Before we get started, I just wanted to preface some changes I made, and by changes I of course mean a slew of retcons. This is just my humble opinion and observation, so I hope everyone enjoys, and if not, that's cool just the same. Let me know what you think about my treatment of the series as I will briefly detail my construction of the team. Here is the full roster with a small explanation as to why the two new characters made the cut and one old character did not.
Roster
Robin
Superboy
Impulse
Wondergirl
The Secret
XS: Jenni Ognatz is the first free agent pickup who fills a role I feel the team desperately needs. The beauty of a team such as the X-Men is the presence of certain communal characters who can bridge the gap between the more solitary and confrontational members. Beast and Storm are invaluable to the team because it is in their kindness and heartfelt empathy that they provide the much needed emotional anchorage of the team. In the same vein, I feel XS, who really hasn't been doing anything remotely of interest in the Legion of Superheroes, would be best served on this team. Being from the future, her character elicits wonderful irony in the sense that while a stranger in a strange land, she has perhaps the greatest grasp of what is truly important and relevant to everyone's life. It is in her gentleness and enthusiastic optimism that she can also be a maternal confidant for each member and an emotional pillar for the team.
The Spoiler: The second of the two cast additions, we had to give up 2 first round draft picks for her, but it's worth it. Barring the whole Leslie Tompkins debacle, which we will promptly retcon out of existence, Stephanie Brown offers another necessary component and source of conflict to the team. Unlike Arrowette who, though beautiful, was too nice and reserved to be flirtatious, Stephanie can introduce an element of sexual, but not salacious, tension to the group. I mean, c'mon, it's a bunch of teenage boys and girls living together, one of the characters logically has to push the sexy button and counter the advances made by Superboy. The key to Spoiler is that as opposed to the stereotypical 1950's dumb blond aesthetic, Stephanie Brown uses her beauty and sexual nature as a source of empowerment. While she, like the rest of the team, has her own latent insecurities, Stephanie externally derives confidence from her ability to use her attractiveness and seductiveness to control others.
Villains
1. Arrowette: Here is where things get controversial; I feel that Arrowette needs to be dropped from the team. In my eyes, I think the series was really bogged down by her because she never fit into a roll on the team. Originally, I thought there were great seeds sown between her and Wondergirl as she embodied everything Wondergirl wanted to be in life, but to my chagrin, that conflict was resolved in like 3 panels.
That being said, she will still play a pivotal role in the series. As is often the case, a poor hero tends to make a fascinating villain, and I think that for Arrowette, someone whose synthetic passion for being a superhero is contingent on the disembodied dreams of her mother, has great reason to slowly drift towards villainy.
When something is pushed too hard, it has no other recourse but to break.
Anyway, that's all I wanted to say, here is the first story in a longer arc. Enjoy!
Chapter I
Blink and you'll miss it, but it is ever so hard to keep your eyes open. The weight of seeing things for what they are takes a toll on even the strongest amongst us.
Within the space of a heartbeat, the grace with which the image becomes clear is surpassed only by the suddenness it becomes darkness. Regardless of what is seen, it is real. After all, it is your face his gloved fist prepares to strike.
For a time it seems as though victory is no mere fantasy, but an actuality. The tellers, the guards, and the bank customers, each in turn, failed to deter you and your accomplices. Together, the plan had unfurled perhaps better than could have ever been predicted. With sweat, fatigue, and bags of dollars, you and your allies charged out of the bank in full sprint towards the getaway car. The seething adrenaline of running transcends the minimal prospects of escape into the very real possibility of victory.
Victory of course, comes not without flirtation of defeat. Between heaving breaths and thumping heartbeats, your reddened eyes motion to your left hand, seeking confirmation that all was not in vain, and the money is still in tact. Satisfied, you blink, and there, as you sharply return your gaze forwards, you are greeted by a sight as unexpected as it is unwanted.
Appearing before you stands, or as you soon realize, hovers the Metropolis kid with four crimson covered knuckles waiting to crush your face. Though his punch targets your already scarred chin, it is abundantly clear that he is rather bored with you. The confident expression and superficial grin run far deeper than you could ever truly appreciate. He is, in every way his genetically engineered brain deems valuable, better than you, and he knows it. Smirking, he nonchalantly taunts you, "You should thank me really. This is going to be the best rest of your life."
Futile from the very start, your pulse heightens, your sweat thickens, but try as you might there is no avoiding the thunderous connection of his punch. As the fist collides with your jaw, the shattering of your jawbone denies you the dignity of being able to even girlishly scream as the intense pain overtaking you. The quaking impact of the blow sends you backwards hundreds of feet, and as you slowly fade from consciousness, you capture one final glimpse of your scurrying partners, your so called friends. Disheartened, you realize you are not the only one to fall prey to Young Justice.
Panicked by the sight, and even more so the rippling sound of their ally being decimated by Superboy, the other seven bank robbers fragmented into different directions to avoid pursuit. Without a moment's more consideration, the driver waiting in the getaway car nervously sped off, leaving behind both screeching tread marks and his accomplices. Feverishly, two other robbers, each with overflowing bags of dollars, unsheathed their semiautomatic weapons at a middle aged woman entering her parked car. In that one fleeting moment, the woman experienced more terror than the accruement of her 47 years on Earth, barely mustering the strength to relinquish control of her vehicle to the two. Lastly, the final four each headed in opposing directions, parting company with common intent of splintering their pursuers.
As did the getaway vehicle's speed increase, so too did the spirits of the driver. No cove of paper, regardless of how green, was worth the cold thrashing served to his ally. He very well may have lost the best score of his life, but it mattered not. He, unlike his pedestrian fellow robbers, felt the warming rejuvenation of freedom with every blazed mile passed.
That is of course, until he began to feel an unending, unyielding battery of winds against the doors and glass. From inside the car, he could feel a massive, almost vortex vacuuming him and the vehicle in. He was, in part, correct.
Faster than he or anyone else could ever fathom, a whirlwind developed around the vehicle. This was not by nature's hand, but rather the feet of Jenni Ognatz circling around the car at immeasurable speeds. Like her partner Superboy, she too smiled, but hers was a smile of candor and gentle innocence. Her eyes however, revealed an iron determination that emerged as her plan came to fruition.
To the vertigo and chagrin of the man inside the getaway vehicle, Jenni's intense cycling around the outside of the car created a vicious tornado that uplifted the car hundreds of feet into the air. Suspended and swirling within the upper quadrant of the torrent, the driver, sure of nothing save his life, begged for XS to cease. Obliging him, Jenni giggled to herself as she transitioned into the final stage of her attack. Slightly bending her knees, Jenni jumped into the air, gathering maximum momentum from both her speed and the whirling winds. Soaring through the air, she masterfully entered into the eye of the calamitous winds, and, employing her flying abilities, ascended to the highest apex of the tornado. Then, with her concentrated might, she blitzed back down towards the concrete surface at the bottom of the tornado at the greatest speed she could attain.
In a furious crescendo, XS stomped onto the ground, the colossal force of which seismically obliterated the already unstable tornado, causing the trapped dust, wind, and car to erupt in every direction. Fearful for his life, the driver culled all his strength to hastily pry his door open and jettison out of the spinning car into the waiting arms of XS. Though he landed in the safe hands of XS, the getaway car suffered an altogether different fate. Tumbling on every axis in mid air, the getaway car's tumultuous hundred foot ride abruptly ended as the passenger side door of the car smashed against the unforgiving concrete pavement, exploding into thousands of fractured bits of steel, aluminum, and burnt leather.
Whereas the other three on-foot robbers sought escape through running, the first of the four considered a markedly different strategy. Immediately after seeing Superboy decimate his comrade, the robber pondered, what, if any, chance of defeating a super being he possessed. Divorced from any lingering naivety, he astutely surmised that his weakness, the weakness inherent in all humans, was his strength.
Shrewdly, the man removed his pistol and took aim at the most vulnerable, and therefore useful, individual amongst the crowd. Eying a young woman bedazzled by the afternoon's events, the robber coarsely demanded, "You, you're coming with me! NOW!!" Jamming the nozzle of the firearm against her rosy cheeks, he positioned himself behind her with her quivering body a flesh shield.
Of all the fleeing robbers, his bold action thieved the ire and attention of the police present. Pressed against the door of his police cruiser, special agent Fiite vehemently pleaded with the robber, "Let the girl go! You still have a chance to walk away from all this with some hope, but if you hurt even one hair on her head, then I promise you that you will not escape! Whether by trial or my own hands, I will see you pay!!"
The slicing passion of Fiite temporarily penetrated the robber, and for the most fleeting minute, he contemplated letting the hostage go. Soon however his, or at least what he considered to be, better judgment reasserted control. Elicit in the contempt in Fiite's voice was his more deeply rooted fear. Much the same as the robber who took shelter behind the hostage, Fiite too found shelter in his explosive rage. Truly though, he was afraid, fearful that the police and the girl were at the mercy of he, the lone robber. Fear, as the robber promptly understood, is power.
Regaining his composure, the robber cockily stated, "Sorry to disappoint you, but I think me and my new girlfriend here are going for a little walk now. Anyone who even thinks of taking a step closer will have her burst brains on their conscience!! By the time you radio for snipers, I, or should I say, we will be long gone. Don't worry though officer, since I know how much you care for this little tramp, I'll send you one of her toes every day of the week!"
Upon saying that, he could feel his female hostage squirm in futile desperation. His hand roughly smothered her mouth to silence her deafening shriek, but still, the agonized torment emerged through her muffled screams. Left with no alternative, the police stood at bay and feverishly pondered how to save the hostage. Meanwhile, the robber and his petrified victim slowly backed away from the police line north into the horizon, and as the minutes passed, the police had faded out of sight.
Determined to maintain his intimidating hold over the young woman, the admittedly nervous robber snarled, "Scream all you want girly, this is just the beginning! See, you're my ticket out of this mess, and if I don't make it out of this, then I'll make sure you don't either." To prove just how serious he was, he leaned back, and with his shooting hand, he aggressively punched her in the cheek with the gun, the metallic weapon clanging against her delicate features.
Satisfied by his necessary malice, he cruelly ordered, "Now let's get moving!" Sobbing uncontrollably, the bruised woman endured an ever more stinging blow as she heard someone yell out, "LET HER GO!!" Although the young woman prayed for nothing but for someone to save her from this materialized nightmare, she knew this, this madman promised to, to kill her if the cops came even remotely close to him. Now, those idiot cops had disobeyed him and he would kill her!
The tenacious words, though stern, were unconvincing. To the robber and bourgeoning kidnapper, the voice could not possibly have been uttered by a seasoned, or even competent, officer. No, this had to be the altruistic callings of a rookie female cop out to be a hero. He never believed in heroes. In truth, he did not believe in believing. He knew bullets and understood death, something his young female charge would soon learn as well.
In response, the robber growled, "You fools never learn do you, you just cannot leave well enough alone can you! Alright then, if you do not value this kid's life, then why should I!!" This was it, the young woman began to realize. Up until this very moment, it was all like a horrifying dream. But now, it was no longer a dream. The chemical odor seeping out from inside the barrel of the gun was real, the intensity of her kidnappers bloodshot eyes were real. This was no dream. Life, and perhaps now her death, was unimaginably real.
The robber, intent on sending a clear and visceral message, took aim at her smooth ring finger. In his ever twisted mind, he planned on methodically mutilating her body every so often to keep them at bay, and to keep her alive long enough to continue his escape. Just as he shifted the pistol closer to her hand, he heard a second time, "I said, LET HER GO!!"
Unmistakably, this time the same voice had grown more authoritative. Even more disturbing, the voice sounded as if it was drawing nearer. Unable to locate its origin, the robber swiveled his head in each direction, finally turning his entire body around. In a flashing instant, as the robber turned around he was met by the rumbling current of Wondergirl flying directly at him.
Planting deep into his stomach, Wondergirl ruggedly gored the robber with her extended shoulder. The wind forcibly knocked out of him, the robber was further taken by surprise as she then wrapped her arms around his crumpling body and lifted him upwards in flight. Carrying the man in her hands, the two traveled through the sky hundreds of feet into the air. Reaching sufficient altitude, Wondergirl reduced her speed to allow gravity to slowly overtake her upward momentum. Weightlessly, she and the robber then began their descent back to the ground as the two fell through the sky at ever increasing speeds.
Midway back to the ground, Wondergirl leaned backwards while gripping him and drew his head and upper back behind her own. With him in position, Wondergirl meteorically crashed back down onto the concrete ground using the robber as a human cushion for her landing. The jagged compression of the robber's body onto the street facilitated a rather soft landing for Wondergirl. Straight away on impact, every last cranial, arm, and shoulder muscle of the man shattered into sickly pieces. Moreover, the robber shriveled unconscious from the damaging brunt of the crash, unaware of anything beyond the reverberant sounds of his own bones cracking.
Watching the entire attack from the battlefield itself, the former hostage raced over to Wondergirl. Concerned over her well being, Wondergirl asked, "Are you okay? It's over now." Almost hesitant to accept that it was finally all over, the young woman at last broke down and repeatedly thanked Wondergirl for rescuing her. "…Th-thank you so much, I, he…I was so afraid that…thank you…You were amazing."
Uncertain as how to accept the heartfelt compliment, Wondergirl stammered, "…You think so, it really wasn't anything special. I think you were the one who was really brave."
Surprised, the young woman sniffled and said, "…How, how do you mean?" "Well," Wondergirl began, the ease of conversation returning now that it was no longer about her, "how many people out there would be able to stay calm and collected while at gunpoint. Most people, most men probably would have started bawling and running around like maniacs. What you did took courage." Listening to her words, the young woman's jilted nerves began to settle and she shyly responded with a smile, "…th-thanks."
Beneath the rooftop, the second of the four pedestrian bank robbers frantically hurried east through the streets. The suddenness of Young Justice's arrival had shaken his already unstable grip on sanity. As such, the man erratically stumbled through the streets, mentally unhinged by the heightening uncertainty of each subsequent second. Gun in hand, anger in mind, he frenetically waved his weapon at any and every thing capable of moving.
Compounding matters, his innate confusion had become exacerbated by the consuming prevalence of a light brown gaseous mist surrounding him. Toying with his fragile frame of mind, this brown mist seemed to generate from apparently nowhere and just as soon had completely enveloped him. Unsure of all that was happening around him, the robber jaggedly yelled out, "I, I can't see…I…AARRGH!!"
Fury overcoming his fear, the robber violently lashed out. In a final plea to regain control, he began wildly blasting shots into the mist, hoping to destroy something that in his heart, he was well aware he could not possible hope to. Upon the splattering of bullets, the mist organically dissipated into thousands of microscopic particles, and for a brief moment, the robber stood convinced he had done that which he should not have been able to.
Though he witnessed the disintegration of the mist, his unsteady bravado blinded him to notice the subtle realignment of each and every last particle. Suddenly, the dispersed particles of the mist accrued into a thick wave behind him. Far too late to act now, the delirious robber turned around in time to watch as the mountainous torrent pummeled his body, thrusting him into the rigid brick foundation of an adjacent building. As the man lay unconscious, the surging wave remodeled itself once more, this time in the feminine physique of the Secret.
Despite her noticeable pride in her deft apprehension of this robber, she realized that she alone bore witness to it. No one took notice of her skill and style. No one took notice of her small, but disheartened sigh. No one took notice of the gaseous mist, or the female masquerade it assumes.
A slivering shadow, the third robber could feel the presence of a terrible chill about him. Unable to detect from where it emanated, he nevertheless was quite aware of its existence. Every step of his was met with the whistling hiss of the trailing wind. Alone and on foot, he discretely slipped off his black ski mask so as to appear as an innocent civilian.
Racing west around the back corner of the bank, he hoped the misdirection would provide him sanctuary. In the early minutes, he conceded his gambit had succeeded and his pursuers had lost his trail. Pleased at his cunning, the robber stole a glance at the sky, eager to bask in the glory of his escape. Consciously, he was full aware that it was early afternoon, and accordingly, the sun should be at its most radiant. However, the sight of the heavens above him belied a rather different interpretation.
The sky, like many the hearts of his accomplices, was black. No, not black, he soon gathered his faculties, but instead blocked. He could sense the heated rays parting from the sky in all directions except for directly above his head. It defied all traditional logic, but regardless, the robber stood in full view of an eclipse above him.
Terribly confused, he raised his right hand, the same hand that had callously smacked a bank teller in the face not fifteen minutes earlier, to his brow to gain a greater perspective on the eclipse above him. There, in the tumbling sky, he learned the apparent consuming shade was no eclipse, but the widening shadow of a falling angel.
Nowhere to be found was the staunch blackness of a true eclipse. Here instead, the robber stood in gripped fear as a majestic purple mystique descended upon him from atop the roof of a nearby building. Within a harrowing instant, the violet clad shadow agilely swooped down from what appeared to be a slit in very sun itself, and tightly clamped its legs in a vice around the robber's neck.
Gasping for air, desperate to just escape a breath of air let alone the situation, the robber stood motionless as he felt the intense lock squeezing his throbbing skull. For a split second, he discerned from the sinewy acrobatics of his opponent that death from above was in fact one who he might love. Unfortunately, his suffocating mind was privy to discover nothing more as he soon found his 190 lb. body contorted by his female attacker with the greatest of ease.
As if the crackling of a pistol, The Spoiler blazingly snapped her legs together while simultaneously twisting her torso around the top of the man's head. Pivoting from her hips, Spoiler stridently arched her spine from upright to below her pelvis. Inverting her position, her velvet hood was now parallel to the trembling kneecaps of the man. Commanding fierce momentum, Spoiler's movement suddenly spun the man's neck around, which cascaded his body to hunch over as it coiled to the reverse direction. Spoiler, her taught legs still anchored on the man's head, rotated 180 degrees around, thus causing the already nauseated robber to flip over horizontally and vertically.
The moment his cowering body flipped over in full oscillation, Spoiler, her face nigh inches from the chipped pavement as she continued swinging from atop the man, expertly threw out a line of rope from out her bag. Taking quick aim at the highest arch of a nearby building, Spoiler released the rope, its stringent fabric taking firm hold of the arch. In full swing, she flexed abdominal muscles, and as she pulled herself upward with the rope, she powerfully threw the robber with her quadriceps from his weary head with lashing force.
The combined force of the rope pulling her up and Spoiler physically tossing the man resulted in the robber being hurled countless feet into the sky as Spoiler nimbly ascended with the rope. In unison, Spoiler's poised feet daintily landed on the rooftop synchronically with the pained echo of the man's flung body crunching into the wall of the building. Admiring her stylistic work, Spoiler coyly insulted the prone body lying unconscious amongst a heap of dirt and trash, "I just hate guys who get between my legs and expect me to do all the work."
As the stolen car shakily accelerated through traffic, the two robbers, for but a brief moment, believed that they were the lucky ones. It was they who had held onto what was left of the tremendous score they had from the heist, and it was they who had managed to avoid having their ski masked faces caved in by Superboy. That day, only the arbitration of luck itself escaped.
Swerving across the road at flashing speeds, the two sincerely believed that they were traveling faster than any previous or future comprehension. The steaming engine roared in accordance with the stomping of the driver's foot on the pedal, and in sequence the rattling exhaust puffed putrid clouds of smog. Convinced their unprecedented 180 mile per hour speed had allowed them to evade the police, the two robbers were instantly stunned as they saw first hand a bolt of lightning streak passed the driver's side of the vehicle.
Never before or ever again had either of the two been so near a surge of lightning, and as swiftly as it lanced in front of them, it just as soon vanished. After a brief pause dedicated to the simple luxury of exhaling, both men clearly began to recall one daunting aspect of the quandary they had found themselves in.
Lightning does not, nor can it, run horizontally.
Their eyes returned to the road as they visualized the same thunderbolt charging directly at them from the center of the street. Panicked, the driver tried to rotate the steering wheel and desperately turn in another direction, but it was far too late to react.
Knifing towards the oncoming vehicle was Impulse, seemingly intent on a head on collision. Inches from the hood of the car, Impulse, dashing at speeds incomprehensible to man, began to seamlessly vibrate his entire body with intense rapidity. The robbers sat in sheer disbelief as Impulse casually annihilated whatever flimsy concept of matter they once shared as he phased through the hood of the car and windshield.
Apparently transparent, Impulse prepared to strike as his body fully immersed inside of the car's structure. Raising his knee, Impulse took aim at the bridge of the driver's nose. His knee his weapon of choice, Impulse, calculating his every move, leapt from inside the engine to assail the driver.
Partially still phased through the dashboard of the car, Impulse selectively rematerialized his knee as it emerged from the steering wheel. With injurious impact, the knee smashed directly into the quavering nose of the driver. Following contact, Impulse then phased his knee, and subsequently his entire body, through the driver's skull, continuing on in perfect stride. His head and torso passed through the roof of the car, Impulse, intent on leaving with one final memento, solidified his right foot after it phased through the driver's temple, and used it to boomingly kick the back of the driver's head.
Satisfied, Impulse phased this last part of his body through the roof of the car and somersaulted onto the street. With the driver receiving not one but two critical blows to the head, he was knocked instantly unconscious and the car, following suit, slid on its right side wheels until demolishing into an unwavering telephone pole.
Though the carjackers had been subdued, the hero of the day was nowhere to be found. Rather, milliseconds before the car even crashed into the pole, the wait had already grown excruciatingly tedious for Impulse who fled to something infinitely more fascinating. The air his flesh, his super speed his razor, Impulse ripped through the atmosphere across town towards that which truly caught his ever fickle attention, the Grand Theft Auto 4 trailer. Watching from outside the store window, Bart Allen, for each of those inexorable fifteen seconds, was completely focused, mind and body. In his lax, demure demeanor, Bart Allen commented aloud, "nice." Once the commercial concluded, all that was left was an electrified puff of smoke, and another impulsive decision.
Not far from the explosions and hostage negotiations, the last of the four on foot robbers stealthily snaked southward, utilizing the spectacle of the explosion as cover for his escape. Accompanying his every step was his fear, the ultimate fear, of the inevitable. One by one his accomplices were being picked off with the most sinister of ease, and in his pacing heart, it was merely a matter of time until he accompanied their fate. Nevertheless, he had slipped passed the gathering crowds at the explosion and nowhere in sight was any sign of threat.
Craftily, he snuck deep into the corner of an alley as his eyes fixed on his best means of escape. Courtesy of his simple minded compatriots, the police and their super powered lapdogs would be exhaustively searching for them at street level. This would be his greatest opportunity. Into the alley, he swiftly headed towards the rusted escape ladder connected to the back alley building and climbed. With brisk rapidity, he deftly scaled the ladders several stories to the roof of the building, and as his weary eyes surveyed the open rooftop, he finally, for the first time since early that same morning, exhaled, breathing the deepest sigh of relief he could remember.
Escape, in all its liberating glory, was as picturesque as the radiant horizon he headed towards. Darting across the roof of the building, the robber stood in stark confusion as a silver sparkle glinted in rotating spiral in front of him. At first, the twittering hue of the reflected sunlight was all he could distinguish. However, as the luminary sped closer towards him, he quickly deciphered it was an object hurtling at him.
Before his next move, before his next thought, the glimmering silver object that once had seemed to spin relentlessly instantly froze in midair. Furthering his astonishment, as the silver object suspended in midair for but a nanosecond, it just as speedily transformed before his eyes as long steel projections jutted out from both ends of the object, forming into a silver staff. The southern tip of the bow dug deep into the rooftop, firmly rooting into the marble pavement.
Just as quickly then, the robber's nerves near came undone as he beheld the jarring sight of a swooping black cape appearing from in front of him. Rising with the finesse and fury of a phoenix, Robin ascended into the sky from behind the edge of the rooftop in front.
Wasting neither time nor words, Robin sharply landed on the rooftop and dashed towards the silver staff deeply grounded in the rooftop. In one fluid motion, Robin's green gloves tightly clenched the steel staff, using it to gather as much power and momentum as possible. Swinging off the staff, Robin forcefully leapt towards the robber who stood paralyzed by the mesmerizing acrobatics of Robin, and viciously kicked the robber in his exposed chest, instantly cracking two of the man's ribs.
As emotional as he is flawed, Robin, he who is heir to the essence of a ninja, stood over his wounded opponent in stoic silence. Reaching outward with his hand, Robin grasped his staff from out the ground, dexterously twirled it in his hand, the speed of which bending the air around it, and finally returned it to its contracted form. His task complete, Tim Drake immediately contemplated how well the rest of his teammates were fairing.