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Ch-10 Shadows of Truth
🕑 Added 2025-05-18 11:20:38 +0000 UTCLEXCORP RESEARCH FACILITY — JULY 27, 23:48 EDT
The infiltration felt wrong.
'Too smooth. Too clean.'
Nexus — Raj — moved through the shadows alongside Roy, his senses stretched thin, his mind half-anchored in the physical world, half tuned to the cosmic library inside him.
Every step they took was rehearsed, predicted, executed perfectly. And that's what worried him.
'Nothing against LexCorp goes this easily. Not unless someone wants it to.'
Roy, clad in his newly forged Arsenal suit — a crimson blur lined with gold and black — moved silently ahead, his prosthetic arm flexing with quiet precision. The soft whir of its mechanisms barely audible even to Raj's enhanced hearing.
"Third corridor clear," Roy whispered through their secure comm link. "Security patterns matching the intel exactly."
Raj kept his breathing steady, letting Technomancy and the other powers hum gently within him, each ready to deploy without delay.
His connection to his internal cosmic library was constant now—ten powers active at once, no need for hurried swaps. The white streak in his hair glowed faintly in the darkness, a reminder of what these abilities cost him.
"Too perfect," Raj murmured, scanning ahead with enhanced perception. "Either we're incredibly lucky, or—"
"Or we're walking into a trap," Roy finished, his fingers tightening around his compact bow.
The vault door loomed ahead, its surface gleaming under the dim emergency lights.
Raj extended his consciousness toward the security system, feeling the electronic pulse of LexCorp's defenses. With a gentle push of Technomancy, the biometric locks surrendered. Vault 7B hissed open.
Inside, sealed in a lead-lined containment pod, floated the Kryptonian stabilizer — a shard of possibility to save Match. Its blue luminescence pulsed softly, almost alive, casting eerie shadows across their faces.
"Got it," Raj whispered, transferring the vial into his dimensional pocket with practiced ease. The weight of their mission settled on his shoulders—a boy bred for destruction, fighting for survival.
Then — alarms. Red lights exploded across sterile corridors, bathing everything in crimson warning.
Raj skimmed surveillance feeds at hypercognitive speed, his mind processing dozens of camera angles simultaneously. His heart sank.
"Not us," he murmured into the comms. "Main entrance breach."
"CADMUS?" Roy asked, already notching an arrow.
"Worse," Raj said grimly. "Justice League."
They bolted for the maintenance shaft, their footsteps eerily silent against the blaring alarms.
Raj couldn't help but wonder if this too was part of someone's plan—someone who knew exactly how all the pieces would move.
Halfway up the shaft, the metal above groaned. A rush of displaced air. The unmistakable flutter of fabric.
A cape descended like a closing gate.
Superman hovered above, framed by the stars, his face shifting from stern focus to startled recognition. The moonlight caught the emblem on his chest—the symbol that had once meant hope to Raj, now complicated by everything he'd learned.
"Raj Bansal?" Superman hovered above, voice sharp—equal parts disbelief and alarm. His body shifted subtly into a defensive stance. "You were gone. Off the grid. No trace."
His cape fluttered lower as he descended slightly. "How did you even leave the Watchtower undetected? And why were its camera feeds rerouted through a private channel?"
Raj's throat tightened, a half-smile tugging at his lips—more out of habit than humor. He met Superman's steady gaze.
"Look," he said quietly, voice uneven. "I wish I could give you a better story. But I'm one punch away from being collateral, and I can't risk dragging anyone else into this. Suffice it to say—I do believe in what I'm doing."
Superman's gaze flicked to Roy—suspicion flaring. The archer tensed, ready for a confrontation they couldn't win through force.
Raj felt the subtle telepathic pressure brushing the edge of their space — J'onn J'onzz reaching out.
Calmly, Raj reached inward, feeling the cosmic library flare to life above him.
First, a soft blue-white star descended — Power Sharing. It pulsed like two hearts beating in rhythm. Raj anchored it within his mindscape.
Then, a shimmering silver-laced star followed — Psychic Cloak. Cool, intangible, woven from silent thought. He slotted it beside Power Sharing and directed the shield outward, wrapping Roy's mind against telepathic intrusion.
Superman hesitated in the shaft, eyes narrowing slightly. He could sense something was off — but not what.
"Why are you here, Raj?" Superman asked, genuine concern mixing with confusion. "What's going on?"
"We're not here to fight," Raj said, meeting Superman's eyes directly. "We're saving a life. Someone born to be a weapon—never given a chance to be anything else."
"By stealing from LexCorp?" Superman asked, his voice not accusatory but genuinely troubled.
His eyes reflected his internal conflict—the principled hero wrestling with shades of gray. "There are proper channels, Raj. The League would have helped if you'd come to us."
"Would they?" Raj countered quietly. "This isn't just about LexCorp technology. It's about recovering something for someone CADMUS abandoned. Someone dying because no one was supposed to know he existed."
Superman's mouth tightened. Memories of Superboy. Of betrayal. Of his own complicated feelings toward clones created without consent.
"Another clone," he said heavily, understanding dawning in his eyes.
"An earlier experiment," Raj explained, sensing an opening. "More unstable. More broken. They designed him to destroy you, then discarded him when they couldn't control him. He's dying, Superman. And this stabilizer is his only chance."
The communicator in Superman's ear crackled urgently. Batman, demanding answers. But Superman hesitated, the compassion that made him a hero warring with his duty.
"Why hide this from us?" he demanded, but his tone had softened slightly. "The League protects everyone—even those created by our enemies."
Raj stepped forward slightly, keeping his voice low. "Not everyone in the League would want him found. Ask about Maryland. Ask about Guardian. Another clone. Another secret. Ask why even Bruce's archives have gaps."
Superman's eyes widened slightly. The name meant something.
Backup was coming. Raj could feel it—the ripple of speed, the crackle of magic, the weight of approaching minds.
Instead, Raj reached inward again.
From the stellar tapestry, a deep indigo star floated down—Dimension Shift. It crackled faintly, space folding in his mind.
He slotted it into his tenth slot.
Power surged, warping space around him like gravity folding inward, pulling reality taut.
"If you want the truth," Raj said quietly, "start with ARGUS. Start with CADMUS. Ask who Guardian really is."
Superman stepped forward—but too late.
Raj grabbed Roy's shoulder and triggered Dimension Shift.
They vanished in a ripple of distorted light.
The shaft fell silent.
Superman reached into the void—and found only night.
THE HIDEOUT — JULY 27, 23:53 EDT
The reentry slammed them onto cold stone.
Roy hit the ground gagging, his human physiology struggling with dimensional transit.
Raj stumbled, catching himself against the stasis pod that dominated the center of their underground sanctuary.
His white-streaked hair glowed brightly before fading back to normal. The cost of power usage—another piece of his humanity slowly burning away.
"Next time," Roy groaned, pushing himself up on shaky limbs, "a warning would be nice."
Raj managed a wry smile despite the situation. "Next time, maybe."
Their attention snapped to the pod. Match's vitals were nosediving—red warnings flashing across the monitoring equipment they'd salvaged from abandoned CADMUS tech.
His cellular structure was collapsing, his enhanced physiology turning against itself.
Raj activated Bio-Interface, his consciousness expanding to read Match's DNA—a shredded tapestry of human and Kryptonian genes barely held together by failing stabilizers.
"Get the injector," Raj snapped, urgency replacing his usual calm.
Roy, still pale from their transit, moved on instinct. He yanked open a metal case, revealing a specialized delivery system—designed specifically for penetrating Kryptonian-dense tissue.
Raj opened the injector case—scavenged from a forgotten CADMUS drop site. Tech designed to pierce Kryptonian tissue in controlled containment. Now repurposed for salvation.
Raj loaded the stabilizer with practiced hands that belied the pressure crushing down on him. The blue liquid swirled in the chamber, alive with possibility.
"Hold him," he warned, positioning the injector over Match's chest. "This won't be gentle."
Roy braced Match's shoulders against the pod. For all his strength and training, restraining even an unconscious Kryptonian would be like holding back a tsunami with bare hands.
Raj took a deep breath, centered himself, and injected the serum.
For one heartbeat, silence.
Then Match screamed.
He screamed.
Raw. Primal. Years of pain unleashed in one breath.
Glass exploded. The pod fractured. Sparks burst from the monitors. The concrete floor beneath them split in jagged lines.
Raj activated Kinetic Absorption, anchoring himself as Match's thrashing strength battered the room like a hurricane.
"HOLD HIM!" Raj shouted over the cacophony.
Match's skin glowed blue, veins surging with liquid light that spread through his body like wildfire. His back arched impossibly, muscles straining against invisible bonds.
His features contorted—agony and rage battling for dominance. His muscles locked, spasming violently—and then his eyes snapped open, burning with raw fury.
Recognition flared—and then hatred so visceral it felt like a physical force.
With terrifying speed, Match seized Roy by the throat, fingers tightening with strength that could pulverize diamonds.
"SUPERMAN!" Match roared, his voice distorted and raw from disuse. "DESTROY SUPERMAN!"
Raj lunged, using absorbed momentum to pry Match's grip away from Roy's windpipe. "Match! Listen to me! They're not controlling you anymore!"
Match's wild eyes fixed on Raj, confusion momentarily displacing rage. His breathing came in ragged gasps, each one sending tremors through the room.
"Voices," Match growled, clutching his head. "Always voices. Commands. KILL. DESTROY."
He slammed a fist into the ground, shattering the concrete. "Can't think... can't..."
"The voices were CADMUS," Raj said firmly, not backing away despite the danger. "Look inside yourself. Really look. Are they still there?"
For a moment, wild confusion battled instinct as Match's eyes darted wildly around the room—seeing phantom chains, needles, electrodes—seeing Superman's face in every shadow.
"CADMUS," Match rasped, the word itself seeming to cause him physical pain. "They made me. They made me hate him."
His voice cracked with emotion—perhaps the first genuine emotion he'd ever been allowed to express.
"They built me wrong," he continued, looking at his trembling hands. "They put it in my head! To kill! To destroy! Nothing else!"
His eyes met Raj's, bewildered by the absence of the constant mental commands. "The voices... they're quiet. Why are they quiet?"
Raj didn't flinch. "Because you're free now. The stabilizer is repairing your DNA and clearing the psychic conditioning. You can think for yourself."
"And?" Match demanded, suspicious, lost.
"And what do you feel about Superman now?"
Match shook, trembling from more than just pain. His face contorted with confusion as he sorted through feelings that were simultaneously programmed and genuine.
"I still hate him," he growled, clenching his fists. "That part... it's still there."
His body trembled as he fought through unfamiliar thoughts. "But it's not screaming anymore. I can hear myself think."
Then, hesitantly, "I can... choose if I act on it." Wonder crept into his voice. "I've never... chosen... anything before."
Roy, coughing painfully and rubbing his bruised throat, forced out, "You're not the only one built to break things."
He met Match's eyes, steady despite the pain. "But that doesn't mean you have to stay broken." Then, softer, "Choice is everything."
Match stared at his own hands—weapons built for someone else's war. His features, so similar to Superman's yet twisted by pain and rage, gradually softened into something more human.
"I'm... not just their tool?"
Raj stepped closer, careful but steady. No fear in his approach—only certainty.
"You're whatever you decide to be," he said quietly. "Your DNA, your face—those weren't your choices. But everything from this moment on? Those choices are yours."
For a long moment, Match sat there, breathing heavily, confusion and rage bleeding together with something new—possibility.
Then—
A slow, shaky nod.
Not much. But it was real. It was his.
"It hurts," Match admitted, vulnerability bleeding through his words. "Being... me. Being... alive."
"Freedom usually does," Roy said, finding his voice again. "Worth it, though."
Match looked between them, suspicion still lingering. "Why help me? What do you want from me?"
Raj exchanged a meaningful look with Roy before answering.
"Because we know what it's like to be used," he said simply. "And because everyone deserves the chance to write their own story."
Match absorbed this, his eyes revealing the chaos of emotions he'd never been taught to process.
"I don't know how," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "To be... anything but a weapon."
Roy stepped forward, extending his human hand—not his prosthetic one—toward Match.
"We'll figure it out together," he said. "One day at a time."
After a moment's hesitation, Match took the offered hand. The gesture was awkward, uncertain—but genuine.
Raj watched the interaction with quiet satisfaction. They had saved Match's life.
Now came the harder part:
Saving his soul.
And maybe, just maybe, finding redemption for themselves along the way.
WATCHTOWER — JULY 28, 00:17 EDT
Superman stood at the observation window, staring out at the vast expanse of stars. His reflection in the glass looked troubled, pensive.
Batman approached silently; cowl pulled back to reveal Bruce Wayne's equally concerned expression.
"You let them go," Bruce stated. Not an accusation—an observation.
"I did," Clark admitted, not turning from the window.
"Why?"
Clark was quiet for a long moment before answering.
"Because Raj wasn't lying. About any of it."
Bruce's eyes narrowed slightly. "You're certain?"
"His heartbeat was steady. And..." Clark finally turned to face his friend. "There was something in his eyes, Bruce."
"He stole from LexCorp. He's clearly involved with something dangerous—"
"He's trying to save someone," Clark interrupted gently. "Someone created to be a weapon. Someone like Superboy."
Bruce fell silent, understanding the weight of those words.
"Maryland," Bruce finally said. "The sealed chambers. What did he mean?"
Clark's expression hardened slightly. "I don't know. But I intend to find out."
"Raj mentioned Guardian specifically," Clark mused, pacing now. "Isn't he the security chief at—"
"Project Cadmus. Yes." Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Guardian—Jim Harper—has connections to Roy Harper. Another coincidence I find troubling."
"Then we need to act now," Clark insisted, his jaw set with determination. "Question Guardian directly."
"No," Batman countered firmly. "We need to be methodical. If what Raj implied is true—if there are elements within the League itself involved—then rushing in would only alert them."
His eyes met Clark's with unwavering intensity. "I need time to follow these threads carefully. No rash actions until we know exactly what we're dealing with."
Clark clenched his fists in frustration, the metal railing beneath his hands creaking under the pressure. "While we wait, that clone—and Raj—are out there alone."
"They've made their choice," Bruce said. "And they're clearly capable."
"Is that Batman speaking, or Bruce Wayne?" Clark challenged. "Because the Bruce I know doesn't abandon people who need help, even if they refuse to ask for it."
Bruce's expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I'm not abandoning them, Clark. I'm gathering intelligence so we can help effectively. That dimensional ability Raj displayed—that's new. Something's changed him." He paused. "We need to understand what before we proceed."
Bruce raised a hand in caution. "I've already begun investigating his claims," he said, his voice measured and deliberate. "There are encrypted files in both ARGUS and CADMUS archives that require deeper analysis. Files that shouldn't exist."
"Then we need to act now," Clark insisted, his jaw set with determination.
His eyes met Clark's with unwavering intensity. "I need time to follow these threads carefully. No rash actions until we know exactly what we're dealing with."
"And if your investigation takes too long?"
"It won't," Bruce promised. "But acting without information could make things worse for everyone—including the clone they're trying to save."
Superman reluctantly nodded, knowing Bruce was right despite his instinct to act immediately.
"Two days," he conceded. "Then we revisit this conversation."
"Agreed."
As Bruce departed, Superman turned back to the stars, his thoughts drifting to the young man who had once been their ally—and to whatever burden Raj now carried.
In the corridor outside, Batman paused, his reflection barely visible in the polished surface of the wall. His expression was stone, but his thoughts ran deep.
"Raj Bansal," he murmured to himself. "What are you hiding?"
