a/n: This entire chapter has been buoyed by conversations and ideas batted about by SilverKnight, and Kyer's pretty much convinced me to try and keep Flash in as much as I can, so thanks guys, and everyone else for reading and reviewing. At the same time, I've been reading 'Another Country' by James Baldwin, which may or may not be colouring my descriptions. Righto. Onward.

Chapter 20:

"The photographs don't look particularly promising at the moment. But time will tell," Bruce said, "They'll be ready soon. What I do need is a look at the area." He typed up the coordinates and they blipped across the scene.

"M'on it." said Flash, then stretched slightly. "Be right back then. Mind if I borrow this?" He whizzed off, leaving the air cooler as it swirled around them in his wake. Bruce tapped his fingers together as they waited for him to return. It wasn't long.

"I took a few pictures," Flash said as he whizzed into view a few minutes later. "Thought you'd want a better look at the writing on the wall, as it were." He slipped the card from the camera, this time digital, and loaded the images into the computer, where they were blown up on screen. The macro lens had picked up the miniscule charred indentations in the concrete, something even the current satellite technology would be unable to. And this was faster, besides. "And I got this." He held up a thin strand of hair, its colour indiscernible in the darkness of the cave. "I'll check it out for you," he said, before zooming off to the side equipment.

"Strange," Diana said as she looked at the blown up images on the screen. "The scorch pattern seems so..."

"Even?" Bruce asked.

"Yes." They had seen the same thing then. It wasn't some sort of accurate flamethrower that had caused the damage. And the writing itself was too crude for any sort of laser, and even then, hand held, some areas down each stroke would have been more charred than others. The sharp blackness pooled together where the lines met, but apart from that seemed almost slapped on by an even brand. Like some sort of... rope.

"Hey guys," Flash's voice came over from the side of them, "This follicle's a phony. Synthetic. Really strange shade of ginger too."

Bruce's heart jolted at that moment, feeling the phantom pain of ten thousand volts of electricity coursing through him. It couldn't be. Sensing the change in his demeanour, Diana laid a hand on his arm. The contact grounded him, and he was grateful. He looked at her, watching her expression shift to worry.

"What's wrong?"

"I think the future just happened," Bruce replied. A future which was terrible; drawn from nightmares that ended in cold shivers and the bile which forced its way up a strangled throat. J'onn, he all but screamed in his mind. The flutter of the Martian's presence in his mind prompted him to continue. I assume Diana called you too.

Yes, J'onn answered him. I do not bear good news. Not that he had expected J'onn to locate Terry so easily. They had never met, for one. For another, whatever shielding technology their unknown foe was using would be surely in place to stop any direct search, telepathic or otherwise. If the Joker had been able to piece together crude technology from whatever he had salvaged from Luthor's old warehouse to prevent them finding Timothy all those years ago, this was surely effortless. It wasn't a good thought. History was bunk, according to that fictional World Controller from Huxley's novel. Bruce didn't suppose Huxley considered that sometimes, the future was history, and that history always came back in its endless circle to crush you down again.

Call if you find something. Find something. By comlink. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stand more in his mind crowding over with falling dominoes.

I understand, the voice echoed again, before he was left only with his thoughts once more. They seeped past his skull and through the rest of his bones, chilling him. He ignored the sensation in favour of retrieving the developed photos from the darkroom, borrowing warmth from Ace, who had chosen at that moment to pace beside him.

Gotham's skyline reared up with cragged teeth, ready to swallow anyone who dared to enter its threshold. Lights illuminated from the bottom, crackling with the life of the untameable night in which delinquents roamed and ruled. The piddling respectability that it maintained during the day was torn asunder as the sun left each night, speeding away so as to distance itself from the notion that it wanted to bestow on the city any form of goodwill. The passing visitor would not have felt this; the lights emanating sinister flares, and the shadows which followed close behind with a hunger insatiable for the corruption that clung to the city's gums like plaque which could never be scrubbed away.

"Delightful," came the smooth-coarse voice from behind an ornately carved onyx desk. Expensive. Cold. Brutal in its refinement, like the owner who stood behind it. Red sardonyx bands ran along its sides and seemed to glow from the light of the city. Such light seemed to accentuate the darkness around his figure rather than eliminate it. "Is everything in order?"

"Terry McGinnis has been captured."

"Amazing. I'll be forthright with you, Jimmy. I didn't think equipping those children would prove very fruitful."

"Those in particular assured me that they had dealt with him before, that they knew how he worked." Jimmy Lin's self-satisfied smirk could not help but stretch his face into a lopsided crease. "And we had a contingent hold more than their own against Batman a few days ago."

"Oh, I don't think Batman will be much of a problem anymore," hummed the man.

"You know the best, wise one."

"Very good, Jimmy-boy," the man murmured. For despite the dank heat that seemed to cling in the air around him, and the forbidding posture he maintained in the gloom, he was a man. To Jimmy, he was a god on earth, Guan Gong sent to bless and command as he pleased. This was not strictly untrue either. Jimmy stepped back respectfully as he arose, clad strangely in a well cut business suit. Strange, because he wore a fearsome mask, a garish red with piercing, painted eyes set in. Pointed streaks of black like barbed wire etched out a frowning forehead and severe eyebrows, others forming fierce lines that led to a drawn beard around the mouth, white like death. Man or not, his intent was singular, and it was the singularity which made his being fearsome. Break Gotham. Claim Gotham. Remake Gotham, in his own image. Play the game.

Jimmy Lin's voice came again, off to the side of him.

"The middle of the seventh month draws near, Guan Gong," said Jimmy.

"Of course. And I am hungering this year. Greatly so."

A wave of his hand dismissed Lin as he turned towards the windows again to look at the city that was soon to become his own.

"You guys see that?" the Flash asked as he peered closer at the photograph in his hands. He held it out. Diana took it from him and placed it on the scanner. An enlarged version soon filled the screen. "That smeary thing just off the wall there," Flash said as he pointed at it, and Diana squinted in concentration.

"Could just be graffiti," she said. The mixture of doubt and hope in her tone washed over Bruce as he too stared intently at the mix of lines on the screen.

"Could be," he said, "Flash, see if you can find any other pictures which show the same thing."

"I'll do better than that," came Wally's voice as he blurred out of view. He disappeared for a few seconds before returning, a short stack of photos clasped firmly in his hands. "This, and this, and this," he said, placing them on the console edge, "and here, and this, and these." The rest he plopped into Diana's hands. "Oh," he said as he zoomed round the other side of Bruce's chair, "And I went to check it out. Either the cleaners in this city are really doing their job, or that thing's not meant to be seen. Not a glimpse of it anywhere." Wally folded his arms and grinned. "Tell me I'm good."

"No, I don't suppose you're head of your department for nothing," Bruce muttered absently as he selected a photograph which had a black dot on a wall in clear view. He cut off Flash's intended rebuttal, continuing. "They aren't just on one wall. They seem to be all over the compound," he said as he slotted it under the scanner.

"Computer: enlarge, refine. Vector," he commanded. The lines of the ovoid symbol separated from the main image till only it remained on screen.

"Freaky," said Flash, withdrawing the hand he had raised as a frowning face could be discerned.

"It's a mask," Diana half exclaimed to herself. The design was evidently some sort of character type. "But not Grecian... Asian."

"Chinese," Bruce clarified, confirming aloud what Diana knew. She sighed. It would have been a small victory. It should have. Now in only served to heighten the urgency in locating Terry. The young man who was Bruce's boy. His boy. How easy it was to create that connection in her mind between the two of them. How simply evident it was in the eyes of the man who now stared into harshly painted ones.

"Not just any mask." Bruce frowned. "Guan Yu," he murmured, voice blackening. His conversation with Terry earlier in the week came back to him. His absence resounded all the more clearly.

"Who?" Wally asked.

"Ancient Chinese warlord. Folklore."

"So, what, someone's brought him back? Trying to? Cult group?" Wally scratched at his shoulder as he peered at the pattern of the face.

"So it might seem. Easy to prey on the superstitions of corrupt businessmen. Easy to rally behind a powerful name." Cultural consciousness. What hold was Huang exercising beyond these shores?

"What would an Eastern god be doing in Gotham?" Diana wondered.

"What would an Eastern god be doing crossing you?" Wally's question tumbled after. What indeed.

"Making a mistake," Bruce answered, feeling his blood race once again, where for the past few hours it had seemed frozen, congealing in his very veins. "I'm calling J'onn." He reached for one of the keys in front of him, but before his fingers touched his surface, an alert lit up the screen. Sounds of Ace's barking could be heard from the living room. "Someone's at the door."

"But it's nearly one in the morning!" Wally said.

"I'll call J'onn. You should answer," said Diana. Bruce clicked on the alert as he stood up, switching to a camera view of the gate. He hoped it was Barbara. No such luck. A very enraged red head floated up into view.

'Come out and face me, you coward of a man! You think you can hide up there away from everything!' the voice of Mary McGinnis fizzled through on the screen. The fisheye camera exaggerated the vehemence radiating through her face and posture.

"Whoa. Who's the lady?" asked Flash.

"The mother," Bruce said as he walked to the elevator. The faster he got to the door the better. "Wally, change."

He keyed the gate to open and opened the main door, watching as Mary stalked her way up the stony pathway, face as hard set as the ground she stepped on. Bruce thought briefly of all the red heads of the opposite gender that he had encountered in his life. The quick conclusion arrived that it was usually not a good thing to commit an infraction by them, perceived or otherwise. From maces, to long seated grudges, to dressing up as Death and unleashing vengeance on one's enemies... vaguely he wondered as well if the company of Wally West had unlocked the unfortunate sense of humour that had begun to bubble up inside him.

"Mrs McGinnis," he greeted, barely preventing his lips from twitching.

"Oh don't you 'Mrs McGinnis' me," she hollered as she pushed past him into the hall, all the fury of a woman rolling off her. "My son is out there, because of you, and all you can do, is, is stay holed up here..." Shayera Hol would be proud. Bruce suspected so would Diana, who he now sensed had appeared round the corner. "Entertaining yourself with call girls!" There was a silence which punctuated the air like a shining thumb tack on crumbling plaster. The plaster cracked. Diana, dressed at that moment in rather modest slacks and a blouse, bristled.

"Excuse me?" Diana said, voice preparing itself to rise. Bruce held up his hand to stall her.

"You heard me," Mary ploughed on, "They're tearing my son up on the feeds. They're pointing at you." She emphasised this with a jab of the finger at Bruce's chest, "As the cause." She raged on. "Do you know," she said, "how hard my Matty took it when they took Warren?" her eyes had clouded over at the mention of her late husband's name, but it was quickly replaced with a dangerous glint that caused Wally to freeze mid step, having just walked into the hallway. "Jokerz, it's always Jokerz, isn't it? Well? What was it? What dirty work had you been getting my son to do? Easy wasn't it? He had a record and everything. What's the word for it?" she paused here, almost cruelly, before taking another breath. "Expendable." Bruce watched her, still silent and unmoving. "I know," she started again, calmer, "about company muscling. And blackmail. And all that. But why did you have to drag my son into it? Is your company jinxed, or something? Or is it just my family? Huh?"

"Mrs McGinnis," Bruce murmured, lifting his hands in placation. It seemed to have the wrong effect. She drew herself up further and advanced on him.

"No. And you. You probably don't care. You thought taking in a charity case might be good for your publicity. But you'll forget about him now, you and your like all cosy up here on Mount Olympus. No. Everyone's just your pawn. You don't care. You've never been married, never had to worry about where your next meal came from, never had to do a thing for yourself in all your padded, rich existence." Diana and Wally stood stock still a little distance away, slightly awed by the wrath of the woman before them. "I've just had to put Matt to bed. I couldn't tear him away from the television. I've had enough of people speculating about the misfortune of my family. I've had enough of that speculation surrounding all you power mads sitting on high. He wants his brother back, Matt. He's been silent the whole evening."

She was only a few inches from Bruce now, staring up at him with a proud chin and squared shoulders. "Do you know Matt? He likes to talk. He's a happy boy. Even after Warren's death, Terry got him going again. I suppose I have you to thank for that. I appreciate that you gave Terry a job then. But now? I don't know." Her accent broadened with her next words, emotion bringing her back to her earlier upbringing. "Seems like all the name Wayne has given my family is total, unadulterated, shit." Spittle flew from her mouth. She began raising her arms as her voice rose in pitch. "Matt wants his brother back," she said, "and I want my son." Bruce reached towards her in a belated effort to calm her down, but she avoided his arms and charged a fist towards him with all the might of a mother scorned. It connected with his jaw, and time slowed as he staggered back.

"Whoa, lady, you have got to calm down," Wally said as he ran towards Bruce to shield him from the enraged woman. Mary McGinnis stood there, seeming to tower over them. Running a hand along his jaw, Bruce tried to hide the smirk that had come unbidden to his face. Woman had some spunk. The fire that shot from her mouth had ignited something old and simmering within himself. The blood that had been racing minutes before seemed to surge all the more. It wasn't adrenaline, nothing so cheap. He felt the night again, not a swallowing blackness, but a cudgel meant just for him to wield.

Then Mary seemed to deflate slightly, and she waved her hand absently at the air. She suddenly looked very tired. "I'm sorry- I didn't mean," she began. Bruce took the hand in his own, firm grasp, and shook it.

"I understand," he said, and the glint in his eyes finding resonance in her own. "Please. Meet Mr. West, Head of Forensics in Central City."

Wally held out his hand, perturbed and amused by the turn in events, never mind that running up whirlwinds was usually his area of expertise. "Nice to meet you, Mrs McGinnis. Would you like some coffee? I whip up an awesome mocha." He mouthed to Diana 'What was that about?' as she approached them. Mary McGinnis turned to her with slight embarrassment colouring her ears and eyebrows.

"Diana of Themyscira," she said, smiling.

"The ambassador?" Mary asked, still dazed after her outburst. She shook herself, then blurted out, "Wonder Woman?" Pink rose to her cheeks. "Oh, I'm really sorry, for, well," she smiled now, shrugging in a manner which made her seem in an instant like a young girl, "for calling you a tart." And brash. Bruce once again resisted the urge to smirk. He would have to blame proximity with West for corrupting him, and the situation which prevented him from covering it up with a scowl as he often did. "My friends and I totally idolised you back in high school and college," Mary continued.

"I'm... flattered," Diana said, shaking her hand. Bruce cleared his throat.

"I think that coffee is very much in order now," he said, then ushered them to the living room.