I leaned against the brick wall, taking a deep breath that tasted entirely too much like harbor trash. Right.
Lawyer Vex Vale was dead. Teenager Vex Vale was… currently standing in a pile of garbage, wearing a ring that defied physics and possessing eyes that made the trash look inexplicably fascinating.
"Okay, Vex," I muttered to myself, brushing invisible dust off my too-tight shirt. "Law firm's gone. Panic is for people who don't have cosmic jewelry."
I eyed the alley exit. A flickering neon sign in the distance spelled out 'Happy Harbor'. Great. The place was iconic, which meant I knew exactly where the trouble tended to congregate. I looked down at the ring, the faint green hum still vibrating against my skin.
Focus, imagination, willpower.
I closed my eyes, picturing something practical. Not a weapon. Not yet. A wallet. A heavy, leather wallet full of cash. I imagined the texture, the weight, the smell of crisp bills.
The green light flared, blinding even through my eyelids. I opened them to find a shimmering, translucent green brick in my hand. It was roughly the size of a brick, shaped vaguely like a wallet, and it hummed loud enough to give me a headache.
"Close enough," I grunted, letting it fade. The strain was immediate, a sharp, stabbing pain behind my eyes that made the Sharingan flash intensely before settling back to normal.
"Constructs take focus. Imagination takes energy. Got it."
I stepped out of the alley, aiming for the main street. I needed food, I needed information, and I needed to figure out if I could blend in without acting like a total sociopath—even if I really wanted to be in charge of this whole place eventually.
I adjusted my shirt, adopting a nonchalant walk, and ignored the throbbing in my head.
I needed a base. A teenager in Happy Harbor with no family needed a place to lie low, not somewhere that attracted attention. The abandoned warehouses near the docks seemed perfect—out of the way, accessible, and easily defended with the right constructs.
As I walked, I kept the Sharingan active. The world was overwhelming. Kinetic vision made traffic look like a slow-motion dance, and the sheer amount of 'magic' flowing through the city was dizzying.
Young Justice. They were the obvious choice for protection and training. They had resources, mentors, and they were always looking for new members. But they also had rules. Limitations.
"I need power, not a babysitter," I whispered, watching a group of teenagers laughing down the street. They were oblivious to the energy I could see shifting around them.
I didn't need to join them to use them. Aligning with them—or perhaps manipulating them into seeing me as an asset—would be more efficient. I could train under their noses, learn how to handle the Ring and Sharingan without revealing the full extent of my ambition.
My phone, found in the pocket of the cargo pants, was dead. No way to research the current timeline. I'd have to rely on my own knowledge of canon events. If this was early in the timeline, I had time to prepare. If it was later… I needed to move fast.
I reached the waterfront, the salty air cutting through the smell of the city. A rusted warehouse stood at the end of the pier. Perfect.
Focus.
I imagined a simple, heavy-duty lock—not a standard one, but a green-light construct mechanism that only responded to my ring's specific frequency. The construct solidified on the warehouse door, buzzing faintly.
Now, to make it home.