Beneath Grit City’s towering skyline, concealed behind the mirrored windows of an unassuming twenty-story office tower labeled “Gothsmith Mutual Insurances & Bait Supply,” the secret headquarters of the Justice Council of Grit City buzzed with antsy. Hidden deep in Sub-Level Three, past biometric locks and a voiceprint-activated gate behind a soda machine, the emergency chamber flickered to life.
The mood was grim.
At the round obsidian table of the Council Chamber, chairs etched with the initials of the city’s most prominent heroes sat unusually full. Red warning lights pulsed softly at the perimeter. Holographic feeds tracked city-wide metahuman activity—yet two seats remained empty.
Lumberjack. Blue Boxer.
Missing. Without explanation. For weeks.
At the head of the table stood Captain Comet, square-jawed and silver-caped, eyes glowing faintly with electromagnetic irritation. He slammed his star-emblazoned gauntlet down on the table.
“This is unprecedented,” he declared. “Two of Grit City’s flagship fighters vanish without a trace, and we don’t so much as get a voicemail?”
“Not even a smoke signal,” added Beetle Bishop, adjusting his beetle-wing shoulder pauldrons. “And I just upgraded to that ‘InsectNet’ communicator they swore wouldn’t drop coverage underground.”
“Lumberjack doesn’t exactly text,” muttered Glacial Gale, arms folded, cold mist curling from her sleeves. “That guy just splits logs and sulks after failed missions. I’m not surprised.”
“But Blue Boxer? That man once insisted on messaging in rhyme even mid-punch during a rooftop brawl,” noted Hyper Hyena, pacing near her seat, claws twitching. “He’s never missed a team debrief in ten years. Something’s wrong.”
“Ahem,” rumbled a gravelly voice.
All eyes turned to the massive figure of Sir Salamander, reclining (barely) in a reinforced fire-proof chair, flames flickering along his shoulders.
“I propose,” he said, “that we consider the worst-case scenario.”
“Oh, here we go,” muttered Hyper Hyena, rolling her eyes.
“ALIEN ABDUCTION,” Sir Salamander boomed.
The room groaned.
“That’s always your theory,” said Beetle Bishop. “Last time, you accused Lady Luminance of being a Martian replicant because she changed your shampoo to conditioner.”
“I stand by that theory!” Sir Salamander bellowed, slamming his tail.
Captain Comet rubbed his temples. “Look, theories are fine, but we need facts. Have we ruled out mind control, portal trap, sorcerer interference, or deep-cover mission?”
“I checked the mirror realms myself,” said Glacial Gale. “No sign of Boxer's aura there. And if Lumberjack was there, the trees would’ve told me.”
The lights flickered. Then dimmed.
A familiar holographic ripple surged to life over the table.
The silhouette of a woman in a pointed mask and high-collared cloak flickered into view, transmission barely holding stable through the storm of red Martian sand in the background.
“Finally,” said Hyper Hyena, leaping upright. “About time we heard from her.”
“Justice Council,” came the calm, dignified voice of Wonder Witch, speaking from the Martian Embassy’s solar observatory. “Apologies for the delay. Communications across interplanetary wards were… uncooperative.”
“Wonder Witch!” Captain Comet leaned forward. “You know where they are?”
“I do,” she said. “And let me be clear: they are alive.”
The entire chamber exhaled at once.
“But… altered,” she added, carefully.
“Altered how?” asked Glacial Gale.
There was a pause.
“They were the victims of a magical incident involving an unstable djinn.”
Sir Salamander hissed. “I KNEW IT.”
“Not aliens,” Wonder Witch said firmly. “Djinn.”
Hyper Hyena frowned. “So what does that mean? Are they cursed? Possessed? Trapped in an alternate timeline?”
“They’re… twelve.”
The chamber fell utterly silent.
Captain Comet blinked. “Twelve what?”
“Twelve years old.”
Another pause.
Then Beetle Bishop slowly removed his beetle-themed monocle. “Come again?”
Wonder Witch sighed. “They have been magically de-aged. Physically. Mentally—mostly. They are under the care of the Khaki Karateka—”
“Blue Boxer's sidekick?” Hyper Hyena asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” Wonder Witch confirmed. “He has taken responsibility for protecting their identities and guiding them during this... inconvenient transitional period.”
Captain Comet straightened. “Then why wasn’t the Council informed?”
“I was off-planet,” Wonder Witch said crisply. “I received the report only recently through my apprentice, Anansewa. She deemed it too delicate to risk mass exposure. The fewer who know, the fewer who might exploit it.”
Sir Salamander muttered, “But you told us?”
“Because I trust you. And because rumors are already stirring in the underworld.”
Hyper Hyena slapped her forehead. “Oh great. The rogues are gonna love this.”
Wonder Witch’s voice softened. “They are still our allies. Still heroes. But they need time—and discretion. Until this condition is reversed or stabilized, their status on the Council will be placed under protected probation.”
“Protected probation?” Captain Comet repeated.
“Meaning,” Wonder Witch said, “no one is to interfere, reveal, challenge, recruit, or mock them. Clear?”
There was a collective nod.
Beetle Bishop raised a hand. “Can we at least meet the new versions? I want to see how cute they are as kids.”
“No,” Wonder Witch said flatly.
Sir Salamander huffed. “They’ll need code names again. If they’re operating in public—”
“They’ve already adopted new ones,” Wonder Witch said, sighing faintly. “The boys insist on—sigh—‘Stealthy Scout’ and ‘Kickboxing Kid.’”
The chamber erupted.
Hyper Hyena collapsed into giggles. “Oh NO. They’re full Saturday morning cartoon now!”
Glacial Gale chuckled behind her fingers. “I bet Kickboxing Kid has a theme song.”
“This is what happens when we let the children name themselves,” grumbled Captain Comet.
Beetle Bishop leaned in. “What about Khaki? He’s still operating, right?”
“He has rebranded,” Wonder Witch said.
“Let me guess,” murmured Glacial Gale. “Alliterative?”
The Martian feed buzzed, and for a moment it was hard to tell if Wonder Witch was sighing again or if it was just static.
“He now calls himself… Nightshade Ninja.”
The Council groaned in unison.
“Sounds like a perfume,” said Sir Salamander.
“Or a discontinued cereal,” offered Hyper Hyena.
Captain Comet stood again, voice firm. “Names aside, this Council owes Blue Boxer and Lumberjack our protection. We all know how many times they’ve saved this city. If they need time to grow back into their roles—literally—then we give them that time.”
The others nodded, a little more solemn now.
Wonder Witch nodded once more. “Thank you. And remember: keep your distance. The boys don’t need pressure. They need space… and supervision. And probably someone to make them eat vegetables.”
Sir Salamander grunted. “Can I at least send them ninja smoke bombs? As a gesture.”
“No,” Wonder Witch said. “Absolutely not.”
The feed fizzled and vanished.
In the silence that followed, Captain Comet cleared his throat. “Alright. Meeting adjourned. But we’ll monitor from a respectful distance. And if things escalate…”
Glacial Gale added, “We’ll be ready. Even if they show up wearing rollerblades and bandanas.”
Hyper Hyena giggled again. “Stealthy Scout and Kickboxing Kid. Can't wait to see those puppies in action.”
Sir Salamander just grunted, pulling out a notepad. “...Nightshade Ninja is kinda catchy, though.”
And somewhere in the hidden chambers beneath Grit City, the gears of the Justice Council turned on—still defending the city, even when two of its bravest heroes were busy growing up all over again.