It has been a long time since I've checked my stats. Not that I actually have game stats like some other people who experienced reincarnation, merely a statistical approximation of my physical and mental status through a series of vaguely defined parameters.
…
Physical: [Physique: 2.3 → 2.9] [Celerity: 2.9 → 3.5] [Vitality: 2.5 → 3.2]
Mental: [Willpower: 3.8 → 4.8] [Reflex: 2.5 → 2.9] [Focus: 4.7 → 5.8]
…
I always have change logs toggled on to make sure that I actually am increasing in ability. I don't like to watch it go incrementally, so I make sure to leave it weeks at a time before opening it up and seeing it go up like a damn meteor.
'Weird, though. I don't really feel its effect. I mean, I got beat to shit by that Scythe and all I had was four broken ribs, bruises all over my torso and a cracked knee. Sure, losing three fingers isn't exactly good, but it's honestly not that bad either.'
'Except for the fingers, All the other injuries will take over two weeks to heal, even with my powers. Although I do suppose the fact that it would take two weeks to heal from such grievous injuries is, in itself, the effect of these stats.'
Doctor Thompson had assumed that my extremely fast regeneration these past few days was thanks to the Wayne Industries 'wonderdrug' which, apparently, is medically available to me due to nepotism or something else that made Doctor Thompson quite angry.
I usually don't care what Lucious invents as a coverup for my powers, but, in this case, I don't like it when a doctor old enough to be my grandmother is mad at me.
'I should probably tell Lucious that. Although I haven't met the guy yet, I hear he has a son somewhere in LA.'
"Edmund, are you going to help, or are you just going to stand there?" Asks Jasmine as she tastes the stew she's been preparing in the past six hours.
Tomorrow is my birthday and tonight, the servants are going to prepare for an all-day party. Although I have made my distinction regarding my dislike of such a long lingering party, mother and, more importantly, father always disregard my personal decision regarding these matters.
The bastard usually uses these events to invite business associates and investors around, beckoning them with food whilst making sure that any animosity and grudges that his terrible personality may have caused to be disregarded in light of his child's birthday.
In recent years, however, he makes use of my parties to recoup angel investors for his slowly bankrupting business. Not that he needs it anymore, what with Wayne Industries' most recent injection into his holdings.
'Large enough to keep him floating for a quarter, but still quite small to keep him in check.'
Bruce doesn't trust him and neither do I. After all, he made use of me and my body to barter some money from Lex Luthor.
'Speaking of… I suppose I owe Bruce an apology. Doubly so if my speech in the hospital made him break one of his sacred rules.'
I groan at the consequences of my actions. The world would be a lot nicer if actions didn't have consequences.
To be honest, I'm not sure if my speech does have something to do with him allying with the crime lords of Gotham. Even if it did, then it does not make sense because my point in that conversation is that he doesn't have a right to scold me for killing the man.
"Here taste." Jasmine brings a ladle full of creamy stew near my face.
"Add more potatoes. Are you making Grandmama's stew? Is she coming?"
Jasmine shakes her head, "She's eighty-years-old, Edmund. She can barely walk through her castle."
Mother glared at Jasmine. "It's not a castle… it's a battlement with a manor inside."
"Ah, yes. For those pesky Prussians!" I mock, saluting valiantly.
I gaze at my mother as she turns her nose at my comments before returning to roasting the brisket.
While my father makes financial decisions off of my party, mother only does it for the love of the game.
'And, boy, does she love the game.'
It had always been her dream to become a party planner and, if that fails, to become a world class mother. I was honestly impressed when she told me of her dreams and hopes.
Many women in her position dream of breaking the ceiling that had been erected during the rise of humanity, reinforced by the tides of patriarchy and the introduction of systemic boundaries. With her resources and her mother's then-influence, Maria could have achieved something greater than the sum of her existence.
Yet, here she is, gladly taking one for the team and raising me. At least in her vision, she is not, in fact, taking one for the team, but realizing her dreams. As well as realizing that achieving her dreams would bind her to a cause not of her own.
To a man that would deprive her of her dignity and expression as a human. 'Am I exaggerating? Perchance, but one cannot refute the fact that Father has to go. I've been telling these villains and heroes that my mother is dearest to me and that I'm willing to go lengths to give her the best… yet, here I am, letting an abomination walk free and put her under his thumb."
I may not be averse to killing for proper reason, but there are other ways to bereave a man of his life without dirtying my hands.
"Mother," I call out amidst the hubbub of the large kitchen. "I'm going to invite–augh!"
The world shudders the moment I turn my head, as if it's splitting in half and leaving me alone in a dark expanse. I can feel worms wriggling under my skin as an electrifying sensation runs through every nerve.
For a moment, I feel alone in this dark universe before the horizon snaps and I see Jasmine cradling me in her arms. My breath oscillates like a manatee, searching for the breath I once lost.
I can hear them whispering, echoes of words and numbers.
"I'm. Fine." I grit my teeth to placate their worries. "It doesn't hurt that… much."
Mother kneels down and places both hands between my cheeks. "What happened? Why did it get worse?"
I shake free of her hands as I stumble to the ground to regain my breathing. "This happens when I get older. That's what Luthor said."
"Call a guard to take him to his room. Jasmine, call Doctor Thompson, see if she isn't busy." Mother ruffles my hair before standing up and taking control of the kitchen. "Alright, back to work. This food is not gonna cook itself."
•••
Two fingers appear on the mirror as I wave my hand around, accustoming myself to the fact that this injury will forever mark my first victory against a villain–a henchman of a fake group, technically-as well as a mark of my first kill.
I will not vow him to be my last, however, for that would be incorrigible and inane. The moment I deprive myself of my greatest trick in the bag shall be the day I die.
I don't when my vocabulary changes, but I do suppose that finally achieving a small step in my overall goal is a portent of great things to come.
'Portent. That'll be the word of the day. Although I think I'm using it incorrectly.'
Nevertheless, my achievement came about a meter away from my form in the slowly rotating black line. A trick I used to teleport the bear spray in my hands without drawing the Scythe's attention is now a special move I can create whenever I want or, in this case, can.
The energy drain is, again, sub-optimal, but I can fix that with a little bit of training. The speed of its rotation, too, can be trained into higher levels.
"Commencing phase two.." I mutter as the ten centimeter black line widens into a vertical eye with a length of ten centimeters.
A surge of rumbling agony permeates my stomach as the eye slowly rotates clockwise, consuming an energy no less draining than its creation. When I feel the lining of my stomach twist and tremble under the cannibalization of my power, I cut control of the eye, which causes it to snap shut.
I place a hand in my stomach as it rumbles and complains about its inhumane treatment, having been the first organ my power goes to when the energy stored in my cells dissipates.
I stop the stopwatch and I read its contents, "21.4 seconds. Much better than the first time it got clocked and an average increase of four seconds per week of training. Not to mention that I was expending more energy by rotating it; Jesus, I'm good."
A knock on my door interrupts me from flattering my ego as Jasmine's voice comes through.
"Are you awake, Edmund?" She asks.
I respond with a quick, "Yes."
And have been for the past three hours. Yesterday's bout of extreme pain and visual and auditory hallucination did not happen again. What did occur once more is the pain. Intermittent, consistent and pulsing in various levels of pain which increases the nearer it is to the midnight of the date of my birth.
With nothing to do, I trained my portal and let myself grow accustomed to rotating the orientation of my portals. When I grow tired–which is every thirty minutes–I would take five-minute breaks and eat the snack I've been hiding all throughout my room.
Never had I found one snack to be expired, for I know Jasmine always tells the maids to be thorough in cleaning my room. If not for her, then I would have been knee deep in mold, mushroom, and cockroaches by now.
I finish changing my sweaty clothes and rebinding my torso and hand before unlocking the door and meeting face-to-face with Jasmine.
She hums as she scrutinizes my appearance, licking her thumbs before fixing my bed hair. It's been our tradition–Well, her tradition–to fix my appearance before I present myself to my mother and have her maids "dress" me.
"Good to go." She mutters under her breath as she turns around, expecting me to follow her. "Now, the party will start at 9:00 a.m. which is 45 minutes from now. It's a pool party, mostly for kids and tweens and young adults, which will end at about 11:30. I need you at the courtyard by the pool in half an hour. Got it?"
I nod my head.
A Serana birthday party is composed of three parts.
The morning party, where kids and teenagers can be free of their parent's tight grip and enjoy the amenities provided by the manor. While the kids enjoy, the parents are led by my mother to a tour of the estate.
'Although last I checked, mom was just day drinking, and the bastard was conning a few suits.'
"We'll have the luncheon which the Caspians, Falcones, and the Waynes will attend–hopefully without too many bodyguards. Olgar will be here, however, so don't worry much about security. Main course is Peking duck broiled in soy sauce as we have a Chinese diplomat in attendance."
"Which one?"
"Peng Jin and his daughter, Peng Deilan." Jasmine says with a hint of delight.
"Oh, Uncle Peng is coming? Cool."
Jasmine sighs. "I don't want you teasing Delian again, understand? Gotham is Beijing's sister city. Since we're having trouble with a few villains and the Reaper, they're also here to show support. That's why the deputy mayor and the Waynes are coming, too."
"Oh, that sister city thing does something? I thought it was all politics."
The second part is the extravagant luncheon, which lets families enjoy a bountiful feast either separately or through their close ranks. This meal consists of nine courses, all of which were carefully made by the maid and mother herself through a two-day ritual.
Last is the soiree, where father entertains his business associates and mother feeds upon the gossip of Gotham and the nearby cities from the Adderall and cocaine-addict trophy wives of the city, all the while a semi-famous jazz band play their not-so-loud music.
"Who's on for tonight?" I ask.
"Declan and Goon Zone." She replies stoically. "Your father will not be arriving, however, as there have been reports of flights being canceled all over the country."
I nod. "Good. Anything else on the itinerary?"
"Oh, you have a visitor. I didn't have time to take his name, but he said that he is your friend and Bruce Wayne's friend," Jasmine says, shaking her head as if trying to remember something.
"I'll greet him first. It might be my new prosthetics!" I grin gleefully, wiggling my fingers.
As I move past, she calls to me. "Happy birthday, kiddo."
I run back and give her a wide hug before muttering, "Thanks, Miss Jo!"
The first floor is bound with activity, florist and bakers and newly hired waiters move with purpose in or around the main hall of the manor. With my lithe and small form, I quickly find my stride to the guest room where my visitor is waiting for me.
To my surprise, Olgar is there, too, alongside a dark-skinned bald man with piercing green eyes and a surprisingly muscular figure.
I nod at Olgar as he takes his leave, posting himself just behind the walls in case of an attack. I scrutinize the man before me, rifling through my memories in search of the reason I find him familiar.
"Hello. I'm Edmund. Who are you?" I greet him.
"Hello, friend." He says through a familiar voice. "I see that the Ram'Ta Nateka is doing wonders upon your soul."
My face morphs into shock as I rush forward and hug him. "J'onn! I can't believe you're here."
He laughs like a grandfather on Christmas eve as he pats me on the back, returning my embrace for a moment. "It's good to see you, too, friend."
"You know you can just call me Edmund, right?" I say, removing the hug and looking at him with wide eyes.
"Well, alright, then, friend Edmund." He says.
"Close enough." I shrug before gazing at his peculiar form. Although I know his powers, I nonetheless ask him for the sake of my cover. "Wow, that's… how do you look like that?"
"An ability of my species. Rest assured that it will last for the purposes of my stay here." He says.
I tilt my head at his words, "You're staying here?"
His eyes grow grim, the smile on his face dimming in response. "I am afraid there was a breach in the Justice League's database. Every single hero, vigilante, and metahuman data held within has been extracted by an unknown enemy."
My jaw trembles, "W-What–what does that mean for me? For my family?"
"That means I have been sent here by the League to protect you and your family until the threat has been eliminated or the files are retrieved. I have been chosen since I have a rapport with you." He says.
"What about… Batman? Isn't this his city?" I ask, whispering his name.
He shakes his head. "That is the reason I am here, friend Edmund. Batman's identity is top-priority. If it is revealed, then his list of contacts and allies within the city–including yours and your family–is going to be the supervillain's top target."
"The birthday is off to a rocky start. Let me tell you that much."
"Want me to make a scene and rock the boat?"
"No, mom would've expected that from you. She knows you hate this shit as much as I do."
My gaze travels from one corner of the pool to the other as I surreptitiously converse with Olgar.
It has been an hour since J'onn has revealed himself and purpose to me and, frankly, it has also been an hour since my nerves taut in anticipation of something. It may have just been my hypochondria–or lack thereof–elevating my wild imagination, but hacking into the League's database is something that only a few creatures can do, or at least within this planet. I doubt alien civilizations are yet aware of their existence.
I slap my face a little, giving it a bit of color before heading straight into the monkey's nest. While the parents of every affluent family in Gotham and the nearby satellite city are presumptuous, arrogant, and downright insidiously ignoble, their kids are a different breed of monsters.
Their third and fourth generation wealth had proven to be a breeding ground for laughable spawns of gratuitous greed and lucid lust. In another life, I would have been one of them and, frankly, I would have enjoyed it.
"I guess I'll take on for the team." I mutter as I lock eyes with my mother.
I check my watch to see if it has an option to be waterproof, which it has and one that prevents any security camera within thirty meters from seeing my face.
Leaving the amused Olgar to himself, I walk towards the pool in my swimming trunks. There, mired in meat sweat and pre-puberty putridness, I swim in the pool and pretend to laugh along as the kids enjoy the pool in the middle of winter.
'I guess the stress of being in the city full of weirdos and serial killers is taking a toll on them. It's not just the adults who are being menaced by society.'
As my thoughts become clear, a smile tugs on my lips as a pair of blonde twins wrestled atop the shoulders of their friends. A certain relief comes over my body, knowing full well that this party and its goers are protected by a powerful superhero and a good friend.
"Hey, no eating in the pool!" I shout and point at the son of a fashion designer as he dabbed a chicken wing on a bowl of ranch.
His eyes widened before trudging through the pool of water away from me. Unfortunately for him, I'm trained in such tricky situations.
"C'mon, Wallace. Drop the drumstick!" I shout once more.
"NO!" He shouts back.
To be fair, there are some of them that are somewhat decent. Decent, being a word I say gently as these people do not actively partake in the underbelly of Gotham, yet neither do they inhibit others in doing so.
Neutrality. The other side of the Gotham coin. This is how people in this city survive long enough to see their great-grandchildren, and this is how Gotham is run. Of course, there are exceptions to the rule, such as the Waynes. Rumors and folktales of old have whispered into mine ears of their generosity and low-tolerance for evil, even going so far as to protect a small clinic from a triad of gangs. But even they had dipped their toes in the puddle of evil.
"I don't know you? Which school do you go to?" A tender voice reaches my ears as I slap Wallace's head.
"Oh, uh, Gotham Heights…" A girl's voice responds, hesitation evident in her tone.
"Where is that? Is that a new school?"
I turn towards the voice as I see a collage of cliched teen girls surrounding a clearly embarrassed redhead with glasses. Their conversation and silent snickers are reminiscent of the 90s coming-of-age movies my mother watches every Saturday night.
"Oh, shit." I mutter, only to see Wallace's eyes widen.
Wallace grins, "I heard you curse, Eddy. You're through. If I tell your mother about this–"
"I don't give a shit, Wally." I flick him on the forehead. "Don't eat in my pool. Do it in the hot tub."
I trudge towards them when Wally complains further, "But there are juniors in the tub. They won't let me in."
My Eddy-sense tingles as I turn around to see the largest hot tub is occupied by four teenagers–the oldest is barely fourteen years old–giggling amongst themselves while a gaggle of tweens my age sits on the corner, drenched and clearly upset about something. To Wallace, Mickey, Samuel, and Rork they might be an insurmountable wall of peer pressure and coolness, but in my eyes, they're nothing but prepubescent chumps waylaying me from saving a damsel in distress.
'God, I can't believe I still remember all their names. Damn it!'
I scoff at Wallace as motion for him to follow me, face morphing into a scowl.
"You know your dad owns seven boutiques on the west coast, right? You can buy these chumps with money to spare for their whore of a mother." I scold Wallace, regretting my choice of words after.
'What is happening to me? Am I becoming a misogynist?'
Wallace shrugs his shoulders, a creepy smile on his face. "I heard from Rork that you've been practicing martial arts. Are you going to break their bones?"
"Shut up. What happened, Mickey?" I ask the bold-faced kid in front of me.
"Oh, you're… talking to me?" He asks, eyes in full disbelief.
I glare at him. "Spit it out. I don't have time."
Wallace pushes out Mickey's face before tattling what the teenagers had done.
"–And they were mean, too. When we said that we were friends with you, they, like, just laughed." Sammy tattles some more. "I think they know something we don't."
"They're high schoolers, Sam! Of course, they do." Rork grunts, exploding in his friend's face.
"Shut up, all of you. God, I can't believe I used to be part of your gang of losers." I push Wallace out, an anger unbefitting of me coursing through my body. "Don't move and I'll handle this."
"Thanks, Eddy." Wallace says before Rork hums an idea. "If you do this, you're back in the gang."
I deign not respond and merely walk towards the group of teens. As I step past the pool, a snap clicks within my body and pain assaults my head and feet. Not as much agony as the previous ones, but enough to halt my pace and close my eyes.
"Fucking shit. Now I know why I'm angry." I mutter under my breath, controlling the intake of oxygen as my eyes water. "Time to take out my anger on a bunch of tweens. Jesus Christ."
We were once as rich as the Wayne's–at least back in the 50s–and with that money comes a certain appeal to having a monument to our egos. As such, my great grandfather had built the estate to have a hedge maze to the north–overlooking the Catskill mountains–and two Olympic-sized pools to the south, as well as five hot tubs arranged by size in ascending order. The farthest one–about four meters long and three meters wide–can house fifteen full-grown adults, while the nearest one where the teens are, can house two or three adults.
It has been renovated over the years and one of the newest attractions is the retractable thermal canopy along the ridges of the stone floors. Be it winter or summer, the canopy can relatively regulate the temperature of the air within the bounds of the hot tub. The energy consumption is downright atrocious, but worth it once you find yourself chilling in warm water and air in the middle of a blizzard.
I loom over the teens as they ogle and leer at the women in swimsuits leisurely resting upon the pool-side lounge. My shadow earns their attention as an acne-ridden punk glares at my interruption.
"Get away, midget. You're blocking the view." He says, insulting my height.
Sure enough, even though my height has increased over the last few months, the insults get under my skin. I, however, suppress the violent reaction and give them a hapless smile.
"My friends were enjoying the tub, and you pushed them out." I inform them. "There's four other tubs. Why don't you use that?"
"What happened to your hand? Why do you only have two fingers?" The freckled skin of the bunch asks me.
"Oh, yeah. It's fucked up." Another coo followed by a chorus of laughs and pointing.
'God, I don't miss this part of childhood.'
I clear my throat. "If you want permission, then you have it. My father owns the manor and its my birthday that we're celeb–"
"Oh, is that your mother we saw earlier?" The teen to my left asks with great interest.
The boy with acne snickers licentiously. "Did she tell you when she's going to swim? Man, I can't miss that."
My smile widens as I turn towards Olgar, who's quietly sipping a can of soft drinks which he replaced earlier with whiskey. I give him a charming smile before I turn on the switch that unfolds the canopy, effectively hiding us from the hubbub of the pool-goers and the song blaring in the background.
"Did you see–What are you doing?" Acne boy shouts like a bitch.
I grin at him as I drop into the middle of the tub, limbering my arms. "You're wearing shirts, good. That means the bruises won't be seen."
"Get–"
My elbow hits the freckled boy's chest, surprising his three other friends. Their nonreaction allows me to kick the freckled boy's shoulder as he wheezed in pain. His back smashes against the edge of the marbled tub before I finish him off with a well-placed chop at the throat.
His eyes widening in surprise when finds his breath shortening, knees crumbling down as he thrashes around the bubbling water.
"What the fuck!"
The acne boy's shout was like a war cry that spurs the others to flee the scene, their fight-or-flight instinct telling them to achieve the latter rather than the former. Unfortunately for them, I don't let my food go.
I bowl both my hands together and smash the back of the boy who leered at my mother earlier. His body curving in response to the great pain emanating from his lumbar before I follow up with an upright elbow blow at his shoulder blades.
His shrieks are like muzak to my ears; irrelevant, but good enough to enjoy the scene before me. Their thrashing continues on as I kick the back of the knees of the acne-ridden boy–their leader and the oldest of them. His momentum stumbles, causing him to fall down and hit his chest on the edge of the tub.
I jump towards him, smashing my shoulders at his back like a battering ram. I hear a snap and a crack, widening the smile on my face. He screams, in fear and in pain, but that, however, is futile as the music of the party suddenly increases and the bass rumbles the very ground.
"Don't pass out on the water." I whisper ominously as I turn my attention on the last fella.
Surprisingly, he still has not left the tub. Fear lingering in his eyes as he puts up his fists and growls. "My dad's a councilman!" He threatens. "Your dad's dead if he knew what you were doing!"
I smile. "Then do us both a favor. Tattle like a bitch."
I square up and rush forward before backpedaling a little, just enough for him to feel the rush of the wind as he closes his eyes and whimpers in defeat. He kneels down on the water, arms covering his head as if I'm going to eat him.
"Who's a little bitch?" I ask.
He opens his eyes and sees me glowering at him as I ask again, "Who's a good little bitch?"
"I-I am." He stutters.
"Alright, little bitch. Are you gonna make this worse by telling your parents? Or are you gonna be a good little bitch and tell them that you lifted some beer in the pantry?"
Tears roll down his eyes, nodding at my words like a bubble head. "I'm a good little bitch."
"Good. Get the fuck out and don't you fuck with the kids that came before you. Is that understood?"
He seems relieved that I let him go as he nods again and escapes the hot tub, nearly stubbing his toe in his hurry. I notice the freckled boy recovering, so I give him a swift kick on the side. His body gets buried under the water as I continue connecting the flesh of my foot to his kidneys.
"Don't kill him, Edmund." Olgar's voice brings me out of my reverie.
Sweat trickles down my face as I feel the pain in my body evacuate my body in the form of punches and kicks, relieving me of the anger that had escalated the event in the process.
"I'm sorry, Olgar. Thank you for putting up with me." I apologize meaningfully.
The spy laughs in bemusement, "Putting up? You aren't the worst punk I took care of, Edmund. Hell, at least you're entertaining."
I wash off the sweat and blood that had bled out of my fucked-up left hand before putting a smile on my face and leaving the restriction of the canopy. Quite a few people had begun being curious about what's happening inside of the hot tub, but Jasmine is quick to regale them with the appearance of the cakes we bought from the patisserie.
Yes, all that hubbub about buying me cakes is just for the guests. Mother would never let me eat a birthday cake she herself had not baked. That would be disastrous in her mind and, quite frankly, a waste of $100,000 per hour on a world-class baker that had trained her for five weeks.
"Whoa…"
"D-did you kill them?"
"Idiot, they're high schoolers–"
"I'm not an–"
"Shut up, will you?" I glare at them, checking my peripheral to see that no one is looking at us with an unusual eye. "Wally, you know how to clean the hot tub, don't you? Go ahead and do that, then it's all yours."
"A-are you sure?" Wallace's face morphs into excitement as he runs towards the hot tub with the other three following along as they say their thanks.
I sigh with exhaustion before I remember what I was doing before I beat up those punks. My eyes scan the pool and see Barbara Gordon laughing along with the girls that had asked her the question.
"I forgot. She's very strong willed. She doesn't need my help." I mutter in relief, chuckling at my unfounded worries.
Seeing her eyes light up as she converses with her newfound friends, a certain emotion surfaces on my body. Something that I had only felt when I looked at Jasmine and mother, a protectiveness stemming from an overindulgence of a sensation. That sensation, however, is vastly different from what I feel from the two.
"Why do I feel like I need to protect her?" I mutter under my breath.
"Fear." A voice reaches my mind.
It takes everything I have not to seize up in surprise as my eyes widen to check whomever spoke earlier. My mind scrambles to find a plan to verify the identity of whomever it was as I slowly reach my watch.
"Fear not, friend Edmund." J'onn identifies himself. "I could not reach you through your mind, so I had to cloak myself and see if you are alright.."
I quickly place a hand over my chest, the beating of my heart slowing down considerably. "God, you sure are full of surprises, J'onn. Is that also part of your species' ability?"
"It is. Although even amongst my kin, I am somewhat considered an… expert." His voice takes a strange turn.
"Well, thanks for–You know what, since you're here," I gulp, hesitating to ask for a favor before emboldening myself. "My body is regurgitating energy and I can't handle it–That's why I beat up those punks, actually. I was wondering if you could help me with–"
"I am glad of you to ask, friend Edmund. I have been thinking of your ability since we met. Come, I have found a room where you can rest free."
I feel an energy suddenly enveloping my body, guiding me upward and out of the pool. Although I do not know the minutiae of every hero's and villain's life, what I do know of J'onn is that he is more than an important member of the Justice League and their subsidiaries. He is a mentor and a father figure, willing to go beyond the call of duty and honor.
I close my eyes for a moment before uttering, "Thank you, J'onn."
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