Hey! LLS here! I'm not dead! I'm sorry I was away for so long, but I got caught up in things. I thought this would probably be the first story I should do since it's not actually mine and I said I would write it for someone...
This story is NOT MINE! The OC is NOT MINE! The plot and OC and just about everything except for what is owned by DC comics is owned by the esteemed writer, Stonger123 (now goes by the name Linwe Tulcakelume).
Okay, so the plan for this story is to kinda follow season one of Young Justice, and then go between seasons one and two (you know, the five year gap?). I hope to end the story before season two sets up. Mainly because I was not as big a fan of season two (scandalous, I know).
Most of the chapters will be written on an iPad or a Mac via Google docs. If you see any spelling or grammar errors, feel free to point them out. (Note: Spelling or grammar errors do not require a flame. In fact, I cannot think of a circumstance that would require a flame. Maybe I'm just naive, but I consider flaming one of the dumbest things ever. Why would you go through the work to write out a well-written flame instead of just closing the window and not reading the fanfic? I'll tell you why; flamers have nothing better to do with their lives than sit at their computers, surrounded by their pet cats, ruining the self-esteem of young writers.)
That brings me to my next point.
Fair Warning: all flames will be reported. If you have something to say, it can be said using constructive critisism. I am a young writer; a highschool freshman. If you are some college student majoring in English, then you have absolutely no right to be flaming someone with half as much experience as you. I speak from both personal experience and common sense when I say it is just not cool. If my writing makes you so angry that you feel the need to flame me, then don't read it. Take your attitude and your exremely boring life (it must be if you feel the need to flame a freshman) and shove it up your (excuse the language) arse.
Anyway, without further adieu...
the prologue.
Prologue
3rd Person POV
A little girl with bright green eyes and light brown hair played with a miniature piano in the living room, while her mother cooked dinner. The mother, named Melody, hummed a soft little tune as she stirred the pasta. Other than the sound of the little girls piano, the bubbling water, and the soft humming, the apartment was silent.
The Gotham apartment was nothing fancy. It was enough for a family of three to live comfortably. But where was the third?
Well, Jasper Collin Dewhurst was busy getting kicked out of yet another karaoke bar. Not because he couldn't sing, quite the opposite in fact. No, because he chose to sing songs by female artists and the high notes that he could reach would break the machine and place anyone within range in a sort of trance for the rest of the night. This was bad for business, of course, because then those people would stop buying drinks. So, Mr. Dewhurst was essentially a bad luck charm. Fed up with all the undereducated career-destroyers, both from his school days and just now, Mr. Dewhurst swore revenge.
A couple of months later, a new villain emerged. He called himself the Music Meister, and could place anyone in a trance purely with his voice. Sadly, we all know how this story goes. Batman and Black Canary defeat him and send him off to Arkham Asylum where he will stay until he either breaks out (like most people placed there by the Bat) or is deemed suitable to return to society.
Back at the house, the three-year-old girl is crying in the arms of her mama.
"Where papa?" she asks through her tears.
"He's on a...business trip," Melody says. She knows that Aika would not understand the severity of what her father has done, so she decides to save it for when he gets back, possibly even later than that. "He'll be gone for a pretty long time, though."
10 years later
Miracles and tragedies stuck the Dewhurst family all in one night. Jasper was released, but as he was getting home, he saw flashing lights. Blue, red, blue, red, blue, red.
'They can't be here for me,' he thought as he hurried towards the entrance. 'I even have the papers to prove that I didn't just bust out!' He heard crying, now he was worried. He ran in the direction of the crying and saw that the lights were not coming from police cars, as he had originally thought, but from an ambulance. He couldn't see the face of the woman being placed into the ambulance, but he could see the tear tracks on the face of the thirteen-year-old girl sitting on the steps near the entrance to the apartment complex.
What was extremely sad was not the fact that he had no clue that it was his wife being placed in the ambulance, but that he didn't know that it was his own daughter sobbing her heart out on the steps. That is, until she looked up.
"Dad?" Sniff. "You're back from you're business trip?"
"Aika? Y-yes, I'm back. What happened to your mother?"
More tears. "I don't know. We were in the kitchen when she just collapsed and stopped breathing. I called 911 as I checked her pulse, and she didn't have one." She burst into tears again
The next day, Melody Dewhurst was declared dead of unknown disease. Today would have been her birthday, too.
