This sucks.

I'm sitting here, chained down by Luthor's goons. Alive—barely. Black Adam breaks my leg, and Conner does nothing. Nothing. He just sits there. I almost can't believe it. Can't believe he would turn his back on me. But then again, Conner's always been a question mark. Never telling anyone anything. Just sits in his room most of the time moping. Get a freakin' life. When he does come out, he's either quiet or angry. Not my fault he has super-hearing and can hear my iPod rockin' out the Green Day.

But that's Conner. Always blaming someone else. Always looking everywhere but right in-freakin-front of him for answers. Jerk.

I almost wish Conner would come walking in here right about now. I'd give him a piece of my freakin' mind.

It's one thing to go over someone's head and do something. It's something distinctly different—worse—when your best friend gets assaulted.

Yeah, I'd give him a piece of my mind. Probably break my hand in the process, but…meh. It's a small price to pay for me to vent anger. I could do it, too. Tim's been teaching me some boxing moves in his free time. I'm getting better. Brains and brawn.

I could take Conner. It wouldn't last long, but I could do it. I just might. Once I get out of here. Speaking of which...

It could be going better.

In the movies, the guy usually carries a lock-pick with him or some kind of skeleton key so he can bust out of his shackles and go MacGyver on his captors. Nah…this isn't the movies, and I'm no MacGyver.

But I can get out of this just the same. I can speed up my molecules fast enough to vibrate through solids. It's a neat little trick I ripped from Wally some time ago. The first time I tried it though…Jay didn't take to kindly to me destroying his garage.

My mind shifts back to the situation.

I don't have a lock pick, and I can't speed up fast enough and keep it quiet. Though…if I got going fast enough, I could be out of here before any of them know it. I could find a transporter and get up to the Moon, then bring the whole League down here. Expose Luthor's little cabal.

I turned 'em down.

Luthor said the purpose of his society was to stop what happened to Dr. Light from happening to the rest of the villain racket. Because, y'know, if you want to stop whatever they did to Dr. Light then the logical thing to do is…continue the villain shtick.

Morons.

Part of me is surprised—and offended—that old Egghead thought he could recruit us. Only figures though. Why stop with recruiting villains? Why not try to persuade the people you fight against…to join you? Yeah, the whole thing reeks of that old Arab proverb…'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' and...so forth.

Say Luthor told Conner the same thing he told me. Luthor walks up to Conner and says "Superman and his pals can't be trusted but I can." The only question…would Conner have actually gone for it? Part of me—the part that wants to break Conner's legs—says yes. Another part…

Why did he turn his back on us? He didn't have to.

I tell myself there's a reason.

Suddenly, the utility door in front of me slides open.The shape of a man is outlined against the light beyond. This is…unexpected. The red and green color scheme, the flowing cape. He's wearing a dark—black, in certain lights—domino mask over his face. His black hair hangs over his eyes. All in all, he looks like he just woke up. But it's still a welcome sight.

Robin--Tim.

"This is a surprise," I say, wearing a smile.

Tim starts talking to me. "I take it Zoom got the better of you," he says in half-concern.

"Yeah," I say quietly.

Tim approaches me and pulls—tada!—a lock-pick from that utility belt of his. He kneels beside me and starts fiddling with the shackles. "What are you doing?"

"I'm getting you out of here," he says as he starts unlocking the shackles.

"How'd you get in?"

Tim looses the shackles and tucks the lock-pick back into his belt.

"I had a little help."

"From who?"

"You wouldn't believe me," Tim says with a half-smile, flashing his pearly whites at me.

"Try me," I say.

"Deathstroke...and Ravager."

"Rose is with him?"

Tim nods slowly. "Luthor wanted you and I taken out before we could find Conner. Figured we'd make the first move—"

"Which we did."

"Yeah," Tim says. "But Lex forgot one thing."

"Deathstroke." For a moment, I almost question Luthor's intelligence. Almost.

"Yep."

"So what happened?" I ask, massaging my knee. It's gone from a stinging pain to more of a…muscle cramp. And that's really what it is, I guess. The muscles—tendons, really—are reconnecting to the bone and that artificial kneecap. Wonders of human physiology.

"It's tricky," Tim says. "On one hand you have mob rule where pretty much everyone follows the herd. On the other hand…"

"There's always a traitor," I say slowly, as if the light bulb just clicked. Robin nods and helps me to my feet.

I feel like a freakin' cripple. One of my arms is slung around Robin's shoulder for support. My knee's still healing, but I can't do the speed thing. Not yet.

Robin and I shuffle through the winding hallways of Luthor's bunker.

"Where are we going?" I whisper to Tim.

"To find Conner."

"And Luthor?"

"That," Tim says, pausing for a second. "We won't have to worry about that."

"So…Deathstroke let you go?"

"Not without a fight."

"And now he's helping you. Us. Whatever."

"Man's got priorities. I wasn't about to cry foul," Tim says. We keep moving.

So that's the way it goes. Neither of us says much, either in the way of small talk or how we plan to take Luthor. Especially since he's got Conner—a Super Boy. Not to mention Black Adam—who could beat us all before we knew what was going on.

'Course…Tim never was much on small talk.

Luthor's bunker stretches the length of what Tim says is Runway 14 at Goodwin International. It seems to work to our advantage that Luthor doesn't have armed security roaming his bunker. But then again…I'm with Tim. He can protect me.

We round a corner, and two bronze-colored doors lie a few feet ahead of us. They almost look like they lead to elevators Gold and silver bars criss-cross the doors. It's all very Art Deco, you ask me. I feel Tim inhale deeply. I do the same.

"You ready for this?" he asks. "What about your knee?"

"Screw the knee," I say. "I can do this."

Continued...