Chapter 38: Fog of War Part 1
S.T.A.R. Labs – Philadelphia Facility
August 7, 09:37 EDT
A reinforced glass partition sealed around the dormant figure of AMAZO. It stood upright in a containment pod, surrounded by arc-lamps, pulse monitors, and hovering observation drones. Its body gleamed under the lab's harsh lighting.
Dr. Silas Stone stood at the central console, arms crossed, expression tight. "We've stabilized the power drain," he said quietly. "For now."
Beside him, Dr. Sarah Charles scrolled through a flurry of diagnostics on her tablet. "It's still blocking every attempt to access its neural systems. This isn't just about combat capability. The AI was designed to repel intrusion."
Silas exhaled sharply and stepped closer to the glass. "We knew Ivo wouldn't make it easy. But this? This thing's a walking black box."
Within the containment pod, subtle pulses of energy flickered as AMAZO's systems responded to the lab's scans. Where test probes had made contact, metallic plates flexed and realigned automated repair systems already compensating.
"Self-repair is activating faster each time," Sarah noted. "Even under stasis, its still has self protection protocols."
Silas pulled up a rotating 3D schematic on the screen. "We still don't understand how its Power Mimicry Matrix functions."
"And we haven't cracked the memory encryption," Sarah added. "It keeps scrambles itself."
A nearby monitor let out a warning chime.
"Another failed probe," she said, glancing at the red prompt. "Any connection is rerouted." Sarah leaned forward, resting her elbows on the console. "We've got containment. That's about all we have. And containment doesn't mean much if there's another one of these out there."
"Which is why the League's breathing down our necks," Silas said. "They've seen this thing fight. If Ivo's designs fall into the wrong hands again, we need a way to counter it."
He stepped up to the pod, staring into the android's lifeless, matte-black eyes.
"We either break it down… or we figure out how to beat it."
Sarah gave a quiet nod. "Next step is synthetic muscle analysis. Maybe we can isolate how it prioritizes repairs and figure out a vulnerability from there."
Hours passed with little to no success.
Silas stood in front of a wide display, watching quantum code cascade down the screen. "Every part of its processor is quantum-locked. This makes our top-tier chips look like children's toys."
Sarah leaned against the console beside him. "So no brute force, no logic trees, no recursive decryption. Every time we think we're making progress, the architecture shifts."
Silas nodded grimly. "And it's not just software. The hardware rewires itself dynamically."
Sarah pulled up a file from the League archives. "Which is why I started digging through the records."
She turned her tablet toward him.
Silas raised a brow. "Is this from AMAZO's last engagement?"
"More than that," Sarah said. "This report documents the only known instance of someone breaking into AMAZO's systems mid-battle turning it against its own handlers."
Silas scanned the summary. Redacted sections marred the details, but the core was clear: during a high-risk confrontation, the android's protocols had been overridden. Its targeting had reversed. Its systems had been hijacked.
His eyes narrowed. "Someone hacked this thing?."
Sarah nodded. "Whoever they were, they cracked through layers we can't even see."
Silas was silent for a beat. Then: "Do we know who did it?"
"It's the hero designated as Ark.," Sarah said.
Silas frowned, then looked back at the containment pod.
"I understand the risk," Sarah replied. "But we've hit a wall. If we keep poking around blindly, it's only a matter of time before we trip something."
Silas exhaled through his nose. "You think he can help."
"I think they're the only one who's already been inside."
Another pause. Then, finally, he gave a short nod.
"Fine. We'll send the request. I'll contact the League ask for a formal consult."
Silas returned his focus to the pod.
"Let's just hope," he said, "whoever cracked this thing still can."
Later
Dr. Silas Stone stepped inside the secure comms chamber. Silas keyed in his credentials. "Authorization: Stone, Silas. Division Head, STAR Labs Philadelphia Branch. Requesting secure link with Watchtower R&D liaison."
The system replied in a monotone. "Authorization verified. Establishing uplink..."
A brief pulse of static flickered across the screen before resolving into the image of a Watchtower communications officer seated at a polished console high above Earth's orbit. She wore a navy-blue League jacket with the emblem embroidered subtly on the collar.
"Justice League Communications, R&D Channel," she greeted. "Liaison Officer Ramirez speaking. How can I assist you, Dr. Stone?"
Silas nodded. "Thank you, Officer. I'm requesting information on the League member credited with subduing an advanced android designation AMAZO recently recovered from Professor Anthony Ivo."
Ramirez blinked, then began typing. "One moment."
Lines of classified incident data scrolled across her screen. She paused. "Found it. Logs confirm the android was neutralized during a League operation responding to Ivo's activity. The individual credited with disrupting it and aiding in the arrest was a probationary member: codename Ark."
Silas exhaled softly. "That confirms our working theory."
He straightened, voice level and precise. "We're currently analyzing AMAZO at our facility. But so far, we've hit a wall. Its quantum mimicry systems, adaptive neural defense, and encryption protocols are beyond anything we've dealt with. Every time we make progress, the android shifts reconfigures itself, corrupts the data, or reroutes diagnostics. We're stalled."
Ramirez nodded along, her expression neutral but focused.
"Given Ark's previous success interfacing with the android," Silas continued, "I'm formally requesting a limited technical consultation. Observation and interface analysis only. No combat, no containment responsibilities. His insight might be the key to understanding how this machine operates and how to defend against future iterations."
The liaison gave a short, respectful nod. "Understood. Your request is clear and well-justified. I'll forward it to my supervisor for immediate review and ensure it reaches the appropriate League contacts Ark's command structure included. Response time will depend on his availability and internal protocol."
Silas inclined his head. "Appreciate the efficiency, Officer Ramirez."
"You'll hear from us soon, Doctor. Thank you." The screen dimmed, then shut off with a quiet click.
Silas turned and exited the comms chamber as the reinforced doors slid open behind him. Back in the lab, the research team looked up from their consoles, waiting.
"I made the call," Silas announced. "The League has our request. If it's approved, help's on the way."
The Watchtower
August 7, 16:15 EDT
High above Earth, Batman stood at the main console, already reviewing the message. "STAR Labs is requesting Ark's assistance," he said. "Philadelphia division. Dr. Silas Stone and Dr. Sarah Charles are attempting to analyze AMAZO's systems."
Superman stepped forward, cape trailing behind him. "What's the issue?"
"They want Ark to help them access the android's neural matrix and mimicry protocols," Batman replied. "They believe his previous encounter gave him a unique window into its architecture."
From the observation platform above, Martian Manhunter descended silently, hands clasped behind his back. "It's a logical request," he said. "During the Ivo incident, Ark successfully interfaced with AMAZO's systems. STAR Labs is hoping he can replicate that outcome under controlled conditions."
Batman's expression darkened. "I don't like it. AMAZO is volatile. Ark got through to it once, yes but exposing him to it again could be dangerous. It could trigger a response. Or worse... reactivate it."
Superman met his gaze evenly. "And if STAR Labs can't make any progress? You've seen the reports they're stuck. AMAZO's systems evolve with every attempt to breach them. If Ark can safely assist, even in an advisory role, we owe it to them to let him try."
"This is an android that nearly brought down the entire League," Batman countered. "If it identifies him as a threat again or if something hidden inside reboots its core "
"Then Ark will be there to respond," Superman said, cutting in. "He's proven he can handle the unexpected Lobo, AMAZO, even the Scorn Collective. He's flexible. Capable."
"I'm not questioning his ability," Batman said firmly. "I'm questioning the risk."
Martian Manhunter raised a calming hand. "Then we manage the risk."
Both men turned to him.
"If Ark is to engage with AMAZO's systems," J'onn continued, "his role should be limited to observation and consultation. He can guide the diagnostics, advise the team. But a League member should be present on-site someone ready to intervene if anything goes wrong."
Superman nodded. "That's reasonable."
Batman was silent for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. "Fine. But he doesn't interface with the core unless it's fully stabilized. And he's not alone."
"Agreed," said Martian Manhunter.
"I'll inform the liaison office," Superman added. "We'll approve the request with conditions. Ark assists, but under League supervision."
Central City
August 7, 20:15 EDT
Ben and Harley stepped onto the upper floor still in their Mr. Smoothie aprons, both faintly smelling of fruit syrup and the kind of forced cheer only corporate training could manufacture.
With a theatrical groan, Harley ripped off her visor and tossed it onto the nearest table like it had personally betrayed her. "If I smell one more banana-strawberry fusion," she announced, kicking off her shoes and flopping onto the couch, "I'm gonna scream. Or commit a smoothie-based felony."
Ben laughed, already making his way to the mini-fridge. "Rough shift?"
He grabbed two cold sodas, tossed one her way, then snagged the throw blanket off the back of the couch. With a flick of the remote, the TV came to life, scrolling through their usual streaming backlog.
"You in the mood for something dumb or something fun?" he asked.
Harley cracked open her soda, took a long sip, and replied without hesitation, "Both."
Ben grinned. "Perfect." He hit play on Zombieland.
As the Columbia logo faded and the apocalypse kicked into gear, Harley's eyes lit up in recognition.
"Ooh! Is this the one with the survival rules?" she asked, perking up.
"Pretty sure," Ben said, settling in beside her.
They sank into the cushions Harley cross-legged on one side, her soda balanced dangerously on the armrest; Ben sprawled out on the other, legs stretched long and the blanket now covering both of them in a quiet, shared truce.
The opening sequence unraveled: chaos on highways, zombies in convenience stores, and panicked narration over it all.
Harley grinned. "I love a movie that starts with a warning."
Ben smirked. "Always a promising sign."
Columbus's voice narrated over chaotic footage of a world falling apart. "It's amazing how quickly things can go from bad to total shit storm. And why am I alive when everyone around me has turned to meat? It's because of my list of rules."
Ben and Harley were already locked in, drinks in hand.
Harley, curled into a corner booth with a cherry smoothie and a half-eaten bag of chips, raised an eyebrow. "He's got rules? That's adorable," she said with a mischievous grin.
Ben chuckled. "Eh, might be practical."
"Or obvious," Harley shot back.
"Rule #1: Cardio," said Columbus's voice. "When the virus struck, for obvious reasons, the first ones to go were the fatties. Poor fat bastard."
The screen cut to footage of a panicked man being chased across a football field by a zombie.
"Makes sense," he said casually. "First to run usually lives the longest."
Harley sipping loudly through her straw. "You don't have to be fast, just faster than the other guy."
Ben snorted. His mind wandered chasing armored thieves across rooftops, sprinting from sewer-mutated DNAliens, dodging M.E.C.H. drones in a parking garage.
"Yeah… whether it's zombies or someone with your wallet, running hard never hurts."
Harley raised her cup like a toast. "A rule for survival… and evading the consequences of grand larceny."
Ben grinned. "So… what was it like running from Batman?"
Harley nearly inhaled her smoothie. She coughed mid-laugh, wheezing. "Hoo-boy," she rasped. "That's less cardio and more praying your health insurance covers emotional trauma."
Ben laughed as another zombie lunged onscreen, narrowly missing Columbus.
Harley wiped her mouth and gestured theatrically. "Imagine being chased by your disappointed dad if he was a ninja, drove a tank, and never needed to breathe."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "So, uh… how often did he actually catch you?"
Harley took another long sip. "Mmm... 'bout nine times outta ten. That last ten percent? All gymnastics. Vault a dumpster, crawl under a bus, dive into a bounce house vintage escape artistry."
Ben gave her a look. "Ever think about going back into sports?"
She smirked. "Maybe. Do they let ex-cons compete, or am I gonna need to dig up another fake identity?"
Ben gave her a long look.
Harley grinned and popped a chip into her mouth. "What? Don't look at me like that."
Ben blinked. "...Just wondering how many identities you have."
She winked. "Enough to form a relay team."
"It wasn't enough to just be fast on your feet. You had to get a gun and learn how to use it. Which leads me to my second rule: The Double Tap. In those moments when you're not sure the undead are really "dead" dead, don't get all stingy with your bullets."
The screen cut to a tense moment an armed woman blasting a zombie sheriff to the pavement. But instead of backing off, she lingered to confirm the kill. The corpse lurched back up and sank its teeth into her leg.
Harley leaned forward in her booth, eyes lighting up. "See? That's why you always double tap. Never trust the undead to stay dead."
Ben chewed. "Nothing wrong with making sure the threat's actually down."
"Exactly," Harley said, nodding. "Never trust a body that's not twitchin'."
Ben glanced over, intrigued. "You ever faked being knocked out?"
Harley gave him a wicked grin. "Plenty. Some thugs see a girl go down and assume that's it." She threw her arm over her forehead dramatically, miming a swoon then suddenly lunged forward with an invisible shiv. "Then bam! Kidney shot. Works every time."
Ben laughed. "That's dirty fighting."
"Effective fighting," she corrected, sipping her smoothie without missing a beat. "I also know a handful of people who faked their own deaths."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? I can think of a few reasons why."
Harley nodded, solemn. "Usually to escape the clutches of the most evil, soul-sucking force known to man."
Ben leaned in, curious. "Who?"
Harley gave him a flat, deadpan stare. "The Banks."
Ben blinked. "I was expecting, like... a shadow government or something."
She stared back. "Isn't that what I just said?"
Ben opened his mouth, paused... then slowly nodded. "You know what? Fair point."
He slid the popcorn bowl her way. She grabbed a fistful with a smirk, leaning back as the next zombie got its head blown off onscreen.
"Wasn't long before the zombies began to get clever. When you're at your most vulnerable, somehow they could just smell it. Can't a guy take a dumper in peace? Don't let them catch you pants down. Beware of bathrooms."
The screen cut to a man on the toilet, just in time to watch him get tackled by a zombie crawling under the bathroom stall door.
Ben snorted. "Talk about getting caught with your pants down."
He leaned back in the booth, eyes drifting for a second unwanted memories rising: his apartment exploding mid-nap, a bounty hunter kicking in the bathroom door while he brushed his teeth… that one time he got yanked through the TV. "Man," he muttered, "I have lived this rule."
Harley groaned, clutching her smoothie. "Ugh, and I already hated gas station bathrooms. Now you gotta worry about the undead trying to cop a peek while you're on the throne?"
Ben nodded solemnly. "Moral of the story always have someone stand guard."
Harley pointed at him. "Exactly. Only true friends protect you while you're droppin' a deuce."
She took a thoughtful sip. "Honestly, I'd probably bring my bat with me when I pee."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Not sure there's enough swing room in a stall."
Harley tapped her chin. "Ooh, right. Maybe I go with reinforced cheer batons. Short, light, face-smashing with flair."
Ben grinned. "Killing zombies with pep in your step."
Harley raised her cup in salute. "Go, team survival."
#
Ben lazily tossed a popcorn kernel into his mouth and glanced over. "Alright, your turn. What's your personal survival rule?"
Harley tilted her head, thinking for a beat. "Hmm… trust no one unless they're handing you a weapon or snacks." She pointed between them. "Worked with you."
Ben snorted, nearly choking on his drink. "Okay, sure, but I'd say this " he gestured around at the cozy apartment, the scattered snacks, and Harley curled up on the couch "is a pretty unique exception."
He raised an eyebrow. "Most parents specifically tell their kids not to trust strangers with candy and chips."
Harley gasped dramatically. "Oh, right!" She grinned and tapped her temple. "Note to self: revise rule."
Ben rolled his eyes, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.
"Okay, your turn," Harley said, poking his arm. "What's your go-to rule?"
His tone shifted. "Always check for bites. Doesn't matter how secure your safe zone is. One infected person can bring it all down."
Harley's smile faded to something gentler. She nodded slowly. "Yeah. One crack in the window, and the whole house falls apart."
#
Halfway through the movie, Harley grinned and twirled an empty chip bag between her fingers. "Alright, scenario time. Zombie apocalypse breaks out what's your move?"
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Slow shamblers or rage freaks?"
"Worst-case," she said, nodding toward the screen as another poor soul got tackled. "Fast and starving."
Ben leaned back on the couch, thoughtful. "First step find somewhere defensible. High ground, clear sightlines, no ground-floor windows."
Harley snorted. "So, like a Costco?"
"That's the obvious answer," Ben said with a smirk. "Which means it'd be packed. Too many people, too many variables. I'd look for a fire station. Reinforced walls, backup generators, limited entry points. Designed to be self-contained."
"Ooh, tactical," Harley said, clearly impressed. She kicked her feet up onto the coffee table with a flourish. "Me? I'm grabbing a motorcycle, a bat, and heading south. Cold's not my thing. Plus zombies in parkas? Hilarious."
Ben chuckled. "Right up until you run out of gas and get boxed in."
"Pfft. That's why I bring a buddy. Usually Ivy if we're in the same city… but hey, I'd ruff it with you too."
Ben rolled his eyes. "I'm honored. Honestly… powers and weirdness aside, living with you's been kind of great."
He gave a half-shrug. "And for the record, you're my top pick for non-powered partner in the apocalypse."
Harley blinked, caught off guard. "Not even Batman?"
Ben grinned. "He's reliable, sure. But he's not as cute."
Harley barked out a laugh, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. "Compliment accepted."
Ben pointed at her, mock-serious. "But I'm not letting you drive."
She narrowed her eyes. "Rude."
#
By the time the finale rolled around, things were going full swing.
Onscreen, Tallahassee cackled while unloading dual pistols into a mob of zombies, riding a spinning ride like it was a turntable of death. Fireworks exploded in the background, music blared, and undead limbs flew in every direction.
"YES!" Harley shouted, nearly spilling her soda as she jumped up on the couch cushions. "He's line-dancing on a murder carousel!"
Ben laughed, equally impressed. "Okay, that's art. Like, zombie murder ballet."
The screen cut to Wichita, expertly reloading a shotgun and dropping three zombies in a row while sliding down a rollercoaster track.
Harley gasped. "Ugh, queen energy. That's how you style on the apocalypse!"
Ben grinned. "Tell me that doesn't look like something you would do on a weekend just to prove a point."
"Right? All I'd need is the shotgun and a soundtrack." Harley clapped as Tallahassee locked himself inside a shooting gallery booth and went full cowboy on the incoming horde. "Alright. Ten outta ten. Zombie clown fight sealed it."
Ben grinned, elbow propped on the armrest. "You jumped at that."
Harley's eyes narrowed. "Did not."
"Totally did," Ben teased.
In response, Harley grabbed a nearby couch cushion and lobbed it at his head. He caught it with a laugh, tossing it aside.
"Don't sass me, smoothie boy," she said, nudging him with her foot.
#
Near the end, they see Wichita and Little Rock pull up to a disappointed Tallahassee and Columbus. What twinkies they did find in the snack stand were destroyed by Columbus' shotgun.
"That's me realizing that those smart girls in that big black truck and that big guy in that snakeskin jacket were the closest to something I'd always wanted but never really had. A family. I trusted them and they trusted me."
Suddenly, Little Rock opens the sun roof and throws Tallahassee a freshly packed Twinkie.
At this point, Harley started to tear up a bit, leaning on Ben's shoulder as he pats her on the back.
"Rule number 32: Enjoy the little things. Tallahassee got his Twinkie. And even though life would never be simple or innocent again, as he savored that spongy, yellow log of cream, we had hope. We had each other. And without other people, well, you might as well be a zombie."
Soon, the Zombieland credits rolled across the screen.
Harley had tucked her knees to her chest with a throw pillow clutched tight. "Okay. I take it back. This isn't just dumb fun. That got real."
Ben, seated across from her with arms folded and a pensive look, nodded slowly. "Yeah... when he said he missed his 'puppy' and it turned out to be his kid " he let out a quiet breath, "that hit different."
Harley gave a small, crooked smile. "Guy turned heartbreak into zombie-smashing rage and a crippling snack addiction. Coping mechanisms in action."
Ben chuckled under his breath. "Columbus wanted to find his parents. Instead, he got,"
"A girl, a found family, and he shot Bill Murray in the chest," Harley said with a snort. "Hell of a character arc."
Ben raised an eyebrow. "To be fair, if someone is pretending to be a zombie during an actual zombie apocalypse, they are kinda asking to get shot by another survivor." Ben leaned forward. "In any case, I liked that Columbus stopped hiding behind rules. He's right that they can only take you so far. Sometimes you've just gotta throw out the playbook and do what's right."
"Definitely." A comfortable pause stretched between them before Harley added, voice quieter now, "I like that it didn't end in total tragedy. They chose to stick together." She glanced at him. "Kinda like us, huh?"
Ben's expression softened. "Harles…"
"Don't overthink it, smoothie boy," she cut in quickly, tossing a pillow at his head. "I'm just saying... It's nice to know that there are people who care.."
Ben laughed. "Yeah. It is."
Harley took a breath and reoriented herself. "Alright, Tennyson. What's next in the lineup?"
Ben tapped the remote against his palm, thinking. "So… we sticking with pre-apocalypse vibes or going full action this time?"
Harley shrugged, sipping the last of her soda. "Surprise me. Long as there's action and maybe an explosion or two, I'm in."
Ben started rattling off options. "Okay Independence Day. Aliens, explosions, and Jeff Goldblum."
Harley gave a thoughtful hum. "Love a good alien invasion."
"Jurassic Park. Dinosaurs count as monsters, right?"
Harley grinned. "Science goes wrong? Classic."
Ben's eyes lit up. "Or The Matrix. If you haven't seen it, we need to fix that immediately."
Harley perked up. "Oooh, The Matrix. I like leather coats and dodging bullets. That sounds like a vibe."
Ben smirked. "We'll add that to the list."
Harley pointed at him. "Okay, but if I get a pick later, I'm throwing in Kill Bill. The sword fights are sick, and the soundtrack? Chef's kiss."
Ben nodded seriously. "Deal. Tarantino is your energy."
Harley leaned back smugly. "Exactly. You get me."
#
After cleaning up, Ben stood near the hallway as Harley strolled out of the bathroom in pajamas.
"Alright," she yawned. "Good night. See you in the morning. Try not to dream about zombie clowns."
Ben smirked, "Only if you promise not to raid the fridge at 3 AM again."
"No promises," she called over her shoulder with a grin, vanishing behind her door.
As the door clicked shut, Ben's jacket still draped over the back of the couch buzzed quietly.
Bzzt. A buzz through the fabric from his Justice League communicator.
Ben's face shifted instantly. Playfulness gone, replaced with focus.
He pulled the communicator from the inside pocket and glanced down. Secure League Channel: Priority Notification.
Without a word, Ben moved downstairs to the lower level of the building. The shop was closed for the night. He ducked behind the counter and deployed the mask over his face and activated the communicator.
A soft blue holo-display flickered to life. The angular visage of Red Tornado emerged, projected just above the communicator.
"Ark," the android said, voice calm and mechanical. "This is a secure transmission."
Ark nodded. "Receiving."
Red Tornado continued. "The Justice League has received a formal request from S.T.A.R. Labs, Philadelphia branch. The request has been reviewed and approved."
Ark tilted his head. "What's the situation?"
"Dr. Silas Stone has requested your assistance in analyzing the android designated AMAZO the unit recently recovered from Professor Ivo," Red Tornado explained. "Dr. Stone's team is struggling to understand its adaptive mimicry systems. Systems which you previously interfaced with during its containment."
Ark's eyes narrowed slightly behind the mask. "They want help breaking it down."
"Correct. They require insight from someone who successfully disrupted AMAZO's core protocols in the field," Red Tornado confirmed. "Your involvement will be observational and technical. You will not be responsible for containment or security. League oversight will be in place."
Ark nodded. "I can help."
He paused for a beat. "When can we schedule a meeting?"
Red Tornado's head inclined slightly. "STAR Labs has an available window tomorrow night. They will provide a secure lab environment for the session."
Ark replied, "Tomorrow night works. I'll be there."
"Understood," Red Tornado said. "I will inform STAR Labs to prepare for your arrival."
The transmission blinked out. Tomorrow night, it was back to work.
Infinity Island
August 7, 23:49 ECT
Red Arrow slipping past patrols with the ease. He had a mission retrieve Dr. Roquette, wreck some League of Shadows plans, and maybe, just maybe, get out of this without losing a limb.
As he approached the secured lab, he came to an abrupt stop.
Two guards were already there, frantically pounding on the locked door.
Larry and Rich.
"Come on, Doc, open up!" Larry begged, fists thudding uselessly against the metal.
"She's not gonna open it," Rich muttered, adjusting his belt like it made him look more official. "She knows we're trying to keep her locked in."
"Well, maybe if we ask nicely?" Larry offered, hopefully.
Rich gave him a look. "Oh yeah? Sure. 'Doctor Roquette, would you pretty please open the door so we can continue your unjust captivity?'"
Silence.
Larry shrugged. "Could've worked."
Before they could try again, they heard it—the tap, tap, tap of boots behind them.
They turned. Froze.
Red Arrow stood casually in the hallway, arms crossed. "Hey, guys."
Larry and Rich blinked, looked at each other, then scrambled to reach for their sidearms.
"That's far enough!" Larry barked, aiming his gun in what he hoped was a threatening way.
"Yeah!" Rich echoed, copying him. "You don't wanna mess with us!"
Red Arrow let out a sigh, completely unimpressed. "Uh-huh."
In a single smooth motion, he drew an arrow, flicked it forward, and thwip!—both their guns were knocked clean from their hands.
Larry yelped.
Rich stared at his now-empty grip.
They looked at each other… then down at their hands… then back at Red Arrow.
"Welp," Larry dropped to his knees. "That's it for us."
Rich followed suit with his hands raised. "We surrender. Please don't shoot us."
Red Arrow rolled his eyes. "Pathetic."
"We prefer the term 'tactically cautious,'" Larry said quickly.
"Yeah," Rich added, "strategic surrendering."
Ignoring them, Red Arrow stepped over Larry's legs and approached the door controls. "Stay put."
"Oh yeah, like we're going anywhere," Larry mumbled.
Red Arrow knelt and pulled a compact device from his belt, working the lock with practiced ease. While he worked, Rich leaned toward Larry.
"…We really should've stayed on kitchen duty."
Larry sighed. "I told you. The kitchen shift's where it's at. Nobody attacks the guys making lunch."
Before Rich could reply, the lab door hissed open, and Red Arrow slipped inside, vanishing from view.
A beat of silence passed.
Larry looked over. "…Wanna pretend we were knocked out?"
Rich nodded. "Absolutely."
And with perfect coordination, they both flopped dramatically onto the floor, limbs sprawled like cartoon henchmen who knew the drill.