Kinetic

Prologue

The elevator doors parted with a muted ding, signaling his arrival to the floor. An empty floor, which had him raising an eyebrow. He looked around the moderately sized, red themed room and found no one. He checked his watch; right time. He checked the number on the elevator; right place. Something was up. They should’ve been expecting him.

He stepped off of the elevator and allowed the doors to slide shut behind him. “You’re late.” A deep voice to his right accused him.

He turned and found that the origin of the voice was a teenage boy. Dark hair, blue eyes, and‒annoyingly‒taller than him. He was automatically deemed Superboy in his head. Which was stupid, he knew, but that’s what he would be until corrected.

“No.” He refuted. “I’m early.”

“My dad won’t see it like that.” Superboy shook his head.

“Your dad? How old are you?” He asked.

“You got here just in time to be confused, though.” Both questions were ignored. Instead, Superboy turned around and began walking away. Of course, human instinct dictated that he follow, so follow he did.

“That your area?” He asked as they passed the reception desk. It seemed right. Like, the only reasona teenager could be hanging around a mercenary frim is for the internship, right? But Superboy didn’t even bother to turn around, only chuckling under his breath.

They turned a corner past the reception desk and came into a long hallway. There was one open door at the back with shadows moving past the threshold every few seconds, so that was most likely their destination. He was proven right as Superboy turned the corner into the room. “Dad, he’s here.”

The entire room was an armory, with guns and gear lining every inch of available wall space. It was a beautiful display of items, truly, but it was still a mystery as to why he was here.

“You’re late.” There were two men arming themselves at the far wall, their backs to him. One was redheaded, the other dark headed. Superman and Guy Gardner were immediately assigned.

“I’m early.” He corrected again.

“Ten minutes early isn’t early, it’s bloody late.” One of them had an Irish accent, but he couldn’t tell which one was speaking. He automatically assumed it was Guy Gardner because of the red hair, but he retracted the thought. That would be racist. Guy Gardner turned around and raised an eyebrow. “You said he would be six-five.”

“I said five-six.” Superman corrected without looking away from his armaments.

“Why is my height a topic of discussion?” he shook his head.

“You’re right.” Superman turned around. He was correct to call him Superman; the familial connection between him and Superboy was immediately noticed. Not that Superman and Superboy were father and son, but it’s not like they knew their secret names, so it was cool.

In a way.

“Grab a gun.”

“I’m sorry?” he raised an eyebrow.

“Grab a gun. We’ve got work to do.”

 “Whoa.” He held up two hands, palms facing outward; the universal sign for “slow down”. “I think you got the wrong guy. I’m only here for an‒”

“Interview.” Superman nodded. “And no, there’s no mistake, unless you aren’t Wyatt Hollingsworth.”

Well, yeah. That was him. “Okay?” Wyatt shook his head. “But what is‒”