A month and a half dragged on like a fragmented eternity. Endless nights at Hargrove Manor, corridors echoing only with the constant hum of machines and the rhythmic beeping of monitors. The surgery-recovery room, buried deep within the building, had become a cold and sterile sanctuary. Artemis spent most of her time there, seated in a comfortable armchair the Doctor had provided, her eyes fixed on the central capsule as if she could force the body inside to move by sheer willpower.
The synthetic amniotic fluid inside the capsule had changed color over the weeks. At first, it was a translucent blue-green, tinged bright red every time an internal hemorrhage broke out. Then, it became cloudy, opaque, a veil that hid the details of Erick's body. Only the vague silhouette was visible: his chest rising and falling with artificial breaths, his arms floating slightly, the neural helmet attached to his head like a crown of technological thorns. The face mask sealed his mouth and nose, injecting enriched oxygen and nutrients directly into his bloodstream. The metallic diaper, with its thick tubes and sensors, controlled fluids and monitored lower vital functions. It was humiliating, functional, and necessary.
Doctor had been relentless. "The body needs absolute rest," he had said in the first week, when Erick had tried to negotiate more conscious time in virtual reality. "Every waking second steals energy from regeneration. The elemental fire accelerates healing, but consumes calories like an oven. If you want to live, sleep." Erick had reluctantly agreed. Since then, his mind had been locked in darkness, while his body fought against death.
There were nights when the alarms sounded. His heart stopped for 47 seconds in the third week. A lung collapsed again in the fifth. Doctor injected nanostructured regenerators directly into the pulmonary artery, opened his chest with laser scalpels, and reconstructed the tissue manually. Artemis stood in the doorway, watching everything through the reinforced glass, her nails digging into her palms until they bled. She didn't cry. She couldn't afford to. Someone needed to stand while Erick was broken.
But M'gann's blood changed everything.
The Martian donated more than seven liters of blood over the weeks—transmuting her cells into pure O negative, without rejection. The blood integrated into Erick's biology as if it had always belonged there. Doctor's analyses showed perfect cellular fusion: Martian red blood cells multiplying alongside human ones, carrying oxygen with 300% greater efficiency, accelerating the healing of soft tissues and bones. The elemental fire, which had previously fought against massive inflammation, now had quality fuel. The bones realigned, the fractures calcified, the internal organs—perforated liver, torn spleen, stitched intestines—began to function again. Not perfectly. Not yet. But enough to get out of the critical zone.
Artemis hadn't slept properly for forty-two days. Deep dark circles marked her skin, her blonde hair was tied in a messy bun, her Young Justice uniform was crumpled and stained with dried sweat. She held a cold mug of coffee that she didn't drink, just twirled between her fingers to have something to do.
The Doctor materialized beside her, a hologram as serene as ever.
"Today is the day to wake up, Miss Crock."
Artemis slowly raised her gaze. A tired but genuine smile curved her chapped lips.
"Finally."
The suction sound began almost immediately. Thick tubes at the base of the capsule activated with a low rumble. The murky, blue-green liquid began to descend, swirling in slow eddies as it drained into underground reservoirs. Level after level, Erick's body emerged: first his feet, then his legs, his torso marked by thin, pink scars where the incisions had been closed with biological sutures. The liquid still covered his chest when the glass lid lifted with a hydraulic hiss.
Something was wrong.
Artemis blinked, confused. The body inside the capsule… wasn't exactly the same. The skin, which had previously been light brown, now had a uniform, deep green tone, like polished jade under artificial light. The black hair was dyed a dark green, almost black, but with emerald highlights when the light hit it. The muscles seemed more defined, denser, as if the body had been sculpted instead of healed. And the eyes…
When they opened, they were the same intense navy blue as always. But the rest…
The face mask retracted into the capsule's structure, revealing his face. The metal diaper clicked loose, the tubes disconnecting and retracting. Erick slowly raised his torso. He staggered as he tried to support his weight on his arms. His head spun once, residual vertigo from the prolonged coma. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling forcefully, and then stabilized.
He looked around. The operating-recovery room: white walls, control panels flashing blue, robotic arms retracted into the ceiling like sleeping spiders. The smell of antiseptic and ozone. The low hum of the machines. Everything familiar. Everything alive.
He stretched, his muscles protesting with a dull, distant ache. He turned to Artemis.
He gave a small, crooked smile, the same one as always.
But then he saw her face.
"Is something wrong? Did I lose weight?"
Artemis opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Her eyes were wide, fixed on him.
Erick frowned. He looked down.
His hands. Green. Smooth skin, no visible pores, a uniform emerald-green hue. He turned his palms upward, flexed his fingers. He felt the familiar strength, but something more: a slight elasticity, as if the skin could stretch a little before returning to its original shape.
"Shit," he muttered. "So the adverse effects we imagined really did happen."
The Doctor materialized beside him.
"Indeed, sir. The Martian blood, up to this point, is behaving exactly as we theorized. Complete integration. No rejection. Clear metabolic benefits. And… phenotypic changes."
Erick raised an eyebrow.
"Doctor. Mirror."
A hologram formed immediately in front of him: a young man of 1.68 m, deep green skin, black hair with greenish highlights falling over his forehead. Intense blue eyes contrasting with the alien tone. He raised his right hand; the hologram did the same. He turned his face in profile, examined his jawline, his slightly more angular cheekbones. He turned around, analyzing his back, shoulders, legs. Thin, almost invisible scars marked his torso where the surgeries had been most invasive.
"Truly unexpected changes," he said in a low voice. "Tests will be needed to map the true capacity of what has changed."
"Indeed, sir."
Erick dismissed the hologram with a gesture.
"Let's leave that aside for now."
He turned to Artemis. He walked slowly, still testing his balance. He stopped a meter from her. He looked into her eyes—tired brown eyes, full of relief and confusion.
"So... I miss you."
He gave a genuine smile, the kind that made the corners of your eyes crinkle.
Artemis blinked slowly.
"You're green."
"Yes. Something unexpected, but not an immediate problem."
She raised an eyebrow, the old sarcasm slowly returning.
"Immediate problem?"
"Yes. I was expecting something like this. I could explain it to you basically, but it's very detailed and involves M'gann's blood. Perhaps another day would be more suitable." He shrugged, his movement fluid despite the residual weakness. "So… what did I miss?"
Artemis took a deep breath, as if anchoring herself in the normalcy of the conversation.
"The team accomplished some important missions. Nothing catastrophic, but… tense. Kori — Starfire — has fully integrated. She's going through similar training to what you went through when you joined the team. Except… she's basically an alien. An alien princess. Complex martial talent, even more advantageous powers. Brute strength, flight, stellar energy, extreme thermal resistance. She's progressing fast. Much faster than any of us did at the beginning."
Erick gave a slow smile.
"It's time to see the team and meet the new member."
In his mind, the pieces fell into place. Martian blood. Phenotypic changes. Latent shapeshifting? Residual telepathy? Psychic resistance? He would need tests—cell scanners, DNA analysis, combat simulations. But not now. Now he needed to feel the ground beneath his feet, the air in his lungs, the warmth of her body against his.
He moved closer. The green skin seemed to absorb the light from the room, giving off a subtle glow.
"I've been waiting for this for a long time."
Artemis didn't flinch. Her eyes swept over his face—the green, the dyed hair, the blue eyes that were still the same. She hesitantly raised her hand and touched his cheek. The skin was warm, soft, slightly supple beneath her fingers.
"You're still you," she murmured.
"I am. Just... with an upgrade."
He tilted his head. He captured her lips in a slow, deep, hungry kiss. Artemis responded immediately, her hands rising to encircle his neck, pulling him closer. The kiss tasted of cold coffee, of sleepless nights, of accumulated fear and explosive relief. He pressed her against him, feeling her body tremble slightly—from exhaustion, from emotion, from everything.
When they parted, their foreheads touching, he whispered against her mouth:
"I went back."
She closed her eyes, a small, tired smile appearing on her face.
"It took forever."
He chuckled softly, the sound hoarse after so long without speaking.
"It was worth it."
The doctor watched in silence, a discreet hologram in the corner of the room. He didn't interrupt. He knew that this moment was as necessary as any surgery.
Erick stepped back just enough to look into her eyes.
"I need food. Real food. And a shower. And to see Sara. And to test what this new body can do." He paused, his tone turning serious. "But first… I need to tell you something."
Artemis raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"I won't stop. The Wolf is still out there. I feel the conflicts are drawing closer. My project isn't over. It just… evolved." He touched his own chest, where the elemental fire pulsed stronger than ever, now mixed with something new, alien. "I will become stronger. Much stronger. And no one will break me again."
She nodded slowly.
"I know. And I'll be on your side. Green or not."
He smiled again, that dangerous smile that promised violence to his enemies and pleasure to those he loved.
"So let's begin."
He reached out his hand. Artemis intertwined her fingers with his—green skin against fair skin. Together, they left the operating-recovery room, leaving behind the empty capsule, the drained fluid, the echo of the machines.
Awakening was not the end of the struggle.
It was just the beginning of a new phase.
And Erick Smith — now green, stronger, more dangerous — was ready for her.
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