Chapter 3

"What happened to you, Omen?" Batwoman muttered as she knelt beside the bloody footprints.

According to the crime scene, Omen had somehow gotten up after being shot and gone on with his day… but that didn't make sense. The surviving footage clearly showed the bullet striking him in the head, and the sheer amount of blood on the floor made it impossible for anyone to just walk away from that.

She stood slowly, her gaze sharp. "Is Omen a metahuman?" she whispered.

Her eyes scanned the area until something caught her attention—faint traces of blood the police had missed. She followed the subtle trail across the floor, leading her to the bathroom. Inside, she found more signs: smears on the sink, damp paper towels in the trash, and a bundle of blood-soaked clothing stuffed into the corner.

"Alfie, give me Omen's address," Batwoman said, picking up the bloodied clothing and heading for the exit.

She paused at the doorway. Gunshots echoed through the air. Her maid's voice crackled through the comm, but she ignored it. That wasn't just a distant shootout. It was nearby.

She rushed outside, fingers tapping a button on her belt. Within seconds, the Batmobile roared around the corner, speeding toward her. She sprinted, leapt, and landed cleanly inside as it accelerated toward the source of the gunfire.

Moments later, the Batmobile launched her skyward. She soared through the air and landed smoothly on a rooftop overlooking the street below. Crouching low, she activated her scanner and began sweeping the area.

She scanned the area, focusing on alleyways, always the most likely place for street-level crime in Gotham. 

It didn't take long to pinpoint the source of the gunfire. Perched on a rooftop above the scene, Batwoman spotted him. Omen.

He was sitting in the alley, hunched over, blood on his clothes. He clutched his head, tears running down his face, mumbling over and over to himself.

"I'm a murderer… What did the Joker do to me? I don't want any of this…" Batwoman's heart sank at the sight.

'He's just a kid…' She watched him carefully, her eyes narrowing. Around him lay the aftermath: four bodies, gunshells, blood, and yet he sat there, broken, not triumphant.

'How did he take out four fully grown women by himself?' It defied expectation. As much as some refused to admit it, in terms of raw physicality, women were often more dangerous, stronger, faster, and more brutal than males. Historically, even in ancient tribes, women led the hunt, while men stayed behind to tend the home and children.

Historically, males had grown up with fewer rights and privileges compared to females. But that began to change years ago with the passing of the Gender Equality Act, a turning point that allowed men to vote, work, and participate more fully in society. Before that, many were seen as little more than sperm donors, valued only for reproduction.

Even now, some women still hold that mindset. To them, men were optional, useful only for genetic contribution. After all, it was women who did the hard labor, carried children, breastfed, and fought in wars. What did men do? Cry at the sight of spiders? Wait for their wives to save them?

To some, it was laughable. To others… endearing. But it was a belief that still lingered in the minds of many, shaping expectations and underestimations about what males could truly do.

"Omen." The deep voice made him look up—and his eyes widened in shock when he saw Batwoman standing over him.

For a moment, fear gripped him. He thought she'd come to take him in. Slowly, silently, he raised his hands, ready to surrender.

But what happened next left him stunned. Batwoman knelt in front of him—and without a word, she pulled him into a hug, pressing his trembling body against her chest.

"I'll help you," she whispered gently. "I promise."

Warmth spread through him—strange and unfamiliar. When was the last time anyone had shown him kindness, let alone affection? For so long, he'd believed he was alone. That no one cared. That no one could care.

But now… this?

He found himself hugging her back. A small, fragile part of him believed her. Trusted her. And that made it hurt even more, because as her arms held him, an image flashed in his mind.

He stood over her body, as he tortured her. He wanted to know if she would still hug him if he gave her hell…

He shoved her away with a gasp, eyes wide in panic. Batwoman stared at him, startled by the sudden change.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, backing away, guilt twisting in his gut. Because deep down, he was terrified of what he might one day do to the only person who'd ever reached out to him.

"I'm a monster," Omen said with a shaky laugh, his voice breaking. "I don't know what the Joker did to me… but whatever it was, it turned me into something awful."

Batwoman's eyes widened in shock, not just at his words, but at the sight of her own batarang trembling in his hand. She looked into his eyes and saw it, pure horror. Not at her, but at himself.

She took a cautious step forward. Omen immediately stepped back.

"Stay away," he warned, voice low and pained. "I don't want to hurt you."

Batwoman's heart ached at his words. That brief moment of affection she'd shown him—it had meant everything to him. Enough to stir something deep inside. Enough to terrify him with the thought of destroying it.

She could see it clearly now. He wasn't fighting her. He was fighting himself.

"You can't hurt me," Batwoman said calmly, stepping toward him without a hint of fear. Omen held the batarang out in front of him, his hand trembling as he backed away, until his back hit a wall.

His eyes widened in horror as Batwoman closed the distance, unshaken by the weapon or the panic in his eyes.

Gritting his teeth, Omen suddenly turned and bolted. Batwoman sprinted after him without hesitation.

To his shock, she was gaining on him, even in that heavy suit. Her speed, her determination… it was terrifying.

He pushed himself harder, feet slamming against the pavement as he ran with everything he had. Not out of fear, but out of desperation.

He didn't want to hurt her. He couldn't. She was the only person who had shown him even the smallest sliver of affection in his, and he'd rather run himself into the ground than risk taking that away.

'He's fast,' Batwoman thought in disbelief. She was sprinting at full speed, something she rarely needed to do. Her body and mind were trained to the peak of human potential—yet she was struggling to keep up?

Frowning, she reached for her belt and pulled out a grappling gun. With practiced precision, she fired. The cable shot forward and wrapped around Omen's legs, yanking them together and sending him crashing toward the ground.

Omen's eyes widened in shock, but he didn't hesitate. As he hit the ground, his body moved on instinct. He rolled with the fall, slicing through the cable mid-motion. In one fluid movement, he rolled back onto his feet and took off again without missing a beat.

"I'm sorry!" Omen shouted, his voice echoing down the alley as he disappeared into the night.

Batwoman tried to give chase, but he was too fast. Without the batsuit, she might've had a chance, but the added weight and heat were catching up to her. Her body was beginning to overheat, and she knew it.

She wasn't going to catch him tonight. Frustrated, she tapped her comm.

"Alfie, notify the police about the bodies at this location. I'm heading to Omen's apartment. I need to know what we're dealing with."

Without waiting for a reply, she made her way to Omen's building. Scaling the side with practiced ease, she slipped through an unlocked window and entered the apartment silently.

Batwoman scanned the apartment, her eyes narrowing at the sheer amount of blood covering the floor, walls, and even the bathroom tiles.

"He tried to kill himself… and yet he lives," she muttered, crouching beside a frayed rope lying beneath the ceiling beam.

There were signs everywhere—attempts both desperate and methodical. Broken glass. Empty bleach containers. Blood-soaked towels. Knives. A horrifying trail of evidence left behind by someone who had tried everything to die. And failed.

The sheer volume of blood was staggering. No ordinary human should've been able to survive that much loss. One look at the carnage made it clear, this wasn't natural.

"What did that bullet do to you…" she whispered, her voice laced with restrained fury. She remembered the look in Omen's eyes, raw terror. Not of her. Of himself. And that image burned into her memory.

Her fists clenched. 'Damn you, Joker.'

Without wasting time, Batwoman knelt and collected a blood sample, sealing it in a secure vial. Then she turned and headed back out the window.

She needed to examine that bullet. Whatever it had done to Omen, it had changed him—and she was going to find out how.

Meanwhile, deep in the sewers, Omen sat slumped against a damp concrete wall, his eyes fixed on the murky water trickling across the floor.

The stench was unbearable. The darkness, suffocating. But it was quiet. With a tired sigh, he closed his eyes, lost in thought.

"Batwoman can't save me… she couldn't even stop the Joker," he whispered. "I'm a monster now."

He didn't want to hold onto false hope. What was the point? He knew, deep down, that part of him was still resisting. That voice in his head telling him this wasn't who he truly was. But it was getting quieter.

Taking a life had changed him. And now, he wanted to feel that thrill again, And yet… He also wanted to see Batwoman again. Whether as an ally… or an enemy. He was fine with either.

{Fun Fact: Due to selective breading, the males of this gender bent universe all have large dicks. As females would only breed with those with large ones, over thousands of years, males evolved to have large ones so they could breed and pass on their seeds. The smallest is 5 inches, and the largest is over 20 inches, while here in our world isn't 14 inches.}