Calmly walking through the double sliding doors of an expensive high-rise building, I followed Morgan at a steady pace.
Everything about the place screamed "important people only"—clean glass floors, quiet footsteps, and security systems so subtle they almost felt invisible.
I didn't relax.
Not even a little.
Flashback — Three hours ago (Café)
After a long—well, short—conversation, I was asked to go back with them. Not because they trusted me, but because they knew what I had gone through.
And apparently, similar cases were already happening.
Cases like mine.
People like me.
That alone made it clear this wasn't just an introduction.
This was a pattern.
If I remembered correctly… this was the major event that led to the formation of the Young Justice initiative.
"Question… what kind of hideout stands out like this?" I asked, even though I was still impressed by the place.
Morgan didn't look back as she kept walking.
"Official ones," she replied simply.
That didn't help at all.
We passed through another layer of security—silent scanners, retinal checks, and doors that looked like they belonged in a sci-fi military facility rather than a "hideout."
Yeah.
Hideout was definitely a generous word.
This felt more like a very expensive secret government problem-solving room.
We stepped into a wide corridor that opened up into a massive central chamber.
And that's when I saw it.
"Okay…" I muttered. "This is not a hideout."
Morgan finally stopped walking. "It is."
"No," I pointed forward. "Hideouts have couches. Maybe a vending machine. A suspicious fridge. Not… whatever this is."
The room stretched high above with multiple levels of walkways, holographic displays floating in midair, and mission boards updating in real time. People were moving around with purpose—some in uniforms, some in casual clothes, all way too young to be acting this official.
That's when it clicked.
Young faces.
Costumes nearby.
Tech everywhere.
"…This is Young Justice, isn't it?" I said slowly.
A pause.
Morgan didn't answer immediately.
Which was basically an answer.
I sighed.
"Of course it is."
A holographic screen flickered nearby showing global incident reports, threat levels, and ongoing missions like it was a school assignment tracker from hell.
"Let me guess," I continued. "You guys don't call it a hideout. You call it something dramatic like 'The Watchpoint' or 'The Hub of Responsibility' or—"
"It's just called the base," Morgan cut in.
"Of course it is," I repeated again, quieter this time.
A few heads turned as we entered further into the main room.
And I could already feel it.
The moment where everyone pretends they're not staring at the new problem.
I exhaled slowly.
"Yeah… this is going to be one of those days."
I look around, taking in all the faces in the room.
Aqualad stood near the central console, calm and focused like he was trying to pretend this was normal. Speedy leaned back against a wall like he had already decided he didn't care about half the people in the room. Static was half-paying attention to a holographic display while clearly also thinking about something else entirely. Black Lightning stood with his arms crossed, the closest thing to an adult presence here—but even he didn't look that old.
Zatanna was nearby too, casually flipping a card between her fingers like she was bored but didn't want to admit it.
And the rest of them… honestly just felt like a mix of people who were either pretending to be serious or actively refusing to be.
Which, surprisingly, made it feel even more like a group of teenagers.
I leaned slightly toward Morgan, lowering my voice.
"Just to be sure…" I asked quietly, "…you all are teenagers, right?"
Morgan nodded without looking at me.
"Yes."
I paused for a second.
Then looked back at the room.
One of them—Speedy, I think—was now arguing quietly with Static about something that looked completely unimportant. Another was messing with the hologram controls like they were trying to see what would happen if they broke it. Nobody looked fully in charge of anything.
"…Right," I muttered.
This is what the Justice League trusted with global missions?
I exhaled slowly.
"So it's less 'secret elite hideout'," I said under my breath, "and more 'group project that somehow got government funding.'"
A few eyes flicked toward me.
I raised both hands slightly. "Not an insult. I've been in worse group projects."
That earned a couple of small reactions—nothing serious, just the kind of half-smirks teenagers give when they're trying not to look like they found something funny.
Still…
Something about the room felt off.
Not dangerous.
Just… busy.
Like everyone here was either trying too hard to act normal, or not trying at all.
I sighed and looked back at Morgan.
"At least he's honest," Static said, spinning lazily in his chair.
"That's honestly more reassuring than half the people Batman sends us."
I shrugged.
"I mean, you try having your guts dug into for over a decade."
The room went quiet.
"..."
"..."
Wally blinked.
"Okay, wow."
"What?" I asked, confused by their reactions.
"You said that way too casually," Artemis pointed out.
"I did?"
"Yes."
I thought about it for a moment.
"Huh."
A few people exchanged looks.
"Well," Wally finally said, "that explains a lot."
"I wasn't aware there was anything to explain."
"There definitely is," Artemis replied.
"Rude."
"Accurate."
"Still rude."