Apokolips exists, void of hope, void of future. There is only Darkseid.
But for Barda, hundreds of years ago, there was also Scott.
Deep in the night, with all of the other inmates interned and the guards at their posts, Barda sat fearless, back against the bars of a familiar cell. Scott had already picked the locks a hundred times over, but tonight he was not going to escape. He sat on his side, back against her's.
"You will die by Granny's hands," Barda says confidently. But it's a hollow confidence. A sadness exists among the truth of her own words. "You must know that. No one ever escapes."
No one is ever free.
"You will die by Granny's hands for sitting up here with lowly, stupid Scott if you asked anyone else, too," he reminds her with a smile in his voice. Barda can almost see it without even turning toward him. She wonders why it feels so significant to her. "But here we are."
"Here we are," she agrees. "Rioting scum."
"That's me," he huffs with laughter.
Silence lasts between them again, a good silence. A coexistence. It's the best feeling Barda has ever had.
"I want you to escape, Scott," Barda says suddenly. "You're the only thing in Apokolips that feels good. And I know staying here… it will only kill you, or it will kill that feeling."
"I'll die before I let my hope leave," Scott says assuredly, no hesitation. "Or yours, Barda. I won't let your hope die either. You're different, too."
"No, I'm not different, I don't have hope," she says, finally turning to him. She smirks. "I just have you. So I suppose the only answer… is to get you out of here."
As it turns out, there is an escape tonight after all.