First came the war.

Technology was evolving faster than our morals. A handful of countries decided to use people with special abilities. Trafficking and trading them like commodities. They used a combination of old fashioned coercion and designer drugs to keep their new super-soldiers in line.

The Justice League and United Nations tried to bring them to the table. To find a diplomatic fix for a humanitarian crisis. Markovia. Bialya. North Korea. Russia. A smattering of others. They came with 'evidence', they said, that meta-humans weren't humans at all. That they were, at best, weapons. And at worst, threats.

They left the negotiations more angry and resolved than when they came. But we had more information. Intel about a meta-human detention center, where anyone with powers from those countries was sent with a clear objective. Get with 'the program'. Or die.

A simple JLA rescue mission to extract prisoners from Markovia went sideways. The crown retaliated with nuclear force. World War III. It took five years and far too many lives to reach a tenuous ceasefire, and then humanity breathed a collective sigh of relief. Too soon.

Nobody saw it coming. Not even Batman. Lex Luthor's post-war endgame was sudden and brutal. He offered his wealth and leadership to any and every country that wanted it. The price? Complete martial law, under his rule. Nobody fought him. Who could? Resources were threadbare and people were sick. Tired. Dying. He offered hope wrapped up in a dictatorship. Any country that didn't submit was choked off from trade and resources until they did. It took him only 6 months to set up his new, draconian world government.

Then "The Resolution" came. Heroes, our newly-minted President declared, were the cause of the war, and were henceforth traitors. Anyone who was a known member of the JLA or an associate was to be killed on sight. We lost so many in the early days. But the public execution of Superman made it all seem real.

The details were limited. We didn't know how or when Luthor captured Clark. All we could do was watch, helplessly, in horror, as a grainy broadcast showed his final moments. Kryptonite poisoning. Slow, tortuous. Cruel. His death was a warning to any other 'heroes' still standing. 'Your days are numbered'.

They came for us, too. After Clark, Diana, Arthur… anyone who couldn't or wouldn't retreat off-world. Enforcers, Lex's 'elite' force, razed Wayne Manor to the ground, hollowed out the 'Cave. Thank God Bruce is always ten steps ahead - we were already long gone. Crowded into an unassuming bomb shelter underneath a derelict stadium, retrofitted long ago to accommodate our family of bats. But we lost Steph and Duke in our retreat. Tim lost an eye. And Damian refused to speak to any of us for days, branding us 'cowards'.

Truthfully, we felt like cowards. There was little we could do - Enforcers patrolled the surface constantly, and we were still licking our deep wounds.

But we are nothing if not adaptable.

We fell into roles, teams. Dami, Cass, and Selina were supply runners. They would head out at night, go 'shopping', and come back with what we needed. It was tricky. If they hit a private business, the team compensated with gold, jewels, rations... anything that might be valuable. Tradable. More often than not they went for government installations. Massive risk, better rewards. And everything had to be scanned and disassembled by Tim and Babs. Couldn't risk a stray tracker being our undoing.

The two of them worked with the limited computers and gadgets we had, monitoring security cameras, covering tracks. Sometimes they planned with the others to bring back stolen tech to boost their own capabilities, but it was all very 'shoestring'. They did what they could.

That left Jason, Bruce, and me. Field agents. Taking down as many soldiers as possible, all with the hope of wresting control of Gotham back from Luthor. Honestly, it was a fool's errand. Mostly we'd head out, get our asses handed to us, and then come 'home' to use precious medical supplies as Alfred dutifully patched us up. Rinse and repeat, night after night. Making no headway.

That was about to change. At least, I hoped.

"We know Luthor controls his soldiers with drugs - a combination of opiates, fear toxin, and something else we can't place. Without a constant supply, they start to withdrawal, turn on each other. What we didn't know, until now, is that the compound is volatile; doesn't travel well. Each major city has its own manufacturing plants to keep everyone drugged and compliant." Barbara unrolled a large map of the city on a table as she spoke - gone were the days of interactive holograms. We had to relearn to do so much the old way. The hard way.

Tim picked up the briefing, "Gotham has two plants; the old ACE chemical building, and the Dupree warehouse." He marked them with post-it notes. "If we hit them both, their access is cut. Best case scenario, we might get some time in Gotham without the Enforcers. Even if that doesn't happen, they're still going to have to risk flying in drugs, giving us an opening at another strike. And with as touchy as this stuff is, they may blow themselves sky high in the process anyway."

Jason and I exchanged wary glances. Not that we weren't up to something like this, but we hadn't done anything this carefully orchestrated without comms and heads-up displays in a long time. Not since our Robin days. So much could go wrong.

Jason was always good at finding the heart of my unspoken concerns. "And how exactly are we going to 'hit' them? If this shit is as nasty as you say, what keeps us from blowing ourselves to fuck and back?"

"Semtex," Damian chimed in, the corner of his mouth tipping up in an almost-smile, "Procured it last night. Unfortunately there were no detonators. But a time delay fuse will suffice."

I rubbed my face, shook my head. "I hate this plan."

"It's not as solid as we'd like, I get it," Babs sighed sympathetically, "But every day we go undiscovered is a day on borrowed time. We can't wait. If we can have even a few days without Luthor's forces, we stand a chance at actually getting real gear. Supplies. Computers. Weapons. It's the only way we can last down here."

"We'll divide into teams." Bruce seemed exhausted, spread thin. Hell, we all did. "Selina and I will go to ACE, Dick and Jason, you take Dupree. Light fuses at 0200 and head back as soon as you confirm detonation. You have 3 hours before we move."

"What do you say, Goldie, time for a last meal?" Jason nudged my shoulder and smiled. He was the only one who seemed to be impervious to the stress of it all, taking it in stride. Hell, he didn't even complain about the horrible MREs, or the double-bunked sleeping arrangements. Bruce was right. Jason was 'a good soldier'. Better than me, anyway.

I shrugged and managed a "Heh" at the gallows humor. Just the thought of eating another goddamned packet of mush made me sick, but I wasn't going to say a word. I was not going to be the asshole that complained about post-apocalyptic cuisine. We raided the 'galley' together, and I actually found a chocolate granola bar instead of the bagged 'Chili and Macaroni' that Jason grabbed. Maybe tonight wouldn't suck after all.

We spent the rest of the time in silence. Checking and double checking our limited gear. Grappling hook - no decel cable, just rope. Half a set of Escrima sticks - I broke one on our last 'outing'. Most importantly, a block of plastic explosive. I wrapped it carefully and placed it into a small, black backpack. Then I worked on choking back the feeling that this was going to be an absolute disaster.

"You ready to roll out, Goldie?" Jason grabbed the bag and slung it over his shoulder.

I smiled through a lie, "Ready as I'll ever be, Little wing."