a/n: apologies for taking this long between updates. I'd been gunning for resolving most everything within this chapter, but my characters wrote themselves and threw me a curve ball instead.

Chapter 26:

Gotham was a mess. Her men were just in position when the symbol began to shine, the message with it. Three seconds later conversation near any main street was impossible due to the blaring horns and irate shouts. Personally, Barbara wanted to scream at all of them, then find Bruce, and scream at him. It was a knee-jerk reaction, she knew, wanting to scream at Bruce. Which is why when she now sipped some coffee, black, from the thermal flask she'd brought with her. It would be a long night. And she'd promised Bruce. A boom sounded over head, and Barbara looked up to see a figure poised in mid-flight. It moved towards her, generating a turbulence which sent scraps of litter spinning off down the streets.

Barbara shielded her face from the grit that flew her way as Superman descended. Her face set determinedly as she nodded to two officers to the side of her. "We got the news. We'll handle the evacuation as much as possible. You handle the bombs." Superman gave a slight, tight bow in response. He looked extremely ruffled, and nodded again, as if he'd only just heard her.

"What, He too much for you?" she asked, arms akimbo tenting her trench coat pockets, knowing look on her face. Superman shot her a glance, eyes widening slightly before narrowing again. He looked away a moment later. Oh Bruce. What was new. Barbara let her arms fall back into place. "My men are at your disposal, once we have all the coordinates," she said.

"Right here, Babs," came a voice as the Flash zoomed into view, sheaf of papers in his hand. "I've gone round a few of the folks along the way to let them know too.

"Doesn't matter, they're all going to be called anyway," muttered Barbara as she reached for the telephone. Flash nodded and sped off, the old plastic phone booth cracking and swaying in his wake. Barbara looked at the scuffed metal box of a phone, paint long smudged off the keys, with the left panel taken clean off by her men just minutes prior. A certain rectangular slide jutted out from between wires and chips. A hack to patch through the city's payphone landline network. She dialled.

Luthor preened. Not a hair on his head, but able to strut around like any other peacock.

"Where's your big blue boy scout?"

Batman slowly straightened as his eyes narrowed. The fabric of his costume rustled as he bristled, back muscles flexing. "You know he's gone off to handle your diversions," he growled out, head still hunched forward. Luthor smiled in response as he took off his mask, teeth glinting in the shadows.

"Ah yes, of course."

"He's been… going on like that for ages," Terry muttered from the floor, face pinched in pain. Still, a smirk graced his face. "Why do they all…"

"Talk so much," Batman finished for him, advancing towards Luthor.

"Ah uh uh!" Luthor said, wagging his finger at Batman, pointing another to a raised sliver on his table. "You think a mere noise generator can stop me? One press of this button and the cluster buried near Gotham's fault line goes. With your precious city, your precious empire." Batman stopped midstride, poised on the defensive, and idly wished he'd put a cape on his current suit's design. Luthor's face darkened again. "Yes, Batman, your empire. The Romans? Wiped out by a horde of piddling barbarians. The Chinese? Destroyed by opium and by themselves. Those emperors lived like gods, but let me tell you, I was a god. I saw what gods saw, knew the thoughts of the universe-"

"-And you came back for a mere mortal? Should I be honoured?" sneered Batman, edging his foot slightly to better his position.

"You know, Batman, I always thought the Joker was the kook, always going on at you, when the real threat were powered beings who insisted on governing the rest of us. Ultimately you were human, you would die, and not even by some inter-galactic menace. Poison, a knife, a bad fall. You were human, you were fallible." He took a step towards Batman, menacing.

"I could've been a god! You were an insect. A puerile little thing Waller could've squashed if she wanted to. I could've squashed."

"But you didn't," murmured Batman. "Did it sting?" he couldn't help asking, words dipped in mock placation.

"Don't play words with me, Wayne," Luthor sneered. "To think it was you all along. Supplying money to your superfriends", he hissed out the last syllables before continuing, "Playing the clumsy, oafish, brainless spawn of a dead upperclass Gothamite. I'd thought it was Fox all along who'd ensured your company kept itself together." His voice curdled. "I should've known," he said, "not wanting to secure a multi-million dollar deal on those T-7s. That was the start, wasn't it? Compromise so your protection money worked?" He drew back. "I was meant to be Metropolis' favourite son! And I thought it was that raging alien in blue who stole that from me." He took another step forward.

He spoke again, levelling a finger at Batman, "but it was you. I wasted my life trying to eliminate the Kryptonian, when I should've just gone for his backer. You-"

Batman sprung. At the same time, a tiara swung through the air and clattered off the side of Luthor's head before two huge arms crushed his shoulders down to the ground. Luthor's words spilled through clenched teeth, droplets of blood forming from a cut in the temple. "I am now decades younger than you, ten times more intelligent, superior in every way-"

"And still stupid," Batman responded, "Aristophanes says it is forever." A second later smoke bombs flooded the room, and Luthor was thrown into a wall.

"But you should know that," Diana called out from the side, "man of culture." She moved towards the table.

"You put your hand near that thing, the bomb will go. Any biological signature other than mine will alert it," Luthor said, watching Diana's shadowy form cut through the room. A moment later his teeth rattle as hands reach out to grab him from behind, shoving him further down the room. "You've been… working out," he commented as the Batman glared down at him.

Batman held Luthor in his grip. "I don't know when you came back, or how you came back. Colour me ignorant. But you, you thought you could move in here, using theatrics to work Gotham's underworld into submission?"

"Why break a proven formula?" Luthor laughed, as the smoke cleared, the silhouette of the Dark Knight now clearly outlined.

Batman loomed over Luthor, scowl turning his eyes into mere slits. "You forgot you're doing it on my turf, Lex. That can't be very smart."

Just then, the Flash appeared from around the corner, "All done, Bats. We're clear here. Superman's just helping with ground control now." He nodded at Diana, who'd moved to helping Terry into a sitting position. Batman winced internally. The boy was in so much pain that his fists were clenched to the point of puncturing his skin. But the boy was breathing easier now. That, Batman could see. The tightness in his own chest lifted slightly.

Batman turned to the now slack limbed Luthor.

"You were saying, Luthor?"

Smirking up at him, Lex Luthor slackened further. "Oh Batman," Lex said. He patted Batman lightly on the cheek. "You really don't have the imagination, do you?" Luthor asked. Batman flung his hand away.

Just then, a crack reverberated past the windows.

"You think I would just let you beat me around like a toy?" Lex chuckled through chokes and coughs, Batman having pushed him into the ground as he ran to the windows and stared wildly out of them. Clouds of dust rose beyond the central business district buildings, in the far off massive apartment complexes. Batman whirled around, eyes wide in fury. Lex propped himself up by one elbow, nonchalant. "I've played you at your own game, Batman," smug superiority rolling off him in waves. "I was buying time, too."

"Dude, that is not cool," said Wally. Batman mirrored those sentiments as he hammered a punch into the side of Luthor's jaw, knocking him into the ground.

"I began with real estate, Batman," Lex said, sprawled on the floor, as Batman stalked out to the waiting Diana, who was cradling Terry McGinnis in her arms. "And real estate seems the way to go. You don't mind me taking yours, do you?"

Batman seethed from the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fists as a throb began to pound at his temple. Pummel Luthor as he might, it wouldn't do anything. Knowing the man, a smear campaign had long been put into place. Perfect, he thought with distaste. The apartment complexes, he recognised the district they belonged to. One of Wayne Enterprises' housing development projects for the underprivileged. Superman hadn't noticed it before. It would be just like Clark to miss out the finer details like that. Thrown off by a massive decoy, sure, but still thrown off. Batman tried to stare a hole into the wall he was facing. Even if Clark hadn't known… but it wasn't Clark's fault. Luthor continued blithely even as he watched the scowl on Batman's face harden further.

"You thought I was out to destroy the whole city? But what's the use of that. I care, Batman."

"You, care? You would destroy millions of lives," Batman ground out blackly from his position a few feet away.

"I would rebuild the lives of millions," countered Luthor easily. Batman shot him a look, which both held till Flash walked between them.

"Alright, Luthor, if you're really Luthor and not some clone," said Flash as he hauled the man up by an arm, "Let's get you into custody." In the meantime, Batman controlled his urge to reach for a batarang, fingers loosely twitching by the side of him, and he looked away.

"On what charges, boy? There is no evidence that I would be responsible-"

Flash frowned and prodded him, "Oh hey, don't you 'boy' me. You look quite a few years shy of me, chum."

"Let him go," said Batman, head down, voice low. "We can't trace him". Batman twisted his head to look at Luthor again, now standing. "Yet. This isn't over."

"True," scoffed Luthor, "But I'd be watching the news feeds, if I were you. As we speak, Lex Luthor is coming out of his long held obscurity and donating huge sums to the recent disaster in Gotham City, with his intense, sincere condolences. "

She'd been at the computer when the connection kicked out on her, before she realised that a wailing had come up from outside her window. She looked out. She looked down. "Son of a Gundam!" Max cried as she viewed the mass of vehicles and human traffic churn and swell along the street. A river of chaos. Then the sky had been lit ablaze with the largest batsymbol she'd ever seen, unblinking as a temporary hush fell over the city. Soon she saw police weaving in and out, directing people, and was that, Superman? And a red blur beside him. They left in the span of a few seconds, but Maxine remained peering out of the windows.

That was why she saw the buildings fall before she even heard the crash. A couple of streets down. She knew that neighbourhood. Her mouth fell open, and it became a blur from there. The lights, the people, the smells. Before she knew it, she was shoving people out of the way, ducking into side streets to avoid the police who were trying to direct the crowd further, back, away from her goal. She didn't stop till she saw the rubbled heaps of concrete and steel surrounding in a cloud of dust that still hadn't settled.

Complex 456D, gone. Decimated completely. The world receded into a pin of darkness for a moment, Maxine Gibson a pinprick speck on it.

Max felt her knees weaken as paramedics and rescue teams rushed past her. She leaned into the sign post, wishing it were a giant crutch, oblivious to the officer in front of her who was trying to get away. She took a step forward instead, and began picking pieces away from the mound of crumbled concrete slabs in front of her. She was surprised when she soon found another hand working away beside her. For a moment she thought she was seeing double, or gone crazy, finally. Idly she thought that this was what being shell shocked was like. Soon though, she realised that the arm beside her belonged to another girl. Max looked up and behind her, and saw a line of people, citizens of Gotham, who'd come from the busy streets ahead, and were now helping to clear and search the area.

In a few hours, it didn't matter who you were, if you'd come back from the concert halls, or from the hotdog stand on the way home from work. Doctor, accountant, lawyer, grocer, high school genius and daughter of two divorcees, they were covered in grey, on this side of the disaster zone. A fire had broken out in another demolished complex further on. All one saw was trail after trail of ashy smoke and dust which blotted out the light of what streetlamps had been unharmed.

By the time Maxine had got home, her hands felt as raw as her throat did. As her throat wanted to. Someone had said Superman had shown up on the scene, and was helping to find survivors. They said it was better that way, that they'd be quicker in their search. But even Superman would have to be careful, she figured. You couldn't go too fast. One wrong shift, and more could come collapsing. The big dude knew that, she figured. But still. She stumbled into the shower, back of her head pressed into the cool tiles as a singular sob wrenched itself from her throat.

Mrs Porter, Old Benjy, Jimbo, Hanks, Karl, Sasha, Marty, Peggi, Tracie, everyone, gone. Just like that. First Terry had gone missing, Batman with him, obviously. Now this. She thought again of that concrete hub, with the void decks underneath, as they'd called them. Concrete spaces underneath the blocks of flats. Perfect for a game of catch. Playing hide and seek through there, happier times, when her parents were still together.

Then something had happened… they'd never talked about it, and Mom had moved out with her sister and her, and Dad moved to the other side of town. Away from them, into the wonderful world of cyberspace, as she liked to tell herself. All her friends, though, they still lived there, or at least, they used to. She saw them again now. Their smiles. Would they be alive? People were camped out in large makeshift tents, but Maxine hadn't spotted anyone in the sea of faces.

The faces swam through the sea of misted glass and water running down it. Merging into one image. The Bat Symbol. Was Terry back? Was the old man up to something? Maxine considered this as she rinsed out her hair. By the time she'd finished, the blip on her computer screen told her that the connection was back up. Whatever had been interfering with it was switched off by now. She turned away from the windows. Her eyes had been continually drawn to it as she padded across the linoleum floor of the kitchenette, coffee mug in hand. The light from the Bat Symbol still illuminated the clouds above, and now cast light on the pocket of flattened ground Maxine would not, could not look at.

High School Valedictorian, all-time first rate gamer, ultrageek. Terry as Batman was super-cool. But now Terry was lost, hurt, maybe, and what good would she do in a scrap? Probably be reckless, probably get him into further trouble, probably royally cheese the old man off. But that was before, when there was a reset button, a pause button, a play button. She thought of all the children sleeping in their beds, who would never get to play a game, never get to play hide and seek out there like she had.

She had to contact Wayne. But how to make him listen? Positioning scrambling and encryption she could do in a snap, she'd already got her bases covered for basic avoidance of online bots and data parties. But calling him? No, he'd recognise her voice instantly. And if Superman or someone heard, and tipped him off, he'd ignore her flat out. She rested her chin on a fist as she sat cross legged on the chair, sipping at her coffee mug. She'd need a text-voice programme, a good one, a combination of the voices already out there on the market. She'd need an avatar. She'd need a name. Max set the coffee mug down, and got to work.

"So, it's Luthor."

"Wally."

"So… he kinda got us this time, huh."

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose in an fast failing attempt to reign in his temper. "Wally," he said again, barely letting the words out with his breath.

"So… are we royally screwed over, or what?"

" Shut up, Wally," said Bruce, pinning his gaze on the computer screen as the feed headlines raced across.

"Hey!" Wally said from the side, "I didn't say anything this time!"

Bruce gave a perturbed glance around. "See," said Wally, "That wasn't me, I'm here," he pointed, "voice there." Wally pointed again. Across the cave, Terrance McGinnis was just easing himself into a sitting position. A drip attached to his arm, pale and bathed in the stark light of the surgeon's table, he looked even more sickly. Bruce avoided letting a look of concern pass over his face by sliding it into a disapproving glower. It seemed to work. The boy had stopped trying to kill himself in an attempt to stand up, at least.

"You're in no condition to move, Terry," said Bruce, tone taking a gruffer edge than he had intended. He took a half retrospective step back, and wondered if he was tunnelling himself in again, unable to consider the peripherals. It happened, often, he realised, with those he… allowed himself to value… emotionally. Even Wally would- Wally would especially notice, if he hadn't been able to even distinguish between the voices of his protégé and his old colleague.

Why? Luthor.

People like Luthor always made things personal. It was how they functioned. No professional partnership without a sense of smug one-up against the other, like some childish playground cocksure bully. Bruce had made the call to the Wayne Foundation as soon as he could, but it had still been too late. Luthor had sent his release to the press just in time for it to arrive as the buildings went down. The man had planned, played out Clark with an ingenious smokescreen of timed explosives. No doubt Clark would ensure that the rescue operations went at double its usual speed, maybe even call Leaguers in on the city (as much as that galled). Enough people to survive, enough people to get angry, enough for character assassination. Enough to be grateful to Lex Luthor, misdeeds erased through the sands of time.

Bruce had let Luthor out plan him, tune him up like a violin and played him by using his boy as a pawn. His… child? He looked at Terry again, brows furrowing. He leaned his forehead etched with shadows lightly on the base of his palm which rose to press against it.
"Look, Bruce," began Terry as he tried to shift on the table.

"What?" it came out unexpectedly forced and curt, so much so that Terry's eyes flickered concern, brows drawn slightly together. What was the boy doing? He was still in too much pain to unclench his fists yet and he still wanted to-

"I got this," Terry said as he opened one palm, to reveal a small metal chip. He opened the other, revealing another. "And this. You think it might help?" He grinned sheepishly at Bruce, "during the scuffle, after Wonder Woman broke me out of the cuffs. I.."

Just then the screen flickered, and an alert window appeared in the top left. Bruce straightened.

"I'm here to help," a computerised voice said. Slightly husky, female, electronic. Age undeterminable.

"Whoa-oh, mysterious internet chick!" Wally said, nodding a grin at Terry.

Instantly suspicious, Bruce rose from his chair. A pause, which dragged, till the voice came again. "You can type if you want. This is a secure line." Great. Another smart aleck, when he already had two to deal with. Bruce arched an eyebrow at that. How very understanding. A secure line, indeed. He began to wonder if he shouldn't gather more security tech for the Batcomputer clusters. Everyone seemed to be hacking through it these days. He reached for the keys.

'Who are you?' he tapped out, grim look still not leaving his face. A pause now on the other side, before the voice spoke, this time sending forward a masked avatar, with pale, luminescent green porcelain features, and a wave of lines radiating back from the hair line.

"You can call me Oracle." The electronic voice sounded oddly pleased with itself.

"Oracle?" Bruce harrumphed, and looked askance at Diana. "This isn't one of yours, is it?" She shook her head, perturbed. He turned back to the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard.