Circe continuing her destruction of the Justice League after dealing with the Flash:
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The specimen curator of the Gotham Museum of Natural History stood among the insect exhibit, staring down at the tiny insect in its glass jar. From the insect’s lowly vantage point, the man was framed on all sides by high glass cases filled with thousands of butterflies, all neatly pinned to cork boards and fastidiously labelled. Many of them had been there centuries, their colours faded by time and a layer of dust. But many were new, and there was always new varieties being discovered. The insect’s compound eyes fixated on a blank space on the wall display, as well as it was able to focus the fracture kaleidoscope that was its vision. It’s antennae twitched.
The curator tapped a finger against the jar. The little moth on the other side flapped its wings within the tiny confines, beating itself against the glass.
“A remarkable specimen. I’ve never seen anything like this before. I’m not even quite sure if it is a butterfly, a moth or… these markings are almost batlike. Where did you find it, Miss…?”
“You may call me Circe,” the woman who had brought the sample replied, her voice crisp. “I found it in some dusty old mansion. So what do you think? Is it worth keeping?”
“Oh, absolutely! If you’re willing to submit to our care, I could have it preserved and pinned right now,” the old professor exclaimed excitedly.
“That would be wonderful!” Circe beamed. "May I watch?"
“Wait right there and I’ll get my tools…”
Circe watched him leave before lifting the jar up to her eyes and peering at Batman inside. “Did you hear that, little insect? Preserved and pinned. You’re about to go the way of your friend, the Flash. Actually he didn’t receive the honour of a display. Aren’t you the lucky one?”
She rattled the jar harshly, tumbling the fragile insect inside around. Her eyes had the sadistic gleam of a cat with a mouse. So delightfully helpless.
“If only I could keep you. You’re so fun to play with like this. But I’ll be sure to visit your display often. And the other exhibits too, once the rest of the League joins you here.”
Why hadn’t she thought of this millenia ago? she thought in delight. Turning men into pigs or cows was folly. She could barely count the number of times she’d been thwarted by some ex-hero livestock sinking its teeth into her ankle at an inopportune moment. Like this, they were so much more manageable.
The curator had returned. He lay a handful of gleaming pins on the table beside the jar. The moth retreated away from them, its genius-level tactical mind searching for an escape, a plan, anything until the end. But deep in its insect heart, as Circe’s smug face leered down at it, it knew that it had finally lost everything.