17-18

"Zack."

My eyelids felt tired. Weighted down with god-forsaken anchors. The bed I was on felt soft though. Familiar. There was a particular scent –

"Come on, wakey wakey Zacky-boo. Momma's gotta get to work."

My entire body ran cold. There was no mistaking the voice. My eyes snapped open as I lunged out of the bed and locked my gaze straight on with a familiar blonde-haired, blue-eyed woman. My breath hitched, stuck deep within my throat as nothing I could say prepared me for a meeting with her.

She frowned uncertainly at me, tilting her head. "Is something wrong?"

My mouth opened, my throat felt parched. There were perhaps hundreds upon hundreds of words I wanted to say, none of which were ordered, none of which found themselves escaping my lips. I ended up choking on my own breath and saliva as I stared at her.

"M-m-mo –" I stopped myself by biting down on my lips.

No. No. No.

She was dead. Dead. Gone. Killed. I had gotten my vengeance, however hollow it had been against Carmine Falcone. I – I started a war against the heroes and villains of Gotham, built an army, was planning to conquer the world, because – because –

"Zack? Are you alright? You look like you've just seen a ghost."

She came closer. I flinched backwards.

It was the same scent.

It was her scent. No matter how many years passed, no matter if I was in a different galaxy or trudging through the ghettos of hell, I could not forget this scent. The scent of cheap lavender perfume blended heavily with cigarettes, sex, and whiskey. Her eyes glanced into mine and I found myself scrambling backwards, failing as I hit my back against the wall.

"Zack!"

"You're dead!" I spat out the words before I could stop myself. "This isn't real – none of this is real – you're dead – dead –"

"Shhh! It's just a nightmare sweetie."

She reached out to touch me, and I crawled erratically away, away away away –

I landed with a harsh bump on the floor, flinching as she shot me a worried look.

"Stop." I whispered. "Stop. Stop. Stop."

"Zack –"

I cradled my head in my hands as I took deep breaths. I needed to think. I needed to think. This – this was probably some sort of mental attack used against me by an enemy. Martian Manhunter? Miss Martian? Braniac? I couldn't remember.

I couldn't remember where I was or what I was doing before I got here. The details where fuzzy, I remembered something about a nightclub, something about a quest –

A pair of hands wrapped around my form and I stiffened.

"It's okay Zacky. Momma's here. I'm right here."

The sensation of her skin. The feeling of her hand running softly through my hair. The scent of her cheap perfume and the sound of the soft thrumming beats of her heart. I could feel all of it. I remembered all of it.

The familiar feeling of warmth. Of her.

I –

This –

This feeling –

"Zacky… Zack? A-are you crying?"

It burned. It burned. My chest burned. My hands shook and I couldn't handle the choking sounds escaping from my own lips.

"Shhhh… it's okay! It's okay! You don't have to cry – it was all a bad dream. I'm here? See? I'm not dead! I'm alive! If STDs and alcohol poisoning couldn't take this girl down – then nothing will!"

I almost wanted to laugh. It sounded just like something she would say. It sounded like –

"But… why did you open the door Zack?"

A sensation of cold washed over me. My gaze went up. My mother's smiling, comforting face locked unto mine.

"W-what?" I whispered.

"Why did you open the door for the policeman?"

Her comforting smile never left her face.

"Why did you have to burn down that house?"

Her nails dug into my skin, as her smile continued to widen into horrific proportions.

"Why did you fail to save me?"

"I – I – I didn't –"

"With all your powers, you never bothered to break me out of prison."

Her smile continued to widen, her eyes growing larger, thick dark-red blood began pouring from every orifice in her face. The blood gushed further from her mouth, her nose, leaking outward with a legion of maggots and worms.

"WHY DID YOU ABANDON ME ZACK?!"

XXXXXX

Gotham City

Iceberg Lounge

His name was Isaac Zachariah Cabrera. The infamous Consultant – the boy who brought Gotham to its knees, crippled the Batman, ended thousands of lives and was a boogeyman-esque figure whose infamy rivaled and surpassed that of Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime.

When she started off her quest for vengeance, she was ready for anything. Ready to take down the Consultant by any means necessary, ready to make him pay for the death of John Constantine, ready to kill him herself if need be and rid the world of what was probably an amateur magic-user who was only passably talented. Summoning the Spectre was a feat that she believed would aid her in rendering well-deserved justice. There was only one problem with that plan.

"I'MSORRYI'MSORRYI'MSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRYSORRY –"

The teenage boy who was supposedly the most terrifying villain in Gotham, rolled helplessly on the floor, screaming and crying and begging, begging forgiveness, a sobbing, irreconcilable wreck. He cried and kicked and screamed like a man who'd lost everything and been driven past the point of insanity. He smashed his face against the floor repeatedly, over and over again, tossing his body at the pavement as he continued to scream.

The sight of a crying teenager didn't console her. It didn't give her sweet satisfaction. It didn't make her feel better about Constantine's death nor did she derive any form of pleasure from watching someone suffer incessantly. She wasn't… she wasn't evil. This – this wasn't what she wanted.

She casually approached the Spectre, watching as the Spirit of Vengeance hovered in the air above the boy who continued to slam his head into the floor and scream. She carefully looked over the being, unable to stop herself from speaking.

"What… did you show him?"

The Spectre did not respond. Instead, ever passively, the spirit of vengeance looked down upon the one on which vengeance was delivered. The only daughter of the Zatara family wondered if perhaps summoning the spirit of vengeance was such a great idea after all.

"His guilt."

Guilt? She pursed her lips at the information. The Consultant felt guilt? She could not recall a time, ever, when she had come across a villain who felt genuine remorse for the evils and atrocities they'd committed. But… if the Consultant felt guilt –

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY MASTER?!"

Reality itself cracked.

Despite the Spectre stopping time around them, a white-haired young man in a butler suit emerged from a literal tear in the fabric of space and time, and Zatanna almost lost her breath at the sheer scope of the tremendous demonic power the being was emitting. The cracks in the air began to spread outward, and she had a bad, bad feeling about it –

The sound of shattering glass hit her ears as all the cracks in the air spread out and reality fell away like a broken glass window. Gone was the frozen time of a nightclub, in its place, a thick void of nothingness combined by an eerie filter of cold. The floors were replaced with an unusual white rock, and along with the cold and darkness, there was absolute silence.

Horror dawned on her too late, when she looked into the horizon, and spotted the earth in all its glory. She grasped for her throat, her face rapidly paling the lack of oxygen provided courtesy of their forced teleportation. She opened her mouth and attempted to cast a spell – to breathe – but the majority of her magic relied on her chants, on her speaking –

But one couldn't just speak normally in the vacuum of space.

Being on the moon didn't change that fact either.

She would have questioned the sanity of the demon under the boy's command if she were not pitifully trying to rasp out words to use an anti-atmosphere spell. Did the demon not realize that bringing them to the moon would kill his master as well?

Her gaze fluttered over the spot where the Consultant was –

It was empty.

The Spectre waved his hand, and she found herself able to breathe again, rapidly taking in sharp breaths of air as quickly as she could. The white-haired demon in an elegant suit casually stalked forward, each and every footstep leaving massive imprints of his feet against the rocky surface of the moon.

"I would have fought you at my fullest on earth," the demon spoke, spoke – in space "However, Master Zack is rather attached to the planet, and it would not do for me to destroy it by accident as I eliminate every speck of your existence from every conceivable universe."

The demon's eyes were replaced with an inky darkness. Pupils, eyeballs, sclera – all of it gone, in its place, a thick void emptier and vaster than the very limitlessness of space itself.

"Does a demon truly believe itself capable of quenching the vengeance of god?"

The demon in question craned his neck. Sickening pops echoed out, defying common sense as sound should not have been capable of travelling through space. Slowly, the demon's arms extended into thick, dark blades.

"My name is Nezumi." He said, taking a long, formal bow. "The only god I recognize, is Master Zack…"

The demon flared his power.

"…And I am his wrath."

The moon shattered.

XXXXXXX

He came from a rat.

A tiny, insignificant rat, starving and barely capable of finding the basest of scraps to eat. A being lacking even the tiniest amounts of sapience, reliant on nothing but animalistic instincts. From a rat, he died. Death, the end of all things, he supposed would have been the curtain-call of his existence. Alas, it was not to be.

Master Zack had other plans in mind. Master Zack brought him back from the great beyond. Master Zack made him feast upon the living flesh of his inferior species, and from then on, he became stronger. He feasted on the flesh of those above him in his food chain, cats and serpents fled in terror when he prowled and roared. And Master Zack, locking himself up within that apartment for years, neither eating nor sleeping, brought him up from nothing.

He had almost forgotten. No. He had forgotten. The thousands of years spent in hell, devouring and fighting, claiming and conquering, slaying and monstering had stripped him of the basic memories of his origins. He had conquered entire nations and tribes of demonic beings, sired dozens of ignorant heirs who foolishly attempted to overthrow his reign, and within his dimension, he had slayed beings comparable to gods.

Emerging from that realm, being summoned back into the human world – he had not expected it. When he met with his master after millennia, he did not recognize him. But, his Master remembered him. His Master made him remember. The being who elevated him from the status of a common rat to the status of a being akin to a god –

He could not, would not, forget him.

Already, within the few weeks of his return, he slayed yet again another demon, defeated, yet again another charlatan with grand powers, consumed, yet again, an immortal half-demon sorcerer. The thrill of new meals, of battle, of a profound purpose, of once more serving the being who gave him the opportunity to be all that he was –

Nezumi let out a triumphant roar as his fist barreled into the green-cloaked being. No sound was made from the impact, nothing, except a wall of force and wind, an indescribable explosion of light and heat generating outward akin to a rabbit sitting in the middle of a nuclear explosion –

The remaining fragments of the moon evaporated into dust in lieu of the attack. The planet's satellite gone, as Nezumi looked straight ahead to evaluate the damage he had done –

His fist lay on the skin of the ghostly being, who slowly skidded backwards in the void of space –

Unblemished.

It had been several million years since the butler demon felt utter, unconcealed disbelief.

What madness –

"Motivation alone cannot defeat his vengeance." The being spoke. "You are not strong enough, demon."

Not strong enough?

For years, centuries, eons – his existence was nothing but battle and bloodshed! Of consuming and feeding! Of conquering and slaying! For OVER FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEARS!

Nezumi roared. "I WILL NOT FAIL MASTER ZA –"

The beam was all consuming. Larger than entire planets. Perhaps as large as entire stars. He did not see it coming. There was little opportunity to have evaded it, nor was he capable of evading it. White, pure holy light – a form of sacred holiness that spoke only of the sort of power one achieved through natural means. A power that was all-encompassing, that was not earned through millions of years of struggle or battle, but a power that simply was.

A being who trained and became godlike was incomparable in power to a being that was naturally divine.

He was not afforded time to voice his discovery. Nor was he afforded time to offer any last remarks, any parting thoughts, any sentiments or final verbal or mental middle-fingers. All that the strongest minion of Zack Cabrera could feel in his final moments, was an overwhelming sense –

Of failure.

XXXXXXXXX

The nightmare ended.

The scene of my mother's rotting face, screeching at me over and over and over again, asking me why I abandoned her, why I failed to save her, finally came to a close.

I breathed hard, blinking what felt like tears out of my eyes and coughing up the disgusting taste of vomit from my mouth. My gaze flickered from left to right, trying to remember where I was and what I was doing. What was I… what had I been doing? Who attacked me?

The answer hit me in the form of the floating man and billowing green cape.

I wheezed.

The Spectre.

The bloody Spectre, floated before me, in all his amazing glory. Time was frozen, and the world seemed to be crumbling into a facsimile of indescribable jigsaw puzzles, and I couldn't tell if this was purely in my head or if it was in reality, because when it came to the Spectre, the line was heavily blurred. I still didn't know how he'd fucked with my head despite Gamer's Mind and trapped me in that looping illusion.

"Isaac Zachariah Cabrera."

Listening to my name, my real name, being spoken by the Spectre didn't do anything to calm me down. If anything, I was beyond and above the point of freaking out, that moment when you realize and comprehend that freaking out will do no good, and you shove aside the instinct to flee or hyperventilate.

Instead, I looked up to the Spectre, and I decided to do, possibly the most insane thing in the world.

"Fuck. You."

I swore at him.

Of all the possibilities I anticipated, of all the responses, ranging from a sudden attack, to a beam of all consuming energy, to perhaps, a tirade about my numerous crimes against humanity, the very one I did not anticipate, was the one that happened.

"He wants to see you."

A cold chill ran down my spine.

He?

"Wh –"

No words could escape my lips as I watched my body slowly begin to crumble into dust.

WARNING!

WARNING!

HEALTH CRITICAL!

HEALTH CRITICAL!

HEAL –

Panic and terror tore through my mind as I gestured my hand out, a futile attempt to do something – only to watch as it, too, turned to dust.

Auto-Eject Enabled

My soul tore out of the sandy mist that was all that was left of my body, my eyes wide as I stared down in disbelief –

The Spectre's gaze locked upon my incorporeal soul, sending even more and more shivers running through me.

I fled.

Or at least, I tried to.

The Spirit of Vengeance appeared in front of me, obstructing my path, his hand swinging forward and grabbing me as though I were not a soul. It felt like all the gravity of a planetoid object was holding me in place, making me freeze at the sheer bullshit strength of the cosmic being. His hand grabbing my by the ear as though I was a troublesome child, and in an instant, he dragged me up along with him.

Up.

Up.

Up.

The Iceberg Lounge vanished in the distance, becoming a speck in my vision. Gotham City vanished, becoming mere lights amongst fog, and we kept going, further, and further –

The entire country of America was visible as we shot past the stratosphere, then, the entire continent, my eyes flickered over to the side as I recognized the Watchtower, realizing that we'd shot past it in a fraction of a second.

"Where are you taking me?!" I screamed.

The Spirit of Vengeance did not respond.

Earth became a pale blue dot. We shot past Mars, past Venus, and I almost screamed again as I found myself amongst the asteroid belts that made the rings of Jupiter. Incorporeal as we were, we phased through them harmlessly.

And we kept going.

The world began to tint itself blue in my vision, as the horrifying realization that I was no longer in the Milky Way Galaxy crept up on me. Further and further and further, my eyes watched as stars and supernovas blurred by in the background. I laughed in terror when we shot past a black hole, completely unaffected by its gravitational pull, and there were tears streaming from my eyes as I laughed even more, when we phased through the explosion of several stars.

It could have been seconds, or it could have been minutes, I could not tell. All I knew was that by the time we had stopped – stars weren't even visible anymore. There was no light, from anywhere. There was nothing but complete and utter darkness, a void of silence and space, the only objects or matter visible for millions of kilometers were myself and The Spectre.

The end of the observable universe. I laughed. I'm at the end of the observable universe.

It was here, eventually, that I saw it. A massive, gargantuan wall. It was made of… people? No, more than that – giants, beings, aliens, all sorts and manners of beings that I'd never seen yet alone heard of before. The wall's length seemed to go on and on and on, larger than planets, larger than stars –

I knew what it was. How could I not? Yet, I didn't even think out the name – I didn't dare –

Was… was this the Spectre's punishment for me?

I realized that we weren't slowing down in the slightest, and I began panicking.

Nonononononono –

I swung my fist at the Spectre, ignoring the fact that it did little damage. I reached out for my Soul Magic, trying any and everything I could think of –

"Master Soul Drain! Master Body Possession! Soul Bondage! Soul Slavery! Soul Conditioning!"

The Spectre didn't even bother with them. He didn't even bother trying to defend against them. They were too weak to do anything against him.

I couldn't do anything but let myself be dragged.

Dragged, until eventually, we slammed right into the wall.

My vision burned white, and my consciousness ended.

XXXXXX

"Really, such unnecessary amount of rough handling –" a voice said. "Yes, yes, I said give the boy an impression he would not long forget – but dragging him through the Source Wall?"

I was awake.

Considering that 'I' was nothing more than a soul at the moment, there was no lethargy or transition between unconsciousness and consciousness. One moment, I wasn't conscious, and the next, I was fully alert.

I found myself sitting on a couch, a very, very comfortable couch. The room I was in was white, pristine, pure white. The overwhelming whiteness of it hurt at my eyes, as though each and every aspect of that color was made from white stars. It was easily the whitest thing I'd ever seen, and I couldn't help but bring up my hand to my eyes to stop it from burning them.

My eyes were spiritual, yet –

"A little bit too bright, is it?" I heard the voice say again. "Let me adjust that for you."

The brightness reduced, slowly, until, eventually, I could adjust my eyes to see the room properly. My mind was whirling with thoughts and questions, and I didn't know where to start –

At least, until I spun my gaze around and eventually, my eyes landed on a slightly rotund man.

He was dressed in an immaculate pristine suit, there was a moustache on his face and a certain… kindness to his eyes. He looked like he could be the star of a family sitcom, possessing just the kind of appeal that would be used for the character everyone loved, like a wise old grandpa, or a genial father. There was an inexplicable warmth to him that made him feel so… friendly. I couldn't help but shake off the feeling that I knew him, that he was someone very, very close to me.

Then, my eyes went up.

The Presence

Ah.

I swallowed deeply.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

The Presence looked at me with that same warm smile.

"It has been a while, Isaac." His voice had a mellifluous quality to it. Like I was being baptized with honey and overwhelming compassion.

"We – we've met before." It was a question, yet, I couldn't help but phrase it as a statement.

"Of course." He said, still with a kindly voice. There was a little bit of mirth in his voice, at least, I believed it was mirth.

I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to say it. The Presence was… the Presence. The most powerful entity in the entire DC Multiverse. So… what was I supposed to do?

Was this… was this how I died?

Before even getting a chance to conquer the world –

Before doing anything?

"Would I really bring you here just so I could kill you, Isaac?"

I flinched.

The Presence was sitting now. He had a chair, a throne? He sat comfortably on his throne, before smiling at me.

His smile made me anxious.

Why wasn't my Gamer's Mind helping here?!

"Would you like some refreshments? Tea? Wine? Perhaps some snacks? You are rather fond of pizza and Chinese noodles after all."

As he spoke, each of those items appeared in front of me on a table. Tea, in an elegant mug which had the words "Greatest Dad in the Multiverse" on the side, and there was wine brought in a golden goblet, the snacks consisted of oreos, malteezers, and lays potato chips. Pizza appeared as well, and then, a large bowl of steaming hot ramen.

I stared at the food, and then back at the Presence, still smiling at me.

His smile made me anxious.

"Am I here to be punished?" I asked.

"Do you feel you are deserving of punishment?"

"No." I said.

"And why do you feel that?"

I took in a deep breath.

"Because this – this isn't real. None of this is real. You – you're just a fictional character in a world I consume as entertainment. The people aren't real – the heroes, villains, aliens – they're comic book characters."

Ha.

Ha.

I just told God that he was a comic book character.

Is this how I die?

The Presence did not stop smiling, not in the slightest.

"Is that what you feel?"

I grit my teeth. "It's what I know. I didn't choose to be here! I didn't want to enter some bullshit crazy world filled with alien warlords and conspiracies and people dressed in bat costumes! I don't want to die in this world – I don't want to live in it!"

The Presence, slowly, nodded.

"But… you did."

I blinked at the response.

"What?"

"You wanted to live in this world. More than anything." The Presence closed his eyes. "It was your fondest dream. To meet the Kryptonian hero of your dreams and be his sidekick. To become acquaintances with the Dark Knight and solve crimes together. All you wanted… was to be a hero."

I laughed. "That's bullsh –"

"Your name was Timothy."

I choked on my laughter.

"In the world you came from, the world you feel is your "reality" that you desperately wish to return to," A wispy mirror appeared in the middle of the room, and on it, I saw… a boy. "You were a young man who was paralyzed from the neck down in the aftermath of a serious accident."

"That's…" I stopped.

Memories began to rush to the surface.

"Despite your accident, you were an unusually happy and cheerful soul. You consumed hours upon hours of entertainment, in lieu of being unable to move. You had friends whose lives you brightened – people you inspired because of how you were unwilling to let your condition ruin your outlook on the world."

The images changed. A boy, on a bed, laughing cheerfully, someone placing headphones on his ears as he watched Let's Play videos on Youtube, and then streamed anime from pirated sources –

"At a point, however, you noticed something. Your family spent a large amount of money on you, a large amount of time on you, your mother and father argued and quarrelled over the tasks, your siblings worked harder and sacrificed relationships and opportunities to care for you. Feed you. Change you."

A burning sensation tore down my throat. The images warped to two figures, screaming and yelling at each other, pushing each other, whilst a boy laid on a bed, tears streaming down his face.

"You did not want it. You did not want your family to constantly sacrifice their happiness for yours. You did not feel like you could live with yourself, if that happened."

It was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. More and more images came, the boy, using what limited resources he could –

"You left a voice-to-text note on your laptop. You planned, planned, carefully, with as much dedication and will as a person who could only move his head and neck could. And, you found a way."

Another image, a boy, falling off a wheelchair, falling – falling – falling –

"Your letter was upbeat, as far as suicide letters go. You told your family and friends not to be sad, not to feel as though it was their fault – that, in the end, the best way for them to mourn for you, would be for them to move on with their lives and be happy."

The final image was of the boy, on the floor, smiling.

"You only wanted them all to be happy."

The images ended.

The Presence locked his gaze back on me. "It is rare to find such a self-sacrificial soul. Had the Blue Lantern Corps existed in your dimension, there is no doubt that you would have been deemed worthy of a ring. You are no Saint Bro'Dee Walker by any means, but, you have heart."

For the first time.

The first time –

The Presence stopped smiling.

"Rather,you had heart."

My throat was dry. Despite being a spirit, my throat was unquenchably dry.

"You were one of those few souls in your dimension deemed worthy of reincarnation. Other worlds were even offered to you – but, you chose to be here. You chose, to live your live afresh, devoid of all your memories, devoid of anything but the memories of franchises, fictional worlds, sciences, arts and entertainment you loved."

I was sweating now.

"And look at how far you've come." The tone of the statement was not warm. "From a paragon of selflessness to… this."

The Presence stared down at me.

"I'm disappointed."

I recoiled from the words as though I'd been shot.

I had to think… to think of something –

"Gotham City." I stammered. "Why… why put me in Gotham City? Why not put me somewhere else? Somewhere that I'd grow up and become… good?"

"You requested to be born from humble beginnings, in three cities." The Presence said, and once more, two portals with images appeared. "In a parallel world, the version of you born as the son of a struggling salaryman in Metropolis is currently in the Justice League. You are dating the younger Kryptonian, and your worst offense there is voyeurism."

The image of a person that looked exactly like me appeared, laughing and partying with the Flash and kissing Supergirl.

"In another parallel world, the version of you born in Central City to a homeless heroin-addicted couple, is now a hero fighting for justice with the Teen Titans, your greatest struggle is the love triangle between yourself, the daughter of Trigon, and the Tamaranian."

I saw myself again, looking slightly different, in terms of hair and eyes, but there was no mistaking it. There, Starfire hung off my shoulders, and I blushed at her, whereas Raven lurked in the background, gritting her teeth in irritation.

"And then there is you – born in Gotham City to a prostitute and a villain. You have no friends to speak of, no relationships, no family or ties, you had nothing but an evil minion and a secret base with three conflicting identities."

There was one word that stuck out to me.

Had?

"If – if I'd been born elsewhere – I wouldn't –"

"I know." The Presence said. "That is why I am disappointed."

I didn't understand why those words stung.

"I believed, at the very least, that it would be the version of you who faced the most adversity, who was born in the most struggling of circumstances, that would become the greatest hero. That you would rise above the darkness of your past… rather than use it as an excuse to justify yourself."

I grit my teeth. "But – you're omniscient aren't you? Shouldn't you have known what I'd do… from the very beginning?"

"I granted you free-will." The Presence said, shaking his head. "The Power that you possess, the power to view the universe as though it were a Game. I granted it to you, and it is the embodiment of True Free Will. With it, I cannot predict your actions or know your future. No one in the universe can. You are an antithesis to Destiny – and your actions are entirely your own."

I'd suspected… I'd suspected – but – hearing it confirmed –

My Gamer Power came from the Presence.

I'd laugh if it was even remotely funny. I'd always known that the Gamer was powerful, but, the problem was, the Gamer was only as powerful as the being or entity that granted them their powers. The Game system and set-up had to come from somewhere, had to be powered by something, and whatever it was, it was the one thing that the Gamer could not destroy or defeat, lest the Gamer lose their power.

Han Jee-han couldn't be stronger than Gaia, because Gaia gave him his powers.

I could never be stronger than The Presence, because The Presence gave me my powers.

"So… what now?" I asked, feeling hollow. "What… what now?"

"Now, you go back."

"I – you're sending me back?" I almost could not believe my ears. "Why?"

"Because I have given you free-will." A chill ran up my spine. "I am disappointed in what you used it for, but I cannot blame you for using it that way anymore than a father can be angry at his son spending all his pocket money on buying gold keychains."

"But what I've done –"

"Your actions have consequences, many of which have already sprung into motion." The Presence said simply. "Perhaps, a day will come when it is 'Game-Over' and we shall evaluate whether or not your existence in this world was a curse or a blessing. Or perhaps not."

"And even if I continue down the path I've chosen?" I said, slowly. "If I continue… doing what I'm doing… being… as I am… will you… stop me?"

"No. It is not my place to interfere. Good or evil, right or wrong, whatever path you follow and whatever outcomes they bring, it will be your own doing."

I rubbed my hand through my hair slowly, before putting my fingers in a contemplative steeple.

"Is… is this real? This world, you, any of it – I mean, it's all fiction… right?"

"For a world that is nothing but fiction, you wept a lot for the loss of a mother."

My breath stilled.

"Did she feel real to you?"

Slowly, remembering that scene before that horrific nightmare, of her scent, her touch, her warmth –

"Yes." I whispered.

The Presence smiled at me.

"Then you decide for yourself, Isaac. What is real, and what isn't?"

The Presence had a fatherly air to him. One that I couldn't shake off despite how overwhelmingly powerful he was. Slowly, he approached me, placing a hand on my shoulder and staring at me with shining white eyes.

"For the longest time, you justified your actions out of spite and rage and the feeling that you were unjustly put on this world to suffer. Now, you know the truth."

His eyes shined even brighter, brighter, completely blinding me.

"What will you do with it?"

XXXX

I staggered to the floor as someone jostled me.

"Oi! Watch it man!"

The sound of music blaring in the air, the smell of cigarette smoke and cheap perfume, and the sight of barely clad women walking around instantly reminded me of where I was – the Iceberg Lounge.

I became aware of the fact that I was absolutely drenched with sweat, and people were giving me odd looks as I sat on the floor, with wide eyes, breathing and panting wildly.

Main Quest – Justice and Vengeance!

Quest Failed!

Details: You were killed by the Spectre.

Your Minion [Nezumi] has been destroyed.

Other Details:

What will you do Isaac?

I pushed aside the notification and jumped to my feet, swallowing nervously.

"Dude, are you okay?"

I flickered my gaze to the side. In lieu of everything, I'd almost forgotten about him, about his existence and presence here, about the fact that we'd gone to a strip club because I wanted to make him have some fun. Lucian's worried eyes entered my vision, and I didn't know what to say.

"Did you… lose your virginity…?"

He gave me two rapid nods.

"Was it… good?"

"Best. Feeling. Ever."

I nodded my head, slowly. I felt dizzy. Dizzier than I had any right to be. Sick. Nauseated. I didn't know how to describe everything.

"Are you… okay?"

I offered him a weak smile. Funny, how it was always a nightclub that these things happened. I remembered, years ago, the first time I witnessed my mother dancing on a pole and when one of her co-workers lit the fire within me that spurned my desire to give her a better life. It felt like a lifetime ago.

"No. No – I'm not."

"Oh." Lucian frowned. "You – wanna talk about it?"

I looked over the thirteen year old boy, before shaking my head and taking a deep breath, ruffling his hair with my right hand.

"Don't worry about it. Adult problems."

"You're only sixteen."

Seventeen. I mentally corrected. "Still older than you. Now come on, it's still a school night. Need to get you to bed early so you can brag to all the virgins at school tomorrow about leaving their ranks."

Lucian grinned. "Won't that piss off all the virgins?"

I managed a weaker smile.

"Yes. Yes, it will."

«

Re-Cap: Shit went down last chapter, Zack met the Presence. Nezumi got smoked, Zatanna's fate is yet unknown, and our protagonist faces the greatest foe that has stifled philosophers since ancient times: making an important decision.

Gotham City

Sewer-System

Hidden Location

The sewers reverberated with humming. Feminine humming of an upbeat tone in repetitive iambics basked in the clacks of irregular footsteps. Boots connected against muddy water and cobbled stone. The humming matched each step. A beam of light extended from a torch and parted the darkness where dozens of sewer rats bathed in a mix of sewage water and unmentionables.

"Shoo! Shoo! Scram you damn dirty rodents!"

The rats of Gotham's sewers scurried. Three fell into the water and thrashed. Bubbles and ripples emerged as they diverged different paths, and the sound of humming resumed. Boots emerged from water and grime, and landed on stone. A long, satisfied sigh graced darkness and foul stench.

"There ain't no place like home!"

The sound of creaking metal followed the declaration. A circular door swung open slowly, the telltale signs of age and rust announcing itself with a long winding squeak. Boots once more continued to clack against stone, and the door shut with another proclamation of the damages of time.

"Pumpkin! Pumpkin I'm back! And I brought something!"

Boots clacked a final time, before small huffs, and they were removed from soft tender feet.

"Brrr! It's chilly in here! We oughtta light something to keep warm. Don't want to be catching a cold so soon after gettin' free."

Plain feet connected with ceramic floors. Step, by step, they advanced. "Mistah J? Pumpkin? Where are you?"

The feet stopped. "Are we playing a game Mistah J?"

Rats scampered across leaky pipes overhead. Steady droplets of water dripped unto an ever growing puddle. Fluorescent light bulbs flickered, increasing and decreasing continuously in brightness.

"…Mistah J?"

Muffled noises engulfed the hideout. Whams and thuds followed. The barefoot woman increased her pace immediately.

"Mistah J! You didn't tell me we were having a gue –"

Grocery and shopping bags fall to the floor like thunder. The sight before her is something that is familiar and foreign at the same time. A man upside down and held by his ankles. His face battered and broken and bruised. Splatters of blood on his clothes and around him. All of this, she knows, all of this, she has seen before.

Except, she has never seenit be him who was tied up.

She has never seen a blond-haired, blue-eyed teen, clad in a dark singlet, slamming his fist into his stomach. She has never seen two people, dressed like spooks with their black suits and thick shades, standing beside the teen like bouncers.

"WHAT D'YA THINK YOU'RE DOING TO MISTA –"

"Shut up and sit down."

Her lips slam shut and her but slams unto the floor. She stares at the traitorous things in confusion. At her lips, that would not budge. At her legs, that would not rise. Instead, she merely sat, and stared onwards, stared at the boy, who slammed his fist into her pudding's stomach, again, and again.

"Harley, I'm sure you're familiar with these two."

The boy gestured at the bouncers. It takes her a second to recognize them. From the nightclub. The one that slammed a drug into her system and the other one that she riddled with bullet holes. Now, there were no holes. There were no bullets or evidence that she killed them – and she knew she did. She knew.

He sees the look in her eyes. He smiles. Something foreboding runs down her spine.

"I met God and he told me he disappointed he was in me, so I thought I'd meet the other end of the spectrum and see what they thought."

The boy cracked his knuckles. He turned his direction once more to her pudding, and he slammed his fist into his stomach again. Her pudding's mouth was covered, but the muffled cry still hurt her.

"But when I met with him, before I can even get out a single word, he does… this."

The gag falls off his mouth, and her pudding… laughs.

He's laughing, laughing more hysterically than she can ever remember him laughing before. Laughing until water is leaking from his eyes and he does not stop laughing. The sound is foreign and familiar, uncomfortable and soothing. The laughter does not seem to have a final point. It peaks, and when it reaches a moment where it appears to stop, it starts off again, stronger and better than before.

The boy gags him again. Two tired eyes turn in her direction. "I asked him what he found so funny. He barely managed to stop laughing for a single second to give me an answer. Do you know what he said?"

She shook her head.

"Everything."

A chair materialized out of thin air. She blinked, and the boy was sitting on it. "Everything," the boy said. "And he continued laughing. He looked at me… and couldn't stop laughing."

Wheels emerged from the chair, and the boy swiveled around in it. "It had me thinking, you see. The reality, or unreality of things. Your boyfriend over there is one of the few people in the world who can recognize a joke when he sees one. If the reaction he had when seeing me has any meaning, it means there's a joke being told, and I didn't get it."

She wasn't getting anything. Nothing at all was making sense. The boy seemed to be aware of this, but was talking to her anyway. Some part of her, the part that was Harleen Quinzel, Ph.D. in Psychology, could recognize the signs of someone who was desperately seeking attention and affirmation. Encouragement, understanding and companionship. She did not know how to give it to him when she could neither move nor speak.

"I'm the Consultant, in case you were wondering who this crazy person that tied up your clown is."

She felt herself choke a bit. The man responsible for the Disheartening. The boogeyman that her pudding said he would like to meet. He probably didn't want to meet him like this.

"I had an excellent butler once, but the Spirit of Vengeance killed him. I don't know any other psychologists, and even though you're semi-insane and a criminal, I heard you're good at your job. So I'm going to ask you one question, and one question only. If you say anything else, do anything else, or make any moves –"

The female bodyguard removed a sleek black pistol from her suit pocket, and she pointed it directly at her pudding's temple. She understood immediately.

"Are you familiar with the Ship of Theseus? The Grandfather's Axe?" The swiveling chair turned into a throne. The boy sat, crossed his legs, and placed one hand on his cheek.

She could move her lips again. She turned her gaze to her pudding. Her pudding was rolling his eyes at something. She wasn't sure if this was the question she was to answer.

"It's tossed around in philosophy, when arguing about the self. To paraphrase, Theseus leaves Macedonia with his ship and a thousand men and sails to Egypt. Along the way, they fight sea monsters and face storms, and the parts of the ship are broken and replaced. Many of the crew die and are replaced. The hull, the deck, the sails, more and more is taken away and replaced. By the end of his journey to Egypt, every single part of the original ship, and every member of the original crew has been replaced. Is it still the same ship?"

The boy spun around on his throne. "The Grandfather's Axe works on the same principle. Your Grandfather has an axe. Your father replaces the handle. You replace the head. Is it still your grandfather's axe?"

Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck. She didn't know where the Consultant was going with this. She was not equipped to interpret the craziness of people aside from her pudding.

"So let's bring in another thought experiment."

The temperature dropped. She could see her breath coalesce in front of her face.

"You are a nearly omnipotent, nearly omniscient, nearly omnipresent being who whisks away a selfless, virtuous soul from their world, and puts them in a new world without any memories, without any inkling, any speck, any aspect of the things that made said person selfless and virtuous."

The Consultant's eyes sparkled.

"In this new world, you put them in the worst place in existence, with the belief that they will continue to be selfless and virtuous, while lacking any of the experiences that made them selfless and virtuous. You take away everything that made a good person good, and expect the person's innate 'goodness' to outshine his circumstances. The question is…"

The throne vanished. The man approached, his feet silent. His haunting blue eyes stared her down.

"Does it?"

Her lips, dry and cold, opened.

"…no?"

The Consultant clapped.

"Good answer."

The gunshot deafens her. She flinches from the noise and the residual high-pitched whine. When her eyes open, it is to the sight of brains splattered across the floor. The smell of blood and specks of gray-matter outwards in a conical pattern from the point of impact. The gag slips off his mouth, and what is left of his face is exposed in a wild, happy smile.

She screams.

"Quiet."

Her jaw slams upwards and her lips are locked like she swallowed an overly sour lemon. The Consultant is saying something. She isn't listening. She can't hear him. Her gaze is fixated on her pudding. On his permanently etched smile and the top part of his head that is nothing but shattered bone, blood and chunks of exposed flesh.

"Here's a follow-up question." The Consultant placed his right hand over her head. "Without any memories of ever meeting or encountering the Joker – is Harley Quinn still Harley Quinn?"

There was nothing but amusement in the Consultant's cold blue eyes.

"Practical Philosophy 101. Let's find out."

Another scream was buried within the sewers of Gotham City. A woman, fell backwards, bereft of years of memories, love and affection. A boy dusted his hands, took a deep breath and released it, exhaling pure satisfaction.

"What should we do with the Joker's body, sir?"

"Copy his bio-signatures and eliminate every last trace. Every speck of blood, every potential source of DNA. The Joker may be dead, but there isn't any reason the world needs to know. Not while we can use his reputation."

"Understood sir. And sir, if I may?"

"Yes?"

"It's good to have you back sir."

"It's good to be back, Mr. Whiskers. It's good to be back."

Plot Progression!

The Evil Overlord's List – Part I

Some of the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. In this case, an unseen circumstance has enabled the Batman's Rogues' Gallery to be freed from Arkham Asylum, and to wreak chaos on Gotham. It is up to you to put them in their place and continue your plans for the domination of the city.

Special Objective:

Recruit or Eliminate the Joker [Complete!]

You chose to eliminate the Joker.

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

Gotham City

The bike tore through the streets. Fast enough to whip up skirts, send papers flying in the wind and be perceived as nothing more than a blur, I embraced the rush of the wind against my face and could not help the wild smile breaking out against my lips.

I tore past a red-light and past a hidden patrol vehicle. The officers did not give chase, for they were implanted homunculi agents, and this was my city. Gotham was my city. I could walk into the police station, shoot a four-year old in the face, and walk out without issue. More than eighty percent of police officers there were mine. The twenty percent would protest, but it would be a rather short protest.

The roar of the engine and the sensation of high speeds sent the adrenaline pumping in me into overdrive, and my lips opened to laugh. I laughed, and I laughed even further when I realized how much of an idiot I'd been for so long.

I doubted the Presence expected me to travel down this path. I didn't mind. He made it easy for me. He told me, reminded me, of a person I once was, of this wonderful selfless person who he picked and brought into this world and then gave free will –

And he said he was disappointed.

Thinking over the conversation again and again and again, that was where he made two fatal flaws. The first was having expectations. The second, was reminding me.

"Hey, there god, presence, whatever." I said to the air. Over the roar of the bike I could barely hear my own voice. "I don't know if you're listening or not, but… I want to thank you."

I made a hard left down a street, whizzing by several of Legend Industries legionnaires who were patrolling the area. Discreetly, they saluted. I observed them protect key landmarks, assist people in daily construction, and be the face that I needed them to be.

"You asked me, what I would do, now that I knew the truth."

Round a corner, I spotted deals going on. NZT was spreading like wildfire, and the more people who ingested it, the more people I could overtly or covertly manipulate. The more people that would find themselves smarter than normal, but lacking direction and purpose and a way to channel that smartness. The more people who would be going to the polls to vote Makarov Dreyer, and agreeing with every decision and policy he made.

"I decided that I'll do whatever it is I want to."

New buildings were being constructed by Legend Constructions. The blocked roads were occupied with workers in their bright orange vests and protection hats, with heavy machinery lifting bars and concrete. Banners indicating the names of the facilities were still obscured with black polyethylene. 'Rehabilitation' centers. Correctional facilities. Research laboratories. Places to channel intellect towards the building of a super-city. Towards the transformation of Gotham to become out of the cyberpunk genre, only without the usual oppressive corruption.

"Timothy was a great guy," I told the wind. "It's great that he faced so much and was able to keep being a good person. Good that he inspired hope. But, you're wrong about one part."

I slowed the bike as I approached school areas. Slow enough to be seen, slow enough to avoid needlessly running over a four-year old crossing the street.

"Timothy wasn't selfless. He didn't want to be a burden to other people, because he didn't like the feeling he got when he realized how much he burdened other people. He always smiled and was cheerful and happy, because he was desperate to give people a reason to want to be around him. A reason to like him, even if it was putting him on a pedestal as a person who didn't let life get him down. He was cheerful, because being a downer paraplegic would make people abandon him, and more than anything – he didn't want to be abandoned."

A bus filled with schoolchildren came up beside me. Two girls were at the window, I winked at them, tossed them my signature smile, and left them giggling as I revved the engine of my bike and tore away.

"Killing yourself because you don't want to ruin other people's lives sounds great. He died because he wanted the people around him to be happy. It's noble, when you put it that way, instead of he died because he didn't want to be the reason people around him were sad."

The sight of a familiar high school approached, and I reduced my speed once more. The bike purred to a stop. I craned my neck and stretched my arms.

"To wake up and realize that you were the cause of your loved one's unhappiness. To see their agony. Listen to their turmoil. Watch them hold bitterness as they make sacrifice after sacrifice for your sake. They would, they would do it, because they love you. But you – you can't stand it. You can't bear to watch it. You can't live with it."

"I'm not Jesus. I was never an extraordinary person with extraordinary limits of selflessness. I was just a person… like everyone else, just a person. Maybe it's a misconception, maybe it's not. Maybe I'm remembering things wrongly since you only gave me brief glimpses of my past life, or maybe I'm not. But I do know one thing."

I spotted my target approaching, and I took a soft, deep breath. "I'm not that person anymore. Timothy is dead, along with everything that made him Timothy, good and bad. Now, I'm Zack. Zack Cabrera. Son of Eva, child of Gotham. I'll do questionable things because I want to. I'll make the world a better place because I have to – I mean really, this world is seriously lacking in lightsabers and space colonies."

I turned to Gotham's cloudy sky. "I guess what I'm saying is, I'm not a paragon of good or Satan's personal shoulder demon. I'm just a person. I'm just a flawed, selfish human being who's going to live his life how he wants it."

"I'm sorry that disappoints you. I'm sorry I realized too late how little I should care about your disappointment."

I closed my eyes, and took in another fresh breath of Gotham air.

"Best regards, the-man-who-will-one-day-overthrow-you, Zachariah Cabrera."

It felt like a new day.

"Who are you talking to?"

Evelyn stared at me uncertainly. Her backpack was slung over her left shoulder, her clothes were notably of a different, more colorful, newer shade than what she wore previously, and she tapped her left foot on the ground.

"Oh, don't mind me, just talking to God."

I reached for her bag and took it off her shoulders. "I didn't know you believed in God."

"Believe isn't really the word I'd use. He's more of an estranged dad who barely paid attention to you growing up but still expects you to enter an Ivy League College and become the next Stephen Hawking."

"Who's Stephen Hawking?"

I opened my mouth. "…I really need to study up on the famous physicists we've got in this world."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, because you're not from this world."

"That's an odd way of saying I'm out of this world, but yes, you're right on all counts."

"That's not what I –"

"Too late!" I tapped the seat. "Hop on. I'm about to give you the Aladdin magic carpet experience."

She stood awkwardly, staring at the bike. I could tell some whispers and comments were coming up from other students who saw her. I could hear the sound of her good-girl image dying with soft, breathless whimpers. She climbed on, inelegantly, and I procured a helmet around her size before placing it on her head.

"Does this magic carpet come with a seatbelt?"

"Jasmine trusted Aladdin to be her seatbelt."

"Not her smartest move, trusting some shady character who appears out of nowhere with untold riches." Evelyn said. "Why did she do that again?"

I revved the engine. "…Because he sang?"

"I don't think that's – wait, don't tell me you're going to –"

"I can show you the world~!"

XxXxXxXxXxX

The taste of coffee lingered on my lips as I savored the aroma. For a Starbucks knock-off, I did have to admit that they made some decently good brews. Of course the waitresses kept giving me their numbers much to Evelyn's constantly growing irritation, and it was merely one of those days where I felt I could sit back and relax.

"So who's the leading physicist that proposed the concept of parallel realities? Quantum entanglement? You know, the proposition that every decision we makes creates a branching timeline in which the choices of that decision play out, and each further choices creates more decisions and creates an infinite number of universes."

"Albert Einstein."

I swallowed more coffee than I should have and almost choked. "You're joking."

Evelyn rose a book. Thick hardcover with the word PHYSICS emblazoned on in red on top and the picturesque Albert Einstein doing his rendition of the Thinker on it. "It's right here."

"Let's see that."

Stephen Hawking didn't exist in this world, and although some of his work was enabled by Einstein, there was no bloody way Einstein of the DC universe was the one to propose multiple realities.

Then again, the Einstein of the real world was a super-genius who could sit down at his table with nothing put pencil and paper and accurately deduce that the universe was constantly expanding. In a world where super-geniuses like Einstein were a normal occurrence, Einstein of this world had to be tremendously smarter than them to have ever made the history books. His intelligence was no doubt above and beyond the version I knew.

"Well that's impressive."

"It's Einstein. Of course it's impressive." She grabbed the book from my hand. "And what's the deal with you suddenly asking all these physics questions?"

"Would you prefer if we researched our... Chemistry?"

"You don't get out of this by flirting." She said. "You've been researching speculations on time travel, on alternate realities, Schrodinger's Cat, Quantum Theory –" Evelyn shook her head. "It's like you're trying to change something – but all of this is theoretical, not unless you're the Flash."

I sip the coffee in front of me. A slow, long sip.

"Does this have anything to do with why you and my brother got back home so late that night three weeks ago, and were so out of it? Lucian has been acting weird ever since."

"Oh, that?" I placed the coffee back on the table. "I took your brother to a strip club where he got a blowjob and got laid for the first time. Real charisma booster."

Evelyn's face rapidly gained a red hue. "You – you what?"

"Feeling left out?"

"No!" she said. "I can't believe – he's – we're – I mean –"

"So, you are feeling left out." I rose my hands in silent protest. "I'm a reformed man, and all for gender equality. If you feel you no longer want to be a virgin –"

"I'm thirteen!"

"And so was your brother. But he's a guy, so it's not really an issue if he got laid and liked it. Ah, but if you do, people could go to jail, no matter how much you say you gave your consent. Double standards. Sucks right? If only we were in the Middle East."

She immediately starts grabbing her books. "I'm telling my mom."

I rose my thumbs. "You do that. In the meantime, please use protection if you want to experiment with –"

"Not. Listening!"

I watched her storm away with a face the shade of a tomato. I knew it was more out of her own embarrassment than any real anger or heat. Still, she would tell her Naomi, because she was, in fact left out. The truth that most parents did not want to know was that once their children hit their teens, they fantasized almost endlessly about the wonders of sex.

Still, I watched her leave, and picked up my cup of coffee before sipping some more. There were other things I was thinking about, other things I had been thinking about since meeting the Presence. He provided me with far more information than he most likely intended to, and I was going to make full use of that information to the best of my abilities.

The Evil Overlord List – Part I

It's time to fight smart and not hard. To avoid idiotic mistakes, and to take the smartest path to victory. Cheating? Underhanded tactics? Cowardly behavior? I think you mean – Common Sense.

Main Objectives:

Item One: Kidnap/Abduct Scarecrow and Poison Ivy to create the Super-Drug [Completed]

Item Two: Create an army of Homunculi [Completed]

Item Three: Have your army infiltrate the Police and have them distribute Super-Drug [Complete]

Item Four: Makarov Dreyer Runs For Mayor [Complete]

Item Five: 'Reform' the Villains of Gotham

Bonus Objectives:

Allergic to Red: Make your army an antithesis to Stormtroopers and Redshirts [Complete]

On Their Own Volition: Have any Villain/Hero join your cause without forcing them [Complete]

Total Makeover-City Edition: Eliminate Gotham's Crime Rate/Turn Gotham to a Utopia

?

?

?

Rewards:

Title: God of Gotham

1.3m EXP

?

?

?

?

Failure:

Death/Incarceration

Anarchy of Gotham

"Great to know removing memories doesn't count as forcing someone to join me."

Dr. Harleen Quinzel was currently employed under Legend Industries, currently being 'tutored' on expected methods to properly evaluate and reform the criminals of Gotham. Of course, Legend Industries was also helping her with her rare form of Dissociative Identity Disorder, which happened to have taken away a huge deal of her memories from the past several years when she worked underneath a notorious criminal.

It was a shame she wasn't crazy anymore. There was a certain sexual appeal to her when she was.

I sipped the last of my coffee, and pushed aside the empty mug before rising to my feet. The TV volume in the coffee shop was low, and I could see something on the new about an upcoming debate between Mayoral Candidate Makarov Dreyer, and the current Mayor, Hamilton Hill.

Not if I have anything to say about it.

"Alpha Command, patch me through to Agent 041 of the Aphrodite Squadron."

"Agent 041, Betty Hammond, reporting sir."

"Ensure that a rather scandalous debacle involving Mr. Hill makes tomorrow's paper. Domestic assault, pedophilia, rape accusations – something shocking and rage inducing. Hamilton Hill is lacking financial backers since all the crime families are dead and he is standing on his last legs. I want those legs to become stumps and have him gored by the populace."

"Understood sir."

There was only one task left to finally complete the first stage of this plan, and this task was something that needed time. The elections were in a couple of months, and I already knew Makarov Dreyer would win by a landslide, there was no particular reason to rush the timeline.

I have all the time in the world.

As of now, it was time for me to do something else with said time. It was something I'd thought of after meeting the Presence. However, the exact mechanics of how I would do it was something I needed to research upon, something I needed to know and understand before I decided to take such a massive leap of faith. Also, it helped to have an in-depth knowledge of the certain individuals of the world with this particular power in mind.

"Alpha Command, get me an Agent of the Aphrodite Squadron. Tell her to put on something orange… we'll be stepping out for a while."

XxXxXxX

Hall of Justice

It was a shame how grossly unappreciated and undervalued one of the true heroes of the DC Universe was. Almost as shameful as how easy it was to hack into the Hall of Justice's computer systems with Master Animation. Perhaps, that, was indeed just slightly less shameful as to how easy it was to infiltrate the Hall of Justice.

Granted, the real hideout of the Justice League was the Watchtower, and the Hall was nothing more than a front, it still possessed members who lived in the hall and utilized it in order to ensure said front was working effectively.

"Is this our target, sir?"

The nondescript Agent, asked, as we stood over the sleeping form of one of the actual true heroes of the world. A pizza box obscured his face and loud snoring noise escaped from his throat, but there was no mistaking that this was indeed the person I was here for. More accurately, I was here for his technology, but who was keeping count of these things?

I removed the pizza box from his face. The blonde hair and smooth futuristic googles was hard to replicate. I could not kill him because making overt moves against the Justice League like killing one of their members was not a smart thing to do. Instead, I rifled through his mind for the information I needed, and within minutes, I found it.

Let's go.

Recreating it from the schematics and memories was difficult, but Alteration granted me domain to shape anything and everything I wanted to make. The small, golden orb in the form of a watch came to life, technology from a time far beyond what even my wildest imaginations was capable of.

"Sir, if I may ask, what value does this orb possess?"

"It's smaller than Rip Hunter's ship."

Several seconds of Alteration, and the orb flared to life.

"Thank you, Michael Carter."

Michael Carter, otherwise known as the hero, Booster Gold, awoke with a snort and a start, collapsing over his chair and landing on the ground with a thud. He blinked, searching around his room and finding no one.

"…last time I order pineapples with my pizza."

Shrugging, Booster Gold yawned, and went back to sleep, unaware of the value of the information his mind had unwillingly distributed.

XxXxXxX

Gotham City

The air was cleaner than I remembered. It lacked the distinct taint of dark magic used in the Disheartening. It lacked the oppressive, downtrodden aura of silence brought only by the hammer of death and oppression. It was still smoggy, and it was still cloudy, as Gotham was meant to be – but it was noticeably different.

"Sir… we – I can't communicate with anyone from the Alpha Division!"

"Well that's expected. They don't exist yet."

The homunculi stared at me. "…sir?"

"I recreated the schematics of the technology Booster Gold uses from the 25th century. When we left the hall of justice, we did more than just teleport to Gotham."

The sight of old cars moving slowly around the street instead of the hybrid cars I was used to was a bit nostalgic. Everything, actually, was nostalgic.

"Sir… where… where are we?"

"Gotham City." I responded. "Sixteen years in the past."

It was rare to see my homunculi express emotion. Funny, and certainly worth a picture. Perhaps I should drop sudden bombs like this on them more often. I suppose they would find it exasperating, but I certainly would find it funny.

"We're here for two things and two things only. The goal is to change just a little – enough that would make a difference, but not enough that will trigger the Flashpoint Paradox. It's why I didn't drain a speedster's powers and run back in time."

"Listen, and listen very, very closely, everything must be done according to the letter. This is your most important mission yet. Do you understand?"

The agent bowed. "As you command, sir."

"Let's begin."

To alter the past in a manner that would not irrevocably alter the present. To go against my magically given curse of hubris and attempt to undo the sacrifice that was made. Some would claim that this was hubris upon hubris, madness upon madness. Some would look at me and spit in my direction for perverting the natural order.

I didn't care.

The Presence asked me once, "Did she feel real to you?"

My mind could not stop thinking about it. It could not stop replaying, over and over again, the nightmare that the Spectre put me through. Seeing it, seeing the mistakes I made, it stuck worse and harder and harder than it should have. It was an indescribable itch in my throat that could not be scratched. A fire in my stomach that could not be quenched. A pain in my chest that failed to be soothed.

Finding my younger self was easy. I was in the abandoned building, as I would be for some time, for the days and weeks and months following her arrest and capture. It was easy, to make myself invisible. Easy, to sneak into the building. Easy to find him – me.

There was something odd about looking across myself, and seeing it. Seeing the barely one year old infant sitting in a dilapidated building, idly creating his first minion, a zombie rat. I was smaller than I expected, and my eyes were bereft of any light in them.

I wanted to speak. To tell myself 'it'll be okay' or 'you'll figure it out' and give some words of encouragement. Or maybe to yell at him and say, 'don't be an idiot' or 'killing the justice league shouldn't be your main goal'. One way or another, I wanted to look at the child bereft of everything he knew, confused and hurting, and I wanted to comfort him. Me.

But I couldn't.

I would change everything if I did that.

So, instead, I did what I came for.

Looking over the undead rat that would one day become my minion, I added an Enchantment. Hidden, deep, and it would only activate under specific conditions – it was something that would not change the future greatly.

Done with my first task, I turned away. One last look at the child I was, one last temptation at the urge to do something, and I pushed onwards – leaving without ever being noticed. The past was done and dusted, but the future, my future – it still held potential.

Making my way to the courthouse was difficult, as my feet pounded with impatience and my heart pounded even louder. Reaching there, under the cloak of invisibility, I hesitated. No – it was not wise to be in the courthouse. There was no telling what I would do if I saw her. I would wait until after.

After.

After the verdict was read.

After she was sentenced.

After she left the courthouse.

After she was taken to Blackgate.

I waited, and I waited. A day. Two. Out of sight. Out of mind. Change nothing, do nothing. Nothing but waiting.

"Sir," the call came. "I've spotted the dispatcher."

I waited no longer.

ID – Create blurred me to life inside a small prison cell. She wasn't facing me. Her blonde hair was a mess. Her prison overalls were hideous on her. It made my stomach burn again. I wanted to make the people who put her in such clothes suffer –

"Eva Cabrera?"

The woman who appeared outside of her cell is stout. Ugly. Muscle-filled, shaved head and tattooed. A sneer is on her face. A crudely sharpened toothbrush is in her left hand, resting between her thumb and index finger.

"Carmine Falcone sends his regards."

It the moment history changes.

"Now!"

A small disturbance in the light. A switch is made. A blonde woman barely has time to be confused, before she is replaced by her exact body-double in the exact same clothes. The stout woman does not realize anything is amiss. She charges, shank slamming into the stomach, then removed and into the intestine, then removed and into the chest, then removed again, and into the throat.

My blood boils at the sight of her clutching her throat, gurgling blood.

It's not her. It's not her. It's not her. Remember – it's not her. It's not her.

The stout woman backs away as prison guards rush the room. They slam her against the floor, shouting and barking orders. The alarm rings. I give one look to the downed gurgling woman who, as far as the world is concerned, is a dying Eva Cabrera.

"Mission complete sir."

I swallowed the saliva in my throat uneasily.

"Thank you."

"It was an honor… to serve you, Overlord… Commander."

There are no retries for her, not while I've disabled them. Agent 42 of the Aphrodite Squadron dies as Eva Cabrera, a perfect biological match. I left the scene, no one ever the wiser, and I return to my Instant Dungeon. I return to my Instant Dungeon, where a blonde haired woman is staring at me fearfully, backing up away in confusion.

"W-what's going on?"

She was the one. She was here.

Not an illusion. Not a dream. Not a nightmare. Not something crafted to mock me.

She. Was. Here.

"I told you to be back by eight or you'd skip breakfast."

I could see it in the way her eyes stretched.

"Z-Zack?"

"Welcome back, mom." I managed to croak. "Welcome home."