2072

One Hour Ago

The black-suited bat man landed on the roof of Luthorcorp tower.  Stealthily moving to the rooftop door, he put a finger to the lock.  A small metallic rod extended from the suit's fingertip, sliding gently into the locking mechanism.  Two seconds and a click later, the lock opened, the lockpick sliding back into the suit.  He opened the door and descended the stairs, stopping at the next level down.

This floor of the building was quiet; there were only a few offices given the privilege of being on the top level, and nearly everyone was home for the weekend.
The hallway came to a T-junction.  He needed to make a right turn, but stopped for a moment.  He turned his head towards the wall corner.  The visor in the suit's cowl switched to a visual scanning mode.  From the man's persective, the world turned blue as the visor scanned for electrical power usage.  Through the wall, like an x-ray, he could see two cameras on either side of a large door at the end of the hallway.

The suited man held his palms outward and down.  Two black metallic spikes popped out of either wrist, settling in his fingers.  The tips of them had twin bat-ear-spikes, and two red curved circular bladed "wings" flipped out of their sides.  The man put them both in the fingers of his right hand, and flipped his wrist around the corner.  The bladed weapons curved through the air at lightning speed, slicing neatly into the cameras.  The man smirked at his own cleverness.
Just down the hallway, however, a door began to open.  Instinctively, the man reached for a silver metallic circle where his belt buckle would be, twisting it.  With a gentle clicking sound, the suit's deep black began to shift.  Embedded within the synthetic fabric were millions of photon emitters, each with the ability to replicate the image on the other side of the wearer's body.  Essentially, the suit and its wearer were perfectly camouflaged, becoming near-perfectly invisible.
Two security guards walked through the doorway.  They were unaware of the intruder and the destroyed cameras; they were simply on patrol for the night.
The suited man stepped sideways into an alcove with a water fountain, waiting for them to pass.  Unfortunately, one of the guards was thirsty.  "I tell ya, man, the water tastes better up here than down there," he said to his companion, moving to the alcove.  The suited man winced, waiting for it to happen.
The guard bumped into the invisible suit, completely confused.  He knew he'd his something solid, but he couldn't see it.  It wasn't rock-hard, though... it felt like... a body.  Instinctively, the guard pulled out his taser.  The suited man tried to dodge it, but there wasn't much room to maneuver.  The taser hit the suit with a loud ZAP.  The electric current disrupted the camouflage effect, and the suit's fabric crackled with static before fading back into reality.
Both the guards were stunned.  They moved forward to attack him, but he was faster.
With blinding speed, he slammed the first guard's taser-hand into the wall, breaking his wrist.  He then spun to the right, pushing the second guard's arm to the side as he continued the spin and kicked him in the small of his back.  The suit was like a second skin—a computerized, metallic, black-coated skin.  To the guards, every punch from the man wearing it felt like being hit by iron fists. A single punch to the first guard's face and he was down.  An uppercut to the second guard's chin and he joined his companion in unconsciousness.

Finally, the bat man moved towards the door he'd been heading to.  He turned down the hallway, but didn't get far before the door opened and another guard stepped out.  He'd apparently heard the commotion.  This one wasn't like the others; he was African-American, nearly seven feet, and looked like he was made of four hundred pounds of muscle.  He wasn't just a security guard; he was a bodyguard.  The bat man figured that, knowing this place, this bodyguard must have been one of the highest-paid in the country.
But this time, the man in the batsuit had plenty of time to think and room to move.  He ran forward.  The bodyguard readied himself.  The bat man tossed his legs forward, letting himself fall to the floor.  He slid across the floor, straight underneath the bodyguard's fists.  He jumped up with a fist of steel, slamming the larger man in the jaw.
The bodyguard instantly fell to his knees, then slammed face-first into the floor.  He was out.

The bat man stepped around the unconscious body and opened the large door.
"What?! Who are you?! What are you doing here?!"
It was a large office, with a stunning view of the city.  In front of the desk stood Lionel Luthor, who was currently leaning back against the desk, furiously pressing its hidden security button.
The bat man leaned forward as he walked, taking each step with intimidating force.
Lionel looked the man over and over again, trying to understand what he was wearing.  It looked like a sleek black bodysuit, made of a black, shiny, synthetic material, with solid white eye lenses.  Across its chest was a huge bright red symbol shaped like a bat in flight.

The bat man grabbed Lionel by the collar, slamming him into the Northern wall of the office.
"GOTHAM CITY. EIGHT YEARS AGO," the bat man yelled.  "THOMAS AND MARTHA WAYNE!"
"What about them?!?" Lionel said, visibly frightened.
"DID YOU HAVE THEM KILLED?!?"
Lionel paused for a moment, confused.  "No, I... I had nothing to do with that."
"DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR MURDERS?"
"...No."

Electronic sensors in the suit's fingertips read Lionel's vital signs, illustrating their findings on a visual display in the cowl.  He was showing no physical signs of lying.  As far as the suit could tell—and it was never wrong—Lionel was telling the truth.

The bat man narrowed his eyes, then loosened his grip.  Without another word, he ran swiftly and soundlessly back into the hallway from whence he came, escaping back up the stairway and onto the roof.

Finally responding to the alarm, additional security guards flooded the top floor.  But it was too late.  The man was gone.



2072 A.D.

It was a dark cave, filled with shadow and little else.  A lone elderly man sat at a massive computer screen, viewing its data.  Behind him, on the artificially-cut floor in the rock, sat all manner of technology: forensics analysis equipment, exercise machines, and a large black car.  A lit stairway led out of the cave and back to the elderly man's home.

A huge BOOM echoed through the cave as a solid cone of white light appeared off to the side.  The black-suited bat man stepped out of it, setting foot firmly on the stone floor.
"Whew.  Don't think I'll ever get used to that."
"You won't have to," the elderly man said.  His voice was rough and war-weary.  His face seemed to be set with a permanent frown.  "That was a one-time trip."

"Alright; fine by me."  The bat man reached for the side of his cowl, and gripped it.  At his touch, the cowl loosened and became like normal fabric, freely slipping right off his head.  The man under the cowl was actually more of a boy, no older than eighteen. His medium-length black hair and blue eyes blended into the shadows, but his youthful energy seemed to make the cave seem a bit less depressing.
"So why'd you have to send me right to that time period, anyway?" he asked.  His voice sounded less deep without the suit's cowl covering his neck.
"Because," the old man said, "Any earlier, and Lionel Luthor would have more of a chance to alter history because of your arrival; too much later and he wouldn't be alive.  And speaking of history-altering... Did you run into anyone important?"
The boy winced.  "...yeeeeah... I kinda saw little Bruce gettin' attacked by some dregs, and I thought I should help out.  Thought maybe I'd accidentally altered history already, and he was in danger."
The elder man's eyes opened wide with realization.  "Of course..."
The boy was confused. "Of course what?"
"Nevermind."
The boy shrugged.  He was used to not getting answers out of his mentor.

The elder man began typing at the computer.  Data began to wirelessly download from the suit.  The man hit a few more keys, and recorded video of Lionel's interrogation began to play, with the lie detector findings overlaid on the screen.

"DID YOU HAVE THEM KILLED?!?"
"No, I... I had nothing to do with that."
"DO YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR MURDERS?"
"...No."
The elder man shut his eyes and lowered his head.  He had been so sure...

The boy felt terrible.  This man had taken him under his wing a year and a half ago, training him to fight the crime that had once again overrun Gotham City.  And now he'd failed him.

"I'm... I'm sorry. Thought for sure he was the one who did it."
The boy began to walk away, dejected.
"Terry..." the elder man said quietly, "...thank you."
Terry smiled over his shoulder.  "No problem, Mister Wayne."

Calm after the Storm

The teens sat in the penthouse with Alfred, completely unsure of what to do.  Bruce lay unconscious on the couch while the rest of them interrogated Zatanna.  After an hour—and a couple more squeezes with the Lasso of Truth—the group was satisfied that Zatanna wasn't a threat.  Since they'd all used their powers mere moments ago, they had to let Zatanna in on their secrets.  She did the same for them.

Bart was still a little confused by what had happened.  "So that... thing..." he said.  "That was Bruce?  'Cause it sure seemed like some crazy Exorcist crap there for a while."
"It was and it wasn't him," Zatanna explained.  "It wasn't anything magical, exactly.  My powers... they gave the thoughts inside Bruce's mind a magical form."
"So... he doesn't really have a demon inside 'im or anythin'?"
"No.  Well, not a literal one.  He's got his 'inner demons', but so does everyone.  The darkness inside Bruce's mind is... well, it's stronger than most.  Almost palpable."

Alfred was busying himself by cleaning up all the glass shards and debris with a broom and dustpan.
"Oh, Alfred, don't do that! Let me," Zatanna said.  She jumped up from her seat at the kitchen bar and walked over, taking a moment to examine the room in its entirety.
"Riaper eht moor."

The glass shards lifted themselves off the floor and floated to the windowframe, squeezing back into their original places. The cracks seemingly sealed themselves as the shards fused back together.  All the dust and debris swept itself away, and every broken object in the room became whole again.  The furniture slid back to its original placing—the couch on which Bruce lay moving very slowly so as not to wake him—and the broom and dustpan flew forcefully out of Alfred's hands and into the broom closet.

"Unnngghh..."
The group stood up when they heard Bruce groan.  He was waking up.
Zatanna was by his side when his eyes opened.  He frowned at her.  If there was anything he hated, it was not understanding what was going on.  It only got worse when he sat up and saw the entire super-group standing over him.
"What happened?"

"I... I ran a couple of spells on you," Zatanna said. "You didn't have any sort of magical curse or anything."
"I didn't need a spell to tell me that."
She gave him a disapproving half-frown. "...but... there was something else."
He looked at her impatiently.  "What?"
She sighed. "Bruce... did you... make a kind of vow?  Maybe when you were a child?"
"...Yes."
"Something involving vengeance, or power?"
"Something involving justice."
"...right, well... see, Bruce, we all make our own fate, to some extent.  I think this bat problem you've got is because of you.  It's not a curse anyone put on you; you're causing it to happen by holding onto all this... whatever it is inside of you. This darkness."

Bruce sat in thought for a moment.  "So this... darkness. It's a part of me?"
"Um, yeah," Bart said. "You were all like 'I am vengeance!' and crap. It was freaky, man."
Bruce somehow didn't seem surprised.  But he still had one more question.  "What was that bat-creature?"
Zatanna had almost forgotten about him.  "That... I'm still not sure of.  That couldn't possibly be you, so... hang on."

She stood up again, and closed her eyes to concentrate.  The rest of the group immediately began backing up warily.
"Etacol eht tab nam."

A golden orb of light appeared in front of Zatanna, gently spun in the air for a few seconds, then faded out of existence.
Zatanna was perplexed.  "He's... not here."
"What?" Bruce said intensely.
"I.. I don't know.  If he was on this plane of existence, I'd be able to find him.  But right now, he doesn't exist. It's like he... teleported away somewhere."
"Is that even possible?" Clark asked.
"Well, yeah, theoretically," Zatanna answered.  "He could be a traveler.  He might be in any time or alternate dimension and we wouldn't know."
"So there's no way of tracking him down?" Diana asked.
"...There is, but I'm not skilled enough for that.  It'd probably take me years to learn how."
"But it's gone?" Bruce asked.
"...As far as I can tell, yes.  Whatever he, she, or it was, it's definitely gone."

Eventually, the teens all left for home.  Only Zatanna lingered behind.
"So, you're sure you'll be alright?" she asked.
"Yeah, I'll be fine," Bruce answered.

She grinned at him. "Told ya magic was real."
He looked at her very seriously.  "I don't know what power it is exactly that you have, but it's not 'magic.' Everything can be quantified, explained, and understood.  I don't deny that you have real ability, but it's nothing supernatural."
She sighed, but kept a smile on her face.  She should have known he'd still be a skeptic, no matter what.
"Alright, fine. Keep your archaic beliefs; not my problem."
She walked into the open elevator door.
"But hey, if you ever need someone to help with a... magical problem, you can always call me."
She tossed him a card, flicking it perfectly so that it flew across the room and into Bruce's open hand.  He glanced down at it.  "What's this? A magic calling card? Do I just say your name twice and you appear?"
She was slightly amused by his sarcasm.  "It's my phone number," she said with a flirtatious wink as the elevator doors closed.

The Oath

Bruce knelt at his bedroom window, a single lit candle on the nightstand beside him.  He and Alfred had just returned home.  His parents had been murdered mere hours ago.
He knew that his parents would never return from their graves; he would never again feel his mother's love or his father's approval.  They had been taken from him.  The criminal world of Gotham had murdered them. Bruce refused to let that be the end.
Alfred would remark in later years that Bruce changed that night.  Bruce, however, would disagree. He would say that Bruce Wayne died that night, in that alley.  At that moment, something else was born.

Bruce clasped his hands together.  Tears in his eyes, he spoke into the night.

"I swear, by the spirits of my parents, to avenge their deaths by spending the rest of my life warring on all criminals."

Cursed

Zatanna and Bruce stepped into the penthouse, soaked from the rain.
Alfred was ready with a towel as they arrived.  "I thought you might end up soaked," he said to Bruce, picking up an second towel for Zatanna off the counter.
Bruce didn't answer.  He took the towel and kept walking.  From the mere look on Bruce's face, Alfred could see that something had gone wrong.  He also knew, however, that he wasn't likely to get an immediate answer from Bruce.  He turned to Zatanna instead.  "What happened?" he asked concernedly.
"Bruce nearly got mugged in an alley..."
"My word!"  Alfred looked at Bruce, but he seemed to be alright.
Zatanna's eyes widened as she remembered the rest of the details. "And there was somebody out there dressed like a giant bat!"
Alfred frowned with suspicious confusion.  He didn't see how a lunatic in a costume mattered in this situation.
"He was up on the fire escape, just staring down at us.  And then when we took out the last mugger, he jumped up and flew away on his wings!"
At this, Alfred was startled.  He'd seen many things in the past few months that he couldn't explain, including at least two people that didn't need any wings at all to fly.  He was quite ready to believe Zatanna's story, incredible as it was.
"...What—or who—do you think it could have been?" Alfred asked.
Zatanna was completely at a loss. "Alfred, I've seen a lot of things in the last year; things you wouldn't believe."
Alfred half-smiled wryly. "Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that..."
She ignored his remark. "...But I don't have any idea who or what that was."

"Cursed..."
Zatanna and Alfred turned to Bruce, who was standing in the middle of the living room.
"What was that?" Zatanna asked.
"I'm cursed," Bruce replied.
Zatanna and Alfred looked at each other in confusion.  Bruce was never superstitious in the slightest.  In fact, as far as either of them knew, Bruce didn't believe in anything beyond what was clearly and readily comprehensible.
"What do you mean?" Zatanna said gently, walking up behind him.
He turned around to look her in the eye.  "Ever since I was a boy, I've been... stalked... by bats.  When I was a child, they wouldn't leave me alone at the manor.  My father dressed as one for Halloween on the night he was murdered.  And now this one follows me tonight."
"So you think you really are cursed?"
Bruce was surprised that she seemed to be taking this seriously.  He frowned.  "I don't believe in magic, or anything like that.  But there's... something... something that won't leave me, no matter where I go."
She tilted her head to the side and raised an eyebrow, her lips curved into a clever smile.  "You don't believe in magic?"
"No."
She smiled a little wider. "Really... then how do you think I stopped that last mugger?"
He narrowed his eyes at her.  "What are you saying?"
She paused for a moment.  "My father wasn't just a stage magician.  Turns out he knew real magic."
Bruce wanted to roll his eyes.  The Zataras had always tried to convince him to "believe in magic," but he never thought they were actually serious.
She continued.  "...and if you'd like, I can see if there are actually any spells or anything of that kind on you."
He sarcastically decided to humor her.  "Fine.  Let's see what you can do."
She halfway-scowled at his attitude, but took a deep breath and mentally prepared to do her work.  She took two steps backward, and looked Bruce over a couple times.
"Alright then.  First things first.  Yrd sehtolc."
Zatanna's clothes and hair fluttered for a moment, then suddenly appeared completely dry.
Bruce stared at her quizzically. "Did you just say 'dry clothes' backwards?"
"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly. "That's how I have to say my spells, at least until I learn how to do them otherwise.  Now shut up and hold still.  Erutinruf raelc eht moor."
The living room furniture suddenly slid to the sides of the room, leaving Bruce standing alone in its center.
She took another step backwards, shut her eyes, and stretched out her hands towards him.
"Laever lla cigam."

A circle of bright light began to glow on the floor beneath Bruce's feet.  Without warning, the room suddenly became a storm.  Lights of purple and gold spun throughout the room, casting a powerful glow that shone brightly through the windows of the tower.  Wind swirled about Bruce, knocking over nearby objects but leaving Bruce firmly planted where he stood.  Alfred was thoroughly shocked by what he was seeing, and stood, stunned, against the back wall of the room.  Bruce would normally have been weirded out by all of this, but he wasn't.  He could feel the magic's power delving deep into his soul: into that part of him that held on tight to the pain of his past.  He let that pain overtake him, and he stood firmly within it.  The magical display around him couldn't break his mental state.

The elevator door dinged, and Diana stepped in.  Seeing what was happening, her eyes suddenly switched from surprise to fury.
Zatanna felt her shoulder grabbed by a painfully tight grip.
"Witch!"
Diana spun Zatanna around, slamming her back into the wall and holding her there by the throat.  Zatanna, stunned, looked at Diana.  Her eyes were burning with a warrior's rage.
"Miss Diana! Miss Diana!" Alfred said, running up from behind.  "I assure you, Miss Zatanna is a trusted friend.  Please, unhand her!"
Diana wasn't convinced.  "Where I come from, witches are slaughtered on sight."
Still taking her by the throat, Diana dragged Zatanna across the room back towards the elevator door, where Diana had dropped her bag.  She reached inside and pulled out her lasso.  She wrapped it around Zatanna's shoulders and pulled it tight.  "What are you doing to him?" Diana asked, pointing at Bruce.  She removed her hand from Zatanna's throat.
Zatanna coughed and gasped furiously for several seconds before she could respond.  Her voice was cracking and weak. "I'm testing... to see if there are any magical curses upon him. I'm just trying to help."
Diana took a deep breath, and stood up, loosening the lasso at the same time.  "Very well.  You may continue."
Zatanna stood up, rubbed her throat, and gave Diana the most intense "WHAT THE HELL?!?" look she could muster.  Before she could finish walking back across the room to Bruce, the center window in the living room shattered.  Zatanna winced, then opened her eyes to see Clark standing in front of her, peering suspiciously down into her eyes.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"Alfred says she's a friend," Diana said from the back of the room.
A gust of wind and a red blur announced Bart's sudden appearance in the penthouse. "Who's a friend?"
Clark turned to Alfred.  "Is everything alright?  I saw bright lights coming from the windows.  It looked like trouble."
"That's what I thought," Diana said again. "But apparently this... witch... is trying to help somehow."

Zatanna looked over her shoulder at Diana.  "Please, honey, lighten up on the 'witch.' I prefer 'Mistress of Magic.'  Now, all of you, MOVE!  Dnib elpoep ot moor's egde!"
Diana, Bart, and Clark were dragged towards the walls by an unseen force, only stopping once they were standing at the room's sides.  Clark was shocked.  Even when he tried to fly, he couldn't move an inch closer to Bruce.  He'd never met anything that could physically stop him from moving before.

Now Zatanna could get back to her work.  As she concentrated, the winds and light began to calm somewhat.  Things were getting clearer.
"There aren't any spells on him," Zatanna said.  "But... there's something else.  It's not magic... it's something deeper."
She focused harder. "Laever siht rewop."
Gently, through the rustling and howling of the winds, the whispers of a child's voice could be heard.  "...I swear... ...their deaths... ...the rest of my life..."
Zatanna's eyes widened with surprise.  "...It's an oath."
Half-turning to everyone else, she explained.  "He did this to himself.  I don't know how, but somehow it's connected to him.  It comes from him."  

Bruce's body began to darken, as though it was being overtaken by a shadow.  His eyes opened, and glowed red.
"What are you doing to him?!" Clark yelled.
"...Nothing," Zatanna replied. "This... this is him.  This is the darkness inside him.  It's manifesting itself physically."
Zatanna stepped towards Bruce curiously, gently putting her hand on his cheek.  "What are you?..."
He spoke.  His voice sounded deeper, older, and filled with power.
"I am vengeance."
The vortex around Bruce began to swirl faster.
"I am the night."
A bright light gathered behind Bruce, settling into a solid shape.  Everyone in the room felt its power; its intensity.  It was fierce; it was predatory; it was darkness.  It was the symbol of a bat.  The winds increased to terrifying speeds as Bruce opened his mouth to speak again, threatening to tear the walls of the tower apart.
"I AM—"
"Lecnac siht lleps!"

The spell stopped at Zatanna's words.  The winds ceased, the lights faded, and Bruce went back to normal.  He fell to the floor, completely unconscious.

Everyone in the room was honestly too confused or frightened to move anywhere near Bruce.  Everyone but Zatanna.
She knelt at his side, lifting his head onto her lap.  Now she knew what had driven him all these years.  Gently stroking his hair, she cried for him.

Stalked

Bruce was restless, deeply disturbed by what he'd just seen.  When it stopped raining, he took the opportunity to get out of the house.

It seemed that no matter how many years passed, and no matter where he went, the image of a bat haunted him.
Wayne Manor was built on top of a large system of caves filled with thousands of bats; it had taken Bruce years to learn not to be afraid of them as a child.  His father dressed as a bat for Halloween, and it was that very night that he'd been murdered.  Now, on the eighth anniversary of that night, Bruce was haunted by a bat once more.

Suddenly, Bruce stopped in his tracks.  Deep within his own thoughts, he didn't realize that he'd wandered into a dark alley.  Apparently, his mind's current fixation on his parents' murder had inadvertently led him here while he wasn't paying attention.
He started to take a step back, but stopped.  His imagination took hold of his thoughts, paralyzing him in the moment.  He could see the events of that night playing before his mind's eye: the moonlit gun sliding into view.  The shots being fired.  His parents falling to the ground.
He wanted to step forward into that vision; to do something—anything—to change it all.  But he couldn't.  No matter how hard he wished, he couldn't stop it from happening.
The vision continued.   Bruce sat, kneeling between his parents' bodies.  The gunman slowly slipped back into the night and disappeared.
Bruce's fists clenched and his jaw tightened.  He stared at the back of the man as he ran away, his eyes burning with rage.  The police had never caught the murderer.  They never even had any clues.  All they could find was a name: Joe Chill.  It probably wasn't even his real name.  In all likelihood, he'd never be caught.
Suddenly, Bruce snapped out of his trance.  The rain had started again.  Ahead of him, two rather rough-looking men—each with a switchblade in his hand—were slowly walking towards him.  Bruce held still, but turned his head to peer backwards over his shoulder.  Two more men were coming from behind.
Bruce gently slipped his left foot backwards, ready to snap into a fighting stance if need be.  He knew he could take on one attacker, maybe two... but four?  He wasn't so sure.
They moved closer, slowly... Bruce was becoming more and more sure that he was going to be stabbed.  What nearly frightened him was the fact that he didn't really care.
The two men in front were mere feet away.
*FWOOOOSH-BAP*
A huge black blur swooshed through the alleyway, knocking both the men to the ground with a hard punch.  Bruce heard it zip through the air in a wide arc above him, but couldn't see it through all the rain and lightning.  He turned around to see the two thugs behind him slowly stepping backwards, bewildered by what they were seeing.  Bruce spun around again and looked upwards, where they had been looking.  On top of a fire escape perched a bat-shaped creature.  It looked somewhat like a man, but sheathed in black, with twin bat-ears and black wings that jutted sideways from his back.  His eyes glowed a solid white, and his jaw was firmly set.  Lightning flashed, illuminating the blood-red underside of the wings.
Bruce stood still in shock.  He was eternally stalked by this creature; this elemental force of nature.

Bruce was so entranced by this demonic figure that he had failed to notice a third mugger hiding next to a dumpster behind him, one who had not noticed the giant bat.  As this man readied his knife-hand to shove forward into Bruce's back, a voice from the street behind called out.
"Tlah reggum!"
Abruptly, the mugger stopped in mid-stab, his knife a good several inches away from Bruce's spine.  Bruce turned around to see Zatanna at the alley's end, her hand extended towards the man.  As Bruce opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing here, she looked up and saw the bat.
After being spotted by Zatanna, the man-bat turned his head to the skies and jumped with wings spread, gliding upwards and over the buildingtops.
Zatanna stepped into the alley, incredulous.  "Bruce... what was that thing?"
"I... I don't know..."

Magic

.
One Year Ago

Zatanna's father was dying.
No one was quite sure why.  He was weak, tired, and seemed to be getting more frail with each day.  He had the symptoms of old age, but he was barely fifty.

He laid in his bed at home, with Zatanna at his bedside.
"But daddy, why can't we just take you back to the hospital?" Zatanna asked.  "Because, Zatanna," John replied, "I am dying, and there is nothing that can be done.  I might as well die in the comfort of my own home."

Zatanna had somehow known this already.  It had been in her father's voice and eyes for the past week: he knew it was his time.  She guessed that he also knew exactly what it was that was killing him, but he hadn't said a word of it.
Zatanna looked up at her father's friend, Grey Walker, who was visiting.  Mr. Walker was an odd one, as with most of John's friends.  He always wore a dark blue trenchcoat that hung behind him like a cape, with a matching hat that cast a dark shadow over his eyes.  From his neck hung a large golden medallion inscribed with ancient runes and images.
Zatanna looked to him with a pleading expression in her eyes.  But helping her was not his task, he knew.  He was there merely to see his friend safely pass over, and he would be gone again.

"Zatanna, I have something for you..." John said weakly.
He turned his head towards one of the hundreds of books lining his shelves, and spoke words that Zatanna didn't recognize. "Koob fo slleps emoc."
Though the words seemed like gibberish, somehow John made them flow like poetry.
Abruptly, the bookcase on the wall behind Zatanna shuddered a little.  A massively thick brown book gently lifted off its shelf, sliding out from between its companions.  The book floated through the air as if being carried by the wind—but there wasn't the slightest air current in the room.  Zatanna was used to visual trickery, and quickly scanned the area for a clue as to what was happening.  But as she searched, she found nothing.  No hidden wires, no magnetic plates, no air current... nothing.
She looked at Walker once more, but he remained perfectly still, without a single hint of surprise.
The book slowly came to land gently on John's lap.  Zatanna examined it thoroughly.  It was ancient, or so it seemed.  It was covered in dust, and written all over with golden inscriptions.  Zatanna was familiar with all the ancient tongues—Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and the Gaelic tongues—but this was something entirely different.  Ah, but wait, she had found something.  A small section of text on the book's corner, written in Latin.  And another, written in Old English.  As she kept searching, she found that the book was covered in a dozen different ancient languages, including everything from Sumerian cuneiform to Egyptian hieroglyphics.
"This, Zatanna," John said, wheezing, "is our legacy.  Our family history is much deeper than you know; we are descended from a long line of sorcerers."
"Sorcerers?" Zatanna asked incredulously.
"Sorcerers, wizards, magic-users, whatever you like. We are not entirely human, Zatanna. Our blood contains the power of another race: the Homo Magi."
"What? But... what are you talking about?!"
John frowned with pain. "Zatanna, please, I haven't much time left.  Listen to me.  In the bottom drawer of my desk, you'll find a series of documents detailing our inheritance.  Our family fortune and estate will become yours."
"We have a fortune? And an estate?!"
John smiled wide and laughed gently at his daughter's confused reaction. "I wanted to be there when you first saw it, but..."
Suddenly, a small spark of recognition flew through John's eyes.
"It's time, Zatanna.  I love you."
Zatanna felt panic creep into her mind. "I... I love you too, daddy."
John's eyes closed, and he was gone.

Zatanna fell upon her father's body, and sobbed.
A few minutes later, she sat back up.  Walker was still standing there, still not moving a muscle.
Zatanna cleared her mind through the tears.  "Are... are you... like us?"
"No," he said.  His voice had a deep echo.  Whenever he spoke, it sounded to Zatanna like he was speaking through a stone hallway.  "I am not one of the Homo Magi.  I am merely a friend of your father."

"So... what am I supposed to do now?"  Zatanna asked helplessly.
"Your father left you with everything you need to start your own life," Walker said. "Claim your inheritance, and read the book. It will teach you all you need know."
With that, he turned and left.
Zatanna, still working through tears, took the book in her hands.  She unfastened the latch on its side, and opened it.  At the touch of her fingertips, the pages began to glow with a golden light.  Her sadness faded into amazement as the book shone brighter and brighter, filling the room with intense power.  Zatanna felt the book's magic surge through her like soft lightning fused with sunlight.
Then, just as abruptly as the light had started, it began to fade.  The book in her hands was once again a simple book, covered in strange writing.  And, to her further amazement, she could, indeed, read it.

"Woah."

The First Bat Man

.

Eight Years Ago


Bruce knelt at his bedroom window, a single lit candle on the nightstand beside him.  With his hands clasped together, he felt silly.

"Bruce, are you done yet?"
It was his mother.  Bruce turned around and frowned. "I never know what to say."
His mother smiled.  "It's okay. Just—"
"Martha! Bruce! It's time!"
Martha looked back towards the doorway.  Downstairs, her husband was calling. "Alright Bruce, we'd better hurry and get downstairs. You can finish your prayers later tonight."

It was Halloween night, and the Waynes were throwing a costume party at their manor in Gotham.  No one was actually required to wear a costume—a fact that Martha and Bruce took advantage of—but Thomas Wayne was more than happy to put on garish clothes for the night.
As Bruce walked down the stairway into Wayne Manor's large foyer, he looked around and saw the party decorations.  Notably, he saw the large banner across the ceiling with the theme of the party written across it: "Creatures of the Night."
As he reached the ground floor, Bruce saw his father's costume for the first time.  It was a light gray one-piece bodysuit, with thick black briefs worn over it.  It had a huge dark blue cape, the edges of which were propped up behind Thomas like giant bat wings.  It reminded Bruce of the fairy wings that half the girls in his class wore today at school.  Finally, a black cowl sat on Thomas's head.  It had pointed "bat ears" on its sides, and eye-holes that were cut into a friendly-looking round shape—as though Thomas were actually worried that someone could possibly be afraid of such a silly-looking costume.

"So, what do you think?" Thomas asked his son cheerfully.  Bruce was normally his father's biggest admirer, but tonight it was all he could do not to just roll his eyes.


A few minutes later, the guests began to show up.  The crowd was made up of the families of local businessmen, politicians, and family friends.  Thomas and Martha were greatly enjoying themselves.  Despite being only one man, Alfred was actually managing to keep up with serving all the guests.  Bruce was bored out of his mind.  He didn't know most of the other kids at the party, and the few he did know were snotty brats that he didn't want to play with anyway.  Until the Zataras showed up, that is.
Bruce's eyes lit up when he saw Zatanna, and he ran to greet her.  "Hey!" she said, smiling from behind her butterfly-shaped mask.  Bruce looked at the pink wings she had attached to her back.  "You're dressed as a butterfly?" he asked.
"No, I'm dressed as a fairy," she replied.
"Fairies aren't real. And they're not creatures of the night."
"Yes they are, and I'm a Night Fairy."  She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

As the night stretched on, all types of silliness came about.  At some point, wine got spilled on Thomas's costume, and he had to change into his usual tuxedo.  When he got back downstairs after this, however, he was greeted by a rather unpleasant guest: Lionel Luthor.
"Ah, Thomas, it's good to see you."
Thomas gave Lionel a questioning look. "Lionel. It's funny; I don't remember writing your name on the guest list."
Lionel lightly chuckled once to himself. "Yes, well, I'm not staying.  I was just driving by, and I wanted to wish you and your family well this evening."
"Wish us well?  You'll forgive me if I don't believe that for a second."
"Heh. I'd expected that from you, Thomas.  Your company has been seemingly waging an economic war on Luthorcorp and its goals.  Now, for a company that's supposedly dedicated to family values, that's rather... violent, don't you think?"
Thomas's eyes narrowed.  "Your 'company' supports the corruption that's eating away at this city."
Lionel mock-chuckled again. "Now, Thomas, you seem to be suggesting that... that Luthorcorp is some kind of evil empire..."
Thomas's face was completely serious.  "That's not far from the truth."
Lionel narrowed his eyes back at Thomas.  He leaned forward, speaking quiet, venomous words.
"Be careful, Thomas.  Or you, your wife, and your son may soon regret it."

Lionel turned to walk to the front door, and stopped for a moment when he saw little Bruce staring up at him.  The boy had probably heard the whole thing.  No matter, Lionel thought.  He walked away, the eyes of Bruce and Thomas staring into his back as he left.

The party started at six o'clock, but it was already winding down by nine.  The guests' children were all getting tired, and needed to go to bed.  When it was time for Zatanna to leave, Bruce kept calm, but was obviously sad.  When the house was finally empty, Bruce wasn't yet tired.  His parents knew that he was somewhat of a night owl, and he'd probably be miserable until he could finally fall asleep in a few hours' time.
"I've got an idea," Thomas said gently.  "Let's go to the movies!"
Bruce's and Martha's eyes shot open with surprise, both for entirely different reasons.
"The movies?!" Martha asked incredulously.  "But it's nine fifteen!"
"So?" Thomas said cheerfully. "It's a holiday; why not have a little fun?"
Reluctantly, Martha agreed.

Martha had been worried that since they'd gone to an old-time movie theater—which only showed black-and-white films—that Bruce would be bored.  But he'd loved it.  The adventure, the excitement, the mystery... it made his head spin with glee.  As they left the theater, Bruce turned his head to look at the sign above the front doors, with the movie's title printed across white glowing lights: The Mark of Zorro.
Thomas bought a poster from the gift shop on the way out; Bruce would love to have it hanging in his room.  At the moment, however, Bruce was swinging the rolled poster like a sword, stabbing at invisible foes in the night.  Thomas and Martha looked at their son with pride, smiling as they walked.
They'd parked the car a block away, and decided to take a shortcut through an alleyway.
It was dark, but the three of them moved on, nonetheless.  Wayne Manor was often dark at night, and they'd learned not to fear shadows.  Perhaps they should have been afraid, after all.
Bruce suddenly halted in his tracks.  His parents, unaware of why he'd stopped walking, peered forward into the darkness.
A single gun barrel slipped into the pale moonlight, followed by a gruff voice.  "C'mon! Wallet! Jewelry! Give it to me!"
Thomas slowly reached inside his jacket and took out his wallet, gently handing it forward.  A dirty hand snatched it, pulling it back into the shadows.
"The necklace!" the man said, pointing the gun at Martha's throat.
Thomas quickly stepped in front of his wife.
*BLAM*
Thomas slowly fell to the ground.  The gun barrel was smoking.  Before Martha could let out a scream, a second bullet hit her throat.
*BLAM*
Martha's body fell down beside her husband's.

The mugger didn't say another word.  He glanced at Bruce, then turned and ran into the night.

Bruce sat on his knees, his mother's body on one side and his father's on the other.  His mother's pearl necklace was shattered, the beads strewn about the concrete.  His father's coat jacket was stained with blood.  Neither one of them moved in the slightest.  They were dead.
Bruce didn't move.
He didn't say a word.
He sat alone in the moonlit alley and cried.

Zatanna

A little girl sat alone, playing with her dolls.
She was seven—nearly eight—and had shiny black hair that fell like a sheet across her shoulders.
"Zatanna," she heard her father call, "come here for a minute."

She looked over her shoulder and saw her father standing next to two other adults and a young boy.  It wasn't unusual. Her father—who was known as the world-famous magician "John Zatara"—often brought a friend or two backstage.
Zatanna got up and walked over, a doll still in her hand.
Her father gestured toward the two adults, then the boy.  "Zatanna, this is Mr. and Mrs. Wayne, and their son, Bruce."
Zatanna looked at Bruce. He was about her age, and looked a little shy.  He had a doll in his hand, too. 
Zatanna decided that she liked him.
"Come on!" she said with a bright smile, taking his hand and pulling him across the room.  He awkwardly stumbled after her.

She sat him down next to her pile of dolls before sitting down herself.
"I've never seen a boy who played with dolls before."
Bruce frowned. "It's not a doll! It's an action figure!"
Zatanna rolled her eyes. "Whatever.  What's his name?"
Bruce couldn't help but show his excitement as he responded. "The Gray Ghost! He's the best crime-fighter ever!"
Zatanna looked at the figure.  It looked like a man wearing a long gray trenchcoat, with a gray hat and gray goggles.  She scrunched her nose at it.  "How does he fight crime? Is he really a ghost?"
Bruce took pride in his explanation.  "He's not a ghost. People just think he is because he hides in the shadows and only fights crime at night. He has all kinds of weapons and gadgets and a car and—"
Zatanna interrupted.  "But he's not a real ghost?"
"Uh... no.  Ghosts aren't real."
"How do you know?"
"Well, have you ever seen one?"
"No, but that doesn't mean they don't exist.  Have you ever seen a million dollars?"
"Yes."

A few months went by, and Zatanna and Bruce became good friends.  They were about as close and as happy as children of their age could be.  They cared not for the serious subjects that their parents discussed in the living room: those matters of government, corruption, and crime.

Then, suddenly, less than a year after Zatanna and Bruce had met, the Waynes and Zataras stopped seeing one another.  Zatanna would ask her father, "Daddy, can we invite the Waynes over?" but he responded "No, Zatanna," his throat tight and his eyes watered.  Eventually, Zatanna realized something was wrong.  "Why can't we see the Waynes, Daddy?" she asked.  "Because, Zanna," her father replied, "...just because."

The Zataras left Gotham on another country tour, and Zatanna eventually stopped asking about Bruce and his parents.  Four years later, during an East Coast tour, they ended up back in Gotham for a few days.
Zatanna and her father were cleaning up backstage after a show.  They were nearly done, and sent the rest of the crew home.  It was silent and peaceful, with no one but father and daughter still in the building.  Zatanna loved these moments: getting away from all the bright lights and the crowds, and getting to spend time alone with her father.
*THUNK THUNK*
A heavy knock came at the back door.  Zatanna looked at her father, but he simply shrugged.  He didn't have any idea who it could be.  Zatanna walked toward the door to open it, but her father jumped up and ran to catch her.
"No, Zatanna!" he said urgently.
She looked at him curiously.  He wasn't simply being protective; there was something else he was afraid of.
"Not in this town..." he said quietly.  He walked to the door and cautiously opened it.
On the other side was a boy not much older than Zatanna.  He was soaked from the heavy rain outside, and had a dejected look about him.
Zatanna peeked around her father's side and saw him.  She recognized him instantly.
"...Bruce?"
He looked back at her, but didn't say a word.

Surprised, John welcomed him inside.  Still, however, he was puzzled as to what the boy was doing here.  "Bruce... it's good to see you. But what are you doing out here at this time of night?"
"I had to see you before you left town again," he said determinedly.  "I need your help."
John was puzzled as to what a billionaire-heir boy could need from a stage magician. "Of course; we'll help you in whatever way we can."
"You're an escape artist, right?  The best in the world?"
John was still a little confused.  "Well, as far as I know the best that's still living, but—"
"Teach me."

John paused for a moment.  "...My boy, I don't understand.  Why would you want to become an escape artist?"
"It doesn't matter. Will you train me? I can pay you..."
John shook his head.  "No need to pay us, Bruce.  The only thing we'll need is your time. We're still on tour, and we can't stop now.  Would you be willing to come along with us?"
"Yes."
"...Well, alright then.  We leave tomorrow night; can you be ready by then?"
"I'll be there; thank you."
"Of course, Bruce.  Of course."

Bruce left, leaving Zatanna and John alone again.  It hadn't escaped John's notice that  Zatanna hadn't said a single word.  Looking at her now, he saw her face blushing, red as a fire hydrant.  He smiled jokingly at her.  "He certainly has grown into a handsome young man, hasn't he?"
"...Uh-huh..." she said nervously.

Bruce left Gotham with the Zataras, working behind the stage during shows and training whenever they had free time.  John taught him how to escape from all the generic restraints: rope, chains, handcuffs, and straightjackets—all while either underwater, upside-down, or both.  It would have seemed like torture to most outsiders, but Bruce had a tremendous ability to withstand pain.  Poor boy, John often thought.  He's already gone through so much pain, he probably can't feel much else anymore.
Although Bruce wasn't very interested in learning magic tricks, he did let John teach him a little of the philosophy behind it.  "You see," John said, "it's all about theatricality.  You have to trick the audience into thinking you're doing one thing while you're actually doing something else.  Divert their attention; make them focus on the show rather than the reality of it.  Stay one step ahead of them, and don't let them catch up until the show's over."


After only three months traveling with the Zataras, Bruce was ready for his final test: escaping from full-body chains while straightjacketed and hanging upside-down.  Zatanna watched him from the back of the room, smiling and twirling her hair.  The test would be difficult, but she was sure he could do it.   It only took him eight seconds.  He worked his way through the jacket and restraints, then let them fall to the floor while he held himself upside-down on the single chain that hung from the ceiling.  He swung downwards and let go, somersaulting backwards once through the air before landing solidly on his feet.
John laughed and clapped with approval.  "Bravo, my boy, bravo.  Now you've learned all I can teach you.  You only need practice and experience now."
"Thank you, sir," Bruce replied with a grin.  It was rare to see Bruce with much of a smile, but he did occasionally give out a prideful smirk.
"I imagine that you'll be leaving us now?" John asked.
"...yes, sir," Bruce answered.
"...You know, Bruce, you're always welcome.  You don't have to go.""Yes I do," he said determinedly.
John sighed to himself. "This doesn't have anything to do with your parents, does it?"
"It has everything to do with my parents," Bruce said grimly.
"Bruce, whatever it is you're planning; whatever it is that's driving you like this... it's not good.  If it's revenge or vengeance you're looking for, stop now.  Before it destroys you."
Bruce calmly turned to John.  "I appreciate your concern, sir.  But don't worry about me; I'll be okay."
John let himself smile. "Alright, my boy.  Good luck on your travels, wherever they may lead you."
"Thank you, sir," Bruce replied. "It's been an honor to learn from you."
John nodded. "And it's been an honor to teach you."
With that, John left the room.

Zatanna sat on the floor behind a box, trying to hide her sadness.  She knew Bruce would be leaving, but she didn't know it would be so soon.
Bruce leaned over the side of the box.  "What are you doing back here?"
Zatanna almost gasped with surprise, but quickly regained herself.  Standing up, she changed the subject. "You're leaving now?"
"We'll see each other again someday, Zanna," Bruce said reassuringly.
"You know, you're the only one who calls me Zanna," Zatanna said with a slight edge.  "I really hate it."  She actually kind of loved it, but she wasn't going to tell him that.
"Well... I'm leaving tonight.  I probably won't see you again for a while."
Zatanna sighed and turned her back to him. "So go. Be that escape artist you always wanted to be so badly."
She turned around after only a few seconds to see the room completely empty.  He really was gone.

The Storm

Rain pounded against the glass.  Lightning struck the skies again and again.  Bruce stood still in front of the window, taking it all in.  The room was almost completely dark, like the mouth of a cave. He liked it that way.
   Alfred stood in the back of the room, quietly watching the lightning-lit silhouette of his young master.  He wished often that he could comfort Bruce, but the boy's wounds were too deep.
   The bell above the elevator chimed softly.  Someone was coming up.  It must be Miss Lane, Alfred thought.  She was the only other person besides Alfred and Bruce to have a key to the elevator door.
   The door slid open, revealing a dark-haired young woman.  It wasn't Lois.
   "My goodness!" Alfred exclaimed with recognition.  "Miss Zatanna!  What a delight!"
   "Alfred!" she replied, jumping up to give him a big hug.
   Hearing the girl's name, Bruce actually turned around, very surprised.  There were only a few things in the world that could have broken him out of his statue-like stance at the window, and this was one of them.
   Zatanna was a very remarkable girl.  She was seventeen years old, with long, shadow-black hair.  She was dressed in all black, with a tight leather jacket.  She tended to lean at a slight angle when she stood—like a model—which, when coupled with her usually-tight clothing, tended to show off the curves of her body.  She knew it, but didn't care.  Her family had a background in stage show business, and she didn't have much in the way of physical shame.
   "Bruce?" she called gently, peering through the dark room at his silhouette.  He didn't answer.  She walked across the room, stopping about a foot in front of him.  He was looking her in the eyes, but still not saying a word.  She looked back at him curiously, but knew him well enough to realize what he was doing.  She put her arms around his neck and held him, leaning her head caringly on his shoulder.  Slowly, he shut his eyes and relaxed slightly.
   Zatanna leaned back, putting her hand gently on the side of his cheek.  They both knew that he couldn't bring himself to speak right now, for fear of not being able to hold back tears.
   "Sorry to just pop in on you like this.  I'll go now."
   She pulled away, and took a step backwards.
   Bruce clenched his jaw and managed to get out a few words.  "Zanna, I—"
   "I know, Bruce," she said with a compassionate smile.  "It's okay.  I'll be in town for a few more days; we can catch up later."
   With that, she walked back into the elevator, giving a farewell nod to Alfred along the way.
   Alfred smiled. Perhaps Zatanna's presence could help alleviate Bruce's mental state. Bruce turned back to the window.  Then again, perhaps not.

   Halfway across the city, a dark figure sat crouched on the edge of a tower.  Perched on the edge as he was, he resembled a rooftop gargoyle.  His body was coated entirely in a smooth, synthetic black material.  On his head was a cowl.  Two fins jutted upwards from the sides of the cowl, like the ears of a predator.  His eyes were hidden behind two glowing white lenses, permanently fixed into a frighteningly piercing gaze.
   He sat in wait.  Just a few more seconds now...  He reached to a line of silver compartments along his waist, and pulled a small metal box from it, its magnetic attachment releasing with his touch.  Pressing the red button on the box, he lifted his head.  High up in the darkened clouds, a cone of light appeared.  A huge boom echoed from it, but no one noticed.  In this storm, it sounded like another crack of thunder.

   A speaker in the dark man's cowl crackled to life, and another man's voice could be heard.
   "Did you find him?" the voice asked.  It sounded like an elderly man who'd been punched in the throat a few too many times in his youth.
   "Yeah," the black-suited man responded.  "I see him right now."
   The suit's built-in electronic visor zoomed in on Wayne Tower.  Through red-tinted vision, Bruce Wayne was clearly visible.
   "Good. Keep an eye on him."
   "What about the others?  Kent, Prince, and Allen?"
   "They might try to get in your way.  Don't let them."
   "Right.  And who's this 'Zatanna'?"
   "...avoid her."
   The metal box beeped a warning.
   "The boom tube is about to collapse," the suited man said.
   "Alright. Shut it off, and finish your mission."
   "Yes, sir."
   He pressed the red button again, and the cone of light shrunk to a single point before disappearing.  He stood up.  The entire suit was once piece, streamlined and sleek.  The rainwater ran down the shiny fabric without penetrating it.  Behind the cowl, the man didn't even need to blink.
   He raised his arms. From seemingly nowhere, two sleek wings unfolded out of the suit's back.  They were four feet long each, black on the back, and bright red on the inside.
   He crouched and jumped off the roof, slipping downwards headfirst through the air, toward the streets.  Tilting back, he let his wings catch the air as he glided upwards again.  When he reached the peak of his upward glide, he threw his wings back into the air, letting them trail behind him as he dropped out of the sky and toward another rooftop.

   As Bruce stared out of the window, a flash of lightning illuminated the sky behind the winged man.  Bruce's eyes went wide with shock as he saw it for a mere split-second: the shape of a flying bat.