"You're asking for our help?" Black Canary arched a brow, her gaze drifting to the piles of dismantled toy soldiers. "But do you even need it?"
"Nonsense," Wildcat snorted. "Of course he does. Kid's strong, sure — but strength isn't the same as experience. It's the duty of veteran heroes like us to make sure the next generation doesn't break their necks learning the hard way."
"Oh?" Black Canary smirked. "I thought you hated being called a hero."
Wildcat folded his arms. "Doesn't mean I don't take the responsibility seriously."
She chuckled. "Listen to you. Can't let go of the glory days, can you?"
"And you're any better?" he shot back.
Black Canary rolled her shoulders lightly before her tone shifted.
"Problem is, we can't officially help you even if we wanted to. Our licenses expired years ago." She gestured around the factory. "We came to scout the place. If those tin soldiers hadn't jumped us, we would already be gone by now—having left an anonymous tip for the police."
"Police?" Wildcat scoffed. "You think they're equipped for something like this? By the time they roll in, the place will be scrubbed clean."
He looked back at me.
"Tell you what. We help the kid. Quietly. When it's done, we disappear before uniforms show up and let the kid take all the credit."
Black Canary tapped her chin thoughtfully.
"That could work." She flashed me a playful smile. "I don't mind stretching a little for my prince charming."
"Good," Wildcat said with a grin. "Then it's settled."
"Uh… I should probably clarify something," I cut in.
They both looked at me.
"I don't have a license."
Black Canary blinked. "You're joking."
"Not even provisional?" Wildcat asked carefully.
I shook my head.
Black Canary straightened immediately, all teasing gone.
"Then what are you doing here?" she asked, gesturing toward the hole in the roof. "You know using your powers like this without certification is illegal, right? Even if you take down this 'Toyman,' the police could slap cuffs on you too."
Wildcat exhaled through his nose.
"Yeah… we're not exactly the best moral authorities here," he admitted. "But cops tend to look the other way for veterans like us."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"They won't do that for a new kid."
He stepped closer.
"Unlicensed metas don't get warnings. They get made into examples."
Black Canary studied me for a moment, then seemed to reach a decision.
"How about this," she said, walking toward me. "I introduce you to a friend at Queen Industries. They've recently started sponsoring licensed operatives. Getting you a provisional certification wouldn't be difficult."
She gave me a measured look.
"It's a well-known company. I'm sure you've heard of it. I can negotiate something favourable—official backing, insurance, legal coverage, all of that."
Her tone softened slightly.
"You wouldn't be able to go after Toyman tonight, of course. But once you're certified? You can chase all the bad guys you want—legally. What do you say?"
She extended her hand.
But I was distracted by something else entirely.
Queen Industries.
A Star City conglomerate that, in the future, would be led by Oliver Queen—Green Arrow. The same Oliver Queen who would eventually marry Dinah's daughter, the younger Dinah.
Right now, though, both of them were still just kids.
So how exactly was Dinah already connected to Queen Industries?
And the bigger surprise—since when had Queen Industries begun sponsoring heroes?
That was new.
Very new.
"Sponsorship" and "licensing" were in fact the common terms used for approved heroes—individuals affiliated with either major corporations or government bodies who were legally allowed to operate under defined regulations.
I had first learned about this system when I asked Lara and Jor-El to compile comprehensive data on metahumans. Going through three centuries of public records had shown me just how structured—and political—the landscape here had become.
In this world, Metas had existed openly for roughly three hundred years.
Their numbers weren't massive, but they were significant enough that the world had built legal frameworks around them.
There were Metahuman Affairs bureaus.
Surveillance programs.
Classified threat registries.
Liability laws.
Mandatory hero insurances.
In fact nowadays being a meta wasn't something illegal.
But operating publicly without registration or backing?
That absolutely was.
This was the divide Wildcat had been hinting at—the difference between illegal vigilantes and licensed heroes.
Also, there still wasn't any kind of universal international framework governing metas. Most regulations were local—city or state level—especially in the United States, where Congress had repeatedly failed to pass a unified federal metahuman bill.
The system was basically a patchwork.
And heavily political one at that.
My situation on the other hand was even more complicated.
As I wasn't technically a metahuman.
I was an Alien.
The only legal paths available to someone like me were to enroll in one of the recently established metahuman academies—most of which were funded and run by major corporations—or to sign directly under one of those corporations as a sponsored operative. Only companies approved by the government could issue provisional or full hero licenses.
Apparently now even Queen Industries was one of them.
As for working directly under the government… that wasn't even under my consideration.
I had seen enough DC media in my previous life to know how that usually ended.
In fact, unless absolutely necessary, I was definitely not planning to choose either of those legal paths.
The biggest reason?
My secret identity.
Lara could manipulate or scrub databases, yes—but that still didn't eliminate all the risks completely. Corporate contracts meant background checks. Psychological evaluations. Power assessments. DNA scans, etc.
There were too many points of exposure.
Still, despite all these complications, I wasn't unprepared. After long discussions with Lara and Jor-El, I had mapped out a viable long-term plan for myself.
This vigilante "training" phase was an integral part of it.
"Thank you for the offer," I said politely, stepping back. "But I'm not looking to join anyone right now."
I turned toward the interior corridor.
"If you'll excuse me, I have a criminal to catch."
"Wait." Black Canary caught my arm—not forcefully, but firmly. Her tone lost its teasing edge. "You're not going alone. Whoever's running this place is dangerous."
Wildcat snorted lightly.
"Not wanting a sponsor, huh? I respect it." He cracked his knuckles. "Kid's got independence. I like that."
He gave Black Canary a sideways look.
"And if there's a crook to take down, I don't really care what some regulation says."
Black Canary exhaled.
"…You're not wrong."
She studied me carefully.
"Alright we'll handle whatever fallout comes later," she said. "But in return, you'll think about my offer. Fair?"
Her blue eyes held mine—earnest now.
"Alright," I nodded.
After all thinking wasn't the same as agreeing.
With that, both Wildcat and Black Canary moved ahead with me, heading deeper into the factory.
I was fairly certain that having seen my brief performance from before, they must have realized that I didn't actually need backup.
Even so, they had chosen to come.
Either they genuinely wanted to handle the legal fallout like they claimed… or they were keeping an eye on me—trying to decide whether I was truly what I said I was, or something else entirely.
Either way, it didn't change my objective.
Observe.
Learn.
And build connections.
"There aren't many working lights in this place," Wildcat muttered as we stepped into a darker corridor. "But I've still got decent night vision, kid. Stay behind us. Places like this love their traps."
I had to suppress a smile.
He was showing off his night vision in front of someone who could see through every wall, wire, and pressure plate in the building.
Still, I let him take point.
"So," Black Canary said lightly as she walked beside me, "why are you after this Toyman?"
She glanced at me sideways.
"And don't you have a name we can call you? 'Young man' is getting old. Especially when you already know ours."
She winked.
I considered it for a whole two seconds.
Every name that popped into my head sounded ridiculous.
And I absolutely refused to call myself Superman, as that would be even more cringe.
In the end, I decided to just ignore the second question and answer the first.
"I traced a signal from Metropolis," I said. "The explosive toys flooding Southside came from here."
Wildcat let out a low whistle.
"You followed a lead from one coast to the other? Not bad, kid. Takes guts."
Black Canary shot me a brief look—clearly unimpressed that I had dodged the name question—but her irritation faded as I gave them a concise summary of what had been happening in Metropolis.
When I finished, her expression turned thoughtful.
"I knew something didn't add up," she said. "Heavy-duty robotic guards protecting some small-time thug? That never made sense."
She crossed her arms lightly.
"But if this place is a manufacturing hub supplying a gang operating across at least two major cities… that's a different story."
Her eyes hardened.
"What concerns me is how something like this had stayed hidden for so long, this close to Star City."
Just then the corridor lights suddenly flickered on.
Wildcat and Black Canary stiffened immediately.
I didn't.
I had already mapped the wiring, the embedded speakers, and the concealed cameras lining the ceiling panels, so nothing could surprise me much.
Then a thin, reedy voice echoed around us—distorted, old, and unsettling.
"I thought my earlier warning would suffice… but it appears I overestimated your intelligence. This is private property. Unauthorized entry is strictly prohibited."
"This building was condemned years ago," Black Canary shot back. "It belongs to the city. Which makes you the trespasser."
"Come out and surrender quietly," Wildcat called, voice firm. "We know what kind of dangerous things you're building here."
A soft, mocking chuckle echoed through the corridor.
"Dangerous things? My dear sir, this is a toy factory. I make toys. Harmless, delightful toys." The voice grew syrupy. "But I suppose you people prefer demonstrations. Seeing is believing, after all."
WROOOM. WROOM.
From both ends of the corridor, two toy cars and two miniature planes roared toward us from each side.
"Don't tell me…" Wildcat swore under his breath and dropped into a fighting stance.
Black Canary's eyes narrowed.
"Those are the same models flooding the black market," she said sharply. "Four on each side. We're boxed in."
She inhaled deeply.
"Cover your ears!"
Realizing what she was about to do, I pressed myself against the side wall and sealed my ears tightly with my hands.
Black Canary stepped forward and unleashed it.
"SCREEEEEEE!"
A sonic blast ripped down the corridor, shattering lights and cracking concrete as it slammed into the incoming toys—
BOOOOM!
The front devices detonated violently.
The blast wave rebounded off the narrow walls almost instantly.
"Down!" Wildcat barked—
—but there was no time.
From the opposite end, the remaining toys were still racing toward us.
Black Canary pivoted sharply.
"SKREEE—!"
Her second scream struck them mid-charge—
BOOM!!
The rear explosion detonated even closer.
And that was when I saw it.
The pressure fronts from both blasts were about to collide in the center of the corridor.
Right where we were standing.
I moved as quickly as I can.
Before either of them could react, I grabbed Wildcat by the collar and Dinah around the waist.
The wall beside us was old masonry.
I drove my foot into it.
Concrete imploded inward, forming a jagged opening. In the same motion, I shoved both of them through and followed a split second before the shockwaves converged—
Instead of retreating, I stayed in the breach, turning my back to the corridor and sealing the opening with my body as the blast roared past.
The heat and overpressure slammed into me like a freight train—
—and stopped.
In front of me, Wildcat and Black Canary were knocked off their feet by the residual surge, but they were shielded from the worst of it.
Fire and debris swallowed the corridor behind me in a violent compression of air and heat. The flames curled around my cape and dispersed harmlessly.
Dust filled the room.
When the noise finally faded, Wildcat stared at me through the settling smoke, coughing once.
"…Kid," he rasped as he pushed himself up, "did you just save us by tanking that blast?"
Black Canary was already on her feet. She grabbed my shoulder and spun me around.
"Are you insane?" she snapped, checking my back.
Her fingers ran over my cape and paused.
"There's not even a scorch mark," she muttered. "It's not even warm."
"My suit's made of… durable material," I replied with a small shrug.
"That was reckless," she said firmly, though the edge in her voice carried more concern than anger.
Wildcat stood up slowly, brushing dust from his shoulders.
"Reckless?" he snorted. "Your scream turned the hallway into a demolition derby."
I couldn't help but nod slightly. Even I hadn't expected the blasts to compound like that. Maybe letting the veterans take the lead hadn't been the most calculated choice.
Black Canary shot him a look.
"Oh, I'm sorry," she said sharply. "How was I supposed to know that the corridor was basically a death trap? Those bombs were overcharged. That wasn't standard black-market junk."
Her eyes hardened.
"I haven't seen someone this crazy in years. When I get my hands on him, he's going to regret trying to barbecue us alive."
"At least there were only a few of those things," Wildcat muttered, scanning ahead. "Can you imagine if there were more of th—"
He froze.
His mouth slowly fell open.
"…Oh, hell."
"What now, old man—" She began, irritated.
Then she followed his line of sight.
And went still.
I didn't blame them.
The room we had broken into wasn't just a simple room after all.
It was in fact a large warehouse.
With shelves stretched from floor to ceiling—lined with toy cars, toy planes, jack-in-the-boxes, dolls, wind-up soldiers. Hundreds of them.
Maybe thousands.
Every single one identical to the devices that had just nearly blasted us.
Black Canary's voice dropped.
"We need to move. Now."
"Well," I said lightly, stepping forward, "how about you let me handle this one?"
Truthfully, I had intended to neutralize those toys earlier—but Dinah's scream had detonated them before I could even intervene.
"Lara, if you would," I murmured.
I unfurled my cloak.
The red fabric dissolved into fine particles, scattering like dust through the air and spreading across the warehouse in seconds.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the faint blinking lights embedded in the toys flickered—
—and died.
I turned back to them with a small smile.
"They're deactivated."
Silence.
Wildcat blinked.
Dinah stared at the shelves.
"…You're telling me," she said slowly, "that you just disarmed all of them?"
"Correct."
They looked even more stunned than before.
I almost felt bad.
Almost.
But honestly, if I let these veterans "handle" this room like the last one, then the entire factory might not survive the experience.