The first time she tasted the stale air of this basement, it was from much closer to the ground. Strange people were talking in loud voices that hurt her ears. Eventually, some sounds became familiar to her, like "big" and "monster" and "killer." The last one especially stuck with her as time passed. There were others too, like "sic 'em" and "go for the neck," but "killer" meant all sorts of things. It was a call, a reference, an article of praise. It usually meant one of two things when uttered: she was getting taken out to that place with the rough floor, or she was getting treated by her person.

The rough place was cold and uncomfortable, but usually not somewhere she had to linger. Though she wouldn't have minded if she did. There would be loud noises shouted from outside, and then someone else would usually try to tackle her. It always seemed like fun, getting to wrestle and nip. Sometimes they got a little rougher than she liked, but that always meant extra snacks after.

This was the first night the rough place had been this crowded. She didn't like it.

Her person smelled like stale smoke and the cloves he munched to try and cover the stench. She latched onto that scent to distract from the myriad others in the room, to try and keep focus. Everything was just so loud.

"Big night, killer! Let's give 'em a show!"

She barely heard him over the din, but his energy was infectious. She panted excitedly.

Then he started talking in hushed tones, and his energy changed.

"This isn't what we agreed on."

Her head cocked a bit, confused why he suddenly seemed so tense. Or why he gave her a look like he was saying goodbye. A gentle tug on her leash guided her into the ring. She gave his hand a small lick when he unhooked her leash. His eyes and voice suddenly hardened.

"Give 'em hell, killer."

Then he hopped out of the ring and left her across from a new playmate, this one mottled brown and tan. "Hell"—full bite, maximum roughness. It always felt odd, off, but if it would wipe off that weird look, she'd do it. Then they'd go for extra snacks.

The playmate had a weird device around its face, like the neck cone, but smaller and—oh, it was one of those face cones she'd seen around sometimes when the others played too rough. She'd never needed one, something her person was very proud of. Someone pressed a small puffer to the face cone, then removed it and stepped back out. Immediately, new playmate started snarling and growling. Something was weird about his energy. It made her hair stand on end, ears fold back, tail go low.

She crouched low, coiling up as her instincts fired off signals she'd never experienced. This didn't feel like playtime anymore. She glanced toward the edge, looking in vain for her person. Froth came from playmate's jowls, teeth in full view and tongue nowhere to be found. Then he moved, and she yowled when he slammed her into the cage before she could even raise her paws. She swiped and pawed at him, claws fully extended as panic set in for a brief moment.

Then she got her teeth around his collar, and it all felt familiar and comfortable again. Just get the hindlegs in place, turn the hips, give 'em hell. She snapped her body like a whip, perfect throwing form, she could feel it.

He didn't even move.

Not except to snap at her hindlegs. The tips of his teeth barely grazed her, but the sheer force behind them made her run to the other side of the cage. He was on her immediately. Then it all became a red-tinged blur. Jaws snapping, claws swiping, every bit of energy spent in desperation as she experienced fear for the very first time. His fangs bared, frothy slobber dripping over her eyelids as he pinned her to the ground.

Then a deafening bang echoed through the room, and the pressure on her chest vanished.

Over the ringing in her ears, she could make out muffled shouting and more loud bangs. A lot more. She scrambled up sluggishly, already sore and aching and trying to smell for the tainted cloves. She barked, tried to howl and get his attention while the crowd scrambled for the exit. The cage door was still closed, but she was alone. She howled again, then leapt for the wall when no one responded. Her paws scratched ineffectually on the chain links. She growled and backed up more, then sprang up with all her strength.

Success!

Her paws scrambled over the edge of the cage, laboriously pulling her over as she kicked off her hindlegs. The landing was clearer than it had been a minute ago. She still couldn't pick out his scent through the rush of bodies. She barked some more to no effect.

"Up! Up!"

The unfamiliar voice nevertheless drew her attention, since she could finally smell the smoky clove in that direction. There was someone with him, a man in a funny suit that was mostly brown with hints of yellow and black. He smelled like weird mineral oil. He was halfway carrying her person, with an arm slung around his shoulders. They were moving away from her toward the staircase. An angry shout drew her attention to the side, where someone was approaching them with the same energy as her ringmate—and a gun.

Several deafening pops split the air as she yowled and sprinted toward him.

Her person slumped to the ground. She could just make out a dark brown pool expanding around his body. The man in brown and black and yellow was on his knees next to the body. He was still moving and hissing as he put his arm up between him and the attacker. He never got another chance to fire. Her jaws snapped shut around his arm and clamped down with all her strength—hell.

She thrashed her neck, ripping into his forearm and tasting blood as he shrieked and punched her repeatedly. She wouldn't let up, even when her left eye went mostly dark. Then a blinding pain lanced through her hip, and she finally let her jaws go limp as her leg gave out. The little she could still see with showed her person's chest shuddering with each rise and fall. Her hindlegs pushed ever more sluggishly, trying to get her closer. A shadow fell over her, and she tasted copper in the air as her blood dripped from cold steel.

Then a blood-curdling roar such as she'd never heard split the air, and the shadow was gone.

She kept crawling.

…

Keeping the ringleaders in place would've been difficult even without the crowd. There were too many exits to cover. It was too easy for them to slip through, and if anyone got in their way, these bastards were in no way short on firepower. So when the first flashbangs went off and the crowd of spectators stampeded, Robin knew this was going to get messy fast. He and Black Bat incapacitated the outermost lookouts before they tossed the bangers, trying to limit the enemy's options as much as possible.

It still hadn't mattered much when they were thoroughly outnumbered and dealing with so many panicked civilians. Though, calling them "civilians" when they were in a place like this was…

Well, he'd punched more than a few runners on the way in.

The room was mostly clear by the time he heard reports that SWAT had cleared the first floor and were moving on to the rest of the building. Then he heard a wheezing groan and saw a man who'd been trampled by the crowd, bleeding profusely from a ruptured contusion on his face. From his belt and gloves, Robin could tell he was one of the dog handlers. Sighing, he forced down his anger and pulled him up, acting as a human crutch so the police could deal with him later.

He was so involved with making it to the exit that he didn't see the approaching movement until a split-second before the first shot went off. Robin tried to angle the man he was holding away from the line of fire. It didn't work. He could feel the blood spatters on his chest a moment before blunt pain slammed into his ribs. Then more kept coming. He let go of the man and braced a hand on the ground as he fell to one knee, putting a gauntlet up between himself and the gunfire.

The hand on the ground grasped for his belt as his attacker advanced. He just had a handgun, nothing Robin's armor couldn't stop, but the unexpected hits had still knocked the wind out of him. Before he could brandish the shuriken, a dark blur tackled the man out of nowhere, snarling and ripping into his gun arm. Robin coughed hard as he forced his legs to work. A vicious smile tugged at his lips while the huge black Great Dane tore into him.

Then he saw the glint of metal as the switchblade punched into her hip.

And everything went red.

The man barely had time to get up and tower over the prone canine before he looked up and saw Robin sprinting at him full-tilt. The instant he registered his own terror, Robin tackled him to the ground and snapped his wrist in half.

"Bastard!" Damian roared, hard enough to feel the strain of his own vocal cords.

Then his armored knuckles came down, again and again and again. He felt liquid splash against his gloves and still didn't stop. He didn't even slow until he stopped feeling the bastard's groping hands trying to stave him off. Then Robin looked down at the bloody mess that used to be his face, saw his chest still rising and falling.

And hammered his fist down two more times.

Robin could barely hear a thing over the blood thundering in his ears. When the initial rush of adrenaline finally calmed a bit, he heard faint, high-pitched whimpers from behind. Robin turned to see a smeared blood trail, traced it all the way to the injured hound as she licked at the dead man's face and hands. Robin's chest heaved as he staggered over to her, kneeling at her side. She laid her head on the dead man's chest, still whimpering softly. Her dark brown eyes flickered to his face while he checked the stab.

Damian grimaced. He wasn't intimately familiar with canine physiology, but a mere glance at the blood on the switchblade told him it had gone deep. The fact that there wasn't more blood told him it hadn't hit a critical blood vessel, but a muscular injury that deep could be crippling if it wasn't treated quickly. So he gingerly laid a hand on her head and pet between her ears, whispering as calmly as he could.

"Good girl, you're okay…you're okay." He panted for breath, still working off the adrenaline. "I have to move you now, girl. You're hurt, and I have to move you."

He reached beneath her, cradling her body to his chest. She yelped and barked at him.

"I know, I know, but I have to do this."

She was a big girl, but he squatted her weight fairly easily. He tucked her to his chest and tapped his earpiece against his shoulder.

"Black, I'm evacuating one of the injured dogs. You good here?"

There was a moment of silence, and then, "I am. Go."

So he climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, doing his best to keep her steady and not jostle her injuries. Away from the dim lighting of the basement, he could get a better picture of the dog. Her fur was all black, with one exception: a white birthmark just behind her left ear, shaped like a spade. His examination also found extensive bruising around her bloodshot left eye and several small puncture marks behind her scruff. Apart from that and the stab, she looked in good health, unlike most of the dogs in the pictures Rev had sent them. At the top of the steps, he gave the corpse of her handler one last glance, with a small modicum of respect.

Then he kicked the side door open and carried her into free air.

…

Subhuman.

It was the only word the Red Hood had for scum who trafficked children and sport animals. Thus, it was with a fierce, malevolent glee that he rounded a corner after a flashbang went off. Then promptly emptied his M4 into all three stunned gunmen. He snapped a new shell into the open chamber as the trio groaned and gasped for breath, racked the charging handle and put an extra one into a man who was still grasping for his weapon. Red flipped the shotgun and cradled it in his left arm, loading fresh shells by twos as he took cover from more gunfire.

The puff-hiss of a grapnel line drew his attention to Batman's ambush from above. He yanked the barrel of one's rifle up and to the side, then burst through the foam sub-ceiling and smashed his face into the ground. Two batarangs sank into the shoulders of his immediate threats, leaving them vulnerable for Red to pop around the corner and give them two blasts each. The force alone knocked them off their feet. Batman stomped one in the face. The other got the butt of Hood's shotgun.

Clearing rooms side-by-side with Batman…

It was…more than a little freaky, how easily they'd fallen into old patterns.

Red loaded another four shells to top off, then turned a corner and froze when he saw three muzzles in his face. His finger touched the trigger for the briefest moment, then let off when he saw the badges. Batman had warned the police he'd be there, but none of the SWATs looked happy to see him. That was fine, long as they did their job.

"Lower floors are clear," said the point man. "Just the upper offices left."

Batman jerked his head behind him. "There are six suspects back there, incapacitated but uncuffed. We're pushing up to the main office."

Point man nodded and waved his team to secure the downed suspects. Red followed Batman up one final set of stairs, letting the larger man act as a human shield while he supported with the shotgun. At the very top, there was a reinforced door with no sound coming from behind it. Reinforced door, straight, narrow staircase. Oh yeah, this was a fatal funnel for sure. The moment that door opened, whoever was on the other side would fill the stairwell with lead.

Which was why Batman pulled a small plasma torch from his belt and cut a slot in the bottom of the door. He and Red rolled a smoke bomb and flashbang through the hole. The moment both went off, they blew breaching charges that sent the steel door flying inward.

The force of the impact snapped the victim's shin in half. He screamed as his finger closed around the trigger, sending a torrent of rounds spewing from a machine pistol. While the rest of the gunmen ducked and coughed their way through the smoke, the Hood and Batman moved in opposite arcs, their mask lenses giving them a clear picture of the room. Bones broke under fists and plated boot and bean bags and the steel of Red's gun. By fifteen seconds after breach, everyone was on the ground or slumped against a wall or assorted furniture.

Red smashed a nearby window to clear the room of smoke and swept his barrel over the fallen to make sure nobody got any bright ideas while Batman secured them. The man in charge was sitting at his desk holding a broken hand from one of Red's first shots. Their comms. lit up.

"I caught a couple mooks trying to wipe their drives," Rev said. "They didn't. Gordon's men are almost done securing the building."

"Good," Batman said. "Oracle, as soon as we have access, start data mining."

"Way ahead of you, boss," she replied. "I had Rev stick a mobile network dongle on one of the computers. We already have half a terabyte of data to sort through, mostly a list of spreadsheets and manifests a mile long. They must've kept this place running for decades."

"Any sign of Elliot?"

"Not yet, but I'll keep looking. Oh."

Red Hood tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing, just—ahem—occupational hazard of hacking degenerates." Her voice took on a tone somewhere between horrified and fascinated. "How do you even…n-never mind."

The Hood coughed into his hand and chuckled.

He looked around as SWAT flooded the room and started gathering up suspects to be moved. From the reports over radio, they'd taken a few injuries but no fatalities. The same couldn't be said for the traffickers.

If Jason found himself smiling about that, he kept it to himself.

…

The sun was already well over the horizon by the time the three Amazons touched down in Egypt. According to historians, no one actually knew where the Great Library of Alexandria was. Time, decay, and the vandalism of outlaws had taken their toll. But Athena didn't forget.

She never forgot.

Thus, it was in a fairly secluded section of the harbor that they made their entry, diving beneath the waves to look for the glyphs the goddess had mentioned. Coptic script was etched into some of the lowest stones, ostensibly worn down by time and erosion and coated with algae. But the etchings themselves were still crystal clear. Artemis pressed three in rapid succession. A muffled grind reverberated through the water, drawing their attention to a massive granite slab receding into the coastal shelf.

They swam through the gap and emerged into a pitch dark tunnel, finally able to take a breath as the slab slid back into place behind them. Cassie and Donna brandished their lassos, their glow illuminating the structure in gold and silver light. Artemis gave them a nod and took up the rear as they led the way inside. The passage's air was incredibly close and stale. Yet for how claustrophobic it should've felt, they weren't the least bit perturbed.

Architecture had long been a special interest of Artemis'. This stonework was certainly ancient, but it was not made with mortal hands. As she understood from the records of Bana-Mighdall, the Great Library's foundation had been laid by Athena and Thoth, her counterpart in the Egyptian pantheon. It stood to reason that this section had maintained its stability despite the decay of the surface structure.

"So, we're looking for a stork?" Cassie asked.

"Or a pelican," Artemis said. "It'll shift depending on the angle of light. One of Athena's many countermeasures to keep out the unwanted."

"Who wouldn't notice a sign that obvious?"

"A drunkard likely to consume her entire stock," Artemis chuckled. "In other words, Dionysus."

"Found it!"

They both ambled over to Donna, who pressed the glyph. Another passage opened that led even further down. There was a faint glow coming from something inside the chamber at the bottom. Cassie cautiously touched it, and crystals all around the room erupted with pale blue light. The chamber was wide and tiered, with a low ceiling at the top that stayed level throughout. The lower it went, the more urns and amphoras littered numerous clay shelves.

"Any guess where the goods are hiding?" Cassie asked.

"None," Donna said. "Pick a corner and work your way inward."

So they did, with Artemis brandishing her own lasso—a gift from Diana taken as a souvenir from a multiversal incursion. Apparently the golden Lasso of Submission was previously owned by Diana's Earth-3 counterpart (until her very timely death, the murderous shrew). Functioning similar to Donna's lasso, Artemis' could compel the will and emotions of nearly anyone—a terrifying weapon in the hands of its original owner.

It was one of a few reasons Artemis had avoided most field assignments, including joining Hippolyta's ranger corps. Having that kind of power out in the open left it vulnerable to theft by the unscrupulous. Diana's fledgling was worth the risk, even if his childish nature gave him an annoying streak a mile long.

Searching through an endless sea of urns and jars was rapidly depleting Artemis' patience, to the point where she was about ready to draw her sword and start breaking them open just to save time. A moment later, she drew her sword for a very different reason.

"Who are you and how did you get in here?"

The question was directed at a bald man in a brown crocodile-skin jacket. He was digging through the jars as well and paid no attention to Artemis until the other two moved to back her up. Donna snapped her staff out and Cassie drew her own sword, Harpe, the khopesh-like adamantine blade passed down from her father Zeus. When he did acknowledge them, the man barely gave them a glance, then kept muttering to himself.

Artemis inclined her ear to pick up faint traces of words.

"So that's where she left it…"

"I'll only ask once more," Artemis growled. "Who are you and how did you find this place?"

He hummed and kept searching. "This place has been in my family for a long time." His voice was like butter laced with arsenic. "I'm simply looking for an old heirloom."

Artemis exchanged a glance with Donna.

"Are you one of Thoth's descendants?" Donna asked.

He froze for a second and laughed softly.

The sound set Artemis' teeth on edge.

"Descendants?" he chuckled. "No."

"Well you can't be Athena's." Cassie pointed out.

He gave her a small glance with eyes black as night. "Of course. Ah, here you are."

From one of the larger urns in this place, he pulled a small chain linked to a set of manacles. He placed them in a crocodile leather bag hanging at his side.

The man waved toward the far end of the room, near the bottom tier. "What you're looking for is in a pithos down there, decorated with olive branches and a gorgon." He turned for the exit. "If you'll excuse me—"

Artemis stepped into his path. "Whatever you just took, give it back."

He arched an eyebrow at the sword-tip in his face. "All this drama over an old chain?"

"If it was in the goddess Athena's keeping, it is more than just a chain."

The faintest hint of a smirk tugged at his lips.

Artemis' green eyes narrowed. "And you are more than a mere treasure hunter."

His smirk showed in full as he reached out and grabbed the blade's end between two fingers.

Then pushed it down and away as if Artemis wasn't even holding it.

He smiled wider, still holding the sword. "Does the boy really have time for this?"

A fierce chill seized her as gooseflesh consumed her skin. "Who are you?" she asked once more, voice hard.

"Not your problem," he said simply. He showed a hint of teeth. "Not yet, anyway."

Artemis kept trying to move her sword to no avail. She gave Cassie a nod toward the large urn he'd indicated. She moved, keeping one eye on the stranger, then rifling through the pithos until she stopped short. Cassie pulled out a tied wrapping and a corked bottle of rose-colored liquid, holding them high for the others to see.

Artemis' eyes turned back to the stranger, her sword still stuck in his grasp. He hadn't stopped smiling and seemed to be waiting for something. With a reluctant swallow, she pulled directly back. The blade slipped from his lax fingers. She didn't sheathe it. With every second of eye contact, she progressively ached to behead this man without any real rhyme or reason. This meeting was far from threatening, yet every bone in her body told her not to let him leave, and especially not with the chain.

Idly, she realized she'd been staring at nothing for a good couple seconds—and froze when she heard his voice right in her ear.

"You have good instincts, Champion of Bana-Mighdall."

She whirled toward his voice to find empty air, then turned back to see him standing where he'd been the whole time.

Donna gave her a sideways glance. "Artemis?"

Artemis' eyes narrowed. "Withdraw," she said uneasily, starting to back up. "The princess was explicit: no detours, no distractions." She glanced at the bag at his side. "I best not see you again."

He smiled wider. "For your sake, I agree."

With that unsettling declaration, the Amazons left the catacomb vault. Artemis gave one last lingering look to those jet-black irises. It wasn't until they were mid-flight that she realized he hadn't blinked once.

…

Batman found the commissioner in a back alley next to two SWAT trucks, puffing away at a hand-carved pipe—a birthday gift from Barbara when she was in high school.

"Jim."

To his credit, Gordon didn't flinch. He just turned a little toward the shadows and exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Twenty years in Gotham…stuff like this still manages to surprise me," he said morosely. He took another small puff and huffed it out a moment later as he turned to face Batman. "How did we not know about this place?" He waved toward the building with his pipe. "This operation's been running for years, right under our noses." He scoffed. "And of all things, it takes a madman in a red mask to bring it to light."

Batman frowned.

Jim waved placatingly. "I know, I know…there's a lot of history there." He sighed hard. "And while I appreciate what he did during Crane's siege, it doesn't change everything else he's done. What he's still doing. Just last year, we spent the better part of three hours scraping brain matter off a rooftop thanks to him." His jaw visibly tightened. "That maniac isn't the kind of loose cannon you leave to his own devices. You need to rein him in or get him out of my city."

"Jim—"

"I'm serious, Batman. Working with you was a gray area that took me a long time to get comfortable in. But him?" His head shook as he took another long puff. "I was in the Marines; I understand the necessity of sometimes getting your hands dirty. But there is such a thing as too far." He turned to Batman. "I never approved of your methods. In war, you do what you have to do because it's the only way to survive. But here? There's a system, and every day we have to work our asses off to make sure it keeps working, to prove it can. That's our responsibility, not just as protectors, but as citizens.

"Until you showed up, the damn system wasn't working, so we had to play by their rules, use fear to try and maintain that order." Another puff. "The key was making sure it didn't stay that way."

"And it didn't," Batman said. "Gotham today is a far cry from where we started, Jim."

"But it didn't come without a price." Gordon sighed hard. "We've both sacrificed, crossed lines we never thought we would. There were a lot of times I had to question whether I was doing the right thing, leaving you free. But there was always one silver lining to our partnership that I clung to whenever the politicians and lawyers and feds started knocking: you don't play judge, jury, and executioner." He met Batman's eyes. "The Hood does."

Batman was silent for a while. "I don't dispute that."

"Then why haven't you brought him in? You've busted other vigilantes for a lot less."

He didn't reply.

Gordon huffed and kept puffing away.

"You're wrong about me, Jim."

He blinked and faced Batman, who was visibly tense.

Bruce could feel the sweat crawling down his back. "I did cross that line."

Jim blinked and stared at him, face painfully neutral. "When? Why?"

All he said was, "Joker. After what he did to you and Barbara."

Several things passed across Gordon's face, indignation rising to the fore. "I never asked. I never asked because I didn't want to know, because I was afraid…" He sighed and took off his glasses, rubbing his face. "Damn it all…I told you bring him in by the book. We had to prove—"

"I know, and I would've." Bruce's chest ached suddenly. "But then he took Robin from me."

Gordon blinked. "That explosion in Ethiopia. I'd read the rumors, but…God…I can't even imagine…" His eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Batman. It doesn't justify…but I understand."

"He's still alive."

Jim snapped to him. "Then what did you mean—"

"I took him out of the system. Permanently."

Jim frowned. "But if he's not dead, then how—"

"I found a prison even he couldn't escape from." Batman scowled at the alley wall. "Then I threw him in and never looked back." He turned back to Gordon. "If I hadn't, I would've killed him. I almost did." He took a deep breath. "He just kept laughing. Then I realized that was exactly what he wanted. That was the whole point of everything—Barbara, Robin, you. He had something to prove, too." Batman leaned back against the wall. "Years later, the Red Hood reminded me of that decision. He told me it was a half-measure, because I was too afraid to cross that line." He frowned. "The worst part is, he was right."

Jim arched a red eyebrow. "Come again?"

Bruce sighed and closed his eyes. "I've always been afraid to kill. Not because of the act itself, but because of what I know I'll unleash if I do. So I've clung to that fear all my life, because it's the only thing separating me from the predators I hunt."

Gordon huffed indignantly. "So, what, letting the Hood run free is your way of settling the score while keeping your hands clean?"

"No. The Red Hood is a loose cannon who plays by his own rules; I'll never deny the facts of that, and I'll never approve of his methods."

"But?"

Bruce's eyes stung faintly. "Losing him once was enough, Jim."

Gordon stared at him speechless, pipe forgotten.

"If I take him down, his identity, his life, everything he's fought to rebuild…gone." His jaw clenched. "Maybe he does need to be stopped." His head shook. "But I can't be the one to do it when I know he was right about the Joker. If I'd thrown out the book sooner, he and Barbara—"

"This can't be personal, Batman. It can't."

He sighed. "Jim, it's always been personal. There's nothing more personal than life and death, especially when it comes to the ones we love." He stared off into nothingness. "I won't take his life from him, Jim. If that means every criminal he kills is on my head, then so be it. I've made my peace with that. But I can't fail him again. I won't. He's not like the rest, some thoughtless maniac. I know that's not who he is. Never has been." He turned to Gordon. "And he didn't kill anyone here tonight. He followed my lead. That means something."

Jim thought for a bit and took another puff, then threw his hands up. "So, what? Everyone else just doesn't matter? How many people has he killed, Batman? How many deaths is he not supposed to answer for? It's exactly that kind of double standard that killed our city in the first place. We made order from that chaos, but if we want to keep it, we need to be consistent. Everyone treated equally under the law."

"There have to be exceptions."

"Why?"

Batman scowled. "Because that dogma gave us ten years of the Joker's madness."

Gordon groaned and paced. "Oh come on…"

"Ten years, Jim." His voice kept rising. "Ten years of escapes and mayhem and murder. Ten years the judges and doctors and lawyers made every excuse to let him live. Ten years of clinical evidence proving he was in full knowledge and control of his actions at every turn. And just as much evidence of the prison system's utter inability to contain him." Batman took a deep breath. "Gotham isn't the same as when we started. Nothing is. We live in a world of gods and monsters. We always did, but now everyone knows it and society is struggling to catch up to that reality." He scowled. "But it forced its way to us two years ago, didn't it? There are some threats that simply cannot be contained."

Gordon shook his head. "Joker isn't a god."

"But he is a monster."

Gordon said nothing.

"The sole purpose of your system is to protect people through law and order. But when that system protects criminals more than its own citizens, exceptions must be made."

"Compassion trumps judgment, Batman. We both know that."

Batman nodded. "It also comes with consequences."

"There were consequences."

His head shook. "None that mattered to him." Batman bowed his head slightly. "Everyone deserves a second chance, Jim. I've never stopped believing that." He met Gordon's eyes. "Not everyone should get a third. The compassionate choice is the one that avoids needless suffering. Sometimes that means amputating a cancer before it consumes everything in its path."

Gordon stared at him with a hint of fear—the first he'd seen in years from this man. "That's a very slippery slope to walk."

Batman nodded. "I know. That's why I only ever touched it once…and spent every day since running in the opposite direction." He took a deep breath. "The Red Hood lives in that extreme, but he doesn't have to stay there. Forcing him to languish in a cell next to the scum who are actually destroying our city…it's more than misguided, it's a waste. You want him to pay his debt to society?" His head shook. "He won't do it in a penitentiary. The only thing he'll make in prison is more bodies."

Jim thought for a bit. "What's your alternative?"

"I'm still working on it. If I can rebuild our relationship, rebuild that trust…maybe I can convince him there's a better way."

"…there's a lot of lives riding on that maybe."

"You took a chance on me when everyone else told you not to." Batman's lips pursed. "Trust me now, Jim."

He didn't say anything for a while, just smoked his pipe. Then he breathed out a thick stream of smoke and arched an eyebrow at Batman. "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

"There's always a choice, Jim."

Gordon's lips pressed into a thin line. His head shook. "God…the world really has turned upside down, hasn't it?"

Batman sighed. "You have no idea."

Jim barked a mirthless laugh. "Frankly, I don't want to." He stirred the pipe bowl's embers. "We don't often get what we want, though, do we?" He frowned and sighed. "Okay. We'll do this your way—for now."

Bruce nodded to him. "Thank you, Jim."

He turned away and aimed his grapnel.

"Batman."

He looked over his shoulder to see Gordon's grim look.

"He puts one innocent person in his crosshairs, just one—all bets are off."

Batman's jaw tightened. "If he ever crosses that line, I'll take him down myself."

He grappled away as Gordon smothered the embers.

…

It didn't take long to return to Themyscira. The hard part was mixing the cure in the right ratio. Fortunately, Althea had steady hands and a sharp mind for alchemy. Diana nevertheless couldn't help an anxious foot tap as she waited just outside the healing chamber. It was steadily driving Artemis up the wall. Given the circumstances, though, she limited herself to casting the princess dirty looks. Artemis didn't know what it was to have a child and likely never would, but she knew what it was to love.

She doubted she'd be acting any different in Diana's position.

Still, the constant tapping in the otherwise silent room was getting intolerable. She made for the exit to get something strong to drink, and not just to dull the irritation. The stranger from Alexandria still plagued her thoughts. She hadn't told Diana about him, and neither had the other two. Artemis figured they all knew she had enough on her plate. Before she could get halfway out the door, Althea returned.

"I've delivered the cure, but I don't know how long it'll take to work. Considering its composition, I imagine it should assist in his healing once the curse is dealt with."

Diana stopped tapping. "Can I sit with him?"

She smiled and waved her in. Diana looked over her shoulder at Artemis and mouthed, "Thank you."

Artemis smiled and nodded, noting that Cassie and Donna were practically dragged into the healing chambers. She chuckled and left to grab a drink…and pay a visit to the archives. She wouldn't be able to sleep until she knew something about the stranger or his prize.

…

Diana's anxiety hadn't abated in the slightest until Althea started removing his bandages and let her take a closer look. His flesh was not only no longer deteriorating; it was actively, visibly regenerating. Whether that was thanks to the "food of the gods" or his body's inherent power, she couldn't tell. It didn't matter. His breathing stabilized, finally losing that horrid wheezing edge. The gouges on his chest and arms turned bright pink as new skin filled the gaps, then darkened to something closer to his normal tone once the outer layer filled in.

It would take a while for his body hair to grow back and everything else to normalize, but she doubted anyone would even notice the discoloration unless they had him under a magnifying glass. He was still unconscious even five minutes after the regeneration stopped, but that was probably due to the anesthetic, not his injuries. The collective relief she could feel from Donna and Cassie was palpable.

"Thank God," Cassie whispered.

Althea chuckled. "Literally, in this case."

Diana stroked a hand through his hair, maybe the only part of his head that hadn't been damaged much save just above the forehead on the left side. Well, it had been getting pretty long. He was due for a trim anyway. Feeling the warmth of his skin, seeing the steady rise and fall of his chest…

Relief like she'd never known flooded over her as a small sob escaped her lips.

"Diana?" Donna asked.

She smiled. "I'm okay. Bruce needs to know. I'm heading back to the palace to give him a call. Stay with him, will you? Just in case he wakes up."

They both nodded.

"Of course," Donna said.

Althea followed her out. "Princess, I recommend he stay here until the morning at least. We need to be sure the flame is completely extinguished."

"Agreed," she said. "Let me know if anything changes."

The healer bowed slightly, then returned to Jason.

Diana found her mother in the war room with Philippus, poring over maps and charts and reports from the ranger corps about new Bestiamorph variants they'd encountered. She gave the general a curt nod, then turned to her mother and beamed.

"Mother, the cure worked!"

Hippolyta's eyes slipped shut as she embraced Diana. "Thank the gods. Well, just one, I suppose."

Diana chuckled and pulled apart. "Althea wants to watch him until the morning, but barring any radical changes, he should be fully healed and awake by then."

Her mother smiled and nodded to the doorway. "Shall we inform your husband?"

Diana nodded and followed her out.

…

Jason Todd had his helmet off while he was field stripping and cleaning the Benelli under the watchful eyes of Cass and the speedster. Damian was…notably absent. When he'd asked Carlisle about it, the speedster just smiled and said, "He's looking after a new friend."

Whatever that meant.

Something was seriously off about that guy. He was just way too…peppy. Eh, most speedsters were like that, now that he thought about it.

"Jason's okay."

They all turned at Bruce's voice as he alit on their rooftop.

Jason's brows knitted. The hell did he mean by—oh.

"The cure worked?" Cass asked.

Bruce nodded. "The Amazons are holding him for observation, but it looks like he's already made a full recovery. They're just waiting for him to wake up."

"Have you told Dick and Tim? Or Stephanie?"

He stiffened a bit.

Cass gave him a look. "You didn't tell them anything yet, did you?"

"I'll call them on the way home. They should all be at Dragoneye right now."

"They usually up this late?" Lucas asked.

"No. They're working the Ravager case Damian sent them, trying to figure out who Slade's new partner is."

That got Carlisle's attention.

"Uh, don't know if this would count as spoilers but uh…"

They all eyeballed the speedster.

He cleared his throat. "I could probably answer that question for you."

Batman frowned at him. "You worked for your Earth's Slade."

Lucas smiled nastily. "Spent a lot longer fighting him. Point is, I know a lot more about his family tree than I probably should, so…" he shrugged, "your call." He threw his hands up. "For what it's worth, I don't think paradoxes apply across universes, so if you're worrying about breaking something—"

"Who is she?"

They all turned at Damian's arrival.

Lucas glanced at Bruce, then answered, "Her name is Rose Wilson. She's his youngest, and unfortunately idolizes her father, for now at least."

Damian arched an eyebrow. "For now?"

His lips pursed. "Different universes, different people. Some similarities, I'm sure, but I can't tell how much, so I'm not gonna get your hopes up. Bottom line: I don't think she's been in the business of death long enough to understand the cost. Not yet."

Damian nodded slowly. "I'll forward that information when next we speak."

"So who's this new 'friend' I keep hearing about?" Jason asked.

Damian stared at him, stone-faced, then turned away a bit. "One of the pit dogs was injured during the raid. The police had a vet on standby, so I took her there."

"And took an extra twenty minutes to check on her," Lucas teased.

Damian frowned, looking a little red-faced. "She tackled a man who shot me in the back." He looked over the side of the roof to the police line and ambulances. "I owed her that."

Then Lucas got this look in his eye and asked, "Hey, which one is she?"

Damian blinked. "Great Dane, all black except for a birthmark, why?"

It was just for the briefest of instants, but Jason saw his gray eyes widen a touch.

Lucas chuckled. "Aww, yeah I saw her on my last perimeter check. Pretty baby."

Damian's lips had a touch of a smile. He kept casting glances at the ambulances.

Jason saw it, and so did Bruce. The former smothered a chuckle.

"Gordon's men will be here for a while," Bruce said. "The head of the operation is refusing to cooperate, but I imagine we should be able to get something out of him once he's had a few hours to stew. Oracle's still working the computers, but it's slow going. In the meantime, let's wrap up and head back. We've done all we can tonight." He sent Lucas a glance. "Good work."

Luke tipped his head.

Jason finished reassembling the shotgun and put it back in his duffel, slinging it over his shoulder.

"Jason."

He turned to Bruce.

"You should come with us. Alfred's making extra French toast for breakfast to welcome Jason home." Bruce smiled a little. "And I'll know he'll appreciate having you around."

Jason frowned. "Sounds like you're trying to bribe me to stay."

"Is it working?"

He cast a glance over the rest. Lucas was watching their interaction with unveiled interest. Cass seemed more curious than anything. Damian still looked like he'd swallowed a cactus but didn't seem immediately agitated. Still, hot discomfort sat in his gut.

Jason huffed and put his mask on. "I'll see you around, Bruce."

Then leapt off the roof and went to find his bike.

…

Bruce was telling Diana about his night and vice versa while they packed up. When he was finished, Diana sighed.

"Well, at least you tried. And he listened. It's more than he's given you in over a year."

Bruce frowned. "I know, it's just…"

"Yeah."

"How is he, Di?"

"Still unconscious, but considering how much sleep tonic Althea fed him, I'm not surprised. A dose that heavy could put me down for a day."

"It was better than leaving him awake to deal with the pain."

"Agreed. He'll be okay." He could hear the grin in Diana's voice. "So Damian made a new friend."

Bruce smirked. "He's barely left her side all night." He glanced at Robin to see him petting the massive pup. She slobbered all over his forearm. "Seems it goes both ways."

"Oh boy," she chuckled. "Better watch out, Bruce."

"What?"

"Did you ever bond with an animal as a child?"

"…"

"Bruce?"

He dragged a hand across his face. "Alfred's gonna kill me, isn't he?"

"Mhm. Or at least make you share vacuum duties."

Bruce sighed hard, looking over at his son and the look on his face as he pet the massive hound between her ears. Her hindleg reflexively kicked when he found a certain spot. Damian smiled with a warmth he rarely saw. When Bruce called Robin to pull him away, it was like pulling teeth. The whole drive home, Damian was tangibly sulking. Bruce smirked when he wasn't looking. He already asked Oracle to find out which shelter she'd be taken to.

Yeah. Alfred was absolutely going to kill him. The least he could do was give the butler a warning.

…

She hadn't felt this groggy in a long, long time. Whatever they'd fed her gave her the best sleep she'd had in weeks, but it didn't seem to be letting up, even with the sun streaming in through the bars of her kennel. Ugh, if it weren't for that light, she could actually enjoy this feeling and go back to napping. Then a loud clang drew her attention to approaching steps.

And a familiar scent.

She struggled up, whimpering faintly when the pain in her bandaged side made itself known. She whined and slumped back down, laying her head on the tile floor. Then the voices came.

"Near as we can tell, this one's a little less than a year old, but already—well, look at her."

She opened her heavy eyelids and looked up to see several figures looking down at her. She didn't recognize any of them, so she shut her eyes again. Their voices all started blurring together, but some things came through.

"Well, this one came in injured just last night. Unfortunately, she got here through GCPD—they busted some kinda fight ring and it got messy, so we're looking after her for now. Not sure if you want to risk—"

"This one."

Her eyes flew open and ears perked up. That voice, that imperious tone—she sniffed the air several times, pushing her nose up to the bars.

Mineral oil.

He looked so different without the brown suit, but the voice, the weird smell—

Friend!

She leapt to her feet and barked, ignoring the pain while her tail went into overdrive. She panted excitedly as he grinned and knelt in front of her.

The caretaker standing next to him cleared her throat. "I'll uh, get her leash then."

A much taller man smiled and waved dismissively. "No need. We brought ours." He reached down and handed him something. "Here, Damian."

The caretaker opened the gate, allowing her to sniff him up close and slobber all over his hands. Damian chuckled as he clipped her collar and leash on, petting her face and ears.

"Does she have a name?" the tall man asked.

"None that we could find," the caretaker answered. "Guess she'll need a new one." She smiled and stepped away. "I'll grab her papers and give you two a minute to think it over."

The tall man knelt next to Damian and gave her a scritch behind the neck. "Any ideas, Damian?"

Damian looked her over, petting around her ears. He stopped at her spade birthmark. "They kept records on you," he said softly. "Said you never lost a fight. Four fights in the ring." He leaned in closer and pressed his forehead to hers. "And one to protect me. That makes five."

The caretaker returned. "What'd you guys decide? Or do you still need a minute?"

Damian smiled and stood. "No."

He took the clipboard and wrote something, then handed it to the other man, who kept filling out the rest. Damian knelt and took her leash, petting her neck and chin until his escort finished.

Damian smiled up at him. "Thank you, Father."

He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder. "She's your responsibility now."

"I know." Damian turned back to her and grinned. "Let's go home, Ace."

Then he picked her up as easily as before and carried her into the sun.

AN: I have wanted to write this specific chapter for years, for a whole number of reasons. The episode of Batman Beyond with the same name is easily one of my favorite DC productions period. For obvious reasons, this was written in great part as an homage to that. I hope I was able to do it justice.

The "stranger" from Alexandria is a very specific character that will play a much bigger part down the line, though I haven't ironed out all the details of that just yet. Suffice to say, this is only the first in a long line of meetings between him and Artemis.

More to come soon, I hope.

Drake out.

Formatting notes:
– Internal Thoughts/Flashback
– "Super-Hearing/Surveillance/Hallucination"
– Telepathy/Divine Speech
– "{Translation}"
– [Text Message]

P.S.: Fun fact! In case you didn't get why Ace keeps thinking Robin wears a brown suit, dogs' colorblindness turns red and green into different shades of brown. Fun fact 2: five enemy kills as a combat pilot earns you the title "Ace."