My first story on here so be nice<3
This story was also inspired by another story similar to this, I think it was called:
Young justice: Ghost - by Arokey
Oh- tw mention of abusive parents, it ain't nothing too bad. Just a little on how they treated him.
---
In a dimly lit chamber nestled deep beneath Cadmus Labs, a cylindrical cryopod hissed quietly as frost clung to the edges. Inside, a teen boy—black-haired, olive-toned skin, and thin but wiry—slowly stirred.
His brown eyes cracked open, still groggy from sleep but familiar with the scene.
'Here we go again..' he thought dully, gaze drifting toward the ceiling where three genomorphs loomed, their eyes glowing faintly. He didn't bother reacting. He'd seen this exact room more times than he could count.
No. He had counted, once. But somewhere around week eleven or twelve, he lost track.
His pod hummed softly, a pale blue light washing over his face. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up. The first time, he had panicked. Chest tight. Breath caught. Memories of dying on a frozen porch still raw in his head.
He had only missed curfew by a minute.
Just sixty seconds.
His parents always said rules mattered. That rules built character. So when he had arrived late—snow in his hair, fingers red from cold—they locked the door. They had always done that. A couple of hours. That was the usual. But this time?
Blizzard.
He curled up in the corner, trying to conserve warmth. He remembered his teeth chattering, limbs going numb, chest aching. Then—nothing.
Until he woke up here. Reborn in a pod. A project. A clone.
A blend of Batman and Plastic Man. It's what the genomorphs told him.
He would've laughed at the absurdity of his own situation if he still remembered how.
Back in the before times, he knew what Cadmus was. He had watched Young Justice in secret, quietly defying his parents' belief that "cartoons are for babies." He used to huddle under a blanket with headphones, eyes wide as the Team fight bad guys and grow as a team.
Now? He was another Cadmus product.
Another contingency.
But not for Superman.
He was for the rest of the League. Mostly batman though.
The pod hissed again, unsealing with a slow, shuddering click. He didn't move. Not until the red eyed genomorph on the left of his pod projected the mental cue.
Training time.
---
The next hour passed like the others. Limbs wrenched, torso stretched beyond natural bounds. The pain had dulled over time, but the ache lingered.
Batman's DNA made his limits human.
Plastic Man's made them...elastic.
Together? It meant endless physical therapy disguised as torture. Gymnastics, contortions, acrobatics, and assisted stretching. They pulled his limbs with weighted cables while monitors tracked every centimeter of progress.
He could stretch his torso up to twelve feet now. Neck? Five. Legs and arms? Getting there. Every inch of gain was earned through gritted teeth and muted screams. He had learned not to cry out.
Silence meant less pain. The pain didn't go away but it lessened.
They never praised him. But they pushed harder when he resisted. The more compliant he was, the quicker the session ended. So he said nothing. Let them believe they were breaking him. Not like he wanted to talk to them anyways.
He let them think he was docile.
In reality, he was watching.
Observing.
Always.
He wasn't sure if that was the Batman DNA…or just him being himself anymore.
---
Other days were different.
Mental exercises. Puzzles. Riddles. Deduction drills. Sometimes they even had him watch Bright side(search it up on YouTube). He loved those. Each correctly solved one gave him a flicker of something close to pride. Like he was earning something. Earning existence.
They'd only give him more complex puzzles if he got every answer right.
If not, he had to repeat the previous level.
Because of this, he could now confidently say he hated being wrong.
They occasionally handed him paints or jigsaw puzzles—"creative expression," they called it. He didn't mind. It reminded him he was still a child, even if they wanted a weapon.
He knew they had a plan. They wanted him trained as an operative—part-assassin, part-monitor. A backup for when the other heroes stepped out of line. He wasn't for brute force like Superboy. He was for infiltration, surveillance, assassination if needed.
And they were training him to either fight with or against Superboy. He'd seen it in the simulations. Dozens of different versions.
Sometimes, they were allies.
Sometimes, he died.
Others were just by himself in assasiations, infiltrating, and testing his limits.
---
It was one of those days again.
Another kill-or-be-killed simulation. Him versus Superboy.
And he was losing again.
Badly.
The older clone's fists hit like trucks. He was pinned to the wall, blood in his mouth—virtual or not, it hurt. Punch after punch until the world around him started to flicker.
The red-tinged simulation faded into black as voices began to echo.
"Get the genomorphs away from him!"
"We don't have time—if we're doing this, do it now!"
"I'm hacking as fast as I can, okay! I don't see you going out of your way to help!"
"This is taking too long."
Suddenly, light.
And real air.
He jolted awake, disoriented, still thinking he was in the scenario. He saw Superboy.
Instincts flared. Panic surged.
His fist lashed out, gut-checking Superboy before he could think.
The older clone doubled over with a grunt.
"Whoa!" Kid Flash shouted, half-shocked, half-amused. "Payback much?"
The teen staggered out of the cryopod, eyes wild, confused. The others raised their hands in a harmless gesture—Robin, Kid Flash, Aqualad.
Superboy straightened slowly, rubbing his stomach. Aqualad steadied him with a hand.
"We're not enemies," Robin said quickly.
"We're getting you out of here," Aqualad added.
"Wouldn't've even found you if musclehead over there hadn't insisted," Kid Flash said, jerking his thumb at Superboy.
He blinked.
Tried to process.
The simulation was over. This was real.
Robin. Kid Flash. Aqualad. Superboy.
They were breaking him out.
He didn't smile—but something in his chest stirred. He was getting out. Finally.
---
The escape wasn't smooth.
Of course it wasn't.
They ran into genomorphs trying to block the way. He stayed back, hurling debris from shadows with precision. Let the others do the flashy fighting.
Then he showed up.
This bald scientist guy—Desmond, he vaguely recalled—drank a vial and changed to become this really ugly looking monster that he didn't want to touch. The building started to collapse as he rampaged.
He stayed hidden, lobbing rubble, until an opportunity struck.
He coiled his torso, slingshot-style around two pillars that were close to each other, and tripped the beast mid-charge. This time…it didn't hurt.
Not really.
His eyes widened slightly.
'Why didn't it hurt?'
Then—
A hand on his shoulder.
He flinched, spun—his head turning all the way around in a smooth, eerie twist.
Kid Flash blinked, stunned. "OH SH-! Dude—doesn't your neck hurt??" he asked after regaining his composure from definitely not flinching.
He didn't speak. Just turned the rest of his body around and shook his head.
Kid Flash stared, forgetting what he had originally came up to him to say.
Behind them, the others regrouped. Robin tossed him a look. Superboy gave him a cautious nod.
He still didn't say a word.
The dust settled slowly, the rumble of collapsing concrete echoing far above them. The monster had been defeated, unconscious and buried beneath rubble, but the silence that followed was almost louder.
Kid Flash gave a low whistle, shaking dust from his hair as the others walked over. "Well…we didn't die. That's gotta count for something, right?"
Robin snorted. "Tactically sloppy. But not bad—for our first unsanctioned infiltration."
"Un-sanctioned?" Wally grinned. "Cmon rob, they technically didn't tell us not to go. Besides, we were awesome!"
The smaller clone boy didn't say anything. He stood a little behind them, posture guarded but not tense. Watching. Always watching.
Superboy hadn't said much either. His fists were still loosely clenched. Not from anger—just habit. Like he didn't know what else to do with his hands.
The smaller shifted his weight, casting a glance at him.
"…Why'd you come for me?"
Superboy blinked, slowly turning his head toward him.
There was a pause.
"I don't know," he said honestly, voice quiet. "I just…felt like I had to. Like if I didn't, something bad would happen."
It wasn't the whole truth.
The way his jaw flexed, the slight shift of his eyes, told the younger clone he was holding something back. But it wasn't a lie either.
So, he let it go.
Robin raised a brow but didn't push.
A gust of wind blew across the broken hallway, cool and fresh. Not manufactured. Not from a vent.
Real air.
"Hey look!" Wally said, nudging Superboy and pointing upward. "You can see the moon now."
Connor's head tilted back. His eyes locked on it, stunned for a moment like it was the first time he realized it was real. Like he hadn't known it was more than just a picture in his mind.
The younger clone's eyes didn't follow.
He looked down.
Not out of sadness—he realized—but out of…wonder.
He stepped away from the others, his bare feet brushing against the torn-up earth as they moved through the exit to look at the moon. Then he sank to the ground, knees folding beneath him as his fingers curled into the grass.
It was soft. Cold from the night air.
And real.
He ran a hand through it, slowly, almost reverently. Felt the blades bend beneath his palm. The dirt beneath his fingernails.
It had been so long since he'd felt anything like this.
Maybe ever.
Robin had stopped walking. He tilted his head just slightly, watching the boy in silence. Observing, processing.
For all the training, for all the simulations, this was something Cadmus could never replicate.
Normalcy.
Robin looked at Connor, then at the other boy. Neither of them had probably ever touched grass. Never stood under the moon without walls between them and the sky. Never sat in the dirt like a kid might, just to feel it under their hands.
For a moment, something in Robin's chest twisted.
Then—
Boom.
A sonic boom overhead cracked the quiet night, and a gust of displaced wind rustled through the grass.
The sky filled with silhouettes. Dozens of them.
The Justice League had arrived.
Superman. Wonder Woman. Green Lantern. Flash. Martian Manhunter. Green Arrow. Batman. Captain marvel.
They landed with weight, authority, and grim yet unimpressed looks on their faces like parents about to scold their children.
The younger clone's fingers twitched in the grass before he yanked his hand away, standing quickly, instinctively slinking toward the people he recognized.
Not out of fear.
Just caution.
He moved to stand between Connor and Robin, naturally falling into place beside them like that's where he belonged.
Connor tensed slightly beside him, shoulders squared.
Robin didn't speak, but he shifted closer.
And the boy—still unnamed—stood still.
Covered in dust and bruises, dressed in a black Cadmus-issued suit, but free.
And standing his ground.