Buddy Talk

Bruce heard the elevator doorbell ding.  Slightly surprised, he moved to open the door.
Clark was standing on the other side.  "Um... hey," he said.
"...Hey," Bruce replied.  "What are you doing here?"

Clark paused for a moment.  "...Diana asked me to the Winter Formal."
Bruce nodded upwards in understanding.  "Ah. Come on in, then."

Bruce walked over to the fridge.  "Want something to drink?"
"Sure; thanks."
Bruce leaned into the fridge and grabbed a soda can, tossing it to Clark before grabbing one for himself.

Clark looked down at the can.  "Root Beer.  My favorite.  How'd you—"
"You're a farmboy from Kansas.  It was either that or Dr. Pepper, and I figured you had better taste than that."

Clark grinned a little.
"So, did you say yes?" Bruce asked, taking a seat at the bar next to Clark.
"Well, yeah," Clark said. "I mean, I didn't have any reason not to go, and it's not like I'd be going with anyone else."
"Mmm," Bruce hummed, sipping his drink.  "So do you like her?"
Clark wasn't sure how to respond.  "Uh... well, I mean... I don't know."
Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.
"I think she's great and all," Clark began, "but I'm not sure that I want to be dating her."
Bruce knew what he meant. "You think of her as a friend, and you're not sure you want to be changing that."
"Yeah."

Bruce paused for a moment.  "You know she likes you, right?"
Clark winced.  "I was worried about that.  Are you sure?"
"Mmhmm.  She looks at you differently."
Clark wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "What do you mean 'differently'?"
"She looks at everyone pretty much the same way.  Like they're nothing special.  She cares about people, a lot more than she lets on, but she doesn't show it.  Except with you."
"Why would she do that?"
Bruce looked at Clark like he should know the answer already. "You two are maybe the only people on Earth who can fly and punch through solid steel.  And besides, you're probably the only guy in the universe who can actually live up to her insane moral code."
Clark was confused.  "...insane moral code?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow again.  "You haven't noticed?"
Clark shrugged.
Bruce looked out the window across the city as he gathered his thoughts.  "She and I talk sometimes while we train.  I've gotten to know her a little.  Back on her island, the women are indoctrinated with this belief that the outside world—'Man's World'—is corrupt.  If I understand correctly, she's supposed to eventually become the 'Ambassador of Truth', who is supposed to fix the world's morality problem."
Clark frowned at this. "She's supposed to WHAT?"
"Yeah. Exactly," Bruce said dryly. "She's supposed to 'act as an example', to show mankind the error of its ways.  Like a high-and-mighty priestess."
Clark sighed.  This certainly all made sense to him now.  Diana always did seem a little detached... and maybe a little judgmental.  But on the other hand, Clark wasn't the type to let himself assume the worst of anyone.
"Are you sure it's not just that she's... I don't know... going through a weird 'phase' or something?  Maybe she's just had bad experiences with guys before?"
Bruce cocked an eyebrow for a third time.  It was starting to annoy Clark.  "What do you mean?" Bruce asked.
"Well, we know she dated Hal for a while, and that didn't end well."
"Hal?"
"Oh, that's right; you didn't meet him.  Yeah, Hal Jordan. He's an ex-boyfriend of Diana's from Coast City.  He takes a couple of classes at Metropolis High, but does the rest at the Wayne-Ferris Academy.  Diana ran into him in the hallway at school when he first showed up, and... well, it wasn't pretty."
Bruce was surprised. "Hal Jordan is an ex-boyfriend of Diana's?"
"Yeah; you know him?"
"I've been reading up on the Academy and the projects we've got going on there.  Hal Jordan is one of the top candidates to begin training for the new prototype aircraft."
"Really?  Wow; that's cool."

Bruce was slightly curious at the fact that Clark—who had the power to fly—thought planes were cool.  But he kept on-track with the conversation.  "If she had a bad break-up with Hal, then that might've only added to whatever nonsense she learned from the other Amazons."
"So... you really think she's an Amazon?  From a paradise island?"
"I'm not sure exactly what she is, but what she says is probably true, in a vague sense at least.  There's no proof that her 'people' are the true Amazons of myth, but they probably do exist."
Clark nodded in acknowledgment, then frowned.  "What did you mean about me being 'the only guy who can live up to her moral code'?"
Bruce paused to think before speaking. "You were raised on a farm, correct?"
"Yeah."
"In Kansas."
"Yeah."
"Your family goes to church?"
"Yeah, my family's gone to the same church for three generations."
"And your parents taught you 'right from wrong,' and all that?"
Clark chuckled a little. "Yeah, definitely.  I got a lot of lectures.  Still do, sometimes."
"Right.  Basically, you're the poster-boy for the American way.  You've got that look in your eye, like you always know the right thing to do."
Clark frowned again. "But I don't always know the right thing to do."
"But you figure it out eventually, and you always do the right thing, if you can."
"Well... I mean... if I can, then I try."
"Exactly.  You're one of very few teenagers in the world that actually cares about doing the right thing, regardless of what you get out of it."
"Well, I don't think that's true..."
"It is."
Clark became a bit more serious. "No, that's not the case.  Just because we hear about all the bad things people have done doesn't mean that there aren't still plenty of good people out there willing to do the right thing."
Bruce halfway-smiled and shook his head. "That's exactly what I'm talking about.  You believe the best in people, even when it's not true."
"And you believe the worst in people."
"Do you honestly believe that the average person in this world cares about anyone but themselves and the people closest to them?"
Clark's eyes were firmly set.  "Yes. I do."
Bruce let it go at that.
Clark didn't.  "Bruce?  What do you really believe in?"
Bruce almost chuckled.  "You're the second person to ask me that."
"Really," Clark said curiously.  "Who was the first?"
"Diana."

Tracker

Lois walked into the student pilots' lounge at Ferris Air.

"You lookin' for Hal?" a voice said from across the room.
Lois turned to see Jill "Cowgirl" Pearlman sitting on the couch, her wide-brimmed cowboy hat tilted upwards on her head.
"Um... yeah.  How'd you know?" Lois asked.
Jill gave her a knowing grin.  "You ain't the first girl to come by here lookin' for 'im."

Hal suddenly came around the corner of the adjacent door.  "Lois!  Sorry; I... uh... had to finish something up.  You wanna get out of here?"
"Um... okay?" she replied, slightly confused.

Hal waved goodbye to Jill and walked out with Lois.  As they walked down the hall, he leaned over to whisper in her ear.  "So... um... we should go someplace.  Someplace without cameras everywhere."
Lois nodded.  "Okay.  Let's get lunch."
"Great.  Oh, and could we take your car?"
"Um, sure. Why?"
"Mine... kinda got wrecked last week.  Mostly not my fault."

Lois sighed and rolled her eyes.  She was beginning to understand why Diana had dumped him.


Ten minutes later, they sat at a diner.  For some reason–beyond the comprehension of most every girl he ever dated–Hal loved retro-style diners.  Something about the all-American atmosphere and the unabashed midwestern spirit appealed to him.

"So, what is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me about?" Lois asked.
Hal leaned in.  "Okay, so you remember how Lionel walked into the base that one day and literally said he'd own the place pretty soon?"
"Yeah.  He tends to say that about everything.  What about it?"
"Well..." Hal reached into his pocket. "I found this on the underside of one of the planes in the hangar yesterday."
Hal held up a quarter-sized metallic circle, its center crammed with a circuitboard, a flashing LED light, and a dozen metal pins.
Lois took it from his hand and looked it over carefully.  "And it's not supposed to be there?"
Hal shrugged.  "As far as I can tell, no.  It was stuck to the bottom of the Javelin prototype, and I've read the files on that thing's systems over and over again."
Lois raised an eyebrow.  "They let you read all the files on their experimental prototype?"
"Pilots are required to read all the technical information on their planes.  They need to know what they're flying, inside and out, before they ever get in the air."
"Well, sure, but this is a prototype.  And they let a high-school student have access to its files?"
Hal awkwardly rolled his eyes.  "Well... they only gave us basic information.  The rest I managed to copy off their computer systems."
"...How?"
Hal had the slightest tinge of a proud smile. "The computers on-base aren't firewalled from each other.  I just had to get on the receptionist's desk computer and it wasn't much trouble hacking through to the main system files.  Took me about a week to get through the encryption on the blueprints, but it was worth it."
Lois was almost shocked at Hal's nonchalant attitude towards his obviously illegal actions.  She shook it off, however, and kept herself from getting distracted.  "So you think this is a Luthorcorp bug or something?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking."
"So why didn't you take this to your boss?"
"Well... I, uh... I wasn't actually supposed to be in the hangar at all, let alone near the Javelin."
Lois's head slammed down into her hands.

Hal was used to these types of reactions, and patiently waited for her to look up again.
Eventually, she did.
"So what do you want me to do about it?" she asked.
"Um, actually, I don't know.  I figured that since you're a reporter and everything, you've got connections.  I mean, you hugged Lucius Fox, and the word is you're dating Bruce Wayne."
"...Okay, you've got a point.  Lemme think here..."
Lois squinted her eyes shut for a moment.
"Okay, I've got an idea. Lemme make a call.  I think I know who we can talk to."

-

"Well, it's definitely a Luthorcorp design."
"How can you tell?"
"It's got their tech design team's signature all over it, and they're one of only a few companies that use that exact metal alloy."

Hal stood back and watched as Lois and her friend looked over the device.  Lois had insisted that this fifteen-year-old kid, "Ray Palmer," was some kind of techno-supergenius-prodigy.  He had already graduated from high school, and was taking distance-learning classes from Harvard.  Lois had interviewed him once or twice for the Daily Star, and he was a nice enough guy to help her out whenever she needed information on anything relating to technology.

"You're sure?" Lois asked.
"Yeah, definitely."
"So what's it for?"
"See this, here?" Ray pointed to a tiny section of the disk's circuitboard with a pin.  "That looks like a super-miniaturized transponder.  And the rest of it looks like stuff for measuring altitude, speed, hull temperature, energy output, and whatever else. This thing is basically a really elaborate tracker.  It can tell whoever it's transmitting information to—probably Luthorcorp—exactly what's happening with the plane.  Where it is, how fast it's going, how well it's running... pretty much everything."

Lois sighed. "...wow."
"Yeah," Ray said plainly. 
"Okay, thanks, Ray." Lois said.
"No problem.  Call me if you need anything else.  Nice meeting you, Hal."
Hal waved. "You too."

As Lois and Hal left Ray's lab—which was in his parents' basement—Lois was smiling.  Hal was confused by this.
"What is it?" he asked.
She turned to him with a huge grin. "We've got 'em."

Lois Alone

Lois dodged a twenty-foot banner as it fell from the ceiling.  Metropolis High's overenthusiastic event-planning crew wasn't the smartest bunch of kids, and they'd already dropped the banner a couple times before.  This time, Lois had had to stop in her tracks in order to avoid getting wrapped in the blue plasticky paper.  She hated stopping.  One short glare from her was all the boy on the ladder needed to see; he hurriedly began clumsily pulling the banner out of her way.

She glanced at the blue-and-white text written across the banner before passing on:
"Christmas Formal, December 5th!"

Lois did the math in her head.  December 5th was three and a half weeks away.  She would have to endure the obnoxious teenage "excitement" over the dance for another twenty-four days.
Grumbling to herself as she walked, she reached the Daily Star office and sat down in her chair.

A burst of wind blasted through the room.  "Hey," Bart said, suddenly appearing at her side.  "What's up?"
Lois, severely startled and very irritated, restrained herself from snapping at him.  "Someone dropped a banner in the hallway.  Why don't you go help them fix it?"
"Sure thing," he replied.
He zoomed out the door, then reappeared less than two seconds later.  "Okay, done with that.  Now what?"
This time, Lois snapped.  "Bart! I'm BUSY right now!"
"Okay, Okay!" he said defensively, running back out the door again.

Lois waited for another few seconds to make sure he was really gone.
...
He really was gone.  She turned back to her desk and started to pull up her email when two voices crept closer to the doorway.
"Did you see the way that mugger tried to stab me?"
"Ha! Yeah, it's like he couldn't already tell that you were super-strong by the way you'd thrown his partner across the alley."

Lois slammed her head into her keyboard and let it sit there.  She was not in the mood to hear these two talk about their latest crimefighting adventure.
Clark and Diana walked through the door, moving over to one of the desks and casually leaning against it while they continued talking.

Lois felt bad about how irritable she'd been lately.  It wasn't that she didn't like school dances, and it wasn't that she didn't like the fact that Clark, Diana, and Bart had been working together for the past week and a half fighting crime in the city.  She just hated the fact that all of those things, as good as they were, made her feel more alone.

She'd been to a few school dances with Bruce before.  He had always been both a perfect gentleman and the most handsome boy there, making Lois, for one night, the envy of every other girl—which she rather liked.  But lately, she and Bruce had been less friendly with one another.  Ever since Bruce had started his "combat training" with Diana, Lois felt the slightest bit uneasy about him.  She saw how he paid less and less attention to her.  It probably wasn't Diana's fault at all; he was probably just focusing too hard on school and his "work" of finding a way to topple Luthor and his crime kingdom.  Still, though, that wasn't a lot better.  She worried about him constantly.  After all, he'd nearly been killed three times in the past few months due to his overzealousness.

But while Bruce had been distant and dark, Clark was always honest and caring.  Lois constantly found herself surprised by Clark's kindness—and he certainly gave Bruce a challenge in the "who's hotter" arena.  Not that it mattered, anyway.  Lois wasn't anywhere near ready to break up with Bruce, and as far as she could tell, Clark and Diana were becoming very close.

Clark took half a second to turn to Lois and give her a "hello" nod.
"Well, at least that's something," Lois thought to herself.

"So... Clark..." Diana slowly said, "are you going to the Christmas Formal?"
Lois's eyes shot over to her.  Diana was sitting on the desk, her ankles crossed, and a slight bit of shyness across her face.  Apparently, under the right circumstances, Clark even made an amazon feel bashful.
"Yeah, maybe," Clark responded.
"Well..." Diana began, "would you like to go with me?"
"Uhh..." Clark responded, turning towards Lois for a second.  He was clearly embarrassed that Diana was asking him in front of Lois.  Diana didn't really care who was watching; she never really cared much what other people thought of her.
Clark wasn't sure exactly what to do, so he accepted.  "Um... sure, yeah."

"Great!" Diana said excitedly.  "Oh, and... you'll have to come over for dinner.  My mom'll want to meet you."
Clark was confused and wary.  "Wait, what?!"

The bell rang.  Thank god, Lois thought.

The two super-teens left the room on their way to class.  Lois had the rest of the day free, so she could finally be in peace, alone.
Her phone rang.
She pulled it out of her purse and looked at the name: Hal Jordan.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Lois? It's Hal, remember me?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay. Well, before, you seemed like you had some history with investigating Lionel Luthor."
"...You could say that."
"Alright, well... I've... I've got a problem that I think is Luthor-related."
"At the Air Base?"
"Yeah.  Can you meet me here, ASAP?"
"Sure.  I'll be there in a half-hour."

Responsibility

"Son, is something wrong?"

It wasn't like Clark to actually be home by three in the afternoon.  His adoptive father, Jonathan Kent, had found him sitting in the kitchen, staring out the front window with that same "gazing out into the world, searching for answers" look that he always seemed to have.

Clark turned around.  "Dad.  No, everything's fine.  I just... I've got a lot on my mind."

Jonathan smiled.  As impressed as he was by Clark's abilities, he took pride in the fact that he was still able to teach his son a thing or two.
"Well, what is it?"

Clark sighed and frowned a little.  "I went to Metropolis because I felt like I should be using my abilities to help people there, but so far I haven't been doing much of that.  I've been focusing on protecting my friends, but... I think I've been ignoring everyone else."

Jonathan frowned.  "Why?"
"Because," Clark slowly explained, "...if I actually pay attention to everyone... if I listen to everything... I don't know that I can handle it.  I can hear every scream in the city, dad.  Every gunshot, every time a little girl cries.  If I don't focus my hearing right, I can hear every time anyone's in pain.  And there's millions of people in Metropolis."
Jonathan put a firm hand on Clark's shoulder.  "Son, I've known you your whole life.  Even when you were just a boy, you cared about everyone, even people you'd never even met before.  I know how much it hurts you to see people in pain.  But hiding from your responsibility isn't the right thing to do."
"I know, dad... it's just that...  I don't know if it matters if I do anything or not! Even if I try, there's no way I can actually fix it all.  Even with all my powers, I'm just... me.  I can't save Metropolis from itself."
"You don't need to fix it all."
Of all the things Clark had expected to hear come out of his dad's mouth, that was definitely not one of them.  He looked at Jonathan quizzically.
"You remember what I always told you about farmwork?" Jonathan asked.
Clark slightly nodded. "Don't let others do your work for you when you can do it yourself."
"That's right. The people of the world can't have you helping them every time they're in trouble; at some point, they'll need to help themselves.  You don't need to help everyone, Clark, what you need to do is be an example."
Clark was beginning to understand.
"Of all your gifts, Clark, the most important one isn't flying, or lifting cars above your head, or stopping bullets.  Your real gift, son, is that you can inspire others.  One day, when you finally show yourself to the world, people will see you and what you do, and they'll have hope."
Clark smiled.  No matter how old he got, he was sure that his dad would always be smarter than he was.  And he didn't mind in the slightest.
There was one thing that bothered him, however...
"...How am I supposed to inspire people if I can't let them know who I am?"

"Well now, I don't think they need to know that you're Clark Kent, now do they?" Jonathan suggested.
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"Maybe there's a way for you to be the symbol people need, without letting them know who you really are."
Clark almost rolled his eyes. "What, like Zorro?  I can't wear a mask, dad.  I'll look like a criminal.  Not terribly inspiring."
"Well, hold on now, maybe you don't need to wear a mask when you're doing your job."
This time, Clark really did roll his eyes.  "Oh, so I'm supposed to wear a mask when I'm Clark Kent?  Yeah, that'll work..."
Jonathan was slightly amused at his son's youthful exasperation.  "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.  For now, you just get back to Metropolis, and you do your job."
Clark smiled.  "I think I can do that."

With a sharp-sounding SWOOSH, Clark super-sped out the front door, leaving Jonathan smiling proudly out the window.

Crimefighting

 Theft.
 Vandalism.
 Assault.
 Murder.
 All this and more! Next on WGBS, Channel 4 news.

Bart sat in the Daily Star office, somewhat dejected.  The TV wasn't presenting a very hopeful view of the city.  Local crime of all kinds was at a fifty-year high.  That wasn't actually saying very much, considering that Metropolis generally had a low crime rate anyway, but knowing that wouldn't have helped Bart.
Most people in Metropolis would probably ignore the news of higher crime.  They'd probably just shrug, double-check the locks on their doors, and go to sleep peacefully.  But for Bart, that wasn't an option.  He genuinely cared about people—his grandma said it was an Allen family trait—and, perhaps more importantly, he knew he had the power to help them.

Clark, Lois, and Diana walked in.  They'd all gotten out of class at the same time, but Bart had been faster in getting to the office.
Diana saw the look on Bart's face.  "Hey, are you okay?" she asked concernedly.
"Have you seen this?" he said, pointing to the TV.
The group turned to the TV.  An on-screen chart showed the spike in crime.

"So why don't you do something about it?" a calm voice suggested from behind.
The group turned around to see Bruce standing in the doorway.  He seemed a little different somehow, as though a bit of the dark weight he carried had been lifted off him since the storm two nights ago.
"Bruce..." Lois said, "what are you doing here?"
He shrugged casually.  "I figured I'd come over during lunch and see what you guys are up to."
The group exchanged a couple of surprised looks, but quickly got over it.

"So..." Bruce continued, "why don't you do something about it?"
It wasn't a scolding remark; it was simply a kindhearted suggestion.
Bruce looked back and forth between Bart, Clark, and Diana.  "The three of you have a lot of power; you can make a difference in this city."
"And... what?" Bart said. "Be, like, 'super-police'?"
"Something like that."

Diana thought about it for a moment.  "That... might actually work.  We've stopped criminals before; why not make it a job?"

Bart was unsure.  "...I dunno... I mean, can we really do that?  We're just three—"—Bart looked at Bruce—"Uh... four people.  Even with our powers, can we really help the whole city?"
Bruce looked Bart in the eye. "Years ago, I swore an oath to stop injustice by fighting criminals.  I intend to do that, with or without powers.  You have it a bit easier."

Diana looked back and forth between Bart and Clark.  Turning back to Bruce, she nodded.  "I'd be more than happy to do what I can."

Bart shrugged.  "Yeah, I guess I can do that too. Why not."

Clark seemed to be in his own mental world.  He was frowning, as though something very serious was troubling him.  When he noticed that everyone was waiting for his answer, he spoke quietly.  "I... I need to think about it."
He then calmly picked up his backpack and walked out the door, leaving everyone shocked and confused.
Bart quickly picked up on the fact that Bruce was now being social and almost optimistic, while Clark was being quiet and sullen.  He narrowed his eyes at Bruce, pointing a finger at him in mock-anger.  "I don't like this! CHANGE BACK!"

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.