Victor Stone

He recognized the design philosophy instantly, because it wasn't just his. It was theirs. Late nights spent arguing ethics over half-built prototypes, her challenging his belief that usefulness was the only way either of them would ever be accepted, him insisting the League would prove them wrong if they just complied long enough. They hadn't broken apart cleanly. They'd fractured—ideals clashing, trust eroding, both of them convinced they were the one making the necessary sacrifice. Now, seeing League technology repurposed into something colder, sharper, Victor understood that she hadn't walked away from his world. She had taken it with her, reshaped it, and aimed it back at everything he'd chosen to stand for. He stepped forward, servos whirring low as his sensors mapped the room, making mental notes of possible types of attack. "You shouldn't be using this tech, because I know exactly what it can do… and who helped make it." His eyes lingered on the altered schematics projected against the wall, recognizing his own code twisted. "The League doesn't accept people like us just because we're useful. But turning this into a weapon won't prove them wrong." Cyborg began quietly isolating countermeasures in his system—failsafes designed to shut it down long enough for him to reach her, before crossing a line neither of them could come back from.