George Wayne leaned back into his plush leather chair, his dark eyes grazing the faces of the heroes positioned about the expansive mahogany table. An imposing collection of blatant tension swirled about the room; excitement mixed with dread hung in the air.

"So, Clark," George drawled, his voice low and gravelly, "how the hell did you wring this motley crew together?"

Clark Kent, the Man of Steel himself, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It wasn't easy, George. Took the better part of two years, actually. Lots of late nights, lots of close calls."

"And a whole lotta luck," chimed in Barry Allen, the Flash, his foot tapping an impatient rhythm against the polished floor.

George's lips curled into a smirk. "Luck, huh? Didn't think that was part of the superhero playbook."

"Sometimes it's all we've got," Diana Prince, Wonder Woman, interjected, her voice weighted with the burden of centuries.

"Right," George nodded, his eyes narrowing. "Well, now that you've all had your little adventure saving my ass from Darkseid, what's next? You just gonna disband and go your separate ways?"

The heroes exchanged uneasy glances, uncertainty written across their faces.

"I... I hadn't really thought about it," Clark admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

George leaned forward, his massive frame dominating the table. "Well, I have. And I think it's time we made this official. A team. A real goddamn team."

"You mean… like a league?" Hal Jordan, Green Lantern, asked, his ring glowing faintly.

"Exactly like a league," George growled. "A Justice League."

It hung there, full of promise.

"And who would lead this. Justice League?" Arthur Curry, Aquaman, asked as his trident shone in the dim light.

George's eyes zeroed in on Clark. "Him. The Boy Scout. Who else?"

Clark's eyes widened in shock. "Me? But I thought-"

"You thought wrong," George cut him off. "You brought them together. You lead them against Darkseid. It's gotta be you, Clark."

Other heads bobbed, and low murmurs of agreement traveled through the room.

"Agreed?" George had asked, then, his voice with just a hint of a dare.

Hands rose, one by one, until each of the heroes seated at the table had cast their vote as such.

Clark surveyed them all, the expression on his face one of pride mixed with a little fear. "I… I thank you all. But this is a great responsibility. We will need rules, protocols.."

"We'll get through this," George said, cutting him off. "One step at a time. Right now, let's just make it official. From this day forward, we are the Justice League."

The words had barely left his lips before George felt a flutter of pride. The jigsaw pieces were starting to slide into place, just as he had orchestrated it. The whisper in his head, that dark, wicked chuckle, crooned in satisfaction.

"Well done, George," it purred. "The board is set. Now, let the game begin."

* * *

The grandfather clock creaked open, revealing a haggard George Wayne. His eyes, black as pitch, scanned the familiar surroundings of Wayne Manor's study.

"Master George?" a trembling voice called out.

George turned, his scarred face softening at the sight of Alfred Pennyworth. The old butler's eyes were wide with disbelief.

"Hey, old man," George growled, the hint of a smile on his lips. "Miss me?"

Alfred rushed forward, propriety be damned, and embraced the towering figure of his ward. "Two years," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "Two bloody years."

George awkwardly patted Alfred's back. "Yeah, well, Darkseid's hospitality left a lot to be desired."

Alfred pulled back, wiping his eyes. "I never gave up hope, sir. Not for a moment."

"Course you didn't," George smirked. "You're too damn stubborn."

The butler's expression turned serious. "Master George, I'm afraid Gotham has… changed in your absence."

George's eyes narrowed. "Changed how?"

Alfred sighed heavily. "Crime rates have skyrocketed. The police are overwhelmed. It's as if every lowlife and scoundrel sensed your absence and crawled out of the woodwork."

"Fuck," George muttered, raking a hand through his hair. "How bad we talking?"

"Worse than before you first donned the cape and cowl, I'm afraid."

George's fists clenched. "Right. So we're back to square one."

"Indeed, sir. Though perhaps not entirely," Alfred added. "Your… allies have done their best to help in your absence."

George snorted. "The Justice League? Bet that went over well with Gotham's finest."

"It was… a learning experience for all involved," Alfred said diplomatically.

George paced across the window and gazed out over the Gotham City skyline. It looked the same, but he knew it in his bones: something was different.

"Looks like I've got my work cut out for me," he growled.

That voice in his head, that insidious whisper of The Batman Who Laughs, chuckled. "Oh, this is going to be fun," it purred.

George pushed the voice aside, focusing on the task at hand. "Alfred, I need you to bring me up to speed. Every major player, every new face, every goddamn jaywalker if you have to… I need to know everything."

It was early evening, and Batman had a city to take back. Later, Batman would have to fill Alfred in on something of the details of what had just taken place —how the Justice League was now a thing. Hence George Wayne was pacing the study, cumbersome frame casting a shadow elongated by firelight. Alfred watched, and continued to worry, lines in the old man's face deepening.

"So, you're telling me you want to make this… team official?" Alfred asked, incredulity lacing his voice.

George stopped, turning to face his butler. "Not just official, Alfred. I want to make them a fucking force to be reckoned with."

"And you're calling it… The Justice League?" Alfred raised an eyebrow.

"Got a problem with the name?" George growled.

Alfred shook his head. "No, sir. It's just that… well, it's very grand, isn't it?"

George's lips curled into a smile. "That's the idea, old man. We're taking a stand."

"And the rest… are they in on this plan of yours?"

"Clark's going to lead them," George said fervently, his black eyes glowing. "They all agreed. Even the fish guy."

Alfred sighed. "Such a team would take much time, much energy, and… well, money to form."

George's laugh was hard, without humor. "Money? Alfred, I'm George fucking Wayne. Money's not an issue."

"Of course, sir," Alfred conceded. "But are you certain this is the best course of action? Gotham needs you now more than ever."

George's face darkened. "Gotham's just the beginning, Alfred. The world's changing. We need to be ready."

The voice in George's head purred. "Oh, we'll be ready all right. Ready to rule them all."

He shoved that voice aside, back to Alfred. "Look, I know it's a lot to take in. But trust me, this is necessary. The world needs the Justice League."

Alfred studied his ward for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well, sir. If you believe this is the right path, then I shall support you."

"Good," George grunted. "Because I'm gonna need your help. We've got a lot of work to do."

George turned back to the window, his eyes observed the Gotham skyline, and in Alfred's head, he couldn't help but wonder about what the future held. There had been born a new era for the world with the birth of the Justice League.

But in the glass, Alfred saw George's reflection—those very pitch-black eyes glowing so determined—and couldn't keep from his mind that something darker still brewed beneath.

"God help us all," he muttered under his breath, as he walked off to prepare for the long night ahead for George Wayne.

* * *

The Batmobile screamed through the Gotham streets—a black ghost in the darkness. Behind the wheel and hidden under his cowl, George Wayne's eyes narrowed.

"Red Hood Gang," he growled. "Time to nip this shit in the bud."

His head-chuckled. "Maybe we will see the clown born tonight."

"Shut up," George murmured as he swerved around a corner.

The Batmobile screeched to a stop just outside Ace Chemicals. George leaped out, with his cape flying behind him.

Two turncoats served as sentinels. They didn't have a momentary prayer.

WHAM! CRACK!

George's fists connected, in quick, savage succession. The Reading System flicked, attempting to analyze the styles of their mayhem. Pathetic.

Chaos went off inside. Everywhere, gunshots did. It was a storm of bullets. He was quick, slipping, rolling, his motion fluid, deadly.

"It's the Bat!" one of them screeched.

"No shit," George growled and flung a batarang.

More of them went down. Then, he saw him. Red Hood. The guy who could possibly become the Joker.

"Well, well," Red Hood drawled. "The big, bad Bat. Come to crash our party?"

George's eyes narrowed. "Party's over, asshole."

Red Hood laughed. The sound grated. "Oh, I don't think so. Boys! Let's show our guest a good time!"

Chaos erupted. Bullets flew. Chemicals splashed.

George dodged, weaved, his mind racing. He couldn't let Red Hood fall. Couldn't let history repeat itself.

A vat of chemicals teetered precariously. George's eyes widened.

"Shit," he muttered.

He lunged, tackling Red Hood just as the vat toppled. Chemicals splashed, inches from where they'd been standing.

Red Hood struggled beneath him. "Get off me, you freak!"

George pinned him down, his white lens boring into the man's mask. "You have no idea how lucky you are."

Sirens wailed in the distance & George allowed himself a grim smile. He'd changed things. But as he looked at the chemicals pooling around them, he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd only delayed the inevitable.

And he was right.

The vat wobbled on its edge before it began to fall on Batman. George's eyes widened. "Fuck!" he hissed.

He had to dodge but he wasn't fast enough. Not when he had Red Hood in hand.

Everything, for just a moment, seemed to drag. A decision range, unsaid as everything came crashing down.

George chose.

He released Red Hood, diving clear as chemicals cascaded down. The scream that followed would haunt his nightmares.

"No, no, no," George muttered, watching the figure stumble away, drenched in toxic green. The voice in his head cackled with glee.

"Oh, you've done it now, Georgie-boy! Our very own clown prince!"

George's fists clenched. He'd failed. The Joker was born.

"I could end it," he growled, stalking towards the writhing form. "Right here. Right now."

A hand reached out for the batarang at his belt, even as his mind raced through possibilities. One toss. That's all it would take.

But…

"Dammit," hissed George, and pulled back. "Too soon. Too many questions."

The sirens wailed closer. The GCPD was coming.

George melted into the shadows as the cops burst in. Ethan Bennett and Renee Montoya led the charge.

"Holy shit," breathed Bennett, eyes falling on the fallen Red Hood. "What happened here?"

"Looks like the Bat's back in town," Montoya grinned as she surveyed the warehouse.

George watched from the rafters. Frustration chewed at his gut. Yeah, he'd changed things. But not for the better.

The cops hauled off the soon-to-be Joker, and thoughts tumbled through George's head: the game had changed. Gotham's dark knight would need to adapt.

"Boys, ladies," a whisper hissed in his ear, "the fun's just starting, kiddo."

This time, George nodded in agreement.

Off came the mask, and all that remained was the chalk-white skin, green hair, and that fucking grin.

"Hehehehe. HAHAHAHAHA!"

Laughter burst through the night, drilled right through to George's head. It was the kind of laugh he'd never forget, not in a thousand lifetimes.

"Shit," he whispered as though reaching out to the shadows enclosing him, and he continued to melt away even as the GCPD cleaned up the mess that was Batman. They never saw him hopping into his Batmobile; it just roared to life as it tore through the streets of Gotham with George holding the wheel, clutching it so hard his knuckles were white.

"You fucked up, kid," the voice teased inside his mind.

"Shut it," George growled.

A scream. Tires screeching. Two punks trying to jack a car.

George was on them before they could blink. WHAM! CRACK! Bodies hit pavement.

"Stay down," he snarled.

Back in the car. More sirens. More screams. Gotham never slept.

Finally, the cave. George yanked off his cowl, sweat-soaked hair plastered to his forehead.

"Master George," Alfred's voice. Concern. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," George muttered.
George dropped back into his chair. The computer blinked on. Police reports. Crime stats. A city on the edge.

"Gordon'll be calling soon," George said. "Bat-signal'll be up by tomorrow night."

"And you'll answer?"

George's eyes, black and shiny, sparkled in the dim light. "Always."

The voice laughed. "Round and round we go."

* * *

Flashes of cameras. Microphones thrust forward. Circling vultures, looking for a story.

George Wayne stepped up to the podium, every inch the billionaire playboy. Armani suit. Rolex watch. Hair perfectly coiffed. The scar across his eye, making him look more masculine, Ultra-Humanite was the excuse he used.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, flashing that million-dollar smile. "I'm back."

The crowd erupted. Questions flew like bullets.

"Mr. Wayne! Where have you been?"

"George! Is it true you were in a coma?"

He held up a hand, his silence commanding. "Two years ago, I had an… unfortunate encounter with the Ultra-Humanite. The details are… fuzzy." A self-deprecating chuckle. "I've been recovering at a private facility. But now, I'm home. And Gotham? She needs me."

More questions. More lies. George played his part perfectly.

"What are your plans, Mr. Wayne?"

"Oh, you know. The usual. Charity galos. Board meetings. Maybe I'll buy a sports team." The crowd laughed with that one. If only they knew.

The press conference eked out to an end. Vicki Vale had followed him out, though. "George," she was purring. "Care to give me an exclusive?"

He grinned, leaning in close. "Sorry, Vicki. A gentleman never kisses and tells."

His stomach churned. The voice in his head cackled. "Oh, if they only knew where you really were, Georgie-boy. Apokolips isn't exactly a five-star resort."

But George's smile never wavered. Let them believe the lie. Let them think he was just another trust fund brat.

Batman had work to do. And George Wayne? He was just the mask.