Disclaimer: I Don't own DC

Welcome readers, loyal followers and all.

This is a DC story, a Justice League story, a Batman Arkham series story, a sequel to one of my stories 'The Hunt' and part of a broader series of Multiversal stories.

One part answer to the Suicide Squad: Kill the Justice League games, another part featuring what would have been my ideal continuation of the Arkham verse in the form of a Batman Beyond story. My hope is for this story to pay homage to the Arkham and Batman mythos as a whole whilst telling a story that honours both the original Justice League and a new version of the Beyond Justice League.

Brave New World

#savethejusticeleague

Heroes and villains

What's the difference? What does it take for someone to be a hero, what great deed does one have to perform to be considered as such? Why do we fall to villains, why must cruelty be committed or even repaid with more cruelty? Great trauma and tragedy has been said to shape people into the kind of behaviour expected of heroes, whilst the same applies to villains, is the matter a choice or just nature? What's the difference between one trauma and another?

This article began as a look into the lives of those touched by the Arkham incidents, the heroes and villains of Gotham City. My editor demanded that I deliberately portray Bruce Wayne as the villain, the madman who terrorised criminals only turning to such a life because the local government forced them into such dire actions, a recruiter of child soldiers, leaving emotional damage in his wake. But that is only a version of the story, it isn't the truth. Even truth itself has been painted by a desire we have to complicate things. Murderers and criminals have to be complicated and nuanced, because we think we're one bad day away from being like Harley Quinn or Captain Boomerang. We think we could be like these villains, so we try to make them as understandable as possible.

Why do we hate heroes now and humanise villains? Is it because we as a society want to see that there is good in these people, or because we're so desperate to not be them that we have to see the life that they live is not a choice.

We're coming close to the anniversary of the Knight-Protocol that saw Batman, Bruce Wayne, the hero of Gotham numerous times disappear. Once there was a rumour that Batman had returned as some kind of Knightmare bringer. People even said that he had joined Metropolis's Justice League. But Bruce Wayne remains a ghost in the public eye and we are left wondering will we see Batman as we remember him, or have we truly killed our heroes?

By Siegfried Reilly

Chapter 1: Beyond Arkham

"No wonder you lost your internship with the Daily Planet," the young man in the brown jacket said.

The dark haired, athletic youth sat on the stool in the Gotham West College Campus grounds. As well as wearing brown trousers and a shirt, his jacket had white stripes on the sleeve and fur on the collar, the sleeves of the jacket rolled up to reveal a watch with a black band on his wrist. He gave the sheets of paper back to the writer in question, draping his arm over his girlfriend.

"Be kind Terry, I think he raised some good questions," the blonde haired girl said.

She was in a purple skirt with knee high boots and a black top. Also on the table with them was another friend, a portly looking boy with glasses, a green vest over his black shirt and a lip that did little to conceal his buck teeth. Still, he smiled in joy and with pride, looking over the sheets of paper too.

"That term 'Knightmare', very schway," he said.

"Thanks Howard, Melanie, it's good to know someone supports my path in life," said the fourth member of their little group.

He had silver hair with a brown patch on his fringe. The young man was wearing a thick white and red jacket with blue cargo trousers and sneakers.

"You got kicked out of the Post because you were pro-cop, kicked out of the Flamingo internship for not playing ball and why was it you were kicked out of Cat-Co, anti-trans comments?" Terry asked.

He chuckled, knowing Sieg well enough to know he didn't have a racist or homophobic bone in his body.

"Nia and I were having a conversation about transitioning, Miss Grant took it out of context and accused me of being transphobic, Nia even spoke up for me, said I was doing everything I could to be respectful and get the facts on the subject," Sieg explained.

"And what happened next?" Melanie asked, smirking, she knew but loved to hear the story.

"I called Cat Grant, founder of her own media company, Pulitzer Prize winner and activist a…" Sieg let out a deep sigh, aggravated really by his own stupidity, "a toxic feminist!" Terry and Howard winced whilst Melanie laughed.

"The one thing you never ever call a feminist is toxic, we can do no wrong," Melanie said.

"I know, I know, I was stupid, I thought there was actually a universe where Cat Grant thought 'are my quips a bit much?' 'Could I possibly be ironically sexist or at least jaded by my experiences that I'm blind to the benefits of the patriarchy'", Sieg explained and Melanie leant against Terry.

"I only think of one benefit of the patriarchy," she said and Terry kissed the top of her head.

"I live to provide my queen," he said.

She suddenly withdrew from his touch, the moment was awkward and strange and her expression seemed hurt. With a grace not unlike the gymnastics scholarship she was being scouted for, Melanie stood and jumped off of the desk, performing a flip that made the three boys applaud. Even Howard, as socially awkward as he could be sometimes, knew that Melanie was distracting them. She and Terry had been going on a year now, almost for as long as his parent's had been divorced and he still hadn't met her parents. The word on the campus though from gossips, like Blade Summers, was that Melanie was rich and that she dressed herself down to hide it. West Gotham Community college wasn't a prep school or a specialised school; it had a patron, and taught people from all walks of life. Howard had parents who were almost never home, forcing him to board, Terry had his own issues and Sieg his too. Not many people could agree on whether the school was for special cases or not.

"Are you going to the game tonight, Max is going to be there," Howard said, changing the subject.

"I doubt it, she'd be too busy studying, and using her free hand to surf Youtube, whilst reading the latest physics paper from Palmer labs," Sieg said.

"Jealousy isn't a sexy look Sieg," Melanie said.

"It isn't jealousy, Max is going to be the best of us, hell she'll probably actually form her own company one day, or at least publish something before I do," Sieg sighed.

"You'll publish something someday, on the internet," Terry grinned and Howard winced.

"You laugh but some millionaires are made on the internet," Sieg said.

"Not billionaires though," Howard said, putting a thumbs up when he saw his ride come around the corner.

"Your parents aren't billionaires, are they Howard?" Sieg asked.

"Maybe they are, maybe they aren't," Howard grinned.

"We aren't so shallow as to judge anyone by their income," Terry said.

Howard scoffed, waving as his friends as he walked away.

"Everyone is that shallow; especially when it comes to income, anyway, see you guys later," Howard said.

"Well, this is where I run off, like Howard said see you guys later," Sieg said.

Terry nodded to Sieg as he ran off. He was about to ask Melanie when her gaze was drawn to the car across the street.

"Is everything okay?" he asked her.

"This is mine," she said.

Terry looked at the car again, he knew Melanie dressed down, but the car across the street was cleaner and more modern than Howard's, it was the Wayne-Powers latest model. The sleek, black hulled machine had that look reminiscent of one of the Batman's earliest models of the bat mobile. Since the disappearance of Bruce Wayne and the gradual shift of the company under the control of Derek Powers, Batman had become merchandised. Forty percent of the company's income came from government contracts, another forty percent in privately marketed technology with the final twenty percent being in merchandise, toys of the bat family and their villains, clothes based on the costumes of the vigilantes and vehicles.

"So am I finally going to meet your mom and dad?" Sieg asked.

"Step dad," she corrected.

She never said, but Terry had his suspicions. An upmarket, latest model of Wayne-Tech, an android driver, robotic labour was common amongst the richest players, Musk, Kord, Okamura, the Kardashians, Luthor and of course Powers.

"I'm sorry, I need to go," she quickly kissed his cheek and ran to the car.

He watched her get into the car, watched it drive away, her change in demeanour made him feel that he shouldn't have let her go. But he still had to get home himself; it was a short walk to the rail station from the campus. Another gift of Wayne-Powers, the rail was cheap and affordable for a student (especially one without a job at the moment). Terry took a seat in the third car, watching the streets of Gotham go by. His father always said he didn't recognise Gotham anymore, not from the dark cesspool it used to be. Terry always scoffed, he knew that Gotham still had its dark side, much better than his father and even his mother. He sometimes wondered if his parents divorced because they had opposed opinions on the state of the city. Warren was a company man, his ex wife Mary was a social worker. She knew about the dark side of the city, Terry had lived part of it.

'You got out,' he reminded himself as he looked away from the city and at the TV above the cart connection door.

GG news, it was the number one source of information for news since heavier controls were placed on what you could search on the internet. For a moment Terry thought that a paper on the consequences of controlled information would make for a great article in his socially class. The voices that presented the news had personality, but they lacked bodies, AI was used to relay the news and all the common people could see were a pair of blue faces and the images that the controllers wanted them to see.

"President Ross made another plea to Metropolis's costumed protector today in the form of a speech he made to congress. This speech comes as the Smallville born senator of Kansas begins his bid for a second term in office, and an expansion of the defence budget in the wake of military intervention in the state of Kahndaq, the city off the border of Egypt has been under the control of leaders of 'the fist of Teth-Adam', the head of A.R.G.U.S. Amanda Waller confirmed that Kahndaq has offered shelter to renegade citizens."

"In other news, the James Gordon memorial precinct was hit this morning by Stanley 'Mad Stan' Carter, the former military bomb disposal expert was put into custody but escaped when he was attacked by Commissioner Barbara Gordon-Drake. This latest incident has put the judgement of the commissioner into question, especially in the wake of the revelation of her role in the vigilante activities of Bruce Wayne, she remains silent on the issue, leaving the question was Mrs Drake a willing partner of the Batman like her father, or an indoctrinated child soldier like her husband, telecommunications mogul Timothy Drake?"

'What is the truth?' Terry wondered, narrowing his eyes at the TV and the picture they showed of the couple.

Barbara Gordon had once been bound to a wheelchair, but she benefited from Wayne bio-tech and the extreme effort she had put into a physiotherapy treatment (in fact her spinal implant alone wouldn't have done anything to help her walk again). Within her sixties, she still was an attractive woman, with only a few greys in her red hair. Her husband Tim, whom the world acknowledged as Robin, had a bit of fat in his cheeks, but the profile pictures never showed if he was still in the shape he had been in as Robin. News and information was controlled, even perspective was controlled. Terry admired and loved Sieg for his optimism, but he always scoffed at the idea of his friend trying to work in any news media outlet. Max had her issues, but she was right, news was dead. Opinions were used to beat down other opinions and facts were manipulated, presented without context or finer details. Sometimes the context itself had been manipulated; Terry's attention had been so focused on his old idols that he didn't see someone spray paint the word 'bitch' underneath Barbara's photo.

"The beginning of the end of fascism," the 'artist' said.

Terry tightened his grip on his bag, his teeth grit together as the Joker danced in front of the TV, spray painting 'dunce's' over a show about the Queen foundation's donations to a hospital. The man referred to himself as a Joker, a symptom of the controlled perspectives of the world. He wore white makeup, black overalls and a red shirt with a cap that was clearly based on one of his idols, Harley Quinn. Harley Quinn, the woman who had fallen in love with the Joker and helped him escape numerous times, aiding him right until the end of his miserable life in Arkham City. In the years that followed, Harley Quinn's career blew up, she became famous, an idol of reform and redemption, icon of the LGBT community through a fictionalised deeper relationship with Poison Ivy, her crimes painted as the result of psychosis, her role changed to the hand that calmed the Joker and kept him over the edge. Which inevitably led to the Joker's post hummus reformation, no longer was he the master criminal but a mentally ill man, no longer was he a terrorist but a freedom fighter against the corporate menace that kept the working man down, no longer was he a murderer, but a victim of a society that treated him like trash, giving it exactly what it deserved. Some people from Terry's generation lapped this perspective up like a religion, dressed themselves in garb that paid tribute to their idol and used it as their excuse to cause mischief at the best of times, and chaos at the worst.

"Hey you," the Harley Quinn wannabe pointed at a woman sitting, she had coughed, the slightest cough that could only vaguely be confused for a laugh.

"Credits now!" he raised his hand to her, another hand holding a boxing glove.

There must have been concrete in there, something that replaced the stuffing to make it hard instead of soft, and even a boxing glove could do damage if the punch was fast and hard enough. The joker was twice the size of the woman, who herself had a nervous and confused disposition.

"What for?" she asked.

"The joke you just bought," he giggled.

One hand expecting credits, another hand with a possible weapon, shaking, it could have been anxiety or anticipation. The joker sat beside her, shuffling closer, boxing her in, not willing to let up. He'd probably get bored, probably…

Terry wasn't going to wait to find out.

Grabbing the hand with the boxing glove in it, Terry gave the man's arm a twist, pulling him off of the seat.

"Joke's over creep," he said.

The joker had dropped his weapon, soft, a prop, but Terry felt it didn't matter.

"How about you back off Samaritan," the joker used the name as if it was a slur.

He turned his head just enough to spit in Terry's eye. Terry threw his arm forward, punching the joker so hard that the man rolled into one of the support bars, hitting his head on it.

"Hey!"

'Slag it,' Terry thought, seeing the two GCPD task force members.

They were the patrollers of the city, dressed up in tech that resembled Batman, their white helmets, the plates on their riot armour. The two cops only saw Terry punch the joker, and the thug was eager to take advantage of that.

"He just assaulted me," he said.

"He was harassing this woman," Terry said.

But she was gone, the confrontation obviously too much for her, she must have slipped away when the joker spat in his eye.

"We can get this sorted out son, we just need to take a trip down to the precinct," one of the officers said, his voice diplomatic behind his mask.

Terry tensed, his fists shaking, the other officer noticed this and grabbed his shoulder.

"Think very carefully before you act young man," he said.

"Take it easy Valley, this is our stop son, we'll get to the bottom of this, is there anyone we can call?" the kinder officer asked.

Terry lowered his head.

'Slag, dad is so going to ground me!' he thought.

Warren McGinnis felt his phone vibrate, even through the shaking of his leg. These meetings were always a tough time, six months he had been head of his department and he hadn't even had the chance to speak. But today was the day, he kept telling himself, he would present his ideas and the boss would accept. The red haired man cleaned his glasses as he waited with the other supervisors. There was Dr Milo, a short man with a beak like nose and a bowl cut, both Warren's sons called the man 'creepy' and Mary had worse words to describe the man. Warren didn't disagree, Milo was in charge of genetics, a student of Dr Langstrom, the famous Man-Bat, but a disaster as a gene splicer considering a rival company Chimera Corp made more money from the animal/human DNA splicing procedures than Wayne-Powers did. But Milo was still proof that even bad scientists were accepted by the boss. There was also Shriev, his department focused on his sound based tech, by manipulating different frequencies he was able to make advancements in demolitions and hypnotherapy. This put him at odds with Ira Billings, who had pioneered the company's Virtual reality tech.

A few more minutes passed with only silence hanging between the men, no prior talk about what they were working on, no friendly banter about the Knight's game. Though Warren loved his work, he couldn't say the same for his colleagues, but he never hated any of them. One thing he could tell about the other men at the table was that they all hated one another equally, united only by the desire to succeed in the country's biggest tech company.. Another few minutes of uncomfortable silence passed before the door opened. Another supervisor, Harry Tully, they used to work in the same department until Tully transferred to one of the boss's personal projects. Warren remembered how happy Tully had been to be going up in the company, that wasn't what he looked like now. The short man was sweating heavily, hand's shaking as he sat between Shriev and Milo.

At that moment the door to the side of the table opened and the boss came in, followed by his bodyguard Mr Fixx. The heavily built Asian man wore a brown coat with frill cuffs on his shirt; his military styled buzz cut was as intimidating as his size and the scar across his right eye. But still, the shorter, older man was the one people at the table felt intimidated by.

Derek Powers wore a yellow shirt and a fine black suit and walked with absolute confidence.

"Good afternoon everyone," he said with a friendly smile, taking a moment as he always did to look out of his window.

The office belonged to Fox once, and had apparently been where Wayne rescued Lucius from his impersonator Thomas Elliot. Powers seemed to like the view of the city, at least that's what Warren thought. Powers turned to the table, his eyes going to Tully for a moment before scanning everyone else.

"Our contracts with the current administration have been so successful, that the secretary of defence wants to make us the sole provider of military tech and support, Shriev, come and see me later regarding the ordinance ideas you had. On top of your current projects however I wish to address our requests from A.R.G.U.S. new prison cells," Derek explained, shaking his head as Billings raised his hand. "No questions please, we are but servants of the government and the Wall," he mockingly quivered as he spoke, drawing chuckles from the men around him.

Warren put on his own smile; he knew little of 'the Wall', only what everyone said before the internet came under strict control. Holographic blue prints suddenly appeared in front of each of the department heads. He looked them over, intrigued by the design but astounded by the implications and sheer scale of what they had to build. Even though Derek said no questions, Warren still braved raising his hand.

"Excuse me sir, this is bigger than anything the company has undertaken, even when under Fox and Wayne's supervision," he said.

"Is there a question in that Mr McGinnis?" Derek asked.

He saw the smirking faces, minus Tully, and rose to the challenge.

"Is this what we're doing with the resources we gained from the Ferris-Air and Watt construction mergers?" he asked.

"Very good deduction Warren, this is the culmination of everything that A.R.G.U.S. has been demanding of us, a project that will bring absolute safety and order across the world. It's all well and good making a profit gentleman, if the legacy of this company is to outlast any of us, we need to leave a lasting affect on the world," Derek explained.

The words were inspiring, even if Warren was a bit sceptical of the intent behind them. But Derek's speech still goaded him into reaching for more.

"Sir, if this is to be undertaken, then am I right in saying that the request for my department's energy generator is approved?" Warren asked, Derek's smile infecting him.

"I looked over your schematics and tests last night and loved it Warren, we'll discuss it more tomorrow, but for now, I want all of you to go back to your duties, today is a good day for the company," Derek said.

The supervisors began clearing the office, Tully catching up with Warren and gripping his shoulder.

"Can we get lunch?" Tully asked.

"Sure," Warren said, surprised by Tully's forwardness.

The exchange was noticed by Mr Fixx, who looked to Powers. Derek nodded, his bodyguard leaving the room, leaving him with an intruder in the office. Despite this though, Derek got off of his chair and looked down at the city, for all intents and purposes it was his city.

"If you're here to kill me, perhaps you could make it quick, I do have to meet that cow Waller tomorrow," he said.

The figures came down from the ceiling, each landing silently and gracefully. Three women, not the kind of company Derek usually expected, but all three had the athletic and muscular frames expected of their work. They had the kind of bodies that attracted just enough to make their targets vulnerable for the kill. Their leader wore a green tunic and body armour, with a mask reminiscent of a cat, the famed Cheshire. On her right was a slimmer woman in orange and black body armour, her blonde hair standing out from her Asian features, visible even with the cat like mask she wore, Chesire's sister Tigress. But the deadliest and the one Derek had more reason to fear was the one who wasn't even wearing body armour. She seemed to have blue skin, white bandages over her arms and legs, a white cloaked outfit with a veil over her face. Curare was considered as deadly as her namesake, the best of the League of Assassins.

"You would already be dead if that was our master's desire," Cheshire said, removing her mask and walking closer towards Derek.

He eyed the black statue to his right, the mother embracing her child; he resisted the urge to smirk as he turned to the assassins.

"Or someone else met your price," he scoffed at the mercenaries, in his eyes, even when the Al Ghuls led them that was all they had been.

"You are still allied with A.R.G.U.S, they have attacked our operations," Cheshire said.

"Of course they have, you're still the bad guys and they are the good guys, this is the narrative and will continue to be so until our plans, his included are completed," Derek explained.

"Good guys that use psychotic criminals to complete their missions," Tigress said.

"Everyone loves a good redemption story," Derek shrugged his shoulders.

"It doesn't change the truth," she retorted.

"The truth young lady is that there is no truth, everything is painted by perspective, by what information people care more about, what resonates with them more. People don't want the simplicity of good guy and bad guy; they want to believe that there is good in everyone. But you didn't come here for a philosophical debate, you came here to threaten me into abandoning a business transaction, I don't like it when I'm not the one doing it," Derek explained.

"Two months, he's coming to Gotham in two months Powers and he'll derail every plan you have, your control over this company…"

"Is legally airtight, this isn't the dark ages when a prince can return to claim the crown, there is no crown, only stocks and I'm holding the majority of them, now if you are quite done with whatever this is, I do have other matters that require my attention," Derek smirked, knowing it would bother to assassin's.

Curare tensed, a micro-expression that Derek noticed from his years of aggressive negotiation. This woman wanted to kill him, regardless of whether it was her master's will or not, and there wouldn't be a damn thing Derek could do to stop her. She wanted to remind him that physical force was absolute power. But she stopped short of touching the hilt of her sword, letting the threat hang, letting the possibility stew in his mind.

"We will meet again Powers, you may think otherwise but Gotham is his city," Cheshire said.

One by one they jumped back up to the ceiling, no doubt using whatever means they had to enter to exit again. Derek huffed; he would have Mr Fixx review security after he dealt with Tully.

"Maybe next time," he seemed to mutter, looking at the statue.

"Mr Powers," his secretary's voice suddenly came through on the phone.

"Not now, I've already come out of one poor meeting," he said.

"But sir, it's the director," she said.

Derek sighed, shaking his head, he walked over to his desk and had the blinds shut, leaving him in darkness.

"Put her through damn it," he said.

She appeared as a hologram, almost bone like thin as a contrast to how she once was nearly a lifetime ago. Despite her age she was still an extremely powerful woman and carried herself as such, wearing black trousers and a sweater with her gun holster visible on the shoulder. The director of A.R.G.U.S looked at Powers, her eyes fixed in a semi-permanent glare.

"Hello Miss Waller, are we having a bad day?" he asked.

The commute from Gotham to Metropolis was made easier by the fact that a rail now existed, linking the two cities together. A great bridge was created by Wayne-Powers and Lex Corp, the only real cooperation the true companies had before they became rivals in the business world. From his window seat, Sieg looked at the city of tomorrow, Metropolis. The neighbour of Gotham across a vast river, people said Gotham was corrupted by darkness whilst Metropolis flourished in light. Sieg though knew better, even happy smiles and high employment records could hide something wrong. When he arrived at the station, he saw something wrong in the form of the armoured man checking credentials and bags. He let them check his duffel bag, seeing no wrong considering all he had was a toothbrush, extra sneakers and a change of clothes he got from a charity shop. Sieg made his way from the station to a big building, easy to spot considering the giant planet on top of it.

The Daily Planet was a national source for news; since Sieg arrived he found friendly faces and integrity in the writing of the staff. That all changed very recently with the change of leadership, the forced retirement of Perry White, the firing of Steve Lambert, and the voluntary resignation of many of the Planet's staff. With the loss of some veteran journalists came opportunities for young apprentices, like Sieg had tried to be. But he didn't get along with the new Editor-in-Chief, the founder of her own media company, CatCo.

'Okay company is a bit of a stretch, it's an app,' Sieg thought.

He moved into the elevator, carrying three cups of coffee with him. When the lift stopped at the office level, he poked his head out, humming as he acknowledged the lack of any demonic activity before he walked down the corridor of empty desks. His target was a desk a bit too close to Cat Grant's office, and the young dark haired girl sitting at it. Though as he got closer, Sieg saw she was slumped on the desk, her head resting on her arms. He put the cups down and then put his finger in his mouth.

"That would be considered inappropriate behaviour Sieg," the 'sleeping' girl said.

Sieg blew a raspberry as the girl groggily raised her head, eyes going bright as she saw the two cups of coffee.

"Double expresso?" she asked.

"Cuban import, they don't usually do those in a large," Sieg said, sipping his own hot chocolate.

Nia Nal wiped the sleep out of her eyes, taking a few swigs from one of the cups to Sieg's surprise.

"You might want to wait for that to cool…okay you're downing it," he muttered as she tilting the contents down her throat.

She gasped, slapping her cheeks and rubbing her eyes.

"You know studies show that rubbing your eyes doesn't help, also have you been writing well into the night because I think there was something called 'blue screen syndrome', might explain why you aren't sleeping as well as you should," Sieg explained.

"It isn't the laptop, it isn't diabetes and it isn't a sleep disorder, I'm just having too many dreams," she said.

"Are we talking riding on the back of the Silver Surfer's board, swerving the cosmic highways and witnessing wonders, or 'oh god no, I'm on a date with Thanos'," Sieg stated and Nia shook her head.

"Weirder than that whole statement, your book characters, you know you should really try approaching comic companies," Nia said.

"Yeah," Sieg chuckled sheepishly.

"People ask me if I'm all right all the time, are you okay?" Nia asked.

"Well I'm hopefully about to share a drink (non alcoholic of course, we aren't that close) with a friend and listen to her complaints whilst reminding her that she did agree to work for the devil and it isn't too late to save her soul," Sieg explained.

"Cat isn't the devil, she can actually be quite nice once you get to know her," Nia said.

"You're having sleepless nights, maybe it's because you weathered the storm that is Cat Grant," Sieg said.

"Like I said they're dreams and weird ones at that," Nia got off of her chair, collecting her jacket as Sieg double checked for the presence of demonic activity.

Thankfully Cat Grant was not in sight. They went down to the park, both looking up at the science police ships moving across the sky.

"Any interesting stories or is Cat still giving you puff pieces?" Sieg asked.

"Why are you planning to steal?" Nia asked.

"Depends on how interesting the story is," Sieg muttered, chuckling as Nia playfully punched his arm.

"Thoughts and views of the Trans community," she said and Sieg shook his head.

"Seriously? Don't take this the wrong way but you realise you've become her token Trans mouth piece right, does it at least make you happy?" he asked.

"I like being part of the community, making people's voices and stories heard, but…" she paused, thinking for a moment before she cut loose. "It's still controlled, it's still censored, I can't research what I want to research, she essentially gives me details and I'm expected to write something pretty for the seventh page. Six cases of people abandoned by their families, transitioning or being bothered on the streets and I was never even allowed to talk to these people," she explained, her frustration a rare change from her usually bright demeanour.

"Oh gee, maybe if you had walked out and joined the Daily Star like a few other Planet employees," Sieg grinned slightly as Nia pouted.

"And sometimes it would be nice to write something different," she added.

"You write what you know," Sieg shrugged.

"What about you?"

"Still delivering the office mail, college though is pretty good, you've got to be my most mature friend, which is surprising considering how mature you ar…yowch!" he laughed as she knocked his arm again.

"And you Sieg, have got to be the most secretly mature person I know, you're here to talk to me about my problems, what about yours?" she asked.

He put down his empty cup, looking to the skyscrapers for a moment. People were pointing up at the sky whilst Nia looked at him, waiting for his response. Slowly he turned to her, his expression in that moment as tired as hers had been moments before. She could almost see a tear in his eye.

"Do you think that people don't recognise, or even believe in…" he stopped however; looking in the direction other people had been looking in. "We need to move NOW!" he yelled, taking hold of Nia's arm so tightly that it hurt.

"Sieg what are you…" Nia stopped as Sieg forced her to crouch, just as an object passed over their heads.

It came in fast and hard, slamming into the grass and leaving a trail of dirt behind it. Sieg helped Nia to stand, but his eyes were on the impact crater.

'Stupid,' he chided himself, looking to where the object had come from.

He came in fast, a shirtless man, a green rock sticking out of his head whilst the left side of his face looked like something out of the terminator. Just as Sieg and Nia moved though, something else struck the cyborg. Sieg spotted the S on the man's chest, the dark hair with some areas of grey, a strong build that fitted into a black and white suit. Though sluggish, the black haired man punched his opponent back, looking over his shoulder and through his blowing white cloak to check on Sieg and Nia.

"Superman," Nia whispered.

Metropolis's hero said nothing; he just threw himself back into the fight with the cyborg man, and the electric woman and puppet like man that were also coming after him.

Gotham

The old neighbourhood had long been abandoned by the mayor's office. Protestors sometimes walked the streets calling for some government intervention, or opposing the corporate plans for the neighbourhood. Companies like Powers intended on wiping away the old theatre, even the tribute to the Waynes in crime alley. The TV was reporting on some puff piece about this league in Metropolis, he had no interest in that. Gotham always stood alone; the next millennium would be no different. He climbed out of bed, scarred yet still honed muscles leaning against his sink as he cleaned his face. The white haired and bearded man walked out of his bathroom and into his dirty apartment.

"Hmmmm?" he looked to the corner, where the Great Dane sat, looking at him, he'd known the dog long enough to know when he was being judged.

"The president will apparently be announcing his new project next week, representatives from the white house report that the new program will alter humanity forever. The NSA though apparently is still pushing for a freedom of information request…"

He turned the TV off, stop; don't get involved, he told himself. It wasn't his problem anymore, he had done enough, one night of work that encompassed all the years he had spent fighting, struggling and mourning. There was nothing he could do, his body was too tired, he would be a liability, he'd have no choice but to break the rule.

"Grrrrr!" he looked to the dog, the damned dog, looking out of the window.

Walking over to the window, he gave the dog a calming stroke as he looked out at what was happening on the streets. Someone had fallen off of their bike, young, dark haired, a build like Dick, Tim…Jason. He shook his head, prepared to look away when he spotted them, those pretenders, hooligans dressed up like that creature. The walls of his psyche cracked and for a moment he heard the laughter, hands shaking, he looked away from the exchange. It was just gang violence, fools crossing the wrong people, not his problem.

"Grrrfff!" the dog looked at him, judged him.

He swore, he should have called the dog Alfred and not Ace. Letting out a deep breath, he made his way out of his apartment, down the steps and to the outside world, had he forgotten something? His pills maybe, whatever, they were only hooligans after all. They were all on bikes, laughing in a poor imitation of that man's laugh.

"Oh, poor boy has had himself an accident," the apparent ring leader said, pathetically dressed the most like him.

"Let's put a smile on his face," the biggest of the group, took a switchblade out of his pocket with clear intent.

His fist tightened, the old rage and training took over, his basest instinct. For a moment he tried to tell himself, don't, you're too old, who wants that anyway? This was an era of villains; of justified evils…well beating someone up could be justified. He stepped in front of the young man on the floor.

"Leave the boy alone, and get off my property," he had an apartment complex, some people knew him as the land lord.

But in his arrogant heart he still believed that the city was his, it certainly didn't belong to these thugs that had chosen the wrong idol.

"Don't you know who we are?" the ring leader asked, coming over to him, grabbing the scruff of his shirt, bringing their faces closer. "We're the Jokers!" he declared proudly, as if the outcome was obvious.

Bruce Wayne smirked, the rare smirk that had given thugs across Gotham reason to be even more afraid than he made them.

"Right," he scoffed.

Sure they were.

Next Chapter 2: Arkham rebirth part 1

Hope everyone enjoyed the story of this expanded Arkhamverse, inspiration taken from Batman Beyond and Beyond the White Knight. First chapter I wanted to establish the key players, Powers very much is one of the big bads. As much as I loved Beyond I always felt he should have come back.

In an ideal world An Arkham Beyond game would have been a great continuation and send off. Conroy (RIP) and Friedle reprising their roles, maybe even Loren Lester and any old B:TAS voice actors they could have gotten a hold of to make it a full tribute to the series.

Also, no offence meant to anyone who liked the Kill the Justice League game, DC have bigger story plans for the game obviously so many of the character fates may not be their definitive fates. As for plans for this story, it begins as a Batfamily story, then branches off into the wider DCU, utilising the Old Justice League characters (though not as the Justice League) and a new Justice League beyond, paying what I hope is respect to original generation and legacy characters of DC.

Next time the Rebirth episode retold with Bruce and Terry meeting for the first time.