I want to thank everyone for taking the time to review! I mean seriously, over two hundred reviews?! I don't even know how that's possible, but thank you all so much for telling me what you think and giving me your support!

I decided to give some more information on what X has managed to do for himself over the past few months. So, no fighting in this chapter, sorry, but the details are important.

~Young Justice: Red X~

Chapter 7: Before The Storm

|GOTHAM CITY
|2011 June 23, 19:37 EDT

John Strike gave a tired sigh as he exited the familiar small, rundown clinic he'd just been treated in. The Thomas Wayne Memorial Clinic was a free treatment center located in the heart of Crime Alley, an area formerly known as Park Row years ago, and ran by Leslie Thompkins. The clinic, like everything else in Crime Alley, had grown rundown over the years as corruption spread through the neighborhood like an infection. Leslie Thompkins, an old friend of Thomas Wayne's, didn't discriminate who she treated, whether they be homeless, a criminal, or a vigilante, so long as they adhered to her strict "No Violence" policy whilst being a patient.

Being treated by the older woman had been bittersweet experience. Although it had been three years since he'd seen Leslie, she hadn't recognized him. And it had hurt, gazing into her blue eyes and finding no recognition. She didn't ask how he got his injuries, anonymity was one of the major appeals of her clinic, and he'd actually decided to start a medical file there. It was probably the most informative document, concerning himself, that existed in this dimension. It had been done out of necessity. He didn't have Alfred, Cyborg, or Raven to stitch him back up anymore.

John ran his uninjured hand through his newly dyed, dusty brown hair and grimaced at his last minute haircut. He couldn't remember the last time his hair had been this short. It was combed back, but his bangs were spiked up slightly. A small homage for the way his hair had once been for the past three years.

John was seventeen years old, and though his handsome face would turn quite a few heads, he had taken several measures to make sure he didn't stand compared to the locals of Gotham's most notorious area. His second hand, worn and slightly stained clothes came from the salvation army. The dark jeans were too long and torn up around the ends, the grey stank top had a few holes in different places, and the once white sneakers were his size, but only because they were coming apart at the seams. In short, he looked homeless, or at least dirt poor. No one gave him a second glance.

Physically, John's skin was pale, "bordering on the point of unhealthy" Leslie had said, going so far as to ordering him to be out in the sunlight more often, aiming one of her patented disapproving stares that immediately had John agreeing out of habit. The teenager was a little short for someone his age, but that was nothing new really, and he'd unsurprisingly passed the physical with flying colors. His body, while muscular, had a lean physique to it, looking more like that of a gymnast than that of a football player's.

John looked over his injury with a steely scowl. Leslie had wanted to place a cast on it, but he'd demanded a pair of splints instead. He'd been stuck with a cast before and he knew very well how badly the hunk of plaster interfered with his fighting abilities, not that he planned to take on anything too strenuous for the next few weeks. He'd been able to patch up most of the injuries he'd received the night before by himself, but he'd needed stitches for the long gash on his arm and for his broken bone to be properly checked out. Thankfully, it had been a clean break and little more than a hairline fracture. In two weeks or so, he should be back to normal.

John Strike was a new face in Gotham, even though numerous records said he'd lived in the city up until a few years ago. He used contacts to cover up the baby blue eyes that he'd gotten from his mother and had dyed his once black hair, to something lighter, though he'd refused to go blonde. He vaguely wondered if he should go a step further and get a tattoo, but that might be taking his identity too far. The seventeen-year-old's appearance had radically been changed from the day before. Not that anyone would know the difference, but it was something that needed to be done.

He had looked too much like Dick Grayson, even if he was four years older than the boy. In a few years down the road, someone would notice the similarities. His counterpart's jawline would widen, angling into a square-like type, making his chin narrower and his cheeks bones sharper, while his nose would lengthen, though hopefully Dick's wouldn't end up crooked too. John's had never healed quite right after the time Two-Face had broken it with the butt of his gun. He frowned in thought, realizing he may have to consider plastic surgery in the future.

He was legally listed as an emancipated minor in the government's eyes. His parents had died a year ago in a car accident and his only living relative, a distant grandfather, was much too old to take care of him. With his parent's sudden death, he had also gained a wealthy inheritance that amounted to about three million dollars. With his newfound fortune, the young investor had bought a few properties and invested in several companies throughout different cities. It was one of those properties that John was currently heading towards.

Taking a taxi to his destination, the young man reflected over the differences of this Gotham City to one he'd known. The streets were still as dirty as he remembered and there were too many gangs, but at least crime wasn't running rampant through the streets. Apartment buildings and stores were shabby, dilapidated, sporting boarded up windows and graffiti covered walls. From his cracked, dirty window, he could see deals involving drugs and likely more occurring throughout the slums they were driving through; no one was even making an attempt to hide it. Then again, there was no need to.

It wasn't like any cop was going to bust them, not in this neighborhood where most were on the mafia's payroll, and everyone knew Batman only came out at night, unless some supervillain was attacking. It was somewhat entertaining to know that the crooks and criminals were too afraid to do their dirty work in at night anymore. That amusement quickly fled the teen as he saw an older man shuffle down the sidewalk with grocery bags in hand. His pace was hurried, his head pointed downwards to avoid making eye contact. With criminals being active during the day, that left it unsafe for the citizens of Gotham. With a scowl, the teenager resolved to go out more during daylight. It was the doctor's orders after all.

When John finally reached his destination, he paid the taxi driver and waited for the cab to disappear down the street before walking to his real destination. He was currently at the edge of Gotham's East End, a curved district on the southern peninsula named Robbinsville. And at the tip of that peninsula was Cape Carmine, an area well infested with organized crime. The buildings in the area were mostly broken-down and structurally unsafe. Normally this area was the perfect place for the criminals to hide, and the area had been home to a few gangs, but after Red X had shown up a few weeks ago, the streets and buildings were soon left mostly uninhabited. Only the poor and desperate resided there now.

John walked toward the old Gotham Opera Theatre, subtly checking to see if he'd been followed, and quietly continued into the seemingly abandoned building. The Foyer was large and magnificent, if one were able to look past the cobwebs and filth. The white marble floor, which had likely been imported from Europe almost sixty years ago, was scuffed up in some places and covered in dirt. Carpets that had once been a deep rich red were now frayed and faded. The grand golden chandelier that hung over the aged room was tarnished and covered with strings of dust. The young man had no doubt that this old, grimy room had once been breathtaking in its' prime. A part of him wanted to restore the room back to its' former beauty, but then the Opera House would lose the disguise of being abandoned.

Shaking off that thought, John walked towards the neglected carved oak doors, ignoring the grand staircase that went upwards, and entered the amphitheater. Hundreds of dirty seats greeted him, their once red velvet cushions now faded and worn. Some seats were broken while others had been completely removed from their rows. The balconies throughout the large chamber were covered by moth-eaten drapes that casted dark, murky shadows. A chandelier, bigger and grandeur than the one in the entrance way, hung ominously overhead and even though it was in no better condition than the last one, it was still striking just the same.

The few corroded catwalks overhanging the stage were in a sorry state, one had even fallen at some point, having crashed into the platform near the back and leaving the floorboards a broken mess. The orchestra pit was cluttered with abandoned papers, most likely sheet music, toppled chairs, and rusted over music stands. The stage curtain had long since been removed, exposing the backstage which was left in more disarray than anything else. Broken props, destroyed backgrounds, and other miscellaneous items were scattered about, further diminishing the splendor of the once famous opera house.

Again the young man ignored the faded beauty that surrounded him and focused on his target, the stage. Like the doors, the wooden floorboards were timeworn and crumbling, but surprisingly the wood did not break or even creak when he stepped onto the old platform. A single podium stood near the front of the stage, looking just as old as everything else in the abandoned theatre. John walked over to it and pressed a small button that had been hidden inside the wooden stand.

A sudden hiss rang out through the silent auditorium and the piece of floor that the boy had been previously standing on disappeared, letting him drop through a secret trapdoor and into the darkness below. John landed on the soft padding with grace, not at all surprised by the sudden eight foot drop he'd just experienced, and continued into the hidden basement that was anything but old and abandoned. His worn sneakers padded across thick concrete floors that also made up the walls and ceiling. The room was not covered in dust, but shone brightly with the help of new items and a much needed cleaning.

The secret chamber was large and had once housed the larger props and settings that had been too big for the backstage area. At the far end of the room, placed against the opposite wall, was a designated area for anything technological. A massive computer, though not nearly as big as or as advance as the Bat Computer, was the main centerpiece, surrounded by tools and various equipment. Microscopes, beakers, burners, and other tools could be found in the makeshift chemical lab that covered the tables next to the computer. The latest forensic machines, as made by Wayne Industries, were setup in the adjoining area.

John walked past other items that had been placed throughout the room, a simple cot and a sad excuse for kitchen that consisted of a mini-fridge, microwave, and propane camping stove. He moved past the training area which held a wooden Wing Chun stand, a punching bag, a treadmill, and made his way over to the far left corner of the room. A single glass case stood alone with a familiar black costume inside of it. Ridding himself of his civilian clothes, John put on the dark suit, minding his broken arm, and sighed in relief as he finally slipped on a mask with a white skull on it. Even though he'd placed a mask on his face, to Red X, it rather felt like he'd just taken one off.

John Strike was nothing more than an alias to him. Red X was who he truly was.

He had made the identity John Strike about two months ago. It wasn't like he could take a plane to Rhelasia as he'd been. Surprisingly, X had to lie very little when it'd come to creating John's history. His birthdate had remained the same, March 21, 1993, but of course he'd had to make up the family history. His parents, Adam and Karla Strike, died a year ago in a car accident. His grandfather, whom he was seemingly named after, currently lived in a nursing home down in Florida. His civilian name itself had been inspired by a combination of both his past and present.

He'd taken the first name John from his father and the surname Strike from his current name, X. His civilian identity had been made with the help of the Justice League, or more specifically, with the help of their computers and connects, not that they knew it. His fake persona was so ironclad he doubted anyone would question its' sudden existence. The small fortune that he'd "inherited" had been the money he'd earned while spying in Rhelasia. And although John Strike had graduated from high school two years early with the highest honors, he was taking some time to travel before continuing any schooling.

The opera theatre was merely one of Red X's hideouts. He'd yet to fill it with the necessary gear to be considered a real base of operations, if anything X considered the theatre to be a backup base. His main headquarters was an old warehouse on the outskirts of Blüdhaven. To date, he had three other properties, one located in Jump City, another in Star City, and the last in Metropolis and each offered something different.

The base in Blüdhaven gave him a direct route into the drained waterways the traveled throughout the entire city, making it easy for his bike to get from one location to the next. The Gotham Theatre, his fallback hideout should the one in Blüdhaven ever be compromised, was incased in thick concrete and lead beams, rendering it practically undetectable to the Justice League.

His Star City property was actually a recently foreclosed chemicals lab still stocked with all its' equipment. Red X had plans to restore the building, turning it into a forensic lab to help catch criminals throughout Star, Gotham, and other nearby cities.

Like Star City the property in Metropolis wasn't a base either, but rather a still working plant that mass produced medical supplies like needles and IV bags. He simply called it Strike Medicare, the first stepping stone of his budding company. After getting it back into production a month ago, the factory had become a regular source of income. Currently, Strike Medicare had a partnership with Lex Corporations, though thankfully X had made the deal through a representative rather than having to meet with the egomaniac himself. While definitely not his ideal choice, Lex Corp had needed the good PR at the time, and Red X wanted to avoid Bruce Wayne for as long as possible.

Finally, his last asset was located in Jump City. It was a foreclosed factory on the outskirts of the town, though unlike the other properties this one offered Red X very little besides another base of operations. In truth, he'd obtained the place out of compulsion, satisfying his need to keep an eye on the city he'd spent the last three years protecting. There was also a small part of him that hoped that if he watched the city close enough, he just might find the counterparts of his friends. He'd yet to see the factory for himself, though he planned to do so within the week. It wasn't like Jump City was within a couple hours of Gotham.

Red X made his way over to his X-Cycle and headed for the loading bay doors that the theater had originally used to bring in large props and the like. He still remembered which streets those drug dealers had been hanging around. It was time to remind the criminals of Gotham that whether it was night or day, they weren't safe.

~Young Justice: Red X~

|THE WATCHTOWER
|2011 June 23, 16:57 UCT

Flash, while eating his eighth chilidog, walked into the computer room that had unofficially been claimed as the Batman's territory. He saw that the secluded Dark Knight was where he always was whenever he visited the Watchtower, sitting silently while studying whatever he was looking at on the computer. Upon closer inspection, Flash realized that Batman was looking at a somewhat blurry picture of Red X on the screen.

"Hey Bats, what're you doing?" Flash asked as he stepped up behind the Bat, genuinely curious about what the world's greatest detective was up to.

Was Batman trying to figure out who Red X was? Barry knew the caped crusader knew everyone else's secret identity when it came to the League. Batman didn't answer, Flash hadn't really expected him to, but then he did something that Barry had never seen the stoic hero do before. Bats sighed and slumped into his chair. Flash was so shocked at seeing the Batman doing something so human that he placed his now forgotten chilidog on the counter, determined more than ever to find out what the Dark Knight was looking for.

"When we were scouring the Riddler's base after the auction event, I found this file. It's a recorded compilation of the fights." Batman started to say and Flash couldn't help but interrupt.

"Hey, is Wally on there? Can I see how he did? I tried asking him, but every time he talks it gets even more unbelievable." The speedster asked and Batman paused for a second before bringing up a new window that showed both heroes Kid Flash's fights.

From behind him, the Dark Knight heard every flinch and shift that the Flash made whenever his sidekick was hurt. In all honesty, Batman wasn't surprised with Kid Flash's lack of skill, not that he expected any of the sidekicks, barring Robin, to be able to take down Killer Croc singlehandedly. Wally had never taken his fights as seriously as the other sidekicks.

"How did Kaldur do?" Flash asked and Batman ran the video feed of Aqualad's fights. The caped crusader was honestly impressed with Kaldur's resolve, even if his victory meant that he only by knocking out Croc along with himself. "So how'd Red X do?" Flash asked inquiringly. Here Batman sighed as he brought up the next video. He'd already seen how well Red X did having watched the recording several times.

Impressed didn't even come close to describing how Batman viewed Red X's display of fighting prowess. The young hero had been able to take down Croc and still had enough strength to win his next bout. None of the sidekicks, not Speedy or even Robin, could have done that solo. As the footage continued, Batman didn't even blink when Cheshire broke Red X's arm, but that didn't stop him from mentally cringing in frustration. How had he not noticed the broken and bleeding arm last night? Did Red X even know how to take care of a wound that serious?

Barry let out a low, impressed whistle once the video ended. He'd definitely not expected something like that from the new kid who was probably Roy's age. And he felt more than a little ashamed for not noticing the kid's injuries. He'd been too busy fussing over Wally at the time and had only broken away for a moment to say thanks. Why hadn't Red X told them about his arm? He had to have known that the League would've helped him, right?

"He's good, really good." Barry said after a few silent minutes. But the compliment didn't sound right, not even to his own ears. Why did he have to feel like it was a taboo to talk nice about the kid? Bats simply nodded before straightening his posture, his sudden bout of humanism gone and replaced with a stern expression. Flash didn't know what just happened, but it looked like Batman had resolved whatever his problem was towards Red X.

"He could probably defeat half the members in the League." Bats stated, betraying nothing of what he was thinking with his emotionless tone. Flash regarded the Dark Knight's declaration with disbelief, sure the kid was good, but was he really that good? Well if Batman thought so, Barry would trust the man's opinion. Sensing that the conversation was over, Flash turned to leave the room, remembering his chilidog at the last second. He took a bite and grimaced at the cold and slightly soggy food. How long had he been in here?

"Don't let Green Arrow hear you say that!" Barry called half-jokingly as he sped out of the room. Ollie still held a bit of a grudge when the topic of Red X was brought up, but Flash thought it was more of a pride thing than anything else. GA wasn't the kind of guy who stuck his foot in his mouth, so Barry assumed this was just the billionaire's way of dealing with the whole misunderstanding. Had Flash been a little slower to leave the room, he might have heard the soft scoff coming from Gotham's protector.

Since when did he care about how Queen felt? Batman had been honest when he said that Red X could take down some of the members of the League, Green Arrow and the Flash himself would fall into that category. Red X had skill at a level he'd never thought possible for someone at such an age. And the boy's style was strikingly familiar in more ways than one.

Red X was just one giant puzzle to the Dark Knight and there seemed to be too many missing pieces. Who had the boy been taking about on the roof last night? Was it his previous mentor? He'd heard from Queen that Red X had admitted to his mentor being dead. Was that a lie? Why had Red X chosen the path of a hero? What drove him to become who he is today? How could they have such similar fighting styles?

Who is Red X?

~Young Justice: Red X~

|JUMP CITY
|2011 June 29, 19:34 EDT

Red X parked his X-cycle behind his abandoned factory based in Jump City. He'd finally been able to make the trip, though there hadn't really been anything stopping him. He'd spent most of the week taking it easing to let his arm heal. If he did do some hero work, he did it during the day and it never got any more dangerous than a fight with a couple of gangs, something he could do with both hands tied behind his back. He hadn't gone out at night since the auction fiasco and that was mainly because he was trying to avoid Batman.

He felt so conflicted whenever his thoughts turned to the parallel version of his mentor. If there was anyone he couldn't hide something from, it was Batman… and Slade. He scowled. Fortunately, Red X could find no trace of Slade on either the League's computer or the Bat Computer. It seemed like there was no Slade here, but X didn't buy it. Ravager had been more than enough proof for the young hero. Slade hadn't been the only person Red X had looked up, he'd check out his former teammates as well.

Beast Boy was not Beast Boy. He was actually Garfield Logan, an eight-year-old boy who lived with his mother in Qurac. He'd yet to be infected by the disease his parent cured with unconventional mean, which accidentally gave him powers. Instead, he lived on an animal reserve with his mom, a former TV star, with a deceased father of six years. Red X made a habit of checking in on them regularly to make sure that they were okay.

Cyborg lived with his parents in Star City, and like Beast Boy, he wasn't Cyborg in this world. He was a fifteen-year-old named Victor Stone. His parents are scientists working at Star Labs and lead very normal lives. X knew from Cyborg's history that there was still a chance for things to go wrong. Even if the ages differed, Victor could still get caught in the lab accident that would kill his mother and leave his body to be rebuilt by his father.

Finally, there was Starfire and Raven, both with no record of either ever coming to Earth. He wondered where the two females of his team were now. Was Starfire on Tameran, being taught how to rule over her people? Would she be coming to Earth at all in this dimension? And what about Raven, would she still be in Azarath, being raised by those monks she'd once told him about? How old was she in this world? Would the Prophecy still hold true in this dimension?

Red X's thoughts wandered towards his worlds' Raven, as they often did, his heart stuttering as he realized the first anniversary of her death was in fourteen days. He could never forget when he'd found her lifeless body on the roof of Titan's Tower. She'd looked so peaceful then, even with the residue of tear streaks marring her too stiff face, her blood seeping into his gloves… X gave himself a forceful shake, knowing there would consequences if he let himself dwell on his darker memories.

He would do better. This time around, if there was a second chance, he would protect Raven from both Trigon and herself.

Pulled from his thoughts, X found himself pausing outside of the warehouse he'd bought, noticing that something was off. There was nothing tangibly wrong with the base itself, it looked abandoned, but he was hit by a sudden bout of déjà vu. He couldn't remember where he'd seen the place or what had been inside of it. He shrugged it off. He'd probably had a fight in here when he'd been a Titan.

As he cautiously made his way past the front door, unease exploded throughout his mind. He peered into the darkness, but could only make out vague shapes. Reaching blindly, he flicked on the switch next to the door. As a few lights slowly flickered over the room, he felt his stomach twist with dread.

The giant clockwork gears were hauntingly familiar, even if they weren't moving at the moment. The rickety overhead pathways were unmistakable after how many times he'd walked on them, hoping to spy on his nemesis below, desperately trying to go unnoticed as he tried to figure out how to save his team. The open space in the center of the warehouse sized room was unforgettable, not with how many times he'd been thrown into that floor during his so called training. The elevated platform just above the open area was empty though. It was missing the chair that he had sat in while staring down at him.

His Jump City base was actually Slade's Old Haunt.

~Young Justice: Red X~

Yep, Slade's Old Haunt is now Red X's base of operations in Jump City, and if that doesn't mess up your minds I don't know what will. I thought of it at the last second and just had to use it. I'd actually gotten the idea after watching the episode "How Long Is Forever?" There was a little scene where we see Nightwing's future hideout; in it we got a screenshot full of clockwork gears that were moving. Slade's Old Haunt? Possibly. If anything it's safe to say that Slade still had an effect on Robin after all those years.

Some of you might be wondering where the name Strike came from. In bowling when you knock down all the pins you get a strike which is symbolized by a giant X. I made the connection while bowling one night and I had to use it. John came from his dad and it's a very popular first name in the Justice League. I'm not dropping too many hints on Robin's past or Raven's death and how that affected the Teen Titans storyline. I'm saving that stud for later.

–Hexalys