Hey guys! Sorry that it took a while to post this; my week has been HECTIC. And I'm talking insane-my school had field day yesterday, and I yelled so hard that I still can't talk.

Anyway, as a result, this chappie is a lot shorter-I'm sorry! I'll try to make the next one long.

Hope you like it!

The room I woke up in looked surprisingly unlike a jail cell.

It wasn't five-star accommodations, don't get me wrong, but there weren't bars on the door or a little cot or a hole in the corner for a toilet. There were security cameras, but then, I had kinda seen those coming.

I was in a soft bed under spotless white sheets. It was small, but so comfortable, especially after two weeks of sleeping on the concrete floor of a warehouse.

I sat up, and tried to bring my hand around to rub the back of my head, but it wouldn't move. I looked down. My hands were in a pair of high-tech handcuffs—some weird metal thing that would probably be pretty hard to melt through.

Suddenly, the single, metal door imbedded in the wall slid soundlessly open. I looked up.

There, framed in the doorway, was a famous figure: long, blonde hair, fishnet tights, a black bodysuit and dark blue jacket combined in a way that made me instantly recognize the figure.

It was Black Canary.

She didn't look unfriendly, but she didn't smile either, just came soundlessly over to my bed, and pushed a couple of buttons on the handcuffs that made them snap open. I rubbed my wrists in relief: it felt really, really good to have those buggers off.

She stood up. "Batman wants to see you," she said simply, and then turned and began to walk away, not waiting for me to follow.

I leapt up and ran after her, which is not an easy thing to do when your hands are handcuffed together. She had a long stride, and I had to jog to keep up.

She led me through a tangle of hallways in a nameless building. It could have been the Justice League HQ in DC, but there was a surprising lack of tourists that led me to think that we were somewhere else, in some secret hideout somewhere.

I would never have been able to find my way around on my own, which meant the option of escape was out. Guess I would finally get that little chat with the Batman, after all.

Both of us were completely silent, making the walk incredibly awkward (at least for me). I couldn't tell if Canary was angry at me or just didn't want to talk. Maybe I didn't want to know.

Finally, we emerged in a main room. It was filled with members of the Young Justice team, sparring and working out and generally doing superhero-like stuff. None of them paid me the least bit of attention.

In the center of the room stood a man who was more of a wall then a person. He was clad entirely in gray and black, and even though he was facing away from me, it was easy to tell that he was not pleased.

"Elizabeth Reynolds," he said. He hadn't even seen me, and the room was filled with noise—how had he known I was there?

He turned. "You've caused quite a bit of trouble, young lady. Arson, murder—you've got a rap sheet taller than you."

I shrugged. "I'm not very tall, so that's not saying much," I said simply. I winced as soon as I said it: talking back to the Batman was a very, very bad idea. And yet, I wished I would have screamed at him, like I'd wanted to.

He gave a little chuckle. "Fair enough. But you're a killer. If there was any justice in this world, you'd be in jail right now."

I gritted my teeth. Killer. Murderer. That was twice now that he'd made a reference to the fire, and I was starting to get angry. What was he playing at?

"However, even though you did destroy innocent lives, the Justice League recognizes that you were not, perhaps, in full control of your powers at the time. So we offer you a choice. You can take a one-way ticket to Bel Rev, where you spend the rest of your life in jail for your crimes. Or you can join our Young Justice team, where you will train as a hero and learn to use your powers to benefit the world. It's your choice."

I was shocked. The Young Justice League? I didn't want to be a hero. There was too much danger in that kind of life. Too much Spandex. And actually, Bel Rev wasn't so bad an idea: at least I wouldn't have to hurt anyone anymore.

Mistaking my silence for indecision, Batman continued. "Let me remind you that you will be considered a murderer by the law. You killed people, and…"

I didn't listen to the rest. Instead, I just ground my teeth. This guy was getting on my nerves. What was his problem? Why did he see the need to remind me of the fire and the lives I'd destroyed?

His words echoed through my head. Killer. Murderer. Destroyer of innocent lives…

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Shut up!" I screamed. "Just SHUT UP!"

A deathly silence fell over the room. Every head swiveled to look straight at me, the girl who had dared to tell the Batman to shut up. Even the Batman took a step back in shock. Apparently, he wasn't used to being spoken to like that.

Well, it was too late to stop screaming now, so instead, I used it to my advantage. "Fine! I'll join your stupid little pep squad! But not for me, and definitely not for you. For them." I spat out the them—I was pretty sure Batman knew who I was referencing.

Then I turned on my heel and stomped out of there, back the way I had come. I didn't really know where I was going, but I wanted to make a big show of it.

Just when I was almost at the door, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned.

The Boy Wonder was standing there, looking completely unamused by my little tirade. I expected him to start chewing me out, but instead, he just pointed to the left, the opposite direction of where I was going.

"Your room's the other way," he said slowly, as if talking to a three-year-old.

I shook off the hand and stomped off in the direction he had pointed, into a hallway lined with doors. Stupid Robin. I didn't need him to show me my room. I didn't need any of these people.

I sighed. Who am I kidding? I thought to myself. I am a murderer.

I find a plain wooden door marked "Elizabeth Reynolds". I sighed: obviously I was more predictable then I'd thought.

Inside the room was a plain bed with white sheets, a little chest of drawers, a full-length mirror, and a white wooden desk. The carpet was blue and felt soft under my feet. On the desk sat my familiar green pack and cardboard memory box, and I breathed a sigh of relief: at least I had my stuff here.

I collapsed onto the bed, finally feeling the weight of guilt crash down on my chest. Tears leaked out of my eyes and I buried my head in the pillows to cry.

Hugging a pillow to my chest, I curled up on the bed and sobbed for who-knows-how-long, maybe a couple of hours. I felt trapped inside the Justice League, with no way to go to the outside world and no freedom. And let a little part of me knew that I deserved it.

Finally, the door creaked open and Black Canary walked through. She was holding a blue plastic dinner tray that held something steaming. It smelled fantastic.

"I brought you dinner," she said simply as she set the tray on the edge of my bed. Sniffing, I sit up and snatch the tray. On it is a set of dishes holding fried chicken; hot, buttery corn on the cob; a gooey slab of chocolate cake; and a tall, cool glass of milk. I dug into the food, ravenous—it'd been a very long time since I last ate.

Canary just sat on the edge of my bed, watching me. I felt a little self-conscious, but I didn't let that stop my feast. It was fantastic: I hadn't had that kind of home-cooked food in a good two or three weeks, and I'd forgotten how good it was.

When I was done, Canary took the tray away from me and turned to go.

I wasn't ready for her to leave just then, though. I had questions that needed to be answered.

"Canary, how many people died? You know, in the…the fire."

She stopped, but didn't turn around. "Four," she said simply.

My breath caught in my throat. Four. So much better than I'd dared to hope, and yet…that was four lives wasted, four families thrust into mourning, countless children that would never hug their mother or father, countless parents or siblings or friends that would never be able to see their loved one again.

I guess I must have whimpered or something, because in a split second, Canary was there, her arms wrapped around me, he hands rubbing my back.

"It's gonna be okay," she whispered.

I shook my head. "No, it's not. I killed them, Canary."

She smiled. "Be glad that you feel guilty," she whispered. "It means you have a conscience, something some people aren't given. Their lives will not be wasted, Elizabeth. They'll help you become a hero and save countless people."

I was silent for a while. Canary's words were strangely comforting, and I smiled. "Canary, is Batman mad at me?"

She laughed. "No, I don't think so. I think he's impressed. To yell at him like that, you have to be either extremely stupid or extremely brave, and you didn't strike us as the dumb type. But that doesn't let you off the hook—I'd apologize to him next time you see him, okay?"

I nodded, and she turned to leave, grabbing the tray on her way out.

"Oh, and Elizabeth?"

I nodded. "Yeah?"

"I'd get some sleep if I were you. Training starts at seven am, sharp."

Hope you liked it! Oh, and I've got anther challenge for you guys:

If you have either a favorite or an alert on my story, I challenge you to review. Because those things are great-I love seeing that you guys like this-but when you're silent, it leaves me a little depressed. Even if you just say two words, I would love it.