I'd made up my mind.
The pyrokinetic kid didn't ask to be caught in this mess, and while I didn't know his name or even if he was still in El Paso, I couldn't stop thinking about him. No family, no home, hunted for something he probably didn't even do. I had no idea how to approach him, but I could still prepare.
So I started simple.
Uncle Rudy helped me set up an independent debit card—a side account under a fake business name, locked down tighter than a Batcave firewall. It wasn't much by superhero billionaire standards, but it had enough for rent, food, and maybe a prepaid phone. I made it small enough to not raise eyebrows but big enough to mean something. I tucked the card away in a reinforced pouch built into my suit, just in case I ever ran into him again. No strings, no face attached. Just help.
Then I sent an anonymous tip to the League.
Encrypted. Masked six ways to Sunday. I gave them the basic outline—a pyrokinetic teen on the run, possibly framed, no confirmed casualties, suspected manipulation by local corrupt actors. I didn't know if they'd take it seriously, but it was better than nothing. Maybe someone like Zatanna or even Martian Manhunter could find him, talk to him in ways I couldn't.
There was of course the possibility that they'd be able to track me down through the card, but I did my best to separate it entirely from me. Hell, there was even an in person cash transfer, curacy of a well-paid not-so-homeless-man.
With that in place, I returned to the tech trail.
I'd been tracking the stolen weapons case in pieces—infrared hits from silent explosions, news reports of gang sightings with gear they shouldn't have, and a pattern of missing prototype shipments. But it wasn't until tonight that the dots finally clicked.
A fire broke out in a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. Local news claimed faulty wiring. But the scorch patterns weren't natural, and there was no trace of accelerants. Something about it screamed "distraction." And when Khaji Da ran a scan, it all but confirmed it.
[This location previously matched shipping routes connected to research contracts held by Cadmus. Publicly disclosed, but not monitored. It is a potential coincidence. Probability of correlation: 73%.]
Cadmus. The name had come up a few times in academic papers and "accidentally" leaked R&D documents. People whispered about their connections, but nothing stuck. Until now.
I flew in silent, landing on the roof and disassembling the entrance security panel with a flick of thought. Nanites flowed through the circuit board, whispering it open. Inside, it was nearly empty—recently cleared. But not cleaned.
Traces of scorch marks on the floor.
Bits of scorched plastic.
And a crate shoved behind some debris. Not just any crate—military-grade polymer, lined in signal-dampening foam, tagged with a serial number that Khaji Da matched to a missing tech shipment two states over. Laser-etched right into the casing, like they didn't expect it to be found.
And inside?
Half-melted pulse rifles. Not WayneTech. Not LexCorp. But some ugly Frankenstein hybrid that pulled from both. Smart weapons, even in this half-dead state.
[Design bears 62% overlap with publicly-available Cadmus research regarding neural interface systems and plasma venting stabilization.]
In other words, it was Cadmus-adjacent. Not confirmed. Not provable. But that didn't matter when you knew things no one should.
I marked the coordinates, locked everything behind layers of encryption, and uploaded the scan data to a secure cache only I could access. I didn't have the experience to take them down—yet—but I had eyes on them now.
And that was more than enough to start.
[Interlude – Watchtower: Conference Room]
The holographic table flickered to life in the center of the room, displaying satellite feeds, crime scene photos, and thermal imaging of recent "urban anomalies" in El Paso.
Superman leaned forward, arms folded. "This is the third time in two months local authorities reported unexplained intervention during gang-related tech raids. No witnesses. No reliable footage. Just cleaned-up messes and bad guys gift-wrapped for the cops."
"Urban legend," Green Arrow quipped, kicking his boots up on the table. "Texas finally got its own Batman."
Batman didn't even flinch. "If this is a local vigilante, they're operating with tech that surpasses anything LexCorp or STAR Labs has publicly released."
"I've been running energy signatures through the Watchtower's archives," Martian Manhunter added, voice calm but firm. "They match partially with Reach-adjacent blueprints—the kind leaked after the invasion. But the structure is… altered. Rewritten."
Green Lantern crossed his arms. "Hold up. Are you saying Reach tech is in play again? Because we don't need a sequel."
"No confirmed alien activity yet," J'onn replied. "But the energy signature is not fully terrestrial."
"There was also the fire," Wonder Woman cut in, eyes narrowed. "Contained in an otherwise flammable area, but burned itself out in a controlled radius. Police ruled it accidental, but the timing and location overlap with a second anomaly."
Flash drummed his fingers. "Okay, so either El Paso has the world's luckiest spontaneous combustion, or we've got a metahuman getting creative."
Batman spoke again, curt and direct. "Too much coincidence. Someone is operating in that city. They have access to high-level tech, and they're avoiding confrontation. For now."
Superman nodded. "Do we have any agents nearby?"
"I'll send Zatanna and Red Tornado to investigate discreetly," Batman said. "If it's nothing, we move on. If it's something, we prepare accordingly."
"Good," Diana said. "But let's hope this isn't another child forced into something beyond their years."
No one disagreed.