CONNER

Before I knew it, a full year had passed after the Crisis and the things we'd lost in its aftermath. I was watching the city of Metropolis, as well as my little-town home in Smallville, change around me. Things got faster, technology evolved as always, but the streets got meaner the more that the times moved on. It seemed like I was working non-stop to keep people safe, going round the clock to make sure that nothing bad happened to anybody that I could prevent. So, of course, who showed up right when the world seemed to need him the most?

That's right—Superman.

I know I should've been grateful that Clark didn't quit on us, that he hadn't decided that being away from the cape and costume was the right path for him and retired too early. I know I should've been glad that he'd come back to help us all out and work for the greater good, like he'd always done in the past. That was what I should've felt, but I didn't feel any of that. Instead, I felt betrayed, offended, that Clark had left me on my own. He had just packed his bags, grabbed Lois, and taken off, with little more than a goodbye before he was gone. I realize that it was my choice to stay behind, but he could've at least given me some way to contact him if I needed his aid. But, no, we can't interrupt Superman's little vacation to tell him that his protégé, his son, for crying out loud, is in danger of overload on crime-stopping and could use a little assistance. We've got to wait until he's despairing over how he's going to protect two places at once and then swoop in like an angel sent straight from heaven, playing savior all over again. Sounds bitter, doesn't it? Well, that was what happened. He just floated down right in the middle of the city one day, dramatic as ever, and everybody welcomed him back with open arms.

That was probably because he's, like, the archetypal superhero, the "welcoming-him-back-with-open-arms" thing. But it still made me mad. Clark had deserted us all, abandoned us for a full year, and left me to try and handle the horrors Metropolis has to offer, not to mention the somewhat smaller crimes of Smallville (you'd be surprised what people come up with there), on my own. And then, when he finally returns, it's like, "Sorry, Superboy, you've done well, but we prefer Superman to you. He's the real thing." Nobody ever said it, but I could feel that they were thinking it, and it made my blood boil.

It might've just been the Luthor in me, making my temper flare up like that. If there's one thing I got from him, it's that animal rage that sparks into a burning flame so fast that you don't realize it until you're throttling somebody because of it. Let me tell you, I felt every minute of it when Clark returned. It wasn't really that he stole the spotlight from me, not really. It was just how quickly everybody pushed me aside in favor of him. Didn't my good works count as much as his did? Wasn't I just as much, if not more, of a hero as him? Apparently, I wasn't, not in the eyes of the people of Metropolis.

I still worked with Clark after that, but nowhere near as much as before. My year alone had taught me so much more about survival than he could've ever done, and so much more than he had when he was actually teaching me and not avoiding me or treating me like I was five years old. The way I saw it, I didn't have to be under his guard all the time, not when I could take perfect care of myself. Superman didn't need Superboy, so, now, Superboy didn't need Superman, either.

As if that weren't enough to rattle the cage for me, I was going through some strain with Cassie in our relationship. She was going through a similar rough time with Wonder Woman, but she didn't want to talk about it. She said she could handle it by herself, which I blatantly told her I thought was a load of crap. She needed somebody to unload on just as much as I did, but she wouldn't come to me about it, and if we couldn't go to each other, then was there anybody we could turn to? Needless to say, Cassie did not appreciate my remark, and she decided to give me the cold shoulder until I apologized or her impatience with me blew over, whichever came first. So, I found myself without a "father-figure" or a girlfriend to talk to, and it was too weird to go to Ma and Pa Kent, nice people though they were. And my best friend, who I would've normally gone to in this situation, anyway, was currently missing in action—literally. So, I was totally and completely alone in the world.

Or, so I thought, anyway.

It was a cloudy day, a cold front blowing in and a thunderstorm on the way. I was sitting in the park in Metropolis, brooding, all by myself except for the howl of the wind in my ears. Brooding made me think of Batman, which made me think of Tim, which made me think of the others, which made me brood even harder. Suddenly, I heard a new heartbeat enter the park, and quick, confident footsteps approaching me. A bald man in a long, black coat walked over and sat next to me on the park bench. I sat up a little straighter, swallowed nervously, when I recognized who it was. Oh, please, no, not him, not now. Please, don't make this be real.

"Hello, Conner," Lex Luthor greeted me congenially. "I think it's time we had a talk, son."

CASSIE

Diana's return as Wonder Woman should've made me happy. I should've been relieved that she was back to help me, but I wasn't, because she'd left me in the first place. She gave me a choice, yeah, but when it came down to it, I couldn't leave the people I was supposed to protect just because of the Crisis. The memories of it hadn't faded with time, not the way they're supposed to, but all the sharp edges had dulled from bouncing off my nerves so many times in twelve months. I guess nobody really was satisfied with my hero work, since they just shoved me aside for Wonder Woman when she came back. It was humbling, at first, remembering that I wasn't always going to be the best of the best, that there was always going to be somebody who was better than me. Then, though, afterwards, it just majorly ticked me off to see her basking in the glory of their praises while I was left on the sidelines, yet again.

Conner wasn't helping the anguish any. A boyfriend is supposed to make you feel better, supposed to let you cry on his shoulder, not turn it all around so it's all about him again. He was trying to relate to me, I guess, trying to show me that I wasn't alone, but he sucked at it. All that came across to me was that he thought I was weak and that I needed to be held up by petty sentiments and empty consolations. He said the same thing was happening to him with Clark, but he never gave me a chance to point out what was different. "Your mentor wasn't a murderer," I'd wanted to say. "Your mentor didn't string you along, make you believe you were defending a legacy that was long gone too long ago." But I couldn't say it, because he wouldn't shut up long enough to let me. I wasn't going to sit there and let him wallow in self-pity. I couldn't torture myself like that, listening to a conversation that I could never get a word in on. So, I decided that I had to keep away from him, at least for a while, just until I'd cooled off enough that I could handle his attitude again. It's harder to date Supermen than you might think.

Maybe it was childish of me, but I shunned Wonder Woman after that. I refused to work with her when she wanted to team up, because I had no time to play sidekick anymore. I'd become my own hero, regardless of the name I bore. "Wonder Girl" may have been known as Wonder Woman's protégé, but that didn't mean she had to be. And besides, I could look after myself; I didn't need her hanging over my shoulder, watching me like a hawk every minute, every second of every mission, every day. And that wasn't all. After her return, there was no more Diana, no more Cassie, when we met up occasionally. There was only Wonder Woman and Wonder Girl, a professional, working relationship between us, and nothing more.

It was times like these when I wished the Titans were still together. It'd give me a place to go to, a place to stay, when nobody else would take me. Then, I had to firmly remind myself that Amazons don't run away from their duties. Unlike Wonder Woman, I was unable to shirk my responsibilities to the people of my city, and I would stand by them to the last, whether they liked it or not.

Nothing became more important than my hero work. Before I knew it, my grades in school were slipping, and I was getting into more fights with my mom. I could've gone to Mom about it all, I know, but she wouldn't understand what it was like to be cast aside for someone else, someone better. Or, maybe, she would. After all, wasn't that what Zeus had done to her when he left her with me? "It was a one-night thing, honey, and you're gorgeous and all, but that woman over there is even prettier than you, and I've got to go chase her down." Yeah, some dad I had, huh?

I found myself wishing that I could get somebody to talk to, anybody. I knew I had to keep going down my path, the path I'd chosen for myself, but I was sick of the self-imposed exile. I wanted someone there with me to help me and guide me, somebody to look to for assistance that would actually deliver when I needed them most.

That was why I wasn't too indignant or surprised when I saw the helm in the mirror one morning. The man with the golden-blond hair and pale blue eyes was familiar to me, and he was all I had of a real family. I still remember that day with perfect clarity. "Cassandra," he said to me in that silky, alluring voice. "I see you're on your own, yet again. I still need a champion, you know, and I never abandon my champions."

"I know, Ares," I answered evenly. "And I'm ready to take you up on your offer."

TIM

I became used to the idea, after a full year had gone by, that General was judge and jury, and I was the executioner. I really had no choice but to comply if I wanted to survive the horrors of the prison camp, because not even General's own soldiers were safe from the punishment for disobedience. I had seen ten Markovian troops executed for similar offenses, three of them Special Forces, and it only served to reinforce the idea that the supreme law of the land was to do as you were told or risk death. I, for one, wasn't much of a risk-taker, and I'd resolved to never get myself back in the position I'd been in the first four months. Starvation, thirst, sleeplessness, and torture were all memories that were fresh in my mind, memories coated in the sour mucus of pain and discomfort. They were disconcerting memories, and not experiences that I wished to repeat for any reason at all. So, I had to murder for him, and I couldn't let it bother me, because it was the only way to protect myself.

I never saw Hal Jordan again there, while the prisoners were exercising or when it was time to play assassin. I wasn't allowed to know too much of what went on in the camp, for the sake of keeping me submissive, so I had no way to know if he'd been executed or if he'd agreed to General's terms. My guess was that they were still working on him, trying to break him down. The sad thing was I used to think, Good luck with that, but now, I only thought, I'll see him out here with me eventually. But I didn't. In fact, I can't remember seeing him again the entire duration of my stay in Vlatava. Maybe one of the other Green Lanterns had come for him, or maybe he'd gotten lucky, found his ring, and escaped on his own. I never really found out, and to this day, I still don't want to. It just didn't interest me anymore.

When I became General's pet killer, one of the special privileges that I received was a calendar hung up on the wall of my room. I was happy that I had that to use, because it was getting harder and harder every day to track the actual date using the sunrises and sunsets, especially since, half the time, I'd been so hungry and tired that I couldn't remember what day I'd thought it was yesterday. Not knowing the date for certain made me feel…ignorant, somehow, or unaware of my surroundings, and I didn't like that feeling, so I made sure that I always knew what the exact date was. Not only for that purpose, but also because it helped to ground me, to keep me from totally losing my mind. But I never told anyone when I celebrated my seventeenth birthday, because birthdays weren't a part of the plan. Nobody would care about it, anyway, because it had no impact on the greater scheme.

The greater scheme was something I'd been working on uncovering since day one. Back when I was uncooperative, General had once said that we'd all be "inducted into the Markovian Special Forces Unit." That was the plan—on the surface, at least. By this point, one year later, I was able to take a better look around the camp and pick up on things I'd missed before, details that had been driven from my mind by the torture inflicted upon me. Veteran's team hadn't been the only ones captured. There were large quantities of men, women, and sometimes even children that were carted in every month, adding to the vast amounts of prisoners already in the camp. Sometimes, they were soldiers, trained and armed, but other times, they were just frightened civilians. For all I knew, the war was still raging. It made sense that General would want as many troops as possible fighting for him. That explained why people were packed in there tighter than sardines in a can.

General was smart, though. He knew he couldn't use all of us. So, that was why he herded other prisoners, the weak and the wild, into sessions with the ones he thought had potential. Some prisoners would undoubtedly make it to Special Forces. Others were there to contribute to their "training". He needed hardened killers for his soldiers, people who could cut down another person without batting an eye. The ones that wouldn't make the cut for the MSF Unit would be used to mold the others into killing machines. And then, of course, if one of us turned out to be a disappointment, if someone deserted or turned back at the last minute, they could pull someone else from the huge groups of people they crammed into the prison camp to take their place, a spare tire, if you will, or a replacement. If there was one thing I'd learned the hard way, it was that there were no irreplaceable troops. Everybody was expendable here, including General himself.

So, then, if he needed such a large Special Forces Unit, his target couldn't be such a small country as Vlatava. There would be no way. If he turned everyone in the camp (which he wouldn't, but this puts it into perspective), he'd have the equivalent of a sixth of the Vlatavan army already, not to mention the normal soldiers he'd pull into the fighting. No, Vlatava was not the target of the mission. But if that was true, then…then what was his target?

It was at that point that I decided that I couldn't stay anymore. I had to do something to stop this. I couldn't just sit around and wait to get plucked out of it by the hand of some savior, whoever it might be. I had to make better times for myself. So, I began to plan the grand escape of all new recruits for the Markovian Special Forces Unit.