Chronology
Jul. 27th, 2006 01:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieBart has an interesting night jumping rooftops, Bruce enlists some aid in trying to track down a new face in Gotham, and Wally finds out just what sort of help he's offered to give in the future.
Chapter Seven: The Nocturnal Wildlife of Gotham City
The present
It was a bad idea, a very bad idea.
But they were doing it anyway.
Batman had just called from the cave, and tonight? He'd be there a while.
Tim knew there was a reason, in fact, many good reasons that Impulse didn't operate in Gotham. At all. Yet, there he was, handing him and extra grappling gun and demonstrating how to find a good spot to aim at.
"See that fire escape? Bad spot. The metal's thin, and it'd make a huge racket, even if you managed to land it. That one, though," he said, pointing out a studier metal staircase to the left, "that'd be perfect, if you aim up, near the dark windows. Never aim for lit windows, that's just asking for trouble."
"Uh-huh."
Tim had more to say, but Bart wasn't going to stick around for a lecture, and he'd immediately fired the line off, amazingly hitting it the first time, and was swinging away.
"Impulse. Right."
He shook his head and followed him, letting out a little whoop near the point in his arc where he was swinging the fastest and out the furthest, and did a couple leaps up the steps to where Bart was standing on the roof.
"Howabout here?" Bart asked excitedly.
"Stone ledge on the top story up to that wider ledge under..."
And Bart was already on his way; he hadn't waited for the grapple to connect, and Tim could already see it wasn't going to.
Tim leaped off the roof, firing up even as he plummeted after Bart, making his body more aerodynamic so he could catch him and fly up to safety. Bart was wide-eyed and watching the retreating ground with something like awe until Tim set him down and put his hands on his hips.
"You need to be careful!"
Bart looked like he wanted to retort, then realized there wasn't really anything to say to that.
Tim's com buzzed, and he shifted to one side as he tapped his ear.
"Robin, return to the cave."
"Be right there." Tim gave Bart an apologetic look. "I'm going to have to take the bike back. You'll be going right home, right?"
"I promise, I promise, I will," Bart said, nodding his head.
He didn't like the idea of leaving Bart alone in the city, but after all... he could hold his own. Right?
* * *
Bart had meant to go right home. Really, he had.
But Gotham at night, even to a creature of the day like Impulse, is a tantalizing thing. He was mesmerized by the billboards of Gazette Square and the smells of Chinatown's restaurant strip from a perch above Seventh Street.
He swung around to the East End, watching a group of kids play in the light of a street lamp above a brick apartment building's stone stoop. Marveled at how, just outside the circle of light, there was a dark-clothed group of teenagers milling in an alley. He'd read about these things, seen them, had them explained, but he didn't really understand.
Everything seemed okay.
"Hey kid."
Bart whirled around and took his best imitation of one of Tim's fighting stances. The guy he found standing there didn't seem very intimidated.
He just laughed, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Bart could even see him close his eyes while he was laughing, closed white lenses on a red mask.
"The irony is killing me," he monotoned, after he stopped laughing and just looked at Bart with a smirk.
He'd overheard Tim and Mr. Wayne and Wally talking about the bad guys in Gotham. But Bart couldn't remember anyone like this being on the list.
"Irony?"
"A literary..."
"I know what irony is," Bart said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I read it in a book."
"So he's literate. You want a sandwich?" The stranger pulled a couple of plastic bags out of his jacket, tossing one to Bart. "Not poisoned."
He sat up on the edge of the building, and began to eat a peanut butter sandwich. Bart looked at it suspiciously, then sat next to him. He pulled the sandwich out and sniffed it, took some cautious bites, then decided it wasn't poisoned, and began to eat it.
"So who are you?" Bart asked after he was finished. "Are you a superhero, too?"
"It's not really important yet," he replied.
"Huh?"
"Meh, nothing."
Bart frowned at him.
"So you're just going to say something all cryptic and stuff?"
"More or less." He grinned. "You're just going to have to wait, like everyone else."
"Everyone else?"
The stranger gestured vaguely at the sky, and Bart followed his direction, squinting up, but there didn't seem to be anything there.
"Romantic irony, without a drop of romance."
"A literary..."
"I'm sure you know what it is."
"You don't make any sense. You sound like Mi... this guy and stuff, and it just gives me a headache."
"Well, kid. That's why I like you."
"But I don't know who you are!"
"I wouldn't worry about it too much." He stood up and grinned. "Now run along home, it's gotta be past your bedtime."
Then he jumped off the roof, swinging down out of sight, followed by the distant roar of a motorcycle driving away.
Bart could have followed him. And was pretty tempted to follow him.
Instead, he ran home.
* * *
When Bart told Bruce that he'd made contact with the same man that had been eluding him for over a week now, he was overwhelmed with a wave of frustration. His city seemed to be helping to hide him, a talent she sometimes had.
Obviously, a different approach was needed.
And that brought Matches to a bar in Old Gotham the next afternoon, chewing on a matchstick and nursing coffee as he waited for an old friend.
Eel hadn't left Gotham; he'd dropped off the radar for the last few months, only to reappear, without any obvious mob connexions. Such things left Batman curious enough to find out why.
"Matches ya mug, nothin' stronger to drink?"
Bruce shook his head, and Eel left to lean over the bar and order a beer from the bored older man drying glasses, and returned with a triumphant sigh as he sat down.
"So, what brings you to call me up? Old times?"
"Not exactly," Bruce responded; in the Batman voice, low enough not to be heard by the barflies watching hockey.
Eel ran his finger along the inside of his collar and loosened his tie, shaking his head.
"You putrid punk," he whispered, "all this time, and all those shrookins bein' aimed at my family jewels..." He swallowed loudly. "So now what?"
He looked like he wanted to bolt, but wasn't sure if that was a good idea.
"I did a little research into what you've been up to for the past four months," Bruce said, spitting the matchstick into an ashtray. "You're not all that you appear either, Mr. O'Brian. A little more... flexible."
Eel sat back and sighed in resignation, looking up at the ceiling.
"So I'm busted."
"I couldn't help but notice you haven't been applying your talents to the families."
"Yeah, well, I want out. I got out." Eel took a long drink of his beer. "No more breakin' the law. So what do ya want?"
Bruce leaned forward on one arm, his other hand still cradling his cup of coffee.
"I'm looking for someone. Help point me in the right direction, and I might be able to help you."
"Help me what?"
"Apply your talents more constructively. I'm sure a man like you wouldn't mind being on TV, after all."
Bruce settled back as Eel frowned questioningly, then flipped up his white sunglasses and whispered conspiratorially.
"No. You're kiddin'."
"Do I look like I'd joke?"
"At the moment? Well, no, actully."
"I know you've already been up to some... extra-curricular activity. And I could always use another set of ears."
"So, you want me to jump from bein' your lackey without knowin' it to doin' it willingly?" Eel tipped his head to one side and smiled knowingly. "Your other ears seem plenny sharp enough."
He laughed and finished his beer, then shook his head again.
"You work those mugs jus' like down here, don't ya?"
"I'll be in touch, Mr. O'Brian." Bruce stood up and threw some cash on the table.
"An' somehow I'm certain of that."
* * *
'Of course I get this job tonight. Good grief.'
Tim swung onto the balcony and knocked on the glass window, bracing himself.
Knocking on this door, at this time of day, you never knew who was going to be answering.
He groaned as the yellow-skinned man flounced his red boa before pulling back the sliding glass.
"Well, you are a big kitty trapped on the ledge, now aren't you?"
"Robin. Bird, not feline," Tim replied dryly.
"Well well!" The Creeper jumped up on his coffee table, doing a hand-stand one-handed and cackling to himself. "And what can I do for you, little birdie?" He gasped theatrically, grasping his chest and leaping up with a look of exaggerated drama. "Is there peril? Dangers only I can combat in the dead of this winter night?"
Tim sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.
"I sure hope so," he continued, "I'd hate to think I got all dressed up with no place to go." The Creeper flounced his boa again and pouted.
"Just have some questions," Tim finally got in.
"OooOooOOOooOooh, questions!" He jumped up and began dangling from a light fixture on the ceiling that looked far too small to be able to support his weight, yet somehow was. "I can do questions!" He shifted into a parody of the voice his more sane half. "This is Jack Ryder, 6 o'clock news. Tonight, an exclusive interview with Gotham's most notorious citizen still too young to drink. Movie at 11!"
"There's a new face in town, and we'd like to know if you've seen it."
"I've seen lots of faces. I can see two right now."
"What?"
The Creeper pointed behind Tim, who quickly snapped around.
Sure enough, there on a balcony opposite him, a figure in a jacket saluted and vaulted onto the fire escape.
"Damnit."
He didn't bother to ask the Creeper to help, as it'd probably be more trouble than it'd be worth, just swung after him, following the sound of footsteps over metal as he leaped through the obstacle-course of stairways, flagpoles, and ledges trying to catch up.
"R to B, in pursuit of our mystery guest south of Ryder's apartment."
"ETA fifteen minutes," Batman's stern voice replied.
"I can be there in two," Batgirl chimed in.
Tim felt his breath growing quicker as he leaped up and swung to the next ledge. This guy was good; he wasn't gaining any distance on him at all.
He lost sight of him on the next rooftop, leaping down and readying a batarang as he walked cautiously forward.
"I'm just trying to say hi, there's no need for all that," the stranger said. Tim kept his eyes on the guy's hands, even as he held them away from his sides a little. "Can't we just be friends?"
Tim cocked his head to one side a little as he heard a feminine set of footsteps behind him.
"You got here quick."
"Well... I just want to be friends, too."
Catwoman.
Tim swiveled so he could keep both of them in sight, their newcomer slinking over with a smirk on her lips.
"We can be friends," the guy in the leather jacket said with a grin. "I think we could get along just fine."
"A theory worth testing," Catwoman replied.
They were both now ignoring Robin, taking on suggestive body language and tone that made him raise an eyebrow.
Taking advantage of his momentary bemusement, Catwoman snapped her whip at his feet, and set Tim flat on his back.
By the time he got up, both of them were gone; he wasn't sure, but he might have blacked out for a second when his head hit the roof. Tim rubbed the sore spot and sat up, just as Barbara was suddenly leaning over him with a look of curiosity and concern.
"What happened?"
"Uh... I'm not really sure." He frowned. "Yeah, definitely not sure."
* * *
Bruce left his board meeting last, once the rest of the members had filed out in low conversation and a few chuckles, with a leather-bound folder under his arm.
By then, he'd managed another neutrally pleasant expression to walk through some of the rooms of cubicles and check in on a few employees of note. A few greetings and idle inquiries into how their spouses or children were doing, a few warm smiles that weren't entirely an act.
He was lost in thought as he made his way back to the elevator, and didn't see the messenger until they'd collided and parcels went all over the tile floor.
"So sorry about that!" he said, leaning down to help the kid collect them back into his satchel. "Just not paying much attention today."
"Oh, no worries."
They both got up, and Bruce's mind flared with recognition.
"Have we met?"
The kid couldn't be more than Tim's age, in a gray FedLex uniform, with black hair and a pair of dark sunglasses.
"Well, I get around on my route, you know."
Bruce nodded. If he wasn't mistaken, and he wasn't, he'd met this boy before, delivering a parcel to the manor.
"Bruce Wayne," he said, extending a hand.
"Yeah, I know," he replied with a grin, and took his hand, shaking it heartily. "My name's Jason. Nice to meet you."
* * *
The 22nd century
The Bats, being their predictably clever selves, had easily connected Bart and Wally's respective com-links to their own system, keeping in contact as they'd all left the cave to meet up on the roof of Fox Labs.
It only took them a little under a minute to both find the place, both crouching and looking around as they stayed out of sight. Victoria, of course, had gotten there first, waving them over to a perch overlooking an empty loading dock. Or something close to it.
She had her cowl up now, her hair sticking up through it with a familiar windblown quality to it, and a deadly serious look on her face.
Victor landed silently on the roof a few moments later, and joined them, taking a familiar hunched pose, surrounded by his cape.
"What are we looking for?" Wally whispered.
"We're not," Victor replied.
"We're waiting for someone," Victoria added.
"Not late, am I?" Wally and Bart looked over at the new arrival... and Wally blinked a little.
His uniform was like Batman and Shadow's, stylistic lines of armour in green, red, and black under a yellow-lined black cape he gathered around him as he joined them. At first, Wally could have sworn it was Tim... but his jaw was a little sharper, with a flash of a pointy ear under black hair and familiar look of determination behind a green domino mask.
"Robin, Flashes. Flashes, Robin," Victor said. "What do you have?"
"Superman's going to be here. I left the bait communication on the 'Net, he knows we'll be here." Robin looked over at Wally and Bart and nodded, "hey."
"You say Superman's here?" Wally whispered.
"Not exactly," Victoria said, "not the Superman you mean, anyway."
"He's a clone that has taken on that name for some time now. Operates out of Metropolis," Victor said.
"A clone? And we're meeting him here?"
"Not exactly," Victoria replied.
"We're fighting him here," Victor clarified resignedly.
"We're fighting Superman?" Bart and Wally asked in unison. "No way."
"Unfortunately, yes," Victoria said with a nod.
"He was programmed with a keyword that would activate a series of commands. It's been dormant for a rather lengthly career," Victor said, then gritted his teeth in a Batman-like show of frustration.
Apparently time hadn't changed the Supes and Bats mutual alliance and distrust paradigm, even through generations. No doubt there'd been some I-told-you-sos involved with this revelation.
"Someone set it off? What does it make him do?" Wally asked.
Victor flipped open a small console on his gauntlet, read something on a screen, and closed it again, prompting him to stand, and the rest to follow suit.
"It makes him hunt Bats," he said roughly. "Fan out. He's coming."
* * *
22nd Century Robin by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
batfan_sarah
Chapter Seven: The Nocturnal Wildlife of Gotham City
The present
It was a bad idea, a very bad idea.
But they were doing it anyway.
Batman had just called from the cave, and tonight? He'd be there a while.
Tim knew there was a reason, in fact, many good reasons that Impulse didn't operate in Gotham. At all. Yet, there he was, handing him and extra grappling gun and demonstrating how to find a good spot to aim at.
"See that fire escape? Bad spot. The metal's thin, and it'd make a huge racket, even if you managed to land it. That one, though," he said, pointing out a studier metal staircase to the left, "that'd be perfect, if you aim up, near the dark windows. Never aim for lit windows, that's just asking for trouble."
"Uh-huh."
Tim had more to say, but Bart wasn't going to stick around for a lecture, and he'd immediately fired the line off, amazingly hitting it the first time, and was swinging away.
"Impulse. Right."
He shook his head and followed him, letting out a little whoop near the point in his arc where he was swinging the fastest and out the furthest, and did a couple leaps up the steps to where Bart was standing on the roof.
"Howabout here?" Bart asked excitedly.
"Stone ledge on the top story up to that wider ledge under..."
And Bart was already on his way; he hadn't waited for the grapple to connect, and Tim could already see it wasn't going to.
Tim leaped off the roof, firing up even as he plummeted after Bart, making his body more aerodynamic so he could catch him and fly up to safety. Bart was wide-eyed and watching the retreating ground with something like awe until Tim set him down and put his hands on his hips.
"You need to be careful!"
Bart looked like he wanted to retort, then realized there wasn't really anything to say to that.
Tim's com buzzed, and he shifted to one side as he tapped his ear.
"Robin, return to the cave."
"Be right there." Tim gave Bart an apologetic look. "I'm going to have to take the bike back. You'll be going right home, right?"
"I promise, I promise, I will," Bart said, nodding his head.
He didn't like the idea of leaving Bart alone in the city, but after all... he could hold his own. Right?
Bart had meant to go right home. Really, he had.
But Gotham at night, even to a creature of the day like Impulse, is a tantalizing thing. He was mesmerized by the billboards of Gazette Square and the smells of Chinatown's restaurant strip from a perch above Seventh Street.
He swung around to the East End, watching a group of kids play in the light of a street lamp above a brick apartment building's stone stoop. Marveled at how, just outside the circle of light, there was a dark-clothed group of teenagers milling in an alley. He'd read about these things, seen them, had them explained, but he didn't really understand.
Everything seemed okay.
"Hey kid."
Bart whirled around and took his best imitation of one of Tim's fighting stances. The guy he found standing there didn't seem very intimidated.
He just laughed, and stuck his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket. Bart could even see him close his eyes while he was laughing, closed white lenses on a red mask.
"The irony is killing me," he monotoned, after he stopped laughing and just looked at Bart with a smirk.
He'd overheard Tim and Mr. Wayne and Wally talking about the bad guys in Gotham. But Bart couldn't remember anyone like this being on the list.
"Irony?"
"A literary..."
"I know what irony is," Bart said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "I read it in a book."
"So he's literate. You want a sandwich?" The stranger pulled a couple of plastic bags out of his jacket, tossing one to Bart. "Not poisoned."
He sat up on the edge of the building, and began to eat a peanut butter sandwich. Bart looked at it suspiciously, then sat next to him. He pulled the sandwich out and sniffed it, took some cautious bites, then decided it wasn't poisoned, and began to eat it.
"So who are you?" Bart asked after he was finished. "Are you a superhero, too?"
"It's not really important yet," he replied.
"Huh?"
"Meh, nothing."
Bart frowned at him.
"So you're just going to say something all cryptic and stuff?"
"More or less." He grinned. "You're just going to have to wait, like everyone else."
"Everyone else?"
The stranger gestured vaguely at the sky, and Bart followed his direction, squinting up, but there didn't seem to be anything there.
"Romantic irony, without a drop of romance."
"A literary..."
"I'm sure you know what it is."
"You don't make any sense. You sound like Mi... this guy and stuff, and it just gives me a headache."
"Well, kid. That's why I like you."
"But I don't know who you are!"
"I wouldn't worry about it too much." He stood up and grinned. "Now run along home, it's gotta be past your bedtime."
Then he jumped off the roof, swinging down out of sight, followed by the distant roar of a motorcycle driving away.
Bart could have followed him. And was pretty tempted to follow him.
Instead, he ran home.
When Bart told Bruce that he'd made contact with the same man that had been eluding him for over a week now, he was overwhelmed with a wave of frustration. His city seemed to be helping to hide him, a talent she sometimes had.
Obviously, a different approach was needed.
And that brought Matches to a bar in Old Gotham the next afternoon, chewing on a matchstick and nursing coffee as he waited for an old friend.
Eel hadn't left Gotham; he'd dropped off the radar for the last few months, only to reappear, without any obvious mob connexions. Such things left Batman curious enough to find out why.
"Matches ya mug, nothin' stronger to drink?"
Bruce shook his head, and Eel left to lean over the bar and order a beer from the bored older man drying glasses, and returned with a triumphant sigh as he sat down.
"So, what brings you to call me up? Old times?"
"Not exactly," Bruce responded; in the Batman voice, low enough not to be heard by the barflies watching hockey.
Eel ran his finger along the inside of his collar and loosened his tie, shaking his head.
"You putrid punk," he whispered, "all this time, and all those shrookins bein' aimed at my family jewels..." He swallowed loudly. "So now what?"
He looked like he wanted to bolt, but wasn't sure if that was a good idea.
"I did a little research into what you've been up to for the past four months," Bruce said, spitting the matchstick into an ashtray. "You're not all that you appear either, Mr. O'Brian. A little more... flexible."
Eel sat back and sighed in resignation, looking up at the ceiling.
"So I'm busted."
"I couldn't help but notice you haven't been applying your talents to the families."
"Yeah, well, I want out. I got out." Eel took a long drink of his beer. "No more breakin' the law. So what do ya want?"
Bruce leaned forward on one arm, his other hand still cradling his cup of coffee.
"I'm looking for someone. Help point me in the right direction, and I might be able to help you."
"Help me what?"
"Apply your talents more constructively. I'm sure a man like you wouldn't mind being on TV, after all."
Bruce settled back as Eel frowned questioningly, then flipped up his white sunglasses and whispered conspiratorially.
"No. You're kiddin'."
"Do I look like I'd joke?"
"At the moment? Well, no, actully."
"I know you've already been up to some... extra-curricular activity. And I could always use another set of ears."
"So, you want me to jump from bein' your lackey without knowin' it to doin' it willingly?" Eel tipped his head to one side and smiled knowingly. "Your other ears seem plenny sharp enough."
He laughed and finished his beer, then shook his head again.
"You work those mugs jus' like down here, don't ya?"
"I'll be in touch, Mr. O'Brian." Bruce stood up and threw some cash on the table.
"An' somehow I'm certain of that."
'Of course I get this job tonight. Good grief.'
Tim swung onto the balcony and knocked on the glass window, bracing himself.
Knocking on this door, at this time of day, you never knew who was going to be answering.
He groaned as the yellow-skinned man flounced his red boa before pulling back the sliding glass.
"Well, you are a big kitty trapped on the ledge, now aren't you?"
"Robin. Bird, not feline," Tim replied dryly.
"Well well!" The Creeper jumped up on his coffee table, doing a hand-stand one-handed and cackling to himself. "And what can I do for you, little birdie?" He gasped theatrically, grasping his chest and leaping up with a look of exaggerated drama. "Is there peril? Dangers only I can combat in the dead of this winter night?"
Tim sighed heavily and rolled his eyes.
"I sure hope so," he continued, "I'd hate to think I got all dressed up with no place to go." The Creeper flounced his boa again and pouted.
"Just have some questions," Tim finally got in.
"OooOooOOOooOooh, questions!" He jumped up and began dangling from a light fixture on the ceiling that looked far too small to be able to support his weight, yet somehow was. "I can do questions!" He shifted into a parody of the voice his more sane half. "This is Jack Ryder, 6 o'clock news. Tonight, an exclusive interview with Gotham's most notorious citizen still too young to drink. Movie at 11!"
"There's a new face in town, and we'd like to know if you've seen it."
"I've seen lots of faces. I can see two right now."
"What?"
The Creeper pointed behind Tim, who quickly snapped around.
Sure enough, there on a balcony opposite him, a figure in a jacket saluted and vaulted onto the fire escape.
"Damnit."
He didn't bother to ask the Creeper to help, as it'd probably be more trouble than it'd be worth, just swung after him, following the sound of footsteps over metal as he leaped through the obstacle-course of stairways, flagpoles, and ledges trying to catch up.
"R to B, in pursuit of our mystery guest south of Ryder's apartment."
"ETA fifteen minutes," Batman's stern voice replied.
"I can be there in two," Batgirl chimed in.
Tim felt his breath growing quicker as he leaped up and swung to the next ledge. This guy was good; he wasn't gaining any distance on him at all.
He lost sight of him on the next rooftop, leaping down and readying a batarang as he walked cautiously forward.
"I'm just trying to say hi, there's no need for all that," the stranger said. Tim kept his eyes on the guy's hands, even as he held them away from his sides a little. "Can't we just be friends?"
Tim cocked his head to one side a little as he heard a feminine set of footsteps behind him.
"You got here quick."
"Well... I just want to be friends, too."
Catwoman.
Tim swiveled so he could keep both of them in sight, their newcomer slinking over with a smirk on her lips.
"We can be friends," the guy in the leather jacket said with a grin. "I think we could get along just fine."
"A theory worth testing," Catwoman replied.
They were both now ignoring Robin, taking on suggestive body language and tone that made him raise an eyebrow.
Taking advantage of his momentary bemusement, Catwoman snapped her whip at his feet, and set Tim flat on his back.
By the time he got up, both of them were gone; he wasn't sure, but he might have blacked out for a second when his head hit the roof. Tim rubbed the sore spot and sat up, just as Barbara was suddenly leaning over him with a look of curiosity and concern.
"What happened?"
"Uh... I'm not really sure." He frowned. "Yeah, definitely not sure."
Bruce left his board meeting last, once the rest of the members had filed out in low conversation and a few chuckles, with a leather-bound folder under his arm.
By then, he'd managed another neutrally pleasant expression to walk through some of the rooms of cubicles and check in on a few employees of note. A few greetings and idle inquiries into how their spouses or children were doing, a few warm smiles that weren't entirely an act.
He was lost in thought as he made his way back to the elevator, and didn't see the messenger until they'd collided and parcels went all over the tile floor.
"So sorry about that!" he said, leaning down to help the kid collect them back into his satchel. "Just not paying much attention today."
"Oh, no worries."
They both got up, and Bruce's mind flared with recognition.
"Have we met?"
The kid couldn't be more than Tim's age, in a gray FedLex uniform, with black hair and a pair of dark sunglasses.
"Well, I get around on my route, you know."
Bruce nodded. If he wasn't mistaken, and he wasn't, he'd met this boy before, delivering a parcel to the manor.
"Bruce Wayne," he said, extending a hand.
"Yeah, I know," he replied with a grin, and took his hand, shaking it heartily. "My name's Jason. Nice to meet you."
The 22nd century
The Bats, being their predictably clever selves, had easily connected Bart and Wally's respective com-links to their own system, keeping in contact as they'd all left the cave to meet up on the roof of Fox Labs.
It only took them a little under a minute to both find the place, both crouching and looking around as they stayed out of sight. Victoria, of course, had gotten there first, waving them over to a perch overlooking an empty loading dock. Or something close to it.
She had her cowl up now, her hair sticking up through it with a familiar windblown quality to it, and a deadly serious look on her face.
Victor landed silently on the roof a few moments later, and joined them, taking a familiar hunched pose, surrounded by his cape.
"What are we looking for?" Wally whispered.
"We're not," Victor replied.
"We're waiting for someone," Victoria added.
"Not late, am I?" Wally and Bart looked over at the new arrival... and Wally blinked a little.
His uniform was like Batman and Shadow's, stylistic lines of armour in green, red, and black under a yellow-lined black cape he gathered around him as he joined them. At first, Wally could have sworn it was Tim... but his jaw was a little sharper, with a flash of a pointy ear under black hair and familiar look of determination behind a green domino mask.
"Robin, Flashes. Flashes, Robin," Victor said. "What do you have?"
"Superman's going to be here. I left the bait communication on the 'Net, he knows we'll be here." Robin looked over at Wally and Bart and nodded, "hey."
"You say Superman's here?" Wally whispered.
"Not exactly," Victoria said, "not the Superman you mean, anyway."
"He's a clone that has taken on that name for some time now. Operates out of Metropolis," Victor said.
"A clone? And we're meeting him here?"
"Not exactly," Victoria replied.
"We're fighting him here," Victor clarified resignedly.
"We're fighting Superman?" Bart and Wally asked in unison. "No way."
"Unfortunately, yes," Victoria said with a nod.
"He was programmed with a keyword that would activate a series of commands. It's been dormant for a rather lengthly career," Victor said, then gritted his teeth in a Batman-like show of frustration.
Apparently time hadn't changed the Supes and Bats mutual alliance and distrust paradigm, even through generations. No doubt there'd been some I-told-you-sos involved with this revelation.
"Someone set it off? What does it make him do?" Wally asked.
Victor flipped open a small console on his gauntlet, read something on a screen, and closed it again, prompting him to stand, and the rest to follow suit.
"It makes him hunt Bats," he said roughly. "Fan out. He's coming."
22nd Century Robin by
batfan_sarah
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on 2006-07-27 05:45 am (UTC)I miss Plas.
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on 2006-07-27 06:03 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-07-27 06:05 am (UTC)That is all I can say, just that. o_o I am so stunned by all the twists in this story right now and all the canony-but-not-so-canony stuff you're putting in. Gah, I can't keep up!
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on 2006-07-27 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
on 2006-07-27 08:03 am (UTC)::whimpers::
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on 2006-07-27 10:19 pm (UTC)Just a little. ;)
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on 2006-07-27 12:50 pm (UTC)"It makes him hunt Bats." He said roughly. "Fan out. He's coming."
EEEP!!
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on 2006-07-27 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-07-27 09:52 pm (UTC)"It makes him hunt Bats." He said roughly. "Fan out. He's coming."
I am fearful, and excited, because HELLS YES battle.
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on 2006-07-27 10:24 pm (UTC)And that everyone's all about that last line. ::victory dance::
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on 2006-07-27 11:20 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2006-07-27 11:24 pm (UTC)