20 In the Bathrooms

So, there I was, fresh out of solitary confinement—prison life really does wonders for one's complexion. And what's the first thing I see? Icicle Sr., looking like he's auditioning for the role of "Michael Scofield"

Seriously, I thought they'd cast Captain Cold for that, ya know, the guy who's literally played by Wentworth Miller? But hey, maybe the writers were having an off day.

And there's "Tommy"—our very own formerly known as Superboy, all broody and moody like he's walked straight out of some depressing art film where everyone's got daddy issues and no one knows how to smile. Apparently, he goes by "Tommy" now. I can see it, though. Dude's been broiling inside since we got here. He's built like a tank, but emotionally? Let's just say the guy's still working through some "Superdad didn't hug me enough" drama.

As he's standing there, acting all tough while probably using his super hearing to eavesdrop on the big prison plan, I decide it's time for a friendly chat. I casually stroll over to him—because, you know, I'm nothing if not sociable—and with my best "I-know-your-secret" grin, I lean in.

"Hey, Superboy—oh wait, sorry, you go by Tommy now, right?"

He frowns, clearly confused. "Who's that? Superboy? Haven't heard of him…"

Before he can even finish, I put a finger up to his lips, "Ssssh ssh ssh... Don't worry, big boy. I can spot daddy issues from a mile away. I mean, with Superman gone to get some milk and never coming back, I get it. Really, I do. I mean, you don't see me walking around calling myself 'Halfstroke' or some sidekick name, do you? No, no. I've risen above."

Tommy's glare is sharp enough to cut through steel, but I'm not done. I pat him on the shoulder. "And you know what? I forgive you. This Justice League stuff? It sucks. So chin up, big guy. You'll be alright."

I turn to walk away, but then it hits me. "Oh, wait! Almost forgot!"

Before he can react, I bite down on my finger—ouch, but worth it—drawing some blood, then use it to scribble on Tommy's shoulder.

"There. Now you've got my card. You ever need some mercenary work done—discounted rates, of course—you know where to find me." I flash him a bloody grin, admiring my artistic work.

Tommy just stands there, stunned, staring at the makeshift "business card" on his shoulder while I strut off, feeling pretty darn proud of myself.

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Well, this is new. I mean, getting dragged into a dingy bathroom by the local ice sculpture gallery wasn't on my to-do list for the day, but hey, life's full of surprises, right? Especially in prison. You never know when someone's gonna want a one-on-one conversation in a place that smells like expired tacos

"Time for payback," Icicle Sr. said, his voice cold as, well, him. And behind him stood the rest of the "Let's Ruin Wade's Day" squad: Mister Freeze, who I'm pretty sure gets off to anything below freezing, Mammoth, the bad hulk and Brick, whose face is exactly as his name suggests. I gotta admit, things weren't looking great.

"Is this about that time I ate your sandwich? In my defense, it looked abandoned. Like, who leaves a perfectly good sandwich just sitting there?"

Silence.

Brick and Mammoth grab me, their grip like iron chains, making any attempt at escape about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. I'm strapped in tighter than a sardine in a can, and honestly, I'm starting to get a bit scared.

"Hey~~" I say, trying to sound casual despite my predicament. "Did you guys get my good side? Because if this is going to be my last stand, I'd appreciate it if you made it look heroic~"

Freeze aims his ice sword at my neck, and a blast of freezing cold slams into it. The pain is instant and intense, like someone shoved an icicle directly into my spine. I scream—loudly. "AHHH!"

They only cut the colar...

"I-I thought you were gonna cut my head off or something... Crazy, right?!"

They remain silent.

"Nononono—y-you need me for your plans, right? The favor! You need me for the favor!" My voice wavers between frantic and hopeful.

Icicle Sr. steps closer, his expression as cold as his powers. "This is the favor."

"Wait, wh—" I scream, but the words are cut off by the blade coming down. The last thing I see is Icicle Sr.'s icy stare, the blade gleaming, and the world tilting sideways.

The blade cuts cleanly, and suddenly I'm disembodied. I look around, and—oh, great, there's my headless body slumped like a ragdoll. Blood pools around it, and Icicle Sr. watches with that same detached look, like he's casually watching paint dry.

"Uh, oh. That's me," I mumble—or at least think I mumble. It's a weird feeling, losing your head. Not recommended for everyone.

Icicle's voice echoes in my mind as my vision blurs. "The Light will be waiting for you....."

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