Here they are in all their glory, the robot and the ship in human form
Yes I am making Armando the tired exasperated team medic and Mary their cheerful sassy getaway driver, I hear you and I love it
Notes:
Armando studied and trained in anaesthesiology before switching to general practice; he’s trained in first aid and some advanced medical treatments thanks to that
Mary studies exoplanets and monitors some star systems (brightness, position, etc); maybe or maybe not at NASA, I haven’t decided
Armando is the older brother, he’s the same age as Simon (younger than Grace); I might do some age references later
Armando always either has tinted glasses or sunglasses to protect his sensitive eyes; he also always has a bottle of sunscreen on hand
Mary is a prolific dancer; she started with ballet, learned the salsa, had a phase of breakdancing, and now does contemporary
Mary is only a good driver when it suits her; know the rules so you know how to break them, as one would say
he bounces around from universe to universe making graves for the dead and putting them to rest. hes not king in this, he just knows how it feels to be without a place to put his bones
danny, of course, carries his own with him, so he is, essentially, his own grave, and its... unsettling. gives him the ghost version of adhd, makes it impossible to take 'settle down.'
and he could technically solve that with a headstone but... well. graves are supposed to be made FOR you. even if youre paying someone or the government is putting you in an incinerator or whatever else is arranged by your family, its supposed to be a mark of affection, of belonging.
Danny died but nobody noticed. Danny left home and nobody cared. Danny left the UNIVERSE, and nobody looked for him.
they call, yeah, and theyre all friends still, but some part of danny feels so distant. he loves his family. he loves his friends. but sometimes he cant help but wonder how much easier their lives are without him. how much safer. if they ever think back on their wild high school years and feel relief that hes not around to mess things up anymore.
so he keeps moving, long beyond the time it starts to feel like running.
and he carves and carves and carves
An Angela here, a Jeoffery there. A Dua and a Haoyu and a Peter. A Zitkala and an Assol and an Ahsan. A Kleio and a Fabian and a Bluebell and so many more he can't remember them all.
It takes longer than he wishes it had for him to start writing their names down in a little book he tucks close to his heart.
He goes to mass graves that makes his stomach roll and his ears ring from how many voices cry out to him, and spends weeks carving name after name into rocks he digs up and places like sentinels around every sliver of bone.
He goes to cities and engraves plaques and nails them to brick walls.
He finds himself in ruins and plains and icy cracks and the bottom of the sea.
His markers won't last forever, he knows. But they don't need to. The dead are, in many ways, similar to the living. They want to be heard, known, cherished. It doesn't matter if it's for a lifetime or a moment.
Danny can give them that moment. For many, it's enough to settle their clamoring and usher them gently on. So Danny keeps doing it, because it feels good, offering people this measure of peace. It feels good, to help without fighting.
eventually, he makes his way to a city called Gotham. He finds many, many unknown dead there. Restless dead. Violent dead.
Free service with ads: Well, if I'm not paying for it they have to foot the bill somehow.
Paid service with no ads: Well, if they're not funding it with ad revenue, they need to charge us something.
Paid service with ads: Well that's bullshit.
"We used to be a paid service without ads, but now we're putting ads in it! If you want the ad-free version you have to pay more for preeeeemium": Fuck you fuck you fuck you
Danny is in Gotham for college, and during finals month the Joker goes on a spree. After the Joker breaks out of Arkham for the THIRD time Danny in a fit of sleep deprived pique does a bit of research, breaks into Arkham, and swaps prisoner transfers so that the Joker is taken to a prison out of state.
It’s only after finals are over, and he has slept for two days, that he calls Tucker to check on his half brained plan, to find out it worked? Somehow it worked. The Joker is now at a different prison where he has no corrupted guards etc to help him breakout and is now stuck there.
The bats only find this out when their paranoia of “why hasn’t the Joker broken out yet?” kicks in.
I like to think this is one of those things Bruce had been trying to do, legitimately of course, for years. But somewhere between Gotham's corruption, well timed breakouts, and no other prison really wanting to deal with the Joker anyway; every prior attempt to transfer him fell through.
By swapping paperwork, Danny quite accidentally managed to cut through all those problems. The transfer was already happening before anyone knew anything about it. Therefore, it didn't need some corrupt officials to sign off on it; the receiving prison didn't have to be strong armed into taking him; and probably most crucially, Joker had no time to breakout between learning about his transfer and said transfer happening.
I also think it'd be good if Danny didn't even send him somewhere super high security (ie Belle Reve). Those transfer are probably rarer and come with too much fanfare. Instead, Danny sent him to some random prison in, like, Wisconsin* or something. Which, on top of being narratively funnier, actually works out better because it's so far removed from Joker's normal network of goons and corruption. He either has to wait for his normal helpers to get there, or try to build all that influence back from the ground up while being stifled by being under such close watch and having to fight his way to the top of whatever established hierarchy there already is in the new place (again, alone, without his own established network bolstering him).
Either way it's gonna take time. Months and years even. And, once they know about it, time is very useful to the Bats for cleaning house before Joker inevitably ends up back in Gotham. The more of the Joker's network they can root out and clean up, the harder it'll be for him to breakout again later.
Plus, the longer this random prison can hold him, it helps build very strong evidence for Bruce's legitimate attempts to get Joker transferred. No more other institutions arguing they don't have the means to secure someone like the Joker. Security isn't the issue; Exhibit A, this prison did it for years no issue.
*Danny, leaving a voicemail at 3am during his stressed out sleep deprived brilliance: Hey Frootloop! You've got plenty of influence in Wisconsin. Do something to help keep Joker in his new home and I'll go to 3 Packer's games with you every year he's there. Kay thanks, bye! Whoever invented statistics is evil. Evil, evil, bad box of Raisin Bran evil. Where'd my calculator escape to? *Several more seconds of rustling and muttering before Danny actually remembers to hang up.*
I don’t think people truly understand the scope of the damage Sony is about to do to physical media. They literally invented the compact disc. They are the reason why Blu-ray as a format won the HD wars over HD-DVD. They have gargantuan influence over manufacturing disc-based media. If Sony as a company stops making physical media for their next gen gaming consoles, this is going to affect movies and music as well. If you buy CDs, DVDs, or Blu-rays, those are next on the chopping block.
@polarspaz Noodle Leon in Vendetta! Or, the idea of Leon actually tumbling off the building and transforming mid-fall was too good, but also too good is how it would look from Chris' perspective, where Leon falls and then there's an honest to goodness dragon attacking Arias.
...
Chris can feel his bones cracking under Arias’ grip. A pained scream slips past his gritted teeth as the now-mutated man squeezes tighter. He tries to kick his legs, to do something, but he doesn’t have nearly enough reach or leverage. Fuck fuck fuck— Beyond the agony shooting through his chest, Chris registers an oddly cheery ding and then the roar of a motorcycle.
Leon.
There’s a flash of movement in his peripheral and then Chris sees Leon, still astride that damned motorcycle, bearing down on him and Arias. Then, Chris is airborne. He hits the ground back first, agony shooting through his ribs. He scrabbles for a moment, instinctively trying to curl in to protect his vulnerable stomach, but even that’s too much. His head falls back against the roof as he struggles to get air into his aching lungs.
Shit, he’s definitely got a cracked rib or three.
There’s a shift of movement to his right, scratching against the concrete and a rumbling growl that can only be Arias. Chris cracks his eyes open, his vision too blurry to make out anything more than a large indistinct dark mass above him. Arias, he’s right there, shit— Chris’ hands paw for any kind of weapon but then there’s a softer higher-pitched grunt of pain—shit, Leon—and then a blur of movement.
Distantly Chris hears a loud crunch and bile barely has time to burn his throat before there’s the sharp retort of a gun. Still alive. Chris wills his vision to focus in time to see Arias’ towering over him, but instead of bringing a massive fist down on Chris’ prone body, the mutated man is turned away from him. Arias snarls, flinching back with each crack of gunfire, his direction becoming more intent. Then he’s out of Chris’ eyeline, the bark of gunfire intermixing with roars and impacts that Chris can feel in his bones.
Get up, Redfield, Chris growls as he pushes himself up, one hand wrapped around his ribs. He manages to get himself to his knees, eyes quickly flickering across the rooftop. Rebecca is a handful of meters away—uninjured aside from the virus still ravaging her body—and on the other side of the glass walkway is Leon, weaving around Arias.
Chris shoves himself further up, his eyes catching on his watching and the ticking timer. Five minutes. Shit. He’ll have to trust Leon to handle Arias, Rebecca needs that vaccine— But before Chris can make a move to head inside, there’s a blur of movement and Chris looks up just in time to see Leon’s limp body fly through the air, crash through the glass barrier, and disappear off the side of the skyscraper.
“Leon—!”
The cry catches in Chris’ throat, and for a second he stares at the empty air where the man vanished, an old familiar horror curling up his spine. (Another friend, dead.) But as instinctual as the call was, it’s a mistake. Arias turns back toward Chris, face twisting into a leer as he slowly steps forward, with the easy certainty of knowing he’s won. Chris is too injured to run and has no weapons, Rebecca is beside him and too weak to stand, and Leon just fell to his death.
“Tiiime’s uppp, Redfieeeld,” Arias snarls as he steps closer. Chris grits his teeth, carefully bracing himself on his feet. Like hell, he’s not going down without a fight.
But before he or Arias can make another move, a massive shape barrels into the mutated man from the side. Chris swears sharply, stumbling back as the thing—some kind of massive snake—rams into Arias, knocking him back. Arias snarls but seems momentarily put off as the new player stills just long enough for both Arias and Chris to get a good look.
… It’s a fucking giant flying snake.
Chris gapes, utterly stunned for a solid few seconds as he sees what he can only describe as motherfucking dragon ungulate midair in an utter slap in the face to physics. And then, before Chris can question whether he’s begun hallucinating, the flying serpent arrows toward Arias. The mutated man doesn’t get a second to react before the dragon is coiling around Arias’ torso and limbs, jaws sinking into the mutant’s neck.
It’s only several decades worth of fighting impossible monsters that gets Chris’ brain to reboot. His eyes flicker to Rebecca and back to the two tangling monsters. He needs to get that vaccine, he doesn’t have time, and while he hates to leave Arias, the… dragon seems to have things in hand.
And so, one hand clutching his ribs and the timer on his watch clicking ever downward, Chris shuffles back inside to find Arias’ vaccine. Hopefully he can at least save one of his friends.
And somehow, Chris does find it, along with some high powered ordinance with Arias’ name on it.
By the time Chris makes it back outside, DC and Nadia have arrived in the Osprey. Arias, meanwhile, has managed to grab onto the dragon, squeezing it in a massive hand in much the same way he did to Chris earlier. The dragon, however, is returning the favor. It’s wrapped its body around Arias’ arms and torso like some kind of constricting snake, and judging by Arias’ howls, it must be just as painful.
Right, time to finish this.
Chris loads his gun, levelling it toward Arias. The dragon spots him though, his snarl faltering for a moment as it catches sight of the gun. Then, seemingly realizing what he’s doing, it abruptly unravels its body from Arias. Arias staggers in place, and the dragon takes the opportunity to wrap nearly its entire body around the arm still holding it. Then, with an almighty SNAP, Arias howls in pain and the dragon suddenly shoots skyward, freed from Arias’ grasp.
“Bye, bye, asshole,” Chris growls as he pulls the trigger.
The high powered mortar round sinks deep into Arias’ chest and then in a bloom of fire, detonates. Chris is nearly thrown off his feet by the force of the explosion but manages to duck down, gore and bits of rubble raining down around him. After a few seconds, Chris slowly stands, looking at the smoking pile of meat scattered across the rooftop that was once Arias.
Chris exhales, watching the smoking ruin for a few moments, for any sign that the arms dealer isn’t as dead as he looks. But, thankfully, nothing stirs.
With Arias as dead as Chris can make him, he quickly drops the rifle and rushes back toward Rebecca. She’s pale, her skin riddled with blue veins and body twitching erratically, but she’s not gone. Not yet. Chris rigs up the mask as quick as he can, carefully inserting it over Rebecca’s face. Her breath rattles in her chest, but with each inhale, the twitching slows and her breathing becomes steadier.
Finally, the veins start to dissipate, her exhales steadily clouding the mask. A reminder she’s still alive. Chris’ watch beeps, it’s timer having run out. Chris takes a rattling breath of his own. She’s okay. Seconds to spare… but she’ll be okay.
“Hey, Rebecca,” Chris smiles softly, heart aching. “Scared me there.”
He glances back toward the shattered glass barrier where Leon had vanished off the edge. He saved Rebecca but got more of his friends and allies killed in the process. Damian, now Leon… Chris swallows. I’m sorry, Leon, Chris thinks quietly. They know what they signed up for in this profession, but that doesn’t change the fact that Chris is the reason the man is dead. He’s the one who pulled Leon into this mess.
And now Leon is dead, because of that. Chris is going to have to go down there… find him.
Chris huffs, a pained laugh wringing itself out of his throat. So many of them in anti-bioterrorism die to monsters… they forget they can die to such mundane things as a gunshot or gravity as much as anyone else.
A soft sound pulls Chris’ attention back to Rebecca, who stirs slightly beneath his hands. As Chris watches, her eyes crack open, looking up at him. She blinks at him for a few moments, before giving him a weak smile and a shaky thumbs-up. Chris chuckles, the corners of his mouth twitching up as he looks back at her. “Hey, doing okay?”
Rebecca hums but then her gaze fixes on something above them, and the sound hitches, her eyes widening. Chris immediately jerks his head up, and… Oh fuck, he forgot about the fucking dragon. It’s moving lazily through the air, almost as if it’s swimming rather than defying the laws of physics. Chris watches warily, pulling Rebecca closer to him as the dragon trails toward the rooftop, the beam of the Osprey tracking it as it descends.
Now without the frantic chaos of the fight, and the added light of the aircraft’s spotlight, Chris can get a better look at the creature. It feels wrong to call the thing a bioweapon, to lump it in with that class of monsters, considering it treats physics as a mere suggestion. It’s serpentine, a good forty feet long at least, coated in blue scales and a mane of blonde-brown fur trailing down its spine. It touches down gently on the other side of the rooftop, across from Chris and Rebecca.
A sharp tug on his sleeve has Chris’ gaze flickering away from the dragon to Rebecca, who is looking from the dragon to him with wide eyes. Are you seeing this?! Chris nods. Yes, he is seeing this. Somehow. He looks back toward the dragon, alarmed to see it’s drawn closer, maybe five meters away. The only thing keeping Chris from reaching for his gun is (a) that he doesn’t have any more rounds of ammo for it and (b) the dragon is… oddly non-hostile.
As the dragon steps closer, it finally allows Chris to notice something…odd. There’s something dark wrapped around the creature’s forelimbs. At first Chris thinks it’s a shadow or some sort of scale pattern, but no, it’s a jacket. A dark brown leather jacket stretched over pale scales, two vertical white stripes running down the arms. Leon’s jacket.
Chris’ eyes flicker up from the jacket to the dragon’s head. A pair of slitted stormy-blue eyes stare back at him almost curiously, blonde-brown hair flopped over an elongated snout. Fuck, he even has the same haircut.
It feels like time has stopped as Chris stares into the dragon’s eyes. He can’t tell if there’s recognition in them, if there’s anything of his friend still inside. What happened? Chris wants to ask, but how can he? He can’t even tell if this mutation is the result of a bioweapon… he’s certainly never heard of anything turning people into fucking probably-magical dragons.
The dragon turns its gaze from Chris to focus on Rebecca, head tilting. And then, as if Chris’ day couldn’t get any weirder, the dragon opens its mouth and speaks.
“How are you feeling, Rebecca?” the dragon asks in Leon’s voice.
Rebecca blinks, but gives a shaky thumbs up. “B-better,” she says softly. Chris can’t tell if the shake in her voice is an aftereffect of the virus, or the fact there’s a fucking dragon that might be Leon standing in front of them.
The dragon pulls its head back, nodding. Then it looks down, head tilting to inspect itself. The dragon growls, a huff of air whistling past its bloodied fangs. That’s right, it bit Arias. Several times, even.
“I bought this jacket two months ago,” the dragon grumbles, arching its neck and back. It slaps its tail against the concrete, drawing attention to the ragged set of jeans around its hind legs that are holding themselves together by mere seams. “And this is the third pair of jeans this month. Forget doing this pro bono. Redfield, you’re going to buy me a new set of clothes and the booze you dragged me from.”
Chris is dimly registers the words, but his brain is in the midst of a blue-screen of epic proportions. A blue-screen that was due the instant he saw a giant fuck off snake defying physics.
“Helloooo? New York to Captain Redfield?”
Something waves in front of his face and Chris starts, focusing to see a pair of long tendrils waving in front of his face. Chris starts and the tendrils draw back, revealing themselves to be… whiskers? Long, cat-fish like whiskers, attached to the front of the dragon’s snout.
The dragon huffs. “There you are, now quit zoning out. We’ve got a job to finish.”
Chris blinks, and finally broaches the question that’s been sitting lodged in his throat since he first recognized that stupid jacket. “…Leon?”
The dragon—Leon—looks at him and… huh. Chris never knew a dragon could look sarcastic. “Yes, that’s me. No shit Sherlock,” Leon says, lips curling back to flash his fangs in what can only be called a draconic smirk.
Why the hell is Leon being so nonchalant about this?! Chris gapes, his jaw falling slack as he waves an arm furiously over Leon. “What is this?!”
Leon blinks, looks down at himself, then slowly raises his head to look back at Chris. The expression on his snout rapidly turns from judgemental to confused to sheepish. “Oh…” Leon hums, his serpentine neck arching back on itself as he pulls away from Chris. The tip of his tail—because that’s right Leon has a goddamned tail, hell, he’s all tail!—twitches, curling back toward his body. “Uh… I can explain?”
“You fucking better,” Chris says, pointing sharply at Leon. But, regardless of his desire for answers, Leon is right, they’ve still got a job to do and a city to save. Chris slips the mask off Rebecca’s face and helps her up, glancing toward the Osprey now parked on Arias’ helipad. “We need to get this vaccine out.”
Supporting Rebecca, Chris starts limping toward the stairs. But Rebecca nudges him to stop, looking back toward Leon. “You coming?” the resident scientist asks. Chris follows her gaze to Leon, still draconic, sitting awkwardly—all forty feet of him—on Arias’ rooftop.
Leon blinks. “Uh… yeah.”
He steps forward, body unfurling as he cautiously moves to Chris’ other side, next to Rebecca. Rebecca slowly stretches a hand toward Leon, but hesitates, looking up toward his head. “Can I…?” Leon nods, and Rebecca rests the arm not looped around Chris’ shoulders on Leon’s shoulder. Leon carefully shuffles closer, and despite having a frankly ridiculous amount of body and spine, he seems adept at controlling it.
“Grab the mane,” Leon says, carefully positioning himself so Rebecca can do so. “Better grip.”
Rebecca follows his instructions, fingers brushing over scales before twisting into the fur (or hair?) along Leon’s spine. “Feels like fish scales,” Rebecca mutters.
Leon snorts. “Feel me up later Rebecca, we gotta get you to medical.”
“Oh my God, Leon,” Rebecca groans, her face flushing and Leon barks a laugh, fangs flashing at the tease. Chris chuckles as well, despite himself, as their motley crew make their way up to the Osprey. DC and Nadia are waiting, eyeing Leon with no little bafflement.
“I think I need a vacation,” Nadia mutters and Leon snaps his teeth.
“Says the ones who pulled me away from mine,” Leon grumbles, but nods to Chris’ crewmates all the same. “Thanks for not shooting me by the way.”
“Uh… sure?” DC says faintly as they get Rebecca aboard and start organizing how they’ll load and distribute the aerosolized vaccine.
As they talk, Chris glances over at Leon, running a critical eye over the man-turned-dragon. “I don’t think you’re gonna fit in the Osprey. Also, think you can carry some of the canisters without puncturing them?” When Leon gives him a look like he’s gone insane, Chris gestures toward his own mouth. “Your uh… teeth. No hands?”
Leon sighs heavily, his entire serpentine body seeming to deflate. “Get me a spare set of pants.”
“What?”
“Pants. I can turn back, but I’d rather not moon all of New York while we load this stuff.”
Chris has officially reached his threshold of insanity for the day. Leon is a dragon. Leon has apparently been able to turn into a dragon at will for an indeterminate amount of time that he is not shocked by it. Chris is only now just finding out about it. Sure, why the hell not.
“Right,” Chris mutters faintly, and turns to look at DC. “Well? Get the man some pants.”
NOODLE LEON VS ARIAS! YESSS!
This IS SO GOOD! Love the mix of angst and comedy in this one! HIGHLY RECOMMEND everyone go read this if they adore Dragon Leon!!
Hello! Huge fan of your soulsong au! It's such an interesting concept and I'm so excited to see where you take this. I was wondering, have there been any miscommunications between Rocky and Grace?
Often!
Much more when Grace was younger, and Rocky still hadn't totally figured out what the hell the limits were to this vague, loud, bag of liquid and tubes
Batman, over coms: Alright, let's bring it in for the night.
Nightwings: Hold on, there's a civilian running around. Early twenties, black hair, super pale and kind of sickly lookin. He looks panicked, like hes looking for something or someone, I'm going to check in, in case its a child.
Nightwing: Excuse me sir, are you alright?
Danny, pressing a hand to his chest in pain: So-Someone broke into my-my appartment when I was at work and-and they left the door open, and now I can't find Mittens!
Red Robin, over comms: Seriously? All this drama over a cat?
Red Hood, over comms: Who actually names their cat "Mittens"?
Oracle, over comms: You two are so stupid.
Robin, over comms: I agree, shut up. This is serious, that poor animal could be injured.
Nightwing, helps Danny sit on a nearby bench: Hey its alright man. I'll have the others keep an eye out for her okay? What does your kitten look like.
Danny, releived: Mittens isn't a kitten, shes a puppy, really tiny girl. She's a Bully Kutta, and she's mostly white but has black unclipped ears and some black splotches- here I have a-a picture. *pulls out his phone with shakey hands and shows Nightwing a picture of Danny and Mittens in their new appartment, Mittens goes up past his hips*
Nightwing, stunned into silence: . . .
Red Robin, over comms: That is "tiny" to him?!
Robin, over comms: Stunning.
Oracle: Found him. Daniel Fenton moved to Gotham with his Service Dog in Training, Mittens, two months ago. He works at Gotham's Space Museum, and writes Parnormal Fiction stories on the side, and he apprentantly visits Middle schools to do presentations. Mittens is 15months old and is set to graduate very soon. She has high praise from all her trainers, but it seems Danny's employers at the Museum are pushing against him bringing her to work once she graduates, Danny seems to be fighting with them about it a lot. Jerks.
Batman, over comms: What does he need her for?
Oracle, over comms: Heart problems, and mobility issues caused by an accident when he was a teenager, as well as Anxiety, and PTSD. A lot of his file is sealed because he was a minor when it happened, I can snoop more?
Batman, over comms: No, that amount is fine.
Nightwing: Well, the others know, and will keep an eye out for her. You're still shaking pretty bad, how about I see you home.
Danny: I appreciate it. I'm sorry for keeping you back, being a hero is- seems like an exhausting job.
Nightwing, joking: You speak from experience?
Danny, eyes distant: No, I was never a hero.
Robin, over comms: Mittens spotted near the Museum!
Nightwing: Hey, Robin said he spotted Mittens near the Museum.
Danny: She went looking for me, of course she did. If she won't go to Robin by name, have him call her "Vöttr", I'm the only one that ever calls her that, so it will catch her attention.
Nightwing, nodding: Robin call her Votter.
Red Robin, over comms: Old Norse?
Nightwing, eyebrow raised: Old Norse?
Danny, shrugging: Its a hobby.
Robin, over comms and sounding very excited: Target secure. . . . May I pet her?
Nightwing, snorts: Robin wants to know if he can pet her.
Danny, amused: As much as they want, as long as I get her back.
Robin, over comms: Understood, we will reconvene at Fenton's appartment.
Nightwing: Hah that kid. He said he'll meet us at your place if thats okay.
Danny: Sounds good, I'm just happy that I didn't loose her.
Blackbat, over comms: Sad, remorse, upset.
Red Robin, over comms: He does seem interesting.
Batman, over comms: Hmm.
Red Hood, over comms: I still can't get over the fact that he named that monster dog "Mittens".
It is an unspoken rule among the more powerful members of the hero community that whenever they are fighting someone who is significantly below their pay grade, they are obligated to defeat them in a way that has style.
Superman fighting a random thug with a machine gun? He has to walk slowly through the gunfire, letting them empty the entire clip.
Flash fighting some random scientist that blew up a building? He has to rebuild the entire building in the same quarter of a second it takes him to knock the criminal out.
Phantom fights a big ugly monster that's more bark than bite? He has to blast it with a single finger to knock it down.
Did any of them ever verbalize this requirement? No. Do any of them have a way to justify their flexing and styling on their enemies? Kinda. Did Batman hate it? Yes. But they are convinced it's because he can't afford to style on his enemies the same way they can, even if his casual over-the-shoulder punches to knock out thugs trying to sneak up on him is a pretty damn close approximation.
Okay, 🐻 with me, because it'll take me a bit to get to it, but it's worth it I promise, title is a teaser to get you through my law ramblings and set up.
Hall of Justice is in Washington D.C, capital of USA, right? Right. You know what also is usually put in capitals? Embassies.
Now, embassies are really interesting from legal standpoint, but what's most important is that, any uniformed service, like police, fire fighters etc. cannot enter it (as well as house of diplomatic personel or at least main ambasador), unless they get permission from the boss of the mission. It was used historically, to officiate Calvinist marriages in France when local priests (pastors, I guess), couldn't do so in legally binding way, as well as, which is actually relevant to this whole prompt, to keep people who were oppressed by their governments safe (I think US embassies did save few people that way during cold war, but I'd have to look it up more to give you any specifics, I'm pretty sure one dude stayed inside embassy for decades before it was negotiated that he could be transported to the airport and flown away, without getting arrested on the way).
Anyway, Justice League has few interesting members, form quite interesting places, don't they. Like Themyscira or Atlantis. Krypton, Mars and Oa, if anyone wanted to brainstorm how interplanetary law could work like, in that regard. What I'm getting at is that, if they wanted, Wonder Woman or Aquaman could be declared ambassadors not problem, making their residence in US, as well as chosen buildings, premises of diplomatic missions, thus giving them this immunity. Hall of Justice could officially, in the books, be an embassy. I don't think it would be a well known fact, it's base of superheroes first and foremost, but it's there, for anyone who would care to look it up to see.
Now, enter Phantom, on the run from US government dropping by to let JL know that Anti-Ecto Acts exist, if they don't know, or plead his case if they do and just don't care, thinking he'd have to skip town again in hour or two. However, person who spoke with him knew what the Hall was, so they convinced him to stay.
But I lied before. Or at least omitted the truth a bit. There is one other circumstance that would legally allow entry to uniformed services (particularly firefighters). If there is a fire that poses immediate risk to human life and rescue has to be started right the f now. (at least that's true in Poland. If it isn't in US, I don't care).
So, now GIW is perfectly aware that this little white haired ecto-scum is in Hall of Justice. They also know that if they enter in any sort of official capacity (or try to kidnap him and it gets out that they're from government, which it would), it would actually cause issues, and they don't want to deal with mess it would be both from the heroes as well as their bosses or whatever.
So, they send few guys to set it on fire, while others dress up to pretend to be firefighters, when time is right. It is, of course, repeatedly twatted by heroes and potentially by cops assigned to protecting premises of diplomatic mission.
And who is to say, that it doesn't get out to newspapers. Via some well know journalist perhaps?
baratheonpilled
dailybridgerton
germansingergirl
prguitarman
tangentwithtanner
gummygunk
