#iforgemyownfuture

When he caught sight of the dead, Kyle chastised Powergirl. He didn't attack her first, no--the situation was unknown, even if it looked like the murder scene it was. The living room was a mess, tables and chairs all thrown askew. The parents had managed to claw at the bathroom door before she laid hands on them.

Her fists balled at her side; her chin was held up-high, lips jutted.

"Listen, you don't have the right--this isn't what you do!"

"The right was accorded to me by myself. I chose this solution, for society's solutions never work."

"And murdering two innocent people is?!"

"So a drunkard is innocent?"

"I--No, but...There was help--!"

"No. There is not. To partake of the drink, and to partake in inflicting pain onto another person when there is no need to--the help they need is not a flimsy sheet of paper or neighbors who silence themselves. It is from those who are willing to do action, those who say 'enough' and make sure no more harm comes."

Calmly, she walked over, past a dumbfounded Kyle, towards the stairs. The little girl was left, and she needed to care for her.

"The woman is dead however, because in this case she also inflicted pain on her child. It was an endless cycle of violence. Man towards women, women towards children. So I ended it."

Kyle's green light bound her one or two steps away from the beginning of the stairs, but she kept calm.

"You people are soft here," she remarked, looking at her binds. "You permit anything to continue if it does not pertain to you. You permit the law that does not work to govern--"

"Shut up! I'm not letting you hurt anyone else! This sin't how we can solve problems. Not even as a first option. We can end abuse...but not without any deaths. We shouldn't have to."

Ring still glowing, Kyle floated up the stairs--there were only three rooms if he didn't count the bathroom on this floor. But it was a perfectly good assumption that the room that was painted blue was the kid's. It had toys all over, though some seemed broken or torn. Papers with crayola drawings were few, but the ones that he found were...disturbing. Red all over and heads falling from bodies; there wasn't any question of the girl suffering's.

"She is not up there, you dolt," proclaimed Powergirl.

Frustrated and annoyed, Kyle continued to search a bit more. She may have been eerily forthcoming about the murders of the night, but that didn't mean the girl didn't do like any kid and hid for her life in the safest place for her.

Letting out a grunt, Powergirl played with the energy around her, releasing her binds. She was headed upstairs, yet her deft hand lifted and pulled a almost invisible string--as the door to the attic fell abruptly.

"Wait, wha--?"

While he was confused as to how she was able to manipulate his ring's energy--oh god, please don't let her be another Lia--he'd managed to dart towards the door, catching Powergirl in some football move he'd seen Guy do often in their Green Lantern battles.

The girl yelled out a whimper, having heard noises too close to her. She trembled, the smell of the armory penetrating her mind once more. Would the smell of her father's coat be the last thing that passed through her nose? Was she going to die in this place now?

Kyle smelled it too; the weather from this morning drenched anybody caught in it. But the faraway window permeated, which made for quick drying of anything that got wet.

The bed made him wonder who exactly lived here as well. It looked run-in, worn. But such musings were interrupted, as Powergirl elbowed his face--hard.

"Child, come out! I am here!," the woman yelled, getting up and brushing herself.

Orders obeyed, the girl recognized the voice as the armory door creaked very, very slowly...and she emerged, emitter in hand and purple-tinged bruises on her arms. Her eye was swollen, but not so much that she couldn't see for now.

Powergirl's wrist phone had locked onto the emitter all the time she was here. Thus did she know where to go.

A very pissed Kyle, however, didn't care. If she got her hands on the girl, who knows what she might do--if there were certain types of people he never gave the benefit of the doubt to, murderers were included in that group. As he rubbed his bleeding nose, broken possibly, he was going to try to have the girl realize what was really happening.

"Hey, kid--come here. You gotta come here."

The girl stared, eyes wavering.

"He will not hurt you--rather, I should hope not." Shooting a glare at him, she then held her hand out. "But you should not come with him. He would leave you with men and women who know nothing--"

"She's a--she's a bad guy! You know, like the kind Superman fights?! Or Wonder Woman?!" He'd used himself as an example, but he presumed, like every other child, that she'd know of these two's heroics better. "You can't--hrg, you gotta trust me, okay? Your mom and dad...they're..."

"..."

The smile the girl gave him was toothy, but genuine. For a second, he thought he'd made her see reason. Perhaps she did recognize him, which is why he could be believed.

But shock set in when she went to hug the brunette instead. Said woman was taken aback, not from the girl's decision--but from the affectionate display. Not many people showed their gratitude to her in such a way.

"But mista', that's what I want'd!"

"...W-what?"

"I don' like momma or poppa. They hurt me. But missy saved me! She hurt 'em. Jus' like I want'd to! Now they're dead, dead, DEAD! An' God will hurt 'em too, 'cause you're not suppos'd to hurt me. That's wha' Jesus said. Now I won' get hurt anymore!"

The girl's laughter unsettled Kyle. He didn't move, but remained staring at her. This wasn't--no, it couldn't be. How could she...wish for that...?

"You see?"

"I ended the cycle."

They sat at the bar counter in one of the city’s newest hot spots. The lights glowed like Christmas and St. Patrick’s on crack, the primary colors being the most prevalent.

Booming dubstep and beats that should never have left garages? Check. Too many patrons who looked fresh off the set of whatever reality show made them celebrities? Check. Security, flawed as it was? Check too.

Despite being dressed in casual and comfortable clothes, Kyle couldn’t help but keep stealing looks at Lia. It wasn’t because he suddenly felt attracted to her, no—it was because her underground-leaning ensemble was too much out of place for a poppy person like her. Baggy pants with two jackets—one plaid, one leather—and hair tussled?

Either somebody got into the 5 o’clock stash too early, or Lia wanted to celebrate Halloween a bit more.

As he rubbed his neck, the aforementioned hologram downed her second shot of ouzo; the buffalo wings were still in the bowl she ordered earlier from some diner. Sauce plastered all over her fingers as she happily bit into them, seemingly looking as if the spice didn’t bother her.

Uncharacteristically as well, she talked while still chomping down the dregs of chicken skin. “Enjoying your drink there? Is it okay? I ordered scotch and gin ‘cause, like, that’d be easier to drink and stuff. You look like a major wuss.”

Trance broken, he shook his head and took another sip. “No, it’s fine. Guy taught me about—Hey!”

“Wmwha?,” she said, mouth covered in sauce. She’d taken another bite, albeit bigger this time.

Tilt of the head.

"…Y’know, you’ve been acting weird all day, Lia. Almost like you’re not—"

The DJ screamed out a hail, to which the audience responded. Baby pacifiers were beginning to be passed out, unbeknownst to the two heroes. Those who’d rather party than be whack continued their mosh-like dancing. The beat was too infectious, the mood changing into a heightened atmosphere of displaced joy and hazed pleasure.

Kyle’s head began to ache, throbbing the minute the music momentum banged against the walls.

"Yourself."

Lia licked her fingers—the last clue?— while she grabbed her glass and took one more shot of her drink.

Her friend, meanwhile, held on his head. Piercing pain came over his mind. Needles, knives, anything with a sharp point—it all felt like they got together in cahoots and decided to invade his brain for a world of hurt.

The background of their scene wasn’t helping matters. His hand knocked over the green-tinted drink—since when was scotch and gin colored like that?— and he had to rest against the counter, holding on for dear life.

"Lia, I don’t think…"

His eyes fell on her person. What was it that Guy told him about seeing hallucinations when drinking? The worst drinks but great for jokes on enemies—which ones though, which ones—-

"Think what, homie?"

She turned to him with a malicious smirk.

He wasn’t sure about what he was seeing: it was Lia, Lia in the flesh—but her hair’s—black?—skin’s paler, almost close to death—

"I ain’t a fairy but I was sure greener than you when I found you.”

Fairy?

"I remember you when light-trash visited you first time. Thought I’d meet you ‘again’ tonight. Spiked your drink, by the way.”

Green…fairy…hallucinations…that sounded like—

"Absinthe. Wasn’t really a spike, more like one of those reverse drinks when the person ain’t lookin' situations. Being your homegirl's lame self is great when you gotta be faster than nobody.”

On the stool she twirled to him. Face to face, her appearance looked clearer. The dancing patrons had no clue what was happening. To them, it just looked like a normal drunk scene.

"I’m here to finish what she shoulda done, instead o’ being Barney and Friends wit’ you. When you were breakin' her body, I felt it too. Ionics are jus' molecules too. So I'm gonna pay you back.” 

If the ring could sense his next move, he might get her—

"I’m Ion."

—get…her…"her"...?

The Green Lantern is too weak to search for the object himself, that object that’ll guarantee success. The mystical lantern, whom he protects, was lost in the swirls of time and space; ignoring the breakdown of dimensions across dimensions, the mysterious object landed somewhere near a beach where two prepubescent girls picked it up. The Guardian of the Dead and his world are locked away inside, protected from the merger of worlds that had occurred months before. But the time had come to start machinations—to begin bringing it back into the light.

The girls didn’t know all of this. They’d thought it was just cool-looking junk. However, they too were entranced eventually by Green Lantern’s light, which swallowed their entire area for an indefinite amount of time.

Kylie Rayner doesn’t know all this yet either. All she sees right now is wreckage, as if an explosion just happened. She sifts through the abandoned house, the wooden tree house fallen to bits—and finds nary a clue to the mystery.

A tug ‘called’ her here to investigate this. She supposed it was the power of Ion that told her—an comfortable power, one that feels like an old friend. She trusted it. It hadn’t failed her, even if it seemed she couldn’t cure that which was most important to her. A powerful entity able to do anything she can think of—except save her mother.

Too bad it didn’t seem to be to warn her about that sudden blast of light as well.

“Oof!,” she yells, bowled over from the impact. Bright golden glows still flutter about as she groans and tries to shake her head from sudden dizziness.

The boy of light had attacked her. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He wants to check her for injuries, to see if Kylie was alright. She was dressed like one of them, in bright and colorful hues, so she couldn’t have been anything other than a hero.

But something stops him.

His body feels warm, yet it is cold with its movements. He can hear himself speak words that aren’t his. Rather, words from a past self, a younger one that hadn’t suffered as he and his brunette colleague had.

But he can’t stop himself.

His mind screams but everything else seems to ignore his cries.

Liam Nelson was a hero. So was his colleague and friend, Eve Thompson. He was floating in his Flash form beside her, as she exuded regality as the Atom. As past words pass through their lips, they find that Kylie’s showing them another Atom and Flash, delineating differences. Telling them that they’re simple copycats perhaps? Maybe it’s the opposite and they’re the real deal, just another mystery is all.

Liam’s excited but he can’t do anything. He can’t say anything that’s really from his heart because something happens—and they’re fighting—

—He can feel himself disappearing at the hands of Kylie, of Ion—why—why—no, don’t touch me—Eve, no, don’t—she’ll die—

Why can’t we be ourselves?!

They both feel it.

They’ve become puppets, controlled by some entity who can’t seem to bring them into the present. Someone who’d prefer to have them be offensive rather than communicative.

Was it Green Lantern? Was it whoever made the skies go red that time? Someone else who carried grudges against them?

All they wanted was the lantern. This Kylie Rayner was in the way. But they could speak to her. They didn’t have to fight unless necessary.

But the puppeteer has other plans, as She dangles them over to where their purpose is located. The lantern has been found.