Project: Gamer Ver. 2 Alpha Build 0.Fish.1
Disclaimer Me Do: I own nothing you recognize. And most of what you don't recognize, I still don't own.
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01/04/2024 (AF)
The night was wet and miserable, rain poured from the heavens in a ceaseless torrent that soaked the city. Trying and failing to wash away its countless sins.
From the rooftop of a nearby building, the Batman glared with narrowed eyes at the sight of a man, sitting in a lawn chair next to the skylight atop the Gotham City Police Department, sipping at a takeout coffee cup while the floodlight burned the Bat Symbol into the heavy clouds overhead.
That was not Jim Gordon.
Jim Gordon was a thin man with salt and pepper hair, glasses that were held together more by tape than metal and carried with him a permanent stink of old coffee and cigarettes.
The man that was just sitting next to the light was none of those things. A hefty individual with curly brown hair and no glasses to cover his eyes, which glowed just enough that Batman could make them out from where he sat, perched next to a gargoyle.
The bat narrowed his eyes underneath of his cowl as he stared into the gaze of the other man.
Who... waved at him.
Batman pitched forward, dropping off of the roof he'd been situated on. He flipped forward, once, and his hand lashed out with his grappling gun. It fired off with a sharp 'Pfft!' and the hooks latched on to the ledge of the police station. With a harsh, grinding 'Whirr' it began to retract, arresting his downward momentum with a jerk and reversing it. The small motor worked with such force that Bruce actually managed to overshoot, slightly, to look as though he leaped over the edge.
A critical tool in his arsenal, it had more than one villain half-convinced that he could fly.
Batman dropped into a three point stance and turned his head up, fixing his glare on to the stranger.
"Bravo, bra-vo!" Who was clapping at him. "Well done! Would've been more impressive if I hadn't watched you do it. Four out of seven, easy."
"...Who are you?" Bruce asked, the lackadaisical attitude already wearing at his fraying patience.
The rains overhead were soaking through his cape and it... itched, faintly.
"Who is but a function of what, Batman," the stranger responded as he did... something and made a second cup of coffee appear in his free hand, which he held out to Bruce. "And what I am is a man with a question."
Bruce glared down at the offered cup, which the man shook a little as though he were trying to entice a child.
"It's your fa~vorite. Black and miserable, just like your li~fe."
Bruce's glare got a bit more intense, not that the man with the coffee seemed to notice. Notably, he did not accept the coffee.
"Alright, save it for my Batman, then," the man said as he let go of the coffee. It dropped about an inch before it disappeared, back into whatever place he'd pulled it from. "So, question. I just got back from Jump City-"
Bruce started, slightly, at hearing that. His eyes went wide under his cowl, his gaze searched across the man's face for a clue, any sign about his intentions.
"-and I noticed that, uh, Robin? Dick? You know, your son? He's fucking furious. What happened?"
"How do you...? Who are you!" Bruce demanded as he clenched his fists and bent his knees. One wrong word, one wrong move and he'd be ready to pummel the man who clearly knew too much about his life.
"Seriously, that's unimportant," the man said, as though he actually believed that. "I just want to know why your kid is doing his best to pretend that you don't exist. It, uh, it's giving him a lot of issues. Anger issues."
"It's none of your business," Bruce growled as he turned around. The stranger never bothered getting up and Bruce had more important things to deal with. The caped crusader stomped off and hopped off the roof-
Just to end up right back in front of the man in the lawn chair?
"Bruce? That was me asking." The man stood from his chair and, at his full height, actually stood a bit below Bruce's own impressive height of six foot two. "Don't make me demand the answer. Neither of us will like what happens afterwards."
Bruce, rather than answer, lunged forward with his fists. His first blow struck the stranger on the chin and-
The stranger didn't even move.
"...Hard way it is, then," the man said as Bruce leaped back, his hands reaching for his belt-
Where was his belt?!
The stranger stomped his foot on the roof and Bruce saw a sigil burn itself into the material. A thick, heavy aura fell on to the man's shoulders.
"What happened?" The man asked once more before the aura over the roof grew so heavy that it dropped Bruce to his knees. "SPEAK!"
"Bar-tgirl... miscarried..." Bruce tried to fight the command, he even partially succeeded in masking Barbara's name. "When the Joker... shot her."
"Well, that's unfor... wait..." the stranger spoke, his voice thoughtful.
The weight on Bruce's shoulders lessened with the entity's distraction, enough for him to look up at least.
"Dick's a bit young to be a father," the thing mumbled as Bruce shakily managed to get a foot under him. "But if it'd been his, there wouldn't be so much rage targeted at you..."
Bruce froze in the act of standing up as something alien and other fixed him in its gaze. His head jerked, his petrified muscles fighting against him as he turned to look at the creature pretending to be a human and saw two, yellow, slitted eyes glaring at him. Through him.
"...I only met Martha once, Bruce," the creature said. "But she would be disgusted with you."
The thing turned away from Bruce, casually walking back to his lawnchair.
"I guess you really are the hero Gotham deserves," it said as it folded the chair up and made it disappear, like it had the cup of coffee earlier. "Aren't you, Bruce?"
The thing disappeared. There wasn't a snap, crackle or pop to say it had left. Just... one second it existed, then the next it was gone.
Bruce, Batman... just took a second to breathe. As the seconds passed, he managed to fight the remaining weight that lingered on him to get to his feet.
He was silent and introspective as he shut off the massive light with his symbol on it, dropping the roof into cold, wet, darkness.
...He still didn't know who that was.
Or what happened to his utility belt!
