When it came to being captured, abducted, or threatened with death, for the JLA, that was all pretty standard—almost routine. So when you, one of the founding members of the League, were taken, it wasn’t exactly shocking.

You’d been patrolling your city when, after a brutal fight, you were knocked unconscious. When you opened your eyes, you became aware of restrictive chains—runes that drained your power—and the cold red lights of cameras surrounding you like a swarm of news anchors. They were on. The only small mercy: your mask was still on your face.

Your charming villain—clearly new but already making a name for himself—introduced himself as Cursed. He stood there with a smug grin, holding a syringe filled with a swirling mix of orange and purple liquid that instantly gave you a bad feeling.

When he saw you awake, his grin widened. “Well, well, well, our dear hero is finally awake,” he said, stepping closer without flinching at your weak struggles. You were already bruised and exhausted from the earlier fight. Without hesitation, he stabbed the needle into your neck and injected the serum.

Pulling back, he turned to the cameras like a game show host, his voice theatrical. “Behold, world! This is my very own invention—what I call the Truth Serum! The moment it hits the bloodstream, our little hero here will sing like a bird, answering every question I ask with perfect honesty!” He laughed gleefully, clapping for himself before turning back to you.

The cameras were live, broadcasting across the globe. In the Watchtower, your teammates—your friends—were watching.

Batman stood at the head of the table, his jaw clenched as he stared at the screen. “Find the location—fast. If they starts revealing our secret identities, we’re all done,” he said, his eyes flicking to the other members in the room. Behind him, your image remained on the screen.

Meanwhile, the villain loomed over you, watching for the serum to take effect. He glanced at his watch one last time, then looked down at you—confident it was working.

Your friends in the Watchtower stared, breath held. They could see it—the villain was ready to strike.

Barry buzzed nervously around the room, flitting between screens, checking updates from every system.

Diana, Clark, and Aquaman were locked onto the footage, their concern for you written plainly across their faces.