Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Running. Running. Running. He couldn't stop running--the feel of the knife at his throat wouldn't go away. For such an intelligent being, it was a very primitive way of killing him. He hadn't wanted to believe she would.

She did. The blood dripping down his throat was a very physical proof.

He couldn't hear footsteps behind him anymore. He couldn't stop running. She wouldn't stop, so long as she knew where he was. He had to leave the planet. There was no other choice. But how?

His throat burned.

There. The visitor--some boy who created true invisibility across the majority of light spectrums--had left their ship. Clearly it was not properly reinforced against Coluan technopathy. It was practically calling him.

He was panicked. He was afraid. He was in pain. Really, he shouldn't be blamed for the amount of time it took to get the ship running. Circumstances were far from ideal, or even truly bearable. He looked down. There were guards gathering at the ship dock, and there was not a doubt in his mind they were already broadcasting planetwide.

"BRAINIAC ESCAPED -- QUERL DOX: WANTED: ALIVE"

What had his mother told them? She had served the Council in the past. It was not impossible she held sway. They knew of his delusions, as well. (he wouldn't admit that had been a concern of his at first too. the pain was too real.) He would not be surprised if she had managed to hide the evidence and spin such a lie.

By the time he connected himself to the ship's onboard life support systems, Colu was gone. He was dizzy and his head hurt. Which was weird, since the pain should have been in his throat. Would a warrant for his arrest be put out to the larger planetary systems? He was long gone from the Magellanic Cloud.

He should really focus on this wound. The blood loss had slowed, and for the most part happened as he was running. The green totally drenching his shirt made it look worse than it was.

No. Not here. He doesn't want to relive this anymore. Fast forward.

A mirror. He had grown some. His eyelid was still stitched shut. The needle marks... had they really been that bad? The tattoos he'd thought looked cool. They covered the worst of the burns. Orange flower colouration was hard to maintain in freckled green skin, especially with all the damage his had incurred. He usually didn't look at himself. But now… well. Inductions like this didn't happen every day. It was important he looked as intimidating as possible. As much as one could look intimidating at 5'3" with freckles on every inch of one's body, a sleeve of orange flowers, and bright, platinum blond hair. He... would admit. He was not usually something defined as intimidating, more. Adorable. Unfortunately. Hmmm...

Perhaps he should cover his eye... uncover the scar across his throat? He didn't like looking at it, but it would boost the level of intimidation towards his followers.

Fast forward.

A raid. His leather jacket was ripped across. He still didn't understand how, exactly, he had been found. Because yes, there was no doubting it. The Science Police were here for him. Not in any part due to what had happened years ago, no. That boy, Jo Nah, had left. You don't just leave gangs, especially not the Brainiac's. Bodies went missing, people were erased… business was business. He must have known. He ran with the gang before Brainiac's arrival, and ran for a while after. You don't get out of it when you're in that deep. So, his only option was to turn in Brainiac. If you can't beat them, join them. If you can't join them, find someone who can beat them. Brainiac hated the Science Police with a passion, but he was forced to admit they clearly had some method to their faux-progressive fascist madness. He just could not fathom how they had truly found him. He had taken every precaution...

87 dead. 19 direct casualties of the Brainiac. The rest a mix of Clang and Police.

He didn't like killing. He hadn't minded then. It was necessary, he'd justified. It was the drugs talking. Fast forward.

The physical at the prison. His memory was imperfect. He recalled their horror at his physical state. Between the eye, his hands, the scarring, the burns, the obvious malnourishment... perhaps he hadn't taken as great care as he should have to maintain his physical health. It was fine. The stars weren't following him, the patterns weren't moving. He could still do science as he preferred, altered state of consciousness not withstanding. They took his piercings. Wouldn't even replace them with studs so they didn't close. He could reorganise his cell priorities in the area so they didn't close anyway, but he was still going to bitch about it.

He was afraid of the withdrawal.

He didn't know how long it had been, since they'd put him... here. He lived life now in a haze without even science to pierce it, the same four walls, the same ceiling and floor. What was the point of going anywhere else in the prison? He was a supermax security prisoner, and as much as prison reform had changed what freedoms he had access to, it wasn't as if they would allow him to do even the most primitive science. So here he stayed, in an unending, drug-induced haze. ...haze. Haze? Daze? Days… No, no, he was certain it had been longer than days. Weeks, maybe. Longer?

He was uncertain. And that terrified him.

Sound. Clang. No, not his Brainiac Clang. A genuine clang from iron. As a technopath, they couldn't put him in a prison with any radiowaves. He could manipulate them. Everything, everything , was mechanical, physical. They couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk him. He was dangerous. A seventeen-year-old supermaximum security prisoner. This was not routine.

He pulled himself from the ground. Must look presentable. His father had drilled that in him young. Not that it mattered now, given his state. Totally disheveled, hair a complete mess, missing his eye coverings and prosthesis, covered in scars. He knew he had at least one primary vein collapse. What a sight he must have made.

Legion.

Wait, what?

The Legion of Superheroes? Here to see him? What could they possibly want with him? Information? There was a high, 87% chance it was that, pure and simple. But the remaining 13%... intrigued him. Nothing is impossible, but it was a near 0 chance it was to recruit him. What could the famed Braalian athlete turned diplomat hero want with him?

At least they had left the Saturnian. He did not want her in his head.

"Brainiac 5."

"...that is I." Oh, had his voice always sounded so shredded? He had not been aware.

"We--the Legion, that is--come to you with an offer." Krinn looked at him strangely. What was he expecting?

"Information, I presume, in exchange for some shortened sentence." There was an itch in his throat. It was odd to say, but he felt it rip into him. He could feel his face stretch and contort as he resisted the urge to cough. Unsuccessfully. He took vague amusement in seeing Krinn panic, but it was substituted to a long unused thought track as his throat protested. Loudly.

"Hey! Can we get some water? He sounds like he's coughing up a lung, come on!"

He could barely hear it, and barely believe it. Very, very few would be willing to offer him assistance. A hero indeed, Krinn. His hand was lifted from the ground, and a cup was forced into his grip. It was lifted to his mouth, and he did his best to contain the convulsions. The water helped... he'd forgotten what undrugged water was like. It was cool, and went down as smoothly as could be expected. Were his feathers coming back? He could feel them under his skin, writhing like--no. No.

Shutting down the thought track immediately.

He drank eagerly, managing to finally bring his other hand up, gripping the cup as firmly as he could. They had disabled his muscular implants, so it wasn't as though his strength was at all impressive, but he relished the stretch in his hands. He couldn’t remember the last time he had held something like this… not since he was a child, most certainly.

He drained the cup, and set it down next to him. When had Krinn sat next to him? This meeting was beginning to give him a headache. 

“Are you alright?” The Braalian sounded as uncomfortable asking the question as Querl felt uncomfortable hearing it. 

“I am… fine. What do you want from me?” His voice sounded even worse now, after his little fit. Get to the point, Krinn.

“Well, you were wrong. We don’t want information from you--or, we do, but not in the way you’re expecting. And it’s not for a shortened sentence. We know you hate the Legion, but after a few days deliberation and some very pointed input from a precog, we’re here to make you an offer,” he shifted, stood back up so as to be looking down at the Brainiac.

“We want you to join the Legion of Superheroes.”

Chapter Text

“You what? ” Bewilderment. Utter bewilderment. True, near zero doesn’t actually mean zero, but it does mean a number so small it can be safely ignored. What the hell was Krinn playing at?

“We want you to join the Legion. Not for some shortened sentence. Your sentence would be totally nullified, and your criminal record erased. You would still be on probation, so if you screw up you’d be right back here, but,” he sighed, lowering his shoulders, “we need you. We need smart, and everyone knows you’re the smartest. Having a precog on the team can only take us so far, and even she recommended you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “So I would be under a conditional release, only so long as my service proves helpful to your Legion? No doubt under constant monitoring. What makes your Legion any better than what I have here?”

“Well, the monitoring wouldn’t actually be constant, you’d have privacy of course. We’re not--Brainiac, this is the most secure facility in existence. Imra had to do so much persuading and we had to pull so many strings just to get this meeting face to face. Legion Headquarters, where you’d be staying, isn’t a supermax security prison. It’s designed not to be. And you’d have a lab, you’d share it we do have another scientist on the team but. That’s more than you have here. Resources, tools, privacy… we could probably get you whatever specific things you needed.” He looked nervous as he finished. Not only was he trying to make this offer seem more agreeable, he was building up to something he thought the Brainiac wouldn’t like. Wonderful.

“What’s the catch. There’s always a catch.” His face was as flat as he could manage, as was his voice. Krinn shifted on his feet, looking away. 

“Well… we… understand if it’s some health thing, but as far as we know it’s not, we’ve asked around Colu, and… like, we understand Type D Psychotic Disorder, but… well… it’s required for you to go through Detox and Rehabilitation. We can get whatever medications you need, but there are laws in place surrounding the… addictive substances. You also have to submit to a Saturnian Psych Ex.” The last of his words were very rushed.

Drugs, Cosmic Boy. Just say drugs. Querl knew it. Krinn knew it. Anyone who knew of Brainiac knew exactly where his trades lie. But the psych ex… Saturnian Psychological Examination was precisely what he had been hoping to avoid. He hated it when people were in his head, and scientific resources or no, if it was Saturn Girl who would be performing it, he would not be joining the Legion under any circumstances. He did not want anyone he was going to work with to know so much about him. Detoxification and Rehabilitation were more expected, but clearly contributing to Krinn’s nerves. Understandable.

“Your Saturn Girl will not be performing the evaluation?” Was he really considering this? It was the Legion; Legion hated the Science Police as much as he did, most certainly, but that was the only similarity in their moral stance that existed. 

“No, no, Im--Saturn Girl isn’t a trained PsychE, just a very powerful telepath. It won’t be Saturn Girl.” Hope. He sounded hopeful. So the Legion was really falling apart at the seams, to be so desperate they turn to him. He was surely a last resort. So they believed they could stay together for another 12-cycle and a half, a month and two weeks if he was to use the old Earth terms he used to love studying. And they were of the belief that his joining the Legion wouldn’t cause such mass unrest that it would destroy them. Perhaps they intended to keep him in the lab. 

Mandated detox and rehabit, a Saturnian Psychological Examination, and probation. How badly did he want out? Did he really want to leave his haze behind? He was safe. For once in his life, he never had to question if the person behind him wanted him dead. He didn’t even have to move if he didn’t want to. 

...but he could do science. He could do research. How long had it been, really, since he’d been able to study the stars to his satisfaction? Since he’d been able to exercise his restless mind? 

He wondered what rehabit would even entail for him. Most of its basis was from Old Earth, from the twenty-third century. If there was even a single Science Police Officer there he was certain he wouldn’t say a word for the entire duration. How would they manage that? He was a supermax prisoner.

“The detox. Where would that take place?”

“The Legion actually has a few different places in mind, but in every case, that scientist I mentioned whose lab space you’d share, he would have to monitor it. He spent a few years learning on Colu, and because of how secretive you all are with your techno-biology, he’s the only one we know who could help monitor your health. He’s also informed us on a couple different things regarding Coluan customs and society, so any Rehabiting program would be designed specifically with you in mind.” Well now he just sounded like he was reading from a script. Maybe he was, maybe these were questions they had prepared for. 

He was still considering it. Still entertaining Krinn instead of shutting down any false hope. Perhaps it was better he agreed. Otherwise, the curiosity of what he was missing may eat him alive. Here, these four walls, they were all the same. Day in, day out, all the same. The same slow drug decrease because the guards didn’t want to deal with someone who would get any bright ideas. Did they think he wouldn’t notice? The dragontail was completely gone, he knew that because the motor tic side effect hadn’t been present for 17 days. The hydratrieluredane, which anyone but him would just call comek, was so weak it was nearly negligible. They were trying to avoid spiking withdrawal symptoms, it was clear. None of them knew Coluans had long since eradicated physical symptoms in favor of the psychological. His haze was a very real proof. Unused (inaccessible) thought tracks was another.

...What did he have to lose? Safety? Sameness? Both could be established in a more dynamic environment. In theory, he could have access to a fully stocked lab. He could have his prosthetic fingers returned to him if he wished. He could finally fix this damnable leg brace they’d given him for his knee, a permanent motor tic from the unplanned removal of his eye. ...he could create something to return to him his full range of vision.

He drew himself up from where he had starfished on the floor. He turned his eye to Krinn, finally facing him again.

“I will not abide by your insufferable tradition towards a gendered name. I am Brainiac 5, and nothing else. You will not change my mind on that.”

He fell on to his back and let the haze take over the rest of his thought tracks. 

    Krinn took his agreement and ran with it, clearly. He didn’t remember agreeing to be moved, but he had (they were required to record his given consent) and now he was awake and aware and totally out of his depth. He’d forgotten how much he despised what was new. Krinn had, otherwise, kept true to his word. There was someone behind the glass they didn’t know Querl could see through with the Legion insignia on his jacket. A new physical was required, and he was quite displeased. Why couldn’t his state of dissociation have lasted through this?

At least this scientist was aware that human methods of monitoring health did nothing but disturb his processing motorboard. He was asked questions concerning his eye--no he was not born without it, or the extensive, visible scarring wouldn’t be there, obviously the removal was not surgical, and yes, the optical nerve being yanked half out of his head disturbed his motor wiring and left a permanent, debilitating motor tic in his right knee.

    And so the process repeated for his hands, and any scar that looked significant to the PhysE. When they finally got around to the deep, dark scarring around his throat, he froze. 

    “Brainiac? We uh- we do need an answer, i-it’s required? P-please?” She held her board slightly in front of her, as though that would shield her from any perceived ire. He balled his hands into fists, as though it would stop his trembling. 

    “No.” His voice shook, and he kicked himself internally. She lowered her board, and he hated what she did next. She pitied him, he could see it. She made some mark, no doubt something for whatever PsychE or counselor he would be forced to speak to, and moved on. He growled. Wrong move, apparently. He could see one of the guards they’d assigned at the door behind her take a step forward. The PhysE put a hand up, and they stopped.

    “It’s noted in literally every class you could possibly take on xenobiology that Coluans are one of the races that vent frustration through growling. Quit being meathead SECs.” ...was she one of the human-mimic races? How could she have seen them move? Humans can’t react that quickly to sound.

    “Just doing my job.”

    “Great, and I would prefer to do mine without a 5 foot 3 inch patient who’s 50 kilograms soaking wet being restrained by two 6 foot 2 idiots.” Ah. Human, then, all of them. Was he on Earth? Humans had spread significantly as they reached their Galactic Space Age, but to have so many without even one mitigating race was… strange. On any place but Earth, that is. Also, he was not that light. His form was solid muscle, and by nature of Coluan biology he should’ve weighed at least --

    Oh. That was… part of the problem, wasn’t it. He should weigh more. But he doesn’t, does he.

    “Brainiac? I think, given we’ve gotten most of the rest of your intake out of the way, we can move on now. You can probably expect a base intake psychiatric exam, but it might not happen. I know you’d prefer I’d be more specific with the odds, but I don’t know. It all depends on things I’m unaware of. If there isn’t a base psychiatric exam--usually a questionnaire, by the way--then you will be required to speak to a counselor either today or tomorrow. Otherwise, you’ll just be left to yourself mostly. I’ll be your general physician for your time here, so if you have any questions, feel free to come to me.” She looked at him kindly, and he didn’t know why. He had done nothing to deserve it--in fact, he’d made her fear for her physical safety shortly before. Humans were strange beings. Why was he entrusting his health to them?

    “You won’t have full access to a lab space, but we do have a physical workstation for electronics if you ever want to tinker.” Oh. Right. Science.

    A buzzing sound came over him then, and he wasn’t really sure what happened after. He knew they hadn’t tranquilized or sedated him, they weren’t actually allowed to do that. There was just… nothing. Total blank. He was in a new room, remarkably like his old cell. Something about it just seemed different. He wasn’t sure if it was the color difference, or the intent behind his current imprisonment. And that was something to consider, wasn’t it, if it was imprisonment when he had agreed to it. But something about it felt different, and he didn’t know why, and it was driving him up the wall. Literally. Coluans couldn’t fly unassisted, but Querl had an impeccable sense of balance with unexpected applications. Unfortunately, this did not mix well with his sudden tendency to mentally blackout, and he fell quite quickly. His back hit the floor, and he didn’t process any of it until he heard a knock on his door.

    “Brainiac? Are you alright? That was quite a thud.”

    Silence. He didn’t respond. What were they going to do?

    “Brainiac, if you don’t respond, whether that’s something as simple as a knock in acknowledgement or something verbal if you respond, I’m going to have to come in the room to make sure you haven’t somehow injured yourself.”

    “...to whom am I speaking.” His throat hurt as he spoke, and ached when he finished. 

    “It’s Janine, Brainiac. We met earlier, I’m the one who showed you around? I’m your general consultant.” She sounded unsure of herself. It was all he had to go on, unfortunately. The static was still ringing in his ears. He wondered if he’d even remember falling later.

    “I am unharmed.”

    “Okay, that’s good. Just remember we’ll call you for dinner in a few hours.” And she just… left? Her footsteps receded, and from his place on the floor he could see her shadows retreat. But she hadn’t bothered with any of the strange, pointless social niceties people usually had. It was oddly… warm. He couldn’t put a name to what it made him feel, just… warm. A good version of a strange sensation. Hm.

    He was oddly tired… perhaps from the walk around the institution he did not remember. He still had no idea how he was supposed to find his way around. His backup memory banks were empty as well, of all his lost time, so either his optical implants were malfunctioning at the time (unlikely, if he were unable to navigate he likely would have woken in some form of a hospital bed) or the withdrawal from the hydratrieluredane was wreaking more havoc in his mind than he had anticipated. Due to his usually infallible memory, he could not simply ask for a--a map without drawing incredible suspicion, which was precisely what he was hoping to avoid.

    At least laying on the floor of a room he would likely be spending the majority of his time in was familiar. That hadn’t changed. He didn’t have to remember what he was doing when he was on the floor, either. Floor time was an impeccable time to not think.

Chapter Text

He inhaled sharply. While he did not often engage in hyperbole, it was true. His head was pounding, and he did not know how to remedy it. The light streaming in from the window was not helping his headache either.

Wait. Window? He didn’t have a window in his room. He stopped rubbing his eyes and looked up, finally processing his surroundings. The static along his thought tracks grew louder, an incessant buzz engulfing his skull. This was… some sort of mess hall? He had food in front of him. Pills, too, no doubt supplements for his malnourished state. When did he move here? How did he get here? He realised, then, that he didn’t remember eating last night. He didn’t remember anything after the static came back over him on the floor. That was a significantly longer stretch of time than it had been before.

He was losing time.

He was afraid of the withdrawal for a reason.

“Hello Brainiac Five. I am the counselor. It is both my title and my preferred name, so please, call me as such. I go by the counselor and the counselor exclusively.”

A couch. A new room. A new person. The counselor. Yes. The PhysE had mentioned a counselor he would see. The counselor did not use pronouns. Not uncommon. The counselor did not appear to be anything other than human, further supporting his theory that he had already been moved to Earth.
“Brainiac, I have a couple questions for you, and I promise you they have nothing to do with the standard intake questions. It’s just that a few staff members have raised concerns about your behaviour, and in literal minutes, I see now what they meant. The moment I started talking, something came on in your eyes. There’s a human saying, “the lights aren’t all on upstairs”, which is commonly used now to say that a person is not fully mentally aware of their surroundings. To continue with that metaphor, the moment I started talking, your lights flicked on. I need to ask you how long that’s been going on.”

The counselor leaned forward. He wanted to answer the counselor, but the static engulfed his thought tracks, and he was lost to the world. 

Janine hurried through the halls, filled with nervous energy. She was eager to meet with the counselor and see what the counselor had learned about Brainiac Five. She was concerned about him, in all honesty. He hadn’t seemed… present, the few times she’d met with him. The only time she’d actually spoken with him had been last night through the door, when he (presumably) fell to the floor. He had looked startled about halfway through breakfast, and even though he was looking right at her, he didn’t seem to recognise her. He walked slowly, and maybe it was because of that leg brace of his, but he just… he didn’t seem okay.

She turned the corner and entered the room marked ‘Staff Only’, almost running face first into the back of Dr. Lyle Norg, Legionnaire, and their current (and only) Coluan expert. 

“Ah, Janine. Right on time. I was just informing Dr. Norg of what happened.” She was greeted kindly by the counselor as Dr. Norg moved to the side.

“Yes, yes, please continue, Counselor.” She sat at the square table across from the counselor, and Dr. Norg joined her.

“Well, first, I’ve shared your concerns with our resident expert, and he agrees it seems out of sorts for Coluan behaviour. Second, as far as what’s happened… that’s somewhat the problem. Nothing happened. He walked in just as you described; slow, almost listless. He sat on the center couch, directly across from me, but it was like he was looking straight through me. He wasn’t really seeing me or even the rest of the room until I started talking. It was like some switch flipped, and it turned on his mind. I asked him how long that had been going on, how long he had spent unaware, and he really did look like he was trying to answer, but that switch just… flipped off again. I spent a few minutes talking, but I may as well have been speaking to an empty room. I don’t think he absorbed any of it. There was no… no thought. No thinking going on in the brain his clan is known for. I think, at some point, he actually nodded off. He left on the turn of the hour, not even a second off time.” As the counselor finished, Janine watched the counselor grip a pendant--an old, worn Star of David--that hung around the counselor’s neck. The silver metal contrasted sharply against the counselor’s dark skin. Janine didn’t think it was a conscious action.

To her right, Dr. Norg looked deeply contemplative. He had one arm crossed in front of him, resting on the table, and he used the other hand to rub at his chin.

“You are correct, Counselor, that does sound… strange, for Coluan behaviour. Many of them can find themselves lost in thought, but to be so far gone is… well, to be quite honest, it’s not something I’ve ever seen. Er, Janine, how long has this been going on?”

She swallowed. His voice was lighter than she thought it would be.

“Since yesterday. He didn’t say anything when I was showing him around, and about an hour later, one of the understaff heard a loud thud, so I got called to his room. You said Coluans have an almost uncanny ability to tell people apart, right? So it’s weird that he didn’t recognise my voice?” Her voice betrayed her nerves, though to be fair, it was very obvious she was worried in the first place. Maybe she’d said the wrong thing, because Dr. Norg’s frown grew.

“Yeah, that’s pretty weird. If we hadn’t already done an intake phys, I’d put it down to a malfunctioning on-board processor, but his implanted technology has all been maintained well over the years.” He brought his other hand up to his face, leaned back in his chair, and rubbed at his eyes.

“Look. It’s way early to be making any calls as to what this says about him mentally or physiologically, and we definitely do not have enough to go off of otherwise. Let’s just give it a day or two and see if it resolves itself? And ultimately, if he’s not at risk of harm, there’s really not much intervening we can do. He’s already been given a usual schedule, and like you said, Counselor, it seems like he’s unconsciously following it to the second. We’ve still got a 12-cycle and a half to figure all of this out, so let’s give him some time. Maybe he’s just not adjusting well.”

Janine hadn’t known it was possible for seventeen-year-olds to sound so hopeful, and yet so resigned.

The counselor stood, and looked at her.

“Well then, I think we have a bit of a plan. Janine, you’re his general consultant, so try your best to keep an eye on him when he’s out of his room. Otherwise, I think given what we suspect of his past, trying to get some form of an emotional rise out of him is a poor idea. Dr. Norg, I respect your choice to stay out of this as much as possible, and as such, we’ll only involve you if we think it involves his health or some cultural confusion. I’ll keep you both updated on our sessions, assuming he turns up.”

The counselor smiled, but it seemed… professional at best. Everyone was out of their depth here. Who wouldn’t be? Brainiac Five and all the situations surrounding him were, truly, one of a kind. 

And so it went. For the next forty-eight hours, when he was out of his room, Brainiac Five was under strict observation, kept by Janine, the counselor, and one concerned nurse who had found him wandering the halls in the middle of the night.

It was strange. He ate when prompted, he drank if he was given a cup. He slept when he was tired, and clearly that was often. He nodded off a lot, usually ending up asleep through two or more sleep cycles. If you looked at him when he was awake, he was just staring straight through you. There wasn’t a thought behind his eyes, and that was incredibly concerning for a Coluan, especially the smartest one in history. He still shied away from touch though, so either that was an ingrained trauma response (which was something Janine was trying desperately not to consider), or there was some higher response to sensation and he was touch-averse. For reasons unknown to anyone but himself, he had removed the right sleeve of all his shirts, so if he was lost, they led him by the sleeve around his left wrist. He didn’t leave his room for the most part, but when he did, he was just… ghostly. Almost transparent.

By the end of the second day, Janine was tired, to say the least. She had to be up at unusual hours to try and coax Brainiac back to his room at night when one of the nurses found him wandering the halls, and she had to be able to observe him during the day. It had only been two days since the observation period started, but by the time she had gotten Brainiac settled back in his room after dinner, she was exhausted down to her bones. She slumped in her chair, head down on the table as she waited for Dr. Norg and the counselor to show. Her wish was granted shortly after, as Norg and the counselor entered together. The counselor took the counselor’s hair out from the counselor’s braids at some point in the last two days, letting it stand back in an afro. The pair sat across from her, Norg looking at Janine with a mix of pity and amusement, and the counselor with that same deep set exhaustion. She groaned as she lifted her head to address them.

“So, I think we’re all aware Brainiac hasn’t regained any sense of self over the past two days. He wanders the halls at night if he isn’t sleeping, and I found him yesterday during what was supposed to be your meeting?” She turned to more directly face the counselor, who grimaced.

“Yes, he did show up but fell asleep almost immediately. When he woke up about a half hour later, he just… left. I still don’t know why. He seemed even less present than usual, then, so perhaps that has something to do with it.” The counselor seemed apologetic for the counselor’s lack of information.

Dr. Norg sighed deeply, and sat back in his chair.

“That’s… kind of what I was afraid of. Has he been responding to anything? His name? Sudden light?”

“Well, he doesn’t respond visibly to his name. He’ll take care of anything internal, though. He’ll eat when he has food in front of him, but only if he’s hungry. He’ll drink if he’s given water, and he just sleeps whenever. He seems, if I may be frank, exhausted. Other than the sleeping, though, he seems to be following the schedule we gave him on his first day. I get called a lot at night, he wanders the halls and we have to coax him back to his room. He still shies away from touch, so we have to lead him by his sleeve.” Janine rubbed at her face. She needed a shower and a nap. 

“As cultural consultant, I have to tell you here and now, we can’t run any tests. Coluan society, as you know, places a great deal of importance on the brain. Anything to do with it, really. They treat their minds with reverence, and for a few centuries now they’ve been slowly modifying themselves to protect from any sort of brain damage, whether from an external or internal source. So, neural scans of any kind are considered…” he tensed, “well, extremely intimate. Obviously not all Coluans sequester themselves away in labs, or they never would have developed commerce and engineering, but any sort of testing like that must be performed and interpreted by close family members or loved ones. On very rare occasions, if a working trust has been built with a lab partner, they can do the tests. Otherwise… well, they’re just straight up invasive, so you can imagine how that would feel for Brainiac. The goal of this whole thing is to help him, not make him feel like he doesn’t even have privacy in his own head. He can’t consent to the tests we would need to do, and even if he was that responsive, I wouldn’t trust him to really understand what he was agreeing to.” He let out a long sigh, deflating in his seat. He brought his right hand up, massaging his temples.

“The best theory I have for you is this is withdrawal. His higher thought retreats as the brain does a thorough detox now that he doesn’t have any drug intake. He was placed on a harm reduction track while he was in prison, and they managed to eliminate dragontail from his system with no noticeable side effects, but the grave dust, comek-comik-whatever, and hydreiflectoxin was still there. So this is the withdrawal we can see.” At their disbelieving looks, he threw up his hands.

“Look, if you guys have theories, I’m all ears! But this is the best I’ve got for you, and there’s nothing we can do about that. We can’t run tests without his consent, which he can’t give. He doesn’t have an advanced medical directive, three guesses why and the first two don’t count.” He groaned, putting his head down on the table. He didn’t sit up when he began to speak.

“You guys made it sound like he can take care of himself. If he eats, and drinks, and sleeps, all on his own, then there’s nothing we can actually do.” He lifted his head, and Janine was shocked still by how tired he looked.

“We can’t do anything until he can’t take care of himself anymore. That’s our legal limit. However long that might take, if he ever hits that point at all.” He put his head back in his hands, and Janine couldn’t help but compare him to an exhausted highschooler, asleep at their desk.

She and the counselor knew better than to bother him again that day. 

And things just… stayed the same. By day five, Janine had a night-shift nurse at Brainiac’s door, to follow him and make sure he got back to his room alright. Even when he stopped showing up to the counseling appointments, he followed the counselor if the counselor was out of the office. Norg got called out by the Legion on day ten. Brainiac showered. He ate. He cared for himself. He stayed in his room for the majority of the day and kept wandering at night. By day sixteen of observation, eighteen days after Brainiac arrived, he finally stayed in his room the entire night. 

Janine was on her way to the meeting room. Dr. Norg had come back, and asked to be updated about Brainiac. She saw Brainiac turn the corner, and on a second glance, something seemed different about him. He walked slowly, somewhat aimlessly. That was nothing unusual. He had a towel in his hands, and he kept running his thumbs over it. She couldn’t blame him, their towels were very soft. She walked over to him; Norg probably wouldn’t mind waiting if she had to guide Brainiac to the showers. 

He looked up at her as she approached. That was certainly new, he didn’t usually look at them until they were guiding him somewhere.

“Showers are this way, Brainiac.” 

“...Janine?”

Chapter Text

Querl blinked, and then curled in on himself, putting his head between his knees. His entire head felt like it had been caught in a hydraulic press that had slammed down and bounced. Even accessing and running diagnostics on a second thought track caused the pain to worsen, and then he found out why. A good amount of his neural receptors had reopened suddenly in the middle of a deep brain matter detoxification, and the detoxification was still in its final stages. The buzzing was back, and getting louder, but something about it just seemed… less intense. He had an odd certainty that this would be the end of it. He hoped.

He was in the hallway. A hallway. There were many hallways in this building--compound? He was still uncertain what classified human architecture to be a compound--and he had come to at a corner. The buzzing in his head had receded entirely, and his thought tracks were blessedly clear of static pain. He had a very soft fluffy towel in his hands, and he rubbed at it absentmindedly as he… wandered. He did not like admitting it, but he was absolutely lost, and had no idea what to do about that.
A woman was heading down the hallway he had just turned the corner on. Something about her seemed familiar, but he had no way of placing how. He was certain he had never seen a human quite like her; her bright purple hair was most certainly indicative of Paresinoan ancestry, but he only knew it wasn’t a simple dye because she had the dark swirling patterns under and around her neck that traced her vein structure. As she got closer, her eyes shifted from a strange brown to a dull red, reminiscent of the faded brick from only the oldest human structures that remained. He observed her movement at the edge of his vision as she got closer, occupying himself with mapping the doors and their numbered plates on the edge of their wooden trim. She altered her course by approximately 35.7 degrees, no longer heading down the hallway but going directly toward him. She spoke, but he wasn’t as focused on that as he was the way her voice sounded. He could place it. He had heard it through a door, while he was spread out on the floor.

“...Janine?”

He observed her closely. Her eyes went wide, the faded red sparking with saturation as her emotional state changed. Her shoulders raised minutely. 

“B-Brainiac? Is--you just--” she shook her head, lowered her shoulders, and refocused.

“Hello. I’m Janine, but you already knew that. Showers are this way, Brainiac.” She turned, and began walking down the hallway, in the direction opposite where she had been heading before running into him. He followed behind her.

They walked, and as they went, Querl continued cataloguing doors and room numbers and whatever turns they took. The sooner he did not need assistance to navigate, the better. 

Janine stopped abruptly, and turned to face him. She looked… harrowed? He was uncertain if the descriptor was correct; he had never gone out of his way to study English-form Interlac. Perhaps harried was a better term. Yes, that was it. She looked harried. She said there would be a nurse around to guide him back to his room if he needed when he was finished, and turned to leave. Janine walked away quickly, taking a different route back to where they were than she had used to guide him to shower.

Querl decided if there was one thing he missed about the prison, it was the showers. There was no doubt that the showers here were meant to prevent any form of intentional harm, but the water pressure was abysmal, and the temperature couldn’t get any higher than the temperature of the room, which he had already adjusted to. All he felt was the sensation of water running down his skin, it was strange. He had a few theories as to how that was done. He stood under the spray, not really showering anymore, just letting the water fall. Water without experiencing some sort of temperature difference to adjust to was… well, the only word he really had for it was strange. He decided, after a while, that it was too strange. There was nothing to adjust to, and that in itself he just could not get used to. He stepped out of the spray and turned off the water, pleased with how fluffy his towel was. While not warm, it was a very nice change from the weirdness of the water. The towel wrapped around his shoulders and fell to his knees, it was very big. Here, out of sight of everyone else, in a room without windows or cameras, Querl rubbed his face on a fluffy white towel and smiled.

He got dressed, and wondered about the oddity of his shirts. One shortened sleeve on the left, but the right had been completely removed, and the removal continued on the back into a triangle of empty space. He didn’t quite know how he did it; he didn’t remember any of it, and this looked like it would take fabric-working tools he didn’t have. Did he do this? Did he request it at some point? 

Well, whatever the case, it let his flowers breathe, and that was easily most important. Eventually, if he re-feathered (which, to be fair, was a rare happenstance in Coluan physiology, especially with the genetic manipulation that had gone into maintaining the Brainiac line) the sleeve that stopped just above the elbow would allow for the feathers to breathe as well. It would not be particularly laboratory-safe of him to not wear a lab coat, or to wear one with shortened sleeves just to prevent itchiness, but he supposed he would… how did the human saying go… “burn that bridge when he got to it.”

Querl left the shower room, and as Janine had said, a nurse was there to guide him back to his room. Brainiac wondered why the Legion was going such lengths for him. While a tenth-level intellect was simply incomparable to his superior twelfth-level intellect, the Legion would still have the Coluan mind they no doubt desired. So, why him? He was a dangerous criminal. In fact, he was widely considered the most dangerous criminal to ever emerge from his clan, in large part because of what he refused to do. Killing, while taking less effort than subduing, was something he had not often done. Because of that, because of the effort the miserable Science Police knew he expended to avoid it, he was considered more dangerous than even the original Brainiac. Brainiac killed to take over planets. Brainiac Five didn’t have to. So why someone as dangerous as he?

Querl continued pondering as he was led, dedicating one thought track to the ever-confusing Legion, another to cataloguing doors and room numbers, a third to tracking the hallway turns in comparison to how he had gotten to the showers in the first place, and a fourth for basic math review. Doing calculus was a relaxing exercise. It had been some time since he had been able to access any more than two thought tracks without some sort of pain, but he knew where his limits lied. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm himself with thought in the middle of a hallway. How humiliating that would be.

He startled when the nurse crossed his field of vision as they left–he had not realised they arrived at his room. He was anxious for the return of use of the rest of his thought tracks; now that he was active again, now that things were different again, he could not get used to having his mental capacity so stunted that he did not notice such things.

Querl passed through the door and closed it behind him, falling against it as it clicked shut. He grimaced as his knee jerked painfully against the brace. Fixing it would be his number one priority upon his joining the Legion. He’d probably just burn this one, useless as it was. Maybe scrap it… All it did was restrain his knee when his tic flared, it didn’t even really keep him upright. It didn’t redistribute any weight off his knee, the metal was not at all durable, and the plastic molded to his upper calf was warped inward to the point of discomfort. He didn’t need a knee brace for arthritis or pain. Whoever made it was stupid and should be ashamed of themself.

He pushed away from the door when his knee finally settled to a point he could put weight on it again, and went over to the dresser. Dresser. Wardrobe. Bureau. Technically synonymous with cabinet. A closet would be a small, enclosed space most commonly used to store clothing. What other terms were there in English-Form Interlac?

Behind you. 

Querl whirled around, expecting to see someone behind him after that warning from one of his thought tracks. But, no, that didn’t actually make sense. He had a thought track designated to keeping track of sound input, and he hadn’t heard the door open. It was still shut and locked. They had allowed him a lock on his door. Yes, they had a key, and the door could be easily broken, but he was allowed to lock his room’s door. No one was in the room with him. But he felt like someone was behind him, just… watching. He turned around again, but there was still no one.

Querl hated feeling like this. These ones passed, usually without incident, but he felt paranoid and on edge. No one was here. No one was watching him. He was fine, he was alone. He felt like there was someone just out of sight, always in his blind spot. He backed himself up onto the bed, and into the corner. His back was to the wall. There was no way anyone was behind him. But he didn’t feel alone.

There was a knock on his door. He would say he didn’t know how much time had passed, but that was simply incorrect. It had been thirty seven minutes and twenty four point five four six seconds, approximately, since he had curled into the corner. The door was still locked. He had not moved since, and did not want to. But did he want to not move more than he did not want someone in his room? He could simply tell them to get the key because he would not move to unlock the door. That would, however, mean allowing them to enter his room and approach him. They would be cornering him. He could not allow that. 

The moment Querl got up, the feeling that someone was behind him came back. He wondered if interacting with this other person would make it go away. The chances were more in favor that it would exacerbate it, however, rather than make it go away.

He unlocked the door and opened it, revealing the counselor. The counselor smiled at him. Odd, the counselor’s teeth almost appeared silver. Silver teeth were a common trait in Ocitenans, who were among the first races to welcome Humanity to the stars. The counselor must have some latent Ocitenan ancestry that manipulated the counselor’s bone composition. 

“Hello, Brainiac Five. Do you remember me?” He stared at the counselor, mildly upset at the fact that he had to look up. Height was relative, so why was everyone around him so tall?

“Is there a point to this?” The counselor’s kind gaze flickered briefly, but the smile stayed consistent.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. I heard from Janine you had-” he cut the counselor off. 

“I am awake and fully aware once more, yes. I have no recollection of the time in which I was un aware, however long that may have been. Is that all?” Querl grew more uncomfortable the longer he was standing. There was something behind him, but no, because if there was the counselor would have instinctively looked towards it. 

“...for the most part, yes. Given Janine said you were ‘checked out’ while she was showing you around, I assume you don’t actually remember your schedule?” He didn’t respond. Why bother? The counselor was correct. The counselor didn’t budge, or respond. The counselor was determined to draw a response from him, then. Fine. He nodded curtly.

“Then Janine can give you a paper copy to hang in here, in case this happens again, alright?” Again, he nodded. He really wanted to sit back in his corner… 

The counselor inclined the counselor’s head, and then left. Turned around and walked away. Hm. He closed the door, went back to his corner, and started pondering. So all the staff were like that? They didn’t bother with human niceties. No, not even human, a good deal of species across the universe recorded various salutations, and the majority of those had some version of the word “polite” in their languages. But for some reason, the human staff who had interacted with him (which was, insofar, just the PhysE, Janine, the counselor, and that one nurse) hadn’t bothered with what was considered a cornerstone in their behaviour. Had someone briefed them on Coluan social culture? Who could’ve even done that? Colu was a very reclusive planet, sharing knowledge only when necessary. Their social culture was unknown to all visitors but those invited to think with the Council, which was… well, only other Coluans as far as he knew, primarily the less evil members of the Brainiac clan. Given he was wanted alive from the moment he stole that one–the visitor. Had he stayed on Colu? Oh, but if he had, would he have even been invited to see the Council?

Querl thought, and thought, and thought, not even noticing his body drifting into a sleep state until his thought tracks drifted away.

Chapter Text

Day 23

“Hello, Brainiac. How are you doing today?” The counselor seemed almost hesitant as the counselor spoke. So the counselor was informed of what happened last night. Well, the afternoon before.

There had been a nurse who was filming him while he worked, and he was more than certain that violated some part of, if not their work contract, then some Earthly law about video and image consent. So, he reacted accordingly, getting up and using the nail on his thumb to shatter the camera lens. As he did so, he interfaced with the rest of the device’s files. There had been a very blurry video of him (in chains, which. Fair. he was a supermax prisoner and that wouldn’t change until he was released to the Legion.) on the day he had arrived, which he had no memory of. The next was a passing shot of him being led through the halls by Janine, and the last file was a video captioned “awww, he’s kinda cute actually. he keeps following the counselor like a puppy follows its mom”. The caption was… not incorrect, though he detested being called a puppy. In any case, the nurse had come very close to screaming and running away, despite being significantly bigger than him. It was good to know he was at least still intimidating, but he was about 83.24 percent certain that the counselor was disappointed in him. Not that he cared.

“Brainiac, do you understand why that was not an appropriate response to the situation?” Ah, there it was.

“It got the point across, and will encourage others to not do the same.” He was right, and the counselor knew it. The counselor sighed, and looked at him the same way his father used to when he got a question wrong as a young child, but without that same condescension. 

“Right, yes, that’s true. But you can’t just break something that belongs to someone else, Brainiac. It’s rude.”

“I don’t particularly care how I am perceived by the staff in this facility, Counselor. Whether that be they think I am intimidating or otherwise, I simply do not care what they think of me. If I grew up caring about what people thought of me, I would not be here.”
Again, the counselor sighed.

“Brainiac, please. You know after this you’re going to be released to the Legion, and it’s better you adjust to working with people here with regular humans rather than on the field with a team of eccentric, super-powered teenagers.” The way the counselor was looking at him… he didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Fine. I will ask once. That is it. If they do not act accordingly, then what I do in response is their fault.” He didn’t like compromising when he didn’t think he should have to, but… the way the counselor was looking at him…

“That’s all we ask of you, Brainiac.”

Day 29

The counselor sat in the staff meeting room, idly scratching at her stubble. She had been growing it out for a few weeks and was quite happy with the results, given that her facial hair usually grew in patchy.

The door opened, and in came Janine. She had said she wanted to meet with the counselor concerning Brainiac’s behaviour. The counselor had noticed he seemed snippier these past two days, but there was a lot to adjust to, and she found it likely he was only just beginning to truly process what this all really meant for him. This was as once-in-a-lifetime as chances got, and he was definitely smart enough to know that. 

Janine sat with a dull thud, and a long sigh. She was rubbing at her forehead with one hand, the other crossed in front of her.
“God, I’m beginning to think he’s really just an asshole. He’s just so–so petty!” 

The counselor stared at her with vague amusement. “It’s taken you this long to figure that out? He’s the type of person that leaves a door open so you have to get up and close it yourself, Janine, and you’re just now picking up that he’s petty? He fried the circuitry of a woman’s cam because she was recording him.” 

“I still think he was in the right about that, by the way. She shouldn’t have been recording him.” Oh, Janine, as stubborn as Brainiac. Who still hadn’t said a word to the counselor beyond the recording incident. 

“And I think that too, Janine, but the problem with that is he’s about to go work on a team of super-teenagers. If he ends up being a petty asshole and that’s just his personality, fine, but also he’s autistic and psychotic and needs to learn coping mechanisms while we have him that aren’t just lashing out then curling in on himself. If his version of coping is locking himself in a low-stimulation environment where he can control his sensory input, okay, he can even do that here in his room. Solves what’s real sensory input and what’s a hallucination, and it solves overstimulation problems. But he can’t just… avoid talking to people for the rest of his life while on a team of superheroes who hate the Science Police and roast the United Planets every other sentence. They need him to work with them, and that involves communication. He is very obstinate in that regard, which is most of the problem. But, that’s not the point,” she waved her hands in front of her and leaned back in her chair, “you said you wanted to talk about him, and I doubt it was just to call him petty.”

Janine sighed again, mimicking the counselor’s movements.

“Right, yeah. He’s been really uh… well, he’s very petty, like I already said, but he’s just been really snippy and short with anyone and everyone lately. Don’t make a height joke out of that, Counselor, you and I both know how mean that is, especially with his knee.” The counselor shut her mouth, and reconsidered what she was about to say. Were she and Brainiac something to be considered friends, then maybe it would have been fine, but they weren’t, and in hindsight, yeah, that was kind of a dick move. Maybe Janine could get away with teasing him about his fluffy hair (which she had. multiple times. how on Earth she had managed to become some semblance of friendly with him was completely unknown and, frankly, baffling to the counselor.) but that was different from a poorly timed height joke. 

“Height jokes aside, Counselor, he’s unfairly snippy with other people, and because he’s definitely not the type to say sorry, I needed to ask if you might know why he’s just now getting so… like this? I mean, I know he’s only been coherent for the past quarter and a half, but it’s really been in the past two days that his assholeishness has skyrocketed.” Janine looked at the counselor with a questioning, yet expecting expression. Really, Janine, what did you want from the counselor? She couldn’t do everything involving the boy. Man. Teenager? She had a few theories regarding Brainiac’s identity, but nothing solid yet. There was one more recent case of Coluan gone rogue, but it ended up swept under the rug when Brainiac went public. 

“Well, Janine, have you considered that just maybe, he’s really just an asshole?”

Janine cocked her head, considering, then spoke.

“He’s… well, I mean. We haven’t addressed the assholery, I guess, so maybe he doesn’t know?”

“What’s he been doing?”

“Oh, he barks at people in the commons if he’s tinkering. It’s happened a couple times when I knock on his door. He ripped through the Advanced Astrophysics mathematics textbook in a day, by the way. Literally, I think, but. Yeah. And, I figured maybe you should be made aware, I think he made a tablet? Like, a functional, LCD screen displaying tablet. No idea where he would have gotten such an old screen, or maybe he made it, but he carries it around and uses it to… I don’t even know what, but he’s interfacing with it constantly, which I think is the only reason he’s not mad the screen is display-only. He finished it yesterday, which is when the snippyness went up. If we try and get his attention while he’s busy with it, he’s annoyed with us as his base state. And he glares and shrinks away if we try and get his attention through touch. He’s just all around snippy and short.” The counselor watched as Janine’s eyes shifted from that old brick red to a much more saturated vermillion color. She cared for Brainiac, but right then she was annoyed with him. 

“Janine, literally anyone would be annoyed if you pulled their attention away from what they were doing.”

“Well, yeah, but he doesn’t need to snap at people!” Janine huffed, crossing her arms in front of her. So, so similar to Brainiac in this way, Janine, and yet you don’t even see it. Perhaps that was why he let her tease him about his hair.

“Then talk to him about it. You said yourself maybe he doesn’t realise. Plus, have you perhaps considered he’s not the best with emotional regulation? We both know that’s a symptom he’s exhibited from the start. Just… talk to him about it. Address it with him. You’ll have more luck than I would.”

Day 32

“Okay, Brainiac. We’re trying something new today. You may have heard of it, you may not have. It’s a very, very old sort of… test. It’s called random word association, I’m going to say a word and I want you to tell me the first word that comes to mind. I have a timer here that will time how long it takes for you to answer. None of your answers will be recorded, and all of this will be confidential unless you want or need the results released to certain people in the future. Okay?” He looked at Querl with something close to pleading in his expression, and Querl reluctantly nodded his head. What harm could come of it?

“Well then, let’s start simple. Science.”

“Yes.” The counselor looked briefly taken aback at the steel in his voice, but carried on.

“Light.” Querl hissed, then answered “C,” of course in reference to C being the symbol for the speed of light. He didn’t like bright light, it messed with his eye.

“Gender.”

He stuck out his tongue as he grimaced. Gender was an old idea and he didn’t like it. The counselor smiled, clearly amused.

“That’s enough of a reaction for that idea, then. No need to answer. Moving on. Green.”
“Scar.” He thought it was a fair and appropriate word. His skin was darker at his scars. The counselor looked surprised, however, when that was his answer. Perhaps because of scar tissue’s mild melasma in Coluans?

“Hands?” Querl averted his gaze. 

“Gone.” He attempted to tighten his hands into fists. He couldn’t anymore. He would have to start doing physical therapy exercises if he wanted to regain any fine movement. 
The counselor made some mark on the screen in his lap, and muttered under his breath.

“Sleep.” Now this one, this one threw Querl for a loop. He didn’t have a–a word he associated to sleep. Just a feeling. Sort of like… like on Delgas Minot when he had been almost buried by the Shifting Sandtide. Due to the lighter gasses produced under the sand, it behaved almost like a liquid, and he had not been prepared. 
His silence did not go unnoticed by the counselor. 

“Brainiac?”

“I… do not have an answer. There is a–a feeling, I associate, but not a word. I could not even begin to describe the feeling, because you have not experienced what caused it.” The counselor nodded, as though what Querl had said made sense. When he had told the Imskian, she had just… stared at him. Though, he had been incredibly high at the time, so for all he knew he could have been speaking ancient Indictik. …he probably was, given the look on her face. 

“That makes sense. Associating things with a sensation or an image is a common way of thinking. I would imagine, given how advanced Coluan neural wiring is, it is much more efficient for you as a race to think in that manner rather than having to use a full language. If that’s how you think, imagining these things as sensations or images, then you’re also having to translate your meaning not just from a mother language but also from your own, internal language into a worded thought. Sometimes, that’s where things can get lost in translation, because how do you word an image? Something that isn’t even quite complete but you have a full understanding of?” The counselor gave a final nod, something Querl noticed he had a habit of doing when closing a subject. This was noticed, however, on an offhanded thought track. He had recently regained his ninth thought track without sensory and mental overwhelm, and relished in the achievement. But, more importantly, how was the counselor right? Because there was no questioning it, no room for error, that was exactly Querl’s primary issue in communication with others. (besides the fact that, compared to him, the supreme majority of the universe was intellectually inferior in every way.) Brainiac sat, quietly stupefied at how succinctly the counselor had managed to describe his greatest challenge.

“Now, Brainiac, if you feel ready to move on, there is a list to finish.” Right, yes, the counselor was expecting something of whatever Querl’s words were telling him. Querl nodded, and the list began again.

“Blue.”

“Freckles.” Querl thought the answer made sense. Freckles had a few layers of color variation on Coluan skin, and one of those gave them a blue appearance. A part of him, however, was very pleased when the counselor raised an eyebrow, obviously not expecting that relation.

“Desert.” Here Querl perked up. He happened to know of a very beautiful desert.

“Glass.” The most beautiful desert he had ever seen was a desert covered in glass after a lightning storm. Rather common for that planet, really, which was why it was called the Green Glass Desert. Very different from the oceans of the Shifting Sandtide. 

“Rimbor.”

“Traitor.” He scowled, glaring fiercely at the wall. Jo Nah had gotten him caught, and as a result, 32 members of the Clang had been killed. By the Science Police. 

“Touch.”

Querl shuddered. He didn’t like it. Made his skin crawl and itch, especially around his forearms. He made a brief noise of disgust that the counselor accepted as an answer.

“Naltor.”

Querl paused for a moment here. He, like most others, associated Naltor with the swirl of silver and blue that was so common on their clothing. But if he had to put a word to it…
“Infuriating.” The counselor raised an eyebrow at that, but that was all. No further reaction.

“Father.”

And again, Querl paused. This time, though, it was because he was struggling to translate Coluan to English-form Interlac. (Usually, he used Rimrat Interlac, a dialect of the language filled with abbreviations and street terms, and it was largely used by… well, those on the less legal side of things. Officially though, it was the dialect of the Galactic Rim.) Coluans had a word for the mannerisms associated with high intellect, and that word and those behaviours were drilled into him by his father from a very young age. That was the only interaction he’d really had with his father before he was given to the Council, anyway.

“I had an answer 3.34 seconds after you said it, there just isn’t an equivalent word in Interlac. It’s ‘Doksdantu’, and it means, roughly, the behaviours and mannerisms associated with one of high intellect.” The counselor nodded, as though that made perfect sense. Part of Querl was irritated that he didn’t know how much the staff here knew about him, another part wanted to see exactly how strange and nonsensical he could get and claim it to be Coluan tradition, and a much larger part wanted to see if he could irritate the counselor. He watched as the counselor adjusted his recorded reaction time, and tasked a thought track with creating a plan. That thought track came to a screeching halt along with the rest of them immediately after what came out of the counselor’s mouth next.

“Mother.”

To say Querl froze would be inaccurate, because if he had frozen, his eye would not have shot wide open, and his right hand would not have flown to the deep, partially visible scarring on his throat. His left hand would not have instinctively tried to ball into a fist, sending a sharp pain up his wrist as he tried flexing a finger that wasn’t there. No, to say he froze would be entirely incorrect. What he did do, however, was all of those things as he shot up, ramrod straight, his breath caught in his throat. The only thing frozen was his legs. He couldn’t run. He was entirely rooted to the spot, completely engulfed in panic and fear and pain as he nearly stopped breathing.

If his thought tracks hadn’t all shut down, engulfed in that panic, he might’ve noticed the counselor’s eyes go wide. He might have noticed the counselor’s scramble to write down his reaction, going now for fourteen, fifteen, sixteen seconds. But he was afraid, and didn’t absorb any information his senses were giving him until the timer hit twenty seconds, at which point he finally forced his hand away from his throat and back down to his side. He took a full breath, and unclenched his fist. When the timer hit thirty, he let out a small, quiet “no.” And the counselor just… moved on. They continued with the list as though Querl hadn’t just accidentally relived one of the worst nights of his life. It would have been bizarre to anyone who wasn’t Querl, but he was quite glad for the lack of acknowledgement. He was certain, later, once the lingering panic had faded, he would be quite mortified for so nearly losing it. 

“Family.”

“Clan.” The Brainiac Clan or the Brainiac Clang, either way, it was what he knew. The only family he’d had, after being given to the Council.

“Name.”

“Good.” Here, the counselor raised his eyebrow again. It was clear to Querl that the counselor had expected him to respond with his own name. What the counselor didn’t know, however, was that by some translations, he did. 

“Pessimist.”

“Realist.” Really, he figured this one should be self-explanatory. The upsetting statistics no one wants to hear are just as real as the ones people liked having.

“Optimist.”

“Querl.” Querl, after all, translated to optimist. And an optimist was what people considered the good side of the realist coin. 

“Clan.”

“Dox.” Oh, so the counselor was fishing for his name beyond his title. See if he figures it out then.

And so it went, the little game of trying to get Querl to give up information without him catching on. Perhaps the counselor had been too obvious in looking for his name earlier, but (if he was right) it had worked. By the time they had reached the end of the counselor’s list, he thought he had a pretty good idea of what Brainiac wasn’t telling him.

“So then, Counselor, what did you learn?” Brainiac was smirking. Either he knew exactly what he had told the counselor and the counselor had just been played like a fool for thirty minutes, or he had no idea exactly how telling random word association was.

The counselor bet it was the latter.

“Well, do you want my full honesty?” Brainiac stared silently, unamused.

“No need to twist my arm about it. Fully truthfully, Brainiac, I learned you don’t have a relationship with your father and his only lasting impression on you was decorum and mannerisms. You have perfectionist tendencies you refuse to acknowledge and you’re a very petty person. Your mother tried to kill you by cutting your throat as you slept, and you just repressed all of that trauma instead of processing it. You view a clan as family, and your definition of clan is loose. You’re slow to trust. You have an appreciation for the beauty of the natural phenomena of the universe. You love the stars and appreciate naturally repeating patterns, but don’t trust your senses to tell you the truth in what you’re observing. You spoke Galactic Rim Interlac for most of your time leading the Brainiac Clang, which can be heard in your accent. You hate admitting how much you actually care about the people close to you because, while you don’t view love as weakness, you know that others do, and they exploit that. If I had to risk a guess, I’d say your fingers were a result of the Science Police, and your name is Querl Dox. You’re the Coluan that ran away five years ago, which would make you seventeen years old as opposed to the rumors that you’re twenty-three. My conclusion, Querl Dox, is that you’re a kid who was in over his head and has no choice but to deal with what you’ve got now.” The counselor looked up from the screen, regarding Querl with a finality that could only come from knowing one is right. And he was, he was absolutely correct. Querl had no idea how to deal with that. No one had known so much about him since… well, not since Imsk. He stood up, and walked out the door.

Chapter Text

Day 39

A week. It had been a week since Brainiac 5–no, Querl Dox. She would call him Querl, it was his name–had spoken a word to anyone . Janine, the counselor, that one nurse who seemed to have better luck with him than the others, he hadn’t said a word to any of them. He had stopped showing up to counseling sessions, just staying in his room with whatever tools and wires and other things he had taken from the commons workbench. He had torn apart the showers two days ago, and after Janine… well, the counselor didn’t know if they would call it chewing him out, but there had been a one-sided conversation about “acceptable behaviour in shared spaces”, he did fix it, but he still hadn’t said anything. He didn’t even say why he did it. Stubborn stubborn stubborn, Querl Dox. The counselor suspected–well, knew, she definitely knew–that she had pushed too far. He hadn’t told them off for addressing him as Querl, instead of Brainiac, but perhaps that was because Janine was still calling him Brainiac. There was something to be said, she supposed, for context. Janine had never used the name Brainiac in a derogatory meaning, had never connected it to his criminal history or his family history. It was just a name, and Querl knew it. But coming from most other people, to call him “Brainiac” or even just his name, Querl, had so much context it hurt to think about. Because Querl was a little twelve year old boy whose mother tried to kill him.

The idea had occurred that perhaps that was the whole problem; Querl didn’t want to admit what happened, so he became someone who that hadn’t happened to, or at least someone who had bigger problems than that. And that someone was someone who lived up to the history of the Brainiac Clan. Unfortunately, she wasn’t able to talk to him about it–for obvious reasons, and she wasn’t certain if this was something she should push him on or not. It wasn’t every day someone had their entire identity turned on its head and shown to them. Was she over the line when she said he was a kid in over his head? They could understand if he had interpreted that as an insult. The one glaring flaw in that theory was that he wasn’t talking at all, so if he was just upset they had unintentionally insulted him, he would still be talking to Janine, or at least the one nurse the counselor felt really bad for not remembering the name of.

Okay, Counselor, focus. They settled deeper in their chair, locking the swivel mechanism. Querl hasn’t said a word in a week. They only had him for about five more days, and then he’d be off to the Legion. They weren’t going to amend his age in his file, or add his name. That probably wasn’t something he wanted known. So what’s the plan. What are they going to try to get done before he leaves.

Well, he was touch-averse. Fine, okay, a lot of people are. Not a problem, they would probably just have to brief him on physical social norms–random touches and grazes humans often employed on Earth. Most species had adjusted and some had even adopted the norms, but Coluans hadn’t, so Querl would probably need to know that.

He was also getting more and more frustrated, mostly with himself from what they could see. A few weeks ago, they asked after his emotional base state, and after a bit of talking (trying to get anything out of him like that was like pulling teeth) he had admitted he had difficulty identifying emotion sometimes. Along that line, she noticed he had a tendency to jump around. She had given him a couple prompts (all science related, because he wouldn’t answer anything else), and  he just kept bouncing from subject to subject, occasionally getting his wires crossed and discussing the proof of warp speed when he was trying to talk about gravitational anomalies occasionally caused by true mass coronal ejection. He got very upset when he noticed he was trying to say one thing and using words for another, and once even had to stop because he was talking entirely about an unrelated subject, which was his flowers. A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of her lip; if nothing else, he was a cute kid when he was talking about something he was pleased with.

They were hesitant to call it disordered thought or speech, which was sometimes a symptom of both autism and psychosis, because he had twelve different thought tracks. She knew if she had twelve different trains of thought and only one mouth, they would inevitably collide quite often. And, to add to that, one of his previous DOCs was prohial, which could close off neural receptors and reacted poorly with Hailey’s Tail, so it was even possible he didn’t have all of his thought tracks in full function. 

She could say with full confidence that if he dedicated himself to studying untaught social cues, he could learn them and point them out, but even if he knew them, he didn’t seem the type of person to care enough to employ them. She tapped the end of her pen against the desk, opening and closing the typing interface.

Honestly, one of their biggest concerns with him was just opening avenues of communication to avoid unneeded frustration. A mad Querl Dox meant a very, very petty Querl Dox, and a petty Querl Dox meant he would indulge in the most minor, inconvenient curiosities he could think of, like what happens if you leave a cold cup of water on top of someone’s book and can the damage be fixed, or what happens if he loosens that pipe or takes apart this appliance. Which, now that they thought about it… he just took apart the showers. He put them back together, sure, but he took apart the showers. They knew for a fact he had dismantled the lighting system in his room, too, and the EnviroCon. Oh, is that what this was? A week-long temper tantrum because she figured him out? He was being petty because she figured out what he didn’t want anyone to know from a centuries old test that was more telling than he thought. On the one hand, she was annoyed, mostly that it had taken her this long to figure it out. On the other, she had to admire his dedication to being petty, those lights were solidly sealed to the ceiling. They wondered what they would come back to if they left him in a room with a glass of water. Would he flip it over and leave them to try and clean it? 

They’ve gotten off track again. Backtrack. Write it down if necessary. They opened the typing interface built into the desk, finally putting down the pen they’d been tapping with. Can’t diagnose him with disordered thought/speech, would have to have a longer observation period. Explain physical societal norms of humanity. Try and get him open to conversations. He wasn’t the best at it, but there were a few sentence starters he could probably learn to help with that. Honestly, half the problem was that he didn’t know what to say. Scripted sentence openers could definitely help.

So. Step one, address Querl’s petty fit. She wasn’t going to apologise. She wasn’t.

Knock knock knock. Knock. 

Well, that would be the Counselor. What did they want now?

“Querl?”

He felt a brief, intense flash of irritation. He most certainly had not intended for them to learn his identity. To learn what happened. He didn’t want anyone to know. 

He didn’t want to know.

He waved a hand and let the door open. The counselor had her hands folded in front of her, her dark skin a stark contrast to the standard issue white clothing and freshly braided light blue hair. This one was new, though, last week she wore her hair purple. 

She did not step into his room. She learned, as all the staff had, that Querl acknowledging them at his door was not an invitation. He still did not understand why they thought that in the first place when he was acknowledging their presence, not their intention. 

They took a breath, shifted a bit, and then spoke.
“Querl. I’d like to apologise, because I believe I overstepped and made you uncomfortable with the results of the test a week ago. I’m sorry for any slight against you or any discomfort I’ve caused. That being said,” here she gave him what he believed would be called a pointed look, “there are roughly only five days left in your residency here, and there are a few things I still need to address with you before you leave. Given it’s currently 13:02, our next session is tomorrow since today’s has been missed. Please come to my office, and be on time.” She inclined her head, turned, and left.
He supposed they weren’t wrong, he was uncomfortable with the idea of someone knowing his full identity. The amount of power they could hold over him by knowing he was still, and always would be, a wanted man, regardless of what the United Planets could do. They had no pull in Coluan affairs, and the planet had not rescinded the search and retrieval order placed on him. If anyone bothered looking up “Querl Dox” on the Net, the only thing to come up would be those orders. If anyone, anyone , knew who he was, they could have him locked up on Colu, never to see light again. The council frequently imprisoned the dangerous Brainiacs. 

But… the counselor hadn’t done so. She didn’t comm anyone, didn’t tell anyone his name. Besides Janine, but she didn’t place any value in it. Brainiac was as good a name as Querl, she decided. Querl hadn’t seen another Coluan since running into Mekt Ranzz and his little tenth level, and neither of them had known who he was. The counselor didn’t do anything with the information, despite knowing exactly what she could. That… that counted for something, right? They didn’t say anything to Colu. They could, at any point in time that they wanted to. But if they were going to, it would be much easier before he had some form of backing from the Legion and the United Planets. Before he could run.

Not even the Legion would know his name if he didn’t want them to. Surely that spoke to the counselor’s discretion. 

Surely…

By the divine Dox’s room was a wreck. He didn’t even seem to realise how destroyed it was. The counselor had no idea where he’d gotten a tool like an evenilac undertag, but he’d stripped the lights and she was almost certain Querl had opened up the walls at some point. The only thing that made her think almost was because the walls had no sign of breach. In fact, the only reason they knew he stripped the lights was because he had one of the LEDs still in hand. He would probably fix it. Maybe.

In the instance that he didn’t, the facility did have a full-time repair crew. To be quite honest, given his past history, the counselor was surprised they didn’t have to come in more often.

They idled by the cafeteria, debating a late lunch snack. They decided against it, the cooks probably didn’t have any kosher options available since it wasn’t a primary mealtime for them. Oh well, they had Twizzlers in their office. 

He was going to go to counseling. He could open a door (what was with this facility and manual doors?) and walk in. That was all he was required to do. He didn’t even have to listen, he could tune out the counselor. 

The door opened in front of him.
“Are you coming in?” The counselor seemed quite smug about herself as she raised an eyebrow. “You’ve just been standing there for a minute and a half.”

He grit his teeth and moved past them, sitting on the couch. He would not admit to being grumpy. He wasn’t.  

The counselor sat down across from him, doing… something, on their screen. 

“Can we get to the point of this meeting?”

“Well, there are some things I think you need to know about Earth-based social norms. As you are no doubt aware, they come from humanity, and are usually adopted by most earth-based organisations, which definitely includes the Legion.”

“Yes, I know. Many outskirts Legion groups appeared to defy my rule among the Outer Rim planets. They were defeated without hassle, of course, but it was annoying to have to deal with so many of the more… inspired ones.” He connected to his tablet, using an empty thought track to make a note of the outskirt leaders he knew of. Two were dedicated to the conversation at hand, because the counselor was annoying. No other reason. The rest were all observing the surroundings and doing math, of course. Little else was worthy of his time in such an environment. 

“Yes, the Legion’s inspiration to the underagers is far reaching. But to be more specific, what I wanted to inform you on was the physicality of these social norms. Many humans use touch-based minor communications, meant to convey some meaning. Affection, truth, an attempt to build trust, even as warning. They’re meant to add some emphasis to what they’ve said. You being touch-averse, I thought it appropriate to warn you.”

“I… appreciate the… forewarning.” He spoke through gritted teeth. Just because the warning was useful didn’t mean he had to like that it was useful. 

“You’re welcome, Querl. Something I wanted to add to that was a way to, hopefully, help you avoid anyone touching you. Usually, you are going to have to breach that conversation. Because the Legion is Earth-based and filled with mimic races, thinking about those who are touch-averse isn’t something at the forefront of their conscious thought. That sort of conversation should be preempted by you asking ”, she stressed the word and looked at him pointedly, “for them to avoid touching you. At that point, it is very rude of them to ignore your preferences, so most should follow along without comment. You might get the question, ‘okay, sure, but why’, and an acceptable answer would be that it is simply your preference not to be touched.”

Something occurred to him then, and he believed it in his better interests to give voice to it then.
“What if they keep asking?”

“Just say it again. If they keep pushing after that, they’re being what anyone would call, pardon my crude terminology, an invasive jackass who doesn’t respect boundaries.”

That one confused Querl just a bit. He had dealt with nosy assholes before, but having it put like that, “someone who doesn’t respect boundaries,” was new.

“I assume that boundaries, when used in this context, means something different than my immediate, perhaps literal association.”

“Oh, good point. Boundaries, in this context, is used to the literal meaning of the definition. The problem is, that’s a word with two separate meanings. There’s a literal, physical boundary, like regional borders and physical fences. But then there’s social boundaries and personal boundaries. Somewhat the same thing? Mostly. It’s a linguistic nuance you’ll understand with experience, so I apologise for being unable to explain the difference at present. But saying you don’t like to be touched, and would prefer if they avoided that, is a boundary. That’s a boundary you’ve set, so touching you after you’ve set that boundary is a lack of respect, for both you and your preferences.”

Oh. That… well, that made sense. 

“If that ever happens, Querl, which it unfortunately might, you are free to handle the situation however you deem fit. Just be careful not to judge them too quickly, some people genuinely may forget, and correct themselves. If it’s repeated, you can do as you please, but give some leniency. I would prefer Janine and I don’t hear about anyone you’ve thrown out a window.”

She was not filled with confidence by the glint in his eye.

Chapter Text

He breathed deeply. He had already consented to the psych ex. While technically speaking he could revoke that at any time, it also meant he would, by default, fail and be barred from the Legion. He didn’t exactly feel like going back to prison, so revoking access wasn’t an option. Two of his thought tracks were dedicated in that moment to reviewing advanced astrophysics. One was dedicated to restraining the tic in his knee. One was dedicated to his senses and surroundings. The rest were, of course, dedicated to focusing on how absolutely NOT nervous he was. He wasn’t nervous! Or anxious! He was fine. This was going to go well. He was going to get a good grade in mental health, which was both normal to want and possible to achieve.

A Saturnian entered the room, and he snapped to attention. Back straight, head up. The Saturnian, presumably the PsychE, began gesturing–ah. Signing. They were using sign language. Galactic Standard Sign Language, specifically. GSSL.

“Hello, B-R-A-I-N-I-A-C 5. I refer to you as 5. I understand many are initially uncomfortable with my kind’s telepathy. I am Doctor S-K-I-S-M, a Saturnian Psych Ex. Do you understand G-S-S-L?” Doctor Skism inclined their head, indicating a question. Querl nodded in response. Being called Five as shorthand was better than some other nickname, and there was no Standard sign for Brainiac.

“Good. Do you require explanation?” Here, they held the last sign. So their speech patterns–unless that would be sign patterns–were inclined head for yes/no, and a held sign for more open-ended questions. Querl shook his head. He believed he had an adequate understanding of what was supposed to happen. First. Skism would observe his physical brain health, observable by, essentially, entering Querl’s mind. Whatever form that took would have signs as to physical health of his neural networks. That was as far as they’d looked when he was a child, both when he’d been diagnosed with autism and later when he was diagnosed with Type D psychosis. He assumed once the assessment of physical health was done, they would (somehow) observe his mental health. This was fine. It was going to go well.

Doctor Skism sat next to him, and that was when Querl first felt the tingling peculiarity of another mind entering his.

It will be easier for me to ascertain your health and make sure nothing goes wrong with physical contact. Will you allow that?

Once again, Querl inclined his head towards the doctor. This time, however, it was immediately followed by the sensation of someone’s fingers at his temple around his neck and then his attention was diverted. There was a part of him that was still aware he was just sitting on a couch in the counselor’s office, but the much larger part of him was in his own head, now with a guest. He looked around, taking in the shapes and outlines beginning to form on the edges of what he supposed was his consciousness. When he was being examined for the first time, the room had been a science lab maintained by a particularly kind councilman, and later changed to his bedroom with the sonic locks and the dimming lights he could manipulate on his own when he was diagnosed with psychosis. Now though… now it looked like it couldn’t decide. The positioning of the shapes struggling to appear in the void reminded him of his room in his preferred hideout on Dikeun Seta III, where all his magenta and purple shirts were hung up on the wall around the windows, but the shapes were all wrong, and they weren’t solidifying any more than what was really just a suggestion of something in an otherwise empty void.

“Well, that’s certainly odd…” Skism muttered. They were walking around now, observing, trying to put their hand through some of the suggestion-objects. Some they could, some they couldn’t. It seemed, to Querl, to be random as to what was and wasn’t solid enough to be interacted with.

“What is odd?” He stood with his hands behind his back. In his mind, he had a full range of vision–makes sense, it’s his mind–and also… both his missing fingers. He had a full set of ten fingers, five on each hand. He relished the feeling of having them laced together again, and wondered briefly, if he looked at them, would his ring fingers be his old prosthesis or would they be as organic as the rest of his fingers? Inconsequential, he decided.

“It’s just–usually when I observe someone’s mind with this context, they create a place they feel safest. Especially the people who are as nervous about this as you. But your mind… well, it’s got an impression of safety, but there’s not really anything solid about it. I’d say it’s because you don’t need that safeness, but with your nerves, you really do. I suppose I’m just wondering why you don’t have it.” They must have seen something on his face when they turned to him, or maybe felt it. They were looking at his brain, after all. 

“Not that not having a room is a bad thing! It can happen sometimes, and it doesn’t mean much in terms of actual physical health. It just speaks to your history, is all, which I’m not here to evaluate. What I am looking at, which you can’t actually see, is remarkably healthy given what I’ve been told. You’re a recovering drug addict, yes? But your neural pathways are all quite intact, and they seem to be running at full tilt. I’ve never had the experience of a Coluan mind, but your thought tracks are all active, you’re practically buzzing with thought. There is some indication of damage, old receptors that were closed and reopened, perhaps painfully, but even those receptors are functioning as normal. I don’t know if it’s because you’re young or because you’re Coluan, but I’ll admit, it’s impressive!”

“So then, nothing is… out of the ordinary?”

“Well, you have some weaker points that are base trademarks of the autistic neurotype, and–” they cut off suddenly, bringing their brows together. They seemed confused, but Querl had no way of knowing what it was about.

“I… hm. I don’t really…” they reached out, poking the air in front of them, almost… tapping it?

Querl realised, suddenly, that the thought track left to physical sensation in his body was trying to convince him he was missing a leg. But no, because he was still sitting on the couch in the counselor’s office. The counselor was watching, making sure he was safe and nothing bad happened. There was no way he was missing a leg, so it must have been a sensory hallucination. He could still feel both feet on the ground. Phantom pains in a limb that actually wasn’t gone. 

“Perhaps I may offer illumination. I am currently experiencing a sensory hallucination. Not a delusion, just simple hallucination. I believe that may be the oddity that has suddenly drawn your attention?”

“Hmmm… yes, that would explain it. I suppose I wasn’t prepared for that. Usually during these, I’m working with people who only have one thought track, so they can only perceive their mind, not any of the body. You have both perceptions at once, so I wasn’t quite sure what I was looking at for a second. You seem pretty aware of what is and isn’t hallucinations, though.” They gave him a... questioning look. Perhaps it was more curious than questioning...

“Yes. Most usually, logic can help one dictate what is and isn’t true. It doesn’t make the sensation go away, but it does help in deducing what I should and shouldn’t react to, because it’s not real. As I can feel both feet on the ground, I know I am not actually suddenly missing a leg, which is reassuring, but it still feels like I am. This is one of the reasons I have always been more appreciative of logical deduction than emotion.”

“Well, so long as you have logic then. And the delusions? Those can be fairly long-term sometimes, not so easy to deal with.”

“Logic is helpful, as is unalterable sensory input, like looking through a camera lens. I may believe there is someone behind me, but I know on a higher level that it isn’t true, because the door didn’t open, and using a camera I can achieve a near 360 degree field of view. It is… difficult, at times, due to how overwhelming the initial delusion can be. But I’ve been living with this my whole life. I know how to deal with it.” He felt a glimmer of pride as he answered. 

“Hmm…” Skism went back to poking at the air for a moment before they seemed finally satisfied with what they were observing.

“Well then, physically I would say your brain is in excellent health, given everything. In truth, mental health is more for the Counselor to discern, but my input is required as well. I will now begin sharing this conversation with the Counselor. Brainiac Five, do you give your consent for me to review your mental profile as created by The Counselor and use their perception in my medical assessment? As you are capable, a verbal answer is required.”

“My consent is given, Doctor Skism.”

“Very well then. Counselor, as you have heard this conversation, I would request your assessment of Brainiac Five’s mental state be released to me to inform my own assessment.”

Skism’s form flickered for a moment, and Querl felt it as one of their hands left his temple, likely to reach over for what the Counselor was handing them.

And then he was back in the room, with the Counselor seated across from him in their swiveling chair, and Skism’s hands weren’t at his temples anymore but he could still feel them like they were. He really hated being touch-averse sometimes, and this was why, this phantom sensation that felt like it would never really go away. It would, of course, they always did, but it didn't feel like it.

A part of him–he couldn’t be certain which–would compare that to a delusion. They always went away eventually, but it was nearly impossible to shake off or adjust to in the moments where it was real . 

As he began paying more attention to Dr. Skism, he noticed their reactions. He had never requested to see his mentality profile, it wasn’t important to him. He knew how he thought, and if he ever cared to analyse his past he was certain he could find motivating or changing events. But now, as he watched Skism scan down the documents, turning pages (it was written on paper. If it weren’t for the fact that paper legislation was the only way to keep things confidential, he would consider it archaic), he almost wished he had requested to see it, if only so he had a chance at knowing what had caused Skism to react in the ways they were. A tightening of the brows, a deeply contemplative look. Hand movements that seemed to be in agreeance with what they were reading.

Finally, they sighed, though not audibly. Saturnians as a race are mute, they barely have vestigial vocal folds. It seemed as though they entered a private conversation with The Counselor, likely to confer on what they read. When he assumed that was done, he felt a… prick. A more direct intrusion to his mind than before, but only because what few wave receptors non-telepaths had were already stimulated to the intrusion, and needed no coercing.

Brainiac Five, after examination and reading your mentality profile, I have come to agree with the Counselor as to the state of your mind, both physically and mentally. I will send a typed assessment to the Legion’s liaison to be forwarded to the Legion founders, and, all made short, you’ve been officially cleared for duty on the Legion roster.

Chapter Text

Querl stood in an empty hallway contemplating the crowd outside. He’d heard murmurs of “a new Legionnaire.” They must have meant him, but apparently they didn’t know the new Legionnaire was the Brainiac. He'd already memorised the layout of the headquarters (at least the parts he had seen) so he was free to concentrate completely on sensory input. Primarily, the conversation happening in the room he was just outside. 

“As you all know, Saturn Girl, Lightning Lad, myself, and Dream Girl have been debating for a few cycles now about adding a member to our official team roster.”

He knew that this had all started after a few too many plans went awry–the Legion’s various near failures had made the news several times. 

“Dream Girl had a glimpse of a far future where the Legion as we know it collapsed.” There was a pause then. The Legion would have collapsed? It certainly brought further clarity to why they were so willing to put in the effort of bringing him to the team, but he still wondered why him? Surely there were less dangerous Coluans available.

“To put it simply, we came to the conclusion we just aren’t smart enough as a unit to work around what the universe, the United Planets, and the Science Police are throwing at us. After a lot of deliberation, and, I’ll admit, a lot of arguing, we decided who we would add to the team to prevent our collapse. Here he is now.”

Ah. That was his cue. He entered the room, leaving his hood up. He had finally had his own clothing returned to him, and he was going to enjoy it. Majority leather (ethically harvested from the surface of Dikeun Seta III, unique for the flora’s skin-like properties. What a wonderful planet that had been.) and all dark green shades of black. A few pieces, like his arm braces to cover his scars were a very dark brown. His shirt, as dark a magenta as was possible with dye, was the only piece of cotton cloth he wore. He had to wonder how they got their hands on his clothes, though. He doubted the Science Police would simply hand over what they had seized from his headquarters. What could have forced their hand? How invested was the United Planets in his… rehabilitation?

“Please, remove your hood. They need to see your face to know who you are, Legionnaire.”

Legionnaire… well, he didn’t like the way it felt, and some part of him felt snubbed that he was no longer leading, but how did the human phrase go?

He took off his hood, revelling briefly in the gasps from the assembled Legion. No one dared openly voice their disdain. One, though, a woman with short, dark hair (was woman the appropriate word? And what was considered short, anyway? Everything in earth culture was always relative.) with one dyed green streak was openly smiling up at him. Who would ever have such a reaction? Surely he would have remembered someone so pleasantly reactive. He scanned the assembled Legion just a bit more, committing faces to memory, and– Jo Nah. White as a sheet, shaking like a leaf in the wind. Good. The boy should be scared. 

“Is this some kind of joke?”

Krinn sighed beside him. “Yeah, that’s what Garth and I said when Nura suggested him. But no, it’s not. Everyone, meet Brainiac Five, the newest Legionnaire.” The girl with the green streak put her hands together in glee, an almost manic grin spreading across her face. Who was she? Something practically itched at the back of his mind. He was certain he knew her… but from where? And when?

Jo Nah of Rimbor was moving. To the back of the room, and from there he put himself against the wall. Oh, playing with him was going to be fun.

Brainiac started moving. Forward, forward, and then around the crowd, to the left. They collectively drew back, avoiding him and his nearly predatory gaze. Then into the crowd, pressing inward until finally, he was face to face with Jo Nah. He looked as if he was going to pass out, his fear nearly tangible with how much he was shaking. Brainiac bared his teeth in an awful mockery of a grin.

“Hello, Jo Nah of Rimbor, traitor to my people. And after everything we did to keep you safe from your father, you turn us in?” He whispered. His grin grew sharp, vindictive, showing his canines. 

Jo Nah flinched away, and then he was gone, putting that speed of his to use. He heard Krinn sigh behind him.

“Right, that was also something we were supposed to uh. Address. Brainiac, you’re not allowed to harass Ultra Boy. Now get back up here, we still need to talk you through a brief orientation and introduction of everyone.”

“Unnecessary, Cosmic Boy, and at present I have more pressing concerns than putting names to faces.”

Cosmic Boy sighed again, heavier, then waved his hand off to the side.

“Fine, fine. If you can provide a good enough reason to Invisible Kid for him to let you in the lab, you can go, but he’ll be the one in charge of showing you around, and we have to have a full team meeting, you included, tomorrow. Got it?” He gave a pointed look to Brainiac, and then the air next to him flickered and warped and Querl blinked and–oh. He knew that jacket. While he had never seen the face in detail, he knew that Legion patch on that jacket. This was the one who was behind the glass when the Phys was asking him questions. No wonder they called him the Invisible Kid.

“Hello, Brainiac. I am, as you may have surmised, the Invisible Kid. Do you have a reason to skip orientation?”

He left the room, using the same door Ultra Boy had darted out of just a minute ago, stilling in the hall. Invisible Kid had followed him, good. He would prefer the least amount of people possible know what he needed.

“I need to redo this brace for my knee. It was given to me months ago, and it doesn’t function as required. The sooner I can redo it, the less pain I will needlessly endure.” He raised a brow, then lowered it quickly as he felt his scar pull uncomfortably.

Invisible Kid sighed.

“Yeah, okay, that’s fair enough. Come on, then. If you have any questions relating to the Legion or the HQ, feel free to ask,” and he started down the hall.

Querl, with no other options, followed him.

The door slid open with a satisfying woosh , and inside was an image that Querl had, in truth, been dreaming about since Cosmic Boy had met with him in that prison cell. Strange, how far away that seemed now. It had been only a month and a half, but… really, he hadn’t even thought about it. That wasn’t a significant length of time, and yet so much had happened. He even found out he could like humans, as annoying as they often were. Janine was cool. (And he was pretty sure she was gay and deeply enamoured with The Counselor.)

“Brainiac Five, I present to you the Legion’s science lab.” Invisible Kid stepped in front of him, waved his hand in some dramatic flourish, and went into a deep bow. It was… amusing, he supposed, which was likely the intention. He straightened, then leaned back against a countertop.

“Well, multi-lab is the technical term, but everyone just calls it the lab. To help speed this up, just tell me what you need. I can give you a more in-depth showing around what and where everything is, but I’d imagine you want a functioning knee brace as soon as possible. Don’t get used to me playing lab assistant, Brainiac, I’m warning you now.” He held up a finger, then did… something. With his face, perhaps in correlation to his change in intonation? Almost amused, certainly pleasant… ah. Playful. He was likely serious in that this was a temporary solution to a temporary problem, so Querl wasn’t entirely certain what to regard as amusing.

“Before any of that, I want to burn this one into dust. It is useless and whoever made it should feel bad.” And here, Invisible Kid laughed. Querl really didn’t know why Invisible Kid was being so–was friendly even the right word? Everyone in the meeting hall (except the one who he was certain he knew, but not from where or even when) was terrified of him. He was certain “drop dead terrified” would not have been an inaccurate descriptor, so why didn’t it apply to Invisible Kid? He was taller than Querl (most people were, unfortunately), but Querl knew how intimidating he seemed to those who didn’t truly know him. He could ponder this later, or now but on another thought track.

He began listing off things he needed, the blueprint solidifying in his mind. If this Invisible Kid was truly a competent scientist, then surely–

The metals he requested were placed on the table in front of him, with a chair (oh it had wheels this was going to be fun) pulled up beside him.

“This should be enough for a basic molding. We don’t incinerate plastics, but I do happen to have some corrosive acids and powders under the fume hood if you want to use those.” Ah, yes, the element of destruction. A thought sparked in Querl’s mind; if all went well, he could blow things up again. This pleased him.

He followed after Invisible Kid–actually, what was his name? Invisible Kid was a rather long moniker, and he would not be giving him a nickname.

They stopped in front of the fume hood, and then it occurred to him. As useless as the brace was, it did lock his knee when he was standing still. It did the job of keeping him upright, and he wasn’t totally certain he would still be standing once he took it off. He hadn’t felt the jerk of his knee against the brace yet today, but that was no guarantee…

He was overthinking this. The chances of a tic were always above fifty percent, and the presence of the brace didn’t change that. The lack of a motor tic yet today did not raise the chance it would happen later, the events were not dependent. 

He hopped up on the counter next to the fume hood, undoing the fastenings. First the ones locking his knee, then the straps holding it to his thigh and calf. He handed it off to the Kid–oh sprock that was a terrible nickname–and peered around the side of the fume hood. He debated standing again, but then was given a better idea. There was a camera behind Kid–marginally better, but still made him grimace–that Querl could feel was on. If he could just… there!

The sudden change in perspective, a split view of a room that could not be reconciled, was dizzying. He hadn’t accessed a camera for sight in cycles, but oh, he could see.  

There was no ceremony to it; Kid placed the brace under the fume hood, the acids he intended to use stored in a clear, strong plastic as opposed to glass. Superacids, then. The material for the upper calf molding broke down into a fine powder as he poured two of them over the plastic, likely releasing what Querl thought to be nitrogen and hydrogen into gas form. He didn’t particularly care to guess at the elemental composition of the acids, feeling a vindictive joy as the plastic fell apart. He’s said it before and will say it again: whoever made it is stupid and should feel bad. What race even had such an inward knee?

Invisible Kid swept the powdered carbon into something Querl couldn’t see, blocking it with his body. He poured a superacid over the metal supports, and Querl watched through the camera as it bubbled and melted into a slag on the padding. He sat and allowed himself his minor joy at this. It was gone, it was done, the horrid brace was destroyed! Oh yes, this pleased him. It did, however, pose a problem. The fume hood they broke the brace under was fifteen steps away from the table Querl was using to assemble a new, better brace, and he now had no guaranteed way of getting there without his knee giving out. Perhaps if he readjusted his weight appropriately and kept something to the right of him… yes, yes, the new path he could take would require only a slight detour, changing it to twenty steps to the table instead of fifteen. Acceptable. 

When he sat in the chair ( delightfully helpfully wheeled), he finally began to feel the buzzing behind his empty eye socket that indicated his tic. (It also buzzed three separate alarms in his internal diagnostics systems, but he had long since isolated and disabled the alerts.) Now unrestrained, his knee jerked hard to the right, just barely avoiding the leg of the table. It stretched and pulled at the muscles in his thigh, otherwise unused (meant to provide stability in flight, a power long since lost to his kind) and thus, to borrow an age-old human adage, it hurt like a bitch. He rubbed at his thigh as the tic passed, massaging deeply. Could he deal with it? Yes, he’d been living with it for years, but it still hurt. In order for it to not hurt, he would have to… would have to… yes, yes, that might…

“I need something I can design a flex-PCB on, and I need a material, preferably non-reflective silver colouration, that I can carve traces into.” His midthigh was roughly 51.565 centimeters, and just above his knee was 43.762. He could put the circuit board in the knee, operating on the same wavelength… Yes, this would work. HCertainly he would have to be careful and limit the wavelengths so he didn’t unintentionally alter it while interfacing with other technology… two circuit chips, then, one to send and one to receive, so that the waves are only directed one way. A touchpoint, then, on his thigh…

As he was designing on two thought tracks, one for the electronics and one for the mechanics, he was also creating a basic mold print. The metal Kid had given him to work with was certainly flexible enough to be bent without creating a potential break point, and if it did become a concern, he could put a thin reinforcement cast over it. He briefly debated bending the metal himself, but with the way his hands locked (self note: begin cellular breakdown of expanding scar tissue and restart physical therapy) he lacked the fine control necessary to make it as smooth as was necessary. 

And so things continued. He designed the circuit chips on an omnicom, provided by Kid (who he found to be named Lyle Norg), had them printed and inset to plates Norg had assisted him in cutting. How the brace would be secured to his leg was simple enough to solve. Two adjustable straps of knitted elastic (the latex and rubber it was made of sourced sustainably, of course) were pulled through the chip plates, the larger of which stretched from the sides of his thigh across the front. The smaller plate, exactly the same in shape with the thinner metal band that ran across to connect the two sides, had the elastic band run across his shin, while the metal was molded to his calf. There were four metal bands, unconnected to the chip plates that connected to his internal wavelengths to prevent the majority of his tic. They were silver, but reflected a very pleasing blue, a light lilac in some lights. One band was molded to his upper thigh, and held up the larger chip plate. The second band went over the chip plate at his lower thigh, holding it in place while the elastic allowed his muscles to tense as necessary. The third band secured the smaller chip plate, below his knee, and the last was fitted to his lower shin, above his ankle. The last band was easily the thinnest, because it needed to fit under his combat boots. The brace was made primarily of either thin or flexible metals so that it would fit over his clothing, but it was still cold. He would have to get a sleeve for his knee in the instance he couldn’t wear long pants. Not a pressing problem, though, so it could wait. He would make a note of it.

Finally, Querl could put it off no longer. The restrictive functions that prevented the tic in the knee were already operational, so the blue and yellow light tracks on the edges of the chip plates and the movement disc at the joint were already glowing. One hand on the tabletop, one hand on the chair, and he stood. His brace hummed as moved; perhaps he would fine tune that later, or maybe not. At the moment, it was comforting to know that the past two hours of work was… well, working. The bright silver was a sharp contrast to the dark leather he was wearing, but he liked it well enough. 

Querl almost jumped when he looked up and realised Norg was watching him. There was a small smile on his face, as though he was pleased about this. Querl… didn’t understand. Perhaps this was simply about seeing his work come to fruition, but it didn’t feel that way. If it were about that, then why was Lyle looking at him , and not the knee brace? Then, oddly, Lyle blushed. He blushed and looked away.

What a strange lab partner he was going to be.

Chapter Text

“So? How’d it go?” Garth’s hologram flickered as he raised his arm out of view of the projector, most likely signing something to his hosts.

Rokk sighed heavily, slumping down in his seat.

“Why did you and Im have to be gone for this? It went horrible.” He finally let the exhaustion show. Who knew paperwork was so taxing? Usually Imra did all the people convincing, he did all the team organising, and Garth was on all the dumb busywork the UP kept trying to bring up that Imra and Rokk didn’t have time for. But since Imra and Garth were visiting the Harreins, a one-handed and mute species, it was up to Rokk to initiate Brainiac Five into the Legion. As with all things involving Coluans, it went completely off the rails the moment he actually got involved, which sucked.

Garth chuckled, finding something about this amusing. Rokk whined about it some.

“Aw, Cos, it can’t have been that bad. Remember, our worst case scenario was him totally taking over the entire HQ on day one, and that clearly didn’t happen. And,” his smile (Rokk gave great gratitude to whatever Divine blessed Garth with such a sunshine smile) dimmed a bit, “we weren’t gonna be there anyway, ‘member? You’re the one who talked with him in the prison which meant you had to stay, so I had to be the one to go with Imra because Brainiac–hey fuck calling him that actually I’m calling him Brainy–anyway, he really hates telepaths. Doesn’t like people bein’ in his head all the time. Nura backed it up, said if we stayed he woulda darted straight out. Did he at least like ‘Vis’ Kid?”

Cosmic Kid sat up and narrowed his eyes.

“You are not nearly as excitable about this as you usually are. You’d normally be bouncing off the metaphorical walls about all the drama he’s gonna cause.”

Garth gave a full-body laugh. 

“Yeah, guess so! I’m just tired, Cos, really. I do look forward to getting back, but also he’s gonna be a whole lot of paperwork,” his grin turned teasing, “so maybe I’ll stay with the Harreins.”

Rokk whined again, long and loud.

“No! Please come home, Garth. I can’t deal with him on my own!”

“I feel I should mention, Imra’s asking me if I’m teasing you again. Which I definitely am, by the way. Hey, get Lyle to help you! He and Nura were the ones telling us to get him on the team, yknow? He can deal with the U.P.”

“Yeah, I could, but that doesn’t feel fair. I already put him in charge of keeping track of Brainiac, making him do all the paperwork from the prison and the rehabit center and all the probationary paperwork just feels unfair, since he’s already physically in charge of him.” Oh, Rokk could feel the headache coming on, and he hadn’t even mentioned what happened with Jo Nah. He groaned at the reminder, and finally gave in and put his head in his hands. Garth laughed at him again.

“Awww, baby, if it’s really that bad you can send some of the files over to me, me and Im can help you catch up.” Garth suggested, his general teasing delivered with that Garth-brand warmth he let so few see.

“But you guys are busy with the Harreins, that’s not fair either.” Rokk responded.

“Rokkie, you’re gonna burn yourself out if you don’t get someone to help. Send some of the bigger files over, me and Imra can help you finish it quicker. We’re used to doing this sorta thing, Cos. Let us help.”  Garth ended the projection before Cosmic Boy could respond, with a short follow-up message on the omni-com, ‘send the BIOS work to Brainy to fill out, he can do his own damn papers.’

That wasn’t a half-bad idea, actually…

Jenni threw her arm out, stopping Salu in her tracks, and she knew better by now than to duck under and keep walking. Something else was coming, the only question was what.

“Okay, what the hell was that back there?”

“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” she said, face flat. Jenni wasn’t buying it, not for a second.

“Oh, don’t bullshit me, Lu. You looked like someone just–I dunno, okay! You just looked really, really happy. Like, intensely happy. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that happy before, and it’s real weird that it was because the universe’s most notorious criminal and the biggest pain in the ass the U.P.’s ever had just joined the Legion. So what is it about Brainiac Five, the Unkilling World Conqueror and honorary Dominator that’s making you happy?” Jenni demanded.

“Well, okay, first off ‘honorary Dominator’ is a title he hates and I know that for sure because it’s pretty well-known that he hates the Khunds and Dominion as much as he hates the Legion.”

“Yes! That’s exactly my point! It’s well-known that he! Hates! The Legion! So why are you so happy he’s a member!? ” she shouted, throwing her arms out behind her, looking like she would like nothing more than to stomp her foot on the ground. A frown made its way to her face, creating a deep furrow between her brows. She sighed and brought her hands up, trying (and failing) to massage it away.

“Look. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it to come out like that. I’m not actually that upset over this, I just… what’s going on? What do you know about this that I’m missing?” Her words were garbled as she spoke through her hands.

Salu reached up, grabbing her girlfriend’s hands and bringing them down from her face, rubbing a soothing pattern over Jenni’s gloves.

“I happen to know a lot of things about Brainiac Five, Jen. That’s sort of my job as a spy. The thing is, I can’t actually tell you yet, because I need his clearance to do that. They’re his secrets, love, I just happen to know them.” She looked up at her partner with genuine upset in her eyes, trying to communicate how sorry she really was.

Jenni’s shoulders fell as she sighed, and a small smile, really more just an upward quirk at the edge of her lips, made its way to her face. Salu, after all, had to stand on tiptoe to reach Jenni’s face. Benefits of being almost six feet tall as an underager, nearly everyone else in the Legion had to look up at her, and having a five foot tall girlfriend looked really funny.

“I know, Diggy. You have a lot of secrets you keep, and you can’t tell me a lot of them.” The sentence was practically rote at this point, XS just never expected it to be about the most notorious, hard-to-get-near jackass in the galaxy. She narrowed her eyes.

“Actually, whaddya mean, ‘his clearance?’ Wouldn’t that be the Planetary Council’s clearance, since he was their prisoner?”

Salu winced, nearly a full-body movement, when Jenni caught on to that. Shit. Now she had to say something.

“I… knew him. Before that.” Jenni opened her mouth to speak, but Salu was faster. “Please, Jen, don’t ask anything else. Please. I don’t want to have to choose between the trust he had in me to give me those secrets and let me get away alive, and the faith you’ve placed in me and my ability to be a good person by your benchmarks. Don’t make me choose.” she ended in a whisper. She really was begging now, her whole body tense, in a dim hallway different from all the others only in that it was the only place left in HQ that had a ticking, analog clock to break the silence. 

Jenni pulled her hands from Salu’s grip, then reached around her and pulled her into a close hug, and felt as all the tension left Salu in a rush.

“I won’t ask. If his trust is that important to you, I won’t ask.”

Salu nearly sobbed in relief as she put her arms around her partner, listening to the ticking of the analog clock.

“So? What do you think?” Lyle was clearly eager to hear his opinion. Poor choice.

“You clearly know what you’re studying, but it is largely derivative work. Colu has long since proposed this theorem, Norg.”

For some reason, Lyle smiled quite smugly.

“Well yeah, sure, but they never shared it! And now you’ve confirmed I’m right. ” he said, that smug (and honestly quite punchable, were Querl so inclined) look widening.

Oh. Hm. Querl would have to research what scientific contributions Colu had actually presented to the galaxy. He had assumed the basis of his upbringing would have been taught otherwhere–no, wait… elsewhere. The word is elsewhere in Standard.

“Yes, Norg, your math is correct. Proving this is a challenge for Coluan eight-year-olds. Congratulations.” He meant to imply sarcasm, but with how flat his tone was, Querl wasn’t certain he’d succeeded.

“Hey, I lived on Colu for a few years as a teenager, that’s a compliment!”

A notification from Lyle’s omnicom interrupted their (friendly?) conversation with a high-pitched beep that made Querl’s pointed ears flatten against his skull as he hissed.

“I hate that sound. Change it immediately.”

Lyle winced at Brainiac’s cutting tone, but internally he agreed. He’d always hated how high the tone was.

“Sorry, yeah. Will do. That’s Cosmic Boy’s notifier, let me see what he wants.” Lyle stood from where he was hunched by Querl’s… well, to be accurate, Querl’s mess of papers. Lyle had decided to do his thesis work on paper for some reason, and gave it to Querl to “constructively criticise.” Which turned out to mean “get more and more unreasonably upset over the fact that Lyle wasn’t wrong. ” Most certainly there were places where his math and equations could (and should) be expanded upon, which Querl had taken great joy in pointing out and adding to in green pen, but the foundations and extrapolations thereof were entirely correct. How dare a human be right.

“Uh… hm… We need to take care of that huh…” Lyle was mumbling as he looked down at his omnicom, but Querl’s sharper hearing picked it up with ease. His senses weren’t Super by any meaning of the word, but they were much better than humans’ and most human-mimics’ senses. 

“What is it?” Querl turned the chair to face Lyle, who was frowning as he scrolled through something.

“Cosmic Boy sent us a bunch of paperwork to do. Looks like some release forms from the prison that never got taken care of, a few slips and technicalities from the rehabit center, and…” Lyle groaned, loud and resigned. “And at least fourteen pages of BS from the United Planetary Council. Guess we can’t put off getting you your own omnicom anymore, you’re gonna need one for this.”

“What about the U.P.C. is bullshit?”

“Oh, deities, you don’t even know. You ever dealt with pointless, endless beaureacracy? Did I mention it’s endless?”

“Ah. When you say paperwork, you mean paperwork. ” This was one of few topics in which Querl took care to modulate his tone to match his implication, which was “dripping with contempt”. His own criminal empire was not immune to bureaucracy, despite his (frequent) attempts at avoiding it. He made most things digital, for ease of interaction as well as a lack of a physical trail, but sometimes the U.P. really just had it out for anyone attempting a legal transfer outside of their borders. Querl could imagine they were just as unhappy as he (and the entire Legion, if earlier reactions were anything to go by) was about his being a Legionnaire. It wasn’t exactly the idea of being on a superhero team (though that was a significant part of it) that upset him, but moreso-

“Here you go. Took me a minute to remember where it was, but it’s never really been used before, so all the settings should be default still.” Lyle held out an omnicom, gesturing for Querl to  take it. “It’s got plenty of connective settings, so you should be able to manipulate it without issue. I know the screen is probably a bit smaller than you’d prefer to work with, but it’s what we have for now, and honestly, paperwork really isn’t worth the effort.” Lyle’s eyes–well, his entire expression, really–spoke of a deep exhaustion already, and they hadn’t even begun. 

The perils of paperwork. He had not missed this.

The specialised work computer at the corner desk went off with a ping! , and then several more in quick succession. Rokk grumbled and groaned, but ultimately decided the risk, having the U.P. riding his ass about Brainiac not being a legally released citizen, was not worth the reward of staying cozy in bed. He’d only just gotten to that comfy, dozing, slightly-too-warm-but-not-hot point that meant “good nap incoming”, and then Brainiac decided to give him something to ruin it all. He was convinced this was some sort of omen of things to come, but if Brainy interrupted Imra’s sleep in the future there would be hell to pay. Not from him, of course, but from Imra, who would give Brainy the mother of all headaches for the next week any time he showed his face.

He sat at the desk, hair sticking out in all directions, and stared uncomprehendingly at the screen for a second as he tried to pull his brain out of nap haze. Most of Brainy’s biographical information was splayed across the viewscreen on a citizen registration form.

Name: Brainiac Five

Title (if applicable): Brainiac Five

Standard-Cycle D.O.B: January 23

Planet of Origin: Colu

Species: Coluan

Height (Standard Interdims): 5’3”

Weight (Standard Interdims): 50 kilograms

Identifying traits: Missing right eye, extensive facial scarring as result, full sleeve bright orange roses on right arm, missing ring finger on both hands.

The form included an identifying portrait photo that–oh Warriors, did Brainy submit his mugshot as his ID photo?

He did. Heiron grant Rokk patience, because if patience he did not have, there was a vicious throttling in Brainy’s future.

Chapter Text

Querl sat with his head in his hands, massaging the bridge of his nose. It was a futile effort in attempting to dispel his headache, and he knew it would be from the onset, but it still made him feel better. Honestly, couldn’t he just draw it?

His hand twitched painfully, and he grimaced as he remembered that no, he physically couldn’t. The atmospheric pressure difference on Earth was not kind to his missing extremities, nor the incredibly annoying tactile hallucination of other missing limbs.

Querl glared down at the offensively neutral document open on his tablet, and wondered again just how the hell he was supposed to sufficiently describe a “hero outfit.” He thought his dark leather suited him just fine, and it was easy enough to repair in the event a firefight went wrong. Fairly resistant to most types of energy fire as well, it really was the ideal material, and the dark colours paired with his magenta and otherwise purple shirts to make him look intimidating rather than just small.

The door to the lab wooshed open behind him, and Querl nearly groaned as he realised who it would be. Two days had passed since his unorthodox introduction to the Legion, and Lyle Norg was proving to be nothing but an annoyance (no matter how helpful he had been the other day with the creation of Querl’s leg brace).

“Hey Brainiac!” Lyle said.

“There is no purpose in salutation. I know you’re here, now what do you want?” Querl responded. He heard Lyle sigh behind him, then saw him finally walk around (on his left side. Norg was astoundingly careful to always stand within his range of vision, he noticed) to face Querl.

“It’s been two days now, so…” Lyle trailed off, drumming his fingers against the tabletop he leaned up against, carefully avoiding looking in Querl’s direction.

“Either finish your sentence or leave. I don’t currently have the patience to deal with your noise.” Querl snapped, a pointed glare towards Lyle’s hands.

Lyle hung his head, sighed, and said “we gotta do fight checks, they’re waiting for us in the arena.”
Brainiac, who had been itching for a fight to the point he greeted most with an instinctual flex of his fists, nearly jumped from his seat to drag Norg from the room. Nearly. He still didn’t know where the “arena” was, and he absolutely did not want to touch anyone. It had been a relief to learn that everyone but the girl with the green and purple streaks (and of course Norg and Krinn) were still much too intimidated to come near enough to touch.

Querl stood, tucked the tablet away in his jacket, and walked over to the door Lyle somehow left open. He gestured with one hand out towards the hallway.

“Lead the way.” 

“Are we sure he can do this, Cos? I mean, he nearly tipped over yesterday when his shoulder knocked into the wall. Are we really gonna make him fight?” XS wrung her hands together as she spoke, just a bit concerned about being made to fight Brainiac Five. For one thing, he wasn’t very physically coordinated, it didn’t take a genius scientist to be able to see that. Sometimes he walked with a limp, and he only had half the sight range the rest of them did. But on the other hand, of course, he was a known drug dealer and crime lord, and vids of his arrest were everywhere. He could fight like a tornado if he really had to. (Of course, in the vids he had ten fingers, and there were theories out there that he could see through the camera above his eye.)

Really, what it boiled down to was this: he was very small, and looked like he had the bones of a bird, so she was scared of accidentally hitting him at speed and maybe knocking his bones out of place three days into him being a Legionnaire, but she was also afraid that at her normal, human speed, he would be able to hit much harder than she was prepared for.

Cosmic Boy knew her well enough to divine most of this thought process from her bouncing heels and wrung hands, and sighed again.

“Yes, we are. He skipped out on most of the orientation we had for him, which honestly is probably for the better, but we still need to know if he can fight as he is now. If he can’t,” Rokk made a sound of uncertainty, “we’ll figure something out.” He seemed unsure of that. XS looked like she was about to respond, but Cosmic Boy beat her to it. “Look, the point is, we need someone able to fight him. I’m not allowed to according to Lyle, Violet and Phantom Girl opted out, Gim’s afraid of hitting him too hard, and it just. Keeps. Going.” He groaned, looking ready to either throttle his team or just give it up completely as he recalled every single Legionnaire’s list of excuses. (Except Jan, Jan wasn’t a combat fighter and so wasn’t even considered.) Jenni was the only one whose concerns he believed were legitimate.

“Think of it as an exercise. You’re going to fight the closest approximation of someone who’s like you, Jenni. Just this side of uncoordinated–through no fault of your own,” he emphasised, “with enough training to be frustrated by a perceived lack in progress, or in his case, a backslide. The two of you are in the same place right now.”

Just then, the door wooshed open, and in walked the star of everyone’s conversation, Brainiac Five himself. Accompanied by Lyle Norg of course, but Brainiac Five seemed beyond the meaning of annoyed, going straight to “frustrated”. That frustration seemed to heighten as he surveyed the room and found Shrinking Violet, once again grinning up a storm. Jenni had a theory as to why she was so excited about him being around, but she knew Violet would never confirm or deny it. 

Lyle gestured broadly across the room, said something quietly to Brainiac Five, and not so subtly nudged him to the center of the floor, then beelined straight for Cosmic Boy and XS.
“If he’s fighting, he wants to do it now. He’s fighting XS then Ultra Boy, while I make sure nothing goes horribly wrong. Violet calls the match, yes? Yes. Great.” He spoke more at Rokk than to him, and then disappeared as soon as he was done.
Cosmic Boy sighed, then nodded his head toward the center of the room. Jenni took her cue, speeding toward Brainiac Five, standing across from him, lightning briefly arcing across her form. Earlier that day, her wrists and knees ached so badly she genuinely considered taking herself off the roster for the day, but now? It all faded to the background as the lightning coiled in her body, sparking behind her eyes, and she was ready to move.

“Alright. You two are engaging in a simple hand-to-hand spar. XS, you are not allowed to grapple or throw Brainiac Five, but if he is capable he is allowed. Brainiac Five, you are allowed to grapple and throw XS if you find yourself capable, but you are not allowed to strike her knees in any form; no strikes to the kneecap, no strikes to the back of her knee, no hitting her knees out from under her. No hits to the head, either of you. The fight ends when these rules are violated, or one of you is on the ground for five seconds. Are these rules understood?”

Brainiac Five nodded at the same time as XS. Shrinking Violet looks between the two, steps back, and calls out “start!”

XS isn’t sure what happened after that. When it comes to sparring, if she’s not taking it slowly (mostly with Salu or Triplicate) she gets this weird tunnel vision, where it feels like she’s trying to move too quickly for her mind to keep up–as if it’s something else trying to direct her body. Something older, something more knowing. If she’s not completely singleminded towards her target, that something tries to direct her to it. It’s dizzying and difficult to deal with, and makes fighting at speed much harder than it should be. It pushed her, then, trying to make her confront Brainiac Five more directly, deal with the threat in front of her. She had to fight against it even as she was fighting Brainiac Five. Screw the aching wrists and knees, if she’d known that was going to happen, she would’ve called out.

She knows she charged him. She thinks it was with her superspeed, but she isn’t sure. He ducked in time to dodge her punch, at any rate, and retaliated with a strike to her shoulder. It was a loose strike, she remembered that, because for some reason he didn’t (or maybe couldn’t) close his hand all the way. At that point, the speed (or whatever was driving it) took over and she was behind him before she could blink, kicking at the knee that didn’t have a brace. He went down without much sound, and she got a brief reprieve from that strange feeling as she retreated, darting back across the training ring. He got back up, charged her, and the feeling came back, stronger than before. She remembered clipping Lyle’s side when he was invisible, and she remembered Brainiac Five’s grimace as he landed a particularly brutal kick to her shin, but she doesn’t remember anything in between those, and not much after. She definitely doesn’t remember any of the strikes that Brainiac Five landed, if the lingering aches and bruises were any indication. 

It was just… she blinked, and it was like her vision was finally clear. Like she went from the moment Salu said “start” straight to the end. She realised her leg was bouncing. Her lightning was arcing up and down it still. She wasn’t certain if she could stop it.

Jenni startled when she felt a hand on her shoulder. It felt like–she looked over, but it was just Salu. Jenni didn’t know who it was supposed to feel like. Someone she knew, maybe? Or someone she was going to know. Or maybe someone she never knew at all.

“Are you okay? It looked like you were lost in your speed during that fight.” Salu looked concerned as she sat next to XS, moving her hand from Jenni’s shoulder to put her arm around Jenni instead.

Jenni nodded slowly, then stopped and shook her head. “I don’t… know what happened. That was way worse than what happens when I spar with you or Lu. How did it end?” she asked, and turned to lean her back against Salu and put her left leg up on the cushioned bench. Her knee was starting to ache again…

“Well, you gave him a bit of a run-around. I know Cos and Lyle both were pretty surprised when you went for his knee like that, and Lyle’s definitely gonna get on my case about not calling that you couldn’t. You were mostly just getting in whatever hit you could where he wasn’t looking, then retreating. Good strategy, by the way, we should definitely work with that, he couldn’t always get a hit in when you came to him. It was over once he got a proper grip on you though, had you pinned pretty quick after. He’s always been good at that, y’know.” Salu sounded oddly proud as she spoke, and Jenni made a note to ask later who, exactly, she was proud of.

She didn’t remember that, though. No, Jenni didn’t remember most of the rest of her day.

“That could’ve gone better, huh?” Lyle said as he patted down the edges of the band-aid across Brainiac Five’s cheek. There was a dark green bruise blooming under the skin, but the band-aid was for the tear in his skin from Ultra Boy’s ring. 

Querl glared at him, but made no move to shove Lyle’s hand away as he put a second bandaid across the bridge of Querl’s nose, where one of Ultra Boy’s nails had caught him with a hit that had, otherwise, missed.

“Thank you ever so much for stating the obvious, Invisible Kid ,” Brainiac said derisively. “Yes, I especially loved the part where he elbowed my empty eye socket, deeply disorienting me.” He sneered, and finally pushed Lyle’s hands away from where they were fluttering in front of his face, as if Lyle was just trying to find something else he could help with.

Lyle cringed at his words, but Brainiac Five wasn’t wrong. They definitely should’ve added to the rules “no cheap shots”, because against Brainiac, it seemed like that was all Ultra Boy was interested in using. Lyle believed him when he said he genuinely forgot he was wearing the ring, but definitely didn’t when he said he misjudged Brainy’s height and that’s why the punch landed where it did. Punch to the head, kick to the knee with the brace, constantly hitting at Querl’s blind side–what was supposed to be an assessment spar devolved rapidly into Brainiac Five and Ultra Boy trying to out-bastard each other. It was only thanks to Ultra Boy switching to invulnerability that Brainiac didn't rip his ear off. Before the two fully devolved, however, and before Jo realised he was there, Lyle took several hits from him trying to get in more cheap hits from out of Querl’s limited line of sight. With Jenni, it wasn’t so much a problem because she wasn’t as strong as an angry Rimborian, and her goal was only to get him pinned as per the rules. Ultra Boy’s goal seemed to be putting Brainiac Five through a lot of pain as easily and as quickly as possible.

Brainiac Five hissed as the cold compress pressed against the bruise, and brought his glare back up to Lyle. “You are fully aware that this will do nothing to assist in my body’s natural healing process. Why are you so insistent on my using this?”

Lyle was struck, quite suddenly, with the thought that it was surely a shame Brainiac Five had lost his right eye before Lyle ever got to know him, because he was certain Brainiac’s other eye was just as beautiful. He then proceeded to blush so hard he had to turn and hide his face.

“Er! It’s just. We don’t have any painkillers tuned to Coluan systems, so basic hot-cold compresses is the best we can do right now.” Lyle’s voice cracked as he spoke, and his face burned impossibly hotter.

“Again. None of these things assist in my healing process. Your insistence is pointless.”

“Just because it doesn’t help you heal doesn’t mean you should be in pain, Brainiac.”

Querl found he had no response to that.

Chapter Text

Nura wandered the halls. She had no purpose for her wandering, but that was her little secret. She was well aware that the rest of the Legion, whenever they saw her, thought she was off to do something important. They tended not to bother her when she was wandering like this, anyway. That was a good thing most days, when her visions started seeping through her senses.

They were doing that now, streaking down the hallway, making the walls almost pulse. Sometimes it was good they did that, sometimes bad. At that moment, while unnerving, it was nice to catalogue how the damaged walls were damaged differently from the last vision she'd had. Before Brainiac Five had arrived. Entire hallways had been destroyed, before, and were now shimmering and pristine to her eyes. She wondered, just a bit, what exactly it was that Brainiac Five would do that had changed the future so drastically already. Had he prevented the threat? Was he the threat?

Nura doubted that one. He and his Division had no reason to come after the Legion. Unless it had been about Ultra Boy's betrayal, but Nura didn't believe that either. At any rate, her visions were not forthcoming with answers. She blinked, and they went away entirely. She checked the clock; she'd been wandering for over an hour this time, and more importantly, she was directly in front of the multi-lab.

The door wooshed open, then opened again. A green-skinned boy with entirely too much pain on his shoulders froze in the doorway, and Nura suddenly remembered why she'd started wandering in the first place.

"You need help communicating the design you have in mind. I've already seen it, it's going to look great," Nura smiled.

Brainiac Five looked briefly shocked, then his expression settled into controlled distaste. "Naltorian. You must be Dream Girl. I don't suppose I can stop you." He turned back around, tapped something on the wall, and went back into the lab.

Nura followed, but she knew better than to take more than a few steps through Lyle's workspace, now helpfully labelled with a long line on the floor. She toed that line, then thought better of it and sat at the desk next to it. Well, sat on, more like. She waited for Brainiac Five to finish whatever it was he was up to, muttering to himself. She had to admit, he cut a striking figure, a dark silhouette against the bright white of the lab. Whenever he turned, she caught the side of his face, and was forced to admit again no matter how small he was, between his sharp jaw, the scars around his eye, and the way he dressed, he was intimidating. Or, he would be, if she were inclined to be scared of someone she's seen cry because a plant he was taking care of died. If she had her timeline right, it was just after that that he got his tattoos, or at least the sleeve of flowers. (she didn’t know if he had more, but she supposed it wasn’t impossible.) How he had come to be the man in front of her (if he was even a man. Perhaps Coluans aged differently, because he truly still looked so young ) was somewhat a mystery even to her, though far less to her than any others in the universe. She’d been watching his future for many years, after all, mostly out of curiosity. (She had to. Everyone, constantly, was telling her exactly how dangerous he was, how dangerous he was going to be , given more time. She had to ignore them. It never went well when she told them their visions were wrong, that they were looking down the wrong, biased possible futures. She’d long since stopped telling people he wasn’t a villain. )

Brainiac Five made a noise of triumph, startling Nura out of her thoughts. He had at some point hung the leather jacket he wore across the back of a wheeled chair on his side of the lab, exposing his arms. His left arm was a patchwork of thin blue scars, but light and faded, not contrasting the regular green of his skin. His right arm, however, was a sight to behold. It was a full sleeve of bright orange rose tattoos, curling around his skin, carefully disguising what Nura was certain were deep burn scars. The tattoos even went over his elbow.

Brainiac Five turned to her, expression still controlled distaste, and said “you say you’ve already seen the design I have in mind. How would you describe it?”

Nura grinned, and started typing in her omnicom. Brainiac Five had already sent her the form he needed help with (she wasn’t going to ask how he got her contact) and she had already drawn out the flash of the design she’d seen last night.

“How’s that look? Exactly how you imagined?” she said, watching his face change to something just this side of positive emotion. That was another thing she’d noticed while watching Brainiac, he didn’t emote much. He emoted a little, sure, but not as much as other people did, and she was certain it wasn’t a conscious decision on his part to not.

“It is adequate. Is there a view from the direct opposite angle?” Brainiac kept his eyes facing his screen (where and how he got his hands on such an old LCD display of that size was a mystery to her) as he asked. 

“No, but I did grab a colour palette while I was drawing, and I can help you describe it if you want. Have you considered making a list?”

“And in what way would a list assist me now?” His voice was dry. Nura thought he’d probably tried working the problem too many times to consider a new solution. Maybe what she’d seen when she first saw him at the door was him when he was frustrated? Raised shoulders, with a certain set to his eyes. He’d untensed since, but still his shoulders hadn’t fallen completely. Still frustrated, probably. 

“You can list out any parts of the uniform I haven’t drawn and include a colour and materials, or I suppose if you have a piece of it you should specify that as well.”

“...this was. Helpful. Now get out.”

So, out Nura got. She was right, Brainiac Five really was adorable. She’d have to find out how Shrinking Violet met him. (Surely they weren’t dating, Salu was with Jenni.)

Rokk breathed in. Breathed out. Breathed in. Breathed out. It was rare he got even a moment to himself, his nap a few days ago was just as rare. Garth had called him “Responsible Rokk” once, and it kind of stuck. It wasn’t untrue, at least.

His omnicom pinged then, but this time it wasn’t any sort of interruption. He checked it, and there were two other unchecked notifications as well, both from Imra.

Psychic Lass: Hey Rokk, we’ve just finished everything between the U.P. and the Harreins. 

Psychic Lass: We’re on our way back now, should be home tonight. Garth is napping. Is Brainiac Five causing any trouble yet?

Rokk smiled. Garth always napped on home journeys. In his words, “if you give, like, 110 percent while you’re away, you can give like 40 on the way back it’s fine. ” Of course, Gar was also the one who came up with their names in the Founders group messages. The other message was labelled “non-urgent”, so he tapped out a response to Imra first.

Magno Kid: No trouble from Brainiac Five yet. Of course Garth is napping. I assume you did most of the talking with the U.P. delegates?

Psychic Lass: No you know I can’t speak.

Rokk choked, then glared.

Magno Kid: …Imra.

Psychic Lass: I think it’s hilarious. Anyway, yes. Garth handled the Harreins, I handled the Planets and played with kids.

Rokk and Imra were not the only ones to fall for Garth’s charisma. He really did have a way with people they simply did not. (Kids always loved that Imra could tell what they were thinking, though.)

Magno Kid: That’s cute, are there pictures?

Psychic Lass: Of Garth? Always, he’s adorable.

Magno Kid: Not what I meant and you know it, but sure.

Psychic Lass: [Garth<3.png]

Garth was sprawled on his stomach across the bench in their cargo hold. It didn’t look very comfortable, but it was how Garth always slept on the way home. One leg was dangling half off the bench entirely, his head cushioned by the back of his hands.

His com pinged again, this time the notification labelled “urgent”. He tabbed out of his conversation with Imra and checked the communication. It was from the tailor, actually.

Oh. A draft of Brainiac Five’s suit. The guy had fashion, at least.

Magno Kid: Sprawled as always I see. Mr. Brande’s tailor just got back to me about Brainiac Five’s suit draft, do you wanna see?

Psychic Lass: Ooooh, give. Dream Girl’s been so secretive about it, I haven’t gotten anything out of her.

Magno Kid: [draft.png]

Psychic Lass: Form and function. I get the feeling he likes to look good. Seems counterintuitive to be missing an entire sleeve, though, given the mesh layers under the outer shirt.

Kind of what he thought, too, but Brainy was full of idiosyncrasies, plus maybe it was about the flowers?

Magno Kid: Oh, you haven’t seen him yet, right. He’s got a thing about it, he doesn’t like anything touching that arm. Either that or he likes putting it on display I think. Full sleeve of flower tattoos on that arm, real stunning to look at honestly.

Psychic Lass: Really? I wouldn’t expect that from someone like him.

Magno Kid: Yeah! Bet you also wouldn’t expect he’s only 5’3”. 

Psychic Lass: He’s WHAT. He’s supposed to be this highly feared crime lord, even Ultra Boy was afraid of him, and you’re telling me he’s shorter than me?

Rokk smiled, and did not point out that he was shorter than Imra too. (He was barely an inch taller than Brainy.)

Magno Kid: I know, but it’s true! We haven’t mentioned it of course that would be mean (tell Garth before you get here please we’re trying to stay friends with him Garth laughing at him is the Opposite) but yeah. He’s… smaller than you’d think.

Psychic Lass: Do you know how old he is? All the rumours put him at around 22.

Rokk frowned, and pulled up Brainiac’s citizen registration, and his frown deepened.

Magno Kid: He left his age off his registration form. Name too, unless his name really is Brainiac Five. Which makes me… uncomfortable about the Coluan Emissary trying to dig into him.

Psychic Lass: ?

Rokk typed out an answer, decided he didn’t like it, then typed it out again. And again. Finally, he decided fuck it, and sent it anyway. Honestly, this was something he’d been thinking about since he saw that damn form.

Magno Kid: It’s just… if he doesn’t have a name, just his title, that means no one ever named him . And the Emissary keeps trying to go on and on about how much of an asset his mind was while he was on Colu. It rubs me wrong because they don’t use a name for him either, just “Brainiac”. I mean… if all anyone on Titan wanted was for you to be a powerful psychic, and all they ever talked about was how good a psychic you were, you’d leave too, right?

That’s the thing, Rokk thought, maybe Brainiac couldn’t. Wasn’t allowed to.

Psychic Lass: you think Brainiac Five escaped Colu because they only used him as a brain?

Magno Kid: It kind of seems that way. It would even make sense about the arrest warrant; usually, if someone dangerous is arrested, final jurisdiction goes to their home planet, especially because Colu isn’t technically a member of the U.P.

Psychic Lass: But he sort of proved the “armed and dangerous” classification right, didn’t he?

Magno Kid: Yeah, because he got involved in U.P. politics. He’s supposed to be the smartest ever, I think he’s more than smart enough to realise that significant crime against U.P. planets means the U.P. gets a say in his imprisonment. If he got sent back to Colu, the eyes end the moment he’s planetside, and they’d go right back to using him for his brain.

Psychic Lass: That’s a few pretty big assumptions, Rokk, against a planet we aren’t necessarily close friends with. And over an unsecured connection.

Magno Kid: I know, I know. I kind of got carried away with that thought. But, still. You see my point?

Psychic Lass: You think he might be running from something other than justice.

At the very least, Rokk had a very bad feeling.

Magno Kid: I think, maybe, they’re not chasing him for the right reasons, and might be lying about it.

Psychic Lass: …I’ll see if I can get some thoughts out of the emissary when we get home.

Sparkle Boy: B5s got tattoos? thats sick

Chapter Text

“You’re late, Brainiac Five.”

“That’s because I respect none of you and this will inevitably end up a waste of my time. If there’s anything you’d like to actually receive my input on, I recommend you do so now before I stop paying attention,” he said. He heard a high-pitched snort across the room, and was reminded of the one thing he had been attempting to avoid more than Jo Nah had been attempting to avoid him.

Salu Digby, a.k.a. “Shrinking Violet”, a.k.a. “his only friend” (in her own words, of course). One of his unused thought tracks meandered back to their meeting in the lab three days ago.

“Hey there, Doxie.”

Querl jumped, then whirled around. There was only one person who had ever called him that , who could get away with calling him that. How was the Imskian here-

Oh. The girl (woman?) with the purple and green in her hair. Perhaps then he had misheard what she said.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me here,” she said. She stepped forward as she spoke, walking straight through the separator between his space and Norg’s, and perched herself on the tabletop next to him.

“To the contrary, I am surprised with your boldness. No one has been stupid enough to cross into my lab space yet, but you do so intentionally.”

“You really don’t recognise me?” She put her hand under her chin and fluttered her eyelashes. “Come on now, Doxie, I’m hurt. It’s me! Your only friend?”

Querl stiffened, then turned and pretended to busy himself. Salu Digby. Of course. Of course it would be her, why wouldn’t it be? She was one of the only Imskians who had powers at all, most of them existing in their micro-state. He would never admit he was relieved to know his Imskian was here. But why here? Did she follow him?

He interfaced briefly with his tablet, helpfully face-down on the countertop next to him. Salu Digby, callsign “Shrinking Violet”, Imskian, age unknown. (He knew she was a bit older than him. Why did she leave it off?) Status: 5 MONTHS ACTIVE . Hm. So she was inactive at some point, and it seemed she had a penchant for disappearing without notice for a few days, the dates of which tended to line up perfectly with when she would show up to bother him in his lab. So this is what she was off doing?

“Salu. Get out of my lab.”

She had, after that, prattled on and on about how “it was just like old times” (it most certainly wasn’t), and then wouldn’t. Stop. Talking. Mostly about her girlfriend, Jenni Ognats. XS. It was almost a comfort to fall into a routine so similar to what they’d done prior to his arrest, but he would never admit that (even under threat of death). Was XS some play on words? Excess? Excess Speed? A stylised acronym? So many questions. Shame he would sooner die than willingly socialise with Digby’s girlfriend.

Querl was pulled back to the present when Saturn Girl brought her hands together with a loud but singular clap as she sat. Oh sure, she could be late all she wanted as one of the leaders, but when he-

“Alright, now that we’re all here, couple announcements to be made. First being, with the Harreins handled, obviously Saturn Girl and Lightning Lad are back on the active roster, and the U.P. is officially off our ass for the next two weeks. Hopefully.” There were groans, both relieved and fed-up? from around the room (one of which was sourced from nothing. Querl took careful note of Invisible Kid’s position).

“Yes, yes, the U.P. sucks. We’re done with them for a little bit. I know no one’s happy about their involvement, but” he glanced at Brainiac. Brainiac pretended not to care. “We all know why they are. Now!” he said a bit forcefully, with a smile that fell into grimace, “we’ve got some new stuff from Mr. Brande. He wants a few Legionnaires to head back to the Central Array, help with some specific repairs and a demonstration video to put out to the Rim. Ultra Boy, you’re on for that. There will be two more, one might be me. Besides that, we have-” Cosmic Boy was cut off suddenly and loudly as an alarm blared, screeching and red, echoed. Querl’s hands slammed painfully over his ears, and he saw briefly that XS had done the same. His conscious attention was diverted then to connecting to every electronic in the room as he pulled. He pulled and pulled and couldn’t stop hearing that awful ringing and he pulled and it all went quiet.

Lyle walked down the hallway, muttering “find Brainy, he says, it’ll be easy , he says.” It should have been easy, too! Brainy had been there for a week, and the only places he’d even been seen were the lab, the cafeteria, the training room once, and the meeting room today. Four places, plus his room, and he wasn’t in any of them! Nura and Imra both just laughed when he asked for help and Violet was also nowhere to be found, so in conclusion Cosmic Boy will be finding Brainiac himself next time. See if Lyle volunteers to grab him again why don’t you.

A dull clang startled Lyle and suddenly, the hall was empty. Really, he was on-base, there was no need to keep his power on such a hair-trigger.

The clang echoed again, and he realised two things: it was from above him, and he knew exactly what it sounded like–someone sitting in a shifting metal duct. The only question was who? No one besides him and Cham really… did that, and Chameleon was out for the day. Only one way to find out, he supposed.

The closest door was to the smaller meeting room, which hadn’t been used since earlier that day. No reason for anyone to be there, but... Lyle walked inside, and sure enough, the vent grate was propped against the wall instead of bolted in place. He lightly knocked on the edge of the vent, and called out, “hello?”

There was a returning knock from two directions: one above him, and a delayed echo through the vent. He looked up, and saw a shadow move in the ceiling. That at least explained why the metal was shifting, if they were just sitting up there. Lyle floated up to the ceiling grate, and peered through the gaps. A singular green eye stared back. Mission: Locate Brainiac Five: Success!

“Brainy? Why are you in the ceiling?”

Brainy growled, and said “I despise that name. Do not do that again.”

“Okay, but again. Ceiling. Why.” Lyle said.

Brainiac Five shifted over, and Lyle realised this particular duct wasn’t gas ventilation, but a service duct. And if the wires, circuit boards, and tools were any indication, Brainiac Five was using it for its intended purpose.

“You’re… rewiring the overhead? Why?”

“When I disabled that horrendous alarm, it was not strictly the alarm I targeted. The force of my manipulation destroyed the circuits responsible for interpreting all input and turning it into output. I am replacing everything.” He punctuated his statement by pulling something over his face and leaning over the speaker’s guts, practically folding himself in half.

“Oh. That sounds… bad. You didn’t have to rewire everyone’s coms though. Why this?” Lyle asked, then quickly snapped his hand up to shield his eyes. What the sprock was Brainy using to make something so bright?

“I used so much force the entire circuit physically snapped. Everything needs replacing, and for the record I will have to perform micro-repairs to Cosmic Boy’s. Have you finished your pointless questions?”

“Uh, no actually, I was supposed to come get you for Rokk. Probably about his omnicom, now that I think about it,” Lyle said.

“...I’ll be there shortly. Now leave.”

Lyle left. Oddly, Querl resented the silence. It sounded louder than silence should.

The first thing Querl noticed when he walked in the repair center was an absence of any Braalians. 

“Y’know, when Lyle said you’d be up here soon, I didn’t really believe him. Thought we’d have to twist your arm about it.”

The second was the presence of a Winathian he most certainly did not like, sitting with his front to the chair’s back.

“I was alerted to a meeting with Krinn, not you. Where is he?” Brainiac Five sneered.

“Getting ready to ship off to Mr. Brande’s Central Array space station. Couldn’t wait anymore, left me to handle this.” Lightning Lad gestured to the omnicoms on the table. “How quick can you fix whatever broke?”

“They’re small devices, this shouldn’t take long.”

“Great. Rokk’s first.” Ranzz pushed one forward, and Querl grabbed them all and moved to the counter. He pulled the protective lenses down over his eyes and got to work.

“How’d they even break anyway? Cos said whatever broke the alarms wasn’t him or Thom waving, but everything broke kind of in a dome that definitely meant waves,” Ranzz said. So much for silence.

“Are you going to sit there and jabber away this entire time?”

“Yep! Literally my job. None of those ones are making sound and their mics broke too. Do you know how they broke?” Ranzz asked.

“Of course I know how they broke, I’m the one who did it you imbecile,” Querl said sharply. 

“Wait, you’re the one who broke it?! How did you even–Coluans don’t have wavy powers like Cos!” Lightning Lad sounded surprised. Did no one know Coluans were technopaths, or was he just particularly dim?

“Don’t you think it would be stupid of us as a species to become techno-organic, just to be unable to control parts of our own bodies? Oh, excuse me, of course you don’t. You don’t seem to think at all.”

“I–wh–hey! I’ll have you know I’m the Legion’s official Xeno-Outreach Specialist! I’m the reason we had enough pull to even bring you here!” Ranzz sounded offended. What, did he want a thank you?

“I’m not going to express gratitude for you moving me from one prison to another, conditional to my service.” Honestly, if all he wanted was to be put to work, he’d have gone back to Colu. Querl heard brief movement, and he could imagine Lightning Lad rushing to his feet and pointing.

“Y’know, we brought you here because despite it all, your Division gang did some real good for the planets you took over. You could be doing real good now, with the Legion, but instead you haven’t done anything except be a total nasshead to everyone that even talks to you!” His voice got louder, and Querl started hearing sparks.

“You brought me here as your last resort, because Dream Girl said your entire Legion would fall without me. Do not pretend I am here for anything else, because I certainly won’t.” All but one of the omnicoms was finished.

“We spent weeks arguing up and down the entire U.P. Council!” Lightning Lad shouted. He was truly incensed now. “Hours upon hours of convincing Science Police captains and leaders and directors to let us see you, and twice that to get you Earth-side! Are you at all aware that everyone , Legion included, thinks all of this is going to blow up in our faces?! That the entire galaxy thinks you’re just going to turn around and kill us all or take us over?! You’re here because no one has a choice except you! Did all those drugs totally erode your brain?! You CHOSE to join! You said yes!” Here, Querl paused. Lightning Lad was breathing hard, and Querl could feel him practically towering behind him. The last omnicom made a small ping! as it finished rebooting.

He was forced to concede Ranzz’s point. This was his choice. And he was pretty sure he didn’t regret making it.

“The repairs are done. I did not intend to break them earlier.” And Querl left.

Garth stared after him for a moment, then shook his head and straightened up. He had to get the omnicom to Rokk before the team took off.

Querl sat alone in the center of his room, bathed in darkness. Ranzz was correct; he was the only one who held power the day Krinn entered his cell. Querl had been aware the galaxy at large disapproved of the Legion’s actions, but he hadn’t considered the amount of work necessary to get to that point. And what if he said no? All of it for nothing? The Legion of Superheroes already had a tenuous public image, and it took a considerable hit bringing him to the team. They stuck their neck out for him.

True, they felt they had no choice. True, it was all done with a purpose. True, he was there because they needed something from him.

But Lyle didn’t need to protect his blind side during the combat assessment. Salu didn’t need to make it a rule he couldn’t be thrown so he didn’t get dizzy. Saturn Girl didn’t need to stay out of his head because telepaths made him uncomfortable.

Rokk didn’t need to give him water to soothe his throat.

But he did anyway. Shouldn’t that count for something? The Legion as a whole stuck their neck out because it was a risk they had to take. They weren’t obligated to be kind. They were anyway. Hm.

There was a quiet knock at his door. It opened, and revealed Salu Digby. Querl’s brow furrowed, but he made no movement to send her away.

“Heya Doxie.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing really, just here to keep you company.” She strode forward and sat down, leaving a foot of space between them.

“I do not want it. I’m thinking.”

“Uh, thinking about whatever made you so upset you’re trying to be angry so you don’t cry? You’re sulking , Doxie, not thinking. Wallowing, maybe.” She gave a half-smile, amused, but vaguely… concerned? “Quit looking at me like that. I’m not wrong! You literally have tears in your eye.”

Querl wiped quickly at his eye, and found she was correct. When and why did that happen?

Salu leaned back, planting her hands on the floor. “So, Jenni’s been asking how I know you.”

“Why do I care?” he asked.

“Because it’s your reputation on the line, smartass. If I tell her you saved my planet just because I asked, she’s gonna figure out not all of your rep is true. Most of it, even. You’re gonna go from terrifying crime lord and gang leader to ‘guy who’s kind of just a bitch about science and in general.’ She’s a Speed Force user , Doxie, she knows exactly how much work a reputation does.” Ah, yes. Most Speed Force users were somehow related to the Allen-West family. A heavy legacy to carry.

“...why do you think I care whether or not your girlfriend is scared of me?”

Violet scoffed. “She’s kind of the worst secret-keeper in the Legion. Fifty-fifty whether or not your galactic reputation is in flames within 24 hours of her finding out.” She smiled, amused again.

“Tell her what you wish. I… trust your judgement.” Querl pointedly avoided looking in Salu's direction, but he knew she was absolutely grinning, eyes wide.

“Oh that hurt you to say, didn’t it?” She said smugly.

“Shut up.”