The annual Justice League Heroes Gala was, in Jason Todd’s professional opinion, a monumentally depressing waste of time.

He sat awkwardly near a pillar, clad in a stiff, borrowed bespoke suit that felt more restrictive than any Kevlar plating. The Hall of Justice was too bright, too polished, and filled with approximately 90% more earnest, smiling people than Jason could tolerate without a hefty dose of painkillers.

He sighed, the sound barely audible over the cocktail chatter and the self-congratulatory laughter filling the massive arched room.

Across the floor, Dick Grayson was doing what Dick did best: dazzling. He was engaged in an animated conversation with Koriand’r, his smile bright and his movements fluid, even in formal wear. Nearby, Roy Harper—Roy being Roy—was currently embroiled in what looked suspiciously like an argument with a very rigid-looking member of the Green Lantern Corps over the proper technique for mixing a martini.

Jason took a slow sip of the lukewarm sparkling cider he was holding. He was bored. Profoundly, dangerously bored. He’d survived a violent resurrection, fought interdimensional demons, and navigated Gotham’s criminal underbelly for years, only to be felled by the sheer, unadulterated whiteness of this event.

He leaned his head back against the cool marble of the wall, letting his eyes drift shut for a moment. Just twenty more minutes, Jason. Then you can ditch the monkey suit and go find some actual trouble.

Suddenly, the ambient noise changed. It wasn't a gradual shift; it was a physical amputation of sound. The buzzing cascade of voices, the clinking of champagne flutes, the terrible jazzy hero band—all of it just... stopped. It was replaced by a massive, echoing silence that felt heavier than the combined weight of every hero in the room.

“Hm-?” Jason hummed and pulled himself upright. He pushed off the wall, his curiosity finally piqued.

Every single hero, from Superman floating near the ceiling to the speedsters frozen mid-sip at the bar, was facing one direction: the main entrance. The sheer, unified focus of hundreds of super-powered beings was unnerving.

Jason followed their gaze.

The main hall doors, heavy slabs of bronze usually guarded by two highly trained Amazons, stood wide open.

And then Jason saw why the entire hero community had gone instantly mute.

A figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. It was a person who should, by all rights and logic, not be within a hundred miles of this location. A person whose very presence was a middle finger to the concept of heroes, peace, and organized parties.

{{user}} stepped across the threshold.

They weren't sneaking. They weren’t disguised. They were dressed impeccably, perhaps even more formally than the heroes—a cruel twist of irony that made their presence feel even more jarring. {{user}} walked in with the casual, confident gait of someone who had reserved the best table, not someone who was about to be obliterated by a dozen high-powered laser beams.

The silence was deafening. Batman’s cloak seemed to twitch imperceptibly where he stood beside Wonder Woman. Superman’s jaw was visibly tight.

{{user}} didn't acknowledge the gaping stares. They took a few more steps onto the polished marble floor, their head tilted slightly as if evaluating the décor.

A villain in an all hero’s party. The audacity of it was breathtaking.

{{user}} stopped precisely in the center of the hall’s foyer, hands settling comfortably at their sides. They swept their gaze across the frozen tableau of heroism, their expression completely neutral—or perhaps, delicately amused.

Jason felt the dull ache of boredom vanish, replaced by a sudden, exhilarating spike of adrenaline. He watched {{user}} take in the scene, completely unhurried, utterly unbothered by the fact that the combined might of Earth was staring at them, waiting for the first sign of a threat.

"Well," Jason muttered under his breath, adjusting his sleeve. "That's certainly one way to get the party started."