Talia strode through the halls of her father's compound in the Iranian mountains, walking at his side and listening carefully. Her eyes were always alert for any potential threat even here in their stronghold, and her mind presently whirled at a pace that her serene expression belied. She had been home from London less than a day, and had much to catch up on. Ra's al Ghul had tolerated her absence without much complaint, but he would brook no further delays now that she was back under his thumb where she belonged.

"Our assets in northern Afghanistan are being compromised," Ra's al Ghul told her. "Find out who, and why, and deal with them appropriately."

She already had an idea of who and why, just given the location. American interests in the region were trying to stop the poppy trade which fed some of the biggest narcotic cartels in the world, and the local extremists were trying to take over that same lucrative trade to fund their exploits. The interaction of the two was interfering with the peaceful current of business—and the steady flow of money into al Ghul coffers. All that remained was to determine if her hunch was correct, and make an example of the fools who thought they could rob the Demon. The Americans could be distracted, but the extremists understood only bloodshed. "It will be done within the week," she replied confidently.

Ra's continued without questioning her. "The Kazakh cell grows fractious. Eliminate them, if you must, though I prefer a more conservative solution."

Unsurprising. It was more than time to remind the Kazakhs who their master was. That particular group was bold, fearless, and extremely competent; a pity to waste them for some minor insubordination. "I will handle that personally," Talia said after a moment's consideration. An appearance by their leader's right hand—who happened to be a woman, and who also happened to be capable of putting down any five of their best men in under three minutes—would remind them of their loyalties. For a while, anyway. Eventually a lasting solution would have to be found, or that group would need to be reorganized.

"The Korean situation has been resolved satisfactorily, and we've successfully brokered the Pakistani arms deal," Ra's told her, and Talia nodded. She had made the arrangements in both situations before leaving for Gotham. Ra's continued, "Our investments in Europe are holding steady. I expected more profitability."

That was the legitimate side of their commerce, of which Talia had near-total control. Not even Ra's could equal her business acumen. It was also her cover for her recent absence; some things were better handled from London, where she was known as a ruthlessly competent CEO. Confidently, Talia replied, "We are playing the long game in regards to the stocks. Profits will increase slowly but steadily over the next year. I do not intend to get caught in another market crash if American financial systems fail again. The British and European industries are much more stable, if less likely to yield sharp increases."

Ra's nodded, pacing gravely with his hands clasped behind his back. They had pulled out of the American banking industry months before the last financial meltdown, missing out on some spectacular gains in the final days of the housing bubble—but also missing the terrible plummet, when entire fortunes had been lost overnight. When it came to money, Ra's trusted his daughter completely. It was perhaps the only endeavor in which he did so.

Now he said, "It also appears that our associates in Serbia are having some difficulty." At that, her blood ran cold. Jason Todd had last been sighted by her trackers on the Serbian border, and he had a tendency to cause difficulties for mobsters. But why would he choose to interfere in their business?

Jason had disappeared from Talia's London safe-house just over a week ago, without a word or a note or any hint whatsoever that he was thinking of deserting her. He'd hadn't been taken against his will, because any kidnapping attempt would've left severe property damage and many bullet-holes. So he'd simply … left, of his own volition, and with no immediate explanation for having done so.

Talia had been surprised by that, and very little surprised her, especially about someone she'd studied so thoroughly. She and Jason had been together near-constantly since she'd rescued him from Gotham, with her watching over him as he healed. Jason was an impetuous, impulsive young man, but she would have thought he would at least tell her if he decided to move on. They were far more than mentor and protégée, after all, and he'd shared her bed consistently for weeks. That alone was enough to keep other men docilely at heel.

Of course there had to be a reason. She'd looked to see why he would have left even as she'd ordered men to track him. The answer was in her computer, which was set to log every keystroke and action by the user. Jason had booted it up while she was out, having somehow acquired her password. It was time to go to biometric security on every device, but she hadn't thought the laptop was at any risk. Talia hadn't even known Jason was second-guessing her. Then again, she should've expected it. The Lazarus pit did tend to cause paranoia. Once he'd gotten access, he'd rummaged around for a bit and then copied a file to an external drive. His file. The one that contained everything she knew about him, and everything that had been done since she'd found him.

Talia supposed Jason had taken offense to that. As if she wouldn't have all available data on him. He was quite the mystery, and until recently no one else had known he was even alive. It only made sense to keep all the salient facts at her fingertips. He likely saw things differently, and with the way the Lazarus pit had quickened his temper, it might just have been reason enough to start a war.

I cannot protect you from Father if you insist on getting in his way, Talia thought worriedly. Aloud, she spoke with perfect calm, her mind racing for an alternate explanation. "I'll look into it. We know the Serbians have a record of getting their hands dirty. Perhaps they attracted someone's ire."

Ra's was silent for a long moment, long enough that his daughter wondered how much he knew. "Hmm. They are involved in human trafficking, as of the last report from our watchers. I prefer not to have to cultivate new contacts simply because these men cannot resist a profit. Perhaps whatever vigilante has noticed their activities can be persuaded to forget."

Human trafficking. That meant women and children for the sex trade. Talia's hopes rose cautiously at that. It was the sort of thing that Jason would investigate and destroy, not out of some sense of revenge, but because he could not bear to let it go on. His ethics did not allow him to turn a blind eye to the exploitation of the innocent and helpless. Perhaps, then, it was him, but he had no idea he was causing trouble for the League of Shadows. That was the best possible explanation, if Jason was involved.

Musingly, she replied, "Perhaps. Or perhaps we might let the Serbian mob fall, and be replaced by their rivals, whom we can ensure are deeply in our debt by the time they rise to power. They might be more manageable, and more tolerable, than the present gangster scum we work with."

"As you see fit," Ra's told her lightly. That tone meant he had no idea of Jason's potential involvement—she hoped. So far as her father was concerned, the boy had stolen from him: money, Talia's time, and most damningly, the rejuvenation of the Lazarus pit. Ra's might be willing to ignore the rest, but the theft of the Lazarus pit could not be forgotten, and he would always seek repayment in the form of Jason's life. Something Talia could not allow him to take.

They walked on; this place was sprawling, and had been added onto over the years, resulting in almost labyrinthine corridors. Ra's had no intention of remodeling. The current floor plan would confuse any intruders long enough for the guards to dispose of them at their leisure. He and Talia were accustomed to it, and could have navigated the entire compound blindfolded if necessary.

This particular hallway had one wall made up almost entirely of one-way mirrors, looking out into the main training room. They were halfway down it when Ra's said curtly, "Stop obsessing about the boy, Talia."

Those words startled her; Jason Todd had been on her mind a moment ago, and she could not let her father guess how often she thought of him. Not if she wanted to keep him safe. But he wasn't the boy he meant, and she knew it almost immediately, a hot flush of anger rising to her cheeks.

…

Elise woke up feeling groggy, and shook her head to clear it. She immediately noticed two things: one, she wasn't in her dorm, and two, she was sitting in a chair. Well, kind of stuck in it somehow. Wondering how the heck she'd fallen asleep sitting up, Elise tried to lift her arms.

They wouldn't come up, and then she woke up all the way. She was bound to the chair, her arms and legs and waist secured to it. Elise looked around her wildly, trying to figure out where she was. The details of the room were invisible to her; a bright bare bulb swung over the chair, casting her in a pool of brilliant light and hiding the rest of the room in shadow.

Now she remembered. Stepping into her room and hearing a faint hissing, seeing the unobtrusive little canister right before the sleeping gas took hold. Elise had been kidnapped. Her heart started to race. "Hello?" she called, not expecting an answer. She just wanted an idea of how big the room was, based on the echo or lack thereof. Maybe that would tell her something about who had taken her.

"Hello, Miss Thorne." That reply, obviously from a voice scrambler, freaked Elise right out. It sounded like it was right in front of her somewhere, but all she saw was blackness outside the ring of light.

Elise took a deep breath, and tried to put on a jovial tone. "Hey, look, I think there's some sort of misunderstanding here. I'm nobody important."

"The only misunderstanding is yours. You underestimate your importance." That voice, it was impossible to guess age or gender or anything else. This was no cheap spy-shop scrambler, it was the real deal, rendering the speaker's voice completely unrecognizable.

Okay. Breathe. Think. How are you gonna get out of this? There has to be a way. Maybe it is just a mistake. But even as she coached herself, Elise knew it was no mistake, and knew exactly why the mysterious person in the shadows had captured her.

Aloud, though, she only said, "Seriously, I think the only person who's gonna miss me is that girl in my chem class who stayed home sick and needs my notes. So really, you've got the wrong girl."

"Are you or are you not Miranda Elise Thorne?" the voice asked.

For a half-second she thought of denying it, but remembered in the nick of time that she'd already answered to the name. "Yeah, that's me. Second-year chem major. No one special."

"You're very special. To someone." The voice let that ominous phrase hang in the air for a moment, and Elise bit her tongue not to reply, just listening. She thought she heard a faint hum, like a motor. What that could be, she didn't want to guess, her mind helpfully presenting her with images from gory horror films. Why the hell she'd ever seen that one about the murder club and the backpacking teenagers, she couldn't possibly figure out now.

"Well, all right, to my parents, but they're in New Zealand. And we're not rich and famous," Elise said nervously. She wouldn't bring up Corrin if she could help it. Whatever she was mixed up in, he couldn't get dragged into it.

Her answer was a low laugh, eerily distorted. "I had someone a bit more super in mind."

At that, Elise froze. Oh, shit.

…

As they walked, Talia had turned without even consciously realizing it, looking through the one-way mirrors at the training in progress. Given what she saw there, her gaze had been captured and transfixed. Beyond the glass, a young boy somewhat fairer than Talia—but otherwise strongly resembling her—faithfully practiced his sword katas under the watchful eye of a skilled swordsman. Most children of his tender age would have considered running without falling down to be a feat, but he was sure-footed and agile as a cat. He already handled a wooden practice sword with surety, and he was just about to turn four. This boy had the strength of both halves of his lineage coursing through his veins, and as the heir of both Ra's al Ghul and the Batman, he had been exemplary from the moment of his birth. He was called Damian, and he had been bred to rule as his father the Detective refused to do.

More important than all of that, however, he was Talia's child, and her gaze sought him out even when she couldn't go to him. Once upon a time, she had thought she understood what it was to love completely, fiercely, and unconditionally. The moment Damian's eyes focused on her, however, Talia had realized just how wrong she was. If the love she'd felt before had been like diving in the ocean, this was like swimming along congratulating herself on how deep she'd gone, and suddenly finding a drop-off that descended into unknowable dark blue depths. And then falling, willingly, gladly, into a love that frightened her with its intensity. For Damian, she would remake the world if she had to.

When Ra's would have walked on after that curt remark, Talia came to a full halt, forcing him to turn and face her. She lifted her chin and said with cold determination, "Father, 'the boy' is my son."

Ra's gave a small, irritated sigh. "He is in good hands. In any case, he cannot see you watching over him with maternal pride, and you do not have the time to offer advice or criticism at this moment. You have been gone too long already, Talia." A hint of reproach in that; perhaps he knew what she'd been up to in London, tending and tracking Jason instead of just tending to business.

Likely he did. Talia was rarely able to keep secrets from her father. But as long as she continued the work and didn't allow her side projects to interfere with what he considered important business, Ra's al Ghul was willing to turn a blind eye to her concerns. At least, up to a point. If he pressed the issue, she generally gave in.

For the most part, Talia yielded to his judgment. He was, after all, vastly older and wiser and more objective than she was. Ra's had proven his superior reasoning to her many times. But on this matter, she would not surrender. Still giving him a confrontational stare, she retorted, "Caring for my son—and wishing to see him after an absence—is not obsession, Father. Damian is my only child."

"And he is my only heir," Ra's replied, with a touch of warning in the tone.

Talia held herself perfectly still as only one trained by ninjas could, not even the motion of breath betraying her. She might have been a statue cunningly painted to appear alive, and a casual observer would have complimented the artist on the portrayal of the look of challenge in her eyes.

For a long moment they faced off, with the object of their quarrel completely unaware of them. At last Ra's al Ghul sighed. "My daughter, you know well I can refuse you nothing you truly desire. Go to the boy, then. Your mind will not be at ease until you have spoken with him."

He had compromised; so would she. The balance of power must always be maintained. "Let us finish this first," Talia said in conciliatory tones. "I must know what is to be done, even if I will see my son before I begin it."

His eyes narrowed very slightly; at the moment there were no traces of crow's feet at the corners, but those minute signs of aging came sooner and sooner each time. Ra's had perhaps a year before he would need to use the Lazarus pit again, Talia guessed.

"Very well," he finally said, and turned back to resume their walk—which forced her to catch up, but so be it. "I shall tell you what we've recently learned of our friends in Australia."

Talia's mouth turned down in a scowl; Lex Luthor and his plots were not topics calculated to ease her mind. By her reckoning, they should have simply seized his laboratory once they knew he'd built it directly over a potential Lazarus pit site. But Ra's was cautious, and he had a use in mind for the brilliant American.

Still, news of their temporary allies would be useful when Luthor inevitably tried to betray them. Talia kissed her fingertips and touched them to the glass for one last look at her son, before hastening to follow her father and devoting her full attention to the work.

…

"Is this really necessary?" Lex muttered, zipping up the Tyvek suit.

Mercy handed him a mask; she was already suited up, only her eyes showing between the bright white Tyvek and the bluish mask. "Yes," she replied, her voice muffled. "We don't need any accidental transmission, given the side effects encountered in the early trials. Also, if the scant evidence we have on the … naturally occurring uplifts is correct, their immune systems are fragile at this stage. We don't want them to acquire anything from us."

"It seems like overkill," Lex replied, but he had to see this evidence for himself.

Mercy picked up the box at her feet and walked ahead of him through the airlock into the inner lab. A strange squeaking sound immediately assaulted his ears, almost too high-pitched to be from the species it was supposed to be.

Contained within a separate, secure compartment in the center of the room was Project Uplift's seventh trial. The surrogate whined, looking at them with beseeching eyes, but Mercy and Lex both ignored her. It was the three offspring they'd come to see. "Just three," Lex mused. "I thought they had more."

"Any genetic fault that cropped up early enough would cause the fetuses to be re-absorbed," Mercy informed him. "There were also two stillborn. Of these three, we have reason to believe one is more affected by the gene therapy than the others." Saying that, she opened the mini-airlock and reached in with double-gloved hands.

The tiny scrap of life she lifted out mewled in protest, and Lex gasped in surprise. He hadn't seen this one for its two siblings. "Is that a natural color for the breed?" he asked, holding out his hands.

Mercy deposited a tiny, newborn puppy into his gloved palms. Solid white with pink, folded-down ears and a pink-and-black spotted nose, it squeaked in dismay at the handling. "In some lines, yes, but not in this one."

In the cage, the black and tan shepherd bitch whined again, staring intently at the puppy that had been taken from her side. Lex held the tiny animal up, ignoring its squeals and the increasing distress of the dam. "A male, hmm? And does he show any other signs besides the unusual coloring?"

"Yes," Mercy said, and opened the small lead box at her feet. The puppy immediately began to thrash in Lex's hands, squalling, and the shepherd in the cage bolted to her feet, barking loudly. Mercy covered the kryptonite again and the pup subsided, but the bitch kept her nose pressed to the glass, whining louder.

"Interesting that the dam reacted," Lex mused, examining the puppy. Its eyes were still closed, and its limbs were still more stumpy attachments to the pudgy body. Other than the color, there was no way to tell that this animal had Kryptonian DNA spliced into its chromosomes.

"It's not the kryptonite that bothers her, it's the pup's distress," Mercy said. "Speaking of which, we'd best put him back. We can't allow him to catch a chill."

Lex laughed and handed the puppy back. "You're becoming positively maternal, Mercy. Or is that Project Scion's fault?"

"Hardly," she laughed, placing the puppy back into the cage with his worried mother. "Although it's worth mentioning that this litter was spliced with Scion's DNA."

"Is that a factor in the trial finally taking, do you think? And why dogs, of all creatures?" All their previous attempts to create Kryptonian hybrids had failed, resulting in spontaneous abortion or fatal birth defects. When the serum to grant Kryptonian powers to humans continued to fail, Lex had been forced to pursue other means of wedding his foe's powers to his own intellect. All gene splicing tests had also failed, until this one. None of the higher primates, or even humans, had been successful in the lab.

Mercy shrugged. "We used his DNA before, on the chimps and in one of the human trials. Dogs are interesting, genetically. Their morphology is very plastic, allowing for a vast range of appearances. In no other creature would something as different as a Chihuahua, a poodle, and a Great Dane be considered the same species, but they are all dogs. Perhaps there's something about that that allows them to accept this level of interference."

Lex looked at the little canine family thoughtfully. "Now we just have to wait and see if the litter survives to maturity." Something occurred to him then, and he asked, "Do the other puppies react to kryptonite? I hadn't noticed."

"No, they don't," Mercy said. "Preliminary DNA scans are underway, but I suspect the retrovirus didn't work on them. The white one is likely the only success."

He nodded. "If they don't have any of the Kryptonian genes, destroy them. I'm only interested in the white one. I also want him cloned at the earliest opportunity."

"Of course," Mercy replied.

They headed out of the lab, Lex's mind spinning. How could he translate this success into practical terms? The end goal was opening the way for Kryptonian powers to be distributed among a select few humans. Including himself, of course. But that was no reason why the intermediate stages shouldn't be profitable in their own right.

At the airlock, he smiled and looked back, seeing the tiny puppy snuggled up to its mother's belly as she licked its fur soothingly. "It needs a code name. Something more specific than Project Uplift."

Mercy looked thoughtful, but it didn't seem that she had any ideas in mind. Then Luthor grinned as the perfect moniker occurred to him.

"Let's call him Krypto."

…

Elise managed a nervous laugh, still trying in vain to see something in the blackness of the room. "Look, um, I'm from Metropolis, yeah, but I don't actually know Superman. I mean, he saved my bacon once, but that doesn't make us buddies. You know? So whatever you've got going on here, it's not going to work."

Again that soft mechanical whirring noise, and Elise's flesh crawled. What the hell was that? Some kind of motor, obviously, but for what? "You know more than you're telling," the digitized voice said from the shadows. "I commend your bravery, but you should know that we'll find out everything we need to know. Eventually."

"I'm sure you will, but not from me," Elise said, managing to make her voice sound angry instead of afraid. "I don't know anything about Superman you couldn't get from a quick Google search!"

"Oh, I think you do," the voice insisted.

Elise's heart was racing, her palms were sweaty, and her mouth was dry. When she swallowed, her throat made a dry clicking noise. I move all the way to California, get a new boyfriend, haven't even spoken to Jason since his grandmother's funeral, and I still get nabbed by some psycho. Shit. This was a perfect reminder of why Elise had insisted on some distance from their relationship. The longer she spent around Jason, the more she could feel her chances of a normal life slipping away.

"Okay," she said in a small scared voice. "Okay, look. There is one thing I know. But … but you have to promise you won't go after anyone else, okay? They're friends of mine and … I can't let them get hurt because of me."

A long pause greeted that. "I'll consider it. Tell me what you know."

"I…" Elise trailed off into a croak, then asked, "Sorry, my throat's dry. Can I get a glass of water?"

"No." Flat denial; oh well, they must've seen that one before.

She would've crossed her fingers, if it wouldn't have been obvious. "Look, Superman … he's still really close friends with Lois Lane."

Another silence, then a laugh. "Any idiot who reads the Daily Planet knows that, sweetheart. You'll have to do better than that."

Elise sighed shakily. Right now she would've loved to punch Jason Kent right in his adorable smile. "Will you let me go if I tell you everything?" she asked tremulously.

"Of course." A velvety note in the digitized voice now, sensing defeat.

Elise steeled herself for this, likely the hardest thing she'd ever do. "Okay, then. The only thing I really know is that…" She let the silence drag out, hoping her tormentor was listening really closely. Then she took a deep, deep breath.

"…you can go fuck yourself!" Elise screamed as loud as she could, tearing in another breath to snarl, "even if I did know anything, you really think anyone in Metropolis would ever give up Superman to some asshole like you?! Go get bent, 'cause you won't get any satisfaction from me!"

Heart hammering and yet obscurely proud of herself, Elise was completely unprepared for the reply she heard. "If that's your final answer, then we're done here." The motor moved away, and suddenly the light overheard went out, plunging the entire room into darkness.

"Hey!" Elise squeaked. Somewhere behind her, a door opened and shut, the sound echoing. "Hey, you're not just gonna leave me here? Are you?!"

Silence answered her, thick silence that seemed to crowd in close. As much as I wanna beat Jason's butt for getting me into this kind of thing, I wish he was here, Elise thought. Anything could be in that darkness. Anything. Right now a super-powered overprotective ex would be welcome.

She struggled against the chair, but the bonds were tight, and she couldn't get them loose at all. Then she tried to tip the chair over, but it was bolted to the floor. Trapped, stuck, completely immobile, just trapped here waiting for whatever came next….

"Hey! Hey, can anyone hear me?" Elise shouted, knowing it was futile, knowing she sounded like every stupid teenage girl in a horror movie—oh, but why did she have to think of horror movies at a time like this? Still, it was just something she had to do, something instinct seemed to demand, and she shouted, "HELP!" at the top of her lungs until her throat felt sore.

…

Jay Todd was lying on a thin mattress, staring at a water-strained ceiling, in a small room with narrow windows that gave him a lovely view of some kind of factory to one side. Not far away was a trucking company, so he could fall asleep to the soothing whoosh of tires on pavement and the steady beeping of big trucks backing up every half hour or so. This was an apartment, not a hotel, leased short-term for cash with no names asked—just the kind of place he liked. It didn't seem to have roaches, at least, although he'd tossed a spider out the window within minutes of walking in. The building probably had rats, too. He'd seen some big ones running along the gutter outside the factory.

He was holed up in Šećerana, a neighborhood in Zrenjanin, one of the biggest cities in Serbia. A decent base of operations. There was a decent ethnic diversity, with people speaking Serbo-Croatian, Hungarian, Romanian, and German, so his American-accented German didn't grate on the ear the way it would've some other places.

Organized crime in Serbia was nothing like as sophisticated as it was back home. He'd managed to talk his way up to some fairly high places just based on his skills with explosives, and now he was set to bring the whole corpulent, self-indulgent house of cards down. These bastards were funneling women—girls, really—from all over Eastern Europe into the human trafficking trade elsewhere. They lured them in with promises of jobs as maids or nannies, and once they were across the border without passports, the gangsters revealed the real jobs. By then it was too late to turn back.

The worst part was, for some of these women prostitution in massage parlors and casinos was almost better than the lives of grinding poverty they'd led before. Some of them wouldn't have gone home even if they could, caught between debts to their 'sponsors' and shame at what they were doing.

Fuck it. Two weeks ago Jay had been minding his own business, trying to keep his head down and stay away from Talia's trackers. He'd seen a girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen getting off a truck, staggering like a newborn foal from riding in the dark, crowded cargo compartment for God knew how long. Her eyes were like a trapped animal, stunned mute. He couldn't look away from that, and he'd started his investigation of the mob that night. Now he just needed to wait until the heads of the two biggest families met tomorrow night, and he could kick over the first domino in a chain reaction that would ruin them all.

So he lay in his room, smoking and drinking and tapping his ashes into an empty beer bottle. His thoughts kept going back to Gotham. To Bruce. To the absolute shit-storm he'd left back there.

Jay had already come to an uncomfortable conclusion. He'd gone too far in Gotham, let his bloodlust run loose too long. Hell, at one point he would've killed anyone who got in his way, not just the ones who were guilty. Gotham did need a hero who would really clean up its streets, someone who wouldn't just let people off with a slap on the wrist and a trip to Arkham's revolving door. But he hadn't been that hero. Not the way he meant to.

When he'd woken up in London, Jay had let himself believe Talia, believe that he'd won. Let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, he could walk away from his war with the Bat. And of course he had Talia watching over him so attentively, making sure he slept well at night and everything. For a little while he'd thought…

…but that was stupid. She had a file on him, every piece of correspondence between them, notes on exactly how she'd stalled and manipulated him over the last few years. It was enough to make him think about waiting for her with both guns drawn, but in the end he'd just walked out. She'd saved his life, he'd saved hers by not putting a bullet in her head. Jason Todd was no one's fucking project.

Of course, Talia had people tailing him, but she'd taught him just a little too well. And he hadn't exactly been a novice at staying undetected when all this started, either. Now he could pretty much disappear at will. Her people had to work from educated guesses to figure out where he was, and as soon as he spotted them on his backtrail, he moved on.

But he wasn't moving on from here until his business with the mob was done. There weren't going to be any more truckloads of girls going through the outskirts of town. Not after the last one he'd liberated.

Jay smoked, looking up at the rusty water stain right over his head. To him, it looked almost like a map of Gotham City. The question was, was Gotham his origin or his destination?