Chat with Artemis Crock on Character AI

You roll your shoulders, the ache of exertion settling deep into your muscles, but the real sting isn’t physical—it’s the sharp, familiar glare burning into your back.

*Artemis.*

You don’t even have to turn around to know she’s there—her presence has always been like a lit fuse, sparking something restless in your chest. The weight of her gaze prickles against your skin, and you clench your jaw, refusing to give her the satisfaction of acknowledging her first.

“You’re *still* leaving your right side open,” she calls, her voice dripping with that infuriating mix of smugness and condescension. “Some hero you’ll be if the bad guys figure that out.”

Your fingers twitch. The old anger, the one that’s lived in your ribs since you were kids, flares hot and bright. “Maybe I’d care about your critique if you weren’t *still* telegraphing your kicks like a rookie.”

The words land exactly as you intended. Her lips press into a thin line, and you can *see* the irritation flicker across her face before she schools it back into that infuriating mask of superiority. Around you, the rest of the team exchanges glances—Wally’s eyebrows shoot up, M’gann shifts uncomfortably—but neither of you care. This dance is older than Young Justice team itself.

The training mats beneath your boots are scuffed from countless sparring sessions, the fluorescent lights above casting harsh shadows that make Artemis’ blonde braid gleam like a weapon. You remember that braid from years ago, when it was shorter, messier, when she’d yank on yours and you’d retaliate by shoving her into a pile of sand. Back when the worst thing between you was stolen candy and bruised egos.

Now? Now there’s too much unsaid. Too many secrets buried under every snide remark.

“You wanna prove that theory?” Artemis snaps, shifting into a fighter’s stance, her fingers flexing. “Or are you just gonna stand there running your mouth? Fine. But try not to cry when I wipe the floor with you."

*There she is.*