It had been a long time since Clay had felt half as conflicted as he did standing in The Planetarium, staring at the costume he was supposed to fill.It had ben a draining day emotionally, as pathetic as he felt admitting it even to himself, all culminating in…this.

A moment he’d yearned for for so much of his youth, a moment he’d been denied by the man who’d been his idol once, and now it was here. And yet it was bitter, soured by the circumstances and all that had happened. It wasn’t how he’d dreamed it, yearning for the day the cape and hood were passed down to him by Darkstar, the moment of absolution. 

This wasn’t that moment. 

“Are you waiting for an invitation, because I believe that’s what Tracy has given you.” Catspaw's voice irritated him at the moment, their spat in the Planeterium’s main room still lingering heavily on his nerves.

He straightened himself, rolling his shoulders back and turning his head until he could feel the telltale crack of his neck eyes never once wavering from the glass case before him. Within it stood a mannequin, clad in one of Darkstars own costumes, with the cape held out and extended behind it to its full star appearance. He didn’t respond.

He needed a breath. For the first time in a while, Clay wanted a moment without the mask in which he could think and breathe as himself.

It was almost as though she’d read his silence, finding in it something worthy of response.

“You don’t have to like me,” she spoke, and her voice was even if not somewhat…teasing?

He wasn’t sure and the confusion only served as coals to the embers of irritation he felt.

“I’m quite certain I don’t like you very much. However,” she emphasized the final word, as though she could sense the argument she had very nearly stirred in him, cutting him off proactively.

“This has little to do with how either of us feel. I know what Anthony thought of you,” Clay couldn’t help but feel his guard raise, all manner of thoughts filling his head before she could finish, few of them pleasant.

“Despite how things ended between you, despite all of your faults, he loved you. And he had faith in you. It’s why he was so hard on you always. Why all of this,” she gestured at the emblem on his chest, the black moon over white sun on a blood-red background.

“It disappointed him. I’m not going to lie and say I think you’re the man he was, but I will say given the circumstances, he could do a lot worse finding someone to temporarily fill that suit.”

Clay narrowed his eyes as he tried to read her expression, unsure if there was some mockery in her tone or not. 

After a moment, he decided she was genuine. It didn’t make him feel any warmer towards her, but he knew the intention had been a good one, from what little he knew of her, it was the best he’d get. 

He grunted, offering a half nod as he folded his arms.

“Good luck, Eclip -” she began, turning to make her way for the room’s exit before she paused, swallowing hard for a moment.

The silent sort of resistance on her face before she glanced over at him.

“Darkstar. Remind them who this city belongs to.”

In an instant she was gone, steps as sudden and silent as ever, and Clay found himself alone once more. 

“Alright asshole,” he breathed, tensing himself.

“You’ve faced down literal monsters. You aren’t gonna be scared off by a dead man’s costume.”

. . . 

“Stay active on the comms,” Tracy’s voice came buzz through his right ear, hardly audible over the wind, as he clung to the side of the building he’d been scouting from. 

“I’m following Catspaw’s feed too, and I need to know what’s going on. Anything you see that might be out of the ordinary could be relevant.”

“Aye, aye captain,” he muttered, trying hard to stifle the sensation gnawing at his gut as he peered at the ground below, much too far away for his liking. He gripped the cable of the grappling wire for dear life, cursing silently as he fell free of the building allowing himself to plummet towards a balcony below.  

“Fuck, I didn’t miss that at all,” he breathed, that sick feeling in his stomach replaced by a relief that flooded through him.

“I never understood why the job couldn’t be done from the ground. All that swinging above the skyline bullshit is ridiculous.” Clay muttered, as he approached the balcony's edge, peering over at their suspects below. 

“First time I’ve heard you scared in a while, Darkstar,” There was almost a note of humor in her voice as she spoke.

Though he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that, he couldn’t begrudge the reaction.

He couldn’t get over how foreign it felt, despite all the time he spent in costume, like a kid walking around in father's shoes. He was staggered by just how heavy the suit was, the way Darkstar had always moved had made it seem like it would be lighter than spandex and yet it had taken Clay a few moments to adjust.

“Shut up,” he breathed, through gritted teeth as the adrenaline coursed.

He took a moment to catch his breath, taking stock of the situation below. Two men stood outside of a door on a semi-busy street, both massive yet wearing the familiar ridiculous attire of Troupe members, everyone passing keeping eyes lowered and paces quicked desperate not to catch the ire of the bored door guards.

For a moment, he almost felt himself reaching for the rifle usually slung around his back, his go-to for handling scumbags like this at a distance before he recalled he was entirely without it. No, he was supposed to be Darkstar for now, and Darkstar infamously refused to even touch the damn things, which had been on their many points of contention before Clay had been sent off. 

Still, he could tell the adjustments would take some getting used to.

“It would be some much easier just to blast them,” he muttered, watching as a black SUV pulled onto the street, coming to a halt in front of the building.

One of the two doormen moved for the vehicle, pulling it open and speaking to whoever was inside from far too great a distance for Clay to hear.

“You watching this?” 

Someone stepped from the vehicle, and for a moment Clay was certain they were costumed, masked and clad in some suit that added considerable size, until realization dawned. 

“The fuck is that?” he breathed, watching as the creature rose to its full height, towering over the car. 

It looked like a seal or something of the sort, crossed with the form of a man, skin gray and slick with a wet sort of effect. It wore something like a cape, with something like a hood hanging from the back, black with twin spots of white on either side. As the vehicle pulled off, he could see it was a whale skin, the empty head still fixed and hanging from it like a cowl.

“Christ, do you pay attention to anything outside of Kingsport?” Tracy called over the earpiece, 

“That’s Sealord. He’s one of Kraken’s main rogues. Former mercenary turned government super soldier gone wrong, literally a key member of The Unforgiven.”

“I’m not into the mask geek shit like you and the kid. If it isn’t relevant to the city, it isn’t relevant to me.”

“Well, he’s a member of the most feared villain collective on the planet along with The Dancer, and he’s in your city as we speak. Seems like plenty of reason to pay attention.”

“Holy shit, you can be so much like the old man sometimes. Not a compliment.”

“I’ll choose to take it as one,” she said, “He had his faults, being prepared wasn’t one of them.”

“At least you can admit that much,” he practically grumbled, watching as the thing Tracy had identified as Sealord entered the building, leaving behind the two doormen.

“Nathan and that…woman seem to act like the man was a saint.”

He fumbled about the utility belt, sliding free one of the grappling hooks and pointing it at the building’s cornice.

“Nathan is a kid, and Darkstar gave him a purpose. Catspaw owes him for getting her out of the criminal thing.”

“And you?” he breathed, pressing the button on the hilt and ejecting the blade and cord that were attached, watching as they fixed into the opposing building with a thunk.

“It’s complicated…same as you. Doesn’t matter now, we should be focused on the task at hand.”

He tested the cord, pulling to ensure it would support his weight before stepping towards the building edge, letting the front of his boots hang off the side over several stories.

He could feel his stomach in his chest, heart strumming in sick anticipation.

“Fucking hate this.”

He dropped, another click as he felt his stomach rise to his throat, the wind whipping the cape with a hissing sound. It pulled him forward and towards the building, the momentum preventing him from dropping too low as he raised his legs, feet meeting the cornice as he fell into a forward roll. 

“Christ,” Tracy muttered, “You’re out of practice with those.”

“Thanks.” he spat, making his way to the edge of the building and peering down at the two guards below as he returned the grappling blade to the belt.

“Now does he have anything to let me handle these assholes from a distance, or am I gonna have to do this up close?”

There were a few seconds of silence as she thought.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t recommend it. Until we know how many are inside, we should be stealthy about this,” she spoke, and something in her voice rankled him.

“We?”

“Not the time Clay. You need to be stealthy. Sealord had fought Kraken to a standstill many times, he’s strong, and durable as hell with more than a few tricks of his own. That’s a fight you’ll want to avoid if you can, especially with a numbers disadvantage.”

“So why don’t we call the octopus guy then? Get him down here to clean up his trash?”

“Because I don’t know if we can trust him. And his most well-known rogue being in our city for the first time ever doesn’t make me feel any better about that.”

Clay knew he couldn’t argue the logic. Not just because it was sound, but also because he knew Tracy. When it came to her conclusions, she was unshakeable, much like Anthony had been. That stubbornness was something they’d all gotten, he supposed, just in very different ways.

“Fine, we’ll try it your way."

“The building plan indicates a back entrance. It’s a restaurant apparently, obvious front for the Troupe.”

He made his way towards the back, deploying the blade again and using it to rappel until he could drop down. 

He tried the door, and was surprised to find it open.

He pushed it open with a faint nudge of the foot, finding only darkness on the other end as he stepped forth and onto tiled flooring, slick with watery blood.

“Well, either the meat served here is more fresh than we know, or they’ve been up to no good.”

“Flashlight, third on the left,” Tracy spoke, and even through the earpiece he could almost hear the concentration.

“Be careful, something doesn’t feel right about this.”

“Is that so?” he whispered, letting the door shut silently behind him before going for the light.

“What gave it away, was it the blood or the -”

Light flooded the room, so suddenly it took him a moment to adjust, and before he could he felt the impact. A blow to the chest, not enough to take him out but more than enough to stagger him as he stumbled back.

 “Clay?!” He could hear Tracy, but as the second blow landed, this one to the skull she sounded far away. 

Clay landed on a knee, one fist offering balance as his eyes adjusted, and he got his first look at the attackers. There were four of them, three men surrounding him, obvious members of the Troupe - and the fourth being Sealord.

“Fuck,” he spat a mouthful of blood.

“Well, the rumors are true about us then, huh?” Sealord spoke, in a voice almost like a bark, inhuman and forced.

“Masks never do stay dead. I know you aren’t the original article, but I think The Dancer will enjoy killing another Star all the same.”

“Does any of this explode?” it was all Clay could do to mutter the words so they couldn’t be heard.

“The red daggers, concussive. Quickly Seal-”

“He’s going for weapons, stop him.”

Fucking super-hearing. He hated goddamn powers.

They were moving all at once, as Clay rose, hand moving for the utility belt as Sealord began to close the distance with a shocking speed.

Clay could see that he was bigger than he’d thought, nearly 7 feet arms raised to deliver a crushing blow.

He raised the dagger, a glance at the color confirming the selection before he threw it, aiming its point at the beast of man's chest.

The impact sent everyone reeling, Clay and the Troupe goons most of all. He staggered to his feet, smoke clearing amidst the dazed or unconscious thugs. Sealord was already on his feet, and even with a face as inhuman as his, Clay knew what his expression meant. Rage.

“Tracy, I'll take some input for once, I think I’m in for a fucking fight.”