Meanwhile, in a Secure Location That Definitely Doesn't Appear on Any Maps
*(Or: How to Run a Secret Organization When Your Target Demographic Includes Teenagers Who Could Probably Bench Press a Solar System)*
Let me tell you about the kind of meeting that makes corporate boardroom drama look like a friendly book club discussion. The kind where everyone sits around a table that cost more than most people's houses, arguing about whether their latest brilliant plan counts as "strategic outreach" or "spectacular organizational suicide."
The Light's primary meeting chamber was the kind of place that screamed "we are definitely up to something, and it's probably not legal in most dimensions." Picture a medieval fortress that had been updated over the centuries with all the modern amenities a secret society of immortal megalomaniacs could want: central heating (because plotting world domination in the cold was just uncomfortable), Wi-Fi (because even ancient evils needed to check their email), and holding cells specifically designed for meta-humans who'd made what you might charitably call "poor life choices."
The chamber itself was pure intimidation architecture—the kind of room where every word echoed with the weight of centuries and possibly some really expensive interior decorating. High vaulted ceilings that made you feel like an ant at a giant's dinner party, walls covered with tapestries depicting the conquest of civilizations that most people thought were just really creative mythology, and a conference table carved from a single piece of obsidian that had allegedly been blessed by several pantheons and definitely cursed by at least one cosmic entity with serious trust issues.
Around that table sat six of the most dangerous minds on the planet, and they were all staring at the seventh member with expressions that suggested they were reconsidering their life choices, their career paths, and possibly their entire approach to secret organization management.
Vandal Savage sat at the head of the table like he'd been born for the position—which, considering he'd been alive when the concept of "sitting at tables for important conversations" was still a revolutionary approach to conducting business, he probably had been. His weathered hands were folded calmly in front of him, his ancient dark eyes held the kind of patient amusement that came from having survived approximately fifty thousand years of meetings exactly like this one, and his expression suggested he was genuinely entertained by his colleagues' reactions to recent developments.
When he spoke, his voice made even simple observations sound like they carried the weight of millennia and possibly some really excellent wine pairings.
"You know," he said thoughtfully, his voice carrying that particular quality of someone who'd spent centuries perfecting the art of being dramatically understated, "in my extensive experience with organizational crisis meetings—and I have attended quite a few over the years—the most productive approach is usually to begin with the facts rather than the panic."
Lex Luthor leaned forward in his chair with the kind of controlled fury that had once made Fortune 500 CEOs resign via strongly worded email rather than face him in person. His bald head gleamed under the chamber's lighting like it had been polished specifically for intimidation purposes, his expensive suit was immaculate despite the fact that he'd probably spent the morning orchestrating at least three different varieties of corporate espionage, and his green eyes held the kind of cold intelligence that had turned "making Superman's life difficult" into a legitimate business strategy with impressive quarterly returns.
When he spoke, every word was delivered with the precision of someone who'd spent years practicing the art of making even casual conversation sound like closing arguments in a murder trial.
"Facts," he said, his voice getting progressively more controlled with each syllable—which anyone who knew Lex Luthor understood was significantly more dangerous than if he'd just started throwing expensive paperweights, "are exactly what I'd like to discuss, Savage. So let me present them clearly."
He began counting on his fingers with the methodical precision of someone delivering a particularly damning quarterly report.
"Fact one: You revealed the existence of our organization to a seventeen-year-old with unlimited magical power and what appears to be a dangerously developed sense of moral responsibility. Fact two: You offered said teenager membership in our organization, apparently without consulting the rest of us about whether we wanted a new colleague whose idea of conflict resolution involves stellar energy output and strongly worded lectures about ethical behavior. Fact three: You engaged in what you're calling 'philosophical debates' but what eyewitness reports suggest was more accurately described as 'educational seminars on why being evil is bad for your long-term health and general well-being.'"
His green eyes fixed on Savage with the kind of intensity that had once made stock markets crash out of sheer intimidation.
"And fact four," he continued, his voice dropping to the kind of whisper that somehow managed to sound more threatening than shouting, "you came back here to tell us that everything went according to plan. So my question, dear colleague, is this: exactly which plan were you following? Because it certainly wasn't anything we discussed, and it bears absolutely no resemblance to anything that could be reasonably described as 'operational security' or 'strategic discretion.'"
Queen Bee—whose real name was Zazzala, though most people who used it tended to have very short lifespans and usually required significant dental work afterward—reclined in her chair with the kind of elegant menace that suggested she was mentally cataloging several different ways to express her displeasure with recent events, most of which would probably require cleanup crews and possibly some light diplomatic immunity.
Her hair was arranged in a style that had probably cost more than most people's annual salaries and somehow managed to look both perfectly coiffed and ready for combat, her black and gold costume struck the perfect balance between "regal authority" and "I could kill you with my jewelry," and her dark eyes held the kind of calculating intelligence that had turned a small Middle Eastern nation into her personal kingdom through a combination of mind control, strategic assassination, and really excellent event planning.
When she spoke, her voice carried that silky quality that made everything sound like either a seduction or a death threat, depending on whether you were paying attention to the words or just the tone.
"Darling Savage," she purred, examining her perfectly manicured nails with the kind of casual attention that suggested she was considering whether they needed sharpening for more effective throat-cutting applications, "when we agreed to let you handle the Shadowflame situation, we were rather hoping for something more... subtle than a public relations campaign conducted in full view of his entire support network."
She looked up from her nails with the kind of smile that had once convinced three different heads of state to sign trade agreements that were definitely not in their countries' best interests.
"Now we have Batman—the world's most paranoid detective and someone whose idea of a relaxing evening involves creating contingency plans for hypothetical threats that might exist in alternate dimensions—actively investigating our existence," she continued, her voice maintaining that deceptively sweet tone that made everything sound like it was being delivered with tea and poisoned cookies. "We have Superman wondering about threats that make Darkseid look like a manageable neighborhood nuisance. And we have Wonder Woman personally invested in protecting someone who could probably level continents if he had a particularly bad day and ran out of his preferred coffee blend."
She paused, letting that sink in while everyone around the table contemplated exactly how many different ways their current situation could be classified as "suboptimal."
"Oh, and let's not forget," she added with the kind of cheerful enthusiasm that made everyone else remember why dealing with mind controllers was generally considered poor life planning, "we now have a teenager with unlimited power who knows exactly who we are, where we operate, and probably has detailed psychological profiles of all of us thanks to whatever advanced behavioral analysis training Batman apparently includes in his standard educational curriculum."
Ocean-Master—whose given name was Orm, though most people who knew that were either related to him or had been killed by him, sometimes both—shifted in his chair with the kind of barely contained aggression that suggested he was imagining several different ways to express his frustration with surface dweller politics, most of which would involve large amounts of seawater and possibly some creative applications of marine biology.
His pale features were set in the expression he usually wore when dealing with surface world diplomatic initiatives, his blue-green costume managed to look both regally appropriate and ready for underwater combat at depths that would crush normal humans into very small, very dead pancakes, and his grip on his trident suggested he was considering whether the meeting would go more smoothly if conducted entirely in ancient Atlantean, which had much more creative curse words than modern English and significantly better terminology for expressing displeasure with strategic planning failures.
"The boy's power levels," he said in his deep voice that carried the authority of someone who'd commanded armies of angry sea creatures and found them surprisingly effective for military applications, "represent a fundamental shift in the balance between surface and undersea capabilities that threatens to destabilize centuries of carefully maintained diplomatic arrangements."
He leaned forward, his sea-green eyes reflecting the chamber's lighting in ways that made them look uncomfortably predatory and possibly capable of seeing things that existed in spectrums normal humans couldn't perceive.
"Atlantis has maintained technological and military superiority for millennia based on the assumption that surface dwellers were limited by conventional physical constraints, basic magical capabilities, and really poor underwater breathing techniques," Orm continued, his voice taking on that particular edge that meant he was working through strategic implications that nobody else was going to enjoy hearing about. "Our entire approach to international relations assumes that surface world conflicts can be managed through superior technology, strategic resource control, and the occasional well-placed tsunami when diplomatic initiatives require additional emphasis."
His knuckles were turning white around his trident's handle, which was probably a bad sign for everyone's continued structural integrity.
"If surface dwellers can now generate unlimited magical energy from internal sources," he continued, his voice dropping to the kind of tone that suggested he was contemplating solutions that would make environmental protection groups very unhappy, "then every treaty, every diplomatic arrangement, every carefully maintained balance of power becomes obsolete overnight. We're not just dealing with a new hero who happens to be unusually powerful. We're dealing with the potential end of Atlantean military supremacy and possibly the need to completely redesign our approach to surface world management."
He paused, letting that observation hang in the air while everyone contemplated exactly how many different ways their geopolitical strategies might need updating.
"Also," he added as an afterthought, "the boy apparently has a girlfriend who can rewrite reality with proper grammatical syntax and a support network that includes some of the most paranoid and effective heroes in existence. So even if we wanted to attempt traditional elimination approaches—which we probably don't—the practical applications would be challenging at best and cosmically stupid at worst."
Klarion the Witch Boy—who wasn't actually a boy but was definitely a witch and had opinions about both age and gender that would confuse linguistics professors, sociology experts, and probably most of mathematics—giggled from his position hovering approximately three feet above his chair, surrounded by small reality distortions that made the air around him look like it was having philosophical disagreements with the fundamental laws of physics and winning.
His dark hair seemed to move in a breeze that didn't exist in normal dimensions, his pale features were arranged in that expression of manic delight that suggested he found the entire situation absolutely hilarious and possibly the best entertainment he'd had in centuries, and his dark robes flickered between existing and not existing in ways that were probably giving the local space-time continuum a headache and possibly some light existential trauma.
"Oh, this is delicious!" he cackled, his voice carrying that particular quality that made everyone else remember why dealing with Lords of Chaos was generally considered a poor life choice right up there with "poking sleeping dragons" and "asking cosmic entities for relationship advice." "Uncle Savage went and poked the pretty fire boy, and now everyone's panicking because the pretty fire boy turned out to be scarier than a cosmic horror with abandonment issues!"
He clapped his hands together with the kind of enthusiastic glee that suggested he was having the time of his extremely long and chaotic life, and reality flickered for just a moment, showing glimpses of alternate timelines where today's conversation had gone very differently and usually ended with significantly more property damage and possibly some light dimensional collapse.
"But here's the really fun part," Klarion continued, his giggle building to the kind of crescendo that meant he was about to share information that would make everyone else's day significantly more complicated and possibly require updated insurance policies, "the pretty fire boy isn't the only scary teenager! His little girlfriend with the backwards magic can rewrite reality with proper syntax and apparently has strong opinions about grammatical correctness! His brainy girlfriend can solve mathematical proofs that haven't been invented yet and probably make equations cry! His flying girlfriend can probably catch Superman if she puts her mind to it and has sufficient motivation!"
His grin widened until it threatened the structural integrity of his face, and his eyes began glowing with the kind of chaos energy that made physicists weep, philosophers reconsider their career choices, and reality itself develop performance anxiety.
"We're not dealing with one scary teenager with unlimited power and strong moral opinions," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper that somehow filled the entire chamber and possibly several adjacent dimensions, "we're dealing with an entire team of scary teenagers who've been trained by some of the most paranoid heroes in existence, apparently have access to educational resources that make cosmic entities nervous, and whose idea of a fun Saturday evening probably involves solving problems that would make Darkseid file a formal complaint with the universe's customer service department!"
He paused, still giggling with the kind of manic enthusiasm that suggested chaos magic was having a really good day.
"Oh, and they're all dating each other!" he added with the kind of delighted revelation that suggested he'd been saving this information for maximum dramatic impact. "Which means their power levels are amplified by teenage emotions and really strong feelings about protecting each other! Do you know how dangerous teenagers are when they're in love and have unlimited magical power? It's like giving nuclear weapons to people who think grand romantic gestures should involve reshaping continents!"
Ra's al Ghul—the Demon's Head, leader of the League of Assassins, and someone whose approach to problem-solving had remained remarkably consistent over six centuries of practice and apparently quite effective despite what human rights organizations might say about his methods—sat in perfect stillness at the far end of the table, his hands folded in a position that looked meditative but could transition to lethal violence in approximately 0.3 seconds if the situation required immediate and permanent solutions.
His weathered features were arranged in an expression of calm consideration that had once made sultans abdicate their thrones rather than face his displeasure, his dark robes seemed to absorb light in ways that violated several laws of physics and possibly some local building codes, and his ancient eyes held the kind of patient wisdom that came from having personally witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations and found most of them disappointingly predictable in their approaches to both greatness and catastrophic failure.
When he spoke, his voice carried the weight of centuries and the precision of someone who'd spent decades perfecting the art of making even simple observations sound like pronouncements of cosmic significance delivered by someone who'd actually met several cosmic entities and found them surprisingly reasonable dinner companions.
"The situation," he said thoughtfully, his accent giving his words a musical quality that somehow made them more ominous rather than less, like a lullaby composed by someone with extensive experience in advanced interrogation techniques, "has developed in ways that our initial strategic assessments did not anticipate, and I suspect that is something of an understatement."
He paused, letting that observation hang in the air while everyone around the table contemplated exactly how many different varieties of "did not anticipate" they were currently dealing with and whether any of them fell into categories that could be managed through conventional planning or required more creative solutions.
"Young Peverell's power evolution represents more than a simple threat or opportunity," Ra's continued, his voice taking on that professorial tone he used when delivering lectures on advanced assassination techniques, the philosophical implications of immortality, or the practical applications of fear as a diplomatic tool. "It represents a fundamental change in the nature of conflict itself. We are no longer operating in a world where superior planning, accumulated resources, and centuries of experience guarantee victory over opposition forces."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either brilliant strategic insights or complete mental breakdowns as people tried to process information that redefined their understanding of how power actually worked in the modern world.
"Furthermore," Ra's added, his voice taking on that particular tone that suggested he was about to deliver analysis that everyone would find disturbing but absolutely accurate, "the boy's demonstrated ability to inspire loyalty in other highly capable individuals suggests that traditional approaches to threat elimination would likely result in consequences that extend far beyond simple retaliation. We would not merely be confronting one powerful individual—we would be declaring war on an interconnected network of heroes whose combined capabilities approach cosmic significance."
The Brain—a highly advanced artificial intelligence housed in a sophisticated robotic body that made most supercomputers look like particularly expensive pocket calculators—processed this information through probability matrices that were probably giving him the digital equivalent of a migraine and possibly some light existential despair about the practical applications of strategic planning in a universe where teenagers could apparently generate stellar energy levels through proper emotional management.
His mechanical features managed to convey both intelligence and deep concern as various LED displays flickered with calculations that would have made Stephen Hawking weep with envy and possibly submit formal complaints to the universe about the unfair distribution of computational advantages, and his voice carried that distinctive electronic precision that made even casual observations sound like the output of extremely expensive military analysis software with trust issues.
"Probability assessment confirms Ra's al Ghul's analysis with distressing accuracy," he announced in that synthesized voice that managed to sound both authoritative and vaguely condescending, like a university professor delivering a lecture on why everyone's homework was wrong. "Current data suggests a 73.4% likelihood that our traditional approaches to threat management are no longer operationally viable when applied to targets with unlimited power generation capabilities and strong opinions about proper behavior."
Various graphs and charts materialized in the air above the table, displaying tactical scenarios that all seemed to end with variations on the theme of "everyone dies except the teenager with stellar energy output and his highly motivated support network."
"Furthermore," the Brain continued, his processors clearly working through scenarios that were probably classified as "cosmic horror" by most strategic planning standards, "analysis of the subject's behavioral patterns suggests that direct confrontation approaches carry unacceptable risk factors not merely because of his power levels, but because of his demonstrated approach to conflict resolution. Attempting to eliminate him would likely result in retaliation from his support network, which includes several individuals whose power levels are classified as 'approaching cosmic significance' by current threat assessment protocols."
He paused, letting various probability calculations finish running before delivering his conclusions.
"Additionally," he added with the kind of electronic precision that suggested he was delivering particularly unwelcome news, "behavioral analysis suggests that the subject's response to perceived threats against his associates involves what can only be described as 'educational initiatives with extreme prejudice.' Traditional elimination targets simply die. This target apparently conducts comprehensive lessons on improved life choices, complete with practical demonstrations of why alternative approaches are preferable."
More charts appeared, showing incident reports that looked like they'd been compiled by social workers with access to really advanced surveillance technology and possibly some experience with cosmic-level behavioral intervention programs.
"In summary," the Brain concluded, his voice carrying the weight of computational analysis that had probably required more processing power than most small countries used annually, "attempting to manage this situation through conventional threat elimination approaches would likely result in the complete destruction of our organization, followed by an extended educational seminar on why secret societies should pursue more constructive hobbies."
Savage listened to this comprehensive analysis with the kind of patient attention that suggested he'd been expecting exactly this reaction and was mildly entertained by how long it had taken everyone else to reach the obviously correct conclusions about their current strategic position.
"Finished?" he asked politely, his Spanish accent making even simple questions sound like they carried the weight of millennia and possibly some really excellent wine pairings that had been selected specifically to complement discussions of organizational crisis management.
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either really excellent strategic breakthroughs or spectacular organizational collapses, depending on whether the person asking the question had solutions or just wanted to enjoy watching everyone else work through their panic responses in real time.
"Excellent," Savage continued, his ancient eyes sweeping around the table with the kind of measured authority that had once convinced entire civilizations to find more constructive hobbies than trying to conquer his territory and usually resulted in significant improvements in local infrastructure and educational opportunities. "Because now that you've all worked through the obvious problems with our current situation, we can begin discussing the actual strategic implications of today's events and why they represent opportunities rather than catastrophic failures."
He leaned forward slightly, his massive frame casting shadows that seemed to have their own gravitational pull, and his voice took on that particular quality that meant he was about to explain something that would redefine everyone's understanding of how the game was really played.
"Lex," he said, focusing his attention on the billionaire genius with anger management issues and really impressive quarterly profit margins, "you're concerned about operational security. You believe I've compromised our existence by revealing ourselves to someone who could potentially threaten our long-term agenda through the simple expedient of having unlimited power and strong opinions about proper organizational behavior. Your concern is noted, completely understandable, and entirely irrelevant to our actual situation."
Lex's green eyes narrowed with the kind of dangerous focus that had once made Superman reconsider his approach to property damage in downtown Metropolis, but Savage continued before he could voice whatever objections were currently forming in his highly intelligent and deeply vindictive mind.
"The boy already knew we existed," Savage said simply, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty that came from having spent several hours in direct conversation with someone whose analytical capabilities had been personally developed by Batman. "Perhaps not our specific membership, our exact capabilities, or our detailed operational procedures, but he understood that there were forces operating behind the scenes to manipulate global events in ways that suggested coordinated planning and significant resources."
He gestured toward the holographic displays that were still showing tactical analysis from the Brain's calculations.
"His conversation with me simply confirmed what he'd already deduced through observation, analysis, and what I suspect was some really excellent educational resources provided by his mentors," Savage continued, his voice taking on that tone of patient explanation he used when dealing with people who should have been smart enough to figure these things out independently. "The boy has been looking for organizations like ours since he was old enough to understand that coincidences of the scale we routinely orchestrate don't occur naturally in most universes."
Queen Bee's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched with the kind of elegant skepticism that had once convinced three different ambassadors to sign treaties that were definitely not in their countries' best interests and usually resulted in significant improvements to her personal art collection.
"And you thought the best response to this situation," she asked, her voice carrying that particular sweetness that meant someone was about to be educated about the consequences of making poor strategic decisions, "was to introduce yourself personally, provide detailed confirmation of his suspicions, and offer him a membership card to our exclusive club for morally questionable individuals with excellent benefits packages?"
Savage's smile could have powered a small city and definitely belonged in a museum dedicated to expressions that suggested someone knew something everyone else didn't, and what they knew was going to change everything in ways that would be remembered for centuries.
"I thought," he replied, his voice carrying the kind of authority that had convinced civilizations to find more constructive approaches to international relations, "the best response was to establish direct communication with someone whose power levels make traditional containment strategies obsolete, whose moral framework makes conventional bribery approaches pointless, and whose educational background makes standard intimidation techniques laughably inadequate."
He leaned back in his chair with the kind of comfortable confidence that suggested he was genuinely enjoying this explanation.
"You can't threaten someone who can generate unlimited energy and has already faced cosmic-level threats as part of his weekend activities," Savage continued, his voice taking on that lecturing tone that suggested everyone was about to learn something important whether they wanted to or not. "You can't bribe someone who has access to resources that make our accumulated wealth look like pocket change and whose idea of valuable compensation apparently involves comprehensive educational opportunities. You can't intimidate someone who's already confronted entities that view galaxies as convenient snack foods and found them manageable with proper preparation and adequate moral support."
He gestured toward the holographic displays that were still showing tactical analysis painting distinctly unpleasant pictures of what direct confrontation would look like.
"So instead of wasting time, resources, and probably several centuries of accumulated organizational infrastructure on approaches that were guaranteed to fail spectacularly and possibly result in educational interventions that would fundamentally restructure our entire operational methodology," Savage continued, his voice carrying that patient tone he used when explaining obviously strategic decisions to people who should have been smart enough to figure them out independently, "I opened negotiations. I established that we were aware of his capabilities, that we recognized his potential value as either an ally or an adversary, and that we were prepared to discuss terms rather than simply attempt elimination and hope for the best."
"And what exactly did these negotiations accomplish?" Ra's asked, his voice carrying that particular combination of professional interest and deep suspicion that came from centuries of experience with diplomatic arrangements that usually ended with someone getting assassinated and occasionally some light property damage.
Savage's smile widened until it threatened to achieve escape velocity and possibly qualify for its own zip code.
"They accomplished," he said slowly, savoring each word like extremely fine wine that had been aged for precisely the right amount of time in cellars that probably violated several international treaties, "exactly what I intended them to accomplish. The boy now knows that we exist, that we're powerful enough to be worth his attention, and that we're intelligent enough to approach him directly rather than attempt futile shadow games that would probably end with us getting lectured about proper conflict resolution techniques."
He paused, letting that sink in while everyone around the table contemplated the implications.
"More importantly," Savage continued, his voice carrying the satisfaction of someone whose carefully planned strategy was finally being understood by his colleagues, "he knows that we view him as significant enough to warrant personal contact from organizational leadership rather than being treated as just another potential threat to be managed through conventional elimination protocols."
Ocean-Master's grip on his trident tightened with the kind of barely controlled tension that suggested he was imagining several different ways to express his frustration with surface dweller psychology, most of which would involve large amounts of seawater and possibly some creative applications of marine biology that would make environmental protection groups file formal complaints with several international organizations.
"And what," he asked through gritted teeth that could probably bite through steel cable and definitely looked like they'd been designed for intimidating smaller sea creatures, "makes you think he won't simply decide that we represent a threat that needs to be eliminated immediately? Surface dwellers aren't exactly known for their patience with organizations that admit to manipulating global events for their own purposes, and teenagers are notorious for their tendency to solve complex problems through direct action and really poor impulse control."
Savage's expression shifted into something that might have been admiration, if admiration could be weaponized and used to conquer small countries.
"Because," he replied, his voice carrying the kind of certainty that came from having spent millennia studying human psychology and finding it remarkably predictable once you understood the underlying patterns, "elimination isn't his first response to complex problems. Education is."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either brilliant strategic insights or complete mental breakdowns as people tried to process information that redefined their understanding of how their opponents actually thought and operated.
"Explain," the Brain requested, his processors clearly working through scenarios that were probably giving him the digital equivalent of analysis paralysis and possibly some light existential trauma about the nature of conflict resolution in the modern world.
Savage settled back in his chair with the kind of comfortable authority that suggested he was about to deliver a lecture on advanced human psychology that would probably end up being quoted in organizational management textbooks for the next several centuries.
"The boy's fundamental approach to conflict," he began, his voice taking on that professorial tone that suggested everyone was about to learn something important, "is educational rather than eliminative. When faced with opponents, his first instinct is to teach them why their approach is flawed rather than simply destroy them. When confronted with complex moral problems, he seeks understanding before attempting solutions. When dealing with threats to people he cares about, he focuses on preventing future problems rather than simply punishing current ones."
He gestured toward the holographic displays, which shifted to show psychological profiles that looked like they'd been compiled by someone with access to really excellent behavioral analysis software and possibly some light telepathy.
"Today's encounter with seven supervillains is the perfect example," Savage continued, his voice carrying that particular combination of authority and genuine fascination that suggested he was discussing something he found professionally impressive. "He didn't kill them. He didn't even permanently injure them despite having access to power levels that could have vaporized them without significant effort. Instead, he systematically demonstrated why their approach was inadequate, explained the philosophical flaws in their reasoning, provided practical examples of alternative solutions, and then sent them to a secure facility where they could contemplate better life choices under professional supervision."
"He sent them to prison," Lex pointed out, his voice carrying the kind of precision that suggested he was looking for flaws in this analysis and probably finding several that would require additional explanation.
"He sent them to school," Savage corrected, his ancient eyes gleaming with something that definitely qualified as admiration and possibly some professional respect. "A school with very secure classrooms, really excellent counseling services, and educational programs specifically designed to help people with anger management issues find more constructive outlets for their antisocial tendencies."
He paused, letting that reframing settle in everyone's minds.
"The boy doesn't eliminate threats," Savage continued, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd just figured out something really important about how the game had changed. "He converts them into learning opportunities. He doesn't destroy opposition—he rehabilitates it. He doesn't win conflicts—he resolves them in ways that prevent future occurrences."
Klarion giggled with the kind of manic delight that suggested he found this analysis both hilarious and deeply disturbing in ways that would probably require therapy for anyone without chaos magic.
"Oh, that's beautiful!" he cackled, reality flickering around him as chaos energy responded to his emotional state and possibly some really positive feelings about educational reform initiatives. "Uncle Savage figured out that the scary fire boy is actually a teacher! A really, really dangerous teacher with unlimited power, strong opinions about proper behavior, and access to educational resources that make cosmic entities nervous about their study habits!"
"A teacher," Ra's repeated thoughtfully, his ancient features shifting into an expression of growing understanding that suggested he was beginning to see the strategic implications of this revelation and finding them both fascinating and slightly terrifying. "Someone whose fundamental instinct is to guide and educate rather than simply eliminate opposition through traditional violent means."
"Precisely," Savage confirmed, his voice carrying the satisfaction of someone whose carefully planned strategy was finally being understood by his colleagues and probably deserved some kind of award for innovative approaches to organizational crisis management. "Which means that our approach to managing this situation needs to be educational rather than confrontational. We need to position ourselves as worthy of his attention and respect, not as threats requiring elimination or problems requiring immediate solutions."
Queen Bee leaned forward with the kind of interested expression that suggested she was beginning to see the potential applications of this information for her own diplomatic initiatives and possibly some really interesting opportunities for international relationship building.
"And how exactly do you propose we accomplish that?" she asked, her voice carrying that particular combination of skepticism and intrigue that had once convinced several heads of state to make really poor decisions about trade agreements and usually resulted in significant improvements to her personal treasury.
Savage's smile was the kind of expression that belonged in history books, preferably in chapters titled "Decisions That Changed Everything" or possibly "Why Sometimes the Crazy Plan Actually Works."
"By proving," he said simply, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd been planning this conversation for significantly longer than anyone else realized, "that our concerns about cosmic threats are legitimate, that our accumulated resources are actually valuable for something other than personal aggrandizement, and that our experience with managing global-scale challenges could be useful for someone whose power levels are attracting attention from entities that view planets as expendable resources and civilizations as interesting science experiments."
The Brain's processors whirred with increased intensity as various probability matrices shifted to accommodate this new strategic approach and probably required more computational power than most universities used for their entire research programs.
"Analysis suggests," he announced after several moments of calculation that probably involved more mathematics than most people encountered in their entire educational careers, "that this approach carries significantly higher success probability than direct confrontation methods. Estimated success rate: 67.8% for establishing productive dialogue, 34.2% for achieving operational alliance, 12.7% for full recruitment, and 3.4% for comprehensive organizational restructuring under new management."
"Better odds than the 0.3% success rate for conventional elimination approaches," Ocean-Master observed grudgingly, his voice carrying the kind of resignation that came from accepting tactical realities that weren't particularly appealing but were significantly better than the alternatives. "And significantly less likely to result in the complete destruction of our organization by someone who could probably vaporize this entire facility with a moment's concentrated effort and really strong feelings about proper conflict resolution."
"Much better," Savage agreed, his voice carrying the kind of satisfaction that suggested he was genuinely pleased with how this analysis was developing. "And considerably more likely to result in productive outcomes that benefit everyone involved rather than spectacular educational demonstrations about why secret organizations should pursue more constructive hobbies."
"So what's the next step?" Lex asked, his green eyes holding the kind of calculating intelligence that suggested he was already working through implementation strategies and probably finding several potentially profitable applications that would require careful consideration and possibly some updated insurance policies.
Savage's expression shifted into something that could have launched a thousand ships or possibly convinced them to find more peaceful approaches to international trade disputes.
"The next step," he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd been planning this conversation for significantly longer than anyone else realized and was genuinely looking forward to the upcoming educational experience, "is to provide young Peverell with exactly what he's been looking for since he started investigating shadow organizations: concrete evidence of the cosmic threats we've been preparing for, detailed information about entities that view Earth as strategically significant, and practical demonstrations of why accumulated experience and resources might be valuable even for someone with unlimited personal power and really strong moral convictions."
He gestured, and the holographic displays shifted to show star charts, dimensional mapping data, and threat assessment profiles that looked like they'd been compiled by intelligence services that operated on galactic scales and had access to information that would make most science fiction writers weep with envy.
"We're going to give him a comprehensive briefing," Savage continued, his smile widening in the way that suggested he was genuinely looking forward to the upcoming educational experience and possibly some really interesting intellectual discussions, "on exactly why organizations like ours exist, what kinds of threats require coordinated planetary responses, and why even someone with stellar energy output might find value in allies with centuries of experience in threat management and really excellent organizational infrastructure."
"And if he decides that our methods are still unacceptable?" Ra's asked, though his voice suggested he was already working through contingency strategies for various outcomes and probably finding several that would require significant adjustments to their standard operational procedures.
Savage's smile could have powered several small cities and definitely qualified for its own entry in encyclopedias of expressions that suggested someone had figured out how to turn potential disasters into unprecedented opportunities.
"Then we adapt our methods," he replied simply, his voice carrying the kind of authority that had convinced civilizations to find more constructive hobbies than territorial expansion and usually resulted in significant improvements in local educational infrastructure. "We demonstrate that our commitment is to results rather than specific approaches. We show him that our organization can evolve, learn, and improve based on input from someone whose moral framework we respect and whose practical capabilities we acknowledge."
"You're proposing," Queen Bee said slowly, working through the implications with the kind of careful analysis that had once convinced several international organizations to restructure their entire approach to diplomatic relations, "that we allow an eighteen-year-old with unlimited power to lecture us on proper organizational ethics and strategic methodology?"
"I'm proposing," Savage corrected, his voice carrying the kind of authority that had convinced civilizations to find more constructive hobbies than territorial expansion, "that we demonstrate enough wisdom to learn from someone who's already proven capable of achieving results that we've been unable to accomplish through centuries of conventional approaches."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either revolutionary strategic breakthroughs or complete organizational restructuring, depending on whether everyone involved was prepared to accept that their current methods might need some significant improvements.
"It's insane," Lex said finally, his voice carrying the kind of frustrated admiration that suggested he was impressed despite himself.
"It's unprecedented," Ra's agreed, though his tone suggested he found the concept intellectually fascinating rather than simply disturbing.
"It's absolutely brilliant," Queen Bee purred, her voice carrying the kind of delighted approval that suggested she was already planning ways to apply this approach to her own diplomatic challenges.
"It's educational!" Klarion giggled, chaos energy crackling around him with increased intensity. "Uncle Savage wants to go to school! This is the best thing that's happened in centuries!"
Ocean-Master and the Brain exchanged what might have been meaningful looks if artificial intelligences and angry Atlanteans were capable of nonverbal communication, but both seemed to be processing the strategic implications and finding them at least marginally acceptable compared to the alternatives.
"Very well," Ra's said finally, his voice carrying the weight of someone making a decision that would probably be remembered for centuries regardless of how it turned out. "We attempt education over elimination. We demonstrate respect rather than demand submission. We prove our value rather than assert our authority."
"And if this approach fails?" Ocean-Master asked, though his voice suggested he was already committed to the strategy despite his reservations.
Savage's smile was the kind of expression that belonged in history books, preferably in chapters titled "Decisions That Changed Everything" or possibly "Why Immortal Megalomaniacs Make Surprisingly Good Students When Properly Motivated."
"Then," he said simply, "we learn something new about the limits of diplomatic solutions and the practical applications of stellar energy output in educational contexts. Either way, the experience will be memorable."
Around the table, six of the most dangerous minds on Earth contemplated a future where their secret organization might need to pass inspection by a teenager with unlimited power and strong opinions about proper behavior.
It wasn't the kind of future any of them had planned for.
But it was definitely going to be educational.
And somewhere in the distance, reality itself seemed to chuckle with the kind of cosmic amusement that suggested the universe was looking forward to seeing how this particular experiment in applied ethics and organizational management was going to turn out.
Some lessons, after all, were worth learning regardless of how much they cost or how dramatically they changed everything you thought you knew about how the game was played.
The Light, it seemed, was about to discover what it meant to be students rather than teachers.
And their instructor had access to stellar energy levels and really strong opinions about proper classroom behavior.
This was either going to be the most successful educational reform in the history of secret organizations, or the most spectacular organizational failure since someone decided that building a tower to reach heaven was a reasonable construction project.
Probably both.
But it was definitely going to be memorable.
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