North Pole | December 20, 2016 | 18:15 Hours

Dick Grayson had more experience packed into his nineteen years of life than most men would ever have if they lived to reach one hundred. He had been trained from birth to be a world-class acrobat, and after his parents' murder, he had put those skills to good use fighting crime. The lifestyle made him a quick learner—you couldn't afford to make a mistake twice, not with someone's life on the line. One of the things Dick had learned early was that disappointment was as common in life as breathing was.

So he had not gotten his hopes up when Barbara contacted him about the anomaly in the North Pole. He had not dared to hope as he watched the electrical twister crackle with energy he had only ever seen the equivalence of once. He did not dare breath a sigh of relief as a figure in yellow-and-red materialized against the blue-white snowdrifts. His heart, however, was harder to control than his brain; as he ran across the stiff snow, it shouted for joy. Finally, his heart seamed to say, after five months, the searching will finally pay off!

It wasn't until he reached the figure, collapsed face up in the powered ice, that he noticed what was wrong. The uniform, though tattered and burnt, was that of Kid Flash—it was the curves that filled out the uniform that made it clear this was not Wally West. The woman, panting, rolled herself onto her elbows and heaved. Blood mixed vomit melted the snow as her weak body buckled and she fell to her side.

It was then the woman noticed Dick. His winter-stealth suit was nearly invisible against the backdrop, but her clouded eyes focused on his face. Confusion slowly turned to understanding and she let out a defeated groan. "Fuck," the woman murmured before her eyes closed and her body lost all tension.

Either from pain or exhaustion (he wasn't sure which) the woman had passed out and left Dick to deal with her sudden appearance. Still watching her sleeping form, he pressed a finger to his comm. unit, "Nightwing to Oracle, are you seeing this?"

Watchtower | December 21, 2016 | 03:47 Hours

The last thing Wally West remembered was passing out at the feet of a woman wearing his best friend's costume. He and Windy had made plans if this happened, but both of them had silently begged the universe for a break. All they had wanted to do was return home, instead, they had been sent to each other's world. A world so close to their own, but with one not so subtle difference: everyone had the opposite gender than they should have.

Wally sat up, and with his movement, the lights of the room turned on. It took his eyes longer than it should have to adjust to the light, and his brain felt foggy. For a moment, he thought he had been drugged, but then he caught a glance of himself in the one-way mirror. A collar had been clasped to his neck with three lights indicating the loss of his powers.

Turning away from the mirror, Wally surveyed the room. He was in a twin bed with a white, feather comforter over his legs; across the room sat a white table between two overstuffed white chairs. A short bookshelf ran along the base of the white wall, the covers of the multiple novels and guides bringing the only color to the room. It was obvious by the lack of visible door that the room, nice as it was, was a holding cell.

He was the enemy. A stranger with a friend's face and costume. They had depowered him then put him in a cell for safe keeping until they could figure out what to do with him. Well, he thought, I could help speed that along. Standing up, Wally's slow brain discovered that he was no longer in his Kid Flash uniform, but a pare of white cotton shorts. He pushed the question of who changed him out of his head, and faced the mirror, "I want to speak to Nightwing."

There was a whooshing sound as a door opened in the wall beside her. The man who entered the room was a good six inches taller then Wendy. He had black hair pulled back in a low ponytail and a black mask covering his eyes. His uniform stretched across his toned body, and even though his physique she could see her best friend in him.

In his hands, Nightwing had a tray piled high with food. There were two triple-decker sandwiches, five doughnuts, a bag of trail mix, and three burritos. He walked straight over to the table and put the tray down, forcing Wendy to follow him. They each took a seat, Wendy fiddling with the hem of her cotton nightgown so it covered her knees.

Nightwing didn't speak for a full thirty seconds, so Wendy took that as leave to eat. It wasn't until she had polished off everything on the tray that the man opened his mouth. "You look like him. You eat like him. You have his DNA."

"And yet," Wendy finished, "I'm not Wally. So who am I? You found the photo in my suit, didn't you Dick?"

The man pulled a folded piece of paper out from the wrist of his glove and flattened it on the table. It was old, and faded, but it was clear who the people were. Four girls and two boys stood with their arms around each other. "Your team."

"The original one, yeah. That's Dixie," Windy tapped the face of the girl in the Robin uniform. "Kal'da, Connie, M'gell, and…" her finger rested over the blonde male, and a sob almost broke free from her chest. The redhead pushed it down. "And Apollo."

Nightwing watched her for a moment, his expression emotionless. "And you are?"

"Wendy. Wendy West, Kid Flash."

"You have a lot of explaining to do, Wendy."