Thursday, June 25th, 2009, 9:43 PM
Suicide Slum
Outside Hernandez Convenience Store
Three weeks of zip-tying dealers had taught James one thing: he was fighting a hydra. Cut off one head, two more sprouted from drug corners he'd never seen before. Break up a trafficking ring, three new ones appeared in different neighborhoods. The war wasn't winnable with his fists alone.
He needed information. Real information. The kind that came from people, not beatings.
James crouched on the fire escape above Hernandez Convenience, watching the young woman lock up for the night. Maria Santos, twenty-two, worked double shifts to support her mother and younger brother. Her older brother Carlos had vanished eight months ago, one of the faces from James's old missing persons files.
She was about to become another statistic.
Three men emerged from the alley beside the store, moving with the casual confidence of predators who'd done this before. Maria saw them coming, fumbled with her keys, tried to get back inside.
Too late.
"Hey, pretty lady." The leader was maybe thirty, wearing a Metropolis Meteors jersey that had seen better days. "Store's closed, but maybe you got something else for sale."
"I don't want any trouble," Maria said, backing against the door.
"No trouble. Just want to talk. You and your friends upstairs."
James's enhanced hearing caught the subtle emphasis on 'friends.' This wasn't random. They knew where she lived, knew she wasn't alone. They'd been watching her.
"Look, I don't have much money," Maria said, reaching for her purse.
"Money?" Meteors Jersey laughed. "Honey, we ain't here for money."
James dropped from the fire escape like a falling shadow.
"Let's not do this, guys."
All three spun toward his voice. Meteors Jersey reached inside his jacket, but James was already moving. He crossed the distance between them in two steps, grabbed the man's wrist before his gun cleared leather, and twisted until something made an interesting popping sound.
The weapon clattered to the pavement. Meteors Jersey dropped to his knees, cradling his broken wrist and making sounds like a wounded animal.
The other two tried to run. James let them get maybe ten feet before catching up. A precise strike to the first one's knee sent him sprawling. The second guy made it to the alley before James tackled him into a pile of garbage bags.
When the silence settled, three men lay unconscious in various positions around the convenience store. James zip-tied their hands behind their backs and arranged them in a neat row against the building.
"Are you okay?" he asked, turning toward Maria.
She was pressed against the store's door, staring at him like he'd materialized out of thin air. Which, from her perspective, he pretty much had.
"I... yes. I think so." Her voice was shaky but steady. "Who are you?"
"Someone who doesn't like bullies."
Maria looked at the unconscious men, then back at James. "They weren't here to rob me, were they?"
"No. They weren't."
"What did they want?"
James considered lying, giving her some comforting fiction about random crime and bad luck. But Maria Santos had been living in Suicide Slum long enough to know the difference between truth and bullshit.
"They wanted to take you somewhere. Probably never bring you back."
She absorbed this information with the kind of calm that came from already suspecting the worst. "Like Carlos?"
"Maybe."
Maria was quiet for a moment, processing. When she spoke again, her voice was different. Harder.
"Carlos worked security for some outfit called The 100. Down in the Slums. He said they were different from other gangs, that they actually helped people." She looked at the unconscious men. "But the week before he disappeared, he was scared. Said they were asking questions about our family. About our medical history."
Medical history. James filed that information away. "What kind of questions?"
"Genetic stuff. Allergies, birth defects, unusual traits. Carlos said they were starting some kind of employee health program, but..." She shrugged. "Why would a gang care if someone's allergic to peanuts?"
They wouldn't. But someone conducting genetic research would.
"Maria," James said carefully, "if I gave you a way to contact me, would you be willing to share information? About The 100, about what happened to Carlos?"
She studied him for a long moment. "You're trying to find missing people, aren't you? That's what this is about."
"Among other things."
"Then yes. Absolutely yes." Her voice was fierce now, anger replacing fear. "Whatever you need. Carlos was... is my brother. And if these people are taking other families' brothers and sisters..."
James pulled a burner phone from his pocket and handed it to her. "My number's already programmed in. You call if you see anything unusual, anyone asking strange questions, anyone who doesn't belong."
"What about them?" She gestured at the unconscious men.
"Police will be here in about ten minutes. Anonymous tip." James stepped back into the shadows. "Go home, Maria. Lock your doors. And be careful who you trust."
He was three blocks away when the sirens started wailing.
Friday, June 26th, 2009, 1:27 AM
Behind Kim's Kitchen
Industrial District
The kid was maybe seventeen, skinny as a rail, convulsing in a pile of his own vomit behind a Korean restaurant. Meth overdose, from the smell of it. Mixed with something else James couldn't identify.
James knelt beside him, checked his pulse. Weak but steady. The kid was breathing, which meant he might live through this.
"Hey," James said softly. "Stay with me."
The boy's eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glassy. "Can't... can't breathe right."
"Yes, you can. Just keep breathing. In and out. That's it."
James pulled out his phone and called 911, giving them the location and a brief description. Then he sat with the kid, monitoring his vitals, keeping him conscious until the ambulance arrived.
"Who... who are you?" the boy managed between gasps.
"Someone who's been where you are."
That wasn't strictly true. James Olsen had never been a drug addict. But he understood desperation, understood the feeling of being trapped in a life that felt like it was happening to someone else.
The paramedics arrived eight minutes later, loading the kid onto a stretcher with the practiced efficiency of people who'd done this too many times. James melted back into the shadows before they could ask questions.
But he wasn't done with Kevin Park.
Friday, June 26th, 2009, 6:47 PM
Metropolis General Hospital
Room 237
Kevin looked like hell warmed over, but he was conscious and talking when James arrived. The kid was picking at a sandwich that looked like it had been assembled by someone who'd heard food described but never actually seen it.
"You," Kevin said when James knocked on the doorframe. "You're the guy from last night."
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I got hit by a truck full of regret." Kevin gestured at the visitor's chair. "Doctors said someone called 911, stayed with me until the ambulance came. That was you?"
"Maybe."
"Why?"
James sat down, listening to the kid's breathing patterns and heartbeat. The shallow, rapid breathing of someone whose body was still recovering from chemical abuse. The elevated heart rate that spoke of malnutrition and stress. But underneath the physical damage, something else came through in his voice. Intelligence. Awareness. The sound of someone who'd made bad choices but wasn't stupid.
"Because everyone deserves a second chance."
Kevin laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Second chance? Man, I'm on like my fifteenth chance. My family's given up on me. Child services gave up on me. Hell, most dealers won't even sell to me anymore because I'm bad for business."
"What happened?"
"What always happens. Started with pills after I broke my arm skateboarding. Moved to harder stuff when the pills stopped working. Been chasing the dragon for two years now." Kevin looked out the window at the Metropolis skyline. "Last night wasn't an accident, by the way. I was trying to... you know."
James felt something cold settle in his chest. "Kevin—"
"But when I was lying there, choking on my own puke, and you were telling me to keep breathing..." Kevin turned back to him. "Nobody's told me to keep breathing in a long time. So I figured maybe I owed it to myself to try."
They sat in silence for a moment. Outside, Metropolis hummed with its usual evening energy. People going home to families, to jobs, to lives that made sense.
"I know things," Kevin said suddenly. "About the dealers, the distribution networks. Places where stuff comes from, places where stuff goes. I been using for two years, man. You see things when people think you're too high to remember."
"What kind of things?"
"There's this guy, calls himself Doctor Phosphorus. Not his real name, obviously. He runs the high-end stuff, the synthetic shit that's way too clean to be coming from some basement lab." Kevin leaned forward, and for the first time since James had met him, the kid looked focused. "But here's the weird part. He's not just selling drugs. He's recruiting."
"Recruiting for what?"
"That's what I couldn't figure out. But I heard him talking to some college kids about experimental treatment. Said he could help them reach their full potential, whatever that means. Kids who took his offer? They disappeared."
James felt his pulse quicken. "Disappeared how?"
"Just gone. Dropped out of school, stopped showing up to their jobs, families never heard from them again. But here's the thing..." Kevin looked around to make sure no one was listening. "One of them came back."
"What do you mean came back?"
"Tommy Shephard. Used to buy from the same corner as me. Nice kid, studying chemistry at Met U. He took Doctor Phosphorus up on his offer, vanished for about three months." Kevin's voice dropped to a whisper. "When he came back, he was different. Stronger. Faster. I saw him catch a falling brick bare-handed, didn't even flinch."
Metahuman enhancement. James kept his expression neutral, but inside, pieces were clicking into place.
"Where can I find this Doctor Phosphorus?"
"That's the thing. He finds you. But..." Kevin hesitated. "There's a place he uses sometimes. Warehouse down in the shipping district. Building 47, near the old docks. He runs some kind of operation there every few weeks."
"Kevin," James said carefully, "if I could get you into a treatment program, a real one, would you be interested?"
The kid's eyes filled with tears. "You'd do that? For me?"
"Everyone deserves a chance to get clean."
"Then yeah. Absolutely." Kevin wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "And if you're going after these people, if you're trying to stop them from taking kids like Tommy... whatever you need from me, you got it."
James pulled out another burner phone and handed it to Kevin. "My number's programmed in. You see anything, hear anything, you call me. Day or night."
"What do I call you?"
James considered the question. To Maria Santos, he was just a helpful stranger. But Kevin was different. Kevin was going to be a long-term source, someone who needed to know he could trust the person on the other end of the phone.
"Daredevil," he said finally.
Kevin nodded solemnly, like James had just shared something sacred. "Daredevil... I won't let you down, man. I promise."
Friday, June 26th, 2009, 12:43 PM
Daily Planet Building
Rooftop
Kara Danvers stood at the edge of the Daily Planet's rooftop, looking out over Metropolis as she ate her lunch. The city sprawled beneath her in all directions, millions of people going about their lives, most of them blissfully unaware of the darker currents flowing beneath the surface.
She wasn't one of them. Not anymore.
"Brooding again?"
Kara turned to find Clark stepping out of the roof access door, carrying a sandwich and wearing that concerned expression he got whenever he thought someone wasn't telling him the whole truth.
"Not brooding. Thinking."
"About what?"
Kara gestured at the city below them. "About how much we don't see. How much we're missing."
Clark moved to stand beside her. "What brought this on?"
"This new team. Young Justice. You really think it's a good idea to keep them focused on 'age-appropriate' missions while everything else is falling through the cracks?"
"They're kids, Kara. They should be worried about homework and dating, not international crime syndicates."
"They're metahumans with abilities that could save lives. And they're going to be involved in this world whether we want them to be or not." Kara turned to face him. "Wouldn't it be better to prepare them for what's really out there?"
Clark was quiet for a moment, chewing his sandwich thoughtfully. "What's really out there like what?"
"Like the trafficking networks. Like corruption that goes all the way to the top. Like the fact that there are people disappearing in this city and no one seems to care because they're from the wrong neighborhoods."
"All true... but where is this coming from?"
Kara sighed. "James."
"What about James?"
"The story he was working on before the attack. Missing persons from Suicide Slum. He had dozens of photos, Clark. Dozens of people who just vanished. And everyone wrote them off as runaways or addicts who moved on." She looked back out at the city. "But what if they didn't move on? What if something happened to them?"
Clark's expression grew troubled. "Kara, I learned the hard way. You can't save everyone, but you do what you can."
"I'm not talking about saving everyone. I'm talking about noticing when people disappear. About caring enough to ask questions." She gestured toward the harbor district. "There's a whole shadow city operating down there, and we're so focused on the big threats that we're ignoring the small ones."
"No threat is small whe lives are on the line, Kara..."
"You know what I mean Clark...Drug dealers with alien weapons. Missing persons cases that form patterns no one wants to investigate. Corruption that starts at street level and works its way up." Kara's voice grew frustrated. "And meanwhile, we're debating whether a team of teenage heroes is ready to handle 'real' missions."
Clark studied her face. "You think we're making a mistake."
"I think we're missing something important. And I think the longer we pretend street-level crime doesn't matter, the bigger it's going to get."
Neither of them spoke for a moment. Below them, Metropolis continued its daily rhythm, unaware that two of its protectors were discussing threats they didn't even know existed.
"I don't disagree with you, but I'm also curious... what would you have us do?" Clark asked finally.
"Pay attention. Really pay attention. To the people who disappear, to the patterns that form, to the small problems that might be symptoms of bigger ones." Kara looked at him directly. "And maybe trust Young Justice with more than we have been so far. Because I have a feeling they're going to encounter these problems whether we prepare them or not."
Clark nodded slowly. "I'll talk to the league about it...."
"That's all I'm asking."
They finished their lunch in comfortable silence, both of them looking out over a city that held more secrets than either of them realized. Three miles away, in Metropolis General Hospital, a recovering addict was sharing information about metahuman enhancement programs with a vigilante who didn't officially exist.
The generational gap between established heroes and emerging threats was wider than anyone knew. But it was starting to close, one connection at a time.