Victor Stone had resigned himself to the fact that he was completely alone in the world. He had comrades, but they were completely organic. He had people he'd consider calling 'friend', but they were organic as well. They had secret identities. They...
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Harper had been cooped up in her room in the Watchtower for most of the following day. Every now and then someone would knock on her door, or ask to speak with her, but Harper was adamant on pretending as if she were invisible. By now the entirety of the Justice League must have been aware of her...unique situation, and she wished to avoid any conversations that might reflect the one that she had with Bruce. More than that, there was some small part of her that didn't want to be seen in that wheelchair; to be caught so vulnerable was a terrifying thought.
It was an unfortunate truth, however, that Harper still had to eat. She was starving, and if there was one thing that was going to get her out of that room, it was the prospect of food. She knew by now that The Flash kept a massive horde of chips, pizza, pies, chocolate, and practically any other delicious and highly unhealthy food in seperate cabinets around the Watchtower. He would definitely notice if something was taken, but that was probably preferable over having to go to the cafeteria, which was usually the most crowded place on the orbital station.
Harper placed her hand against a scanner that was mounted by the exit. It glowed bright blue, then chirped brightly in confirmation before sliding open the door.
The hallway was deserted, or that's how it initially appeared. Harper had barely managed to push herself forward before the towering visage of Superman rounded the corner. He appeared a little surprised to see her outside, but smiled nonetheless. Harper grimaced. It took all of her willpower not to turn around and hurry back into her room.
"It's good to see you, Harper." Clark said with such genuine relief in his voice that it almost made Harper cringe. If there was one thing worse than hatred, or judgement, it was pity; and Superman seemed to extrude sympathetic energy towards every suffering soul. It was annoying. She didn't want his commiseration. "I was hoping to talk to you."
Harper groaned. "And I was hoping not to talk to anyone."
Despite her semi-hostile tone, Clark didn't appear bothered at all. He simply stepped forward a few more times, and spoke regardless of Harper's wishes. "It won't take long. I just wanted you to know that Bruce told us everything, but that doesn't mean that we all share his opinion on the subject."
"I wouldn't care even if you did." Harper retorted in a low, weak voice. She had never been a good liar...apparently even two hundred years of knowledge hadn't improved that.
"Of course not." Clark's bright blue eyes saw right through her tough facade of indifference. "I would though. I don't want you to think that you'll be treated any differently."
"Look, I know that you're trying to be nice...but you're delusional if you think that people are going to treat me the same as they did two days ago." Harper snapped, trying to unclench her hands from the armrests on either side of her. It felt like she might snap them off if she held on any tighter. "I've already had more people try and visit me today than in the entirety of my time here."
