The Legion of Doom had commandeered tanks, jets, and warships—but somehow, Lex Luthor had decided a road trip van would “build camaraderie.”

The vehicle, matte black and vaguely menacing, rolled down the highway with Sinestro behind the wheel, muttering about “primitive human transportation.” Black Manta sat stiff in the back, helmet scraping the ceiling, while Cheetah tapped her claws impatiently against the window, already regretting agreeing to this.

The cooler was overstocked with bottled water and LexCorp–branded protein bars. Grodd insisted on jazz radio. Captain Cold kept lowering the AC until everyone threatened mutiny.

It wasn’t stealth. It wasn’t strategy. It was a parade of villains crammed together like unruly teenagers on a field trip. And for once, the only thing at stake wasn’t world domination, but who got control of the aux cord.