Nova: The Un-Animated Series

By Jack Bronson

Episode 2: No Chains Part II

Scene 1: Hall of Pain, Darkseid’s Citadel, Apokolips

The corridors beneath the citadel were not meant to be walked by gods. They twisted like veins, lit by hellish surgical lights and ember-red sigils that pulsed too slow to be alive. Machinery hummed—not mechanical hums, but something low and organic, like lungs struggling through rust. Wires hung like nerves along the ceiling and walls, some slick with black oil, some twitching. Fragments of broken Mother Boxes jutted from stone, half-alive, whispering fractured code into the stale, blood-warm air. It smelled like burned metal, antiseptic, and old screams.

Granny Goodness walked without hesitation, her cane striking the floor in sharp rhythm. The shadow behind her stretched unnaturally long, following her like a wound that refused to close. As she turned a corner, a steel door hissed shut ahead. The muffled, agonized echo of a scream leaked out before being cut off mid-breath. Desaad stood just beyond it, calm as ever, wiping black residue from his gloves with a cloth that was already half-charred. His expression was serene—smug, oily, practiced.

Granny didn’t stop walking. “Did he talk?”

Desaad’s voice was soft and warm, like rot. “No. But I was able to trace the residual energy echoes. Boom Tube instability, disrupted aether flow. All consistent with forced extraction. It is as we thought. The boy is on Earth.”

Granny’s eyes narrowed. Her grip on the cane tightened. “I will send my Furies. I want him back. Now.”

Desaad raised a hand, still smiling. “Calm yourself, Granny. I have already dispatched Kanto. He will find the boy. He will return him.”

Granny was silent for a moment. No fire, no rage—just slow, seething restraint. The machines embedded in the walls kept humming. Somewhere behind the door, something moved—a whisper of movement, or maybe breath. Her eyes stayed locked on Desaad.

“Has he learned of the boy’s escape?”

“Not yet,” Desaad said. “But he will.”

The light above them flickered once.

And then the room went quiet.

Scene 2 – Smallville, Lang Ranch

The ranch looked like it had aged ten years in the last five. Sagging fences leaned like drunks at the end of a long night, and the barn doors moaned with every gust of October wind. A small work crew in dusty jeans and ball caps hammered away at posts, tightening wires and replacing boards, the steady rhythm of nails and muttered curses echoing across the field.

Kara Kent crouched near a rusted gate, guiding a hesitant flock of sheep into the pen. One of them—gray-faced, too smart for its own good—kept side-eyeing her like it knew she wasn’t really present.

She wasn’t.

She stared into the sheep’s eye and drifted.

She wanted to be human. She also wanted to be a hero. She kept trying to make those two things meet in the middle, but every time she reached for it, the pieces didn’t fit. Not the way Clark told her to fit them. Not the way the League made her wait. Her hands could level buildings, and she was still stuck herding sheep while the world spun without her.

A sudden loud "HEEHAW!" exploded behind her.

Kara jumped. Hard. The sheep scattered in every direction.

She turned, already slumping.

Dani Ortega stood there, grinning, holding a rope leash clipped to a shaggy donkey. The donkey didn’t look amused.

“Great,” Kara muttered, “now I have to gather the flock again.”

Dani shrugged with a smirk. “You would’ve heard ol’ Sarsparilla coming if you weren’t always living in your own head. You ever gonna tell me what’s up with you?”

Kara bent down, trying to nudge one of the sheep back toward the gate. “It’s nothing.”

Dani didn’t move. “Kara.”

Kara hesitated. She wanted to tell her. God, she wanted to. But it stuck somewhere in her chest. She turned, looking at Dani like she might still be able to untangle it.

“Have you ever wanted two things that are sort of opposites,” Kara said, “but when you think about it, they could work together, but no matter how you frame it, it always sounds reckless—but it’s not—it just sounds like it, and the one person who would understand keeps telling you to be patient while life escapes you?”

Dani stared at her.

There was a long pause.

Finally: “Okay… start at the beginning. What two things are opposite?”

Kara shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Dani gave her a flat look. “Kara.”

Kara crossed her arms, not angry—just closed.

Dani exhaled, then patted the donkey’s flank. “You know, you’re a lot like ol’ Sarsparilla here.”

Kara raised a brow. “Gee, thanks.”

“No—tough. Resilient. But stubborn as a mule. Technically he’s a donkey, but you get it.”

Kara didn’t answer.

Dani pointed at the sheep pen, where one ewe was confidently leading two others into the wreckage of a half-collapsed doghouse.

“See that one? That’s Cherise. Used to scream at old boots. No idea why—just her thing. Now she’s got her little gang. Drives Mr. Lang crazy. Every day it’s some new disaster.”

Kara glanced toward the trio of sheep, who looked entirely too smug for their own good.

Dani smiled. “That’s my point, Kara. You’re still screaming at boots. When you could be getting your girls together, raising hell, doing something that matters to you. But you gotta stop yelling at things that don’t listen first.”

Kara looked at her. Blank.

“Is any of this getting to you?”

Kara blinked, eyebrows drawn, completely lost.

Dani sighed. “Didn’t think so.”

Kara’s phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and flicked the screen with a casual motion, but the words that popped up made her breath catch.

Breaking News: Intergang members rob First National Bank of Metropolis. Hostage situation unfolding.

For a split second, her eyes lit up—just a flicker of something fierce and alive. She caught herself almost immediately.

“I gotta go,” she blurted.

Dani looked up. “What?”

“My, uh... uncle slipped. He fell. He’s—he’s fine. I just... I need to check in.”

Before Dani could say a word, Kara was already jogging away—too fast for conversation, not fast enough to raise suspicion. 

She reached the front gate.

Glanced around.

No one watching.

Then she vanished—

a streak of wind and motion, cutting east like lightning over wheat.

Scene 3 – Watchtower, Central Briefing Room

The Watchtower’s central briefing room was quiet—until Batman spoke.

“We’re making a mistake,” he said flatly.

Hal Jordan didn’t miss a beat. “Glad someone said it.”

Barry leaned forward, arms on the table. “You guys serious? Kid crash-lands like a comet, takes on two of us, holds back just enough—and that’s your red flag?”

“Yes,” Batman replied, with no hesitation.

Barry blinked. “Okay, but he didn’t kill anyone. He was defending himself. From two guys he’s never seen before who came at him swinging.”

Hal snapped back. “Barry, c’mon. How many times did you see that footage? He fired a massive blast. At me and Black Adam. That’s not self-defense—that’s a tactical asset. You don’t train someone that strong unless you’re building a weapon.”

Superman spoke then, voice even. “You heard what he said.”

Batman cut in. “That’s a story. Not proof.”

Diana’s voice followed, calm but grounded. “We’ve all heard stories like that before. Some of us have lived them.”

Clark turned to J’onn. “J’onn?”

The Martian’s voice was measured, quieter than usual. “When I looked into his memories, what I saw was… pain. Repetition. Layers of conditioning. He wasn’t just trained. He was shaped. Broken. Reforged.”

Barry muttered, “That explains that look in his eyes.”

Hal wasn’t swayed. “What it doesn’t explain is why he’s so damn agreeable. He just… answered everything. Calm. Cooperative. Like he wanted to make us calm.”

“That’s probably what they programmed him to do,” Batman said. “Lower our guard. Make us think he’s safe.”

Superman nodded. “That’s what Apokolips would do. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening here.”

Hal turned, eyes sharp. “You’re willing to bet Earth on that?”

“I’m saying we already did,” Clark answered. “He’s here, Hal. We’re past the bet.”

Diana looked around the room. “So what do we do now? Train him? Cage him?”

“Watch him,” Batman said. “Every second. Controlled quarters. Limited access.”

Barry leaned back, half-laughing. “Great. That’ll go over real well. ‘Hey Nova, welcome to the team. Here’s your padded cell.’”

Diana didn’t smile. “That’s not the answer either.”

J’onn interjected gently, “Then let him observe. Give him structure. Boundaries. Not bars.”

Clark looked toward the center of the table. “Let me mentor him. We keep him on the Watchtower. No field exposure unless cleared. If he wants to learn who he is, we show him what that means. Together.”

Batman didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was low.

“And if he snaps?”

Clark didn’t flinch. “Then we stop him. Together.”

The room went still.

Diana nodded. J’onn inclined his head. Even Barry was quiet.

Only Hal remained crossed-armed, scowling. “You’re all going soft.”

The door hissed open.

Shayera AKA Hawkgirl strode in, arms folded. “Did I miss the part where we vote, or are we still glaring dramatically?”

Barry grinned, already pulling out his phone. “No vote, but you did miss the part where Hal hit the moon like a sack of—”

“I swear to—Barry!” Hal groaned as he stood.

Shayera and Barry exited together, laughing. Hal followed, fuming.

Diana waited a beat before turning toward J’onn. “You saw something else, didn’t you?”

J’onn was still, his eyes distant. “What I saw wasn’t just survival. It was punishment. Torture. Not to extract information—but to make him more obedient. He was hurt for disobeying. For showing mercy. And for Desaad’s curiosity. He wanted to see what it would take to break him.”

Clark’s expression hardened. “Did you see anything specific?”

“Only the beginning,” J’onn said. “Granny Goodness ordered him to kill another child in the war pits. A friend. Nova refused. The friend was executed anyway. That’s when the punishments began.”

No one spoke.

J’onn’s voice was quieter now. “There was a lesson. Over and over. If you make a connection, it becomes a weakness. And then it gets destroyed.”

Clark looked down. Diana stared at the table. Even Bruce didn’t speak.

The silence lasted longer than anyone wanted to admit.

Scene 4 – Watchtower Quarters

The room didn’t make sense.

It had walls, yes—but they weren’t stone or steel or scarred with impact craters. They were smooth. Quiet. The lights didn’t buzz like a warning—they hummed gently, like they had no intention of ever going out.

Nova stepped inside slowly, one boot at a time, like the floor might vanish under him. He expected a cot. Maybe a control station. He got a bed—soft, wide, untouched. A real bed. No chains, no corner to fold himself into.

And a window.

Not a carved-out wall or a security viewport, but an actual window.

He approached it like it might close on him.

Earth turned slowly beneath the Watchtower—blue, green, swirling with white. It glowed like something sacred. Like it was meant to be looked at. And for the first time in his life, he couldn’t hear the hum of forges or the screams of the pit. Just silence.

His chest rose.

For one impossible second, he felt the pull of something bigger than survival.

Then Apokolips returned.

Not the place. The memory.

He saw fire. Ash. The cages. The war pits. The searing pain of training beams. The cold stare of Granny’s approval. The silence of punishment cells. The snap of a spine. The light of a boom tube opening too late.

He blinked, pulling himself back into the now.

That’s when he saw it.

An object—no, a vehicle, gliding through orbit like a joyride. Sleek, ugly, pulsing with crude power. Aboard it, a figure: massive, pale white skin stretched over coiled muscle. Jet-black hair whipped in zero gravity. Red eyes glowing like dying stars.

The eyes locked onto Nova. Even through the glass, even through space.

The creature smirked.

It raised one hand—

and in it, a struggling human.

An astronaut.

Without warning, the creature flung the man—
launched him across the void, far from the Watchtower.

A clean trajectory.
Calculated.
No collateral damage.

Then, casually, almost lazily, the creature drew a weapon from his hip.

And fired directly at the astronaut.

A red pulse streaked through space, aimed to obliterate the drifting body before it could even scream.

From inside the room, Nova’s eyes burned gold in an instant.

Scene 5 – Metropolis, First National Bank

Kara landed on the edge of a tall office tower overlooking the financial district. She spun in place—a blur of motion and wind. When she stopped, her school clothes were gone, replaced by her Supergirl uniform: a white crop top bearing the red-and-yellow S-shield, short blue skirt, white gloves, and the familiar red cape fluttering at her back. Her blonde hair fell around a simple black headband.

She dropped her backpack by the HVAC unit, crouched at the ledge, and scanned the street below.

Her vision zoomed in, sharpening with alien precision.

“Okay, okay,” she muttered to herself. “Six guys total. Hostages are behind the main desk. Two guards watching them.”

Her gaze swept right—then narrowed.

“Shockwave,” she whispered. “Arnold Pruett. Just my luck.”

On the ground, inside the First National Bank, Shockwave paced between scattered duffel bags and shattered marble pillars.

“Hurry it up!” he barked. “Superman’s bound to show up any second!”

Kara launched from the roof, arcing high, then angled down. She hit the skylight with a crash of glass and light, swooping through like a comet.

“Hyah!” she shouted.

The two guards near the hostages didn’t even raise their weapons before she sent both sprawling with a single blow each.

“Oof!” one grunted as he hit the wall.

Shockwave spun at the sound, just in time for Kara to slam a fist into his jaw.

“Ugh!” he groaned, crashing down like a sack of bricks.

One of the Intergang grunts panicked and fired a grenade launcher. Kara caught the round mid-air, her fingers curling around it with perfect timing.

“Nice try,” she muttered— 

launching it back up through the shattered skylight.

It exploded harmlessly above the rooftops.

She blurred forward—closed the distance in a blink.

“Wha—gah!”

He yelped as she tossed him toward the wall.

The last three thieves—hands full of rifles and adrenaline—opened fire.

Bullets pinged off her suit.

She moved fast—positioning herself between the gunfire and the hostages.

“Gotta end this now,” she said through gritted teeth.

A flash of red lit her eyes.

Twin beams of heat cut through the rifles—melting them before anyone could blink

“Whoa!” one shouted.

She swooped in. “Hah!” One kick dropped the first gunman.

She grabbed the other two by their vests, slammed their heads together—“Oof!” “Guhh!”—and tossed them on top of the others like garbage bags.

The last one—reeling—tried to crawl away.

“Nuh-uh,” Kara muttered.

She floated over, grabbed him by the collar, and flew him to the pile.

A commlink slipped from his vest.

From the cracked speaker, a voice stuttered through static:

“—package secure. Exit clean. All teams disengage.”

Kara didn’t hear it.

She was already moving—checking the hostages.

Within seconds, the hostages were clear.

Kara carried the six Intergang members like they weighed nothing, landing hard beside Inspector Henderson.

He blinked as she touched down.

“Gee, thanks, kid. Where’s Shockwave?”

Kara opened her mouth to answer—

BOOM!

The bank’s front doors exploded outward.

A blast of smoke poured into the street.

Shockwave stepped through the smoke.
Rage lit the circuitry on his armor.

His emitter pulsed with energy.

Kara launched forward, fist cocked—

—but Shockwave fired first.

The pulse hit her midsection dead-on.

“Ungh!”

She flew backward—slammed into a light pole, then tumbled toward a city bus.

She stopped inches from impact, flipped midair, and rocketed back toward him.

Shockwave leapt—using his suit’s boosters to carry him up to the bank’s roof.

“Where’s Superman?” he shouted. “Have I been gone that long he’s forgotten me? Is that why he sends his sidekick to stop me?”

Kara scoffed.

She floated higher, adjusted her stance.

Her eyes lit red.

“I’ll show you sidekick.”

Shockwave sneered and fired another pulse—this time at the roof.

The structure groaned beneath his feet. Kara shot forward.

She roared as she slammed into him—
her fist crushing the shockwave emitter on his gauntlet.

Sparks exploded.

He twisted and swung—
landing a brutal punch across her face.

Kara hit the pavement hard, teeth clenched against the impact.

She stood.
Brushed rubble from her shoulder.

Shockwave landed in front of her with a heavy thud.

He lunged—grabbed her leg and whipped her into a parked truck.

She grunted, rebounded fast—
twisting midair to whip her leg into his chest.

Shockwave flew backward.

He sailed through the air.

She blurred after him—

caught up mid-flight—

and brought both fists down into his spine.

He crashed into the pavement.

“Stay down!” Kara shouted—
landing hard and spinning into a sharp kick that caught him clean across the chest.

Shockwave flew—
slammed into a tree—
and slumped.

Finally down.

Kara scanned the area. The damage wasn’t bad. A few dents, a cracked sidewalk. Nothing major. No civilians hurt.

She grabbed a piece of Shockwave’s wrecked suit and lifted off.

Seconds later, she touched down beside Inspector Henderson—
dropping the unconscious villain with a solid thud.

Officers rushed forward to load him into a reinforced transport.

Henderson frowned, glancing back at the bank.

“Weird. No getaway car, no payload. These Intergang jobs usually have a bigger payout. Something’s off.”

He let out a low whistle.

“Well, that was pretty good, kid. Minimal damage, no casualties. Aces.”

Kara smiled, brushing glass dust from her sleeves. “It’s all in a day’s work.”

Henderson nodded.

“So… where’s the other guy?”

Kara’s smile faded.

“I’m not his sidekick,” she snapped.

As officers secured the scene, a young reporter in a bright blazer jogged across the sidewalk, clutching a mic like it might run from her. A camera crew followed, already broadcasting.

“We’re live in downtown Metropolis,” she said breathlessly, “where a high-stakes robbery just ended—with someone other than Superman saving the day. That’s right, folks—Supergirl is back in action. She’s been spotted before, but never this close, never this clear. Let’s see if she’ll stop for a word—”

Kara stood near Inspector Henderson,
listening to him mutter something about Intergang tech.

She nodded—about to ask a follow-up—

“Supergirl! Cat Grant, Daily Planet! Can you—”

Kara blinked.

Then she was gone, a red-and-white streak vanishing into the sky before the camera could even lock focus.

Cat turned back to the lens with a practiced smile.

“Well. Still no word on who she is or where she came from—but one thing’s certain: Metropolis has another mystery in the sky.”

Scene 6 – Outer Watchtower Airlock

The corridor was silent.

Not the kind born of peace—
but the kind that comes before something ancient and violent.

The kind animals feel before a storm crawls across the savanna.

Nova walked slow. Steady.
Each step a promise.

His boots struck the steel floor with the weight of intent.
He didn’t run.

Outside the reinforced window, Lobo coasted on his space-cycle—
like a vulture riding heat off fresh kill.

He drifted along the Watchtower’s curve, silhouette sharp against the stars.
Visor down. Grin sharper.

His engine purred low. Hungry.
Pacing Nova’s every step with idle, dangerous patience.

They watched each other.

Neither blinked.

Lobo tilted his head slightly. A nod, a challenge, maybe just boredom.

Nova didn’t respond.

He just walked.
Calm. Centered.

Like every step toward the airlock was an answer
to a question the universe hadn’t finished asking.

Who’s stronger?

Who gets to stay?

There was no alarm. No red alert. No voice telling him to suit up. Just inevitability—and the kind of tension that makes glass hum in its frame.

Lobo’s bike coasted ahead, drifting into shadow—then whipped back into view just as Nova reached the final turn before the launch bay.

For a second, the Czarnian vanished from sight.

Nova stepped into the airlock.

The lights flicked red. Pressure dropped. The Watchtower’s steel lungs exhaled.

His armor sealed. His core flared—brighter, hotter than it had in days.

The hatch opened.

Space welcomed him.

Nova stepped forward into the void.

Weightless—but grounded.

He floated out, just a few meters from Lobo now.

The bounty hunter revved his engine, the sound swallowed by the vacuum, felt more than heard.

Nova didn’t speak.

His hand ignited—pure gold, burning with the shape of his will.

The stars didn’t crackle.

Space held its breath.

Lobo twisted the throttle.

His bike screamed forward—

 a silent roar of acceleration and raw metal hunger.

Nova launched in kind.

They met like warheads, impact crashing across the vacuum.

Lobo’s boot caught Nova square in the chest—

sent him spiraling.

But Nova adjusted, twisting mid-air.

Photon jets fired from his boots—halting his spin.

He stabilized like a fighter realigning in freefall.

Lobo didn’t give him the second.

He came in swinging—broad, brutal, no flair, just power. 

Nova ducked, the punch missing by inches. 

He slid through the arc, rising with an elbow that snapped under Lobo’s chin. 

Tight. Bone-ringing. 

A left hook followed—

slamming into the Czarnian’s ribs.

The impact rippled through metal and muscle.

Lobo coughed blood into the void.

Nova didn’t pause.

He spun—

and hammered a fist down between Lobo’s shoulders.

The bounty hunter hit a jagged debris cluster with such force it shattered—ice and alloy

fracturing into a glittering spray of stardust.

Lobo rose slow, spat red, and grinned.

“Oh, you’re pretty when you’re pissed.”

Nova didn’t answer. His eyes flared gold.

Lobo charged.

His hand closed around Nova’s throat— 

and he slammed him through the hull of a drifting satellite.

The structure ruptured into splinters of heat shielding and twisted struts.

Nova tore free—blasted Lobo in the gut at point-blank range. The photon burst dented the Czarnian’s armor, carving a molten fist-shaped crater into his plating.

Lobo spun away, limbs wide, tumbling like a dead star. Nova followed.

Lobo came back with chains. 

The chains whipped out—

wrapped tight around Nova’s arm—

and yanked hard.

Nova barely had time to brace 

before he was flung— 

slammed into the Watchtower’s surface like a meteor drop.

The metal groaned, panels crumpling around him.

He stood.

Not because he was unhurt.

But because he’d already learned the pattern.

He grabbed the chain. 

Yanked.

Lobo came flying.

Nova’s fist met him mid-air—bone to jaw. Lobo’s head snapped sideways, blood trailing in a slow-motion streak. A beat passed.

Lobo smiled.

Then lunged—

no weapons.

Just teeth and skull.

His headbutt landed with sickening precision. Nova staggered, seeing white.

But he recovered fast.

A pulse flared gold from his palms—

blasting into Lobo’s torso, burning deep.

Then a knee—sharp, upward.

Cracking bone.

Lobo’s brow split.

Blood streaked his face.

He kicked off Nova’s chest, flipping backward.

Thrusters flared.

His hand went for his belt.

A blade snapped open.

Buzzing. Crackling. Alien energy licked the edge like wildfire.

Lobo slashed.

Nova twisted—

caught the wrist mid-swing—

and crushed it.

Lobo’s scream didn’t travel through space, but it echoed in the way his body jerked, the way his eyes widened.

Nova didn’t let go.

He slammed him into a broken panel—

again.

Then again.

Then again.

The steel folded around Lobo like a coffin.

The bounty hunter clawed free. Breathing ragged. Nose broken. Blood in his teeth.

He threw a wild punch.

He threw a wild punch.

Nova ducked.

Another swing—

Nova caught the arm mid-arc, pivoted behind—

and in one brutal snap, dislocated Lobo’s shoulder.

Lobo’s breath stuttered.

Nova didn’t wait.

A photon burst ignited—

from Nova’s chest to his fist.

It punched through Lobo’s back—

wrapped his body in a molten gold silhouette.

Lobo’s armor glowed like it had been flash-forged

under a dying sun.

Nova stood still.

Not gloating. Not panting.

Assessing.

His muscles were ready. His breath was level. His body glowed—charged, not burned.

Lobo floated across from him—

battered, bloodied, and still smiling.

Eyes wild.

Neck cracked to the side with a sickening pop.

Nova raised his fists.

Lobo’s grin widened.

And then—without a word—

they launched at each other again.

Scene 8 – Watchtower, Command Deck

The Watchtower was quiet.

Just the low hum of the systems, the occasional flicker of diagnostics moving across a screen. Batman stood at the main console, eyes narrowed, reading incoming data feeds with surgical precision. He didn’t speak.

Superman sat forward at the long table, elbows on his knees, brow furrowed—not angry, not alarmed, but thinking.

Wonder Woman leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, still as stone. She hadn’t said a word in minutes, but her eyes never stopped scanning.

J’onn floated a few inches off the ground, legs crossed, eyes closed. Always listening. Always filtering signals the others couldn’t hear.

Then the stillness shattered.

A siren blared—sharp, mechanical, immediate.

“EXTERIOR IMPACT DETECTED. SECTOR B-19. UNREGISTERED COMBATANT. FORCE LEVEL 8.2. STATION INTEGRITY: HOLDING.”

Batman was already moving, gliding to the controls.

“Pull external cams,” he said, fingers flying across the interface. “Now.”

The central screen flickered—

then split into four feeds.

Top right: gold and silver clashed in space.

The feed stuttered from the sheer force of impact.

Another figure spun across the screen, laughing—blood trailing from his mouth, his face split in a wild grin.

Lobo.

Superman stood—

fists clenched at his sides.

“That’s—”

He didn’t finish.

 Another punch drove Lobo across the screen, and Nova followed like a stormfront, a living burst of burning light.

A hiss.

The side door slid open—

and Barry skidded to a stop, wide-eyed.

“Are you guys watching this?”

He was breathless.

“It’s like WrestleMania in orbit.”

Shayera strode in behind him—

mace in hand.

“Who is that?”

Hal entered last.

His eyes hit the screen—and didn’t leave it.

“...Lobo.”

Superman’s head turned, but his eyes stayed locked on the fight.

“Hal?”

Hal’s jaw tightened. “I’m on it.”

He turned.

Green light flared.

And he flew.

The Watchtower kept humming.

And outside, the battle continued.

Scene 9 – Exterior: Watchtower Orbit

Hal Jordan exited the airlock in a sharp green streak.

The glow of his ring flared—adjusting his body to vacuum.

He spotted them immediately.

Nova and Lobo were still locked in combat just below the curvature of the station—two forces grinding against each other like tectonic plates. 

Blood floated in red ribbons between them. 

Lobo’s entire lower face was smeared in it, his shoulder hanging wrong, his wrist swollen and crushed.

He was losing.

But he wasn’t done.

Nova hovered steady.

No signs of exhaustion.

Just that golden glow—brighter now around his hands.

Light shimmered from the photon core woven into his jacket.

He looked like he’d been sculpted in fire. His eyes burned.

Lobo grinned, even through the blood.

“That’s a nice jacket, kid,” he rasped, his voice a low buzz across the comms. “Tell ya what… hand it over, and I won’t hurt ya too bad.”

Nova didn’t blink. His voice came back, flat. “Oh, you like it?”

His hands lit up, brighter now—energy gathering at his palms.

“Come take it from me.”

Lobo let out a bark of laughter and revved forward, chain hook winding in one fist.

Nova’s core flared. His right arm dropped, the beam charging, golden light roaring from the well beneath his ribs.

Then—

Green light flashed between them.

“Don’t worry, kid,” Hal said, floating into view.

“We got th—AAGH!”

Lobo hadn’t stopped charging.

He slammed shoulder-first into both of them—

the impact jarring enough to crack bone.

Hal tumbled, momentarily disoriented.

Lobo didn’t slow.

He whipped his chain around Hal’s leg and tapped his comm.

“Come to Papa.”

The Hog responded instantly.

The bike roared up from orbit and caught the chain in mid-drift. With a jolt, Hal was dragged through vacuum, spinning end over end, pulled like cargo on a high-speed tow line.

Lobo pivoted—

fist already rising.

He crashed into Nova.

One punch.

Then another.

Then another.

Nova reeled—dazed. Blood smeared across his mouth. His glow flickered. Not gone. Just off-balance.

Lobo grunted.

Reached down—

and ripped the jacket from Nova’s shoulders.

A snarl of torn fabric.

Sputtering energy seams.

He whistled. The Hog returned.

He mounted the bike with a practiced swing, the photon jacket clutched in one hand like a prize.

The Hog arced up and away.

Lobo unclipped the chain—

and let Hal drift.

Then he was gone.

A blur of silver against the stars,

vanishing into open space.

Hal recovered first.

He floated awkwardly toward Nova, bruised but intact, rubbing his temple with one hand. “Not my day, apparently.”

He stopped a few feet away, hesitated.

This time, learning his lesson,

Hal conjured a glowing green construct hand—

and gave Nova’s shoulder a cautious poke.

“Hey. Kid. You there?”

Nova stirred.

His eyes opened—

slow. Focused.

He rose—

drifting up through the vacuum.

Eyes scanning the emptiness.

He turned once, then looked down at his arms.

His jacket was gone.

His eyes didn’t glow.

Not yet.

But his jaw clenched.

His fists curled.

And somewhere deep in his chest, the light began to burn again.

Scene 10 – Kent Farm, Evening

Kara flew high above the clouds, keeping to the upper atmosphere where satellites wouldn’t catch a silhouette and no civilians could look up and wonder who was darting across the sky. The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the patchwork fields of Smallville.

She dipped low, slowing as the golden stalks of a cornfield rustled beneath her. She landed softly in the middle of it, brushing hair from her face, listening for any nearby voices or engines.

Nothing.

Kara spun in place, switching back into her civilian clothes in a blur. She shouldered her backpack—retrieved earlier from its rooftop hiding place in Metropolis—and stepped out onto the edge of the field, adjusting her jacket and brushing dirt off her jeans.

She had to be in the clear, she thought. The Daily Planet reporter probably didn’t see her clearly. Right?

She walked up the path to the Kent farmhouse, her sneakers crunching gravel as the porch light flicked on automatically. The screen door squeaked as it closed behind her.

Inside, Jonathan and Martha Kent were sitting on the couch, soft amber light glowing from the old lamp next to them. A muted news report played in the background.

Martha called gently without looking away. “Kara, sweetie? Is that you?”

Kara hesitated. “Yes, Aunt Martha.”

“Can you come in here for a moment?” Martha said. “We need to talk.”

Oh no. Kara winced, stepping softly into the living room. She tried to keep her voice light.

“What’s up?”

Jonathan sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His face was calm, but there was weight behind his gaze.

“Where were you, young lady?”

Kara looked from him to Martha. There was no good answer—only the truth.

She sighed. “Ugh. I saw a headline—an active hostage situation in Metropolis. I was careful. No one was hurt. Shockwave got a little roughed up, but… I kept the damage low, and I stopped them. I know Clark said to hold back on the hero stuff, but I couldn’t just sit here while people were getting hurt.”

Martha exchanged a look with Jonathan, then turned her attention back to Kara.

“Honey, I know what it’s like to want to prove yourself,” she said gently. “But going behind Clark’s back? That’s not how we do things here.”

Kara swallowed, suddenly feeling like a guest in a home that had always felt safe. Guilt tugged at the edge of her voice.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I just— I couldn’t stand by and do nothing.”

Jonathan’s tone was quiet, but firm. “We trust you. But Clark’s your family, too. That kind of trust has to go both ways.”

Kara looked down at her feet.

“I understand,” she said softly. “Can we not mention this to him?”

Martha gave her that look—the one that carried all the weight of a thousand dinners and quiet scoldings and the expectation that Kara would do the right thing, even if it was hard.

“I won’t go running to Clark,” she said. “But I will ask you to tell him yourself. You owe him that.”

Kara sighed, long and dramatic.

“Fine.”

She plopped down between them, threw one arm around each of their shoulders, squeezing tight, and then popped up like nothing had happened.

“I’ve got homework,” she said, already heading toward the stairs.

“Dinner in an hour!” Martha called after her.

“Okay!” Kara called back, already halfway up. “I call dibs on biscuits!”

Kara sat cross-legged on her bed, a history textbook sprawled open in front of her. Ancient trade routes blurred on the page. Notes sat untouched. History had never been her thing—too many empires, too many mistakes that no one ever seemed to learn from.

She exhaled, reached for her phone, and pulled up Dani’s number.

The line clicked after two rings.

“Dani, hey,” Kara said.

“Are you still at the Lang Farm?”

Dani’s voice came through, a little muffled. “No, we finished up like an hour ago. How’s your uncle?”

Kara blinked.

Her brain didn’t catch up fast enough.

“He’s fine. Why?” she asked, before thinking.

A pause.

“Uh… isn’t that why you left?” Dani asked, her tone cautious. “You said your uncle fell over, or something?”

Kara winced.

“Oh. Yeah! Totally. He’s okay now. False alarm. I thought it was a bigger deal, but he just tripped.”

Another pause. Longer.

“Okay…” Dani said slowly. “Yeah, I just wanted to make sure. You got out of there fast. How’d you get a ride so quickly?”

“Pbbbt.” Kara waved a hand at nothing. “You know. I walked until someone from school saw me and offered to drive me the rest of the way.”

Dani didn’t press.

Just: “Okay.”

There was a shift in her voice.

She let it go.

“Oh! That reminds me,” she added. “Owen was asking about you after you left.”

Kara groaned. “What did he want?”

“Not sure. But if I had to guess…” Dani let the silence stretch.

Kara sighed. “He’s gonna try and ask me out again, isn’t he.”

“Bingo.”

Kara mock-gagged. “Last time I give a ‘nice guy’ a chance.”

They both laughed.

Kara flopped back onto her pillows.

“How did he ask you out again?” Dani asked.

“Which time?” Kara said. “The nice guy time? Or the alpha time?”

“Alpha.”

Kara sat up, deepening her voice into a half-hearted Owen impression.

“Hey, I’ve got a spot open Friday. You should come. We’ll grab food or whatever. Dress decent.”

Dani lost it. Full cackle.

Kara joined in, the tension in her chest finally easing.

For a little while, it was just two girls on the phone.

Scene 12 – Watchtower, Airlock Entry

The airlock hissed open, letting them back into the station.

Nova stepped through first, still upright, still strong—but not untouched. His breathing was steady, but clipped. His lips were bloodied. And he was missing something: the jacket. The brown, photon-threaded coat he’d been wearing since he arrived, the one with the luminous core embedded in the back. Gone. Ripped from him.

Hal followed behind, bruised but intact. His ring glowed faintly around a scraped shoulder as the suit recalibrated.

Hal broke the silence first.

“Well... that was embarrassing.”

Clark was already waiting inside, arms crossed, next to Batman. The hum of the Watchtower filled the quiet as the airlock cycled shut behind them.

“You held your own,” Clark said. His eyes moved to Nova. “What prompted you to go out there in the first place?”

Nova didn’t hesitate.

“He took my jacket.”

The words weren’t an explanation. Not really. They weren’t even a response to Clark’s question.

It was what he was thinking about. What still burned behind his eyes. What he couldn’t let go of.

The jacket hadn’t just been clothing. It had been his identity, his armor, his one piece of choice since leaving Apokolips.

And now it was in Lobo’s hands.

Hal turned toward him, eyebrows raised. “Wait, what?”

Nova met his gaze without flinching. “I had the situation under control until you arrived. And you let him take it.”

Hal blinked. “Whoa—hold on. You two were slamming each other into the Watchtower. What was I supposed to do, cheer you on? That how you say ‘thanks’ around here?”

Clark raised a hand. “Both of you. That fight was tipping fast.”

He looked back at Nova, his voice leveling.

“Lobo’s not a plan. He’s a brawl with a gravity well. Trust me—I’ve been there.”

“I was winning,” Nova said, still facing Hal.

“Right,” Hal snapped.

“Just before you knocked us into critical systems.”

Batman turned.

Said nothing.

And strode silently out of the room.

Hal followed, muttering under his breath.

Nova exhaled, long and slow. The glow under his skin dimmed to a quiet pulse.

He looked to Clark, then switched to Kryptonian. “I regret the damage. But he killed a human. Unprovoked.”

Clark's expression shifted—softening just slightly. He listened.

“I’ve killed,” Nova said. “On Apokolips. Creatures. Soldiers. For Granny’s amusement. Or to pass a test.” His voice dropped. “I hated all of it.”

He paused.

“But I know what death means. I won’t let it be meaningless. Not again.”

His gaze broke away. Composed, but distant. “If that’s a problem… I can go.”

Clark stepped closer—

laid a hand on Nova’s shoulder.

Gentle. But firm.

“That’s not a problem,” he said.

“That’s a start.”

He nudged him slightly, guiding him forward as they began to walk together.

“You want to protect this world? Good. So do we. But here… we don’t lead with force. We lead with purpose.”

He glanced sideways, offered a faint smile.

“And we don’t throw people out for caring too much.”

Then—

The lights shifted.

A pulse.

A flash.

A white surge exploded in front of them—

BOOM.

A Boom Tube split the corridor—

washing it in strobing light.

Kanto stepped through.

Hands folded behind his back.

Posture elegant—

like a man giving a tour of a museum wing he already owned.

His eyes moved slowly across the room.

Not in awe.

In idle curiosity.

A lion pacing someone else’s territory.

“Apologies for the intrusion,” he said lightly. “I would have knocked, but you’re all so jumpy these days.”

Nova didn’t speak.

His face stayed blank—

but his posture changed.

Rigid. Alert.

Not afraid.

Ready.

Clark stepped forward—

calm as stone.

“Whatever you’re selling, we’re not interested.”

Kanto smiled like someone who’d already won. “I imagine not. But I didn’t come to bargain.”

He walked in a slow arc.

Never quite looking at Nova.

Each word fell off his tongue—

like a lecture too practiced to be questioned.

“I came to explain what you’ve adopted. The thing standing beside you... the one wearing a child’s name and clinging to disobedience.”

Clark’s voice cut through the air.

“That’s enough.”

Kanto stopped. He folded his hands neatly in front of him.

“It was built from failure,” he said. “Poured from the Source and hardened in flame. We ran tests. We bred with purpose—pain, endurance. Do you know how many broke before it?”

He waited. Not for effect. For silence.

“But this one didn’t. That’s why Granny liked it. But Desaad?” His eyes twitched, the first real crack in the veneer. “Desaad was never convinced.”

Clark narrowed his eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

Now Kanto looked at Nova.

“I’m saying it isn’t stable. It’s a bomb with good posture.”

He tilted his head slightly—

studying him like a sculpture.

Like something built.

Measured.

Waiting to crack.

“You saw it, didn’t you? The burst of light. The scream. That wasn’t restraint. That was a leak. A conditioned response. You should be thankful I arrived when I did. You’re lucky the body count would’ve only been all of you. Let him feel pain, fear, panic…”

A pause. The words sharpened.

“Just drop him in one of your cities and watch what happens.”

Footsteps approached.

Diana arrived first—jaw set.

Then J’onn.

Hal.

Barry.

Shayera.

Batman came last.

Silent.

Already reading the room like a crime scene.

“We’ve heard enough,” Diana said.

Kanto turned his head—perfectly casual.

“Have you?”

His voice was still calm. Like he genuinely believed he was doing them a favor.

“You’re betting the safety of this world on the word of a weapon that doesn’t even know its true purpose.”

Clark took one step forward. “I think you’ve said your piece.”

Kanto nodded, no resistance, no theatrics. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He stepped backward into the light of the Boom Tube. And just before it closed, he offered one final thought—

“Next time, I won’t.”

Gone.

Silence fell over the corridor.

Everyone stared at the space where he had stood.

The weight of the threat—

not shouted. Not screamed.

Just left hanging.

Like a blade waiting to fall.

Barry was the first to speak.

“Okay, so we’re all on edge now, right? That’s not just me?”

Shayera crossed her arms.

“Apokolips doesn’t bluff.”

J’onn nodded. 

“Nor are they known for altruism.”

Hal’s jaw was tight.

“We need protocols. Yesterday.”

“Already on it,” Bruce muttered, not looking up.

Clark raised a hand. 

“Let’s not be too hasty. We know how Apokolips operates. More than likely… it is a bluff.”

Nova finally spoke, voice low. Controlled. 

“I do not wish to cause trouble. If they’ve found me… they won’t stop. Not until I’m returned.”

He looked straight ahead, not at anyone.

“I should leave.”

Diana stepped in front of him, voice strong but kind. 

“You are a warrior. As are we all. Stay. We’ll figure this out together.”

Clark scratched at his chin, thinking.

“Maybe it’s time,” he said. “Time to introduce our new friend to Earth properly.”

Bruce said nothing. But he didn’t walk away.

Clark turned back to Nova, offering the faintest smile.

“How about a trip to the surface?”