LiBaG: Emergence 2.20c (Patreon)

Zeke staggered forward, his body barely holding itself together, every step a fresh kind of hell. The sand sucked at his boots, slipping under his weight, forcing his muscles to overcorrect with every drag of his feet. His arms burned, his shoulders screamed, and his back? Yeah, his back had officially filed for divorce.

Carrying one unconscious metahuman was already bad enough. Two? Kryptonian and Atlantean? That was straight-up cruel and unusual punishment. He might as well have been hauling around two slabs of concrete with extra gravity stacked on top.

The wreckage of the base raged behind him, an inferno chewing through steel and stone, spitting out black smoke in thick, writhing columns. Even from this far, the heat still pressed against his back, making the sweat stick to his skin like glue.

The desert stretched wide and endless ahead of him, nothing but rolling dunes and no clear direction. Zeke’s breath shuddered out painfully, ribs protesting. "Perfect. This is exactly how I wanted to die. Love that for me." Being honest, of all the ways he could have died over the last few months, doing it in a desert was absolutely the least exciting.

His knees nearly gave out, but he locked them up, forcing himself to push forward, his entire body operating on pure, stubborn spite.

The weight was unbearable. His muscles ached like they were pulling apart at the seams, the pressure grinding into his bones. Superboy’s grumbling deadweight pressed into one side, while Aqualad’s bulk crushed the other, every shift dragging him further toward collapse.

A sound.

Zeke froze.

A low, rhythmic whup-whup-whup, mechanical, but too fluid to be a drone.

His head swiveled sluggishly, his neck resisting every degree of movement, but he forced himself to look.

Something cut through the smoke, moving fast, kicking up a dust trail in its wake.

A metallic sphere; big as a grand piano, sleek, moving like it was skating over the sand.

Zeke’s grip tightened, his body tensing as he prepared to drop the groaning Superboy and knocked out Aqualad and launch into another fight. "Oh… fuu— huh?"

The sphere snapped apart, metal segments shifting and locking into place like a Rubik’s cube solving itself at high speed. Panels slid, joints twisted, and within seconds, it wasn’t a sphere anymore.

It was a three-wheeled, hovering motorcycle.

And it stopped right in front of him.

Just sat there.

Like it was waiting.

Zeke squinted.

Looked at Superboy—who was still half-conscious, his breath shallow, pupils unfocused.

“That normal?”

Superboy blinked, processing at a snail’s pace. “I dunno. Maybe?”

Zeke let out a slow, exhausted blink. "Not helpful, man."

He looked at the bike.

Looked at his wrecked body.

Looked at his two half-conscious and fully out of it teammates currently trying to snap his spine in half.

Then sighed.

“…Yeah, screw it.”

He gritted his teeth and shifted Aqualad’s weight first, dragging him up onto the seat, then hauled Superboy after him, his arms screaming in protest. His entire torso felt like it had been put through a meat grinder.

Finally, he swung himself onto the back, legs barely responding, hands locking around the handlebars.

The bike reacted immediately.

It came to life without a single command, engine humming like it had been waiting for him. The controls were so smooth they felt telepathic, responding before he even fully committed to a movement.

Zeke inhaled, trying to process why this thing seemed so eerily tailored to him.

Then kicked off.

The desert blurred past, the bike carving through the sand like a blade through silk. The speed should’ve ripped him apart, but the ride was seamless, adapting to his weight shifts, compensating for every tiny imbalance.

It wasn’t just fast.

It was smart.

Like it knew what he needed before he did.

The ship came into view in minutes, standing stark against the dark horizon, ramp already lowered.

Clearly, they’d been waiting for him.

Zeke barely managed to bring them in for a landing before his legs buckled and he toppled out, his knees hitting the ground hard. The second he let go of the handlebars, the bike powered down, as if it had finished its one job.

Miss Martian darted toward Aqualad first, dropping to her knees, hands hovering over his chest, her expression drawn tight with worry.

"Kaldur?"

Zeke, still trying to convince his arms to function, flopped onto his back, waving a limp hand in Robin’s direction. “He’s alive. Just… really, really messed up.” He forced a grin, still half-breathless. “My B.”

Robin stood at the base of the ramp, arms crossed, eyebrow raised, giving Zeke the look. The one that screamed, I have so many questions.

Zeke exhaled sharply and pressed a hand against his forehead. His whole body ached like he’d gone three rounds with a jackhammer. “…Long night.”

Robin’s smirk deepened. "Yeah. Looks like it."

Before Zeke could fire back, Kid Flash skidded to a stop beside them, eyes flicking between the heavyweight and the super heavyweight currently KO’d on the ship floor. “You carried both of them?”

Zeke groaned, head thunking back against the metal wall. "Not by choice, bro.”

Wally let out a low whistle, eyes still bouncing between the unconscious duo like he was doing math in real time. Then he grinned. “Dude, you’re, like, five-foot-nothing.”

Zeke didn’t have the energy to flip him off, but he wanted to. "Yeah, thanks, man. Real helpful."

Artemis stepped up next, her gaze snagging on the alien Bat-cycle still parked just outside the ramp. She squinted. “Uh… what’s with the space Pokéball?”

Zeke blinked and turned his head.

Just in time to watch the bike… fold itself back into a sphere.

Neatly. Cleanly. Like it had been planning to do that all along.

Then it rolled forward.

Onto the ship.

Like it was coming with them.

Zeke stared.

Miss Martian frowned. “Did you… program it to do that?”

Zeke squinted at the now perfectly settled sphere, which looked way too comfortable in the corner. “…No?”

Robin hummed. “Huh.”

No one knew what to say after that.

Zeke opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head. Not his problem. Future him could deal with it. Right now? He was going to stay on the ground before his body staged a full shutdown.

The ramp sealed behind them with a hiss, the ship’s thrusters kicking up dust as Miss Martian lifted them off the ground. Below, the wreckage of the base burned itself out, disappearing into the distance, swallowed by the desert.

Zeke dragged himself over to the wall, finally letting go of the last shreds of tension clinging to his spine. The mission was over. They were alive. That was enough.

For now.

"Ow, M’Gann!”

“Sorry, Zeke!"