Hey, guess what? You know what I don't own? Everything here except the plot of the story, which I obviously came up with myself.
Rating: T for violence, language, and maybe some character death later on, I'm not sure yet
You know, joining the Justice League of America was always supposed to be a good thing.
It was supposed to mean that you were stepping up in the hero world, that you were considered one of the greatest. To fight alongside guys like Superman and Batman and girls like Wonder Woman and Black Canary, it was an honor. It meant that you were worth something to them. It meant that they thought they could use you on the team. And above all, it meant that they saw potential in you.
At least, that was what it was supposed to mean.
Naïveté is abundant in the young, evidenced by yours truly. I thought all of that was true. It was a real sanctimonious, real pious picture, wasn't it, these superior beings who used their powers to protect us instead of becoming our overlords? It was a real nice thing to look up to, a master image that was so good that there was no way it wasn't true. Falsity was overruled by the examples they set in the works that they performed on a daily basis. If it wasn't true, then it was invented by the world's best con artist. And, like the stupid, gullible kid that I was, I bought into it. It was really the only reason I sought Batman out, the thought that I could be like them someday, maybe even be their partner someday.
Guess what I found out when I got on the inside? The best con artists in the world don't even have to be from this world.
The world would be horrified to find out about the things I saw within the first five weeks of being Robin. Sure, it was all fun and games and adventure for a while, but then, the true colors of the job—and my boss—came out. Being a sidekick or a protégé or whatever you want to call it didn't mean you got to help save the world. It meant you were a fomenter of the scheme, albeit unwillingly, that was slowly sucking in the whole Earth, and there was nothing you could do about it. For six full years, I was their good little puppet, going where they told me to go and doing what they told me to do for the sake of my own survival. Yeah, I'd seen what they called "making an example of someone". It was enough to make you sick to your stomach, the things they were willing to do to ensure their wishes were fulfilled. The only thing that kept me quiet in the face of those living nightmares the human race called heroes was the knowledge of what tended to happen to squealers. Those accidents, they're so unfortunate, you know? They always seem to get the people that have…special types of information, if you catch my drift.
Joining the JLA was always supposed to be a good thing. And, once upon a time, I'm sure it was. But that was before the world got meaner, before the heroes that protected it grew so jaded that right and wrong meant the same thing to them. They got what they wanted, one way or another, and there was no getting around it. And if you got in the way, well, then, they figured that they had every right to eliminate the problem, no matter who it was. So, it wasn't too difficult to imagine that we new recruits were all smiles on the outside but all fear and anxiousness on the inside when we were granted JLA membership. Because not even bona fide members, long-timers like Superman or Green Arrow, were totally safe from the wrath of their comrades, let me assure you.
I knew what'd happened to the bolder ones, the ones who got tired of living a lie and wanted to expose the evils they lived with every day to the world. It was easy enough to wipe them off the face of the planet. Just hire someone to take them out and write them off as a martyr for the cause of heroism. After all, all good heroes should be willing to give their lives for what they do, right?
Turning thirteen was a wake-up call with a chilling message: In this business, everybody is a bad guy, including the so-called "heroes".
Turning nineteen was an entrance into a whole new world with an even worse truth to comprehend: Mess with your superiors, and you'll end up as just another name on a memorial somewhere.
I wasn't willing to test it, not at first. But, you know…everybody needs to be free. And it's much easier to revolt when you've got friends to stand beside you.