System Certified Supervillain

One more year. That’s all he had left.

Depending on the emphasis, those words could have two very different meanings. They could be a cry of jubilation…or a plea of desperation.

Honestly, Sentinel didn’t know which one was better or worse, or more importantly, which one he truly felt. His mood seemed to be constantly rotating, and sometimes it felt like his opinion changed on the hour.

Right now? He was feeling a little desperate.

He knew exactly what he was getting into when he signed up for this gig. Unlike a lot of kids who started with an upgraded Class, Sentinel wasn’t wide-eyed or bushy-tailed. He knew Heroes were more than guys in bright blue spandex who rescued kitties out of trees. It wasn’t all about lending wrinkly old grannies a hand as they crossed the street.

Yes, he truly wished to make a difference in the world. He didn’t think the System would grant him genuine Hero status if he didn’t. But he also knew that he needed to eat. Cats weren’t well known for tipping, and there were only so many grandmas willing to shell out the big bucks to have a strapping young lad act as an escort waiting on retainer.

That meant money, and money meant a job. And sometimes, jobs came with conditions. Such as…parading around in costume in front of a bunch of absolute nobodies.

Sentinel understood what the DMA was doing. To be fair, they weren’t even trying to put up a front. As a government agency, they weren’t trying to be completely altruistic. They simply wanted to make it through the day with as minimal headaches from the superhuman crowd as possible. If they could watch out for their bottom line at the same time? More power to them. And sure, while some people might donate real money “to the cause,” what the DMA really wanted was manpower. So long as the world wasn’t ending (which, in fact, fell partially under their jurisdiction), they’d always need more people. Keep the wheel turning. Recruiting for the next generation was one of their top goals, and they were good at it. After all, they got him.

And, for once, that statement wasn’t a brag or false bravado. Really. The DMA managed to make government work sound appealing to a guy from Nebraska. Some people might not think that would be a particularly difficult endeavor, and they might be right. But the DMA had countless portfolios ready to entice just about any personality type imaginable.

Want to get out of the sticks and live in the big city? Join the DMA.

Want to experience the high life of travel and seeing new locations? Join the DMA.

Want to fast-track a budding Hero career?

Join the m.f. DMA.

He was contractually obliged to put it in the nicest terms possible.

But really, Sentinel had no clue how much it cost to be a superhero. Back when he was simply Jack Williams and pulled his first tractor out of the mud barehanded, he had no idea about things like insurance or consent. So what did it matter if he broke his neighbor’s wrist if he saved the man from drowning in a bog?

Fortunately, that was all behind him, and if anybody ever brought it up, he could usually push any curiosity aside by flicking his skill and deflecting with a warm smile. [All Eyes On Me] was supposed to be a taunt, a tank skill to keep his allies from getting attacked, but Sentinel quickly discovered it could do more than that. Compounded with his natural charisma, charm, and stunning good looks? His aura of heroism tended to make people feel…at ease. He was pretty sure what he was doing wasn’t exactly kosher, but the DMA couldn’t really do anything about it. That’s simply what a heroic aura did. And besides…the System wouldn’t have promoted him from Sidekick if he was stumbling down a slippery slope, right?

Sentinel glanced around the conference room. This place hardly got used unless there needed to be a serious press release, so it felt a little weird to look at all the empty chairs steadily get filled with kids. It was also hard not to feel a little bitter. He shouldn’t be here. None of his team should be here.

Who ever heard of a place called Setma High?

Sentinel wasn’t one to talk, growing up in a town of 2500. But right now he wasn’t Jack Williams: nobody. He was Sentinel! Star of the West! And one day, every kid in Southern California was going to know his name. And after that…the entire West Coast. He’d be a household name from San Diego to Seattle. He was patient. He could wait.

“Hey, Sennie-boy,” Turbo smirked as he took his seat. “What a bunch of losers, eh? Not a single Meta among them.”

“You’re on stage,” Sentinel warned through gritted teeth and a perfect smile. “And don’t call me that.”

“Eh, what do you care?” Turbo asked as he leaned back in his seat. “You’d be saying the same thing if we were back at base. Why do you think they called us all in, anyway? Wasn’t Jitterbug supposed to be in Arizona for another week?”

“I sort of wish I was,” the Tinkerer griped. “I’d take the heat over listening to you two bicker.”

“Heh,” Turbo chuckled, ignoring the small girl, “What are the odds someone up top is banging a kid’s mom? I bet it’s that construction chick!”

“Oh,” Wavelength said in her absentminded voice, “I don’t think it’s her. She’d break you, Jonny.”

Turbo’s smirk slid off like sap.

“I didn’t say I was the one doing it!”

Wavelength merely smiled innocently and floated to the other side of Sentinel. The stage creaked as a heavy body stepped onto it. The chair next to Turbo groaned ominously as Monument sat down.

“I was told the System offered a Quest with a large reward to get a full team here,” Monument said in his deep, calm voice. “I don’t know what it gave out.”

“Oh snap!” Turbo cried as he leaned forward. “A Quest to get us all in one place?! And somebody actually did it? They probably made bank! What do you think they got?”

“Monument literally just said he didn’t know,” Sentinel ground out. He wondered how long his smile would hold. Fortunately, KC wandered onto the stage, tossing back his hair like he just walked out of the ocean. They could finally begin, which meant they could get this over with.

“Welcome!” Sentinel said again. He’d made sure to greet everybody at lunch, but he figured he’d do it again since this was formal. But, as he glanced around the room with practiced ease, he almost frowned. No reporters meant no giant flashbulbs, but it didn’t necessarily mean no cameras. Just none that he cared to be captured on. “Now that we’ve had lunch generously provided by the DMA, we’re going to open up the floor to questions-”

“Now hold on a moment,” a smooth voice laughed, cutting him off. “I know you’re eager to impress your peers, but give us a second to set up!”

Sentinel looked to the side where Touchdown and a few suits were climbing up the stage. He accepted the admonishment with a slight dip of his head, but he was grinding his teeth. He hated getting interrupted, especially by a local with a dead-end post. [Glory Days] weren’t even stationed in Downtown Los Angeles, so could they really be called an LA team?

“Thank you, Touchdown,” a suit said, one of the four men from the DMA that took seats next to the older Hero. Sentinel didn’t know who they were, only that they weren’t his handlers. Still, if they were in charge of a school visitation day, they had to be somebody.

“First,” the suit said, launching into what was probably going to be a long-winded spiel, “We want to thank everyone from Setma High for coming down here today. There’s roughly 300 public high schools in LA County, and it isn’t easy making time for every single one of them. But we here at the DMA understand how important Awakening is to all of us, and we want to show our support to all of the Introductions to System Startup and Powers teachers and workers out there. You’re guiding the future generations on the first steps to greatness, and you make the difference.”

Yep. The same old can of cow pucky. It was a pretty can, dressed up quite fancily with a spectacular label, but it was b.s. all the same. Sentinel sat with his back straight, his head held high, and a smile plastered on his face, but the words started flowing in one ear and out the other as the man droned on.

It wasn’t that what he had to say wasn’t interesting, not really. Sentinel could admit that. The DMA was home to a lot of really cool tech! They had a g.d. Armory in the basement! Most of the upper floors were cubicle blocks reserved for the many government workers who kept this whole machine moving, but there were a few offices for regional Hero networks. Sentinel would be a little surprised if [Glory Days] had representation here, but it wasn’t out of the imagination.

And, he needed to keep reminding himself: these were kids. This was their first time hearing any of this. And, since nearly every kid except the [Accountant] was a Citizen, most of them wouldn’t have any reason to come here again. Let them soak in some of the awe before the shiny paint starts to peel.

For consideration, take the point Mr. DMA was currently expounding on. The DMA in Los Angeles had one of the most advanced Rift detectors in the world. Only 4 rivaled it and 1 surpassed it. New York, San Francisco, Miami, and Berlin all matched the one here, while the machine in the bunkers of the UN was slightly better. Perhaps it was saying something that 4 of the 6 top detectors in the world were all inside the US, but it was probably political and Sentinel didn’t really care.

“Here, at the DMA, we are home to the Emergency Broadcast Station that sends relays all across Southern California!” The suit boasted. “Our Rift Pseismometer tracks vibrations, multiple spectrums of radiation, disruptions in psionic waves, and temporal fluctuations to pinpoint oncoming rifts up to 30 minutes before they drop! If a Rift is about to open anywhere within 200 miles, we’ll know about it. We also help track the stability of the 3 open Rifts SoCal has, making sure we can continue to extract resources for many years to come.”

A murmur of appreciation rumbled through the room and Sentinel agreed. If there was one thing he could change, it was how the DMA handled Rifts. Not because they were doing anything wrong; quite the opposite. They were doing everything they could to minimize the chaos and damage Rifts brought with them. They probably maximized profits, too, but again…government agency. Sentinel truly wished more places could have machines as up to speed as the LA Rift detector. It just wasn’t viable. Not only were they huge, multi-story monstrosities that took up whole floors of the building, but they were expensive as heck and, technically, each one was unique. It took an entire team of scientists to build a single one, and even when they had the plans, certain parts needed to be built specifically for that unit. Something about quantum-whatsits and neuro-jamas. Sentinel didn’t know; he wasn’t a Techie.

Wavelength suddenly focused next to him and Sentinel tensed. As strange as his teammate was, he trusted her. For one, he knew more about how her power worked than most people. She was [Spectrometer], a hard-to-understand Class floating somewhere between an empath and a two-bit Vegas psychic. Not a real [Psychic], she wasn’t a [Telepath] and couldn’t actually read minds, but she could feel people. She knew when somebody was activating powers, and to some extent, what they might do. Or, perhaps more accurately, she got good hunches. She loved chalking it up to women’s intuition, which she always said with a smirk and made Sentinel roll his eyes.

But he’d partnered with her for long enough now that he trusted her. What she said was good as gold, and while it might not be the most accurate or quantifiable thing in the world, it’s why he kept her on his part of the team instead of shunting her off to one of the other 12 teams that made up Young Justice. She might be crap in a real fight, but as a support? She earned her seat.

It’s also why he immediately got nervous when she called out that Goth girl during lunch. Sure, maybe calling the pasty little vampire evil was going a touch too far, but nobody in their right mind wore that much black or had that skin tone. Did she even see the sun? There was white, and then there was whatever that girl was.

Unfortunately, that was one of the few drawbacks to Wavelength’s powers. She didn’t lock onto individual people so much as she saw…clouds of intent. Sentinel didn’t even know if “seeing” was the right term, just as “intent” was oftentimes really just “power.”

Which is why he didn’t give it a second thought when that poor girl who got sacked with being an [Accountant] got all pissy with them. And why he tried to get Wavelength to back down, though he had to admit…there was something fishy about that Goth girl. Sentinel frowned. Come to think of it, she wasn’t affected by his Skill, was she? He’d laid the charm thick and she waved it away like a stale fart. Every Citizen he’d ever met had been awed by a Hero’s aura.

So Sentinel calmed his nerves, took a deep breath, and focused. Everything seemed to slow down as he went into hyper-detail. He wasn’t a Speedster like Turbo, but then again, very few Speedsters actually worked like mass media and comic books would have people believe. The only reason why Turbo wasn’t zipping around like a hummingbird all day was because he’d actually hurt himself. Without the use of active Skills, at least, which had expensive drawbacks and long cooldowns.

Sentinel tracked Wavelength’s vision and he wasn’t surprised at all when his eyes landed on the Goth. Again, it might not be the Goth girl herself, as she was sitting next to the [Accountant] and that semi-pro Sidekick. Sentinel had a certain begrudging respect for the woman after the few minutes he spoke with her during lunch. Not many Metas could successfully raise a family, for more reasons than one. He found her lack of ambition disappointing considering she seemed to have a similar loadout as him. If what he heard was correct and one of her secondary Might stats was an S? Hot dang. If Sentinel had that…he wouldn’t be sitting in this crummy conference room right now.

So the girl in question was frowning, which was whatever. But she leaned over to her right, muttered something to her mom, and got a headshake in response. Sentinel focused hard on his hearing to amplify it, but by the time he focused it in their direction, she’d already spoken her piece. Wavelength sighed and Sentinel frowned…but then the large woman raised her hand.

“Ah,” the suit said pleasantly. He pointed to the woman and continued. “Brickhouse. Thank you very much for your service, and thank you for acting as a chaperone today. If anyone is wondering what the real-life implications of registering yourself to the DMA’s hero network are, I’m sure our esteemed Sidekick can share with you after.”

Next to the man, Touchdown scowled, but the huge woman chuckled and stood up. Sentinel’s eyes widened as she did…he had only seen her sitting down. She made Monument look small.

“Maybe after,” she laughed, “But I just had a quick question. You mentioned 3 rifts, right? Long Beach, Chino, and Arcadia?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” the man said pleasantly. Brickhouse nodded.

“So what about the one in Anaheim?”

The man paused, his smile slowly turning into a frown.

“Mrs., ah, Brickhouse,” he said after conferring with his coworkers, “There is no Rift in Anaheim.”

“Are you sure?” Brickhouse persisted.

Then men, to their credit, conferred again. But it was a short checkup and the suit shook his head.

“No. Perhaps you’re confusing it with something else? Santa Ronda had a Rift open recently; is that what you’re asking?”

“No, that’s closed now,” she said, sitting down. “I could be thinking of one that opened long ago,” she added with a laugh, knocking on her helmet playfully. “Maybe I’m losing it in my old age.”

“I’m sure you’ll have many more pleasant years to come,” the man responded with a smile, but Sentinel tuned out the rest. Wavelength was still focused on the trio of Goth, [Accountant], and Sidekick, which meant Sentinel was too. He saw Brickhouse slouch down in her chair, which was uncharacteristic of the woman from what he’d seen so far, and she subtly leaned toward the Goth.

This time he was ready.

“They don’t know about the Rift,” she said in a very somber tone.

She sat back up and said no more. Sentinel was left with nothing but questions and no way to find the answers. Next to him, Wavelength crowed.

“She’s evil,” Wavelength muttered in a singsong way. “EeeeeEeEEeeEeevillll.”

Sentinel rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Wavelength could be a bit of a drama queen.

​

Eventually, the DMA suits got done with their sales talk and even had a few kids looking excited at a long and fruitless career behind a desk, but strangely, the [Accountant] wasn’t one of them. Sentinel figured for sure a girl with a calculator for a brain would fit right in with all the other pencil pushers, if for no other reason than the chance at that sweet government pension. But he couldn’t spend any time dreaming of retirement plans because it was time to go to work. His time in the spotlight might have been delayed by nearly an hour, but now he was ready for questions.

He shouldn’t have been excited. Really.

He quickly found out most of the kids all wanted to know the same thing, which, when he boiled it down, all came out to some variation of: what do you actually do?

Paraphrased, of course.

Sentinel tried his best to answer every question seriously. He considered it his job as team leader and it was a matter of professional pride.

“Yo, you ever bust a cap into a foo?”

“Ah, no,” he chuckled. “Standard bullets don’t often have much effect against the sorts of enemies we fight, and besides, guns are more along the dark or neutral paths.”

Meaning: no, idiot. He didn’t murder people on the daily.

“Do you fight crime?”

“Yes. Though, technically, most of the time we’re on ride-alongs and aren’t first responders.”

Meaning: the DMA would never let him openly admit that they willingly put minors into dangerous scenarios. It was all “training missions” until somebody conveniently looked the other way…or Young Justice overpowered their supervisors.

“Have you ever gone into a Rift?”

“Twice, yes,” he beamed. “Not volatile.”

Meaning: he snuck in with a Delving crew when he should have been overseeing cleanup. As soon as he went solo, he planned to go Delving the first chance he got.

“Are you single?”

Laughs…smile….

“Next question.”

“You ever get into a gang fight?”

“It depends on your definition of a gang.”

Meaning:...the jury was out on that one. Literally. A court case recently went before a judge regarding an incident he’d been involved in back when he first joined Young Justice. It was a group of small-time thugs that knocked over a Radio Shack. The prosecution was trying to pin it on gang activity, which carried a heavier sentence than standard theft.

The questions went on for several minutes, all in the same vein. He was starting to get tired of the repetition when an unnecessary busybody made his presence known.

“I think we’ve heard a good amount from the current leader of Young Justice,” Touchdown said, butting in. “Does anybody have any questions for any of the other members of the team?”

Sentinel’s face darkened, but he kept his mouth shut. For all that Touchdown was a washed-up old second-string quarterback, he was still an active Hero. That had to stand for something.

To Sentinel’s dismay, the group seemed almost more excited to talk to his teammates than they had to him.

The first question was for Monument. It was a pretty standard question, one the two of them often had to deal with whenever they worked together.

“Aren’t your powers really similar to Sentinel’s? Why do you got 2 tanks on the team?”

Sentinel rolled his eyes. If that’s what the kid thought, they really didn’t know anything about either of their powers. However, Monument, as always, took his time to formulate a slow, articulated answer.

“Strictly speaking, there are no ‘tanks.’ Rarely do teams of Metahumans fall into such convenient or simplistic boxes. I’m a [Kineticist],” he explained calmly despite having no obligation to do so. “While I have enhanced Strength and Durability, and my role often sees me acting as a damage sponge, it goes much deeper than that. I can neutralize vibrations to a moderate degree. If I were to give an example of a more impressive feat…? I once kept a home I was in from collapsing during an earthquake.”

Monument sat down and the room devolved into quiet, thoughtful mutterings. Eventually, somebody had a question for Jitterbug.

“You make gadgets,” they stated by way of an opener. Jitterbug nodded.

“Yes.”

“Do you only work for Heroes? Do you take commissions?”

Jitterbug blushed slightly and looked very pleased. Sentinel rolled his eyes as she shamelessly plugged her Etsy page. If somebody wanted to waste their money buying a cracked-out toaster, that was their problem. Now, don’t misunderstand. Sentinel valued Jitterbug’s work, or he wouldn’t keep her on the team. It was just that Tinkerers as a whole usually worked with junk. That’s why they weren’t [Engineers]. Jitterbug had a little bit of Technomancy in her, but mostly she was blessed with an incredibly gifted mind. That meant that, under the roof of the DMA, she had access to all sorts of valuable materials and ingredients. She didn’t have those on her own, and getting a private shop set up took time and effort. Maybe several years down the line, he’d see some of her inventions hit the market. Or who knows? Maybe she’d find a team and stick with the heroing gig.

After Jitterbug, somebody tried to do the most fruitless thing: asking KayCee a question and getting an understandable response.

“You’re the water guy, right? How does that work if you’re in a desert?”

Killer Croc was leaning back with his feet kicked up on the table. He sat up straight, brushed some hair out of his face…and let it fall right back in place.

​

"Whoa, dude, that's a sick question, my guy. I mean, at the end of the day, bro, it's all about showing up, trusting the process, and just crushing whatever wave's in front of you, y'know? Desert, ocean, parking lot...every situation's different, but it's also kinda the same if you really think about it, my man. You can't get too high, you can't get too low, dude. You just stay loose, keep the vibes positive, lean on the squad, and let the game come to you. Obviously there's a lot going on behind the scenes that people don't always see, bro, but that's just part of it. You take it one day at a time, one mission at a time, and you just keep doing what you do.

“People always wanna jump straight to the desert thing, but, like, you can't really think about the desert without thinking about the bigger picture, y'know? At the end of the day, it's not really about where you are—it's about bringing what you bring. That's just how I look at it, bro. You gotta trust yourself, trust your training, trust the boys, and then just go out there and crush. Every mission's got its own energy, dude. Sometimes the waves are firing, sometimes they're not, but you can't spend all your time worrying about whether the waves are gonna show up. You just paddle out anyway, bro. That's what separates the dudes from...the other dudes. So yeah, I mean, every situation's different, every situation's unique, and you just kinda embrace the moment, stay stoked, keep your head where your feet are, and let the universe do its thing. The main thing, my guy, is to keep the main thing the main thing."

​

The room was, understandably, speechless. Killer Croc leaned back, kicked his feet back up, and smiled like he’d just traded barbs with Socrates. Sentinel slapped his hand over his face and Touchdown cleared his throat. Eventually, they got another question…and of course, it was finally time for Turbo.

“Are you single?”

Sentinel face-palmed harder. Turbo, the showboat that he was, winked, gave two-finger guns, and did something really stupid.

He picked up a cork coaster that was sitting under one of the many lukewarm glasses of water, autographed it really quick…and chucked it at the girl who’d asked the question. Now, as a Speedster, there were definitely laws about activating Skills in the proximity of Citizens, but the problem was that most speed-related skills worked so fast that most people didn’t see them coming. The girl barely had a chance to see the tiny disk fly in her direction. Her face was still a slightly brazen, smirking smile, and was only starting to morph into a look of horror.

But, with the Skills Turbo activated, he practically vanished from his position at the table and appeared standing next to the girl. Sentinel, because he saw it coming, was just barely able to track the Speedster’s movements.

It wasn’t true super speed. He didn’t actually move at supersonic velocities. It was a combination of short-range teleportation, invisibility, and, for lack of a better word, life-hacks. Turbo explained it to him once. If normal life was like moving at 60 frames per second, then being a Speedster got knocked up to 120 or 240. But, in the process, while he got to see all those frames tick by in slow motion, the System actually cut quite a few of them out. So, if he was at the table during frame 1, he didn’t actually spend all those frames walking down to the girl. Only about half, maybe less. And then, suddenly, he was standing next to a 60fps girl as a coaster careened straight at her face, perfectly placed to intercept it.

Before she knew what was happening, Turbo plucked it out of the air, gave it a quick mock kiss, and handed it to her. For all she knew, he was being incredibly flirty, and she practically melted into her chair as her ears leaked steam.

“No dating is allowed on the team,” Sentinel said in a tired voice. He’d have words with his teammate later.

“You heard the boss,” he sighed dramatically. But he turned, made a motion with his hand next to his head with the thumb next to his ear and the pinky next to his chin as he mouthed Call me.

Yes, there would be words.

Perhaps it was a good thing that they were running out of time, because there was only one teammate left. Wavelength proved exactly why she was never going to be the face of Young Justice. She sat in her seat, staring into the ceiling, twirling a length of her blue hair around her finger. She got one- and only one -question.

“Are you always floating?”

“Yes.”

“...why?”

“Why not?”

The person who asked murmured something unintelligible and sat down. Technically, that was 2 questions, but Sentinel wasn’t going to count it.

“Well,” Touchdown said, standing up, “That just about wraps things up on our end. Before we officially say goodbye, does anyone have any final questions?”

“Yes!” a hand shot up. “Have you ever fought a Supervillain?”

Excited chatter broke out around the room and Sentinel watched Touchdown’s face cloud over.

“No,” he said simply. “I’m very fortunate to have not. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

Normally, Sentinel would scoff under his breath or look down on the old-timer. What kind of Hero didn’t want to take down a real Supervillain? Sure, the risk was probably enormous and they didn’t play by the same rules as everybody else…but the fame…the glory….

Today was slightly different. Sentinel shelved all of his opinions for one specific reason.

The System gave him a Quest.

He was no stranger to Quests; he got them all the time. It didn’t shock him at all when a prompt appeared during the middle of lunch. But what it said did.

​

[For the Great Good]

​

You’ve entered the sights of a Supervillain. You have choices.

Take. Them. Out. Heroic sacrifice. (Warning: You are underleveled and choosing this option will most likely end in death.)

Reward: +2500 Fame

Bide your time. There’s no shame in running away. (Warning: You are now a known quantity and may be tracked.)

Reward: Live

​

“Yo, Sennie boy, you alive in there, bud?”

Sentinel looked up. Turbo was sitting on the table, just out of arm’s reach, looking like he was about to try knocking him on the head. Sentinel looked around, slightly surprised to find a few of the lights off and all of the seats empty. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t realize everybody had left the conference room. Obviously, all the kids had gone, their teachers and the chaperones with them. Brickhouse must have left, because she wasn’t sitting around, and Touchdown and the suits must have seen them all the way down to the parking lot. It was just him and his team now.

“Jonny?”

“Yeah, Sennie?”

“Fuck off.”

¹

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