Author's Note: This is a story observing a dystopian world and how the characters can factor into it. That's why I used the term AU. Please just try to enjoy it, and don't burn out your brain cells trying to lecture me on good and evil, please. If you would prefer something that explores the intricacies of such a spectrum, you don't have to read this or anything else I might write in the future.
"So how long have you had powers?" Wally asked, following Roy down the hall to the yard. Roy clenched his fists, the fingertips still red from the earlier blast he'd set off.
"A year. They picked me up ten months ago." Roy explained.
Wally nodded carefully. "I've been here for about three years. I gave them quite a chase for a bit."
"'Cause you're fast?" Roy guessed. Wally nodded.
"And I'm not the only one. My uncle and my cousin are probably in here somewhere too. Or, not my uncle. They said they keep adults somewhere else. You know, I kinda hope my cousin and my uncle got away, 'cause I heard they kill the adults or something. Hey, how've you been here so long and we're just now talking?" Wally didn't seem to shut up, but when he asked the question, he did finally fall silent.
"They keep us in isolated cells, stupid. And I try not to associate at mealtimes," Roy explained. He glared at Wally. "See, I don't really like people."
"Oh. Well, thanks for helping me out anyway, man, I owe you! You really could have hurt Cam though, maybe you should tone it down a bit?" Wally suggested.
"Cam? You and your bully are on nickname terms?" Roy asked, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly the overhead lights that bathed everything in white turned red, and Roy felt the heat in his hands disappear. Wally stumbled and fell to the ground, probably startled at how suddenly everything went normal for him as well.
The intercoms crackled and a woman's voice said, coldly and clinically, "Warning all units, a metahuman has escaped detainment. Male, black hair, undetermined foreign descent. Slight and slippery. Thirteen. All metas have been temporarily destabilized in order to efficiently track down the detainee."
"Destabilized?" Roy asked.
"Our powers won't work as long as the lights are red," Wally spat. "This happens every time someone thinks they can get out. No one's ever that lucky."
"How long do the lights stay red?" Roy asked, hearing footsteps coming from the direction they'd been headed.
"Until the idiot who tried to run is caught," Wally explained. Then Roy saw the group of metas being led towards them from the yard.
"Back to the mess hall," a large guard decked in full body armor shouted. "The yard's off limits."
"Damn," Roy hissed under his breath.
"The lights affect the yard, too, dumbass. Can't fight your way out," Wally muttered darkly. He turned to walk back to the mess hall. "People have tried. And failed."
Roy conceded the idea to the smaller redhead, but only because he had been here for so long, and had probably seen the unfortunate outcomes of people like Roy acting out. Roy was eighteen. If he'd been three years older, he'd have been locked up with the adults. Or killed, if the rumors were true. The guards had told him, as he was admitted, that there weren't many people his age in the Center. He was lucky they'd found him so quick. He hadn't argued then, and he wouldn't argue now.
The Center has been enforced by President Luthor when metahumans began popping up as criminals. It was the first occurrence of supervillains anyone had ever seen, and everyone hoped that it would also bring about superheroes. But the more the police struggled, the more people began to fear and hate anyone with strange abilities, the less people seemed to want to help. And so President Luthor had the countries best scientists and engineers put to work to develop some defenses. And the Center, and it's patrolmen and guards, was built.
Then President Luthor was re-elected, for "single handedly" solving the metahuman issue. Everyone was so wrapped up in fear of metas, that no one noticed Luthor becoming the USA's first dictator. And when people began to notice, he'd already taken complete control. People were losing their children because they accidentally awoke their metagene, people were being abducted and experimented on to see if the metagene could be removed or replicated, and people were going on the run whenever they awoke their abilities.
Roy awoke his metagene in an inebriated haze as he crashed his car on the railing along a cliff and went careening into the bay. He blasted the door off its hinges to escape a watery grave, and realized that he couldn't go back to his legal guardian for another reason, on top of all his horrible screwups. Roy remembered his first few days on the run as being painful and horrid. Somehow he had survived the fall with no broken limbs, but the withdrawal symptoms of heroin… he'd nearly died. He's shocked that he didn't.
He's not entirely sure if he'd been with someone or not on the drive. He could almost remember another face, but not entirely. The unknown was eating at him, and sometimes at night he couldn't sleep because of the guilt. It was heavy, and it weighed him down, and he wondered if some kid's parents ever found out they died because they were drugged up on a windy road. But he had to keep going. He had to figure out a way to hide, because he'd rather have died that night than end up in the Center.
Here he was, though. Trapped in the Center only two months after he discovered his powers. He turned to Wally, walking beside him in the red lit hallway. "How long were you on the run?"
"A whole year," Wally explained. "Longest of anyone here that I've met."
Roy nodded thoughtfully. He opened his mouth to ask about his cousin, but then the red lights went out, and the intercom switched on. "Hi, this is the new detainee, Codename: Robin, I regret to inform you, 'all units', but I am no meta, I've shut off all power to the lights and restraints, and… well, I think you're all about to have a big security problem."
"What the fuck!?" The guard in the back of the room shouted. Roy felt heat fill his fists, and in the darkness they looked a bit like they were red hot coals. Wally started vibrating, little yellow bursts of lightning streaking off of him. A girl started to glow purple, and a boy's markings lit up a soft blue as water pipes creaked in the walls around them. The guard noticed all the metas gearing up to bust their ways out. "Shit!"
Roy was the first to act, shooting a beam of heat at the metal walls around them, slicing through the material easily enough. As utter chaos descended upon the Center, Roy could faintly hear the intercom's releasing a creepy laugh that almost seemed to echo through the sudden pandemonium.
"Jailbreak!"
"Roy, at least try to be polite to the president. He didn't have to come to this gala," Oliver Queen pleaded.
Roy scowled. "Like he even cares about reintegrating metas into society. Like anyone does! Come on, it's been ten years now. If anyone cared about metas, the Center wouldn't exist. I doubt you care, Ollie!"
Oliver frowned. "I care about metas, Roy."
"Oh, right, I forgot. Your girlfriend's hiding out somewhere because she can shatter bullet proof glass when she yells at you to wash your socks," Roy spat sarcastically. "I don't fit in with these people, Ollie. I grew up on a reservation. No one in that room even knows a thing about Native Americans, except the stereotypes they see in movies!"
"Well, how about Wayne's kid? He's going. He doesn't fit in with rich people anymore than you do," Oliver suggested. "Try getting to know him."
"He's like, six years old, Ollie. I'm sixteen," Roy snapped.
"He's not six, Roy. Besides, Wayne actually does care about the less fortunate. He's got his fingers in a lot of pies, and that includes meta pies," Oliver explained. "Maybe he can help you understand why I want to do this for them."
"God, I hate this country. If I turn out to be a meta, just shoot me," Roy groaned. He didn't see the worried gaze Oliver sent him. "Whatever, I'll go to your dumb gala and play nice with Wayne. But I'm not going near Luthor. He hasn't done me any favors."