away and instead put her gaze on the . . . scientist? Or doctor? Whatever his profession was he was holding a syringe in his hand. Black Swan began to feel a little panicky. What were they going to do to her?

The man spoke in a European accent of some kind,

"I am amazed by your endurance my dear. That first dose was supposed to last for weeks. Let's see how long you last this time."

The lab coated man began rolling up Black Swan's hospital shirt sleeve. Black Swan tried to struggle away. All this happened while the woman in white watched. Black Swan had a buried feeling that she knew this woman from somewhere . . . at some point in her life . . .

"Be gentle, Mortz," said the woman in white.

A memory flashed in Black Swan's mind.

Little Rock, Arkansas, April 25, 2001 1230

She was in the middle of the street, splashing in rain puddles. Earlier that morning it had been raining. Myla wasn't allowed to play outside until the rain had stopped. Ahead of her she saw a particular large puddle. She sprinted toward it, tucked in her legs and stomped into the puddle. But she lost her balance and fell straight on her knees. She began to cry. Immediately her mother, Anna-Marie came sprinting out the house. Anna-Marie knelt beside her daughter and studied Myla's knees, which were covered in blood and muddy water. The woman scooped up her daughter and took her inside their trailer. She set her little girl on the wooden table, which was covered with bills and peanut butter stains. The mother left the room but soon returned with a first aid kit. The mother opened the first aid kit and took out a small bottle of peroxide, two large band aids, and a Q-Tip. Anna-Marie began putting peroxide on the wound. Anna-Marie cringed when her little girl began crying harder by the stinging sensation of the peroxide. So the mother held her child and whispered in a soft sing-song voice: "Be gentle. Be gentle. Be gentle."