POV Megan
Megan cut through the Bialian desert night air at speed, her body invisible thanks to Martian camouflage, making her an ethereal ghost against the starry sky. The wind howled in her ears, carrying grains of sand that passed harmlessly through her translucent form, the night's chill slightly penetrating her green skin despite the psychic concentration that kept her hidden. Her white eyes swept the dark horizon, guided by faint mental echoes—pulses of pain and confusion emanating like distant beacons, leading her directly to the soldiers' camp. The terrain below was a vast expanse of undulating dunes, long shadows cast by the silvery moonlight, with rocky outcrops scattered like ancient sentinels. She felt the weight of urgency in her mind, recent visions of Superboy in agony propelling her forward, her Martian heart pounding.
She located the camouflaged camp—a complex of beige and brown tents mixed into the sand, surrounded by armored jeeps parked in defensive formation, watchtowers with spotlights sweeping the perimeter, and heavily armed soldiers patrolling the edges. Assault rifles slung over their shoulders, helmets with night-vision visors flashing green, they moved in coordinated patterns, boots sinking into the cold sand, low voices in Arabic echoing routine commands. Megan descended in a graceful arc, passing invisibly above the guards—one soldier adjusting his tactical vest, another lighting a cigarette whose smoke rose in thin spirals, the smell of tobacco mingling with the dry air. She avoided the spotlights, her camouflaged form bending the light around her, making her undetectable even to basic thermal sensors.
Entering the main tent—a larger structure reinforced with internal metal panels for acoustic and thermal insulation—Megan detected Superboy's mental waves: irregular pulses of pain and primal rage, echoing like muffled screams in her telepathy. The interior was illuminated by hanging fluorescent lamps, the air heavy with the hum of generators and the ozone smell of electrical equipment. She saw the terrifying scene: Superboy strapped to a cross-shaped device, arms outstretched and bound by thick, reinforced alloy handcuffs, the metal creaking under his constant struggle. Two devices near his ears emitted a low hum, ready to amplify discharges. Several scientists in white coats watched, fascinated, pressing buttons on portable consoles, sending shocks that made his body contort, muscles swelling, veins bulging, roars echoing in the tent. His skin steamed slightly, but resisted, regenerating in seconds.
She also saw a sphere trapped in a similar structure—a metal cage with electrified rods, the sphere spinning furiously inside, its iridescent surface pulsing with blue and green lights. Scientists nearby pressed buttons, releasing shocks that accelerated its rotation, emitting a vibrant hum.
Megan approached Superboy, floating invisibly, her heart pounding at the sight. But at that moment, from a dark corner of the tent—deep shadows where cables piled up—she sensed a presence: cold, intrusive, like an icy finger touching her mind. From the corner emerged a pale, white man wearing a dark, light-absorbing hood. When he lifted the hood, Megan saw his distorted face: exposed skull, brain pulsing beneath a translucent membrane, veins running across the surface, milky eyes fixed on her despite the camouflage.
Megan felt a violation of her mind—as if a foreign presence were trying to break down the doors of her consciousness, psychic claws scratching at mental barriers. She had felt this before, in training sessions with uncles and relatives on Mars: simulated telepathic attacks to strengthen defenses. She knew this guy was a telepath trying to attack her mind somehow. And in that moment, Megan was pulled into her own mind, the real world dissolving into a vortex of colors and shapes.
There, she found herself in a vast cornfield, crops of tall stalks and green leaves undulating in the wind, rocks standing like ancient monuments, parts of Mount Justice rising in the background—grey towers and dark caves, memories fused into a mental sanctuary. It was her mind, where she kept her most precious memories. At that moment, she heard a voice echoing like an intrusive whisper: "Simon commands, Simon controls. Forget, forget as you forgot before."
At that moment, Megan visualized something she didn't remember: she saw herself entering that tent once again, invisible, watching the men in lab coats testing the sphere that received electrical discharges. She remembered mentally speaking to Aqualad: "I'm in." His voice echoed in her mind: "Proceed with caution, remember, camouflage is not invisibility."
She flew through the tent in her memory, the vision showing the sphere suffering, pulsating as if alive—a primal mind inside, emanating psychic pain. Megan tried to communicate: "Are you listening to me?" But a voice replied: "I'm in an open mind. It's something dangerous. Simon can't see it, Simon can't catch it, but Simon can make you all forget."
Megan understood: her connection had been violated. But at that moment, a flash of light invaded her mind, obscuring her vision.
Returning to her present mind, after visualizing that memory—as if her own mind had tried to warn her of the danger—she saw her mind being erased, overtaken by an invading white. Where the mountain had been, it began to disappear; where the cornfield had been, it vanished into white; parts of Mount Justice faded like dissolving ink. But she screamed mentally, roaring with fury: "I won't let you win!" And she began to fight against it, erecting psychic barriers—walls of green energy—and the white began to stop, receding like a reversing tide.
At that moment, the man's head materialized in front of Megan, his brain exposed—the man pale, only his head floating, folds of his brain pulsating. He spoke, "This is none of your business, girl," and launched a black bolt of lightning with his mind toward Megan's mental body, throwing her backward, the impact reverberating like an internal thunderclap.
Megan erected a mental shield in the shape of a bubble to protect herself from the next beam, the green energy glowing against the invading black. She fought against Simon—the man now known as Simon—psychic counterattacks colliding like waves of force, the web of her mind trembling with each impact.
Outside of their mental struggle, inside the tent, it was as if Simon had frozen, staring blankly into space, his body rigid beneath the cloak. Megan, in her camouflaged form, was being protected for this brief moment thanks to the concealment from the scientists, who stopped shocking Superboy, confused by Simon's immobility. Objects began to float in the air—instruments, papers, cables—involuntarily levitated by the psychic turbulence.
Superboy, still imprisoned, used his X-ray vision—eyes flashing red, penetrating materials—allowing him to see Megan's translucent body with precision, her camouflaged form revealed as an ethereal outline. He also saw the white man who had affected his mind—Simon, standing like a statue. Superboy had no memories, only instinct, and he knew that this pale man was the cause of his current distress. His heart rate began to increase, his chest rising and falling rapidly, Kryptonian adrenaline coursing through his veins.
He struggled against the restraints, muscles swelling against the thick shackles, the metal creaking and bending slightly under the titanic pressure. At the same time, the sphere that was trapped in the structure broke free—its rotation accelerating violently, lights flashing furiously, shattering the electrified bars with a crack of released energy.
She slammed against the structure that held Superboy, freeing one of his hands—the impact echoing like a cracked bell, the handcuff shattering into metallic fragments. Using it, he freed himself completely, tearing the other handcuff with a brutal pull, freeing his arms and then his legs with kicks that crumpled the metal like paper.
He leaped toward the pale man, attempting to punch him—his fist flying like a missile—but as soon as he struck, a black barrier formed, an invisible yet solid psychic wall, preventing Superboy from continuing the fight. The impact reverberated, and he was thrown several meters back by the barrier's recoil, accidentally touching Megan—the physical contact momentarily breaking her camouflage, and in the next instant, Superboy was drawn into Megan's consciousness.
There, he found himself floating beside her, the cornfield and mountains in the background trembling with the white invasion. Megan, her eyes shining, turned to him relieved, a smile on her face despite the pain: "You're here."
The pale man—head floating—laughed mockingly: "You're so relieved. You think this irrational creature is going to ease your mind?" The voice echoed like a distorted echo, full of command.
"No, I saved his," Megan retorted. She touched Superboy's head, extending her mind into his, invading deeper—threads of green energy intertwining with Kryptonian neurons, pulling up any forgotten memories. Superboy saw in his mind a grey creature with glowing horns—a grotesque alien in underground laboratories. He saw subterranean facilities with various types of creatures: small as goblins, large as giants, slender as elongated shadows.
He found himself lying on a study table with three small, horned creatures glowing on plates above his head, implanting artificial memories.
He saw Robin, Aqualad, and Kid Flash finding him, helping him to his feet, and saying they had come to help him, their voices echoing in a dark hallway.
Visions of Megan appeared during missions they participated in together: battles against robotic villains, laughter in the Mount Justice kitchen, the day they first encountered a robot villain who caused toast — a crazy android launching burnt bread as projectiles.
On the first day of school, he and Megan began their academic studies at a regular school — ordinary uniforms, creaky desks, nervous laughter between classes.
At one point, he encountered Superman and tried to talk to him, but the Man of Steel was always busy, seemed uninterested, and flew away with an excuse.
Several missions came to mind: infiltrations into enemy bases, civilian rescues, aerial combat where he flew alongside Megan.
Moments of camaraderie among friends: games in the common room, cookies baked by Megan, jokes by Kid Flash.
And the last memory: two days ago, receiving the mission from Batman — explaining the energy surge in Bialya, the flashing hologram, the group boarding the bio-ship.
Also, the confrontation with his own colleagues: the fierce fight with Forge, where Forge showed exceptional skill and strategy — a ricocheting shield, red light grenades weakening him, precise punches stopping an enraged half-Kryptonian.
And the last one: trapped in the structure, receiving shocks, terrible pain throbbing.
The final scene: him covered in milk, Megan in front cleaning it up, saying "sorry, sorry, sorry"—a funny scene where she accidentally spilled a pitcher on him, and he just found her concerned tone interesting.
At that moment, he regained full consciousness, his blue eyes focusing clearly. He turned to Megan in his mind: "Give him a beating."
He left Megan's mind, returning to the real world—the chaotic tent, scientists in a panic. Men cocking weapons at him, rifles clicking, red laser sights dancing on his chest. But before they could point at Megan and Superboy, a shield flew by—a metallic disc cutting through the air with a hiss—striking both soldiers' weapons, shattering them on the ground, and the shield slammed into a wall with a clang, returning to the air.
Superboy followed the shield with his eyes, seeing his teammate Forge arriving in his hero uniform, helmet closed, blue eyes visible through the visor. Forge caught the shield in mid-air: "You didn't think I was going to leave you alone."
Superboy grinned fiercely, showing his teeth, and leaped toward the soldiers to begin the fight.
Forge and Superboy were now engaging in a real brawl, completely decimating the soldiers. The two faced heavy fire as if it were nothing—bullets ricocheting off Forge's shield and Superboy's invulnerable skin, sparks dancing in the air. Several soldiers aimed and fired, bursts of gunfire illuminating the tent like fireworks, but to no effect, the smell of gunpowder filling the confined space.
Forge took down three soldiers in quick succession: he hurled his shield at the first, the disc spinning in a perfect arc and colliding with the rifle, shattering it in half with a metallic crack, the impact continuing to strike the man's chest, compressing his tactical vest and breaking ribs with a muffled crunch, knocking him gasping onto the tent canvas; he quickly knelt for the second, sweeping his leg with a low kick that snapped his knee at an inverted angle, the soldier screaming as he fell sideways, followed by a right hook to the face that spun his head, jaw dislocating with a nauseating pop, instantly knocking him out with blood gushing from his mouth; For the third, who was trying to retreat by firing, Forge delivered an upward knee to the stomach, the knee sinking into the soft abdomen, expelling air and bile in a gurgling sound, before a closed-fist uppercut that struck the chin, lifting the man off the ground a meter before he collapsed inert, loose teeth rolling in the sand.
Superboy leaped powerfully, soaring three meters into the air with his legs bent like springs, and landed on top of a soldier—the impact creating a shallow crater in the sand beneath the tent, the Kryptonian weight crushing the tactical vest and shattering ribs with a multiple crack, the man screaming sharply before collapsing with blood bubbling from his lips; with the momentum of the landing, Superboy spun his body and hurled the inert soldier toward another group of three, his body flying like a human projectile, colliding with the first and knocking the other two down in a pile of tangled limbs and fallen rifles, one of them breaking his arm as he fell with an audible snap.
Forge blocked a hail of bullets from two soldiers ahead, the shield vibrating like a gong under the impacts, sparks leaping in orange arcs, and counterattacked: he hurled the disc in a curved arc to the side, hitting the first soldier's knee, bending his leg at a grotesque angle with a crunch of torn ligaments, the man falling screaming as he tried to hold the shattered joint; the shield ricocheted to the second, striking the rifle and deflecting it upwards, before Forge leaped and delivered a downward elbow strike to the man's neck, the impact compressing his trachea with a suffocating gurgle, knocking him unconscious as he fell to his knees, hands on his neck.
Superboy grabbed a soldier by the collar with one hand, effortlessly lifting him into the air, the man kicking uselessly as his rifle fell; Superboy hurled him against the tent wall, the fabric tearing with a loud rip, the soldier crashing through and falling outside onto the cold sand, rolling with bones cracking on impact; he turned to two who were firing in panic, bullets bouncing off his chest like stones in a lake, and delivered a simultaneous double punch, one fist to each stomach, sinking into their soft abdomens with a muffled thump, expelling air and blood, knocking them down like empty sacks, one vomiting bile before collapsing.
The spinning sphere trampled soldiers — flying in a low zigzag, colliding with the legs of a trio, lights flashing furiously on impact, knocking them down with the crack of breaking femurs, screams echoing as they rolled in the sand, rifles flying away.
Forge threw the shield to Superboy, who caught it in mid-air with one hand and used it like a hammer, slamming it horizontally into a soldier reloading. The disc smashed the rifle against his chest with a clang followed by cracking ribs, sending the man flying backward and crashing into a console table, shattering screens and knocking equipment down in a cascade of sparks. Superboy returned the shield with a precise throw like a frisbee, Forge catching it in mid-air and using it to block shots from three soldiers, the metal creaking under the bursts of gunfire, while covering Superboy who leaped over another group.
Superboy leaped and landed with both feet on a lone soldier, the impact sinking the sand into a half-meter crater, the man crushed under the weight with a sharp scream, ribs collapsing like paper; he spun and grabbed two by the collars, smashing their heads against each other with a crack of colliding skulls, blood gushing from broken noses as they fell inert.
Forge rolled to the side, dodging a grenade thrown by a desperate soldier, and kicked it back with precision—the grenade rolling at the sniper's feet, exploding in a fireball that sent him flying backward with burns and broken bones; he turned to another, delivering a series of rapid jabs to the torso, each punch cracking ribs, followed by a hook to the chin that spun the head, knocking him out with a dislocated jaw.
Superboy lifted a soldier above his head and hurled him against a pile of crates, the impact shattering wood and metal, the man trapped in the wreckage with broken legs; he turned to two more, ignoring bullets bouncing off their shoulders, and swept them both away with an outstretched arm, the impact like a baseball bat, knocking them down with cracked ribs and cut breaths.
The sphere collided with two more, spinning at high speed and crashing into torsos, lights flashing on impact, soldiers flying sideways with crushed abdomens and screams of agony.
Forge blocked a final burst of fire from a remaining soldier, his shield absorbing the bullets, and counterattacked with a disc throw that struck the rifle, deflecting it, followed by a knee to the solar plexus that bent the man in half, and a downward elbow to the back of the neck that knocked him out with a final thump.
Superboy, for the last one, delivered an upward punch to the chin, lifting the soldier off the ground two meters before he fell inert, his jaw shattered.
While Forge and Superboy, aided by the spinning sphere, completely decimated the soldiers in the ruined tent—the air filled with muffled screams, the impact of fists against flesh, the cracking of bones breaking, and the metallic hiss of the shield ricocheting—an intense battle unfolded in Megan's mind against Simon. The mental space was a chaos of colliding energies: threads of green light against black bursts, Megan's web of memories trembling like a net in a storm, the virtual cornfield bending in the invisible psychic wind, rocks of Mount Justice cracking as if struck by mental earthquakes. Simon, in his giant form—a dark and imposing silhouette, milky eyes gleaming like malevolent beacons, his pulsating brain exposed in his enlarged head—launched relentless attacks, waves of white oblivion devouring the edges of her consciousness. Megan, multiplied into several clones—each identical, wearing the red and green uniform, with flowing red hair—counterattacked by launching beams of psychic energy toward him, beams that cut through the mental air like laser blades, exploding into green sparks upon colliding with black barriers erected by Simon.
During this struggle, the psychic power that bound them began to transcend their minds, leaking into the material world like a burst dam. Objects in the tent rose involuntarily—scientific instruments floating like leaves in a gale, cables snaking through the air like living snakes, metal tables creaking as they were lifted from the floor. The air began to swirl at high speed around them, forming vortices that sucked in dust and fragments of equipment, the wind howling loudly inside the confined tent, the canvas swaying violently as if struck by a localized hurricane.
Forge, amidst the physical chaos—his shield returning to his hand after taking down yet another soldier with an impact that cracked his tactical vest and broke ribs—saw this and yelled to Superboy, his voice echoing over the sounds of gunfire and groans: "Go help her! And I'll hold them off!"
Superboy, who had just hurled a soldier against the tent wall with enough force to tear the canvas and expose the nocturnal desert beyond, merely nodded in acknowledgment, his fierce blue eyes fixed on Megan. He leaped toward her—a powerful jump that covered meters in an instant, his feet leaving craters in the sand—and grasped her hand, the physical contact creating an instant bridge to her mind.
The moment he invaded Megan's mind, he found himself immersed in chaos: Megan fighting Simon, multiplying into several clones that hurled beams at the giant—each clone firing beams that traced luminous arcs through the mental web, exploding in cascades of energy upon striking Simon's colossal body, who laughed with a voice echoing like distant thunder. Simon, now a titanic form with arms outstretched like black tentacles, unleashed a beam of energy that affected all areas—an expansive black wave that devoured clones like acid, dissolving them into white smoke, the mental air vibrating with the impact. Megan stood, having created a shield similar to Superman's symbol—a red and yellow pentagonal barrier pulsing with protective force, the emblem of the House of El shining like a beacon against the invading darkness.
Outside their minds, the chaos intensified: the gale created upward vortices, swirling sand and debris spinning in ascending spirals, causing the tent to sway violently, stakes being ripped from the ground with metallic creaks, canvas tearing into strips that whipped through the air like flags in a hurricane.
Forge, seeing this, knew that this area was extremely dangerous—the tornado's epicenter expanding, sucking in air and objects with increasing force, dust blinding the vision. He saw the other soldiers fleeing in panic, stumbling in the sand as they ran out of the tent, abandoning rifles and equipment; the scientists had long since left the site, white lab coats disappearing into the darkness beyond the entrance. He, too, decided to run, especially since there was no way to enter the hurricane's epicenter anymore—the vortex now a swirling cylinder of wind and sand that pushed him back with physical force. So he ran out, legs pumping in the soft sand, shield raised to block flying debris, the tornado increasing even more in density and speed, howling like a living monster.
In her mind, Megan spoke, her voice echoing with fatigue: "He is very strong." Her remaining clones trembled, the mental web cracking under the pressure.
But Superboy held her hand firmly, his touch anchoring her, and said, "But you're the most important."
At that moment, she mustered the strength to look deep into Simon's eyes—penetrating the milky darkness with fierce determination, as her entire mind was consumed by whiteness, edges fading like mist in the sun. She spoke: "Get out of my mind." And at that moment, she roared: "Get out of my mind!" The word echoed like an amplified psychic command, a wave of green energy exploding from her.
And at that moment, she violently expelled Simon from her mind, causing him to be hurled away like mental debris, his giant head dissolving into black smoke as it was ejected.
And the vortex increased the pressure even more, causing it to grab Simon's body—in the real world, his pale, hooded form—and hurl him far away, his body flying through the night air like a leaf in a hurricane, disappearing into the darkness beyond the dunes, so far that it was impossible to see where he was thrown, only the distant echo of a dull thud.
And at that moment, Megan, who had been floating, descended to the ground, tired, exhausted. She knelt on the now calm sand, the vortex dissipating in final gusts of wind, her body trembling with the mental effort, sweat running down her green skin, her breath ragged in the icy air.
Superboy approached, gently holding her body, his muscular arms wrapping around her for support, the Kryptonian warmth contrasting with the cold of the night.
They gazed at each other — his blue eyes meeting her white ones, their faces slowly drawing closer, noses almost touching, their breaths mingling in white clouds.
But at that moment, they heard a voice and looked to the side, seeing Forge approaching, his uniform dirty with sand and blood, shield on his arm. "Yeah, I'm glad everyone's alright," he said, his voice echoing in the destroyed tent, the tarp hanging in torn strips, equipment scattered like debris from an explosion.
And at that moment, the sphere appeared, approaching Superboy—spinning at a low speed now, lights pulsing calmly, iridescent surface gleaming in the moonlight that streamed through the cracks.
Superboy looked at her and said, "Can I keep him?"
Forge shrugged, a casual gesture amidst the chaos.
POV Forge
They were flying at that moment, cutting through the Bialian night sky, stars twinkling above like cold diamonds. Forge flew rather unsteadily, orange flames erupting from his hands, dancing like living bonfires, and elemental thrusters from his feet that kept him airborne, but his balance was precarious—his body swaying like a plane in turbulence, sweat dripping down his exposed face, his helmet retracted. It was clear that this wasn't a skill he had trained extensively; his elemental control of fire was still raw, flames flickering erratically, the air around him heating in visible waves.
Megan, flying alongside him with natural grace, looked back and said, "So that's how you managed to get to camp so quickly."
Forge replied, his tone of playfulness masking the effort: "Yeah, but this skill here is still light years away from me being able to put it into practice, you know? I was very lucky not to have died along the way."
Then they approached the bio-ship—an organic structure camouflaged among dunes, its surface pulsating with luminescent green veins, its shape aerodynamic like a sleeping living creature. They mentally connected with the team: "Guys. Look, we managed to recover Superboy and..."
And all those who were connected in mind were saying, "That's great."
But at that moment, Aqualad, who was awake inside the ship, hydrating himself with an intravenous drip—a transparent tube injecting saline fluid directly into his artery, his dark arm resting on an improvised stretcher, his body still weak but conscious—was saying: "Who's in my mind? Get out of my mind."
Megan replied mentally: "Hello, Megan, I forgot that Aqualad had amnesia."
At that moment, Kid Flash was saying, "Hello, I forgot to pick up the mission souvenir."
Megan replied, "The souvenir is already taking care of itself." And below them, the sphere followed at high speed, spinning parallel to the ship, its lights flashing in sync with the movement.
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