webrunners

his job pre-bee was data-entry. it sucked.

he has other tattoos. his ra's eyes were not his first, nor his last.

he is not assumed dead. there is a department in the illuminati that assists agents in maintaining cover stories for their absence, and damien has been allowed this. (if he becomes a liability then this will no longer be granted to him.)

kon holds out his hands a few inches apart from each other, trying to measure the size of the appendage that he needs.

“uh, a hand for a 7 year old. preferably blue, if you do colors.” he says, lowering himself until his boots touch the floor again, and something that shouldn’t be down there clinks.

“one of the kids at the metropolis children’s hospital lost one of his after that attack downtown last week. i saved him, but…” kon wishes he could have done more. he hates seeing people get hurt, especially kids. making weekly visits has seemed to help tremendously though, and he intends on doing everything he can to make up for all this, as if it were his own responsibility.

“so what do ya say, doc? can you help?”

as superboy explains, atom’s expression turns some something eager, so something soberly accepting. he still wears a smile, but it’s comforting, now. 

“of course.” he replies, nodding. he has made prosthetics for kids before. actually, on account of growing kids needing frequent resizes and replacements, he has worked fairly often with the same rotating cast of child and teen patients.

“let’s see... I have a couple of models that might fit...” he says, gaze trailing off as he thinks, before he turns around and wanders back into the workshop proper. “though, it’s always best to meet the patient to get proper measurements. Your approximation is accurate, i’m sure. But I need to know exactly how much of his hand was lost. and kids need something they can grow into.”

he wanders past a desk covered in paint, and grabs a number of blue paint swatches off pegs in the wall to stuff into his pockets. he wanders past a tool bench and roots around for a measuring tape, which promptly joins them. he finishes his rounds at a collection of lockers against the far wall, counting down as he passes each one until he finds the one he wants, unlocks it, and pulls out a pair of prosthetic models. he carries one in each hand as he returns to superboy.

they are of differing designs, one more bare-bones and metallic, and the other of a more human shape made of plastic. both are impressively small, designed to replace tiny hands. they still have various pencil marks on them, and are unpainted, intended as prototypes rather than the final product.

superboy turns at the sound of swearing, but doesn’t react to it. he waits for the mechanic go through his emotions as they come, already used to dealing with these kind of reactions dozens of times a day. still, he holds out a hand modestly after a moment to dismiss it. there’s really no time to waste when he’s on a mission, especially when it’s no the behalf of someone else counting on him.

“yo, doc.” kon greets with a smile, pushing past the small talk with a youthful impatience that holds no real harm, except the unending obligations placed on the shoulders of a celebrity superhero.

“ – i need a hand.”

atom is so tempted to unscrew his hand and toss it to the young hero. unfortunately, it seems time is of the essence; and he doesn’t know superboy well enough to be able to gauge how well that particular one would land. now is not the time.

“well then--” he collects himself quickly, donning a grinning mask of confidence. “--i’ve got two attached and more in the back, all of which are at your disposal.”

In truth, he’s anxious. Superheroes deal with high-stakes situations, which means this work, whatever work superboy needs done, will need to be the best he’s ever made. If he fails, the loss could be severe. But if he succeeds.... he could gain access to a whole new demographic.