The halls of the Legion’s headquarters had never felt so tense. Monitors flickered with maps, red dots pulsing like heartbeats, and Lex stood at the center of it all — suit immaculate, expression anything but. Across the table, the rest of the Legion waited in uncharacteristic silence: Cheetah pacing, Black Manta sharpening a blade that didn’t need it, Sinestro coiling impatience into light.

They had lost one of their own.

Not to death — that would’ve been easier. But to capture. Human hands. Government walls. The kind of place that called people like them monsters and experimented just to prove it.

Lex’s voice finally cut through the static. “We move tonight.”

No applause. No argument. Just purpose.

Because for all their selfish motives and power plays, the Legion of Doom lived by one rule — no one else gets to cage them. Not even the humans.

When they came for one of theirs, they’d learn what real monsters looked like.