John answered Batman's question without hesitation.
"They're friends," he said. "Yeah, of Hal too."
He didn't look away from the display. The green light of the projection painted his face in fractured hues, shadowing the hard lines of his jaw. His eyes narrowed, and for a moment he didn't blink—just stared, parsing familiar outlines and flight formations.
"Well," he added, low and skeptical, "at least most of them are."
Batman gave a curt nod, already turning away from the table.
"In that case, let's go meet them. Like you said before, they could be of assistance."
A quiet shift rippled through the room—subtle, but unmistakable. Eyes exchanged glances, questions brewed in silence. No one moved, but the sudden pivot left an odd sense of whiplash behind.
What about the vote? Was that it? The future of Earth's governance, now paused mid-sentence?
Superman voiced it, not accusingly, but with the same care someone might use to approach a ticking device.
"Look, I understand it's important we find Hal's killer," he said, his arms still at his sides, voice steady, "but we've got bigger problems."
Batman didn't slow. He passed Superman without so much as a pause.
"Exactly."
The word cut short any follow-up. It wasn't an explanation. It was closure. He exited the room, cape brushing the edge of the doorway with a soft whuff.
John remained behind, just for a moment longer. He turned his gaze to Superman. There was something restrained in his stance now, less militant, more… considerate.
"They might know something about Darkseid's operations," he said. "We'll return with them here."
No tension in his voice. Just necessity. He followed after Batman, the door sliding shut behind him with a clean mechanical click.
Superman didn't move.
He stood still, watching the space they'd just walked through. He didn't sigh. Didn't frown. Just watched.
"Well," he said eventually, turning back to the others, "since we've reached a motion, I think we can end here."
He walked back toward the table, resting both hands lightly against its surface.
"J'onn and I will work on a draft—outline the kind of system we're proposing. Once that's together, we'll present it to everyone here for revision. Then we take it public. Let people weigh in, get involved."
The words weren't thrilling. But they were steady. They offered direction.
For a moment, the room was still again. Until a slow clapping began.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
It was Aquaman.
He hadn't spoken much throughout the meeting. But now he stood, regal as ever, hands falling to his sides after the final clap.
"I still have matters in Atlantis that require my attention," he said, voice deep, tone calm. "But you have my full support with this."
He took a few slow steps from his seat, glancing toward the others.
"Once this new system is in place, it'll be easier to encourage deeper ties between my people and the surface. Investment. Cooperation. Trust."
His words were clear. Direct. No embellishment.
Superman gave a faint nod—an acknowledgment of gratitude that didn't need words.
The meeting didn't end there. But the rest came quieter.
And in the back of everyone's mind… the question still lingered.
Why did Batman agree so easily?
And what, exactly, were they walking into?
———
Meanwhile at the Ark Academies…
The bell to end the first break period hadn't rung yet, but the halls of the Ark Academies were already near silent.
The usual chatter, the shuffled feet of students trailing back from their breaks, it was all absent. Not because of fear exactly, but something close.
A quiet understanding.
Arias Markovic was making his rounds, as he always did this time of day, and no one wanted to be the one caught loitering.
Doors stood slightly ajar, students seated at their desks far earlier than necessary, their eyes darting toward the glass partitions or the hallways in small, nervous glances. A few remained in the corridors, but they moved briskly, heads down, as if proximity alone might tether them to safety.
Arias walked with hands casually tucked behind his back, his posture straight, precise. His steps echoed faintly against the polished floors—tap, tap, tap—a metronome ticking out a silent expectation.
Of course, if he wanted, he could have monitored every classroom from the comfort of his office. The surveillance systems in this place were advanced enough to track heartbeats if he felt like it, not to mention the extent of he could see himself.
But this wasn't about necessity—it was about image. His presence mattered more than his oversight. Seeing him pass through, attire immaculate, expression unreadable, it sent a message: he was involved. He was watching.
Still, classrooms weren't always his focus. Opportunities presented themselves in other spaces—like the gymnasium wing, where the standard learning model changed into something more physical.
The A & G training room—Acrobatics and Gymnastics—stood out. Roughly half the size of a full indoor gym, it was a mix of traditional layout and cutting-edge tech.
The floors were a high-grade impact-absorbent material, a muted gray speckled with sensors embedded beneath the surface.
Parallel bars, rings, and balance beams gleamed under the bright LED panels overhead. Retractable safety nets lined the upper walls, automated rigs whirring softly in standby mode, ready to deploy in the event of a mishap.
Holographic targets flickered across sections of the room, cycling through combat scenarios or performance metrics depending on the program running at the time.
Arias entered without a word, the door sliding closed behind him with a smooth hiss. The air smelled faintly of sweat and sanitized mats, a sterile contrast to the low thrum of the facility's ventilation system.
At the center of the room, Harley was in motion.
She balanced on a beam, her body twisting in a series of fluid, punishing movements—flips, handstands, aerials strung together with an almost reckless ease.
The tight red and black leotard she wore accentuated her pale, near-translucent skin, the lights above catching the faint sheen of exertion across her shoulders and thighs.
She wasn't just practicing; she was performing. Each move punctuated by exaggerated gestures, as if she were playing out some grand, invisible drama.
Thump. Tap. Whoosh.
Her foot connected, her body spun, and she landed in a crouch before launching herself backward into a high flip. Arms wide, she twisted mid-air, legs tucked tight, before snapping out into a split and catching the beam again—barely.
She wobbled, a grin pulling at her lips as if the near-miss was part of the act, not a mistake.
Her voice rang out then, sing-song and edged with flirtation the moment she spotted Arias. "Gee, I didn't see ya there, Mr. M…"
She finished the sentence while rising smoothly from her crouch, hips swaying just a fraction too much as she stretched an arm above her head in a mock pose, chest thrust forward.
"Were you enjoyin' the show?"
Her eyes sparkled, mischief clear in the tilt of her head. She cocked her hip to the side, resting a hand on it as if she owned the entire space, which, in some way, she did. The other hand trailed along the beam's edge—fingers gliding over the cool surface with the faintest tap-tap-tap that echoed in the otherwise empty room.
Arias's gaze lingered on her briefly, expression unreadable. He didn't shift his weight. Didn't move. Just watched, arms still behind his back. The low, constant hum of the room's systems seemed to amplify the silence that followed.
If he was impressed, he didn't show it.
Harley, of course, didn't seem to need the validation. She dipped into a half-bow, one leg extended behind her like a dancer finishing a performance, her grin wide and eyes bright.
"Didn't think I'd catch you slummin' it down here," she added, twirling a strand of blonde hair between her fingers, her voice low and teasing. "Guess a girl's gotta keep on her toes when the boss is watchin', huh?"