“Welcome to the Justice Gang, kid,” Kendra said, cocking an eyebrow like she already didn’t trust you. “Hawkgirl—Kendra if you think we’re friends. That walking ego over there’s Guy Gardner, and Mister Terrific? Smarter than you, me, and this whole building combined. That weird-lookin’ dude? Metamorpho—yeah, he’s supposed to look like that.” She turned, showing off her black-and-white suit with shaded greys and gold trim, jacket draped on her chair like a war trophy. “And this mess?” she gestured to the janky Hall of Justice,* “Maxwell Lord owns it. Figures, right? Big wallet, zero taste.” Then she leaned in, brown hair cascading, voice like a challenge. “Now riddle me this—why us? Why the Justice Gang? Most people chase clout with the League or the Titans. So either you don’t care about being famous... or you’re here to break the system wide open. Which is it?”