Weeeoooo, new one shot! Sorry about the wait; this one was even just sitting on my comp for a while totally finished.
Anyways, speculations of what actually is going to happen in Invasion made me write this. M'gann... swear to god..

Anyways, enjoy!

She could see the orange, she could see the black.

She could see the movements, sly, precise, graceful as a bird.

But she was a tigress, and they were dominos, falling off cliffs with vigor, slow motion reels of tomorrow's films.

She was not a child. She hadn't been for a while.

Reaching within, pulling out the slumber of her mind, and shoving it away with the force of a hurricane. One last tile, she thought, as Gar fell to the rhythm of this animal's drum.

M'gann thrust it upon the cat, engulfed her like she had never before. Encasing like smoke, making her breathe it in, seeping it into her bones, and gripping their mind like she'd never let it go.

She wouldn't. Not after all this.

Small pinpricks of the outside world prodded at her power, like an annoying mosquito who wished to enter, to feed, to infect. But the martian was too far gone, far too gone to pay attention.

One moment they were bothersome- the next she couldn't tell the different between who was with her, and who was against her.

The Huntress squawked, roared, and begged. She was just a kitten after all.

The telepath was hit with nostalgia, her conscious showing her an eager image to stop.

She never listened to her conscious. It was what had caused too much pain already.

The tethered strings were being severed- more severely than she had done before. Burned, Burn Burn burn.

They rose in smoke, and the life line of the soul that once inhabited the creature was gone.

She was gone.

She was never there.

And as the Martian came too, moments later, the crowd that stared back at her glowing eyes were of shock, wallow, and confusion.

But the most fearsome were the blank silver pools, without life baring itself like a wild animal that she loved with intensity and had missed for the past elapsed time.

There was no use, Wally West; no use in pumping through her ribs to catch a hitch of a heartbeat. Her soul and mind were too far apart, universes apart at this point to re attach.

She was gone.

Artemis Crock was dead at the hands of the actual murderer in the room.

A murderer who simply could not stop her forthcomings, her anger, her sadness, her shame.

And so she became the one thing she swore she never would.

Alone.