A/N: Special thanks to emerio (deviantArt) for allowing me to use his picture as the cover art on this story. All rights to that picture go to him. Thank you again!

I do not own the Justice League. Nor will I ever, for that matter. The only character(s) that are mine is/are the girl whose name I do not reveal, and any and all characters that I create and add to this.

New to the Unknown

A grand city with immense skyscrapers that stand as great statues, proud harbors that rise as shimmering gates, elaborate streets that wind as magnificent pathways, surveys and greets brisk winds and ashen clouds. Not even a shard of sun gleams off the renowned golden orb that rests upon the building that dominates the heart of the city. Far below, on a nearly vacant street, a news broadcast is being displayed on the screen of a television that presides in front of a shop window that has yet to open.

"Good morning, folks! It's gonna be another crisp day in the big city, temperatures reaching only the low to mid 30's as a high, upper 20's as a low. Low hanging clouds throughout the day could leave us with a chance of snow, lights flurries at the most, no accumulation expected. The night will be cold and in the low teens, with a greater chance of snow. The rest of your workweek looks like this…"

In the distance, to the east, there is a faint break in the clouds, and a fierce aureate light pierces through; ash turns to ivory, as it illuminates the horizon and banishes the cold and gray in a wave of magnificent golden energy.

As quickly as it comes, is as quickly as it goes. So brief, it is as though it never happened.

To the east, the clouds look as though they never moved at all.

Unknown POV

Decorated in bright ivory, sprinkled with sugary gold, magnificent by design, a prodigious and fastidiously arranged kingdom rested in the light of a brilliant warm sun. The streets were paths, leading its followers to wherever they wish to be. Many of which gathered at the bakery, where fresh aromas encouraged the nose to linger a while longer beckoning them with their warm embrace. Further down, a flower shop. A humble little thing, it captured the eye, teeming with vibrant hues of claret, beryl, mauve, gathered in magnificent colorful collections. The marketplace was up ahead, where weavers displayed their fine cloths, yearning to be touched, chefs, their fresh foods, begging to be eaten, musicians, their music, longing to be heard. Even performers had something to give, demonstrating their finest footwork in dancing, and swift movements in juggling, their pets sneakily demonstrated their swifter handwork in pick pocketing.

Towering above the endearing little shops, the there was a tremendous and ornate palace.

People gaped wordlessly at the exalted structure. A magnificent exterior held aloft by immense marble columns with hand-crafted details, etched and engraved into its ivory surface, a grand staircase that rose to meet an enameled door that housed greatness, bestowed with a shimmering peaked crown that brushed the heavens.

Truly, it was the most beautiful creation the city had.

All around laid the rich, warm air. A southerly wind would blow, and the world was encased in its spicy embrace. The sun caressed the world, the people smiled, and there wasn't a care in the minds of anyone.

A loud, blaring noise shatters through the beautiful and peaceful illusion. I open my eyes.

The place I envisioned is not before me. In fact, I don't know where I am, but whatever it is; it has none of that grace or beauty. The air is stale and cold, with a faint, yet steady, drizzle of rain that chills the very bone. The people bustle by, cold as the rain, never saying a word and the sun is vacant from here.

I step back. I am surrounded by an unfamiliar place, unrecognizable things, and unknown people.

They hurry past me, taking no interest in my fear and concern. They do not even glance at me. They walk as though I do not exist. Some have strange items pressed to their ear talking to it as though it were a person, arguing with it as though it fought with them. They are clad in quaint clothes. Warm clothes, for that matter. Garments wrapped soundly around their head, material covering their hands, and odd robes, some with peculiar orbed, rectangular, or octagonal shapes poking through small slits donning the front. Even stranger still, are the carts that pass by. They are large, larger than any that I have seen. Some are square, some are angular, some are curved, but they all emit loud noises and blaring sounds, not too far from the one that stirred me from my reverie. They have bizarre eyes that emanate an even more bizarre stare. They have no pupils, nor whites, just a steady flame that pierces the dull gloom that lingers in the air. They hold no life, yet they move as though otherwise.

A breeze picks up, cold and forbidding, sending an icy chill through my poorly covered body. A simple beige cotton dress, knee length, void of sleeves, with matching sandals. There are tears in my dress, allowing the cold wind to chill me further. Wherever I came from, it must have been perpetually warm.

Where am I? What is this place? Why do I not remember this? A feeling of foreboding enters my already confused mind, more chilling than the weather that grips the air. Who am I…?

"Excuse me?"

I can't even remember my name, where I'm from, or how I managed to end up here…

"Miss?"

Why was I sent here, who sent me here? Was it a good reason, was it a good person. Why did I leave? Why can't I remember?!

"Miss, can you hear me?" someone tugs on my hand. I look down.

A little girl, with warm clothes (I must find some of my own), is trying to get my attention. She is cute, with a round face, dark eyes and hair, which is gathered up in a strange style in which the hair is parted in two, and held at the sides with ribbons. It seems to suit her, though.

"Are you okay? You look cold." She peers, worriedly at me. Her large, expressive eyes evaluate me with deep interest. I suddenly realize that I can understand her, her language, whatever it may be. I also realize that, though her comment requires some sort of response, I am suddenly uncomfortable with speaking. A sense of embarrassment and shyness creeps over me, as I notice that others are suddenly looking at me as well, and some in a not so nice way. I look away from them, and try to focus primarily on the girl standing near me. She, in turn, notices the others probing stares, but unlike me, she chooses to ignore them. She also doesn't seem to require any response from me to know the answer to her question.

"You do look cold. My mommy says to always dress warm when it's cold, otherwise you get sick." She pulls off her waist-length robe. Quickly, she puts it on me, directing my hands through the arm compartments, and pulling an odd, metallic item up at the base, effectively closing the garment around me, and warding off the cold. It is short in the arms and waist, but bulky around my body. "I have another one at home, and you look like you need it." She smiles at me, brightly, and I suddenly feel less self-conscious, as though her wide grin is a confirmation of acceptance, and a tolerance of my quietness. I smile back. She takes my hand again, and begins to direct me down the narrow road I had been occupying in frightful contemplative silence.

"My name is Annie, and I go to Metropolis Elementary. I am in fourth-grade, and my teacher's name is Ms. Lola. She's nice. She's lets us eat snacks, and play games, and she teaches us stuff like math and reading. My favorite class is music. I learn all about…"

She continues telling me all about herself, either unaware that I am incapable of understanding half of the words she says, or effectively ignoring it. She also doesn't seem to need any conversation from me, as we weave, or, rather, she weaves me, through the crowd.

From what I gather from her, this place is Metropolis. A big city, with lots of cars (not carts, as I had originally thought, apparently they changed the design and the name), as well as trucks, vans, buses, and trains. All variations of a four wheel device that I remember. I am also informed of the garment she gave me. A coat, not a robe, with variations for different genders and styles. She tells me about her parents, friends, favorite color, classes, games, animals, all the while parading through the people encompassed on the side streets besides roaring cars and such. Despite their strange appearances and noises, she doesn't seem afraid of them, and I realize that there are people inside of them, through several clear panels on the front, sides, and back, seemingly directing the contraption's movements. The cars themselves have no life; it is the people that make it appear so. This eases my fears a bit.

We continue to make our way with the crowd to the heart of the city, where vast amounts of common people like us stroll and make their way through these slender roads, alongside the much larger ones donning the cars, trucks and vans. According to Annie, the train, (she calls it a snake on wheels) is underground, but she is not allowed to go there, because it is not safe. I make a mental note of this.

"This is the park. Mommy and I come here on Wednesdays after-school to look at my homework. But it's too cold today, so we are in the library. Do want to see it?"

She, again, doesn't require an answer, and proceeds to pull me in the direction of the building she and her mom are in. I let her do so, as I truly have no idea where else I would go, and the thought of being in a warm building sounds absolutely wonderful at a time like this.

"My mom says to cross between the white lines, and always look both ways before crossing the street, so you don't get hurt," Annie lectures. I look down. Sure enough, we are near two parallel lines painted on the road. "She says to look left, then right, then left again, to make sure no vehicles are coming, before going ahead." She follows her mother's advice, and I do the same, taking to heart the knowledge and wisdom that a mother has instilled upon this little girl. I thank the heavens. It strangely makes me think of my mother, and what she may have taught me.

We cross the street after a particularly large truck passes by. Inside, I can see two figures, but their face are completely covered by a dark garment, save for their eyes and mouth. Annie doesn't notice, or simply doesn't feel like pointing it out. I let it pass.

"Here we are. There is only one library in Metropolis, but it's really, really, big," she says, gazing impressively at the building. "They have really big books, but I can't read some of them. The words are too big for me. They have a basement where they have fun things like story-telling and games, but not today. Over there is the bank. People get their money from there. My mommy is at the grocery store across the street," she says, pointing to it, "and when she gets back, we are going home for dinner.

Hey," she says, suddenly, her face brimming with a sudden revelation. "Why don't you come and have dinner with us?" And again, no agreement or contradiction is needed on my part. She is nodding with affirmation. "You are going to have dinner with us, and that's that," she states, leaving no room for argument, and the look on her face says she won't permit any denial on my part.

It feels peculiar to be ordered by a child, yet, I do not point this out. I have nowhere else to go, and she has been nothing but kind and informative. A tad bit of authority can be overlooked.

We go inside the library, and I am instantly warmed upon entering. The building has an oddly pleasant odor to it, the scent of many inked pages, enveloped in various covers to appeal to the readers. A scent that is strangely familiar. We ascend some stairs, and are greeted by towering wooden shelves, housing many different books that Annie had mentioned. It is, indeed, as large as she had stated. It is cozy, too, with a hearth, and roaring fire.

"Come on," Annie whispers, tugging my hand. "There are some chairs by the fire, and my books are there." I noted her change in tone, and understood that people have guidelines in certain environments. People like to be quiet in an area where they read; this rule is something, I realize, I already knew.

She scurries into her chair, and I effectively curl into the one adjacent from her. The fire is warm, and eases away the cold that had been leaking into the parts of my body that had been not covered by the coat she had lent me. This reminds me…

Unlatching my tongue from the roof of my mouth, I whisper, "Thank you for the coat; it kept me warm."

Annie's gaze shot upward towards me. Again, I am rewarded with her bright smile. And again, it wards off the feeling of uncertainty and uneasiness. "No problem. 'Anything for a friend', as my mom says." She looks at me more closely. "I think you should keep it, though; you look like you need it more than me." I can't argue with her, as she is right, and I have no other protection from the elements, despite a feeling of embarrassment for my own predicament. Annie rifles through the stack of books she has by her, and I stare, curiously, around the room. The design of the room is centered around the hearth, I notice, despite the books being the main attraction. There are tables, with cozy, padded chairs surrounding them, with people sitting in them, reading intently. The flooring is an odd mixture of blue, not stone, not wood, a bristly, a near woolen look to it. Something about this place… no, not this place, exactly, but the setting, perhaps, is familiar to me. As though, I, too, had been, and done, something similar. I fixate on a man, older than eye, borrow creased, lips pursed, eyes narrowed, into a hardy volume. Had I read avidly, too, at some point? My mind seems to acknowledge this as fact. There is something comforting about this environment, indeed. And enthralling. There is a yearning building in my chest, a euphoria, brought about by the familiar scent, and collection of literature, fact and fiction, gathered in this room.

I turn to Annie. "I am going to look around a bit. Is that alright?" She beams at me.

"Ok. Have fun!"

I smile back, and reluctantly leave the chair and the fire. It is very warm, but the call of something deep within me, a thirst for knowledge, urges me to explore the wooden shelves for the philosophy and intelligence they harbor.

I browse through the shelves, scouring their inhabitants for something I cannot discern. I pass people in here, but unlike those outside, they seem more friendly here. They smile at me, and I do, in turn.

Fiction? No. Teen fiction? What kind is that? Mature adult fiction? One look at the covers sends me rushing away towards the far left wall, my face hot with chagrin. Definitely not.

I almost run into a bespectacled woman in my hurry to leave the heated section; her hair is gray, gathered in tight and prim bun on her head, her garments are modest, and her posture is perfectly vertical; a piece of fine pottery could rest upon her head, and never tip. But her eyes are kind, they tell me questions are not forbidden, but should be carefully thought of before speaking. She regards me calmly, despite my flustered appearance.

"Something I can help you locate, dear?" Her voice, clear as a bell, is sincere. There is a smile in her eyes when she realizes my haste was due to the section I was just in.

A feeling of embarrassment and shame anchors my tongue, and refuses to lift to answer her question. Her head tips to one side. "Perhaps you are looking for something less… intense." Heat floods my already burning cheeks; if I touched a book now, surely it would erupt into flames. I nod, still unable to loosen my tongue. "Perhaps, something more safe, and factual?" I nod again. She smiles.

"Follow me."

She leads me through the streets of stories (discreetly avoiding the section I happened to fall into), and halts at section called "Reference", in large, old English script.

I steal a glance at the covers fearful of what I may find, but am relieved to see things about geography, notable figures, history and such. Perhaps I can find something here…

"This area has autobiographies, biographies, geographies, and all things containing facts. Dictionaries, thesauruses, and language books are in the back, autobiographies and biographies in the middle, and the front has everything else." She glances back to me, and I am finally able to lift my tongue to form a much need expression of gratitude.

"Thank you. I didn't know that… such things were written for the public?" the last part is phrased more as a question than a statement. She understands my latent meaning. "Times change, dear, and people express more and more. Some more than others, and others more than they should." A perfect explanation, requiring no more than a nod of understanding from me.

"Let me know if there is anything else I can help you find. I will be at the front desk if you need me."

I whisper my thanks, and stroll through shelves that harbor the knowledge I seek. Whether about me, where I am from, I search for anything and everything that might be familiar. Records of time, journeys written by scribes, dutifully noted on parchment, to be recorded in various languages across land.

This, exploring, of the shelves, fingering of crafted manuscripts, glancing at bounded scrolls, seems, so familiar. The textures are different, the sounds are strange, but the simple action of browsing through written works is a natural to me as breathing.

Beautiful.

Whatever I seek, whatever I intend to discover, is right here.

All I need to do is find it.

Locating a thick tome in which contains a map of the world, I pull it out, and proceed to open it, to find something, a reward in my search of my being.

Instead, I am rewarded with a shrill ringing sound.

A/N: So, with that being said, questions, comments, concerns? What are your thoughts? What can I improve upon/make clearer, etc? What are your impressions? Have I asked enough questions?