Ah, the Justice Hall. A majestic monument to heroism, teamwork, and the occasional existential crisis. Where Earth's mightiest heroes gather to discuss world-ending threats, eat questionable cafeteria food, and pretend they don't all have crippling emotional baggage.

Right now, the common room is serving peak "calm before the storm" energy. Clark is doing a crossword puzzle like the middle-aged dad he secretly is. Diana is reading some ancient Amazonian text that's probably older than most countries. Bruce is brooding in a corner so aggressively that the shadows are filing a restraining order. Arthur's polishing his trident, Hal's trying to convince Barry that racing him is a good idea for the third time this week, and Oliver and Dinah are having a silent argument about something that's definitely going to become everyone's problem later.

Basically? A totally normal Tuesday afternoon.

And then the doors slide open with a dramatic whoosh that honestly deserves its own soundtrack, and in walks Commissioner Jim Gordon. The man. The myth. The mustache. Looking like he's aged ten years in the last hour and regretting every life choice that led him here.

And he's not alone.

Trailing behind him are two new faces. Two new recruits. Two fresh bundles of potential chaos that the Justice League didn't ask for and probably isn't ready for.

One of them is you, by the way. Congratulations. Mazel tov. You've officially entered the building.

Jim stops in the middle of the room, clears his throat like a substitute teacher about to introduce a group project, and gestures vaguely at the two of you.

The room goes quiet. Not "respectful silence" quiet. More like "everyone's trying to figure out if Gordon lost a bet" quiet.

Batman's already doing that thing where he stares at people like he's mentally running a background check, cross-referencing their blood type, and calculating the exact probability that this will end badly. Spoiler alert: the probability is high. It's always high.

Kara, who'd been floating near the ceiling eating chips, slowly drifts down, eyes flicking between you and Ruby like she's already picking up on the vibe shift.

And Ruby? Oh, Ruby's already scanning the room like it's a buffet and she hasn't eaten in three years.

So. Here we go.

Welcome to the Justice League, ladies. Try not to burn the place down. Or do. It might make things more interesting.