19

Unknown Location

November 29

11:34pm

"Is everything ready?"

"The cameras are in place. The goods are set, and I feel like a million dollars."

Her father did not snort, for Slade Wilson was not a man who snorted. Rather, the sound he gave was a grunt which possessed the barest hints of amusement. Low enough to barely be audible, it was not amusement meant to be shared. No, it was his personal amusement, the satisfaction he derived whenever he was close to completing a goal or eliminating a target that he allowed for brief, sparse moments of brevity. This was the closest she would get to seeing him outright laugh.

"Add three zeroes on that." He gestured to the twenty widescreen devices placed up. "Begin the stream."

The push of a button to the power. The whirring of machines and the flickering to life of the twenty widescreen smartscreens immediately began the auction. Twenty silhouettes appeared one after the other upon the screen, all of them potential buyers.

"I'll spare you the pointless greetings and cut out the unnecessary showmanship. We're here to deal."

The blackened silhouette on screen number 1 spoke, the voice muffled and rendered genderless and unidentifiable. "What do you have for us Deathstroke?"

Deathstroke made a small, barely noticeable gesture. The signal spurned her on, the past few weeks of practice learning how to operate the devices was finally coming to fruition. With a push of a button, an incredible audible boom echoed across the room. Space itself was warped, the science of which neither her nor her father cared about so long as knowing the intrinsic mechanics were not necessary to make profit.

The wormhole she emerged from was visible to the cameras and devices. The experience was akin to being in a dream and suddenly opening a door to the bottom of the ocean. The sights were similar to being on a psychedelic trip – not that she knew what that felt like. Her father would kill her if he suspected she knew what that felt like.

She appeared, as expected, and the spiraling colors indicating warping of space-time vanished.

"What was that about unnecessary showmanship?" silhouette on screen number two spoke.

"If you think demonstrations are unnecessary, you would be horrible at this line of business."

"Indeed." Silhouette on screen number sixteen spoke. "How did you come into possession of a Motherbox? Apokoliptian technology has been rather scarce."

"Information costs extra," Deathstroke said. "I have ten motherboxes. Wholesale. Alien super-computers to take you anywhere in the universe. Bidding starts at ten million dollars."

"Ten million five hundred thousand," said screen two.

"Eleven million," said screen fourteen.

"Eleven million two fifty," said screen three.

"Eleven million seven-fifty," said screen five.

"One-hundred million."

The announcement delivered by screen one sent the auction silent.

"We have a hundred million dollar bid." Deathstroke said.

She wondered if her father was having any difficulty hiding his amusement, as things were progressing entirely as he'd predicted to her that it would.

"One hundred million and one." Screen five said.

"One hundred million and three." Screen twelve said.

"Three hundred million."

Again, screen one's announcement brought silence. "The bid for the motherboxes is now at three hundred million dollars."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Fold."

"Three hundred million and one," screen five said.

"Five hundred million."

"Fold."

One by one, she watched the silhouettes vanish upon the screen as people folded, until there was only one silhouette left.

"Seeing as you bid the highest and scared off everyone else with smaller pockets – you get the motherboxes."

"Where are the rest?"

She watched her father and was both marveled and inspired when she could not detect a single shift in his body movement from hearing the question.

"You think I have more?"

"Do not take me for a fool." Silhouette number one spoke. "I am aware you acquired the motherboxes from an Intergang hideout on the night the Consultant conducted his… cleaning of Gotham City. I know for certain that they possessed more than just a meagre ten motherboxes."

"Interesting theory."

"I want the rest."

"If I happen to stumble across another mysteriously hidden cache of Apokoliptan tech, I'll inform you." Deathstroke said. "For now, there are only ten in inventory, and you will have these ten once I get my money."

The conversation entered an uneasy silence. The silhouette was unmoving, and her father did not budge. Twelve terse seconds passed in this manner.

"The payment has been wired." silhouette one said. "Deliver it latest by Monday."

"Pleasure doing business with you."

Screen number one went blank. The room was silent once more, and she could feel a form of palpable tension.

"How did he kno–"

The sound of the gunshot staggered her. She dropped to the floor, stunned at the smoking barrel pointed in her direction. She never saw it leave his holster. Her legs became straw noodles, and her cheek felt wet.

She didn't move. She didn't breathe. The bullet had grazed the side of her face, and she knew that he didn't miss. He never missed. If he wanted her dead, a bullet would be in her brain.

He turned to the screen, the screen where silhouette number one had been. He reached for a device, and pressed it against the screen and she watched as the device – an EMP – utterly fried it beyond recognition.

"He didn't." Her father said. "He was guessing we had more motherboxes. He was still connected, waiting for anything that would confirm his guesses. And you stupidly gave it to him."

He was? But – the screen was off – how – how could he have still been connected? Even if he was the richest man in Metropolis, there was no way he could have hacked into their device in the span of the auction – could there?

"I –" there was no excuse she could make. Ignorance was not a justifiable excuse. An apology was not acceptable either. There could only be one thing that followed mistakes: punishment.

"Stand." Came the order. "We're going to spar."

~~~~~~DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~~~

November 30th

00:40am

There were voices speaking but she couldn't see them. She could feel the softness of the matrass, hear the beeping of medical devices and smell the thick antiseptic that reeked in hospitals and artificially sterilized areas, yet, she could not see where she was. She knew her eyes were open. She knew her eyelids were raised and her eyes were open, but she failed to see anything.

A blinding spell? She opened her mouth to restore her sight but no words escaped from her lips. A second attempt brought the same dilemma. By the third a chilling uncertainty crept into the back of her mind. By the twentieth time she tried and failed to speak, the uncertainty morphed into dread.

She clambered blindly out of her bed, crashing into something solid and metal. She patted herself down, and the fear became worse as she felt she was not in her own clothes. She rolled across the cold floor, ignoring the beeping and the sounds, and tried her best to calm her breathing. She tried to calm herself. She took deep, long breaths and tried to calm herself. She tried once more to speak.

Nothing.

I can't see – and I can't speak –

Rising unsteadily to her feet, she bumped into random objects as she tried to find her way around wherever she was. Her chest burned from how fast she could feel her heart beat and how hard it was to take in air.

Where am I? How did I get here – what – what was I doing?

She was after someone. Hunting a person a target, someone who killed a dear friend of hers –Constantine. The person she was hunting – it was a boy.

The Consultant.

The memories rushed to her head immediately. She summoned the Spirit of Vengeance. She tracked the boy to a nightclub in Gotham City – and then the boy's demon –

There was an overwhelming fight. She got sent into space, to the moon. Then – nothing. She couldn't recall anything from that point onwards.

"Miss Zatanna," a mechanical voice made her flinch. "I am detecting increased levels of blood pressure and elevated heart rates. You are currently in the Watchtower Medical Bay. I have taken the liberty to inform the Justice League about your awakening."

The Watchtower? She was at the Watchtower? She wanted to ask how she got here. Her lips opened and her tongue worked as normal, but no words escaped her lips, no matter how hard she tried. Deprived of her ability to see and speak, rescued by the very Justice League that scorned her mission –

The pill was too bitter to swallow.

"Zatanna," the calming nigh-mechanical voice of Martian Manhunter appeared within her head like a catchy earworm. "Apologies for the intrusion. I am the only member of the Justice League present at the Watchtower as of now, however the others will soon return to discuss the issue."

The telepathic communication was something she was grateful for. "Manhunter – what's going on? How did I get here? What issue?"

"You were found unconscious and floating in space."

She was? "How am I still alive?"

"The answer to that question is the issue the Justice League needs to discuss. Along with potential security concerns."

Alarm bells were ringing in her head. "Security concerns? What are the security concerns?"

"Apologies, I cannot provide you with that answer."

"Why not?"

"Zatanna, I am concerned about what you were doing in space."

"I – I was fighting the Consultant."

"…the Consultant?"

"He's alive. He faked his death. His real name is Isaac Zachariah Cabrera – and I summoned the Spirit of Vengeance to –"

"You were the one who brought the Spectre?"

She frowned. "Yes – I needed him –"

"Miss Zatanna, for the past three weeks the Spectre has gone on a 'purge' throughout the African continent. He has killed thousands of politicians and the presidents of nations across thirty-six countries in the name of vengeance and justice. The Justice League has been focusing all of its efforts on stopping him, and for each day we fail, the body count doubles."

Her fingers felt numb with cold.

No…

"In summoning the Spectre to stop the Consultant, you have inadvertently done more damage than the Consultant himself."

No – no – no!

This wasn't – this wasn't what she intended. Yes, it was true she unleashed the Spirit of Vengeance without a host unto the planet, and true she did so without tethering him to anything but herself – but the Spectre wouldn't kill indiscriminately.

No – it wasn't indiscriminate. He killed who he felt was guilty – and there were too many outliers and terms and conditions involved that anyone and everyone could have broken one standard of his extremely narrow guidelines. There was nothing to limit his powers, but there were two ways to stop him.

The first was for her to apply the counterspell she used to summon him. Easy enough. The second was for the tether holding him to this world to be destroyed. Also, easy enough.

Easy for anyone except her.

The implications of how she survived the vacuum of space became clear. The realization of why she was blind and mute forced its way into her mind. No doubt Manhunter realized it as well. She inhaled, and exhaled. Inhaled, exhaled.

"I can fix this. I just need to be able to speak again, and then I can apply the counter-spell I used to summon him –"

"Miss Zatanna –"

"I can fix this –"

"I will inform the League of recent developments. Doctor Fate will also be here soon."

"Manhunter –

"I'm sorry, Miss Zatanna."

Manhunter's soothing voice vanished from her mind. Her heart was roaring in her chest. She clenched her chest tightly and forced herself to breathe. They won't – they won't kill me – this – this is the Justice League – they don't kill people. Right? The Justice League did not kill under any circumstances. It was one of the rules binding them. They would not kill her simply because doing so would stop the Spectre – they didn't trade lives.

No. That wasn't true. Superman didn't trade lives. Batman didn't trade lives. Wonder Woman was no stranger to killing. Green Lantern and Aquaman were not squeamish about getting their hands dirty. Green Arrow used to kill before he mellowed out. Hawkman and Hawkwoman were willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. Doctor Fate certainly didn't care about the life of one person, and if it came down to a vote – a vote deciding that the life of one person was worth it to save thousands more – she knew how it would end.

She knew how she would end.

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~~~~

Makarov Dreyer's Mansion

Gotham City

November 30th

7:04 am

"So this," I rose the object with the black screen into the air. "This is a smartphone. One of the staple technologies of the 21st century."

"I don't think sixteen years is enough to have made phones any different."

"Those are brave words, woman. Let's put it to the test."

I inserted the password, accessed the Legend Browser and Legacy Search Engine and typed the words "CAT PLAYING PIANO." A video of a tabby in a tuxedo came up, it's paws placed tenaciously on a long classical piano. I hit the play button.

"Oh my god."

"God has nothing to do with this."

"It's a cat playing a piano."

"I know.

"Why is a cat playing a piano?" She shook her head. "Wait, no, how is a cat playing a piano?"

"Video editing. Meme culture. Posted for fame on social media."

"Social media?"

"Billions of people in the world willingly turn their life into a performance for the consumption and entertainment of other people, who pay them in the currency of likes."

"Can you buy anything with these… likes?"

"Only a false sense of accomplishment and a misguided placement of self-worth."

"That sounds stupid."

"It is."

"How do I sign up?"

"First, you're going to need an email."

We were at Makarov Dreyer's million dollar mansion located in Gotham City Uptown. For the most part, the mansion was empty, and it was only utilized because Makarov Dreyer needed a tangible address to live. The kitchen area was high-tech, every product within it was created by Legend Industries or by a company associated or belonging to Legend Industries.

Eva sat beside me in an oversized t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts. She didn't have any clothes, and she would rather prefer to wear mine than wear the perfectly sized outfits I'd created with Conjuration. She decided she'd buy some, eventually.

The smell of bacon and eggs sizzled in the kitchen, Animated to cook themselves perfectly. I'd maxed out the Homestyle Cooking skill so long ago, but I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually needed to use it.

A pair of plates floated and spun into the air just as the pans flipped. The fridge door seemed to fling itself open, and a large jug of orange juice soared out alongside two clean glasses. The glasses performed the bottle-cap challenge like Jackie-Chan and spun aside the cover of the orange juice, its contents pouring into them while they spun in the air, before stopping. The jug was recapped, and two glasses of orange juice arrived on the table beside two plates of eggs and bacon forming a smiley face.

Eva stared at the plate. "I don't think I'm ever going to get used to that."

"Flying plates and acrobatic breakfast?"

"I meant magic." She laughed. "Although acrobatic breakfast is an exciting way to start the day. Maybe for dinner you'd make the cooked turkey march itself up into the plate?"

"That's unsanitary," I said shaking my head. "Better to make it fly instead."

"If the turkey flies, then what'll the roast pork do?"

"Fall with style."

"Like a wrestler jumping from the top turn-buckle?"

"You want me to make roast pork do an elbow-drop?" I placed my chin into my hands. "But it doesn't have any elbows."

"Would that be a problem?"

"…No."

We were able to look at each other and maintain a straight face for all of three seconds. She was the first to double-over with laughter, and my lips found themselves mimicking her. The sound of her laughter spurned me to laugh harder, and to realize just how much I'd missed this sound.

By the time we gathered enough of our wits to focus back on our food, it was almost getting cold. I couldn't complain. I'd take the taste of slightly cold bacon and eggs with her by my side over any hot meal in the world.

"Sho, ei wush shinking –" Eva said through a full mouth.

I pointed at her cheeks. "Swallow before speaking."

She rolled her eyes, but did. "You sound like one of my clients."

"First, that was imagery I really did not need," my lips twitched. "Second, former clients. Former. You're done with that life."

"Am I?"

For the first time since bringing her back from the future, my mother had an expression on her face I could not read. She'd devoured halfway into her breakfast, and there was an uncertainty that crept into the room.

"Of course you are. You don't have to sleep with people for money anymore."

"Instead I can just get it from you?"

My lips felt stapled together. "You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"I meant the sex, not the money."

I stared at the plate. I wasn't sure how to answer that question. I couldn't wrap my head around it. "You still want to sleep with random people?"

"You make it sound like it's a bad thing."

"Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I'm young, Zack. Young and with a great body, and I'd like to enjoy this while I can. Before I become old and wrinkly and invisible to people." She smiled. "Or at least before I die."

"You're not going to die."

"Everyone dies Zack."

"Not us."

There was an edge to my words in which I couldn't figure out the cause. Maybe it was because she didn't know that I'd spent the last sixteen years agonizing over her death, that I blamed myself time and time again for her demise. She didn't know what I'd done or how far I'd go to make sure she was alive, alive and here with me – and to hear her talk about dying so casually –

"Zack, the past few hours of have been… intense." She smiled, but it was uneasy. The uneasiness of the smile bothered me.

"Who am I kidding? It's been crazy. From thinking I was going to die to meeting you and being told that magic is real and time-travel – dear god, time-travel like some Back-to-the-Future shtick – I was about ready to start laughing in your face and telling you to go fuck yourself."

"You didn't."

"I didn't because I wasn't sure. I was playing along until I was sure that you really were – were him. My Zack. You travelled from sixteen years in the future to save my life and bring me here."

She rubbed her shoulders. "Why?"

"What do you mean why?"

Why? What sort of question was why?

"Why did you bring me sixteen years into the future?"

"I wanted my mother back."

"Zack," she bit her lip. "You don't need a mother."

The house felt colder than I remembered it being. There was a sensation in my stomach like I'd been punched by a Kryptonian.

"You're seventeen now." She pointed at herself. "I'm still twenty-one. That's what, five years difference?"

"Four."

"My math sucks," she said, chuckling. The attempt to lighten the mood didn't work. "There's a four year age difference. We're so close in age at this point that I can't be a mother to you. I mean, just look around Zack –"

She gestured to the mansion.

"At seventeen I was depressed and smoking weed to try and get a black guy to fuck me because I believed they all had large –"

I coughed. She rubbed the back of her head sheepishly.

"My point is, I can't teach you anything you don't already know. You've done better than anything I can imagine. I can't guide you or be a role model or parental figure or... be a mother."

"I didn't bring you to the future because I wanted a mother."

The words bubbling in the back of my throat were screaming to be unleashed. The years and years of thinking and sentiment, the unending guilt I felt as I always wondered whether or not it was my fault that she died. Whether or not I was responsible for everything that happened. From that moment where I messed around stupidly with my powers, to that moment I saw her one last time –

"I wanted – I want you."

The words didn't feel like they were enough. They couldn't encapsulate the full range of meaning behind years of internal turmoil. Behind the façade after façade created, a constant belief that I cared for no one and nothing, the belief that I was above being controlled by such overwhelming emotion.

"I missed you."

It wasn't it. Those words weren't what I wanted to say either. I knew the words, I knew them – but saying them, looking into her blue eyes and face and saying those words – there should be no reason why I couldn't say them –

I needed to say them. I had to say them. The burning in my stomach wouldn't stop until I said them.

"Zack… do… do you love me?"

"I've always loved you." The words were the truth. The full truth.

"No, Zack." I could see it again. That uneasiness that had been there from the beginning. "I should rephrase that," she took a breath.

"Are you in love with me?"

The half-eaten eggs and bacon on the plate were easier to focus on than her face. Part of me knew from the beginning that I'd never seen Eva as a mother-like figure. For as long as I could remember it was always the opposite. I was the one who took care of her. I was the one who made her breakfast. I was the one who did her laundry and chores. I was the one who reminded her to brush her teeth, to wash her hands. I was the one who told her not to smoke and hid her cigarettes to stop her from doing so. I was the one who scolded her and tucked her into bed. I – I was always the one who did everything, who would do anything for her.

In a way, I was the parent and she was the child. Except, the feelings that were involved were not something that simple. There had always been something else, hovering. Something that pumped my blood and filled my stomach with glee. Something that died in me when she was gone. That something, all along – I knew what it was.

"Zack? Are you…?"

I'd never told a direct lie to my mother for as long as I could remember. Omissions at times, yes, but never, not once, had I looked her in the face and told her a direct lie.

"Yes."

I couldn't.

"Oh."

The colors of the world and the vividness of the breakfast table seemed to have muted to me. I couldn't look up. I couldn't look at her. I didn't want to look at her.

"Zack – that's – I mean," she stumbled over her words. "I'm flattered but – you're – and I'm –" She stopped. "You can't. I can't. We – we can't."

"Do you remember, that one night, years ago, when you were drunk and had sex with that man who was cheating on his paraplegic wife – you told me," the words were heavy. "You told me, it was me and you against the world – me and you – fuck everyone else, everything else – just me and you."

"Zack, I don't…"

"Just me and you remember? Me and you – you promised. You said it – you –"

"I was drunk, Zack. I don't – I don't remember what I said when I was drunk."

Ah. She… was drunk. Of course – of course –

"Do you even… love me at all?" I found myself asking, wondering. "Have –" a laugh almost escaped my lips. Have I spent the last seventeen years of my life loving and mourning a woman to whom my existence is an afterthought?

Three seconds passed and Eva didn't answer. The longer the silence stretched, the harder it became for me to swallow.

"Nothing? You're not going to say anything?"

"What do you want me to say, Zack?" Eva said. "I – I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I never wanted to get knocked up!" she said, tossing her hands into the air. "You – you weren't exactly planned. When you were born I noticed you didn't cry as much as I thought and you picked up things quicker than normal, so I thought, maybe, maybe I could keep you –"

"But you were smart. Smarter than you should be – you were walking around at a year old and fully capable of concepts and ideas and things that you shouldn't know, and it – it scared me. You scared me. It wasn't normal, you were anything but normal – and when you told me about being reincarnated – I didn't know how to handle that information. I didn't want to handle it – I –"

Eva trailed off. "I went off and did my own things. I left you alone for hours to your own activities but you never complained about being abandoned or mentioned being hungry. I never punished or scolded you, because there was never anything to punish or scold. You saw the worst of me and never judged me – you – you loved me in spite of the booze, the sex and horrible things I did. No, you worshipped me in spite of how fucked up I was and how little attention I gave to you – and I – I don't know why."

Eva shifted plates of bacon aside and grabbed my hands. She held them, and looked into my eyes.

"What… what have I done to deserve your love?"

I gripped her palms.

"You made me happy."

Eva laughed. Her melodious laugh rang in my ears.

"Happy? We were dirt broke, living in slums –"

"And not a day passed that we didn't crack jokes about it."

"I was constantly bringing home random men for sex –"

"And I'd make them uncomfortable by sitting down and eating popcorn while you went at it."

Eva tried to stifle a snicker. "I always wondered where you got the popcorn from."

"Pocket dimension." I couldn't help the grin that tore on my face. "Remember that one guy who couldn't get it up because I kept staring at him?"

"How could I forget? The one with two-and-a-half inches. God he was pathetic."

"You forced him to cough up the entire contents of his wallet even though he didn't get any."

"Cause he was dumb enough to believe I charged by the minute." She quipped. "Sucker."

I found my lips stretching to their limits.

"You made every single day of a life that should have been filled with bitterness and disgust into a day filled with a new reason to laugh. How many people do you think can do that? How many people, can be in your shoes, and despite everything, still find a new reason each day to laugh?"

A massacred family, a ruined childhood, hiding from a mafia boss, an unplanned pregnancy at twenty – and even though she had her flaws, even if she was selfish, I would take her – her and her alone, I would choose her – over anyone else in the world to be in any situation, any predicament. No matter how bad it turned out, Eva Cabrera would find one thing to give me a reason to laugh, one way to make my lips turn into a smile.

And that was why I loved her.

"I love you, Eva Cabrera."

"Damn it Zack –"

"I love you."

"Stop saying that!"

"I can't – I'm going to keep saying it, and I'm going to jump off a really high building and scream it to the fucking air until the whole world hears it."

"We're related –"

"On a technicality. I blew up my original body a while ago to escape the Justice League, and this new one I created doesn't have the same DNA, so I'm no longer biologically related to you."

"You – wait, what?"

"I love you." I grinned. "I'm going to start singing the Barney Song now."

"You wouldn't –"

"I love you, you love me, we're a happy family –"

"Really Zack?"

"With a great big hug and a kiss from me to you, won't you say you love me t-"

Nothing prepared me for her lunge across the table nor for her lips.

She tasted of bacon, citrus and stale liquor. Her lips were softer than they possessed any right to be. Some part of my mind screamed that I was committing some grave, inordinate taboo, and another part of my mind found that I craved that which was forbidden. Her tongue slipped into my mouth with the ease and belayed years of experience that I could never hope to match, cementing it further in my mind that Eva was my Eve and her kiss was the forbidden fruit of Eden. I was the hapless Adam and her tongue was the serpent that would cast us from paradise.

When her tongue left, when her lips departed, I sat, staring, unable to speak, unable to find the words to speak, unable to think or question, instead, all I could focus on was her scent, the scent of cigarettes, alcohol and cheap perfume, the heavy scent that was familiar and foreign, intimate and strange, and irrevocably intoxicating.

"So," I cleared my throat. "Does this mean we're –"

"I don't know what this means, Zack. I just – you're just –" Eva bit her lip. "Can we avoid putting any labels on this? For now? At least, until we figure it out. I can't believe I'm even considering this… whatever it is."

I paused at that. "Will you tongue-rape me again if I keep singing the Barney song?"

"Zack…" Eva warned.

"How about if I choke on some bacon and require CPR?"

"Zack!"

"What if I choke on some bacon, while singing the Barney song?"

"I'm going to hit the showers," Eva said, rolling her eyes. "I haven't had a good scrub in long while."

"Was that an invitation?"

Eva smirked at me. "Was it?"

"Wait – are you, are you messing with me?"

The smirk never left her face. "I don't know. Am I?"

She was definitely messing with me… right?

That wasn't an invitation to join her in the shower… right?

Right…?

Did I just get trolled by my own mother?

«

Gotham City

December 1st

3:01 AM

Gotham City was not as he remembered it.

The perpetual cloudiness was gone, and the city was sunnier. The pedestrians walked with an extra step, and he witnessed, for what seemed to be the first time, a man's wallet fall unto the ground, and three different people call the man's attention to it.

The local hot-dog stands possessed vendors giving out discounts, and the song of the ice-cream truck was actually followed by the laughter of children. The air was not thick with an oppressive smog, and instead, each and every intake of air was revitalizing in ways that was beyond explanation.

Then, there were them. The legionnaires. Patrolling the streets in a manner that should have been reminiscent of a police state, a manner that should have sent alarm bells ringing throughout the entirety of his being, yet, somehow, the connection did not link. There were legionnaires everywhere, some of them were shooting hoops with children, others were on skateboards in parks, performing three-sixties and fist-bumping teens, and the rest were taking selfies with pedestrians, helping the elderly cross the street, and assisting in the regulation of traffic.

Dreyer's men were everywhere in Gotham, and somehow, it was better for it.

However, it made things far more difficult for him. As it stood, he was a wanted man, and he could not allow himself to be caught before he managed to complete his mission in the City. The rest of the Justice League was occupied with the Spectre situation, and he should have been assisting them, but right now, it was impossible for him to do so – not as he was.

Extending his hand, the prosthetic limbs he recently acquired from Lucius Fox were considerably well-made, however, they were tools. A tool could not be relied on as confidently as his own body, as something he trained and worked meticulously on in order to ensure that he did not fail in his duties as the protector of this City. The Consultant was the one responsible for this, and following the Consultant's attack, Dreyer applied a continual amount of pressure upon him that eventually led to this situation.

"Excuse me, sir, you with the hoodie."

A truly troublesome predicament.

"Yes officer?"

"Some young women had concerns about a suspicious man in a hoodie and glasses moving around this area. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about, but just to be sure, would you mind taking off your…"

The police officer stared at him for several seconds. Each one was an agony, and he immediately knew that his cover was blown.

"Wait – aren't you – Bruce Wayne?"

He turned tail and ran.

He did not expect the police officer to catch up with him effortlessly. He did not expect to see the Taser that slammed into his back and sent shocks travelling down his body. Again the taser came down, a second time, freezing his muscles. A third time, it continued. Enough that he understood immediately that there was something wrong. Police brutality was not uncommon in Gotham, but this was something else. The police officer shot something at him, and as it massively spread and hardened, he recognized it as containment foam meant for metahumans.

"Alpha Division, this is Agent 31 of the Al'tair Squadron. Priority Target: Bruce Wayne, aka Batman, has been found. I repeat, priority target: Batman has been found."

He felt a needle pierce the back of his neck, injecting his system with something that drained his strength. A blindfold placed over his eyes, and for the first time, Bruce Wayne found himself in a situation he could not fathom.

When the blindfold came off, he found himself sitting in a large white empty room. He was bolted securely to an iron chair that was welded to strong steel pipes on the floor, and attached to the concrete walls. It seemed that every single precautionary measure was being taken against him, yet, they did not remove his prosthetic limbs.

"Hello Mr. Wayne, or rather, should I say, Batman?"

He was expecting any significant number of his savvier villains to be responsible for this. Perhaps someone from his rogue's gallery put two-and-two together and discovered his identity. Yet, he was not at all prepared for yet the rise of another nemesis.

"Dreyer."

The young blond billionaire stood before him in a dark suit and flame-patterned tie. Two of his men, drabbed in their legionnaire outfit stood silently behind him, and the man slowly clapped his hands.

"I'm impressed you managed to make it into Gotham. I watched every airport, road and harbor for your arrival, all with police officers ready to take you into custody. I ensured your butler was followed at all times. Yet, you somehow still managed to enter the city. I am truly impressed. Of course, considering you are the Batman, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised."

"Look, Dreyer, this must be a misunderstanding. I'm not – me? A vigilante? That's not –"

"Let's not waste precious time on pretenses Bruce. I know you're the Batman, and would you care to know how?"

Dreyer dipped his hands into the breast pocket of his suit, withdrawing from it a handkerchief which he used to polish his wristwatch.

"It starts with the question, is Batman human? The answer would be a simple yes. Hence, if Batman is human, does he need to sleep? To eat? To exercise? To train? To relax? The answers to this will come obviously."

"Then, we progress to a higher question. Where does he do all these things?" He said, "It's simple – obvious actually. He has a base of operations, a place where he studies, and rests, and trains. A place to which he goes after a night's work, and a place where he leaves from to perform his business. And then, I asked the next question."

"How do I find this place?"

Bruce did not like where Dreyer was heading.

"The answer, was somewhat more difficult. It required thinking. Calculation. Numerous tries and misses. But, a strategy was formed. Another question."

"How long does it take Batman to arrive at the scene of a crime?"

"So, I watched, waited, observed hundreds of times when Batman appeared, where he appeared, and how long it took him to appear, relative to the start of the crime. The next step, of course, was calculating the speed of his vehicle – estimating and generating a top speed for how fast, and how slow, and then, using GPS camera's in the city, mapping out all the routes for which the black car of Batman was seen."

"The roads that the car was seen most frequently on, were part of the major roads that led to the outskirts of Gotham. 82 out of a 100 times, the vehicle was witnessed passing these roads. The numbers were clear enough to make it certain that Batman lived on the outskirts of Gotham – which, as I realized later, was where the billionaire Bruce Wayne, also lived."

"Although it could have been a mere coincidence, I had to account for the fact that the masked vigilante had sponsors. His vehicle is top model and possesses high-end technology that cannot be attained cheaply. It is unlikely, given his seeming sense of justice, that he stole to acquire these gadgets – so that must mean, he has the money to purchase them legally."

"So, I felt, most likely, that Bruce Wayne was sponsoring the crusader – until, I did the estimates of how long it took Batman to get to the scene of a crime with his car going at max speed, and crossed-referenced it with how long it would take, to get from the Wayne Manor to that location, at top speed."

"The times were a near-perfect match."

It couldn't have been that easy.

"Seven days." Dreyer said. "That's how long it took me to uncover this. Seven. Days."

That's not possible. It's –

"Although other possibilities existed, such as the Batman being your driver, butler, or perhaps even a secret roommate, no other candidate matched the exact height and physical build as you."

"As amusing as it would be to watch you scurry around in the shadows in some attempt to uncover the mastermind behind your recent woes – it has dragged on for long enough, with your absolutely disappointing performance which makes me laugh when I hear your epithet of World's Greatest Detective."

Dreyer outstretched his hands.

"Hence – it is I."

It took a second for it to click.

"You – you're the one responsible for the investigations – the allegations of fraud and tax evasion."

"You are guilty of fraud Mr. Wayne. You have misappropriated millions of dollars from your own company for the purpose of vigilantism, and under the guise of 'miscellaneous expenses' that neither your investors nor board are aware of. While I'm sure you believe your intentions were noble, it is no different from the C.E.O. of a company deciding to take millions out of it to sponsor a voyage of bikini-clad college girls on a trip to find Atlantis, and then claiming it was 'a necessary expense.'"

Dreyer shook his head. "Regardless, my goal is complete. I have reduced the credibility of your name to a point that it is synonymous with hypocrisy and incompetence. Your stocks fell significantly after the allegations, and I purchased them, one after the other. As it stands, I am the majority shareholder of Wayne Enterprises, a company, which very soon, shall find itself merging with a much larger, much better – Legend Industries. And you, Mr. Wayne, shall find yourself enduring a lengthy trial and going to jail for a long, long time."

"Is that a threat?"

"No, Mr. Wayne. It's a half-completed checklist."

There were a lot of questions on his mind, but one stood out above every other.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because," he said, "I have nothing to fear from you."

"As far as the world is concerned, I am the savior of Gotham and you are its disgraced son. Should you go around spreading rumors of me being some criminal mastermind, at best, people will assume it is a bad joke and will chide you on making such utterances. At worst, they will assume you are merely a drowning man attempting to drag others into the depths with him. Your name will only be dragged further in the mud as your reputation plummets and never rises."

He smiled.

"And should your 'friends' decide to pay me a visit, it would be on what grounds? They cannot arrest me – they do not possess that authority. They cannot make claims or assertions without any proof or justifiable evidence, and even if they do have that, I can acquire the best team of lawyers in the world and walk out a free man with the image of someone undergoing false persecution, whilst their credibility plummets."

Bruce hated every word that came from his mouth. He had never hated the truth before.

"The only way you can stop me, is either through equally dubious means, making you no better than I am –or, it would be to kill me." Dreyer slowly pocketed his handkerchief. "But as we both know – you do not believe that it is your right to decide who lives and who dies."

Makarov Dreyer stretched his hands and checked his watch. "As I have breakfast to attend with someone important, this is the end of our meeting. Goodbye, Mr. Wayne. I will not be seeing you at the trial."

Dreyer clapped twice.

"Hand Mr. Wayne over to the authorities, and let due diligence be done."

"Wait," Bruce called. "Why? Why are you doing this? You've been making Gotham better, you genuinely want to improve it. So why go to such lengths to remove me from the picture?"

Makarov Dreyer stood at the door, hesitating for a second, before smiling.

"I'm not a comic book villain Mr. Wayne. You don't have to know my reasons."

The door slammed shut behind him, a needle plunged itself back into Bruce's neck, and the world went dark.

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

Kansas

December 1st

5:01 AM

Blood. Blood everywhere.

No matter where she looked, she saw them. Men, women – dying. Their breaths came out in raspy gasps, their eyes widened beyond all human possibility. They reached out to her – as she stood, alone, being encroached by them.

"H-Help… us…"

She tried. She tried.

But she didn't. Couldn't. She was frozen in place, watching, as one by one, violently and without warning, ribcages tore open from chests in a mash of blood and flesh. They screamed. She screamed. The pumping red organ, still covered in thick, flowing blood, flew out from their confines. They all landed on her, shot towards her – covering her in it – burying her amidst a thousand hearts.

She couldn't breathe. Her hand went up, grasping, pleading, for someone, anyone to come and save her –

And then a young man appeared on top the mound. Demonic blonde hair, fangs, and horrifying glowing eyes.

"Hello Batgirl – are you ready to continue from where we left off?"

And she was pinned again. Head deep inside water – drowning, suffocating – as clawed hands reached for her behind, tearing aside her outfit –

"This time…" the voice chuckled "We're going all the way~"

No –

No –

"STOP! STOP!"

"Barbara!"

"GET OFF ME! GET OFF ME!"

"Barbara calm down!"

It took her a few seconds to get full control of her bearings, panting desperately, her eyes squinted in the darkness – and she froze when she saw blonde hair.

"No – you –"

Crippling fear overcame her as she lunged forward, a desperate roar escaping her lips as she tackled the blonde to the ground. Her hands quickly grasped around the slender neck, ready to choke the life out of –

"Barbara!"

She made out the voice – it was – feminine. Slowly, she came to the realization that the neck was far too sturdy to be human, and far too slender to belong to a male. Recognition overcame her as the blonde hair revealed itself – long, far too long, and the face was soft – too soft, feminine.

"K-K-Kara?"

The realization as to who she was attacking hit her like a wave of cold water. "Ohmygod – Kara – I'm – I'm so, so sorry – I –" She quickly got off the girl, her entire body soaked with sweat, her breathing still unsteady.

"It's alright," Kara murmured. "It takes a lot to actually choke me to death." The blonde girl looked uncertain. "You were… screaming in your sleep."

Her blood went chilled. "I – I'm so sorry – did I wake you up – your folks –"

Kara shook her head. "It's just me and Aunt Martha here Barbara. She's a really sound sleeper."

Barbara took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh of relief. In lieu of the suddenly prominent anti-vigilantism movement, she'd been invited as a guest into the Kent home, to stay and regain her bearings and be safe from significant danger whilst the Justice League thought about what to do about it – not that they could do anything with their hands busy against the Spectre.

She didn't want to spit on that generosity with her problems, and as Gotham City was finding itself lacking a need for heroes more and more, she'd never felt so… lost before.

"Barbara – are you – are you okay?"

She let out a tired smile. "I'm fine – it's just – with everything that's happened so far –" She shook her head. "I'll – I'll get it out of my system."

Kara still looked uncertain. "What is it, Kara?"

"The way you were screaming – and the way you reacted when I woke you –" Her blood ran cold again. "Barbara – did someone… did someone…"

Mocking laughter. Head under water. Hand caressing her nether regions, stroking against her sensitive parts. Her struggle increasing to desperation.

A mocking smile.

"I stole your panties."

"I-I don't want to talk about it."

Kara took in a sharp breath. "Barbara, if you were ra –"

"I wasn't."

It was more forceful than she intended.

"Barbara –"

Her friend nodded in slow understanding, before moving to embrace her in a tight hug. She was holding back the most of her strength, and yet, Barbara felt herself unable to escape the tight embrace.

"You know you can tell me anything right?"

"I know."

"And if you need to get anything off your chest?"

"You'll be here."

"You bet I will."

There was so much she wanted to get off her chest. So much she wanted to say. She wanted to curl up into a ball and scream until her voice went hoarse. She did none of these things. She couldn't afford to do any of these things. Not now. Probably not ever.

"You're… scared that this guy is still out there, aren't you?"

Her body went rigid.

"This… Consultant. You don't think he's dead either, do you?"

She didn't want to admit it. She didn't even want to consider the possibility. But she knew for certain that it was true.

"No." She said, gritting her teeth "He – he's still out there."

The Justice League had been sketchy about it, in the same way they had flat out refused Nightwing, Robin and her from seeing Bruce. They suspected that the Consultant had somehow survived – that he was somehow still out there, despite turning his own body into a bomb.

It worried her.

She squeezed Kara tighter than before, as tight as she could just so she could have some form of comfort. The thought – the realization that the Consultant was supposedly a teenager even younger than her – it didn't bring her peace. It didn't give her comfort. It only made her more scared. Someone that young was that monstrous, and no doubt filled to the brim with all sorts of hormones which will impair any good judgment. What sort of monster would he become when he aged to an adult? When he reached his thirties?

"Do you want… revenge?"

Revenge? No – no – that was not the path that Bruce had taught her. That was not the path that her father had taught her. What she wanted to see, was justice – justice rendered and served.

"He killed all those people and crippled Bruce – but, no – I want to see him put behind bars for what he did."

Kara's grip went slightly tighter. "We will."

"Thank you Kara."

In the end, things would get better. As long as they had hope, Bruce would find a way to bounce back, the anti-vigilantism movement would die out, and everything would return to normal.

Everything would return to normal.

~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition ~~~~~~

Makarov Dreyer's Mansion

Gotham City

1st December

9:24 AM

He was not pleased.

"Eva, I'd like you to meet my butler and second-in-command."

Regardless of his personal feelings on the matter, there was no reason for him to voice his displeasure. Rather, he performed to the best of his ability the role that was expected of him. A formal bow, a tilt of his head, and possessing the air and grace of the gentleman he was supposed to be, he saluted her.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mistress Eva. I am Nezumi, and I serve Master Zack."

"I didn't know you had a butler." The woman, clad in a towel, hanging off the side of his master, opened her mouth to display her ignorance.

"He died when I fought against god's vengeance – long story – so when I went back in time to save you, I made tiny changes to bring him back."

Indeed, he still remembered his failure to protect his master. He remembered how he stood before that being known as the Spectre, and he failed. He – failed! The failure to protect his creator burned an ineffable hole in the center of his being. It spurned him to find ways and manners to ensure that he would never fail his master again, to ensure that his master's goals would all be accomplished without fail, to ensure, without a doubt, that his master never stood alone.

Indeed, he knew that his master had gone back in time in order to preserve him. There was an extra enchantment carved into his soul that did not exist before: Heracles' Law. An enchantment, which if he recalled from the memories of his master and the fictional worlds he loved, originated from a fictional counterpart of the ancient Greco-Roman Hero, Heracles. The enchantment made it so he possessed twelve lives, and each time he died, he could no longer be killed by the same thing that previously destroyed him.

The enchantment had not affected history, for Nezumi had never died before. His first life was taken at the hands of the Spectre, and now, he would not let that happen again. He would not! He would not fail against the spirit, and if tasked by his master to ascend past the heavens and fight with god himself, Nezumi would charge without hesitation.

"Nezumi, this is Eva. She's –"

"Your mother, yes, I am aware Master Zack."

"Well, she's technically more than that."

His master kissed Delilah. The Jezebel gave him a smile that Nezumi would never give to begging man, dying of an incurable disease. Something sparked at him, and it burned at him to ask, to question it, because there was no way his master should not have been able to see it. There was no way, his master, who manipulated the emotions of the fickle-minded humans around him and possessed goals far beyond what their ice-cube sized brains could comprehend.

Could this woman even understand the vastness of his master's plans? Did she grasp the scale and scope of the revolutionary change that the man she so carelessly caressed was capable of? Did she even possess an iota of interest in the manner of which he would accomplish his goals? Did she intend to aid him in those goals, or was her designation permanently intended to be the femme fatale whose only function was to offer advice in hindsight and drain his master of seed?

"Is something wrong, Nezumi?"

The immaculate butler did not hesitate. "My apologies Master Zack, I am merely… curious, as to the manner in which Mistress Eva will be included in your plans."

"Plans?" the Jezebel asked, continuing to display her ignorance at an alarming rate.

"Master Zack's plans for world optimization." He clarified. "Starting with Gotham City, and ultimately ending in a glorious galactic warfare where he stands supreme above all beings in the Universe."

The Jezebel detached her arm from him. "…what?"

His master provided him a look that conveyed annoyance. "I was going to get around to telling you about that, before Nezumi managed to spoil the surprise."

"Wait, what? You – you have a plan to conquer the world? Like – like some action movie villain?"

"Optimize." Nezumi corrected. "Conquering the world is a task Master Zack can accomplish in his sleep. Optimizing the world however, is far different, and something no... action movie villain has the brainpower or nuance to achieve effectively."

"You're rather chatty today Nezumi." His master provided him with another long look. He did not falter.

"Apologies, Master Zack – I merely assumed Mistress Eva would want to know of all your achievements till date, in order to truly understand the scope of what you have done, and how impressive it is."

"More impressive than having a billionaire alter-ego at seventeen?"

The effort he utilized to keep from retorting bitterly to such an asinine question would have powered Gotham for years. "Yes."

There was a familiar Ping!

His master seemed to have received a new quest notification. His weekly meetings with the young Evelyn. There was a functional, fully capable individual who provided merit to his master in the form of intellectual stimulation. The boy, Lucian, provided his master with knowledge of the mindset of his demographic age of such individuals in Gotham, and the woman, Naomi, was an acceptable source of stress relief that his master could utilize. That family was more than enough, and each one contributed something to him without taking something from him. He could not say the same for the Jezebel.

"That reminds me… I've got to figure out how to introduce you to Naomi and her family. They don't really 'know' about my magic yet."

"Purity has kids?"

"Well she doesn't go by Purity anymore, and yes, she has two. One of them was named after you."

The Jezebel smirked. "Did you sleep with her?"

"She's thirteen."

"…And?"

"I'm not going to have sex with a thirteen year old girl."

The Jezebel grinned. "Just pretend your genders are reversed. Problem solved."

"I… that's… wait, are you trolling me again?"

The Delilah smiled. "Am I?"

Nezumi cleared his throat. "Very well Master Zack, it would not be wise to leave a young woman waiting. In the meanwhile, I shall give Mistress Eva a tour of the City and acquire her a new wardrobe to suite her tastes."

"Did someone say, shopping?!"

His master grinned. "Thanks Nezumi. Make sure she feels right at home, and give her anything she asks."

Bowing, as he should, he responded. "As you command, Master Zack."

His master kissed the Delilah, tongues battling for several seconds before he smiled at her in a manner that Nezumi found physically revolting.

"I'll be back soon! Love you!"

The portal that split space opened, and his master stepped through. The Delilah blew him a kiss, and once he caught it in an exaggerated manner across his chest, it closed. The Dreyer Mansion was thus left only to himself and her.

"So when does our shopping trip start? There are sooo many things I want to buy –"

"It does not."

The woman blinked. Clearly she was nowhere near the intellectual genius his master was.

"I don't understand."

"Master Zack is incapable of seeing it, which I assume is caused by his childhood obsession with you that recedes his emotional intelligence to that of a toddler with a rattle." Nezumi began. "However, I am not quite so blind. Master Zack is a phenomenal man, but he does have his flaws and he is prone to error. As his Butler, no, as his creation – I am here to ensure those errors do not become fatal."

"I – I'm not sure I understand where you're going with this."

Did he truly have to simplify things to the basest level?

"You have no emotional connection to Master Zack."

"What are you talking about? He's my son –"

"A relationship you possessed for no more than a year, and one in which you upheld zero responsibilities associated with a parental figure." Nezumi said.

He tapped the side of his head slowly. "Master Zack may forget, but he granted me access to all of his memories. He may also forget, but I have empathic powers granting upon me the ability to sense emotions."

He cracked his neck. The Jezebel flinched.

"Reviewing from what I have – you do not deserve to stand by Master Zack's side. You are not worthy to lick the sand that falls from his feet, yet alone fall on your knees and beg for his attention."

"That's –"

"I. Am. Not. Done. Talking."

The burst of killing intent was enough to send Delilah to her knees. Weak. So pitifully weak. This was the person who birthed his master, yet, she could not even withstand a fraction of a fraction of a decimal of his power? This was the person his master wanted to stand beside him as he conquered the universe?

"Master Zack is blinded to all your imperfections, so he fails to notice, or willfully ignores discrepancies in your behavior. The manner you hold him, like a professional escort guiding her partner. The manner you kiss him, an actress forced into a sex scene against her will."

He took two steps forward, and slowly adjusting his tie.

"You do not love him, and rather than admit this to his face – you choose to play a game of charades because you are terrified of losing the benefits derived from being with him, and terrified of the uncertainty of your future should he ever realize that the woman he loves feels nothing for him."

Jezebel shook like a leaf before him, and he felt his revulsion rise.

"There are two options before you now. You will listen to them, and you will decide, and if you so wish, you will tell Master Zack of this conversation. If you understand me, nod once."

Jezebel nodded.

"The first option is that you continue with this farce, you continue to contribute the barest minimum of affection to Master Zack, continue onwards for as much as you can until he eventually realizes it, however long that takes. He sees that your kisses are passionate, but never too passionate. Your concerns for his wellbeing are present, but never fully present. Your hugs are stilted, your smiles empty. Slowly, until he comes to realize the truth: you do not love him as he loves you – that you cannot, and that you pretended to do so, because you were scared of telling him the truth."

"The thing with you humans is that your emotions are easily inverted. Passionate love can so easily morph into fervent hatred. Although Master Zack will not kill you, for there is still love within him, he will remove you from existence. He will overwrite your soul until you become everything he wishes you to be, and you cease to be what you were. Then, he will make himself forget he ever did such, and he will continue, in blissful ignorance, in the fabricated love of his own making."

Jezebel's eyes widened.

"The second choice, is that you end this charade immediately. You tell him the truth, and you demand, no, you plead for him to understand. You explain to him that you cannot see him as anything more than a son, and end it. Yes, Master Zack may be hurt, my knowledge of your human emotions tells me that logic and emotion rarely parley, but in the long-run, you will have what you want. He will give you riches and send you away, where you can have a fresh start, and live your life of debauchery however you so desire."

It was almost effortless to see the turning cogs in her mind. No, not almost effortless, utterly effortless. She was an open book, a blatant screen, readable and visible for his complete understanding.

"I will not force you to make any decisions. However, know that if the decision you make is one that will in one-way or another, be the most long-term and damaging for Master Zack – know that I will take actions into my own hands, and even if it costs me my existence –I will end you."

The Jezebel was shaking.

"Do you understand?"

A simple nod. Nezumi straightened his back and properly adjusted his white gloves.

"Now, as for your new wardrobe, do you prefer Versace, Gucci, or Louis Vuitton?"