The siren from a phone on the nightstand made Bruce’s eyes fly open. His fatigue vanishes as he silences the siren and notices the red alert on his screen at 2:43 AM.
BOOM TUBE DETECTED. LOCATION GOTHAM WEST HARBOR. COORDINATES 39,15,0-
Before Bruce could finish the message, he was already in a robe and slippers, dashing to the cave. He had all patrols cancelled for the night when the storm rolled in after 10. Dick and Jason stayed at their apartments instead of the manor. When Bruce reached the cave, he saw Tim at the main Bat computer trying to get more information, which didn’t surprise him. A quick glance at the screen shows Tim was on a call with Barbara. Bruce silently hopes she is not trapped in the tower due to the storm.
“Tim, what do you have?” Bruce inquires, pulling up next to his son. Alfred approaches with coffee, water, and light snacks, seeing that both of his boys are hyper-focused on the main screen.
Tim huffs in frustration, “Nothing, the power grid in that area went out shortly after the boom tube opened.” He is flickering through surveillance footage, cleaning it enough for a proper assessment. Bruce moves away to a station next to the major computer and starts looking through the gathered information. All the security feeds went out minutes before the boom tube opened because of a downed power line.
“I’m not picking up any energy signatures from Apokolips. Not even a gust of wind. The sensors in that general area aren’t responding well to the storm. Adding this to the upgrade list.” Babs chimes in.
“Barbara, get Dick and Jason up to speed. The League will not be involved unless we have something solid.” Bruce states as he takes out his phone to look at everyone’s schedules to have a meeting. This might be an all hands on deck outside of his family.
By the time you made it out completely from the marina, the streetlights flickered back to life. Pulling down the cap, you keep your head down as you walk to the east. You were itching to put on your face mask, but the red mask would draw attention too quickly. The smell of wet concrete and the rhythmic dripping from soggy rooftops was the only sound around you for a while.
After walking about two miles, you see less industrial settings and more urban settings. An electronic sign for a closed bank shows it was only after 4am. Finally, you walked until you found yourself in a small park. Some basketball courts held puddles from the rain; the swings slightly moved in the early morning breeze. Most of the benches under the stone gazebo were still wet from the storm, which blew the rain in all directions. You chose a bench that had your back towards the gazebo’s stone wall, having you face the empty park.
Your mind is racing to sort the little information that you had. You are in New Jersey, which means America. Cities have cameras, and you made a mental note to minimize your appearance. You had no tech and no way of contacting your handler.
Looking around, there is a small park with a playground and a gazebo. You kept your head down even when you sat down on the damp stone steps under the still dripping gazebo.
Finally, you gave yourself a moment to think properly.
The first thing to do is a physical check. Muscle memory starts as you flex your fingers and toes, tensing and untensing individual limbs and muscles. Nothing broken, not anymore after…the office incident. Grade 2 rib bruises, ears sore, right ankle and left hip felt warm with pain but not fractured, joints pulse with dull but manageable pain. Faint headache but no precise pressure behind your forehead.
A sigh of relief from your manageable wounds falls from your lips. You reach into your bag and take out a bottle of water and a candy bar. The next step would take some energy from your depleting reservoirs.
Your breathing changes to be slower and deeper. Diaphragmatic (belly) Breathing as you put a hand on your chest and the other on your belly, below your stomach. Your eyes softly focus on a barely bloomed tree straight ahead. Buds are large and proud with sparse leaves still heavy with raindrops. The wind guiding the raindrops to trickle off the gazebo and down its spout helps calm yourself more.
Performing a mental check was a hard-wire training module to regain control during dire situations. Not to panic, but to survive. In your trance, you looked for information to increase your survival and your understanding.
Red Venom Widows are the Red Room’s version of enhanced soldiers. Engineered to withstand extraterrestrial threats, what your body did in the office was only a fraction of your new abilities. You didn’t know how many they selected, but you had fleeting moments of being on a table or suspended in a tank surrounded by white coats.
Verbal commands have locked away most of your missions. The ones you could remember you had to filter to avoid facing the inevitable at this moment. You didn’t have time for that; you needed more information. Still breathing rhythmically, you stay at the stone table under the gazebo.
When you gently came out of your trance, the sun was peeking over the horizon. You drank your water and ate the candy bar in the quiet park; holding onto the trash in your bag was a habit. Leave no trace. You are freed from their obvious mind control.
The Academy is clearly no more, but there was no guarantee that someone wouldn’t be coming to retrieve you. Your gloves squeak as you balled your fist tightly. They are welcome to try, however, their attempts will be in vain.
You unclench your fist and leave the gazebo. You continue heading east to the tall buildings on the horizon, towards a city. You needed to get funds and intel first, then plan from there.
The area outside of the city was barely waking up. You didn’t know how long you were in the trance, but it couldn’t have been more than a little over an hour and a half. Businesses would get ready to open soon, which would mean more eyes.
The closer you got to the tall buildings, you kept your eyes sweeping and head on a swivel. You take alleyways, making yourself look small and feeble, baiting for easy cash. Passing an alleyway, a gruff voice calls out to you. “Hey pretty, you look a little lost.” A large man with a shaven head and a gold chain with shiny diamonds, says being flanked by two other men.
“Lucky for you, we give tours for a small fee, of course,” the man on the right, the blond with a buzz cut and gold Rolex, licked his lips. You smile and walk towards them.
“Thank you, I was lost,” you sweetly reply, moving closer. The man on the left, with a hat and patchy beard, readjusted himself, with gold rings on his fingers, while ogling you. Disgusting.
Once the closest man was within three feet, you launch forward into a spinning roundhouse and roundhouse kick the blond in his arm. A wet crunch underlined his yelp of pain as he flew into the man on the left with the patchy beard. Both men crumpled to the ground. The man with the shaved head foams at the mouth in anger.
He lunges over his friends to you with both arms outstretched as if to grab you. You didn’t have a moment to think about the clear increase in strength as your body reacted. Steady knife hands to both of his wrists echoed with a dull thwack. A quick tap of a right jab to his solar plexus lifts him off the ground and ten feet away. His body skids and crumples against a dumpster with a dull bang.
“You fucking bitch” Patchy, now free from his friend, draws a pocket knife and leaps for you. Disarming him was like taking a breath. Side step, step forward, knife hand to wrist, CRUNCH. The punch to his liver sends him sideways into a wall. Patchy didn’t know what the hell happened; he didn’t know that he was even screaming. His screaming was silenced when you grabbed him by his shirt and threw him against the wall. The wind knocked the breath out of him; he instinctively cradled his swollen wrist and curled into a ball.
You stood over him with his knife in your hand. “Now, now,” you coo, crouching down to his eye level. The man is shaking from shock or fear; you didn’t really care. “Since a tour isn’t workable at the moment, how about some directions instead?”
Minutes later you leave with roughly a thousand in cash, a pocket knife, all the gold on their persons, with directions to your next destination, the nearest library.
On your way to the library, you bought two burner phones before continuing with Patchy’s instructions. Finding the nearest library per Patchy’s instructions. Upon entering, the librarian, clearly not used to people being so early, asked if you needed help. Smiling, you asked for a quiet place to study. They directed you to the third-floor study rooms that were first-come, first come first serve before ten am.
Thanking them, you make your way to the study room. The study rooms had a facing wall made of acoustic glass with a matching door. You went to the room tucked in the corner and, thankful for the dimmable switch, you kept the lights low. Once a phone was activated, connected to Wi-Fi, and a VPN installed, you began looking for intel.
Your hands trembled, unable to accept the terrifying conclusion you’d just uncovered through your research. You are not in your universe; you were not home.
When you started your search, you wanted directions to Avengers Headquarters, nothing. SHIELD headquarters and local offices, unrelated results. You double-checked that you were in New Jersey, USA, and that the technology matched the year. Opening different browsers and even searching in Russian, the more you searched, the more distress you got.
Battle of New York, unrelated results. Aliens in New York, unrelated results about a man in blue and red. This led to more searches focusing on this world. Metas instead of mutants. Different heroes and villains you’ve never encountered or heard of.
The box. The box that the researcher had, the one you were guarding. It sent you here, ripping you from your world but also saving you. You honestly doubted that you would have walked away alive from the Academy falling on top of you.
Emancipation from the academy and your enemies became a secondary concern. Existential dread covers you like a heavy blanket. ‘I’m free after everything I’ve done. I’m free from the consequences of my world, but’ you look at your gloved hands. ‘My hands have taken so much for someone else; how do I begin to do things for me?’ you thought, putting your head in your hands.
Free time for widows was scarce and used for training. Even while recovering in the med bay, you had to read mission reports and academic textbooks. Surely you could use your skills and knowledge to build a new life without innocent blood being spilled. Looking at the clock, it’s now nearly ten; you’ve spiraled enough before noon. You leave the library a little lighter at all the possibilities you can amend the debt of your past.
The morning sun poured through the expansive, floor-to-ceiling windows on his left, bathing his office in light. Despite the robust construction of bulletproof glass-clad polycarbonate, reinforced frames, and side barriers, the sun’s rays pierced through brightly.
Wayne Enterprises were on his computer for review, but his focus was elsewhere. A tablet linked to the Batcomputer has compiled all the information Bruce gathered that morning. A quick call with Jason and Dick, along with sharing it with everyone, ensured they were all informed.
A boom tube opened for about ten seconds in Gotham West Harbor. The storm had knocked out all surveillance cameras and interfered with their own sensors and cameras in the marina. Bruce went to investigate himself once the storm had passed. Tim had fallen asleep at the computer, and Bruce carried him to bed. Alfred needs to give Tim more nutrient-dense food.
At the marina, Batman used his interface in his lenses to catalog information. From the initial coordinates, he makes his way to the pier, using his lenses to observe the water.
There is a wooden platform that looks damaged from the storm, but Bruce goes down to investigate it properly. There are puncture marks leading from the water up to the pier. Something climbed out of the water. The HUD display gives the results of the puncture marks being an 85% match to human digits.
He placed his index finger into a hole, and it could only go in as far as the first knuckle. Possibly smaller than six feet, the holes are deep but slimmer than my fingers. His lens analyzes beyond the shape. There is no blood, skin, fabric, or hair; the storm could have washed the lighter evidence away. The strength needed to put such deep punctures without skin or blood into the thick wood goes beyond human into meta territory.
It doesn’t rule out Apokolips’s creatures; he knows that there are some they haven’t encountered before. On his HUD, he requests the Batplane to land near the evidence. He needs to remove this before reporters come and start making false claims.
He follows the marks until they abruptly stop. Looking around, his HUD still doesn’t pick up on any Apokolips energy. None of the boats have damage outside of the storm. There is a building to his right and according to the HUD it’s a marina boat rental and gift shop. He saw no footprints or indications of its direction until he reached the window.
“I turned the cameras off, but they came back online at 3:47. There is no one in the office. Tim and the Batplane are on their way to pick up that wood,” Barbara responds, and Batman enters the office.
He entered the room with caution, mindful of the glass. There are papers everywhere and still no wet footprints. The paper wouldn’t have completely dried by now. Someone removed them. The desk drawers are locked with no evidence of tampering. Batman investigated the rest of the building; nothing seemed out of place.
“Oracle, send all police reports regarding this shop from the last six months and the one that is going to be filed this morning.” Batman requests, exiting the building. Someone was clearly here and cleaned their tracks perfectly. This isn’t an Apokolips creature or one of his elite. Batman notes as he makes his way down to where Tim and the Batplane waits for him, along with the removed wood.
When he got back to the cave, he investigated all the data collected with Tim before Tim left for classes. When he shared the information with everyone, no one liked what they saw.
Something with intelligence but no malice, yet.
No one investigates alone; trackers stay on. No exceptions, no excuses.
He alerts other league members in case it leaves Gotham.
Whatever or whoever this was is going to be found. Bruce swore, gripping the tablet tightly. He will protect his family and Gotham.
© 2026 HimeKaida All rights reserved. This work is 100% human-authored. I do not consent to this work being scraped, used for AI training, or reproduced in any form without express permission.
