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Gotham - Warehouse District
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A run-down warehouse that was in chaos of gunfire and shouts only moments ago, was now a field of groaning, unconscious men in dark suits and broken sunglasses. Kid Flash and Robin continued to dance between the few remaining goons, dodging bullets and returning punches with almost careless precision while they snarked their opponents. Meanwhile, the Dark Knight kept a watchful eye on them, glaring at their every move, but his attention was mostly on his scarlet-clad companion.
"How did it go with the boy?" Batman asked in his usual deep, gravelly voice as he circled around a toppled crate stained with a little blood from one of the downed goons he had to step over. He had already analysed the criminal's condition with each hit he had endured from his apprentice and concluded that the man would be unconscious for at least an hour based on the force of the baton staff strike and the angle at which his head made contact with the crate.
The Flash, adjusting his gloves and glancing around at the carnage, gave a shrug. "Honestly? Not much to report. I couldn't really… feel anything, if that makes sense. Not that I'm saying his power isn't like mine or anything, but I can't even feel when Kid Flash uses it. Feeling it in others isn't really in my power set. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to help him train if I can't even get a read on his abilities, or whether or not it even has anything to do with Speed to begin with."
Batman said nothing as his eyes flicked to Robin and Kid Flash as they tangled with a fresh wave of thugs spilling out of a newly arrived truck, constantly laughing between each other.
The Flash went on with a more amused tone, "The weirdest part? He sensed me as soon as I got there." That earned him a raised eyebrow from the Dark Knight, barely visible beneath the cowl. "Yeah," the Scarlet Speedster grinned. "I run in, then go to walk past his living room, and the kid just looks over, gives me this little salute, then turns back to reading a book like I'm the mailman. Didn't even take off his headphones."
Batman's mouth twitched, almost like a bat version of a smirk.
"Didn't say a word about me being there," Flash continued. "Just, 'Remember to close the door when you leave'. He was kind enough to use his telekinesis in front of me — and it was definitely telekinesis and not super speed — to grab a snack before going back to reading. After that, I figured I was just wasting his time. Didn't get any feedback, didn't sense anything from him, so I left."
Batman gave an acknowledging nod, slipping around a crate as another shot rang out across the warehouse. "I already suspected he was using either an application of telekinesis, some kind of advanced empathy sense, or a combination of both to locate people. Constantine confirmed it wasn't arcane in nature and that he woke as soon as we entered his home."
Flash watched as Robin leapt from a crate, disarming two thugs with one move. Kid Flash zipped past, tying up another with a tie he snagged off another.
Batman watched as Robin and Kid Flash finished mopping up the last of the resistance. "He's not reckless. All his take-downs were with only enough force to render criminals unconscious, even while he was using his abilities at relatively long range, something we both know is increasingly difficult the further away an individual is, according to Martian Manhunter."
The Flash gave Batman an acknowledging nod before he blurred away in a streak of red and yellow lightning, vanishing up the warehouse rafters and out onto the surrounding rooftops. Before Robin or Kid Flash even noticed anything was wrong, Flash returned, dropping three unconscious snipers onto the warehouse floor as casually as someone setting down a bag of groceries, falling back into step beside the Dark Knight, like he'd never left.
"Honestly?" Flash said, brushing imaginary dust from his gloves. "Wouldn't hurt to have Martian Manhunter give him some training. He's got the right kind of… perspective, with telekinesis being his thing and all that."
"I'll think on it," Batman grunted, seemingly mulling it over as he strode over to where Robin and Kid Flash were looking barely out of breath among the last of the groaning henchmen. The proteges looked up, trying to read his expression.
Without preamble, the Dark Knight gestured to the limp snipers lying unconscious behind him. "You missed three," he chastised, and the words hit hard even though his tone remained as gravelly as usual. "If Flash hadn't noticed, you could have been shot."
Silently, Robin's shoulders slumped, mask unable to hide the grim set of his jaw. He knew. He'd missed something, and if he'd learned from all the crime scenes he and his mentor had investigated, it was all it took to get someone killed in Gotham.
Kid Flash, on the other hand, frowned as he rallied a weak defence. "But we checked the area before we went in! There was no one up top. We swept the roofs!"
The Flash shook his head, placed his hands on his hips, and shot his sidekick a look. "The snipers came with the second wave off the trucks. They jumped out earlier before the trucks continued further into the warehouse. With your speed, you had more than enough time to do a sweep when they arrived. Fast is good, Wally, but fast and thorough is better. When one thing changes, assume something else has too."
Kid Flash's protest died in his throat, shoulders sagging as he stared at the floor, grumbling to himself. "Yeah, yeah… I get it."
Robin stayed silent, accepting the rebuke with a grim nod, already replaying the entire fight in his mind. He and Batman had the kind of silent, mutual understanding that allowed for few words to be spoken, making mistakes like that easier to fix.
The night air settled, broken only by the groans of the defeated and the quiet shuffle of feet as the proteges went on to tie and bind their victims, with the distant sound of sirens heading for their location.
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Anakin Skywalker
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Having the Flash check in on me was pretty cool, clearly on Batman's request after hearing Constantine's analysis of the Force. He seemed like a nice guy, but I was neck deep in one of the magic books Constantine gave me to pay him any mind, so I missed out on meeting my favourite comic speedster.
The books themselves mainly were knowledge on different types of magical and divine objects, creatures, sigils and demons I'd need to worry about, as well as various ways to fight them. While very useful, the only actual magic spells I saw in them were for pure survival, like lighting a small campfire or candle, purifying water or checking for poisons, etc. Unfortunately, I wasn't going to start warping reality on a minor scale like a Potter-verse Wizard any time soon.
On the bright side, I confirmed I could use magic when I managed to light a tissue on fire. I'd have to thank [Essence of Blank] for that, I'd suppose. It was a separate power source from the Force as far as I could tell, and I only had a small amount of it at the moment, but with constant use, it would grow over time.
Half-buried in the open maw of a rusted dumpster, I was elbow-deep in discarded wires and the battered shell of a microwave while the city's cold Saturday morning light barely reached between the buildings, but I was used to working in the grime and gloom. I'd just fished out a cracked laptop, a couple of battered game controllers, and the warped faceplate of what used to be a high-end graphics card, when a harsh voice barked from behind.
"Hey, you! Hand over all your money, right now!"
I froze, not out of fear, but just to make sure the man wouldn't do anything stupid with the weapon I could sense in his hand. Closing my eyes for a moment in exasperation, I let out a long, tired sigh before slowly twisting around, arms still full of junk.
While I now had access to Batman, and therefore Bruce Wayne's wallet, my prideful ass still wanted to create C-3PO on my own, the same way Anakin did, with thrown-away junk. Though, now that I thought about it, I was confused as to why people would throw out actual gold. It was always possible that they just didn't value it as much as humans would on Earth, but it still caught me as odd.
Standing behind me was a man in a battered coat, grimy hoodie pulled low over his face, and a small revolver shaking in his gloved hand. He looked like he hadn't eaten in days. I didn't even need the Force to sense the desperation radiating off him in waves.
Regardless, I raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Are you seriously trying to rob someone who's dumpster diving?"
I was in old jeans, a hoodie and sneakers that were falling apart. There was nothing on me that indicated I had money in the first place, aside from more meat on my bones than he had, but he couldn't see that under my baggy clothing.
The man jabbed the gun in my direction, scowling. "Don't fuck with me! If you don't give me everything you got, I'll blow your brains all over the wall!"
I rolled my eyes, shifting the tangled mess of computer parts in my arms. "All I have is this stuff." I held it up for inspection. "If I had money, do you think I'd be here digging through garbage? I'd just go and buy what I need from the store. Or if I had even more, I'd just order it online so I wouldn't need to talk to anyone… or risk getting robbed for that matter."
Unsurprisingly, this wasn't the first time someone tried to rob me in Gotham, even while dumpster-diving. After seeing them up close, starving, and going days without food, it diminished the holier-than-thou thoughts in my head and replaced them with understanding. While I still hated the ones that did it to get their hands on some drugs, alcohol, or prostitutes, I stopped judging those who just wanted to feed themselves too harshly.
It goes without saying that those who seemed to have enough for themselves but chose to commit a crime because they were too lazy to go to work didn't get any of my sympathy. Only intimate introductions to unconsciousness via telekinetically induced blunt force trauma.
The man hesitated as his eyes flicked from the cracked laptop to the ruined game console. With his jaw clenched, disappointment started etching its way onto his face. "...Can you sell any of that?"
With features shifting to a deadpan, I shook my head, counting him lucky I didn't transmigrate with Vader's mind because he'd have already experienced a [Force Choke] by now out of sheer annoyance. "If the owner could sell it, it wouldn't be in a dumpster. They'd have probably just traded it in for money off the newer model."
The man frowned, tilting his head as he slightly lowered the gun. "Then why the fuck are you taking it?"
"I'll fix it up," I replied. "Turn it into something useful. As it is, nobody wants it. But, after some good old nerd stuff, it'll be useful for something, hopefully."
The man groaned in frustration, stuffing the revolver back into his pocket with a muttered curse. With one last disappointed look at my haul, he turned and trudged down the alley, vanishing into Gotham's maze of side streets as if nothing had happened. The entire time, the Force didn't warn me he was a threat, even though I sensed the gun, indicating it wasn't loaded, and he wasn't trying to harm me.
I just watched him go, then looked back at the broken electronics in my arms.
"... Just another day in Gotham," I muttered to myself, shaking my head before going back to my search for anything salvageable.
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Gotham - Skywalker Apartment
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Back at my apartment, I set my salvaged haul on the worktable next to my latest project, a pieced-together, dumpster-dived version of C-3PO. No gold finish. This one was all cleaned, made of second-hand steel, with mismatched plates, and exposed servos. The product of weeks of scrounging and late-night tinkering. The head was more angular, the limbs patched from a dozen different appliances.
I carefully installed the components where they belonged, soldering here, tightening screws there, using Anakin's talent for machines and instinctive use of the Force to guide me. Once satisfied, I connected a cable from the droid's torso to a monitor and a battered laptop, not the one Batman provided, because I didn't want his code to mix with my own. My fingers flew over the keys as code scrolled on the screen. I accessed a hidden menu, navigating to a page to download as many languages as I could find straight from the internet, with pre-written code running in the background to filter out malicious firmware.
Soon enough, a download bar appeared, ETA: 2 hours, 47 minutes.
With a shrug, I rose to my feet, grabbed a small towel and pulled on some baggy exercise clothes, looped boxing shoes over my shoulders and headed out the door.
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Gotham - Grant's Boxing Club
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The jog to the boxing gym was only twenty minutes. For a peak human like me, thanks to my daily training, it was barely anything. I even gained an extra hundred for stopping a mugger a few blocks away by quickly flinging them against a wall as they tried to mug a mother in front of her child, all without stopping my stride.
Sweat, the thud of fists on heavy bags, and the sharp bark of trainers filled the air as I walked in, ignoring the curious glances from the regulars. Most went back to their routines; by now, they knew me as one of Ted Grant's special projects, or just the pretty boy with lightning-fast hands and quick reflexes.
Anakin was a master swordsman, but he didn't have much in regard to hand-to-hand combat aside from the basics, his good physique and [Force Sense]. So, getting a form of hand-to-hand training, especially from a pro, was a must to round out my range of combat capabilities. Getting said training from a man who has trained people like Batman and Black Canary, two of the most skilled fighters in the verse, was a huge bonus. The only downside was that I was only learning boxing and had no experience with grappling or striking with my feet.
Ted Grant, 'Wildcat' himself, was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a strong, weathered face. Unlike his true age would suggest, he had short black hair, only slightly flecked with grey, and his tall 6'5" build remained athletic and powerful, like the old-school prize-fighter he was, despite being decades older than most people knew. He was by the ring, lacing his gloves. He looked up as I approached, grinning.
"You ready, pretty boy?" Ted called, tossing me a pair of battered gloves as he gave me a quick once-over. "You look ready."
"Yeah, just let me get these shoes on." I caught the gloves with ease, taking a seat on a bench off to the side and pulling on my shoes and the gloves. As a trainer and his exhausted client stepped out, I ducked through the ropes, rolling my shoulders and bouncing on the balls of my feet while the World War 2 superhero stepped in.
The man grinned, wolfish. "Let's see what you've got today, kid."
For two hours, we danced in the ring with a blur of jabs, hooks, sidesteps, and pivots. Ted's experience was legendary, but my precognition, reflexes and what I had learned from him over the last few months made me impossible to catch off-guard. Neither dominated. At the twelfth round, we stopped doing rounds and just kept going when he waved off the bell chime. By the time we were done, the others had stopped what they were doing and crowded around the ring. We were both grinning and breathing hard, with sweat pouring down our faces like we had just hopped out of a shower.
With a gesture to stop, Ted finally dropped his gloves to the mat and leaned on the ropes, breathing heavily. "You know, you're even more of a problem now," he said. "Your form, kid, it's already pro at this point. Most guys, even the naturals, take years to get here. You? Barely a few months."
I gave the ex-hero a smile as I peeled off my gloves, wiping my brow with my towel. "All thanks to your training, Ted."
Well, that, and the Force. Throughout the spar and my entire time training at the gym since I signed up, I was sure not to use [Force Augmentation] to increase my physical capabilities, so I could ensure I was actually learning technique and skills. And I had learned a lot from the man and not bulldozing my way to the win.
Ted snorted, shaking his head in disbelief. "Don't lay it all at my feet. Training's one thing, and you already had the fitness covered when you first got her, but talent's another ball game — and you're dripping with the stuff. Well, it's either that or it's all sweat." He grinned at his dad-joke, causing me to smile and shake my head in faux disappointment. "Just don't get cocky. Talent like that draws attention, in the ring and out."
I gave the man a grin of my own, tossing the gloves back to him, which he just jabbed aside toward one of the new signups waiting with a trainer as the crowd started to disperse.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, as we both started making our way out of the ring.
"Good to her kid," Ted clapped me on the shoulder, leaving the cleaner who was shuffling himself into the ring to wipe down the sweat in the ring for the next people.
"Any advice on other fighting styles I should learn?" I asked, gaining a raised eyebrow from the man as he led me out. "I'm good with boxing, with my hands, but I lack any striking with my legs or grappling."
"Well, I know a few," he shrugged. "But this is a boxing gym," he shook his head. "It wouldn't do for me to just start teaching all kinds of stuff here. But I'd recommend styles like Hapkido, Krav Maga and the like, from real teachers, of course. Not the fakers trying to make a quick buck." Seeing my expectant look, he quickly shook his head. "No, that wasn't me saying I'd teach you."
I could only leave with a childish groan. But I would rest assured that, with enough time, I'd be able to change his mind. Pestering does that to people.
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Gotham - Skywalker Apartment
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The run back was without incident, mostly due to the small range I kept my [Force Sense]. The first thing I noticed as I pushed open the door and stepped inside was the faint hum coming from the worktable. The second was the stack of new books resting beside the laptop, causing my brows to knit together. I could only conclude that he had charmed the books he left the first time to send a signal when I was done with them, as I walked over to check the new ones.
The books were different this time. Larger, older, one had strange markings along the edges of its pages that shimmered slightly when the light hit them. A small card sat on top, scrawled in surprisingly neat handwriting.
'You're not the most talented I've met, but you've definitely got the gift. Don't summon anything with horns unless you've got backup. – JC'
He was one to talk. I'm pretty sure I heard he sold his soul to multiple different demons at some point. Shaking my head, I chuckled as I walked over to the table and glanced at the monitor. The language package was fully downloaded, leaving a simple text prompt on screen, blinking steadily.
'INSTALL COMPLETE. CORE COMMUNICATION MODULE ONLINE.'
Turning to the droid, I flipped a final switch. The chassis twitched. Servos whirred softly. A single glowing optic came to life in the steel-plated head. It wouldn't be walking anytime soon, even now that it was only. There were too many parts missing. But it would definitely be speaking.
"System booting… Greetings, Master Skywalker," came the familiar metallic voice, not quite as prim as the original C-3PO, but still unmistakably polite. Thankfully, I was smart enough to remove the parts of the code that made him such an annoying, bumbling idiot. "Diagnostics complete. Language matrix is fully integrated. Awaiting further instructions, sir."
"Download as much encyclopaedic knowledge from the internet as possible without compromising performance. And don't worry, 3PO. You'll be walking in no time," he said, leaning against the table, arms crossed, as I eyed my makeshift protocol droid with satisfaction.
"Downloading now, Master Skywalker," it spoke, just as another loading screen appeared on screen. This time, with the timer increasing periodically as it finds any additions. It wasn't bad for scrap and solder, if only it were faster.
My eyes slid back to the new spell-books. I made my way to my feet as I picked up the top one, flipping it open to the first page. Unlike the others I'd read, the ink glowed faintly with some arcane script before it disappeared as soon as it came. The books clearly had more important information in them if the added light show was anything to go by. And with that in mind, I closed the book, hopped into a quick shower, grabbed some food and dropped onto the couch, sticking my nose between the pages as I ate.
I quit my part-time job the day after Batman paid me a visit to spend as much time as I could with magic, so I didn't have to worry about that any more. I was left with enough money to live for a few years, thanks to Mama Skywalker, and I had a scholarship for Gotham University, something I was starting to think Batsy had something to do with, so I wasn't worried about money. But if need be, I would take the Star Wars story to Bruce and ask for a publisher and movies.
Star Wars didn't exist in this verse after all. Otherwise, my name and abilities would have been sending out a lot more alarm bells than it already had.
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Gotham - Batcave
Batman
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The cavernous stillness of the Batcave was only broken by the quiet hum of computers, the subtle sound of typing and echoing drops of water as Batman sat at his main terminal, eyes focused on the screen. One of the monitors blinked on, showing the green-tinted visage of J'onn J'onzz, the Martian Manhunter, catching a portion of his attention as he kept an eye on another screen showing Robin practising his acrobatics in the gym. Though, the boy should have been in bed, catching up on the sleep that was foregone for patrolling the city, like his mentor.
"I received your message, Batman," J'onn spoke with his usual deep and measured voice. "I would not mind training the boy when I have the time. But from what you have told me… he already shows clear, and more than proficient mastery of telekinesis."
Batman gave the Martian a slow, agreeing nod. "I suspect there's more. He seems to be tapping into something… empathic, or possibly even telepathic. A kind of sensory awareness. If it is empathy, even subconsciously, I want someone guiding him before he becomes overwhelmed by the constant suffering Gotham radiates."
He was sure to ask Constantine to shield his mind while also trying to sense if the boy tried to delve in and light up if there was an attempt, but there was none. So that reduced the chances the boy had telepathy, especially considering he had two people sneak into his home and had every reason to find out who they were and why they were there. But the Dark Knight had not completely ruled out the possibility either.
"That is wise," Martian Manhunter's brow furrowed slightly. "Empathy without control can be a burden more than a gift. I will admit that I know little about the growth of individuals with extraordinary abilities beyond the basic, but it could be the start of a telepath's growing psychic abilities. I will do my best to help him develop it." He paused. "However, I will have less time than usual due to an unexpected stowaway."
Batman's expression darkened slightly as a frown formed beneath his cowl. "Elaborate."
"I discovered my niece aboard my vessel as I was returning to Earth," J'onn said. "I've decided to keep her here and help her acclimate to this planet and human culture, as I have."
Batman's gaze shifted slightly in thought, formulating plans in his head, taking all of a second to come to a decision. "Would it be acceptable if she trained the boy in your stead? In return, he could help her understand humans. A mutual exchange."
Martian Manhunter arched a brow, intrigued. "You want them to teach each other. And perhaps, in doing so, form a bond." He paused for a moment before adding. "I take it you want them both on the covert team you mentioned in the Justice League meeting."
If Bruce didn't know any better, he would have guessed the Martian was reading his mind. But he was shuffling his thoughts like he always did when meeting anyone with remotely telepathic abilities, so he just gave the green hero a curt grunt. "Exactly. Should they want to go in the direction of heroism, which the boy seems to lean toward, then they would make for good additions to the team."
The idea of the covert team was generally accepted, but declined by the league when he introduced the concept of putting the young proteges on that team. The reason being that they were too young to be left to their own devices. Even when the idea of having a supervisor was mentioned, or when he had warned them that there was always a chance one of them could be brainwashed or controlled in some way. Unfortunately, most of the prominent league members had seen it as unnecessary paranoia and pushing children to do things they weren't ready for.
There was a brief silence before J'onn nodded. "Agreed. I will mention the idea to my niece and report back with her decision."
Batman leaned back slightly, steepling his fingers as he thought about Anakin's potential reactions to the situation based on his response to his and Constantine's visit, along with the Flash's a few days later. "I'll run it by the boy first. I'll get back to you."
The screen dimmed as J'onn's image faded, leaving Batman once again in the shadows of the cave, keeping an eye on Robin's training as he typed away on the console. Yet another gang was growing, and he needed to put a stop to it before it gained a foothold.
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"This is my fault. The world's changed around me, and I'm still the same as I've always been. All fist, no brains. You were right."
- Ted Grant, Wildcat.
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Hello There
Sorry, no R2. He doesn't have a ship, and it didn't make sense to go with R2 than a droid he built himself.
Is Anakin being too prideful, not asking Batman for things like parts for 3PO, or is he right to be cautious and/or prideful?
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Thank you for reading.
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Until next time, Light's out.