The silence of the warehouse was interrupted by a flicker of green light that didn't come from my own willpower. The ring pulsed, a cooling sensation against my skin.
"Power levels at 14%," a neutral, synthetic voice echoed directly into my auditory nerve. "Warning: Internal power battery depleted. Unauthorized user detected. Please report to the nearest Oan Sector Hub for recalibration."
I froze. "Unauthorized? I'm the one wearing you."
"Correct. Current user: Vex Vale. Status: Unregistered. Power reserves are insufficient for long-term survival in high-combat scenarios. Would you like to view a map to the nearest Power Battery?"
I snorted, leaning back against a crate. "Unless that map leads to a hidden stash in the Justice League's basement, I think we're both out of luck. And don't bother with the 'unauthorized' talk. We're stuck together."
The ring didn't argue, but the glow dimmed to a dull emerald. 14%. That was a death sentence if I got into a real fight. I didn't have a Lantern, and I certainly wasn't getting a ride to Sector 0 anytime soon. I had to be surgical. No giant hammers, no glowing jets. I needed to use the Ring to augment my own body, not replace it.
I stood up, my joints popping. Hunger was no longer a suggestion; it was a physical ache.
I left the warehouse, sticking to the shadows of the docks. I didn't need a social security number to get what I wanted; I just needed to be smarter than the people who had them. I found a high-end seafood restaurant three blocks over, the kind with a valet stand and a lot of distracted, wealthy tourists.
I didn't steal a car. That's amateur. Instead, I waited near the back entrance where the delivery trucks cycled through. I watched a driver unloading crates of Maine lobster, his clipboard resting on a stack of pallets while he argued with a chef.
I channeled a microscopic amount of will. A tiny, translucent green hook, no thicker than a needle, snagged the driver's dropped jacket from the bench. I reeled it in.
Inside the pocket: a wad of crumpled twenties and a half-eaten protein bar.
"Resource acquisition complete," I whispered, the sarcasm biting even in my own head.
I tossed the jacket into a dumpster and walked toward a 24-hour diner at the edge of town. As I ate a greasy burger that tasted like heaven and cardboard, I watched the news playing on a small TV above the counter.
"The Justice League has officially neutralized a splinter cell in Bialya..."
The footage showed Superman and Wonder Woman. They looked like gods. Behind them, barely in frame, was a glimpse of a black stealth jet.
The Team. They were active.
If I wanted to join them, I couldn't just knock on the door of Mount Justice. I had to be a "problem" they felt obligated to solve—or a "victim" they felt the need to protect.
I looked at the ring on my finger. 13% now.
"Hey, Ring," I thought, keeping my face buried in my fries. "Can you mask your own energy signature? Hide from scanners?"
"Internal cloaking requires 0.5% power per hour," the AI responded. "Would you like to initiate 'Ghost' protocol?"
"Do it. And keep a lookout for any high-frequency transmissions or Zeta-beam signatures in the area."
I had the knowledge. I had the eyes. I just needed the opening. I needed to find a way to "accidentally" cross paths with one of the sidekicks. Robin was too observant; he'd see through a facade in seconds. Kid Flash was too fast; I wouldn't have time to react.
But Aqualad? Kaldur'ahm was measured. He was a leader. He'd look for the potential in a "troubled" kid with a powerful artifact.
I paid my bill with the stolen cash and walked back into the night. My next move wasn't about power; it was about positioning. I headed toward the Happy Harbor library. If I was going to play the role of a brilliant, lost kid, I needed to look like I was searching for answers, not waiting for a recruitment pitch.
I'd spend the night there, or nearby. Tomorrow, I'd start the "training" that would inevitably draw their sensors. I just had to make sure that when they found me, I looked like an asset they couldn't afford to leave on the streets.
And if the Ring hit 0% before then? Well, I'd better hope my Sharingan could learn how to throw a punch fast enough to matter.