DC: Zoom

The news reporter's voice echoed, sharp and urgent, each word carrying the weight of a world teetering on the edge.

Crime was surging—murders on the rise, cities descending into chaos. But amid the unrest, rumors spread like wildfire, whispers of something—or someone—fighting back.

In Gotham, criminals spoke in hushed, fearful tones of a shadowy figure lurking in the dark, his symbol a silent warning to those who preyed on the weak. The police dismissed it as urban legend, yet they couldn't ignore the sudden drop in crime.

In Star City, bodies were turning up with green arrows buried deep in their chests—a signature too precise to be coincidence.

And in Central City, a streak of lightning tore through the streets, too fast for the eye to follow. A man, moving at impossible speeds, saving lives and stopping criminals in the blink of an eye.

Off the coast, a fisherman swore he had been pulled from the sea by a blur of movement, a man who vanished before he could even say thanks.

In London, eyewitnesses reported a fierce battle breaking out under the cover of night. A woman, draped in armor with a golden lasso glowing at her side, clashed against an unknown assailant. Their fight shook the streets, each strike echoing like something out of legend—like something out of myth itself.

The news broadcast flickered with images of masked figures—some praised as heroes, others denounced as vigilantes. Whatever the world chose to call them, one thing was undeniable: hope was—

The reporter's words faltered. Her eyes widened, shock flashing across her face.

"Oh my god—Richard, look!"

She frantically signaled for the camera to turn. The live feed shifted just in time to capture a plane plummeting from the sky. Panic filled the air—until a blur of red and blue streaked across the screen.

Gasps erupted as the figure caught the aircraft, guiding it safely down onto the water. He hovered for only a moment before, without a word, soaring back into the sky.

Silence filled the newsroom. The world had just witnessed the impossible—live.

A crowd gathered around the flickering TV in the dimly lit bar, the air thick with smoke and the scent of cheap whiskey. Murmurs filled the room, eyes locked onto the news report flashing across the screen.

In the corner, an eighteen-year-old sat alone, hood drawn low over his face, black hair barely visible beneath the fabric. His silver eyes, sharp and calculating, stayed fixed on the screen, though his mind was elsewhere.

Three years. Three years since everything changed. Since his parents were gone.

Lifting his beer, he took a slow sip, the cool liquid burning slightly down his throat. With a nod to the bartender, he slid a few bills across the counter and pushed back his chair.

No reason to stick around.

He pulled his hood lower and stepped into the night.

The memory played in his mind like a scene frozen in time—blood on his hands, bodies crumpled at his feet. The rage had been absolute, a fire that burned through every thought, every restraint. And yet, even now, as he walked through the filth-stained streets, his chest felt light. No weight. No guilt. Just the echo of what he had done.

His boots scraped against the cracked pavement, the neon glow of flickering signs casting jagged shadows across his path. The air was thick with the stench of rot and stale smoke, but he moved through it with ease, his silver eyes scanning the alley ahead.

A group lingered near a crumbling brick wall, murmuring in low voices. A wad of cash flashed between hands. A small bag followed.

Jason didn't stop. His steps were slow, deliberate, his presence pulling their attention like a shift in the wind.

One of them turned first, eyes narrowing.

Then another.

The deal was forgotten.

Jason's silver eyes locked onto the dealer, his voice cold and unyielding. "Tell me—who's your boss?"

The group tensed. One of them sneered, reaching for his waistband. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Guns flashed in their hands.

Jason grinned. "The hard way it is, then."

The crack of gunfire shattered the night. Muzzle flashes flared, but the bullets never found their mark. Jason moved before they even registered what happened, plucking each round from the air like leaves in the wind. In the same instant, he surged forward, a blur of motion.

A gust of wind ripped through the alley. Bodies hit the ground. One by one, they crumpled as Jason struck with precise, bone-rattling force.

The last man barely had time to react before Jason's hand clamped around his throat. He was yanked off his feet, slammed against the cold brick wall. Jason's other hand, still hovering inches away from the man's neck, began to vibrate uncontrollably, the air around it humming with energy.

Wide, terrified eyes stared back at him. "You're—you're that freak from the news," the dealer stammered, panic lacing his voice.

Jason's jaw clenched. His patience was gone.

His vibrating hand phased through the man's chest, the force of the connection turning his heart to dust. The dealer's body slumped to the ground, lifeless.

Jason exhaled sharply, shaking off the lingering energy from the kill. His gaze flicked to the unconscious bodies around him.

"Guess I'll have to get my answers from one of you instead." 

The rapid patter of footsteps grew louder, but Jason's attention snapped up just in time. He hadn't accounted for the buyer. Blue lightning surged through him, electrifying the air as he shot forward, stepping into her path before she could react.

She froze, eyes widening as her escape was blocked by the crackling figure before her. His body hummed with energy, lightning arcing from his skin. "You look lively," he said, his voice low and unfeeling. "Tell me—would you forget what happened here?"

She trembled, her head shaking frantically before nodding in terrified submission.

Jason's silver eyes bore into hers, unblinking, dissecting every flicker of emotion. He could see it—the desperation, the hollow look of someone too far gone. A lost cause.

Without a word, his hand shot out, wrapping around her throat. She barely had time to gasp before he lifted her off the ground with ease. Her hands clawed at his wrist, weak, useless. The space between them felt suffocating, her pulse hammering against his fingers.

There was no innocence left in her. He could feel it in her struggle, the weight of addiction consuming what little remained of the person she once was.

His grip tightened. A single twist, and it would be over. A sharp snap, and she'd find the peace her own choices had denied her.

But he hesitated.

Jason's fingers loosened, and he let go. She collapsed onto the ground, landing hard on her back. Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent sobs racking her body as she gasped for air.

He said nothing. He didn't look at her.

Stepping past her, his focus shifted forward, already onto what mattered next.