The Watchtower hovered silently in the void of space, a fortress of steel and crystal orbiting Earth like an eternal guardian. Its main meeting hall was a vast circle of architectural precision: curved walls of reinforced metal with transparent panels offering uninterrupted views of the blue planet spinning below, stars twinkling like distant sentinels. At the center of the room, a circular table of polished obsidian accommodated humanity's most powerful heroes, symbolizing equality—though, in practice, some voices resonated louder than others. A three-dimensional hologram of Earth floated above the table, rotating slowly, marked with red lines tracing recent threats: alien invasions thwarted, natural disasters averted, villains captured. The lighting was cold and functional, designed to keep minds alert, with ergonomic chairs that automatically adjusted to each occupant's body.
Seated around the table were the pillars of the Justice League, each a living legend with scars and glories accumulated over years of battles. In the center, Batman — Bruce Wayne under the black mask, opaque white eyes fixed on the hologram, cape folded over his shoulders like folded wings, posture rigid like a statue of eternal vigilance. To his right, Superman — Clark Kent, the Last Son of Krypton, with the scarlet S shining on his blue chest, serene expression but blue eyes brimming with cosmic empathy, relaxed muscles contrasting with the subtle tension in the air. To Batman's left, Wonder Woman — Diana Prince, Amazon princess, golden tiara gleaming, red and blue armor symbolizing truth and strength, regal posture like a goddess among mortals.
Around them, the circle was completed by heroes of varied origins and powers. Flash — Barry Allen, vibrant red suit with yellow lightning, legs crossed impatiently, kinetic energy almost palpable in his restlessness. Shazam — Billy Batson in the body of Captain Marvel, white cape billowing, eyes young but full of ancient wisdom, seated with a mixture of youthful excitement and adult gravity. Green Lantern — Hal Jordan, green ring shining on his right hand, black and green uniform symbolizing indomitable will, next to John Stewart, the other Lantern, ex-military man with a disciplined posture, identical ring pulsing with structured determination. Hawkman — Carter Hall, metallic wings folded on his back, golden falcon helmet, Nth metal mace beside his chair, fierce expression like an ancient predator. Hawkgirl — Kendra Saunders, next to him, similar suit with silver wings, brown eyes sharp as blades, sharing the eternal bond of past reincarnations. Captain Atom — Nathaniel Adam, atomic energy contained in a silver and red suit, skin shining like living metal, aura of controlled nuclear power. Mister Terrific — Michael Holt, black suit with gold insignia, genius intellect reflected in calculating eyes behind glasses. Black Canary — Dinah Lance, black leather jacket, crucifix necklace, loose blonde hair, stance of a seasoned fighter. And Green Arrow — Oliver Queen, trimmed beard, emerald green suit with hood, compound bow at hand, green eyes filled with righteous indignation.
The meeting was drawing to a close. The hologram of Earth blinked with final updates: a Thanagarian invasion repelled by Hal and John, an earthquake in the Pacific contained by Superman and Shazam, a mystical cult dismantled by Wonder Woman and the Hawks. Batman, his deep, authoritative voice echoing through the room like an inevitable verdict, concluded the weekly report.
"Great. We've finished this week's topic. Does anyone have any other subjects to discuss?"
Silence hung for a second, broken by the sound of a chair automatically moving backward—the tower's technology responding to the movement. Green Arrow stood, tall and imposing, hands planted on the table, eyes fixed on Batman with a mixture of concern and restrained anger. His beard trembled slightly with the intensity of his voice.
"I have."
The room tensed subtly. Superman raised an eyebrow, Wonder Woman crossed her arms, Flash stopped drumming his fingers. Oliver continued, his tone firm as a shot arrow.
"It has come to my attention that one of our students is facing several problems and has not sought help from the League. Not only that, he has put another assistant—my assistant—at risk. And I believe we should take some action."
Batman held the gaze, motionless as a shadow.
"I understand. Proceed."
Green Arrow touched a holographic button on the edge of the table. The globe dissipated, replaced by a stream of digital newspaper headlines and police reports: "Crippled Mercenaries in Gotham: Brutal Hunt," "Assassins Hospitalized After Mysterious Attacks," grainy images of mutilated bodies in dark alleys, bones exposed like grim trophies, dried blood forming warning patterns. Oliver pointed at the images, his voice rising with indignation.
"He spent four days fighting assassins and mercenaries—crippling them, seriously wounding dozens of them—and didn't contact anyone from the League. I know most of the members were on missions off-world at that time. I was one of them. But the fact that he didn't reach out to any of us is worrying."
He turned to Captain Atom, who nodded grimly, atomic energy crackling slightly on his skin. Oliver continued.
"Not only that, but he managed to defeat one of Earth's greatest assassins — Slade Wilson."
The hologram shifted to a leaked image: Slade in an ARGUS holding cell, his body mutilated, his left eye a charred crater, deep burns on his torso and limbs, intravenous tubes keeping him alive. Amanda Waller's Task Force Alpha was visible in the background, armed agents keeping watch.
"Thanks to Captain Atom's contacts with the government, we've gained access to Slade's health status. This is concerning. An aide capable of causing this to his opponent may be walking down a very dangerous path. I would like to ask the League to vote so that we can take appropriate measures—revoking his trust privileges, removing the privacy that allows him to operate unchecked with these allies."
Oliver sat down, his chair sliding back into place. The room erupted in low murmurs. Flash blinked rapidly, processing; Shazam frowned, youthful wisdom grappling with empathy; Hal Jordan exchanged a glance with John Stewart, their green rings flashing in sync. Black Canary crossed her arms, a skeptical expression; Mister Terrific adjusted his glasses, calculating the implications. The Hawks exchanged glances, their wings trembling slightly with warrior instincts.
The voting began informally, voices echoing like murmurs in a cave of justice. Hawkwoman rose first, wings opening slightly to emphasize her presence, her voice as firm as the steel of her mace.
"I don't know this assistant of yours personally, but it doesn't make sense to keep him under constant surveillance. My husband and I"—she pointed to Hawkman, who nodded with fierce eyes—"also have extremely brutal combat habits. I don't see anyone in the League going after us for that. As young as he is, he has already shown himself to be more intellect than many heroes at this table. It doesn't make sense to take the risk. Every genius, when they lose confidence, can turn to an unexpected side. My vote is no. Not only that, constant surveillance will only cause more animosity. What I suggest is perhaps guidance from a responsible teacher—someone compatible with this young man."
She sat down, and a wave of agreement came: Black Canary murmured "I agree," Mister Terrific nodded thoughtfully, Captain Atom frowned but remained silent.
Flash then stood up, energy crackling around him like static electricity, his voice as quick as his footsteps.
"The young man is reckless. However intelligent he may be, he thinks he has everything under control. We know that's a risk many experienced heroes take, imagine someone like him. He may be intelligent, but intelligence can still blind him. I vote yes — revoke all his rights to privacy."
More voices joined in: Hal Jordan agreed with a "Yes, too much risk"; John Stewart disagreed with "No, let's guide, not punish"; Shazam hesitated but voted yes, "He needs limits"; Hawkman voted no, "Brutality is a tool, not a crime." Opinions were divided, murmurs growing in a low but intense debate—pro-surveillance arguing for safety, against defending autonomy. The count was tied, the tension palpable like an impending storm.
The last three—the pillars of the League—had not yet spoken. Wonder Woman stood, her tiara gleaming in the cold light, her voice echoing with Amazonian authority, her blue eyes fixed on the table as if judging souls.
"Restricting the freedom of a young hero just because of his methods... I don't know, it might make sense in the short term. The problem is that we could be creating a rift that could be exploited further in the future. He hasn't killed anyone. He has respected the rules so far. Even though he's acting alone, I believe that if we try to go back on our word, it will be worse and cause even more animosity. I prefer to maintain a good relationship with a young genius than to create an unnecessary enmity. My vote is no."
She sat gracefully, her cape cascading down like waves. Murmurs of approval came from Black Canary and Mister Terrific; Flash crossed his arms, silently disagreeing.
Superman then stood up, the S on his chest a beacon of hope, his voice deep and compassionate, his blue eyes filled with reflection.
"I don't agree with the young man's methods. His brutality is immense, but many of us here also practice that kind of brutality when necessary and convenient. So, it doesn't make sense to get into the merits of whether or not depriving him of his freedom is viable. Especially since we ourselves know what that will do: plant listening devices, forms of surveillance against a young genius who, as soon as he finds out, will revolt against us. It would be ignorant of us not to understand that he will manage to find all this information and cause even more enmity. I agree with the Hawk Woman's point of view in seeking a teacher who can teach and guide him. After all, because he is a genius, we treat him as if he doesn't need tutoring—something we know is ridiculous. We do need to guide him. My vote is also no."
He sat down, the weight of his words hanging like gravity. The room fell silent, expectant, all eyes on Batman—the ultimate strategist, the man with plans for every contingency, including against his own allies. The tension was palpable: Green Arrow leaned forward anxiously; Flash drummed his fingers; the Green Lanterns exchanged neutral glances.
Batman stood slowly, his cape falling like a living shadow, his opaque eyes scanning the table like radar detecting weaknesses. His voice was low, calculated, each word a move in a cosmic chess game.
"I spoke with Forge. He reminds me a lot of myself when I was young—of course, very different from who I am now, but the similarities are there. He'll prepare for anything thrown at him, and he's very likely already prepared for the possibility of us going back on our word. Trying to get information or depriving him of any kind of freedom... We know where that leads. In the beginning, we shouldn't have accepted his terms, but we did. We opened a door, and we just hope he can extend a hand to us as well. Now, what we really have to do is guide him. He's a genius, and every genius has their quirk—his is no different. We need to leave the possibility open for him to decide who his mentor will be, but I already have some names in mind."
He paused, letting the words hang in the air. No one interrupted; even Green Arrow remained silent, respecting the weight of the Dark Knight.
"We have another problem, too, regarding Forge. Forge, being homogeneous, is evolving more and more each day. We know his power comes from flames, the flames of a genius metahuman. But do we know his true origin? We know he's an atypical genius. And this type of genius is becoming increasingly dangerous. Our job is to guide him at this point, after all, the train has already left the station. There's nowhere to go back, we can't deprive him. After all, we're all criminals here too, theoretically. Even with the leniency of the United States government, we still have our share of irresponsibility. So, I also vote no to the revocation of his rights. This matter will be closed."
Batman sat down, absolute silence. Green Arrow exhaled slowly, an expression of frustration but acceptance—he respected the decision, however painful it was; Oliver was a man of principle, and the League was his family. Flash nodded reluctantly; Wonder Woman smiled slightly, approvingly; Superman crossed his arms, satisfied with the balance.
The meeting continued with minor topics, but Forge's shadow loomed—a young hero on the threshold, a potential ally or threat, now guided by experienced hands. The Watchtower continued its orbit, vigilant as ever, while the Earth spun below, full of dangers and promises.
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