Guilt and Twisted Conscience

      The sensation of falling, combined with the kryptonite radiation getting closer and closer, made Clark feel like he was being drugged—with the distinct impression that once he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake up.
     Clark landed alongside the car in the river. Now several feet under, he reeled against the feeling of irradiated water against his skin, but shoved the pain out of his mind as much as possible. Someone was trapped inside the car, and it looked like he was unconscious.
     Clark grabbed hold of the car door. As he pulled on it, his muscles screamed at him, as though he were tearing his own arm off. Clark looked through the window; the driver was going to die. Clark pulled as hard as he could manage; the door ripped off its hinges instantly. The car immediately filled with water; Clark snapped the seatbelt off the driver and pulled him out.
     "Flying" through the water to the shore felt like it took forever. When they were out, Clark was thankful to see that the driver was still breathing.
     "Thanks," the driver said weakly as he coughed up water.
     "No problem," Clark said, breathing heavily. He hadn't felt this tired since he was five years old. Fortunately, the river was wider than the bridge was tall, so he was plenty far from the meteors. He felt himself getting stronger every second.
     Clark looked at the driver for the first time clearly: he was young—about Clark's age—well-dressed, and bald. Clark was stunned when he recognized him.
     The driver held out his hand: "Lex Luthor."
     Clark slowly shook Lex's hand. "We've... met."
     Lex narrowed his eyes, thinking. "...Oh. You're... you were Lois's..."
     "...Yeah."

     An ambulance sat atop the bridge; paramedics tended to Lex's cuts and bruises while Sheriff Miller interviewed him.
     "It was my fault; I was distracted and driving too fast," Lex said. "I could have sworn I hit Clark, but I must have just missed him. I was barely conscious, but I remember him pulling me out of the car when it sank."
     Jonathan, Chloe, and Diana arrived.
     "Son, are you okay?" Jonathan asked Clark.
     "I'm fine. There were some meteors in the river, but I got away from them before anything bad happened."
     "Where is he?" Diana asked, a slight rumbling fire in her voice.
     "Over there," Clark said, pointing to Lex. "But Diana, it was an accident."
     "He could have killed you!" she countered.
     "No he couldn't. I got hit, and I'm fine."
     "But he doesn't know that!" Chloe said. "It was dumb luck that he hit the only Kryptonian in existence. What if you were human, like everyone else?"
     "He deserves to be locked up in prison, at best," said Diana.
     "Hey, now," Clark said, "there was no harm done. Besides... I think he has enough problems. That's Lex Luthor."
     Everyone was visibly shocked. Chloe felt her reporter's fire shrink down, and she fell silent. Jonathan put his arm around her. "Let's go back to the car, Chloe."

     Lex and Sheriff Miller walked over to Clark and Diana.
     "Clark, Lex says he thought he hit you. Is that true?"
     Clark almost winced. He hated lying and wasn't even good at it. "If I'd been hit, would I be standing here?"
     The Sheriff was surprised at Clark's flippant response. Clark had always been such a respectful boy.
     "So... you dove in after him, and pulled him out of his car, is that right?"
     "Yes sir."
     "Clark, I didn't think you could swim."
     Clark thought about it. Technically, he couldn't swim. "I learned the Summer before last, sir," Clark said, thinking of when he learned to fly.
     Sheriff Miller didn't like this at all. He'd known the Kents all his life, but this seemed... off. But there wasn't a single concrete thing to point to, so he let the matter go.

     Clark glanced at Lex. Lex was still shaken from the crash, but there were much worse things going on than he would admit. Just from what Clark knew about Lex's life, he knew that Lex had to be at rock bottom by this point.
     "Clark," Lex said, "I really want to apologize again."
     Clark smiled. "Hey, don't worry. Everybody drives their car off a bridge sometimes."
     Lex and Sheriff Miller didn't even chuckle at Clark's stupid joke.
     "Actually, would you like to come over for dinner?"
     Lex was a bit unsure how to react for a second; no one had invited him over for anything before in his life. "Um... no, no, that wouldn't be right."
     "Come on. You wanna pay me back for almost hitting me with your car, come over and help us eat my mom's rhubarb pie. She always cooks way too much."
     Lex awkwardly shrugged. "Okay?"

     Dinner was slightly awkward, but the Kents had a way of making everyone feel like family that even Lex couldn't shake.
     "So... Lex," Martha said, "what brings you to Smallville?"
     "I, um... I came to see the Luthorcorp plant a few miles west of here."
     Everyone fell silent; no one wanted to continue the conversation about Lex's father's company.
     "Um, mom? Is the pie ready yet?" Clark asked, breaking the tension.
     "Not for another fifteen minutes or so," Martha replied.
     "Well," Clark said, "I think it'd be nice to get some fresh air before dessert. Lex?"
     Lex nodded. "Sure."
     Clark and Lex politely stood up and walked outside.
     Diana looked at Jonathan and Martha. "Do we... trust him? Lex, I mean?"
     Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look.
     "Well, we don't have a reason not to yet," Jonathan said.
     "But... he's Lionel Luthor's son," Diana said. "How do we know he's going to be any different than his father?"
     "Lex took a stand against his father when he tried to save Lois," Martha said.
     Diana didn't find that much comfort. Lex killed his father after Lois was already dead. The fact that the Kents were able to find a silver lining in that said a lot about their character.
     "But..." Jonathan added, "if you want to stay close by, I wouldn't be terribly upset."
     Martha stood up to take a peek at the pie, gently patting Diana on the wrist. "You might want to grab your bracelets."
     Diana smirked.

     Clark and Lex stood in the barn's loft, staring at the stars.
     "You know," Lex said, "I don't think I've ever actually seen the sky before. The stars, I mean. My whole life I've lived in big cities. Metropolis, Gotham, New York. I don't think I've ever been anywhere where there weren't a thousand lights filling the sky."
     Clark nodded. "Yeah. It's nice."
     Lex mentally drifted off, depression showing in his face.
     "Lex..." Clark said, "Why are you going to the Luthorcorp plant?"
     Lex rubbed his bald head, pushing away a stress headache. "I'm trying to stamp out all my father's old... 'business' ties. Most of them fell away from the company as soon as he died, but a few are still using Luthorcorp resources."
     "Isn't that a job for the police, or the FBI?"
     "Yes, but... I want to do it myself. Besides, I have easy access to every plant, factory, and office building, and I won't alert anyone like the authorities will."
     "But isn't that dangerous? Confronting crime bosses like that?"
     "Oh, I don't confront them. I just find out how they're using the company and how to find them. It's pretty easy, actually. I look through the books, check building blueprints, and make sure every room in the place is clear. I just say it's a surprise inspection and no one stops me."
     "You read blueprints and check financial records for the entire plant? That must take weeks."
     "Nope. Takes a day or two."
     "...How?"
     Lex turned to Clark. "Give me a math equation. Anything."
     "What's two thousand, three hundred seventy-one times seven-hundred ninety-two divided by the square root of two hundred eighty-nine?"
     "One hundred ten thousand, four hundred sixty point seven zero five eight eight two."
     Clark was genuinely impressed.
     Lex tapped his head with his pointer finger. "I'm a genius, or so they tell me. I use exponential statistics to find anomalies in the records, and I have a photographic memory, so I can recall every room in the building and check it against the original blueprints or vice-versa."
     "All in your head?"
     "All in my head."
     "That's... wow."
     Lex stared up at the sky again.
     "Why are you doing it, really?" Clark asked.
     Lex lowered his head. "I hate my father. I really do."
     A slow, chilled breeze flowed through the barn. Clark couldn't ever imagine speaking those words; he'd never had anything but a wonderful father.
     Lex stared at his feet. "I want to cut off every last bit of his twisted corruption and watch it die under my heel."
     "And what about when you're done?"
     Lex stared out across the horizon. "Then... I'll be done."
     Clark was a bit startled; he knew what Lex meant. Once his mission was done, he didn't have a reason to live. Lex was planning to kill himself.

Drive

     As much as Clark loved flying, he wasn't able to do that much during daylight, so he spent a lot of time walking. He never felt tired, so walking was almost as effortless as flying for him—just anchored to the ground. In any case, the winter clouds over Kansas were breaking up, so he could enjoy soaking up the sun's rays without going above cloud level. Today, he felt like taking a path he normally avoided. A long curved road went over a 150-foot-high dam—the only one in Smallville's area. Clark felt uneasy every time he went over it as a child—because he was afraid of heights, or so he thought. But that had been well before Clark learned of his flight ability. Now he wanted to test himself.

     Clark walked to the center of the dam, leaned over the railing and felt his stomach sink.

He was surprised at himself. He didn't feel afraid, but... wait. He was never afraid of the height. He felt sick because there were meteor rocks nearby.
     Clark looked everywhere, focusing his vision as best he could. He always had unusually keen eyes, but never knew if that was because he was young or because he was Kryptonian. He scanned the waters below the dam... bingo. As Clark focused harder, he could see past the surface of the water into the riverbed. Large chunks of meteor, with exposed green crystals glowing, were sitting calmly at the bottom. They'd probably been there since the meteor shower. Clark started to feel worse—apparently the effect of the radiation was cumulative—but before he left he decided to test something. He was safe here, for the moment, after all.

     Clark picked up a rock from the road and squeezed it. He felt a surge of pain as he did, but kept going. He struggled for a moment, but eventually the rock crumbled.

     So, he thought, my powers don't actually fade when I'm near the rocks. They're just harder to use.

     Clark turned to leave when suddenly he saw an oncoming car barreling down the road, its driver nowhere to be seen. Clark focused his eyes and somehow saw someone inside the car, leaning down to grab something that had fallen over. As the driver leaned back up he bumped the steering wheel, sending the car swerving out of its lane and straight into Clark—and off the edge of the dam, a hundred and fifty feet in the air.

Over The Edge

     Bruce felt the wind behind him carry him forward as he sprinted for the entrance to Nanda Parbat. He passed the blood-soaked body of the guard near the entrance and felt a tinge of regret. If he'd realized Ra's plan before, maybe he could have warned the monks. Maybe this man didn't need to die.

     Bruce ran through the tunnel, steeling himself against what he knew would be a massacre. But as he passed through the opening, he saw something entirely different. A few bodies of monks lay on the ground, but dozens more were very much alive.
     The hundred-or-so assassins sprayed a hail of bullets in every direction, but the monks dodged, flipped, and spun through the air, dancing around them in every which direction. One assassin reached forward and grabbed a monk's robe; the monk merely twirled around and shoved his palm into the assassin's chest, sending the assassin flying backwards a full fifty feet before landing on the ground, unconscious. Another monk used a staff to knock away three assassins at once, as though he were swatting flies out of the air.
     Bruce was astonished, but still concerned. Where was Ra's?
     The temple doors were flung open. There.

     Bruce entered the temple with no interference from either the assassins or the monks. They were too busy with each other, and Bruce suspected the monks knew Bruce wasn't a threat.
     Ra's stood at the altar, reaching for the treasures that lay upon it. Before he or Bruce could even see what had happened, the master suddenly stood on the other side of the altar.
     "So," the master said, "you return to steal from this temple. This cannot be allowed."
     Ra's laughed.
     The master narrowed his eyes. "One should not laugh in the face of his elders, young one."
     Ra's glared into the old eyes of the master and grinned. "You are not my elder. And I did not come here to steal from the altar; I came to break it!"
     Ra's kicked the altar, sending a large blue glass orb tumbling onto the floor.
     The master gasped and fell to the ground, unconscious.
     Bruce heard the sounds of battle behind him fade. The monks had lost consciousness as well.

     "RA'S!" Bruce yelled across the temple.
     Ra's turned around in angered surprise. "Should I ask how you escaped, young detective? Did you overpower my daughter, or did you seduce her in my absence?"
     "What did you do?!"
     "Do you not know what this place truly is? It stands upon a nexus of energy, the intersection of lines of power that run across the earth. This altar focuses that energy and gives this place its mystical nature."
     Bruce understood. That was why time moved more slowly here.
     "So you just removed the altar's keystone."
     "Yes," Ra's replied, picking up the orb. "These monks have long lived on borrowed time. Their lives are now tuned to to its power. Without it, their life force ceases to exist."
     "So you came all this way just to kill some monks?"
     "No, I came here for that's beneath. I told you that lines of energy intersect here; the earth underneath this temple is the source of immense power. The kind of power that no amount of wealth or force can grant. True power."
     Bruce glanced at the master's still body. "The power of life and death."
     Ra's grinned. "Precisely, detective."

     Bruce heard the commotion of assassins running towards the temple doors. He half-turned towards the door, kicked it closed, then jammed it shut with a knife.
     Ra's was somewhere between surprised and impressed. "Do you intend to try to stop me?"
     "You're damned right."
     Ra's laughed. "Very well, boy."
     Bruce ran forward while Ra's steadied himself. Bruce threw a flurry of precise jabs and kicks, but Ra's merely dodged them, all while holding the orb in his left hand. Ra's kicked Bruce to the floor, then threw the orb to the ground with his full strength. It hit the hard wood with a loud thud, but didn't even crack.
     "Well, then," Ra's said, "if I can't break the orb, I might as well toss it down the nearest bottomless ravine."
     Ra's threw the orb onto an upper balcony in the room, then began climbing a long tapestry that hung from that level. Bruce grabbed a parallel tapestry and followed. They both landed on the second level at the same time, but Ra's quickly ducked into a nearby hallway. Bruce ran after him, around a corner and through an open window onto the roof of the temple.
     Ra's stood at the edge of the roof, directly over the ravine. The wind gusted across the roof, filling the air with so much snow that it clouded Bruce and Ra's' visibility. Bruce ducked behind a nearby chimney and reached for the pouch on his belt.
     "Hiding, are we, detective?" Ra's yelled over the wind. "Come now, face me!"
     "Put the orb down safely, Ra's!" Bruce yelled back.
     Ra's laughed. "Why? What use do you truly have for it? Think, boy! I have already told you what lies beneath this temple; why would you instead choose the monks? In all your time here, what have they actually taught you? What supposedly great knowledge have you learned?"
     Ra's felt a sharp pain in his left leg, and glanced down to see a large shuriken—one of the League's designs—embedded in his thigh. Before he could look up, Bruce's foot hit his face, sending him off his feet.
     Bruce picked up the orb and stood over Ra's.
     "I learned to be quiet."
     Ra's snarled at Bruce as he pulled the shuriken out of his leg and painfully stood up.
     "Fine," said Ra's. "You want to face me? You want to match your strength against mine? I will oblige."
     Bruce wrapped the orb gently in a scarf and put it aside, then set himself in a fighting stance.

     Ra's ran at Bruce. Bruce turned to dodge, but Ra's caught him with a locked elbow and twisted Bruce around, throwing him ten feet across the roof. Bruce rolled and caught himself, jumping back up and sprinting forward. He threw a kick at Ra's head, but Ra's easily countered it with a jab of the knuckles into a nerve in Bruce's thigh. Bruce fell, halfway paralyzed by the blow. Ra's raised his foot to stomp on Bruce's throat, but Bruce rolled aside and struck Ra's on the back of his knee, sending Ra's toppling down.
     Bruce struggled to his feet. He glanced at the bloodstain on Ra's' leg; it was getting bigger. Good. Ra's would be getting weaker now.
     Ra's and Bruce threw a flurry of jabs and kicks at each other, causing little more than bruises. Bruce felt himself getting weaker, while Ra's only looked more menacing, the look in his eyes growing madder and more malicious like an ancient feral animal.
     Ra's grabbed hold of Bruce, threw him into the roof with enough force to crack it, then jumped, ready to deliver a powerful kick. Bruce pushed himself through the pain and moved aside, barely missing Ra's foot as it punched a hole in the roof.
     Ra's pinned Bruce down, grabbing the shuriken he'd tossed aside before and clasping it between his fingers. Bruce reached inside the hole in the roof, grabbed a broken piece of wood, and smashed it across Ra's face. Ra's recoiled for a moment, long enough for Bruce to grab the scarf holding the orb. Bruce rolled on his stomach, holding the orb inside the hole in the roof.
     Ra's held Bruce down with his knee, shuriken in hand, ready for the killing blow. Bruce dropped the orb through the hole. With a loud glass-on-metal CLANG, the orb landed directly on its perch on the altar.
     The air around them immediately stilled, and the snow seemed to clear.
     Ra's looked over his shoulder to see the master, standing perfectly calm and still on the edge of the roof. Ra's growled, then ran for the master. The master neatly deflected Ra's momentum with a single sidestep and the tip of his finger. Ra's toppled over the edge, falling into the abyss.

     All across Nanda Parbat, the monks stood up and fought back once again. The assassins, caught off guard, were defeated in seconds.

     Bruce struggled to get up, but couldn't. The master closed his eyes and touched four points on Bruce's back. Suddenly Bruce realized he could stand up.
     "What did you do?" he asked the master.
     "Something you may learn, if you choose to stay."
     "...I can stay?"
     "Yes. We knew you did not attempt any deception. However, we wished to test what was in your heart." The master nodded towards the ravine. "Had you chosen to ally yourself with the assassins, you might share his fate."
     Bruce walked to the edge and looked down. Ra's was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the bottom of the ravine.

     "Why did you tell me you sought power and vengeance when you first arrived?" the master asked. "I have seen you seek nothing but the opposite."
     Bruce sighed. "I don't want to be a murderer. But I do want people—criminals, thieves, murderers—to pay for what they've done. For as long as I live, I'll never stop fighting them. No matter what it takes."
     The master nodded. "You deprive yourself of many of the desires of life—family, companionship, love—in exchange for a greater focus on your task. To sacrifice worldly desire is a good thing, young one. But what of your anger? Save for not killing, you are unwilling to let it go."
     "I forge my anger into a weapon. I turn it away from the innocent and focus on the corrupt."
     "But you cannot turn it away from yourself. You will always be the true victim of your anger, far more than any adversary."
     "...I don't care. I'll do it anyway. My life is less important than my mission."
     The master stood silently for a long moment.
     "Very well. Rest, young one. We have much to teach you in the morning."
     "...I need to check on something first."

     Bruce stood in the snow-covered, empty remains of the assassins' camp. The main building had been burnt to the ground, leaving nothing more than a charred pile of ash and metal. Talia was nowhere in sight. Bruce was momentarily concerned. Did something go wrong? Did Talia die here?
     Bruce turned and walked back toward Nanda Parbat. He stopped, however, when he saw a set of snowmobile tracks headed away from the camp and out of the mountains. So she made it, Bruce thought. Wherever she is, she's better off now. Free from her father's madness.

Betrayal

     Bruce was tied to a chair in the control room. Talia watched over him from across the room, her arms crossed.
     They were alone in the room; Ra's and his army had left for Nanda Parbat, leaving only a few men at the base. Bruce didn't want to even think about the slaughter that was taking place.

     "Why, Talia?"
     "Why what?"
     "Why kill?"
     "Don't be so naive. Do you really think the world can change without the death of evil men?"
     "I believe men can change for the better."
     "All of them?"
     "...Maybe not all. But some. The others can rot in prison. But they don't have to die."
     "Why not, Bruce? Why not? Your parents were killed, were they not? Would you hesitate to kill the man who killed your parents?"
     "...I wouldn't kill him, no."
     "You wouldn't want vengeance for your parents?"
     "Of course I want it. But if I killed him, I'd be no better than he."
     "Oh, spare me the philosophy! Would the world not be a safer place without him in it? Why not execute every rapist and serial murderer in your accursed city?!"
     "Because every one of them might have a family, like I did. Like you did. Killing them all would only create more empty homes, and ruin those mens' chances for redemption."
     "And what if your justice system judges those men guilty and executes them?"
     "That's the prerogative of the law. We elect representatives to help decide what justice is."
     "Is every judge unbiased? Is every jury? There are things the law cannot do. You yourself know this. Your parents' killer was never caught, correct? My father told me you came to this place seeking vengeance for them. If the law is so perfect, why is your journey necessary?"
     "There are flaws in the system, like any system. But it's better than wholesale slaughter. I seek justice above and beyond what the law is capable of doing, yes. But not through murder."
     Talia shook her head. "I can't imagine you're upset that Deadshot was 'murdered.' He even escaped that supposedly-inescapable prison they put him in the first time."
     "...I'll admit, I'm not sorry he's gone. But that doesn't give you the right to execute him. What right have you over the life and death of others?"
     "You don't understand, Bruce. My father and I... our league... we have no country. No home to go to. We hold no allegiance to any laws of any country. And we will kill those who are evil."
     Bruce noticed Talia's voice quiver slightly over her last few words.
     "Talia, if your father says he only wants to kill those who are evil in his quest, then why is he killing the monks out there right now?"
     Talia didn't respond for a long moment. Bruce saw doubt and sadness creep into her face.
     "My father... says that the monks are impeding his progress in his quest. That they stand in the way of knowledge."
     "The monks of Nanda Parbat are the most peaceful people in the entire world. They hold no malice whatsoever. And your father is going to kill them... for what? Some vague great knowledge?"
     Tears welled in Talia's eyes. Bruce had seen tears like that only once before, once when his mother visited dying veterans in one of their family's hospitals.
     "You don't like killing, do you?"
     "...I care not if I kill those who deserve it."
     "But the people that don't... the people your father steps on in his quest for personal gain..."
     Talia looked into Bruce's eyes for a moment. She wasn't sure she could trust him. There was no one in the world she trusted with her inner thoughts. Not any of Ra's' men, not Ubu... not even her father.
     She relented. "I love my father," she said, her voice trembling. "...But I do not share his apathy for innocent blood. He claims that... that it is necessary. That every life we take in our quest is justified by the righteousness of our cause."
     "But you don't believe that."
     "...I... no. I do not."
     Bruce recognized the look on her face.
     "Because of your mother?"
     Talia looked up, surprised at first. But of course Bruce would understand this, she realized.
     "Yes. My mother was a selfless woman who cared for my father despite his harshness. She loved me and raised me when my father was too busy at war or planning the next battle. She never deserved to die. Not even if her death had been 'necessary' for the cause... she would never have deserved to die."
     "Then stop your father. Help end this madness."
     "...I cannot. I may not agree with him, but... I love him. I could never fight him."
     "Then let me."

     Talia wiped the tears from her face, walked across the room, and cut Bruce's ropes.
     "Go," she said, turning to the computers. "I will divert the troops still in the base away while you head for the temple. The armory is on the way; make use of it."
     Bruce put his hand on Talia's shoulder.
     "Thank you."
     Talia nodded, doing her best to retain her resolve and ignore her betrayal.
     "Hurry."

Detective

     Bruce lay in his bed, turning over everything in his mind.
     Ra's claimed to be a man seeking knowledge in order to peacefully aid mankind toward advancement. He also claimed that he was here in the mountains because Nanda Parbat was the source of powerful knowledge. Both Bruce and Ra's had been accused of trying to steal from the temple. Bruce knew he hadn't stolen anything, but Ra's had already lied to Bruce once before. And Bruce doubted that the monks would have made up that story or been mistaken.
     There was another thing. Ra's said that the men under his command were simply there to help the cause, but they were obviously under a military structure. Ra's said that they were largely there as a security force, and considering Talia's story about the attack that killed her mother... it could be true. If Bruce could have hired a small army to protect his parents, he would have. But... no. These men weren't prepared for an outside attack. The base wasn't laid out in any defensive pattern, nor was there anything resembling a radar dish to watch for an aerial assault. And even more disturbing, who would attack the camp here in the Himalayas? In the African desert, where water is scarce and tribes can be violent, sure, but here? Who on Earth would have the resources to do that? What kind of enemies did Ra's—a supposed humanitarian—have that were so dangerous?

     Bruce got up and left his room. In the few weeks he'd spent at the temple, he'd learned almost nothing that he'd consider practical, but he did learn quite a bit about spiritual and physical balance. The monks were insistent upon total silence unless necessary—especially in the temple walls—so Bruce quickly learned how to walk silently. As he carefully stepped through the dark hallway, his footsteps less audible than a whisper, he heard Ra's' bedroom door open. Bruce quickly ducked behind a corner, using the warped reflection of a nearby vase to see down the hallway. Ra's stepped out of his room, wrapped in a green cape. Bruce risked a glance around the corner. Ra's stood taller and prouder than before, his hair and his beard well-groomed. His hair, at a certain angle, almost seemed shaped into horns. His cape was a dark emerald, with golden lines of Arabic text woven into the edges. A large curved sword was sheathed on his belt, which was covered by an elaborate sash. He might have seemed kingly to some. Bruce knew, however, that all it meant was that Ra's believed himself a king.
     Ra's said something quietly to Ubu at his side, then left out the main door. Bruce quickly went to Ra's' door, checked to make sure it wasn't rigged with an alarm, then quickly stepped inside. The room was definitely laid out for royalty. Golden artifacts from a dozen ancient civilizations were arranged across the room, almost like an Egyptian tomb. Bookshelves lined one wall. Bruce glanced at them and almost instinctively recoiled. They were books of alchemical black magic. Some were simple scientific research on mystical rituals from around the world, but some of them seemed to be legitimate tomes of dark mysticism.
     The closet door had a keypad on it. Bruce typed in "TALIA." Nothing happened. Bruce went to the bookshelf and pulled out a book of ancient Arabic translations. He looked up "Ra's." Arabic translation: "رأس." Literal meaning: "head." That figured. Bruce guessed that it was likely a name Ra's chose for himself, rather than one he was given. Next, Bruce translated "Al Ghul." Arabic translation: "الغول." Literal meaning: ...Bruce nearly felt a shiver reading it. He went back to the keypad and entered the full translation:
     "THE DEMONS HEAD"
     The door slid open.
     It was a dark room filled with computer displays, maps, and a large illuminated glass table. Bruce went to the nearest computer and looked through its system. It was a database, apparently, filled with folders named for events organized by date and geography. Bruce was shocked when he glanced at the current date on the system: March fifth. That wasn't possible. He looked at every other computer and saw the same thing. Bruce had arrived at the temple on March third and spent over five weeks there. It should be April seventh. Either every clock in this incredibly advanced base was somehow off by a month, or something truly bizarre affected the passage of time in Nanda Parbat.
     Bruce opened one folder on the computer named "STRYKER'S ISLAND 23-11-09." A video file was inside; Bruce accessed it.
     The video showed a darkened prison cell, with Floyd Lawton, Deadshot, strapped to it. A lone young woman stood before him—it was Talia.
    "You failed, Lawton," she said.
     "Yeah, sue me." Lawton flippantly replied.
     "It's a shame, really. Had you succeeded, you might have been on your way to one day joining us."
     "Joining? Who, Luthorcorp? Yeah, I 'aint the businessman type. Look, are you done? Are you gonna get me out of here, or what?"
     "I speak not of Luthorcorp."
     "Wait, what...? Aw, seriously? You're upset over that job? Come on; that was a stupid plan anyway! I mean, why'd you need—"
     "My father's designs are not to be questioned, least of all by you. Your assignment was merely a small part in his grand plan."
     "Huh. Okay. Well, little girl, you go tell your daddy I'm sorry, and that I'll do better next time."
     Talia didn't blink.
     "The League of Assassins does not allow failure, Floyd Lawton."
     Talia reached behind her back, slowly pulling a short sword from its sheath. With a single swift motion, she stepped forward and stabbed, slipping the blade gently into Floyd's heart. She then stepped back, wiped her blade, and sheathed it.

     "Apparently you are quite the detective," a voice said from behind Bruce. It was Ra's.
     "And you're the head of a league of assassins," Bruce said as he turned around.
     Talia stood behind Ra's, her stance firm as if to support her father, but her face slightly dismayed.
     "Yes," said Ra's, "it was unfortunately necessary for me to hide the truth from you. My League is indeed often known—whenever it is known at all—as the League of Shadows, for many do not appreciate the fact that for the world to truly rise above its state of dismay, many must die. There are few who truly know its real name, the League of Assassins."
     "I've heard of the League of Assassins before," Bruce said. "There've been whispers about you in Gotham for decades. I ran into some of your people once—the hooked ones."
     Ra's almost sneered. "Those imbeciles were not my men! That pathetic hooked assassin's guild was made of mere pretenders. Children playing at a master's game. They were defeated by the local police, were they not? No, my league is made of only the finest; those who truly understand the art of death."
     "Like Deadshot?"
     "An unfortunate and rare error in judgment on my part. He was never truly part of the league; we used him to unbalance the scales of economic power."
     Bruce caught on instantly. "You wanted him to kill all of us at Excelsior. Me, Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor..."
     "Yes, in fact, I did. You underestimate the true power you wield with merely your family name. The Wayne and Luthor names notably have great influence in America."
     "And without heirs to either company, you figured you could slip in and control a huge chunk of American industry, and have easy access to the best medical, biological, and weapons technology in the world."
     Ra's grinned. "Once again I must credit you, detective. You truly are a remarkable young man. But I must leave you now; I have an invasion scheduled for tonight."
     Bruce had feared this, but hoped he was wrong. Ra's had indeed tried to steal from Nanda Parbat under the false guise of a humble student, and now that he'd failed, he was going to use a small army to invade the temple, armed to the teeth with every modern firearm known to man. The monks were all going to die.

A Better World

     "What kind of name is Raysh Al Ghul?"
     "A very old name. Arabic, if you must know."
     As Bruce and Ra's walked through the camp, the men in black stopped in place to bow towards Ra's. Although they were all fully masked, Bruce had the biting feeling that they were all staring daggers at him.
     "Who are these people?" Bruce asked.
     "They are my devoted servants. Their lives are pledged to me."
     As Ra's walked among his servants, Bruce noticed his stance became more proud. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd have thought Ra's was royalty. Even Ra's' speech patterns and accent were different. More European. Mostly British, mixed with Romanian.
     "Why did they pledge their lives to you, exactly?" Bruce asked.
     Ra's grinned. "I do not exaggerate when I say that I am a man of great influence. Many simply find it in their nature to follow me wherever I command. Are you so different from me?"
     "I don't keep servants."
     "No? Your wealth, combined with your parents' reputation, makes you a very powerful young man indeed, mister Wayne."
     Bruce stopped in his place.
     Ra's turned and gave Bruce a patronizing look. "Young boy, among the elite of society, your fame is far-reaching. For someone as obviously well-connected as I, how could I not recognize the prince of Gotham City?"
     Bruce uneasily continued walking. He already didn't trust Ra's, but now he was beginning to feel threatened.

     Bruce and Ra's entered one of the makeshift buildings. The interior looked like the inside of a mansion. Wood paneling and floors, fine carpet, antique furniture, and not a hint of the weather outside.
     A large bald man in a white robe bowed to Ra's. "Master, I have a bath and a change of clothes ready for you."
     "Thank you, Ubu," said Ra's. "Please, extend the same courtesy to our guest." He gestured to Bruce, then pulled Ubu close and whispered in his ear. Ubu bowed both to Ra's and Bruce, then walked down the hallway, gesturing for Bruce to follow.
     "This is your room," Ubu said as they approached a door.
     Bruce nodded politely and reached for the handle. Ubu suddenly clamped his hand on Bruce's wrist and glared into his eyes.
     "If you dare... try anything," Ubu said with a whisper, "anything... threatening... to my master, I will kill you."
     Bruce glared back into Ubu's eyes. He had always been able to make people back off or in some cases recoil in fear if he stared hard enough in just the right way. He didn't know why, but he suspected that most people simply hadn't seen that level of anger and pain before. But here... Ubu didn't flinch. Apparently, Ubu's dedication to Ra's ran more deeply than anything Bruce had seen before.

     After Ubu left, Bruce dropped his things in his room and left to explore the base. He mapped it in his mind as he went, taking note of every detail. There were five separate small buildings in the base. Two were dedicated to housing the omnipresent black-clad troopers that watched Bruce wherever he went. Two others were sheds for sheltering the snowmobiles and other vehicles the troops used to traverse the snowy landscape. The building in the center was five times the size of all the others, and due to its layout Bruce suspected that it was built to recreate a large home elsewhere, similar to how Wayne Tower in Metropolis echoed Wayne Manor in Gotham.
     Bruce found many locked doors in the central building, but he did find one thing that piqued his curiosity: a library. Why would Ra's Al Ghul need a library? Surely he wasn't reliant upon physical media; he clearly had all manner of technology at his disposal. As far as Bruce could tell, despite its ornate nature, no other room in the building was superfluous. Every single room had a purpose. But this one?
     "You seem troubled."
     A dark-haired young woman stared at Bruce from the doorway. Another enigma, apparently. Her voice was... vaguely European. A tinge Romanian. As she walked in the door, her every step fell with perfect poised precision, and her mysterious eyes never wavered from Bruce's.
     "I was wondering why Ra's needs a library out here in the Himalayas," Bruce said.
     "My father likes to think in here," the young woman said.
     "Your father?"
     "Yes," said Ra's, stepping in the room behind the girl. "Talia is indeed my daughter. And she is most correct about this room. I find it difficult to focus elsewhere."
     "Just what is it you need to focus on?"
     Ra's quietly sat in a large chair in the center of the room.
     "What is the real question you're asking?"
    "...Who are you?"
     "You seem to be somewhat of a boy detective. Guess. Guess what I am doing here."
     Bruce narrowed his eyes. He didn't enjoy being tested.
     "You're a treasure hunter. That or a cult leader. Or both."
     Ra's grinned, then burst out laughing. Even Talia smirked a little.
     "I suppose that would be a logical assumption on your part," Ra's admitted. "But no, I am neither of those things."
     "Then what are you?"
     "I am simply a man in search of knowledge. The temple in the mountains contains the most well-hidden knowledge in all the earth. For the sake of humanity, I must obtain it."
     "For humanity?"
     Ra's stood up and walked to one side of the room, where a large framed antique map hung on the wall.
     "Have you seen the world, Bruce? Outside the comforts of your wealth and the safety of your country?"
     "A bit."
     "I have seen all of it. And I see chaos. Everywhere, mankind claws at its own throat. Free peoples, who have no reason to quarrel with one another, find such reason. Murder, war, famine, and destruction rage across the earth. And yet, for every ten civilizations in dire peril, one stands up as a shining example of glorious enlightenment. The advancement of civilization is what will save humanity from itself, Bruce, and I intend to guide it."
     "Guide it how?"
     Ra's paused and turned.
     "I'm sure by now you've noticed. I am a man of rather large influence."
     "Then why haven't I heard of you before?"
     "I care not for the socialite systems of so-called high society. I have long directed my organization in secret, and I intend to remain doing so."
     "What... is your organization, exactly? What do you do?"
     "My organization is called the League of Shadows, so named because I prefer to do good works from the shadows rather than parade my deeds before the masses. Through various methods, I influence the direction of governments and their peoples."
     "Toward 'advancement.'"
     "Precisely."
     "What 'methods' do you use?"
     "A monetary donation here, a whisper in the ear of a young politician there."
     "And you have a small military force... just because?"
     "It becomes necessary at times to use force. There are few who know of me, but some who do consider me an enemy. My men are completely loyal to me and will defend my daughter and myself to their deaths."
     "Why would they do that, exactly?"
     "Because they believe in my cause, Bruce."
     Bruce raised an eyebrow.
     "If you could truly see my father's vision," Talia said, "you would feel the same way."
     "Is that so?"
     "Bruce," Ra's said grimly. "I know what happened to your parents. That might never have happened had Gotham been safer. My vision for the world means that no young child will ever have to see his parents murdered."
     Bruce felt anger boiling in his chest.
     "Really? You think you can stop people from murdering one another?"
     "Man turns to murder out of greed, fear, or desperation, Bruce. In a better world, those cancers will not exist."
     Bruce stood up.
     "If you're so enlightened, go back and stop my parents from being killed. Until you can do that, I don't give a damn about your 'dream.' Don't you dare speak their names to try and provoke me again."

     Bruce heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see Talia.
     "What are you doing here?" he asked.
     "I... wanted to talk."
     Bruce searched her eyes. She seemed to be telling the truth. He let her inside and went back to folding his clothes.
     Talia sat down on Bruce's bed. "I want you to know... I know how you feel."
     "Do you?"
     "Yes. My mother was killed when I was five."
     Bruce paused for half a second. "How?"
     "She was killed by nomadic tribesmen in the Sahara. They raided our camp one night in an attempt to kill my father."
     Bruce stopped what he was doing and sat down.
     "So that's why your father has this entire scheme planned out. He wants to create a world where his wife never would have died."
     "He had his dream before that. The tribesmen were bribed by one of my father's enemies. But my mother's death bolstered his resolve, yes."
     "...Can I ask you something?" said Bruce.
     Talia smirked. "I think you just did."
     "Do you believe in what your father's doing?"
     "I..." Talia found it hard to finish her sentence. "I think my father is somewhat overzealous at times. I worry about him."
     Bruce recognized that sentiment all too well.
     "I know the feeling. My father, Thomas Wayne... he wanted to help people who desperately needed it. He used my family's company to improve life for the citizens of Gotham City."
     Talia smiled. "Our fathers are not so different, I think."
     Bruce sighed. "I hope you're right." But somehow I doubt it, he thought.

Balance

     Bruce stood silently on a wide wooden plank suspended over a deep ravine. His eyes closed, he listened to the wisps of wind as it gently flowed between the snow-covered mountain walls.
     "You listen well," the master said behind him. "But you are not here to listen to the mountains. You are here to listen to yourself."
     Bruce frowned.
     "I saw that," the master said, still behind him. Bruce looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The master gestured for Bruce to return to what he was doing. Bruce turned around and went back to his silent meditating.
     "You focus too much on the world outside, young one," the master said. "You must realize that the real conflict is within you."
     "I'm not at conflict with myself," Bruce said indignantly.
     "Why are you here?" the master asked.
     "To gain the skill to avenge my parents' deaths."
     "To what end?"
     Bruce felt slightly furious at the mere question. To what end?! What kind of question was that?
     "Is vengeance not a goal in itself?"
     "What do you seek to gain by enacting vengeance upon another? Contentment? Happiness?"
     "Justice."
     "Justice is an admirable goal, but you speak of vengeance."
     "The two aren't mutually exclusive."
     "Justice brings balance; vengeance further deepens every wound."
     The wind increased slightly, making it a bit more difficult for Bruce to hear the master speak. As he strained his ears, Bruce heard a sharp whistling.
     Bruce's eyes shot open and he ducked low. An arrow sailed directly through where Bruce's face had been, its razor-sharp tip embedding itself in a rock near the master's feet. Bruce lost his balance; the plank below his feet was now a simple rope. Bruce toppled and fell, catching the rope with both hands.
     The master lightly smiled. Bruce eventually realized this was the master's equivalent of chuckling.
     "It seems you lack balance in more than one way, young one," said the master. "When your mind was at ease, the rope seemed as wide and firm as a bridge. When you allowed yourself to become unfocused, you fell."
     "I had an arrow shot at my head!" Bruce shot back exasperatedly.
     "Did you?"
     Bruce looked toward where the arrow had landed; it was missing. Even the hole it should have made in the rock face was gone.
     Bruce worked his way back to the ravine edge. Five weeks here and things were just as confusing as when he arrived.

     Bruce walked quickly but silently down the red carpet towards the altar in the temple. Ambrose was already kneeling there.
     As Bruce knelt, Ambrose turned and smiled. "The master summoned you, too?"
     "Yeah."
     "How is your training coming?"
     Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes.
     Ambrose smirked. "I know the feeling."
     The master suddenly stepped before them. Bruce quickly straightened up; Ambrose did so a bit more slowly.
     "You have attempted to steal from this sacred place," the master said grimly.
     Bruce and Ambrose looked at each other quizzically.
     Bruce began to speak. "Master, I—"
     "ENOUGH!" the master interrupted. "You are hereby both banished from Nanda Parbat. Leave now!"
     Bruce looked at Ambrose in shock. He turned back to the master. "No! I didn't try to steal anyth—"
     "The master has banished you," a monk at Bruce's side said gently. "Please, this humble one does not wish to harm you. Leave now."
     Ambrose stood. "Come, Bruce. Apparently our invitation has been revoked."

     Bruce and Ambrose stood in the snow outside the gate to Nanda Parbat.
     "...Why would they do that?" Bruce asked.
     Ambrose sighed. "I can truly say I do not know. Come with me; I have a camp nearby."
     Bruce followed, but didn't quite understand. A camp? In the snow- and wind-swept mountains? It didn't seem likely that any camp Ambrose set up five weeks ago would still be left standing.
     Twenty minutes of walking later, Bruce saw Ambrose's camp. "Camp" was probably an incorrect term. What Bruce was looking at was more of a makeshift military base. Huge tents and modular buildings were surrounded by a dozen treaded vehicles ranging from snowmobiles to large trucks. Around a hundred men dressed in black walked around the camp, tending to power generators and other equipment.
     Bruce quickly ran through every possibility. This wasn't a scientific expedition, at least not by the look of things. It wasn't military, either, at least not from any country Bruce was aware of.
     Bruce grabbed Ambrose by the arm with a steel grip.
     "Who are you?"
     Ambrose grinned. "I am a man simply trying to gain further knowledge. I am not, however, Damian Ambrose. My real name is Ra's Al Ghul."