#the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right)

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy universe

(Title subject to change)

Sometimes Danny really hated Clockwork. You’ll know him when you see him. “Cryptic and unhelpful as usual”, Danny groused. “You’d think the Master of Time could be a little more descriptive considering it’s his damned errands I’m running here, but noooo! I’m starting to think this whole apprenticeship is just an excuse to foist his busywork off on me.”

Here Danny was, aimlessly flying above the rooftops of Gotham, trying to figure out who he was supposed to be delivering his message to. He had a name, but no description and no location. I’ll know him when I see him my ass. Whoever this Damian Al-Ghul was supposed to be had better stick out like a sore thumb or Danny was never gonna find him. Speaking of…

Danny paused in mid-air. There was someone crouching on a nearby rooftop, peering over the edge. He was young, wearing a red and yellow outfit with a dark hooded cape. He wore a sheathed sword on his back that looked way too real to be part of some casual cosplay. Welp, if this ain’t him then Clockwork picked the wrong errand boy. Now, how best to approach this?

Danny considered his options. The cloak and apprentice staff Clockwork had loaned him gave him a suitably spooky appearance on top of his usual ghostliness but he wasn’t gonna go around scaring kids, armed or not. The friendly approach it is then.

“Hey there!”

Wow, the kid had some good reflexes. At the sound of Danny’s voice he jumped as if electrocuted, spinning around and drawing his sword in one smooth movement. He held the sword in front of himself in a defensive position and his stance showed that he knew how to use it. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.

“Easy there” Danny raised his hands in a placating gesture “I’m just here to deliver a message. I’m looking for someone named Damian Al-Ghul. You wouldn’t happen to be him, right?”

A deepening scowl was his only answer. “I repeat, who the hell are you?”

Danny sighed “Look kid, I’m just trying to do my job here. I have a prophecy to deliver, so if you’re not this Damian fella…” he trailed off invitingly.

“A… prophecy?” the kid hesitated before lowering his sword slightly, scowl still firmly in place.

“Yep” Danny popped the end of the word for emphasis “Phantom, apprentice to the Ghost of Time and part-time delivery spectre, at your service” he threw the kid a mock salute. “My Boss told me to come to Gotham to give a prophecy to you’ll know him when you see him” he dropped his voice to a lower register and made airquotes around the words, “and you’re the only memorable person I’ve seen tonight, so…” Danny spread his arms in exasperation.

The kid hesitated visibly before letting his sword hand drop to his side. “I am the one you’re looking for.”

“Great! Hang on.” Danny pulled a messenger bag out from under his cloak and started rummaging around in it, causing the kid (Damian?) to twitch “Now where did I put..? Aha!” Danny pulled out a faintly glowing envelope in triumph. It had a large purple wax seal on it and Damian Al-Ghul written in elegant cursive across the back. Danny floated closer and held out the envelope to the kid.

“The prophecy… is a letter?” Damian drawled, eyebrows rising in disbelief. Danny shrugged.

“What, did you expect a dancing, singing telegram? I only do those for the really good tippers” he shook the envelope slightly “So, are you gonna take this or what?”

Damian finally reached out and took the letter, turning it over to scrutinise both sides. Danny tucked his bag back under his cloak and rose into the air.

“Right, I’ve got other errands to get done, so… see ya!” he turned to leave.

“Wait”

Danny turned back to face the kid and to his surprise, saw that Damian was holding out some folded bills towards him.

“You know the tipping thing was a joke, right?”

“Tt. I am told it is rude not to tip delivery people” Damian sniffed “I am simply acting within expected social norms”

“Wow, um… okay” Danny took the folded bills from Damian. It looked like it would last him for a couple of good meals and he wasn’t exactly swimming in money, okay? Ghost apprentice wasn’t exactly a paid internship. “Thanks?”

“You’re welcome” came the haughty reply.

Danny shrugged and tucked the money into his bag. He rose back into the air with Damian’s eyes tracking his movement. With a wave of his staff, he opened a portal back to Clockwork’s realm and passed through it leaving Gotham behind.

****

Robin’s hand rose to the communicator in his ear.

“Oracle, did you get all that?”

Now has a Part 2!

[nitewrighter]

Of Blades and Broomsticks Part XVI

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 11, 12, 13, 14, 15

Read it on AO3 here.

----

The chambers of Comtesse Amélie were ornate--the rest of the château had an imposing grace about it, but there was an odd sort of warmth about the room, lit by candles as dawn bled pink against the horizon out the window. Amélie knew she would have to rest soon, but it did give her unbeating heart a thrill to see just how far she could push things to spend time with her spymaster before descending down to the château’s cellars to rest.

The comtesse had no reflection, but still she brushed her hair, seated in front of a mirror, watching the hairbrush in the reflection over and sweep down with each stroke.

“Do you think we were too harsh?” asked Amélie.

“She waltzes in with no warning after dead silence for 114 years and expects you to lend swords to her aid just because some idiot got stuck with a pumpkin head?” said her spymaster, looking down the sights of her crossbow, “If the fairies are as about hospitality and customs as they say they are, I think she’d treat you with a little more respect.”

“Or did you push me the other way because she called you ‘food?’” asked Amélie, smirking.

“Well in her defense, I am delicious,” said the spymaster, plopping down into the comtesse’s lap. 

“You’re ridiculous,” said Amélie, waving the hairbrush in her face in a mock-scolding manner.

“But no, I had better reasons than that,” said the spymaster, staying Amélie’s scolding hand with her own.

“If you fear war against the humans, I could always turn you,” said Amélie, “It wouldn’t even hurt...”

“I appreciate the offer,” said the spymaster, “But not yet. I can’t give up daylight just yet. And I don’t think plunging into all-out war is going to be good for anyone.”

“On that we agree,” said Amélie, looking at the window, wondering how few minutes she had left.

“You know we built something good here,” said the spymaster, taking the hairbrush and turning it over in her hand to see the filigree on the back, “And the fairies are always going on about the encroaching destructive force of man--and I’m pretty sure that’s because they refuse to adapt. And that whole perversion of magic thing--I mean, isn’t the whole point of magic that it does things that don’t usually happen? Things that aren’t supposed to happen?”

“The flame of creation alight in the world does concern me,” said Amélie.

“I could track it down for you,” said the Spymaster with a shrug, setting the hairbrush down on the vanity, “I can track pretty much anything, you know. I think that would show Her Royal Pain-in-the-Ass.”

“I know, my love--” Amélie pressed her fingertips to her forehead with a headache of the encroaching dawn, “But the last place it was seen was burned to the ground--”

“Not completely burned,” said the spymaster.

“Sombra,” Amélie closed her eyes and furrowed her brow. She should have been heading down to the cellar now. She knew that--she also liked keeping Sombra in her lap a bit longer.

“Scared about your poor delicate human pet?” said Sombra, folding her arms.

“You’re not my--” Amélie huffed, “You like getting a rise out of me.”

“I do,” Sombra grinned.

“But if there is a change in the wind as the queen said, we must be cautious,” said Amélie, “You can investigate, but use a gentle touch--if you do find the flame, don’t engage with it, just report back to me.”

“Fine...” Sombra said with a sigh, “Now, someone’s got a dirt-filled coffin with her name on it.” she playfully tapped the tip of the comtesse’s nose and Amélie rolled her eyes.

“Perhaps I’ll stay a few days in it this time... join you in the daylight...” said the comtesse.

“If that’s what my comtesse desires,” said Sombra, slipping from her lap and helping her to her feet, “I can keep things tied down while you build up your strength.”

“Mm,” Amélie leaned some weight against Sombra as they moved out of the room and down a winding staircase down to the cellar, and from the cellar to a vault with two guards posted outside of it, standing at alert and pushing the heavy oaken doors open for them and followed them inside. A baroque coffin sat on a large stone altar that looked far older than everything else in the vault, and judging by the Merovingian-era carvings decorating it, probably was far older. Whether it had been brought to this place when the Château was built, or the chateau was built around it, Sombra never thought to ask. She wondered, sometimes, if her comtesse was the only comtesse the Château ever had, if anyone had bore the title before her, or if she had always ruled and simply took that particular title when it came into fashion. The guards lifted the lid off of the coffin, and the comtesse set her pale hand against the dark loamy earth within. She bent and breathed in the scent of it before climbing up into the coffin with as much grace as she would mount a horse with. She sat in the dirt-filled coffin and ran a hand along its side.

“You could join me,” she said to Sombra.

“Yeah but then I’d have to get up to pee, and I’d have to climb all over you, and then get the lid up--it would just be a mess,” said Sombra with a sly grin, “Plus, I did say I would keep things tied down while you rested.”

“Don’t get too old while I’m sleeping,” the comtesse quipped.

“Maybe don’t sleep too long,” said Sombra, arching an eyebrow. She took the comtesse’s hand and kissed it, “Until next you wake, my lady.”

“My love,” the comtesse took the spymaster’s chin in her hand and pushed up slightly so that Sombra was looking at her, she kissed her on the corner of her mouth, “My heart,” there was no warmth of breath against Sombra’s face, but the words seemed to lace themselves around her and sink into her skin as the comtesse pulled away and the two guards lifted up the coffin lid to set it back down.

“Sweet dreams,” said Sombra as Amélie laid down and closed her eyes as the coffin lid closed over her. The final dragging thud of the coffin lid finding its place elicited a short huff from Sombra. She folded her arms, looking pensive for a few brief moments, staring at the coffin, before sharply lifting her head and looking at the guards. “What are you staring at? You know the drill. To your posts. Nothing harms the comtesse while she sleeps.”

“Yes spymaster,” the guards said in unison as Sombra walked out of the vault. She caught a few hours of sleep for herself on the comtesse’s bed in her chambers. She sometimes envied the farmers and their clockwork sleeps in the valleys out past the chateau’s lake--she couldn’t remember the last time she slept all night and was awake all day, but then again, she didn’t particularly care to remember life before the comtesse. It was about midday when the guards roused her from her sleep as per her orders, she donned the doublet and armor of her office, and left the château on a little black mare to survey the comtesse’s lands and see if the queen’s prophecies of fire and doom rang true.

-----

“They really overdo it, don’t they?” said Mercy, watching as a cultist walked by with a large sack of feed.

“What do you mean?” said Genji, stroking one of the horse’s muzzles.

“All this!” said Mercy, gesturing at the covered wagon, “I didn’t see any stables around the monastery, where did they even get horses?”

“Master just pulls stuff like that out of portals sometimes--” said Genji, shrugging, “He can pull out pretty much anything that’s fallen into the void.”

“Horses,” Mercy repeated flatly as a cultist took her bag from her hands and tossed it in the back of the wagon, “He can just... pull horses out of the void.”

“He is a god,” said Genji.

Mercy’s lips drew to a thin line. “Of course,” she said with an eye roll.

“I thought it prudent,” said Zenyatta, “It would eliminate a lot of variables--provide some rudimentary shelter when you are between villages, give you a chance to read that.” He pointed to the Vitae book under Mercy’s arm.

“Oh--I was just--” Mercy held the book up, “You can--”

“The point of a library is lending books. Not letting them rot on shelves. You have a way of breathing life into things, Gramercy, I believe that book is a good fit for you,” said Zenyatta.

Mercy looked down sheepishly, “I don’t know how to begin thanking you for your kindness...” she said softly.

“Simply pay that selfsame respect to your traveling companions,” said Zenyatta with a bow of his head.

Yes. Very subtle. He might as well have lit up the words ‘Tell Genji You’re Magically Sterile’ in pink and green flames above his head, thought Mercy.

“I will do my best,” said Mercy.

“Fare ye well, stabby cultists!” said Junkenstein, waving toward the monastery, “Perhaps one day we shall return! Isn’t that right, my creation?” he looked back at his monster to see several cultists crowding around him and smearing protective runes in ashes and water over his massive green belly. “Oi-oi! Oi! Say your goodbyes and be done with it! We’ve had quite enough of rituals and whatnot!”

The monster gave a “hrmm” and a reassuring pat on the head of one of the cultists as they stepped back from him with one stern look from Zenyatta.

“Take this,” said a cultist, pushing a mass of black cloth into the monster’s arms, “The outside world is full of heretics. Many of them will not recognize your magnificence as a golem blessed by Zenya’taa. You should conceal your form.”

The monster let the cloth unfurl and saw it was a large black cloak, which he fastened around his shoulders. The cultist had to stand on their tiptoes to secure the cloak with a brooch of uncut amethyst before slipping away back behind Zenyatta. The monster gave them a nod of approval and the cultist beamed beneath the shadows of their hood.

“Right then!” said Junkenstein, putting his hand on his hips, “Who shall take up the first leg of our journey?”

Mercy and Genji smiled nervously, but neither raised a hand or stepped forward.

“...neither of you know how to drive a cart, do you?” said Junkenstein, running a hand down his face.

“I can fly--” Genji started.

“I lived in the woods--!” Mercy started.

“I mean I can try, it should be fairly intuitive--” Genji started.

“Fine! Fine! I’m driving. But don’t think you two won’t be getting lessons!” said Junkenstein, clambering up onto the cart. The wood of the wagon creaked as the monster lumbered up into it, and Genji nimbly hopped up and held a hand out to help Mercy up into it.

“Everyone settled?” said Junkenstein over his shoulder.

Mercy, Genji, and the monster gave a nod. Junkenstein gave the reins a short flick and the horses started moving forward.

“Farewell, Master!” called Genji, waving out the back the wagon, “One day we will return with great tales of adventure and bloodshed!”

“If you ever get lonely, remember that the void will swallow up you and everything you’ve ever known and loved!” Zenyatta called back.

“Thanks!” Genji called back as Mercy awkwardly waved next to him.

With that, the creaking wagon was moving out down a narrow rocky path on the high sea cliffs away from the monastery. It rumbled and shuddered with the roughness of the path, but it was well made, it would do well for their journey. And the first leg of the journey was a long one, west across the windswept seaside highlands surrounding the monastery. Junkenstein quickly deduced west from the position of the sun, and it would be pretty easy to maintain that direction along the coastline. At least in theory. Mercy looked back at the monastery shrinking in the distance with no small amount of bittersweetness in her heart. She wondered if anyone would ever treat her as kindly as Zenyatta and the cultists there had. She wondered if she would be outrunning being burnt at the stake everywhere but there for the rest of her life.

“This is exciting!” said Genji, crossing his legs on the floor of the wagon, “I can’t remember the last time I traveled like this! I’m so used to taking the form of birds!”

Mercy snickered, “It’s just a wagon”

“You forget, I have been both demon and prince,” said Genji, folding his arms, “Now as we flee the prying eyes of those from Adlersbrunn who would hunt us, we must come up with new identities for ourselves! We are traveling in disguise! I will be... Genji.”

“Creative,” said Mercy.

“A dashing mercenary in the service of two traveling apothecaries and their...” Genji gestured at the monster, “Um... manservant.”

The monster made a noise that wasn’t too far from “ugh.”

“Apothecaries works...” said Mercy, looking over at Junkenstein, “As far as cover stories goes.”

“I’m fine with apothecaries,” said Junkenstein, only half-paying attention between them and driving the wagon, “But I’m not touching any piss! Well,” he caught himself, “Yes, I’ll synthesize the urea and ammonia from it, but I won’t be happy about it!”

“Well Genji had the advantage of no one knowing his name to begin with,” said Mercy, “But we should come up with other names as well.”

“...Fawkes,” said Junkenstein.

“Fawkes?” said Mercy.

“Y’know, it’s sneaky, like a fox,” said Junkenstein, “You’ll need a name too, Creation.”

The monster perked up.

“Something... dignified....What about Aldous Marion Shelley-Von Kuttner the third?”

The creature’s shoulders slumped.

“No?” said Junkenstein, “We’ll keep working on it.”

“What about you?” said Genji, looking at Mercy. 

Mercy stared out of the back of the wagon for a while, resting her hand in her chin. “Angela,” she said after a few seconds.

“Angela?” repeated Genji.

“Angela?” repeated Junkenstein.

“I don’t know... I always... I always had the name in my head,” said Mercy, “It’s...one of the only memories of my parents I have. But I don’t even know if it was my name or my mother’s name... maybe it was too early to even name me when they...” she trailed off and shook her head.

Genji reached forward and touched her forearm, and Mercy looked up at him.

“It’s....” she glanced off again, “It’s just a name I know I’ll respond to,” she said with a shrug.

“It’s a good name,” said Genji, “...and ironic as you probably think this sounds, it suits you.”

Mercy just scoffed and rolled her eyes.

“I mean it,” said Genji.

“And if you can’t trust your demons, who can you trust?” said Mercy, wryly.

“Exactly,” said Genji.

“So our cover story is set,” said Mercy.

“And look!” Genji pointed at his face.

“...What?” said Mercy, after a beat.

“Normal colored eyes,” said Genji, pointing at his, indeed brown, eyes. Genji pulled his lips back from his teeth, “No fangs,” he said, through gritted teeth.

“...And all it took was actually letting your scars show?” said Junkenstein, looking over his shoulder at Genji.

“I--yes...” said Genji, running two fingertips along a scar on his cheek, “But--it fits, doesn’t it? I am a dashing mercenary now.” 

“The look suits you, Genji,” said Mercy, smiling.

“Well, as long as you like it, Witch,” said Genji leaning in, slightly.

Junkenstein and the monster exchanged weary looks as Mercy giggled a little nervously and glanced off, blushing.

“It is exciting though, isn’t it?” said Genji, “The smell of salt and horses on the wind, the fact that we have no idea what lies ahead of us in the future, the past we have to escape...” He took a deep breath in, “No more hobbling about between village and town, Witch! We’re on an adventure, now!”

About an hour later Genji was lying flat on his back on the floor of the wagon, groaning and staring at the canvas that arched over them.

“How do you stand it?!” he said with a whine.

“How can you be alive for 600 years and get bored this easily?” said Mercy.

“Would we go faster if I turned into a third horse?” said Genji.

“Wagon isn’t rigged for three horses,” said Junkenstein.

“Uggggghhhhhhh,” Genji groaned.

-----

Pharah was sore. A few days of riding would do that to you. The sun as their guide, they were still stuck on the meandering path through Adlersbrunn’s forest. Jesse seemed to know where he was going, more than he was willing to let on. Theirs was a slow pace of stopping for nearly every passerby to try and ask for information. Every story was different, many stories were hearsay three times over, and on several occasions Pharah found herself correcting different would-be informants. The first few nights they slept in barns and the lofts of lumber mills, but now they were deep in the thick of the forest, they still had the path, but the next inn wasn’t for a few too many miles.

“We’ll make camp here,” said Jesse, swinging off his horse. 

“It’s barely twilight, there’s another hour of riding to be had,” said Pharah.

“Factor in finding firewood to keep the wolves off our backs?” Jesse suggested.

Pharah sighed and swung off her horse. With the last lumber mill behind them, the river running through Adlersbrunn had forked off into numerous winding creeks, still digging deep fissures into the soft forest earth. Any lumber heading west would have to do so by wagons on the path. Pharah watered and brushed down the horses. while McCree built some quick lean-tos and gathered firewood. By the time the sky had darkened, they had a surprisingly comfortable camp with a blazing fire. McCree apparently carried an obscene amount of smoke-dried venison in his saddlebags. The already gamey meat was rendered even tougher by his preservation, and the gnawing and chewing Pharah had to do just to keep the meat from chafing her throat kept conversation to a minimum. It slowed their eating enough so that they filled up fairly quickly while consuming little of their rations. When they had their fill, McCree lit a pipe and took a few puffs, offered it to her, and she declined.

“You’re used to this, aren’t you?” said Pharah, hugging her knees and looking at the fire, “You can set a camp quickly not just because it’s practical, but in case anyone refuses you shelter.”

“You’d be surprised how little it takes for most ‘kind and decent’ folk to turn their back on you,” said Jesse.

Pharah hugged her knees a little tighter and kept her eyes on the fire. “Why were you excommunicated?” she asked.

“I will tell you one day, you have my word on that,” said Jesse, “But I don’t think that day is here, yet.”

“I should like to know if you’re a witch or a heretic or just a bastard,” said Pharah.

“Well, thankfully, I’m none of those things. Maybe a little bit of the third thing, but my mother was a godly woman. She did her best.”

“What then?” said Pharah.

“There’s a time and place for these things,” said Jesse, puffing on his pipe.

“The time is now so I can trust you,” said Pharah, “Is it political? I--I’m willing to understand if it’s political.” 

“The fact that a church can be political means it’s probably further from being a church than it should be,” said Jesse, “Well--obviously your faith influences your politics, but I’m talking about the interior workings of indulgences and bishops and--never mind. Never mind all that. Anyway, never had the time to nail shit up on church doors myself.”

“So a little bit of a heretic then,” said Pharah.

“Are you willing to accept ‘little bit of a heretic’ for now?” said Jesse, a puff of smoke coming from the corner of his mouth, “I do want to tell you but... today is not that day for the story.” 

“Just... tell me: was it Reyes who ordered you excommunicated?” said Pharah.

“Does that matter?” Jesse tilted his head.

“Reyes is the only reason why I have any inclination to trust you,” said Pharah, “You had to be a good enough person at one point for him to take you under his wing. And...” she fished the adder stone out of her pocket, “He walks--walked... a gray path. Dogs protect sheep from wolves---”

“But all dogs were wolves once,” Jesse’s voice overlapped with hers.

Pharah stared at him, and in that flickering firelight she could swear she saw a flash of Reyes in Jehoshaphat Maccrea’s countenance. Determined, wearied by what he had seen, fearless and yet deeply sad.

“You’re wondering if just being in my presence will put you in the same place I am now,” said Jesse, “You want to keep doing Reyes’ work, but not if it means becoming an excommunicated piece of trash.”

“I don’t think you’re a piece of--” Pharah started but McCree’s eyes flicked up to her, looking sharp and almost brandy-colored in the firelight.

“I get it, you know,” said Jesse, poking at the campfire and sending up a brief burst of sparks, “You want to be able to return to the people you’re protecting and still be the person they know. Still be the person they love.”

Pharah was silent.

“I think we’ve all known enough soldiers in our lives to know that that’s not possible,” said Jesse.

Pharah looked up from the flames to Jesse. “You saw it in Reyes, too.”

“I saw it in Reyes. I see it in you. You wouldn’t be out here if you were the same person before you saw... whatever that witch did,” said Jesse. He pulled the pipe from the corner of his mouth and puffed out one last breath of smoke. “For as much as the word of an excommunicated scoundrel is worth--I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to keep you from falling into my position. You could be the next Reyes--Not me. Not anymore.”

“But how much is that word worth, Jesse?” a voice lilted through the canopy of trees overhead. Pharah’s hand went to her musket, the horses nickered anxiously, and Jesse drew his own matchlock pistol and slowly rose to his feet.

“Knew I should have strung up some garlic around camp before we settled down,” he muttered, his eyes flicking around the trees. 

“Oh you know garlic can’t stop me,” the voice responded with a snicker.

There was a rustle of leaves and a figure dropped down behind him and he pivoted on his heel, pistol at the ready, only to find himself facing down a loaded and tensed crossbow, the point of its bolt poking against his chest. His eyes flicked up from the crossbow to its owner, a woman in a black hood and armored doublet, grinning a grin that still barbed his heart when he thought about it too long.

“Sombra,” said Jesse, his eyes narrowing.

“Been a while,” said Sombra.

“You know her?!” said Pharah.

“It’s a long story--” Jesse started.

“And it’s one for ‘another day, ain’t it, Jesse?’” said Sombra, mockingly imitating Jesse’s timbre.

Pharah was already scrambling for the powder horn of her musket but Sombra drew a smaller matchlock pistol from her hip and had it pointed at Pharah before she could load the musket balls. Pharah was forced to freeze where she was.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” said Sombra, “You two are going to tell me everything you know about the flame of creation and the town that burned down. Sound good?”

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 2

Part 1

Damian glared at the envelope. He and Father were in the process of analysing the letter for any signs of toxins, explosives or other traps. Obviously he wasn’t fool enough to open a missive from a questionable source without taking precautions. So far, all their scans had come up empty. Literally. The letter was defying all their attempts at chemical or spectroscopic testing, x-ray and magnetic resonance scans were inconclusive, it defied all properties of ordinary matter. It was frustrating. It was vexing. He was blaming magic.

For all intents and purposes, the letter looked like ordinary paper, with an ordinary wax seal, bearing the initials CW. The looping handwriting addressing it to Damian was precise and neat. Swiping the surface of the letter for chemical traces yielded no results. When Damian had tried to cut off a corner of the paper for analysis it had resisted all attempts, including a laser and a diamond headed cutting tool. Damian’s only satisfaction was that when Father had grunted and taken over the task from Damian, he had no more success than his son. As if Damian didn’t know how to perform the standard array of tests!

It certainly didn’t help that his siblings wouldn’t stop their incessant chattering!

“I’m just saying, ghosts wouldn’t be the weirdest thing we’ve encountered, Red. I’m not sure it would even make my personal Top 5.”

It seemed gossip among heroes travelled faster than the speed of light.

“Really, Nightwing? Ghosts? It’s far more likely to be a meta with something to hide. Or a few screws loose.” Damian could practically hear the eyeroll in Drake’s voice “And since when do ghosts act as glorified mailmen?”

“I don’t know Red, since when do aliens pretend to be Kansas farmboys? C’mon, we deal with magic users all the time!”

“And lets not forget people coming back from the dead” Red Hood interjected over the open comm line.

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet. Any sufficiently analysed magic becomes indistinguishable from science!”

“B, a little help here?”

“Hn” Father straightened up from his position at the lab table “Oracle, any progress on clearing up the footage from Robin’s mask?”

Grayson threw up his hands with a frustrated huff while Drake smirked.

“The program is almost finished rendering. Whatever scrambler they used did a real number on the video quality. I’m surprised the audio is as clear as it is.” Oracle replied.

“Hn. And the isotope tracer on the money?”

“Sorry B, no hits on the local sensors. Wherever the guy went it’s either outside Gotham or shielded somehow.” she said, mildly frustrated.

“Maybe it’s ghost magiiiiic” Drake sing-songed. Grayson lightly cuffed the back of his head, to which the former Robin responded with a firm shove. Their interaction quickly devolved into a childish tussle.

Damian gave an annoyed huff. “Don’t you two imbeciles have anything better to do?”

“Aww, we’re just here to look out for our baby brother!” Nightwing teased.

“Yeah, we gotta make sure your ghost encounter didn’t leave any lasting psychological damage!” Red Robin added.

Before Damian could retaliate for their needling, Oracle chimed in. “Uh, guys? You’re going to want to see this. Most of the footage was corrupted beyond repair, but I was able to pull some partial stills and, well…” she threw a handful of pictures up on the screen. There was artifacting marring them, but parts of the stranger were visible in each of them. Oracle magnified one that had a pretty good view of his face.

“Holy shit” Drake whispered.

Damian frowned. “What?”

“Dami, he looks like you. Just… older.” Grayson said softly.

“What are you talking about?” Damian snapped.

“Disregard the pale colouring for a second. The nose, the chin… he looks like you if you had a growth spurt,” Drake wrinkled his nose “and went through puberty.”

The commlines erupted into chaos. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Spoiler exclaimed “are you telling me there’s an older version of Robin running around Gotham?!”

“Copy?” Batgirl inquired.

“Don’t tell me Talia cooked up Demon Brat 2.0!”

“Given that he looks older it’s more likely version 0.1 if anything,” Drake snarked, “though there’s the possibility of artificially accelerated growth rates…”

Damian had had enough. “Tt. You are ignoring the obvious - if this is some kind of supernatural entity it likely copied aspects of my appearance in an attempt to engender feelings of familiarity.” he said haughtily, pushing down the uncomfortable churning in his stomach. There was no way Mother would replace him with a cheap copy. She couldn’t! “Besides, the creature has obvious powers and neither of my bloodlines has any trace of the meta gene.”

“That’s ignoring the ghostly elephant in the room.” Grayson chimed in, “Maybe it’s a dead ancestor?”

Drake gave their older brother an annoyed look “Even a time travelling descendant from the future is more likely than that. And delivering a ‘prophecy’ to boot?”

Oracle pulled up an aged up picture of Damian next to the stranger’s, highlighting several reference points. “On closer inspection, there’s a couple of discrepancies. The cheekbones for one - Robin definitely takes after his mother, while our mystery meta looks more like… well… Robin’s grandmother on the paternal side.” she finished hesitantly. “B?”

They turned to look at Batman, who had remained silent during the whole exchange. If they hadn’t known him so well they would have thought him unaffected, but the tightening around his mouth betrayed his agitation.

“There’s no use in pointless speculation until we have more data to work from,” he growled, “Oracle, look for any reports of a meta matching the target. Since our regular methods have failed to yield results, I will contact the JLD about running tests on the letter.” He turned to Drake, “Red Robin, see what you can find on recent League activities. If this is another scheme by Ra’s or Talia we need to know about it.”

“The last thing we need is more demon spawn running around!” Red Hood groaned over the comms.

Damian was furious. This was absurd! To even indulge the possibility that that creature was in any way related to him was making him feel like he had swallowed battery acid. He was the Demon’s Heir! He was not replaceable! There was only one thing to do.

“Robin? Stop!”

He ignored his Father’s shout. He stomped over to the lab table, snatched up the envelope and broke the seal.

Nothing happened.

He unfolded the paper and saw the same handwriting that had been on the outside.

Brother of blood, brother of soul

Never buried but already mourned

In lightning and ice the scorned child returned

To strike down the Demon’s Head

With all that Death earned

Damian’s hand shook. He reread the lines over and over again, refusing to comprehend. He could feel his Father standing behind him, scrutinising the letter as well.

“Son…”

Suddenly, the paper burst into green flames, going up into smoke that dissipated unnaturally quickly.

Silence reigned for a few moments. Then…

“Well that was needlessly melodramatic” Nightwing remarked.

Part 3

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 6

Part 5

Most of the time, being the son of Batman was a point of pride for Damian. Today, it was an exercise in frustration. Not only had Father deemed him too emotionally compromised to participate in the investigation of his so-called brother. Not only was he benched from patrol until Batman returned from abroad. He also had to continue attending school as if nothing had happened! He could probably teach most of the classes better than the adults! Oh, but ‘socializing with his peers’ was deemed too important to miss out on.

No wonder Damian was in a foul mood when he returned home. It had been the last school day before fall break, and a week ago he had been looking forward to the opportunity to patrol without having to worry about getting up early in the morning. Then that damned apparition had dropped the bombshell that had upended all of Damian’s carefully laid plans. Now half of the family was off chasing leads and he was stuck at home cooling his heels. It wasn’t fair!

After doing his customary check on his pets, he had changed into training gear as soon as possible and was now in the process of running through the latest combat program Father had designed. The flow of dodge-weave-counter-strike was helping him vent his frustration and clear his head. And if the training bots ended up more damaged than usual, well that just served Father right. He wasn’t some hapless child to be grounded!

Spin. Strike. Jump. Slash. He was moving on instinct, letting his training take over. A symphony of violence the background track to his churning thoughts, the questions that had been plaguing him all week.

Brother of blood. What did that mean? A full brother? A half brother? The result of some ill-advised dalliance of his Father? Unlikely. The letter had been addressed to Damian Al Ghul, not Damian Wayne. A deliberate choice of words, most likely. A child of his Mother then. He couldn’t imagine Mother would sully herself with another man’s touch. Even after everything, she still loved Father in her own twisted way. Unless Grandfather had ordered her… Stop it!

Stab. Crouch. Roll. Slice.

Never buried but already mourned. Not a lab grown creation then, to be discarded casually. Mourning meant caring. Love. Did Father know something? The haunted look that had appeared in his eyes spoke of old grief. The same grief that still plagued him when memories of Todd or Damian’s death were close to the surface. But he had never spoken of another child. Would he even bother to tell them?

Strike. Throw. Close distance. Disarm.

Lightning and ice. Defibrillation? Some horror movie style reanimation? Cryofreeze? The entity had meta abilities, could it harness lightning and ice as well? A better son, a more powerful Demon’s Heir… No!

Side-step. Kick. Twist. Leg-sweep.

Strike down the Demon’s Head. Did that mean Grandfather? Or Damian himself if the old man died first? It would be just like Grandfather to arrange for Damian to be killed and replaced by a brother. To get revenge for Damian choosing Batman’s legacy over the League’s while hurting their family in the most intimate way possible. Killed by a brother he should have loved, who should have loved him… Fool!

Damian stopped as the gong sounded to mark the end of the program. Around him, the training bots returned to their starting positions, now significantly worse for wear. A few of them were disabled to the point of uselessness.

Damian sheathed his weapons and forced his breathing to slow as he started his cool down stretches. It wouldn’t do to be careless because of some emotional episode. He was more disciplined than that.

What could Death earn anyway? Death brought nothing but nightmares and pain and torment.

Damian shivered. He didn’t like thinking about his Death.

Shoving the memories firmly aside, he returned his training weapons to their respective places before heading over to the Batcomputer. He needed a distraction. Maybe he should call up Jon and see if he had any plans for fall break. Since Damian was benched he would need something constructive to do with his time. Surely with the two of them working together they would find some kind of criminal enterprise to topple in a Kansas cornfield.

Damian compiled the search strings for any unusual activity in the area and set it to run. Now it was a waiting game to see if anything of note turned up. Leaning back, he idly kicked the console, sending his chair into a lazy spin. If nothing turned up in Kansas, maybe he would widen his search to the surrounding states. If they flew Air Superboy, distance would hardly be an issue. Hell, if Jon was busy maybe he could go visit Richard. Bludhaven was never lacking in crime, and Father wouldn’t be able to complain about a lack of appropriate supervision during patrol. With Drake and Todd having left on a ‘roadtrip’ for at least a day…

Damian stopped his spinning and frowned. Now that he thought about it, it was highly unusual for his two older brothers to have left Gotham together and in their civilian identities. Especially with the Bats already shorthanded due to Father’s absence and Robin’s benching. He had been too distracted by the upcoming school day to make the connection when his brothers had mentioned their plans at breakfast that morning. And Drake had been investigating League activity… Damian’s fingers flew across the keyboard, bypassing Drake’s security protocols with ease. If his brother had uncovered a League connection he had a right to know!

What he found among Drake’s recent search history was not what he expected. Some crackpot scientists from Illinois? That’s what had drawn his attention? Certainly, the older Robin had flagged some suspicious transactions and marked the Fentons as potential threats based on their inventions, but there were heroes closer to Amity Park that they could have foisted the investigation off on.

Damian drummed his fingers against his armrest. Something wasn’t adding up here. Pulling up everything he could find about the Fenton parents, he started looking through medical records, school records, articles… Suddenly, Damian’s heart slammed against his ribs. There, on the cover of a two year old magazine, was the face that had haunted him all week. With trembling fingers, he zoomed in on the image. It only took a few minutes to alter the hair and eye colour. It was unmistakably him. The boy who bore an uncanny resemblance to Damian himself, if slightly older and paler.

Swallowing hard, Damian scrolled through the magazine’s online archive to find the article mentioned on the title page. An almost extinct gorilla species. A chance discovery by then fourteen year old Daniel Fenton.

“Daniel,” Damian rolled the name around his mouth. A fairly common Western name. “Daniel. Danyal?” If he was Talia’s son, surely she would have used the Arabic version… no! He was jumping to conclusions!

Now having a name to go on, Damian dug deeper than Drake had bothered to. The birth certificate named a small town in Utah, but there were no records of a hospital admission. A home birth? There were no records of the Fentons having a residence in that state. No medical records of prenatal care either, though there were for the birth of the older sibling. Had the pregnancy gone unnoticed? Possible, if unlikely. There had been a vehicle registration for a motorhome during that time period though. Had the Fentons been living on the road when their son was born? Or had they acquired the child some other way? If he was an Al Ghul who would have spirited him away to the USA?

The Fentons had settled down in Amity Park about six months after Daniel’s birth, purchasing the residence they apparently used to this day. From there, his records were fairly standard and unremarkable, though there were a higher than average number of doctor’s visits for minor household accidents. Not enough to get flagged by CPS, but certainly worrying if potential mad science was involved. Daniel’s school records showed average grades, with higher scores in Maths and Science. At age fourteen however, his academic performance took a sharp dip, with an uneven performance on tests and numerous unexcused absences. His teachers noted frequent inattentiveness in class or Daniel outright falling asleep. Someone had submitted reports of bullying and suspicious bruises, but the case was dropped and never followed up on. His grades had evened out since then, but the unexcused absences persisted.

Damian knew enough about the trials and tribulations of teenage superheroics to recognize a pattern. And it certainly looked like Daniel fit the bill. If he had acquired meta abilities two years ago it probably took some time to get a handle on them and find a balance between his legal and illegal activities.

Damian steepled his fingers together. There was only so much his digital investigation could reveal. It was time for some fieldwork.

Part 7

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 4

Part 3

Aaaah, Tim had missed undercover work! There was just something thrilling about becoming a whole new person by making a few small tweaks here and there. He had combed his hair in a side-part, carefully applied make-up to make his skin look paler and his eyes bigger and put on a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Worn sneakers, baggy jeans, a loose plaid flannel shirt with a hoodie tied around his waist hid his lean, muscular frame. A slight slouch and his old high-school backpack completed the look. Goodbye Tim Drake-Wayne, Gotham socialite. Hello Adam Taylor, college freshman.

Jason took one look at him and practically fell over laughing.

“Oh my God, you look like a total dork! Would you like some braces to go with that?” he heckled, catching himself against the side of the car.

“I’ll have you know that this is the height of broke college student chic,” Tim sniffed in mock offence, “It’s called ‘blending in’ Jason. Maybe you should try it!” He walked past his snickering brother to get in the passenger’s seat of the beat-up Ford they used for travelling incognito.

“No thanks, I’ll leave the theatre performance to you,” Jason drawled, tossing the keys in one hand before getting behind the wheel. “I’ll just hang back and keep an eye out in case things go tits up.”

“I don’t even know why you insisted on coming along. I’m just going to question a civilian!”

Jason gave him a Look before starting the engine. “A civilian raised by mad scientists. The way our lives work, we’ll find her building Kryptonite powered robots in the janitor’s closet or something.”

“And the fact that she’s a cute red-head has nothing to do with it?” Tim teased.

“Nope!”

“Liar.”

The drive to Metropolis passed in a mix of mutual ribbing, arguing over radio stations and discussion of recent cases. They carefully avoided the elephant in the room - the reason for their current investigation. The sullen anger of their youngest brother, the quiet grief in Bruce’s eyes whenever he thought no one was watching and the mounting tension within the family. Tim doubted that this excursion would be all that fruitful, but he needed to get out and do something for the sake of his own sanity. The last thing he wanted was to watch Bruce emotionally implode over what may or may not be another dead son.

Getting onto the university campus was no problem. Tim had a fake student ID on him just in case, but it looked like he needn’t have bothered. His hacking had revealed that Jasmine Fenton checked into the university library after her last class almost every day, so it was just a matter of biding his time. He sat at one of the carrel desks, idly flipping through the latest issue of Forbes. I wonder if Luthor’s new tech acquisition means he’s up to something? Hm…

“Heads up, target at your 10,” came Jason’s murmur through Tim’s earpiece. Tim turned another page then sat up and stretched, glancing around casually. He instantly recognized the red-head from his earlier research. Tall and light build, long hair held back by a head-band, wearing skinny jeans and a dark grey sweater. She made her way over to the row of desks, carrying a small stack of books and a pencil case. She walked past Tim, only sparing him a glance and eventually settled down at the table farthest from the entrance and away from the other students. Perfect.

Tim got up and returned his magazine to the periodicals section before meandering over to Jasmine’s desk. He put on his best impression of a nervous smile. Showtime.

“Hey, is this seat taken?”

She only glanced up from her work briefly then went right back to taking notes. “No, knock yourself out,” she said in a bored tone.

Tim pulled out the chair next to hers and turned it slightly to face her. He sat down and cleared his throat.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I’m Adam. Adam Taylor,” he lied, offering his hand to her. She gave him a tight, polite smile and shook hands with him.

“Jazz Fenton,” Her tone was light, but her body language screamed ‘please go away’. Tim filed the nickname away for later, “Look, it’s really nice to meet you but I have this project I need to work on, so…”

Ah, she probably thinks I’m trying to hit on her, Tim thought.

“Oh, I understand completely! I don’t wanna take up too much of your time, I just… I was just wondering if you could tell me about… you know,” he whispered with affected hesitation, “...ghosts.”

The smile dropped from her face and her gaze sharpened. “Excuse me?”

“Sorry! It’s just… your parents run Fenton Works, right? The ecto-biologists?” Tim rushed out, “I just wanted to hear your opinion on their work…” he trailed off at the look of tightly controlled anger on her face. She turned and scanned the room around them.

“Alright. Where’s the camera?”

Tim was caught completely wrong footed. Was she onto them?

“Camera? What camera?” he hedged. She slammed her notebook shut and glared at him.

“I get it. Lets pretend to interview the girl with the crazy ghost hunter parents and have a good laugh at her on social media later. Very funny, har har,” Jazz stuffed her pen back in its case with sharp movements, “Well I have better things to do than make you TikTok famous, so if you’ll excuse me,” she gathered up her books and stood.

Tim winced. He really needed to salvage this situation and quickly. He held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“I’m not filming you, honest! I just read some of your parents’ papers and wanted a second opinion on their research! They, ah… they seem pretty biased,” he said apologetically.

Jazz narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. “Why are you researching ghosts, then?”

The best lies are built on truth.

“Because…” Tim took a deep breath, “I think my brother might be one,” he forced out, then swallowed hard and looked away.

“Oh,” the anger had drained from her voice, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

Tim glanced at her as she sat back down. “Thanks,” he croaked and blinked away fake tears. They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Adam, what makes you think your brother might have come back as a ghost?” Jazz asked gently.

Tim collected himself for a moment, thinking about how to score the most sympathy points.

“It’s hard to explain. My younger brother… he saw something strange and now my whole family is freaking out. Dad is putting on a brave face but I can tell this is eating him up inside but he refuses to talk about it. I just… I need to know if there’s a scientific explanation to all this. I need to make sense of this whole mess!” he looked up at her through his lashes with his best puppy-dog expression, “Please, can you help me?”

Tim could practically hear her heart melting.

“And the Oscar goes to… Timbird!” Jason teased over the comms.

“Alright. But not here,” Jazz said, standing up again, “This is gonna take some time. And diagrams.”

Oh goodie.

Part 5

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 3

Part 2

Tim reached up to rub at his temples and groaned. This was getting him nowhere. Normally he enjoyed going down the research rabbit-hole but this was ridiculous! Paranormal sciences were a bad joke. Most of it was conjecture, hearsay and unprovable theories with just enough scientific sounding jargon peppered in to confuse a layperson. Peer-review was practically non-existent, not to mention a proper scientific method. Francis Bacon would be rolling in his grave!

The slight hiss of the elevator doors opening interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey Replacement, you missed dinner!” Jason called, sauntering over with a loaded plate in hand. He set down a sandwich next to Tim’s elbow. “Alfie says he’s cutting off your coffee supply until you get some damn sleep. I’m pretty sure he’s gonna start prepping the knock-out gas soon!” he quipped, leaning his hip against the Batcomputer’s console. “Research on the League giving you trouble?”

“I wish.” Tim sighed, reaching for the sandwich, “The Assassins have actually been pretty quiet recently. I found some leads on suspicious political donations in Italy, but nothing I can tie to them directly. Talia’s in Paris as far as I can tell, working at an investment firm for God knows what reason. Probably money laundering related. And the ones holed up in Nanda Parbat have been quiet as murderous little church mice.”

“Ra’s isn’t up to anything? Colour me shocked.” Jason drawled sardonically, “You sure he’s not cooking up a new batch of demon spawn in that mountain of his?”

Tim shook his head. “You know Bruce destroyed his cloning labs after the last… incident. And I’ve found no records of the League procuring the necessary materials or equipment to restart production.” he wrinkled his nose, “Of course it’s possible that they used a shell company we haven’t come across yet, but I believe the odds are pretty low.”

“So what’s got your panties in a bunch then?”

Tim’s mouth twisted in a frown. “Ghosts.”

“Ah.”

Jason stared off into space and Tim took a bite of his sandwich. Egg-salad, score! The Cave was silent for a while, only disturbed by the noise of the actual bats heading out for their nightly hunt.

“I can’t tell you for sure if ghosts are real or not. I don’t remember anything from when I was… dead.” Jason said haltingly, and Tim stilled. “But we’ve seen people come back under pretty weird circumstances. So why not ghosts?” Jason shrugged.

Tim chewed and swallowed before replying. “Because it’s one thing for the physical body to be restored, but some kind of nebulous ‘spirit’ lingering? Why don’t we see ghosts all the time then? Why don’t people come back? Why not…” Tim broke off.

“Your Dad?”

Tim nodded and dropped the remains of the sandwich back on the plate. It suddenly looked as appetising as cardboard.

“I don’t know, birdie. We still don’t know why I came back.” Jason snorted “Maybe the universe just has a sick sense of humour.”

Tim’s lips curled up in a mirthless smile. “Maybe the universe missed your terrible puns. Some of those still haunt me.”

Jason barked out a surprised laugh. “That was terrible!”

“The universe clearly made a grave mistake.”

“Stop it, I can feel my brain cells dying!” Jason groaned and gave Tim a light punch to the shoulder.

“Well we can’t have that, you have so few already!” Tim snarked, then quickly leaned to the side to evade Jason’s attempted noogie. Jason huffed and stepped back, crossing his arms.

“All right mister teenage genius. What have you dug up about ghosts then?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “There’s obviously tons of folklore from all over the world. Pretty much every mythology has stories about the spirits or souls of the dead returning to haunt the living. But if there’s a scientific basis to all this then it’s like trying to find a needle in a haystack. Even the supposed leaders in the field are hopelessly biased.” He pulled up some documents on the screen. “Take these for example. The Doctors Fenton are supposed experts in the field of ‘Ecto-Biology’ as they call it, but their research papers would never fly with a proper scientific journal. A lot of it comes across as blatantly xenophobic towards the entities they are supposedly studying and their research methods seem geared towards confirming what they view as foregone conclusions. And most of their peers operate on the same track.”

Jason hummed thoughtfully as he skimmed one of the articles in question. “Do you think there’s anything to this, or is it all just a hoax?”

Tim snorted. “If there is, they haven’t offered any conclusive proof. Though they certainly seem to have made it work for them. The Fentons have a series of patents for weapons and defenses against these supposed ‘ecto-entities’ and it looks like there’s plenty of people gullible enough to buy them. I haven’t taken a closer look at their products yet, but a lot of it looks like something out of a pulp sci-fi movie.” He pulled up the image of what looked like a bazooka with green glowing parts. Jason whistled.

“So, con artists or mad scientists?”

“Could be both. Their financial records are all over the place and they’ve had some large transactions with what I’m pretty sure are shell companies in recent years. They live and operate out of a small city in Illinois.” Tim said, pulling up the relevant documents on screen.

“Amity Park?” Jason read aloud.

“Supposedly it’s ‘The Most Haunted City in America’. Seems on brand, doesn’t it?”

“It probably helps them stay in business. It looks like they have kids?” Jason pointed at the tax returns. Tim typed some search queries into the system.

“Two. One in high school, one just started her first semester at Metropolis University. With a full scholarship to boot.” He spent a few more minutes hacking into the university’s systems. “Here we go, Jasmine Fenton. Looks like she’s going for a psychology degree. And… hm…” Tim trailed off. Jason quickly realised what had caught his attention.

“‘The Damaging Effects of Envy Towards Metahumans? That’s a hell of a topic for a freshman-year essay.” Jason remarked.

“Yes. I wonder…” Tim drummed his fingers on the keyboard. “She might have some insight into her parents’ research.”

“And at a cursory glance, she didn’t drink whatever Kool-Aid her parents were serving.” Jason finished for him. “You wanna go pump her for information?”

“I might as well. If nothing else, maybe we can shut down a couple of mad scientists before they become a problem.” Tim stood up and stretched. “Time for a field trip!”

Part 4

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 8

Part 7

Damian was torn between investigating the disturbance and continuing his surveillance of Daniel and his companions. On the one hand, civilians might be in danger. On the other hand, he was here on a mission. The decision was made for him when Foley and Manson came running out of Pineapple Republic and headed towards the sounds of commotion. No sign of Daniel though.

A musical chime sounded as the mall’s PA system turned on.

“Attention customers!” came a cheerful female voice, “We regret to inform you that a ghost attack is currently in progress! Please head to the nearest emergency exit. Thank you for shopping at Amity Park Mall! Please come again!”

Another musical chime marked the end of the announcement and an alarm started wailing.

And everyone thinks Gotham is bad. Amity Parkers are demented.

Damian dropped what he was holding and ducked out of the store into the crowd of people hurrying towards the exits. A few people gave him odd looks as he headed in the opposite direction of the evacuation but nobody tried to stop him. They probably wanted to be as far away from the carnage as possible. At least they were somewhat sensible in that regard.

The crowd around him thinned out fast and it didn’t take him long to spot Foley and Manson crouched behind the counter of a now abandoned juice bar. Foley was fiddling with something in his backpack while Manson was keeping lookout. Luckily their attention was focused in the other direction so Damian snuck as close as he dared and ducked behind some decorative plants to avoid being seen. He surreptitiously pulled out his phone to record whatever was going to happen.

The screaming had stopped but the repeated sound of glass shattering came from inside what appeared to be a high-end jewelry store. He could see movement behind the cracked safety glass and heard muffled voices though he couldn’t discern the words. Suddenly, the glass pane buckled outwards before being torn from its moorings entirely, crashing to the ground. What appeared to be a large reinforced safe skidded along the tile floor, leaving cracks in its wake before coming to a stop. A red energy blast came roaring out the now empty window frame, burning a melted hole in the glass of a store on the opposite side.

“The hard way it is then!” shouted a voice Damian recognized.

Green flashes lit up the inside of the jewelry store and moments later a black and white form came hurtling out.

Phantom.

He wasn’t wearing a cloak or messenger bag this time and the strange staff he had used to open the portal was also missing. His body was haloed by a faint glow, giving him an ethereal appearance. The black parts of his armored jumpsuit seemed to suck in the light to an unnatural degree, while the white accents as well as his hair seemed to shine like moonlight. He came to a halt in midair, and his outstretched hands glowed green as a barrier appeared in front of him, just in time to block another red blast.

“Look, if I wanted a tan I’d go to the spa!”

A second figure came flying out of the store at high speed, aiming straight for Phantom. He dodged and weaved as his opponent struck at him with… a battleaxe?

“And I don’t need a haircut either, geez!”

Phantom retaliated with a glowing fist to the face of his opponent, who crashed to the ground leaving a small crater in the floor. With the creature momentarily disoriented, Damian could finally get a good look at it. It had the same glowing aura as Phantom, but its skin was dark green. It was smaller than the average human but much bulkier. If Damian had to guess he’d estimate its height to be about four feet. It had large pointed ears, beady red eyes and a long, pencil-like nose. Its hands and feet were bare, but tipped with vicious looking claws. It was wearing a mish mash of leather and metal armor pieces and what appeared to be several pounds of stolen jewelry.

Two more creatures of similar appearance emerged from the wreckage of the store, one carrying a wooden staff with a large red jewel set in the top, and the other a crossbow and a large sack. The red jewel glowed ominously and fired another blast towards Phantom, who stretched and twisted his body in an unnatural way to avoid it.

“Are those goblins? Seriously?!”

“Curse you universe!”

Foley and Manson’s outburst drew the attention of the third creature and they had to duck down as a crossbow bolt embedded itself in the juice bar inches from them.

“Man, we’ll never hear the end of this!”

“Just shut up and get the thermos ready. I’ll cover you,” Manson snapped as she attached something metal to her wrist.

Meanwhile, Phantom had launched himself at the second creature - goblin? - and was trying to wrestle the staff away from it. The creature snarled and Phantom head butted it in the nose, and followed up with a kick to the inside of its knee. The goblin fell back, dazed as Phantom wrenched the staff out of its grasp. He turned sharply, just in time to block the axe blow aimed at his back as the first creature lunged at him. The axe bit deeply into the wood of the staff.

“Have you considered a career in lumberjacking? Then maybe you wouldn’t have to steal your bling!” Phantom taunted as he shoved his opponent back. When he blocked the next blow, the staff broke in two under the force. He cast the now useless pieces aside.

“Maybe you could find a nice lady who appreciates your firewood chopping skills?”

The next swing came horizontally, and Phantom bent backwards to avoid it.

“Or maybe a nice dude, I ain’t judging!”

Just then, Manson popped up from behind cover and used some kind of wrist mounted laser to shoot the axe goblin in the side. The creature howled in pain and dropped its weapon to clutch at the smoldering wound. Seizing the opportunity Phantom dashed forward and delivered a devastating uppercut. He grabbed his enemy as it began to slump, and hurled it through the air towards the juice bar.

“Heads up, Tuck!”

Foley popped up and aimed a strange cylinder towards the fight. A bright light erupted from the device as the creature was sucked inside. One down two to go.

The crossbow wielder took advantage of now having a clear shot at Phantom, and the teen just barely managed to duck as a bolt whizzed past his ear and embedded itself in the wall.

“I’ll pass on the acupuncture, thanks!”

Not giving his foe time to reload, Phantom blasted it with a green energy bolt as he flew towards it. With seemingly no better options, the goblin grunted as it swung the heavy sack as an improvised weapon. The blow connected, sending Phantom tumbling back with a cry. At the same time the sack split open, spilling a cascade of rings, necklaces and other precious items across the floor. Phantom hit the ground on his back, but rolled to his feet quickly, picking up the discarded battleaxe as he went.

“I have an axe to grind with you!” he cried with a feral grin, as he hurled the weapon at his opponent with all his might. The goblin squawked and dodged, still fumbling to reload. Phantom was faster though and slammed into it with glowing fists, sending the creature tumbling through the air. In another flash of bright light, Foley sucked up the second goblin too.

Unfortunately, the third creature had not been idle. While everyone was distracted, it had picked up the discarded head of the broken staff and had started an ominous chant in a strange language. Apparently breaking the shaft hadn’t rendered it useless after all and the gemstone was pulsing with an angry red light.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Phantom snarled and sent out a wave of ice spears in front of himself as he flew at the goblin. One of the icicles hit the gem and it felt as if time slowed for a moment as the latter splintered with an audible crack. Suddenly, an explosion of red energy erupted from the gem, sending both combatants hurtling in opposite directions. The goblin hit the wall with a thud, and the unconscious creature was quickly sucked into Foley’s device.

Phantom landed on the thoroughly ruined floor, sprawled amid the various trinkets the ghostly thieves had pilfered.

“I hate it when they insist on going out with a bang,” he groaned, clutching at his head and sitting up.

“Police, freeze!”

“It’s Phantom, get him!”

Oh joy, law enforcement has arrived. Too late, as usual.

“Aw come on, really?!” Phantom yelped, then scrambled away as the newly arrived policemen started shooting at him with some kind of laser blaster, the bolts of light reminiscent of what Manson had dished out earlier.

“Screw you guys, I’m going home!” Phantom shouted as he turned see-through and dove through the floor.

“Suspect is headed for the basement, we’re in pursuit!” one of the officers yelled into his walkie-talkie as they all ran off, presumably in the direction of the nearest staircase. Why they thought chasing someone who could apparently density shift was going to accomplish anything was beyond Damian. It looked like small town America didn’t recruit the best and brightest as law enforcement officers either.

Damian pocketed his phone and hurried away from the scene of the crime. The last thing he wanted was to be interrogated about what he had seen. Besides, he was eager to see where his wayward brother would resurface.

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 7

Part 6

It took Damian the rest of the afternoon to prepare for his trip to Amity Park. Jon helpfully agreed to cover for him, on the promise of a copy of the upcoming Cheese Viking 2 and getting filled in on all the hot Bat gossip afterwards. Wasn’t friendship grand?

Pennyworth thankfully agreed that ‘bonding time’ between the Super Sons was a good use of fall break and even took the time to ‘Prepare some healthy snacks for the young Masters, lest you eat junk food the whole week’. The task also handily distracted the butler while Damian packed the Batwing with all the necessary surveillance equipment he would need and set up the program to spoof his flight data. Damian had no doubt that Father wouldn’t be fooled for long, but with the Bat it was always better to ask for forgiveness rather than permission.

The flight to Illinois was mercifully uneventful. Damian rappelled off in the middle of the eponymous city Park, then instructed the autopilot to take the plane to a wooded area outside city limits and park there in camouflage mode. Once he was sure his arrival had gone undetected, he changed into civvies and with his backpack full of gear set off in the direction of Fenton Works on foot. In jeans, sneakers, a dark hoodie and a baseball cap he looked like any other kid his age, even if he was out after curfew. Damian made sure to stick to the shadows and ducked behind cover whenever a car passed him.

All in all it took him until the early morning hours to arrive at the correct address. Intellectually, he had known the Fentons operated their workshop out of the family home, but he was in no way prepared for the monstrosity of a building that greeted him. Damian couldn’t help but stop and stare in disbelief.

What had once started out as an ordinary brownstone building had a glaring neon sign out front, proudly proclaiming the company name. Perched precariously on the roof was a gigantic metal structure that looked like a cross between a cartoon UFO and an observatory. There was no way this was legal or sane. If something like this had popped up in Gotham it would have been flagged as a Rogue hideout and bugged to hell and back. Hell, Damian was half tempted to break in immediately to start planting cameras but was held back by the likely presence of a custom security system. Mad scientists were rude like that and Damian didn’t want to tip his hand too early. He would have to at least wait until he was sure the Fentons weren’t at home.

Damian tucked his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and strolled past the building at a fake casual pace. The windows were dark and the building was silent, except for the faint hum of the neon sign. This early on a Saturday morning, the residents were likely fast asleep. He spotted an electric scooter chained up next to the stairs leading up to the entrance and made the deduction that it likely belonged to Daniel. Under the guise of retying his shoelaces, he dropped to one knee and surreptitiously attached a bug to the vehicle. Ideally he would get the opportunity to bug Daniel himself, but for now this would have to do. Hoping that no one had noticed him, Damian continued down the street.

He had researched the area ahead of time and had found an apartment a few buildings down and across the street that was advertised as available for rent and was unoccupied. Breaking in and disabling the home alarm was child’s play, and after making sure he was alone in the apartment, Damian settled in to begin his surveillance.

He pulled the handheld radiation detector out of his backpack and after making sure it was operational he slipped it into his pocket. With no way to boost its range he would have to get pretty close to Daniel with no major obstructions in the way in order to verify if he had been in contact with the marked bills he had slipped Phantom. But Damian was confident in his ability to stay undetected. After all, Daniel had no reason to suspect he was being stalked by a curious Bat.

Damian kept himself occupied by listening to the local radio broadcast over his comm. The hosts sounded like chipper twenty-somethings, excitedly shilling for various local events happening over fall break, in-between shilling for local businesses. Why anyone would want to eat at an establishment called the Nasty Burger was beyond Damian. Whenever they stopped nattering to play actual music it was a blessing even if the appeal of the songs was entirely lost on the young vigilante. Finally, at 8am they had an actual news segment. Most of it was covering major US and global events, nothing Damian hadn’t already heard. Elections, natural disasters, rising tensions in Bialya…

“...and in local news, the City Library has announced that clean-up after last week’s ghost attack is finished, and they will be open at their normal hours on Monday!” the female host said cheerily, as if she was talking about the weather. “As usual, we would like to remind our listeners to keep their third eyes peeled for any ghost sightings! In case of a ghost attack, follow standard protocol and head to your nearest ghost shelter. Thank you! And here’s Mark with sports!”

Damian was flabbergasted. Ghost attack? This city experienced supernatural incursions and treated it like it was a normal occurrence? He’d read that the Fentons were ghost hunters, but he hadn’t thought anyone was taking them seriously! If Amity Park was under attack on a regular basis, how come the Justice League didn’t have a file on the city? Surely the news should have leaked to the outside world by now!

It was rare that Damian was caught so utterly wrong footed. His cursory research into Amity Park had turned up nothing like this! He was itching to get back to the Batcomputer to do a deep dive on the city and its history. Unfortunately, all he had on him was his phone which was ill suited for serious data compilation. At best he could scour local news sites and social media for any hint as to what was going on.

After half an hour of fruitless searching, he gave up in disgust. There was no mention of ghosts anywhere, save for the Fentons’ own website. Yet the news report had been almost blasé about the subject! Something was rotten in the State of Illinois.

All he could do for now was stare out the window at the Fenton’s front porch and hope his quarry made an appearance soon.

At 9.13 AM there was finally movement at the Fenton house. A dark-haired teenager in jeans, a light T-shirt, a backpack and a bicycle helmet bounded down the front steps and unlocked the electric scooter. It was unmistakably Daniel.

Damian hurriedly packed away his things, grabbed his backpack and left the apartment. He made sure to rearm the security system and lock the door, leaving no trace of ever having been there. Of course Damian wasn’t about to pursue his target across the rooftops of an unknown city in broad daylight. He would just have to wait for Daniel to arrive at his destination and follow him there. He retrieved his phone and pulled up the tracking data. It looked like the teen was headed towards the city center.

Damian tuned his comm to the listening device he had planted and set off towards downtown Amity at a light jog. For a while, all he heard was background noise. After about ten minutes, Daniel came to a stop.

“Hey Tucker, ready to go?” That had to be Daniel.

“Hey Danny!” a second male voice answered, “I was just waiting for you. Sam says she’ll meet us at the main entrance of the mall.”

“Sweet. Hopefully we can grab something cool from Game’O’Rama if we beat the rush.”

“You said it, my dude. Come on!”

The tracker resumed its movement. Now that he had a destination, Damian used his phone to call a cab. There couldn’t be that many malls in a city this size.

Daniel and his friend ‘Tucker’ kept up a steady stream of idle chatter on their journey. Damian learned more than he ever wanted to know about the attractive qualities of the female students at their high school, the tediousness of the homework assignments they had received for the week and the reviews of recent horror movie releases. Inconsequential chit chat as far as Damian was concerned. Once the pair arrived at their destination they parked their scooters and were soon out of range of the listening device. Damian cut the transmission and spent the rest of the short cab ride trying to find information on Daniel’s companion. Since they were apparently classmates and he had a first name to go on, it didn’t take long to narrow it down to Tucker Foley. Damian made a mental note to investigate him in depth later.

The mall was moderately busy when he arrived but nowhere near as bad as Gotham. Luckily there was a floorplan displayed at the entrance and it didn’t take Damian long to find the Game’O’Rama store. Predictably, it was dedicated to video games, gaming accessories and memorabilia. A sign in the window announced a major weekend sale, likely what had drawn Daniel and his companions. Damian slipped on a pair of mirrored sunglasses to conceal his eyes and meandered into the store. Wandering between the aisles, pretending to examine the games on offer, it didn’t take him long to find his quarry and Damian got his first good look at the trio.

Daniel was almost a head taller than Damian, slightly paler and with his dark hair mussed up from the scooter ride earlier. His clothes were slightly threadbare, and not the kind that was intentional. His white T-shirt bore a faded NASA logo and his jeans were frayed at the cuffs. He had dark circles under his eyes, though not nearly as bad as Drake got when he was on a case. Nonetheless, for the moment he seemed cheerful and at ease. He was examining the back of a disk case.

“I don’t know Tuck, I’m not much for medieval fantasy,” he said amusedly, “and a lot of these monsters look like ghosts we’ve seen. I get enough of them on a day to day basis, I don’t need them in my video games too.”

Again, this talk of ghosts.

The African American male next to Daniel had to be Tucker Foley. He was just a few inches shorter than Daniel, with his hair in shoulder length dreadlocks partially covered by a red beret. A matching red T-shirt with white Atari logo and baggy camo pants screamed nerd even before you got close enough to notice the black rimmed glasses and the clunky looking device he was tapping away on. Where did he get it from, the middle-ages?

“Look, the reviews are pretty great, and if we avoid everything ghost related what’s even left?” the boy argued, “You can’t let ghosts ruin your fun, man.”

“Tucker’s right, Danny.” the third member of their group chimed in. She was dressed head to toe in black, with a sheer, lacy top, a knee-length skirt, fishnet gloves and stockings and a pair of combat boots. With the thick soles giving her added height, she was almost as tall as Daniel. She wore eerily pale foundation making her dark purple lipstick and eyeshadow pop out even more. She had a small nose stud with a matching purple stone. Her earrings were shaped like spiders dangling from a web and she wore a pentagram necklace. Damian knew some of his schoolmates belonged to the goth subculture, but Gotham Academy’s dress code heavily limited such self-expression on campus. He guessed this girl was either really dedicated to the style or really dedicated to pissing off her parents. Maybe both.This had to be ‘Sam’.

“Besides, if Technus couldn’t ruin gaming for us no one else should either!” she continued.

“Fiiiiine,” Daniel sighed, clearly playing up his reluctance. “but if Amity gets attacked by an army of goblins next I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’!” He double checked the price tag. “Splitsies?”

The girl scoffed and plucked the case from his hand. “I’ll take this one, you can pay for lunch later. Why don’t you two go ahead to Pineapple Republic for those jeans you wanted? I’ll catch up to you.”

“If you’re sure. Thanks Sam!” Daniel leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “I guess we’ll see you there.”

“Yeah, thanks Sam.”

“Go on, shoo!” she laughed and headed over to the cash register as the boys left the store. Making a split second decision, Damian grabbed a random game from the shelf and got in line behind Sam. He leaned slightly towards her, pretending to examine the figurines behind the counter and stealthily stuck a bug to her skirt. Now he could listen in on their conversation without having to risk being noticed.

After paying for his purchase he wandered off in the direction the other teens had taken. He would just have to leave the game somewhere ‘accidentally’ at the earliest opportunity. Pretending to check his phone he tuned his comm to the frequency of the new bug. 

“...I think those are still a little short on you.” Sam said amusedly.

“Man, I’m glad I finally got my growth spurt, but having to replace most of my wardrobe is gonna be a pain in the ass!” Daniel complained.

“Look at it this way Danny, this could be your chance to branch out. A whole new style, a whole new you!” Sam countered enthusiastically.

Damian walked towards the source of the signal. He didn’t follow the trio directly into Pineapple Republic, instead heading into the shoe store across from the clothing store. Browsing there would let him keep an eye on the entrance.

“Let me guess, would this style include black, black and more black?” came Foley’s snarky voice.

“Black is timeless, I’ll have you know,” Sam sniffed in mock offense, “and Danny does look good in it. Just try it?”

“I don’t know Sam, I don’t wanna blow my allowance on clothes that don’t feel like me.”

“Oh! We could always try the thrift store, they have plenty of cool stuff! And upcycling is great for the environment.”

“Uh, hard pass,” came the flat reply, “I would like to survive the year with some of my dignity intact, please.”

“Yeah dude, if Dash and his cronies caught wind of Danny going to Goodwill or something they’d never let him live it down.”

“There is nothing wrong with buying second-hand!”

“Says the girl in $500 guaranteed cruelty free designer boots.” Foley shot back.

“That’s different!” Sam sputtered, “And besides, I don’t see why you still chase the approval of those jerks.”

“Easy guys, settle down,” Daniel said placatingly, “Sam, you know it’s different for us. You might be able to brush off Paulina’s snarky comments, but I can’t just brush off Dash trying to rearrange my face. I’d rather not paint an even bigger target on my back.”

Sam gave a loud sigh. “Ugh, stupid high school politics. I can’t wait to graduate.”

“I dunno, if things go according to plan you’ll have to deal with real politics, Ms Future Administrator of the EPA Manson.” Daniel teased.

“You mean Senator Manson.” Foley chimed in.

“Madam President Manson!”

“Stop it guys!” the girl laughed, “I’ll leave the political ass kissing to someone else. I just want to save the planet! But I gotta get my doctorate first.”

“Well if you do end up having to take over the country to do it, there’s one thing to keep in mind,” Foley said sagely, “You can’t be much worse than President Luthor.”

The two replied with fake gagging noises while Foley just snickered.

“But seriously, since you brought up mixing up my style… I was thinking of getting my ears pierced.” Daniel said hesitantly.

“Really? Ooh, do you want studs? Danglers? An industrial?” Sam gushed excitedly.

“Well… aw nuts.” Daniel’s voice was suddenly tense.

“You know what?” Sam rushed out, equally tense, “I think you should go and try these pants on. In the changing room. Right now.”

Damian frowned. What the hell had happened? He glanced out the shop window but couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Suddenly, he heard distant screams and the sound of glass breaking. It’s almost like being back in Gotham.

Part 8