a/n: Moving the plot just a bit forward (finally!). Comments much appreciated (: Thanks to all who've been reading so far.

Chapter 16

2041:

The roar of the Batmobile's engine blasted past the business district skyscrapers, causing some of the window frames it had got to too close to shiver as its reflection sped by. From within it Batman ran his fingers along the console's metallic surface, making contact with the communicator tile.

"What are we looking for here?"

"A ripple, anything," the guttural voice of Bruce Wayne crackled through Terry's receiver.

"This thing is supposed to divert both biologic and cybernetic attention. I don't know if-"

"Try." Static on the other end as Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. The cloaking device on Batmobile itself was top notch in its camouflaging technology. Amplification of environmental noise, which included, if the situation required it, the ability to amplify silence. Clark said it felt like being surrounded by water under the ice caps once when he'd been tuning it once on the old Batplane. Over the course of time he'd developed it further, refined its precision with each new scrap of technology that could be rendered useful.

But this… this looked like the actualisation of certain stealth tech developed during WayneTech's collaborations with LexCorp. They had been put on hold in favour of the T-7s, probe droids Luthor had later bastardised for his power hungry aims. Level 5 security, encryption algorithm ahead of its time with an additional cipher lock designed by Luthor himself. Technology had advanced, yes, but production for the parts that the T's were attempting to steal had only begun in the previous year, and the only reason why the computer could combine those components during analysis had been because he had the rubrics and designs on file. It was worrying. Could someone have found the files after the Ai-lat take over? It would make sense then, if Huang were involved, that they were trying their best to buy the company piece by piece.

But to what end? And why was the ante upped so high? Project Delta Dissimulator, it was now going beyond simple ground level radar to international network and life form diversion. It made no sense.

Terry in the meantime was growing increasingly restless. Crazed scientists and random punks were a walk in the park, but this? Looking for something that neither you nor your computer could see, that scrambled your brainwave patterns. It was something big, bigger. J'onn had sent word from Hong Kong that a hush had gone through the underworld there. It was not a pretty silence, not a quiet. It was a churning, a roiling, building, and Terry felt his gut churn along with it at the thought. He swerved past the Huang Holdings main headquarters again, third time circling, trying at all angles to look for something abnormally too normal, from the corner of his eye, without the visor. Nothing was working, and the whine of the engine ran like sheets of metal through his skull.

"Want a break from the monotony?"

"What I wouldn't give."

"Street cameras show a T – Jokerz confrontation. Six o'clock. Straight down." Terry cranked the left throttle towards him while slowly pushing the right in front as he made a half loop before shooting in the opposite direction.

"On it." His right hand reached for the panel in front of him, which gave a minute chirrup of acknowledgement before the straps about him flew back and the top of the Batmobile slid open. He surged out; arms stretched to the purple sky, then fell backwards into a corkscrew dive, face twisting into a smirk even as his body twisted sharply towards the collecting youths. This wasn't the usual crowd, he noted as he descended. New recruits, it seemed. He might even go easy. Might. He righted himself at fifteen feet and killed the jets, dropping feet first.

Ploughing into the back of the biggest thug there, boots straight into the folds of the lumbering mammoth, he pushed off it and flipped back into a half crouch, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out to the side and he fingertips of one hand grazing the ground as the other bent towards his utility belt. The T half spun, then crashed on his side as all the others fell back, fear in the whites of their eyes. He half expected all of them to scatter. Most seemed to have. He narrowed his eyes at the remaining dozen. Would be brilliant though, boys, if you want to dance. He steeled his jaw in anticipation. Come on, come and get it.

What he did not expect was for the Jokerz and Ts to step into a formation. Together. Then static came over from the communicator. Terry remained in the crouch as he heard the clack of fingers on keypads coming from the other end.

"Terry, what's going on?"

"You seeing this?"

"Worse, I'm seeing nothing." Oh hell no. His smirk turned grim.

"I suppose I've found what we're looking for then. At least I can see them."

The T nearest to him lunged. A simple counter was all that was necessary. He knew. He'd been trained. He'd bathed in the sweat of worse than this two bit, wet eared little punk, younger than he was by the looks of it. A side step, a block, a twist and a throw, that was all. Only the side step didn't happen. Just as he was about to move, a shimmer from the reflective material of the thug's jacket caught his eye, distracting him enough for the T to land a hook square in his jaw. Terry was propelled backwards, landing into a tighter crouch, shaking away the dizziness and confusion. That wasn't supposed to happen. C'mon McGinnis. Reassess. Looking up did not make things better. Each time he tried to pinpoint the location of each gangster, his eyes would slide elsewhere: to the pavement, to the gravel on it, to the sign over the door of the building across the road, to the clouds above that seemed to circle around them, edging him on.

"Slaggit."

"What's wrong?"

"I can't concentrate!" suddenly he toppled forward, his chin striking the ground as he was floored by the weight of bulging arm to the back of his neck. He hadn't even noticed, and the suit could only take so much. He heard a low chuckle from above, and giggles to the side of them. They were faint, as if from behind a glass. The thick sole of a boot lowered itself onto his fingers as he tried to push off from the ground and crushed them slowly even as his head swam. Too many around him, the effects were intensifying into a sickening ball around his mind.

"Get away. Stat." Squeezing his eyes shut, Terry clung to the sound of Bruce's voice, activating the jet boots and shooting straight up into the sky. When he figured he was high up enough, he let his eyes open to slits and peered around him, finding himself facing the moon. Good, something to focus on. Breathe, McGinnis, breathe. "McGinnis, are you alright?" the normally brusque voice had an even rougher tinge to it. Bruce sounded… tense.

"Keep talking." Now an abrupt pause answered him as the older man was nonplussed by his request. But Bruce acquiesced, and in low tones relayed instructions, told him the jet was on its way. Terry exhaled slowly and entered the strange comfort of red effulgence coming from the Batmobile's interior, focusing on the words fizzing through the comlink.

"...There were about thirty of them before they disappeared off the vidlink." Thirty? Terry shook his head, he'd only thought there were twelve in total, thirteen max. This wasn't good, at all.

"Then it's more serious than we thought," Terry muttered as the Batmobile swung into the cave, scream of engines being replaced by the flutter of bats overhead as he clambered out. He drew the cowl back, letting out a noisy exhalation of frustration as he did so. Bruce noted that he was carding his fingers through his hair, a habit his protégé tended to fall back on when particularly vexed.

"What is it?" Terry's head snapped up from where it had been considering the floor of the cave at Bruce's question, hand now kneading the back of his neck, then shook his head dolefully and gave a shaky laugh.

"You know how it goes... I could've had a REAL job, but noooo, I had to be a clown in a mask and a... hmm. Well okay, sans cape."

Bruce blinked, eyebrows contracting minutely, nonplussed.

"You don't know that? How can you not know that? You know about ruby slippers but… neh." Terry rubbed the side of his face. "Eh... after your time, I suppose. Way before mine though. You sure you haven't heard it?" Silence. "Really?" At Bruce's continued stone stillness Terry pursed his lips and addressed the space of the cave as he connected a fist with the palm of his other hand. "Because, yes, indeed! Terry McGinnis counters exasperation with levity." He let out another sigh before collecting his thoughts and turning to face Bruce.

"You said thirty odd, right? Hoods."

"Yes, why?"

"The group I fought? About a dozen. Thought the rest had hightailed." He watched Bruce's face darken into a more forbidding mirror of what he suspected his own eyes conveyed. "Yeah, exactly."

"And the Jokerz and Ts-"

"Working together now, unless those were fakes."

"They looked fake to you?"

"No. Hadn't heard much of the gangs for a while though. 'Guess we now know why." A knuckle found its way to Terry's upper teeth as he bit on it slightly, elbow resting on the other arm as he stared at the computer screen, still showing a security feed of the area he had just returned from.

Bruce rested his chin on steepled fingers. "They weren't gathering for a showdown," he said, then pressed his lips thinly together. "We need to take a look at whatever's there. Scan the entire area."

Terry blanched. "But you know if anything is there, nothing we have can pick it up?" How could you follow a trace when there was no scent in the first place?

"We use something that does." With that Bruce's eyes shot to Terry's as he stood up too fast for a man his age, and began making his way to the elevator. Terry followed in silence. They entered the old study, and Bruce made his way to a side panel, sliding it open. A metal cabinet stood there, built like a safe with a glass door, black contoured bricks and cylinders sitting within it. It opened with a sliced clink, and Bruce crouched down in front of it, offering one of the brick like objects to Terry, then took another one himself.

"That's a Lecia M7."

"A what?"

"A rangefinder camera. With full manual available. Can even be used without batteries, that one."

Terry ran his fingers over the dials and buttons along the outer casing, then the neoprene surface of the body. "Where's the viewer on this thing?" he asked, looking into the reflection of the lens. Bruce reached over and flipped it over, angling a finger towards the minute rectangular window near the top. He held up his own in his hand.

"This one here's a Canon AE-1. They both use 35mm film."

"Where we get our current digital format size from."

"Exactly. Only this isn't-"

"Digital. Schway," Terry said with admiration, rotating the camera in his hand as he examined it further."Totally should've paid attention in those museum trips we made in elementary."

Bruce answered with a small huff, close enough to a chuckle for Terry to grin as he held up the device, wrist flopping back. "I'm guessing here you know where to get the memory stic- the film? The film for this," he finished. Bruce had made his way to the door by now, having packed a few of the lenses into a nylon bag. His back to the room, he gave a small jerk of the head in Terry's direction, his equivalent of a nonchalant wave.

"Of course. Being Bruce Wayne has its perks."