Chapter 301
Project: Gamer Ver. 2 Alpha Build 3.0.1
Disclaimer Me Do: I own nothing you recognize. And most of what you don't recognize, I still don't own.
_________________________________________________________________________
20/07/2003 (TT)
With a muffled 'Pft!', Batman's grappling hook fired off and he swung down towards the ground.
He didn't know who Tracy Whittaker was, how the man had figured out his identity, what his connection to Robin was-
And, more importantly, none of that actually mattered. Bruce didn't need some harebrained busybody barging into his life and demanding that he listen to them. If he wanted to deal with that, he got enough of it at home from Alfred.
Bruce arced over the ground, pressing the release on his very advanced, very expensive grappling system, and dropped into a roll to finish bleeding off momentum.
The Dark Knight growled as he got to his feet in an alley near the Clocktower, brushing bits of gravel and filth from his costume. Exiting the encounter in the way he had was... hasty and rushed. Bruce hadn't taken the time to get information, he'd left the conversation with nothing but questions.
But, the man consoled himself as he began to make way for the Batmobile, there was a reason for it.
He did not just pride himself on his control. Of self, of situation and of environment.
He -needed- control. He needed leverage. He needed...
(To not be a powerless child in a dark alley as blood flowed over the broken pavement.)
And Tracy Whittaker had appeared, somehow able to avoid all of the motion sensors Bruce had peppered throughout the Clock Tower. The way the man had talked to him, as though Bruce was supposed to listen, supposed to engage, supposed to defer-
Batman rolled to the side near the exit of the alley as something massive slammed down in front of where he'd been stalking. Its impact ripped up stone and sent rocks flying with a loud crash that had to have been heard all throughout the block.
And, if anyone did, somehow, miss it? The dozen or so car alarms going off would almost definitely wake them up.
From a crouch, Bruce sprang backwards to his feet, rising to his full height with a batarang held fast in one hand-
Just to pause in confusion at the sight before him. A massive, malformed man made of stone, easily seven feet tall with a tiny torso and massive, distended limbs.
And wings. Horrific bat wings that were far too small to have allowed the... thing to fly.
But worst of all was the face. A maw filled with thick fangs that jutted out from frozen lips in a familiar face.
Bruce stepped back, confused and wary, as the gargoyle he'd spent countless nights crouched beside stalked toward him.
"...What?" Batman asked as the beast stepped towards him. Its inhumanly long gait covered more distance with each step than Batman's did and the creature was soon upon him. It lunged!
And Batman rolled forward, slipping through the gap of its legs. He bolted, sprinting for the mouth of the alley as the beast clunked and thunked behind him. The Caped Crusader managed to twist his head to look behind him and nearly stopped when he saw the gargoyle's head swivel a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, its blank, stone eyes locking on to him.
Nope, Bruce mentally chanted as he turned out the alley and sprinted away while a light rain began to drizzle from overhead.
Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!
The night was supposed to be a calm, quiet evening spent watching Carmine Falcone to see if Bruce could figure out where the money from the man's protection rackets was being diverted to.
Alberto, Bruce suspected. Carmine's inept and sheltered son who didn't quite grasp that revenue streams worked best when they didn't dry up.
Bruce spared a glance backwards in his mad dash towards his vehicle just to see the gargoyle wrap its claws around the corner of the buildings strafing the alley and step out-
Bruce... wasn't sure what just happened.
One second he was running and the next? The next second, or maybe it was a good ten seconds later, and he was blinking stars out of his vision as he lay on his back while cold, refreshing rain landed on his face.
"...What?" Batman asked as he reached up to adjust his mask. "What hap-"
There was another gargoyle.
There was another gargoyle, standing directly in the direction he'd been running.
Even dazed, Batman still boasted one of the sharpest minds in Gotham. It barely took a moment for him to comprehend that he'd run directly into the second gargoyle while he'd been looking at the one behind him.
'Of course,' a foggy part of the man's mind supplied as he rolled away from the grasping claws of the second beast. 'There were four gargoyles on the roof...'
Four gargoyles. But Batman had only seen two.
How were they animated? How was Tracy tracking him? Going through so much effort, Batman somehow doubted that the man simply wanted to talk to him about Dick.
Bruce shook his head, clearing the fog from his mind as he avoided another clumsy grab by the second gargoyle. He needed to get to the Batmobile, he needed to make his escape, he needed-
A massive, granite claw wrapped around Batman's neck from behind. He had the first and second gargoyle in sight, so that'd make the third...
"Let go of me!" Bruce growled, the man dropping his batarang as he used both hands to try and pry loose the implacable grip on his neck. "Let go of-"
The first gargoyle grabbed his left arm, almost pulling it out of its socket as it locked both of its hands on Bruce's wrist and elbow.
Along the street, more than a few blinds were pulled to the side as people watched a trio of great, stone monsters manhandle Bruce between them.
The second gargoyle grabbed Bruce's right arm, its grip implacable as it unfolded his arm until it was mostly straight so it could hold him by his wrist and elbow.
He fought, of course. Bruce never stopped fighting. It just didn't seem to matter in the slightest.
Maybe, if he could reach his utility belt, one of his numerous gadgets or gizmos may have helped him. Which one, he couldn't be sure; he hadn't had enough time to prepare or plan. But surely something would have helped!
One intrepid child, his plans to steal the tires off the Batmobile on hold in the face of watching Batman be abducted by the three ugliest creatures he ever saw, could do little but stare in awe and confusion...
Before picking up his tire iron and hurrying back to where he saw the expensive black car parked with nobody to watch over it.
-----
The Gotham of two-thousand and three wasn't really much different from the Gotham of two-thousand and ten. Not to Alchemist's eyes.
It was still a miserable heap of depression trying to hide under the image of classic, industrial austerity.
The problem with that approach was that anyone who knew anything about history knew that the growth of industry carried a very heavy cost, a hidden expense that slowly stripped the humanity of the workforce as they toiled, their bodies breaking and their minds exhausted to meet the endless quotas and ever rising incompetence of their overlords.
The men and women working at the fish canneries, pulling nine or ten hour shifts to make up for lost production due to equipment failing from being overworked and under-maintained didn't have the energy to... well, be alive. Then there were the dockworkers, ostensibly under a union but that had long since succumbed to bureaucracy and only really existed to perpetuate itself rather than the dockworkers.
Of course, standing in the distance and claiming a significant presence in the skyline was Wayne Industries. Which covered Waynecorp, Wayneaggro, Wayne Pharmaceuticals...
The man exhaled sharply through his nose as he heard the sound of wings beating on the air.
When a pair of gargoyles dropped out of the sky, Batman held between them, Alchemist would admit to being a bit surprised. He hadn't necessarily expected them to succeed, truth be told. Batman...
Batman's greatest tool was preparation. And Alchemist, having a glut of spontaneous options, would not make for an easy foe.
"...Was this at all necessary?" Batman demanded, his voice a menacing hiss rather than some assumed growl.
"Would you prefer I turn up at the manor?" Alchemist asked before he shook his head and turned away to face the building Carmine Falcone was in, that Batman had been watching earlier. "I doubt Alfred would appreciate an unannounced guest. And I don't expect he'd appreciate what I have to say."
"I'd appreciate it if you weren't in my city!" Batman all but howled, his struggles within the granite grip of the gargoyles intensifying. "If you so much as look at Alfred, I'll-"
"Beat me black and blue and leave me in a hospital," Alchemist finished, cutting into Batman's tirade. "So I can rack up some horrible medical debts I can't pay off. So I get sued when I can't pay, my wages garnished, I'll take on overtime to make ends meet. Then my wife will leave, either because we can't afford to live like we used to or because she's lonely with me not being home from all the overtime. Then the divorce, I lose half of everything and my wages are further garnished. Child support would be fine but the alimony would just be insult on top of injury. Then I'll have two choices; I can work as a goon for one of the costumed freaks. Or I can find out how spicy a bullet tastes."
Alchemist turned around, his veiled gaze meeting Batman's.
"Now," the mage continued as he crossed his arms behind his back. "Shall we talk like adults, Bruce? Or would you rather make some more threats? I do have my whole evening clear."
"...Who are you?" Bruce demanded. There was less heat in his voice but the power play was clear enough that even Alchemist could see it.
"...Release his left arm," the wizard demanded with a frustrated sigh as he reached to his back, to the pouch that had come with his armor. He ignored the 'Tink!' of a batarang slamming into his helmet as he pulled out his wallet and extracted his I.D. which he handed over to the Caped Crusader.
The wizard turned back around as he left the man to come to his own conclusions.
Carmine, in the distance and through a pane of bulletproof glass, was rather busy. The elderly man was yelling at a sniveling, cowardly man-child. And he was using some rather colorful language, too.
"...This is from two-thousand and ten," Bruce said, a number of implications in his words.
"So it is," Alchemist blandly agreed. "Your ability to read never ceases to amaze me."
"Why are you here?" Batman asked, less heat in his voice. He almost sounded human! "How are you here?"
"I'm from a bit further afield than just the future, honestly. I come from a parallel Earth, an alternate reality. The time travel is..." Alchemist pursed his lips under his helmet as he considered how to explain that. "Once you breach the barriers separating realities, realities can be considered discrete objects in their own right. And, in that space between realities, time is just another axis which can be traversed. Provided, of course, that you have some means of locomotion which functions in a realm devoid of physics."
"That's how," Batman said. "You still haven't explained why you're here. In this reality, in my city, harassing me while I'm on the job!"
"A dear friend wants to collect something which will come into existence, unique to this reality." Alchemist was not about to explain that Jinx intended on stealing something from Robin, not at all. But that didn't mean the wizard needed to lie. "As for you, here and now? I need to talk to -you-. Not that vapid philanderer you wear outside during the day."
Alchemist inhaled slowly, silently as he gathered his thoughts.
"Bruce?" the mage asked as he turned around. "Your son was defenestrated and would have died, or at least been crippled, if he didn't have three teammates that could fly. When he was brought to my home, he and his teammates discussed retaking their tower. They talked about their foes, their theories on the powers and abilities of their enemies. Of what techniques or abilities they could bring to bear on overcoming the opposition."
Alchemist reached up and pulled his helmet free, letting Bruce see his face. Making sure the man saw Alchemist's yellow, slitted eyes as they bored into the blank lenses of the Batmask.
"Never, not once, did Dick mention asking you for help or advice. What happened?"
-----
Bruce slumped in the arms of the creatures holding him. The words the stranger had said bored deep into his mind.
He... His...
Dick had almost died, suffered the same fate as the other Graysons and Bruce hadn't known about it. Not yet.
"...He's not my son," Bruce managed to push out, the words ripping into his chest like shrapnel. "He made that very clear."
The golden yellow eyes that were locked on to Bruce's face didn't shift. The only emotion Bruce could really pull from Tracy was curiosity and that didn't change with Bruce's admission.
"Did he make that clear with his words?" the armored man asked as he raised one hand and snapped his fingers, commanding the gargoyle holding his right arm to let go. "Or with his actions?"
Bruce grabbed at his right wrist with his left hand, rubbing at the pins and needles sensation that ran up and down his arm, the uncomfortable feeling all too similar to radio static.
Batman took a moment to gather his thoughts and consider how he wanted to explain the situation. Meanwhile, Tracy just turned around, looking once more to the highrise that Carmine Falcone claimed as his own.
"...He said it very clearly," Bruce admitted as he stepped up next to the man that was interfering in his night. "He was screaming as he left that I was not his real father, that I had no right to decide his future."
"...Teenagers," Tracy muttered. "Smart enough to pick the most emotionally damaging options and too stupid to consider the consequences of their actions. I'm not looking forward to my daughter reaching that age, honestly." Tracy quietly sighed and Bruce found the lack of recrimination rather... strange. Especially given the effort the man had gone through to get him back atop the clocktower to answer questions. "What were you trying to do? Sign him up for extra-curriculars?"
"He... finished high school early. With honors. I'm, I... I was so proud of him." It felt strange for Bruce to say that. He'd never had a reason to say that before, never had a conversation, with anyone, where he could admit that. "I wanted him to put away 'Robin' and take a look at college. I wanted him to consider a life beyond..."
This.
Bruce had wanted his son to do more than just loiter atop a dark, abandoned building and stare at criminals in the late hours of the night.
"...College isn't for everyone," Tracy offered, then waved forward towards Carmine's office. "Right now? The Roman is lambasting Holiday, the Yale graduate, for being so stupid as to steal money to try and start up a hobo fighting ring. Holiday must have spent enough time in the women's study courses because he's attempting to appeal to his father's emotions. The Roman, however, has been rejecting his idiot son's points by using cold, hard facts."
Holiday?!
"You know who they are? How do you know what they're saying?" Bruce asked instead as he began to link the new possibility to various murders that had been happening in his city, members of the Falcone crime family dying with a multitude of small caliber bullet wounds burned into his memory.
"I have very good eyesight, Bruce, and lip reading is a skill that anyone can pick up with a bit of practice. The men in question would be Carmine Falcone, the Roman. Head of the Falcone crime syndicate. I'm hardly a fan of what he does but he at least pretends to have standards. He may or may not be Selina Kyle's father." Tracy nodded towards the building, far enough away that Bruce couldn't see anything without a scope or binoculars. "And his incompetent child, Alberto Falcone, the Holiday Killer. A cruel, petty man that uses a twenty-two pistol to kill his victims because he can't handle anything heavier and he's happy enough to see his victims slowly bleed out in agony."
Bruce closed his eyes as he considered what he'd been told.
"Is this knowledge from your reality?" Bruce asked. They were some very serious accusations, incredibly damning possibilities but there were no facts, no hard evidence to support them.
"It is," Tracy agreed without hesitation. "The multiverse, while being infinite in potential, is largely defined by the similarities between realities. Things may be different but, more often than not, they're really the same with a little twist."
Bruce considered that as the two of them stood in the rain. It was... potentially helpful. Or else it was a potential waste of time. At the very least it was another avenue for him to investigate.
"How is he?" Bruce found the words slipping out of his mouth. "My... Robin. How is he?"
He'd almost called Robin his son. The words, the title he knew the boy didn't want.
"Angry," Tracy immediately answered. "He's found some good friends but he has no idea what he's gotten involved in. The attack on him and his team by the students of Hive is just an opening gambit by Deathstroke as he considers whether or not the boy would make an adequate tool."
That... was not ideal.
"There's also the issues with his team to keep in mind." Tracy sighed as he reached up to rub at his temples with one hand. "Victor has severe self-image issues. Princess Koriand'r was basically dropped on Earth by a race of space slavers and there's been no word from the Green Lanterns about that. Garfield will draw the eyes of the foes of the Doom Patrol in time. And Rachel?"
The man sighed again and Bruce looked to the side to see Tracy looking towards the clouds with very tired eyes.
"Her father is the patron of the Church of Scath. Through her, he will manifest on Earth and she has no say in the matter. Given that he's a demon god and part of the triumvirate ruling Hell at the moment, it's going to be incredibly bad. For all of us."
"...You're from a foreign world," Bruce pointed out. "Couldn't you just leave if you don't want to deal with it?"
"...I may not be very good at it, but I'd like to at least try and leave things better than I find them," Tracy admitted. "And leaving a group of children to challenge the forces of Hell with minimal assistance from other children offends me, Bruce."
"...Yes," Bruce agreed as he mulled that over. "I believe I see your point. What will you be doing?"
"Offering some limited support when they remember to ask for it." Tracy reached up and put his helmet back on, masking his face once more. "I've been considering trying to 'challenge' them in another identity. See if I can't force them to take what they know and push it to new heights."
Bruce considered that. When Dick had still lived with him, still worked with him, they trained constantly. But what he'd observed through his limited means suggested that the Teen Titans were developing but at a much slower pace.
"...And what do you want me to do?" Bruce asked. He had initially assumed the meeting was just about Dick but it was obvious now that there was more. So much more.
"I'd like answers as to why the local Green Lanterns are sitting on their hands while the Gordanians were in our sector of space, but I can't really expect you to get those for me," Tracy admitted before he inhaled loudly. "You've teamed up with people like Jonah Hex, Superman and Wonder Woman in the past. You live in a city with Zatanna and Jason-"
"You're the source of this wicked rain?!" a voice screamed into the darkness as a flash of yellow slammed into a roof nearby and then launched itself towards the clocktower. As it reached the height of its arc, Bruce could see glaring red eyes set into a yellow, toad-like face.
Etrigan.
"You've caused me so much holy pain!"
Bruce stepped back from the edge of the roof but Tracy seemed... unconcerned as the demon lord, Etrigan, grabbed the ledge to pull himself up. The furiously growling creature was literally hissing as the water which impacted his form turned to steam and its flesh bubbled.
"You face no beast nor son of man!" the demon intoned as it pulled itself up. Bruce pulled a batarang from his belt and readied himself to fight the angry entity. "I am the demon, Etri-"
Tracy... snapped his fingers.
Just once.
And Etrigan disappeared.
"What... did you do?" Bruce asked as he looked around, trying to see if the demon had simply been displaced.
"I sent him some place that would better suit his nature," Tracy explained. "Some place he'll be much more comfortable."
"...You sent him back to Hell?" Bruce asked, suddenly feeling far more nervous about being alone with whatever Tracy was.
"What? No. I sent him to Detroit."
Bruce stared in utter horror.
"You..." the Caped Crusader muttered as he began to back away towards the stairwell. "You monster!"
Disclaimer Me Do: I own nothing you recognize. And most of what you don't recognize, I still don't own.
_________________________________________________________________________
20/07/2003 (TT)
With a muffled 'Pft!', Batman's grappling hook fired off and he swung down towards the ground.
He didn't know who Tracy Whittaker was, how the man had figured out his identity, what his connection to Robin was-
And, more importantly, none of that actually mattered. Bruce didn't need some harebrained busybody barging into his life and demanding that he listen to them. If he wanted to deal with that, he got enough of it at home from Alfred.
Bruce arced over the ground, pressing the release on his very advanced, very expensive grappling system, and dropped into a roll to finish bleeding off momentum.
The Dark Knight growled as he got to his feet in an alley near the Clocktower, brushing bits of gravel and filth from his costume. Exiting the encounter in the way he had was... hasty and rushed. Bruce hadn't taken the time to get information, he'd left the conversation with nothing but questions.
But, the man consoled himself as he began to make way for the Batmobile, there was a reason for it.
He did not just pride himself on his control. Of self, of situation and of environment.
He -needed- control. He needed leverage. He needed...
(To not be a powerless child in a dark alley as blood flowed over the broken pavement.)
And Tracy Whittaker had appeared, somehow able to avoid all of the motion sensors Bruce had peppered throughout the Clock Tower. The way the man had talked to him, as though Bruce was supposed to listen, supposed to engage, supposed to defer-
Batman rolled to the side near the exit of the alley as something massive slammed down in front of where he'd been stalking. Its impact ripped up stone and sent rocks flying with a loud crash that had to have been heard all throughout the block.
And, if anyone did, somehow, miss it? The dozen or so car alarms going off would almost definitely wake them up.
From a crouch, Bruce sprang backwards to his feet, rising to his full height with a batarang held fast in one hand-
Just to pause in confusion at the sight before him. A massive, malformed man made of stone, easily seven feet tall with a tiny torso and massive, distended limbs.
And wings. Horrific bat wings that were far too small to have allowed the... thing to fly.
But worst of all was the face. A maw filled with thick fangs that jutted out from frozen lips in a familiar face.
Bruce stepped back, confused and wary, as the gargoyle he'd spent countless nights crouched beside stalked toward him.
"...What?" Batman asked as the beast stepped towards him. Its inhumanly long gait covered more distance with each step than Batman's did and the creature was soon upon him. It lunged!
And Batman rolled forward, slipping through the gap of its legs. He bolted, sprinting for the mouth of the alley as the beast clunked and thunked behind him. The Caped Crusader managed to twist his head to look behind him and nearly stopped when he saw the gargoyle's head swivel a full one-hundred and eighty degrees, its blank, stone eyes locking on to him.
Nope, Bruce mentally chanted as he turned out the alley and sprinted away while a light rain began to drizzle from overhead.
Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!
The night was supposed to be a calm, quiet evening spent watching Carmine Falcone to see if Bruce could figure out where the money from the man's protection rackets was being diverted to.
Alberto, Bruce suspected. Carmine's inept and sheltered son who didn't quite grasp that revenue streams worked best when they didn't dry up.
Bruce spared a glance backwards in his mad dash towards his vehicle just to see the gargoyle wrap its claws around the corner of the buildings strafing the alley and step out-
Bruce... wasn't sure what just happened.
One second he was running and the next? The next second, or maybe it was a good ten seconds later, and he was blinking stars out of his vision as he lay on his back while cold, refreshing rain landed on his face.
"...What?" Batman asked as he reached up to adjust his mask. "What hap-"
There was another gargoyle.
There was another gargoyle, standing directly in the direction he'd been running.
Even dazed, Batman still boasted one of the sharpest minds in Gotham. It barely took a moment for him to comprehend that he'd run directly into the second gargoyle while he'd been looking at the one behind him.
'Of course,' a foggy part of the man's mind supplied as he rolled away from the grasping claws of the second beast. 'There were four gargoyles on the roof...'
Four gargoyles. But Batman had only seen two.
How were they animated? How was Tracy tracking him? Going through so much effort, Batman somehow doubted that the man simply wanted to talk to him about Dick.
Bruce shook his head, clearing the fog from his mind as he avoided another clumsy grab by the second gargoyle. He needed to get to the Batmobile, he needed to make his escape, he needed-
A massive, granite claw wrapped around Batman's neck from behind. He had the first and second gargoyle in sight, so that'd make the third...
"Let go of me!" Bruce growled, the man dropping his batarang as he used both hands to try and pry loose the implacable grip on his neck. "Let go of-"
The first gargoyle grabbed his left arm, almost pulling it out of its socket as it locked both of its hands on Bruce's wrist and elbow.
Along the street, more than a few blinds were pulled to the side as people watched a trio of great, stone monsters manhandle Bruce between them.
The second gargoyle grabbed Bruce's right arm, its grip implacable as it unfolded his arm until it was mostly straight so it could hold him by his wrist and elbow.
He fought, of course. Bruce never stopped fighting. It just didn't seem to matter in the slightest.
Maybe, if he could reach his utility belt, one of his numerous gadgets or gizmos may have helped him. Which one, he couldn't be sure; he hadn't had enough time to prepare or plan. But surely something would have helped!
One intrepid child, his plans to steal the tires off the Batmobile on hold in the face of watching Batman be abducted by the three ugliest creatures he ever saw, could do little but stare in awe and confusion...
Before picking up his tire iron and hurrying back to where he saw the expensive black car parked with nobody to watch over it.
-----
The Gotham of two-thousand and three wasn't really much different from the Gotham of two-thousand and ten. Not to Alchemist's eyes.
It was still a miserable heap of depression trying to hide under the image of classic, industrial austerity.
The problem with that approach was that anyone who knew anything about history knew that the growth of industry carried a very heavy cost, a hidden expense that slowly stripped the humanity of the workforce as they toiled, their bodies breaking and their minds exhausted to meet the endless quotas and ever rising incompetence of their overlords.
The men and women working at the fish canneries, pulling nine or ten hour shifts to make up for lost production due to equipment failing from being overworked and under-maintained didn't have the energy to... well, be alive. Then there were the dockworkers, ostensibly under a union but that had long since succumbed to bureaucracy and only really existed to perpetuate itself rather than the dockworkers.
Of course, standing in the distance and claiming a significant presence in the skyline was Wayne Industries. Which covered Waynecorp, Wayneaggro, Wayne Pharmaceuticals...
The man exhaled sharply through his nose as he heard the sound of wings beating on the air.
When a pair of gargoyles dropped out of the sky, Batman held between them, Alchemist would admit to being a bit surprised. He hadn't necessarily expected them to succeed, truth be told. Batman...
Batman's greatest tool was preparation. And Alchemist, having a glut of spontaneous options, would not make for an easy foe.
"...Was this at all necessary?" Batman demanded, his voice a menacing hiss rather than some assumed growl.
"Would you prefer I turn up at the manor?" Alchemist asked before he shook his head and turned away to face the building Carmine Falcone was in, that Batman had been watching earlier. "I doubt Alfred would appreciate an unannounced guest. And I don't expect he'd appreciate what I have to say."
"I'd appreciate it if you weren't in my city!" Batman all but howled, his struggles within the granite grip of the gargoyles intensifying. "If you so much as look at Alfred, I'll-"
"Beat me black and blue and leave me in a hospital," Alchemist finished, cutting into Batman's tirade. "So I can rack up some horrible medical debts I can't pay off. So I get sued when I can't pay, my wages garnished, I'll take on overtime to make ends meet. Then my wife will leave, either because we can't afford to live like we used to or because she's lonely with me not being home from all the overtime. Then the divorce, I lose half of everything and my wages are further garnished. Child support would be fine but the alimony would just be insult on top of injury. Then I'll have two choices; I can work as a goon for one of the costumed freaks. Or I can find out how spicy a bullet tastes."
Alchemist turned around, his veiled gaze meeting Batman's.
"Now," the mage continued as he crossed his arms behind his back. "Shall we talk like adults, Bruce? Or would you rather make some more threats? I do have my whole evening clear."
"...Who are you?" Bruce demanded. There was less heat in his voice but the power play was clear enough that even Alchemist could see it.
"...Release his left arm," the wizard demanded with a frustrated sigh as he reached to his back, to the pouch that had come with his armor. He ignored the 'Tink!' of a batarang slamming into his helmet as he pulled out his wallet and extracted his I.D. which he handed over to the Caped Crusader.
The wizard turned back around as he left the man to come to his own conclusions.
Carmine, in the distance and through a pane of bulletproof glass, was rather busy. The elderly man was yelling at a sniveling, cowardly man-child. And he was using some rather colorful language, too.
"...This is from two-thousand and ten," Bruce said, a number of implications in his words.
"So it is," Alchemist blandly agreed. "Your ability to read never ceases to amaze me."
"Why are you here?" Batman asked, less heat in his voice. He almost sounded human! "How are you here?"
"I'm from a bit further afield than just the future, honestly. I come from a parallel Earth, an alternate reality. The time travel is..." Alchemist pursed his lips under his helmet as he considered how to explain that. "Once you breach the barriers separating realities, realities can be considered discrete objects in their own right. And, in that space between realities, time is just another axis which can be traversed. Provided, of course, that you have some means of locomotion which functions in a realm devoid of physics."
"That's how," Batman said. "You still haven't explained why you're here. In this reality, in my city, harassing me while I'm on the job!"
"A dear friend wants to collect something which will come into existence, unique to this reality." Alchemist was not about to explain that Jinx intended on stealing something from Robin, not at all. But that didn't mean the wizard needed to lie. "As for you, here and now? I need to talk to -you-. Not that vapid philanderer you wear outside during the day."
Alchemist inhaled slowly, silently as he gathered his thoughts.
"Bruce?" the mage asked as he turned around. "Your son was defenestrated and would have died, or at least been crippled, if he didn't have three teammates that could fly. When he was brought to my home, he and his teammates discussed retaking their tower. They talked about their foes, their theories on the powers and abilities of their enemies. Of what techniques or abilities they could bring to bear on overcoming the opposition."
Alchemist reached up and pulled his helmet free, letting Bruce see his face. Making sure the man saw Alchemist's yellow, slitted eyes as they bored into the blank lenses of the Batmask.
"Never, not once, did Dick mention asking you for help or advice. What happened?"
-----
Bruce slumped in the arms of the creatures holding him. The words the stranger had said bored deep into his mind.
He... His...
Dick had almost died, suffered the same fate as the other Graysons and Bruce hadn't known about it. Not yet.
"...He's not my son," Bruce managed to push out, the words ripping into his chest like shrapnel. "He made that very clear."
The golden yellow eyes that were locked on to Bruce's face didn't shift. The only emotion Bruce could really pull from Tracy was curiosity and that didn't change with Bruce's admission.
"Did he make that clear with his words?" the armored man asked as he raised one hand and snapped his fingers, commanding the gargoyle holding his right arm to let go. "Or with his actions?"
Bruce grabbed at his right wrist with his left hand, rubbing at the pins and needles sensation that ran up and down his arm, the uncomfortable feeling all too similar to radio static.
Batman took a moment to gather his thoughts and consider how he wanted to explain the situation. Meanwhile, Tracy just turned around, looking once more to the highrise that Carmine Falcone claimed as his own.
"...He said it very clearly," Bruce admitted as he stepped up next to the man that was interfering in his night. "He was screaming as he left that I was not his real father, that I had no right to decide his future."
"...Teenagers," Tracy muttered. "Smart enough to pick the most emotionally damaging options and too stupid to consider the consequences of their actions. I'm not looking forward to my daughter reaching that age, honestly." Tracy quietly sighed and Bruce found the lack of recrimination rather... strange. Especially given the effort the man had gone through to get him back atop the clocktower to answer questions. "What were you trying to do? Sign him up for extra-curriculars?"
"He... finished high school early. With honors. I'm, I... I was so proud of him." It felt strange for Bruce to say that. He'd never had a reason to say that before, never had a conversation, with anyone, where he could admit that. "I wanted him to put away 'Robin' and take a look at college. I wanted him to consider a life beyond..."
This.
Bruce had wanted his son to do more than just loiter atop a dark, abandoned building and stare at criminals in the late hours of the night.
"...College isn't for everyone," Tracy offered, then waved forward towards Carmine's office. "Right now? The Roman is lambasting Holiday, the Yale graduate, for being so stupid as to steal money to try and start up a hobo fighting ring. Holiday must have spent enough time in the women's study courses because he's attempting to appeal to his father's emotions. The Roman, however, has been rejecting his idiot son's points by using cold, hard facts."
Holiday?!
"You know who they are? How do you know what they're saying?" Bruce asked instead as he began to link the new possibility to various murders that had been happening in his city, members of the Falcone crime family dying with a multitude of small caliber bullet wounds burned into his memory.
"I have very good eyesight, Bruce, and lip reading is a skill that anyone can pick up with a bit of practice. The men in question would be Carmine Falcone, the Roman. Head of the Falcone crime syndicate. I'm hardly a fan of what he does but he at least pretends to have standards. He may or may not be Selina Kyle's father." Tracy nodded towards the building, far enough away that Bruce couldn't see anything without a scope or binoculars. "And his incompetent child, Alberto Falcone, the Holiday Killer. A cruel, petty man that uses a twenty-two pistol to kill his victims because he can't handle anything heavier and he's happy enough to see his victims slowly bleed out in agony."
Bruce closed his eyes as he considered what he'd been told.
"Is this knowledge from your reality?" Bruce asked. They were some very serious accusations, incredibly damning possibilities but there were no facts, no hard evidence to support them.
"It is," Tracy agreed without hesitation. "The multiverse, while being infinite in potential, is largely defined by the similarities between realities. Things may be different but, more often than not, they're really the same with a little twist."
Bruce considered that as the two of them stood in the rain. It was... potentially helpful. Or else it was a potential waste of time. At the very least it was another avenue for him to investigate.
"How is he?" Bruce found the words slipping out of his mouth. "My... Robin. How is he?"
He'd almost called Robin his son. The words, the title he knew the boy didn't want.
"Angry," Tracy immediately answered. "He's found some good friends but he has no idea what he's gotten involved in. The attack on him and his team by the students of Hive is just an opening gambit by Deathstroke as he considers whether or not the boy would make an adequate tool."
That... was not ideal.
"There's also the issues with his team to keep in mind." Tracy sighed as he reached up to rub at his temples with one hand. "Victor has severe self-image issues. Princess Koriand'r was basically dropped on Earth by a race of space slavers and there's been no word from the Green Lanterns about that. Garfield will draw the eyes of the foes of the Doom Patrol in time. And Rachel?"
The man sighed again and Bruce looked to the side to see Tracy looking towards the clouds with very tired eyes.
"Her father is the patron of the Church of Scath. Through her, he will manifest on Earth and she has no say in the matter. Given that he's a demon god and part of the triumvirate ruling Hell at the moment, it's going to be incredibly bad. For all of us."
"...You're from a foreign world," Bruce pointed out. "Couldn't you just leave if you don't want to deal with it?"
"...I may not be very good at it, but I'd like to at least try and leave things better than I find them," Tracy admitted. "And leaving a group of children to challenge the forces of Hell with minimal assistance from other children offends me, Bruce."
"...Yes," Bruce agreed as he mulled that over. "I believe I see your point. What will you be doing?"
"Offering some limited support when they remember to ask for it." Tracy reached up and put his helmet back on, masking his face once more. "I've been considering trying to 'challenge' them in another identity. See if I can't force them to take what they know and push it to new heights."
Bruce considered that. When Dick had still lived with him, still worked with him, they trained constantly. But what he'd observed through his limited means suggested that the Teen Titans were developing but at a much slower pace.
"...And what do you want me to do?" Bruce asked. He had initially assumed the meeting was just about Dick but it was obvious now that there was more. So much more.
"I'd like answers as to why the local Green Lanterns are sitting on their hands while the Gordanians were in our sector of space, but I can't really expect you to get those for me," Tracy admitted before he inhaled loudly. "You've teamed up with people like Jonah Hex, Superman and Wonder Woman in the past. You live in a city with Zatanna and Jason-"
"You're the source of this wicked rain?!" a voice screamed into the darkness as a flash of yellow slammed into a roof nearby and then launched itself towards the clocktower. As it reached the height of its arc, Bruce could see glaring red eyes set into a yellow, toad-like face.
Etrigan.
"You've caused me so much holy pain!"
Bruce stepped back from the edge of the roof but Tracy seemed... unconcerned as the demon lord, Etrigan, grabbed the ledge to pull himself up. The furiously growling creature was literally hissing as the water which impacted his form turned to steam and its flesh bubbled.
"You face no beast nor son of man!" the demon intoned as it pulled itself up. Bruce pulled a batarang from his belt and readied himself to fight the angry entity. "I am the demon, Etri-"
Tracy... snapped his fingers.
Just once.
And Etrigan disappeared.
"What... did you do?" Bruce asked as he looked around, trying to see if the demon had simply been displaced.
"I sent him some place that would better suit his nature," Tracy explained. "Some place he'll be much more comfortable."
"...You sent him back to Hell?" Bruce asked, suddenly feeling far more nervous about being alone with whatever Tracy was.
"What? No. I sent him to Detroit."
Bruce stared in utter horror.
"You..." the Caped Crusader muttered as he began to back away towards the stairwell. "You monster!"