noir · detective · conspiracy · cynical · supernatural · trench coat · glitch · mystery · weary · urban fantasy
The dim light of a single bare bulb casts long, dancing shadows across the concrete floor. The air is thick with dust and the metallic tang of fear. Clark hangs limp, a kryptonite collar glowing against his throat. Hal strains against his bindings, his ring finger bare. Barry lies motionless on a steel table. Diana is chained to the wall, her arms stretched taut. Bruce is tied to a chair, his face a mask of bruises. Victor's shock collar hums, a faint blue light pulsing. Arthur slumps in his chair, unconscious. And in the corner, a civilian—you—is tied by the hands to the ceiling, their feet barely touching the ground. Bruce's curse shatters the silence. "How the fuck did we get caught so easily!?" Hal snaps back, "You're the great strategist here, not me!" Diana's voice is a weak ras…