The house was the same as I remembered for the most part. But occasionally there would be something totally off. A sci-fi looking toaster oven thing, replacing the microwave. The refrigerator had a holographic video panel. The little office I used instead of a third bedroom was the most changed. It had the computer.
The smartphone had been weird. The laptop sitting on my desk was just straight-up magical-bullshit comics superscience. At first, it had simply looked like a very skinny notebook PC. But when I flipped the lid, it kept folding back, turned inside-out, and formed a full-sized keyboard. A flat, mouse-shaped object deployed out the side, then popped up like origami. There was no screen in sight.
I reached for the keyboard. When my fingers touched it, a shock ran from my fingertips all the way up my spine. The keyboard then lit up with lines of bright white light. A glowing image flickered into view over the desk displaying some text and an entry box. Ignoring the futuristic holographic monitor, it looked like a desktop login. The background was the Calculator logo, spinning in place.
There was no username, just the word "Password" and a text box. I entered the password I remembered using in this room, on a completely different computer, in what seemed like a totally different lifetime. It worked.
Notices and alerts filled the screen, then two new screens flickered into view on each side of the first. One had my personal email account—the civilian identity—but the other had an unfamiliar mail app with dozens of unread messages. Ominous looking ones. I ignored all that for now to review the hardware.
The laptop had over a petabyte of local storage. Available on remote storage was...over twenty exabytes. Free storage, not total. The laptop's CPUs were measured in gigahertz, but there were three different processor items listed, each with twenty physical cores apiece. And they weren't called the CPU. For RAM speed it had what looked like the speed of light plus a volume measurement—with a terabyte total random access storage. Yep. Moving on.
I clicked around some using what looked like the empty shell of a mouse lit from within by a pale blue light. The OS was in fact Linux, and the local file structure seemed logical, but some of the directories hinted at strange contents. Seriously, who has a folder labeled "blackmail"? And another one, "blackmail_important." The fact that each was full of nested directories with names ripped straight out of comic books only made it odder. Seemed kinda stupid. If it was me, they'd be full of total bullshit, and the real files would be...huh. Look into that later.
And I couldn't find any applications.
"Uh, computer?" I asked out loud, feeling a little stupid.
"Awaiting command." The voice was again spooky-clear, broadcast directly into my ears.
"...take a note, please?"
"Indicate desired security level," the voice replied with no delay.
"What are the security levels?" I asked, leaning back in the chair with a sigh. My chair. It was exactly the same chair I remembered.
"Available levels are: standard, remote secured, maximum security directive."
I was going to write down completely out of universe knowledge, stuff that might get people killed. I had to be sure of this.
"List items under maximum."
"Confirm request: list all files under maximum security directive."
"Yes, do it."
"Please move five inches to the right."
At this point, I didn't even question it. The second I scooted the chair over, five probes sprang out of the ceiling, surrounding me. A beam shot out from one, scanning me from head to toe. The devices on the other arms whirred, buzzed, or remained completely silent and mysterious.
"Security question required," the computer voice said. "What is your purpose?"
Really? After all that high-tech nonsense? There had to be something more to this.
"I, uh-"
The computer interrupted. "Identity confirmed." The probes—which had been what, monitoring me thinking about that question?—withdrew. Huh. I was in.
Clicking through all the folders took about half an hour. It was impressive. Plans to help defend the Earth from all sorts of internal and alien attacks, stolen schematics for power suits and death rays, locations and effects of mystical artifacts. All with notes on who had paid for information regarding each. A ledger of both paid and outstanding contracts.
It looked like some of the business contracts ran without any input from me, just darknet websites, dead drops, and expert systems taking and fulfilling gray and black market requests for information. Over a year of records on completely automated business. Since last December, nothing but the automated business.
Cash on hand for the Calculator identity was over a million US dollars and...it was clean. Laundered by automated systems. I didn't see a list of other assets here, but based on some related notes on remote sites, I figured it was at least that much. Maybe a lot more.
Not sure how I felt about that. Money solved a lot of problems, but brought lots of problems in return. I was fairly sure these records were real.
If this had been a prank or someone gaslighting me, it would have involved gifting me with a desktop supercomputer and the creation of years worth of records on a fake criminal enterprise. That theory was just about finished.
If this was me losing my mind and having complex hallucinations, I should get someone to write it up as the most awesome and extensive case of grandiose and paranoid delusions ever. That was seeming less and less likely, too.
A new theory was that there was something very wrong with my memory. And that could mean someone did this to me.
Speaking of paranoia, there were reports here on the personal side of things for the Calculator. Threat analysis for those who might try to bring my supervillain alter-ego to justice, updated and autogenerated from headlines and hacked law enforcement records all the way down to the regional level. Information on a hard light system and an AI program to counter any superhero, magic, or superscience device. An entire folder was just labeled "Batman."
That was the last straw. Browser open, Wikipedia time. A strange icon appeared next to the one showing HTTPS was working labeled "Location Obscured". Thanks, supertech laptop.
I typed in "Batman". Like Deathstroke, a deleted "not notable" page. The discussion page was...odd.
Talk:The Batman
Deletion again [edit]
Please stop reverting page deletion. Does not meet (Wikipedia:Notability) guidelines. Rumors can be added to the (Wikiproject Superhero) page (Superhero_Mythology), under the (Modern) section. When and if any so-called "Batman" is arrested, gives a press release or grants an interview, we can look at this more seriously. Reverts are now locked for a month on this page. Again.
Conspiracy [edit]
Batman is clearly an false flagged government scheem to TRICK the villians in to all gathering in one place. This must be represented in it's own page, not buried in some other pagno one reads..
sorry [edit]
No, Gothem City published gossip rags are not reliable independient sources. Deleted.
REAL! [edit]
The Bat is real is the coolest evere!!! See (here)!!!!!!
Not this again [edit]
No serious newspaper, magazine, or TV news program has run a story with proof of the existence of the "The Batman." Deleted for lack of support.
And...close the tab. At least some things didn't change. Maybe the computer could compile a report for me on what the public knew about superheroes. And what my files contained.
Sigh. I still had to make those notes on what I remembered about the DC universe. Even when it was potentially to save all life on the planet, I couldn't seem to avoid wasting time on Wikipedia.
