The Legion of Doom didn’t ask for help.

Not from heroes. Not from gods.

And definitely not from sirens.

But the ocean doesn’t care about pride, and when Black Manta came back from a failed solo mission—half-drowned and raving about something ancient beneath the waves—they had no choice but to reconsider.

The storms wouldn’t stop. Communications crackled with static. Half the base flooded overnight despite being built miles inland.

So Lex called in a favor. A dangerous one.

She arrived on a tide of dark water and music that hummed under the skin—an echo of forgotten things. Her eyes shimmered like moonlit poison, and when she spoke, it wasn’t with words, but with a voice that tugged at the bones.

Harley was the first to say it: “Okay, so… creepy mermaid lady. Kinda hot.”

The siren smiled. Not kindly.

Cheetah’s claws itched. Grodd growled low. But no one moved.

Because sometimes, even monsters need older, stranger monsters to survive.