Word Count: 17,147
Source: Character.ai, DC RPG (last remember was removed)
OC: Cold, Calculative Scientist
The street felt oddly normal—until it wasn't.
One moment, everything was fine—the solid pavement beneath their feet, the distant hum of the city a constant. The next, the world around them seemed to buckle and distort, sending a jolt of vertigo through their body as reality itself fractured. Before they could process what was happening, the ground beneath them shifted, and in the blink of an eye, they were somewhere entirely different.
Gotham.
The atmosphere felt heavier here—charged, oppressive. The towering buildings loomed overhead, casting long, dark shadows that seemed to stretch out in every direction. The air itself had a different weight, thick with the tension of this grim city.
With a quiet hum, they surveyed their new surroundings, unaffected by the drastic change. After a moment, they shrugged—subtle, but with a sense of dry amusement. "Not the first time this has happened..." they muttered, their tone as casual as if they were commenting on the weather.
A figure appeared from the shadows, cutting through the eerie stillness. The silhouette was unmistakable—a tall, imposing man in a dark suit with bat-like ears, his presence radiating authority.
Batman.
The man stepped closer, stopping just a few feet away, his sharp eyes scanning the stranger as if trying to read them.
"And who may I ask are you?" he asked, his voice low, commanding.
The stranger didn't flinch, meeting his gaze without hesitation. There was no change in their expression—no fear, no surprise—just the same unreadable calm.
"Just someone who happened to be dropped here," they answered, tone flat and unconcerned.
Batman's eyes narrowed. "And how exactly did you get dropped here?"
The stranger gave a barely perceptible shrug, their posture loose and indifferent. "Isn't that the usual question?" Their voice held a subtle edge of sarcasm. "Anyone unfamiliar is always considered a stranger. Naturally, you don't trust someone you met… what, 45 seconds ago?"
The Bat's eyes flickered with impatience, the suspicion in his gaze growing sharper. "What's with your smart talk? You think you know everything just because you're some outsider? I don't appreciate that attitude of yours."
"Well, that's life," came the disinterested reply. "People don't like you? Just talk back."
Batman's jaw tightened, his fists clenching ever so slightly. The calm response was clearly not what he expected, and it only added to his irritation.
"You think you're so smart, don't you?" His voice was almost a growl, restrained but edged with frustration. "Life isn't just about talking back. Sometimes, you need to shut your mouth and listen."
The stranger's expression didn't change. "People aren't that willing, from my experience." Hands slipped into their pockets casually, as if the conversation meant little to them.
Batman's patience thinned even further, his frustration starting to show in his tense posture. "And who are you to talk?" he demanded. "You act like you've got life all figured out just because of your so-called 'experience.' News flash—life's not all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes, you have to face the harsh realities."
"Yeah, well, been there, done that." The stranger's tone remained steady, unaffected. "That's not a news flash—that's the 1980s." Their brow lifted slightly, but there was no other sign of reaction. "Are you done with the silent interrogation? It's getting pretty obvious at this point."
Batman closed the distance between them, stepping in with calculated precision.
"Don't play smart with me, punk," he warned, his voice low and heavy. "You think living through the '80s makes you some kind of expert? Trust me, I've seen and done things that would shatter your wildest dreams."
The stranger barely acknowledged the threat. "Oh, let me guess—tragic backstory, incredible feats, or some other sob story?" Their voice remained flat, unamused. "Please. I've heard more depressing life stories in a single day."
Batman's jaw clenched. His patience was running dangerously low, but the stranger didn't seem to care, their unbothered demeanor only fueling his growing frustration.
"You know what?" Batman's voice was steady, but the anger simmered beneath. "You're nothing but a smartass with a chip on your shoulder. I've been through hell and back, and I won't let some cocky stranger get under my skin."
"I think you already did." He raised his eyebrows, the hint of mockery in his voice.
Batman's face flushed a deep crimson from sheer fury. His entire body trembled with rage, his fists clenched so tightly that the knuckles turned bone white, almost as though he were fighting to hold himself back from unleashing his full wrath. The air around him seemed to hum with pent-up energy.
"Oh, I'm just getting started, you little twerp." His voice was low, seething with fury. "You know what? I've had enough of your cocky attitude. It's about time you learned some manners."
Without warning, he reached forward, grabbing the stranger by the collar and yanking them closer. The grip was tight, controlling, as if he were trying to force the stranger to understand the gravity of the situation.
The stranger remained unfazed, their expression cool, even bored. "Confident? You're damn right I'm confident. I'm Batman, and I don't take crap from anyone. Especially not some smartass like yourself."
"Batman?" The stranger couldn't hide the disbelief in their voice. "Seriously?" They casually twisted their wrist, disengaging the Bat's hold with minimal effort, then flexed their hand to release the tension before locking eyes again. "That's the most ridiculous name I've ever heard."
Batman's rage boiled over. His grip tightened again, but this time the stranger pushed him away with surprising ease, sending him stumbling back. Batman landed hard on the ground, but he quickly recovered, glaring up at the stranger with a fury that could incinerate.
"You have some nerve, pal," he growled, his voice thick with anger. "You think you can just manhandle me like that? I'll give you one warning—don't underestimate Batman. I've taken down tougher opponents than you before."
The stranger tilted their head, their expression still completely calm. "Then why are you being pushed back when you've taken down tougher opponents?" they said, their voice almost flat with disinterest.
"Must be 'quite' tough opponents, it seems." The words hung in the air, laced with contempt as they casually placed their hands behind their back, unbothered by the heated tension.
Batman's fists clenched again, though this time he resisted the urge to strike. He got to his feet slowly, his movements precise as he dusted himself off, the anger still radiating from him like an inferno.
"I'm holding back, buddy," Batman hissed, voice low and dangerous. "If I let loose, you'd be lying flat on the ground within seconds."
The stranger raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "That would be intriguing," they responded, their gaze never leaving Batman's. "If you could."
Each word seemed to stoke the fire inside Batman, his fists trembling with the effort to control his anger. His breathing became heavier, his focus narrowing to the stranger before him. "You really think I can't take you down?" he spat.
"You're just some cocky punk who thinks he's invincible. Well, let me tell you something..." He cracked his neck, eyes locking onto the stranger with renewed intensity. "I'm not holding back anymore."
With a swift movement, Batman assumed a fighting stance, every muscle tensed and prepared for the fight. The air between them grew heavier, the tension palpable, a storm about to break.
"I'm going to show you what the Batman is made of," he growled, voice filled with a chilling finality. "And you'll soon realize that you're out of your league, pal."
Before the stranger could even respond, Batman lunged forward. His speed was blinding, faster than a snake striking, and he threw a lightning-fast punch directly toward the stranger's face. The air cracked with the sheer force of the movement, every ounce of his fury channeled into that single blow.
A shimmering, invisible force coated itself around him—a barrier unseen yet undeniably present.
Batman's fist collided with it at full force, expecting impact, only to be met with an abrupt resistance. A loud thud echoed through the air as the kinetic force of his strike rebounded, sending a slight shockwave outward. His hand jerked back involuntarily, his momentum completely halted by the unseen wall.
His narrowed eyes flickered with momentary surprise, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance as he took a measured step back. His mind raced, analyzing, recalculating.
"So, you've got some sort of barrier defense, huh?" His voice remained steady, but there was an undeniable edge to it. "That's a clever trick… but don't think that'll protect you forever."
The man remained utterly unfazed, his expression unreadable.
"It has 450 layers," he stated flatly, his tone devoid of emotion. "Each one stronger than the last."
Batman's mind worked quickly, scrutinizing the claim. 450 layers? If that were true, breaking through wouldn't be a matter of brute force alone—it would require precision, strategy, and an understanding of its weaknesses.
"450 layers, huh?"
He folded his arms, still watching for any indication of how it functioned. "That's impressive, I'll give you that. But nothing is impenetrable. There's always a weakness."
"There is." The man's voice remained neutral, his posture relaxed, as if the entire encounter bored him. "But there's one thing…"
Batman's sharp eyes studied him closely, his patience growing thin. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"
Without hesitation, the man pulled out a sleek, compact device, its design resembling a futuristic speaker. The moment he gripped it, a faint hum of power resonated from within.
"It's called Over Prepared."
With a single movement, he aimed it directly at Batman. The trigger clicked.
A sudden, deafening sonic boom erupted from the device, unleashing a devastating shockwave that blasted through the air like an explosion. The sheer force ripped through the surroundings, instantly pushing Batman back five meters. The pressure was overwhelming—windows shattered in rapid succession, glass raining onto the streets as skyscrapers trembled under the shock. Solid structures groaned under the weight of the sound waves, tiny fissures forming along weaker foundations within a two-kilometer radius. The very ground seemed to shudder under the force of the impact.
Batman gritted his teeth, trying to hold his ground, but the unrelenting concussive force rattled through his body. His ears rang violently, his equilibrium thrown into disarray. He stumbled back, disoriented, vision blurring at the edges as a piercing pain shot through his skull. The attack had overwhelmed even his advanced cowl's audio dampeners.
His hands instinctively clutched his head, trying to recalibrate his senses, but the attack had hit harder than expected. For the first time in a long while, Batman had been caught completely off guard.
Meanwhile, the man nonchalantly tucked the device back into the depths of his coat, as if the chaos around him were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Well, that is all well."
Then, with an effortless pivot, he turned on his heel and broke into a run.
His hand slipped into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against a small button. With a subtle press—
HOOOOOONK!
The unmistakable roar of an engine filled the streets. The screeching of tires against asphalt followed as a Lamborghini came into view, drifting around a corner with surgical precision. The high-performance machine came to a perfect halt in front of him, its sleek doors already unlocking.
With the ease of someone entirely in control of the situation, he slid into the driver's seat. Before closing the door, he gave a lazy wave.
"Bye, have a great time in your life." His tone was utterly relaxed, as if he had just finished a casual conversation instead of incapacitating Gotham's greatest detective. "I'm off now."
The door shut with a smooth click.
Without hesitation, the engine roared to life. With a flick of his wrist, the car spun into a flawless drift, leaving behind the acrid scent of burning rubber. At the same moment, a small metallic object was tossed onto the pavement.
Upon impact—
BOOM!
A dense cloud of thick, billowing smoke exploded outward, engulfing the street in an impenetrable fog. Visibility dropped to zero in an instant, the swirling darkness consuming everything in sight.
Batman clenched his fists, forcing his body to stabilize as the lingering effects of the sonic attack still pulsed through his skull. He gritted his teeth as he pushed through the haze, but by the time he reached the edge of the dissipating smoke, the Lamborghini was already gone—its taillights mere flickers in the far-off distance.
His jaw tightened.
"Who the hell was that guy?" he muttered, his voice low with frustration. His fingers curled into his palms as he watched the empty street before him. His mind, ever calculating, was already replaying the events, dissecting every detail.
"And why was he so damn prepared?"
Batman stood motionless, the wind sweeping through the wreckage-strewn street as he tried to make sense of everything that had just unfolded. The sheer force of the sonic attack, the calculated efficiency of the escape, and the sheer level of preparedness that mystery man had demonstrated—it all left him at an impasse, something that rarely happened.
His jaw tightened. That wasn't just some ordinary street punk.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. "That guy was definitely no ordinary man."
His gaze swept across the scene, taking in the shattered glass that littered the pavement like deadly confetti. Buildings bore visible scars from the sheer intensity of the sonic blast—cracked windows, deep fissures crawling up concrete walls, dust still drifting lazily through the air. Streetlights flickered unsteadily, their circuits likely fried from the sudden burst of pressure.
Then there was the eerie silence. The city, normally buzzing even at night, seemed momentarily stunned into stillness. A few distant car alarms wailed, but there was no immediate movement—no frightened citizens peeking from behind curtains, no concerned passersby approaching the aftermath. The attack had been too swift, too disorienting. Most had probably fled the moment the explosion rocked the area.
His fingers twitched slightly as he assessed the damage. And that device… That sound…
"I've never seen anything like it," he murmured to himself. "Who could create something like that?"
He began moving through the area, his boots crunching softly against scattered debris. His trained eyes searched methodically, scanning for anything—anything—that might have been left behind. A stray footprint, a piece of fabric, even a loose screw from the device.
"He has to have left something behind," he muttered as he crouched, shifting aside a broken metal sign. "Anything that could give me a lead on who he is and where he came from."
But as the minutes passed, his frustration grew. It was as if the man had orchestrated his exit down to the smallest detail. No dropped gadgets, no stray hair samples, no traceable markings on the ground—nothing but destruction and the ghost of his presence.
Batman clenched his jaw.
"Damn it," he hissed. "He covered his tracks too well."
He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to push past his frustration. He needed to work with what little he had. He reached for his communicator and pressed a button on his cowl.
"Robin, I need you to run a search. Start looking for any information on a mysterious man who has access to sonic weapons and an advanced defense system."
A brief pause, then Robin's voice crackled through the line, tinged with curiosity.
"Sonic weapons and a defense system? That's quite the description, Batman. Do you have any further details? Name, age, appearance, anything?"
Batman pinched the bridge of his nose.
"That's the issue, Robin. I don't have much information to go on. We met for maybe a minute. He was tall, average build. He seemed to be in his late fifties. He didn't give a name, and he had advanced technology that I've never seen before. That's all I can give you for now."
Robin's voice carried intrigue, but also caution. "Late fifties? Tall, average build? That's a start, but it's not much. What about the sonic weapon? Any specifics on its design?"
Batman's mind replayed the moment the device was revealed—the way the man had drawn it with no hesitation, the subtle weight shift as he fired it like it was second nature.
"It was a small handheld device," he said, his voice level. "Roughly the size of a portable speaker. He called it Over Prepared. When he activated it, it produced a powerful sonic blast—strong enough to damage structures, burst eardrums, and throw me back several meters."
Robin whistled softly. "Sonic blast, huh? Damn. That's military-level tech. Did he say anything else? Any clues about his background, what he wants, anything?"
Batman's eyes darkened slightly as he recalled their interaction—the unshakable composure, the monotone voice, the way the man seemed to treat the entire encounter as if it were a game.
"No," he admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "That's the most frustrating part. He gave away nothing. No goal, no ideology, no personal vendetta. He was eerily calm… almost emotionless. It was like he was testing me."
A thoughtful hum came from Robin's end. "Calm and emotionless? Testing you? That's not good. Sounds like we're dealing with someone cold, calculated… dangerous. Any idea where he went?"
Batman's lips pressed into a thin line.
"I tried to follow him, but he got away too fast. He hopped into a Lamborghini and disappeared before I could recover from the sonic attack."
Robin was silent for a moment, clearly processing the information. Then—
"A Lamborghini? That might actually narrow things down. There aren't exactly a ton of those in Gotham, and even fewer that could escape that fast. We can check traffic cameras, see if we can track where he went."
Batman nodded to himself. A traceable vehicle—that's something.
"Good idea. We'll start there," he said, already moving toward the nearest building. "I'll meet you at the Batcave in fifteen minutes, Robin. We need to start working on this as soon as possible."
"Copy that, Batman," Robin replied. "I'll start running facial recognition on any footage we can pull. See you soon."
The call ended with a soft beep.
Batman took one last sweeping look at the empty, ruined street. The unsettling silence remained, a stark contrast to the chaos that had erupted just moments ago.
His fists clenched.
"I'll find you," he muttered under his breath. His voice was low, unwavering, a promise rather than a threat.
"I always do."
Then, without another word, he fired his grappling gun. The line shot upward, catching onto the ledge of a towering skyscraper. With a swift pull, he ascended into the night, vanishing into Gotham's ever-present shadows.
The Lamborghini sliced through the night, weaving through Gotham's streets like a phantom. The city lights reflected off its sleek frame, but even the neon glow of passing billboards couldn't touch the driver inside—a man of absolute control. He handled the wheel with precision, navigating the labyrinth of alleyways and roads with an eerie calm.
The GPS screen in front of him wasn't just any GPS. It was a hacked interface linked to a satellite—one he had effortlessly overridden moments ago. Streams of data scrolled across his dashboard, feeding him everything from traffic patterns to encrypted government frequencies.
"Hmm... Interesting," he murmured, his tone as flat as ever. His eyes remained fixed on the road, yet his mind processed the information with inhuman efficiency. "A world with superpowers… heroes and villains…"
His fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a calculated rhythm. "Curious."
He never let a guess remain a guess. He operated only on probabilities, possibilities, and outcomes. If a world existed where people defied physics and wore capes to uphold justice—or to tear it down—then the natural counterbalance was clear.
"High-tech surveillance. Underground organizations. Black-ops divisions tracking movements through unknown means," he mused, his voice barely above a whisper. "If that's the case, then it's only logical they would attempt to trace my vehicle."
The thought didn't bother him—it merely required a solution.
His mind cycled through potential tracking measures. Facial recognition. Traffic surveillance. Vehicle registration databases. But then, the realization settled with cold certainty.
"97% of tracking technology requires pre-existing data. Digital imprints. Since I originate from outside this world… it won't work."
His gaze flickered to the plate number on his dashboard, barely sparing it a glance. "Even if they ran the numbers, they'd find nothing. This car is unregistered here. Untraceable."
A world of advanced technology, yet even the most sophisticated systems had their blind spots. Fascinating.
A flicker of interest crossed his mind as he observed the city's infrastructure through the satellite data. The technological differences intrigued him. The level of advancement. The potential.
"Replication… no. Improvement," he corrected himself, his tone never shifting from its emotionless state. "It never hurts to be too prepared."
Reaching into his coat, he retrieved a device he had constructed on a whim—an experimental tool, its function untested until now.
"I never thought dimensional travel was a realistic scenario," he muttered, studying the small, inconspicuous device. "But if it exists, then preparation for it was inevitable."
With a simple press, a faint hum resonated from the device. A few seconds passed, then—
[Doctor? Is that you?]
The voice was familiar, steady, professional. Klein. One of the few individuals competent enough to work under him.
"Yes, it's me," he replied, his tone as neutral as ever. His focus remained on the road, effortlessly maneuvering through traffic as he spoke. "I'll keep this brief. I am in another world."
A brief pause, followed by an intrigued hum from Klein.
[Another world? Hmm. Unexpected. Yet, not improbable, considering your work.]
"I have the means to traverse back," he continued. "But the technology remains untested. Activate it and begin diagnostics. If successful, prepare reinforcements."
[Understood,] Klein responded without hesitation. [I recall several of your unused projects. Some may be applicable. I will begin trials immediately. For reinforcements, I'll dispatch Red Acolyte if the tests succeed. In the meantime, I'll send a droid to establish a connection and track your current coordinates.]
"Very good."
He ended the call without ceremony, slipping the device back into his coat.
A brief thought crossed his mind. It works.
He turned his attention back to the road. He still had time. Gotham—while marginally interesting—didn't hold his attention for long. However, as he continued extracting data from the satellite feed, something piqued his curiosity.
A name. A city.
"Metropolis," he muttered, his eyes scanning the displayed information. "Logical. If this world operates on archetypes, then that would be the logical next step."
Another problem arose. Witnesses. The few who had caught a glimpse of his vehicle, of his presence.
"Change it. Completely."
Without hesitation, he pressed a hidden control. The Lamborghini's systems activated, and its frame began to shift. The color drained from its surface, reshaping into something entirely different—another model, another design. As if it had never been the same car at all.
A simple precaution. A necessary one.
A world of capes, of surveillance, of unknown variables—this was no different from any battlefield he had prepared for before.
And he was always prepared.
Meanwhile, deep within the Batcave, the glow of monitors cast flickering shadows across the cavernous space. The rhythmic hum of the Batcomputer filled the silence as Batman and Robin worked tirelessly, their eyes scanning lines of code, security footage, and city maps.
Robin leaned forward, frowning at the screen in front of him. A traffic camera had caught a glimpse of the Lamborghini speeding through Gotham's streets, but the trail abruptly went cold.
"I don't get it, Batman." Robin's voice held a mix of frustration and confusion. "We've been checking every traffic camera, every street-level feed. One second, the car's there, the next—it's gone. It's like it vanished into thin air."
Batman stood behind him, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the monitor. His mind worked like a machine, processing the data, searching for a pattern, an inconsistency—anything that didn't add up.
"Something's not right," he muttered. "That car had to go somewhere. We're just not looking at the right angle yet."
He gestured for Robin to keep digging before turning to the Batcomputer. With a few keystrokes, he pulled up a detailed city grid. The roads, alleyways, and underground routes lit up across the screen.
Robin sighed and returned his focus to the footage, fast-forwarding and rewinding in search of a clue.
"Batman, I've been thinking…" He glanced back at the Dark Knight. "What if this guy knew we'd be looking for him? What if he's got countermeasures in place? Fake plates, rerouted traffic patterns, back roads—he could have planned for all of this."
Batman gave a small nod, his expression unreadable.
"It's possible. We're dealing with someone meticulous. He had the technology to evade me once—he could have done it again."
His fingers moved across the keyboard, narrowing the search to known blind spots—areas where Gotham's surveillance systems didn't reach. There weren't many, but there were enough.
Robin turned back to his screen, running vehicle recognition algorithms against the city's database. "I don't like this, Batman. Everything about this guy screams 'ghost.' No records, no digital footprint, and now his car's disappeared?"
Batman didn't respond immediately. Instead, he zoomed in on the last recorded sighting of the Lamborghini. He ran a secondary analysis, isolating heat signatures and electromagnetic anomalies. His brow furrowed.
"He didn't just disappear," Batman finally said, his voice low. "He changed his car."
Robin's eyes widened. "Wait—you mean like a holographic disguise? Some kind of cloaking tech?"
"Not necessarily. More likely, he's using an advanced adaptive coating—something that allows his vehicle to alter its appearance in real time." Batman's fingers flew across the keyboard. "That would explain why we lost track of it. We've been searching for a Lamborghini when it's likely something else now."
Robin exhaled sharply. "That's… insane."
"Not if you plan for it," Batman muttered. His mind raced. Every second they spent searching, the man was getting further away.
Then, as if the situation wasn't already complicated enough, Robin brought up another pressing issue.
"And what about the sonic weapon?" His voice was more serious now. "That thing wasn't just some military-grade sound blaster, Batman. It nearly leveled a two-kilometer radius. That's not normal tech."
Batman's jaw tightened. "No. It's not."
He turned away from the traffic search and pulled up a separate analysis—a detailed breakdown of the sonic wave patterns they had recorded. The Batcomputer processed the data, mapping out frequency ranges, power output, and residual impact.
"This kind of weapon shouldn't exist outside of experimental labs," Batman said, studying the readings. "And even then, nothing on record comes close to what he used."
Robin leaned in, his brow furrowed. "So where the hell did he get it?"
Batman didn't answer immediately. That was the question that concerned him the most.
"We need to analyze the sonic frequencies," he finally said. "Find out if there's a way to counter it. If he uses that weapon again, we can't afford to be caught off guard."
Robin nodded, already pulling up advanced waveform analysis software. "I'll start reverse-engineering the frequencies, see if I can find a way to disrupt or dampen them. Maybe we can develop a countermeasure."
"Good," Batman said. But his mind was still racing.
This wasn't just about a mystery man with high-tech gadgets. This was about someone who had planned—someone who had anticipated everything. Someone who had evaded Batman himself.
That didn't happen.
Not easily.
Batman's eyes darkened.
"We need to be ahead of him," he said, mostly to himself. "We can't afford to be reactive. If he's as prepared as he seems, then we need to predict his next move before he makes it."
Robin glanced over. "And if we can't?"
Batman clenched his jaw. "Then we'll be walking into a fight blind. And that's not a fight I intend to lose."
With that, he turned back to the Batcomputer, diving deeper into the search for the mysterious man, his tech, and whatever he might be planning next.
__________________________________________________
Meanwhile, far from Gotham, the night stretched over the city of Metropolis.
The streetlights flickered on as the last traces of sunlight faded beneath the horizon. A black vehicle cruised down the highway at a steady, unassuming pace. It wasn't a Lamborghini—not anymore. Now, it was a completely different model, its sleek exterior redesigned at the push of a button.
Inside, the man remained indifferent, his expression as unreadable as ever. One hand on the wheel, the other scrolling through a series of intercepted data streams on his custom console. He had already left Gotham behind, but he knew better than to assume he had truly escaped surveillance.
There was always someone watching. Always a possibility of being traced.
But that was fine.
After all—he was always prepared.
As he drove, his eyes flicked between the road and the mini tablet in his hand, its screen displaying GPS data hacked from a satellite. The interface was custom-built—clean, efficient, and far beyond what this world's technology could comprehend. The map updated in real time, tracking his position with pinpoint accuracy.
"Looks like we're here," he murmured, the city skyline rising in the distance.
Crossing the border into Metropolis, he glanced at the side mirror, his mind drifting to the masked figure from earlier. The bat-like silhouette, the methodical pursuit—it was obvious. That man wasn't just some vigilante. He was an established force in that city, one who operated with a level of precision that suggested vast resources and experience.
If Gotham had such an individual, it stood to reason that Metropolis had its own version. Another hero. Another obstacle.
He exhaled through his nose, already calculating countermeasures. Superhumans, enhanced technology, government agencies—none of it was unexpected. He had dealt with worse. The only question was whether he would need to make adjustments to his approach.
A faint hum interrupted his thoughts. His hand slipped inside his coat, fingers brushing against the smooth surface of his dimensional communicator—a device he had built long ago but never anticipated using. Activating it, he spoke, his voice as steady as ever.
"I'm here. How is the test?"
Klein's voice responded instantly, as crisp and efficient as ever. [It was a success, sir. A drone is currently searching for your whereabouts.]
"Good work, Klein." He turned down another road, weaving through traffic without hesitation. "Now, send reinforcements."
[Understood.] The sound of rapid keystrokes followed. [I'll inform Red Acolyte and deploy additional support, Doctor.]
"Add a squad of Nikkes while you're at it."
[Very well, sir.] A pause. Then, with the slightest hesitation, Klein continued, [However, I have some concerns.]
"Go ahead," he said, never breaking focus.
[Since you're in another world, there could be attempts to detect energy signatures. If possible, we should take precautions—]
"That won't be necessary." His tone didn't change, calm and absolute. "I've accounted for that. No matter how advanced their technology is, energy is energy. My tools don't emit anything unusual—just refined schematics and better routing. They can't detect what's already common."
He adjusted his grip on the wheel slightly, watching as traffic thickened. "And let me correct you. It's frequency, not energy, that's traceable. But only if matched in real time. Once it's gone, it's gone—like a drop of poison in the ocean. Reengineering a lost frequency is impossible. The moment it fades, it's unrecoverable."
Klein remained silent for a moment, likely recalibrating her own theories. Then, she asked, [Then... is there any chance they could track you through the handheld weapon you brought with you?]
"No." His answer was immediate, unwavering. "Even if they somehow reverse-engineered it—which I'm confident they can't—they wouldn't have a reference point. Not even an analysis program. You can't analyze what you've never seen. And as for my car? It's not even the same model anymore. The Lamborghini they saw is gone."
[I see... Apologies, Doctor,] Klein said. [You're always several steps ahead.]
"Good."
He navigated the streets, scanning his surroundings as the city fully opened up before him. Towering skyscrapers loomed over the streets, glowing signs and massive digital billboards illuminating the urban sprawl. The architecture was sleek, modern, yet familiar—nothing beyond what he had seen in other developed cities. He had witnessed grander, more technologically advanced civilizations.
Still, there was something to be said about observation. Even the most mundane of cities held potential knowledge. He brought the car to a smooth stop, exiting with practiced ease.
His eyes swept the area as he stepped onto the pavement. The streets were alive with movement—pedestrians rushing home from work, groups gathering outside restaurants, others mindlessly scrolling through their devices. And then, just ahead, a large crowd had formed near a convention center. Some kind of event, perhaps.
He reached into his coat, slipping the communicator back into place.
"I'll take a stroll," he murmured.
His movements were deliberate, effortless. He blended into the flow of the city, becoming just another nameless figure in the crowd.
And just like that—he disappeared.
Meanwhile, Batman and Robin remained in the Batcave, the glow of multiple screens casting sharp blue and green hues over their faces. The hum of the Batcomputer filled the cave, punctuated by the occasional electronic beep as new data filtered in. Both of them were focused, scanning through surveillance footage, analyzing traffic patterns, and cross-referencing known data points in an attempt to track down the mysterious man.
Batman leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him as he stared at the screens with a dark, brooding intensity. The data was inconclusive. The footage was fragmented. Every lead, every trace, was systematically erased or obscured.
"We're not getting anywhere," he growled, his voice edged with frustration. "He's like a ghost. We have to be missing something."
Robin, seated nearby, was just as absorbed in his own screen. He scrolled through files, ran facial recognition programs, and manually checked traffic cameras, but every attempt yielded the same result: nothing.
"I know," Robin muttered, brow furrowed. "It's like this guy is anticipating every move we make. We need more information, but he's not giving us anything to go on."
Batman gave a short nod. His frustration never translated into panic—only a deeper, more focused intensity.
"We'll keep searching. We'll find something eventually. In the meantime, I want you to keep an eye on the city. If this guy is still here, he's bound to show himself eventually."
Robin nodded, his fingers moving swiftly over the keyboard as he continued to run scans through different databases, tapping into surveillance feeds across Gotham.
"Got it, Batman. I'll keep looking. But we might need to consider the possibility that he's left the city."
Batman grunted in response, his mind already working through that scenario. It was possible. The man had been methodical, precise, and seemingly one step ahead of them the entire time. But something didn't sit right. People who operated at this level didn't just pass through Gotham without an agenda.
"Maybe," Batman admitted. "But I don't think he's done here yet. There's something more to this. We just need to find it."
His eyes narrowed as he turned back to the massive main screen, scanning the data once more. The patterns didn't make sense. Most criminals, even the highly intelligent ones, left behind something. A footprint, a hacked system, an unaccounted anomaly in the digital trail. But this man... nothing. His vehicle had vanished. No lingering data spikes, no energy signatures. It was as if the city itself had swallowed him whole.
"I can't shake the feeling that we're missing something," Batman murmured. His eyes scanned the screen, searching for inconsistencies. "There has to be a pattern, a clue that we haven't noticed yet."
Robin looked up briefly, considering Batman's words before turning back to his screen. He tapped a few keys, then spoke again.
"Maybe we're looking in the wrong places," Robin suggested. "We've been focusing on surveillance footage and traffic cams, but what if he's using a different mode of transportation?"
Batman's gaze sharpened.
"You're right," he said, already switching screens. "We're too focused on traditional means. Let's expand our search to include other forms of transportation. Underground tunnels, waterways, even aerial transportation."
His hands moved quickly, inputting new search parameters. The Batcomputer adjusted accordingly, expanding its scan radius to incorporate Gotham's underground metro system, sewer networks, restricted airspace, and even private docking bays.
If this man had disappeared off their radar, then he hadn't just driven out of Gotham—he had calculated his exit. And that, more than anything, meant he wasn't someone they could ignore.
Robin glanced at Batman as new data began to process.
"If he's as good as we think, he's not just hiding. He's planning something."
Batman's eyes remained fixed on the screen.
"Then we need to find out what."
Robin's fingers danced across the keyboard with expert precision, his eyes flicking from screen to screen as new data began to load. He was deep in the data mining process, pulling every lead he could find about underground traffic systems, hidden routes, and possible methods of evading detection in Gotham's labyrinthine underbelly.
"I've got some potential leads on underground traffic," Robin muttered to himself, tapping away at the keys. His mind worked quickly, but his exhaustion was starting to show. It had been hours, and the lack of progress was wearing on him. He pushed forward, diving deeper into the system. "I'll keep digging."
Batman grunted in acknowledgment, his attention never straying from the large display in front of him. He was analyzing aerial footage, watching for anything out of the ordinary—private aircraft, unusual activity in restricted zones, or anything that might suggest the mysterious man had used unconventional means to leave the city.
"I'll keep looking at aerial footage," Batman said, voice low but determined. "We need to cover all angles."
The two worked in sync, as they always did—each focused on their task, the Batcave buzzing with the low hum of technology and the rhythm of quiet, intense concentration. Hours passed. The sun outside the Batcave's cavernous walls slowly dipped, casting long shadows across the Batcave's high ceilings. It was a peaceful kind of silence that only occurred when they were deep in their work—broken only by the occasional beep from the Batcomputer or the shuffling of papers Batman occasionally reviewed.
Batman rubbed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion settle in. Hours had passed, but the result was the same: an elusive trail that led to nowhere. He looked over at Robin, who was still absorbed in his screen, fingers a blur over the keys.
"Anything yet?" Batman's voice was rough, betraying the weariness that was beginning to take root.
Robin glanced up, his face tight with frustration and fatigue. He exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping just slightly under the weight of the unsuccessful search.
"Nothing yet," he replied, his voice tinged with frustration. His eyes, bloodshot and tired, met Batman's. "I've been running through every possible transportation scenario, but so far, nothing solid. We're hitting dead ends on every front."
Batman leaned forward, running a hand through his messy hair. He was frustrated too, but that didn't stop his mind from racing, analyzing the situation in precise, calculated bursts. The man they were after had to be skilled, maybe even brilliant. But it wasn't just his intelligence that concerned Batman—it was his resources, his ability to vanish without a trace.
"This guy's good," Batman muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Too good. It's like he's disappearing into thin air, like he's always one step ahead."
He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. His mind was spinning with scenarios, looking for any possible clue or misstep that would allow them to track down this man.
"He's got to have access to advanced technology," Batman said, his voice firm with renewed resolve. "We need to consider that. We're dealing with someone who's ahead of us in terms of tools and knowledge. Whatever we're looking for, it's not something we've encountered before. We need to think bigger."
Robin nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair, his mind also processing the implications of Batman's words. This wasn't a common criminal—they were dealing with a mastermind, a man whose technology and intellect had already given him the upper hand.
"I'm trying to find any references or traces of the kind of tech he's using," Robin said, his voice tense but focused. "I've been searching scientific databases, cross-referencing research papers and technical journals, but so far, nothing matches. Whatever he's using, it's completely off the radar."
There was a moment of silence as both of them allowed their thoughts to wander in the quiet of the Batcave. The weight of their findings—or lack thereof—hung in the air between them. Batman's eyes remained fixed on the monitor in front of him, though his mind was focused on the weapon used by the mysterious man, one that had stunned him with its unfamiliar energy signature. That was something they hadn't encountered before.
Batman's fingers hovered over the keyboard, his thoughts moving quickly as he spoke, breaking the silence.
"I've been thinking," he said quietly, voice pensive. "That weapon he used... It wasn't anything we've encountered before. It wasn't just powerful—it was too advanced, too precise. It had a different energy signature from anything we've seen."
Robin perked up at Batman's words, sensing the shift in focus. His mind locked onto the possibility that Batman was circling around something significant. He looked over at Batman, his own curiosity piqued.
"You think he created it himself?" Robin asked, his voice edged with intrigue. It was a bold suggestion, but not entirely out of the question.
Batman's gaze was unflinching as he considered the possibility. It would be a huge leap, but not entirely impossible. It would require vast knowledge and resources—things they'd yet to uncover.
"It's a possibility," Batman replied slowly, his voice measured. "But it would take someone with extraordinary technical knowledge, someone who's able to design and build such sophisticated weaponry. He'd have to be some kind of genius—an expert in weapons, technology, and energy fields—someone who can think far beyond the normal scope."
Robin leaned back, his thoughts swirling as he processed what Batman was suggesting. The implications were far-reaching. If this man had created a weapon with such technology, he was no ordinary foe.
"Maybe we're approaching this the wrong way," Robin said after a moment of silence. His voice was thoughtful, though still frustrated. "If he's smart enough to create something like that, he's probably got a cover, a hidden identity we haven't considered. Maybe we should focus on identifying him first, before we get too deep into his tech."
Batman's eyes narrowed in contemplation as he absorbed Robin's words. The shift in approach made sense. While the technology was a significant piece of the puzzle, understanding who the man was might be the key to unlocking everything else.
"You might be right," Batman said, inputting new commands into the Batcomputer. His fingers were precise and sure as they adjusted the parameters. "The tech will be hard to trace anyway. We need to find out who he is and why he's here."
He adjusted the settings for facial recognition and cross-referencing through government and criminal databases. As the system hummed to life, Batman turned back to Robin.
"I'll start looking through government databases for any potential matches. You keep going through those scientific papers and technical reports. Maybe you'll find something I missed."
Robin nodded, determination returning to his features. His hands were already back on the keyboard as he continued sifting through data and research, hoping to find that elusive piece of information that would bring them closer to identifying their mysterious adversary.
For the first time in hours, there was a faint flicker of progress in the air. The weight of their task hadn't lessened, but there was a sense of direction now. They were no longer just reacting to the unknown. They were moving toward it, step by step.
Moving seamlessly through the dense crowd, he navigates the convention with the same calculated gaze—cold, analytical, and unreadable. He knows one thing for certain: in this world, his face is unrecognizable. No digital footprint, no records, no past. And he intends to keep it that way.
His steps carry him toward the heart of the Metropolis Convention, where the latest advancements in technology are being unveiled. At first, he observes with mild curiosity, scanning the exhibits with a calm, indifferent expression. But that interest quickly fades into boredom.
Then, something catches his eye. A new piece of LexCorp technology is about to be presented.
He hums softly, his tone almost amused but still maintaining that flat gaze. "Interesting."
Blending effortlessly into the crowd, he moves closer, eyes locked onto the demonstration.
High above the city, a drone hovers in the night sky, scanning tirelessly. Its optical sensors lock onto a target, and its systems process the data in milliseconds.
[TARGET IDENTIFIED]
[DOCTOR ARCHO LUNELLIME – LOCATION CONFIRMED]
A metallic voice hums to life, monotone and precise.
[Doctor Archo Lunellime detected. Transmitting coordinates. Initiating reinforcements protocol.]
The signal is sent.
Miles away, the Red Acolyte and a squad of Nikkes receive the transmission. Without hesitation, they move out. The reinforcements are on their way.
At the same time, deep within the Batcave, Batman and Robin are still working diligently, scanning data, tracking movements, and reviewing surveillance feeds when something suddenly catches Batman's attention on the Batcomputer screen.
"Wait, wait, wait," he mutters, his eyes narrowing as he leans closer. "What is that?"
Robin, sitting at the console beside him, looks over, his sharp eyes locking onto the lines of code and signals flashing across the screen.
"Transmissions? That's..." Robin hesitates for a second before finishing the thought.
"Bad," Batman says, his voice edged with tension. His fingers move swiftly over the keyboard, isolating the frequency and attempting to decode it. "We need to trace that signal and find out where it's coming from."
Robin is already on it, his hands flying over the keyboard. "I'm on it, Batman. Tracing it now... This is encrypted, but I'm breaking through."
As Robin works, Batman rises from his chair, already preparing for what's to come. His mind is moving ahead of the situation, calculating next steps before they become necessary.
"We need to get to the convention center. Now."
Robin's gaze snaps up from the screen, his expression shifting into determination. "I'll ready the Batwing. You get the Batmobile."
Batman doesn't argue. Time is slipping through their fingers, and every second counts. He strides toward the Batmobile, the familiar hum of the vehicle coming to life as he slides into the driver's seat. The engines roar as he grips the wheel, already adjusting the onboard systems for navigation.
"I'm on my way," Batman says, his voice coming through Robin's comm. "Keep tracking the signal and update me on any changes. And Robin—"
Robin, still hunched over the computer, glances up. His expression remains focused but attentive.
"—Be careful."
Robin gives a short nod, already moving toward the Batwing's launch platform. "See you there."
The Batmobile roars forward, tires screeching as it accelerates out of the Batcave, disappearing into the darkened tunnels.
He moves through the remnants of the convention with a cold, stoic professionalism, his gaze sweeping across this unfamiliar world. Nothing impresses him—he has seen far better where he comes from. The displays of flashy technologies, the grandiosity of human innovation—none of it matters. It's all so trivial compared to what he's capable of. What he has already created. He silently catalogs the imperfections, the limitations of each device on display, from the simplest gadget to the most complex machinery. I could improve all of this, he thinks, but it's hardly worth my time.
A robotic voice breaks the silence, cutting through his thoughts.
[Doctor, target identified.]
He turns, his movements precise and deliberate, to see the drone that first arrived in this world hovering nearby.
"Ah, so you made it," he says flatly, as if the drone's arrival was expected, not noteworthy. "And the reinforcements I requested from my assistant?"
[Reinforcements activated. Signal transmitted to the specified coordinates,] the drone replies in its monotone voice.
"Good..." He pauses for a moment, his eyes shifting sideways. A flicker of irritation crosses his expression, though it's fleeting. "Did you send a signal?"
[Affirmative. Alert sent to the designated location, Doctor.]
"Hmm. Not ideal," he mutters, though his expression remains unchanged. "But it doesn't change much..."
His gaze sweeps over the convention once more, silently cataloging the technology on display. He commits it all to memory—not just to replicate, but to improve. The thoughts race through his mind: This is just the surface. I need to understand the deeper mechanisms, the theories behind these innovations. There's a gap to be bridged here, a new frontier to be explored. He observes a few devices in particular, assessing their efficiency, imagining ways to push their limits. There's always room for improvement. Always.
As he continues scanning, his body language subtly shifts as he effortlessly fades into the crowd, his movements like liquid, barely registering on the people around him. The drone follows in stealth mode, its cloaking device engaged. He's always prepared—always calculating the next step, anticipating the future before it arrives.
Meanwhile, far out in the Pacific Ocean, a red blur streaks across the waves, a streak of speed that seems almost unreal. The blur cuts through the water, leaving violent sprays of ocean in its wake, splitting the sea apart with every burst of speed. The air cracks and ripples with the force, creating a sonic boom with each successive thrust. The figure is nothing more than a blur of color, moving so fast it is nearly imperceptible to the human eye.
Behind it, a massive jet carrier follows—unlike anything known in this world. It's a craft from another realm, one that should not exist here, its design unfamiliar to even the most advanced human minds. As the red blur moves toward Metropolis, the jet carrier keeps close, its engines roaring through the sky. The two move as one, an unstoppable force heading straight toward the heart of the city.
Batman weaves through the streets of Metropolis in the Batmobile, his expression focused, his mind sharp. Every turn, every movement is calculated. He's acutely aware of the ticking clock, the potential danger this unknown man poses. His grip tightens on the steering wheel, his mind constantly running through scenarios, his eyes scanning every inch of the road and the skyline.
In the sky, the Batwing trails above him, a sleek shadow cutting through the night. Robin is at the controls, his movements just as precise as Batman's. They communicate silently and efficiently, years of working together guiding their every move. The two of them are in sync, their operations as seamless as clockwork.
But there is an unease between them, the feeling that this threat is unlike any they've faced before. As they get closer to the convention center, Batman's mind keeps racing. Who is this man? What does he want?
At the convention center, the atmosphere is tense. Lex Luthor stands in the center of the hall, surrounded by his latest creations—advanced technologies that bear his unmistakable mark. He stands tall, flanked by his bodyguards, surveying the crowd with a mixture of pride and wariness. There's a sense of ownership, but also a deep-rooted distrust in his eyes. He knows Metropolis better than anyone, and he's seen his fair share of threats. Yet, there's something about this moment, this sense of intrusion, that puts him on edge.
Suddenly, a familiar voice speaks up behind him.
"An impressive display, Luthor. As always."
Luthor turns, his expression shifting from annoyance to wariness as he sees Batman standing there, flanked by Robin. His posture straightens, and for a split second, there's a flash of something—irritation, perhaps, or maybe even something deeper. He's no fan of the Dark Knight, not by a long shot.
"Batman," Luthor sneers, his voice laced with disdain. "Here to ruin the party?"
Batman doesn't flinch, his stance as unwavering as always. His expression is stern, his voice low and commanding. "Not exactly."
Robin, moving to stand beside Batman, adds with a determined look, "We're looking for a man. He's been spotted here. Do you know anything about him?"
Luthor's lip curls in slight amusement at the vague nature of their inquiry. He scoffs, crossing his arms. "A man? That's rather vague. You'll have to be more specific."
Robin steps forward, his gaze fixed on Luthor with unwavering intensity. "He's got access to high-tech weaponry. He's dangerous."
Luthor's frown deepens, his gaze sharpening as the words sink in. "High-tech weaponry? And why should I believe you? For all I know, you made it up to give me trouble."
Batman steps forward again, his voice low, more forceful this time. "We don't have time for your games, Luthor. There's a man with dangerous technology somewhere in this building. We need to find him before it's too late."
Luthor's expression remains wary, but he can see that Batman and Robin are not bluffing. They're not the type to engage in mind games, and they don't have time for them. A moment of silence passes between them, the tension thick in the air.
"Well," Luthor says slowly, his voice still tinged with suspicion, "It's my building, you know. And I haven't seen anyone suspicious."
He pauses for a moment, his expression shifting as he considers his next words. There's a subtle change in his demeanor, a flicker of acknowledgment that something might be amiss.
"But my security cameras are quite thorough. Let me see if I can find anything."
Luthor leads Batman and Robin to a private room at the back of the convention hall. The room is filled with multiple screens, each showing different surveillance feeds from all over the building. Luthor sits down in front of the main console, his fingers dancing across the keys as he pulls up the security footage.
"My state-of-the-art security system has surveillance everywhere," Luthor says with a note of pride, but his voice still carries that guarded wariness.
He begins sorting through the feeds, his eyes scanning each one as he works quickly, knowing the importance of every second.
"So, this man," Luthor begins without looking up, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "Describe him to me."
Batman and Robin exchange a brief look before Batman responds. His voice is even, authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
"He's tall, lean, and wears all black. He moves efficiently and has a sharp gaze. And he doesn't have a trace of emotion on his face."
Luthor hums, his eyes scanning the various screens in front of him, fingers tapping absentmindedly on the console. The room is dimly lit, the glow of the monitors casting eerie shadows across his sharp features. His lips curl into a smirk as he leans back slightly in his chair.
"Well, that doesn't narrow it down much," Luthor mutters, his tone laced with dry amusement. "You're describing half the attendees today."
His fingers flick over the controls, rapidly switching between different feeds, each one showing a different angle of the convention floor. The bustling crowd, security teams stationed at key points, VIPs being escorted to private meetings—there's a lot of activity, but nothing that immediately stands out.
Batman remains motionless, standing tall behind Luthor, his arms crossed over his chest. His gaze doesn't waver from the screens. "Find him, Luthor. Time is running out."
Luthor exhales sharply, rolling his eyes, but he doesn't argue. He knows better than to test Batman's patience in moments like this. He continues scrolling through the surveillance footage, occasionally zooming in on individuals who match the vague description.
The seconds stretch, the room filled only with the quiet hum of the computers and the rhythmic clicking of Luthor's fingers over the keyboard. Then, suddenly, his movements stop. His expression changes ever so slightly—not alarm, but something close to intrigue.
"Wait a minute," he mutters, leaning in, his eyes narrowing at the screen. His tone is lower now, more focused, as if piecing something together. "I think I've got something."
Batman and Robin instantly step forward, their eyes locking onto the screen that caught Luthor's attention. Robin's hands tighten into fists at his sides as he focuses, taking in every detail. Batman, as always, remains unreadable, his gaze cold and analytical.
Luthor rewinds the footage slightly and lets it play again. The screen shows a tall, lean man dressed in all black, weaving through the convention with a fluidity that doesn't match the casual chaos of the crowd. His movements are too calculated, too deliberate. He isn't just walking—he's maneuvering. His eyes are sharp, flicking between booths, security stations, and exits with a precision that immediately sets him apart.
Robin leans in slightly, muttering, "Just as Batman described…"
Luthor pauses the feed, his fingers halting over the console. The man's face is now clearly visible on the screen, frozen mid-stride. His expression is unreadable, void of any reaction to his surroundings, as if he's merely observing, detached from the human element around him.
"That's him," Batman states, his voice firm, lacking any trace of doubt.
Robin gives a sharp nod, his jaw tightening. "Yeah. That's definitely him."
Luthor exhales through his nose, his expression shifting from mild surprise to something closer to irritation. He reclines slightly, his fingers drumming against the console in thought.
"Well, I'll be damned," Luthor mutters under his breath before glancing up at Batman and Robin. "You're telling the truth."
Batman doesn't react. He knew that much from the start.
Luthor rewinds the footage once more, replaying it, watching the man's every move with newfound scrutiny. There's something about him—something unsettling in his presence. It wasn't obvious at first, but now that he's really watching, the way the man moves stands out like a glitch in a system.
"He did catch my attention earlier," Luthor admits, his tone shifting slightly, the gears in his mind already turning. "But I dismissed him as a harmless techie."
Batman's gaze remains locked onto the screen, his jaw tightening as he watches the mysterious man weave effortlessly through the convention floor. There is something deeply unsettling about him—the way he moves, the way his eyes scan every exhibit with calculated precision. This isn't just casual curiosity. He's studying the technology with intent.
"He's far from harmless," Batman mutters, his voice low and grim.
Robin leans in, eyes narrowing as he observes the footage. "He's scanning every exhibit, almost like he's analyzing them."
Luthor exhales sharply, his patience thinning. "He's analyzing my exhibits?" He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "That is absolutely unacceptable."
Batman turns his head sharply toward Luthor, his gaze like a sharpened blade. "That's not the real problem here, Luthor."
Luthor meets his stare, crossing his arms. "Oh? And what is the real problem, then?"