Batman.
Silent. Still. Eyes like twin blades under that sculpted mask.
He stepped into the light with the kind of weight that made air itself hold its breath. His glare hit harder than a punch, and for a second—even I had to admit—it was impressive.
Almost made me laugh.
"Ah," I said, voice bright with mock delight. "And here I was worried I wouldn't get dessert."
He didn't speak. Didn't move.
I smirked.
"So… did they call in the Bat to cry over the ashes of his boyfriend?" I leaned forward slightly, giving him a slow, exaggerated nod. "Gotta say—when it comes to taste, you sure know how to pick 'em. Psychos, murderers, chaos gremlins in clown makeup. You might want to swipe left next time."
Still nothing.
Unblinking.
Just that thousand-ton glare.
I kept going, letting the grin grow wider.
"Or was it real? Huh? The Bat and the Clown. Star-crossed lovers from opposite sides of the law. One punchline away from a romantic tragedy."
Finally—he spoke.
"Gerald Weston."
His voice was a low growl, deep and exacting. Like it was carved from stone and sharpened on the edge of justice.
I nodded. "That's my name. Well, the one that's sticking."
Batman took a step closer to the table. Not rushed. Not aggressive. Calculated.
"You're not on any database. Not on any facial recognition software, not even DNA matches. You've killed without hesitation. You walked out of an inferno without a single burn. You killed the Joker."
He leaned forward now, the edge of his cape brushing the table.
"I want to know how."
I tilted my head slightly. "You mean the part where I ended a global threat that you let run around like a rabid dog for years? Or the part where I used toothpicks to take out six armed men before finishing a cheeseburger?"
His eyes narrowed.
So I leaned in slightly, just enough to drop my voice with that razor's edge of mockery.
"I even slapped him across the face before I lit the fireworks."
That made his nostrils flare. Just a little.
"And you wanna know the worst part?" I continued, smile curling. "I asked him for his final words. You know what they weren't?"
He didn't respond, but the tension in his shoulders said everything.
I leaned forward, our eyes locked over the cold steel table.
"He didn't say your name, Bats. Not once. Not even in his last breath. Not even when he knew he was going to die."
A pause. Just long enough for the silence to sting.
"After all that chasing, all that obsession… and the man you built your legacy on?" I shrugged. "Didn't. Think. Of you."
The silence that followed was surgical. Deadly.
Then, Batman stepped forward sharply.
He placed both gloved hands on the table, looming over me like judgment itself.
"You think this is funny?" he asked, voice low, almost a whisper, but with enough weight to crush bones.
"I think you think this is justice," I replied coolly. "And I think you're wrong."
"You murdered him."
I shook my head slowly. "I executed a decision you never had the will to make. That clown burned cities, tortured families, crippled a child, blew up schools. And you? You played tag with him in the dark. Every death after your first mercy was on you, Batman."
A vein ticked in his temple.
"Say his name again," Batman said, voice low. Deadly quiet. A razor's whisper that could cut through steel.
I leaned back, smirking.
"What, Joker?" I paused—let the air tighten. "Or Jason?"
That hit like a sniper round.
Even under the cowl, I saw the shift—jaw clenched, shoulders locked, the tiniest recoil in his breath.
Gotcha.
"Oh, and before you start growling and flexing like a Halloween statue," I added smoothly, raising both hands, "a friendly reminder: I'm physically strong, highly skilled, and very comfortable with killing evil people. I've had more practice than your entire rogues' gallery combined."
I gave him a once-over, unimpressed.
"Your little gadgets? They'll just make me itch."
Batman didn't move—but his glare somehow sharpened. Like he was calculating seventeen different takedowns and wondering which one would be the most poetic.
"What do you want?" he asked finally, his voice like granite grinding against steel.
I tilted my head, mock-thoughtful.
"Hmm… nothing really," I said casually, then gestured at him with both hands, palms up, like I was presenting an exhibit. "Unless you count you staring at me with those predator eyes."
Batman's expression didn't change, but his stance tightened.
I leaned in slightly, grin full of venom and mischief.
"Back up, Bats. I'm a minor."
"Don't want the media calling you Pedoman, do we?"
Even Batman had to blink at that.
I sat back, satisfied.
"You know, I came in here expecting Gotham's boogeyman. But you? You're just an emotionally repressed gym rat in a cape who can't get closure unless someone's dangling over a vat of acid."
The silence between us crackled like static.
Then, behind him—
"Enough."
The door slid open with a commanding hiss, and she stepped through.
Wonder Woman.
The room shifted. Even the temperature seemed to change.
Elegant, regal, and absolutely in control, she radiated authority in a way Batman never could. Not through fear. Through presence. Confidence that didn't need to be shouted. A living legend.
The tension in the room snapped taut.
Batman glanced back, then stepped aside—not out of submission, but out of respect.
I straightened instinctively, posture correcting as if my spine suddenly remembered it had discipline. The smirk was still there—but lighter now, amused rather than mocking.
"Princess," I said, nodding slightly. "You're a much more welcome sight than Broodman over there."
Her gaze was cool but not unkind. Observing. Calculating.
"Gerald Weston," she said, voice calm and measured, like it could soothe a storm if it wanted to—but just as capable of commanding armies. "You've caused quite a stir."
I raised both hands, almost apologetically. "What can I say? Gotham hospitality brings out the worst in me. But you? I can be on my best behavior."
Batman grunted, folding his arms behind her, watching silently. Probably calculating seventeen more ways to break my kneecaps.
Wonder Woman continued, ignoring the tension. "You killed the Joker."
I nodded. "In spectacular fashion, if I may say so myself. Minimal collateral, maximum closure."
"That wasn't your decision to make," she replied, evenly.
"No offense, but—" I paused, then added with a polite little cough, "—with all due respect, beautiful woman, that man should've been put down years ago. You know it. I know it. He knew it."
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Justice is not about vengeance."
I shrugged, casual but firm. "And yet every person he tortured—every life he ruined—died waiting for your kind of justice. All I did was stop the bleeding."
There was a flicker in her gaze then. Not quite agreement. But… understanding. A silent acknowledgment of the truth we both didn't want to admit.
But I was already done with the moral ping-pong.
My eyes flicked downward—to her hip. The golden rope coiled at her side shimmered faintly with a warmth I could feel even from here. It didn't belong to this world. Not entirely.
"Interesting weapon," I said, leaning forward slightly. "I can feel the divine energy humming through it."
That made her pause.
Batman's gaze sharpened instantly, eyes narrowing like a wolf catching a foreign scent. The tension shifted again—this time, not because of what I'd done…
But because of what I might be.
"You can sense the Lasso's divine aura?" Diana asked, her tone suddenly more alert, more curious. No accusation—just genuine interest, cloaked in that unshakable calm of hers.
"Clear as daylight," I said, nodding, my fingers twitching with invisible resonance. "Feels like a golden thread humming in tune with some primordial law. Order. Truth. It sings."
Batman's eyes sharpened into daggers.
He didn't say a word, but I could feel the gears turning. The tension in his jaw. The way his stance adjusted half a degree. Calculations firing at rapid speed.
He was already pissed after my earlier mocking—but now?
Now he was wondering.
I leaned back in the chair, arms behind my head, a lazy smirk on my face. "Don't look so surprised. I didn't come from this world, not originally anyway. So yeah—divine relics hum, magic tingles, and your cape broods at a higher frequency than most shadow demons."
Diana's expression shifted—just a little. Less suspicion. More… curiosity. Like she was starting to believe the impossible was standing right in front of her.
"You're not from Earth," she said. Half a statement. Half a challenge.
"Not your Earth, no," I confirmed, gesturing vaguely between her and the Bat. "Though I gotta say, the multiverse didn't prepare me for how much brooding and self-righteous monologuing this version of reality has."
Batman stepped forward. Calm. Focused. Predatory.
"Where exactly did you come from?"
I leaned in slightly, eyes bright with mockery. "From my mother's womb, Pedoman. Where else?"
His jaw twitched.
"Gerald," Diana snapped, voice suddenly sharp—like a whip wrapped in royal command.
I raised my hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. You want a serious answer? Here's your breadcrumb."
I leaned forward, expression sobering just slightly.
"I came from Midgard."